#writer: cloudless

[loveshotzz]

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap ten/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs -

Baby, I’m Yours

summary: A sleepless night brings you back to where it all began.

wc: 8k

warnings: 18+ for the softest of smut.

author’s note: I know we still have the epilogue but I can’t believe we’re actually here at the end of their story. Thank you to all of you that spent your summer reading about Steve and his Tough Girl, this has been such a journey for me as a writer with a lot of challenges but I’m so thankful I did it. Truly writing about these two and talking about it with you guys was the highlight of my summer. From the bottom of my heart, thank you 🧡

🌇 <- chapter nine

The Masterlist / The Playlist / The Tune:

Beginning of August

Steve had been gone for a week and a half and it felt more like a lifetime to you, but it wasn’t for the lack of communication. If Steve wasn’t calling you he was texting you, sending you pictures of his lunch no matter how lame you told him it was. By day three you were sending him a picture of your own with a loud sigh and a roll of your eyes. His enthusiastic response of ‘That looks good baby!!’  had made you squirm in your seat with hot cheeks huffing the word “pathetic” to yourself, but that didn’t stop you from doing it again the next day. 

It was FaceTime calls of Peach telling Steve to turn the camera around, always too busy looking at you and telling you how pretty you are to notice his was pointed towards a wall. Or the one time it was pointed at Eddie who sat in front of him making a suggestive ‘cumming’ face to tease him, the camera flipped immediately when he heard you giggle. Steve scolded his cackling friend with an ‘honestly, I hate you’ before taking you to another room, apologizing profusely with blush visible on his cheeks.

It was the small bits of time in between text messages and phone calls that made it drag. The quiet evenings without Bandit’s excited bark from the front yard, the low simmer that’s always in your gut from the possibility of running into him any time you come and go, is gone with the man and his dog. It’s just enough time for seeds of doubt to creep in. The newness, the anxiety of it all.

The bright red numbers on the clock above your stove read 2:13am - three days until Steve gets home and tonight you can’t sleep. Quietly thanking whatever gods there are for your day off tomorrow, well - today. 

Your apartment smells like Clorox, lavender, and lemon. The wood floors sparkling just like your kitchen countertops. Cleaning everything you could touch has kept you busy, but it doesn’t make you any more tired than when you’d started. Your intrusive thoughts and daydreams are going a mile a minute:you didn’t get your usual good night call from him. The rational side of you knows that one missed phone call doesn’t mean anything, but the irrational side decided you don’t  need to rest.

The full trash bag next to your front door taunts you, just like the promise you made Steve about taking it out late at night months ago. The fact that it’s the last thing left to do makes it that much harder to walk away from. Gnawing at the side of your cheek you decide not to, he’s not even home to catch you.

The moon’s blue glow illuminates your path while the skyline of the city sparkles below it. The tall buildings shimmer in a way that takes attention from the stars in the cloudless night sky. You can feel how the humidity hangs less thick in the air the more August rolls in. The thin material of your tank top does nothing against the light breeze that makes the bottom of your sleep shorts tickle the tops of your thighs. There’s a chill that didn’t exist before and it makes goosebumps dot across your skin.

Your slides scrape along the gravel from your refusal to fully pick your feet up, and it fights with the sounds of the late Friday night in the distance. You hum a made up tune as the streetlight buzzes above, lifting the lid you jump when you hear someone clear their throat behind you. 

“I thought I told you not to take your trash out in the middle of the night, especially alone, tough girl.” Steve’s voice erupts everything that’s laid dormant inside of you for the past week. Butterflies start to flutter until they’re fighting against your rib cage to get out and your cheeks hurt from how hard you’re smiling before you’ve even turned around.

“Well,” You sigh, dropping your bag in the trash can, “the guy I was supposed to call if I needed anything ditched me for his out of state boyfriend.” Shrugging when you finally let yourself look at him, the view rivals the one that shines bright behind him.

His hair is messy in a way that isn’t purposeful this time, but he looks just as handsome as any other day. The stubble on his jaw is thicker, but not quite like the night he waited at your doorstep, and god, do you want to feel it against your skin. His big arms sit crossed over a broad chest that’s only covered in a gray tank top. The thick patch of hair always half way on display threatens to touch the base of his neck, the bottom of his silver chain disappearing inside of it. 

His freckles are darker now, easier to find from all the sun he got while he was gone and you’re jealous of the hands that got to rub sunscreen on them, even if they were his own. The black basketball shorts on his legs stop in the middle of his thighs, it makes you bite at your lip.The greens and golds in his eyes light a match under your skin with the way he stares at you  — like he couldn’t possibly look away even if he tried.

“My out of state boyfriend huh?” He grins, tightening his hold on his own bag before his Nike slide covered feet crunch against the gravel towards you. His eyes catch the dainty silver still hanging around your neck, the stone shining in the moonlight, and it makes his heart swell. Tossing his trash in after yours, he meets your gaze down the slope of his nose, arching a brow. “What does that make you then?”

He smells like bergamot and cedar, a lingering hint of the cigar he probably smoked in New York still clinging to his hair. The heat coming off his body makes your fingertips buzz, twitching with the need to reach out and just touch him. 

“I dunno, what does that make me, Steve?” It comes out shy, a little above a whisper, a question just for him.

He hums, a low sound that vibrates from deep in his chest while his fingers come up to toy with the stone that dangles just above the dip of your breasts. The tips of them tickling rough against your soft skin. 

“What do you want?” His confident demeanor falters when he asks just as quiet, all the miles and days without seeing each other are affecting him too. He doesn’t tell you that’s part of the reason he booked an early flight home on your day off. 

“I want you.” You don’t hesitate when you say it, no pauses for even a second to think of what you want to say. Your hand comes up to wrap around his wrist, the muscles under your palm dance from your simple touch. He wonders if you can feel his pulse.

“You already have me.” He almost wants to laugh until he still sees the same shared doubt  in your eyes. “Haven’t I made that obvious?”

He tugs at your necklace as a reminder, a smile breaking across your face because of it and all he wants to do is kiss you now. Especially when he drops the stone to grab your hand, and after taking just a few steps, you reach up to touch it again — a silent, constant reminder of his confession as you walk towards the wooden gates.

“Wait, why didn’t you tell me you were coming back early?” You pout a little, looking up at him when he stops you both at your backyard. 

“I landed a few hours ago,” He chuckles, his hands finding your hips to pull you to his chest, in love with the way you stand on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck like it’s natural, like it’s second nature to want him close. “I was actually going to surprise you in the morning with breakfast after I picked up Bandit from Nance’s.” 

“Oh yeah?” You grin at the thought of Steve showing up at your front door, that messy head of hair shoved into a baseball cap.

He nudges his nose against yours, the spearmint of his toothpaste fanning cool across your cheeks while your fingers curl into the soft hair at the base of his neck. Tilting your chin so your lips just barely touch, you silently beg him to close the gap. 

“Yeah,” He breathes, hazel eyes clocking the way your lashes flutter against the top of your cheeks. He almost feels bad for teasing, especially when you give his hair a gentle, coaxing tug. “But someone wanted to risk their lives for the sake of taking out the trash. So, surprise, pretty girl, I’m home.” 

His words make your breath catch, and you want to tell him he feels like home more than your real one ever did. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest when his top lip whispers against your still slightly pouted bottom one. You tug at his roots a little harder this time, needier, and you swear a whine tightens at the back of your throat threatening to come out if he doesn’t give you what you want. Please, kiss me.

“Well, good thing you were here to save me.” You giggle against his mouth, and it makes his hands squeeze at your sides a little tighter, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. The tip of your nose pushes against the rough stubble on his cheek, “Besides, I missed you, I wouldn’t have wanted to wait ‘til the morning.”

“God, honey. You have no idea how much I missed you.” His face crumples a little at the thought, almost like he forgot for a second you were right in front of him, but when you somehow pull yourself closer, he doesn’t waste anymore time.

The wood is rough when your back hits the gate at the same time his lips finally crash into yours. A week of longing comes out with a sigh. The metal hinges and lock clank loudly together while he steals the breath from your lungs. He coaxes your mouth open with a swipe from his impatient tongue, groaning when you grant him access. You taste just as sweet as he remembers, and he promises himself he’ll never go a day without it again — not if he can help it.  

Your hands get greedy in his hair, bigger handfuls, harsher tugs while your body stays flush against his as he keeps you pinned to the door. It’s all tongue and teeth for a minute, both of you losing yourselves in it for longer than you should. It’s not until a car honks, signaling to any bikers around that it’s popping out of the alley, breaking you two apart. 

Chest heaving and lips swollen, all you want is more.

He laughs to himself pressing his forehead against yours with the kind of smile that makes your knees weak. The tip of his nose touches yours; he’s all wild hair and love sick eyes. You don’t want to be without him tonight. Or ever.

“Come sleepover?”

The question comes out before you can stop it, before you can really register what that invitation might mean for both of you. His eyes widen before they search your face for any kind of regret, his tongue wetting his lips when he doesn’t find it. You twist strands of his honey hair between your fingers, nervously waiting for his response. 

“We - we don’t have to do anything. I just wanna be with you.” You finally whisper, your nerves getting the best of you. He can’t believe you think he’d actually say no.

“Let me shower and get the airport off of me, and then I’d love nothing more than to spend the rest of the night with you baby.” He steals another kiss from your smiling lips, letting you take another one for yourself, groaning at the nip of your teeth on his bottom lip before he finally lets you go. 

Opening the gate for you, he grabs your wrist pulling you back for one more, relishing in the giggle it earns him before he whispers that he’ll be back in fifteen minutes.

It feels like your heart is trying to escape through your chest as you try not to check the time on your phone. Strategically placed candles are the only light in your living room and kitchen, while a dimmed bedside lamp in your room gleams a dark orange with your wax melter. It feels like your apartment is glowing, but it does nothing to relax the nerves that course through your veins as you pace the small space of your room trying to shake them before his inevitable arrival.

Knock, knock, knock

They are quieter than his normal ones, but they make you jump just the same. You shake your hands out, taking a deep breath before you pad barefoot to your front door. You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth to try and contain the smile that always grows the first time you lay your eyes on him and his lopsided grin.

“Hey baby.” He greets you in the kind of voice that makes the dough of your thighs press.

His damp hair is pushed back, from what looks like a few quick hands in the mirror. A simple white shirt replaces the tank top from before, fitting loosely across his shoulders, and a soft looking pair of gray cotton shorts cover the tops of his thighs this time. He’s wearing a tan pair of moccasin slippers on his feet that you’ve never seen, and for some reason his exposed ankles make the heat rise to your cheeks while the fresh scent of his pine body wash threatens to take over your senses.

“Hi handsome.” It’s dripping in sugar the way you say it, sweet off your tongue just for him as you open the door wider.

He thinks your apartment smells like peaches and the ocean when you close it behind him. It smells just like you and he feels surrounded by it, intoxicated with it, the way he always wants to be. You watch him take in your apartment like he missed it too, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth when he notices you just cleaned it. He bites back his remark when his eyes meet yours, he can’t bring himself to say it when you’re staring at him from under your lashes with your back pressed to the door all shy like that.

“Don’t be shy, honey,” he extends a big hand out for you to take with soft eyes, “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” copying your line from outside, he wiggles his fingers a little with a smile warmer than the glow of the candles that dance shadows across his sharp jaw and cheek bones, “I just wanna lay with you.”

You don’t hesitate to slip your palm into his, your heart racing when you watch his fingers wrap around you with ease. He pulls you into him, colliding in a mix of  forest and the beach. He keeps a hold of your hand, cupping your cheek with his other one. The pad of his thumb traces over the heated skin, paying extra attention to the soft bag under your eye. You needed sleep.

“Just me and you, that’s all I want, okay?” He reassures you in a voice lower than a whisper. His heart swells when you nod with big glassy eyes, your hand coming to rest on the top of his so you can lean deeper into his touch.Steve’s hazel eyes look to yours, he tilts his head a little bit closer in a silent ask for permission, you push up on your tiptoes to meet him halfway.

He kisses you differently than how he did in the alley, differently than the Fourth of July and the baseball game. He’s gentle, like he’s taking his time with you because he actually has it now, like he’s sure of it. He doesn’t try to deepen it even when they move together like this is what they were always meant to be doing, not even when your top lip catches a little dirty with his bottom. He wants to remember this moment, commit it to memory so that he never forgets what this feels like with you. He kisses you like this until the need for oxygen becomes too much and your feet start to hurt from standing in place for too long.

“Let’s go lay down.” You whisper between bated breaths that mingle with his, your chests heave as he gives you the kind of toothy grin that makes the butterflies wake up again, nodding with a squeeze of your hand.

The hum of A/C and the sounds of your breathing are the only things that can be heard in the low light of your room. Steve’s body lays pressed on top of yours, making himself comfortable between your legs. His head rests on your sternum with a cheek against the soft curve of your tummy. His big hands hold tight to your sides, caging you in – it feels like he’s everywhere and you wouldn’t have it any other way. The weight of him relaxes you into the feathers of your pillows.

Your fingers keep themselves busy buried deep in the thickness of his hair. Still a little damp at the roots, you massage the part of his scalp you know was resting on the hard cushion of the airplane seat, earning you a deep groan that vibrates between your legs. He feels the way they try to close because of it, the sharp intake of breath that you try to hide.

He’d be lying if he said his own body wasn’t reacting being this close to you, especially when the pads of his thumbs caress under the swell of your breasts and there’s no wire of a bra to be found. His eyes roll back as the blunt ends of your nails start to scratch lightly near the nape of his neck, making his fingers squeeze you at the sensation. His face nuzzles deeper into the softness of your stomach, inhaling. You feel the prickle of his stubble through the thin material of your tank top and it makes you giggle. 

Steve doesn’t know how he lasted as long as he did this past week without you. 

He pushes the bottom of your tank top up and tries not to stare at the supple skin exposed to him before blowing a raspberry. It earns an even louder giggle, making your legs bend at the knees, trapping him in between your thighs.

“Steve!” You sound annoyed but the smile on your face gives you away when you go to cover your eyes with the back of your hand. 

“What baby?” He smirks against your skin and feels the way it makes you squirm with a subtle roll of your hips, he’s not even sure you noticed that you did it.

“No…”Your voice trails off when he pushes your shirt up a little higher, his lips getting bolder, addicted to the way you heat up for him with every soft kiss, “No raspberries.” You finally manage, making him chuckle. But that doesn’t stop him continuing on his path.

“I promise I’ll be nice, m’sorry” He mumbles an apology against your skin, basking in the goosebumps it earns him.

He sits back on his knees, thumbs hooking into the bottom of your tank. His eyes meet yours from underneath his lashes and he wishes he could take a picture of the way you look right now.

“Is this okay?” He asks just to make sure, and the nod of your head with heavy lids is enough for him to press a wet kiss on your sternum before pulling the rest of the offending fabric off, throwing it somewhere on your floor. 

Steve forgets how to breathe the moment his eyes land on you, soft curves just begging for his touch. He can’t help himself when he runs his palms up your sides making your nipples pebble when the pads of his thumbs meet the bottom swell of your breasts. You wonder if he can feel the wings under your rib cage.

“God - honey,” Steve’s words get lost on his tongue when you stare up at him with eyes blown out like his, it makes him run a hand down his face like he can’t believe you’re real. “I’m lucky to just be lookin’ at you.”

His praise makes a shy smile push up your cheeks, his own teeth shining in a grin because of it.

“I wanna look at you too.” You whine a little, reaching down between your legs to tug at the cotton of his shirt with a pout.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, bending back down to hover over you. His nose nudges against your cheek before his lips brush yours, smirking when you nod a little desperate against his mouth.

The kiss he gives you lingers, lighting a fire inside of you, the kind that burns at your fingertips, consuming you like it’s wild and it makes you realize it’s never going to be enough. You’re never going to get enough of the man who looks at you like you hung the stars in his sky, like you were the sun that broke through the rain clouds that followed him around. 

His fingers curl at the hem of his shirt, and it feels like he’s moving in slow motion when he pulls it over his head, adding it to the already growing pile on the floor. His muscles twitch under your gaze, his own nerves finally catching up to him when he realizes just how long it’s been since he’s been with someone like this. Pink dusts his cheeks but he doesn’t look away, not when he sees the way your eyes glaze over at the sight. The dark thatch of hair in the middle of his chest looks soft to the touch from his late night shower and it makes your fingers twitch to touch him. 

The silver of his chain gleams like yours in the moonlight that leaks through your curtains and it makes his skin look like it glows. You give in, running your fingertips through the thick happy trail that’s surrounded by another collection of freckles and moles that you feel the need to kiss and you catch the shudder that runs through him because of it.

“You’re so handsome, Steve.” It comes out a little breathless, and it makes the tips of his ears turn pink.

“Thank you, angel.” He tries to hide his bashfulness in a grin and a hand through his hair, bending back down to press a kiss to your collarbone so you don’t see his smile.

He starts a path up your neck, nipping at sensitive skin along the way to your lips, his own butterflies being spurred on by the whimper it earns him. He hovers over you searching your face for any indication to stop but he’s only met with the kind of look in your eyes that almost has him say it.

 ‘I love you’.

He tries to show you by slotting his lips against yours in a hot breath, like a key to its lock. The bed dips on either side of your head when he goes from his palms to his forearms, chest to chest he wonders if you can feel his heart beating just for you tonight.

The feeling of his skin against yours makes every inch of you feel like a livewire, both of you moaning into the kiss like you’ve waited too long for this. Tongues collide messily when he rolls his hips with a purpose. The pointed pressure on your bundle of nerves, has you keening into him. Your hands slide up his chest through the patch of hair you’d been dreaming about for months, before wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him even closer. Addicted to the way his hard muscles flex against your soft skin.

Box springs squeak when he lets go of all of his weight, it feels like he’s everywhere and it makes your head spin. Your fingers find their way back into the soft hair at the nape of his neck as you fight for dominance with his lips, trying to convey everything you’re feeling right now because words just won’t work.

Pushing your hips up to meet his in a slow grind, the thin material of his shorts does nothing to hide just how big he really is and it makes everything turn sloppy, teeth scraping together with silk between your fingers tugging at his roots a little mean. He smiles when he pulls away to catch his breath, keeping his forehead pressed to yours. His eyes are as black as the night outside that threatens to give away to the sun in just a few hours, they look at you like he can’t believe you’re real, memorizing every detail of your face like you might disappear if he blinks.

“So pretty.” He murmurs before littering kisses down your body, some sweet and some with a nip of his teeth. 

His eyes meet yours in a silent question of ‘is this okay?’, long fingers curling around the elastic band. Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth to hide your shy smile. You nod with a little too much excitement making him smirk before pressing a sweet kiss on the top of your hip, running his nose along the soft your tummy doing it again to the other side.

You hold your breath when he pulls them down your thighs, the tips of his fingers gliding down the sides of your legs as he goes, lips tugging up when you squirm a little because of it. A low groan vibrates from his chest when he realizes you aren’t wearing underwear, glistening with your arousal in the dim light. You’re so wet and all he’s done is kiss you. 

“Baby, baby, baby.” He mutters awestruck by the sight.

A little embarrassed at your body’s reaction, his praise makes your legs try to snap shut but he stops you with a gentle hand on the inside of your knee, spreading them again.

“You’re beautiful, please don’t hide from me.” He begs, taking all of you in again. “So, so, so beautiful, honey.”

His fingers wrap around your ankle, pulling your leg up enough for his lips to kiss the soft skin right above the round bone, his nose skims up your calf to press another one, relishing in the giggle he gets as he keeps on his path to what he really wants. You squeal when he nips at the inside of your knee and you can feel his smirk against your goosebumps. 

Once his kisses get to your thigh, he settles between your legs with his chest to the mattress. It’s hard to remember your own name when he looks up at you through his lashes like that. He hooks your knee over his broad shoulder, his lips dragging a little dirty across your heated skin. He can taste the watermelon that still lingers from his favorite lotion. You were going to be the death of him.

He meets your eyes when he gets high enough for your thigh and hip to connect. Close enough to smell how sweet you are worked up just for him. 

“Can I taste you?” He skims his nose up the plush inside of your thigh when he asks, his eyelids growing heavy just basking in being close to you like this. You could say no, and this would be enough for him but the way you’re already dripping on your sheets makes him insatiable. “You want that?”

You want that?

He watches how your eyes glaze over at his question, the intensity of his gaze makes you want to hide, he was so handsome looking up at you like this. Too bashful to actually say yes, you nod again.

“Can you say it for me?” He squeezes your hip, the pad of his thumb rubbing circles to soothe your nerves like his own weren’t boiling under the surface of his confident demeanor like a volcano ready to explode. 

What if he wasn’t good at this anymore?

“Y- yes, I want you to taste me, handsome you can do whatever you want to me.” The breathy giggle that bubbles passed your lips makes him grin lopsided just how you like, a smugness that wasn’t there before smoldering like a fire in his eyes.

“Yeah? Fuck - Honey, I dream about this.” He groans when he pulls himself closer, the tip of his nose running up your slick folds making you shudder, fingers already tangling in your sheets. “You want me to show you how much I missed you?”

He doesn’t tell you that he’s started to always miss you when you aren’t around.

He accepts your nod this time, your teeth threatening to make your bottom lip bleed when he settles your other leg over his shoulder too, nothing holding him back from you anymore. He takes all of you in with a greedy eyes, his pink tongue darling out to lick his lips when he sees just how much you want this too.

Nothing can prepare you for the first swipe of his flattened tongue between your slick folds, the tip of it catching your clit with just enough pressure for the grip on your sheets to tighten. The butterflies in your rib cage feel like they make their escape in the gasp you let out, his low hum of approval making your toes curl when he does it again. 

“So fucking sweet baby, god of course you are.” 

He doesn’t waste anymore time testing the waters, his self doubt gone with his self control when your hips roll up asking for more. Steve knows now he’ll never say no to you and he’s not shy with the way he buries his face in your pussy. His tongue laps up everything you give him, like he’s hungry with his nose pressed to your bundle of nerves with enough pressure to make your back arch. 

“Ohmygod - Steve.” The moan you let out makes his cock twitch, your fingers reaching down to tangle themselves in his hair, shamelessly pulling him closer. You were better than his dreams.

Your thighs snap closed around his ears after he stops the greedy strokes of his tongue in the tightness of your entrance for his lips to wrap your clit. He sucks with the kind of force that makes your eyes hit the back of your head. His eyebrows marry together when he closes his eyes like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. One of hands leaves the dough of your thighs for his thick index finger to take his tongue's place, collecting the slick from between your folds before pushing one knuckle in. 

It makes you gasp a little breathy as your hips push up for more, and he gives it to you, pushing two more knuckles in and you already feel so full. Your walls constrict, fluttering around his single digit like it’s a stretch and he wonders how you’re going to be able to take him. His own hips rut into the mattress in search of some kind of relief while he sets a steady pace between his mouth and his wrist that has you clenching like you’re about to unravel. 

“You close baby? Wanna show me how good it feels?” His question comes out sloppy against your mound, all the color in his eyes is gone meeting yours from between your legs blown wide. When he adds a second finger, it slides in with ease making your eyes hit the back of your head, a low moan bubbling past your lips. Your toes curl with his fingers, jaw going slack with his name in your mouth like a prayer and he’s scared you’re going to make him cum in his pants again. 

“Just like that, fuck - right there - Steve, Steve, Steeeeeve!” The fingers that are tangled in his hair tug rough, your thighs clamping down hard around his head while your body tries to squirm away to run from the intensity of it all, the stubble on his jaw rubbing you raw when he moves his head from side to side drinking in everything you give him.

His hand on your hip locks you in place while you come undone on his tongue and he swears you taste just like sugar when he buries his face in deeper till you whine, pushing on his forehead to stop, overstimulation winning. Heat floods your cheeks when you see the shine from your slick covering the bottom of his lopsided grin when he finally looks up at you.

“So pretty like this,” He mumbles, pressing a kiss to the inside of your shaking thigh. 

You cover your face with your hands, the intensity of your first orgasm and the intimacy of it all overwhelms you, the tightness in your chest threatens to become unbearable. The three words sitting at the tip of your tongue beg to come out from between your lips. 

Not yet.

He trails sticky kisses up your stomach, making sure to pay special attention to the swell of your breasts, pulling them both together in his big hands to give them equal treatment. Shining lips wrap around your sensitive nipples and it's enough for a new wave of arousal to blossom deep inside your belly, a subtle rock of your hips meeting his when he rolls one between his teeth. Insatiable, just like him.

“Steve,” His name comes out around a sigh, your fingers running up his freckled back before tangling themselves in his hair again, addicted to the softness of it.

“Mmm, tell me what you want.” He looks up at you from under thick lashes, lids heavy, and eyes glossy. He’s wrecked.

“You.” The answer is just as simple as it was outside, it's all you’ve ever wanted. You realize that now. The universe bringing you here to this moment with him. This was it.

“Baby,” he looks at you like he means it, like his whole heart is in your hands now and it has been since the day you moved in he just didn’t know it yet, “I’m yours.”

He moves back up your body, leaving wet kisses across sweat slicked skin making sure to suck at the sensitive spot he found just above your collarbone, smiling when you gasp. He’s not expecting to feel your lips against his jaw, bold and sure of themselves by the time they get to the corner of his mouth, dainty fingers pulling his chin down to collect your kiss.

Your lips move like you can finally relax, like you’re home now and he can feel your heartbeat against his chest. This didn’t feel like just sex.

Your hands run down his sides, grinning into his mouth when he chuckles as the tips of your fingers brush against his ribs, you keep that information locked away another time as you hook them in the elastic band of his shorts. His tongue licks a little dirty into your mouth when you start to pull them down his hips, helping you get them to his knees before kicking them off entirely. The length of him feels heavy against your stomach, and it makes you break away from the kiss but his lips stay attached to you.

Your cheek, your jaw, your neck, anywhere he can reach. 

The view makes your breath hitch and get stuck in the back of your throat, walls fluttering around nothing when you see just how big he really is. He’s too busy trying to find new places to make you gasp and all you wanna do is look at him.

“Steve” his name comes out around the gasp he was trying so hard to get by sucking a little bruise behind your ear.

He hums against your skin with his eyes closed, drowning in you. Love drunk off of it. The slow sleepiness from the day creeping in as his body molds to the warmth of you.

“I wanna look at you, too.” Your request is quiet against the rough stubble that fades into his neck, and you feel his Adam’s apple bob against your lips.

“Yeah?”  His voice is hoarse, nose nudging against your jaw when he brings his gaze back to yours, a smile pulls up the apples of his cheeks, crinkling small lines under his eyes.

“Yeah.” You don’t nod this time.

He holds your eyes in his, needing you to know there’s a double meaning in his words when he brings his palm to your cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing the high bone. 

“Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”

The mattress bounces when Steve flops next to you on his back, the two of you barely fitting on your queen size with his broad shoulders and long legs. He catches the way your eyes grow big when you sit up on your knees and finally get to see all of him. He reaches out for you, sensing your hesitation at his size

“C’mere, baby, we’ll go slow.”

Heat blooms between your legs when you take his hand, your knees finding a home on either side of his hips. He’s thicker than you’d imagined all those nights with your fingers between your thighs. The big vein running up the length of him protrudes like it’s working overtime, while beads of pearly white smear against the rough patch of hair just below his belly button from his light pink tip. Wrapping his hand around the base, he gives himself a pump to relieve some of the ache from seeing you sitting on top of him like this. Soft curves on display in the moonlight, he can’t wait to see them when it breaks daylight.

“Fuck,” He sighs when you settle above him, “you look gorgeous.”

His words make your confidence peak, your hands finding themselves flat against his chest, the blunt ends of your nails drag through the hair there and you spot another cluster of freckles you hadn’t seen before, you wonder if he’ll let you find them all.

“Look who’s talkin’” You tease, making him laugh as you lean up to steal a kiss. The motion has the length of him slide easily between your slick folds, his tip catching your clit before popping out.

“Jesus Christ.” He sighs against your mouth that’s formed in a silent ‘o’,  rolling his back up in search for more.

“Steve - you’re so - “ The last of your sentence is stolen by a gasp when you grind down to meet his thrust, the tip of him prodding your entrance before gliding up with just the right amount of pressure to make you both moan. 

“I’m so what?” He asks a little smug, arms circling the curve of your waist to pull you closer, dragging you over the length of him again, it makes you shudder in his grasp. 

He catches against where you beg for more of him, fluttering around the tip, your walls try to suck him in. A low growl rumbles from his chest when he tries to fit a little more. It’s your hips that roll, and it's just enough for him to push all the way in with a little resistance.

“Goddd,” You whine, feeling the fullest you’ve ever been, your walls stinging, desperately trying to accommodate his size. A low huff exhales through your nose when you sit up straight, letting your nails drag over the beauty marks that litter his stomach before finishing your sentence, “so big.” 

“Yeah, but look at you takin’ it.” He groans with pinched brows, eyes transfixed on where he disappears inside of you. Arousal coating the thick thatch of hair that frames him, wetting his lips as he watches the way you grind your clit against it letting him fill you to the hilt. “So good for me baby, so beautiful, - fuck! - so gorgeous.”

His praise has you clenching around him, your mouth falling open when you feel him twitch because of it. His big hands find the tops of your thighs, the pads of his fingers leaving fires in their wake while making their way to your hips. He squeezes softly when he gets there, guiding your lazy thrusts before searching for your hands. 

You watch him intertwine your fingers with curious eyes, his gaze transfixed on yours as he holds them at your sides, rolling his hips up to push even deeper.

“Oh god,” He does it again only this time if feels like there’s nowhere else for him to fit and it makes your eyes screw shut, “ohmyfuckinggod - Steeeve!” 

“Right there? Yeah? Is that it?” He grunts trying to repeat it and your hands squeeze his in an iron grip. “Come on baby, I need to see you.”

It’s hard to open your eyes, the slow drag of his cock against your slick walls is almost overwhelming. Connected to him in a way that is going to change you forever. The pad of his thumb rubs soft on the top of your hand, bringing you back to him. 

“You’re eyes are too pretty to be keepin’ them from me.” He smiles when you finally meet his gaze and it’s enough to punch the air out of your lungs. 

“I love you.” The three words slip past your kiss bitten lips before you can even think long enough to stop them and it makes everything come to a standstill. 

“What’d you just say?” Steve’s voice is quiet, something unrecognizable in his tone that makes all your nerves come back like they never left.

“I - I -“ the harsh sting of rejection is written all over your face and the feeling of you trying to untangle your hands snaps him back to reality. To you.

“Hey, hey, hey, no honey.” He doesn’t let you go, squeezing till his knuckles turn white “I just wanted to make sure I heard you right, because I’ve been wanting to say that to you since the fourth of July.”

You light up for him in a way he’s never seen before and he thinks this is the most beautiful you’ve ever been. 

“Really?” You whisper a little shy, your own smile becoming uncontainable. 

He lets your hands go to wrap his arms back around your waist, sitting up as he pulls you with him on his lap. Chest to chest with his back against your headboard, you’re even closer to him like this. The new position has him impossibly deep, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix making you keen pretty. 

“Yeah, really.” He sighs, wishing he had gotten  to say it first. 

One arm keeps you close while the other wraps around your back, the warmth of his palm spreading wide across it. The stray hair that you missed more than you realized falls over his forehead and there’s nothing stopping you from pushing it back. Fingernails dragging through his soft hair, making his eyes close until he feels the slow drag of your hips spurring him on. 

He doesn’t hesitate to pick up the pace, especially when your arms wrap around his neck and he feels your hardened nipples against chest. The new angle has his thrusts hitting the spot inside of you no one else has ever been able to find, the one you almost didn’t think existed. The tip of him catches it again and again.

The sound of your slick fills the quiet of your room, growing louder with every roll of your hips that connect with his. The light sheen of sweat that coats both of you has you sliding against his thighs, the cool air from the A/C doing nothing as the two of you get lost like this. 

Your second orgasm builds at the same time your body starts to slump against his, your muscles screaming at you for a break. 

“Getting close, huh?” He asks, with a forehead pressed to yours, lips teasing but never touching with each thrust.

All you can do is nod, your eyes not daring to leave his again. He wouldn’t let you even if you tried, a hazel forest turned night, you never wanted to leave the depths of them. 

“So good for me, let go pretty baby, I got you. Let me do all the work.” He picks up his pace, pushing deeper in with every roll of his hips, feeling the way you squeeze around him while your body starts to shake, the high you’d been chasing threatening to take you. 

Holding your gaze, the hand on your back slides up the dip of your spine, curling around the back of your neck. He closes the last bit of space, pulling you to his lips. It’s sloppy and sweet, neither one of you trying to deepen it, just enjoying the way you move together like it was supposed to be like this forever. 

“Fuck- I love you so much it scares me.” Steve admits when he pulls away, his confession is the last straw that sends you over the edge. Tears stinging the corners of your eyes when you cum hard around him for the second time.

Your fingers tangle his hair, crashing your lips into his with tear stained cheeks and he can feel everything you put inside of it just for him. It’s enough to finally let himself unravel for the first time in years with a loud moan and his face buried in your neck. 

It warms deep in your gut when he spills inside of you, his body trembling with the intensity of it all. Your thighs shake clinging to him, both of you too scared to let go in the irrational fear that you’ll just wake up from a really good dream. You can feel the wetness of his tears against your skin, your nails finding their way to his scalp. He hums against you when you kiss his temple, nuzzling deeper until you feel his lips against the underside of your jaw.

The two of you sit there like this in a mess of tangled limbs. Sweet kisses and even sweeter words all spoken just barely above a whisper until he’s soft enough to slide out on his own. He takes his time cleaning you up after with giant hands that treat you like glass. 

It’s like muscle memory the way he pulls you to his chest under the covers, like this isn’t your first sleepover. The tip of his nose runs along the length of yours with shining eyes and an even brighter smile, kissing you softly with another whispered “you’re so beautiful”.

Streams of sunshine break through your blinds when the two of you finally settle in, buried deep in his arms surrounded by the lingering scent of pine and him, the sounds of his even breathing are enough for you to give into your heavy lids. 

It’s only when you’re on the verge of dreams you’re sure will be filled with him that you hear it:

“I love you, tough girl.”

🌇 -> epilogue

beta’d by @chechelia & dividers by @chechelia

(thank you for everything cece ♥️ and a special thank you to @superblysubpar for betaing the first half of this series, i love you both dearly. & also @carolmunson for always talking to me about our boys, and helping me make this world a little bigger ♥️ ily)

#my writing #all i really want is you series #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington slowburn #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harringont series

[manicpixiedckgirl]

i am more convinced than ever that cosmic horror writers are just "some guy who also happened to glance at a total eclipse and saw the eye of god". like unless you've seen a total eclipse, you don't understand, you can't, i can't really explain it to you. you're sitting with your girlfriend, in a field. with a group of complete strangers that includes astrology wackjobs, menonites, lesbians from Ohio, and an old man who will later tell you a joke about teddy bears. and through these crappy cardboard glasses, you're watching a tiny yellow dot in the sky, the sun with almost all of the light blocked out, get slowly covered by this black disk. at first, it kinda just looks like the sun is turning into pacman through the glasses, but the sun is so bright you don't notice a difference as the moon moves across it. slowly though, even though it's a completely cloudless day, it starts to look like it's a little overcast, and the whole thing goes from cool to unnerving. it turns from day to night in the space of about 20 minutes or so, speeding up as it goes, and the primal part of your brain that knows what wildfires are and knows to run starts kicking and screaming. it knows whatever is happening is getting closer. the yellow dot is now a half moon, but it's the sun, and the haze that's normally around the sun that makes it way too bright to even think about looking at is fading. this whole time you've been looking directly at it, through the glasses, but now the heat of it against those glasses is strangely absent. the world looks strange too, like there's a filter over everything. everything is bluer, richer, deep. you feel giddy, knowing you're about to see the thing you've been looking forward to, try to quiet the monkey brain. before, suddenly, it starts to get dark. the street lights start to pop on in the corner of your eye. the sliver gets smaller and smaller. people get quiet. traffic stops. and then, when totality finally arrives and that sliver disappears, you hear two things. the birds stop singing. and people scream. through the glasses, there's a black dot with a white halo. you cant take it anymore. you glance over your glasses, just a peak. hanging in a sky dark, enough to see stars in, hangs a black orb, wreathed in white flame. where you know the sun should be is this indescribable inversion of reality. it's like the sun has been swallowed from the inside. and you laugh, you cry. in that moment i think i believed in god. you try not to look at it, but you can't not look at it. if i go blind, you think, this is what sight i had sight for. it's pure momentary insanity. and then as suddenly as it started it's over. and you have to go back to work tomorrow. that'd make anybody write some fucked up fetish horror is all im saying

[viesanterieures]

𝐓𝐨 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏.

William Killick (The Edge of Love) x fem Reader

link to Part Two

note: This story is set in May 1936, William is about 27 and it takes place years before the actual movie.

summary: William Killick takes a break from his London life and spends a few weeks at the country estate of the wealthy Hallward family. The family take an instant liking to William and try to get him to marry their beautiful daughter Norma. Also on the estate is the reader, who works as a maid. When William receives anonymous poems, he ends up falling in love with the mysterious writer instead of Norma.

word count: 2000+

warnings: … none!

moodboard

"Excuse me sir, we've reached the end of the line." Yawning, William opened his eyes as he heard a voice behind him and stretched sleepily, curious to see who was speaking to him. A woman in a uniform with a dark skirt and matching hat stood beside him. "Are we there yet... What time is it?" he asked her. "It's just after half past seven, sir," the train attendant replied with a friendly smile. As William straightened up in his seat and then saw that the landscape before him had changed from the brown roofs of London to green hills and beautiful mountain scenery with small lakes. "My God... I must have slept for hours." The train attendant smiled at him kindly and wished him a good journey.

William felt the train slow down and grabbed his suitcase from the luggage rack. Once outside, he set it down on the floor and took a deep breath. The air smelled fresh and the wind blew through his hair. Although he had never been to this place before, he had the strange feeling that he belonged here. He closed his eyes for a moment. The orange light of the setting sun shone through his eyelids. The green hills of the Scottish Highlands stretched out before him, surrounded by a light mist. Green meadows, colourful flowers and streams dominated the landscape. The sky was cloudless and the air smelled of fresh moss. William could hardly look away. It was so different from London. The grass rustled softly under his shoes as he made his way to his accommodation for the next few weeks.

Curious, he looked up at the big building. It was built entirely of stone, with small windows adorned with red, ivy-covered shutters that glowed in the evening sun. William dragged his suitcase up the stairs that led to a wide wooden door. The muffled sound filled the silence as William knocked on the door. It opened with a squeak to reveal an older, very elegantly dressed lady with shoulder-length curly hair.

"Good evening, you must be our new guest, Mr Killick, aren't you?" Her voice sounded friendly and welcoming. "That’s right. And you must be Margaret Hallward, the owner of the estate," William replied. The lady nodded. "I am. Come in, you must have travelled a long way, sir." William followed her into the warm house. Mrs Hallward disappeared for a moment behind a wooden counter and handed William a key. "Room seven is yours. The dining room is in the basement and the common room is on the second floor. Breakfast is tomorrow from seven to half past eight. YN, would you be so kind as to accompany our guest to his room? And take some of his luggage."

"Of course, Mrs Hallward," a quiet voice sounded behind them, and William turned around curiously. In front of them stood a young woman in a dark red apron and white blouse. William smiled kindly at her. "No, wait, I can carry that," he interrupted her when she tried to take the suitcase off. Shrugging her shoulders, she finally gave up and told William to follow her. They walked along a corridor decorated with old paintings and photos of the country estate and stopped in front of a room door with the number 7.

"Thank you so much, Ma'am," he said, putting the room key in the lock. The young woman smiled and wished him a good night before disappearing without another word.

****

William had slept very well that night. It was probably because he was quite tired from the long journey. When he finally entered the dining room for breakfast, it was already quite full. He took an empty seat at a table where an elderly man was still sitting, reading a newspaper.

"Tea, sir?" It was the young woman again who had shown him his room yesterday. "Yes, thank you“, he said. "What was your name again?"

"YN," she said quietly, and poured some tea into a small cup.

"Beautiful name."

William could clearly see her cheeks turning slightly pink at the words. "Thank you, sir." But they were interrupted by Mrs Hallward, who approached the table with a big smile. "Good morning, Mr Killick! Did you sleep well?"

"Very well, Mrs Hallward," he replied. "I don't think I've slept as well as I did this morning for months. So I'm really going to enjoy my holiday."

"I'm glad to hear that." She laughed. "Oh, I'd like to introduce you to someone, wait a moment." She turned to one of the tables and called out in a loud voice. "Norma! Will you come here, please?"

"Yes, Mother." A woman joined them at the table, she was about a year or two younger than William. She had white-blonde hair, red lips and was wearing an elegant purple dress with ornate embroidery. She was very pretty, William realised.

"Mr Killick, this is my daughter Norma. She lives in Glasgow at the moment, but is here for a few weeks. She grew up at the country estate. If you like, she can show you around the neighbourhood and the town."

"It would be an honour. How about we meet outside the estate at three this afternoon?," Norma chuckled softly as she twirled a strand of her blonde hair between her fingers. William was very happy about the Hallward's hospitality and gratefully accepted the offer.

"But now we won't bother you any longer, Mr Killick. Enjoy your breakfast," Mrs Hallward said with a smile as she took Norma's arm and led her away from the table. As they walked, he heard them whispering to each other, catching bits of sentences like 'isn't he lovely' or 'he looks like a prince from a fairytale'.

Slowly, William turned in the direction where YN had last been, but she was gone.

***

William spent the morning in the garden of the country estate, sitting on one of the benches beneath a cherry tree. The weather was warm, and the birds chirped softly in the treetops. Eventually, he closed his book and stood up to return to the house. As he passed one of the large flower beds, he paused. He saw a person sitting there, gardening.

"Nice to see you again, Ms YN," he said kindly. She didn't seem to notice his arrival and jumped when she heard his voice behind her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," William apologised immediately. "It’s alright, sir," she said, turning her attention back to the bed.

"Call me William, please."

She immediately looked at him in surprise. She had never expected that. A gust of wind came up and brushed through William's dark hair, and his bright blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

"Shall I help you?" he asked her, pointing to the bucket of weeds. She immediately declined his offer. "No, William, you're here on holiday. Not to work." William shrugged. "Anything where I don't have to be in London is a holiday for me. I really love this city, it's my home. But sometimes I really need to go somewhere else." YN nodded briefly. "I've never been to London or any other big city. I imagine it's stressful."

He laughs and shrugs. "I can't deny that it's stressful sometimes." Slowly he knelt down beside her and began to pluck the weeds from the ground in front of him. "You don't have to do that," she said quickly. "It's alright," William replied quietly, continuing to work.

YN laughed. "This has never happened to me before. A guest helping me with my work. If Mrs Hallward finds out, she'll scold me." William smiled a little. "Tell her I did it voluntarily. "You already have enough work." When they were finished, the young woman smiled briefly, then took off her gloves, stood up and reached for the bucket. "I have to go now."

"Wait, don’t you want to stay here a bit longer?" William asked hastily.

"Sorry, I've still got a lot to do. But thank you for helping me, that was very kind of you." She waved goodbye to William and finally turned round. William looked at her for a moment, a bit disappointed. Then he glanced at his pocket watch and flinched. It was ten minutes past three, Norma was probably already waiting for him.

He quickly grabbed his book that was laying in the grass and hurried to the front gate. Norma was waiting there, her arms crossed over her chest, looking at him with raised eyebrows as he finally greeted her completely out of breath. "Sorry I'm late."

She finally smiled and said in a friendly voice, "It's okay." Her hair was pinned up in an elegant braid, her lipstick was the same colour as the new pastel pink dress she was wearing, and she carried a matching handbag.

"I was in the garden talking to YN. I must have lost track of time."

One of her blonde eyebrows immediately raised again and she looked at him as if he had just said something completely stupid. "You're talking to household staffs? They're working for us, it’s far below our class."

He looked at her, confused. "But why shouldn't I talk to her? She's really nice."

Norma stayed silent, grabbed his arm and pulled him along without a word. She led him through the Scottish Highlands, down a small forest path, until the roofs of houses appeared in the distance. This had to be Tobermory. The air smelled of salty sea and a fresh breeze as they walked along Tobermory's coastal road, lined with colourful houses. High mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks shrouded in a gentle mist. "Wow, it's beautiful!" marveled William.

"I know, right?" Norma replied giggling, taking his hand and pulling him towards a small café.

"My aunt works there," she said. "She makes the best cakes." They entered the café and sat down on a corner bench by a small window. "Norma, how lovely to see you again." A lady with bright red hair came up to them and pulled her niece into her arms, laughing. When she noticed William, she looked him over from head to toe, smiled and turned back to her niece. "And who is that handsome young man next to you? Did you meet him in Glasgow?" Norma shook her head, laughing. "No. He's a guest of Mother's. She asked me to show him around."

"Oh, how lovely. You know, Norma, it's time you got married. Can I bring you both some of my Dundee cake?" William frowned slightly when she mentioned marriage. Did the Hallwards already see him as their future son in law?

They spent the rest of the afternoon in the little café, William telling Norma about his home in London, his job, his family, and she seemed to be very interested. But William hadn't forgotten her nasty comment about YN. He was torn by Norma.

After they said goodbye that evening, William went to his room tired. In the corridor he saw Mrs Hallward talking excitedly to YN. "You forgot to fluff up the pillows in Room 9! How many times do I have to tell you?" she snapped at her in a harsh tone.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Hallward, I..." But she didn't let YN finish, because when she noticed William, she put on a big smile again: "Oh, Mr Killick, how nice to see you. Did you have a nice day with Norma?"

"Yes, I did, thank you for asking," he replied. He looked at YN, but she avoided his gaze, holding a white sheet in her arms.

"You know, Norma is still unmarried and we're still looking for a suitable husband for her. Or do you already have a wife?" Mrs Hallward wanted to know. William shook his head slowly.

"She is such a beautiful young woman. But no man has ever met her standards. You're the first one she has shown interest in", the lady explained to him. "Come, YN, you need to get back to work now, the dishes need to be washed."

"Good night, William," YN said to him as he walked past, nodding to him.

"Good night," he replied.

As soon as he entered his room, he took off his jacket and shirt and yawned softly. He intended to read, but he was so tired that he just wanted to lie down in bed. Suddenly he heard something crunching under his feet and looked down in surprise. There was a small piece of white paper under his shoe. Someone must have slipped it through the gap under his door. He bent down and picked it up carefully. It was no bigger than William's hand, made of good quality and written in black ink.

Holding his breath, William began to read:

𝓣𝓸 𝓦𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓪𝓶 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮

ℐ𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝒹𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒, 𝒶 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝒷𝓎 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒.

𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝒽𝒶𝒾𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝒸𝑒, 𝒷𝓁𝓊𝑒 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝒻𝓁𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒.

ℋ𝒾𝓈 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽, 𝒽𝑒'𝓈 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓊𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒, 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒.

Confused, he turned the letter over in his hands. Was it from Norma? But she had been with him all afternoon, hadn't she? Who else was writing him poems?

****************************************************

Thank you so much for reading! If you want a part 2, let me know! 🖤

Masterlist

#cillian murphy #cillian #cillian murphy ff #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x reader #william Killick #william killick fanfiction #the edge of love

[areyoudreaminof]

ACOTAR GIFT EXCHANGE

Beyond: a Helion x LoA fic for @spell-cleavers

For the @acotargiftexchange I was thrilled to write this fic for @spell-cleavers who just so happens to be one of my very favorite people. Getting to know her over the course of this year has been such a joy, so I wanted to writer her something special. And by special, I mean I wrote my first ever smut scene. Can you believe?? Special thanks to @iambutmortal and @rosanna-writer for the beta help, and @separatist-apologist for allowing me to have a fun little cameo.

The Lady of Autumn has agreed to come live at the Autumn Court, though seems hesitant. Can Helion convince her that she belongs at his side?

And here's a little playlist!

She shines me up like gold on my arm I wanna take it slow but it's so hard I love to see her face in daylight It's more than just our bodies at night

Do you think I'm being foolish if I don't rush in?

Beyond-Leon Bridges

MORNING: 

Helion Spell-Cleaver was feeling a bit unhinged. It wasn’t a surprise, since he had been looking forward to this for centuries. But still, he was teetering on the edge of his sanity. 

It couldn’t have been a more perfect day, though. The sun rose over the Day Court, cloudless skies stretching from the far valleys and hills in the east to the rocky coast and the city of Naxopolis. Groves of orange and fig trees surrounded the sandstone palace, brushing up against its white pillars and walls. The smells of citrus and trees were deepened by the warmth from the sun and a cool breeze from the turquoise sea. From the balcony, Helion watched the early morning sunlight reflect off the waves like small golden flecks. The room was peacefully quiet and open. Helion was certain when he had chosen the large and spacious suite, she would love it. 

Now, he wasn’t so sure. 

She had never seen the sea, she had told him once, many, many years ago, when they had only met under cover of darkness in the far corners of the Autumn lands. He chose the large wing of rooms as soon as she had agreed to move to the Day Court. Helion wanted a fresh start for them both. 

They had each other again. They had their son, Lucien, who had agreed to stay too. Though, Helion would admit only to himself that he wasn’t letting his son and his mate out of his sight again. Never again would Thérèse be stuck in Autumn, never again would she be under anyone’s control. The members of his court were thrilled when he had found Lucien, and they were equally as thrilled when Helion announced his mate would finally come home. 

But as he heard the soft cries of morning gulls, and the city coming to life below him, Helion’s doubts slithered back into his mind. 

Will she even like it here? Will she ask Eris to take her back? She left once. 

Yes, but that was to save us, and to save our son.  Helion reminded himself as he took steadying breaths to calm his speeding heart. And I am not that monster. I will never force her. I am at her service. 

A soft knock at the door brought him back to the morning. Costis, his butler, entered with a soft robe of linen in his arms. The satyr’s hooves clicked sharply on the tile, as he draped the ivory fabric chiton across a chair. 

“Good Morning, my Lord. We’ve received word from Velaris, and the Lady Thérèse will be arriving with your son and his mate promptly at eleven o’clock.” Costis announced, crossing the room to bow. “Her personal items will be sent here. 

Helion nodded once, quickly attempting to clear his mind. “Is everything else in order?” 

“Yes, your Grace. The food is being prepared as well as the smaller dining balcony in the northwest wing. Nothing much is happening in the city, and The Magus has predicted fine weather for today. Perfect to show Lady Thérèse her new home,” the satyr said as he removed the sleeping robe from Helion’s shoulders. “I can send up for breakfast, unless you prefer to wait.” 

“I’ll wait, thank you,” Helion said. He hardly had an appetite anyway. 

Costis began to dress Helion, expertly wrapping the toga around him. The soft mix of linen and cotton promised a warmer day, the fabric hitting just above his knees. Enough to tempt, but not enough to scandalize. As Costis fetched his sandals, Helion removed the silk wrap from his head, satisfied that his hair still looked perfect. He had removed the ornaments from his locs for the occasion, instead opting for a small golden thread woven throughout his hair, tying it back with a leather strap. Helion placed a golden sun band on each bicep, cuffs on his wrists, and the small bronze ring Thérèse had given him five centuries ago. Striding to the mirror, Helion took in his reflection. He wore no crown, his toga was simple, and he was unadorned. He looked like the same male that went to the Equinox ball all those centuries ago. 

The sharp clang of steel and bronze bells from the Magus’s tower rang, indicating it was half past ten. Helion straightened and took a deep breath. He had been planning this day for weeks, no, centuries. He was ready. “Costis, remind me of the possible itinerary I had drawn up.” 

READ THE REST ON AO3

#acotargiftexchange #helion x loa #jenn i love you #eris is a redheaded step-child #my first smut ever??

[thebellearchives]

𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘

~ Vash the Stampede ; Trigun Stampede

✧˚ · . S Y N O P S I S : in the aftermath of Knives stealing another plant, you run after broken-hearted Vash to let him know you’ll always be by his side

‧₊˚ c o n t e n t s : vash x gn!reader, angst, very vague mentions of corpses, blood, and injuries

‧₊˚ a / n : currently fighting a writers block so i’ll offer you this old drabble 🙇🏼‍♀️ also yes i’m obsessed with comparing vash to the sun and sky let me be )’:

You and your thomas had barely been able to leave the crumbling town. You were on your knees, hands grasping the sand underneath and your lungs trying their best to go back into healthy shape. When your eyes finally dared to reach out to the night sky, the first thing they spotted was a blond man. He was muscular, and was wearing a strange suit that looked like it could’ve been his second skin, white and with strange blue patterns. Thousands of blades emerged from his back like tentacles, some were struck directly into the sand, lifting him up from the floor, and others went up into the sky, wrapping around the city’s plant.

Your mind had gone blank, and only two words were in it, repeating themselves endlessly while you stared directly at the man. Millions Knives.

He wore Vash’s face, but still he looked so different. His hair wasn’t bright like the sun, it was a lighter, dead shade yellow. And his eyes weren’t like a cloudless day, they were a cold ice desert, ruthless and merciless. He landed carefully on top of a big car that rushed away from the town, some of the blades retracting back into a hooded typed of clothing. He didn’t see you, and neither did the people that were with him driving. They just went away.

“Vash” your voice whispered, breathless as your mind went back to the blonde who had tried with all his might to stop his brother and failed “I need to find Vash.”

Your body acted on its own. You ignored your aching limbs and the bleeding cuts in your skin, running across the debris. It didn’t take much time to find a group of survivors. The sound of crying, coughing and panting hit your ears like a sandstorm. You almost tripped when you reached them, searching frantically for the blond, but when he was nowhere to be seen you searched for the town’s mayor instead. Making your way through the group of wailing people and dragging your feet towards the person furthest away, you panted desperately.

“Paul” your voice raised, but he didn’t turn around “Paul!”

Your throat gave out in protest, making you cough.

“What” he replied hastily.

“Wh… Where’s Vash?!” again, he didn’t reply, but patience wasn’t exactly your strongest suit “where is he?!”

“I sent him away. He’s the reason this whole thing happened to us. He’s the reason.”

“W-what?” you blinked in confusion, your thomas’ steps caught up to your side.

“He’s the reason!!” he yelled at you now in frustrated desperation, despite him being turned away and hiding his face it was clear he was now sobbing “if he hadn’t set foot in the town none of this would’ve happened.”

“What are you taking about?!“

“He's the Humanoid Typhoon after all, isn’t he? Everywhere he goes he brings chaos and destruction.”

“He saved your life! Multiple times!”

“And he destroyed the town!”

You gulped, staring at him as if burning him alive with your pupils only was possible.

“You’re an asshole”

“What?”

“You’re an asshole! Millions Knives destroyed your town, not Vash!”

“They’re the same.”

“You are the same!” you screamed at him this time, thinking about how Vash must have felt when he sent him away and blamed him for everything “you are the same as everyone else, this is why Knives hates us.”

You turned around and mounted your thomas and patted its side.

“Find him.”

Without a seconds hesitation, your thomas started running away from the now ruined town, corpses, cries and the lingering sand still dancing in the wind.

Humans are the scum of the planet. Knives words echoed through your mind. They’re all the same.

For a second you thought maybe he was right. Everyone blamed Vash, even when he tried his hardest to help. Even when they knew about Knives, apparently. Tears fought to make their way out, but they stopped when your heart did too. A figure appeared in front of your eyes against the breaking down in the horizon.

“Vash!” jumping off back into the ground, you ran towards him.

“Stay away, please.”

“What?” you almost muttered the question, he stopped walking and you caught up to him quickly.

“Stay away. If you follow me you’ll end up dead.”

You choked up on the words you wanted to let out, he tried to keep walking away.

“Wait, please.”

His shoes stopped over the sand yet again, but it was clear he was conflicted about moving on.

“Please listen to me, Vash” he didn’t make a move, and you took it as a good sign, walking up to him “even when the people in the town blamed you, I defended you.”

He was still silent, your fingers then grabbed his red coat and forced him to turn around and look at you. When his sad eyes finally met yours you couldn’t stop all of the thoughts from falling off your mouth.

“Even if they did, I didn’t. I’m on your side, I’ll always be. Even if whole world turned against you, I will be beside you, I will defend you” you grasped the lapels of his red coat, watching as his eyes widened and his lips partly opened in surprise “I will defend you with my life if i have to.”

He shook his head lightly.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Blinking slowly, he bit his lip.

“Why?”

Your heart started to beat faster, tears prickled the corners of your eyes yet again. The words that burned your throat refused to get out, you couldn’t say them yet.

Cupping his face in your hands, a painful smile made it’s way to your lips.

Because I love you.

“Maybe some day, you’ll find out.”

#; belles angst #trigun stampede #trigun #vash the stampede #vash x you #vash x reader #vash x y/n #vash imagines #vash the stampede x reader #tristamp #vash the stampede x you #trigun stampede imagine #gn!reader

[chaostheoryy]

Wedding Crashers [Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X GN!Reader]

Summary: As one of Bradley’s most treasured companions from his early Navy days, you’ve been lucky enough to find yourself at his side more and more. However, no amount of caffeine-fueled rendezvous and shameless fun prepares you for the moment he asks you to be his plus one at Maverick’s wedding.

Rating: Teen+

Warnings: Cursing, alcohol consumption, (spoilers!) a heated make out session, and implied sexual encounters

Word Count: 5.4K

A/N: Man, oh man. This one sure got out of hand. Did I intend to write this much? Absolutely not. But I am just a slave to the feral little writer in my head and they said they needed more. I’m also tempted to pull a Crawlin’ Back to You and create a NSFW sequel like I did for Cobb Vanth so we’ll see what the people have to say...(No beta as usual. Just me, myself, and the feral little voice in my head.)

“How would you feel about crashing Mav’s wedding?”

Now there’s a question you weren’t expecting to hear at nine in the morning.

Ever since Bradley made the decision to stay in San Diego after the big mission that reunited him with his surrogate uncle, the two of you have been meeting for coffee at Ferry Landing every Sunday. It started as an accident, really—you bumped into each other one morning, not realizing the other person was still in town and decided to catch up over lattes and pastries. It’s not every day that you get a chance to rekindle a friendship from your Navy days. Especially when that friendship is with one of the best pilots that has ever graced North Island’s runway.

You stare blankly at him for a moment as you process his inquiry. “You’re joking.”

“Mmm…” He narrows his eyes, tilting his head and biting his lip in faux deliberation. “I wish I was. But no. I am not sitting through a long, boring and ridiculously outdated ceremony by myself.”

“Bradley, you’re his best man. You’re gonna be right up there with him!”

He groans. “I know! I just—Please. Don’t make me brave this one alone. I’ve gotta stand in front of a hundred-plus people in matching suit and tie with a bunch of dudes I barely know. Then what? Have drinks with Mav’s crotchety old Navy friends?”

“He’s not a grandpa, dummy.”

“Good point. Now that you mention it, I’d probably be more excited to share a beer with a group of grandfathers than those geeze—Ow!”

A quick jab of your fist against his shoulder silences whatever other bratty comments he has sitting on the back burner.

“Fine,” you say with a pointed glare. “If it’ll get you to stop whining, I’ll go.”

His face lights up like night sky. You can tell he tries to hide it, but it’s harder for him to contain his youthful jubilance than it is for Top Gun cockpit jockeys to keep it in their pants. “Really?”

“Yes. But you owe me. Big time.”

“Okay. Yeah. Great. Whatever you want!”

His arms ensnare you in a rib-crunching hug. All the air is sucked out of your lungs and, for a split second, your feet clear the earth from the sheer force of his embrace. If it wasn’t for the fact that you placed your drink on the railing of the rickety wooden pier, you’d be coated in a blend of espresso and hot milk by now.

“Jesus, Bradley,” you groan as he places you back down, “I didn’t know the idea of getting stuck at a wedding was such a fucking nightmare.”

“Hey, getting shot down in an F-18 after blowing up an unsanctioned enemy uranium enrichment plant can really change your perspective on things.”

You scoff. “Right. I’ll be sure to squeeze that into my schedule next week so I can understand where you’re coming from a little bit better.”

“If that’s what it takes for you to get me,” he replies with a crooked smirk.

An agreeable lull settles over the conversation as you both look out at the bay. With crisp waters backdropped by the San Diego skyline and impossibly blue, cloudless skies, it’s a view you’ll never cease to enjoy. Having Bradley at your side to soak it in with you makes it all the more surreal.

“Why me?” It’s a valid question, one that’s been bugging you from the moment he asked you to go with him.

His face contorts into an almost painful expression of bewilderment. “What do you mean, why you?”

“I mean, why are you asking me to be your plus one. You’re basically an A-list celebrity around here and I’m sure there’s an astronomic number of people who’d be thrilled to go with you. I’m just saying, I don’t see why I’d be the first person you wanna ask.”

“Okay, first off, I’m C-list at best. Secondly, who said you were the first?”

As calm, cool and collected as you try to be about the situation, it’s impossible to keep all of your emotion locked up in a box. Your face falls at his remark.

“Oh. That’s—Yeah. No. You’re right. I don’t know why I thought—“

The flat, almost unreadable look he’s been giving you vanishes in an instant. A humongous grin stretches out from ear to ear in its place. “Hey. I’m kidding. Of course you’re the first! Who else would I wanna ask? Natasha? Hangman?”

You both cringe at the very mention of Jake Seresin’s call sign. Never in your life have you met a more unbearably cocky person. And you only spent thirty minutes in a room with the guy. You can’t imagine just how insufferable he is up in the air.

“Seriously,” he adds as his hand finds a resting place between your shoulder blades, “I’m asking you because I want to. Because I can’t think of a better person to crash a wedding with.”

At this point, you’re not sure if you’re blushing or not. And frankly, you can’t blame yourself if you are. You’ve always known that the bond the two of you share runs deep, but a part of you has always hesitated to believe that you actually play a significant role in his life. Why would you? He’s Bradley fucking Bradshaw. And you’re…Well, you.

But apparently being you is enough.

You grin. “Well, consider me your wingman.”

The gleeful twinkle in his eye shines even brighter at your response. You don’t know how it’s possible, but somehow this spunky golden retriever of a man manages it. “You’re my wingman? Nah, fuck that bullshit. I’m yours, sweetheart.”

***

The day of the wedding comes much faster than you expected. It seems like just yesterday that Bradley was asking you to be his plus one but somehow that’s a whole month and a half ago now. Time is the universe’s most nefarious trickster.

You’ve spent far too much time trying to figure out what you want to wear. Weddings aren’t exactly your forte, especially having spent most of your time surrounded by military brats who, between the toxic masculine mindset and the constant anxiety of being one phone call away from a suicide mission, are afraid of commitment. Getting invited to a wedding by one of your former Navy buddies is about as likely as a thunderstorm in San Diego.

But hey, you’ve managed to pull something nice together for this shindig. It’s not Tom Ford or Louis Vuitton nice but it’s still quite the look. The outfit hugs all the right places and is undeniably flattering. And, if you’re being honest with yourself, it leaves very little up to the imagination in certain parts of your body. Who can complain about turning a few heads because their ass looks good?

“Holy shit,” Bradley gawks as he watches you descend the steps into the parking lot of your apartment complex. “You look amazing.”

Yeah, can’t help but blush at that.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Bradshaw,” you reply with a coy smile.

Dressed in a sharp, black tuxedo, he looks incredible. How a man who is a ten on even his worst days manages to get even more attractive is beyond you. 

“I clean up when I want to,” he says proudly.

“I can tell.”

He gives you a once over, soaking in every detail of your outfit. When his eyes trace over the more…personal aspects of your figure, he makes no effort to hide it. He’s looking and he wants you to know it.

Despite the butterflies in your stomach and the color in your cheeks, you manage to play it cool and roll your eyes. “Alright, would you quit checking me out and get in the damn car? You can’t crash a wedding if you don’t actually go to it.”

He smirks at your flustered diversion but turns to pry open the passenger door of his Jeep. “After you, my dear.”

Once you climb in and he shuts the door behind you, he circles around to hop in the driver’s seat. Rather than start the car, however, he turns to you and holds his hand out, palm up as if waiting to receive something.

You eye him quizzically. “What?”

“Where’s my tip?”

“Your tip?”

He fakes offense. “Uh, yeah! You really expect me to chauffeur your ass across town and provide unbeatable, gentlemanly service, and you’re not going to tip me?”

“Oh my gosh, you’re right. I’m so sorry. Hold on.” You pat your lap and hips, pretending to search your person for a wallet. “Ah-ha! Here it is. For you, my good sir.”

You give him the middle finger with both hands.

He barks out a laugh and nods enthusiastically. “Fair enough,” he says as he starts the engine. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand. Next stop: holy matrimony.”

***

Though the ceremony itself is far from exciting, the venue is stunning. Maverick, being Maverick, managed to work some magic and secured the entirety of Harbor Island Park for the big day. With the San Diego skyline to the east and North Island directly across the bay, it’s the perfect spot for the occasion.

The entire time vows are being exchanged, your eyes wander to the groomsmen standing behind Maverick. Standing up there with a big smile on his face and admiration in his eyes, Bradley watches as his father’s best friend finally gets to say “I do.” 

Every now and then, he steals a glance your way. You lock eyes, share the tiniest grin, and both end up biting your lips to keep from drawing attention to yourselves. 

Though you won’t admit it, there’s another, less innocent reason you have to avert your eyes so quickly each time. Yes, this is Maverick’s big day and he is glowing up there with Penny’s hands in his. But, as much as it drives you crazy to even think about, there’s another man stealing the spotlight with his broad shoulders and bright eyes. The more you look at him, the harder it gets to look away. And man, would it be a treat to see all that Bradley Bradshaw has to offer.

***

The dinner is exceptional. And not just because it’s being held in a waterfront restaurant with floor to ceiling windows that overlook the harbor. While you’re no wedding food aficionado, you’re pretty certain that this is the best meal you could possibly ask for at such an event. It tastes like heaven and the preparation is infuriatingly impeccable. Honestly, who the hell takes the time to make little sauce flowers on the plate of every single guest? It should be illegal.

You’re sitting alone at the reception table while Bradley fetches you both another glass of champagne when you hear a vaguely familiar voice utter your name. It sounds strange. Not in an uncomfortable way, but in a “I know you so well even though you and I have never met” kind of way.

Sure enough, you find yourself looking up into the impossibly hopeful eyes of Pete Mitchell. Though you and Bradley have known each other for years and have spent a lot of time together in recent months, you have never once gotten the chance to meet the man behind so many of your friend’s life stories. Guess it was only a matter of time. You are at his wedding, after all.

Clambering to your feet, you instinctively raise your arm to salute him. “Captain Mitchell. Sir. It’s an honor.”

With a chuckle, he reaches out and grabs your arm, lowering it back down to your side. “Please,” he says. “The only time anyone seems to call me Captain Mitchell around here is when I’m getting reprimanded. Maverick is fine. Or Mav, if you wanna save yourself a couple syllables.”

“In that case, it’s nice to meet you, Maverick. I hope you don’t mind me being here.”

“Not at all,” he beams—his smile is ludicrously bright and charming in a way that almost makes you nervous to be on the receiving end. “I was actually hoping I’d get the chance to introduce myself sooner or later.“

You blink. Now that’s a statement you weren’t expecting to hear. “Really?”

“Of course! I’ve been eager to meet the person Bradley speaks so highly of.”

“He’s mentioned me?”

Maverick laughs again. “Once or twice,” he replies. “And by once or twice, I mean you’re just about all he talks about whenever we catch up.”

There’s definitely color in your cheeks now. It shouldn’t be a surprise. Seriously. Of course he’s mentioned you. You’re someone he spends a lot of time around. At the very least, he’s shared a story or two with Maverick about your caffeine-fueled Sunday shenanigans or late night phone calls.

“Hey, Mav.”

Both you and Maverick find yourselves turning sharply at the sound of Bradley’s voice. Just as expected, he’s got a glass of champagne in each hand. He hands you one and places the other on the table next to you before giving Maverick a tight hug.

“Thank you for coming, Bradley,” Maverick says as he clings to the fabric at Bradley’s shoulder.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

When they separate, the two exchange gentle smiles. There’s so much admiration in their eyes—the kind of admiration that only comes from shared experience and years of devotion. Bradley may not be his son, but it’s clear that Maverick would do everything in his power to protect him.

“I see the two of you have finally met,” Bradley notes as he snags his glass from the table.

“That’s right,” Maverick says.

Bradley’s eyes jump between the two of you. “And?”

“And we were just discussing how nice it is to put a face to the name after all these years,” you explain. A smirk pricks at the edge of your lip. “Especially since you seem to spend a lot of time gushing about me to poor Maverick here.”

Never before have you seen Bradley Bradshaw grow that red, that fast. Whatever supplier he gets his daily dose of confidence from has apparently gone out of business because the signature Rooster smile that you’ve grown accustom to seeing flees his face faster than a supersonic jet. He’s embarrassed. Scandalized, even.

He’s never looked cuter.

“Great. So glad you two are getting along,” Bradley mutters. “I’m gonna take that as I sign that I need to spend a little more time at the bar.”

He slinks back a step and is about to turn and head away but Maverick intercepts him with a hand on the shoulder. “Hey, hey, hey. Relax. I’ll get out of your hair. The groom’s gotta make rounds and say hi to everybody before people start getting too drunk or too bored to stick around.”

Maverick yanks Bradley into another hug, then turns to smile at you. 

“It was nice meeting you, Maverick,” You say as offer your hand, assuming he intends to shake it.

To your surprise, however, he doesn’t take it. Instead, he wraps you up in his arms and gives you a hug. You nearly melt. To be welcomed so wholly by the person who means more to Bradley than anything in the world is something you can’t possibly take for granted.

When he releases you, he lets his hand rest on your shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon. In the meantime, keep an eye on this son of a bitch for me, would ya? He’s trouble.”

The ear to ear grin that finds your lips threatens to crack your face wide open. “Yeah, I know,” you reply. “That’s kinda why I keep him around.”

“Good. Now, you two go have fun!”

You watch for a moment as Maverick strolls over to the next table and shakes hands with another pair of guests. When Bradley clears his throat, you turn your attention back to him. There’s still a faint pink tint in his cheeks but overall, the chagrin that had stricken him during the conversation with Maverick appears to a have diminished.

“So…?”

The puzzled expression on his face is almost too amusing for you to hold in a chuckle. “So, what?”

“So, what’s the play for the remainder of the evening? Surely you don’t plan on sitting at an over-decorated banquet table all night.”

“Absolutely not. I’d rather suck Hangman’s dick.”

“Gross.”

“Exactly.” He takes a massive gulp of champagne and unbuttons his suit jacket to loosen up. “The plan is: get trashed to the point where the floor becomes the ceiling and the walls are made of liquid, then—without a single sober brain cell left to hold me back—embarrass the ever-loving fuck out of myself by tearing the dance floor to shreds.”

You bark out a laugh. “I really hope you aren’t expecting me to do the same.”

“C’mon. You’re really gonna ride the bench while I carry Team Wedding Crasher to the championship?”

You consider his words for a moment. As much as you detest the idea of making a fool out of yourself in front of several dozen well-dressed strangers, you find the sheer possibility of disappointing Bradley to be even worse. Besides, life’s too short to give a shit about what a bunch of middle-aged Navy officers think of you.

“Alright, wingman,” you declare with a smirk. “Let’s give ‘em hell.”

***

Hell hath risen. 

Not for the partygoers, of course. The devil spares their innocent souls this round. Instead, you and Bradley have found yourselves consumed by the cursed flames of alcohol’s aftermath. The drunk bliss you’ve enjoyed for the past few hours has faded, leaving behind a brutal malady of headaches and nausea. So here you are, kneeling on the tiles of an upscale restaurant bathroom with your head in the toilet.

“You alright in there?” Bradley asks from the other side of the door.

The groan you utter in response is far cry from conveying a coherent thought, but he takes it as an answer nonetheless. He pushes open the door—which, bless your drunken ass for being too lazy to lock it—and crouches down next to you. A gentle hand begins rubbing your back.

“How you feelin’?”

“Never better,” you manage to grumble as you lay your head on the arm you’ve draped across the toilet seat. “How ‘bout you?”

“I feel like dog shit.”

“Great.”

He chuckles and takes hold of your forearms to help you to your feet. “Let’s free up the bathroom and go get some air.”

Clinging to his arm like a frail, old grandparent, the two of you make your way outside. The earth isn’t swaying anymore but man, your legs want absolutely nothing to do with getting your body from point A to point B. Thankfully, Bradley seems to have enough mental and physical strength for the both of you.

A short walk down the path that lines the rocky shoreline later, you find yourselves back at the park where the wedding ceremony had been held earlier that evening. All the chairs and decorations are gone. The only sign of celebration that remains are a few pink and white flower petals nestled in the grass.

Bradley helps you ease yourself down on one of the waterfront benches before taking a seat next to you. With his bowtie undone and his hair disheveled, he looks far less put together than the man who’d stolen glances at you during the ceremony and yet, he still maintains that aura of charm that makes it impossible for you not to swoon.

“How are you so put together?” You ask. “I’m pretty sure you had twice as much to drink as I did and I’m the one getting pried off the bathroom floor.”

He smirks. “Guess I’m just that tough.”

The flat, unamused look on your face must communicate your disbelief perfectly because he chuckles and runs a hand through his hair.

“I’m kidding,” he adds. “Pretty sure I’m going to go full Exorcist on my bathroom the second I get home.”

“That’s hot.”

You both laugh.

A pleasant silence falls over the bench as you both look out at the water. Reflections of the city lights dance across the waves like sea-bound stars. The gentle breeze that kisses your skin brings with it a comforting chill that perfectly balances out the discomforting heat of your impending hangover. You still feel like crap but it turns out a beautiful view works wonders when it comes to distracting a person from suffering.

After a moment, you dare to peer at Bradley from the corner of your eye. He looks so at peace. There’s the tiniest smile lingering at his mouth and the way his attention is torn from the bay every time a plane flies overhead reminds you of the unbreakable optimism of a child. How can a man so handsome and resolute be so gentle? How can that gentleness be a privilege you’ve become so familiar with?

“Thank you.”

He’s not looking at you when he says it, but you tear your eyes from his face as if you’ve been caught anyway.

“For what?” You ask.

“For coming with me tonight. I know weddings aren’t the most exciting thing in the world, but it means a lot to me that you came anyway.”

You study his expression closely. It’s hard to place your finger on why, but you get the sense that he genuinely hadn’t expected you to say yes. 

“I’m glad you asked me,” you admit quietly.

He turns his head to look at you. “Really?”

You nod.

“Good.” He exhales. The blissful smile on his face curls into something more playful. “I was worried you might regret the whole thing after I peeled you off the dance floor.”

“Y’know what? That blonde bitch is lucky I was too hammered to tussle. If I were sober enough to plot my revenge, I would’ve snapped the heel off one of her stilettos and watched her stumble into the dessert table. I mean, c’mon! Who trips a person throwing it back to Lady Gaga?”

“That should be a federal offense.”

“Seriously!”

There’s another lull in the conversation. It’s not a bad thing by any means, but it definitely makes you wonder what is going on inside the man’s head. He may not be as outspoken as other Navy pilots like Hangman, but he certainly isn’t shy either.

“There’s one thing I’m disappointed I didn’t get to do tonight though.”

You raise your brow at the comment. “What’s that?”

“I never got the chance to ask you to dance.”

“What are you talking about?” A huff of laughter rolls off your tongue. “We literally just spent the last two hours dancing!”

He considers your reply. “Yeah, that’s not quite the dancing I’m talking about.”

Oh.

Oh.

You blink. With your jaw hanging loose from its hinges and your eyes wide, you must look like a grade-A idiot.

“You…Wanted to slow dance with me?”

“Is that really such a surprise?”

And just like that, your cheeks are turning red and whatever hope you had for staying calm, cool and collected about the whole thing has skipped town. 

“N-no!” You stammer. “Well, yes. But it shouldn’t be. I mean, you asked me to be your plus one at a wedding so I really shouldn’t be shocked. That’s kinda the whole point of plus ones, right? I guess I just never expected you to actually want me to be that kind of plus one. And I know that probably makes zero sense now that I say that out loud but it’s just—“

“Hey.”

The remainder of your blabbering monologue dies on your tongue when he reaches over to cup your jaw in his hand. His fingertips caress the delicate skin just below your ear while his thumb strokes your cheek with timid curiosity. 

There it is. That sweet-tempered charisma that you’ve been so fascinated by. Oh, what a privilege. What a dangerously addictive privilege to be on the receiving end of such an unrivaled indulgence.

“Bradley,” you exhale. 

You don’t know why you say his name. You don’t even know why you say anything at all. It just sort of slips out, as if you’ve been holding it in all night. And the way his pupils dilate ever so slightly as your voice floats into his ear makes it clear that he’s been waiting just as long to hear you say it.

He’s staring at your lips now. It’s painfully obvious and he doesn’t give a damn. He’s telling you exactly what he wants without uttering a single word. As if to seal a letter of his desire, the thumb on your cheek glides over to brush the corner of your mouth.

The beating of your heart is deafening. Sure, the sound of the waves colliding with the rocks just a few steps away is irritatingly loud but they sound like they’re a mile away in comparison to the thudding in your ear. What you would give to tune it all out right now.

Fearful that he’ll take your silence as an indication that he’s crossed a boundary, you lean into his hand and kiss the pad of his thumb. His breath catches in his throat. The fingers at your jaw twitch. His thumb, now pressed to the center of your mouth, traces your bottom lip with the measured stroke of an artist smearing paint across his canvas. Never before have you felt so delightfully fragile.

“Fuck,” he whispers with the desperation of a man forced to sin. “You have no idea how bad I want to kiss you right now…”

You nearly choke on the lump in your throat. A reply lingers in the back of your mind: then why don’t you? But, as if he can hear your every thought, he answers before the question can breach your vocal cords.

His tongue dips out to wet his lips. “But I know if I do, I might not ever want to stop.”

Just like that, the sense of helplessness that you’ve been feeling gives way to unrestrained desire. You want this. You need this. You don’t even know what this is but you aren’t about to let it slip away.

Fingers curling around his wrist, you squeeze his forearm like a vice. “I don’t give a damn if I suffocate,” you growl. “Kiss me right now or I swear to God, I’ll rip that mustache off your face.”

Maybe threatening a man isn’t the most romantic thing you could have said but it gets the job done. His lips instantly come crashing into yours. It’s so fast, so passionate that it draws a small gasp from your lungs.

Instinct takes hold of your body as your hands blindly seek shelter somewhere in the sanctuary of his body. One hand ends up clinging to his shoulder while the other curls around the back of his head to bury itself amongst the fine hairs on the nape of his neck. Fingernails scrape their way up his scalp until his tongue dips into your mouth and drives you to anchor yourself to the earth by grasping at a fistful of his hair.

You tug. He groans. The sound rumbles like an earthquake in his chest and tickles a primal, needy part of you that you’ve long since forgotten. At that moment—at that sound—all of the self control you have left crawls right out of your skin to leap in the waves and drown.

Without so much as a second thought, you crawl into his lap so that you’re straddling his thighs. He has to crane his neck slightly to kiss you now but he doesn’t seem to care. You’re right where he wants you. And the sudden pressure of his hands seizing your waist to pull you flush against his body confirms it.

It’s hard to tell how long you stay like that. The concept of time itself seems to vanish and the world around you has pretty much ceased to exist altogether. All you know now—all you even care to know—is the taste of Bradley’s lips and the heat of his breath on your skin. 

When the kiss is finally broken so you can give your lungs some much needed oxygen, his mouth latches onto your neck. Teeth graze your throat and his tongue leaves a ghostly trail of saliva in its wake. There’s no doubt that you’re going to find a collection of hickeys on your neck tomorrow and, in all honesty, you’re glad. You want to remember this, to look at yourself in the mirror tomorrow morning and think about what it feels like to be consumed by the man you’ve grown to love.

A tiny whimper slips from your mouth as he sucks a particularly dark mark onto your skin. Maybe that was his closing remark. Or maybe the sound you made was a little too reminiscent of a person wincing in discomfort. Either way, his mouth finally eases off and he pulls back to look at you for the first time since this has all started.

“You make me crazy,” he murmurs as he slides one hand down to your thigh.

You let out a breathless huff of laughter. “I can’t make you something you already are, Bradshaw.”

“Fair enough.”

Dragging your hands toward his neck, they find their place just above the collar of his shirt as you lean in to kiss him again. It’s much slower this time. The initial hunger has been satiated just enough to allow you to coast on affection rather than whatever lust-fueled engine had kicked off the whole encounter.

“Mmmm,” he hums into your kiss. “I wanna take you home with me…”

Something hot and heavy pools in the pit of your stomach at that. Making out with Bradley has been heaven sent. It’s more than you could have hoped for and you are beyond grateful for the opportunity. But this impossibly handsome, shamelessly sensual man just can’t seem to count his blessings. He wants more and he has no desire to hide it.

Not that you’re opposed…

You drag your tongue over his bottom lip and grin. “Well maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll let you.”

He shifts underneath you, legs separating just enough to make you feel an ache in your thighs as you continue to straddle him. The movement brings your attention to something else as well. There’s a firm, hot pressure against the inside of your thigh that most definitely hadn’t been there when you first crawled in his lap.

Oh, Jesus…He’s hard, you realize.

“Please.”

No legal team stands a chance against that. He practically whines as he does what you suggest, begging like an animal who can’t wait to be fed. He may not be the kind of guy to shy away from pursuing something, but he’s also not the kind to take what doesn’t belong to him. If he needs to earn your trust or your permission, he’ll do whatever it takes.

You reward him with a sultry kiss. It’s quick, but it makes your intention clear: Yes. You are saying yes.

Without giving him another chance at initiating anything more, you climb out of his lap and stand on the path that separates the bench from the rocky border of the San Diego bay. The evening breeze is much cooler now and actually coaxes some goosebumps into crawling over your arm.

He lingers in his seat, legs now spread wide to ease some of the discomfort between his thighs. You’ve never seen him in such a messy state. His clothes are all ruffled. The unknotted bowtie around his neck is lopsided and threatening to slide out from beneath his collar. The hair on the top of his head is now completely unkempt with a handful of strands dangling over his forehead. And, with the combination of hooded eyes and slick, swollen lips, he looks like the kind of raunchy wedding date people have wet dreams about.

As much as you want to stand there and appreciate the view, the impatient little creature tugging at your gut has other, less restrained plans.

“With all due respect, Lieutenant,” you say as you straighten the fabric hugging your torso, “I don’t have all night.”

A crooked smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “10-4.”

Making no attempt to fix any part of the mess that is his visage, Bradley stands up and grabs your hand to lead you back to the parking lot. None of this is what you expected when you agreed to be his plus one, but man are you glad you said yes. Whatever lies in store for the remainder of the night is a gift you just can’t wait to unwrap.

#Wow wow wow #This one sure is something #I think I had more fun writing this than most of my other reader inserts #Nothing beats a good friends to lovers story #Also should I write a follow up? I'm pretty tempted ngl #Reader Insert #Bradley Bradshaw X Reader #Bradley Rooster Bradshaw #Bradley Rooster Bradshaw X Reader #Miles Teller X Reader #Top Gun Imagines #Top Gun Reader Insert #My fic #Rooster Bradshaw X Reader #GN!Reader

[robotlesbianjavert]

10 fav things about spinner + 10 fav things about shigaraki

this is like asking me to describe my favourite things about the gentle warmth of the sun on my skin on a cloudless day at a beautiful lake that is good and fun to swim in. how can i put words to how perfect something like that is.

TOP TEN THINGS ABOUT SPINNER.

gay little hench fella. most important character trait always.

the bravado and bluster he gets introduced with being a cover for his deep-seated insecurities and internal struggles...

...his claims of high-minded idealism and lofty goals when his true wants are so simple (HOMOSEXUAL LOVE) (and to matter in some way i guess.) (mostly love. though.)

i know he is an annoying backseat gamer. i have said this before but it's so charming to me.

how surprisingly well his character development elevates the Themes & Motifs around how important human connections are for the ostracized. and he doesn't have to be annoying about it.

the charming little touches of characterization. him shrieking GRAND THEFT AUTO as a battle cry in 160, when he has to move his headband tail out of his eyes when trying to deliver a speech to toga. they make him feel so that much more real.

he's so poetic. he should be a writer. that warped, crumbling horizon...i'd never seen anything prettier GOD i know he was writing angsty poetry.

as someone who usually prefers secondary/side character to the mains, he is like. such a great example of a side character done right. he's like commentary on the nature of being a side character (monoma is another example of this in the manga), of the interplay between dehumanization/discrimination (Shoji Arc DNI) and crime, of connection with others and how they inspire us pushing us, etc etc etc. lots of the fun themes.

he is so sincere. so crazy sincere, once you have his love, he is so sincere. and so determined. he has the soul of the troubled outsider type of shonen hero who has to become stronger through the strength of his bonds. but also the energy of that shonen hero's love interest. all trapped in the body of a secondary character. he is so amazing.

when his face is drawn so small and cute and squishy like you can eat it :3

TOP TEN THINGS ABOUT SHIGARAKI

the reason i read bnha in the first place was because i stumbled upon the leaks of chapter 222 with the tortured flashes of shigaraki's past when i was discourse diving for fun. and then looking at that chapter in full, the way that shigaraki delivered what he remembered of his backstory, the Insane Tragedy of it all. well how could i not love him.

when he wants to murder highschool students. who wouldn't!

i love his physicality, the way his body language is portrayed - like he's generally pretty loose and slumped (especially early on), but he's also very purposeful? it's something that i think horikoshi generally excels with in art, but shigaraki just takes the cake.

for that matter his whole character design is perfection. early on with all the hands was such a unique and creepy look that tied in beautifully to his backstory and also Themes & Motifs. and even when he loses most of the hands, his face is so <3 with all the eyebags and scratches and wrinkles. he's also the character whose appearance has changed the most, in a way that goes hand in hand with his character development.

when he gets pissed off when he first starts trying to recruit people so he goes to the mall. to angst publicly. he wore a hoodie <3

he's a character that's really easy to reduce down to his victimhood and trauma - and lots of people sure do that! - and his victimhood and trauma are essential parts of his character, but even with the dumbass possession arc shigaraki never loses sight of who he is and what he wants, even beyond AFO's influence. it's also really easy to make him Just a villain, a straightforward villain who cares for nothing and no one. but he does care about things, he cares about the league! he does it all.

much like spinner and in fact more than spinner, he has The Most shonen hero energy despite being thee villain. and he's so cool about it. he even gets a love interest.

petty misanthropic bitch but as soon as you know you're place he's chill. this is how shigaraki/resdestro is real.

chapter 379. everything about it but also how he called nagant a flip-flopping screw up. i'm ignoring how he said the same about my friend gentle criminal.

his smile :)

i feel like both these lists do not do enough to really encapsulate why i love them. but one must try.

#bnha bloggin

[foreverforgally]

In the Garden

A Gally Fanfic; Chapter 1

The Glade.

Summary - You, The reader, are the first female ever to grace the presence of the Glade. At first the tensions between you and keeper Gally are high, the enemies to lovers trope creeps through your life. Will you give into the trope? Or will you chose the love triangle?

Warnings - Maybe smut in different chapters or hints of sexual activity. Fluff! Angst! I am definitely not a good writer!

I wasn’t the first person in the glade, maybe the twentieth or twenty-first. The comforting smell of spring grass and rain dew was the first thing that comforted newbies that popped up from the box. It was so long ago, but I remember my first night in the glade.

I was scared, people laughed at me and I couldn’t remember a thing. I hid myself in Homestead, the walls outside were unbearable to look at. i felt trapped, alone, hell i was alone.

i was one of my own kind, first female to appear from the box. y’know, at first i thought i was being punished, like i had done something wrong and this was a judgement gone wrong.

there was a knock on the door, and then a soft creak from the wood scrapping the floor as it opened.

“Hey greenie, you going to hide forever?” called a soft but strong voice. I didn’t want to reply, why should i? i didn’t know who these people, i can’t trust anyone.

silence past over Homestead, a long sigh passing through the boy. “Listen.. I understand you’re scared,” the floor scuffed under his steps.

“But we’ve all been there. I’m sure you have questions that I can answer, you’re safe here.” finally, the steps stopped in front of the long table i hid under. “So, please, come out.”

I hesitated, but i felt satisfied enough with his statement to peak my head out from under the table. He was tall, looked older than most i’ve seen and reaked off confidence, he was a leader.

“Ah, there she is.” his hand reached out to help me out, a gesture of peace. I took his hand, and he pulled me up. “not much of a talker?” I just stared at him, unblinking and uncomfortable.

He chuckled through his breaths, “That’s okay, I’m sure us boys out there will break down those walls someday.”

It was awkward for a few moments, the only sound was the shuffling of my feet that connected to the ground, in which my eyes did too. “Are you ready to come out? i’m sure they’re dying to meet you.” he said encouragingly, with such a contagious hopeful smile that you couldn’t help but grow one as well.

That was when i spoke my first words.

“Gladly” was all i said and he grasped my hand and led me softly outside.

The sun glared brightly in a cloudless sky, it was so bright i immediately covered my eyes for some shade.

“This, is the glade.” He said, leading me over to a skinny but tall blonde.

“Newt! Come ‘ere” The blonde looked back squinting before dropping his tools in the garden and running over to greet me with a smile.

“Well well, if it ain’t the greenie” His accent was thick, his lopsided smile matched his energy as he catches his breath from running.

“Yeah well I want you to show her around, think you can do that for me?” He asked Newt, sounding like a question but it felt like an order. “Can do Alby, I’ll pick up from here.”

So his name was Alby, well Alby turned to wave goodbye before running off to do something. “Hey love, just follow me and keep up yeah?” His smile was so comforting.

He turned and starting to walk in another direction, i had to push my strength in my legs just to keep up with his pace.

“I’m Newt, by the way” he said as we walked through the field.

“I’m..” I paused confused, do I not have a name? who am i? Why am I drawing a blank?

“It’s alright greenie,” he snickered “We didn’t remember our names at first either, you’ll remember it soon or a nickname will get too stuck for us to start calling you by it.”

“That’s what happened to Frypan” He smirked, opening the door to a kitchen slash dining hall.

“Now I know you’re not talking klunk, shank.” Frypan called out from his position behind the counters.

Newt chuckled and Frypan directed his attention to me. “Hey greenie, how’s your first day goin? any messes yet?”

Silence took over for a second, i built my liquid courage. “I’m definitely gonna need therapy after this.”

small laughter filled the silence, “So she does speak.” Newt said

I shrugged, “What can I say, I’m mysterious.”

“Ah well are you? You’ll definitely have a chance to prove that card at the bonfire later tonight.” frypan said as he cooked for lunch.

I turned and looked at Newt confused, “Bonfire?”

Newt smiled “Yeah, we get a new greenie every month, gives us enough time to prepare a celebration.” I nodded along, now understanding the glade.

For the next hour Newt showed me around every touch of the glade, and i was starting to understand the algorithm.

The runners run the maze, Slicers care to live stock, Gardeners take care of crops, etc etc.

the last stop on our list were the builders. Buff teenagers working in the heat to cut wood for the special bonfire. God was it intimidating.

the most intimidating aspect about the builders, was their leader. “See that shuck with the eyebrows yelling at everyone? That’s Gally, he’s the keeper of the builders.”

Gally, The first time I saw him I was frozen. He was scary sure, but his soft muscle and toned back drew me in. Eventually I was caught staring, my face reddening as i quickly broke the eye contact we made.

“Gally, come meet the new greenbean.” Newt called him over.

“God must you call me that? So embarrassing.” I said frazzled from being caught ogling.

He laughed, “Come for the accent, stay for the existential crisis.”

Gally nodded towards his team before jogging over to me and Newt. “So.. You’re a girl.” His eyes trailing my body up and down. I knew it wasn’t sexual, everyone had done it.

I laughed in awkward, “Uh yeah I guess I am.” my eyebrows creased and my tongue trailing the side of my mouth.

“Yeah well just keep out of my way and we won’t have any problems, got it?” his eyebrows raised in question but he jogged off before I could even get offended.

“Jesus i’ll just go ahead and fuck myself.” i scoffed, muttering in disbelief as my eyes watched his movements.

“Hey don’t let him mess with you, the guys a bloody twat. You’ll get to prove yourself tonight anyways.” Newt placed his hand on my shoulder and stood next to me.

“Why, what’s tonight?”

#gally maze runner #gally x reader #gally #gally imagine #tmr gally #the maze runner #tmr #tmr imagines #newt tmr #tmr newt #tmr alby #alby maze runner #fanfic #fanfiction #fandom #foreverforgally;ITG

[timetoeatthebread-blog]

Wow that's actually putting a lot of thought into it, that was actually such a cool way of looking at it and I do agree that the SB skin line is basically myths with stand in figures of the characters but about the seeing a clone of himself or getting possessed it technically couldn't be possible since FOR NOW that the major lore update isn't here yet, the skin lines are still like AUs basically

Idk i just know I'd absolutely devour whatever it is you write lmao, slow burns are so satisfying but stand alone one shots are pretty good to give yourself a break and enjoy a more direct romance again write whatever you enjoy since sometimes writers forget to count themselves as readers

Idk idk reading how you think just made me squeal like a little girl, I love the lore and seeing people actually interested in it is so KAAJLNDAL yk?

Thats so sweet, thank you! Waited with chapter 5 just to send it (Almost) directly to you ;)

Anyways here's the chapter!

Aphelios x Reader - Dreaming of You (Part 5)

Truth be told, you didn’t get to ask any questions that day. Or the day after that.  

Right now, you were on your third night of travels, as you and Aphelios continued on with your way towards Weh’le. Admittedly, you were only one third of the way, so you still had a long way before reaching your destination.  

The night was still young. With the cloudless sky, the moon shone brightly as you and Aphelios walked along the river.  

The River of Navori. It was, in reality, multiple branches of water that eventually all connected and created one, big branch.  

As the luck might have it, you were able to spend the night at an inn close to the Placidium of Navori, where you were able to rest your legs and finally take a bath. You were even able to eat a normal meal while at the inn! And now, you were walking along the river, feeling refreshed because of the rest beforehand.  

The area was slowly becoming more unfamiliar. It was different from the green, lush views before you that you were already used to. 

Currently, the scene was taking shape of a more mountainous area. The mountains were still a good while away. But that didn’t stop the slopes of land appearing before you. Steep terrain was becoming a challenging hike for you. Still, not so challenging for Aphelios. Curse him and his long legs. Again. 

The man was walking like it wasn’t the most intense walk you’ve had in the past few days. At the current trail, the ascend was the most tiring you experienced so far.  

You were already worried about the more grueling hikes you’ll have to take soon. With a deep breath, you collected as much vigor as possible to follow Aphelios’ lead.  

Nothing much happened after your adventures during your first night at the unfamiliar place. Your hand was long healed. And no other problems appeared. 

Meanwhile, Aphelios’ didn’t experience any more mishaps with the noctum poison. He was still regularly taking the distilled concoction. But he didn’t have the same reaction as he did the first time. Instead, Aphelios would only cough a few times. Secondly, he would experience some level of dizziness.  Lastly, he also would experience some kind of paralyzing effect. Luckily all of the symptoms went away almost as fast as they came, disappearing after a few minutes.  

Each time he drank the poison, Alune would appear close to him. You would greet her warmly. When you asked her how her day went, you were sure to tell her about what you experienced so far. In as many details as possible.  

It seemed to make her quite happy. Being the curious girl she was, she had no problem picking up on the little words and asking about them, hoping to gain even more details of living in Ionia, or the terrain surrounding it.  

When she saw the Shuang Yue blades at your side, she was mesmerized. She couldn’t stop admiring the blades, which had delicate signs of the Lunari on them. The handles of the blades were made out of wood that was similar to rosewood. To the delicate wood were attached two crescent blades each. They almost reminded you of knuckle dusters. The metal was made out of moonsilver and moonstone, blended perfectly together.  

Alune was obviously knowledgeable on them. Not necessarily on how to use them. But she seemed to think it was a gift from Mother Moon. Given specially to you to help you on the journey.  

She also helped to explain that the flowers you saw that day in the cave were noctum flowers. No wonder they hurt like a bitch when you touched them. The Seer went into great detail as she explained how they came to be and how they only bloom during the night.  

At some point you had to stop her from talking, albeit gently. The main reason was that you saw the same mist as you did during your first day. You called out to Aphelios, catching his attention. He turned his head and glanced at you, waiting for you to continue.  

“I see the mist. Do you see it too?” 

He looked in the direction you motioned with your hand. Then he looked back at you and shook his head. A silent ‘no’ was your answer, it seems. All you did was notion for him to follow your lead. You were the one walking in the front and leading the way now. 

Nearby, behind the big hill, was a small shack. The trees, which were small, twisted and turned in various ways, creating the building before you. With how the Ionians lived, it wasn’t surprising that the trees were very much still alive. It’s no doubt that the woodweaver, who convinced the tree spirits to grow into such a shape, was talented. 

The mist was leading you towards the shack and you silently followed. Aphelios obediently after you. Alune was on your side, silently flying in the air, observant. 

A gentle light was coming out of the opening in the wall. Instead of a door, a material hung loosely where a door would have been. Even in the darkness, soft colors of orange, blue and pink could be seen under the bright moonlight. They were leaves of the trees, creating a living roof on top of the building, accentuating the house’s beauty.  

Aphelios’ first reaction was to retrieve one of his weapons, no hesitation could be found in his movements. His presence was almost suffocating as he nearly loomed over your form as he followed you. Movement was calculated and confident; he straightened out his back and maintained a clear vision on the shack before him. 

And then there was you, the complete opposite of him. Your back was slightly slouched, breathing was uneven, and you looked everywhere and anywhere curiously. Everything about your form screamed relaxed or harmless, compared to Aphelios.  

Hence, it was no surprise that when you wanted to knock on the wooden frame and call out to check if someone was inside, Aphelios stopped you. He grabbed your hand firmly and gently tugged you backwards.  

As your eyes met his, he gave you a shake of his head, a silent plea for you to wait. Feeling like you don’t have much of a choice, you stood quietly, observing his movement and intentions.  

As he left you there to stand on your own, your hand felt strangely cold all of a sudden. 

Aphelios and Alune went around the shack, trying their best to check their surroundings. Admittedly, it was quite easy for Alune to just float around in the air and check, but Aphelios felt the need to make sure. 

He came back shortly after. Aphelios casted a short look on your form, before nodding at you. Giving you a small signal to continue.  

You came up to the entrance and knocked on the wall. A shuffling sound could soon be heard, and you could see a pair of feet peeking through the material before you.  

A wrinkly and elegant hand grabbed the material and pulled it to the side. The woman was standing before you, her silver hair was illuminated in the moonlight and her obsidian eyes stared back at you, curious. You felt suddenly awkward. For some reason you expected something... Different. Definitely not a person.  You put on your best, friendly smile. 

“Hello, are you a Lunari, perhaps?” 

Aphelios’ face was priceless as he stood behind you. He was stunned. His form became instantly stiff as he looked at you, cranking his neck down at your form. Aphelios was fighting against his whole body to restrain his need to lift up his arms in defeat. 

The tan woman hid slightly behind the doorframe as she examined you and Aphelios. Upon seeing Aphelios, however, her demeanor changed completely. She noticed his clothes and the markings on his scarf. The woman stepped out and you could see her whole wardrobe.  

A moon crest necklace hung loosely around her neck, with a purple gemstone in the middle. Her clothes, which consisted of a mix of black and silver, hung loosely. As a finishing touch there was a silver rope with a bell at the end, which held her outfit together securely in place. Her gaze moved from Aphelios to you. 

“That’s... Correct. Is there anything you need?” 

You tried to explain it as briefly as possible, “The Aspect of the Moon needs our help. We need the people. Please come to mount Targon.” 

Obviously, the woman raised her brow at that, not believing you completely.  

How were you supposed to persuade her? The situation was terrible already. And Aphelios can’t help you because he can’t talk right now. One way or another, in the midst of you trying to explain why it was so important, it seemed like she finally understood the weight of the situation.  

It took quite a lot of time to explain the whole history. Starting from Aphelios and Alune, the children of destiny. To the celestial cycles and finally, to the Aspect of the Moon herself, Diana. It was a sign to change the tide of the battle. All in favor of the Lunari.  

The whole situation dawned on her, it seems. All the woman did was nod, only a few words leaving her lips as she spoke, “I understand. I’ll let our brothers and sister know.” 

Elderly woman went inside her little shack. A shuffling sound could be heard as she rummaged around in her small home. Eventually, she came out, a water pouch in her hand. She put it in your hand, her gentle touch grazing your hand. 

“You might need this, child. Take it. May you be safe on your travels.” 

And with that, you and Aphelios started to walk back towards the original road. Throughout the whole time Alune was quiet, but now, with the situation out of the way, she went back to her curious personality. 

“I didn’t expect you to carry so much knowledge, Little Light. Who taught you?” 

It made you freeze a little. Maybe you could talk about it another day? 

After imagining the conversation in your head for the past few days, you were so sure you had your perfect little conversation ready, all the way from point A to point B. But now, with the occasion right in front of you. You suddenly felt like a fish out of water. 

How were you going to explain this? Should you just lie? 

#aphelios x reader #aphelios #fanfiction #league of legends x reader #lol x reader #lol aphelios #fanfic #Loving's Writing

[writtenonreceipts]

This is the chapter that kinda started it all, especially the flashback. I’m trying to make things move faster than they want to.  I think I’m just resigned to be that fic writer who never finishes anything.  Sorry you have to deal with me…

Find the Masterlist Here // Ao3 Link

Warnings: These apply to the flashback portion at the end of the chapter: language (nothing major, just more than I typically like using), war, blood, injury, minor character death, if you’re iffy/worried dm me or send an ask and I can summarize details if you’d like.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Where We've Been, Where We're Going--Part Eight  

The next few days continued in an easy rhythm.  

Rowan didn’t know what surprised him more--that he adapted so easily to the various tasks he had on hand or that he and Aelin had entered into a cautious friendship.

Though, to be frank, cautious was putting it lightly.  It was a situation he’d never found himself in before and he wasn’t sure how to proceed.  He made sure he wasn’t in the house when Aelin wasn’t and tried to stay out even when she was home, only returning when he had to or she sent him a message about an extra pizza slice in the fridge for him.  But he didn’t want to intrude.  Or he really just didn’t want to run the risk of letting something slip or proving just how incapable he was at being around other people.  

Keeping busy helped.  

Unfortunately, he didn’t sleep any better which was more of a pain than he’d let anyone know.    During the day he could distract himself with various tasks of making sure fence posts were even or he did a decent job installing windows.  At night, alone and in the silence, was when his mind would wander most.  It was here in the quiet confines of his mind that his memories came out from the shadows.

 For now, it was easy enough to keep to himself.  When he got too restless at night he’d go out and sit in the bed of the truck and stare out at the night sky.  More often than not, it was cloudless and he could watch the stars.  It was much as he did in Kovac only with different constellations.  

The only thing that really bothered him was ignoring the various texts and calls now that he was letting his phone remain charged up.  He’d only done it to keep Aelin appraised of his watching Meiri that one night.  And then, for some reason, he left the damn thing on and charged ever since.  

Aelin only sent him a few messages during the day.  Mostly simple reminders to eat something.  And then a few updates on Emrys as well.  Rowan didn’t tell Aelin he’d given Malakai his number already.  He didn’t want to run the risk of her not messaging as often as she did.

Which he realized made him a miserable ass, but he already knew that.

By the time two full weeks had passed since his arrival, Rowan had become a recognizable figure in Terrasen.  People actually knew his name and would greet him on the street or at the store.  Some would hire him out for odd jobs in their yards, even Sartaq let Rowan swing by to fix up a few other cars on occasion.

He was still helping get the motel up and running of course.  Emrys was still in rehab after some tests came back a little less optimistic than what the doctors preferred.  So, Rowan kept up his usual ritual of odd job help in the morning and hammering away at the motel until well into the night.

The routine was more helpful than he’d ever admit.

It almost made it easier to bear the memories.

Until his phone kept buzzing.  There was only one consistent number that reached out to him and after a while, Rowan wondered if he should just save the new contact.

Which was probably why he was currently distracting himself at Sartaq’s garage.

It was a late Friday afternoon with the usual summer heat and bright sunlight banking through the open doors.  Rowan was staring down into a nearly obliterated radiator and hose tear wondering just how poorly this car had been treated in the past when Sartaq finally broached a topic he’d much rather had avoided.

They’d both served in Kovac, Sartaq for such a short time and Rowan had been busy in sniper training that they’d never met.  Sartaq also hadn’t been in a position that could also lead him to potential harm.  Family strings and all.  Rowan didn’t begrudge the man for that--as far as he could tell, Sartaq would have been in the front lines even now if his family would allow it.  Instead, to keep him from getting himself killed, his wealthy parents let him land in Terrasen fixing up old cars.  Rowan had the feeling his new friend resented his family quite a bit even if he liked the work he was doing.

“Did you ever go to Orynth?” Sartaq asked.  He leaned over another car that had been brought over doing a general assessment on what would just be a break-check and oil change.

Rowan paused to wipe his hands on a grease rag, not really wanting to talk about the war.  But he figured Sartaq would be a decent enough guy to back off if Rowan started showing any signs of disinterest in the topic.

“No, but I heard it was rough,” he said. “One of my mates was reassigned there for a few weeks out of punishment.”

Lorcan never did say why Maeve made him go, just that he’d learned his lesson on the matter.  He did, however, share that they could all consider themselves lucky for not going.  Lorcan had always been that way: never sharing anything, never revealing anything, never opening up with vulnerability.

“Nesryn was stationed there for ages,” Sartaq said.  He often referred to his friend as though Rowan knew her himself.  As it was, she was a constant staple of conversation in the garage.  “Always said it was the worst place to be.”

“Isn’t she the one that would whip out a bow and arrow instead of actually using a gun in training?” Rowan asked.  In all honesty, he was desperate to have some sort of a good connection to his memories of Kovac instead of the blood and violence and misery.  So why not play into this conversation just a little?

Sartaq chuckled. “Yeah, probably.  She was only a translator so she never liked using a gun, but the locals had bows and arrows to use when their resources were so shitty.  So she’d entertain the kids when their parents were dying or after a raid when the Valg gangs would wreak havoc.  She was good like that.”

Rowan remembered her.  He’d never actually met her, only saw brief snippets of her or heard other soldiers talk about how she’d take no shit or stupid orders.  The one real memory he had occured after that damn raid that sent the rest of his military career into hell.  

He’d been kicked out of a debriefing and instead was trying to clean his rifle when this woman waltz through camp with a bow and arrow.  She had a bag full of candy and water on one shoulder and a beautiful handcrafted weapon on the other.  Kids tentatively approached while she put on a small show of all the odd places she could land and arrow from all sorts of strange positions.

It was the first time in a long time he’d seen the kids of the village smile.

“Yeah, Maeve got pissed at her for it too,” Rowan said.  He loosened a bolt on one of the spring clamps that needed to be replaced.  “Said she was being too distracting.  But Nesryn just shot an apple straight from a kid's hand.  Didn’t even look.”

With a fond shake of his head, Sartaq didn’t say anything for a minute. “You were under Maeve’s command?”

And just like that, Rowan felt an icy dread pool in his gut.

“Yeah.”

“I heard about her and that prick Hammel.”

Static started buzzing in Rowan’s ears.  He crossed to where there were some extra bolts and equipment waiting to be used.  Tacky sweat gathered on his skin and he wondered if he could get along with disinterested grunts the rest of the day.

“They were always so elitist, yeah?  Really careful about who they let on their squad.”

Sartaq didn’t notice Rowan’s dilemma in the slightest.  Which was supposedly a good thing.  If he didn’t notice then he wouldn’t ask about it.  

“How’d you manage to be a part of that little cadre?”

“I was a sniper,” Rowan said.  He took his time picking out a new bolt, clamp, and radiator hose that would fit the car’s needs he was working on. “Had the best marks, I guess.”

“Strange she’d let you go after getting her claws in you.”

“Proof we don’t always get what we want,” Rowan said, lightly.  He added a laugh, strained though it was.  

So, Sartaq didn’t know about that last mission.  Not surprising considering how long he’d been out, but still.  Rowan was grateful he didn’t have to talk about it.  He could manage a passing tale about Talbot if he needed.  But that last raid?  The one where he’d screwed up enough to be stripped of his previous honors?  To be dishonorably discharged?  That one he’d take with him to his grave.

…

It was late the next day when Rowan got a call he actually wanted to pick up.

He was back at the motel trying to figure out how to reach one of the window ledges that had not been planned out very well when his phone buzzed.  The only reason he knew who it was was because Aelin stood and watched as he saved the number.

MALAKAI steamed across the screen in bold letters.

For a moment, Rowan worried if it was bad news.  He wasn’t sure he could handle a messy phone call.  But then he managed to convince himself that Malakai certainly wouldn’t try calling him if it were bad news about Emrys.  He’d be too focused on Aelin and his son. So, Rowan picked up the call.

“Malakai,” he greeted.

“Rowan, glad you have caught you,” Malakai said.  The unspoken I didn’t know if you’d actually answer was particularly loud in the brief silence that followed. “I wanted to let you know that Emrys’ numbers improved and he’s being discharged tomorrow.”

It was a strange thing to feel joy.  Especially when it had been so long since the last time you felt it.  So when his heart skipped and all the tension eased from his body, Rowan had no idea how to respond.

“That’s,” he finally managed, “that’s good to hear.”

“I tried calling Aelin, but I know she’s on shift,” Malakai said. “I know it would mean a lot to her if she knew sooner rather than later.  Would you mind going--”

“I can do that,” Rowan cut in.  Hell, there was nothing he’d want to do more. “I’ll head over there now, I was just finishing up one of the windows at the motel.”

There was a beat. “You were doing what now?”

Ah.  He’d forgotten he hadn’t actually told Malakai what he’d been doing the last two weeks.  Everyone just assumed he had and Rowan went along with it.

“I gotta go.”  Rowan hung up.  He didn’t really like talking to people anyways.

He made quick work of packing up and ensuring the motel was locked.  The ladder went around the far corner of the motel near the alleyway.  Despite some rambunctious teens and the usual problematic people in a small town, nothing was really in danger of getting stolen.  Plus, Rowan would see to it personally if anything was taken from Malakai and Emrys.

He closed up his tool box and settled it in the bed of his truck before driving the short few blocks to the diner.

The parking lot was nearly empty aside from Nox’s car around back.  Aelin usually walked to work whenever she could.  Only a dark truck was in the lot and Rowan recognized that as Mr. Aguayo’s.  He always swung by to purchase an order of steak and gravy for his pregnant wife.

Rowan parked near the back of the lot, not minding an extra walk.  It was still warm even as the summer days slowly drifted closer to fall.  From what he’d heard, it wasn’t until October that the weather drifted below seventy degrees.  And then usually the first snow came in November.  It’d been ages since Rowan had experienced snow and he wondered what it would be like…

Though, he’d be leaving soon enough so it didn’t really matter.

Mr. Aguayo was leaving just as Rowan walked up to the door.  They exchanged a quick greeting--Rowan really didn’t know the man very well aside from his small landscaping business.  And Mrs. Aguayo loved her steak cooked at a medium rare.  And she often craved Funyuns too.

Once inside the diner, Rowan almost felt like home.  The 50’s aesthetic was just as garish as the first day he’d been in there.  The red booths and checked floor looked a bit tired, but clean.  

“Welcome in! Oh, Rowan.” Aelin rounded the corner from the back of the restaurant, dressed in her usual shorts, t-shirt, and an apron that had seen better days.  Her blonde hair was in a long braid over one shoulder, frayed edges poking out after a day of running between tables. “You here to eat?”

“Have you checked your phone recently?” he asked instead, though he knew that if she’d seen any messages from Malakai she would have already heard the news and would have been telling him all about it.

She frowned, scrambling for the pockets of her apron. “What happened?  Is it Marion?”

“Wh-No, no,” Rowan said.  He wondered briefly why her mind went straight to Marion, but he hurried to cross the space between them to reassure her.  He rested a hand on her arm before he thought better of it. “It’s good news, I promise.”

She stared at him with wide, blue eyes.  There was apprehension there, but trust too.  It had been so long since anyone had looked at him like that, trusting and open, that Rowan found himself speechless.

“Emrys is being released from the hospital tomorrow.”  He didn’t want her hanging on anymore of his words waiting for bad news. “Malakai just called me.”

Aelin released a shaky breath before she laughed.  And then, in a turn of events that Rowan had not expected, she threw her arms around him in a hug.

The first thing Rowan noticed was the fact that Aelin smelled like jasmine and honey.  The second was her soft curves and vice like grip.  And then he thought about how long it had been since someone had hugged him.

No one on his squad cared for anything other than the roughhousing or smacks upside the head.  He hadn’t seen either of his cousins since before he enlisted and even then, the Whitethorn’s weren’t touchy-feely.  And that was it.  That was everyone he knew that he would even consider hugging.  And here was Aelin who had been through hell and back hugging him as though they were friends as though she actually liked him.

And he had no idea what to do.

Oh he knew the mechanics of a hug and how not to be a complete robot in his emotions.  Somewhat.  But this was Aelin.  Who in just a few short weeks had come to actually mean something to him even if he didn’t know how to define it.  And he was Rowan who had only ever been a complete and utter screw-up.  In everything.

“Sorry,” Aelin said, pulling back while Rowan just stood there. Her cheeks were flushed with a mix of embarrassment and residual excitement. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.  I wasn’t thinking.”

Rowan cleared his throat, nose still tingling with the scent of her. “It’s fine.  It’s good news.”

“Yeah, it is,” she agreed.  She was still smiling but it was jaded now after he’d gone and made things awkward by not hugging her back. She brushed an errant hair from her eyes and didn’t meet his eyes. “Really good news.  I know they’re both ready for him to be home.  And Luca will be so excited too.  He’s been a mess since it happened.”

“It’ll be good for him to come home,” Rowan said.  This was the type of news everyone deserved to receive.  The type of news Rowan wished he could have given more than he did.

“Emrys always had that way about him of just making a place home, you know?  And giving me so much patience when I didn’t deserve it.”  Aelin exhaled slowly before looking at him. “Thank-you for coming to tell me.”

“I was glad to,” he said.  Really, it was the best change of pace from having to acknowledge another death.  And if it meant seeing her smile like that and have a bit of joy in her life?  Rowan would do anything for her to keep smiling, he decided.

“I’ve been a mess all week with his new tests going through,” Aelin said as she finished pulling her phone out of her apron pocket. “And Meiri is not enjoying daycare this summer, plus Marion--”

She waved a hand in dismissal and pulled up Malakai’s number on her screen.  Rowan should have left then, a part of him was screaming too.  She still had an hour on her shift, he’d told her what he wanted to, and there was still daylight left to try and finish another window at the motel.  And if not that, Murtaugh at the hardware store donated paint to help give the motel a new look.  Rowan could start in on that.  And yet, he stayed.

“Malakai,” Aelin said when the other line picked up. “Yeah, no, Rowan just told me.  He’s coming home tomorrow?...Good, that’s so good to hear…I’ll make sure Chaol brings Luca home…You too.”

She hung up, a small smile still on her lips.

“We’re going to have a welcome home party,” she announced.  She nodded firmly to assert her words more fully. “With chocolate cake.”

There was nothing that sounded more like Aelin than chocolate cake and parties.  Rowan could easily imagine that Aelin would put an overwhelming amount of detail and care into such a venture.  For the first time in knowing her, she actually looked happy and at peace.  Which, from what Rowan had gathered about her, was a miracle in itself.

“You’re going to come, right?” Aelin asked.

Rowan hesitated.  As of late, he’d never been one for social gatherings.  Especially not with so many people he didn’t know.  Sure the last few weeks he’d gotten to know many of the people in town.  But it wasn’t the same.  Not when the second the motel was finished he’d be gone and in California.

Crowds especially had been difficult and he’d avoided them ever since coming back home.  Most of the time he knew what his triggers were and how to avoid them.  Being in a crowded room could easily overwhelm him.

“I--” Rowan was blissfully cut off when the door of the diner opened and Chaol walked in.

The sheriff was only partially dressed in his uniform--the tan pants that most law officers wore looked a little worse for wear as they were stained with dirt, grass, and dark splotches that were almost certainly blood.  Instead of the usual brown button-up, he wore a plain white t-shirt that was a mess of dirt and dried blood.

“What happened to you?” Aelin asked when she took Chaol in.  

“Bad day,” Chaol said.  He scowled and ran a hand through his short hair.  “Told Luca I’d pick up food.”

It looked decidedly worse than a bad day but Rowan had a feeling Aelin was already gearing up to chew Chaol out.

“You have blood on your shirt,” she said, resting her hands on her hips.  She fixed Chaol with a glare that rivaled even the worst that Rowan had received.

Chaol returned the deadpanned stare. “It’s fine.”

Rolling her eyes, Aelin turned to head back to the kitchen. “There’s a few extra sandwiches in the back, give me a minute and I’ll do up some fries.”

“Thank’s Aelin,” Chaol called after her.  She waved a hand overhead to acknowledge she’d heard.

It was only when she was gone that Chaol sighed and ran a hand over his face.  He eyed Rowan for a moment before speaking up.

“It was an accident involving a kid,” Chaol admitted lightly. “Ten-years old.  Nothing anyone could have done.  And you know she wouldn’t take that easily.”

It was the simplest explanation he could have given, but Rowan could already paint an exact picture of what had happened.  Especially with how run down Chaol appeared now.  Rowan wondered why Chaol would take it on himself to use a filter around Aelin, especially considering her no nonsense attitude and strong will to simply survive.  Though, he’d try not to judge the sheriff too harshly for his choice.

He’d lived through his fair share of accidents. Accidents where no matter what anyone did it just wasn’t enough.

Rowan knew exactly what that was like.

“I’m sorry,” he said honestly.  

He thought, briefly, about spoiling the news of Emrys’ hospital release, but decided that would best be left for Aelin to reveal.  Besides, he needed to leave.  He didn’t know where he needed to be just anywhere but here.

Instead, Rowan offered a single nod and headed back out of the diner.  “Have a good night.”

Chaol frowned in confusion, gesturing to the kitchen doorway where Aelin had gone. “Do you want--”

But Rowan was already gone, lost to the heat of the night and the memories of his past.

…

There was a man dying next to him.

Rowan didn’t know him.  Rowan didn’t want to know him.

All he knew was that just moments before this man had been trying to kill him.  And he knew that now, amid the darkening shadows of the night, he was trying to say one final round of prayers.  And he knew that the blood seeping into the dusty ground was innocent.  Innocent.  Innocent because what right did Rowan have to kill this man?  Because of a raid that might not amount to anything?  Because of a war that had been drawn on so long that violence had become the only answer for any question asked.

The man’s final breath rattled wetly.

Forcing the man from his mind, Rowan pulled his knife from the man's gut and returned to his rifle.  He had to wipe the blood from his fingers first, but that couldn’t be avoided.  He slowly wrapped his fingers around the grips and rested his finger on the trigger.  When a soft breeze blew, the wet blood caused a chill to snatch across his skin.

Through his sights he could see the streets of the village they were about to raid.  Maeve was insistent the Valg gang that had been terrorizing this side of the city would be moving weapons tonight.  Rowan didn’t know where exactly the intel had come from, only that it was from a reliable source.  He supposed the dead man beside him was evidence enough.

Hammel had barely developed a plan besides watching the trucks that rolled in and out of the city.  Even though it had been one week since his arrival, the new co-captain hardly seemed interested in doing his job.

“White Hawk?” Gavriel’s voice came over on the coms. “I saw signs of a struggle.  You good?”

Rowan clicked his com in acknowledgement.

“Where’s Talbot?” Gavriel demanded. “Shouldn’t he have your back?”

“Taking care of a few spooks, sir,” came Talbot’s quiet reply, “circling back now.”

Rowan hadn’t been concerned over the kid making sure they wouldn’t have any more surprises.  While Talbot was a little younger than him, he was eager and a hard worker.  Smart too.  He would trust him with his life and not just because he had to.

“All clear at the North and East entrances,” Rowan murmured in his coms.

At his words he watched as Hernandez led a group of her soldiers through the street to the building in question.  Rowan had seen at least three targets circle back to the building over the course of the night, each either carrying something or pushing a cart.  The thing was, this area was family dense.  Someone could simply be transporting food or extra blankets or wanting to move in the dark without being seen.  

Then why had the man beside him tried to attack him?

Rowan watched and listened as Hammel ordered the entrance.  Half of the squad took the front and Gavriel led the others through the back.  It would play out like it always did: orders to stand down, not to move, don’t resist, watch the west side.

It was how it should have gone.

“Front’s still clear,” Rowan said into his coms, “Redline, what’s your status?”

Talbot remained silent.

“Redline?” Rowan repeated.  He switched to the mainline for the rest of the squad just in case the network was fritzing. “Talbot, check in.”

There was a flicker to the north side of the building the squad was raiding.  Rowan turned his scope in that direction and adjusted his sights.

“Lionheart we’ve got a bogie to the north, Redline is unresponsive.”

“Roger that,” Gavriel responded. “Keep your eyes open, White Hawk.”

Rowan tried to ignore the feeling in his gut that grew with every passing second.  Something was wrong.  He didn’t know what it was, but it was damn near palpable.  Talbot never went radio silent.  Not like this.  Hell, he had to remind the kid to stop talking when they were on stakeouts.  But Talbot was still responsible.  He knew his duties and he did them well.  

For one, brief moment, Rowan considered leaving his post and looking for the kid.  But with Maeve and Hammel watching, he knew he couldn’t.  All he could do was hope the kid showed up. Maybe his radio disconnected and he just hadn’t noticed.  Or he didn’t charge it properly before the mission.  It had happened once before.  Or--

“White Hawk?” Talbot’s quiet voice crackled through Rowan’s radio.

Thank the fates. “Where the hell have you been, kid?  I’ve been--”

“Found something,” Talbot cut in.  His voice was still distorted with a bad connection, static fizzing and popping horribly. “Had to make sure,” a loud pop of static, “something’s wrong, can’t reach Lionheart.”

“Repeat that, Redline, you’re breaking up,” Rowan said.  He kept his sights trained on where he’d seen the flicker of movement, knowing Gavriel was keeping tabs on the other side of the homestead they were raiding.  As far as Rowan could tell there was just a flickering curtain he’d already cleared.  And a flash of silver but given this part of the village that shouldn’t be a concern.  He’d noticed something similar, but it flicked so irregularly that he decided it was nothing important.  Morse code wasn’t universal, but Rowan knew most codes various countries used and there was no discernible pattern that he could note.

“Rowan,” Talbot’s voice finally rang clear and strong. 

“Talbot--Danny,” Rowan sighed, relieved. “What happened?”

“Think I was spotted,” Talbot said, “I came back around to see where the bogie came from.  Saw something weird.  Rowan, we gotta pull out.”

“Hold on kid.”  Rowan did a sweep of the surrounding area but didn’t see anything.  “Where are you?”

“North.  There’s a few Kovac soldiers dragging boxes around,” Talbot said as the static returned. “Rowan…I think they’re smugglers not--”

Talbot was cut off by something crashing on his end followed by a shout in another language.

“Talbot?” Rowan shifted, drawing one hand to his commlink and pressing it into his ear, as if that would help with the connection. When no response came Rowan switched frequencies. “Lionheart, we’ve got a situation.  I think Redline found trouble.”

There was a pause and a round of muffled voices before Gavriel responded.

“Copy,” Gavriel finally replied. “We’ve got it under control here, I’ll send Fenrys--”

“There’s no time,” Rowan said, nerves spiking despite how hard he was working to control himself.

Rowan was up and moving before the captain finished speaking.  He made sure to stay low and keep his position as uncompromised as possible.  The hot air whipped around him digging sand between his skin and the straps of his goggles.  Sweat trickled down his back as he moved.  Even at night the heat was unbearable.  

The discomfort all but faded from Rowan’s mind as he ran down the dusty trail than wound down from his snipers nest.  Underbrush crunched beneath his feet and sand picked up in thick plumes.  Rowan hardly noticed.  In a matter of minutes he was down from the bluffs and in the near empty streets.  He hardly noticed the weight of his rifle in his hands as he ducked behind the wall of a small home.  There was nothing to indicate any potential danger.  

He slipped around the corner keeping his gun ready and eyes open.  Nothing.  Nothing but the wind picking up and the sound of scattering debris.

“Whitethorn, what are you doing?” Gavriel demanded through the comms.

Rowan ignored him as he sprinted down the road to the building he last saw Talbot clear.  He was closing in by the yards, slipping behind doorways or abandoned carts when he thought he saw something.  He didn’t dare try and contact Talbot in case his radio crackled, giving him away.

On cat's feet, Rowan darted the last stretch of road to where he’d last clocked Talbot.  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary--no extra footsteps, no strange sights.  All there was, was the faint, sweet scent of almonds.  But then it dissipated.  

Rowan was about to risk radioing Talbot just to see if he saw anything, or if he’d changed location when the first shot rang out.

The singular pop echoed through the otherwise silent night.

And Rowan felt his heart seize.

Time passed too slow as he dropped all pretense of stealth.  Another gunshot rang out as Rowan pushed himself harder through the streets.  He threw open the door of the house Talbot was checking.  Through his radio he heard Hammel and Gavriel both yelling at him.  The first to stand down the second to report.

Rowan focused only on his steps, his breathing, the tight turn around a corner and the body he found slumped against the wall.

Blood smeared in an aftershadow against the dark wood and already began trickling down in a slow, slow pull.

“Man down,” Rowan said into his radio, “medic needed.”

His voice was strangely calm as he said the words.  

His body too as he dropped down beside Talbot.  Already there was a pool of blood forming beneath the other man.  How, with all the layers Talbot was wearing, was that possible?  Rowan wouldn’t let himself think of the implications.

“Talbot,” he said, pressing his hands over the first entry wound he saw, hot blood wrapped around his fingers. “Talbot, look at me!”

With a groan and a cough, Talbot’s eyes fluttered open. “What’re y’doing, Whitethorn?”

“Applying pressure, you idiot,” Rowan said. “You’re gonna be fine, alrigh’?”

Talbot tried to laugh and Rowan pretended it wasn’t blood pooling at the corners of his mouth.

“Two gunshot wounds, gut ‘nd chest.  I’m not…I’m not--”

“Shut up,” Rowan growled, “I said you’re gonna be fine.”

His radio was going off with demands for answers, the eta of a medic, the call for a pull back.  Rowan ignored it all.  He should have been able to respond to some of the calls, should have multi-tasked, but all he could do was apply pressure to the wounds hemorrhaging blood and the way Talbot’s face quickly became ashen.

“Just talk to me, alright, kid?” he said. “What happened? We had the clear.”

Talbot’s head lolled to the side, eyes bleary as he tried to focus. “I saw him.”

“Who?  Who’d you see?”  Where was the medic?

“Thought my mind was playing tricks on me, he shouldn’t be here,” Talbot continued.  He weakly raised a hand to latch on to Rowan’s wrist. “Rowan--”

He had no idea what Talbot was going on about.  The slur of his words, the confusion--none of it was good.  Rowan pressed harder on the wounds, blood hot even as the beat of Talbot’s heart stuttered.

“We’re gonna get you fixed up,” Rowan said, “then you're gonna go home and see your mom, alright?  I’ll come visit, you can show me all there is to see.  Like that county fair, yeah?”

“It ain’t shit,” Talbot laughed, falling into a wet cough. Rowan held him down. “You should go to the mountains.  The mountains--”

Rowan’s radio crackled.  Medic on route.  They should have already been here.

“You gotta do something for me Rowan,” Talbot said, his voice growing too weak. “You gotta tell my family--”

“Tell them yourself.”

“Tell them, I’m so-sorry.”

Rowan stared down at his friend.  Slowly, the rest of the world came back.  The too hot air and metallic tang of blood.  The shouts in the distance.  The decrepit creak of wood where they sat.  There was noise and chaos in a world that just kept moving and Rowan…and Rowan…

“It’s gonna be fine,” Talbot whispered.

And then he was gone.

And Rowan had blood on his hands.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

tags still aren't working for me so if you'd reblog for more people to see this update, I'd really appreciate it. as always, i'm so grateful for ya'll <3

#rowaelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #throne of glass #tog #throne of glass fanfiction #fanfic #fic #where weve been where were going #wwb wwg

[bittersweetresilience]

server gift for @trishacollins <3

your gifter wasn't able to finish last minute, so @paracosmicat whipped up some delightful imagery and ideas and i stirred it into a soup. it's five in the morning so i hope this soup is comprehensible. thank you for being such a lovely writer and friend <3

-

The chill in the air bites at Félix’s skin as he walks along the river’s edge, his polished shoes crunching with every step. A flash of sensation, a fissure in his head—he stumbles and tips his head up, seeking solace in the warmth of the orange sun above. Everything around him is painted in shades of crimson and amber, haloed in the cloudless sky.

Leaves flurry around him, bursts of color cascading through the air before landing at his feet. His hands feel clammy, and he shuts his eyes against another splice of memory. He isn’t quite sure where he’s going, whether he’s walking away from something or toward something new. For a while, he isn’t sure of anything.

The pressure eases. His pace steadies, and he blinks his eyes open. There’s a weight in his pocket, one that reminds him where he’s meant to be going, why he’s out in the outskirts of London alone.

Duusu swims out from beneath his coat, and Félix remembers—no. Not alone.

“Where are you going, Félix?” the kwami chirps, as if this is their first time asking. Maybe it is. It’s difficult to discern what has happened and what has not. Félix breathes out. Placing one foot in front of the next is automatic.

“They need me,” Félix says.

Duusu spirals in a slow circle around his head. “Who?”

“My cousin. My—Kagami.”

“Oh,” Duusu says, thoughtful. “Are they in trouble?”

“Yes,” Félix says. “They’re—they’re being held somewhere. I need to find them. I need to—”

Hands claw around his sides, and he jerks away, breath quickening. It takes a moment to recall that it isn’t real. Even so, he is abruptly aware of his heart thudding against his ribs.

“I need to free them,” Félix grits out, and sets his feet back on the ground.

The wind that bleeds bitterly through his sleeves is something to focus on. He isn’t inside, isn’t trapped. Not the way Adrien and Kagami are. Not the way he had once been.

He’s been caged before. So has Adrien, face still plastered on billboards, fans who never knew him never noticing how his smile fails to reach his eyes. So has Kagami, even with the ring on her finger, her blade an extension of her mother’s words. All of them have known the vice of want, of need, of expectation. Félix had only ever wanted his choices to be his own.

For a moment, he’d thought he’d succeeded. The light of the red moon brimming in his breath, exhilaration close enough to taste—he had saved his cousin from the strings on which he danced, had seen the reflection of himself in Kagami’s eyes and set her free. And then he’d snapped his fingers and felt his body come out of place as horror turned to fury in both of their faces.

If his choices were his own, so too were his mistakes.

“You’re sad,” Duusu remarks, tail twirling by Félix’s head. “You should rest. We’ve been outside for a while.”

“No, Duusu,” Félix says. Another nightmare splits the air from his chest, and he catches himself against the nearest wall before his legs can give. Words ring in his ears, and he shouldn’t listen, but he finds his mouth shaping the familiar refrain. Monster. Monster.

He isn’t supposed to try to help Adrien anymore.

“I can’t do nothing.” Félix’s voice feels hoarse. The memory abates, and the tightness recedes from his chest. His thoughts go with it, perhaps.

“Maybe we can take a break?” Duusu suggests. They come to a rest on Félix’s shoulder, and Félix stumbles away from the wall, bits of stone coming away under his palms. Warehouses in the distance. He keeps moving, because that’s all he has been doing. It’s all he knows how to do.

Leaves dissolve beneath his feet. In the echo of his vision, the river dissolves as well.

“Félix,” Duusu urges. “You’re having nightmares too. You shouldn’t push yourself.”

Félix’s fingers brush his pocket, then slip into it. On the screen of his phone, Kagami’s last message: please come. He doesn’t know where. He doesn’t remember how long it’s been.

“I’ll find you,” Félix murmurs, over the crack of his ring echoing through his head, the reflexive wash of vertigo.

Duusu sighs and doesn’t say any more. Félix’s fingers are cold; the sun is heavy on his shoulders, and he keeps his eyes open. Step and step again.

#🌃 #🦚 #miraculous ladybug #ml representation #but not really i am so sleepy

[tigerhoshi25]

Celestial Bodies

pairings: jeonghan x reader (no pronouns used)

word count: >500

warnings: one mention of sex, saying the reader was created by a goddes, (if i missed anything please let me know)

author notes: this is told from jeonghans pov and it’s all internal dialogue but the italicized parts are kind of like a more romantic internal dialogue thing im so sorry if that doesn’t make sense

This was written for Candy Land Collab hosted by the one and only @sunnylovespickles ! Check out the masterlist for some lovely writer’s creations

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If I had it in my power I would buy you the Hubble space telescope and place it in your bedroom so that every night you can look at your “true love.”

The lines on our hands are pressed together just as our bodies are on the ground. Crisp autumn air gently flows through the dying trees and around our figures, Unfortunately with the nice breeze comes cloud coverage, something that dampens your mood. Your lips press together in a thin line and your eyebrows furrow, but I didn’t notice because I’m too entranced by your eyes.

I too enjoy looking at the stars but only through the reflection in your pupils, though, I do get quite distracted by your beauty.

To be honest I don’t like coming out late at night to look at burning spheroids of hydrogen and helium gas. I like to look at celestial bodies but only if it’s yours, in bed with me. There are so many things to do in bed like sleep, cuddle, fuck, and sleep again whilst cuddling, it’s perfect! So I just wish you would give up and let the clouds convince you to go to bed.

How can I not be? You are beautiful, I swear you were created by the goddess of beauty herself, one look at you and I bet the whole world would be distracted.

Your eyes look almost black during the night but within them are beautiful shimmering specs of white. Perhaps I can enjoy this but you won’t catch me doing it in my free time. The only good thing coming from this is that now if I look up on a cloudless night I’ll think of you. All I can do is hope we look at the same constellations, at the same time, together yet so far apart. Not like I’ll ever tell you that.

Maybe one day I’ll like the stars as much as you but for now, I think I’ll just look at you.

#septembercandyland #annie.writes #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan #svt fluff #svt x reader #i feel like i totally could’ve made this smut bc of the title #maybe one day….

[xxsycamore]

I. Somewhere in Southern Italy

A book lover through and through, and especially one that craves people's stories; memoirs and biographies alike lined up on his bookshelf back at the mansion, Napoleon had already painted a vivid painting in his mind of Southern Italy. Through, as many eyes are out there to behold, as many ways there are to see it.

As for the sight locked in the irises of Napoleon, no one has ever written about it. That's what he thinks, trying to remember if he was thoughtful enough to pack anything that can make a temporary travelogue. He's... not exactly good at these things. But maybe he can try. Right now, starting today.

"I see your seasickness is all in the past now!"

MC exclaims, still holding onto her hat by habit even if the winds aren't as strong here as they were on board. One last teasing about Napoleon's seasickness won't hurt now that he doesn't have to worry about it. He deserves it for trying - and failing miserably - to hide his malaise during their travel on the sea. Because he was the first to bring up the chances of having to deal with seasickness, but of course, he was talking about a certain Nunuche likely to experience it. And while she was perfectly okay much to his surprise, it's him that turned out to suffer. Quietly. It's one part ego and one part hating to worry her, an old story, nothing MC hasn't seen in the duration of their relationship.

Shifting his gaze to MC where she stands with the sea and the distant rocks becoming a background to her portrait, Napoleon is offended no one and nothing prepared him for the beauty of this sight.

What's more, had he gone far enough to fetch a pen, he'd be breaking it in two right now - because there's no use for him even trying to capture this in words alone.

Thus his journey as a travel writer concludes.

"I'm not sure. I think I need one more dose of the medicine to feel better."

The beauty of the scenery around them shakes Napoleon's pretend seriousness for good, and MC laughs at how he fights back a smile. The medicine he is referring to, and the reason why he finally broke and confessed about his troubles, is of course nothing more than a kiss.

Pushing herself up on her tip-toes, MC purposedly misses Napoleon's parted lips in favor of meeting her own with his sharp, chiseled jaw. It's nothing like the welcoming softness of his mouth, but she likes it. He clicks his tongue.

"I get it. You'll wait until we're alone because you're planning to give me a waaay bigger kiss than that. Am I right, amore?"

"Hmmm... partly."

Napoleon gives her a dangerous look that is just dying to know which part she means. Instead of gazing away to keep him on edge, MC lingers more on those blue eyes. Blue, yes, so very blue. With the sky kissing the sea in the perfectly cloudless midday weather, there's light blue all around them. Like twin mirrors, under this light, Napoleon's eyes abandon their familiar traces of jade green in favor of capturing the surrounding sight.

"I'm so mad about not having a modern camera once again."

Napoleon huffs out a teasing laughter, breathing in anew just as sharply while bracing himself to take hold of their luggage once again for the last leg of their moving to the destination of their holiday.

The house of someone that now goes under the name Gaetano Domenico Carullo and his big family. Napoleon has only seen the man once, on his short visit to Paris to talk with Saint Germain, an old friend. And fellow pureblood vampire. A series of events saw the youngest son of Signor Carullo saved heroically by Napoleon on the streets of Paris... and the overly thankful father offered a number of gifts to repay his old friend's resident, all of which Napoleon rejected. It was only when the little kid begged MC to come visit them at their family home somewhere in Apulia that the initially absurd vacation idea came into existence.

And now they're actually here, just a few days before Napoleon's birthday. Due to his selfless nature, the soldier had to strictly warn MC to not tell anyone of the hosts about it, as he can't accept more of their generosity than they're already offering.

"You're already wanting to capture the sights, Nunuche? You're excited like a child. We've only just set foot in here. Come on, let's go."

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen vampire napoleon #ikevamp napoleon #napoleon birthday celebration 2023 #napoleon birthday celebration #ikemen #ikemen napoleon #ikemen series #otome

[scorpio-marionette]

Long Live the Red Viper

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x F!Reader

Rating: M for Mature

Warnings: canon levels of violence, implications of fun adult things, cute kids being cute, OBERYN MARTELL

Summary: You have returned to Dorne after the battle against the Night King. Will Oberyn forgive you for what happened to his children?

A/N: I'm slowly getting around to writing. I have a million different projects, on top of work, and feeling like no one wants to read my work. But hey, I finally wrote this, and regardless of if it gets read, I want to finish this story at least.

Mood board by @writer-darling

Ch. 4 / Ch. 6

Chapter 5

You have never seen sunshine so somber, a cloudless sky be gloomy, or a father be so devastated. Standing at your balcony that overlooks the Water Gardens, you think back to that fateful moment in battle. The Wall had been breached by the Night King and one of Daenerys’ own dragons. White Walkers flooded into the view at Winterfell. Truly hell on earth. Oberyn’s girls fought valiantly, even saving your life, but as the monsters tried to breach the walls of the fort even they fell to the sword… and it’s all your fault. You had become distracted by Daenerys. She and Ser Jorah had become pinned by the enemy. You and the Sand Snakes had also been cut off, surrounded by walkers. Her screams as Ser Jorah was cut down drew you away from the fight in front of you. Your need to protect your queen blinding you from your own survival. That mistake cost Nymeria her life. As you turned away, a walker chose to attack. She defended you and lost. The three of you knew she could not be completely taken away, so you scrambled to move her back inside to safety. Obara slashed her way through the hoard to make a path as you and Tyene dragged Nymeria’s body along. The crowd of undead pushed in and threatened to swallow you all whole. Obara was snatched briefly by the swell before you pulled her out. She had a deep wound in her abdomen, but was somehow still standing.

Some of the soldiers tried to fight their way to you, but the throngs of people were too much. You could see Daenerys all alone, but not too far away. You looked to Tyene and she nodded for you to go. You pushed through to grab the dragon queen, only to hear a shrill scream behind you. The two of you turn to see Tyene being all but ripped apart. The hoard must have grabbed her off of Nymera’s body and began to tear at her. Obara is nowhere to be seen. You both force your way through to remaining snakes, but you’re too late. Jon and the others finally reach you and fend off the walkers. You look down at the bodies of the girls and tears well up in your eyes. Obara overexerted herself, causing her to bleed out faster. She had been growing weaker and weaker without either of you noticing. She had collapsed from her wounds when she noticed the walkers take her sister. Tyene had tried to rip a walker off of Nymeria's body, but the creature decided to take her instead. They had beaten her senseless and cut her open like a freshly caught pig. 

Flashes of this moment still play whenever you close your eyes. You knew then that you could not in good conscience burn them along with the others lost without having their father see them first. You owed the girls and their father that much. So while the rest at Winterfell mourned the fallen, you and a small caravan prepared for the journey south again. This time to return those who came with you home. The time spent on the road gave you the space you needed from your queen. Daenerys had found you as slave. Your punishment for stealing from the wealthy. She admired your spirit and made you her guard after losing faith in Ser Jorah. You were willing to follow her to the ends of the earth. Now you wonder if it is worth the cost for such blind loyalty. Worth being the bearer of bad tidings. 

After returning to Dorne, you were welcomed into the palace. Despite the commodities and good greetings, you felt like a sham. Oberyn would speak to no one but his own family. Accepted no condolences at the funeral for his daughters. Only Doran would let you confess to what you felt was a crime. The prince of Dorne, patriarch to house Martell, listened as you grieved your mistakes. As the tears cascaded down your flushed cheeks, he breathed deep and evenly as he absorbed your words. He did not blame you. He did not move to comfort you. He merely nodded his understanding and stood, as it were, as an anchor to your suffering. When you calmed, he simply told you that it is not his forgiveness you must seek. Since then you have been trying to find the courage to speak to the Viper. He is not hard to find by any means. He trains everyday by himself. The only peace he seems to get these days. Training in the same gardens you look over now.

Looking down at Oberyn as he moves about with his spear is both a joy and a pain in itself. Your heart aches at the thought of all the agony he must be holding inside and yet your body sweats at the thought of the love he must carry around. Apparently it is an anomaly for the warrior to have gone so long without a partner in his bed as you have heard from the servants in the palace. They thought for sure he would have had someone by now since Ellaria passed. A few had hoped it would be them the prince would choose. You guess that has not been the case. He is too preoccupied with planning Cersei’s death. Which leads you right back around to how you should approach him. You cannot just talk to him. You have tried. He will not listen.

Perhaps you could fight him?

This is certainly a viable idea. There is no harm in trying. You turn away from the balcony and disregard your robes. Your loose pants and bands over your breasts will serve just fine for combat training. You descend the stairs to the gardens quietly and choose a spear from the awaiting arsenal. You wait and watch Oberyn’s movement. He is graceful in his practice, yet forceful and strong. As he whips the end of his spear back around to your general direction, you take this as your opportunity to jump in. You swing your own spear around so that it collides with his. This seems to break the man’s concentration as he had not expected company. His eyes glower at your interruption and he moves to slip away. However, you use the blunt end of the spear to jab at the man’s back as he turns. He looks at you. Searching your eyes to see if you truly wish to challenge him. Your face shows no sign of backing down, so he readies himself to spar.

You are unsure where your eagerness comes from, but you gladly take up the challenge that is the second son of Dorne. His movements are swift, if not just slightly difficult to keep up with, but it ignites a fire in your soul. Now, this is not just about getting him to speak to you. This is about proving your worth to him. You can see he isn’t impressed. You’re smaller and lack his strength, but you have better agility and speed than him. You dance around each other, leaving little nicks and cuts on the other's skin. Oberyn only speaks briefly to assure you that there is no poison on his spear. The fight looks evenly matched by an outside view. A stalemate that cannot be broken. Oberyn would disagree.

What you are unaware of is that Doran has already told his brother of your guilt. He knows you blame yourself for the death of his daughters and it kills him inside to know this. Both because you failed to protect them, and because he was not there to protect any of you. He had such high expectations when he had first laid eyes on you, and now in this scrimmage, he knows he was not wrong to make those opinions. However, he cannot help but be a little disappointed. Perhaps he should have sent just the soldiers of Dorne and not his children, but even Oberyn knows they would have wondered why he did not trust them to help. Deep down Oberyn knows there is no reason to blame you. You serve the dragon first. For some sadistic reason though he just wants to see you suffer a little. To see you writhe in the silence he gives you, pretending he does not know what you want to speak to him about. The quiet before the storm.

As your bout ends in a draw, Oberyn backs off and puts up his hand. You stand down as the man moves to put his spear away. You want to ask if you can spar with him again, but your voice seems to be stuck in your throat. You watch almost shamelessly as the sweat trickles down his torso. A new kind of heat taking over your body. He sees you eyeing him, though you fail to notice this. He chuckles quietly at your blatant attraction to him. It seems regardless of your guilt you still fancy him. This gives Oberyn a devious idea. 

“I will see you here, bright and early, tomorrow morning, yes?”

The question breaks you out of your stupor. You nod dumbly at the prince and see a smirk break his once morbid face. Something has changed at this moment. You are not quite sure what though. 

The morning comes, but Oberyn does not. You wait and wait, wondering what could be holding him up. Apparently, what was keeping him was amassing an audience for your scrimmage. You are sure a curious, if not concerned look has crossed your face at your opponent's arrival with his entourage. A slight smirk rests on Oberyn's lips as he takes you in. You are visibly irritated, but eager to start. This should be fun.

One of the soldiers accompanying his majesty sweeps his robes off of his shoulders. Another hands him his spear. A third approaches you with an identical weapon before returning to the other side. The atmosphere is tense regardless of its motion. The heat of the sun beats down upon your skin. You both step forward and into a ready stance. A soldier stands to the side, ready to signal the fight. At the drop of his hand, Oberyn lunges first. The sudden show of aggression is unforseen on your part as you quickly stumble back, looking for your footing. More quick lunges are thrown your way as you lamely deflect. It becomes apparent that the Viper is here today. With one last push into your space, Oberyn steps back to give you a little room. He is purposely pushing you to truly see what you can do. Backing you into a corner so you will have to fight back. You miss this notion though. All you know is agitation. First this man makes you wait for him. Now he aims to humiliate you in front of his own soldiers. Have you not suffered enough at the hands of the guilt you hold? No, apparently not. The prince means to make you suffer for his loss.

Irate at the thought that Oberyn could have stooped so low as to humiliate you as punishment for his daughters' death, you center yourself around this emotion and face him head on. You strike quite similarly to him when using the spear. Fierce, fast, and calculated like a snake. You lunge for him with clear intent to impale him, but what he does not see is your retaliation to his dodge. As he glides to the side to avoid your strike, you quickly change the position of your feet from a lunge to a swipe and slam the side of your spear into Oberyn’s chest. While this is surprising, he still keeps up with your change in tactics. After landing the blow, you spin around to land another on his back. As the shift of your spear comes into view, Oberyn turns to catch the wood under his arm. With the weapon pinned, he slams it down upon his thigh, shattering it. He then flips his own spear around to use the blunt end to attack you. You block his swings with your arms, but the blows disorient you. You miss the sweep of his leg and you crash into the stone below.

Through the now throbbed pain in your head from the impact of falling, you feel smooth wood against your sternum. You look up at your opponent to see a satisfied smile on his face. He must have expected you to be playful and happy when this sparring session ended because the satisfaction melts away into concern as all you are is angry. You shove away his spear and gather what's left of your pride as you skulk away. The snickers from the soldiers echoing in your ears. The man did not even have the decency to hold you a spear point. He might as well have beaten you with a mere stick. He should be satisfied now that you are proven a worthless wench in his eyes.

Oberyn, however, was anything but satisfied. He expected you to continue fighting. For you to stop at nothing to take him down. Now he is concerned he may have pushed you too far when you are still in a fragile state. He makes no moves to follow you, though he does silence his men. The last thing you need is to think you are incapable.

Upon the breaking of day the next morning, Oberyn rises with just a small spit of hope. He wishes to see you come barreling into the gardens with renewed determination to throw him to the floor. To witness the true power your spirit holds. That your body holds. The prince would be lying if he didn't say that your physicality has lit a raging fire in his loins. There is raw, brute strength in the force you admit. A beautiful and smooth elegance to your movements. Under your control, they harmonize into a dance that he wishes to join you in. Perhaps in that moment he could convince you to accompany him back to his chambers. To see you as he has desired for some time. Bare, soft, pliable, wanting…

With a spring in his step, he enters the gardens to wait for you. He chooses his spear and begins practice once again so as not to seem unusual. As he moves his feet in memorized patterns, his hands glide up and down the shift of the spear as if caressing your form. He pictures you melting into his touch. Your body silently pleading to be taken away and ravaged by his own. When he closes his eyes, he can see himself losing all sense in your embrace. The animal within taking over as he buries himself in your burning heat. His mind then begins to depict you round with his babe, but Oberyn banishes this for it is too early to think about that yet. He needs to know how you feel first.

What feels like hours pass the prince. You still have not arrived. He looks to your balcony where he knows you have been watching him for days. It stands vacant above his head. Where could you be? Concerned, Oberyn replaces his spear and leaves to look for you. He checks all the places he would think to find a warrior, but all they hold are the guards of the palace. He then searches all the places one would find a woman of great importance. All he gets for his efforts is a swarm of ladies looking to have him in their chambers. Much to their dismay, he leaves them. It suddenly occurs to Oberyn that he has not heard from his children. While the Viper trains everyday, the man does not train all day. He has made a balance in being a warrior, a prince, and a father for his youngest snakes now that his largest supporters have all passed. He knows that Doran and Sarella keep the four at bay while he trains, but he is always surrounded by them after he finishes for the day. The remembrance of this pushes him to seek them out. Perhaps they could help him find his warrior of interest. Oberyn looks in all the places he knows his girls love to frequent, but alas, he cannot find a single one. They seem to have all disappeared. Confused and mildly concerned, he begins to pace the halls of the palace. As he passes the doors to the library, a chorus of giggles can be heard on the other side. Pausing, he returns to listen in.

"What is a jinn?"

"A jinn, or a jinni, is a magical creature that grants wishes."

"Are they good?"

"They can be, or they can be scary!"

"Are you a jinni?"

"No, darling, I am no-"

"Of course she is!"

Your response to little Elia is cut short by her father's abrupt entrance. Your head shoots up at his voice and all you can see is the joy in his face. What he is so happy about, you are unsure.

"SHE IS?!"

"Yes, my love, she can make many men's dreams come true."

Ah, that is what has him so excited. Nice to see how he views you.

"Alright girls, story time is done for today. I would imagine your father is here to find you."

The four little sand snakes that surround you begin to pout and moan. One even clinging to your leg, not wanting to let you go. The sight warms Oberyn inside and that idea of you having his child enters him again. He may have lost his Sun and his three eldest children, but he knows they would want him to be happy, and happiness seems to be you helping him grow his brood by letting him pour all of his love into you. 

Unfortunately, you are unaware of the heated gaze the prince casts upon you. The desire his spirit has to take you in this room after dismissing his children. You merely rose from the chair you had taken so you could read to the girls. They had ambushed you this morning, much to your surprise. Their curiosity of the lady in furs becoming far too much for their little minds to contain. You had risen early so as to leave before Oberyn entered the gardens below. When you opened your door however, the four little snakes tumbled in, and so began the most intense interrogation of your existence.

At first it was a cacophony of questions that could not be understood. To pace them, you lead them to the kitchen like a mother duck leads her ducklings. You sat them down, one at a time, upon the tables and began to give them fruit. Your first question was why you chose the fruits you did. Your answer being that you've always wanted to try them but never could. Your next question was what will you eat next. To which you answered that you were unsure. On and on the questions came between bites of fruits and sweets and cheese. It made for a rather enjoyable morning for how early it was.

Once the food was gone, the snakes all fell in line behind you as you moved along. Now, however, they needed nothing to convince them to speak one at a time. One should speak up as all the others stayed silent, and they all started to naturally take turns asking questions. As you continued to answer their curiosity, you moved them to the library. You had been meaning to visit since your arrival, but your mild obsession with one prince of Dorne had dampened your chances. When you and your proverbial ducklings entered, one immediately asked, "will you read to us?" You would have been heartless to say no to that request. Especially with the face you were being given, and that is how you ended up here with four little girls around you like they were your own children. It does not help that you have always wanted to be a mother. No decent man wants a broken woman.

You bend down to unlatch the tiny hands around your ankle when a masculin hand stops you. Looking up you see the pleased look on Oberyn's face.

"I was actually looking for you. You never came to the gardens. I would have thought you wanted a rematch after yesterday."

You want to scoff, but you do not want to start a fight in front of girls.

"I have no interest in sparring with you, my prince-"

"Oberyn, please. You are our guest, and my children seem to have taken a liking to you. It would only be fair if you called me by my name."

"Yes, well, that does not change anything, Oberyn."

"Papa, can she be our new mama?"

Both of you freeze at the question provided by the youngest girl. Two dramatically different thoughts pass through your minds.

She cannot be serious!

I would love to make her your mother.

You suddenly notice how Oberyn is holding your hand. His thumb mindlessly stroking your finger as if toying with a ring. Is HE actually thinking about it? He cannot be, right? He humiliated you in front of his men. He holds no feelings for you. You look up to the near obsidian orbs that are trained solely on you and you freeze. Desire, unbridled and unfiltered, pours out of them with the threat to drown you. He is thinking about it.

"My joy, that is not a question for me. You must ask her because it is her decision. But you will have to wait to ask again, because I have questions for her as well."

You are pulled out of your stupor with the tug on your hand. Oberyn releases you from his children and promptly drags you away. They grumble quietly as you leave. The prince takes you to his bed chambers and all but barricades the door. Wanting no interruptions now that he has you with him. Turning to face you he finally takes in your dress. Dorne looks exquisite on you! You wear a gorgeous golden dress that drapes perfectly over the curves of your body. You wear bangles you bought from the gypsy woman in the market. The sandals were gifts from the servants of the palace for returning his daughters home. You are truly a goddess before him.

"Please forgive my girls. They have always known the love of their mother, so in their grief they are looking for another."

You nod in understanding. You had lost your mother at a young age, but you could barely remember her. Wanting to fill the silence, Oberyn crosses over to you to take your hands in his. Your hesitancy to speak is making him uneasy.

"You must know I never intended to embarrass you. I had brought soldiers to our last session in hopes of seeing what you could do. I only wanted to challenge you."

His eyes are pleading though you are trying to avoid looking at them. For as dark as they are, there is a clear and vibrant light inside of them. One that calls to your very soul. One that asks you to come to it, to stay with it. You can see now why so many are drawn to this man. His heart is pure, his mind dark, and his body a paradise. 

"You did nonetheless, Oberyn. So what do you want from me?"

Oberyn takes your hands and pulls them under his robe to place on his bare chest. His own move to cradle your arms as his heart beats under your fingertips. His head tilts down to lean against your own, and he stills.

"Forgiveness"

The guards of Sunspear are more than accustomed to avoiding the scurrying of little feet. What with the royal family seeming to have a new addition every other month or so, one learns to avoid them. Even seeing them crowded around a door, trying to listen in, is not an unusual sight. All one must do is notify Sarella of what they are doing and where, and she will take care of them. Well, that is exactly what is happening at this moment. Sarella was told by a passing guard that her younger sisters seemed to be trying to eavesdrop on someone in her father’s chambers. To say the lady went just a wee bit pale, would be an understatement. Now Sarella is rushing to find her sisters. Another commonality in the palace.

As she approaches, a quiet titter like fairies can be heard in the silent hall. The four little girls are all huddled together at the door listening. Not much can be heard, but at least it is not the graphic and lewd moans and cries one would usually hear from this room. Sarella swifty whisks all of the children away to a different part of the palace. Preferably to the furthest point away from their father. She has them all sit as they continue to gossip amongst themselves. Ever so curious as to what could be making them so enthralled in their father’s affairs, she asks what they heard.

The little ones all look around at each other as if deciding if she’s worthy of the information. Can she be trusted? their looks ask. Will she understand? All good questions to have in mind. After a moment the giggles begin again. One scoots forward to let Sarella in on what has happened.

“You must not tell anyone, not yet,” Obella whispers. “But we believe papa is going to make the beautiful lady he met our new mama.”

The girls all burst into a fit of laughter. The excitement is prominent on their small faces. Then one hushes the others.

“But he must win her heart!” exclaims Elia.

“What do you mean?” 

“He must win her heart in battle,” says Loreza.

You and Oberyn have spent everyday together since his confession. Not only did the man not mean you harm, but he meant to have you in his bed. He would have gotten that had it not been for the young audience at the door. Instead you proposed a deal to the prince. A fair fight. If he could beat you with minimal effort again, or merely impress you with his skills, you open yourself up to him. If he could not, the two of you would spar until that day came. 

Despite how genuine the prince seemed to be, you could not help the nagging feeling that this was all just physical for him. You know very well you are beautiful. Plenty of men had tried to have you without care for you, and nearly as many lost pieces for their insubordination. When you say no, you mean it. A part of you hopes this might become more. That you are not just a means of satiating his lust. That maybe the Viper has it in him to still love.

That is why everyday has been a chance to give him hell. To push him hard and see what he does. He keeps a good pace with you. Both of your skills are evenly matched. One day you will go down. The next will be him. On and on as the tension builds. You catch each other in moments of weakness. The caress of a face. The brushing of a leg. By the end of each spar, Oberyn is as hard as the steal used in his spear. You are wetter than the shore after a storm. Yet you both still part ways. Lingering gazes across your form. An invisible touch. A promise to return again in the morning.

Then the bells toll.

#pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #oberyn martell #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #oberyn nymeros martell #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x reader #prince oberyn #oberyn x you #long live the red viper #this fic is now 27 pages long

[draguta]

.a court of fate and fortune | twenty-two.

pairing: lucien vanserra x fem!reader

summary: | book two | lovers separated, powers that won't be controlled, a doomed wedding. with the threat of war looming over prythian, lucien, Y/N, tamlin, and rhysand's inner circle must scramble to find allies and prepare themselves for what is to come. but Y/N only has one aim; to find her way back to lucien, and protect him at all costs.

chapter warnings: mentions of domestic violence

chapter word count: 3860

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Beast

Your footsteps were as silent as the night as you stalked through the woods, keeping as low and out-of-sight as you could manage, inwardly cursing yourself for not asking Azriel for tips. Your body slid between the trees carefully, your eyes snapping between the forest floor, checking for twigs or dried leaves that might have cracked or crunched under your feet, revealing your position, and the figure that wandered before you. He wasn’t aware that you were following him - that you had even left the cottage - especially not after he had been so insistent that you remain in bed and eat your breakfast, porridge that he had dutifully ‘borrowed’ from the sentinels’ dormitory over the hill at the top of the meadow before you had even woken that morning.

It hadn’t taken long for the smell of the sweetened sloppy oats to rouse you from sleep, especially when combined with the gentle patterns echoed over your bare shoulders and back, and the quiet whisperings of ‘sweet human’ and ‘my love’ that Lucien murmured into your ear. Yet, as you swallowed your third spoonful of porridge, washing it down with a cup of hot, milky tea, he had announced that he was heading out to find Tamlin, and all thoughts of hunger had dissipated from your mind faster than you could swallow the mouthful of tea that you still had. The second the door had closed behind him, you had leapt out of bed, threw on whatever clothes you could find in Silas’ ancient armoire, and rushed out the door behind him.

Based on how high the sun was sitting in the blue, cloudless sky above the canopy of trees, visible between the leaves every now and then when the vast woodlands because sparser, you had to guess that it was around midday already, meaning that you’d been walking for at least two hours already, scanning every bush and every clearing for any sign of the High Lord, whether it be in beast form or as High Fae. As of yet, there was no sign of him.

Not that you really cared - let him wallow in his own guilt in the woods for as long as he wished, perhaps forever, if that’s what it took for him to realise his own mistakes, that it was those mistakes that had led him to this very point. Perhaps that was Tamlin’s fate, to eternally wallow, and you weren’t going to stand in the way of that, not when his actions had haunted you for months. Not when you couldn’t even go inside your own room alone, because every time you looked at that corner by the door you were thrown straight back to being helpless once more. Not when those actions would no doubt stay with Feyre too. Not when he had made that same mistake twice now, and showed so little remorse for what he had done.

Of course, he had apologised, when you had returned to Spring, but you weren’t naïve enough to think that it was anything close to genuine. You had been wearing a mask since you had come back - the mask of the perfect, obedient sister to the High Lord - and you knew very well that he was wearing a mask too. The mask of the penitent brother who was simply glad to have his sister back. It was a lie - a carefully constructed one; it was painfully obvious to you that the only reason he was remaining on your good side was to gather any intel he could on the Night Court.

Morse the pity for him that any information you had given him, or would give him, had been planned by you and Azriel beforehand.

Regardless of what your feelings toward Tamlin were, however, the thought of Lucien out there alone searching for him, knowing the state that Tamlin would be in, made your stomach swirl. You wouldn’t intervene - wouldn’t step in unless it was really necessary. And if Tamlin even so much as unsheathed his claws at Lucien-

“Are you planning to follow me all day, my love?”

You froze in your tracks, breathing heavy, just as Lucien turned toward you, a smirk playing on his golden-tanned face and his auburn hair falling over his shoulder as he moved. Sunlight cast down between the treetops above, shining down on the exact spot where he stood, illuminating the spattering of freckles across his skin, and despite yourself - despite wanting to dip behind the closest tree before his eyes landed on you and pretend that you weren’t there at all - you were rooted to the spot, unable to pull your eyes away from his little grin. You had been caught.

“How did you know?” You asked breathlessly.

His eyes trailed up to the trees, across the brush surrounding you both. “It’s quiet in the woods today,” he said softly, before looking back to you. “I heard every step that you made, even if you were trying to be silent. I was waiting for you to make yourself known, but I guess that wasn’t the plan?”

You huffed out an incredulous laugh. “I wasn’t planning to tell you I was here, no. I just wanted to come in case…in case you needed my help.”

“With Tamlin?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. Your sight cast downward, and you nodded slowly. Lucien simply chuckled, taking a step toward you and pulling you toward him, burying your face in his chest. “My sweet little love, always protecting me.”

“Well, someone has to do it,” you smirked against his shirt. His shoulders shook with laughter, and you heard him inhale a breath as if he were going to say something - a snarky remark, no doubt - when-

A rustle sounded in the brush behind you, and the two of you froze, Lucien’s hand instinctively going to the pommel of his sword. He squeezed you tighter to him once, before letting you go. “Stay here,” he whispered, eyes trained on that line of trees where the bushes blanketed the trunks behind you, “and don’t move until I say so.”

One kiss to your temple and Lucien’s warmth was gone, the slick slice of his sword echoing through the woodland as he unsheathed it, holding it out firmly in front of him as he edged closer and closer to that bush. Then, a sound came from behind those leaves, something akin to a…whimper.

He paused, cocking his head slightly, before pulling the leaves back; you could see the sag of his shoulders.

“Tam,” he whispered, and within a second you were by his side, looking down into the bush. There Tamlin sat, naked save for a shredded scrap of cloth that looked as if it had once been his shirt draped over his body. He was curled up on the ground, knees to his chest, head balancing on his legs, and shoulders shaking. You didn’t miss the flash of red blood across his cheek and chest, although whether it was his, or that of the Bogges, you weren’t sure.

Lucien lowered himself to his knees before his High Lord, something you were sure he had done before when pledging loyalty to the Spring Court and his leader, but this time it was different, and you could see that. This wasn’t an emissary kneeling before his High Lord - this was a loyal male lowering himself to equal with his friend.

It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention.

“Tam, are you okay?” Lucien asked slowly. Tamlin’s golden locks, scruffy and knotted, housing leaves and snapped twigs from a night in the woods, fell over his face as he looked up, watery emerald eyes meeting those of russet and gold. They snapped to you for a second, and you could almost see the question hidden in the green there - ‘why are you here?’ - but they returned to Lucien as quickly as they had come. Yet, he offered no answer to Lucien’s question.

“I killed the Bogges,” he said quietly; his voice was hoarse and croaked, and you imagined how dry his throat must have been, besides the blood that caked over his front teeth. “But I couldn’t bring myself to go back to the manor.”

‘Because I can’t face the destruction that I caused there,’ was what he didn’t say. But you knew, without question, that when you did return to that manor you’d find it ripped to pieces.

“You have to go back at some point,” Lucien said softly, gentler than you would’ve granted Tamlin. “Your people need you, no matter what has happened.”

Tamlin cocked his head to the side. “You would expect me to continue? To keep going like this when Feyre is…gone?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” You interjected, pursing your lips. Two pairs of eyes snapped to you, and despite the small shake of Lucien’s head, and the warning on his face, you continued, ignoring him entirely. “You were the one who caused this. It wouldn’t be fair for you to act like the victim.”

Tamlin practically snarled, all vulnerability dissipated from his features as they contorted into anger. “You would blame me for Feyre’s kidnapping?”

You raised an eyebrow, huffing out a shocked laugh. “Who else would be to blame? You locked her in that house, Tamlin. Perhaps you should start looking at yourself, before throwing the blame at everyone else like you always do.”

“That’s enough, Y/N,” Lucien hissed, but it was too late - your words had already hit their mark. Tamlin growled, anger sparking in his eyes, across his face.

“There is only one person to blame, one person who bears the fault here,” he snarled, claws glinting in the early-morning sunlight as they slipped from his knuckles. “And that person is not me.”

“Think what you like, brother,” you snapped, “but no matter who is to blame for this, the fact remains the same: your paranoia is suffocating, and it will be your downfall.”

“Rhysand-”

“Rhysand took her, yes,” you bit back. “But he is not the one that broke her in the first place.” Your ruse - you had to keep up your ruse, no matter how angry you were. No matter how much your ‘brother’s’ treatment of Feyre the day before had made you sick to your stomach. Rhys had to remain as the terrible and horrific all-powerful dictator who had stolen Lady Spring away like a thief in the night. Not just for Rhys’ sake, but for the sake of Prythian. “Could you not see it? Really? Were you that blind?”

Tamlin was on his feet in seconds, only that scrap of material wrapped around him covering his modesty. Not that it would have mattered, not at his eyes flashed the feral green of the beast, and claws erupted from his knuckles in a swift swipe. Not as golden fur began to sprout from the back of his neck and his chest, and horns slowly grew from his temples. It wasn’t the quick flash of light that usually transformed him; this was anger pulling it out, prolonging it in an attempt to make you fear him.

It wouldn’t work.

Not anymore.

Once your knees would have trembled and your bottom lip would have shook at the sight.

But now you were strong. You were no longer weak.

His breaths came out in pants as he growled, “Remember who you’re speaking to. Remember who saved you all those years ago. Remember who is your High Lord.”

Lucien shot you a warning glare. “Y/N, don’t-”

But you were raising your chin already, hands fisted at your sides in a firm, determined stance, one you had once seen Feyre take up Under the Mountain, had once envied when you had been weak and she had been strong. And in that same commanding tone, you said, “You are not my High Lord, Tamlin. Not anymore. You’re not even my brother anymore. Whoever you are now, it’s not the person I once knew.”

It was those words that brought the beast to the forefront properly. His body cracked and curled and transfigured into that giant lion-bear-elk beast. He hurled forward onto all-fours, saliva dripping from a fanged mouth as he snarled and growled and inched closer to you.

You didn’t back down.

“Go now.” The voice was Tamlin’s voice, yet different - more wild, and deeper, gravelly. The voice of the beast that he had become, now evident in this form and in that of his Fae form. Tamlin was a beast, through and through. “Before I rip you to shreds.”

You swallowed once, turned on your heel, and disappeared between the trees.

Even as you heard Lucien whispering to him calmly. Even as the beast whimpered, and a thud on the woodland ground told you that he had fallen to his knees, told you that he was grieving, even in this form, even through his anger.

You didn’t stop. You didn’t turn around. And you didn’t feel sorry.

You didn’t return to Silas’ cottage. Instead, it was your room back at the manor that you found yourself in, empty bags sitting on your bed waiting to be packed, piles of clothes strewn about the floor, separated based on what you might need to take, and what could ultimately be left behind.

You had no doubt that Tamlin wouldn’t let you stay, not after that. You’d let your anger control you - let your fearsome loyalty to your friend overpower your judgement. And in doing so, you had failed your mission, had let down Rhys and Azriel and Cassian - had let down even Feyre, in a way. More than anyone else, however, you had let down Lucien.

You would be forced to leave, and you weren’t sure, after such a failure at your only job, you would be welcome back in Velaris. So, perhaps Silas’ cottage would act as a refuge for a time until you were able to find somewhere else to reside. You scanned every memory you had of Prythian, every person you had met. There would be no safety found in the Autumn Court, and the Winter, Summer, and Dawn Courts were not known to you well enough to offer you sanctuary. But perhaps…perhaps Helion at the Day Court could be your sanctity, if needed. He had, after all, been such a kind soul when you had visited with Lucien…

Throwing a pile of stockings into the bag - likely too thick for the glorious sunshine of the Day Court, but enough that they might work for any possible future trips to other courts - you huffed out a sigh. 

It was a strange thought, that you would be leaving without seeing Tamlin again. That the next time you saw him may well be on the battlefield. And if he were to die during that battle - as many others would, falling with their comrades on either side - it would be with your last words to him being that of vicious insults bitten in anger. Would be that of you telling him how much of a coward you thought him to be.

No. You wouldn’t think like that. You pushed those thoughts to the very back of your mind, locking them away in a box that you refused to open again. Perhaps not in Lucien’s eyes, judging by the way he had knelt before his friend, had warned you not to speak your mind, but in your eyes Tamlin deserved to hear those words. Deserved to know what you now thought of him.

You slipped out of your room and across the hall into Lucien’s. You knew that there were at least a few dresses and underthings strewn over the back of his desk chair that belonged to you, left there to be forgotten after various nights spent wrapped up in his sheets. Grabbing them, you hooked them over your elbow, eyes drifting to the desktop. Various papers were sat atop the dark red-wood desk, each one bearing Lucien’s curled scrawl, slanted and hardly legible in certain areas where he was passionate about the contents of the report. You chuckled, running a finger over the indents of ink on the paper, but as it trailed over the final sentence of a report about the unrest toward the sea border - the one closest to Hybern - you paused. Rather, froze.

There, on the desk, tucked back against the wall and half-hidden behind a faelamp, sat a jewellery box. It was small - too small to hold a necklace - but perhaps contained a pair of earrings. Curiosity got the better of you; you reached forward, fingers wrapping around the suede box and holding it in your palm. It was heavy, and the little gold latch on the front glinted welcomingly, as if inviting you to open it.

You shouldn’t - you knew that - and yet…

The latch clicked as you unlocked it, swinging the lid open to reveal the velvet cushion inside, the same auburn red as the box that contained it; as Lucien’s hair. And there, tucked into the hole in the centre of that pillow, sat the most beautiful ring you had ever laid eyes upon before.

You had seen plenty of jewels here at the Spring Court; the vaults that held Tamlin’s family fortune housed hundreds, if not thousands, of alluring rings. But this…The band was golden - not just gold, but the same type of gold as Lucien’s eye, the metal that seemed to hold an inherently angelic gleam to it, that seemed to burn like molten flames. And there atop it, encrusted into that band, held in place by small golden leaves that twirled and eddied around it like smoke from a fireplace, sat an amber crystal. You knew that gemstone the second you saw it, carved from the very stone you had given Lucien for Solstice so long ago, one of the many crystal points of that gem. But this one had been cut and polished, the rough rock exterior removed, and whilst it still kept its naturally jagged cut on the top, the bottom half had been smoothed to perfection.

Your shoulders shook slightly as you stared down at that ring. Because the meaning behind it…This ring wasn’t meant for just anyone, not with that stone set on it, not with what that stone meant, and represented. This ring was for you. To be placed on your fourth finger during a ceremony that would bind you and Lucien together, would cement your love for one another before everyone that you cared for.

Slamming the box shut you shoved it back in the spot where you had found it, your heart beating a mile a minute. You weren’t meant to see that ring - it wasn’t for your eyes, not yet. But-

But how could you leave now, knowing what Lucien had planned, knowing what he envisioned for your future together. Lucien was your future, you knew that already, but that ring signified something more. More than that mating bond, more than what you felt for him. Because it showed you exactly what he felt for you, showed you that even though he hadn’t felt that snap yet, even though fate hadn’t decreed it time for him to learn that you were mates yet, he was still more than willing to bind his life to yours for eternity. That his love was that strong, even without the mating bond compelling him to do so.

You slipped out of Lucien’s room, closing the door silently behind you and didn’t stop walking until you were back at the foot of your own bed, staring down at the piles of clothes there waiting to be packed.

“What-” You froze at the voice that sounded behind you, from the doorway. “What are you doing?”

You cleared your throat. You hadn’t quite gotten to the part in your plan where you worked out what to tell - or what to do - with Lucien. You’d barely gotten past packing your bags and attempting to winnow to Silas’ cottage. You knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if you asked he would follow. You could feel that through the bond that tied you to him, even if he was blissfully unaware that he was sending that feeling through those strings connecting you both. Blissfully unaware that those strings were even there at all.

But now your plans had to change. Now you couldn’t, in good conscience, leave. Not when there was a future promised for you here with Lucien by your side.

You didn’t turn - couldn’t bear to see the disappointment on his features if I did, knowing that he’d likely worked out exactly what you were doing. “I was going to leave,” you said slowly. “I was going to stay in Silas’ cottage tonight, and then go to the Day Court tomorrow morning.”

“Why?” The question was so quiet, and you wondered if he was thinking about all those weeks that you had been parted before - he in the Spring Court, you in the Night Court.

“I didn’t think I could stay here,” you said simply. “After what I said to Tamlin.”

You heard his footstep sound behind you as he took a tentative step closer. “And now?”

“Now I…I don’t know,” you said slowly. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“Then don’t,” he breathed. “Stay here, with me.”

You finally turned, meeting his eyes, taking in the curl of his brows, the thin line of his normally succulent lips. “Do you think he would let me stay?”

“I don’t know,” Lucien replied honestly. “But I’ll keep you safe, even if I have to stay with you at all times. Even if I have to order Silas to guard you every second of every day to keep you safe.”

You chuckled, unable to help yourself. “I don’t think Silas would be happy about disobeying his High Lord.”

Lucien shrugged, sidling ever-closer to you, hands reaching up to rest on your hips. Despite his casual stance, the worry didn’t leave his face, nor his eyes. “For you, I think he would.” His thumb stroked a soft line against the material of your dress. “Please don’t leave me again.”

Your own hands moved up to cup his face. “I won’t,” you assured him. “I promised you, didn’t I? Promised I wouldn’t leave you again. I’m sorry that it even crossed my mind.”

He let out an audible sigh of relief, hands pushing at your hips slightly, navigating you toward the edge of the mattress, pushing you down until your head hit the comforter. He crawled up your body, caging you in, lips meeting the heated skin of your neck in an instant, tongue swiping licks to the dip between your jaw and neck, lips dragging kisses along your collarbone.

“Seeing you out there today - the way you spoke to Tamlin,” he murmured between his ministrations. “I was scared for you, but more than anything, I was proud. And all I could think about was getting my lips on you - was tasting you.”

You moaned at his words. And yet, the only thing you could think about was that ring, and what that meant for you and Lucien.

Taglist

Complete: | @loveshineslikethesky | @elleclairez | @lostpirateinwonderland | @judig92 | @old-enough-to-know-better73 | @atrashsith | @chanaaaannel |

Lucien Vanserra: | @luna-foxglove | @lumos-barnes | @cumuluscranium | @dreamlandreader | @enrichmenttimeinmyenclosure | @rachelnicolee |

#ACOTAR #ACOTAR fanfiction #ACOTAR fanfic #Lucien Vanserra #Lucien #Lucien ACOTAR #Lucien Vanserra fanfiction #Lucien Vanserra fanfic #Lucien fanfiction #Lucien fanfic #Lucien x reader #Lucien Vanserra x reader #Lucien x you #Lucien Vanserra x you #Lucien x y/n #lucien vanserra x y/n #rhysand #feyre #tamlin #cassian #azriel #amarantha #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #lucien smut #lucien vanserra smut #acotar smut

[peculiar-time-traveller]

Headcanons: Working with Dodge at Dot's diner 

Warnings: None

Author's note: English isn't my first language, so even though I have already written stories in English before and I consider myself fluent speaker, I can still make mistakes that I can even not be aware of. If you have any constructive feedback, if you spotted something that is grammatically/lexically incorrect or if something just sounds clumsy - feel free to let me know through my inbox or in comments! I will really appreciate that, your advices can help me become better writer and improve my English skills.

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Since you never wanted to get involved in Panic you knew that you had to take up a summer job somewhere in Carp if you wanted to go to your dream college.

When you started looking for a job you really didn't have many options, no one was hiring new employees except Dot's diner.

You knew that Dodge worked there, but you hadn't spoken to him before - in school, he was kind of an outcast and you were a bit shy so you two didn't have a chance to have a real conversation.

But you knew him by sight and had to admit that you always found him attractive.

On your first day working at Dot's, you were worried that he would get annoyed with you for having to explain to you how everything worked there. Besides, you had always perceived him as a bit intimidating before because he seemed so unapproachable .

But from the moment you walked into Dot's, he was very patient with you - teaching you how to make the best coffee you've ever had, how to prepare the cold drinks and dishes served in the diner. When you happened to forget how to do something, he carefully explained it to you again.

After a few days, you began to really enjoy spending time at Dot's, working there with Dodge. Sometimes, when the diner was already closed, you both would grab your favorite sodas and just sit at the bar, talking about your plans for the future.

At first, Dodge was distrustful and somewhat suspicious of your willingness to talk to him - that's the way he's always been with people, but you truly wanted to be friends with him.

For a while, he was almost certain that you were a judge in Panic, who was just trying to learn more about his life and his weaknesses.

But you were really persistent and eventually, step by step, you won his trust and convinced him that your intentions were sincere and that you just wanted to be friends with him.

Gradually you became Dodge's best friend - actually his only friend at Carp. You were the first person in town he told about his rodeo hobby and about his family.

The two of you began to really enjoy each other's company, one cloudless night you even went to the roof of the Dot's with some blankets to sit on and watched the stars over the Carp.

But back to working at Dot's. While you were doing your daily tasks, whether serving customers at the bar or just cleaning tables, sometimes you glanced at Dodge just to admire how good he looked.

After a while, you surprisingly often would catch him glaring at you too when he thought you didn't see it.

Soon you realized that you not only found Dodge attractive but you actually started to catch feelings for him.

One day you came to work ready to confess to Dodge that you like him, but he surprised you. After a long day spent serving clients and thoroughly cleaning the whole diner you two were sitting at the bar sipping iced tea. Suddenly he asked if you wanted to go out with him next weekend.

You were genuinely shocked, you just managed to ask him simply: "Are you … are you taking me on a date?" You immediately regretted that you were so blunt. You were sure that he would think you had gone crazy.

He just smirked.

"If you want it to be a date, I am all in."

His words left you speechless. That evening, coming home from Dot's you were beyond happy and looking forward more than ever to another day at work with Dodge.

#dodge mason #dodge mason headcanons #mike faist #dodge mason imagine #dodge mason x reader #dodge mason fanfic