#but I keep pressing it expecting a different outcome

[glock-24-but-trans]

My toxic trait is getting pissed at something I’m reading but I insist on finishing it because I refuse to get “clearly you didn’t read it” comments.

Yes I will hate read your “Kurt cobain was trans” post, not because i enjoy it but because I need to make sure my dislike was reasonable.

It was. It always is.

[maxtermind]

hello 👋 big congrats on hitting 3k ‼️👏🧨 i would request:

This is only, and only for the business deal. No more, no less.

That’s dangerous.

With Lewis, maybe sugar daddy or arranged marriage?

sending love 🫶

“this is only, and only for the business deal. no more, no less.” + “that's dangerous.”

( event masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request ) ★:summary:: in which your husband just can't sleep on the same bed as you because- well his sanity is at it's last thread till it snaps! ★:feat:: lewis hamilton x reader ★:genre:: v lil angst; too much smut

“I have nothing more to add.”

You could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating, as you stood across from Lewis in the lavish hotel room. Your patience was wearing thin, and his calm façade was pissing you off.

“You're insane if you think I’m just going to-” your words cut off when he abruptly stood up, eyes still staring intently at you.

Why did he even care where you spen the night? You would rather just book another hotel room than sleep on the sole bed while knowing your husband was a few feet away, sleeping on the couch, and not with you purposely.

“This is ridiculous,” you snapped when you found your voice again, your tone cutting through the silence. “I didn't sign up for this kind of treatment.”

Sure, that was a bit extreme. Given that he was always so polite, so prime, so perfect. God, was it a sin to expect him to lose it a bit? To not hold back when you clearly lost it whenever you were around him?

“And what kind of treatment is that, Y/N?” Lewis clenched his jaw, barely holding on to his… temper? “You cannot get another room to stay in, this is not-”

“I’m not sharing a room with you! I don’t give a fuck about what your investors think of us!” you retorted, throwing your arms above your head. “Thought this marriage was only for a business deal?!”

He took a step closer, his eyes darkening with frustration. “That's right. This is only, and only for the business deal. No more, no less.” Lewis’ eye twitched and you rejoiced internally at finally seeing a tiny part of him starting to crack.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, a mix of anger and something else— something you refused to acknowledge in his presence any further. “If that's all it is, then…”

Frankly, the words stung more than you wanted to admit to him and- yourself. You knew this marriage was arranged for the benefit of both your families' businesses, but hearing it out loud, especially from him, made it feel all the more real, and all the more painful.

Were you hoping for a different outcome? Not necessarily. It did hurt, though, when your ‘husband’ stepped onto any tiny flicker of hope you had with his ignorant comments. Why did he act like he didn’t fucking want you?

Because he really doesn't, your mind screamed, and as tears gathered in your eyes, you turned around to leave, but Lewis grabbed your arm, his grip firm but not painful, a desperate plea leaving his mouth. “Wait.”

You shook your head as he turned you around, hardening your gaze, your eyes challenging. His expression was a total contrast, softened with a hint of panic in his eyes. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Please, don't go.”

“What?” You hesitated, feeling a twinge of satisfaction at his apology. But you weren't ready to let him off the hook so easily. “You can't keep saying things like that and expect everything to be fine, Lewis.”

Oh- what a sight it was, to see him close his eyes as he tried to get a check on his composure. “I know. I know, and I'm sorry. Just... stay.” He pulled you closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Please."

There was something in his voice, a vulnerability that you hadn't heard before. It made your resolve waver, and before you knew it, you were leaning into him, your bodies pressed together. His lips found yours in a desperate kiss, all the pent-up frustration and longing pouring out in that single moment and you were taken back to say the least.

“Why do you do this?” you murmured against his lips, your voice shaking. “Why push me away when you know you want this too?”

“Because it's easier to pretend this is just a business deal.” Lewis's grip on you tightened, kissing you again as he sent shivers down your spine with his fingers snaking towards your sensitive parts. “It's easier to keep my distance than to admit how much I- fucking want you.”

“O-oh,” was all you could muster up, nodding but not even listening to him, before the words processed, and you pulled back slightly to look into his eyes. “You are a pain to be married to.”

His eyes softened, and he nodded slowly. “I know. I just... I don't want to hurt you.”

“You won't,” you whispered, pressing your forehead against his, nails digging into the back of his arms to show him you didn’t care. “But tonight, I want you to.”

“Fuck,” he grinned, biting on your earlobe as his hands roamed over your body, pulling at your clothes, and you let him, your own hands busy with his shirt. The next few moments were a blur of hurried movements and breathless kisses until you were both naked, the cool air of the room bringing goosebumps, or maybe that was just- Lewis, and how his bare skin felt against you.

Before you could savor the moment a bit more, your husband pushed you back onto the bed, his eyes roaming over your body with an intensity that made you shiver. He shamefully checked you out as you did the same,“You’re fucking beautiful.”

Lewis sucked in a breath when you pushed your hair behind, gracing him with the sight of your nipples standing out, just waiting- begging him to put his mouth on them and suck them. You decided to let him be and ran your gaze down his body, clenching around thin air when your eyes found his cock.

Your husband smirked as he loosely stroked himself once- twice then fuck- a third time, knowing you were rubbing your thighs subtly to relieve some of the pressure. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured as he climbed on top of you, his lips finding your neck.

He started trailing kisses down to your collarbone and then lower, mouth open, teeth hurting you just right. “Hmph! Lew-” You choked when he sucked on your nipple, lapping it up and wetting it like a starved man.

“You. Are. Perfect.” Lewis whispered against your skin, taking turns biting each nipple as your breath got caught in your throat. “Fucking hell.” His voice thick with desire, driving you absolutely mad.

You moaned softly, your hands tangling in his hair. “Baby- shit- please” His thumb immediately found your wet hole as he massaged around it when you thrusted up a bit. “Making a fucking mess, you dirty gir-”

Before he could carry on, your hand fumbled down to gather some of your slick before you rubbed it against his length, your husband shuddering against you when he felt you cover him in your own juices.

He moved lower, back to kissing your neck as his knees gave out and his weight fell on your arms. You gasped as his finger flicked upwards, towards your bundle of nerves, he was finally giving you everything you ever wanted, his thumb working you with a skill that left you breathless.

“Lewis- I’m.. I…” You choked out, barely before you figured out what he was drawing on your clit, your hand loosening the grip you had on his twitching- leaking cock. L-E-W-I-S, he kept on drawing this pattern, rendering you absolutely helpless under him.

Your hands found his back, nails probably drawing blood, holding him in place as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. “Cum for me messy girl,” You heard him groan before he took your nipple in his mouth again.

“Fuck- Lew! Shit.” You craned your neck to look down at him, catching his other hand wrapped around his length. His angry tip leaking pre-cum that he was rubbing to stroke himself, his grip tight on his cock.

The thought of your juices mixing together on his cock had you cumming immediately with a staggered moan of his name, your body shuddering with pleasure, he was right there with you, his eyes never leaving your face, mesmerized.

Lewis moved back up your body, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. You could feel him pressing against you, hard and ready, and you wrapped your arm around him, pulling him closer. “I’m here, baby. Such a fucking good girl for me.”

He entered you in one swift movement, a gasp escaping your lips at the sensation, he was so fucking big. Your husband stilled for a moment, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath, obviously it had been too long since you both did it.

This was the moment when you realized that all those nights you spent worrying whether he had a mistress were utterly useless because the way your man looked seconds away from cumming just by being inside you for a single second?

“I've wanted this for so long,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion and the softness doing something very ugly to your heart. “I’m afraid it’ll end too soon.”

“Me too, Lewis. Me too.” You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over his cheeks. Your husband’s cock twitched again and you gasped as your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he started to move.

It was slow at first, your soft walls wrapping against every single vein of his cock. “Fuck- I’m- hngh!” Lewis was so gone, eyes closed before he increased his pace. “Shit!” he hissed not believing he’s been missing out on this all this time just because he thought you wanted nothing to do with him.

“Never.. Oh my god- always everything! Lewis- wanted everything…” You trailed off but he got the gist of it. Still not realizing that he was not just thinking- he was saying everything out loud. His hands gripping your hips as he set a rhythm that had you screaming incoherently.

“You feel hah- so good,” he groaned, his lips brushing against your ear. “So perfect.”

You could feel yourself getting lost in the sensation, the way he filled you, fuck he really was so big, felt bigger than he looked and the way his body moved against yours, was so perfect. It wouldn’t be delirious to say you thought you both were made to fit each other.

“We are,” your husband dragged out, voice hoarse and breaking. It was suddenly almost too much, and yet not enough. You needed more, and you told him as much, your voice a desperate plea,“Faster, Lewis. Please.”

Your husband responded by increasing his pace, his thrusts becoming harder and faster, driving you closer to the edge once again. “My beautiful- ah- Y/N! My w- wife.”

You realized he was cumming when you felt his whole body go stiff and a chant of “ah, ah, ah, ah,” fell from his mouth, his cum filling you to the brim. He came so much that the next time he tried to thrust his over-used, over-sensitive cock a little, your poor hole was so utterly slippery that he fell out.

For a moment, you lay there, tangled together, your bodies slick with sweat. And then he pulled away, his eyes searching yours after he was panting a bit less than few seconds before.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice filled with something you couldn't quite place, you didn’t know how he still had his voice intact. “Did... Did you finish again?”

You shushed him before shaking your head, your hand reaching up to caress his cheek. “Not with you inside me.” He groaned at that as his hands squeezed your waist and his head fell right between your marked breasts. “I promise I last longer than this usually.”

His words made your heart beat faster, you made him like this, made him lost control, lost himself after he entered you like so absolutely that he just couldn’t help cumming despite wanting to last.

You tried to stop it but a chuckle escaped your mouth, which didn’t last long at all before he picked up your leg and in a second hooked it around his shoulder, leaning down to kiss your clit that was sensitive as hell, making you immediately gasp.

“I know just how to shut you up.”

And in that moment, as your hands tangled in the locks of his hair as you tried to ride his face, you knew this was something. Whatever this was, whatever it would become, you were in it together. No more ‘no more, no less,’ you guys were way beyond that at this point.

©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

★:a/n:: wow i got carried away ngl but!! thanks for the request love! feedback and reblogs are appreciated :3

[luveline]

hiii, i just wanna say i absolutely adoreee ur writing ur amazing and fabulous. I wanted to request something with hotch where reader gets hurt pretty badly in the field and is gonna have to spend a lot of time in recovery (so like not being able to work in the field for a while) and just a lot of fluff and comforting? (thx ur the bestest ever ever ever and i <3 u i’ve been reading ur stuff for years)

love u <3 fem

Your leg is broken in four different places. 

Hotch is sure you're going to cry the moment you realise what that means, but he isn't expecting for it to be a minute after you've woken up. 

“We'll get you something for the pain,” a nurse promises.

“It's not that,” you say, you sob, looking between your leg and Hotch as though you're hoping he'll tell you something different. 

You live for your job. They all have their reasons, and they all have their vices. You and Hotch are the same —you can't live without this. There's no alternative. 

But your leg is undeniably broken. 

The nurse gives him a look, hoping he'll calm you down, and he would've started the moment your eyes welled with tears if he thought he could change the outcome. Still, it breaks his heart to see you so immediately upset. He has to try something. 

“It's not forever,” he says.

“How long?” 

“Not forever.” The break, the surgery, the physical therapy. He asked for the estimates. He doesn't want to be the one to tell you, but you won't accept it from anyone else. “Six months.” 

The broken leg isn't the end of it. Your wrist is fractured, your pinky and ring finger broken, a laceration the length of his hand up your thigh. You were concussed, you're still at risk of agitating all the things you've hurt. Your face crumples and you can't even cover it with two hands like you would. It is, admittedly, the worst you've ever been at. Hotch can't stand it.  

“Would you excuse us?” he asks the nurse. “I have her.” 

“Hotch,” you say as the door closes, your voice achingly unhappy, “make them check again.” 

He takes your uninjured wrist. Holds it. “They've done everything they can do. I promise you, I was here for all of it. I argued against the pins, I knew they'd keep you here longer, I– against my better judgement, I sent people away because I knew you wouldn't want them to see you like this. This is the best outcome I could salvage.” 

“This is the best?” you ask, shaking your head at him. “This is my life.” 

You didn't see yourself. The way you'd laid there after it was over. You don't get that this is a good thing, that you weren't hurt worse. All you can see is months of desk duty, and he can't even blame you, because six months away would make him ill. 

“This is the best I could do for you,” he says, rubbing your wrist with his thumb. “I'm sorry.” 

His apology catches you off guard. You make a sound near a hiccup and turn to him completely, the fat body of a tear dripping down your cheek to your chin, where it stays. He can see the question before you've asked it and he won't make you, either, leaning down to cover you up with his arms, his chin atop your head. “I'm sorry, honey. I know how much it means to you.” 

“It's…” Your good arm works around him weakly, a hesitant touch to his back. “Not your fault. I…” 

He lets you fade, rubbing at the top of your arm, enthusing you with as much warmth as he can. “Six months recovery doesn't mean six months out of the field,” he promises. “In two months you'll be walking. It won't feel as long as you're thinking.” 

“In a boot.” 

In a full cast, poor thing. He frowns, pressing his nose into your head. “You can consult from home just as soon as you're home,” he says softly, still rubbing your arm. The touch turns to a gentle stroking, his palm numb to the ticklish sensation your naked arm brings, the sleeve of your hospital gown bunching with each line he makes. 

“I know you're unhappy, but it will heal. And you have an army of people who can't wait to see you. We… things have been complicated.” 

“How long was I out?” you ask. 

“You were awake between surgeries, but it's been two days.” 

You hug him with more insistence. “Thanks for looking after me,” you whisper. 

Oh, sweetheart, he could say. He could kiss your crown. Honestly, Hotch could take your face into his hands and suddenly he is, he's holding your face and looking down at you, eyes dark and sorry to your silvery tears. 

He strokes your cheek. “It'll be alright,” he promises. 

You dissolve into tears again in his hands. He wipes them away as they come, for as long as they will. It's the least he'd do for you. 

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Can’t keep my hands to myself

Pairing -> Boyfriend!Chris Evans x Girlfriend!Fem!Reader

Word count -> 1K

Summary -> Chris is staying up late to finish some work, but you're getting restless in your bed. When you go and take a look at how he's doing he gives you an idea you can't refuse, but the outcome won't be what you had expected it to be when you agreed to it.

Rating -> Explicit (E)

Warnings -> RPF, established relationship (boyfriend/girlfriend), use of pet name (Princess), large age gap (10 - 12 years)

Smut -> CMNF (Clothed Male, Nude Female), cockwarming, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), creampie, squirting.

A/n -> I want to give a massive thank you to @cevansbaby-dove for giving me this idea to write, it's a fun one to start off the new year! I can't wait to see your reaction and I hope you will all enjoy this with as much as I did when writing. Thank you to @ccbsrmsf1 for proofreading this on such short notice. You're an angel, and I love you! 🩵

A/n 2.0 -> My requests are open again! Please consider that I only have 24 hours in my day, so it might take a while to get the new requests posted, but I expect to post them around February/March. I'll be looking forward to what you will all come up with, and I can't wait to start writing requests again 🩵

Events Masterlist -> @fandom-free-bingo -> ''I couldn't sleep''

Banners: @vase-of-lilies | Divider: @firefly-graphics | Photo: @buckys-wintersoldier

Main Masterlist | Chris Evans Masterlist

It's nearly 2 AM when you glance at your alarm again, and the bright red numbers are shining back at you as if they're mocking you for not being asleep yet. Usually, you don't have any trouble sleeping without your boyfriend by your side - he's gone for long periods at a time when he's filming, after all -but tonight something's different, and you're not sure what.

Instead of turning over yet again, you get up and see what Chris is up to at this time of the night and coax him into getting some sleep. You know he has been reading through scripts for potential roles he's been offered, but it always breaks your heart when he's staying up so late for these things.

You usually prefer to sleep naked, and today is no different. You wear your silk robe before strolling through the house, looking for your boyfriend. It doesn't take long to find him, as he's sitting at your dinner table reading a script with his hand under his chin.

As soon as you walk into the dining room, he looks up at you with a small smile, which you return before walking to his side, his hand getting hold of your thigh and gliding up until he softly touches the bottom of your bare cheek.

''What're you doing up, Princess? I thought you were asleep already'' he asks, a slight hint of concern in his voice.

''I couldn't sleep,'' you tell him in a soft voice still laced with tiredness as you look at him. Both of you share a look of love, and the butterflies in your stomach go crazy as you look into his deep blue eyes. He hums in response before carefully turning you to stand between his legs and face him.

His hands are placed on your thighs before slowly inching closer to the bottom of your robe, leaving little goosebumps in their wake. It doesn't take long for his long fingers to find the loose knot at the front of the silk and untie it swiftly, letting the fabric part before his eyes and reveal your bare form underneath.

He leans forward to press a light kiss on your belly, right beneath your belly button, making you giggle at the tickling sensation of his stubble.

''Maybe you can keep me company while I read; how does that sound, my beautiful Princess? 'M already getting hard from you walking around like this, and I wouldn't want to let that go to waste, now would you?'' he asks as if he didn't just ask you to cockwarm him without so much as a stutter or a blush on his cheeks.

You nod eagerly, and before you know it, he's freed his long, veiny cock, and you bend down to give it some love with your hands first, all while you feel the arousal between your legs grow with every groan leaving Chris' chest.

''Hmm, don't make me wait, Princess, need to be inside this perfect pussy of yours,'' he almost growls at you, and you know better than to make him wait, and before you know it, you're straddling his hips with your legs on the outside of his, sinking as he splits you open with his hard cock.

Your head is tipped back as he guides you over him, his hands splayed over your butt while his mouth is attached to your neck, leaving minor bruises where he sucks them into your skin or bites softly to pull soft moans from your body.

Once he's finally in, you're already on the edge of an orgasm, like a string pulled tight, that doesn't need much to snap. Unfortunately, Chris isn't giving you what you need yet. Instead, he guides one of his hands to your chin to make you face him, the other one gliding over your hip's soft skin.

''If you keep still for me, I will have you falling apart on this cock as much as you want when I'm finished. How does that sound, Princess?''

''I-I'll try,'' you mumble before capturing his lips with yours. What was supposed to be a small, chaste kiss has quickly become much more heated than you anticipated. Your hands are laced into his hair and pulling ever so slightly when he shifts in the chair, hitting the sweet spot inside you each time.

Your tongues are caught in a passionate dance as you're trying your hardest not to cum, but it's more complicated than you had anticipated since Chris is most definitely not making it easy for you.

''What's the matter, Princess?'' he asks with a devious smile.

''Chris, please, let me cum! 'M close,'' you beg, and that's all he needs to hear before shoving the script aside and putting you carefully on the table. He pulls you close by lying one hand on your lower back and the other in your hair before setting a brutal pace, fucking you stupid while you moan loudly and scream his name.

It doesn't take long for you to cum all around his cock, soaking him in your juices with a loud exclamation of his name. Your nails are scratching his back underneath his shirt as you're clawing at him to ground yourself, only adding to his pleasure right now.

Chris buries his face in your neck as he cums inside you with a roar, his pace so fast you can't even see where you end, and he begins as it all melts together now. His cum is shot deep into your pussy as he buries himself in you, and he has to take a moment to catch his breath before he lets you go, lying you gently on your back before pulling out and cleaning you up.

''Shall we finish what we started in the bedroom, Princess?'' he asks, knowing you'll happily say yes to going another round or two. Where he was very frantic in the dining room, his actions in the bedroom are the complete opposite, as he's worshipping you and making love to you.

''I love you, Princess,'' Chris pants after his third orgasm of the night; you collapsed on top of him after losing count of your orgasm a while ago. You're catching your breath as his hands softly rub your back, a small smile dancing on your lips.

''I love you too, Chris, and thank you for coming to bed with me.''

[v7lgar]

@jegulus-microfic | run - april 21 | 670 words | NSFW

Regulus liked to run away from James, a bit much.

And now he was escaping from him, in the middle of their lovemaking, just to piss him off.

He didn’t know how much James was into their prey-predator foreplay, but he loved to surprise him.

He was in the middle of sucking James off, and then he started to run.

“Regulus!” James screamed behind him, “Where the fuck did you go?”

Regulus had left the house, running in the woods butt naked, and James wasn't any different. This was on his mind the whole day, playing James and expecting the outcome with excitement. He always loved the drill, the unknown. And James was full of surprises. He never failed to amaze him.

“Regulus!”

His voice echoed through the trees while adrenalin flowing in his veins. He ran fast, he didn't even wait to breathe. He was just that curious. This was the first time he pulled something like this on James.

He ran and ran. He didn't know how much he ran until he noticed James stopped screaming after him.

He stopped and looked behind him, not even a single leaf was moving. And then his voice of reason started to creep in. The house was far away, he didn't see anything but trees. And there was no trace of James.

He turned and started to walk towards the Potters Mansion, he even considered shouting James’ name.

He opened his mouth and ended up thrown onto a tree.

“Don't you fucking run away from me.”

James' voice behind him sent chills down his spine. Before relieving, James pushed him onto the tree again, harder this time.

“You want to be chased and fucked, Regulus?”

The tranches were biting into his skin, he was still facing the tree he was pinned against. All he could do was breathe, he couldn't even find his words to speak.

“Jam-”

“Shh,” James shushed, he spread Regulus’ ass cheeks and Regulus’ breath caught. He couldn't believe it, James was following his lead and actually doing it.

Oh, he couldn't be turned on more.

He heard him spitting and right after that, his fingers covered with his saliva caressed his hole and he shivered. They were doing it regularly, he didn't need much preparation but he loved the animosity of it.

“James,” he moaned when James pushed his two fingers into his hole, “Jamie.”

“You get what you deserve, baby.”

He pulled out his fingers and shoved his thick cock in one go. Regulus forgot how to breathe. It hurt, so much. But he loved every second of it.

He tried to hold onto the tree but James didn't let him, he grabbed both of his wrists in one hand and pinned them behind, right above his hips.

He couldn't even think clearly, James pulled out all and shoved it right back in him, bottoming out.

Regulus moaned out loud like a whore.

“Thats right,” James said next to his ear, pinning his cheek to the tree, “Fucking moan for me.”

He couldn't even touch himself, but he was already there, rutting onto the tree like a dog.

“Oh, fuck,” he cried out, trying to seek a friction.

James was fucking him hard, pulling it all out and slamming in him right after. He was at his mercy, and he couldn't think of anything else.

“Fuck, you are tight, it doesn't matter how many times I have to fuck you inside out, you are always tight.”

Regulus choked on his words, “‘s for you— all for you—”

James pressed his head to the tree harder, fucking his ass faster, rougher. He bit his shoulder, he was like a hungry animal, unstoppable.

“James— oh, fuck, right there, right there— faster—”

“Beg for it,” James whispered into his ear and thrust in him faster.

“James,” he warned, but it was no use. He knew it when James got like this.

“Please, please, fuck me faster, I'm begging you.”

“Keep on begging,” James said, smiling sinisterly.

Regulus created a monster.

[lunariasecret]

Désolé

A week had passed since Michéle’s brother had punched the boy who had played a joke on her. Of course she felt anger and embarrassment when water soaked up her entire school clothes but now that her brother was on the brim of getting expelled and her classmate had possibly lost an eye, she only felt utter guilt.

Her mind was clouded with all the possible outcomes that could come with her brother getting expelled. Would she even be able to keep staying at her new school? Would her parents also blame her? My god, Jean-Pierre will hate me forever! She thought when suddenly an arm wrapped around her shoulder.

“Morning!” Simones smile was brighter than ever that it could even make her feel a little better. “Morning Simone” Michéle replied but her voice came out different than she expected. “Oh my, are you still thinking about that dumb boy? It’s been a week, everyone’s already forgotten all about him.” She reassured her friend although it didn’t help much. “I’m not really concerned about him but more about my brother.” Michéle dragged her feet to school which she dreaded more than ever, her teachers and classmates all assume that she’s stuck up and gets a free pass because of her uncle now. Way to start off the new school year.

Can this get any worse? She thought to herself. “Don’t worry. I’ll always be by your side.” Michéle smiled, at least one person was making her feel less awful. As soon as the two friends entered through the school gate it was chatter all over the place. Yet the real talk of the school would enter minutes after. There he was, Joseph Descamps with an eye patch covering his left eye. It was dead quiet while he walked towards his friends, not missing a single glance at Michéle. She felt intimidated and scared although she was convinced he wouldn’t try doing something to her again because of her brother.

For a week she had been trying to reassure herself that he had it coming and that it wasn’t really her fault in the first place. She pressed her lips together tightly, her brows furrowing as she glanced at her friend once more, a similar expression on her face as well. Arm in arm they walked to class silently even though Simone tried to change the topic from time to time it was no use.

Time had passed and Michéle was sat in Latin for her second period. For the whole day she had been glancing at Joseph from time to time, even though he pretended not to notice he shared her glances a few times which left Michéle embarrassed and scribbling on paper, pretending to do something. “I’m so not ready for pe in third period. My bruise is so big! You cannot imagine how embarrassing it’s gonna be if people notice.” Simone whispered. “I don’t think it matters that much. That’s noting compared to Jospeh’s eye.” Although Michéle hadn’t intended for her reply to sound funny , Simone who felt absolutely no remorse let out a small cackle which caught the attention of the teacher.

“Is something funny?” Mr Douillard asked with an irritated tone which left the girl’s shaking their heads profusely. “You can stand outside if my lesson is boring you two!” He demanded and pointed at the door. Good, got in trouble once again. Michéle shut her eyes tightly as she and Simone left the classroom to stand out front. “He really needs to tone it down a bit. So dramatic!” Simone exclaimed in a louder tone than necessary which made Michéle alarm her to keep her voice down. “We have thin walls here, he can still hear us!”

Not a second later the door opened and left Simone and Michéle wide eyed. Had he really heard them?! A tall figure with his hands in his pocket appeared in front of them. It was Joseph. His eyes landed on the red haired girl as he stood there for a few seconds, watching her play with her fingers. Michéle averted her gaze as he walked past them, his shoulder intentionally bumping into Michéles smaller frame. “Watch it!” Simone yelled in an angry tone. “Who does he think he is?!” But Michéle knew that he was angry and was probably going to let his anger out on her…

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It was during break in which Michéle noticed her brother looking nervous and sweating profusely. Yes, today was his disciplinary hearing. “Are you even listening?“ Simone asked. “Huh? What?” Michéle looked at her friend that was sitting across from her. “No, sorry what were you saying?” “Ugh, I was talking about the new movie that just came out!” Simone’s voice faded into the background as she scanned the whole school yard but her brother was nowhere to be found. Then she saw Joseph walking to the bathroom, even though it seemed normal something was odd about the way he walked nervously looking around. As soon as their eyes met she knew something was wrong. Before she could do anything the school bell rang. “Simone you can go first, I’ll be running a little late, okay?“ “What? Why?” “Just go.” She said and ran to the boys bathroom as the yard was getting emptied.

Her hand reached for the doorknob when the door suddenly opened with a mischievous laughing Joseph. His smile disappeared once he saw Michéle standing in front of him. “The hell do you want?” His gaze was filled with anger and disgust. Gosh, he really hated her. “Oh, did you wanna go in for a quickie?“ he smirked but was only met with Michéles confused face. “Is my brother in there?” She ignored his weird statement and tried to look past his shoulder before the door closed. The only thing she could see was a broom locking a door and few faint yells. Panic set on Michéles face as she put the pieces together. “Did you lock my brother in the toilet stall?!” She yelled and tried to push past him.

“Oh no, leave my brother alone!” He mocked her voice as he blocked her way into the boys bathroom. “Stop it! Both of you!” Michéle and Joseph looked at Mr Bellanger who would definitely not let Michéle in or get into the bathroom as well. “Have you lost your mind? Fighting like this on the school yard!” “But Uncle, my brother-“ “I will be seeing him in the teachers office for his disciplinary hearing. Don’t make this any harder for him, Michéle. His options aren’t looking too good right now.” Michéle looked at him, brows furrowed as she felt the guilt she tried to suppress resurfacing and swallowing her whole. Suddenly the three of them heard a commotion in the bathroom and then a loud yell. The door opened and an angry Jean-Pierre was met with three surprised faces.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Bellanger. I was.. locked in the bathroom stall by this idiot! My Jacket, it’s ruined!” He stated. “Am I late? Do we still have time?” Michéle had never seen her brother this distressed before. He was usually so put together calm and rational but now she was causing him trouble. “You can wear my jacket and you two better get to class right now!” Her uncle exclaimed as she made her way to the gymnasium with Joseph.

“You’re horrible!” She stated and gave him a dirty look which he did likewise. He suddenly stopped in his tracks and grabbed the girl by the arm, yanking her back to him. His finger pointed at his eye patch. “I’m horrible? Look at what your fucking brother did to my face!” He said, his tone angry but he didn’t yell. “All because of you.” He whispered. “You started it!” She yelled and tried to push him off of her. “I felt bad in the beginning but now I realise you completely deserved it!” She retorted which only made the boy tighten his grip around her arm.

“Let her go!” A voice appeared behind the two of them. Michéle looked past Joseph’s shoulder and met eyes with Laubrac. A wave of relief washed over her as Joseph let go of her and she quickly made her way over to her classmate. “Well if it isn’t the foster kid and the deans niece.” Joseph smirked, putting his hands back into his pocket.

a/n: i’m really not sure if this was written okay and I hope you guys like the idea! I really wanted to ask you for ideas but I thought I couldn’t keep you guys waiting any longer. Im really open for any visions and stuff that you guys have just comment them or put on my ask thingy (I’m not even sure I have one tbh). Just bombard me with some ideas I’d really like that<3 i hope you guys liked this

tags: @ssnowville @

[mcntsee]

Fires of Passion, Ashes of Hate II

Previous part Next part

Summary: Lovers (mentioned) to enemies and “I didn’t know where else to go.” but from y/n’s perspective…

Warnings: Hate (?), mentions of near death (kinda), blood, injuries, and cursing.

notes: Y/n’s dream is in italics !!

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

She blindly extended her hands, desperately attempting to ward off further blows to her already battered form.

"You're playing games with outcomes not always in your favor."

She recognized that, but was certain their interpretation of the game differed vastly.

The life in the Barrel was a game she mastered, a challenge she never lost. True, there were occasions—such as the current one—where she misjudged a move. Yet, that didn't equate to defeat.

The game she had in mind, however, was the intricate one she'd been entangled in with Brekker for so long.

In fact, that foolish game they played was the very reason she found herself in this predicament.

She found herself in a desperate attempt to infiltrate Lehos’ house—a newcomer in the city. A proverbial pigeon, still naive enough to pat his pocket where his wallet once rested, only to act surprised when he discovered it replaced with an object deemed sufficiently weighty by one of the barrel’s thugs.

Lehos might have been foolish, but he maintained a formidable security system around his house—an insight she gained from eavesdropping on none other than Kaz's spider.

That was all the information she needed in order to know what Kaz’s plans were.

Now, she not only knew Kaz’s plans but found the temptation irresistible to throw a wrench into them, just for the thrill of it.

"I don’t lose, Rendry."

"Looks to me like you are."

"Looks to me like you might want to look again." She whispered.

She despised retreating from a battle, a reputation in the barrel more valuable than life itself. Yet, Rendry's observation held truth. If she didn't escape, she was bound to lose this confrontation, and that, that would tarnish her reputation more than the strategic decision to flee.

She threw her hands up in surrender, sensing the smaller bruiser's guard lowering for a split second. Seizing the opportunity, she sprang to her feet, grabbing the bruiser's gun nearest to her and striking the side of his head with its butt. In one fluid motion, she fired two shots at the legs of the smaller opponent, creating a diversion that allowed her to break free from their hold and make a quick escape.

Back when Kaz and she had been around fifteen, she had witnessed him execute a similar maneuver.

He casually discarded his cane, lifting his hands in surrender, and locked eyes with her, silently conveying the message to follow suit. Skepticism tugged at her, resisting the idea of giving up so easily. Yet, the intensity in Kaz's gaze compelled her to let her heart overrule her hesitation, and she acquiesced to his silent guidance.

In that moment, Kaz displayed a mastery of the same tactics she had just employed, and he had looked good doing it.

She shook her head briskly as she sprinted, attempting to banish the image of him, only to regret it as her vision blurred for a second longer than she expected.

She discovered a secluded corner to conceal herself, cautiously peeking out to ensure Rendry's gang had not yet caught up to her.

After swiftly surveying her surroundings, she allowed herself to take a deep breath. Her hand instinctively moved to her side, only to encounter the dampness that now stained her palm crimson. “Saints.”

She had anticipated there would be blood, but the sheer volume took her by surprise. Now conscious of it, she registered the iron scent and tasted the metallic flavor in her mouth.

Her vision lingered in blurriness for an extended period, the cacophony of the barrel transforming into a distant, echoing reverberation in her ears. She needed to move.

Her pace had slowed to a jog, sprinting now beyond her capacity, yet the urgency pressed her to keep moving, step by laborious step. The familiarity of the alleys triggering a spark of recognition within her.

In another time, these narrow passageways had held a special place in her heart, a favorite refuge in the heart of the barrel.

Lost in reminiscence, she let her legs guide her along the well-trodden path, a route etched into her memory from years gone by. The only stark contrast was the absence of the rhythmic click of a cane by her side and the warmth of a hand intertwined with hers.

Hesitation gripped her senses; surely, this was not where her mind intended to go, but where her heart had convinced her feet to lead.

As she reached Kaz’s door, battered and bruised, the hesitation gripped her once again. The echoes of their shared history resonated in the stillness of the night. With a trembling hand, she knocked.

She waited for a second, then two, debating whether she should burst through the door or not. However, before she could decide, the door was swung open.

There stood Kaz, his face slowly losing its color, clearly taken aback by the unexpected sight of her.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

The admission escaped her lips as she leaned against the door, the cold surface offering a momentary reprieve from the pain before she fell forward, her full body weight crashing against his chest and propelling him back two steps.

“Y/n?”

She could hear him calling her name, but she no longer had the strength to form coherent words. Instead, she let out a barely audible "mhmm."

As he called her name again, exhaustion overwhelmed her. She felt herself slowly slipping from Kaz's grasp, her consciousness fading.

She regained her senses upon hitting a firm mattress. Kaz's bed, she thought.

She observed a shadow moving around, listened to the uneven footsteps pacing from one side to the other, and felt gloved hands tearing the fabric of her clothes. Yet, her mind remained haunted by memories of him.

Memories of them.

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

Once, those words had carried a different weight, and she couldn’t help but recall a time when those very syllables had been woven with love. “I know.”

They had been mere kids, naive enough to believe in the existence of love. And, despite the profound horrors they faced, they dared to let their hearts lead. “I know.”

She knew she was dreaming the moment his smile appeared. These dreams were no more than memories haunting her present, ghosts of the past she unwittingly carried like a shadow. A shadow she embraced by facing the sun, allowing it to illuminate the ghosts trailing behind her.

She found herself in a realm untethered by the rules of reality. The surroundings, bathed in an ethereal glow, distorted into fantastical landscapes that defied the constraints of logic.

In this surreal dreamscape, his voice echoed, weaving through the air like an elusive melody.

“Love.”

“Kaz.”

It all began as a joke. They were spying on an elderly couple, and that night, the man never uttered his wife’s name. She was only addressed as "love."

They had laughed all night about it. finding humor in the corniness and undeniable cuteness of the old man addressing his wife as “love.”

“You should call me that.”

“What? Love?”

She intended to reply, but instead, she looked at him, batting her eyelashes. “Yes, Kaz?” Her voice had a subtle rise in pitch, accompanied by her best attempt at flirting.

With a scoff, he rolled his eyes. The bright lighting in the room doing nothing to conceal the subtle blush gracing his cheeks. "Not in a million years will I ever call you that."

But, it wasn't long before he began calling her "love," a pet name that lingered for a couple of years before fading away along with the love they once shared.

“What are you doing here, Kaz?”

“Keeping you company, love.”

“Stop.”

Her mind was haunted by him, unable to escape the memories of what they used to have, what they used to be. Dreams, nightmares—everything reeked of him.

His familiar scent wrapped around her like a haunting embrace, the depth of his eyes, and the warmth of his hand on hers—a relentless reminder of him, and she hates every lingering detail.

She hated him.

“Get out of my head, Kaz.”

“You’ll have to find a way to evict me from your mind yourself.”

She had initially deemed the attempt to banish him from her dreams as a plunge into insanity. Yet, now she had grown accustomed to his unyielding presence, a relentless force that refused to let her mind find peace.

He moved closer, his steps uneven, yet deliberate, reaching her in moments. Without hesitation, he pulled her into an embrace, his hand gently cupping the back of her head as he pressed her against his chest.

"I hate you," she whispered, the words intertwining with the embrace, her arms tightly wound around his waist.

“I know.” He gently squeezed her, lowering his face to press a gentle kiss on her hair.

Her brain screamed at her to let go, to push him away and run in the opposite direction, but her heart thumped so loudly that she could barely hear her own thoughts.

It didn't matter, really. Just another foolish dream about him. She allowed herself to savor the memory of how his arms felt around her, cradling her as if she were made of porcelain, fragile and easily breakable.

“You have to wake up.”

“What for?”

“For me.”

She slowly separated from his body, his hands coming up to cup her face as she looked at him. “You are right here, Kaz.”

“The real me.”

“Why would I ever want to see the real you?”

“Because you hate me, do you not?”

“I do.”

“Then why are you letting me win so easily, love?”

Reality welcomed her back, the dream’s whimsical atmosphere replaced by the cold, harsh edges of the room. She disentangled herself from his embrace, the surreal dreamscape fading into the recesses of her mind.

Every inch of her body screamed in agony, pain radiating from places she hadn't even known could ache.

"Why here?" He asked, and as for her, she couldn't pinpoint why she chose this location. Certainly not for the pleasant conversations.

“Hello to you too, Kaz.”

“Why here?”

With a sigh, she delicately sat up, her hand instinctively seeking relief from the pain by applying gentle pressure to her side.

“Look, Kaz-“

“I’m asking you one more time, and that is it. Why here?”

Her eyes wandered around the chaos that was Kaz’s room, and she couldn’t help but wonder why she had ended up here. Truthfully, she didn’t know.

“Answer me.”

Something deep within her assumed it was her heart’s doing, but she couldn’t admit that. Not to herself, and certainly not to him- “Where else if not here, Kaz?”

The answer slipped from her lips before she even had a chance to think about what she had said, and she blamed it on the shoddy job Kaz had done at patching her up.

“Anywhere but here, Y/n.”

As their eyes locked, she hoped to find whatever answer he sought, but his eyes remained as empty as ever.

The emptiness in his cold eyes was both familiar and unfamiliar. There had been a time when his eyes were full of love, especially for her. Now, after their love had torn apart every brick of the house they built around it, his gaze was empty.

His eyes had always been her favorite refuge, a place where every gaze revealed something new. They had gone from just blue, to azure orbs that shimmer with the clarity of a cloudless sky. She had once adored them as much as she adored him but now, now his eyes were just blue. Pale cerulean windows reflecting a vacant echo of what once was.

“The slat was the closest-“

“I don’t need your sob story. I want to understand why you believed I would be willing to save your life.”

As those words escaped his lips, a fiery storm kindled within her heart, its intensity casting a glow that she was certain reflected in her eyes. She had tried to extend kindness and take the higher ground- driven by the fact that he had just rescued her from the brink of death.

However, despite his recent rescue, she couldn’t quell the rising tide of indignation. “Is that not what you did, Brekker?”

"It wasn't a favor without a cost. I have a meeting. When I return, I anticipate finding this place spotless, and I want you gone."

With nothing else to say, he left the room. She waited for the echo of uneven steps to fade away before pressing her back against the wall, closing her eyes tightly enough to conjure stars.

Getting up to start cleaning took her a while; Kaz's bed had offered a sense of comfort she unknowingly longed for.

The smell of well-worn leather, a hint of gunpowder, and the earthy freshness of rain-soaked grass reached her nostrils— a fragrance born from the streets and the shadows he navigates. A familiar scent embracing her. Kaz’s scent.

With a sigh, she opened her eyes and surveyed the room, contemplating where to begin in the daunting task of cleaning up the aftermath.

Gingerly, she focused on the shattered remnants of the sewing kit strewn across the floor. Despite the pain in her side, she knelt down, methodically collecting the shards of broken glass and retrieving the stray needles and thread that had found refuge beneath the bed.

With cautious steps, she headed to the bathroom, discarding the smaller glass fragments into the trash can, and arranging the sewing materials on the counter.

Cleaning up had been a time-consuming task. The blood on the floor was a nightmare to scrub off, and she couldn’t help but feel thankful that someone had already tackled the mess outside Kaz’s office, saving her from the verge of tears.

Carefully removing the blankets and covers from the bed, she walked to the bathroom sink, fingers crossed that Kaz had hidden some hydrogen peroxide somewhere. If not, the bed sheets would be stained forever.

She practically turned Kaz's room upside down in her quest for peroxide. Frustrated, she muttered, "What kind of idiot puts this in their desk drawer?" as she finally located the sought-after item.

As she reached for the bottle, her gaze fell upon a weathered, neglected folded paper. Initially tempted to ignore it, she considered moving on and erasing its presence from her mind. However, the memory of Kaz's directive to clean up compelled her to unfold the aged document and delve into its contents.

The memory of this portrait was etched vividly in her mind – the portrait she had to coax him into posing for.

“Kaz-”

“No, love.”

The street artist eyed them expectantly. Their banter had been ongoing since the moment the kid proposed drawing them in exchange for some change. Y/n had readily agreed, but Kaz, as always, was hesitant.

"Kaz, please. We never have time for things like this, and it would be a cute memory."

"Love, we don’t have time."

Truthfully, they really didn’t have much time. They were supposed to get back to Per Haskell with the contract they had just secured from one of the black tips. However, they already had the contract and—

“How long would it take?”

“Around fifteen to twenty minutes.”

“Kaz…”

It had taken thirty-eight minutes, but it had been worth it. Kaz could deny it all he wanted, but she had seen his eyes sparkle and the subtle tug at his lips when the artist first showed them the picture. He loved it, as did she.

As the memory concluded, she found herself abruptly yanked back into reality. "Son of a bitch." That picture belonged to her. She had not only paid for it but also verbally wrestled with Kaz to be able to freeze this moment in time.

She thought she lost it, perhaps misplaced it, but she never truly accepted it. When she questioned Kaz, his only response was that the last time he saw it was when the artist handed it to them. A blatant lie that she believed.

A smirk suddenly graced her lips. Kaz thought he could embarrass her by making her clean the room, but she had the perfect payback in mind.

She hurried to the bathroom, emptied the peroxide into the sink, mixed it with some water, and submerged the bloodstained bed sheets in the solution before returning to his desk.

She seized a piece of paper and his pen, hastily scrawling, "Thought you hated this," before positioning the unfolded portrait with the note on top at the center of his desk.

She took one final glance around, ensuring everything was tidy. He could deal with drying the bed sheets on his own if he wanted to; she didn't care if he ended up sleeping in a bare bed.

She opened the window and made her escape, leaving behind the scent of Kaz along with the unfolded portrait of what they once had.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

taglist!: @moonstruck-poet @the-dumpster-fire-of-life @littleshadow17 @izzyisstuff @amybonehouse hope you guys enjoyed it! <3

[clairdelunelove]

the best for you

john 'soap' mactavish x reader

genre: fluff! (bestfriend!soap drabble!)

warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing, slightly possessive soap, reader is hinted to be on a date with a male

synopsis: best friends knew you best, right? your favorite hobbies, food, ideal type– or rather, soap supposes it wouldn't be that big of a deal if he crashes your blind date because he's your best friend!

a.n. I'm not writing about ghost for the millionth time? :0 shocker. but really, I had a soap brainrot bc neil ellice liked my comment on his insta post

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can't shake the idea of bestfriend!soap and how he would act if you managed to score yourself a blind date with a stranger.

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bestfriend!soap who’s just a bit too eager whenever your blind dates don’t go according to plan. you’ve been attempting to 'get out more' (much to his dismay) and going on a couple blind dates wouldn’t hurt. you never expected a super serious outcome, just grabbing a nice meal and some small talk was enough for you. limited socialization. and quite frankly, a part of you yearned for the date to be paid for too. the blind dates, however, usually resulted in getting talked over, disgusted by your blind date’s manners, or no-shows. with you running to your best friend to complain about the insolence of some people. soap, therefore, continuously tried to discourage you from raising your expectations based on these ghastly men. “got everythin’ you need right here, hen. don’t ya wanna stay,” he’d plead while meeting your gaze through the vanity mirror. bracing a robust arm against your doorframe, he catches your eyes in the glass reflection and raises his brows at the suggestion. stay here for the evening, please. his light blue eyes are ethereal in your room’s brilliant light and your throat seizes up at the sight. carding a meticulous hand through your hair, you merely hum to acknowledge soap’s comment before standing up and grabbing your keys. “you know I can’t, johnny,” you softly explain while pressing a gentle hand on his chest when you brush past him, “I already promised I’d go.”  

bestfriend!soap who wishes to keep your beauty all to himself. he’s not stingy by any means but he is self-indulgent when it comes to you. “haud yer horses,” he halts your hurried movement with a quick hand to block your path. with a teasing roll of your eyes, you’re aware of his next words. he clicks his tongue in mock disappointment and murmurs in exasperation, “can’t hav’ya leave like that. you know that, bonnie.” then his calloused fingers tug at your top to rearrange the fabric so it’s covering you more thoroughly. a small gesture. albeit a bit intimate with the way his gaze roams your soft, exposed skin. like he’s committing the dip and curve of your collarbones to memory. but you don’t dwell too much on it. johnny’s always handsy with you. if anything, his physical affection was more of a habit that you rather cherished. you hum in acknowledgement, knowing that arguing with him would waste even more time, and allow him to fiddle with your outfit. “I know, I know,” you openly giggle at him while he shakes his head at your nonchalance. can’t you see his inner panic! you’re beautiful. it’s so plainly obvious that soap wishes to shout it from the rooftops. profess it from the highest mountains. your beauty is unparalleled and soap’s certain that your supposed ‘date’ wasn’t deserving of being seen in public with you. 

bestfriend!soap that decides to tag along. he’s always there to accompany you wherever you manage to let the date’s location slip into the conversation. you’re not sure why but the information is coaxed out of you whenever soap asks. and it’s not like he manipulated it out of you. his inquiries just guide you into the right direction. plus the two of you never separate so this shouldn’t be any different! he crouches down to pull on his shoes while you’re occupied in sending your blind date a text. “said he’ll be here any minute,” you mention to soap and card a fussy hand through your hair. the first date nervousness is settling in your stomach. a slight flutter that almost agitates you because it’ll end up insignificant in the long run. “aye, so he will,” soap half-heartedly acknowledges before a bright idea pops in his head, “I’ll drive ya, hen.” he’s already reaching for his keys when you automatically explain, “johnny, he’ll be here any min-” “‘ts okay just tell ‘im that you caught a ride already.” and from your endless years of friendship with the scot, you know better than to wave off soap’s goading hand that presses against your lower back to escort you out of the door. 

bestfriend!soap who inconspicuously lowers the restaurant’s laminated menu so he’s able to gaze at you and the dobber that share a table. he’s seated a couple feet away for the perfect view. the young waitress that seated him couldn’t help but ogle at the empty chair in front of him. but soap has more pressing matters. your date showed up late. mosied in with wrinkly clothes and no bouquet of flowers. “what fuckin’ gowk doesn’t bring flowers,” he huffs with a frown. not punctual; the first red flag that soap eagerly notes. the second is that the guy doesn’t pull out your chair for you when arriving at the table. but don’t worry. soap hurriedly scrambled over to do it (although he trips on a stranger’s leg and almost knocks over a glass of expensive wine). “likes if the chair is pulled out,” he grins widely as his hand clasps the back of your chair, “always hav’ ever since we were bairns. do’ya remember that, bonnie? how ya used to beg me to do it for ya–” “yes, I do. thank you.” you widen your eyes at soap, hoping he’d get the hint but the male thrusts his hand to your blind date. puffs out his chest and his forehead creases as his sharp gaze narrows. “mactavish,” he introduces himself with a rather firm handshake, “but’ya probably already know. reckon I'm talked ‘bout quite a bit since we grew up together. still spendin’ nights together whenever I come back, imagine that.” and goodness, the bewilderment on your date’s face is almost comical upon hearing the naive confession. “okay,” your date awkwardly states while raising a quizzical brow at you, “and how long do you think he’s gonna be here?” you suppose it’s a polite inquiry but the sneer on your date’s face implies otherwise. a bit testy which wasn’t the greatest first impression for you to have. before you can respond, soap's lips curl into an amicable grin but there’s an edge to his words, “aye dinnae ken. don’t plan on leaving anytime soon though.”

bestfriend!soap who pulls up a third chair at your table and cheekily utters, “don’t mind me. go awn’ then.” conveniently seats himself so he’s in-between you and your date. slings his jacket on the back of his seat. makes himself right at home. you’re holding an exasperated breath. the proximity seems to cause your date to squirm a bit in their seat and you don’t blame them. it’s not the most comfortable feeling to regard the cuts of muscle on soap’s physique. evident that he’s put in years of effort during his employment. yet your shoes find soap’s underneath the table and you give him a firm nudge to leave. let you enjoy this time in peace! and if your date deliberately interrupts you while you’re speaking then soap’s quick to jump in your defense, “haud yer wheesht!” you can bet that his baby blue eyes are narrowed from your date’s audacity. the bill hasn’t even come out yet and your date is already eyeing the exit. naturally, your date’s disinterest in soap has you wishing for this whole ordeal to be over too. “try this,” soap urges the spoon against your lips, “‘ts sweet like ya. reminds me of the shortbread you used t’ya make for my mam.” you try to tilt your face away since it’s too affectionate to do these things while you’re literally on a date. with another person. “johnny–” but soap won’t have that! you guys do this all the time; what’s the difference now? “aw c’mon,” soap implores and seizes your cheeks with a large hand, “just a bite, pretty.” 

bestfriend!soap who directs his large, beseeching eyes at you when your date abruptly gets up from the table to leave. he’s sorry, alright? well, not entirely when soap overhears your date mutter a comment in passing that borders on annoyance. your ears are burning in embarrassment while soap waves a good-natured hand at your date’s departure. throws in a chirpy, “nice meetin’ ya,” before turning to you and discreetly whispering, “awfy crabbit, that one.” you’re gathering your belongings as soap takes care of the bill. whispers an additional order and tosses a couple extra dollars for the waiter’s willingness to let him impede on your date. slings a solid arm around your shoulders when he's done. you’re disappointed but you suppose there’ll be more chances in the future. yet, you can’t help the pout that overtakes your lips at the waste of time. soap’s quick to comfort you. “‘m sorry this one didn’t work out, hen,” he hints for you to stop walking by wrapping a gentle hand around your wrist, “don’t like seein’ ya sad. corrie in.” and he’s so close. you always forget how massive he became from enlisting but when you’re staring eye-to-eye with him; it makes you dizzy. his gaze is fixed on you– concern dripping from his bright eyes and the thoughtfulness causes your heart to squeeze. “I’m okay,” you reassure him with a stiff smile but nonetheless you gravitate closer to him, “this just always happens, you know.” and it will continue to happen, if soap can help it. but for your sake he runs a hand against your cheek and brushes your hair away from your face. a typical sweet gesture. “cheer up, pretty. got us some dessert to share later awn.” and, like he predicted, the mention of a sweet treat has you beaming up at him, “really? you’re the best, johnny!” the smile on your face knocks him into a daze. causes his eyes to fixate on your glossy lips and his breathing stutters. you’re gorgeous. and you’re a sight that is reserved solely for him. “I am, huh,” he grins, certain of your words, “I’m the best for ya, bonnie. always gonna be the only one for you.” 

[melodygatesauthor]

Chapter 14: The Truth About Steven

prof!Steven Grant-Jake Lockley-Marc Spector X f!Reader

Edited by: @whatthefishh

Mood Boards - Book Cover - Masterlist

Chapter Summary

The boys finally come clean about their past, and their disorder. You take it as well as could be expected.

Tags/Summary (these are for the ENTIRE fic):

college AU, no powers/not in MCU/no Khonshu (as a deity), talk of mental illness, Marc has DID, forbidden relationship, age gap, reader is 21y/o, Boys are 38y/o, reader attends college in America but isn't necessarily American, smut, sex, masturbation, p in v, creampies galore, reader is on birth control, dubious consent due to identity issues, ANGST, romance, fluff and smut, oral sex, falling in love, reader is not race coded, minor mentions of alcohol addiction and depression.

Word Count: 2.4k

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You knocked on Steven’s apartment door, and you could’ve sworn you heard him in there talking to someone before he answered it. Once again he looked different than the man who’d left you sitting in the library just a couple of hours ago. You narrowed your eyes. He didn’t look like the man you’d been meeting late at night outside of your dorm building either. Now his hair was slicked back, face more serious than you’d ever seen it look before.

You’d contemplated whether or not you actually wanted to give him the time of day. After your mental pep-talk, just before Steven had interrupted while you sat at the library, you were ready to let him go. You still thought that might be the outcome, but after everything you’d been through with him, you felt like you had to see it through. You pushed past him in a huff, walking into his apartment like you owned the place.

“For someone who doesn’t care about this girl, you’re wearing an awful lot of cologne compadre,” Jake commented as Marc watched you step inside.

“Have a seat,” he pointed to a chair at the kitchen table, ignoring Jake completely.

Immediately you noticed the distinct difference in accent. You felt a lump in your throat, and you fight or flight kicked in. This was the time to run if you were going to do it, but you decided to stay firmly in place. You held onto the strap of your bag like it would save your life if things went south. Steven had mentioned having brothers, but he’d also mentioned having a bad relationship with them. If this was one of them, you couldn’t be certain you were in a safe situation.

You shook your head, “no, I’m good to stand right here,” you said firmly.

Marc pressed his lips together tightly, “alright…can I get you a coffee or–”

“Can you just tell me what the fuck is going on already, Steven? I’m sick and tired of getting treated like this,” you damned your bottom lip for quivering. You wanted to look strong. “You took my virginity, then you broke up with me, and then you kept sleeping with me at night, now you don’t even sound the same?! Who are you?!”

“I’m not Steven,” Marc said bluntly, keeping his expression stoic.

You stepped back, heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. Your breathing became shallow.

“Then y-you’re his…his brother?”

“No,” Marc looked away from you.

This was the time that he’d normally retreat, letting Jake handle the tough situation, but he knew that this had to come from him. Marc ran his hands over his face and then looked back at you again. You were terrified, despite your attempt to keep a strong expression. He could see the way your bottom lip trembled, and the way your chest was heaving.

“You’re really blowing this bruv, are you sure you don’t want me–”

“My name is Marc Spector,” he started, eyes scanning your face to watch for any change in your expression. “I’m not sure how to tell this story so…I guess I’ll start from the beginning.”

Now you sat down, realizing that this ‘Marc’ person wasn’t a direct threat. You put your bag on the floor next to you before crossing your arms, waiting for him to continue. Though you weren’t sure you wanted him to continue. Part of you wanted to tell him to fuck off right then and there and leave the apartment, but you stayed. Love really was a funny thing, forcing people to make the dumbest choices. You felt like you couldn’t go anywhere until you knew what had happened to Steven; your Steven.

“When we were young, we had a little brother. His name was Randall,” Marc started, walking over and sitting in the chair across the table from you. He looked down at his hands. “Ro was…he was the best kind of person; kind, loving,” Marc sniffed out a laugh as he remembered his younger brother, “everything I’m not.”

He looked at you again, you noticed the sorrow etched in his eyes, now glossy with tears. Despite your frustration with Steven and this entire situation, you felt some level of empathy for the man, his expression tugging heavily at your heartstrings. He looked back down at his hands while he continued his story.

“I got him killed–”

“We talked about this hermano,” Jake muttered.

“Jake’s right, you know that’s not true Marc, try again.”

Marc sighed, “we were kids, playing in the rain and we got stuck in a cave. I made it out, Ro didn’t. I was only ten, he was eight.”

“That’s better,” Jake said.

“Our mother, Wendy…” Marc heard Jake grunt at the mention of her name, “she was heartbroken, as any mother would be at the loss of a child,” he let out a deep exhale, “but she blamed me for all of it, ‘you should’ve been watching him, this is all your fault’, she’d say while she…” his voice wavered.

“While she what?” You asked, finding yourself invested in the tale, despite how disturbing it might have been.

“While she beat me with a leather belt,” Marc’s face got even more serious somehow, and you felt a silence lingering in the air with the weight of his words.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, regretting pushing him to finish his sentence.

“It was a long time ago,” he grumbled, looking back down at his hands again, “but I developed what’s called dissociative identity disorder. I guess it was how my mind dealt with the loss of my brother, finding a way to let him ‘live on’ even after he was gone. Taking all the guilt and creating someone within myself that resembled him in so many ways, while still being so unique and not really the same as Ro at all.”

The apartment was quiet again. Marc could tell you were being compassionate by listening, but he could also tell that you were ready for him to get to the punchline. How did this affect you? What did this have to do with Steven? Why the hell had you come there in the first place to listen to some thirty-eight year old man ramble on about his mental health issues?

“Steven Grant is that someone. He’s what you’d call an ‘alter’,” he watched you shift uncomfortably, “when DID was called ‘multiple personality syndrome’, he would’ve been called one of my personalities.”

“Are you serious?”

You dropped your arms down from where they were crossed and rested your hands on your thighs. If you were hearing him correctly, this man, Marc, was trying to tell you that he and Steven were the same. That all this time, you’d thought you were with one man, but really you were with someone else. He was a conman, and you’d never felt like such a damn fool.

“S-so what you go around roleplaying as a British college professor and preying on students just for a fucking laugh?” You felt yourself getting upset at the prospect.

Marc sighed in frustration, “no, it’s not like that, weren’t you listening to me at all?” You could hear the distinct Chicago accent coming out in his frustrated tone now, “I have a mental disorder, Steven is a real person, he is British, he is a college professor…your college professor and the way he feels about you is real.”

“Then what is all this? Hm? Why did he break up with me instead of just telling me the truth?” You stood up, feeling tears threatening to fall. “Why didn’t you just say ‘hey, I’m a fuckin’ nut job who likes taking advantage of stupid girls in my class’?”

“What in the hell is your problem? Huh? I’m trying to open up to you here, which let me tell you little girl, isn’t something I do often.” Marc stood up now, brow furrowed while he stepped closer to you. “After Steven broke up with you, I thought everything was going to just go away quietly, but you just had to keep it going didn’t you?!”

“I missed him!” You said in your defense.

The tears started coming down then, trickling over your cheeks. You felt embarrassed.

“No, you fucked your professor like an idiot, and didn’t think about the fuckin’ consequences because you’re young and naive,” Marc got closer to you, and with every step he took, you took a one back.

“Stop talking to me like I’m a kid, I know I made a mistake, alright? But that doesn’t change the fact that you could’ve, or Steven or…” you grumbled, “whoever the hell could’ve just stopped! If you didn’t want it that bad then you could’ve just stopped!”

Marc formed a hard line with his mouth in his aggravation.

“I tried to stop them, but Jake and Steven just had to have you. They couldn’t just leave you well enough alone. I didn’t even want to have this conversation with you but they insisted!”

Your heart stopped, and your voice got quiet again, “Jake? Who the fuck is Jake?”

To hear you talk about him like you had no idea who he was hurt Jake’s feelings, if he was being honest. It wasn’t surprising, of course, there was no way you could’ve known who he was, but it stung nonetheless. Marc had wanted to tell you about Jake in a calmer way, when you weren’t both throwing jabs at each other in your mutual anger, but it was out now, and he had to work with it.

“Jake is the other one,” Marc said in a slightly more collected tone than before, “he came about during my time in the marines.”

“You said you ‘tried to stop them,’…” you gulped, “what the hell do you mean by that?”

“I tried to stop Steven from seeing you which was…obviously unsuccessful, and Jake…I didn’t even know he was…” Marc couldn’t bring himself to say it. He looked at the empty water glass on the table next to the lounge chair, “Steven, please…”

“On it…”

You watched in disbelief as Marc’s entire body shifted, posture slouching a bit and his expression changing before your eyes. His brow went from furrowed in frustration to being turned up in concern. Either he was an incredible actor, or you were a fool.

“Love, I’m so sorry, I know this is a lot but, it really wasn’t my story to tell. I wasn’t there f’most of our life, neither was Jake so you see–”

“What did you do to me?” You looked at him, trying to decipher how much of what he was saying was real, and how much of it was a lie.

What a convenient excuse it would be to say that he had a mental illness, and that’s why he had to break things off with you. He could blame it on some disorder and make you feel bad for him, maybe even make you fall back into his arms like a pathetic and desperate little girl. If he was a good enough actor, surely he could put on a fake accent and slouch his shoulders a bit.

The other part of you, the part that still loved Steven so much that you wanted to kiss him until your lips went numb, that part believed him. That part believed that there was this man with a mental disorder who was struggling to navigate through his life and somehow you managed to get caught up in it, and he was just as confused as you were in that moment. You weren’t going to let yourself be fooled though…not again.

“Well remember love, it wasn’t me.” He cleared his throat, “right so Jake said that he saved you twice, once at the art gallery when you nearly fell on the steps, and again when you were in the bar alleyway and someone tried to take advantage of you.” Steven scanned your eyes to find the truth in his statement, “did that really happen, love? You must’ve been so scared I…I’m sorry–”

“Keep going,” you cut him off, not wanting any of his sympathy, not after he was the reason you were in that situation in the first place, and not when you were still unsure if he was being honest with you about this disorder.

“Y-yeah, right, well…” he cleared his throat, “J-Jake says he was really only going to give you a ride home but then, you kissed him and…and he tried to say no, but then you just kept pushing and he couldn’t help himself.”

You huffed out a laugh in frustration, “so if what you’re saying is true, Marc is a filthy old man with two ‘alters’ who just can’t manage to keep their fucking hands off a college student who is young enough to be their daughter, is that it?”

“W-well I mean, technically yes, but I wouldn’t put it like tha–”

The tears were freeflowing now, “and I’m just supposed to believe that you, Steven, aren’t just some creepy man who likes to play pretend and fuck his students and that this isn’t some sick and twisted game you’re playing? Hm?”

“Well, darling that’s not really nice to–”

“No, you know what Steven? You can have fun with whatever this is,” you gestured to his body, “I’m done for good. I was going to text ‘Jake’ that anyway, you know, when I thought he was you? I was gonna tell him that I was calling it off because the sneaking around was getting to be too much for me, but this is a whole other mess that I don’t want to be a part of.”

You grabbed your bag off the floor and went for the door while Steven was still stammering over his words.

“Goodbye Steven, or Marc, or whoever the fuck you are.”

Steven stood there as you slammed the door to the flat and left, taking a piece of his heart with you. He let out a heavy breath, clutching his chest tightly.

“Well there you go guys,” Marc’s tone was laced in sarcasm, “still glad we decided to have a chat with her? Hm?”

“Shut up puto…she’ll be back…”

----

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[silverflqmes]

໒⦂ 𝐖𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒.

synopsis. in which cloud tries one last time to get through to sephiroth by a promise he’d once made, but it’s easier said than done.

genre. angst

tw. mentions of death and self harm / suicide ( nobody does anything dw, it’s more so brought into conversation ), self degradation ( not the uh SOLDIER kind, just y’know- insecurities.. )

sephiroth x cloud strife.

the blond staggered backwards from the strength of his greatest foe, gritting his teeth in annoyance. for having the thinnest blade in the world, he sure made his broadsword look like a feeble joke.

the buster might as well have been a children’s toy with the way sephiroth met his every strike, thrice as strong as cloud’s. but that was just how things were — they had matched each other to near perfection, even if the latter had much to learn still.

although that connotation only seemed to amuse the taller, knowing that at last, he was presented with an opponent that gave him a challenge. “you’re keeping up with me this time, cloud. afraid of messing up and losing everything again to me?” he inquired lowly, almost mockingly, yet curiously. “careful now, unless you want attachment to be your downfall once more.”

the spiky haired male wanted to fire back a retort, feeling his anger creep on him slowly, gradually, but he swallowed it down.

sephiroth, cloud reminded himself, was not in his right mind. he was not the man he once idolized and felt.. something.. for. overcome by jenova and his weak mind after all events leading up to nibelheim, the former hero was met with hollowed out shell of who he once was.. which his so called mother decided to help herself to claiming.

while the mercenary had a lot to be mad for, much to loathe his enemy for and every right to end his life yet again.. a promise echoed in his head, one that he had made long ago on the outskirts of midgar to an old friend — his reason for being alive to even face sephiroth again.

to be his living legacy.. and, to save his past buddy — the one winged angel before he had fallen from grace.

cloud knew it wouldn’t be easy, it never was with sephiroth.. still, he had a vow to uphold, and despite failing to do so in their previous skirmishes.. he was determined this time to pave his way through — to the sephiroth he once knew.

“attachment won’t be my downfall, sephiroth.” he shook his head, straightening himself out to the best of his abilities. “you’re just too high up on that pedestal of yours now to realize it.”

the silver haired male curled his lips, chuckling. “is that so?” he quipped back softly, circling the blond. “enlighten me on how this battle of ours will lead to a different outcome, then, cloud.”

it was now the mercenary’s turn to smirk as he angled the point of his blade into the ground, sinking it into place before stepping up to his opponent. “cuz i won’t be fighting you this time.” he answered flatly, folding his arms.

piqued, the older quirked a gray brow before humming lightly. “a foolish approach. or could it be that my despair has gotten to you at last.” he remarked, lowering masamune to his side as he took long, but slow strides toward cloud. “whatever it might be, it will get you killed.”

the mako-azure eyed male was hardly fazed, having expected such a response, though it wouldn’t stop him. it might have before, but not this time. “if that’s how it is, i would have been killed years ago, and you know it.” he retaliated smartly, folding his arms over his chest. “you pretty much had every chance at killing me, whether in a fight or those times you decided it would be fun to fuck around and haunt me. so why now?” cloud pressed, stepping forward again, challengingly. “why will it get me killed now, and not back then?”

sephiroth was silent for a moment, the proximity now eliminated between him and his adversary.

normally, cloud would never indulge him in conversation for long — would not make an attempt at negotiating that didn’t last less than two minutes.

this was.. different. strange. unlike the blond he’d lock blades with many times before.

what had changed?

“perhaps.” he answered at length, if only to decrease the duration of his lack of response. “i saw no reason to kill you then. i still do not see a purpose in doing so now.” shinra’s former hero spoke, looking ahead. “however, your lack of guard, attachments.. and overconfidence, will destroy you.” he continued, flickering his gaze back down to the shorter. “whether or not that is by my hand, or some other occurrence.”

cloud furrowed his brows. this wasn’t the full story, it was almost as if sephiroth had been.. “bullshit. you’re hiding something.” he fired back immediately, but leveled. “minus what happened in nibelheim, you’ve never finished me off or left any life threatening injuries. you appear randomly to either give me some weird ass psychological torture to encourage me or warn me.” he ranted, meeting the other’s aloof stare. “i’m in the way of your ultimate goal, yet you let me live. what’s with that shit?” the self proclaimed ex-first class SOLDIER finished, searching his opponent for something — anything that could shed clarity on his confusion.

but sephiroth was, and always would be, an enigma.

not that it mattered to cloud. he was getting answers, and he wasn’t going to let the feline eyed male leave him in the dark once more; he had enough of that already.

“answer me.” the merc pressed, impatience growing when the other hadn’t responded.

sephiroth gave a small smirk and another low laugh of his. “demanding, aren’t we?” he jested lightly, shrugging his shoulders before shaking his head. “i expected no less, cloud.” he turned to face the moonless sky. “do you remember what i said to you before, after you’d blown up the first mako reactor?”

the blond’s memories were a fog — a thick mist cast over most events in his life, but that, that he remembered. all too clear, in fact. it might as well have been a real encounter.

“you went on about the planet’s suffering and how you would hate to be on it if i wasn’t here with you.” the spiky haired male paraphrased, eyeing him skeptically. “what’s that got to do with any of this?”

mako slitted eyes slid down to meet sapphire-teal, the smile on his lips growing. “everything, cloud.” he answered in that suave, hushed tone of his, facing the boy before him. “without you, i would not be. and without me,” sephiroth paused, leaning in closer. “you, cloud, would not be.”

the blond let out a mirthless laugh, glaring at the other. “so what, i gotta kill myself now to stop you? take us both down to put an end to your shit?” he pressed, ignoring the pitter patter to his fragile heart.

silver flowed in the wind, glimmering beneath the starry ebony. “is that what you believe to be the solution, cloud?”

enraptured in those intense eyes, the male in question found difficulty in averting his stare, let alone mustering a reply.

leave it to sephiroth to tear his thoughts to shambles, weaving in his own confusing ones to fuck with his.

“you’re basically saying you can’t live without me, so yeah.” he answered curtly, shifting his weight to his opposite half. “unless you finally wanna stop being cryptic and give a clear answer.”

the long haired male let out a hum, blinking slowly, as a bored cat would. “now what fun would there be in that, cloud? i rather enjoy your guessing.” he responded as a matter of factly, crossing his arms over the broad expanse of his chest.

cloud let a moment pass, mainly because he knew he would lose his shit if he spoke up right away. and that.. would not get through to his past idol. “so then if i just struck my heart and bled out, you wouldn’t give a single-?”

“i would not allow it.” sephiroth intercepted a little above the latter’s tone, feeling the crisp air caress his pale cheeks.

“but i.. will not end.” cloud once heard him say, at the edge of creation. “nor will i let you end.”

was this.. what he meant?

the blond gritted his teeth. “like i would listen to a thing you say.” he bit back, picking up his sword. “maybe i should, then, since you don’t want me to.”

with furrowed brows, the taller trudged forward, manifesting his odachi. “you will do no such.”

a normal person would have backed out by now, and once upon a time, if he was still the pathetic rank he was, cloud might have done so, too. “why not? petty that my death would end your reign before it even comes?” he mocked, matching the intensity of his nemesis’s gaze.

however, sephiroth’s had been short lived. “cloud, i mean it. you would be wise not to inflict harm upon yourself.”

“don’t pretend you care.” the merc countered, gripping his hilt tighter. “you just need me for the stupid bond.” he argued before shaking his head, heaving a breath. “why did i even bother trying to save you? i knew i would break yet another promise to zack, and for some odd reason, i still tried for him.” he lowered his great sword. “more importantly, or actually, stupidly, i tried for you.”

the former SOLDIER found himself at a loss for a change. the last he’d been rendered speechless was that day in nibelheim — the encounter with genesis that led him down this dark path hojo had paved personally for him- for jenova.

“you are as naive as zack was, to believe that i needed saving and that it needs to be done by you, cloud.” he scoffed, tearing his gaze away from him. “why should i require saving? i have never felt more myself.”

cloud pursed his lips together, growing considerably more annoyed. “if yourself is her, then that isn’t you. that’s not who you were.” he disagreed, fighting every urge in his body that just screamed to give up on this pacifistic method of his and resume to the usual fighting.

it was what the blond was good at, anyway, what he’d been made to do.. and yet, here he was, negotiating like a fool.

sephiroth appeared unbothered, minus the knit to his brows. “that is who i am, and who i was destined to become. the person you speak of was weak, trying so pathetically hard to fit into humanity despite himself. and what was the result? betrayal, and by his close ones no less. the one you see before you now, has embraced himself for who he is, and it has made him strong.”

the buster felt heavy in his hands for once, perhaps its way of telling him not to raise the blade that had been passed down to him. a poor attempt on behalf the first and second holder — whom cloud had made his promise to.

how troublesome.

“zack didn’t betray you.” cloud willed himself to say, lifting his burning gaze back up to his enemy’s. “you left him in the dark for trying to help you. fine if you wanna be pissed at me for stabbing you, but he actually tried to be there for you.. countless times, and you,” he paused for breath, knowing the difficulties of digging into his memories, but it was necessary. “you shut him out.” he finished quietly, lowering his eyes to the broadsword in his gloved hands. “i know i’m not him, i’ll never be half the man he was. but i’m.. i’m what’s left of him, the proof that he lived — and if he told me that you were worth saving..” the blond sucked in a breath, peering back up through his unruly bangs. “then, you are.”

the former famed hero was reticent for a moment, and the male across from him began to wonder if he had perhaps spoken too much. however, he reminded himself that his words had to be brought across.

whether or not that had upset sephiroth.

“if zack truly wanted to save me, he would have continued trying despite my words.” he broke the silence, narrowing his eyes slightly. “had he cared as you claim he had, would he not have continued pressing? zack did so for everything else- had done so for angeal, even when he told him to stop.. and yet, he gave up on me the moment i told him to.” sephiroth acknowledged bitterly, recalling the event as though it had been yesterday.

flipping through towers of books in the library beneath shinra manor, page after page of what was hidden from him — each more agonizing than the last. not a single soul to save him from his inevitable descent into madness.

cloud, not knowing what to say, fell quiet, weighing the words of his past role model. his reason for even joining shinra in the first place.

the blond would be lying if he said he hadn’t understood sephiroth and his reasoning, as he dealt with his own share of being left out in the dark.. but still, “and if he continued to come, then what? would you have listened? would zack have gotten through that thick ass skull of yours?”

his lips tightened. “perhaps he would have, because i would have known that i was worth pushing for.” he answered softly, clenching his fist. “but i.. was not. and he left his dying wish to someone bathed in guilt, who only seeks to do it to fulfill a promise and have his supposed sins forgiven.” sephiroth finished, more frigid than the frost cloud once walked through in modeoheim.

it pierced like daggers through his chest — the spot he’d once plunged masamune into back in nibelheim.

was the spiky haired male really just doing it to be forgiven..? to feel like he had done at least one thing right in the pathetic life he led? the one that continued to be saved time and time again, when really, it should have just been left to shrivel and return to the lifestream. if he was even worthy of it.

or was it, that cloud had truly wanted to save sephiroth? even in spite of his anguish — the resentment he harbored since that fateful incident.

overcome by his muddled feelings, the blond acted on impulse and dropped his weapon to pull down the other by the straps across his chest.

his heart was heavy, hands clammy because of how close his nemesis had stood — the stakes higher than ever before.. but cloud didn’t care. he couldn’t bother to care as he pressed his lips against the rosewood ones of his former inspiration — his reason.

a shock that didn’t quite reach his eyes struck through sephiroth, but it wasn’t long before he returned the kiss. strongly, passionately. never chaste — because that wasn’t them.

cloud could never forgive himself for being put out of commission as he was during the visit back then to the mako reactor. his promise to protect his childhood friend and to measure up to the firsts became his downfall — and that become fodder for his self hatred.

because maybe, just maybe, he could have at least made that effort to put aside his pain and visit sephiroth himself — or at any rate, push zack some more to visit.. but he could not. the former infantryman failed that time, failed many times after..

but not today.

cloud refused to let another opportunity go to waste.

deprived of his breath, because the mercenary only expected his adversary to steal it away entirely, wholly for himself, he at last broke away, panting.

his gloved fingers still encircled those crisscrossed suspenders, cheeks burning with color as his eyes opened to a half lidded state.

sephiroth appeared more composed than he had, but there was the slightest hint of fervor on him as well, the breathlessness resulting from the heated contact they exchanged.

somehow, his hands found their way to the shorter’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer to his body as he held him there without any intentions of letting him go.

part of him wanted to call cloud foolish, for subjecting himself to such an impulsive act, such a poor attempt at getting his feelings across.. but the silver haired general would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it- if he hadn’t wanted it. that sensation of those flushed appendages pressed so wantonly up against his own. it was unlike anything he’d felt before.

and from cloud, no less.

“i’m not doing this shit for validation. maybe i do wanna feel like i at least succeeded at one thing in my life — but this..” he relinquished his grasp a little, lifting his sharp mako tinted eyes. “me saving you.. this is something i didn’t get to do back then — instead i..” cloud swallowed the lump forming in his throat, willing his voice to remain steady. “i killed you. i promised that i would do what zack couldn’t do, and i instead, i just — continued to fight you because i was angry.. conflicted.. betrayed, too.” as it wasn’t only sephiroth that had his share of treachery. “and i just let that consume me.. that, and you kept insisiting for me to hold into that hatred, too.. saying to fill my heart with rage — rather than just,” a stuttered exhale. “letting me help you.”

they were nothing to each other back then, when they needed the other most. were in essence strangers, despite the mercenary knowing and idolizing him.

now, they were everything to one another, in every way possible. sephiroth could not be without cloud, and likewise cloud could be without sephiroth.

the long haired swordsman brought a leather clad hand to his lightly tanned cheek, lowering his hooded cat-like eyes. “you cannot help me, cloud. if you could not do so then.. what makes you believe that you could now?”

lifting a hand to hold the one that cradled his cheek so gently, cloud squeezed his, sapphire burning with determination. “because that was then, and this is now.” the merc repeated the words that were once spoken to him — a petty interception of his accusation on whether or not he had killed the self proclaimed son of jenova.

the taller allowed his lips to curl, a soft hum leaving them. “quoting me now? that was a different context, as you know.” he spoke up smoothly, circling his thumb on the other’s cheek. “still, ‘saving me’, as you phrased it.. will undoubtedly cost you. are you prepared to make that sacrifice?”

cloud allowed his fingers to slip between the cracks of sephiroth’s, scoffing lightly. “is this supposed to be different from any other time?” he questioned before rolling his eyes. “i think i’ll manage just fine, so you can stop trying to make me doubt my choices.” his childhood hero was a lot of things, but this side of him was entirely different from what the media displayed and the version of himself that had emerged from shinra mansion that day and onward.

this sephiroth.. was vulnerable, human, despite what he claimed. he was entitled to his share of insecurities and doubts outside of that unyielding face of confidence he wore.

he hid well, had discarded him completely for this arrogant, vengeance seeking sephiroth. but there were cracks, and cloud was willing to slip into them to find the man he once knew.

although they would be sharp edged, it was no different from any strike inflicted upon him in the past. so what was a few more?

the silver haired SOLDIER looked ready to protest, to rebuttal his words once more, however the arguments fell silent on his tongue, a laugh surfacing in their place. “it seems i underestimated you, cloud. perhaps you will save me after all,” he spoke up softly, leaning into his ear. “i cannot promise it will be easy, though.”

leaning his chin on his large pauldron, the blond let out a noise of amusement watching as silver spilled and curtained all around him. “like anything is ever easy between us.” cloud shook his head before closing his eyes. “it’s a good thing i’m used to it, sephiroth.”

a large hand slid to the small of his back, a chuckle sounding. “it’s a good thing you are, cloud.”

notes. my bad y’all i drafted this on the plane last week and i felt the need to finish it before i continued the rest of my requests ( my inbox is in the twenties guys.. ) anyways, to sefikura enjoyers and passerbys, hope you guys liked it, pls refrain from ship hate or i will slam that block button on your asses ok bye<3

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[billiedeansbitch]

Hiiii, this idea just popped into my head and since u’re one of my fav writes i’d love to see ur take on it.

It can be either larissa or miranda x reader (i imagined with larissa but it really doesn’t matter), so she’s cooking or baking something and like little things just go wrong in the process which frustrate her but she keeps going until the end when the whole thing just comes out wrong (she burns it or something like that) and reader starts laughing cause it’s just a big ol’ mess until she hears larissa crying cause it was her breaking point so r is like “oh shit sorry” and tells her it’s okay and smothers her with kisses until she sees a smile

Hope u’re doing good, byeeee :)

𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐝 ��𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

(𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

a/n: I'm a sucker for fluff and this prompt is just *chef's kiss* also I am doing good I hope you are too :>

warning/s: none.

The sound of the electric mixer buzzed in the kitchen (while she could have mixed the ingredients with her hand, Larissa believed it would be more time efficient this way) and she let it mix for approximately a minute or two as advised in the book until it became fluffy as desired. Nothing could possibly go wrong, so she read the directions once in her thoughts before repeating them loudly and clearly to ensure she didn't miss anything before moving on to the next step.

She cracked in the egg and added a teaspoon of vanilla, her hands trembling in the process. It was quite ridiculous and she was sure that if you were around, your laughter would have echoed in the room. After everything was blended, Larissa added two and a half cups of chocolate chips knowing your affinity for sweets.

And like she would know the difference between a good dough and a bad one, she scraped the side with her finger and let it dip into her mouth. It was sweet, flavourful and soft. She was a little bit impressed by this accomplishment.

“Into the baking sheet you go.” She started scooping them into balls, and transferred each into the cold metal surface with calculated distance. Sated with the outcome, Larissa smiled to herself and placed the sheet into the oven to bake for about twelve minutes.

For the whole duration of the baking process, the woman stayed planted in front of the oven, her lower back pressed on the island counter, her eyes fixated on the cookies like it would do anything to help the cookies bake. Twelve minutes later, as soon as the alarm went off, Larissa put on her floral patterned oven mitts ready to judge her creation.

When it came out, the smell was okay but not heavenly as she was expecting, then her smile dropped. This batch was unevenly baked, some were undercooked and some were burnt, she also had problems with over-spreading making all look like a big mess.

Her brows furrowed, staring at the mess in silence, thinking what she could have done wrong. That was when she took out her phone from her apron’s pocket and started searching. One potential cause was the butter, she could have overly softened the butter or overworked the dough and she blamed this to the electric mixer.

Larissa didn’t let this mishap discourage her, so she tried again, gathered a new batch of ingredients and scraped the mess off into the trash. This time she didn’t rely on the cooking book, she searched online for ways to perfectly bake cookies and looked for some tips. She preheated the oven, chilled the dough, and used the middle rack of the oven. However, something still went wrong with the cookies, it ended up tough and dense. Larissa frustratedly sighed, her shoulders sagging.

So she went over the internet again and found out stale baking powder could cause this problem so she checked the box and facepalmed when she found out that it was already expired. Thirty minutes later, Larissa came back with a fresh tray of eggs, baking soda, and some flour. She was determined to make this one work.

Sweat ran down her back, attempting again for the third time. She checked her phone. It was only two o'clock. She still had plenty of time before you came home. Although fifteen minutes later Larissa heard the front door opening and your familiar footsteps reverberating in the house.

“What are you doing?” you had a smile on your face as you inquired, shrugging off your coat while you sauntered toward the kitchen to see what your girlfriend had been up to while you were gone.

“Oh, nothing…just baking.” Larissa met your eyes in a fleeting glance, her cheeks already glowing red. She watched you from the corners of her eyes, going around the counter and planted yourself next to her, brushing her hair off her face.

“You have flour on your face, love.” you wiped it off gently with your thumb before you focused on what she was doing, and simply taunted her with your presence.

Larissa felt the growing pressure, felt how heavy your eyes were as you watched her, distracting her, “It says only a teaspoon, love.” your hand locked around her wrist stopping her from pouring more vanilla into the dough.

“Could you check my emails? See if anything’s out of the ordinary?” she requested.

You didn't think so much of it and agreed, “Yeah, of course. Right now?”

She nodded.

“Okay.”

In all honesty, she didn’t need her emails to be checked, she just didn’t want you there to witness her fail over a supposedly simple task. Baking should not be this hard and complicated, it shouldn’t be exhausting, it was designed to be relaxing and refreshing. She was supposed to be enjoying and not stressing over this. God, she just wanted to bake for you.

Somehow she still scored the next, making it three consecutive fails. This time she didn’t bother checking what went wrong, she was tired, it was her breaking point, and to make it worse, you walked in after smelling the burning sweet smell of sugar and broke into laughter.

It wasn't your intention to insult or upset her; you just laughed because it was a mess and you had been with her for so long to know Larissa wasn’t fond of messes, and this proved to you that even after being so perfect all the time, she still had her flaws.

But it was the last thing she needed from you.

Larissa undid her apron and tossed it unceremoniously on the floor, her face buried on her hands softly sobbing. She couldn’t take it anymore. She was upset and tired. She felt pathetic. She watched a fucking child baked cookies over the internet and it turned out decent so how the fuck a grown woman couldn’t achieve the same result when clearly she should be better, if not best, at doing it.

The smile on your face faltered, altered by a sad look once you saw how Larissa broke down on the floor. “Fuck.” you expressed out loud, dashing forward to where she sat.

“Hey,” you sat next to her, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She wasn’t responding. It broke you. You should have been more sensitive, should have seen the sign that it was something you shouldn’t have laughed about no matter how pure your intention was.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I only laughed because I thought it was funny because you finally messed up. It’s silly, I know, I just…you’ve always been perfect and seeing you get so frustrated over baking makes it so refreshing to the eyes and I laughed at the first chance I got when I shouldn’t have.”

Larissa stopped and turned to you, staring at you with a gentle expression, she wasn’t mad at you, she could never be. You leaned, fondling her cheek, “I should have been more careful and sensitive. I’m sorry.”

When all was said and still she hadn't moved, you began apologizing the alternative way by pressing kisses to her brow, her cheeks, her nose, her lips, everywhere.

You kept dropping another after another, more gentle, more soothing than the last, more sincere until a beam stretched her lips. Then you see the spark, one you had seen a hundred times, returned to her eyes, they looked so beautiful. She kissed back, accepting your apology. It was tender, very delicately pressed on your cheek.

You then pressed your forehead to her shoulder, catching a moment for yourself, “You almost gave me a heart attack. Seeing you like that I thought I had to go over every reason why you shouldn’t break up with me.” you let her know your thoughts, she chuckled lightly.

“Oh you did huh?” you felt her combed through your hair, planting a kiss on your head.

“Mhmm.”

“In retrospect I think it was a bit dramatic.”

“Hmm, no comment.” it was better safe than sorry. Larissa hummed as well and asked you to stand up. She did too and eyed the mess on the counter.

“We should clean this up. I need to cook dinner soon.”

When you faced her, you saw there was still a remnant of sadness in her eyes. She couldn’t hide those, not even with the smile on her lips.

“How about we try one more time?” you suggested, smiling at her, convincing her.

She was apprehensive, “Are you sure?”

“Positively sure. Don’t worry, okay? I’ll help you and if we fail we can try again tomorrow and then the day after that until we have perfectly edible chocolate chip cookies.”

Two days later, at twelve midnight, the mouth watering, warm scent of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies engulfed the kitchen and it was worth it as a priceless grin possessed Larissa’s lips and spun you around and kissed you.

Perhaps all that was missing was love. She had to bake with love.

[climbthemountain2020]

Flame of Autumn - Chapter 23

Part 24/26 | Ao3

Tilly

It was freezing in the human lands, and dirty snow crusted the ground. Tilly wasn’t one to imagine herself above anyone else, but she hated how dull everything looked beyond the wall. She couldn’t imagine how people lived in a world so devoid of color and joy. The wind bit at her through her leathers and cloak, and she held Eris’ hand in hers as they stood near the battle tent, waiting to depart for their own for one final night together before war. Eris was having a hard time taking his eyes off her–not only for the worry of his mate going into battle, but more perhaps for the leathers she was wearing that he’d commissioned for her. They hugged every curve, including the gentle slope of her stomach, now impossible to hide. He’d all but threatened the tanner and blacksmith within an inch of their lives to make her the most reliable, safe, and strong armor possible.

Now, his eyes roved over her, and she rolled hers, gently squeezing his hand as he laughed next to her.

“I can’t help it. I may have walked myself into a corner here.”

“I’ll walk you into a corner if you don’t focus, love.” She ground out amusedly.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” She smacked his chest as she laughed.

The plan had been decided on previously, and everyone was ready for their allotted roles. Eris and Tilly would be joining Jurian in the castle. Their only task would be to find and free Vassa and the women that had been trapped by Koeschi. Eris and Tilly had found rough sketches of the layout of Koeschi’s castle hidden in Beron’s paperwork. Clearly, he’d been making frequent trips to the human lands, and Eris and Tilly had a sneaking suspicion of where they might fight the stores of faebane-coated weapons.

They would need to be quick once they entered the castle, so they’d both made sure to memorize the sketches of the layout, providing an additional copy to Jurian, who was so out of his mind with worry for Vassa that they weren’t sure if it had even made a difference. Technically, the women wouldn’t be freed from Koeschi’s spell until the box containing his soul was damaged and he was dead, so they had no idea the condition they’d be finding them in. Penny and Tamlin would be working with the Valkyries to find and destroy the box, killing Koeschi and setting all the women free. Tilly and Eris just needed to focus on doing their part, and hope everyone else was able to do theirs too. Once they freed the women, they would route back to the Autumn armies, where Tilly would be portalling them into the fray when and where they were least expected to form a surprise attack on Koeschi’s remaining forces.

This would be their final night together before the battle. Once they returned to their tent, they lovingly slipped the leathers off of each other, fingers brushing over skin and kisses pressing against each other. At last, they were warm on their bedroll beneath a mountain of blankets, heated by their bodies and their magic. Though both were confident in their abilities and the outcome, war was war, and they’d held each other close, Eris lightly tracing his elegant fingers over her belly. It was a moment suspended in time where every touch, every word, felt like a goodbye. They lay in the dark, arms and legs twined tightly.

“Even if I had the option to go back and change it, I hope you know I would do it all again exactly the same way to get to you,” Eris mumbled in the dark, barely above a whisper.

“Me too. Every single time.” Tilly let a few of her tears slip down her nose, spilling onto his arm curled beneath her head. “I love you, Eris.”

“And I love you, Matilda.” He shuffled down their bedroll, his fingers finding her hips in the flickering candlelight. He pressed his lips to the space right below her navel. “And I love you, littlest one. Keep your mother safe for me tomorrow, hm?” Tilly’s eyes flooded with tears and emotion, spilling over from both within her heart and from Eris down the bond. They would be brave tomorrow, and they would give everything for a new and better world.

They had something more than worth fighting for.

+++

Eris, Tilly, and Jurian had taken off with the Valkyries before the moon was even entirely across the sky, moving under cover of darkness to get closer to the castle for their surprise entry. They hoped Koeschi would be too distracted by the start of the battle to notice or even care about the intrusion, and Vassa had let them know months ago he’d likely be waiting on the top turret to watch the incoming armies and supervise. They’d planned to enter through a little-traveled back entrance, covered in overgrowth and vines that would bring them into the lower kitchens near the tunnels. Koeschi kept the women locked in rooms in a lower hallway–not quite a dungeon, but with barred doors and windows nonetheless. They hoped to find a key and avoid expending unnecessary magic, but Tilly would be able to use the portals if they needed to.

The castle was quiet on their approach as they split from the Valkyries. Beron’s notes had detailed that the castle was much like the House of Wind–no staff and fully serviced by magic, so at the very least they wouldn’t need to worry about being stumbled upon. Eris and Jurian took the front, careful to check around corners before proceeding, just in case. Tilly was rounding up the back, ensuring that they weren’t being trailed or attracting any unwanted attention. They could see through the windows that the sun had just begun to rise, the skies becoming pale and gray, and they could hear the sounds of war in the distance. They’d timed it perfectly.

As they turned down the last hall, Tilly took in the surroundings. The deep set stone walls were old, almost eroded down to a sandy dullness with time. The doors lined both sides of the halls, the low light spilling through the bars and into the dark hallway.

“Eris, Jurian, do you see any key hooks?” She whispered low. She hadn’t seen any on the way in, and it didn’t appear that there were any down the long, straight hall. She worried that they’d need to move quickly. She had her portals, but she didn’t like places with only one exit.

“Nothing at this end.”

“Here, either. Portals it is.” Jurian was going around and looking into the doors to find Vassa, whose head popped up all the way down at the end. Eris and Tilly averted their eyes to give Jurian and moment to reunite in privacy, then Tilly was marking which rooms were occupied. The women inside–some human, some fae, some other–all looked pale and exhausted, some more capable of standing than others, and all looking terrified.

“It’s okay, we’re here to help you. Are you chained within the rooms?” The woman in the room Tilly looked into shook her head.

“Only Vassa remains chained. The rest of us are just locked in.” Tilly nodded, passing the message back to Eris and Jurian and instructing Eris to see if the shackles on Vassa were something he could break.

“How many of you are there?” The woman shook her head, long blonde locks shifting back and forth as she stared at Tilly with wide eyes.

“At least twelve of us, I think. Some have…some didn’t make it.” Tilly’s heart clenched. “Are you truly here to save us? This isn’t a trick?” At that, Tilly’s heart cleaved in two.

“We’re here to save you. The armies of Prythian are outside to wage war against Koeschi once and for all.” The relief in the woman’s eyes was almost enough to knock Tilly over. “Are you human?” The woman nodded. “Okay, I am going to use magic to get to you. I need you to be brave, okay? Can you trust me?” Another nod, and Tilly was casting her portal through to the room, peeking through the circle of fire to see the woman without the bars. “Come, step through.”

Tilly thought she saw the woman muster her bravery one last time before walking up on dirty, bare feet to the portal and stepping through into the hall. Tilly grabbed her hands in her own.

“You did wonderfully. Now, can you help me with the others?” One by one, Tilly methodically went down the line and gently explained to each girl what was happening, then released them from their rooms while Eris fought to help Vassa break her chains, Jurian watching on worriedly. Once all the women were freed and in the hallway, looking around in apprehension and blossoming hope, Tilly turned back to Eris.

“Any luck?”

“No, they aren’t faebane shackles, but they’re holding tight. They don’t seem magical, just incredibly strong. Resistant to flame and we’ve had no luck picking them. Any ideas?”

Vassa spoke up. “Listen, every moment we spend here, we are risking everyone. Tilly, can you take the women to the place where they’ll be safe, then come back? We’ll work on solutions while you’re gone.” Tilly nodded, turning back to the women.

“We’ve got a safe place for you with other females who have been through something similar. We’re going to bring you there while we all help to track down your families. You have my word that you’ll be kept kindly and not against your will. You can leave at any time.” The group looked around amongst themselves, and everyone seemed to come to the agreement they could trust her.

She pressed a kiss to Eris’ cheek then opened a portal as large as a door for the women to step through, straight to the River House of Velaris. It had been agreed upon at the summit that there would need to be a place to keep these women who had suffered so much while they found their way home, to whatever that may be for them going forward. Rhysand and Feyre had offered the library of Velaris, where they were already providing a program for females who had suffered similar traumas to recover. Tilly would deliver the women to the River House, already having been given permission through the wards by Rhysand, and the women would stay with Rhysand and Feyre’s housekeepers and Lucien’s mate until everyone returned and could move them. They’d have a chance to eat and sleep and wash in the meantime; for some, it might be their first glimpse of freedom in years.

Tilly held the portal open as they filtered through, turning to wink at Eris before stepping through.

“Back soon, love.”

Eris

Eris had never dealt with chains quite like the ones holding Vassa to the wall. They were long enough that she could walk across the room easily, but the shackles on her wrists were huge, heavy and detailed. It was clear that Koeschi favored her, and Eris knew he wouldn’t be letting her go as easily as the others. That wrongness slid over him, his brain trying and failing to tell him that something was wrong.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a bird, Vassa?” She shot him a look.

“He hasn’t had me changing since I returned. He’s been preoccupied–it's been strange. Not at all like it was before. He used to get some sick joy from torturing the other women and I, coming at strange hours, demanding we eat with him. Or worse.” Her eyes were haunted and Eris could practically feel the rage pouring off Jurian. “Since I’ve been back, he’s been distant. Not unhappy, but distracted.”

That nagging feeling began to creep down the back of Eris’ neck.

Could Koeschi have known their plan? Why would he let them come here? If he’d known they would come, why wouldn’t he have had better guards at the castle?

Eris felt like the answer was right behind his eyes, floating just barely within his periphery, but the unease was turning to panic and his instincts screamed at him that they needed to get out, and quickly. Tilly came back through the portal carrying a wrought-iron fire poker, shutting the fiery gate behind her.

“No luck?” Everyone shook their heads with wide eyes aimed at the poker.

“I figured. Vassa, can you trust me?”

“Goodness, what a loaded question.”

“I’m going to break the shackles; it’s not the best solution, but I don't have a better plan.” Vassa sighed, Jurian looked like his heart might stop, but Eris was already telling Vassa to hold the chains out, reading Tilly’s intentions. She portalled inside the room, leaving it open for Eris and Jurian to step through, then looking to Vassa. “I’ll be as careful as I can.” Vassa nodded, holding her hands up against the stone wall so that the chains draped along it with Eris’ help. Before anyone could suggest otherwise, Tilly swung the poker with all her weight at the chains. They clunked painfully loud against the walls, the shock reverberating through the room. The chains had bent but not broken.

“Okay, again.” But they all drew up and stopped, a noise from just beyond the hall like the scuffing of feet. Eris and Tilly’s eyes shot to each other, and without further warning Tilly was swinging, again and again, hitting the chains as they bent and warped and finally broke. The footsteps had become swifter and were approaching fast.

“Come on!” Tilly conjured a portal to the woods, throwing it open and all but shoving Vassa and Jurian through.

Eris ducked through, standing back and holding a hand out to Tilly as the figure stepped around and into the hallway. He was dressed in all black, a velvet cloak draped down over his shoulder and back. There was a wrongness about him, a blurring around the edges that made him seem otherworldly and out of place. The rage on his face as he realized what was happening was all-encompassing, the fury sweeping through the room as his lips parted in a scream.

“Tilly!” Eris screamed, dragging her through the portal to the other side and yanking her hand back so it would shut behind them. The roar that echoed behind them through the portal shuttered as the portal clanked shut, and they could hear it from a distance now as it vibrated out from the castle, a great wave exploding up from the lake. They’d landed in the woods as intended with the spare armies of Autumn, waiting and ready for their command. They’d pointed Vassa and Jurian to the healing tent, then began to organize.

“You’re okay? Not too tired?” Eris was beginning to worry for Tilly and the amount of magic she’d been casting since they arrived, but to her credit, she didn’t look tired.

“I’m alright. Not too tired yet. Something feels wrong, though. Why wasn’t the castle guarded more thoroughly?”

“I had the same thought. But what could Koeschi be trying to accomplish by letting us in? He seemed furious to see we’d taken his prisoners.”

“Yes, well, he’s the sort of man who likes to be in control. No wonder he and Beron got on so well; they both need the most power–”

“Power. Shit, he wants more power. He knows about Penny.” Suddenly, the escape seemed to make more sense. He wasn’t protecting the castle, he was biding his time. He wanted Penny. “We’ve got to make sure they get that box before he gets to them.”

They turned to survey the army around them, as Eris reached into the pocket between worlds to grab her bow, wreathing himself in flames. She looked to the armies–their armies–as she cast her fire over it.

“At the ready!” He shouted to the males, taking one more look at Tilly. “Ready when you are, love.” She smiled, throwing the largest portal she could summon. “Forward!” As he and the foot soldiers went through the flames, he could see the human armies attempting to push the Valkyries back. “To the water!” As the remainder of the soldiers stepped through and began the push forward, Tilly dropped from the sky above them, wreathed in flame, the absolute picture of Autumn.

Pulling her bowstring back as he unsheathed his sword to the horror of the humans, Eris and Tilly smiled at each other and pushed forward.

Tilly

The fight had started hard and fast and hadn’t stopped or slowed since. Tilly was covered in blood and dirt and other substances that her pregnant stomach didn’t want to think too hard on. She and Eris were repeatedly separated in the melee, but she knew through the bond he was alive. Every bit of her focus had gone to fighting. Draw the bow, shoot. Remove the dagger, throw. Take out the sword, strike, parry, fight. She became singularly-focused, and she tried to fuel herself by imagining that this was what she could have done against Hybern. She couldn’t have saved her father, but here, she could save people.

Killian and Cormac had been somewhere in the converging armies of Autumn, and she’d met eyes with both of them at one point. There was so much red hair flying in a blur around her, it was impossible to tell anyone apart from the next. In a moment of breath, she spun to catch a glimpse of Eris, but she’d let her guard down just a second too long as a fae from Hybern winnowed in. She saw him in her periphery the second his sword shot out to break straight through her arm, but it was too late to parry. She felt the sharp sting and then shooting pain as she lunged back, effectively pulling it out as she swung madly and managed to strike straight across the fae’s shocked face. She didn’t even give him a moment to wipe the blood from his eyes or register what had happened before she swung again and cleaved his head from his shoulders, her breathing coming out in pants as she grabbed at her shoulder.

Tourniquet. I need a tourniquet.

She took the leather ribbon from her hair, quickly winding it around her arm and tying it off tightly with her teeth. She shot small bursts of her healing power out, trying to conserve it as much as she could while still staunching the flow of the bleeding.

A deafening roar sounded from behind her so loudly it shook the very sand at the edge of the lake. She knew without having to turn that the ground-shaking booms echoing behind her were the steps of her husband. When she tipped her head back to look up, his glittering amber eyes looked down from far above her, surrounded by the shimmering darkness of his scales. She grinned up at him.

“I’m alright. Let’s go.” She heard more than saw his deep breath in, as Eris released a stream of fire into the incoming enemy troops, scalding them all as she shot her fire behind, guarding his back and incinerating the approaching line. Autumn soldiers spread as instructed, pressing the enemy battalions in as Tilly and Eris reduced line after line of them to ash. There were massive flares of magic from all around them, one so bright and stunning that she knew a High Lord must have expended a huge amount of power. She couldn’t look–she could only focus on what was in front of her. She was growing tired, and she could feel through the bond that Eris was, too, but they were coming to the end. The last of the Autumn soldiers came in to force the remainder of the enemy forces towards them as Tilly forced the dregs of her fire out and then slumped back into Eris’ warm side. Around them, the battles were dying down; a shift had occurred.

Eris shifted back to his fae form, panting and holding Tilly up to him. They were still near the lake, the bodies around them that hadn’t been incinerated were piled high. Autumn hadn���t suffered nearly the losses of Hybern and the human armies, but she could see in the faces of the soldiers that everyone was on the verge of collapse. Autumn had given all they had, and for the first time in her life, Tilly felt proud to be a part of her own court.

The armies of Autumn converged around them, she and Eris gripping each other, the flames still surrounding them burning low. A soldier, one of their generals, came forward from the ranks, removing his helmet and setting it on the ground before them before plunging his sword into the ground and taking a knee.

“High Lord. High Lady.” Tilly didn’t have the energy to correct him, but the pride that swelled down the bond was surely not her own. One by one, the soldiers of Autumn took a knee, and “High Lord, High Lady” echoed back through the masses. Tilly could do nothing but lean against Eris, her mouth parted and her eyes beginning to water as she tried to stiffen her lip.

She felt Eris lean in and press his lips to her ear, his voice hoarse and low. “I would say you’ve earned it.”

And Tilly felt the power shift in her veins.

Taglist (lomls): @cauldronblssd @queercontrarian @byyalady @thelovelymadone @clockwork-ashes @lovingkelj @lilah-asteria

[thefloorisbalaclava]

More Price requests you say? No problem, resident Price thot to the rescue

I don't even know how or why this idea got into my brain but...imagine him being the first man to make his lover squirt. She didn't even know she could do that, but it happened. Price diving in, knuckles deep, using his voice to make her go crazy cause he can be such a tease and a smug bastard when he wants, taking care of her like a queen because that's what gentlemen do. And she's laying there, taking all the pleasure and the praise and the dirty talk. She knows something is different this time. It's even more intense than usual, as if Price wasn't a God already, but she's not especting that to happen. Price, on the other hand, is pretty sure about the outcome. And dear oh dear, is he happy he's right. And it's doesn't stop to the amazing orgasm, oh no. He showers her with praise as her orgasm turns her into jelly, adding fuel to the fire. He thrives on her pleasure and knowing he can deliver it, after all.

Yeah I'm a sucker for the idea of praise coming from him and the way you write him makes me go FERAL, so, you know, I hope this sounds interesting and inspiring 👀

Holy shit I didn't mean to get carried away like that

pairing: captain john price x f!reader

words: 827

warnings: SMUT [fingering, squirting, captain/sir kink, price is an aftercare king].

a/n: alessia, this ask was such an inspiration. thank you!

tagging @jawabear

[masterlist]

John Price never lets you hide any part of yourself from him. Around him, you can’t hide from yourself either.

This is how you ended up in the position you were in now.

–Sitting between his legs with your legs spread and his fingers inside you…in front of the floor mirror.

He had put towels down beforehand so that there wouldn’t be any mess, but you hadn’t been expecting to squirt. He hadn’t either but was pleasantly surprised.

The carpet and the mirror have been made a mess of because of you, or rather because of him. It’s his fingers that do all the work and magic. It’s his fingers that made you do something you didn’t even think you could.

He is sitting behind you proudly, keeping you upright with his broad chest against your back. You try to squeeze your legs shut, but he doesn’t let you.

“No, no, sweet girl, look. I want you to look,” he whispers in your ear and your eyes find the mirror. They land on his reflection at first then they trail down to where his hand is.

—He has two fingers, middle and ring, inside you. His thumb is on your clit. His hand is still, though. Part of you wants him to move it, but part of you knows what will happen if he does and you’re not sure you have any strength left in you to do it again.

“John,” you sigh.

“I’ve got you, my love. I’m right here.” He bends his fingers inside you just the right way to make you gasp.

“Mm fuck!” you cry, legs shaking. “I-I don’t think I can…”

“Of course you can,” he encourages. “Can’t believe no one has ever made you do this before.”

“Not everyone is you,” you breathe, grabbing his wrist gently.

In the reflection, you can see the cocksure smirk appear on his lips. “See? You do want more.”

“I feel so weak,” you sigh but squeeze his wrist as a silent tell for him to continue.

“Slow, like this? Or…faster?” he asks, pumping his fingers faster a few times as an example.

“Ah!” you whimper. You run your fingers along the watch on his wrist and down his hand. It sits on top of his, smaller and softer, guiding and controlling the pace.

“Slow and deep for my girl, hm?” he says in your ear before nibbling on it.

You let your head fall back onto his shoulder and he looks down at you. “Make me squirt again, captain.”

“That’s my girl.” He kisses you deeply as he presses his fingers even deeper into you. “Eyes up,” he commands, and you lift your head to look into the mirror. You nearly cum just watching the way the ring he wears disappears inside you with each thrust of his fingers.

“Fuck me, John,” you whine.

“You like it when I stretch you open with my fingers, don’t you?” He pulls his fingers out and then spreads your lips. “Look at that hole clenching for me. You want my fingers to stay in there, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you moan. He pushes his fingers inside you again, finding that spot and massaging it over and over again. Your legs start squeezing shut, but he takes his free hand and pushes against your inner thigh.

“Keep ‘em open…for your captain,” he growls. That pushes you even closer to the edge.

“I can’t…I can’t…I-I…,” you cry.

“Yes, you can. Come on, sweetheart.”

You grab hold of his wrist again, digging your nails in as your body starts to shake. Your toes curl and you let out a scream as you push his arm away and squirt harder than you had the first time. Your ass lifts off the floor, and you lay your head on his shoulder again to keep yourself upright.

“John…please…”

“Shhh, love, I’ve got you.” He wraps his arms around you and holds you until your body stops twitching and trembling. With a weak arm, you reach up and run your fingers up the nape of his neck and into his short, pristinely cut hair.

“John,” you whisper, “Kiss me.”

He does and you never want him to stop. You will never tire of the way his mustache tickles you. You turn your body so that you’re kneeling between his legs facing him now.

“You’re so good to me,” he tells you between kisses.

“Let me take care of you,” you say, but he shakes his head.

“Not right now. I’m still taking care of you,” he says quietly. He kisses your forehead. “Let’s run you a nice bath, hm?” You nod. “Yeah?”

“Yes, sir,” you tease.

“Mmm save that for round two,” he teases back before standing. “Up you go.” He helps you to your feet.

“What about the…” You nod towards the towels and the…mess.

“Leave that to me. Bath first,” he says in a firm tone before taking your hand.

“Okay.”

“Good girl.”

[angelsanarchy]

Glass Houses: Jack Thurlow x Y/N One-Shot Series PRT 27

Tagging:@roryculkinluvr@thatsthewrongwallcraig@icarus-star @cc-luvr @madamemaximoff06@shady-the-simp @quicksilversg1rl @s-0lar @kristennero-wallacewellsver@ophelialaufey @mayathepsychic1999 @x-prettyboy-x @rorylover71 @auggiethecreator @tempt-ress @blacksoul-27

Jack goes back into treatment without fighting Dr. Carty. He suspects he'll be in for a long stay but they decide to only keep him for little under a full month. They felt like too much time in the facility could set him back in the other areas to which he's improved. Once he got back on his medications, his body physically felt different. He felt like he was getting back to a content calmness in his skin again. The stitches had healed over and every time he looked at them he felt mortified thinking about what had happened with Y/n.

Dr. Carty had made mention to him y/n agreeing to let him add her as a contact. He hadn't received any calls or visits from her but he didn't expect to.

"What are you worried about Jack?" Carty pulled him out of his head.

"I guess whether or not I can fix things with Y/n or not. I feel like she's smart enough to know that she doesn't need the additional stress in her life." Jack explained sadly.

"Well then it's best to develop a plan in advance to deal with both outcomes." He informed.

"How?" Jack asked confused.

"Well if she doesn't want to forgive you or doesn't think she can handle you, you need to accept that and find a way to move forward. You can't make people stay Jack. People will come and go but you can't let that destroy you. You have to be okay with being alone." Dr. Carty had a point, as bummed out as it made him.

"I mean I know that on some level I just don't know if I'll bounce back that fast if she writes me off. I might need to like...check back in?" Jack scrunches his face.

"If you ever feel like you can't handle things on your own, you know you can check back in. That doesn't mean this place is forever, you're learning that now." He explained. Jack looked down at his hands.

"Have you thought about what happens if she does forgive you?" Carty asked seeing Jack sit back in his chair.

"I mean...I guess shit can't like go back to normal, can it?" Jack said unsure of what he was going to do in either instance.

"No it can't. The best thing you can do is acknowledge your behavior, not make any promises that it won't happen again because you know this is for life and just try your best to communicate your struggles with her." Jack laughed darkly.

"What woman wouldn't want an absolute headcase?" Jack asked making Dr. Carty sigh.

"Jack, you can't consider yourself less than because you have mental illnesses. If you continue to do that, you will constantly live in a state of self deprecating negativity. Just be yourself. Stop letting these drugs, these diagnoses define who you are." There was a knock at the door and one of the hospital admins came in.

"Mr. Thurlow's ride is here." She said softly. Carty gave her a nod and she exited as he looked Jack over.

"Are you ready?" He asked and Jack nodded.

"I'm ready. Thank you for...everything." Jack shook Carty's hand and he nodded his head.

"Focus on the list of things you wanted to accomplish once you got back home Jack. Don't get distracted." He pressed as Jack walked out of his office. The ride back to the house felt longer than the ride to the hospital but when he enters the house, it feels different. He drops the bag by the steps and looks around, seeing the kitchen has been cleaned up and their is a note on the counter.

"I cleaned up the house so you didn't come home to a bunch of blood and shit. You also had a ton of things dropped on the porch so I moved them to the attic. I got groceries Friday when the Doctor told me you were coming home. I'm working night shift this week so please don't go to the house."

Jack pulled out his phone and sat on the couch for what seemed like two hours trying to figure out what to text her. He finally settled on

Jack: I'm home...thanks for cleaning the house and filling the fridge.

He regretted it the moment he pressed send. She was quick to respond though.

Y/n: No problem.

Her response was simple. He wished she would have given him more to work with.

Jack: Do you think maybe you'll have time to talk sometime this week?

Her response didn't come as quickly as the last. He started smoking a cigarette on the porch and started pacing.

Y/n: Look Jack, if this talk is going to be full of reminders of how fucked you are in the head and how you warned me that I deserve better or whatever self deprecating bullshit..you can save it. What I really deserve is a sincere apology and what the fuck reason you decided to come off your meds. I don't want to have a conversation without real accountability.

Jack read the response and felt like he still had a chance to salvage this. He felt like she was giving him an opportunity to really think about what he was going to say the next time they were together.

Jack: Okay.

His answer was simple and direct. He was listening to what she wanted from him and he wanted to be ready for that conversation once they had it. He owed her all of those things and he wanted to give them to her when she was ready to receive them. Until then, he grabbed something from the fridge and climbed the stairs to his bedroom where a brand new, color-coded pill case sat with a little white bow on it. He smiled to himself before taking the bow off and filling it with his meds.

[biggerbetterbat]

WITH YOU II | [19] THE NIGHT BEFORE THE END

Daryl Dixon x oc!Charlie

Summary: The night after the tragedy everyone tries to cope with what had happened.

Words: 2.522

Warnings: drinking, talking about death

The community was quiet, the atmosphere heavy with the weight of recent events. In a small, secluded part of the graveyard, Andy sat on the ground, staring at the simple wooden plank that marked Denise's grave. His expression was a mixture of sorrow and regret, his eyes unfocused as he replayed memories of their last moments together.

The soft crunch of footsteps on the grass caught Andy's attention, and he looked up, his gaze meeting hers with surprise and vulnerability.

Her own heart ached for him, and she felt a pang of guilt for their earlier argument. This was not the time for the negative emotions; it was a time for empathy and understanding. She approached him with a measured step, trying to balance her concern with the need to respect his space.

The silence between them was heavy, filled only by the distant sounds of Alexandria settling down for the night. Charlie could feel the tension radiating from Andy, and it was clear that he was struggling to keep his emotions in check. When he finally spoke, his voice was calmer than she had expected. "I'm sorry," said Andy. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Charlie shook her head, her eyes soft with understanding. "It's okay. Let's not talk about it anymore."

Andy's eyes met hers, and for a fleeting moment, she saw something other than grief in them—perhaps a glimmer of gratitude or relief. She could feel the emotional weight of the moment pressing down on her.

"She didn't deserve this," Charlie said quietly, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat.

"No, she didn't," Andy agreed, his gaze fixed on the simple marker of Denise's grave. There was a palpable sadness in his voice, a heaviness that spoke of unspoken regrets and what-ifs.

"She was a good person," Charlie added, trying to offer some semblance of comfort. Her thoughts drifted to the times she had interacted with Denise—her kindness, her courage, and the hope she had brought.

"I keep thinking... if I'd been there... if I'd said something different, done something different..."

"We all feel that way, Andy," she said. "But it wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. It's just how it is."

Her words were meant to offer solace, but she knew that understanding and acceptance were not so easily granted. Andy's eyes held hers, and in that brief moment, she saw a flicker of something that softened the edge of his grief—maybe a sense of relief.

He sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping as some of the tension eased. "I miss her," he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Without a word, she shifted closer and gently placed her arms around him, pulling him into a comforting embrace. The gesture was simple, but it was filled with the warmth and support that words alone could not convey.

Andy didn't resist; he simply leaned into her, his sobs becoming louder as he clung to her for support. Charlie held him close. She stroked his back soothingly, her presence a steady anchor in the midst of his storm.

As they sat there together, the night deepening around them, Charlie's presence was a comforting reminder that they weren't alone.

The moon cast a silvery glow over Alexandria as Charlie made her way to the watchtower. The cool night air brushed against her skin, contrast to the heated emotions of the day. She needed a moment of solitude, a chance to clear her mind and focus on something other than grief and guilt. And the task she had now was perfect to do just that.

As she climbed the ladder to the watchtower, Charlie's thoughts raced. Denise's death was the last thing they all needed at the moment. She wondered if there had been something she could have done differently, if she could have changed the outcome. Unconsciously, she wondered how things would be if she went with Daryl instead of Denise. Her thoughts turned to Andy and Rosita, and the relationship they shared.

In her heart was a storm, but right now, she needed to focus on her role here.

Reaching the top, Charlie saw Sasha's silhouette against the night sky. Sasha turned as she heard another person approach, offering a small, sympathetic smile. "Hey," Sasha greeted, stepping aside to let Charlie take her place.

"Hey," Charlie replied, her voice carrying a note of resignation. She settled into the chair and glanced out at the quiet perimeter. "It seems everyone knows," she said, her tone tinged with frustration. "Daryl made sure of it."

Sasha's expression softened with understanding. "Sorry."

Charlie shrugged, trying to mask the hurt that lingered just beneath the surface. "Don't be. It's hard to hide anything around here. We're all dealing with so much, and it seems like every personal moment gets turned into a headline."

For a few moments, they sat in companionable silence, keeping watch over the peaceful community below. The quiet was a balm for Charlie's frazzled nerves, though her thoughts were far from peaceful. She finally broke the silence. "How are you holding up? With Rosita?"

Sasha sighed, a small, rueful smile playing on her lips. "I guess you know."

"He told me," Charlie said, her voice gentle.

"If she could, she would stab me," Sasha said, her tone a mix of resignation and dark humor.

Charlie shook her head, a hint of a smile touching her lips. "Oh, if she wanted to, she would have already done it."

"Yeah, you're probably right." Sasha chuckled softly, appreciating the attempt at levity despite the tension surrounding them. "She hates me."

"For now," Charlie said, her voice carrying a note of optimism. "When the pain goes, she will understand. It won't be like this forever."

"You two are friends," Sasha said. "Why aren't you on her side?"

"I'm on his side, actually," Charlie replied. "Abraham's a good person trapped in a body of...well, a man. I want everyone to be happy, and you give him that. Rosita deserves the best, and he wasn't that."

After a few moments, Sasha broke the stillness, her voice soft but sincere. "I'm sorry," Sasha said, turning to face Charlie fully. "For not really trusting you before."

Charlie looked at her, surprised by the sudden admission. "What do you mean?"

"I remember when Tyreese and I first came to the prison. You didn't want to let us in."

"Yeah, I remember. I was so scared, always worried about who might be a threat."

"I thought you were just a mean bitch."

"Well, maybe I was," Charlie shrugged, her voice tinged with self-deprecation. "But back then, we knew almost nothing about what was going on. I was left with a boy, a baby, a man without a leg, and a singing teenager. It was crazy."

Sasha laughed, a genuine sound that cut through the tension. "Yeah, I can see how that would make anyone a little paranoid."

"It was a madhouse," Charlie agreed, joining in the laughter. The sound echoed softly in the quiet night. "But somehow, we made it work. And look at us now, keeping watch over a community like Alexandria."

"We've come a long way," Sasha said, nodding thoughtfully. "It's hard to believe sometimes."

"It is," Charlie agreed, her eyes distant as she remembered those early days. The struggles they faced, the losses they endured, and the fragile hope that had kept them moving forward. She reflected on how much they had grown, how their relationships had evolved, and how they had found ways to cope with the world's harsh realities.

The sudden, soft knock on the door startled her from her reflections. She opened the door to find Rosita standing there, her face a mix of anger and hurt. The tension between them was palpable.

"Can I come in?" Rosita's voice was tight, almost brittle.

Charlie stepped aside, silently inviting her in. Rosita entered, her movements stiff and deliberate. She turned to face Charlie, her eyes blazing with a barely contained fury. "So, you're all buddy-buddy with Sasha now?"

Charlie blinked, taken aback by the accusation. "What?"

"You know what she's done. She stole Abraham from me, and now you're acting like everything's fine."

Charlie sighed deeply, feeling the weight of Rosita's pain and anger. "I understand you're hurt, Rosita. But Sasha didn't steal Abraham."

"Don't patronize me, Charlie," Rosita rolled her eyes, her frustration evident. "You have no idea what it's like."

Rosita looked away. After a moment, she reached into her bag and placed a couple of glass bottles on the table.

"Let's drink," she said, her voice carrying a note of weary resignation.

Charlie stared at the bottles for a moment, feeling a flicker of gratitude for Rosita's attempt to bridge the gap between them. "Yeah, let's drink."

Rosita grabbed two glasses from a nearby shelf and poured the amber liquid generously. The warmth of the alcohol would hopefully provide some relief from their emotions.

"To Denise," Charlie said, raising her glass.

"To Denise," Rosita echoed, her eyes briefly meeting Charlie's before they both took a long, steadying drink.

As the warmth of the alcohol began to ease their frayed nerves, Charlie glanced at Rosita, feeling empathy and sorrow. The silence between them was heavy with the weight of what needed to be said.

"How do we tell Tara?" Charlie asked softly, her voice breaking the quiet.

Rosita looked up, her expression clouded with sorrow. Denise had been in a relationship with Tara, and now they had to face the painful task of delivering devastating news. Tara and Heath had ventured out to scavenge, unaware of the tragedy that had reached their loved one.

"I don't know," Rosita took a deep breath, steeling herself. "Let's just hope she won't come back too soon."

The gravity of the situation was evident. They had to figure out how to break the news to Tara, knowing it would shatter her world. The silence between them deepened, unfortunately the alcohol providing little comfort.

"I'm sleeping with Andy," Rosita slurred, the effects of the alcohol now clearly affecting her speech.

Charlie sighed, the weight of the conversation and the day's events settling heavily on her shoulders. "I know," she replied, her voice tinged with frustration. Frustration that once again she would have to have the conversation. "I had this talk with him today."

Rosita nodded, her relief evident. "I needed time to sink in the information. I didn't want to hurt him."

"Rosita, he's in love with you," she sighed, rubbing her eyes. "You might think you used him to numb the pain after the breakup, but he used you, too."

The woman's eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and realization crossing her features.

"He wants to show you that he's the right man for you," Charlie continued gently.

"I didn't... I didn't realize."

"I know it's complicated," Charlie said sympathetically. "Maybe you both needed each other in ways you didn't fully understand."

"I didn't mean to hurt him," she murmured, regret thick in her voice.

"I know," Charlie replied, her heart heavy with empathy. "But now that you know how he feels, maybe you can figure out what's best for both of you."

"Men," Rosita rolled her eyes, taking another sip of her drink. "You and Dixon, is it serious?" she asked, curiosity and a hint of skepticism in her tone.

Charlie mirrored Rosita's earlier eye-roll with a wry smile. "Men," she repeated, emphasizing the word with a shake of her head, drinking what she had in her glass.

Rosita chuckled softly, amusement mixing with camaraderie. "Seriously though," she pressed, setting her glass down. "You and Daryl Dixon. What's going on there?"

"It's... complicated," Charlie admitted, choosing her words carefully. "He's giving me the heebie-jeebies."

She burst into laughter, the sound warm and genuine. "I can imagine," she replied, shaking her head.

Charlie joined in Rosita's laughter, the tension of their earlier conversation melting away. Despite their challenges and the weight of their responsibilities, they felt as if they could breathe in each other's company, a moment of peace in the middle of the storm.

After a moment, Rosita raised her glass. "To men and their mysterious ways," she said, a teasing glint in her eye.

"And to surviving them," Charlie replied, a hint of defiance in her voice.

They clinked their glasses together, sharing a silent acknowledgment of the trials they faced.

Early in the morning, the first rays of sunlight filtered through the windows of the house, casting a gentle glow over the quiet room. Daryl stirred from his sleep, his mind still heavy with the events of the previous day. His still sleepy eyes fell on Charlie's pillow - cold and untouched.

With a heavy sigh, Daryl pushed himself out of bed, the floorboards creaking softly beneath his weight as he made his way to the kitchen. His brow furrowed with concern as he saw multiple empty bottles on the table.

His footsteps guided him towards the living room. There, Charlie and Rosita were sleeping on the opposite ends of the sofa. The sight caught Daryl off guard, a mixture of surprise.

Carefully, he took a blanket from a nearby chair and draped it over Charlie, his movements gentle. In the process, he unintentionally tugged the blanket slightly, causing Rosita to stir briefly, murmuring in her sleep.

Once Charlie was covered, Daryl knelt beside her, his gaze lingering on her peaceful face. He reached out tentatively, his fingertips brushing lightly against her cheek. Charlie stirred at his touch, her brow furrowing slightly before she slowly turned towards him, her expression softened by sleep.

His heart skipped a beat as she instinctively moved closer to his touch, seeking the warmth and reassurance of his presence. He swallowed hard, overwhelmed by a rush of conflicting emotions—love, protectiveness, fear, and anger.

Daryl moved quietly around the living room, his steps careful not to disturb Charlie and Rosita who were still peacefully asleep on the sofa. He prepared a glass of water and medicine.

As he approached Charlie, his heart sank with guilt and shame. He remembered his harsh words to her, blaming her for Denise's death in a moment of anger and grief. Now, seeing her sleeping so peacefully, the weight of his words bore down on him like a heavy burden.

Before getting the supplies down on a nearby table, he looked over at Charlie again. He squeezed the painkillers in his hands as if they were burning him. A reminder of why Denise lost her life.

He placed the thing down quickly to get rid of the negative feelings.

Unable to bear the weight of his remorse any longer, Daryl leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Charlie's cheek. It was a silent apology, hoping she would feel his regret and forgiveness in the warmth of his lips.

She only sighed softly in her sleep, her features relaxing at his touch.

With a final glance at Charlie and Rosita, still asleep and unaware of his silent penance, Daryl retreated quietly.

As he left the room, the morning light filtering through the windows.

[jackwolfes]

Wesper // Six of Crows // 1152 words // T rated @kinktober2023 Day 12: Costumes (ft. bonus hand kink) [all kinktober fills]

Wylan is having a very, very difficult evening. 

He twists his tall stemmed glass to straighten it, turning it just a half inch around. Around him the drone of laughter and clicking, spinning wheels is a cacophonous medley in Wylan’s ears, drowning out the sound of even Wylan’s heartbeat in his ears. He is working, he’s on a job, and if anything goes wrong it’s Kaz Brekker that’ll have his head. 

But Saints, did Jesper have to dress up like that? 

“You with us or not, kid?” 

Wylan blinks, startled out of his dazed daydreaming, and lifts his head just to be met with a sharp and mirthful glint of grey eyes he’s known and loved for far too long. His eyes widen a little bit, disarmed by the cocky grin Jesper sends him. He’s dressed impeccably in the suit all the other card dealers at the Silver Six wear, and Wylan absentmindedly wonders if it’s hell for him to be in the crux of a card game without being able to place a bet. He can’t think straight, that’s for damn sure, but he is also presented with the love of his life in a perfectly tailored suit shuffling cards. It’s hardly fair; how is Wylan expected to focus when half his job here this evening is going to be spent staring at Jesper’s fingers? 

“Yes," he says, fumbling the words. He clears his throat. “I’ll call.”

Jesper doesn’t react to that — he’s a much better actor than Wylan — but Wylan is confident enough in his choice, if only because so far tonight he’s doing exactly what Kaz told him to do to keep a low profile. Wylan does know how to play poker, but not very well, and he’s never had cause to learn in the past few years. 

“Feeling confident, aren’t you?” the man beside him says. Wylan cuts his gaze to the side. 

The first thing he notices is that the man isn’t looking at his face. He’s staring a little too obviously at the unbuttoned collar of Wylan’s shirt and the bare skin on show. It’s all part of the costume, but Wylan still finds himself feeling strangely self-conscious about it. He clears his throat, tipping his cards down to keep them out of sight. 

“Maybe,” comes his cool response. The man’s gaze finally flicks up to catch Wylan’s eye. He grins. 

A hand places itself on the back of Wylan’s stool, and when the man leans it it crowds close to Wylan. He inhales, smelling gunpowder cheaper and more acidic than the sort Jesper uses. He doesn’t like it much at all. The man shifts his thumb, and Wylan feels it brush against the dip between his shoulder blades. 

“I like a confident lad,” the man murmurs. 

In the end, Wylan isn’t strong enough to keep himself from glancing at Jesper — but why would he? It’s a panic movement more than anything, but when he cuts his gaze to the side he sees a dark glare across his boyfriend���s face. Wylan presses his lips together. He doesn’t know what Jesper did to piss Kaz off so much to be put in a spot where he has to watch Wylan be flirted with, but there's no way Kaz was expecting any different than this exact outcome when he put Wylan in this ridiculous outfit and told him to play a hand.   

He swallows, then glances back at the man beside him. He's said something that Wylan missed, distracted by the heat in Jesper's glare. "Hm?"

"I said," the man repeats, "I'm open to a second round after this if you like. I know a variation that a nice lad like you might have fun with. Have you ever played strip poker?" 

Ghezen, he's bold, Wylan thinks, trying not to curl his lip. "Uh—"

The man laughs. His hand shifts on the back of Wylan's chair and — entirely missing the way Wylan goes perfectly still — touches his palm to Wylan's spine. Wylan bites his bottom lip. Even without looking he can feel Jesper's glare. 

"Hey." 

Wylan's first instinct is to lift his head and look to Jesper, suddenly sure that his boyfriend has snapped and is about to throw this job out the window in favour of smashing a jealous fist into this man's face. When he catches Jesper's eye he certainly sees enough frustrated agitation to warrant that sort of move — but it doesn't seem to have been Jesper who spoke. Rotty stands behind Jesper in a suit of his own, less dapper by miles but still neat, and tips his head. 

"Boss is changing shifts. You need to be at Makker's Wheel in twenty minutes."

Wylan feels fire in his stomach, lurching with the promise of what twenty minutes can buy. "Cash out," he blurts, jerking forward and away from the man's uncomfortable touch, and when he drops his cards he does so face up on the table. It was a shit hand anyway. 

Jesper is already on his feet and heading off the floor, but he doesn't need to speak for Wylan to know that he has to follow. The man who tried to flirt with him says something but Wylan is only sort of listening, and he's on his feet too heading along the path Jesper led him. Twenty minutes. It isn't long, but it's long enough so Wylan stumbles through the crowded club floor after Jesper's frame. Wylan watches his broad shoulders pick through the cluster of people, unable to look away from the costume Jesper wears. 

Then before he knows it he's in the cramped back hallway of the club, shoved against a wall. 

It's all Wylan can do to hold back a moan, but that's a common enough facet of life with Jesper. He whines when Jesper puts his hands on his waist, though, and tips his head back to give Jesper space to start kissing his neck. 

"It's not—" A scrape of his teeth over the edge of Wylan's throat "—fucking fair—" Pale skin sucked between his lips, and a moan from Wylan "— that I have to watch you look so fucking dapper—" This time, Jesper just trails off in a groan, leaving another litany of kisses on Wylan's skin. Wylan shivers. 

"I had to watch you dealing cards," Wylan weakly replies. "That isn't fair." 

When Jesper pulls away his eyes sparkle. Wylan swallows. He's finding himself very distracted thinking about all the many wonderful things Jesper's hands can do and have done, aware that he's probably blushing but really far past caring. Jesper smiles, and as he does those very same hands dance around Wylan's body to press him harder to the wall. 

"Want to see what a dealer's hands can do in twenty minutes?" Jesper murmurs. 

"Less, now," Wylan weakly replies. Jesper laughs. 

He ducks forward and kisses Wylan slowly, deeply, lovingly. "Even better," he whispers. 

It really is.