#next time i should draw spicy hands | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

outofconcheol · 4 months ago

Text

Tune In For Love (KSM x GN!Reader)

pairing: college radio host!Seungmin x co-host!reader

genres/au/rating: sfw, mostly fluff, the mildest of angst, idiots to lovers, pg

summary: When you and Seungmin come up with a crazy new idea for your radio show, a week of chaos and unspoken feelings unfolds. As you learn more about relationships, will the two of you tune in for love? Or decide to shut it down completely?

warnings: swearing, fake exes trope, a playlist of seungmin coded songs mentioned, stupid amounts of pining, mentions of relationship drama, they almost kiss, then they actually kiss, one mild (joking ) threat of violence, Jeongin being the best wingman ever, RAIN, Ningning, Joshua, Cheol, and Day6 all make cameos

word count: 2.8k

a/n: happy Seungmin day!! honestly this could have been a whole fic on its own but i'm happy with this cute little drabble! this draws some inspiration from the ex talk by rachel lynn solomon. our boy deserves all the love, i hope you enjoy!

“Okay everyone, this has been another week at The Sound FM, the university’s #1 radio station! ____ and Seungmin signing off!”

Your voice fades out to the tune of the hit that Seungmin had selected for the week, ears perking up at the rumble of the bass and the tick tick tick of the hi-hat. Another Day6 song. Congratulations this time.

“When will you admit that you’re Day6’s number one fan?”

“When you admit that you’re their number two,” Seungmin adjusts his glasses, a devious smirk lighting up his face.

(You were, but you would never give Seungmin the satisfaction.)

“That segment on how to deal with the stress of midterms turned out great! What should we do next?”

You fidget with your pen, tapping it against your notepad, twirling it around in your fingers, before moving to put it behind your ear–

Seungmin’s hands shoot out, fingers clasping around yours for a brief moment, and a shiver runs through you, despite the fact that it was sunny outside with not a cloud in sight.

“I had an idea, actually, well it’s not my idea, Jeongin brought it up..”

For however composed the two of you were on air, you turned into awkward rambling messes when the mics were off. It had always been like that though. You’d been hosting the show with Seungmin for the better part of a year and you still didn’t know why you felt shy around him, or why you’d barely progressed beyond simple acquaintances.

“There’s this girl that uh, he, yeah he wants to impress, so he was asking if our next segment could maybe have something to do with dating advice.”

“That is sooo much better than the segment on recycling tips I was planning,” you nudge him, oblivious to the way his ears turn red.

“Oooh but what if we make it spicy you know? Like approach relationships from a different angle?”

“What angle?” Seungmin rubs at the back of his neck. “As far as I know, neither of us are in a relationship. I mean, right?”

“Right but no one else has to know that! What if we pretend that we’re exes, who broke up? Hindsight is always 20/20, people will eat that up!”

“I thought I was supposed to be the menace here,” Seungmin’s tone is deadpan but his eyes sparkle with mischief.

“What can I say, you’re rubbing off on me Min,” you giggle. “So, what do you say we put your charm to good use?”

“You think I’m charming ___?”

You miss the excitement in his tone, writing it off as enthusiasm for the whole absurdity of this plan.

“Who knows, Min! Maybe we’ll even find people! This is so exciting!”

Seungmin pauses briefly, a choked sound escaping his mouth, but you think you imagine it, watching him straighten and nod.

Laughter fills the studio as you bicker back and forth about what to include and how the next week would go. It was a risk, but you hoped it would pay off — both on the airwaves and maybe even for your stagnant love life. The possibilities were endless.

“Hello, and welcome to Tune in For Love! We are your hosts, ___ and Seungmin, and for the next week we’ll be tackling all your relationship questions and concerns!”

Your voice booms into the mic, echoing throughout the tiny studio, and you take a moment to mute yourself, heart pounding in your ears. Butterflies had begun to bubble up in your chest – you were really doing this.

“You ready for this?” Seungmin’s voice knocks you out of your daze, and you look over to see his lips twist into a lazy smile, running his fingers through his hair.

Fuck. Why did that make your stomach flip-flop?

You give him a shaky nod. It was probably just the rush of trying something new, so different from what you were used to. The simultaneous thrill and terror of dipping your toes into uncharted waters.

Seungmin unmutes the mic, his softer, more melodious voice reverberating into the windscreen. He’d make a great singer, you think. Maybe for your next segment you could convince him to croon on air.

“We’re your resident experts on dating, whether it's still in the early stages of puppy love, the cool cruising of the honeymoon phase, or the bitter sting of love gone wrong. We have all your answers, right here, right now on The Sound FM!”

“Trust me, we’ve had experience with all of those,” you chuckle.

The story just falls off your tongue – a tumultuous end to a relationship that had never existed, one full of angst and heartbreak that even the finest writer couldn’t think of. Seungmin interrupts you spontaneously to respond to your dramatic anecdotes with dry quips of his, and you can’t believe it — you actually sound like a couple. A real couple.

“How was I supposed to know you were allergic to garlic? You let me take you to an Italian restaurant on the first date!”

“As my boyfriend, you should have asked my best friend about my allergies! That’s like standard dating protocol,” you shoot back, making sure to smile so that Seungmin knows you’re not serious.

“Noted, I’ll keep that in mind for the next relationship,” Seungmin grunts, the air becoming thick with a tension you can’t pinpoint.

Clearing your throat, your fingers hover over the buttons of the soundboard.

“How about we take some listener calls instead?”

The line crackles to life, a caller named Ningning groaning about how her girlfriend forget their anniversary and didn’t even apologize.

“It’s an honest mistake,” Seungmin mutters.

“I don’t think so,” you counter, chewing your lip. “It’s important to be considerate of special moments like anniversaries, birthdays. It means you care. I mean Seungmin probably doesn’t even remember mine–”

“October 17th,” he interrupts you, and you go rigid. How did he even know?

I asked Jeongin, he mouths, and it only leaves you more confused. Why would he need to know that? It leaves you more embarrassed that you don’t know his exact day, only that it was sometime in September.

Ningning rambles on, thanking you both for the added perspective and resolving to make things right with her girlfriend. You feel your heart warm at her determination, amazed at the effect that you and Seungmin had already managed to have on your listeners.

Seungmin closes out the show, the easygoing and carefree chords of Polaroid Love ringing into the mic, and you think to yourself, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

As the sun sets, campus comes alive, buzzing with excitement. You glance out the window, watching students filter out of the library, walking towards the commons for a cup of coffee, or hugging outside their dorms. A deep pang of longing hits your gut, not sure whether its from watching them outside or the fact that you’re cramped here in the tiny studio, band posters all over the walls, and Seungmin is playing Love You For A Long Time, Maggie Rogers’ ethereal voice filling the space between you.

“Had to ease you into our next listener call,” Seungmin grins into the mic. “This one is – ouch. It might hit home for some of us, I mean you all.”

“Hi, ___ and Seungmin? I’m Joshua, a senior. I’m calling because I have a dilemma – my best friend Seungcheol just started dating my ex, and I’m not sure how to feel. On one hand I wanna be happy for them, but on the other hand, I’m a mess. What would you do if you found out one of you was dating someone else?”

“Oh.” Seungmin breathes out, and he remains there, lips parted like he’s frozen. An awkward silence falls over the studio, and you’re sure Joshua is blinking on the other end of the line, wondering what the hell just happened.

“I’m not sure,” you shudder, thinking of the hypothetical situation. But it wasn’t so hypothetical. You and Seungmin were free to date people. There was nothing stopping you. But it still felt wrong somehow.

“I would give yourself some space, Joshua. Take time to confront your own feelings about this, and when you’re ready you can decide what to do. Let yourself heal first.”

“That’s a good answer,” Seungmin whispers, and you panic, muttering out a rushed goodbye before cutting the broadcast.

“Wow,” you sigh. “That was, I–, I guess I didn’t think of that when I suggested this.”

“Think of what?” Seungmin’s eyes glimmer with interest, and he leans in closer.

“How shit would get so deep? Like how would I actually react if that happened to me? I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Sometimes this feels almost like we’re not pretending,” Seungmin murmurs, a strained laugh escaping his throat, a mask for the change in his tone.

You’re not sure what you want to say, but it feels like you should say something. The moment hangs heavy in between you two, and you don’t remember how Seungmin got so close, brushing his thumb against your cheek.

“Seungmin, I–”

“You had a piece of hair in your face,” he responds, straightening up to stretch his arms. “It’s late, want me to grab you an americano?”

Shaking your head, you manage to muster up a weak response, telling him to go ahead without you. He nods slightly, before throwing his jacket on and slipping out the door, leaving you alone.

An unsettling dilemma dawns on you – this was supposed to be an act, but why did it feel so real?

“You know,” Jeongin’s loud chewing echoes in the dining hall, Seungmin bristling as he watches his friend stuff five french fries into his mouth at once. “I should revoke your roommate privileges for this stunt you pulled. I thought you were grumpy before, but breaking up with ____ has taken it to a whole new level.”

Seungmin scowls, cursing under his breath at Jeongin. Yanking his headphones out of his ears, the lamenting tune of These Days by Wallows cuts off abruptly.

Outside the rain patters, echoing his stormy emotions. Over the course of the past week, his mood had felt like he was on the world’s most nausea-inducing roller coaster ride. The highs were the times he got to spend with you in the studio, cracking jokes and watching your eyes shine as the two of you came up with the next devious plot for the show. The lows were the knot in his stomach every time someone would call in with a question that hit a little too hard.

After this week, he was glad the show would end, and maybe you guys could go back to the way things were before. That easy, comfortable dynamic that always existed between you two.

“Bullshit,” Jeongin sees the way his eyes zone out, like he can read Seungmin’s mind. “I know you, and I know what you’re thinking and it’s absolute bullshit. You’re in too deep, hyung.”

“I’ll fucking punch you,” Seungmin hisses. “What the hell am I supposed to do, huh? Just spill to ___ that this isn’t some game for me? That my feelings are real? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Hyung–”

A gasp echoes from behind him, and Seungmin turns to see you behind him. Your lip trembles, and you lock eyes with him, a tear escaping the corner before you’re turning on your heels, running out of the dining hall.

Seungmin stands there, frozen with the weight of what he’d just confessed, heart sinking to his shoes. All of a sudden, he feels a sharp jab to his arm, Jeongin’s fist colliding with it.

“What are you waiting for? Run!”

The rain pelts the back of Seungmin’s neck as he runs, indifferent to the fact that he’s probably soaked to the bone, slipping and sliding along the cobblestone. He can make out your figure storming ahead furiously, like you can’t get away fast enough, and he speeds up, panic in his voice.

“___, wait! Please stop.”

His voice turns hoarse from all the yelling, and he’s about to give up, turn back in defeat (and go sock Jeongin cry into his friend’s shoulder), when you stop under a streetlight, your figure slumping.

Seungmin is by your side in moments, not caring that he takes your hands in his, blowing on them to give you warmth.

“Y-you d-don’t even h-have an umbrella, w-what were y-you thinking?” he chatters, and he watches your lips turn up in a smile. But your eyes remain downcast.

“What about you?” you whisper, and Seungmin cocks his head, looking at you in confusion.

“I left my jacket in the dining hall with Jeongin—”

“No Seungmin, I mean what about you?” your voice croaks desperately.

Seungmin takes a deep breath. There was no use in pretending anymore.

“I think I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do,” he chokes out.

You take his hands in yours and Seungmin feels dizzy. The cold rain no longer bothers him, warmth filling his veins from the inside out.

“You think?” you sniffle.

“I know. I know I’ve been in love with you, since the day you walked into the studio and pitched your ideas for five-star dorm meals.”

“I really like your hands,” you blurt out, and Seungmin’s eyes widen in shock. That was not the response you’d been expecting.

“They’re warm when mine are always cold, I like the way they look when they’re holding a pencil, or when you bring me a cup of coffee. I like your voice too – the way you sing along to Day6 when you think no one is listening, or your annoying little laugh–”

“It is not annoying–”

You press a finger to his lips, and Seungmin thinks he might just evaporate.

“Not now, Min. I’m trying to say something here. What I’m trying to say is that if there’s anything this whole week has taught me, it’s how much I like you. How much I want to have those crappy problems that everyone complains about with you, how much I want to celebrate birthdays with you, and anniversaries with you, and how I think I might collapse inside if I ever saw you with someone else—”

It’s Seungmin’s turn to interrupt you now, cold lips colliding with yours, the initial shock replaced with heat. Your hands burrow into his hair and he draws you closer, hands weaving around your waist. The startled, frantic sounds of your breathing did nothing to help the pounding of his heart, and he wonders if you can hear it too.

In this moment, Seungmin never wants to let go, holding you steady against him even when you part, your breath fanning in the cold air.

“I just, I, needed to be honest. No more pretending.”

“No more pretending,” he smiles against your lips, nudging his nose against yours.

The wet slap of shoes against the pavement interrupts you both, turning to see the Jeongin behind you, Seungmin’s jacket in his arms. He takes in the sight of you two wrapped around each other, a smug grin lighting up his entire face.

“Hell yeah! It worked!”

“___ and Seungmin signing off, this is Tune in For Love on The Sound FM, and we’ve loved having you this week!”

The air in the studio buzzes with a different kind of excitement – the dreamy notes of Hypnotized by The Weston Estate filling up the room.

“Before we go, we have something to share with you–” your voice wobbles, and Seungmin reaches out immediately, squeezing your hand.

“Please send your email petitions in so our show doesn’t get canceled, but we’ve been faking it this whole time. We’re not actually exes.”

You can almost hear the collective gasp across campus, the soundboard going crazy as it lights up with calls.

“We are, as of yesterday, the happiest, and newest–, couple on campus,” Seungmin beams, his pride echoing through the mic and your heart lurches at how right it feels to be his.

You hit the answer button, the lines flooding with congratulations and well-wishes to the news.

“Congrats!” Ningning’s voice echoes. “I always thought you were the cutest together.”

“You make me want to find someone of my own now,” Joshua says in the background, and the studio fills with you and Seungmin’s laughter.

When the last call goes through, Jeongin gives you both a thumbs up, shutting off the soundboard.

You turn to Seungmin, heart racing.

“I can’t believe we actually did this,” he says, half-laughing.

“Me neither,” you reply, a soft smile on his lips. “But I’m really glad we did. It feels… right, you know?”

“Thanks for being part of this with us,” he echoes through the airwaves, his voice sincere. “We’re excited to see what’s next—together. And while the show may be over, we hope you’ll still tune in for love every single week — no matter the topic.”

“Next – how to cook a five star meal worthy of any restaurant using just your dorm microwave…”

a/n pt. 2: As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

164 notes · View notes

r0-boat · 9 months ago

Note

*Free falls from the sky*

Hello there, I’m 🦩anon! I come from the land of being terrified to send asks but finally got the courage to when it comes to the hot demons from WHB

I absolutely loved your Mammon Headcanons (totally not because I go feral for him, and also loved the dark/more twisted ones)

Do you by chance have more? If not then that’s ok!

🦩

Let's get some very sweet headcannons I don't have a lot but I have a few of certain characters so here's a mess of them!

Wholesome what in hell is bad headcanons various demons

Gehanna eddition

Let's give some love to the nobles!

Belial

Your Belial's first love, You're the apple of his eye. He constantly daydreams about you. And he's always eager to go on cute dates with you.

Belial before he lost his voice was a very good singer now you can only hear little bits of it when he hums. Someone hadn't heard his voice in a long time so he's a little shy about his singing.

Belial is always staring, please don't mind him He just likes looking at you listening to your voice. You could talk for hours and he could listen. Only for him to respond 'I love you.'

Leraye

When he gives you gifts he always gives you stuffed animals.

Leraye will randomly text you just to remind you that you're beautiful and great and sexy and that he loves you. Sometimes you'll just send you texts or at a context photos throughout his day He just likes telling you about himself.

Leraye feeds stray cats every time You see him, He is surrounded by stray kitties purring and cuddling up to him as he's trying to feed them. He has the biggest smile on his face as he tries to give them all attention and food.

Paimon

Paimon always shares his food with you, It is His love language He doesn't let anyone else do it but you. Sometimes he'll order big sizes just so you can eat it together. Paimon will even feed you.

If you have feminine clothing paimon will ask to borrow it. If not Paimon will buy outfits to match with you. They even bought you two little keychains to match.

Paimon loves to do those couples challenges with you. every time they find a new one they get so happy and then text you sending you the link to it and asks if you want to do it with them the next time you come over.

Sitri

A very overworked demon as much as your heartbeat turns him on it also calms him down when he lays against your chest he starts falling asleep.

Sitri is very touch starved He loves when you calm your hands through his hair melting into your touch and when you pull away he whimpers asking why you stopped.

Yes he does get annoyed when Leraye is hogging your attention but to be honest he's kind of happy that Leraye And you get along so well he hopes he could take care of you and you can take care of him part of him kind of hope you will choose him. Leraye is it good demon.

Zagen

Zagen is a really good artist, when he's bored he doodles for fun and those doodles look like works of art. During a meeting Zagen and Belial started doodling on a piece of paper. Despite Belial's crappy drawings Zagen says they're absolutely amazing and Belial should draw more so now they draw together! Zagen Even teaches Belial some art techniques and he's getting better Zagen is so proud! Leraye and Zagen still go to the gym together.

Zagen even though his rank is lower he still feels like a big brother to all of the other devils. He's very stoic protective yet caring and sweet. Zagen is a gentle giant. He may look scary but he's actually pretty shy. One compliment and his face is turning red, trying to hide that blushing face.

Zagen always reminds you to eat, He wants you to be strong by eating healthy. He knows how to cook because he makes his own healthy meals. You will never go hungry when he's around and he is happy to cook for you.

Astaroth

Instead of texting which he does do sometimes, He sends letters to you. Some of them are rather... Spicy, but all of them are filled with poetic and lovely words that make your heart flutter. It feels as though you are in the middle ages getting a love letter from your beloved fiance. Every word drips with love and you could practically feel the emotion on the paper. He even puts a little wax stamp on it before sending it to you the letter isn't an envelope smelling of his cologne.

Astaroth imagine is himself as the main character and you as love interest when he reads romantic novels. You can't help but imagine the two of you in those lovely situations sometimes he even writes it himself.

When he does text you he pours his heart out in a longing text. Telling you how much he longs for you. How his heart aches when he's not near you. How he feels as though he has lost without your touch. He knows just what to make you swoon.

#whb #whb gehenna #wihib #wihib x reader #what in hell is bad #whb sfw #whb x reader #whb headcanons

240 notes · View notes

wileys-russo · 1 year ago

Text

washing machine malfunction II m.earps x reader

based on this request here washing machine malfunction II m.earps

"taking footage to scout with are you?" your best friend teased as you filmed a clip of the game, smacking her knee and sending her a playful glare. "no! proving to mary i sat through the entire game." you quipped back, sending the video to your girlfriend and pocketing your phone.

"oh sorry are we not up to your standards? do you only watch games at old trafford or wembley now?" your best friend cooed pinching your cheek sharply. "yes actually, or at least where they have actual toilet blocks and not portaloos." your face scrunched up with disgust.

"hey if you'd like to donate some money toward that we'd be very grateful, not every womens team gets funding you know." your best friend huffed as you frowned and squeezed her knee.

"i'm only teasing. you know i'm happy to be here, just wish i was watching you yell at people on the pitch and not at me for once!" you sighed as the girl scoffed and smacked you, she was normally the captain but was out in a boot having sprained her ankle last week.

"so where are you coming on the table?" you clarified, eyes set back on the match unfolding in front of you. "third, but its only the fourth round of the season. lots can change!" the brunette admitted as the two of you fell into a comfortable silence.

"okay no offence to you and your entire team but your keeper kept you all alive this game, it should be 5-0." you whistled as the second half started to wind down.

"of course you favour the keeper, what a shock!" your best friend drawled sarcastically with a roll of her eyes as the whistle blew for full time and a 0-0 draw.

"hey just because my girlfriend is a golden glove holding, bbc sports personality of the year winning, world cup finalist and champion of europe with a tram named after her doesn't mean im bias to keepers!" you grinned holding your hands up as your best friend rolled your eyes.

"oh but you don't brag about her right." the girl mocked with a pout as your grin grew. "only to those who have no choice but to listen, i'd like to see you try and run away from me." you gently nudged your toe against her moon boot as she shoved you.

"you know you could always play with us next season! reallyyy make the girlfriend proud, i can see mary being a very loyal wag." the girl teased as you laughed sarcastically. "you couldn't afford my salary." you shrugged with a click of your tongue.

"more like we couldn't afford your two left feet and lack of hand eye coordination." the girl snickered gesturing for you to help her up. "yeah that too." you had no choice but to agree with a grimace, tugging her up and carefully helping her down toward the barrier.

you stood by as she gave a speech, commending the girls on their efforts as your phone buzzed and you looked down with a smile seeing it was a few messages from your girlfriend.

"god you're so in love its disgusting, get a grip!" you glanced back up and pocketed your phone, playfully punching your best friend in the arm as you waited for her to finish speaking with some of her team, having driven her to the game.

"you can tell us all about what we did wrong at training! stop making your poor mate wait around for you to run your mouth." the keeper from the game warned with a grin as she joined the small huddle you were in.

"you were perfect as per usual, only feedback is maybe score from the box next time? make the game a little spicy!" your best friend teased the taller girl who rolled her eyes. "no seriously you played great! that dive in injury time was textbook and that penalty save? world cup stuff." you complimented with a wide smile.

"and she'd know, her girlfriends played in one so thats high praise." your best friend interjected shoving your head playfully. "wait seriously? talk about a dream!" the girl exhaled with a whistle and a grin.

"well then since you clearly have a good eye for talent-" the girl paused to tug off her jersey, handing it to you with a grin before hugging the girls goodbye and heading off. "we best be off to, i'll see you all monday. i'll bring my whistle!" your best friend teased as the girls groaned, you waving goodbye as the two of you headed off to your car.

"i'd be leaving that in the car if you know whats good for you." your best friend nodded to the jersey on your back seat as you pulled a face and started up the car. "what! why?" you laughed as you drove off.

"umm because your girlfriend is a world class keeper and you just took a keepers jersey from someone else." your best friend hinted. "mary won't care! she's all for more girls wanting to be keepers and she loves the womens game." you rolled your eyes as your best friend only hummed, swiftly changing topics.

"maz? baby i'm home!" you called out as you let yourself in, unwrapping your scarf and hanging it up on the hook. "two seconds love!" you heard your girlfriend call out from the laundry as you took off your shoes.

"hello beautiful!" the brunette appeared with a grin, placing down a basket of clean laundry on the sofa and opening her arms as you melted into them. "you smell nice." you mumbled into her shoulder making the taller girl laugh.

"ah yes the wonders of soap and shampoo!" the keeper teased, kissing you hello before pulling away. "and she's doing laundry? house wife in the making over here!" you teased, smacking her playfully on the bum with a wink.

"oi! watch it cheeky." mary warned with a point, sitting down on the sofa as you leant over the back of it to peck her lips several times. "whats that babe?" mary noticed the jersey tucked into the back of your pants as you walked into the kitchen.

"oh! well the keeper of saf's team is like insane for the league level they play. i'm serious it could have been like twenty to nothing if she wasn't on her game. we were talking after the game and she gave me her jersey!" you shrugged, dropping the item onto the counter as you rummaged through the fridge, missing the look which crossed your girlfriends face.

"oh? thats nice." mary replied bluntly as you glanced at her with a small frown. "yeah it was." you shrugged it off, grabbing it and tossing it into the dirty basket of laundry.

"how was your afternoon?" you changed topics, grabbing out the stuff to make you and mary a cup of tea. "yeah fine, went shopping with tooney and had to make a last minute excuse to leave because she takes forever! so on the rare chance she asks, you're deathly ill and needed me back home." mary groaned dramatically, head thumping back against the sofa.

"like worse than you and thats saying something!" mary tutted as you made a noise of offence. "hey! if i have to sit in a sports store for two hours while you try on every fucking pair of gloves known to man and then buy none of them, you can carry my bags and sit on a comfy little waiting chair while i try a few outfits." you warned seriously as your girlfriend held her hands up in surrender.

"especially when some of those 'outfits' i spend hours trying on are for you." you hinted, handing her the mug of tea as a smug smile settled on the keepers lips.

"mm yeah we haven't been that sort of shopping for awhile, you free tomorrow baby?" mary grinned wolfishly as you flipped her off and settled into the section of the sofa that wasn't covered in laundry and flicking on the tv.

"change, put this on please babe." mary tugged on the bottom of your shirt, dropping a new item of clothing onto your head. "urgh mary!" you huffed, pulling it off and sending her a glare as she grinned at you with a mouthful of toothpaste.

"why do i need to change?" you noticed what she'd given you and asked with a knowing smile. "i don't like that shirt." mary shrugged pointing to your current top with her foot as she sat up on the counter brushing her teeth.

"its your shirt!" you laughed with a shake of your head. "then i want it back, so change." mary ordered, leaning over the sink and spitting. "what if i don't want to wear this?" you egged her on, holding up the jersey inbetween your fingers like it disgusted you.

"then go pick another one, theres about twenty or so in there you can choose from." mary shrugged nodding to her side of the closet where the jerseys she'd chosen to keep over the years hung proudly, rinsing out her mouth and stepping out of the bathroom.

"mmm i actually think i might go put on that jersey from today, saf's team just played so well." you stripped off your top and took a few steps back, watching your girlfriends eyes drop immediately to your chest.

"you know on second thoughts love i actually don't think you need to wear anything at all." you laughed as mary tackled you to the bed, attacking your face with kisses as you squealed and pushed her off. "you hate that i took that girls jersey today don't you?" you moved to sit on top of her with a grin.

"no!" mary rolled her eyes, reaching out for you as you grabbed her hands and pressed them into the mattress. "yes you are, admit it. you hate it, the thought of me wearing someone elses kit!" you teased with a smirk, pressing down her hands harder.

"okay well can you blame me? you're my girlfriend and you wear my jersey. nobody elses!" mary huffed with a frown as you smiled and leant down to kiss away her pout. "you're such a baby, its adorable." you mumbled against her lips.

"i am not! god you're such a wind up." mary pulled her hands free and flipped the two of you, hovering over you now as she ducked her head and started to gently kiss at your neck.

"and tomorrow the washing machine is going to malfunction and that girls jersey will sadly be gone."

#woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #woso imagine #mary earps x reader #mary earps #woso community #engwnt #woso blurbs

574 notes · View notes

ginnsbaker · 8 months ago

Text

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (14/?)

Part Summary: Leigh reconciles with Jules and then receives news from Danny that could potentially disrupt her new beginning with you.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 5.200+ | Warnings: Spicy phone call | Author's note: The date will happen in the next one, and then after that, 1-2 chapters to wrap up this series :)

The date doesn't happen as quickly as Leigh expected. You don’t bring it up again for several days after your grand, against-all-odds declaration of love.

In the meantime, you text constantly. Sometimes you call, just to ask about her day. The first time, she’s so confused, waiting for the real reason behind your call. But there isn’t one—you simply wanted to talk, and texting wouldn’t do it.

She’s rarely on the phone with anyone these days. For her, phone calls are usually reserved for urgent requests from Drew or her mom, or from companies trying to sell her something. The last time she was on the phone just to talk was with Matt, during the stretches when work kept them apart for days. Before that, it was high school, chatting with friends and boyfriends about everything and nothing.

Talking to you on the phone feels like stepping back in time. There’s something intimate about it, something that modern-day texting can’t capture. She finds herself looking forward to your calls, the sound of your voice at the end of a long, tiring, or listless day.

Days stretch into a week before you finally ask her out, armed with the when and where. Leigh will never admit it to anyone, but the wait is excruciating.

The butterflies swarm in her stomach as she lies on her bed, fresh from a shower, in an oversized shirt and boy shorts, biting at her fingernails. She's already restless by the time her phone rings at the usual hour.

She picks up almost immediately, trying to keep her voice as blasé as she can manage. “Hey.”

“Hey, Leigh,” you reply breathily, not realizing how that tone makes Leigh press the phone harder against her ear, as if she wants to hear more of it. “How was your day?”

She rolls onto her back, stretching her hand out and drawing patterns in the air against the ceiling.

“It was okay. Nothing too exciting. How about yours?” she says.

“Pretty good. Just busy with work stuff. I was thinking about you, though.”

The simple statement sends a new wave of warmth through her. “Is that so?”

“Very much so,” you whisper, and Leigh can almost see your smile, just like the one forming on her lips. “So, uh, I was thinking…”

“Yeah?” Leigh prompts, her heart picking up speed. She hears some shuffling on your end and waits with bated breath.

“Maybe we should finally go on that date,” you suggest, hopeful and a bit nervous.

Leigh’s heart leaps, and she tears the phone away from her ear, burying her face into her pillow as a squeal escapes before she can contain it. Catching herself, she quickly schools her expression, tosses the pillow aside, and sits up ramrod straight.

“We should,” Leigh blurts out, still feeling her heart thumping wildly against her ribs. “When were you thinking?”

“How about this Saturday?”

Leigh pauses, mentally counting—one, two, three—before replying, “Great. I’m free then.”

Wanting to lock in the details, she asks, “What time?”

“Could I, um, have you for the whole day?” you ask hesitantly, and then quickly realizing how it sounded, you clarify, “I mean, could we make it a day-long date? I promise it’ll be worth your while.”

Leigh hums, pretending to mull it over, but inside, she's practically screaming yes.

“What do you have planned?”

“It's a surprise,” you reply, the playful secrecy in your tone drawing a grin from Leigh.

Unable to contain her intrigue, Leigh tries to coax out some clues. “Anything you need from me? Dress code? Anything I can help you with?”

“No, just be yourself,” you say, your voice dropping to a softer, more intimate cadence. “Wear whatever makes you feel most like you. You're beautiful in anything.”

Leigh feels a warm blush spread across her cheeks. She's grateful you can't see her, can't see how your words reduce her to a pile of mush.

“In anything?” she asks coyly.

“Or nothing,” you whisper back, almost without thinking.

Leigh nearly chokes on her breath at that, biting her lip to stifle a moan that threatens to escape owing to the boldness of your flirtation. She doesn't immediately realize she's drifted into a stunned silence until you apologize, worrying that you might have crossed a line.

“I'm sorry if that was too forward,” you say.

Leigh shakes herself, trying to clear the haze of memories—the soft moans, the way your body yielded to her touch that night. “No, it’s... I still think about that night,” she shares.

“O-Oh?” you stammer, your grip tightening around the phone. You're driving home with one hand, thinking it would be a short call. Suddenly feeling lightheaded, you quickly pull over to the side of an empty street, realizing you might not make it home safely if you don't.

“What do you... think about, specifically?” you venture, slowly unbuckling your seatbelt.

It’s as if a switch has been flipped in her. Her mind races back to that night—the way you touched yourself under her gaze, how she guided your movements, the feel of her finger inside you while she rode your thigh.

“Leigh?”

Leigh's breath hitches, and she feels heat spreading through her body. She kicks off the covers, finding herself lying flat on the bed, her fingers inching teasingly at the hem of her shorts. She closes her eyes, letting the memory of that night trickle into the forefront of her mind.

“I think about the way you looked under me,” she says softly, “The flush of your skin, the sounds you made, how your lips felt against mine.”

Her words send a shiver down your spine. “Leigh,” you murmur, “I-I think about that night too. How you took control, how you made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered.”

Leigh's fingers slip beneath the waistband of her shorts, teasing herself as she remembers the feel of your skin against hers. “I remember guiding your hands,” she continues, her voice growing huskier. “Watching you touch yourself, seeing the pleasure in your eyes. It was intoxicating.”

You can hear the desire in her voice, and it sends a surge of arousal through you. “I remember the way you moved against me,” you reply, your voice low. “Your skin was so hot against mine, it felt like I was on fire.”

As Leigh's fingers dip lower, brushing against the wetness between her legs, she gasps. She tries to contain it but fails, letting out a guttural moan—a sound of pure want—right into your ear. The rawness of that sound snaps you out of your lust-filled reverie.

“Fuck, are you... are you touching yourself? I-I'm so—” you start, your voice shaking.

“Don't apologize. Just keep talking. It's okay,” Leigh cuts you off sharply, switches the phone to speaker mode, and swiftly removes her panties. For a brief second, she thinks she probably shouldn't be doing this, not before the date they'd just planned. But the overwhelming urge washes over her, making rational thoughts blur into the background. She can't control herself; she needs to come, needs you to make her come.

“Tell me what you'd do,” she chunters, no longer concerned about sounding needy. “Please.”

“Shit,” you hiss, quickly connecting your phone to your car’s speakers and then tossing it onto the passenger seat. You then adjust the driver's seat to give yourself more legroom and hurriedly begin to unbutton your jeans. Though you're embarrassed to admit that you've never had phone sex before, you're not about to let inexperience stop you. Not when Leigh was practically purring in your ear, begging for it.

“Y/N?” Leigh’s voice rumbles through the confined space of your car and you hurriedly close your eyes as you formulate a response, your head buzzing with several things you want to do to Leigh at once.

“I'd start by kissing you,” you begin, your voice low and deliberate, though you feel a bit foolish at the tentative start. “Soft, teasing kisses, tracing a path down your body. I'd take my time, Leigh, tasting every inch of your skin.”

“Where would you kiss me first?” Leigh breathes.

“Your neck,” you reply, your fingers brushing against your own skin as if you’re tracing the path your lips would take on hers. “I’d kiss right behind your ears…then down your throat, lingering at your collarbone.”

Leigh’s breathing becomes more ragged, and you can almost feel her anticipation. “And then?”

“Then I’d kiss my way down to your breasts,” you say, your own arousal building. “I’d take each nipple in my mouth, sucking gently, then harder, feeling them harden against my tongue. I’d circle my tongue around them, flicking the tip, just like so.”

Leigh listens, her breaths becoming shallow, her body trembling with need. She closes her eyes, lost in the sensation, in the vividness of your description. She traps a rosy bud between her two fingers, mimicking the rhythm you describe, the tension in her belly coiling more tightly.

Meanwhile, your own hands are busy on your body. Despite the cramped space even with the car seat reclined, you manage to slide two fingers inside your pants, rubbing your clit, while your other hand tweaks your nipple.

A soft moan escapes Leigh’s lips, and you know she’s imagining your mouth on her. “I’d keep moving lower, kissing down your stomach, tracing the lines of your body with my tongue. When I finally reach your thighs, I’d spread them open and kiss the inside, so close to where you want me but not quite there yet.”

“I’d breathe you in,” you murmur, “taking a moment to just enjoy the scent of you. Then I’d lick, just once, a slow, teasing lick from the bottom of your slit to the top, tasting how wet you are for me.”

“Fuck,” Leigh groans wantonly, her fingers undoubtedly mirroring your words on her own skin. You can almost see her hand moving against her clitoris, fingers collecting her own wetness and spreading it all over until her inner thighs are glistening with it.

“I’d part you with my fingers,” you continue, your own breath coming faster now, “and then I’d dive in. I’d lap at you, my tongue moving in slow circles around your clit, feeling it swell under my tongue. I’d drink you in, Leigh, tasting every drop, getting lost in how sweet you are.”

“Don’t stop,” Leigh pants, and you can hear her movements quickening, the unmistakable sound of wetness and skin in frantic motion, as if she's placed her phone near the epicenter of her impending climax.

“I wouldn’t,” you promise. “I’d suck on your clit, gently at first, then harder, using my tongue to drive you crazy. I’d slide a finger inside you, curling it to find that perfect spot, the one that makes you see stars. I’d keep licking and sucking, adding another finger, thrusting them in and out, matching the rhythm of my tongue. I wouldn’t stop until I felt you trembling, until I heard you crying out my name as you came.”

Leigh’s moans grow louder, more desperate, and you can almost see her, writhing on her bed, lost in pleasure. “Y/N, I’m close,” she gasps.

“I’d be looking up at you, watching your face as you c-come for m-me,” you say, your voice faltering as you slide a finger inside yourself. “Fuck, Leigh, baby, come for me.”

It's the endearment and the mental image of your deep brown eyes, brimming with hunger and worship, that sends her spiraling into ecstasy.

“Oh god, Y/N!” Leigh moans, her back curving as an intense orgasm overtakes her.

You’re not there yet, but you close your eyes, letting the image of her climax burn into your mind.

Leigh lies there, basking in the afterglow, her body still trembling with the remnants of her orgasm. She’s about to check in on you, perhaps return the favor, when the front door opens and closes with a bang.

“Mom? Leigh?” Jules yells from the living room.

Panic surges through Leigh. She scrambles to her feet, hurriedly pulling on her underwear and shorts. The phone slips from her grasp, landing on the bed, the line still open.

Leigh reaches the top of the stairs, breathless and flushed, just as Jules appears at the bottom, looking up with a mix of worry and curiosity.

“What's going on?” Leigh asks, wincing as she feels the stickiness between her thighs. She silently curses, wishing Jules could have shown up after she had a chance to shower.

“Where’s Mom?” Jules demands, her eyes scanning the hallway. “And Logan?”

“She took him with her for a grocery run,” Leigh replies, coming down the stairs. “Is something wrong?”

Jules sighs. “I was just worried. The door was unlocked, and I couldn’t find anyone. Thought something might’ve happened.”

Leigh relaxes a bit, though the adrenaline from moments before still courses through her veins. “It’s fine. I just didn’t realize you’d be coming home tonight,” she says.

“Yeah, about that…” Jules trails off, tilting her head toward the kitchen with a meaningful glance.

Leigh follows, her bare feet whispering against the wooden floorboards. Striving for nonchalance, she asks, “You hungry?” Her hand hovers over the fridge handle, betraying none of her recent distractions.

Jules stops in her tracks and turns back to Leigh. “I’ve been thinking,” she starts, hesitating slightly. “I’d like to move back in.”

“That’s… great,” Leigh says flatly, unsuspecting of her sister’s announcement. She catches the sharp drop of Jules’ brows and hurries to cushion her words. “I mean, we never actually wanted you to go. You’re welcome back anytime, you know that.”

Jules' eyes sharpen, her lips pulling into a tight line. “But only if we talk first.”

Leigh nods, a hard lump forming in her throat. “Of course,” she says.

They end up ordering take-out when Leigh's nose wrinkles at the unmistakable stench wafting from the numerous boxes of leftovers crammed in the fridge. She can't recall how long they've been there, only that their rightful place is now the trash bin.

It's Jules who picks the restaurant, and Leigh bites her tongue over the choice of Vietnamese. The last time they'd ordered from there, Jules had barely picked at her food, pushing noodles around her plate more than eating them. Leigh tries not to think too much about it.

The dining table is overtaken by a clutter of takeout boxes, each one wafting a blend of lemongrass and ginger into the room—a scent so rich you could almost scoop it out of the air. Leigh watches her sister with that look—the one that's all walls and wariness, like she’s guarding the last piece of herself she can’t afford to lose. Jules, on her part, looks a little restless, her fingers skirting the edges of a white takeout box like it might offer some kind of sanctuary.

“So, talk,” Leigh prompts, twirling her chopsticks to pick up a fresh vegetable roll and dipping it into peanut sauce.

Jules takes a breath, a deep one. When she meets Leigh’s eyes, it’s with a resolve that seems to pull her upright. “Fine, since I’m the one who kicked this off, I’ll lead. I’m sorry. I know I tossed around some pretty nasty words last time I stormed out, and I meant them—then. But calling you a sociopath? That was me going off the deep end.”

Leigh’s face hardens, a quick, involuntary tightening of her features as she recalls the sting of that last confrontation. She pushes her noodles around her box, the chopsticks clattering softly. Jules waits, the steam from her own untouched meal rising and disappearing into the air.

“I appreciate your apology, Jules, really, I do. But you can't just throw words like that around, whether you mean them or not. Words stick. They fester,” Leigh says, meeting Jules’ gaze squarely.

Jules looks down, tries to mask the hurt that flickers across her face, biting down on her lip.

Leigh continues, “When I criticize you, it’s not meant as an attack. I’m not someone who likes to beat around the bush, especially not with family.”

The word ‘family’ hits differently this time—at least for Jules it does. Her heart aches at the mention, dragging up memories of a recent painful conversation where she had confessed to feeling like an outsider in her own family.

“Sometimes it's not about what you say but how you say it,” Jules mutters.

Leigh looks at her expectantly, clueless and curious at the same time.

“Not everyone can handle being talked to so bluntly. Not everyone’s as frank as you, okay? Sometimes it feels more like you're pushing me away instead of trying to help.”

Leigh goes quiet, letting the silence stretch just a bit before she nods. “You’re right,” she concedes, the words slipping out almost thoughtfully. It’s almost surprising, the lack of her usual quick-fire defense. “I think I got so wrapped up in the idea that being honest meant being harsh. I can work on that. I should work on that.”

Jules blinks, taken aback by the calm acceptance in Leigh’s tone, the ease with which she receives the criticism. It’s a side of Leigh she hasn’t seen much of—this reflective, almost gentle version. It's a welcome change, a sign of growth that feels both sudden and deeply necessary.

“I didn’t expect... I mean, I’m glad you took that the way you did,” Jules says.

Leigh gives a small, almost sheepish smile, a rarity on her usually stoic face. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About how I say things, not just what I say. It’s been... a lot to unpack. But hearing this from you, it really helps. It does.”

She means it. Ever since you’ve stubbornly eased your way into her life, she’s done a lot of thinking. She’s done a lot of grieving too, realizing that if she had seen the changes that needed to be made earlier, things might have been different for her—for Matt. She’s learned to accept that life is always going to be filled with regrets, but she’s grateful now to recognize that she still has the chance to change, even if it came a little too late.

Better late than never, right?

She looks at Jules, her eyes earnest and a little bit haunted. “I’m sorry, Jules, for everything I said, everything I made you feel. I love you. You’re my sister, always. I know I can be too hard on the people who mean the most to me, but I’m going to try, really try, to balance that love, to understand how you need to be loved.”

Jules sits frozen, speechless for the first time. Their confrontations usually spiral into heated exchanges until one of them storms off. She hadn't expected this to be so... civil and mature.

So unlike them.

Finally, she manages a small, shaky smile. “Yeah, this... this went way better than I played it out in my head.”

Leigh’s laughter is a quick splash of reprieve, a burst of surprise at how well things have turned. But it fades as quickly as it bloomed, her smile slipping into a frown as she catches the shadow creeping over Jules’s face.

“What is it?”

Jules fidgets, nervously twisting a napkin between her fingers. “I... need to ask you something that’s been eating at me for months... well, almost a year now. And I need you to be brutally honest with me, Leigh. Can you promise that?”

Leigh feels a slight tremor of worry, but brushes it off and nods. “You’re scaring me, but sure. I promise.”

“Here we go,” Jules says, taking a deep, faltering breath. “Remember that night? When I was so drunk you had to come and get me? It was the last night Matt was... before he... you know. Do you ever resent me for it? I did such a horrible thing, robbing you of his last moments because I couldn't keep it together—”

“You know I’ve never blamed you for that. Not during our last fight, not when Matt died, just... never, basically,” Leigh says, leaning back on her chair.

“But some part of you must have hated me, because—”

“No—”

“—maybe he needed someone.”

Leigh just shrugs and denies it which only frustrates Jules even more. “No, Leigh,” she tries, “I need you to listen to me. I was very drunk that night—”

“You were really drunk a lot of nights and you’ve done a lot of crappy things,” Leigh states frankly. “But none of them had anything to do with Matt’s death.”

Jules swallows hard, her eyes stinging. “But what if it did, though?”

Leigh, clearly frustrated, responds, “You really think that?”

Jules looks down at the table and stays silent.

“Jules,” Leigh sighs, searching for the right words to reassure her sister. Eventually, she opts for honesty. “Look, I can’t tell you how to feel, but that’s not how I feel. Okay?”

It takes a second longer for Jules to say, “Okay.”

Leigh stares intently at her sister, noting the way Jules's eyes avoid contact. She knows the soft okay from Jules isn't a signal of acceptance or peace, but a white flag in a battle mostly with herself. Jules is grappling with her own guilt, a feeling that has little to do with Leigh but still consumes her. Leigh wishes, not for the first time, that her sister could see the truth as easily as she reads into misconceptions. It’s the same thing she wishes for herself.

Feeling slightly vindicated to have aired her feelings, Jules turns her attention back to the food spread between them. She reaches for her bánh mì, grips it firmly, and takes a hearty bite. As she chews thoughtfully, she manages a muffled, “Thanks, Leigh.”

Leigh just offers a small, understanding smile.

As they continue eating, Jules suddenly grins, crumbs dotting the corners of her mouth. “You're probably wondering why we're having Vietnamese tonight,” she says.

Leigh raises an eyebrow, curious despite herself. “I was wondering.”

Jules chews quickly, then, with her mouth still full, blurts out, “Well, I've got one more piece of news for you.”

It’s almost midnight when Leigh returns to her bedroom.

As soon as her eyes land on her cellphone, carelessly tossed on the sheets, guilt floods her. She remembers she didn’t even say goodbye to you. Horrified, she realizes she left you hanging, high and dry.

She grabs her phone, her heart pounding in her chest, and checks for any messages from you. The screen lights up, but there are no new notifications, no missed calls.

“God, I’m such an idiot,” she mutters to herself, running a hand through her hair. She takes a deep breath and dials your number, her fingers trembling slightly as she presses the call button.

It rings once, twice, and then you answer. “Leigh?”

“Hey. Sorry, did I wake you?” Leigh asks, picking up on the sleepiness in your voice.

“No, not at all. What’s up?”

She lets out a relieved sigh before rushing into an apology. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you like that. Jules came home and then I—”

“It’s okay, Leigh,” you whisper soothingly, grateful that she called you back at all.

That doesn’t alleviate Leigh's guilt, though. She racks her brain for a way to make amends.

“Can we… Can we pick up where we left off?” she suggests hesitantly.

You let out a kind chuckle. “I’d like that. But maybe we should save it for… later. Honestly, that was a bit reckless, Leigh.”

Leigh's brow furrows, even though you can't see it. “What do you mean?” she asks.

“I want to do this right,” you explain earnestly. “If taking things slow helps us build something real, then I’m willing to wait.”

“Well, clearly patience hasn’t been my strong suit either,” Leigh admits, her lips curving into a grin at your attempt to be chivalrous.

“I know,” you whisper, traces of a smile audible in your voice. “But I didn’t want you to think that’s all I’m after. And believe me, I want you—it’s driving me crazy.”

Leigh runs her tongue along her teeth, feeling the familiar tug of desire low in her belly.

“I just don't want us to get so caught up in the physical stuff that we miss out on really getting to know each other,” you say.

“Me neither,” Leigh agrees, tucking the blankets up under her chin, pretending it's you keeping her warm.

“While I obviously enjoyed our…conversation earlier,” you say, pausing to maintain your composure. You can still hear the echo of Leigh's moans in your car, the memory likely to revisit you on sleepless nights in the coming days. “I'm really looking forward to diving deeper into things, like your favorite book, on Saturday.”

“Maybe I'll bring you a whole list,” she teases.

“Guess I’ll have to find that library card I signed up for then,” you joke.

“A library card, huh? Dork,” she retorts affectionately.

You feign a wounded tone, “Ouch.”

The laughter that follows is light and easy. You sigh contentedly and say, “I should probably call it a day. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Leigh.” I love you. “See you on Saturday.”

The call ends with both of you reluctantly hanging up, smiles fixed on your faces as you lie back. Leigh is an addictive rush, coursing through your veins like adrenaline. You've excused yourself out of habit for sleeping early, but you doubt you’re going to get much sleep tonight.

Leigh nudges open the door to the crowded bistro tucked near the Basically News office. It’s the thick of lunch hour, and the place pulses with the chatter of midday patrons. It’s exactly the sort of public, non-intimate setting you'd want for meeting an ex. She weaves through the crowded room, spotting Danny at a corner table, his focus tethered to his phone as he absently taps on the screen.

“Hey,” she greets, sliding into the chair opposite him.

Danny looks up, a hint of irritation flashing in his eyes. “You know, I could’ve just dropped by your house later.”

Leigh shakes her head. “It's better to meet somewhere public from now on.”

His expression darkens, and he scoffs. “Why? So Y/N doesn’t get jealous?”

Leigh leans back, crossing her arms. “Yes,” she says, deliberately blunt.

Danny's jaw sets, a muscle twitching slightly, but he doesn't press the issue. Instead, he reaches into his bag and retrieves a folder, sliding it across the table toward Leigh. “Matt’s publisher wants to release his comic posthumously,” he starts, “but there are strings attached.”

Interest sparks in Leigh's eyes as she opens the folder, her eyes quickly scanning the contract.

“What kind of strings?” she asks.

“They want either you or me—or both of us—to join a group of artists to promote the comic—”

“That sounds fair and exciting,” Leigh interjects a bit too soon.

“—across the country,” Danny finishes, clicking his tongue in mild annoyance. “It’s a tour, Leigh.”

Leigh's fingers stall at the edge of the paper, the reality of the proposition sinking in.

“A tour?” she echoes.

“Yeah,” Danny nods. He flags down a waiter and orders a beer. “Early next year. Matt’s comic is in the final stages of editing, and it should be finalized in about three weeks. They’re aiming for a release in February, and the tour will follow right after that.”

“That sounds soon,” Leigh remarks. “How long is the tour supposed to last?”

“About two months,” Danny replies. “We'll be traveling across different states, attending conventions, signing autographs, meeting fans. It’s a big commitment.”

“We?”

Danny shrugs, the hurt briefly flickering across his face before he can hide it. “Yeah, we. Though I'm not sure I can join because of the new job in Vegas. There's a good chance you might be doing this solo.” His attempt at nonchalance doesn't quite cover the sting of her reaction—how distant the concept of 'we' seems to her.

Leigh chews on her lip, her thoughts drifting to her own commitments—her column, her classes at the Beautiful Beast, and you. The idea of leaving all that behind, even for just a few months, feels like too great a sacrifice.

“It’s a lot to take in,” she says, pushing the folder back towards Danny.

“He deserves this kind of recognition,” Danny implores, as if suggesting that Leigh thinks otherwise.

“I'm aware,” she snaps back, “I just need a bit of time to think it through, to sort out the schedules and everything.”

Danny raises his hands in mock surrender, indicating he doesn't want to escalate the argument. But Leigh knows him well enough to see through it—it’s a tactic. Danny has a way of guilting her into decisions without saying much, letting assumptions and insinuations simmer until Leigh finds herself making the choice he wants.

Leigh stands up, slipping the folder into her bag. “I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

“Fine,” Danny says with a tight nod. “Just don’t drag your feet. The publishers are waiting on an answer soon.”

Saturday comes soon, but not soon enough.

All week, relentless rain showers have scattered across the days, and though the forecast promises sunshine today, Leigh wakes up to the soft splattering of rain against her window. The gentle patter seeps into her consciousness, easing her from sleep. The room is filled with a cool, damp scent, and is bathed in a soft, diffused light as the morning sun is muted behind thick clouds.

Leigh gropes blindly beneath the pillow to her left, retrieving her phone and squinting at the time. It’s 9:30 AM. She blinks, trying to shake the sleep from her mind, and her heart drops slightly as she notices five missed calls from you, each one timestamped progressively: 7:45, 7:55, 8:15, 8:30, and finally 8:45.

Guilt twists in her chest. She sits up, brushing sleep from her eyes, and dials your number back, hoping she hasn’t missed something important.

You answer on the first ring. “Hey. Everything okay?”

Leigh sighs, running a hand through her tousled hair. “Yeah, I'm sorry I missed your calls. I just woke up. What's going on?”

“It’s Saturday,” you say rather awkwardly. “We had plans to meet this morning, remember?”

Leigh sits up, suddenly fully awake. She’s been looking forward to Saturday all week, eagerly anticipating this date. The realization that she slept through most of the morning fills her with shame. She’s been so restless the past few days, and it was only the gloomy, sleepy weather last night that finally allowed her to get some decent rest.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed your sleep, but since it’s an all-day affair, I thought we could start with breakfast,” you continue, breaking the silence that had been filled only with Leigh’s soft breathing.

“Where are you now?” she asks.

You hesitate for a moment before replying, “I’m actually parked outside your house.”

Fuck. Shit. Damn it.

“Okay, okay. Sorry, uhm, can you give me five minutes?”

“Take all the time you need.”

Leigh ends the call and throws off the covers, scrambling to get dressed. She rushes to the bathroom, splashing water on her face and running a brush through her hair, muttering curses under her breath. Her hands tremble slightly as she picks out an outfit, the anticipation of the day ahead propelling her forward.

As she heads for the door, a small smile forms on her lips. This might not have been the flawless beginning she imagined, but just knowing you’re on the other side makes it perfect already.

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

350 notes · View notes

writingjourney · 8 months ago

Text

Benedict x fem!reader fic preview anyone?

It will be a cute 4+1 times situation with some wholesome (and spicy!!!) moments during their engagement period.

EDIT: FIND THE FULL FIC HERE!! OR ON AO3 ✌🏼

─── ⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆ ───

He stops, leans against the frame of the open door to the drawing room and drinks you in. The pianoforte is angled away from the open windows, your back turned to him. Bare skin shimmers in the sunlight, diffused by sheer white curtains that stream dreamily in the mild breeze. He follows the line of your shoulders where they rise and fall as your hands dance across the keys, then up the curve of your spine where your neck is exposed under pinned-up hair. The music seems to carry the easy with which you hold yourself.

He notes that your maid is not with you, a sign that the staff is kept busy with the wedding preparations. Or perhaps you sent her away as you are prone to do, craving solitude – and opportunities to meet him. Benedict finds himself chasing these moments in which he gets to have you to himself like they’re his sanctuary, so precious that he has to pile them up with care like gemstones in the shrine of his love for you. One day soon he will be able to display them more openly. For now he has to grasp them as they appear.

You only hear him when his steps have reached so close that not even the rugs can muffle them anymore. A few weeks ago you might have been startled by him appearing out of nowhere but by now it is rather natural that he should find you when you are alone. It seems he has a sense for it.

When you look up he is already urging to you scoot over. The double piano bench is rather narrow but you think he might be closing in more than necessary. You’re acutely aware of the press of his thigh against yours.

“Do not let me disturb you, dearest,” he says in the dulcet tone you know means mischief.

“Is your goal not to disturb me, Mr Bridgerton?”

“My goal,” he whispers, leaning in conspiratorially, “is to be closer to the music.”

His breath on your neck does nothing to enhance your ability to focus. The first few notes are not quite rhythmic as a shiver runs through your limbs and down your fingertips. You soon find your footing, however, and the song comes to life in the form of a moderately slow but all the more magical sonata of your own composition. Sheet music is quite expensive and your collection rather limited. To add some variety you recently began to write your own, significantly inspired by Benedict and his artworks.

“Beautiful,” he whispers to himself and you smile as you transition into a faster section of the song that reminds you of fairies frolicking in a meadow, drunk on honeydew and starlight.

However, you soon realise that he did not talk about the music. His hand dances along your back, fingertips drumming over your spine until they come to rest on the swell of your hip on the other side. It is the closest thing to an embrace, his arm a comforting support behind your back. His proximity, if thrilling, does not deter you. Your hands remember exactly what they must do – over a decade of tutoring has left its marks.

Your confidence is short-lived. His hair tickles your ear as he leans in, a soft press of his lips to your shoulder, devoted, sensuous and… lingering. Your fingers slip but for a moment. It is enough to draw the wrong tunes from the instrument, a cacophonous quake that has you wincing in surprise.

“You must stay focused,” Benedict warns, lips still warm on your skin, “or everyone shall hear that you are… rather distracted.”

“How fortunate that I am known for my stable countenance.”

“Hm, yes, that is what they say about you, my darling, “ he whispers. “If only they saw you as I do, falling apart at the mere idea of a kiss.”

You close your eyes and recollect yourself, trying desperately to ignore how he feels against you. Despite his warning he shows no signs of stopping, not even as you resume your play. The next kiss hits the crook of your neck. You feel his nose against your jaw as he inhales your scent, rose oil and soap. For a moment his warm exhale against your throat overshadows the fact that is fingers curl at your hip, a not so innocent squeeze that you feel somewhere between your legs.

You’re aware that both of your families are just outside in the gardens, that the open windows and the steady breeze carry your tunes far out on the premises. Muscle memory serves you and you finish the hardest part of the song without more than one or two off-key notes. Benedict has been silent, lips lingering just below your ear. Just as you move on to the conclusion his mouth gets more insistent, sucking gently at your delicate skin as he gets carried away.

”Benedict,“ you warn. Crooked tunes are one thing, a vivid red kiss mark another.

“Forgive me,” he whispers, pressing tiny kisses along your neck now. “I cannot help it.”

You finish the song with a relieved exhale, wondering if a musical number has ever felt so painfully long before. Benedict has lost his patience, it seems. His free hand comes to rest on your sternum as though he needs to feel the agitated rise and fall of your chest. You only have a moment to relish in the soft feel of his palm on your bosom before he curls his fingers over your jaw and forces your head to turn to him. His kiss is dizzying, starved. He tastes of the strawberries he must have had outside just earlier.

You allow him to kiss you breathless before you remove yourself. He tries to chase after you, as he is won’t to do, but a finger on his swollen lips has him halting. His expression rivals that of Newton when he is in want of a treat.

“We must go back outside before they find us,” you say. “It is already suspicious enough that I played off-key the moment you stepped inside.”

“I blame you for being such a flawless musician.”

“I blame you for being such an irresistible distraction. Now come on, my darling, I am suddenly in want of some sweet strawberries.”

He sighs woefully and you cannot help but kiss the pout from his face.

─── ⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆ ───

This fic is coming within the next week I would say, it will be 18+ so MDNI. Let me know if you want to be tagged in the full thing!! (just in case this lands in the hashtag and someone actually sees it haha) ♡

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton family

135 notes · View notes

my-own-walker · 2 years ago

Note

requesting kit with younger reader, where he picks her up from college and takes her for a milkshake but then they have sex in his car and after he has to drop her down the street because her parents don’t approve of him

Oh! You Pretty Things

note: this is cuteeeeee. thanks for the spicy kit request. i was getting bored of writing inside-the-asylum kit hehe

warnings: sm*t, p in v, oral m receiving, teasing, cursing, kinda overstim, not really tho

+++

The second hand moved so slowly on the clock, I thought it might be broken. Class always went slower when I knew I’d be seeing Kit afterward. Thursdays were our day.

My parents didn’t know. They hated the idea of me being distracted from my studies by some silly boy. I was, in fact, sticking my neck out by going to college as a woman, so I had to succeed. But, the new decade called for liberation for us women. I was proving a point by being able to date and do well in school.

I digress. I met Kit after my father's car got a flat. He showed up in his tow truck to save the day.

'Scummy, those mechanics,' my father quipped as we drove away.

I walked to the gas station Kit said he worked at the next day, set on getting him to ask me on a date.

We'd been secretly meeting up for dates ever since. He'd come to pick me up after my last class of the day every Thursday and take me out somewhere. I could, at times, sneak away to see Kit on other days of the week, but Thursdays were a set date. My mother and father had no idea. They thought I would stay late to study.

In my daydreaming daze, I almost didn't notice my classmates getting up to leave. I gathered my things hastily and rushed out of the room and into the bright daylight of the afternoon. The sun's light on the pavement was nearly blinding. I shaded my eyes with my hand as I walked to the curb, looking desperately for Kit's car.

Within seconds, his shiny black car came slowly up to the side of the street.

'Hey, pretty thing! You goin' my way, doll?' he called out of his window, acting as if he were a creepy stranger. I giggled and got into the passenger's side.

'You have no idea how nice it feels to do this,' I sighed, kicking my shoes off as Kit drove off.

'Rough day, beautiful?' He wore his work uniform. Some jeans, a white undershirt, and his button-up with his name on it. His hair was perfectly tousled, and the shirt was unbuttoned so that part of the white undergarment was showing. He looked soft and warm, and his smile lit up his eyes.

'Just a very long one, and I'm starving.'' I said, drawing out the word 'very.' I flipped down the visor and slid open the mirror, smoothing my hair and fixing the line of my lipstick while regarding my reflection. I pulled the tube of peach lipstick out of my bag and touched up my pout, making faces at myself all the while.

'Havin' fun over there?' Kit laughed.

'I'm beginning to think this shade is old hat,' I sighed. 'Maybe I should try red like Marilyn.'

'I don't care what color they are so long as I get to kiss 'em,' he smirked, taking one hand off the steering wheel and placing it on my upper thigh. I didn't even notice how far my dress had ridden up my leg since getting in the car.

I blushed and giggled, tucking the front pieces of my hair behind my ears. I will admit, I was still in the lavender haze with him.

He pulled into the parking lot of the small roadside diner in our town. It was quaint, tucked away in some trees, filled with truckers from out-of-state and old ladies meeting for lunch. It was a stone's throw from Kit's job, and the perfect place to hide away. Somewhere neither of my parents would dare go.

We sat at the tall counter in the center of the place. This was part of our little Thursday routine. I would always come out of class absolutely ravenous. We'd pick far-away or unknown places to eat before truly spending time together.

'You want somethin', my pretty thing?' Kit asked as the waitress stood in front of us.

'Honestly, a milkshake would be a gas,' I smiled up at the waitress. 'Strawberry.'

'That's all you want?' Kit asked as she walked away. 'Are you sure?'

'Yeah, Kit, I'm alright,' I replied, feeling around in my bag for a light for my cigarette. 'Shit, I must have dropped my lighter somewhere. It's not here.'

'Don’t worry doll, I got you,' he drawled, flicking his own open and holding it under the cigarette clenched in my teeth. I took a long drag and exhaled. The waitress returned and placed my drink in front of me, and Kit's meal in front of him.

I looked over at Kit and caught him taking me in. He looked me up and down and chuckled softly.

'My, you are a dream,' he cooed, placing a hand on my chin to bring me in for a kiss. I went in for a peck and was alarmed to find that Kit wanted more.

'Baby, not here,' I said through gritted teeth, pulling away quickly. I looked around to make sure no one saw. 'You're an animal.' I laughed and he returned the smile.

'I just can't control myself around you, pretty.'

'Well then hurry up and finish your food so we can peel out,' I giggled, pushing his shoulder playfully.

There was an old abandoned schoolhouse in town 5 minutes away from my house. Kit and I would find ourselves in the back parking lot frequently. Tucked away from the public eye in his car.

As soon as Kit parked the car, he dragged me into the back seat with him. We made out furiously, like two caged animals that were finally set free. It was a small space, but we sure made it work.

I took over, immediately pushing Kit's back up against the door, placing my hands on his chest to hold him down. His white undershirt was soft against my palms. I could feel his heart pounding furiously beneath my fingertips. A pace that signaled to me just how much he wanted this.

We kissed for only a short time before clothes started getting removed. First, I aided him in removing his work shirt. Then, I worked to undo his belt and unbutton his jeans. He slid them off quickly. I took that time to remove my panties, throwing them hastily to the front seat.

His erection was noticeable through his white briefs. My hand immediately reached to touch it, only for it to be held back.

'Not yet, sweetheart,' he smiled. He pushed me back into the door on my side and continued making out with me. His hands groped all over my body, paying particular attention to my breasts. 'Oh this dress just won't do,' he muttered.

My high-necked smock dress was fit for school, yes, but not for this. He reached behind me and unzipped the fabric smoothly. He tugged the material and it slid down to expose my bra. Kit smiled as he looked into my eyes, then turned his attention back to my chest. He peppered kisses all over my sensitive skin, making goosebumps raise all over my body.

First, he slid my left bra strap off my shoulder, creating a bit more slack and revealing more of my skin. He took his time to kiss all of the areas of skin he hadn't before, going agonizingly slow so that I would get hot and bothered. He loved when I was hot and bothered.

Next was the right bra strap. The ceremony continued. His ritualistic dance of adorning love to every inch of my body made every horrible minute spent without him worth it. His mouth inched closer and closer to the very edge of my bra. Eventually, I gave in to the teasing and reached back to unhook the damn thing myself.

Deciding I'd had enough, though, I pushed Kit back again. This time, all the way down so that he was laying across the back seat. My hand reached for his bulge and stroked it. He whimpered in pleasure. I took the waistband of his briefs in my fingers and tugged, making his dick spring loose.

I lined myself up with him and slid his throbbing erection into my slick middle, feeling every inch of it go deeper and deeper into me. I cried out involuntarily and began bouncing on it, feeling our two bodies connect naturally. My walls tightened around it. He moaned softly.

'Oh baby, yeah,' he spat through gritted teeth as I continued to ride him. I stooped down and kissed him passionately, still keeping a rhythm. His shaking hands reached up to grope my breasts again, this time more firmly. He slid his hands down to my waist and held it, almost as if he were trying to feel some sort of control over me.

I continued moving my hips atop his dick. His length went so deep within me, I thought I'd scream. I put both of my palms on either side of his chest to steady myself. His breathing got more ragged, and I could feel his heart racing still.

'Fuck,' Kit grunted, trying not to come so easily. He gathered what strength he had a lifted me off of his erection by my waist. I sat back and slid down to a laying position as he rose to position himself above me, both of us maintaining eye contact as we went. He wanted a turn on top.

I didn't even get a chance to settle before his large cock was inside me again. I yelped and screwed my eyes closed, existing at that moment at his very will. He held my wrists, which were resting just next to my head, down so that I couldn't move. I whined in protest but was silenced by his lips on mine.

Sweat formed on his brow. I could feel myself succumbing to the waves of orgasm. But, neither of us wanted to be the first to give in. I breathed heavily to steel myself, but it was to no avail. I came first, crying out and moaning loudly. He slid out of me and stroked my hair as the fits of pleasure overtook me.

Kit sat back against the door on his side of the car once again, breathing heavily. I regained my composure and sat up, sitting back on my heels. I stooped down and took his pre-cum covered dick in my mouth. I flicked my tongue over the tip and reveled in the whimpers and cries Kit was letting out. He grabbed and pulled my hair gently as I continued to suck him off.

'I-I'm gonna come,' he mustered, trying to warn me in case I wanted to stop. Instead, I let him blow his load directly into my mouth. I ignored the warmth and bitter taste as I swallowed. He moaned and threw his head back, eventually relaxing into his position. I wiped my mouth and sat back as well.

Recovered from his orgasm, Kit leaned forward and laid half-beside and half-on me, resting his head on my chest. I sighed in contentment.

'God, you're good at that,' Kit whispered, laughing softly. I laughed too. He grabbed my hand and brought it up to his lips to kiss it. He kissed the back of each finger as well to emphasize his gratefulness. He nestled closer into me. I nearly fell asleep listening to his breathing even out.

I gasped suddenly when I looked out the window and saw the sun setting. 'Shit, Kit, we have to get me home!'

We both worked quickly to redress. He helped me with the tough job of zipping up the back of my dress. I scrambled out of the back door and into the passenger door, slamming it shut and bringing the visor down to once again look at myself in the mirror. Kit clambered up to the front from the back seat and settled himself in.

He turned the key in the ignition and started the car up. He paused, though, before going. I looked away from fixing my lipstick for a moment to see what was the matter. Kit shifted in his seat and reached for something that was under him. In his hand was my panties.

'I uh, think you're gonna need these,' he chuckled, blushing. I smacked his arm and snatched them from his grip.

'Oh, hush! Stop! It's not funny,' I protested, half-laughing as well. I shoved them into my handbag demonstratively. 'Now hurry up and drive!'

The ride home was quick enough. The sun was still setting as Kit got to the end of my street. He had to drop me there to avoid my parents seeing anything.

'Are you sure you're gonna be okay walking over there this late? I don't need anyone snatching my girl,' Kit spoke.

'I'll be fine, Kit. No one really walks my street. Plus, it's not even that dark,' I assured him.

'Well okay, but I'll be parked here watching ya, okay?'

'Just don't be too obvious,' I warned.

He leaned over and grabbed my face, pulling me in for one last, passionate kiss. When I pulled away, my lipstick was all over his face. I just chuckled to myself and opened the door.

'I love you, you pretty thing,' he called after me.

'I love you too, Kit,' I smiled.

+++

Literally cannot lie I got a bit, uh, bothered myself writing this one LOL. Let me know if you liked this one!

#evan peters #evan peters fic #ahs #evan peters x female reader #evan peters x reader #kit walker #evan peters oneshot #kit walker imagine #kit walker x female reader #kit walker x reader #ahs asylum #kit walker smut #ahs smut

1K notes · View notes

waynes-multiverse · 3 days ago

Text

The Exit Strategy – Part 4

Summary: Russell is ready to hang it all up and retire, open up a brewery, and enjoy the rest of his civilian life. However, there’s one important thing missing before he can take the big plunge. Luckily, he knows just the right person to help him find it.

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Female!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language, fluff, some angst & feels, family secrets, spy stuff, a bit of spiciness

Word Count: 6.5k

A/N: Welcome back, friends! We're diving a bit into Shaw family secrets this week – fully Wayne's version, though. While I did read the books, there's no major spoilers**, so don't you worry. I just played with an idea here 🤓 I also won't be fully diving into the Shaw family life, but some things are heavily hinted to be... fishy here 👀 Enjoy & let me know what you think! 🤍

**There's a small part where Russell tells Colter about their parents. It's mentioned in the books that their mother was a psychiatrist. I took that and ran with it 🤷‍♀️

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Part 4: This Is Not an Exit

“You’ve been walking down memory lane a lot tonight,” you teased with a nudge of his ribs, still tightly cuddled in his warm embrace in the freezing basement.

“Haven’t you?”

“No, I have,” you admitted with a melancholic sigh. “Maybe we should stop dwelling on the past so much. Think more about the future…”

Russell scoffed a small chuckle. “Dory said something similar not that long ago. Actually the reason why I came here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, his fingers absently drawing circles on your arm. “I think it’s time we retire, sweetheart. I mean, after everything we’ve been through, I think we deserve to, right? You know, sometimes I wake up in the morning, and I’m surprised we’re even still here, considering how many war zones we’ve been in.”

“Well, you know what they say – beware the old soldier because he’s old for a reason,” you said with a smile.

“Yeah, think I might be getting a little too old…” Russell chucked lightly, running a hand through his long hair. “So? What d’you think? One last hurrah, and then we hang this up? I was thinking maybe we could open up a brewery, you know? A family place. Bet the kids would love it.”

“Sounds nice,” you said with a yearning smile. You wanted all of that and more. “I’d love to retire with you.”

“But?”

You laughed slightly at his anticipating look. “But I don’t think you can yet.”

His eyebrows drew together till they met above the bridge of his freckled nose. “What d’you mean? I just told you I’m ready.”

“You say you are, but you aren’t,” you replied like the annoying Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland. “Have you solved the murder yet?”

Russell licked his lips, which was his telltale sign that you caught him there. After all, you knew him better than anyone in this world – knowing when he needed to be pushed and shoved was part of it.

“No, but I don’t need to anymore. Look, the only reason I wanted to solve it was because I thought I had to prove my innocence to Colter. And well, turns out I didn’t. He believed me anyways, so…”

“That wasn’t the only reason,” you reminded him with a scrutinizing look.

“Maybe, but like I said – Dory thinks we should keep all this bullshit in the past, and after the last three years, I’m starting to agree with her,” Russell said, dragging a hand over his face.

��Look, if that’s what you want–”

“It’s what I want,” he assured you and placed a hand on your thigh, gently squeezing it. “Having my little brother and sister back is enough. I don’t need more. Nothing good ever comes from being greedy.”

You nodded in understanding, clearing your throat. “Still, in the name of our deal to always be honest, I kinda have to confess something.”

Rising from your seat, you dusted off your awful, flowery skirt and wandered to the wall safe once more, retrieving a thick folder from it. You took your place next to Russell again, his questioning eyes meeting yours as you handed him your research.

“When you didn’t come back after a year or so, I started looking into it as well. Might have done a full deep-dive,” you admitted with a bite of your lip.

Russell shot you a chiding look, shaking his head, but most of all, he was worried. “I told you to leave it alone. You don’t know what sorta people we’re dealing with here, but we do know they’re dangerous.”

“I know. I just wanted to help. Figured I could speed it along. I do have more access than you,” you countered softly. “I’m sorry, okay? But I was careful. I promise.”

“Good,” he said and looked at you, interlacing your fingers with his. “‘Cause the last thing I want is losing you over this bullshit, too.”

Nodding, you squeezed his hand in reassurance. “There’s something you should know, though.” He raised his brow anew – you’d always been full of surprises. Life certainly had never been boring. “Someone accessed the files after me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. Definitely had a higher clearance than me, though,” you replied.

Russell threw his arms up, and you could see he was getting more upset again. “See? This is what I’m talking about! The whole point of us separating was to keep you and the kids away from it. Otherwise, we could’ve just stayed together, and I could’ve joined Horizon anyways.”

“I know that, too,” you said remorsefully. “But don’t worry. I wasn’t followed, and no one ever came after me. I made sure of it. It’s been two years now. They probably figured it was nothing after I didn’t reach out to you straight away.”

“Still… I don’t want you involved, alright?”

“What about Colter? Doesn’t he want to know? He doesn’t strike me as someone who just lets things go,” you noted observantly.

Russell clicked his tongue – a sign of defeat. “He isn’t, but he’s not gonna find anything either. I mean, the only reason I know is because you were so relentless and kept digging.”

“You haven’t told him what we found out?”

Russell licked his lips and admitted quietly, “No. I don’t think it does anyone any good to keep looking into this.”

Leaning forward and hugging your knees, your head bobbed pensively. “I thought you guys talked about what happened?”

“We did. Kinda… It’s complicated,” he stated, swallowing. “Dory was easy, you know? I guess she never really believed it… But it took a while till Colter even picked up the phone, let alone answered a goddamn text message. Had to get a little annoying.”

You smirked. “Well, you’re good at that. That’s how you won me over.”

“By being persistent?”

“Exactly. Like a tardigrade.” You grinned. “I mean, you kind of are doing it now again, too.”

He chuckled quietly. “Yeah, guess so.”

“Is that why you haven’t told him about me and the kids? Because you’re not sure about him yet?”

“Partially, yeah,” he admitted. “I guess I wanted to protect you. And maybe myself a little, too… Not sure I’m ready for those two worlds to meet yet, you know? I mean, you and the kids are the best things that ever happened to me, and when I look at Colter or Dory, I’m sometimes reminded of the worst things in my life.”

“What about your mother?”

Russell let out an exhaustive sigh that was half amused. “Geez, you haven’t changed a bit. You still ask the most uncomfortable questions possible.”

You laughed a little. “Gathering intelligence in uncomfortable ways is kind of my job, Shaw.”

“Yup, and no one’s better at it than you, sweetheart,” Russell quipped.

“So I’m guessing it’s a no on Mommie Dearest?”

Russell licked his lips, shaking his head. “I don’t wanna see her. Mostly because I don’t even know what to fucking say anymore,” he said. “I don’t want her to meet the kids either.”

“It’s okay,” you assured him and took his hand in yours. “It’s your choice, Russ. We go at your pace, alright?”

“Thank you.” Russell brought your intertwined hands to his lips, kissing the back of your hand before he looked at you deeply, a smile dancing across his plump lips. “I love you.”

You mirrored his smile, your heart fluttering like a wild butterfly in your chest. “I love you, too.”

“I’ll tell them – Dory and Colter. I want this to work,” he promised. “Just… after we finish this. I want him to have a clear head. I prefer not to get him killed, you know?”

“I get it. I thought the same thing when I first met you, too,” you joked, patting his chest. “But you brought him into this. It’s kinda on you.”

Russell scratched his bearded chin. “Yeah, but I didn’t exactly know what I’d bring him into.”

“Didn’t you, though?”

Amused, Russell bobbed his head. “Yeah, maybe I did,” he acknowledged. “You know, when Manny called me–”

Your eyes widened. “Manny called you?”

Russell blinked at you, brow creased in confusion. “Yeah, why?”

“That motherfucker…”

Furiously, you stomped to the desk and grabbed the radio. “Drone-5. This is Queen Bee-1. Report to Hive.”

The static of the radio cracked almost instantly, as if the idiot had been waiting all night for this call. “Yo, Queen Bee-1. How’s my boy?” Manny’s laugh echoed through the basement.

Russell’s glowing cheeks reached his eyes when he heard his friend’s voice. He’d known the guy almost as long as Doug.

“You’re the one who fucking told him?!” you yelled into the radio, almost crushing the device in your hand.

“To be fair, I told him not to engage with tango,” Manny sheepishly replied.

“Ha-ha, funny. Fuck you,” you huffed and tossed Russ the walkie-talkie. He caught it with one hand.

His boyish grin widened as he pushed the button. “You know, Drone-5, you could’ve told me you were actually working this thing.”

“Aw, you know I can’t do that. But I guess congrats on crashing another operation. You’re Worker Bee-3 now. Old habits die hard, huh?” Manny chuckled.

“Yeah, I guess…” Russell replied with a lighthearted chuckle, but his teeth tugged pensively at his lips.

“Great to have you back, brother. Hope this works out for you. See you on the other side, man. Oh, and could you move like three feet to the left and turn the washer off? We can barely hear and see you guys, and Drone-2 just ran out to grab popco–”

“No, absolutely not. Out,” you snapped as you grabbed the radio from Russ. He laughed as you put it furiously back on the desk. You knew what you had signed up for, but you still deserved some privacy. Annoyed, you took off your cross necklace – another bug – and settled down beside him again.

“What did he say when he called you?”

“Nothing much, really. Just told me your coordinates and that you like to pick up your mail at three o’clock at the local post office,” Russell replied.

You shook your head, smiling. “Well, he always loved you, so…” You started to chew on your lower lip, the anxiety in your belly returning. For the sake of your mind and heart, you had to make sure Russell was fully back, and this wasn’t just a fluke. “You know, I worry sometimes that if you don’t face this thing with your family, you’ll always feel this way. I mean, after Lewis was born–”

“I know.” Russell nodded, swallowing thickly. He saw the worry shimmering in your eyes, and it cracked his heart a little. “I know I kinda lost it there. Took me by surprise, too. Trust me. Figured I had dealt with all that shit already, you know? But I guess seeing you with him and feeling all that love myself, I just-… I don’t know. I don’t know how she could do it… Ashton was one thing, but she just stood by. And I don’t even know what the hell she was up to while he took us out into those woods…” He shook his head as if to rattle the answer out of his brain. “And then when we found out you were pregnant again… I mean, I’d barely held it together with Lewis. Everything just became a blur. I couldn’t think straight anymore, and I worried all the time I’d be like them…”

“I tried to help,” you said softly.

“I know you did. Guess this was just something I had to figure out on my own,” he replied with a beat shrug.

“How’s your vision now? Still blurry?”

“Clearer than ever.” A smile flickered alive on his lips, green eyes boring into yours as he leaned in and kissed you slowly like he meant every word. Blowing a raspberry, he then turned his attention to the file in his lap. “So, what am I gonna find in there?”

“Honestly, nothing we haven’t already puzzled together,” you replied, teeth gnawing on your bottom lip. “But I found a couple of names associated with your parents. Thought maybe you could look at them and see if you recognize the person you saw in the woods.”

“I already know where this is going…”

“Russ, please, just–”

Russell interrupted you, placing a soothing palm on your thigh that curbed your enthusiasm. “I’ll think about it, alright?”

Satisfied, you raised two placating hands. “All I was asking…”

“How was the lasagna?”

After four hours in the basement, you and Russell quietly treaded up the stairs a few minutes after midnight, finding Colter in the kitchen, eating leftovers out of the ceramic form in the warm glow of the stove light. Tom, on the other hand, had passed out on the couch, only the blue flickers of the TV and the soft noises of a peaceful nature documentary filling the silence of the dark living room.

“Excellent,” Colter stated, swallowing down a mouthful of lasagna before speaking. “I told Tom he should be a chef in a restaurant or something.”

Russell’s brow knitted in doubt. “Really? Lemme try.”

“You just ate two entire bags of junk. You can’t still be hungry,” you argued with a giggle, shaking your head.

“It’s lasagna,” Russell said simply, grabbed a fork from the drawer, and dove right in.

That man would eat anything. You’d seen him do it, too. He didn’t even go hungry when he was lost in a desert.

“Wow, that is good,” Russell announced his judgement with a full mouth. “Maybe we should hire Tom for the brewery, huh?”

“I’m guessing this means you two talked?” Colter asked with a carefully arched brow.

“Hmm. I don’t know,” Russell mused in jest. “What d’you say, sweetheart? You taking me back?”

You rolled your eyes at his antics. “Guess I have to. God knows returning you is impossible.”

Russell laughed and slung an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. He kissed your temple.

But then you noticed Colter’s smile falter, his brows creasing in question. “Is your hair different?”

“Shit!”

Wide-eyed, you bolted back down the creaking stairs to the basement, hearing Russell’s laughter fill the kitchen.

“Was she wearing a wig? And her eyes too, right?” Puzzled, Colter tried to piece it all together. He had already figured by your extensive vocabulary of swear words that you might be a better match for his older brother than he had initially surmised.

“Yup, all fake, man,” Russell confirmed and smirked. “Still think she’s not my type yet?”

“No, I can see it now,” Colter admitted, chuckling. “So, you guys are good?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Russell nodded and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, swallowing.

Colter’s smile widened, filling the older Shaw’s stomach with more guilt. “That’s great. Happy for you, man. Guess that means you’re retiring now, huh?”

Russell scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, we’ll see. Always depends on what the wife decides, you know?”

Yup, he sprinkled that important bit of information into a joke. Then, he watched his little brother take a stumped step back, brow furrowing and unfurrowing and then furrowing again.

“Wha-, wife?”

Russell produced a popping sound with his lips like the noise of a bottle when the cork was pulled. Welp, this bottle was surely open now.

“Yup, got married in Thailand in 2011,” he added another helpful tidbit of information, but Colter’s jaw dislodged all the same.

“Alright, got this all figured out,” you said, sauntering back into the kitchen with a pastel pink towel wrapped around your head and a matching bathrobe. You’d just grabbed them from the dryer, the fluffy material still cozily warm. It was the best option, considering you didn’t want to mess around with your wig as well after popping the lenses back in had already cost you most of your patience. In your little bubble of bliss, you hadn’t instantly noticed the brothers staring at you. But once you did, your brows morphed into a frown. “What’s going on?”

“You two are married?” Colter asked, a pointed finger flicking from Russell to you.

You threw your arms up, looking at your husband. “I was gone for five minutes! What happened to telling him after the operation?”

Russell offered you a sheepish shrug. “Well, this old soldier’s getting weak too, apparently.”

“He said it like a joke…” Colter mumbled, still in the middle of processing this new revelation. His older, estranged-but-now-less-strange brother had a wife. A family. Friends. And he knew none of it. What else was there? Kids?

“Yeah, he does that...” You shot your husband a scolding sideways look. “Should I leave you two alone for this?” you then offered, hoping the answer was a goddamn yes.

“Why would you? You’re family, right?” Colter retorted with a dry smile and a sharp look.

You pursed your lips. While you could see some similarities between the brothers, you took note of one big difference: Russell wasn’t as sarcastic and sharp-tongued. Probably because Russell had always been more concerned with what he should, would, or could share with people in an overthinking loop, while his younger brother seemed obviously free of that burden.

“Don’t take it out on her,” Russell stepped in gently, which really was a warning. “She didn’t know about any of this. Kinda pushed her into it.”

“Seems to be your style,” Colter scoffed.

“Can’t work for the CIA without going through a baptism of fire, little brother,” Russell said simply, giving an unapologetic shrug of his shoulders.

“Why would you not tell me?” Colter stared at him, his look a mix of reproach and agitation.

“Look, you weren’t exactly welcoming during our first meeting,” Russell argued with a bit of bark in his deep voice, although confrontation was probably not the best approach. But why should he always have to take the blame for everything? He’d already done that for more than two decades.

“That was months ago,” Colter countered, scowling. “I’d like to think I’ve come around since then… Coulda told me after we saved Doug.”

Russell let out a small sigh of defeat, rolling his eyes back slightly. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “No, yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry, man, alright?” he apologized earnestly.

With a questioning brow, you carefully nudged your husband’s arm. “What happened to Doug? Is he alright?”

“Yeah, uh, he went to work for Horizon with me. I’ll tell you later, okay?” Russell replied, his voice a lot quieter as if sharing a secret, and if Horizon was involved he probably was.

“Is Tracy okay?”

“She’s fine. Little shook up. You should probably give her a call. Smooth things out,” Russell told you.

Tracy thought you worked in marketing at some company for the government. Whenever you, Russell, and Doug were stuck on a mission, the boys made you call her to “smooth things out” – aka reassuring her everything was certainly fine with her husband and he wasn't in any danger at all. They’d once made you call her from a Black Hawk. The noise had been fun to explain away – you’d told her you were picking up a client from a helicopter pad.

Colter chewed on the insides of his cheeks. “So she knows Doug, too?”

Russell nodded. “Yeah, me and Doug were mostly Delta, but SAD liked to borrow us from time to time. We ran in her team for quite a while. She was actually the one who recruited me.”

At his little wink your way, you smiled. He’d come along way from the sweet boy you had once teased like a special-forces-trained kindergartner.

“Listen, things were obviously a little complicated between me and her the last few years,” Russell (under)stated. “But I’ve brought you here for a reason, okay? Figured it’s time you meet your sister-in-law.”

Eyes drifting from you to Russell, Colter pursed his lips – a tell he shared with his brother.

“Are you mad? I can’t tell.” Frowning, Russell tilted his head.

“No,” you absentmindedly replied for Colter, who gave you a curious look but steered his attention back to Russell.

“No,” the younger Shaw repeated your assumption. “I mean, not more than I was before, you know?”

Russell’s creases only deepened. “No, I don’t know.”

“He means he’s indifferent about knowing or not knowing we’re married because he’s already pissed about not knowing about my existence in general,” you explained.

“Ah. Your nerd is showing, sweetheart,” Russell teased you with a smile that made your heart melt.

“Dory would like her,” Colter commented like the thought had just popped into his head – something else he didn’t share with his brother.

You’d always wondered about the youngest Shaw of the three. Russell could never tell you much about Dory. His memory had been one of a smart and feisty nine-year-old, not a young woman and physics professor.

Thumbing at you, Russell cocked a brow at his brother. “Is she right, though?”

“Spot on, actually.” Colter’s tongue poked his cheek, his gaze flickering with a hint of astonishment and new-found respect for you. “And I guess I’m not really mad either way. Just… surprising, you know? I should’ve asked. That’s on me.”

Russell seemed more than a little baffled to hear this, considering he had to pause to find an appropriate response. “No, uh, we’re good. I could’ve just told you, anyways.”

“Yeah, no, that’s alright.” Colter swallowed, sending his older brother a smile of forgiveness. “Honestly, I was glad to hear you weren’t alone all this time, so…”

Russell’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he pushed down the lump in his throat. With a nod, he averted his green eyes to the kitchen floor. “Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”

“Aw, aren’t you guys adorable,” you teased.

Colter wanted to retort something dry-witted, but Russell held up a warning finger. “Ah – wait for it… Trust me. She’s not done.”

“You girls need tissues or a tampon, maybe?”

“Oh, Dory would definitely like her,” Colter repeated his earlier statement with an amused grin.

Russell, on the other hand, shot you a pointed look, but that had barely ever stopped you before. “Okay, you can lay down. You don’t have to give him the initiation. No hazing my little brother,” he ordered you sternly, and you stifled a snort. “And no one better kidnaps him tonight and puts a bag over his head, alright? I don’t wanna pick him up beaten and bloody from some warehouse tomorrow morning.”

“Hm, what?” Colter’s brow furrowed. For the first time, you could see slight panic spread in his pupils.

Who was hazing who now?

You rolled your eyes in feigned annoyance. “Fine, we’ll leave him alone,” you acted your capitulation.

The younger Shaw blinked at you. “Thank you?”

“Should we at least tell him about the other thing while we’re at it?” you asked Russell with a suggestive look.

Thoughtfully, he paused for a beat, then clicked his tongue. “No, I got it from here. It’s getting late. We’ve been here long enough,” he decided. “This is less becoming a friendly ‘welcome-to -the-neighborhood’ dinner and more starting to look like an orgy to the neighbors. Especially since you’ve put on the robe.”

“It just came from the dryer. Look, it’s so soft and warm,” you argued, pouting, your palms caressing the fluffy material on your arms.

“Uh-huh.”

The little bob of his Adam’s apple made you grin slyly. The way his jaw ticked and his pupils widened with a primal hunger, you could tell he wanted to tear that robe right off of you. The thought caused a shudder to run down your spine.

“What, uh, other thing do you have to tell me?” Colter asked and smiled expectantly, tapping his fingers on the the counter.

Russell, however, grabbed his arm and dragged his curious little brother toward the exit. “I’ll tell you in the car,” he said and thumbed to the front door behind his shoulder. “Wait outside. Gimme five minutes, alright?”

Wordlessly, Colter nodded without argument, gave you a quick goodbye-wave of his hand, and strolled leisurely back to his car as if he knew exactly what his older brother intended to do.

As expected, Russell impatiently conquered your lips, roughly pressing you against the foyer’s wall, your arms draping around his neck.

“What’s the bedroom situation in this place?” he asked between kisses.

“First floor, west side, third window from the right. I’ll leave it unlatched,” you replied, smiling against his lips. “Tom’s always sleeping on the couch. Part of our cover is going to marriage counseling with Pastor Jeff, which happens to work out great for us.”

You exhaled a shuddered breath when one of his hands wandered past the robe and splayed warm against your ribcage, just underneath your breast. His thumb fought an itch to get closer.

“Wouldn’t do that, baby,” you murmured into his ear with an amused smirk. “That boner’s not gonna go away in five minutes.”

“Mmm, I know,” he groaned and dropped his head between your boobs, lips pressing a chaste kiss to your collarbone. If he continued on with this, your arousal would surely streak down your bare thighs soon. Luckily, he had mercy on the both of you. “I’ll talk to him and then come back, okay?”

You nodded with a smile. He kissed your lips, then your forehead, and then disappeared through the door with the same cometary velocity he had entered your vision.

And all you could do was hope you’d see him one more time in your life.

“So?”

4.3 seconds after Colter killed the engine of his pickup in a spot a block away to the west side of your house – as per Russell’s very specific instruction – he stared scrutinizingly at his older brother.

Impatience was also a family trait – one even their father had despised.

“Look, uhm, there’s no easy way to break the news…”

“Is this about you having two kids?”

When Russell’s eyes met Colter’s, he didn’t recognize any anger, hurt or resentment in them – just pure slyness. At least that was good news. His little brother was just going to be annoying about this whole thing.

“Yeah, remember those five minutes you left me alone in the car? I called Bobby. Had him check some things out for me. Wasn’t easy to find. I’ll give you that…”

As expected, Colter was going to be a smartass about it. He figured it out on his own. He won the game.

“Hmm.” Russell pursed his lips, nodding. “You do know the CIA is on your guy’s ass now, right? Shouldn’t have done it in their perimeter, man. Manny’s probably all over this by now…”

Then his brow knit as if the thought of his old friend had provoked an idea, his head tilting with narrowed eyes at the air vents on the dashboard. How long had that car been parked outside and out of sight again?

Like a game of Operation, Russell then used thumb and pointer finger as his tweezers to retrieve a tiny bug – the spy kind.

“Gotcha,” Russell muttered, smirking. He then held the bug close to the speakers of the radio before turning up the volume to its highest setting – only for a second. He switched the radio off, rolled down the window, and threw the unwanted listening device onto the pavement. “That should teach ‘em a lesson…”

Colter cocked an incredulous brow at his brother. “They bugged my car?”

“Oh, trust me, they bug anything they can get their greedy little hands on,” Russell retorted. “Would probably check for a tracker underneath, too.”

“Great, thanks,” Colter huffed wryly.

“Hey, you wanted in. That’s what they do,” Russell reminded him, shrugging, but there was a smile of amusement on his lips.

Colter only bobbed his head. “So, you and her? You guys are good now? Just like that? Seemed… easy. Sorta…”

Russell chuckled lightly, brushing a hand through his beard. He knew his relationship with you was unconventional, but it had always worked for you and him.

“Me and Y/N have a deal, you know? It’s not all black and white. I mean, we became aware a long time ago that the two of us operate in a lot of gray zones. But, uh, we always know we can rely on each other, you know? Doesn’t matter if we’ve been separated by time or space,” Russell explained to the best of his abilities.

“So what happened?” Colter prompted with the same amount of confusion. “Why did you guys split up? I saw on the birth certificate your daughter was only two years old. I mean, did you-… did you even know?”

Russell inhaled deeply, nodding. “I knew she was pregnant. When she told me back then, I-…” He paused, licking his lips. It wasn’t something he had ever talked about with anyone before – not even you. “Well, shortly after that, I had a breakdown and I-… I almost hurt her.” He choked on the words, fighting the sting in his eyes.

He’d tried so hard to forget, wasn’t even sure he had ever really apologized for it to you because he so badly didn’t want it to exist that he’d tried to wish it out of literal existence, and hence, never really blamed you for leaving like you did. He understood. In fact, he had even wished you’d leave. He had convinced himself you’d be better off without him – something he still believed to be true – but he also knew he wasn’t better off without you.

He’d been lost and alone. And maybe, he was being selfish by crashing back into your life now. Or Dory’s. And Colter’s.

“I mean, nothing ever really bad happened. It’s just-… That night I came scarily close,” Russell confessed, swallowing thickly. He still hated himself for that night and everything that followed. “It’s like a switch flipped, you know? I couldn’t do anything against it… And Lewis saw parts of it, and I was already impatient with him and short with her the weeks before, so I just left that night and disappeared for two months. Volunteered for some mission. Figured it was best for everybody.”

It’s better off if he never comes back…

Russell licked his chapped lips. The next part was the hardest.

“When I got back, she told me she got a job offer in another country, and that she would be taking it and taking Lewis with her. She wanted me to use the time to… I don’t know… solve this, I guess.” He let out a humorless scoff at the painful memory.

Russell hadn’t seen it at first, maybe because he hadn’t wanted to, his anger and pain blurring the truth. After his son had been born, Russell knew you could see him struggling, so you started digging deeper into his family and what really happened. And when you’d found something – Horizon – you’d told him you could infiltrate. Naturally, Russell had passed a hard no – it had been a five-hour long fight, but he'd emerged victoriously by the end. So, you’d told him he should do it, but he didn’t want to leave you, and he didn’t want to endanger and jeopardize his family.

He’d told he was fine, but he wasn’t. It kept gnawing on him – and gnawing and gnawing and gnawing… till you eventually pulled the plug and ended his suffering.

“I was exhausted, so I told her we’d talk about it in the morning. When I woke up, they were gone. Didn’t even notice she’d already packed.”

Colter was silent for a beat. “Was it PTSD or something?”

“Or somethin’,” replied Russell.

“But you’re good now?” Colter checked with a warily raised brow.

“Guess so…”

Truthfully, Russell didn’t know if he was or wasn’t. He’d tried hard to figure out what it was exactly that had set him off that night and fix it, but he didn’t know if that feeling would ever disappear for good. He just knew he had never felt that way again since then. But could he guarantee it would never come back?

He didn’t know.

“Look, all I know is, seeing you and Dory again helped, so…” Russell twitched his shoulders and sighed. He didn’t know what else to say, how to explain it better, but Colter seemed to understand anyway, reading between the lines.

Russell worried he’d be like their father.

“I think I get it.” The younger Shaw nodded and licked his lips. “You know, you’re not crazy like Dad was, Russ. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re crazy in your own way, but I wouldn’t worry about the other stuff.”

“Well, thanks,” Russell said, not convinced but appreciative of the vote of confidence. “Makes at least one of us…”

“I-, uh, I noticed their names,” Colter then said and clarified, “Lewis and Amelia. Like explorers. Like us.”

“Ah.” Russell smacked his lips and brushed it off, “Wasn’t really my idea. I told Y/N that story once. Guess she took a liking to it..”

“Are you, you know, gonna tell Mom?”

Russell was almost surprised by the question. The brothers had barely talked about their mother since they’d reconnected. Considering Colter had never brought her up again after their first meeting, Russell figured there was a reason for that – and he thought he probably knew the reason, too.

Russell scoffed a chuckle and looked at his little brother with an almost incredulous look. “I think you can guess the answer to that one,” he replied and figured it said enough. “Did you tell her I came back?”

Colter pursed his lips, and Russell took it as a sign of admission. So his mother knew. Great…

“Sorta,” Colter admitted hesitantly.

“What d’she say?” Russell almost smiled out of amusement. He already knew the answer, but his brother still seemed reluctant. “C’mon, you can tell me. I’m not gonna be butthurt after twenty years…”

“She told me to ignore you,” Colter finally confessed, but the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. They had ever since his mother said them, but even more so now that he knew his brother – and parts of the truth.

“Hmm,” Russell hummed with tight lips and ground his jaw.

Granted, the confession stung more than Russell would ever be willing to admit. The tiny, naive part inside of him had constructed a hopeless fantasy of his mother having a sudden change of heart over the last two decades and happily welcoming her firstborn back. Apparently, not a thing had changed, though, and he cursed himself for feeling disheartened.

“But I actually haven’t talked to her in a while now,” Colter added with a small shrug, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Huh, really?”

“Yeah, uh, and when I did, I didn’t exactly tell her I didn’t take her advice, you know? So…”

“Why not?” Russell’s brow furrowed a little more as he analyzed each word, simultaneously realizing why he had been so reluctant to share his life with Colter before – his subconscious had been afraid his alienated little brother would report back to the mothership.

Colter’s lips pursed. “Because I disagree.”

“Ah.”

Colter chewed on his lower lip. “Look, I know you and Dory wanna keep all of this in the past and play family – and trust me, I want that too,” he assured, but his heart was beating fast in his chest. “But I need to know, man. I need to know why she lied about this for twenty years and, you know, did all of this,” he insisted, and yet, Russell could tell he wasn’t done. He might have broken the dam. “She did it to you. I mean, aren’t you mad?”

“Of course I’m mad,” the older Shaw admitted, but there was no fire behind his words.

“Then why are you so calm?”

Amused, Russell chuckled, shrugging. “Probably ‘cause I’ve been dealing with this a lot longer than you, little brother.”

“So, what are we gonna do now?”

“We ain’t gonna do anything,” Russell clarified, his voice stern. He’d die to protect his family, you and the kids, and do anything in his power to keep you out of it, but Colter was a grown-up – a free agent. If he didn’t want to listen, Russell couldn’t force him. “Look, you wanna find out, you go find out. And if you do find something and need help, you call. But I can’t be involved in this,” he explained, his firm expression morphing into something more vulnerable and sincere. “And frankly, I don’t care that much. You, me, Dory, Y/N, the kids – that’s all that matters, trust me. You’re not gonna feel better or more… whole after finding those answers.”

“How do you know? Do you know what really happened?” Colter instantly asked, and Russell knew in that moment, it’d be hopeless. His brother wouldn’t stop till he found it – forever restless.

“No, I told you. I don’t,” Russell repeated, and while he didn’t know everything, he omitted that he knew something.

“What about Y/N?”

Russell froze at the bare mention of your name, his protective instincts kicking in. “Leave her out of this,” he all but snarled.

But Colter didn’t think about stopping. “Did you ever ask her? I mean, she’s CIA. She could probably find out something, right?”

“Yeah, I asked her once, alright? Was a long time ago,” Russell admitted, sighing. The intended lie would stick better if there was some truth to it – you had taught him that.

“C’mon, Russ… And?” Colter impatiently threw his arms up, brow raising higher and higher as he waited for an answer.

“She never found anything,” Russell said with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

This time, it wasn’t just an omission. It was a blatant lie.

“I think whatever Dad was involved in – or both of ‘em – was just some activist shit. I don’t think the government cares.” Lie. “We both know he had a mental thing. Paranoid, probably schizophrenic… I mean, Mom used to pump him full of meds sometimes when he got too out of hand.” Truth. He then stole a glance at his little brother and saw the confusion shimmering on his face. Russell scoffed. “You didn’t know that, did you?”

Quietly, Colter shook his head.

“Well, you were a kid,” Russell said and hoped it would curb the blow slightly, although he knew better than that. “He always took something as far back as I can remember. She used to prepare his pills every evening after you and Dory went to bed. But when we moved to the cabin, he started refusing to take them. Said they made him ‘not clear-headed enough.’ Kinda ironic,” he shared and snorted. “When it got too bad, though, she’d still crush ‘em into his food.”

Colter took everything in with a nod but didn’t say anything more.

“You good over there?” Russell checked after a full minute had passed.

“Yeah,” Colter said and even tried to form a reassuring smile before the attempt failed. Instead, he swallowed. “Just a lot, you know? I didn’t know. I mean, I had some idea, but not-… not that.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Russell said, his voice almost a whisper in the silence of the night. “Like I said, you were a kid…”

When Russell finally left the car to sneak back to you, his shoulders felt a little lighter and his heart a little calmer. He might just float through that unlatched window tonight.

The bad news was, though, he might not be able to retire just yet.

Part 5: This Is a Start – FEBRUARY 7

Honestly, I should've called this chapter "Heart-to-Heart Part II" 😂 I'll see you for the finale next week, but as you know, it's not the end for them – only just the beginning 😉

☕️ Ko-Fi 🩵 Tag List

TAGS:

Forevers: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus @jessjad

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@thebiggerbear @star-yawnznn @thej2report

Series: @deansimpalababy @koalamama @inknopewetrust @never-here1992

#the exit strategy #russell shaw #russell shaw x reader #russell shaw x you #russell shaw x female reader #russell shaw x fem!reader #russell shaw fanfiction #russell shaw fic #russell shaw imagine #colter shaw #tracker #tracker cbs #jensen ackles #justin hartley #jensen ackles fanfiction

41 notes · View notes

gamerwoman3d · 1 year ago

Text

◜I Need Attention◞

▸ includes: sub-zero [mk1 versions] ◂

Reminder: You CAN use my Mortal Kombat 1 footage for your fanworks! [Icons, fanart, whatever is legal.]

SUB-ZERO

I don't imagine him watching TV often, but when he does it's probably work related. I imagine him watching MMA tournaments and studying other martial arts matches/competitions that happen in parts of the world he can't get to. And I imagine when he's watching a live match, nothing can tear his focus off the combatants. But for a ready lady lover who needs attention, I imagine he would multitask like this -

[Spicy/Explicit after the cut 🔞]

Maybe it's late and you're already in bed together. You can't dictate the schedules of tournaments on the other side of the planet so who knows what time he wakes himself to turn on the TV. Maybe the groans and shouts of the competitors plays softly from the speakers, invading your subconscious before waking you. Or perhaps he has headphones, but reflexively hisses and groans out an "ooh" or "ouch" in sympathy for a wounded contestant. Maybe the audio that awakens you is a mixture of fighter groans and Bi-han's muttering, "should guard your left... your other left, idiot. Mmmm you got lucky."

Either way, imagine waking naked beneath a blanket to the vision of him sitting up in bed, the light of the TV casting a glow over his naked torso. Imagine you get to purr and touch him. Maybe you plant little kisses on his side and tell him you were dreaming about him. Maybe he glances at you and murmurs an apology for waking you from your dream as he pets your hair and draws you against him before he returns his focus to the match.

His hand probably feels good in your hair. He probably smells good and sounds good when he asks about your dream. You see him still focused on the match. You tell him he was licking you in your dream. He grunts absently. You nip him and he doesn't break his gaze from the TV.

But you need attention.

You're horny, you tell him. He tells you there are only a few fights left. Whatever, you're horny and you're horny right now. You tell him you want to masturbate if he's not going to play. You ask if that's okay. He thinks about it a second and says it's fine. Turn up the volume, you tell him.

You play with yourself. Tickling your clit feels better when he's next to you, even if he's not paying attention. He hears you whimper. He turns his head an inch towards you with his eyes locked on the screen. As soon as he can safely spare a glance your way, he looks down at your hand on your pussy for a fraction of a second. His own hand darts down, covers yours. He feels how you play with yourself, then pushes your hand out of the way and takes over. You hold his arm with your wet hand and bury your face in his side, panting. You work your hips and press your clit into his fingertips.

His little strokes are steady, and on the mark. It feels good. Over time it feels better and there can be sudden washes of sensitivity and pleasure in which you find yourself, not cumming, but worked up enough that you're shuddering and whimpering louder - but the second your voice breaks into anything louder than a whisper, the second you sob, his fingers hesitate on you and he peeks at your face. He slows down, goes lighter, selfishly saving you for himself for the end of the match.

The edging can blind you and you can beg him to do it harder or wait patiently for someone to win the fight, content in his arms, content with his steady strokes on your wet, swollen clit. You're too blissed out to know what's happening in the fight or how long you have to wait. You assume you have to wait longer and are surprised by the intensity of the sudden unexpected kiss.

He practically dives on top of you and starts to curl your legs up around him. Did the fights end, you wonder aloud. He tells you it was a quick KO and not to worry about the fight, he knows its over.

All of his attention is on you, as if all of his attention was on your soaking wet, slick pussy the entire time. As if he couldn't wait to cum inside. As if he couldn't wait to make you tell him all about your little wet dream of him while he slides his slick cock back and forth over your swollen clit to lubricate himself in your juices. As if he didn't just edge you so much that you can no longer respond to him in complete sentences without moaning incoherent pleas for him to rail you. You lift your pussy, press the lips against his balls, and let the pink winking folds speak on your behalf, begging him for a mercy that he cannot resist granting you.

[Need more MK1 smut? Check the pin 📌]

304 notes · View notes

brain-rot-central · 20 days ago

Text

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch 11

A/N: Hi I wrote way too much for the next chapter so I split it in two, lul. We get a little spicy in this one, but the big sex coming next ch I promise. It's already written; just have to revise!

As always, if you're still here, thank you so much. If you're new here, welcome to my hurt/comfort fic. Grab your tissues, your stuffies; whatever your emotional support method is. This fic is a ride. Happy to have you!

Rating: Explicit Word count: 4.4k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Durge (named Tav, mortal) Warnings: 18+, sexy time, descriptions of gore, references to blood drinking, liiiiight love triangle inference, pregnancy, their relationship is a mess but they love one another. It's an AA fic; idk what else to say lmao Summary: After an evening of vulnerability, passion flare hot. An unexpected interruption leads to a disconcerting understanding. However, Astarion and Tav refuse to let this possible new revelation ruin their evening.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3 ♥ Playlist

They’re barely past the threshold before Astarion swings them around. Tav’s back collides with the wall adjacent to the door with a hard thud; Astarion is on her seconds later. He wastes little time jamming a thigh between her legs, brushing his knee against her sex. A soft moan escapes her as she clings to his shoulders.

“Up–stairs– Astarion–” Tav struggles to say between short breaths. It’s a poor attempt at getting Astarion back on track. Beseeching him to return some caution to where it’s rapidly fading to the wind. Astarion's hand is then on her hip, encouraging her to rock back and forth on the expanse of his leg, his other hand wound tight within her hair.

Soft whines pour like rich wine from her mouth when Astarion flexes his thigh, creating a rigid surface of friction. Sparks shoot from the apex of her thighs and throughout her core, nearly knocking the wind clean out of her lungs. Tav feels herself clench as her hips begin to rock of their own accord, chasing more and more of the salacious pressure between her thighs.

“I believe I'm having a change of heart,” he growls against her ear. The vampire lord then dips his head into the crook of Tav’s neck, kissing languidly over his mark. “How am I ever expected to deny temptation when it calls my name so sweetly?”

The hall is quiet enough that Tav can only assume dinner service is winding down. Her moans reverberate against the high ceilings of the marble hall, every tiny gasp amplified. The candelabras have burned down to a faint glow; the corner Astarion has pushed them into is thoroughly blanketed in shadow. They wouldn't be caught immediately, should someone walk by. Yet the risk still exists.

“We're exposed, Astarion,” argues Tav, grabbing handfuls of the vampire's hair. It’s a farce, more than anything else; the thought delights her more than she cares to admit. Astarion so desperate for her that he hoists her legs over his hips, pulls her smallclothes to the side and slides himself home, down to the hilt. Tav moans, loud and wanton, as she continues riding his thigh.

She struggles to keep her eyes open as the edges of her vision draw closer together. From the corner of her eye, blinkling tiredly, Tav catches a glimpse of the painting hanging on the wall. The one she saw when first stepping food in this manor, of the vampire and his prey. The vampire’s lifeless expression bores into her soul–she takes in the woman draped over his lap. She ponders what possibly transpired prior to that moment, trying her best not to draw comparisons between her current position.

A foul chill passes through her.

“Is that so bad?” teases Astarion, drawing her back to the present. He sucks at the flesh of her throat. “I’m the Lord of this manor, and I say we can rut wherever we damned-well please,” he growls, pulling her roughly against him.

Her head swims as she clings to him, arousal saturating her thoughts. Tav would allow him to take her here, she realizes. To fuck her against the wall, in clear view of anyone who dared to look. She'd allow them a view of how loudly her body cries out for him, the beautiful melody they both sing when joined.

“Oh, but I suppose you make a good point, love,” Astarion coos. His hand drifts to the outside of Tav’s thigh and he grips it tight, lifting it over his hip. “But that would involve us parting from our current position.” He grinds himself unabashedly against her center. “Is that what you really want?”

Tav whimpers at the thought of him peeling away from her. Losing the feeling of his body against hers. Tracing the outline of her body with his hands. Lips on hers, her neck, her breasts–him being everywhere but nowhere all at once. It's too much–she needs him now.

Desperately.

Tav snakes a hand between them, fishing for the button of Astarion's slacks. “Now,” she says, undoing his fastenings with lightning deftness. Deftness that he taught her. “If you have the gall to tease me like this, then you better take me now.”

She watches as his lips curl into a devious smile, showing just the slightest glint of a fang. “With pleasure,” Astarion purrs.

Rat bastard.

His cock springs free as she pulls him free from his underclothes. The heavy weight of him within her palm sends a ripple of pleasure throughout her body, heat coursing through her core. Tav wastes little time wrapping her hand around his shaft, giving a few experimental pumps. She delights in how Astarion growls low in his throat, giving her the encouragement she needs to plant soft, soothing kisses against the vampire’s lips, teasing his bottom lip between her teeth. Astarion reciprocates with starving enthusiasm while pulling moan after moan from her and into his mouth. He swallows them all greedily, as though nothing could ever quench his thirst for this. For her.

Pre-fluid weeps from the bulbous tip, aiding in the glide of her hand over his cock. “Tell me to stop and I will,” Astarion groans against her mouth. His cock twitches in her hand as she runs her thumb over his frenulum. Their eyes meet, lust sitting heavy within their shared exchange. Tav only nods her head and groans as she shuffles her small clothes enough to allow him entrance. He glides easily as she positions him between her folds. The rumble that erupts from deep within Astarion’s chest tells her just how slick she is–how much he longs to slip within her tight heat. “Tavaria…” he whines against her ear, nearly breathless. His tip teases at her entrance and she catches it, the head finally slipping in, giving way to a delicious burning stretch, and then–

“Well, I see we've skipped dinner and gone straight for dessert!”

The voice pierces through them like a shard of ice, freezing them solid. Tav clings to Astarion's shoulders out of instinct, but she feels the vampire tense beneath her. He pulls himself free of her, Tav whining softly at the loss, and he sneers over his shoulder at their unwelcome audience. Tav’s skirts fall to the floor and she drops her leg from his hip, Astarion stuffing himself back within the confines of his slacks with nimble skill.

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Your Grace?” Astarion hisses through clenched teeth, fastening his pants.

The duke chuckles behind them and crosses his arms over his chest. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure it’s in poor taste for the host to skip out during dinner service.” Wyll gives a wry smile, looking over Astarion’s shoulder. “Though, I clearly see why, now.”

“Oh? Did you miss me, darling?” A touch of sarcasm laces Astarion’s tone as he huffs a laugh, alongside impatience. “What is it you really want, Wyll?” Tav swears the tips of his fingers are sharpening into claws as he clenches his hands into tight fists. The turquoise gem of Astarion’s ring glints in the dim firelight of the hall.

“I'm searching for a certain soldier who possesses hair resembling a roaring campfire.” Wyll lifts his brow in question. “Have you seen her?”

Arousal still clouds her mind, though through the murkiness, Tav realizes that Wyll isn't immediately aware of her presence. She's unsure if that’s a good or bad thing–mostly because Wyll believes Astarion to have stolen away for a quick romp with some random person. Or, conversely, he doesn't believe Tav to be the type to allow herself to be taken in the middle of a dimly lit hallway. A sinking feeling overtakes her stomach with each thought.

Either way, neither theory bodes well for her.

Cautiously, with her heart nearly clamoring out of her throat, Tav pokes her head out from around Astarion's form. “I'm here, Your Grace,” she says, feeling the heat of the blush currently rising to her face. To her horror, Marceline, Oscar, and Lester stand behind Wyll, their eyebrows also raised in silent question. Gods above, she thinks, embarrassment flooding her. I really couldn't have waited a bit longer?

A few heartbeats of silence pass over them. Astarion scowls heavily as Wyll looks them over, turning now to meet the young duke. Wyll’s mouth opens and closes repeatedly, as though to say something, but no sound is ever produced. Oscar snickers, his cheeks still possessing the rosy color from his drinks earlier in the evening. Lester adverts his gaze, choosing to look over the decor along the walls. Respectful, as always. But it's the look Marceline gives her that tugs on Tav’s heart.

The two women have never discussed Astarion, nor Tav’s past involvement with him. Tav only ever spoke openly with Shadowheart about him, her having laid witness to the romance unfold during its infancy. But perhaps Marceline had known, somehow, that this deeper part of her existed. Maybe in the way she carried herself, or how she avoided looking upon expressions of affection between others. Perhaps it was enough to tell Marceline, quietly, that her heart had been broken once before. Almost irreparably so, and given the well-known fact that Astarion was a prior traveling companion, Tav knows without a shadow of a doubt that her colleague is actively putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

How foolish she likely seems to Marceline, having allowed the man who wrecked her so thoroughly back into her life. To still give him so much power, so much sway over her heart. To be carrying his child. Though, that’s something none of them are aware of.

Yet.

Tav lets out a heavy sigh. A wave of strong nausea rushes through her, prompting her to hold back the urge to empty her stomach onto the floor. Either that, or to perish within a moment’s notice. Anything to stop how mortified she feels at this moment.

“Ah,” Wyll muses, finally speaking. He clears his throat. “Well, I just wanted to wish you farewell.” His gaze shifts to Astarion, then back to Tav, mouth falling into a hard line. “I expect to see you tomorrow morning, bright and early.”

Tav nods softly. “Of course, Your Grace.” A barely audible sound rises from the back of Astarion's throat as she addresses Wyll, his nails nearly breaking skin as he tightens his fists.

Wyll gives a slight bow of his head. “Goodnight then, my friends,” he says in jest, “Don't stay up too late!”

As the entourage exits the manor through the foyer door, Tav realizes Wyll hadn't corrected her use of a formal greeting to him. She'd said it twice–twice–and he’d failed to invite her to use his name instead. Her stomach twists again.

The door clicks shut and Tav tears herself from Astarion's hold, drawing in a deep breath. “That wasn't good,” she says aloud, unsure if it's to herself or Astarion.

“Oh, please,” Astarion says from behind her, rather cooly given the situation, “he's upset because we're having the fun he only wishes he could have! I’m sure he'll get over it.”

Tav shakes her head, turning to face him. “I wouldn't be so sure about that, Astarion. This is different. He's…” She pauses as she chews at the inside of her mouth, thoughts flooding her mind. “He doesn't approve of us.”

The vampire laughs. “Of course he doesn't! So long as I’m involved,” Astarion places a hand over his chest, “I doubt he ever will.”

“Could have fooled me by tonight's performance. You looked a touch more friendly,” Tav says.

“What can I say? I know how to play the part of a dashing rogue all too well,” he answers, a lilt to his voice. Astarion then approaches her, lifting a hand to cup Tav’s chin. He lifts her face to meet his gaze. “But I can’t help but feel as though his disapproval bothers you,” Astarion ponders. His eyes are soft, contemplative, as he looks at her.

She sits with the thought for a minute before answering. “No, it doesn't bother me.” A half truth–she doesn’t need Wyll’s approval. “But it does concern me how I'm going to continue working with him as my superior.” She shakes her head as the questions rack her brain. “Will he continue to be fair, will he hold this against me, will he–”

“He's not going to do anything,” Astarion interrupts, gruffly. “Not to you, at least. He'll settle all of his grievances with me.”

Tav blinks as her mouth hangs agape. “You?” she asks. “But you're already working with him!”

“Indeed, but it seems as though our dear, sweet Wyllyam still possesses a few heartbeats that belong,” the hand on her chin lifts, Astarion tapping the tip of her nose gently with a finger, “to you.”

Tav rolls her eyes, turning away from him. “Oh, Astarion!” she laments, marching for the stairs. “He does not!” She clutches handfuls of her skirts as she begins her ascent. Astarion quickly follows behind her.

“Is it truly so hard to believe?” he calls after her in mock question.

Tav reaches the top of the stairs and whips around, glaring heavily at Astarion. He halts his approach, leaning a hand over the stair rail. “Were he to still possess feelings, Astarion, he would have used the time you and I spent apart to his advantage.” She tilts her head to one side and narrows her eyes. “Don't you think?”

The vampire scowls, mouth twisting into a hard line as he resumes following her up the stairs.. He stands tall over Tav upon reaching the top of the stairs. “No,” he growls, “I don't. Because the reality of the situation, my love, is that he was giving you space.”

She looks around, attempting to ascertain which direction Astarion’s bedroom is in. To the left is hers–she can only assume that it lay in the opposite direction. Her feet begin to carry her forward. “Space for what?” Tav inquires, slightly annoyed.

Before passing too far out of reach, Astarion extends a hand to grab her arm, halting her in place. “Tavaria…” His voice trails off into a whisper. “You don’t trust that I know longing when I see it?”

A heavy feeling settles within her chest, eyes drifting closed.

Perhaps Astarion is right–maybe Wyll's kindness hasn’t been simply out of the goodness of his heart. She knew of the duke's prior feelings for her, assuming that he put them aside when she chose a path with Astarion. Her mind races through their interactions over the last few months, down to the most minute of gestures: all of the smiles, the kind words, the gentle touches.

Wyll is no stranger to her state of being after her separation from Astarion. She may have not spoken with him about how she felt, but he'd kept his eye on her. Watched patiently from afar, always making sure he was available should she need him. Wyll has been ever the gentleman; he’s never insulted her, nor raised his voice at her. Calm, cool, and collected under the most intense of pressure, always an ear open to her lead, her suggestions. Never giving her anything less than the respect he believes she deserves.

But as Tav recalls their moments spent together, during their journey and beyond, she can now see so clearly the distinct gleam in his eyes when he holds her gaze. Hears the softness of his tone ringing in her ears, feel the ghost of his hand running delicately down the length of her arm…

A shiver runs down her back as she stares blankly at Astarion.

As much as she hates to admit it, Astarion has a point. Wyll was allowing her time to heal. Giving her heart the space to repair itself, even if to only swoop in once patched back together. He’d never gotten over her. No, quite the opposite, really. Wyll had simply hardened his heart, choosing to bide his time. Waiting for Astarion to slip up, for their love affair to end with finality, all for a chance to play hero. And now that they’ve chosen to rekindle their flame, Wyll is forced once again to grin and bear it.

And she didn’t see it. Rather, didn’t believe herself worthy of his affections. They’d met during a strange time–Tav hardly recalled anything about who she was. She’d awoken in an Illithid dreadnought, newly tadpoled, learning she had all but a handful of days before death came to claim her for good. And when that didn’t happen, each day brought her closer to reclaiming her identity. But not without a few bloody missteps.

And then, there was Wyll.

Precious Wyll–the son of Baldur Gate’s Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard. Bred and groomed to be the perfect aristocrat to assume his father’s title. Suave, polite; even his insults were kind, albeit backhanded. He is a stunning example of the type of man you bring home to your family for dinner. Perhaps not her family, but to just about anyone else’s. Why would he want to be tangled up with her? She craved blood, murder, gore. Death. She would sooner tear her hands through his abdomen, cracking open his ribcage, just to caress his spleen. To feel its curve along her fingertips. To remember the touch of the delicate blood vessels between her hands.

She would have killed him, all in the name of her Father. There’s no way to tell if she would have, but she’s sure she would have tried to on more than one occasion. Tav would have killed him and lain within the aftermath, sleeping as soundly as a newborn babe after a feeding.

She chose Astarion, in part, to spare Wyll that fate. She may have not realized it at the time, but she understands now. Astarion was already dead–she still craved to carve him from navel to neck, but she knew his heart was cold. The urge wasn’t as strong. Wyll was young, strong, and clean. Fresh. A perfect sacrifice for her Father.

Her heart sinks.

The love she holds for Astarion can be compared to none other she’s known throughout any point in her life. But the acknowledgment that she gave up an opportunity to be with Wyll out of self-doubt…is crushing.

There is, of course, the chance that Astarion’s concerns are merely playing into paranoid delusion, as he’s so prone to doing. Tav sighs, turning to face Astarion once more. She gives him a sullen expression as tears begin stinging at the corners of her eyes. But despite her hopeful optimism, the longer the thought sits with her, the clearer the image becomes. Astarion threads his fingers between hers, pulling her closer. Sobs bubble up within her chest, threatening to rupture.

“Oh, my sweet little love,” he whispers, inviting her into his chest. He wraps his arms around her waist, resting his head against hers. “Do you now see what’s been clear to me this entire time?”

She still isn't entirely convinced, holding out the smallest bit of hope that this is all one giant fallacy, though the thought alone is enough to upset her. Tav shakes her head in disagreement. “I’m still not sure,” she says, voice wavering. Foolish as it may be, a small part of her still wishes that Wyll's kindness is of his own merit. That it isn't as Astarion claims, that he doesn't wish for something in return.

For once, she wishes someone was good–kind–because they simply wanted to be. Without expecting something in return. Astarion speaks through the lens of his past, she knows. From being forced into a life where what he could give stood as a basis for his worth for over 200 years. And she knows he speaks out of an abundance of caution for her, not wanting to see her go through any semblance of the life he knew. To protect her.

“I just…hope this is different,” Tav admits, quietly.

“Ever the optimist,” Astarion comments, peeling himself from her. The smile he gives her is disingenuous; more for her sake than his. The reds of his irises shine in the dim light of the upper level. The sharpness of his face softens from the shadows cast over it; his skin takes on an amber glow.

He truly is the most beautiful man she’s ever seen. Man, creature, fiend–it matters not to her what he is. It never really did. His beauty is simply an added benefit. All she’s ever cared for is his heart and soul, and his willingness to share both with her. The song he sings simply for her and no one else. She wonders if she, too, sings for him? She wonders if he can hear it. Do they sing a gentle harmony together, or are they a harsh clashing of contrasting pitches?

Tav raises a hand to hold the side of Astarion’s face. She settles her gaze on his lips, lifting to his eyes as she says, “I really don't wish for this to ruin our night.”

This time, he smiles earnestly. Astarion whisks Tav into his arms, earning a surprised yelp. She wraps her arms around his neck. “Then let us continue.”

Once she's sure she isn't going to slip from his hold, Tav allows herself to rest her head against his shoulder. The tip of her nose rests within the crook of his neck and she breathes in. It's not as strong as earlier in the evening, but his cologne still lingers. She allows her eyes to trace along the small glimpse of his collar bone, up to the scars embedded in his neck. Warmth spreads throughout her, knowing an artery lay beneath those marks–thick and plentiful with life sustaining blood.

Had she fangs, she would have supped upon him by now. A small taste, just to rejuvenate her. He'd allow it, she thinks. Why wouldn't he? Slowly she begins to lose herself to the fantasy. Swapping their blood and saliva between kisses, back and forth, until they solidified a flavor purely their own. One that none could ever replicate.

A part of her fears she may be slipping too far into him. Like a small frog in a pot of water, unaware that it’s begun to boil. But gods how she longs for this–to be so thoroughly his. For him to be so entirely hers. The sun could melt, the world plunged into eternal darkness, but none of it would matter so long as they're together.

Is she truly wrong for that? Is that not what she deserves?

Her lips find the smooth skin of Astarion's neck at the same time he leans over to open the bedroom door. A rumble of appreciation rises from his chest as he brings them both into the room, closing the door behind him. He brings her to his bed, placing her gently down on the silken duvet cover, climbing on top. Red, Tav notices from the corner of her eye. She’s resistant to relinquishing her hold on him, fearful that if she does this will all slip through her fingers. Astarion dips his head into where her neck and shoulder meet and sucks; a thin sheet of golden linen makes up the canopy draped above them.

“Astarion,” groans Tav, hooking her legs around the small of his back. She feels his hands traveling down her sides, pulling up her dress. All at once, the fabric feels too tight around her. “Help me out of this thing,” she says, more of a demand than a question, forcing herself up onto her elbows.

The vampire is silent as he complies with her urgent request. As his hands undo the zipper to her dress, his mouth lavishes attention to the other side of her neck. He peels the dress off her shoulders, Tav groaning in frustration at the brief loss of contact between them, but Astarion is quickly back on her. She pulls her slip gown over her head and pushes the emerald dress further down and over her hips, kicking it off her legs. Astarion nudges it off the side of the bed before reclaiming his place fully between her legs.

“You’ve no idea how many nights I’ve spent imaging this,” he grounds out as he travels down her chest. Tav falls back gently on the bed as smooth lips plant kisses between the valley of her breasts. He closes his mouth over the stiffened peak of one breast, kneading the other within his hand. “To have you here, like this.” He lightly rolls her nipple between his index finger and thumb. “With me.”

A moan slips past her lips as she arches into his touch and Tav dares herself to look down, just as Astarion bites the tender flesh of her breast. Not hard enough to draw blood, but she still can feel the familiar sting of his fangs over her skin. Pleasure shoots straight to her core. How could she ever go back to a mortal man after this? They could bite her, sure, but nothing would ever compare the rush of anticipation before each of his bites, knowing they may or may not pierce her skin. Leaving yet another mark on her body; a statement that it was she who nourished him.

Their eyes meet as he releases her breast from his mouth, tongue flicking over the hardened nub. There’s a blush set high on his cheeks again, eyelids heavy over pools of crimson. She lifts a hand to his cheek, brushing her thumb over his face. It’s warm in her palm, and Astarion turns his head into the touch, kissing the inside of her hand. Her thumb brushes briefly over the plushness of his lips, and she’s overcome by one of her strangest urges yet.

She needs him under her. More than she’s ever needed something in her life.

“I’m considered the Lady of this manor, yes?” Tav says urgently, the question coming out more as a statement.

Astarion lifts his head, brows pulling together as he ponders. He nods his head slowly in agreement. “I do recall saying as such, yes.”

Tav tilts her head, running a hand through his hair as she smiles. “Well, your Lady has a request, m’lord.” She speaks lovingly to him, thoroughly enjoying the wide-toothed grin he gives her in response.

He chuckles; Tav catches a glimpse of white peaking just over his bottom lip. Astarion kisses her breast again as he says, “Oh? And how may I be of service, m’lady?”

She fills her lungs with uneven breaths, pushing herself up on her elbows again. Astarion pulls back to allow her room. Lightning races down her spine, but Tav manages to make eye contact as she states boldly, “I want you under me.”

#ascended astarion #sotlc #durgestarion #astarion x durge #astarion x female durge #my writing #bg3 fic #bg3 smut #pregnancy

47 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 10 months ago

Text

Muddled Waters 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, blood, violence,, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your boss has a dangerous secret.

Character: Nick Fowler (mob au)

Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved.

Your shift goes as usual. You make drinks to order and bring them out to the tables, or to set in the windows set into the walls of the private rooms. Those are for the more exclusive patrons, the ones who remain mostly faceless. The Sapphire is as close to a speakasy as you’d find in this century.

As you bring out a single scotch and place it on the ledge of the order window, a voice intone from the other side.

“Pardon me,” the English lilt wafts through, “your boss wouldn’t happen to be in house?”

You pull back your hand and consider the question. The customers in the rooms never talk to you. No thank yous, no pleases, no special orders. Those all come through the screen in the back which lists their demands; no olives, extra salt, double vodka...

“No, sir, I’m sorry, he’s not in,” you reply.

“Pity,” he remarks and a hand reaches to take the glass. “You will let him know I was here. In Room Four.”

“I’ll mention it. Would there be a name I should give him?”

“He will know,” he returns and footsteps scuff away from the window. Right.

You’re somewhat used to the cryptic. As nice as Nick can be, he isn’t always straightforward. The establishment does give you reason to bat an eye but for the most part, your pay stubs keep your gaze in the other direction.

You return to the kitchen and work at cleaning the used glasses brought by the singular busboy. You don’t know his name and he doesn’t talk. He always has earbuds in and only puts bins of dishes in the wash tray.

To say the operation is minimal is an understatement. Yet there is never more demand than you can meet. It makes you wonder how Nick breaks even with such a limited audience. Especially with the grade of ingredients he gets in. You never worked at a bar that didn’t water down their liquor now and again.

The night comes to an end and the lights dim as the bar closes up. The busboy clears the rooms and locks the front door. You leave the glasses in sparkling rows on the shelves and a bin of dishcloths to have washed the next day. You place away a few stray bottles then wipe down the counters.

“You’re here late,” Nick’s voice startles you and you hiss, looking up at him from the edge of your vision.

“Cleaning up,” you say and toss the cloth with the rest. “Just finishing now.”

“Mm,” he nods and hooks his thumbs in his belt loops, “you wouldn’t happen to have time to make me something, would ya? I’ll keep it simple.”

You withhold a sigh. Or maybe a yawn. Your eyes tingle and you shrug, “sure, what do you want?”

“Rye and coke,” he answers as he approaches the island and crosses his arms over the top, leaning on the stainless steel.

You swiftly gather everything you need and put together the simple drink. You set it before him and return all you disturbed back to its rightful place. You face him as he raises the glass and considers the dark elixir.

“Oh, er, someone asked for you,” you untie your apron and fold it over the bin meant for tomorrow’s laundry.

“Someone did? Was she pretty?” He winks.

You shake your head, “no. It was a man. He was in Room Four. That’s what he told me to tell you.”

“Room Four,” he repeats and puts the brim to his lips, taking a slow draw. His cheeks dimple before he pulls it away. “Noted.”

You nod at his strange reaction. Almost none at all. You check the time and drag your hands over your head.

“Well, I’m going to head home,” you say, “if that’s okay?”

“Quitting time,” he says coolly, his eyes stuck on the cabinet, a squiggle in his forehead. “Go on, get some sleep, sweetheart.”

“You too,” you shoot back. “Look like you need it.”

You pass him and he stands, turning to watch you, “hey, what does that mean?”

“Nothing, just... look tired.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he scoffs.

You go through to the backroom and grab your jacket and purse. It’s not really a strange night. A few out-of-the-ordinary occurrences, but nothing worrying. The man in Room Four and Nick’s late-night appearance; it’s not really a pattern.

You glance back at the kitchen door before you leave. You head out the back and walk down the next street. You approach your car parked by the curb, the rush hour jam keeping you from finding a closer spot. You take out your keys and they jangle loudly as your footsteps echo.

As you shove your keys into the slot, you’re suddenly taken off your feet, a blunt force jarring your wrist as your fingers catch in the keyring. You hit the ground with wheeze and roll across the stray pebbles as you hug your chest. You can’t breathe.

“Look, honey,” the British voice hisses through the night, “I didn’t wanna bring you into this but I needa send a message.” A figure straddles you on their knees, holding you down by your neck. “Not much, you’ll live...” you hear a metallic shing, “bit of blood is all.”

You feel a piercing pain just below your neck, right at the small dip of your collar bone. You cry out as the metal slices down your chest and easily through your shirt. Your skin parts with the fabric as you vibrate in agony.

“Get... off,” you cough out as you regain your breath. “Please...”

“Shh, honey,” he takes the knife away and smears his hand over your chest, your warm blood spreading under his rough palm, “I just want him to see you painted up nice for him.” He drags his hand over your face, the metallic scent staining your nose and lips. “Mm, you are a pretty thing, too.”

The man wiggles his hips lasciviously before he pushes himself off of you. He stands and you cover your ragged skin with your hands and whine, sobs rising from the pain hewn into your flesh. There’s a noise, something distant, maybe a door, and the man’s silhouette strolls off, whistling into the night.

Another set of footfalls approach you as you writhe on the ground. You don’t understand what happened. Why did that man do this to you? You can’t move. You can’t think. You just can’t.

The street light flickers as someone steps around the front of your car.

“Shit,” Nick rushes over and falls to his knees beside you, “shit, sweetheart, I shouldn’t have let you come out here alone. I shoulda knew...”

“Why?” You babble as your blood seeps between your fingers, “why, Nick?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and bawl. He slides his arms under you and lifts you as you exclaim. He hushes you as he holds you against his chest.

“It hurts,” you whimper.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he rasps, “I got you.”

#nick fowler #dark nick fowler #dark!nick fowler #nick fowler x reader #the 355 #muddled waters #drabble #au #sweet and spicy #series

115 notes · View notes

bifuriouswaterbender · 2 years ago

Text

Are You From Tennessee?

Written for my @eddiemunsonbingo prompt B1: Bad Pickup Lines. 828 words. Rated T. Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson with no archive warnings.

Steve sat at the bar with an old fashioned cupped in his hands as he chatted with the bartender. It was a pretty average night, and he felt content in that normalcy.

As a presence fell over him, Steve didn’t bother to look up. He stayed where he was as a pair of arms rested against the bar on either side of him. The bartender looked curiously but didn’t intervene.

“Hey baby, come here often?”

Steve’s spine stiffened, and now the bartender stood up straighter as he prepared to intervene from Steve’s body language. Before he could, though, Steve turned around to face the man directly.

Eddie’s wide eyes looked back at him as Steve snapped, “Nope, not good enough. Try again.”

Eddie took a single step back and Steve nodded, gesturing to shoo him away. “Restart. I’m worth a little more creativity, yeah?”

Barking out a laugh, Eddie nodded. He didn’t say anything further as he headed back toward the bathrooms.

The bartender went a little bug-eyed as he watched Eddie go. “Should I ask?”

Steve shrugged. “Just a little game we play. That’s my husband.”

His expression softened. “Should I keep an ear out for what he says when he comes back?”

Steve chuckled with a nod. “Absolutely. He’s normally pretty ingenious, and I’m a little offended by the laziness of that one.”

His drink was almost gone when he felt Eddie’s return. This time he leaned against the bar next to Steve, tilting his head and letting his hair fall in a way he knew drove Steve crazy.

“You must be a parking ticket,” Eddie said.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Steve leaned toward him. He couldn’t help it.

Eddie grinned. “You’ve got fine written all over you.”

The bartender snorted. Eddie glanced at him curiously, but Steve never looked away from Eddie. Normally he played pretend here, but Eddie had set him up so well with one Steve had been waiting to use.

“That must make you a library card,” he said, and Eddie’s face opened up in delight. “Because all I want to do is check you out.”

“You’re really drawing me in over here.” Eddie reached out to run his finger over the back of Steve’s hand. “You must be an artist or something.”

Steve hummed, thinking quickly. If they were trading back and forth, he definitely wanted to keep going. “That hand of yours looks heavy. Can I hold it for you?”

Eddie laughed as he slipped his fingers between Steve’s. “Oh, your skin’s burning up. Must be because you’re so hot.”

Steve ducked his head, letting his forehead rest on Eddie’s shoulder to hide his grin and give himself time to think. Did he have any guitar jokes ready? No, but there was one about strings that had made him laugh. How did it go?

“You must be a puppeteer,” Steve said as he sat back up. “You seem like you’d be really good at pulling my strings.”

Eddie chuckled as he leaned in to press a slow kiss to Steve’s lips. As he pulled away, he added, “Life without you would be like a broken pencil.”

“Pointless.” Steve had seen this one before. Maybe they were looking at the same lists.

Eddie pouted a little at having his punchline stolen, but another kiss quickly put a smile back on his face.

They both looked up as a set of glasses slid in front of them. The bartender winked. “On the house after that little display.”

Steve laughed, squeezing Eddie’s hand even as his husband looked confused but along for the ride. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

They chatted as the two of them sipped their way through their drinks. By the time they’d finished, Steve had to stifle a yawn. He didn’t have the stamina to stay out late like he used to.

Eddie noticed. Of course he did. With a sly smile, he leaned over and tapped Steve’s nose. “Ready to head home?”

Steve made a face. “You don’t have anything more spicy to ask with.”

Eddie winked and leaned in close to speak quietly in Steve’s ear. “Are you an elevator? I’d be happy to go up and down all night.”

Steve couldn’t help the snort that left his mouth, even as he tried to cover it.

Eddie grinned. “Well if you like that one…” He pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek before adding, “I’ve got a vitamin D deficiency. Think you have something that could save me?”

Steve groaned, letting his head fall onto Eddie’s shoulder. “That was bad, even for you.”

Eddie laughed and tossed a couple bills on the bartop before sliding off his stool. His arm slid around Steve’s face. “Still willing to go home with me after that?”

With a heavy sigh, Steve nestled into his side as they started walking. “Someone has to keep you in line.”

Eddie hummed in acknowledgement. “That’s what I love about you. With you, I don’t need any lines.”

[AO3 link]

#steddie #steddie fanfic #st fanfic #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #my fanfic

320 notes · View notes

acourtofmenandthirst · 2 years ago

Text

Closed Until Further Notice

Oh my god this was WAY longer than anticipated and I wasn't planning on making it like spicy, but it's been a while so I threw some at the very end ;) this is Eris x Cafe Owner ! Reader / trope, it was very cute so I hope I captured the idea well enough for the anon who requested it!

Word Count: 10.3K

Warnings: Cursing, Smut

Eris wouldn’t say he frequented the small towns scattered throughout the Autumn Courts, nothing more than a yearly visit or two, normally just for an inspection called upon by his father. He usually came on horseback, flanked by his soldiers in their shining armor, and strolled through the town for a quick survey. He nodded politely, quick to make his way through the town without disturbing any of the residents. No matter how nice he was, how civil and respectful he was, they still cowered from him - hid in their homes and shut their shop doors when he passed through.

But there was one town, nestled just past the forest in the valley of the mountains right before the Winter Court, that Eris took his time visiting. That’s exactly what it was, in fact: a visit, not an inspection - no surveillance, no prying. He traveled there alone, winnowing to the outskirts of the village, taking his time walking down the main street. Stores and homes littered the dirt road, nearly frozen solid from the Winter wind that blew across the border; he walked along the stone sidewalk, past the brick houses and the shops built up from the redwood trees.

At the center of the town stood the bakery, a hand painted sign that spelled it out in fine script. The chalkboard was propped open on the walkway, the specials written in swirly cursive. Eris bit the inside of his cheek to hide the smile that crawled up his lips, eyeing the Topfenstrudel you’d written no doubt early this morning - probably before he’d even woken up. You’d listed a few teas below it, fruit sauces, and spices to pair it with.

Eris wouldn’t admit to it, but he’d patroned it more than the other little towns. It started once a year, just like everywhere else, but turned quarterly - monthly, even - after he visited your bakery. Small and tucked away, next to a butcher’s shop on one side and a bookstore on the other, your cafe was lined with tables and plush chairs, golden faelights and fresh flowers strewn across the space.

He slipped through the door quickly, trying not to let out the heat from the small fire in the hearth beside the counter. “Good morning,” you called from the back kitchen, not visible from the doorway. “I’ll be with you in a minute!” Eris hummed in response, throwing a tiny ring of fire at the dimming flame. He noted the heat immediately, a welcome shiver down his spine at the feeling. He shook off the cold, shoving his hands in his pockets and pacing a few steps around the cafe.

He had half a mind to bring you flowers this time - though, he’d been telling himself that the past three visits. His mother had clipped some hydrangeas from her garden, had them laid out along the long table in her drawing room. He should have just swiped a few, winnowed out before she would even notice, but he thought against it, didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or think he was trying something.

Not that he wasn’t, necessarily - he should - gods, he wanted to. But the only thing you knew about him was that he was the High Lord’s son, he didn’t want to accept your advances because you felt like you had to.

You popped around the corner, stopping in front of the counter wiping your hands on your apron. Your mouth opened and shut quickly, eyes wide at the sight of him. But he didn’t miss the blush that crawled up your cheeks, the small flustered smile when his fiery gaze met yours. “Oh - I didn’t - sorry to keep you waiting,” you said, shaking your head slightly.

Eris smiled and relaxed his shoulders. “I wasn’t, don’t worry.” He’d counted down each minute - all forty-four thousand of them - until he saw you again.

“You’re early,” you replied, pressing your hands against the counter, shuffling the random pile of papers before you.

He shrugged, eyes falling to the counter, watching how you moved the papers, each scrawled with a different recipe or note, and pushed them to the side. “Long day ahead - I wanted to make sure I got the strudel before you ran out.”

The High Lord’s son typically came closer to closing, when just a few customers lingered around. Some ducked out quickly, afraid of the tall male’s presence; others stayed, tucked away in the dimly lit corners of the cafe, watching the handsome male from just over the rim of their coffee up. He usually ordered a tea - something chamomile or tisane - along with a pastry or two, and always tried the daily special.

But you opened at six in the morning, and Eris strolled in just three minutes past.

“Then what else can I get for you, Eris?” He almost melted on the spot - his name dripped like honey off your lips. You’d exchanged names and gotten past formalities a few months ago, when you’d started greeting him more like a friend than the High Lord’s son.

He figured he’d never get anywhere with you if he kept lingering around the bakery before closing, when your neighbors sat watching his every move.

“I’ll have a coffee, please.” You quirked a brow at the male, surprised at the change in order, though you supposed it was too early for a sleepy tea.

You watched him ruffle around in his pocket for some change, the heavy gold coins shaking in his hand. He dipped his head to count the money, you watched the red locks of hair fall over his brow. You tipped your head back to look up at him, watch the fire’s shadows dance over his carved cheekbones, kissing his straight nose.

You were able to see him clearly in the morning light; you could count the freckles across his cheeks, and oh how you longed to. He looked so different at night, when the sun was gone and the only light came from the red fire and amber faelights, as well as his glowing eyes. “And how do you take your coffee?” You watched his throat work, his eyes roam over your features.

Eris pressed his tongue behind his teeth. “How you take yours.”

“Milk and sugar?” You hummed, raising your brow, smiling at the male. While he savored the sweets you served him, you would have assumed he went for the more bitter taste.

To be fair, he did. He just wanted to know how you liked yours, should he ever have the chance to make it for you himself.

Preferentially in his bed.

And nude.

“Milk and sugar,” he replied with a small nod but a broad smile.

Your eyes flitted between him and the mess on the counter in front of you - yet his red eyes never left yours, his gaze burning into you. You couldn’t help but blush, the heat emitted from his body calling to you, for you to throw yourself into him and feel his arms around you. The chill from the Winter Court was strong that morning, you’d wanted nothing more than to linger around the warm ovens all morning. But the cafe felt warmer, like it always did when he visited; you weren’t sure if it was his fire powers or just him.

How much you wanted to touch him.

“Coming right up.” You offered him a smile before trotting off to the kitchen, setting the grounds up over the set of mugs. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Your voice carried quietly from the back kitchen, just audible above the cracking fire. Eris’s eyes swiped around the cafe, over the small tables and iron chairs, never having seen the shop empty before. But he took a seat against the window, the seats shrouded with pillows with stacks of books adorning the tabletop. Your scent lingered across the space, bright and fruity with a hint of cinnamon.

He tried not to stare at the counter across the shop, watch and wait for you to appear in the doorway to return. Eris tried to busy himself, glancing at each of the plants hanging from baskets, the flowers that he tried to remember, the sound of his mother reciting each name in the back of his mind.

You piled the mugs and plates on a small wooden tray and made your way back to the tiny dining area, weaving through the tables to meet him in the corner. His thick brows raised in surprise as he noticed the amount of goodies on the tray, scrambling to stand and take it from you. But you shooed him off, setting everything down between you and ushering him to sit when you took the seat across from him.

You never thought you’d meet a member of Autumn royalty, let alone one that fretted over you carrying a small try and who stood whenever you entered the room.

“Thank you, (Y/N),” he said, quietly, almost unsure of how the word was supposed to sound - like it was foreign. But your pointed ears flexed, unable to miss the small sentiment, no matter how unusual it tasted on his tongue, he was trying.

“You’re welcome, Eris,” you replied simply, handing him a mug, taking the matching one for yourself. There were a couple strudels on a plate, paired with a bowl of fruit, and some macaroons, a couple pumpkin tarts fresh from the oven on the side.

He noticed how you pulled your strudel in half, how your shoulders shrugged slightly when you tasted it, the warm dough relaxing the cold chill that stiffened your spine. You couldn’t help but watch his hands work before you, pulling apart his pastry, just as you did, how he picked up the coffee cup loosely in those long fingers, pale knuckles and veins lining his big hands. You cradled your own mug in both hands, half needing the warmth from the side of the cup, the other half needing the grasp on reality, keeping you grounded - keeping your mind from wandering too far.

His gaze washed over you, watching as you zoned out, staring into the space between you. “Were you here early this morning?”

You blinked once, twice, trying to pull your eyes away from the male’s hands. “Yeah.” You huffed a laugh, sipping from the much needed coffee. “I start baking at four - got here at three though.” You eyed the pastry he’d picked up. “These were a bit more difficult than what I usually try for.”

“It’s excellent,” he said, taking a bite of the flaky pastry. “Very much worth the extra time, in my opinion.”

“I’m glad you came today.” Eris’s red eyes sparkled at your words, he felt the fire roar through his veins and crawl up his cheeks.

Me too. He ached; wanted to find out everything about you, about your life, what you liked and what you didn’t, your family, what made you tick, what made you smile, how you tasted, how you’d look in his bed, on his lap.

But before the male could even think of a response, the door swung open, followed by a gust of wind. Your eyes shot to the door immediately, assessing who came in, interrupting (what Eris believed to be, at least) a pleasant conversation.

“Good morning, Mrs. Aldrich,” you greeted the old female, bundled up in her coat and wrapped in what looked like two scarves. Your eyes dropped to Eris once more as you pushed yourself from the table, sauntering off to the counter to serve her.

But Eris decided to only wait a few moments longer, downing the rest of his coffee and finishing the treats on the table before stacking the bowls and plates. He ran his hands over the sides of his corduroy pants, unsure of whether to bring them to you in the kitchen, whether he should even go out of his way to say goodbye. He felt the Fae female staring at him, too afraid to say anything, but watching his every move. So he buttoned his jacket, preparing to leave before anyone else could come to the cafe to study him.

He turned to the female, offering his a polite bow of his head in greeting, which she returned with a small curtsey. “Bye Eris,” you called, poking your head around the corner from the kitchen, arms working to tie a white apron around your waist.

His eyes found yours, sparkling in the morning light that shines from the front windows. “Bye (Y/N), thanks again.” He offered you a smile before he ducked out the short front door.

Eris felt Mrs. Aldrich’s eyes move back and forth between the two of you.

_________________________

The next time he came by, it was still just as cold and just as early. He tried to take his time walking to the shop, but he couldn’t slow himself down - his hands itched, flexing at his sides, simmering with heat that poured out of him. The pocket watch in the front of his jacket told him he was a few minutes early, so he lingered along the cobblestones, kicking at the loose rocks on the sidewalk.

The lights in the cafe were on, but the specials sign was missing and the Closed sign hung across the green door. He chewed on his bottom lip, shoving his hands inside his pockets and turning on his heel. He thought maybe he should just leave, not wait around like a creep, and solicit the peaceful town.

“Eris?”

The male’s head lifted as he turned over his shoulder, meeting your soft smile. He lifted a hand to run through his messy red hair, pushing it away from his eyes. “Hey (Y/N), good morning,” he stumbled over his words, too focused on his racing heart - beating almost as rapidly as the first day he saw you.

You held the door open with your foot - the tip of your brown boot covered in flour, as the hem of your skirt was - and moved to pull the chalkboard through the door. The High Lord’s son pulled it from your hands, grabbing it easily with on and moving it as though it weighed nothing. He fixed it up on the sidewalk before turning to you with a smile. “Apricot sachertorte?”

You beamed at him, proud of your newest sweet treat, and propped your hands on your hips. You almost didn’t notice the Winter Court chill seeping through your clothes. You felt the heat he emitted, centuries of fire burning through him, drawing you to him. “You like chocolate, no?”

Eris ushered you inside, noting your missing coat when his eyes drew up and down your body. The dress you wore was thin, tight. Dusted with ingredients and a messy apron. He swallowed, forced some air into his lungs, and forced himself to not stare when you led him inside. “I have a certain weakness when it comes to chocolate.” And you.

He rolled his eyes inwardly at himself - how his father would have killed him for even making a joke about having a terminal flaw. But he’d developed enough of a friendship that he’d actually made you laugh, and it was a sound he’d say nearly anything to hear it again.

“Perfect then, take a seat and I’ll get some coffee for us.” Eris sighed in sweet relief, thanking you for saving him from having to ask you to sit with him again.

You were quick to return with two mugs and two plates, one exceptionally large slice of the torte accompanied by a smaller one. He was quick to help you, settling into the table across from the fireplace. You’d hummed when you sat down, relaxing into the iron chair, and the male couldn’t help but wonder if it was the first time you’d sat down all morning. You drank your coffee like it came from the Mother herself, savoring the rich taste. “This is probably the fourth cup I’ve had this morning.”

Eris wasn’t surprised. He was in the same boat himself, actually. He hadn’t been able to sleep all last night, not with the anticipation of seeing you. He’d forced his night owl of a brother to spar with him, tire himself out wielding the heavy steel sword. He’d fussed over battle plans and boring court papers. When that didn’t work, he’d even found himself in the kitchen, attempting what was intended to be a galette. When that didn’t work out, he gave up and laid in bed for a few more hours. He was tired, sure, but couldn’t fall asleep.

“You ought to take a day off, sleep in,” he replied, taking a bite of the layered chocolate cake. Gods, if that was the last meal he’d eat, he’d be beyond satisfied.

You shrugged, finger tracing the rim of your cup. “I could… but I just love it too much - even if I have to wake up early for it.” Eris nodded along. “Besides, what if you came by the shop and I was closed?”

He shifted in his chair, trying to settle the burn in his chest. “You’re right - ” he tried to play it off casually. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself without your pastries.” Another job well done, he cursed himself.

You smiled sweetly, propping your elbow up on the table and resting your head against your knuckles. “So tell me, Eris. What’s on today’s agenda? I can hardly believe you came all this way just for coffee and chocolate.”

Oh how wrong you were. He’d go to the ends of Prythian just to spend one moment with you.

“Taking care of some errands for my father,” he began, not interested in divulging too much. You understood, and simply nodded along, taking whatever he’d be willing to give out. “I have a meeting in the Winter Court.”

“Ah, just a stop along the way, then.” He wasn’t sure if he heard faint disappointment laced in your voice, or if it was just what he’d been hoping to hear.

“Well - yes, but…” It was one of those rare moments where Eris didn’t know what to say. “But I wish I could come more - I don’t want to bother you. I know a lot of your customers are uneasy when I stop by - ”

You cut him off, sitting straight in your chair. “You’re not - I love when you visit, Eris.” You fought against all your instincts to reach across the table and grab his hand.

It was his turn to blush. Maybe he was overheating, what with all the layers and sitting in front of the fire. Or perhaps it was your bright eyes staring at him, burning into him, starting straight into the depths of his soul. “I wish I could stay longer, I’d like to - ”

But that godsdamned door opened again, a group of Fae walked in, conversation abruptly stopping when they noticed the fiery-haired male sitting at the table across from you. Eris stood in one swift motion, abandoning his fork and empty plate behind him. He noticed the young female that walked in, orange hair wild around her ears, starting straight at you, wiggling her eyebrows.

When he tossed a look over his shoulder at you, he saw your pink cheeks, chin tucked close to your chest. “Your highness,” one of the males began, bowing to Eris.

His friend smacked him in the chest, grimacing at his friend’s actions. “Shut up.”

Another female interrupted all of them, smiling broadly at Eris. “Good morning, sir,” she said sweetly, dipping slightly in greeting.

Eris had never felt more awkward in his life. He’d been trained in court politics, to lead armies, to host High Lord meetings on behalf of his father, to speak in front of hundreds of Fae. But never to talk with teenage Fae.

“Good morning,” he replied as politely as he could, shifting his weight from foot to foot. But he recalled his courtier training, standing tall and holding his chin high.

He got a small confidence boost though, as the other males tilted their heads back to look up at him, and cowered a few steps backward. And although Eris was normally cocky enough to have loved to inflict that kind of response on others, it wasn’t what he should be displaying in front of a female he was trying to impress.

“I have to be getting on my way, (Y/N),” he finished, turning back to look at you. “Thanks for the coffee.” He smirked, watching as you glared at your friend - the one whose eyes kept flitting between you and the High Lord’s son.

Your attention was drawn back to Eris and he threw a wink your way before he left the cafe.

_________________________

He winnowed back just after the sun had set, when the chill from the mountains was visible in each breath he took. Eris appeared right in front of your shop door, where the lights were dimmed and the sign on the door read Closed.

Fuck, he’d cursed himself, fifteen minutes late. He’d rushed back as fast as he could, after having spent the day in the Winter Court, useless meetings with Kallias and his staff. Eris had nearly run out of the meeting room, winnowing before he’d even left the table and made it close to the door.

But you’d spotted him, the brown wool coat and dark red hair from the window. You almost skipped to the door, something between a hop and a half-jog, making your way to the door before he’d off and disappeared again. “Eris, wait!” You’d called, unlocking the door and poking your head through.

He smiled when he turned around, meeting you in the doorway. You held a broom in your hand, obviously close to leaving for the evening. No matter how tired you were, there was no doubt in his mind that you’d had a busy day, you still greeted him with a cheery smile.

“I just wanted to,” he began, digging his hand through his pocket and pulling out a handful of gold coins. “For this morning.”

You shook your head, but took his wrist in your hand, pulling him through the door. Your fingers sparked when you felt his warm skin against yours. “You visiting is quite enough - ”

Eris groaned, wishing you’d held onto him for just a little bit longer. “I don’t need special treatment.”

You rolled your eyes. “I can’t be nice to you anymore, Eris?”

He smiled, sharp teeth glinting in the dim faelight. “Are you being nice to me or being nice to my family?”

He watched you tut, giving him an indiscreet up and down. It almost made him nervous. “Just you.” And Eris smiled at that, his own selfishness getting the best of him, but glad you had invited him in. “I like when you visit. You don’t do it enough.”

You’d set the broom against the table, hands clasped in front of you trying your damnedest not to look like a giddy child in a candy shop. Eris glowed, watching your movements, daring to see how much else you’d reveal to him.

Eris was too busy staring at you, committing every feature of yours to memory, to respond. “How about some tea?” You asked, already making your way to the kitchen.

“Please,” he nearly sighed, and no matter how happy and excited he was to be back at your bakery, he was still beat from a day of Winter Court bullshit.

You disappeared only momentarily, returning just after you’d set the kettle over the stovetop, with two mugs in hand. You set them on the table by the window, the seats both cushioned with freshly fluffed pillows. Eris joined you, eyeing the loose tea leaves at the bottom of the cups, a mixture of chamomile flowers, linden leaves, and peppermint.

He smiled gratefully, seeing your body relax once you’d slid into the chair across from him. “You like it here?” Eris couldn’t help but ask. You seemed to work yourself into exhaustion, rising before the sun, staying past dusk, holed away in the quaint cafe. It was a small town, too far from the other Autumn villages to easily visit - though, he supposed there would be plenty of adventure in the woods beyond and the mountains between Winter. That ought to be dangerous, especially given the fact that if Beron found out about his subjects crossing the border, he’d outright banish or kill them.

You smiled back at the High Lord’s son, him looking equally as tired as you must have. Light purple lined the tops of his cheekbones, starkly contrasting his otherwise luminous pale skin. His brows were taught, pulled together as if really contemplating your answer - or perhaps overthinking his question. He’d forgotten his coat on the back of his chair, a dark blazer underneath. His eyes glowed, his red irises burning brighter as the light from the windows faded.

“I do,” you hummed, content with your little date.

But the screeching of the kettle interrupted you, and right as you placed your hands on the table to push yourself up, Eris stopped you. “Let me, please.” Before you could even respond, he was already on his feet, rushing off into the back kitchen to pull the kettle off.

He returned with the kettle in one hand and a bottle of honey in the other. He poured your cup first and then his, setting the hot water to the side. Surely, should you let him stay long enough, it would be easy enough for him to reheat later.

“You were saying?” He continued, eyes locked on the mug before him, dropping in a swirl of honey to his tea.

You bit your lip, pushing your mug closer to him. His eyes flitted up to you once before he repeated the action. “I like it here. It’s small - I know all of my customers by now. All of their names, their orders, it’s like a little family.”

Eris nodded along, leaning back in his chair. “No problems with the Winter Court?”

You rolled your eyes. I have more problems with the current court, if we were being honest. “It’s cold,” you replied. “It’s quiet. But far away enough that we aren’t…” You bit your tongue. “Not that there’s anything wrong with - ”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Eris replied, not shocked with your response. “I understand.”

Just like any other Fae on the continent, he reminded himself: scared of his father. He wasn’t surprised, this would be the perfect town to escape Beron’s tight holds. It wasn’t close enough that he kept it under his nose, monitoring the town and the villagers. It wasn’t particularly useful to him - no major crops or orchards, maybe lumber from the redwoods, but there were far closer regions he could busy himself with.

But he saw how quickly your brows raised and cheeks turned red at your comment. It was almost as if you’d forgotten he was the High Lord’s son up until that moment.

Eris was ashamed to carry the Vanserra name.

He finished off his tea, suddenly uncomfortable with keeping you so late. Maybe the reason you were so nice to him was because of who his father was. You were hosting him out of formality, not friendship or desire - you were probably afraid he’d go running back to the Forest House with your name at the top of his list.

You reached a hand out to him, watching his lips turn into a frown and his brows narrow as he lost himself in thought. “That’s not what I meant.”

“If there is anyone who gets it, (Y/N), believe me - I do.” He took a long sip from the mug in his hand, set it down silently, and pushed himself from the seat. His hands fumbled over his coat, swinging it over his shoulders and fastening it shut. “I don’t want to keep you any longer - I’ve intruded quite enough.” He turned to the door, to avoid watching you awkwardly scramble to your feet. The sky was dark, the only light along the street was the glow from the faelights in the windows of the houses along the way. He turned back on his heel to face you, staring up at him, bewildered. “Can I at least walk you home?”

You pressed your lips together, clasping your hands in front of you. “I live upstairs, actually.”

“Ah.” It was all that came from him, which left the male cursing himself once more. Fucking idiot. “Well thank you again, (Y/N).” Back to formalities, back to square one.

You nodded once more, watching as he turned to the door. As he reached for the handle, you stopped him, grabbing his other hand. His skin was burning hot and sent sparks into you. “You’re welcome anytime here, Eris.” You waited until he turned around, fully acknowledging your words. “And not just because of who your father is.”

Eris nodded, albeit a bit numbly, as you sent his mind reeling the moment he felt your fingers grasp his. Should I do it?

He wanted to kiss you so badly. So badly that his fingers itched to grab you and pull you against him. You batted your eyelashes at him, all innocent as if you had no idea what you were doing. Maybe you weren’t doing anything - no signals, no invitation to kiss you, love you, fuck you.

It was all in his head, it had to be.

He couldn’t compromise your innocence, not when he’d already been seen alone in the cafe with you twice in one day. He could only imagine what the other Fae were thinking, how he’d either besmirched your reputation or created a scandal in the small town.

“Then I’ll be sure to return more often.” With that, he gave your fingers a squeeze and turned - forcing every fiber of his being not to take you with him.

_________________________

Eris couldn’t sleep again. Gods, he felt ill.

He was clammy all over - absolutely disgusting. He’d forced himself from bed and into the bath, letting the cold water wash over him and take away whatever it was he was feeling. His heart was racing out of his chest, his breathing was jagged - it was unlike any other fever he’d had.

And then he felt it, laying in the cold water of the porcelain tub. It felt like a rubber band snapped against his ribcage. It winded him, had him lurching forward and clutching his chest. He figured the copper taste in his mouth was a figment of his imagination, being no stranger to the taste of blood. Maybe he bit his tongue when he felt the snap, it had his heart lurching upwards into his scarred throat.

Eris’s fingers gripped the edge of the cold bathtub - he felt the water turning hotter by the second. He couldn’t control the heat that emitted from his body, the simmering flames smothered in his palms.

That was it.

He wasn’t dying - not if you could call being utterly grossly in love dying.

His heart hammered in his chest and the fire roared through his veins. It felt like he was suffocating, sure, but it felt good. His hands were shaking, and he knew the only cure would be to have you in them. You were the one who could teach him how to breathe again.

He huffed a long shaky breath, leaning back in the tub until his back touched the now warm ceramic. Curls of steam began to dance on the surface of the water that seemed to be rippling in time with his heartbeat.

Eris shut his eyes, trying his damndest to clear his head, to calm the fuck down. But all he saw was you, the flour that dusted your cheek, the apron wrapped so tight around your waist he wished it were his hands. He thought of your cheeks, rosy and red from the ovens, your plump lips sipping on tea, how sweet you looked drinking your milky coffee. Then he remembered the shape of your brow, how it quirked downwards when you’d mentioned his father, how you gnawed on that bottom lip of yours when he’d been in such a rush to leave.

But it didn’t matter what you thought of his father, of the whole damned Autumn Court itself. He’d get on his knees before you to beg, plead for you to understand - it’s not his fault, it’s not him.

So that’s what he set off to do.

He pushed himself from the near boiling water, haphazardly drying himself off as he skitted to the wardrobe. He flung it open, opting for a casual pair of brown trousers and a white linen shirt. He ought to be prepared to do a lot of begging, spending the whole morning on his knees begging for you to accept him as a mate, begging for a taste.

_________________________

It was only seven hours since you’d seen Eris, the whole time you’d spent thinking of him and replaying your latest conversation. It was very much the same after each time you’d seen him, spending the evening tossing and turning, picturing his red hair and soft smile, the freckles over his cheeks and that little scar under his eye. You imagined what it would be like to hold him in your arms, laying on top of you, suffocating you in the best way; you pictured what it’d be like for him to hold you, laying behind you, arms wrapped fully around you, holding you against his chest.

But you laid in bed alone, staring at the clock until the golden hands ticked to three o’clock.

You pushed the covers from yourself, shivering at the cold that swept through your bones. You’d gotten better at fighting that fight, the urge to stay in bed and revel in your warmth instead of forcing yourself downstairs at such an early hour. The warm ovens called to you, but you’d have to overcome the chill of the nearly Winter air and the cold hardwood floor.

You wondered if it would be warmer with Eris there. As if the male just naturally heated every room he walked into -

No.

You shook your head, trying to rid the thoughts of the Autumn heir from your mind. You’d only distract yourself. You knew the visit yesterday would have to last you for the rest of the month. You could only begin to count down the days until you anticipated his return.

So instead, you shuffled down the stairs, pulling open your recipe book and setting out a few bowls. You hadn’t decided the day before what you were making yet - not like you usually did. Your mind had been much too occupied. You settled on figuring it out later, just starting with something simple and figuring out a custard later. With flour dusting the counter, you rolled out some dough, working it until it was so thin that it was almost transparent. A simple croissant surely would do, you’d thought. Maybe you could use up some of the pumpkin or raspberries…

You’d gone rifling around for inspiration when you felt a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t the cold of the early morning, nor the chill from the produce cooler. No - it was the hard knock on the door, rattling the closed sign against the wooden frame.

You bit your lip, debating wiping out all the Faelights - that no doubt alerted whoever was outside that you were in. But you had no choice, as the knock sounded again, softer this time, but still enough to prove your visitor’s determination to talk to you.

Not once in your centuries of owning the cafe had you had a morning visitor. Nobody had ever shown up before opening, especially not at three in the godsdamned morning.

All you could do was grab your stone rolling pin from the counter, holding it between your two shaky hands as you trotted quietly to the door. But as you stepped around the counter and wove through the tables, you’d spotten a tuft of red hair through the window.

Red hair, pale skin, long coat, the smell of firewood and burnt sage.

Your heart stuttered, pure shock replaced with utter bewilderment. Your throat tightened, nervous as to what he may be visiting for - what you may have said that offended him. Then you sighed, dropping your head to stare at the thick cotton dress you wore, the wool sock on your feet. Fuck, you huffed, blowing a piece of hair out of your face. The Mother could not have prepared you less.

All you could do was pull the door open, holding the rolling pin behind your back.

And when the door swung open, the cold coming in immediately, Eris’s eyes were blown wide. The red around his dilated pupils glowing against the dark of night. Gods you were so fucking beautiful. His gaze roamed over your messy hair, the loose dress that hung over your shoulders, the cozy looking socks on your feet.

“Hey,” he said, quieter than intended. He cleared his throat, stepping closer, arms tightly pressed behind his back. “Sorry to - interrupt.” He couldn’t stop - his eyes were roaming, frantically moving between yours, trying not to wander over your body, his mind was reeling, heart was pounding out of his chest. His cheeks were flushed, breathing ragged - the bond was fucking with him. Absolutely fucking with him - he wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to stand in front of you much longer without having to get his hands on you. “I regretted leaving so abruptly last night. I stayed late and should have at least helped you clean up.”

You smiled. He was so serious. Those red eyebrows were raised, mouth parted, almost frowning at the corners - so distraught. “Don’t make a fuss about it - I just like your company.” I miss when you’re not here. I miss your visits.

I missed you.

The corner of his mouth turned up, gaze softening at your apparent forgiveness. He took a step closer, closing the distance between you. He moved his arm from behind his back, holding up a bundle of blue-ish hydrangeas - the flowers he hadn’t stopped thinking about bringing you.

It wasn’t inconspicuous, like he hoped it would be. His mother caught on immediately, asking him why he kept inquiring about her flowers, what she’d pulled from the garden. Who are you bringing them for? He’d rolled his eyes at her, scoffing. I’m not bringing them to anyone, mother. I can’t show interest in the garden? So he’d been deterred from bringing them. He didn’t want to draw attention to it - to you - especially not from his father or courtiers.

Until that night - until he had the perfect opportunity, when everyone was asleep, to snatch them from the table and winnow straight to you.

Your eyes fell to the bunch of flowers, jaw dropped, unable to speak. What did you say? What does one say to the High Lord’s son who brings you flowers. He brought you flowers. You simply couldn’t find the words. But when you looked back up at him, having to tilt your head upwards to meet his gaze, he looked so scared - unsure if you’d accept them, as if he’d made some horrible mistake.

And you couldn’t help but laugh, having to bite your lip to stop yourself. You didn’t take the flowers, you took his hand, that warm, blazing hot hand, and pulled him inside. “Well, no point in letting all the heat out.” And as if on cure, he lit up, warmth erupting from him, his chest radiating heat into your hand and arm. “Thank you, Eris, I… don’t even know what to say.” You pulled your fingers away from his, taking the bunch of flowers in your free hand.

But you had to place the rolling pin down, having to set it on the table closest to the door. His brows rose. “Preparing for battle, I see.” He surveyed the white stone, nodding his head in approval when he heard the clang of the marble against the iron table.

You huffed a breathy laugh, ushering him inside and placing them in one of the empty vases from the bookshelf in the corner. You’d set it up on the counter, where everyone would be able to see the beautiful flowers Eris had brought for you. “I was hoping,” he began from behind you, hands shoved into his pants pockets, boot kicking at the thick grout between the stones on the floor. “You might let me help you this morning.”

You turned on your heel, spinning around so fast that you’d nearly startled the normally steadfast male. “You want to help me?”

He nodded. “I’m not very useful - I wouldn’t say I’m the best baker.” He held his hands up in surrender. “I used to help my mother bake apple pie but - ” he finished with a shrug, laughing through his own awkwardness.

You couldn’t stop your smile. “Of course you can, Eris.”

And truth be told, the male wasn’t bad. He’d kneaded the dough, he’d prepared the raspberry filling, and even mixed some fresh whipped cream. He’d followed all your instructions and even prepared you a cup of tea in the meantime, while you worked on your own dough at the opposite side of the counter.

You’d spent far too long watching his hands knead the soft pastry, his long fingers and large knuckles flexing as he pushed the dough around. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his linen shirt, forearms working with each move. You couldn’t help but notice the few missed buttons at the top of his shirt, pale collar bones peeking out. You’d made out some ridges over his skin, down his neck and tucked away underneath the fabric of his shirt. You couldn’t get a good look at it, not with the dimmed lights and loose shirt.

He made light conversation, asking about the town, who your favorite patrons were. You’d asked him similar questions, how he likes fencing and polo, he’d indulged you in some childhood stories of wrestling his brothers in the Autumn rain - how they’d tracked mud through the entirety of the Forest House. When it came to his parents, though, the topic was off limits, as he’d scoffed and asked about your parents instead.

By then, the hours had easily slipped past you - the pastries cooling after their bout in the ovens. Eris leaned against the counter, watching as you sliced the baked pumpkin you held in front of you, scooping the soft contents into a bowl to begin your filling mixture.

His eyes watched your hands work, unable to meet your eyes, afraid of your response. “I have a confession.”

You looked up only momentarily, not a stutter in the whisk as you continued mixing. “Confess away,” you replied softly, heart suddenly lurching into your chest.

He swallowed thickly, but raised his gaze to your face - your focused look - as you stared back down at the bowl. “I - last night after I left - there was a…” He trailed off, sucking in a deep breath. “I felt the…” Eris’s throat was closing. His heart was beating so fast, so hard, that he thought it would break all of his ribs. “I believe we’re mates, (Y/N).”

Your breath caught in your throat, suddenly all air evaded you and your heart seemed to stop. Mates? Mates? Gods, you knew you liked Eris - who wouldn’t? The male was beautiful and tall and kind and -

You swallowed hard. To hide your shaking hands, you continued working on the pastries. You kept you eyes sole trained on the table in front of you, fearful that if you looked up, if you saw those red eyes before you, that you’d surely crumble away in a fit of tears, laughter - you weren’t quite sure.

You were elated.

So fucking elated, in fact, that you didn’t know what to do.

But you didn’t respond. You didn’t make a move - not an eyebrow raise, not a quirk of your lips, nothing. “I know we don’t really know each other - I’ve wanted to stay longer, believe me.” The male rambled on, filling the silence you’d offered. “I just felt this thing last night after I left and it’s been eating me away since and I already knew that I cared for you so much and you’re so - fuck, so godsdamned beautiful but I - ”

You straightened, pulling your shoulders back and dropping the whisk. “It’s okay, Eris.”

His eyes widened. “It’s okay?” What the fuck did that mean?

You’d turned to grab a pastry off the rack - the one you’d kneaded, the one that turned out so much flakier and taller than his. “It’s okay.” You smiled, though, but didn’t falter in your movements, continuing to assemble what looked like a dessert sandwich.

He stared incredulously at you. “Did you… hear what I said?”

And so you laughed, a light giggle that had Eris reeling. You pushed over the pumpkin Mille-Feuille, nodding at him as he stared at it like it was otherworldly. “You told me one time you liked the pumpkin turnovers because it was your favorite Autumn Court fruit.”

The male was bug-eyed. “This is for me?”

You nodded.

“Just for me?”

Again, with a smile, you nodded.

Eris looked between you and the fluffy pastry. “For me?” He raised a hand and gestured between the two of you.

“Yes, Eris. I made you a pumpkin pastry. For you.” His cheeks tinged pink, but let out a breathy sigh of relief. You added for clarification: “Not on the menu.”

Gods, yes. It was the only thought running through his mind.

“And even in all that rambling, you haven’t asked me to be your mate,” you continued, voice raised an octave, teasing the poor nervous male. He opened his mouth to interrupt - to ask - but you cut him off. “I would love to be, Eris Vanserra.”

And while his heart rate didn’t slow down, he calmed, shoulders relaxed and eyes shut in relaxation. His hands fell to the treat before him, staring at the perfect little pastry. He could finally breathe again - as if in the past three minutes he’d been stilled, lungs, hands, and mind unable to work properly.

But Eris dug in anyway, picking up the soft treat like it was the most delicate thing in the world. He took a big bite, holding his free hand underneath, catching all the flakes that broke off, saving every bite. He chewed slowly, licking his lips to savor the pumpkin flavor and the light pastry. His eyes fell to yours, wide and wanting, watching you like a hawk.

You didn’t dare move, frozen in place as the male ate.

As the bond solidified.

As he became your mate.

By the time he’d finished, his breathing was ragged and he had to press his hands against the counter to keep his balance. You watched his chest rise and fall, the linen shirt loose on his frame but hugged his broad shoulders. Those red eyes burned into yours, as though waiting for you to make the first move.

Or waiting for your permission.

So you took a step backward, pushing yourself from where you’d been nearly clinging onto the counter, where it was holding you upright. And as soon as you’d freed yourself from the confines of the countertop, he’d pounced. Eris felt like leaping across the counter and pulling you into his arms. Instead, which might have cost his last ounce of decency, he’d taken the few long strides towards you and grabbed you.

To be fair, he was as tender as he could have been, what with his heart beating up into his throat and his lungs burning, winding his arms around your back, fingers gripping the cotton that hung loose on your frame. His head dipped, immediately catching your lips with his. You were quick to follow his lead, throwing your arms around his neck and rising on your tiptoes to meet him.

Gods, he was warm - it was all that you could think of. His heat spread into you, the physical heat, but also those internal flames, the warmth that formed in the center of your chest as the bond built itself between the two of you. Sparks sizzled between you, and you were sure you felt them when your lips met in a fiery kiss.

Your fingers threaded through your hair as his hands roamed your back. He tasted like cinnamon, like the pumpkin from your mating food, the burnt sage that mirrored in his scent, that filled the cafe as soon as he walked through the door.

“I don’t know anything about you,” you breathed, a soft sigh against his lips as his mouth skimmed your bottom lip, over your chin, down across your jaw.

He released something half crossed between a moan and a sigh. “We have time to talk about me,” he whispered against your ear, biting at your soft flesh. “Later.” His lips ran over your cheek again, and he left a sloppy kiss on your lips. “Much, much later.”

You hummed in response, pressing yourself to his front again, chest, stomachs, legs - all of it. Eris groaned, sinking down on his knees, stopping when he was eye level with you. His red irises burned with an eternal flame, burned into you with the promise of forever. He wrapped his arms fully around your waist, his elbows at your ribs and knees on either side of your legs. He tilted his head forward, only until your lips met, noses brushing against each other.

Your lips parted on instinct alone, the breath pulled from your lungs when his lips met yours - so soft, barely meeting at all. You could have cried, screamed, grabbed his hair and pulled him further against you. But all he gave you was a touch, so close your eyelashes nearly tangled. His mouth brushed yours again and you snapped - arms linked around him still, pulling him against you. “Upstairs?” You asked, fully against his mouth, the word muffled between your lips and heavy breaths.

He shook his head, still not breaking the kiss. His hands ran down the small of your back and over your ass, cupping the back of your thighs and pulling you upwards, setting you on the counter in front of him. Eris let his fingers find the hem of your nightgown, trailing over the skin of your bare flesh. You were burning hot, like you ran a fever at his touch. In the cold air, his touch sent shivers down your spine.

“I can’t wait, (Y/N).” His lips barely left yours. “I have to have you now.”

“Then get on with it,” you mewled, taking his hands in yours and dragging them up your thighs, under the gown. “I’ve been waiting far too long for this, Eris.”

You leveled his gaze - it struck quite the nerve with him, he never thought he’d succumb to an ethereal being like you, especially not to one he got to call his mate.

As his hands roamed under your gown, your own explored his chest, running over the lean muscle and pulling at the buttons. You’d pulled them apart one by one, eyes shut and mouth being devoured by Eris. He seemed to pay no mind, working his way to your hips, squeezing at your thighs. You opened the shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, breaking away from him momentarily.

And Eris felt it, felt it through the fresh bond between you. He felt your heart stutter, felt the shock that flooded your system.

His heart stopped, lungs held his air hostage.

And then you’d felt it - the utter disgust and shame that rang through him.

So you raised your hands, holding his jaw in your palms, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone - over the other faint scar that laced his skin. You weren’t sure what to say - if you should say anything at all. But he’d already noticed your surprise. That’s all it was - surprise, not in the hardened male before you, but at that any one male could endure that much pure trauma. You were not disgusted with your mate, not horrified at the scaring.

You we’re just… “What happened to you, my love?”

And he blinked a few times, turning his head in your hands and raising his own hands, holding your wrists in his palms. His throat worked, his mind rolling over the proper response. You moved your hands, dropping them down his cheeks, fingertips grazing the marred skin on his neck, the slashes over his collarbones and down the puckered skin of his chest. His hands remained on yours the whole time, feeling you work your way down his body.

My love. It made the fire inside of him burn brighter. He imagined you’d felt it too, felt the initial draw toward him like he did to you - even before you were mates.

“That’s a story for another time.” He whispered, gazing down at you from under his eyelashes. “If you’ll still have me.”

You were almost shocked to hear that - to hear him question your desire to be with him just based on his scars. You wouldn’t expect such doubt from him. So all you could do was sit up a little taller, pull you down to your lips and offer him the most reassuring kiss of his life.

He made quick work of your dress, unbuttoning the small row of buttons behind your back. You shimmied the dress from under you, where you’d been sitting on the soft fabric, and let Eris bunch it up and drag it up over your sides and arms. He slid it off quickly, discarding it in a pile along with his shirt. His eyes and hands roamed over you, exploring the curves and ridges of your body.

Your cheeks reddened, so exposed before the male you’d barely known, but longed for him to touch you. You’d thought of this moment many times, during those sleepless nights, some of which ended up leaving you with your hand between your legs.

Eris felt your blush through the bond, he felt your outright attraction, the desperation you had. And he knew he mirrored it through the bond, too. It’s what made you pull him back into you, until he stepped right up against the counter and the front of those trousers were pressed against your undergarment. He ground against you, unable to hold in the urge as the ferocity flooded his veins, the bond finally taking hold of him now that he had you laid out in front of him.

You moaned at the feeling, his hardened cock a tent in his pants, slotting perfectly between your lips. He moved up and down, gliding against the warm heat from your pussy, the smooth fabrics only aiding in his desperation - your too. Gods, you could have come from that alone should he only have kept going.

But the male wasn’t having it. He kicked off his boots and unbuttoned his pants, shucking both along your kitchen floor, discarded for what he hoped would be the next few days.

Eris’s cock bounced up against his stomach as he neared you, the precum gathered on the tip mixing into the fine pale hairs that trickled down his bellybutton to the base of his cock. Eris wouldn’t even touch himself, deciding it would be fucking ethereal, should you reach out and grab him.

And, luckily, you did, holding your hand out for him to step back into position. Your hand wrapped around his dick, fully hard and standing proud. You’d surely need two hands to work him properly, perhaps even your mouth, too. His skin was warm in your palm, hot and ready to combust as you ran your hand up and down, offering him a small squeeze as you neared the base, your thumb rubbing the tip when it slid up.

You couldn’t hold out much longer, either. You’d pressed him up right against your pussy as he just did, leaning back on your other elbow so you could further spread your hips. You held his cock with your other hand still, pressing it into your pussy. Eris began to rock, back and forth, back and forth, wincing at how wet your pussy sounded. His cock glided along your cunt effortlessly.

He braced a hand on the counter, on either side of you, and held his hips back. He let you continue to rub his dick as he leaned in close for a chaste kiss. He rubbed his nose against your ear, hot air stirring around you. “Are you going to let me fuck you, my love?”

You moaned - you’d heard many tales of the trickster male’s wicked tongue, but hadn’t been granted the opportunity to hear him use it around you. You were very much looking forward to exploring that side of him.

Gone was the chamomile drinking, flower giving High Lord’s son. This was Eris, hot and heady and ready.

His one hand moved over to hold yours, moving your fingers to grab his cock and angle it into you. You gasped as the head nudged your folds, pushing only the tiniest bit in. You clenched around nothing, as he rocked back and forth, the head moving against your entrance but not in. “Will you let me mate you? Fill you up? Claim you?”

“Gods, yes,” you moaned, trying to move off the counter even closer to him, to inch his dick farther into you. “Please, Eris. My mate - ”

You were cut off with a harsh gasp, Eris sunk halfway in as you rambled on. “Oh my gods - please.”

He moved slowly, warming you up to his length. “Still so much more for you,” he murmured, holding your hand against your lower stomach. He pressed it softly into you, around your soft flesh, so you could feel him enter in you as he pushed his cock all the way, bottoming out.

He held there for a moment, reveling in how you squeezed your walls around him. It was unlike anything he felt before. The roaring in his chest from the bond fed straight into his cock - willing him to drive into you over and over and over.

But as much as he wanted to hold himself back, he found himself moving faster and faster, hitting farther inside of you with each stroke. Your moans spurred him on - your gasps, your prayers to the Mother - to him.

Your hands fell around you, gripping anything you could find, looking to anchor yourself on something, anything.

“You feel so good, (Y/N).” He huffed, breathing becoming ragged as he fucked into you. “I can’t believe I’ve waited this long for you.”

His cock stretched you, the familiar coil in the bottom of your stomach already causing you to clench around him. “You have me, Eris, fuck.” He grabbed your hips, holding you still, driving into you harder. “Please, more, Eris.”

So he rutted into you, Eris hooked his knee onto the counter, pushing himself up, joining you on the floury surface. Your arms splayed out, knocking over bowls and eggs, ingredients falling to the floor and clinging to your sweaty skin. He hooked his knees around either side of your hips, positioning himself directly above you, driving straight down into your wet pussy.

He groaned - an estranged deep noise coming from the male’s throat. His one hand was positioned beside your head, holding himself above you - though, you wouldn’t care if that male suffocated you, if he laid all the weight he’d been holding all his life onto you - the other came to cradle your cheek, holding your jaw with his thumb brushed against your chin. Your breathing mixed with Eris’s, your shared air, heat, love. You sighed, feeling his cock drive deep into you, hit the deep spot inside of you - he stretched you, seeped into you, molded into you.

He fucked you so hard that you felt yourself moving, inching closer to the edge of the counter. Your hair fell first, starting to fall over your shoulders and off the counter. But Eris held your head, cradled you as you neared the edge, feeling your stomach coil at the rhythmic pounding in your pussy.

Eris didn’t stop until you came, until your fingernails dug into his biceps and you screamed his name. He followed behind you quickly, his hips snapping into yours until he painted you white, with his cum that marked the bond. He claimed you as his, and silently thanked the Mother for her blessing.

His bright eyes washed over you, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, lips swollen and bruised from his kisses, crying out for him. He watched how our brows knitted together, your skin was flushed with a pink blush. He committed everything to memory, the heave of your chest, the sweat across your collarbone, your throat working to gasp air.

He pulled out of you, dastardly watching the mix of both of your cum slide out of your pussy. He longed to feel it, to drag his finger up your sweet cunt, to lick it up. He knelt above you, pushing himself off the counter and grabbing your hips, pulling you centered on the tabletop. You huffed a sigh, arms limp and covered in flour at your sides.

His warm fingers caressed your hips, your thighs, the muscles burning from being spread so wide. You dragged a hand over his arm, up his shoulder until you met the back of his neck. Your fingers brushed through the back of his red curls. “We made quite the mess.” You were tired, sounded so breathless - it nearly made Eris’s knees wobble.

He laughed, though, a hearty chuckle, quite proud of his creation. He surveyed the messy kitchen, in no shape to bake, to serve anything made from or around the mess that had become evidence of your mating bond. But after pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, the male was off, walked those long legs to the counter and scribbled down a note on a piece of scrap paper beside your recipe book.

Even his handwriting was beautiful. “Closed until further notice.”

He rushed back to you, scooping you in his arms, holding you tightly against him, even as you broke out into a fit of giggles.

“Now you can show me this upstairs I’ve heard so much about.” And you knew right then that you’d be riding the high of your mating frenzy until Eris had learned every inch of you.

#eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris x you #eris vanserra x you #eris fanfic #eris fanfiction #acotar #Eris/reader #eris vanserra/reader #Eris one shot #eris vanserra/you #eris/you

755 notes · View notes

cryptidsofwakemoor · 6 months ago

Text

Chapter 11 - Gratuitous Waffle Violence

Matchstick uses eating utensils to varying degrees of success, while Tikki draws up a roommate contract.

~*~

Mystic

Morning comes again, as it always does.

And with it, the spicy smell of a hot drink, as the catalyst to his waking.

Sitting on the rug next to the couch is another mug of the hot 'cider' Tikki made the previous night- but he can smell something else, too. The scent of the only other hot drink he was familiar with, the one the scientists in the lab carried around sometimes. It was earthy and bitter, but not in an unpleasant way.

Clinking noises from the kitchen, and plap plaps. Tikki must be awake, and making something.

Spooky

Slowly he unfolds himself, lanky legs stretching out from under the blankets followed by his upper torso and arms, his bones popping. He wasn't used to sleeping on something quite this soft... Sprawled out on the couch, he turns his head to try and see what Tikki's doing, but all he sees is her back as she prepares something just out of his view.

He was almost reluctant to get up, but the smell of the cider beckoned, and his mouth was feeling dry. He leaned down and scooped the mug up from the ground, holding it carefully in both hands and slurping noisily.

Mystic

"Wow, your bones sound like glow sticks," Tikki comments, back still turned. "First time you're sleeping on something soft?"

She tried to hide how much the thought pissed her off. Who was responsible for taking care of this kid in the 'lab'? They were shit at their job. Probably on purpose, which made her more angry, which forced her to stuff that feeling away for another molotov cocktail that surely wouldn't detonate later.

"I made you more cider- sounds like it did the job last night," she continues, not waiting for a response. "You should start drinking more regular water after this, though. Can't have you dehydrated, and you'll get more energy back if you eat properly. Which probably means I shouldn't be giving you too much sugar, but ehh..."

Tikki eventually turns back around, this time carrying a platter over to a strange contraption on a rotating spit. She flips it open, and pulls a set of puffy, boxy discs from inside. Loading up a plate with four separate discs, she sets up a second platter with only two, and lathers them in a translucent golden-brown syrup. With a march in her step, still wearing her colorful fish pajamas, she goes back to the living room that seemed to their designated eating space for the moment.

Tikki holds out the plate to him, complete with the utensils he wasn't sure how to use, and sits with her own.

"You're going to want the cutlery for this one," she says, smirking as she sips from her hot drink. "It's very sticky without it. Then we can start talking plans for whatever you're doing."

Spooky

He took the plate and was just about to pick up the food with his other hand, though he stopped dead in his tracks when she warned about it being sticky. Remembering the nectar tubes outside, he was reminded all too well that ‘sticky’ meant having to wash off.

Not really keen on taking another bath so soon, he considered the metal instruments that were given to him along with the disc- a long, flat one and another one with four prongs. Tikki had used the pronged one just yesterday to eat the, uh... theeeee omm... omelet! Yeah, she stabbed it and used it to pick it up. Didn't seem too hard.

He sat down and put the white disc in his lap, wrapping his fingers around the handle of the pronged utensil until he was holding it in his fist. He then lifted it and stabbed it more viciously than necessary into the food disc at top of the stack, attempting to pick the whole thing up with it. The puffy food was soft despite its crispier outside, though, and fell off the utensil, landing with a syrupy plap back on the stack and lightly splattering him in the stuff.

He slouched forward a bit in response, his brow knit together as his eyes regarded the stack with a rather grumpy look.

Mystic

Tikki snorts into her mug, clearing her throat before setting it aside, and picking up her own utensils.

"You have to cut the waffle, first," she explains, taking the fork and poking it, then cutting into it with the knife in the other hand while the plate rests on her lap. "You can use the knife, or the edge of the fork if you're lazy, like me."

Tikki then does just that, using the side of the fork to cut another square of her food. It takes a bit more wiggling, but once it's free, she pops it into her mouth just as easily.

"I'll get you a wet napkin after we eat, don't worry about it."

Spooky

He huffed out a breath and picked up the knife in his other hand, holding it just about as clumsily as he did with the fork. He stabbed the stack with the fork once more, then stabbed his knife into it as well, awkwardly sawing back and forth with it until it scraped noisily against the plate.

He stopped, grimacing at the sound but... there weren't any pieces free yet, so he wrenched the knife to the side and started sawing again.

Yeah, he was definitely going to need a napkin.

At last he managed to get it into smaller pieces... He stabbed those, carefully lifted them up to his mouth, and finally was able to take a bite. His eyes widened. While this whole utensils thing had been a bit more complicated of a way to eat something... It was so fucking worth it! The... bread? was nice and crisp, and the syrup was way better than the sugar water in those flower tubes. Prior annoyance forgotten, he licked his chops and went to stab another piece.

Mystic

Tikki shakes her head in mild amusement, eating some more of her own waffles.

"You might have an easier time if you're a bit more gentle about it," she says, smiling tiredly as she lifts her mug and takes another drink. "Moving harshly is what splattered the syrup. One sec-"

Tikki goes to the kitchen, grabs a napkin from a rung, and soaks it with a bit of hot water. Returning to the couch area, she holds it out to him.

"Here- you can wipe off the syrup with this."

Sitting back down, she hums, finishing her own two waffles in short order.

She waits quietly while he eats, drinking more of her mystery drink.

"So..." she says, finally breaking the silence once he's had time to work through the stack of waffles. "What's your plan going forward, Sticks? Do you have an idea of what you want to do?"

Spooky

He paused and looked up from his plate, his cheeks visibly stuffed with waffle and syrup dripping from his mouth. Then, still wide-eyed, he looked past her, not really at anything in particular.

Plan going forward? He'd been on the run for a while now, technically free even if he was being hunted, but up to this point it felt like his days had to be almost entirely devoted to his continued survival. If it wasn't hiding, it was food and water he was primarily focused on.

Now that those needs were met, though...

Now what...?

His eyes focused on her again, and he looked almost as if he was expecting her to continue on with what she wanted him to do, but no instructions were forthcoming.

Feeling lost, he gave a noncommittal shrug and went back to eating.

Mystic

Tikki hums, frowning a little.

"Okay, maybe that was a bit too broad," she acquiesces, cleaning a bit of syrup off her plate with the fork and nibbling it off the tines, almost literally chewing over her thoughts. "Anywhere in particular you want to go? You don't have to stay in this town if you don't want to- from the sounds of it, you seem pretty scared. I can help, but... I don't know, I guess I just feel bad that you seem so afraid all the time. You shouldn't have to be."

She felt a little bad pointing it out, but it needed to be said. She was observant. She'd seen him running for cover in the trees, acting like exposure to the world for even a fraction of a second meant certain death. Granted, she had no idea which 'lab' was responsible for... this. Whatever they'd done to him. Who knows, they could be near town.

"...it- reminds me of how I used to feel, early on," Tikki explains, scratching at one arm. Her pointed fingers catch lightly on the silver scales that faintly dust over her regular teal ones.

Spooky

With his waffles now gone too, he stuck the end of the fork in his mouth for a minute as he tried to think. When he took it back out again, the tines were red hot.

"Where else...?" He mumbled, looking down at the syrup puddle on his plate. It wasn't very reflective, but he could see the vague circular shadow of his head in it, blocking out the light that would otherwise be making it shine.

He truly didn't know any other place in this world, and it had taken a while just to get used to this one. Maybe it would've been better to just have kept running until he was far away, but even on the outside it seemed like he couldn't really escape. How long would he have to run until he didn't see that logo anymore? Until he knew he was out of their reach?

"They're ehn... ev... everywhere," he added.

Mystic

"...oh."

Tikki seems saddened by this, frowning as she looks down at her own empty plate.

"...I'm sorry," she says. "I know I didn't have anything to do with it, but- well, somebody has to say it."

...

"...who did it?"

Dangerous question to ask. But then, it was dangerous for her to simply have him in her home, and she seemed fine enough breaking that rule.

Spooky

He slid his fork around in the syrup, though he made no move to lick it or anything- it was just movement for movement's sake.

He was clearly hesitant to answer... Not because he didn't trust Tikki by this point, but moreso that he was afraid. Perhaps irrationally so, since it wasn't like it would summon them to just utter the name of it... But knowing that didn't ease his paranoia any. Still... if he was going to stay, she deserved to know, if only so she knew who to avoid too...

After seeming like he wasn't going to say anything, he finally opened his mouth and spoke again, this time in a whisper.

"Aria."

Mystic

...

"...wait."

Tikki says nothing for a moment as the gears turn. She sits up, removing a small tablet device from a pocket on her pajamas. She taps at it for a second, staring at the screen on the front as a light comes on, casting faint illumination on her cheeks.

"Aria, as in- the megacorporation? The company that does appliance and tech delivery, and is a giant monument to the follies of capitalism?" Despite almost none of these words making sense to him, Tikki seems to be getting incensed the deeper she goes, so it must have communicated something accurate to the true Aria conglomerate. "Ugh. Figures it would be a giant business with its fingers in so many pies that it could pay to get away with murder."

It was truly sad how little of an exaggeration that statement was. Tikki had no doubt in her mind that if this kid stayed where he'd been before, and proved not useful enough to whoever deemed the criteria, they could have simply erased him. Be done with him and act like he was never there- against his will or not.

"You can't leave, then," Tikki continues, thinking. "Otherwise, you'll get caught by the vainglorious manchildren with too much padding in their wallets. I'm certainly not going to turn you over to that. So... do you want to stay, then? Again, I don't have much, but... I have a roof and a couch, and I'd like to think I'm pretty good at avoiding the public eye."

Spooky

There were a lot of terms being used that were flying over his head, but as he leaned to try and get a look at her screen, his wide-eyed, anxious reaction upon seeing the logo was all it took to confirm it for her.

He stared down as she scrolled through the results, his shoulders tense.

While he had been developed in their labs, the fact remained that he didn't understand the full scope of what Aria was. How could he? He had seen computers before plenty of times, but he'd never been allowed to use one himself. He'd never had money before, to his knowledge. The smiling, corporate facade of this company was just baffling to him, it painted a friendly picture so alien from the place he was used to that it gave him a severe sense of tonal whiplash just to think about it.

Listening to her, though, was kind of cathartic even if he didn't know some of what she was saying. Her anger was a small comfort to him, and it made him feel less alone in the world to know he had at least one person who had his back in this case.

Even though he was worried about what they would do to her if they found her, let alone what they would do if they found out she'd been hiding him...

At this point, the question wasn't whether or not he wanted to stay- he did, very much so. The question was really more like 'am i willing to risk Tikki's safety?' Tikki was the first and only truly friendly face he'd encountered... that he... didn't struggle to recall from an old memory, anyway.

On one hand, it would be dangerous, but on the other... He was a weapon. If they did track him down, or did anything to hurt Tikki... He would make them hurt too.Or worse.

Looking back up at her with a more resolute expression, he nodded.

He wanted to stay.

Mystic

Tikki smiles, pleased with this response- and kind of relieved.

“Oh good,” she exhales. “I wanted to give you the choice, but I won’t lie, I was probably going to worry about you a lot if you left.”

Tikki sets her plate aside and claps her hands together.

“Then, I guess we gotta draw up a roommate contract. Y’know- lay down some terms so we’re both comfortable.”

She leans over to rifle through a drawer of the cabinet set under the silent television, removing a yellow paper pad and pencil. Snapping the paper out flat, she places it on her knees and starts writing, talking while she does so.

“I’ve never had to share a space with someone that wasn’t a sibling before, much less on land, but I think I can handle that. Since this is my house, here are my terms: One, obviously you don’t have a job, so you can’t pay rent. That’s fine- but you’re going to have to help me around the house. Managing a space for two people is a challenge on my own, and in the process, I can teach you how to take care of yourself. Like laundry, cooking, etcetera... I’m not going to be your maid, but you’re not going to be mine, either. Could be helpful in an emergency, like if I get um- indisposed. Basically I’m just saying we help each other, okay? Two, you don’t sell out my uh-“

Tikki scratches behind her neck.

”-medical condition to any authorities. I’m not even normal by non-human standards, but hey, neither of us are very normal, are we? It’s like we’re made for each other,” she jokes.

Tikki finishes writing her notes, tapping the pencil on the paper before her gaze slides over to him.

“Does that sound fair? Anything you’d like to add, any rules you want to lay down?”

Spooky

The corners of his mouth quirked up a little at her relieved response, though it quickly turned to a look of surprise when she grabbed a paper and started talking about a 'contract'. That was a word he'd heard before, he was pretty sure, but like most things he overheard in random conversation snippets from scientists, he didn't have enough context to really understand what it meant.

Listening to Tikki though, he was able to figure out that it seemed to be some form of agreement. Wasn't sure why it had to be written down though... Maybe so both people wouldn't forget it?

Idly licking the syrup from his plate as he watched her write, he did his best to follow what she was saying- he wasn't sure what a rent was or what 'indisposed' meant- but he was able to grasp the main idea of it. 'Help each other' seemed reasonable enough.

Second part seemed obvious enough to him that it didn't really need to be written. After all, he did already promise that he would keep the secret! But if she felt better writing it on the paper too, well, that would be alright.

It sounded fair enough, so he gave a nod to that question, though when asked if there was anything he wanted to add, any rules he wanted... He got that far-off look in his eyes again and set the plate back down in his lap, immediately paralyzed by choice. While in the lab there were a lot of decisions he wished he could make in regards to his living situation, like no more ‘resilience testing’ chambers or shackles, or no more jabbing metal shit into his back... It didn't seem like Tikki's house had anything of the sort, and he'd only been here for one night.

What could he want that would apply to this place? He glanced over at Slithers as if to see if he had any ideas, but as Slithers was an inanimate plushie, no suggestions were forthcoming.

He gave an awkward shrug to Tikki. There was only one thing he could think of that was super obvious, but if they were gonna write everything down, might as well.

"Hh... Hide me... from Aria," he said.

Mystic

Tikki nods, not questioning the request in the slightest.

“Good, we’re on the same page.” She puts a line on the paper between her points and his, writing ‘Stick’s Rules’ above his section. “We can add more if you think about anything later.”

Tikki finished writing, and signed it with a looping scribble of some sort.

“I do have a guest room,” Tikki explains, sheepish all of the sudden, “but it’s- not furnished. I never had a reason to buy a second bed, and I was… kinda using it as my indoor hiding place when I change? So unfortunately that room isn’t usable right now, cuz it’s just kinda an empty box. Maybe sometime soon, though, once I save up enough money, we can set you up in there? Apologies in advance for any damage to the room. It’ll take a while, so you can have this living room as your space until that day. I don’t use it much anyway, the fireplace dries out my scales.”

Spooky

He blinked, perking up a little bit in intrigue. A room of his own?

His cell back at the lab had been very sparse save for restraints, and it was more part of a larger room with heavy duty viewing windows separating them. Needless to say it hardly felt like a space to call his own, not with so many eyes on him.

He would gladly take an empty cameraless box over that, at least it offered some privacy. In the meantime, though, the living room seemed nice.

...Why was it called a living room, though? Didn't seem like it was alive, any more so than the rest of the building at least. Weird...

Still, the thought of staying in it was kind of exciting- it was warm, had a lot of stuff to look at, there were good smells from the kitchen, and he liked the fireplace. It was probably a good thing he didn't have any scales to worry about drying out.

...That did remind him, though. Tikki was a fish lady. Weren't fish supposed to live in water? There was an aquarium at the lab. He'd only seen it a few times in passing, but it was a rare spot of colors and visual interest in an otherwise mostly monochrome environment, and he probably could have watched it for hours if they'd have let him. There were fish in Tikki's room too, though that tank wasn't nearly as big, nor populated.

The only water he'd ever seen Tikki in, though, had been the pond outside. Did she normally go in there when it wasn't iced over? Hm...

That in turn made him wonder about the place she said she was from before. Picking up Slithers and looking down at its beady lil' eyes, he thought for a moment before asking: "what's... Sea?"

Mystic

Tikki blinks. Her eyebrows raise when she realizes what he was asking.

“Oh- the sea! It’s a large body of saltwater, just a few miles away, also called the ocean. You can’t drink it, but the water is home to a lot of colorful fish, animals, and plants. My people live there- in your tongue we’re called ‘mermaids’. There are some of us that can live in rivers, but most of us live deep in the ocean. It’s my-“

She pauses, the cheer dissipating for a brief moment. When she speaks again, it’s muted.

“-was my home.”

Spooky

It didn't escape his notice how her expression seemed to light up when she started describing it, but faded so quickly at the mention of her leaving. It was... very clear she hadn't wanted to go. Something had forced her to leave. Whatever the reason was, it probably prevented her from going back, too...

Remembering Slithers's purpose, though, he lifted the plush up and nudged her shoulder with it, trying to hand it back to her.

"...don't like water..." he mumbled, sliding his hand over the nape of his neck. "liked... watchin' fish, though." His voice was still weak, but it was at least sounding a little better today, and not as much like he'd been gargling gravel.

Mystic

Tikki glances over in confusion as she feels something squish against her. Then she smiles, seeing the plush. She takes it and gives it a small hug.

“Thanks,” she mumbles. “You’re a good kid.”

A sigh.

…after a few moments, she places the plush back on the couch next to him. She appreciated the gesture.

“Yeah? Fish like watching us, too,” Tikki says with a chuckle. “You gave the guppies a big spook when you woke us up. They’ve been babbling about you all morning. They think you’re some kind of giant walking eel.”

Tikki stretches her back, grunting as the vertebrae pop a little.

“Any other questions you got for me? Since we’re laying all cards on the table now, might as well, I guess. You already know my biggest secret.”

Spooky

There it was again, that odd chuffing kind of laugh, the best he could manage currently. Eels were those noodly ones with all the teeth, right? He only really saw them poking their heads out from rocks in their tank for the most part, but they looked kind of goofy. The mental image of him poking his head out of a rock and opening and closing his mouth a lot just struck him as way too silly not to laugh, despite the state of his voice.

"Tell 'em sorry," he rasped, coughing a little from the laugh. He didn't mean to spook them, but at this point he was kind of used to that reaction.

That did remind him, though, of something else odd he noticed the night before. "...I couldn't h- hear 'em..." he whispered, trying to give his voice a break. He'd seen them swim towards Tikki, and they seemed to be the ones to wake her... but surely enough, he'd only heard the bubbling of the filter at most.

Mystic

"Oh don't worry, I did," Tikki giggles, sipping from her mug. "Guppies aren't the brightest, and thought your glowing eyes meant you were a predator there to eat them or something."

Hearing him whisper and cough, she reaches over and pats him on the shoulder.

"It's okay, take it easy on your throat. You'll probably need several more days of resting your throat and drinking cider or tea with honey to heal whatever damage you may have."

Tikki takes his mug, which was now empty, and goes to refill it in the kitchen.

"I'd be surprised if you could hear them!" Tikki says idly. "It's a mermaid thing- we can talk to fish, and understand them. They're not always intelligent, it can depend on the individual, or even type of fish. Usually larger fish are smarter- bigger brains to absorb more information, n' all. Anything that's not a fish, like turtles or otters, are harder to communicate with; not quite the same language."

Spooky

Huh... That sounded pretty nice, talking to animals... even if only a certain type of 'em. He'd seen a few animals at the lab, and plenty more of them while roughing it outside, but they didn't seem to like him. They usually ran away before he could even get close, which made sense for the wild ones, but even the domestic ones that were perfectly fine with being around humans seemed to freak out when they saw him. Which sucked, because they were cute, and it seemed like it would be nice to pet them...

His gaze drifted down to his hands, and his eyes fell half-lidded as he sighed. Yeah, right... Probably better that he didn't, he'd probably just crush or burn them by accident or something...

He didn't notice Tikki returning until a refilled mug entered his view, and it almost made him jump for a second.

Mystic

"I don't blame you for being skittish," Tikki says, somber as she hands him the refilled mug. "I don't know your full story, but I can imagine you've been through some hell. It's okay if you need time, there's no shame in it."

Leaving him to his drink, she picks up the contract and folds it, tucking it into a pocket on her pajamas. Hands now mostly free, she grabs his abandoned plate and stacks it on top of her own to go clean.

"Which reminds me- you've been kinda running around in tatters for a while." Tikki looks over her shoulder from the sink. "You need clothes besides- y'know- a blanket. Are you fine with hand-me-downs? Just nod yes or shake your head for no, to save your voice."

Spooky

He looked over his shoulder and tilted his head at the term 'hand-me-downs', having never heard it before, but... he did know what clothes were, and while the blanket had been doing okay at keeping him warm, it was a little annoying to have to hold it around him with his hand to keep it from falling down...

Also, a quick look at the shorts he'd been in since before he'd even escaped- now threadbare in places and torn in others- told him they were definitely not going to last much longer.

Not wanting to go completely without, he looked back up at her and nodded quickly, his face faintly glowing in embarrassment.

Mystic

Tikki accepts that answer.

“Awesome. I’ll see what I have that fits- might be a little big for even you, since I’ll need to pick something not form-fitting, but you’ll grow into them.” She gives him a quick, wry smile. “As if you’re not already a beanpole, heh.”

True to her word, once Tikki finishes with kitchen cleanup, and walks back off toward her room and disappears again for a few minutes. He can hear the distant clatter of moving drawers and the creak of hinges on closet doors, along with a faint plastic clicking noise. Eventually, she emerges with a small armload of cloth.

“Got some sweatpants and leisure shirts that’ll probably be fine,” she says, rifling through them before lightly tossing them in his direction. They land on the couch cushion with a pff. “Mostly just comfort clothes. Go ahead and use the bathroom whenever you want to change.”

Spooky

He made a face at the beanpole comment as she turned back around to finish up in the kitchen. Beanpole? What does that even mean??

When Tikki left to get the clothes, he looked himself over front and back, trying to figure out what she meant. The moment he heard her returning, however, he quickly stopped and pretended to just be chillin' out with his arms loosely crossed instead.

When she unceremoniously tossed the clothes on the couch next to him, he was quick to start checking them out. On top of the pile was a big shirt that, when held up, had a drawing of an orange animal sleeping in a red box, with a blue blanket draped over them, and the words 'I HATE MONDAYS' on it.

He blinked, before shrugging and tossing it back on the clothes pile. He then scooped the whole thing up in his arms and went off to the bathroom to get dressed.

~*~

Previous | Chapter Index | Next

New reader? You can start here!

#stickman #stickmanoc #stickman oc #mermaid oc #merperson #lab experiment oc #writing #original fiction #cosmic fiasco #cosmic fiasco cryptids #fedoraspooky #mysticdoodles #art by fedoraspooky

50 notes · View notes

fuctacles · 1 year ago

Text

in love and war part 2

For Spicy Six Winter Challenge hosted by @thefreakandthehair

T | 2221 | feelings realization, bi awakening | read part 1 here | part 3 here

And this takes us to the present. The revenge plan.

The sun has just come up and there are four of them camping in Steve’s car, sharing thermoses full of hot beverages of choice. (Steve brought one full of hot cocoa and it's the crowd’s favorite.)

“Eddie is not an early riser, we’re wasting time,” Lucas complains while observing the trailer with his binoculars.

“I think his uncle’s gonna wake him up for us,” Robin assures him. And like clockwork, Wayne Munson’s truck comes into view, almost knocking down one of their sculptures. The man steps out, takes a look at the dozen snowmen surrounding his trailer, and disappears inside.

About fifteen minutes later, the curtains in one of the windows move. Steve’s buzzing in his seat. Or maybe just shivering. He reaches into his pocket for a tissue to wipe his runny nose.

“There’s a message!”

“Well, read it!”

“Nice move, Stevie,” Lucas reads the paper that appeared in the window. “Can’t play with you tho, I’m sick. Sad face.”

“Did he draw a sad face or…?”

“Of course, he drew it!”

Steve yanks the binoculars from Lucas to see for himself. The papers disappeared but Eddie took their place in the window, wrapped in a blanket. There’s a scarf around his neck and his nose is red. He looks bad.

“Damn. He really is sick.”

“Full offense but you look like shit, too.”

“Can it, Mayfield.”

He steps out and walks up to the trailer. Eddie finally spots him and he perks up and waves at him.

“Hi!”

Even through the window, Steve can hear how croaky his voice is.

“Guess there goes your next campaign.”

Eddie laughs weakly, it turns into a cough.

“Guess so.”

“You started it,” he reminds him.

“I know. Sorry.”

“Why?” Steve frowns at him. Eddie shrugs.

“Seemed like a fun idea.”

“Imagine how much fun you could be having playing DnD now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie waves his hand. “But. You know.” He shrugs again.

“No, I don’t know.” He shakes his head, frowning again.

“You don’t play DnD.”

He taps against the glass nervously and Steve collects himself quickly.

“We can find something that doesn’t end with you in bed.”

Eddie’s eyes sparkle with mischief and Steve immediately realizes the double meaning in his words.

“Okay, shut up.”

He turns around and leaves quickly. The inside of his car is surprisingly warm and he shivers from head to toe.

“Well, I’m leaving before I catch whatever this is,” Max eyes him before escaping the car. She stops once outside. “Lucas, you coming?”

The boy scrambles behind her.

“Let’s get you home,” Robin squeezes his arm.

He takes one last glance at Eddie’s trailer and nods.

It’s all misery from there. He makes camp in the living room because that’s where the tv is and he needs some entertainment while sitting on his ass and coughing. Robin takes stock of his medicine cabinet and whatever else he may need while housebound. She forces him to take his temperature. He’s prissy about it because it would make the sickness real, but it’s barely above average.

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” Robin pats him on the head while inspecting the thermometer. “Where’s your walkie?”

“There’s no need-”

“Little shitheads need to know they’re on their own. Or rather on their parent’s mercy.”

He nods.

“It should be on my desk.”

She’s gone for a while which makes him assume he’s excluded from the conversation. There’s probably a lot of yelling happening from the kids and Robin’s saving him the headache, bless her heart. She comes back eventually, walkie in hand.

“I’ll leave it nearby in case you need anything, but I told them not to bother you, that you’ll contact them if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” he smiles. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” she smiles back. “Dustin isn’t happy, of course, but his mom said they’ll come with some soup later. Max said, and I quote “serves them well.”

“She's not wrong,” he mutters.

“Will and Lucas said they’re sorry. Will said Mike’s sorry too.”

Steve snorts.

“Course he did. What did Eddie say?”

“Nothing,” she shrugs. “Either he was sleeping or too sick to speak up.”

“Huh.” He’s weirdly disappointed about that.

“Anyway, I gotta go to work now because my coworker called in sick.” She pats his knee as she stands up.

“Uh, I’m sorry?”

She shakes her head.

“You’ll pay me back when I come down with whatever I just caught from you. I’ll come over tomorrow with some movies. don’t forget Dustin’s coming later today!”

He groans.

“Right, of course.”

“Yeah, not jealous about that, buddy.” She pats his head. His hair is ruined enough that he doesn’t protest. “Walkie if you need anything, do not leave the house, keep yourself warm. Toodles!”

“See you, Rob.”

Later he has to listen to Dustin yelling at him from the other side of the room (“I’m not getting any closer to your germs, Steve!”). Claudia, the wonderful mom she is, doesn’t have such reservations and hands him the soup she brought after heating it.

“Dusty made us make rounds to all your friends to gather a care package for you.”

Steve makes a surprised sound over his cup.

“Being sick is so boring, we thought it could help!” Dustin adds, still yelling from afar. But the anger seems to have seeped out of him. “We’re going to Eddie’s next, his care package is cooler.”

“Dustin!”

Steve laughs.

“He’s probably right, Ms. Claudia, I don’t think our interests overlap as much as with Eddie.”

“Well, you’re gonna get educated because we do not have boring jock shit for you.”

“Dustin!”

“What?! It’s the truth!”

Steve snorts so hard, he needs a tissue.

After they leave, he digs into the care package like it’s a Christmas morning. Everything has little post-it notes with get-well wishes and signed who it’s from. From Robin, he got promised medication restock and some hard candy for his throat. Will gave him a copy of Hobbit and a tape which upon opening, turned out to have a small joint hidden inside, courtesy of Jonathan. El lent him a Wonder Woman comic. Dustin gave him a Batman comic and a handwritten guide titled “D&D for dummies”, that actually made him chuckle. At the bottom, probably because Dustin was ashamed of his friend, was an issue of Sports Illustrated with a note “Read the Magic Johnson interview!” and below that, a girly-looking magazine, dryly signed “from Erica.” He chuckled to himself and opened it first. Inside was another Post-it note that read “page 17”. Intrigued, he flips the pages to find it.

On page seventeen, there is a segment titled “Flirting or bullying?” and one of the questions/stories is highlighted with a pink marker. Steve gets to reading.

“Dear TM team,

My friend, S, is being followed by this boy who keeps starting snowball fights. He’s waiting for S’s shift to end, sitting in his van outside the shop to do so. It’s turning into a full-blown snowball war by this point. My other friend thinks they are pulling pigtails, but I just think they are dumb. So, is it flirting or boys being idiots? -E”

Steve drops the magazine and goes into the kitchen to have a refill of his soup.

When Robin comes in the next day, the magazine still lies where he left it, taunting him. His heart stutters when she picks it up with a laugh.

“I guess under all her snark Erica is just another girl, huh?”

Oh, how wrong she was.

He licked his dry lips before speaking up, barely audible and fucking terrified.

“Open it.”

Surprised, her eyes snap at him, but something in his tone makes her comply without a word. He pretends to busy himself studying the romcoms she brought.

“Huh,” he hears among the rustle of the pages. He looks up, too tempted to watch her face while she reads.

“What’s so fucking funny?” he asks, watching her lips quirk.

“Nothing!” she squeaks. “I’m surprised she did that.”

“I’m not. It’s Erica.”

“True,” she giggles, closing the magazine. He frowns at her.

“What did they say?”

“You didn’t read it?”

He taps his fingers against his mug.

“I chickened out,” he admits.

“Why don’t you ask Eddie yourself?”

“Robin,” he whines.

“Steve,” she whines back. She scoots closer and takes the mug out of his hand to lace their fingers together. “Listen, I rejected you and now we’re friends. You’re friends with Nancy too. You can let him down gently, it’s not the end of the world.”

“No, Robin…” He sighs, squeezing her hand. “I think I was, um… pulling his pigtails back.”

“Oh shit.”

“Oh shit,” he nods.

They look into each other’s eyes, giddy and nervous, before bursting into giggles. Their eyes fall back on the magazine.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“Didn’t Eddie get a care package from them too?”

“Oh shit.”

“Dude I can’t stay here forever, pick up the phone!”

“Your yelling is really not helping me.”

“Oh, so you’d rather do it by yourself?”

He winces.

“No? Yes? I don’t know!”

She groans and he’s pretty sure she’s about to strangle him when the phone calls. They both jump and stare at it. Robin eyes him but he’s not moving a muscle so she groans and picks it up in the middle of the third ring.

“Yes?” She sounds calm and collected. “Oh, hi Eddie!” She smiles like an imp, staring straight into Steve’s soul. “You sound like shit.”

He makes a sound of protest, but she puts a hand up to stop him.

“Oh, you just got your voice back? And you’re calling Steve first thing? How sweet!” She’s making kissy faces at him and he’s about to commit murder. “Yes, he’s awake, I’ll get him.” She holds out the receiver. “For you.”

“Fucking obviously,” he murmurs, snatching it from her. She snickers.

“I’ll be in the living room,” she says and struts away, but he keeps an eye on her just in case she decides to eavesdrop.

“Steve?”

He does sound terrible.

“It’s me, hi.”

“Hi, um. Did you, by any chance, maybe, perhaps, get a care package from the kids?”

Steve’s insides twist.

“Yes?”

“From Erica too?”

“Yes.”

“A magazine?”

“Page seventeen?”

Eddie breathes hard into the receiver.

“Yes, that.”

The silence hangs between them. His clogged sinuses make it hard to formulate thoughts.

“What did they say?”

“What?”

“Was it flirting or bullying?” he clarifies, fumbling with the cord.

“You didn’t read it?”

“No.” He tries to find an explanation that doesn't sound bad. “Wanted to hear it from you.”

Eddie takes a ragged breath, it turns into a coughing fit. Steve frowns.

“You should go back to bed, we can talk about it later.”

“No!” Eddie protests straight away. Coughs a bit more. “I just… Yes, they say it was flirting,” he spits out.

Steve suddenly feels worse.

“But they were wrong,” he pushes for clarification.

Eddie sounded like they were.

“I don’t know,” he admits instead. Steve frowns.

“What do you mean you don’t know? You either flirt or-”

“I never thought about it, okay?” Eddie interrupts him. “I always assumed I’m into chicks but I’d definitely not flirt with one like that.”

It feels like a punch in the gut and Steve knows his own answer. Robin’s right, he’s survived rejection and unrequited feelings and got life-long friendships out of it. He can bear one more.

“Well, I’m pretty sure it was flirting on my part.”

Eddie starts coughing again.

“It’s okay if you weren’t i just wanted to be clear,” he adds as soon as the coughing subdues. “I never thought about it before either.”

“No, listen. Steve. Stevie.”

Steve’s stomach makes a backflip against his will.

“Yes?”

“I’m still thinking about it, okay? Just, the fever isn’t helping. Like, I want to say yes, but I’d rather say it when I’m not sick and half out of it, you know?”

Steve barks out a laugh, relieved and hopeful.

“Sure, makes sense. I’ll still be here.”

Waiting, like a dumbass.

“Cool. I’ll call you tomorrow, I’m out of stamina for today.”

“Sure, uh, sleep well.”

“You too, sweetheart.”

Steve’s too stunned by the pet name to put the phone away, so they just breathe into each other's ears, startled. But he won’t let Eddie one-up him like that.

“Goodnight, handsome.”

Eddie made a choked sound before ending the call. Steve puts the phone down and walks back into the living room, where Robin is waiting for him, the TV forgotten.

“Well? What did he say?” she asks before he can sit down.

“That he’s still thinking about it.”

“Nooooo!”

“But he did call me a sweetheart.”

“Oh?”

“I guess neither of us realized we were flirting.”

“Steve!” She starts slapping his arm.

“What? What?!”

“I hate you so much! You were each other’s gay awakening? How is that fair?!”

She’s pouting when he grasps her hands to stop the assault.

“Well, we can plot a snowball war against Vickie next,” he offers.

“Are you kidding me?! She’d hate it!”

Steve imagined a gaggle of kids ganging against the poor little redhead.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I guess men are a simpler species.”

“You are so lucky I love you.”

#spicysixwinterfanworkschallenge #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #mine #stranger things #ff #st #stranger things 4 #steddie fanfiction #winter steddie #steddie fluff #steddie one shot #steddie oneshot

58 notes · View notes