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dollgxtz · 5 months ago

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Sleepy Crow

Word Count: 1.8k words

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, somno, noncon, mentions of breeding, pet names such as kitten, sweetie, darling, reader is somewhat drugged but its her sleep meds!

AN: Hi all! This isn't my first time writing fanfics but I noticed a lack of Sylus fics with a darker undertone ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)σ". PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read the tags and if this isn't something that interests you or is potentially triggering, please do not interact! I get this isn't everyone's cup of tea but this is a fic for people who like darker romance stuff!! Please enjoy, and I AM taking requests as I really want to get back into writing again. Do not hold back, this is a safe place! Ty!! <333

Sylus trudged through the pouring rain, his jacket soaked through and his hair matted against his forehead. The drops were heavy and unrelenting, pelting against the pavement and creating small rivers that flowed along the gutters. The barely lit streetlights of the N109 zone cast an eerie glow on the slick surfaces, reflecting off the wet asphalt like a distorted mirror.

As the man approached his mansion, he couldn't help but feel relieved. The warm glow of the lights shining through the windows beckoned him home. He fumbled with the keypad to the door, his fingers slightly numb from the cold, before finally hearing the click that beckoned his entrance.

The sound of raindrops hitting the roof and windows followed him, a steady drumming that seemed to fill every corner of the place. He took off his sodden jacket and hung it up, feeling the weight of it pulling him down. He walked through the dimly lit hallway, his footsteps echoing softly on the marble floors, trying his hardest to be quiet. Mephisto was perched on his cage (not that he was ever really in it, it was more for decor) tilting his head when he saw Sylus brush past him but not making any sound himself.

He made his way to the bedroom chambers, deciding to make sure you were where you belonged. Peeking his head in the bedroom doorway, he saw your sleeping figure, chest rising ever so slightly with each breath. He smirked, closing the door behind him as he entered. He was happy you finally seemed to be getting some rest.

Your insomnia had been getting worse, and he'd been getting worried when he saw you were often messaging him at 4 am, sometimes as late as 8 am with no sleep. Of course he’d offer to have you over, to hold you and whisper sweet things in your ear until you succumbed to sleep, but he couldn’t always. Sometimes business was needed to be handled, and for those nights he had gotten you the best sleep medication that money could buy. You had been weary about taking them at first, but he had assured you that the side effects were basically none. He had made sure of it.

Sylus made his way to the bathroom, proceeding to rid himself of the damp clothes clinging to his skin. A quick shower and then he could finally curl up next to his little crow. Not that he would be sleeping yet, but it was nice to watch you dream. Sometimes you’d whine or make little noises, which he found absolutely adorable. He wondered what you dreamt about sometimes, but you had refused to answer much to his annoyance.

The hot water felt amazing after being gone practically all night. He washed all the blood and dirt from his skin, examining all of his various injuries. He had a run in with a few “pests” that he quickly exterminated, but they had managed to get a few nicks on him. He touched his arm where the biggest cut was, his Evol immediately snaking around it and healing it faster than he could blink. He did the same for the others, feeling brand new once more.

Some time passed before he finally turned the water off, dried himself, and slipped into a pair of boxers. He slowly made his way into the bedroom, hoping that he wasn't being too loud but you were out like a light. Sleeping like a rock.

Sylus slipped in bed next to you, sighing with pleasure as the soft mattress sunk beneath his weight. It felt heavenly. He turned to put his arm around you, trying to get as comfortable as possible so he could hold you. He softly kissed the corner of your ear, his head starting to swim with thoughts. Surprisingly, he felt comfortable enough to possibly fall asleep with you.

But he couldn't.

He had been laying in bed for thirty minutes just thinking. He thought about all the business arrangements he needed to finish. Tonight had been…messy. No doubt he had made some new enemies. How impatient he was getting about the new weaponry he had bought from Spain. They should be arriving soon, but it had been taking forever.

How he wanted to feel your tight cunt pulsing around his fingers.

Sylus stiffened, attempting to rid his head of these thoughts about you. His efforts were in vain though, as he was already rocking a semi hard on that was steadily growing into a full erection.

Obviously there was nothing he could do about it. You were sleeping after all. And not only that, it's not like he could wake you to do anything anyways. He hates quickies, they bored him. He likes to take his time. To take in your reactions, your faces, and your noises. Besides that, you were taking a pretty high dose of your sleeping meds and he kinda doubted he could wake you even if he really tried.

This thought stirred in his head for a bit.

Yeah...you wouldn't wake even if he tried. He sighed with a twinge of pleasure as he pressed his erection against the soft cotton of your underwear. The pressure felt immaculate, and if he hadn't been gone all night he probably could've finished just by pressing himself against you. You were the only girl ever that could make him finish that quickly.

But it wasn't enough. He needed more. It had been a bit since he touched you like this.

You moved a bit in your sleep, letting out a small whine. He leaned over you to get a better look at your face. Still sleeping, mouth open slightly ajar. You were so fucking pretty when you slept.

“Such a sleepy kitten” he growled lowly, snaking his fingers underneath the hem of your underwear. He didn’t know why, but the mere sight of your sleeping face was getting him worked up. You looked so docile, so vulnerable. He wanted you. Sylus began to tug them down slowly.

This was very wrong. He knew this and yet he couldn't stop. He kept going, making empty promises to himself that he would only take a peek. He just wanted to see you. All of you.

Sylus froze has he finally pulled your underwear down to your legs, practically breathless at the site of your cunt at his fingertips.

"Fuck..." he groaned, unable to stop himself from pressing a finger between your folds. He watched you carefully for any signs of discomfort or movement, but you were still fast asleep as he pushed his finger in. You were warm, inviting even. It's like your pussy was sucking his finger in, deeper and deeper. He slid a second finger in, picking up the pace. Soon enough, your cunt was slightly wet, spots of your slick forming on the backs of your legs near your pussy. Pulling out, he practically shivered with excitement.

Sylus was quick to put his fingers in his mouth, savoring every drop of you. You tasted so sweet to him, the best flavor he ever had the honor to try. He wanted nothing more than to dive head first into the source and lap it up. But his erection was so starting to bother him. It was rock hard, and throbbing ever so slightly, begging to be freed.

He had to have you. And he had to have you now.

He pulled his erection through the hole in his boxers, beginning to stroke himself with an intense grip. Groaning as quietly as he could, he stared at your wet and welcoming cunt. He swore it was just begging to be filled by every inch of his cock. Still wanting him, even when you were asleep.

"You’re so pretty sweetie" he whispered in your ear, closing his eyes as electrifying pulses of pleasure crashed through him. Sylus told himself he should stop now, but it was past that point. He knew himself better than that. His mind was already made up, no matter how much he was trying to talk himself out of it.

Turning you a bit more on your side, he readied the fat head of his tip to your entrance. You stirred once again, mumbling incoherent nothings before becoming silent again. Sylus chuckled softly, pressing his lips to the tip of your ear as he stroked himself a few more times.

As he sinks his tip into your tight entrance, his precum smears all over your hole. He shudders with intensity, trying his best to hold back a groan, worried that making too much noise next to your ear would wake you. He pushes further and further until he can't possibly sink himself into you anymore. You squirm, letting out another whine, this one a bit louder than the last.

"Im sorry kitten…" Sylus coos, laying his head behind yours as he fucks you with a slow, rhythmic pace. "Just need to cum in what’s mine. Be a good girl and stay asleep for me”.

He rests one of his hands on your hip, trying to keep from shaking you too much as he continually plunges himself inside you. You were warm, your gummy walls constantly tightening around him. He moans your name over and over like a prayer, feeling lost in your walls. The soft clap of his skin meeting your ass echoes a bit in the room.

"You're fucking made for me. Look at you sweetie, tightening around me, trying to squeeze me dry even when you're sleeping" he whispers, feeling himself getting closer and closer to bliss.

His thrusts became sloppy and he had to slow himself, trying to savor every moment he had inside of what essentially felt like heaven. He had been wanting to fill you for days. Images of his seed erupting onto the walls of your fertile pussy, eventually giving you a nice, round tummy that would grow his baby filled his head and he couldn't stop himself from finishing anymore.

As his hot ropes of sticky cum shoot against the walls of your womb, he accidently grips your hip a bit tighter than he meant to. You yelp, and he quickly rubbed his hand over the spot he'd hurt you, ensuring you remained asleep. He checks the spot and sees some slight bruising already starting to form and curses himself silently for losing control and hurting you. His Evol was quick to move over the injury where his hand lay, instantly restoring your skin back to a healed state. Sylus was amazed he could even do that. His Evol had only ever healed him. It wasn’t until you came along that it had ever revealed that kind of power and it didn’t work for anyone else either.

"Shh shh, its ok. Just be still, I'm almost done filling you up darling…”

Once his orgasmic high subsided, he took a moment to catch his breath before watching as his cum pooled out of you. He took his finger and scooped as much of it as he could gather before gently pushing it back within your folds. Feeling satisfied with his work, he pulled your panties up before finally pulling the cover back over you.

"There you go. Gotta keep my seed where it belongs so you can make us a baby. Right kitten?" he chuckled, finally feeling tired enough to cuddle you and fall asleep.

#umi writes ♡︎#love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #sylus x reader #sylus #lads sylus #lads #lads smut #lads fic #sylus x reader smut #love and deep space x reader #l&ds smut #lads scenarios #love and deep space scenarios #sylus x reader fic

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finelinevogue · 3 months ago

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OMG imagine kit and reader begin co stars in something and people making those compilations of them that are like “____ and ____ acting like a couple for 12 minutes and seven seconds straight” 🤭🤭🤭

oh im SOOO on for this🤭✨

the compilation

summary - you and kit are secretly dating but the fans are too perceptive and make a montage of your flirtiest moments

pairing - kit connor x co-star!reader

🫧🎥🫧🎬🫧🎥🫧🎬🫧🎥🫧🎬🫧🎥🫧🎬🫧

The video started with a short video of Kit being filmed for an interview, where he had to describe his co-star.

“What do I think about Y/N in 5 words?” He asked the man behind the camera.

The reporter confirmed the question and waited for Kit to respond.

“I don’t think there’s 5 words that are good enough.” Kit mumbled to himself but the microphone attached to him picked it up.

The rest of the people in the interview room swooned, but Kit was too busy trying to come up with a good enough answer to see.

“Okay…” Kit sat up straight, ready to answer properly.

“Kind. I know it’s a basic one, but it’s just true.”

“Funny. I’ve never known someone who could make me belly laugh before Y/N.”

“Compassionate. No matter how hard Y/N’s day is, you will always be granted a hug.” Kit laughed at that one, hearing how cheesy he sounded.

“Unpredictable. I feel like that needs no explanation.”

“And….” Kit smirked then, the camera zooming in on it, as he tried to think of an appropriate thing to say last, “I’ll go with safe.”

“Safe?” An interviewer questions.

“Yeah.” Kit responded with no intention to explain himself.

Once you watched the interview you would know exactly what he meant though, because you felt just as safe with Kit as he did with you.

🌊.

The next few clips were a compilation of videos that had been secretly recorded of you two from set or from friends.

The movie you’d been filming together had been a romance, which had only magnified your relationship seeing as you’d actually met through a mutual friend; Joe.

Joe would argue that he was the reason you were together. Kit would argue that it was his charm solely that got you together. You would argue that it was a bit of both, just to keep the peace.

The first clip that played was from a day that you visited the Heartstopper set.

You, Joe and Kit were all laying in “Nick’s” bed, laughing at something that Kit had just said. It must have been ridiculously funny because the next thing that happened was you rolling off the edge of the bed and onto the floor with a thump.

Kit had rolled to try and catch you but the thump on the floor suggested otherwise. The situation only made you laugh harder.

The second clip was something from Joe’s Instagram story, where he was filming a group of you walking down the River Thames. You were hitching a ride on Kit’s back, his arms around your legs that were wrapped around his waist. Your arms dangling around his neck and your cheek pressed against his.

The third clip was on the set of your new movie together.

You were both in Kit’s trailer and practicing some lines.

“You said you didn’t care!” You shouted, playing your character Rosa.

“Well I lied. I do care.” Kit shouted back, looking from his script to your face, playing his character Oscar.

“You’re insufferable.” You groaned.

“I’m sorry that me trying to figure out my feelings for you is insufferable.”

“F-feelings?” You questioned, your voice going quieter.

“I thought I was being obvious.” Kit chuckled, “Did you not think that there might’ve been a reason I cared that you kissed Danny?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I cared because I wished you’d been kissing me instead.”

Then Kit broke character and launched himself on you, pretending to kiss you all over. You were belly laughing as Kit crushed himself over you, pushing you into the leather sofa that you’d been sitting on.

“Kit get off!” You laughed and then the video cut, leaving the viewers to question what happened next and curse whoever had decided to stop recording.

🌊.

The video then cut to an interview you’d done together and it had gone viral mainly for the way Kit had been looking at you throughout the whole thing.

It had been a normal interview and yet Kit had been feeling the extra love towards you that day, so he sat and watched you answer lovingly.

There had even been a point where he got caught, but that hadn’t worried him.

“And Kit? Your answer?” The interviewer asked.

He looked from you to the interviewer, realising he’d been asked something.

“Oh I’m so sorry. Could you repeat the question please?” He laughed it off, as did you and the interviewer.

“I was just wondering what attracted you to the role of Oscar?”

Kit hummed with a smile, forcing himself to not say your name as the answer. You nudged his shoulder to pull him out of his head.

“I think….”

🌊.

Then there was the interview where you’d been really anxious in.

It had been a rubbish day from start to finish, mainly because the anxiety weighing on your chest had been so heavy all day.

It was in an interview close to the end of the day that the small, intimate, moment came from.

“And I think that’s why we resonate–.” The interviewer was talking.

“I’m so sorry, can we stop for one moment please.” You interrupted in the most polite way you could.

“Yeah of course.” The interviewer nodded, sitting patiently.

It was not unknown that you suffered with anxiety, in fact you were pretty open about it. Why hide something that was such a huge part of you, especially when you were in a position where you could help break the stigma surrounding it.

Kit swerved his body so the cameras could no longer see you, just see his back. He knew the cameras would keep rolling and your mics would stay on, but he was trying to do whatever would be most comfortable for you.

“I’m sorry.” You could be heard saying.

Kit’s hands could be seen moving around to meet yours, both of your hands situated in your lap now. You’d often spoken out about how physical touch can ground you in these situations.

“No. Don’t be sorry.” Kit said, waiting for you to give the signal on whether he should or shouldn’t keep talking.

“Just felt a panic attack coming and I wanted to calm it before it actually came.”

Kit nodded.

“You did good. You’re doing good.”

“Thank you.” You whispered.

It was at least another three minutes before you felt okay enough to mentally return to the room. Kit turned back around in his chair, but kept ahold of your hand with his.

You apologised to the interviewer again, but she was completely fine with it and the producers had allowed her to regain her allotted interview time.

“Would you mind keeping that footage? I would quite like to share it to show that even ‘celebrities’ can feel like rubbish sometimes.” You laughed, Kit squeezing your hand in the process.

“Of course.”

“Ready?” Kit asked you once more. You nodded and the interview continued, Kit holding your hand for the rest of it and then for the rest of the day.

🌊.

The video ended the same way it began.

It was a similar interview to Kit’s, where you got asked to describe Kit in 5 words.

You couldn’t help but smile, because you love sharing the love so much - especially when it’s about your boyfriend who you care about a lot.

“Loyal. He’s so loyal to his friends and family.”

“Kind. He has so much love in his heart and he always shows it in the little moments.”

“Artistic. I don’t think he would agree, but he is.”

“Magnetic. Kit just attracts anyone and everyone to him, you can’t help but love him.”

“And one more?” The interviewer asked.

You pondered for a moment.

“Grumpy. You would not believe how much of a grump he is in a morning.” You laughed, not even thinking about the repercussions of admitting that you see Kit in the mornings.

It’s not a surprise that you’re both trending the next day and there’s a million theories about you two. Hence why the compilation video is made.

#kit connor #kit connor fic #kit connor fanfic #kit connor movie #kit connor heartstopper #kit connor x reader #kit connor fic rec #heartstopper

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nicksguts · 2 months ago

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hot to go! | nicholas chavez x reader

synopsis — you’re a popstar touring around europe. nicholas is a rising star in hollywood that attends to one of your concerts in paris while being in a small vacation after shooting his new series “grotesquerie”.

faceclaim — olivia rodrigo

author’s note — dates and hours aren’t relevant in here + already apologizing for any misspellings 🕊️

parts — one, TWO

instagram

cooper koch tagged yourusername and nicholasalexanderchavez

liked by yourusername, nicholasalexanderchavez, madelyncline and 2,733,623 others

cooperkoch i just tripped and fell into paris

user OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG

user FRIENDSHIP GOALS????

yourusername IM BLOCKING YOU WHAT IS THE LAST PICTURE

user lmfao you look like a creepy child looking at the camera 😭

nicholasalexanderchavez not the y/n picture HAHAHA

cooperkoch idk why shes complaining she looks good yourusername @ cooperkoch I LOOK TERRIBLE nicholasalexanderchavez @ yourusername no you dont user is it too soon to start shipping those two ??

irisapatow why didnt you guys invite me 🙄

yourusername i love you please come next time

user cooper koch and nicholas chavez being friends with y/n WAS NOT on my bingo card for this year

user honestly y/n and nick would look so good together fr (liked by the author)

user NOT COOPER LIKING THIS COMMENT LMFAOOOOOOO user cooper cant stop being a constant diva i hope he keeps giving us content

user cooper and y/n gives the besties vibes 😭

user what about nicholas??? user girl…. iykyk user BYE

instagram

liked by nicholasalexanderchavez, sabrinacarpenter, pinkpantheress and 3,278,829 others

yourusername bad idea right?

user GIRL WE KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING

user BYEEEEEEEEEEEE

sabrinacarpenter girl you’re HOT

yourusername learning from the best 💋

cooperkoch this DIVA

yourusername THIS DIVA!!!

user BARK BARK WOOF WOOF

user she’s just mother we gotta accept shes the people’s princess 🙂‍↕️

user cant wait to see her at her next concert

user the red lipstick the rings the hair UGH SHES SO PERFECT

nicholasalexanderchavez i like your rings

user boy we know what you actually like user @ user I JUST SPAT MY WATER yourusername just the rings? user GIRLBOSSSSSSSSSSS

one month later — twitter

a/n — DENIAL is a river in the egypt

hope you liked it... please let me know if you want the chapters to be more extensive <3 enjoyyy

#nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez x reader #au #charlie mayhew #grotesquerie #olivia rodrigo au #nicholas chavez fanfiction #fluff #social media au #cooper koch #social media #instagram au #nicholas alexander chavez x y/n #nicholas chavez fanfic

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mothandpidgeon · 2 months ago

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Nine Lives (witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader) - Part 2

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader

rating: T (evenual E) MDNI

summary: As you came into your powers and your curves filled in, Ezra realized he feelings for you were more than just affection. The only problem? He's a 300 year old crused witch. Oh, and he's a cat.

contents: age gap (like 300 years), alcohol, jealousy, angst, slow burn, yearning, probably anachronistic witchy stuff, love triangle (quadrangle?), Ezra is a cat, he won't be forever, this isnt a beastiality thing, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 3.4k

a/n: Thank you to everyone that read part 1!! I'm so pleased that you're enjoying it so far! I really would've liked to let this part simmer a little longer but I'm holding myself to this publishing schedule. It's time to yeet this into the world. I'd love to know what you think. Your comments and reblogs give me so much joy!

Thank you @lowlights for the beta and help with witchy stuff. Thank you @moonlitbirdie @schnarfer and @whocaresstillthelouvre for listening to me bitch about this and supporting me always.

“Don’t you look nice,” Aunt Margot says.

You’re putting the finishing touches on your make up in the Page’s office. Usually you’d go back upstairs but you don’t feel like hearing it from Ezra.

“Thanks. I have a date,” you say, packing your mascara in your purse.

“Oh,” she replies, not hiding her disappointment in the slightest.

You hadn’t intended to see Connor again but when he texted you, you couldn’t think of a good reason not to. He invited you to his place to check out his vinyl collection which sounds like an insufferable version of Netflix and Chill but you have no plans to listen to a single record. You just want to fuck in his bed and avoid any drama with Ezra.

“Well I hope you’ll put as much effort in for the equinox,” she says. She flips the sign in the door from open to closed then snaps her fingers to turn off the overhead lights.

You and Margot host the coven for the equinox each year which already means extra preparations in addition to work at the bookshop.

“Why would I do that?” you ask. You don’t wear make up for moon rituals, don’t wear much of anything at all.

“Esme is bringing River,” she says with a casual shrug.

“No” you groan.

“He’s visiting from Ireland,” she tells you.

The last time you saw Esme’s grandson you were both in high school. River was built like a string bean, his upper lip dusted with the saddest mustache— if you could even call it that. He reeked of some badly brewed potion that was supposed to attract lovers. You still gagged when you smelled licorice root.

“Good for him,” you say. “Please do not set me up with River.”

“I’m not a matchmaker, dear. I’m just trying to expand your sexual horizons,” Margot replies.

Suddenly, Connor’s vinyls don’t sound so bad after all.

—

Ezra pads through crystals and altar bells. Everything’s been laid out on Aunt Margot’s paisley scarves— scrying bowls and athame blades and jars of rain water all waiting to be charged by the moon of the autumn equinox.

It’s just after midnight and the witches of your coven are gathered in a small clearing far enough into the woods that stray mortals won’t stumble upon them. The air smells fresh and cold like mountain spring water. A bonfire crackles, layered with herbs and pine needles.

The waning moon feels heavy and close like it might just fall out of the sky and nick Ezra’s ear. It makes him feel uneasy. Then again, it’s hard to enjoy these rituals when he can’t participate the way he once did.

Ezra watches you offer mulled wine to Esme and River, steaming cups scented with cinnamon balanced on an antique silver tray. You look beautiful in your simple white dress. It glows in the moonlight and he can see your body silhouetted beneath the fabric of its long skirt by the fire.

He’s never cared much for Esme but, then again, he doesn’t have many kind words for any of the Elders even if the ones that cursed him are long dead. Even if he deserved that curse. She wears her long hair coiled on top of her head, a jade hair pin perched in its nest the same way her familiar, a tired old owl, watches from the branch of one of the trees.

Ezra’s attention isn’t with Esme tonight. He’s keeping a close eye on her grandson.

“He totally sucks. Please don’t leave me alone with him,” you’d implored.

Ezra would be wary of him whether or not you’d asked. River is nothing like how you’ve remembered him to Ezra. He must’ve done a lot of growing up since your last encounter. Tall and lean with thick waves of auburn hair. He’s the kind of witch that even Ezra would have taken to bed when he was human.

He sees the way River looks at you, watches him turn the charm on as he smiles. River’s eyes travel down your body and Ezra knows exactly what he sees. Waves of hot jealousy consume Ezra from nose to tail. For a moment, he worries he’ll get another thousand years added on to his sentence.

After some small talk, Esme wanders away and that's Ezra’s cue. He slinks up between you and River, rubbing up against your legs to let you know he’s ready to bail you out.

River swallows his drink with a chuckle.

“That tastes just how I remember it. Me and Moss used to sneak glasses of Ariadne’s mulled wine when we were thirteen,” he explains.

“Me too. Although I’m pretty sure Margot knew,” you say with a laugh.

“Little mage, you asked me to fetch you when the oils were ready,” Ezra says.

“Oh,” you say, throwing a self conscious smile at River. “I’ll go in a minute, Ez.”

“Margot could use your assistance,” Ezra adds.

“Why don’t you go help her and I’ll be there soon,” you suggest.

Ezra can’t help but glare up at River.

“Would that I had opposable thumbs,” he responds.

You laugh. River doesn’t. You crouch down and glide your hand down Ezra’s spine.

“It’s okay, Ez. I’m good,” you tell him and you wink at him.

His blood turns molten as you turn back to River and continue your conversation. He wants to hiss and claw at him, draw blood. It feels like you’re slipping through his fingers not that he ever held a claim. Not that he even has fingers anymore. He’s completely powerless, standing at your feet like the dumb animal he is.

Rather than watch you moony over River, Ezra turns away and slinks off to the edge of the gathering to sulk. The fire’s warmth doesn’t quite reach and he presses back his ears to stave off autumn’s chill. He can’t run off into the woods the way he’d like to, not without raising questions from the other witches, make you look like you can’t control your familiar.

He can’t stop his eyes from wandering back to you. Your head thrown back in laughter, your hand on River’s forearm. Each moment of your joy is like a knife in his heart.

Ezra’s eventually relegated to the circle where the familiars commiserate. River’s is a jet black bird named Rhea who turns her beak up at him. He’s not one of them, not really. He was human himself with a familiar of his own but that’s not the only reason why they scorn him. They all know that he’s the worst kind of witch.

There are many reasons why a witch might be turned into a cat but there’s only one crime that was punished with 1000 years— murder. And not just any murder. Ezra desecrated the life of another witch and, no matter how loyally he serves you, he’ll always have that stain.

The rituals are done, the chanting. The embers from the fire float up through the trees towards the fat moon. Then the dancing begins. It’s erratic and joyful, Ezra can remember the ecstasy of it in his bones. Esme lets down her white hair and one by one the witches disrobe.

He hears your laughter as you spin, shoulders shrugging with the pulse of the magic that swirls around the bonfire.

He knows he shouldn’t look at you like that. Not you. Not here. You’re not putting on a show, you’re doing your magic. But the way your body moves against the glow of the fire is its own enchantment. He could worship you like the moon.

The spell is broken just as quickly. River’s right beside you, bare skin radiant, muscles rippling with his own rhythm. His fingers tangle with yours and Ezra feels acid in his throat.

The whole night becomes an assault on his senses. The sound of chanting rises, the old words frantic and savage. Amber and patchouli mix with the woodsmoke to choke him. Grotesque shadows fall over the faces of the witches like a carnival of horrors. And then there’s you— incandescent and naked and whispering something in River’s ear that has him grinning. Ezra’s hair stands on end.

“Come dance with me!” you giggle as you leave the circle of merriment. Your teeth are stained purple, drunk on wine and magic.

“I’m quite content here,” Ezra lies.

“Are you having fun?” You ask but you don’t wait for his answer. “River is…wow. He did not look like that when we were kids.”

You pick Ezra up and whirl around in a circle. He smells the incense of your skin, the alcohol on your breath.

“You’re going to get your wish. I’m finally going to fuck a proper witch!” you say.

You toss Ezra in the air and catch him. The bile has come so far up his throat it’s an absolutely nauseating sensation.

“Enough!” Ezra hisses. He swats at you with his claws bared.

You yelp and drop him. Before he even hits the ground, he feels it— a searing hot pain that makes his back arch. You’re defending yourself with your powers like a reflex. He lets out a yowl and just as quickly it passes.

Ezra staggers and looks up to find you with tears in your eyes. He’s never seen you looking so hurt, betrayed. Your jaw quivers. Ezra landed on his feet but he feels upside down. He’s realizing what he’s just done, that he tried to hurt you because he’s pathetic. Jealous.

“Ez,” you say, your voice strangled.

Like a coward, he takes off, ignoring you as you call after him.

—

It’s the sound of the cat flap that wakes you sometime after sunrise. You’re sprawled out on your bed, head aching, eyes swollen. You’re still wearing your white dress, you threw it on before going after Ezra but it was no use. He was as black as the shadows in the forest and had slipped away under some bushes.

You abandoned the equinox celebration and went home in hopes he’d be there. You waited. Alone with your guilt and anxiety.

I’m sorry. Please come home. You were never very good at telepathy but you tried to reach out to him with your thoughts.

The sound that he made echoed through your mind as you paced the floor. Strangled, terrified. You tried to stop yourself from picturing him out there in the dark shaking with pain.

You hadn’t meant to hurt him. It was involuntary. As soon as his claw grazed your skin, your powers flared. Maybe if you hadn’t been drunk you could’ve controlled it. It happened so quickly you still can’t be sure of how strong it hit him.

Even if it was just a momentary shock, you saw just how much damage that moment did. His hair standing on end, his tail rod straight. But what really crushed you was the look in his eye.

Suddenly you were just as horrible as every other witch that he’d served. You’d used your powers to punish him, to harm him. Every promise you’d ever made to him had broken in that instant.

You see Ezra’s slim form dart to your doorway. In a flash, he slips under the bed and your heart sinks into your ankles.

“Ez,” you say, your voice ragged from the night’s festivities.

He doesn’t answer. You press your eyes shut and swallow hard then crawl to the edge of your mattress. Your stomach lurches as you look over the edge. On top of everything else there’s a hangover churning in your gut. You guess you deserve that, too.

“Ezra, are you ok?” you ask. Whatever words of atonement you pieced together before you cried yourself to sleep have dissolved.

He’s in the furthest corner beneath the bed, tucked against the wall with his tail wrapped tight around his body. You think you might burst into tears again seeing him cowering away from you.

“I hope I didn’t make you fret,” he says.

You want to scoop him into your arms and hold him as tight as you can but it feels like you’ve lost that privilege.

“I’m so sorry, Ez,” you say, climbing down to the floor. “I shouldn’t have done that. I'm sick over it.”

“You were well within your rights. You’re my master and I struck you,” he says. “I’m the one that should beg forgiveness.”

To hear him call you his master makes you feel even worse than before. There’s no amount of tuna belly that will make this right.

“No. It was my fault. And I promise I’ll never use my powers on you again. Ever,” you say.

His gold eyes shift away.

“Keep your apologies,” he says. “And I see I’ve kept you from your new paramour. Another act to add to my contrition.”

“I don’t care about that.” If you hadn’t been so caught up in the prospect of taking River to bed, none of this would’ve happened.

“Nonsense, little mage. You’re a witch. Be with other witches,” Ezra says.

–

River’s in the bookshop when you arrive, standing opposite Aunt Margot. When you couldn’t convince Ezra to come out from under the bed, you decided to give him space. Maybe you could distract yourself re-alphabetizing the cookbooks. You were hoping for some quiet but you’re confronted by the very attractive witch you’d been flirting shamelessly with the night before.

You know you look a mess, your face still feels puffy. River, on the other hand, looks like the definition of a sight for sore eyes. Freshly showered and dressed in a well pressed shirt that’s rolled up to the elbows, the sun is streaming in the front window outlining his still-damp hair like he’s Prince Charming himself.

“There you are!” Margot calls.

You smooth your hand across your top nervously as she appraises you. You threw on a more than slightly wrinkled shirt that was languishing on the floor of your bedroom, too preoccupied to put together a real outfit.

“Looks like we had too much of Ariadne’s little potion,” she says.

“I have a tonic that’s great for that,” River says with a smile. “But coffee’s faster.”

He hands you a steaming paper cup from the cafe down the street. He and Margot have their own perched on the counter. You take a sip and are surprised to find that it’s your regular order.

”Are you clairvoyant, too?” You ask.

River blushes. “Nah. Margot told me how you take your coffee,” he chuckles.

It's so thoughtful and you’re not feeling very deserving. You swallow down a lump in your throat.

“I wanted to go foraging around here but I really need a local,” he says.

“That sounds fun,” you say half heartedly in an attempt to demure. You’re not really up for a good time but it feels like a real asshole move to turn River down considering he brought you coffee after you ditched him at the bonfire. Margot is beaming at the register.

“Doesn’t it?” she asks. “Why don’t I get you a basket?”

—

River carries the basket now overflowing with mushrooms and wild herbs. You’re deep in the woods, branches crunching beneath your shoes. Nature’s sounds echo around you, starlings and chipmunks, the constant whoosh of the breeze through the turning leaves.

This path is overgrown but you know it well. You spent your childhood getting lost in these woods. They have their own magic.

Your guilt overshadows the date. If it is a date. River seems to think it is if the way the back of his hand keeps brushing against yours is any sign. It’s hard to enjoy it especially when your mind keeps drifting off. He doesn’t seem to notice that you’re only half-listening as he tells you just how mystical the vibes are at Stonehenge.

You stop at a stream, sitting on a fallen tree that’s overgrown with moss. It’s one of your favorite spots. The water sparkles where the sunlight spills though the branches, peacefully trickling over rocks. You pick up one of the smooth stones and trace its wet surface with your thumb.

You’ve sat in this very spot before feeling just as shitty. Heartbroken then, too, trying to figure out if you could call it a break up when you hadn’t actually been anything official. She hadn’t wanted anything complicated and you swore your feelings wouldn’t get involved. Unfortunately they had their own plans.

Ezra found you there, sulking by the stream, wondering if anyone would think you were worth breaking their own rules for.

It struck you how quiet he was. There were no anecdotes about what the witch scene was like in 1924 or tips for mouse hunting, indoor versus outdoor. He just padded into the water and nudged a little stone towards your feet. It was just big enough to fit in your palm and it was cool against your skin as you held it there.

“A thing of beauty,” he said and he head butted your shins affectionately.

It was. Round from years, maybe decades under the water’s friction. A dull gray cut through the middle by a wedge of some crystalline mineral like shards of broken glass. You recall exactly what it looks like because it still sits on your night stand. Each time you see it you’re reminded of how Ezra slumped down beside you, his warm body weight like a cozy blanket, a faint purr reverberating through him.

“You’ve got a big heart, little mage,” he said.

You choke up at the memory, unsure if Ezra would ever think that again. You certainly wouldn’t say it about yourself today.

“Either you’re really hungover or something’s bothering you,” River says gently.

You laugh tearfully and he rubs a circle on your back. You try to shake your head but River doesn’t give it up, looking at you with a soft concern.

“I really fucked things up with Ezra last night,” you admit. Telling him what a cruel witch you are might be a huge turn off but the feeling of his palm through your shirt makes you feel at ease.

“Ezra?” he asks.

“My familiar,” you remind him.

“Oh.”

“He scratched me and —”

“He hurt you?” he asks, face painted with righteous indignation.

“No. He barely got me. I totally overreacted,” you say. “I used my powers on him. It was just a reflex, you know? But…I just feel awful.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” he tells you with a relieved chuckle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

If that’s true then why do you hate yourself?

“If Rhea was out of line I’d do the same,” he goes on.

You wince at the thought.

“You’d hurt her?” you ask.

He shrugs. “I’ve never had to. She knows who’s boss.”

You’ve always considered Ezra a partner. Of course, there are plenty of witches that think of their familiars as nothing more than servants. It’s an old school way of seeing it. You hadn’t expected River to use words that remind you of the way your grandmother used to talk.

“Maybe it’s different,” you say, trying to give him the opportunity to walk it back. Ezra’s not like Rhea. Maybe you’d feel the same way River does if your familiar hadn’t once been as human as you are. Still, it doesn’t feel right.

“You’re a funny little witch,” he says with a grin.

“What does that mean?” you ask.

“Crying over your familiar. It’s sweet.” He says it as if it’s a compliment but the condescension makes you frown in disgust.

“If you want to make it up to him, why don’t you find him a lady cat that can make him feel good,” he adds with a laugh.

“Is that what you’re into?” you ask with venom.

“What? That was a joke,” River says.

“I don’t think it’s funny. You know, just because Ezra’s a familiar, it doesn’t mean he should be treated like shit. And he’s not a cat. He’s a human,” you tell him.

“He’s a witch killer,” River spits back. “So I’m sorry if I don’t have a lot of sympathy for him.”

Your stomach turns. It’s the truth. Ezra’s served as a familiar in your family for centuries, his history has never been hidden from you and he’s never shied away from it.

But his punishment has never made sense to you. A thousand years, so many lifetimes, watching his friends and family die as he toiled in servitude for witches as backwards as River. It’s cruel, that’s why the Elders changed the laws years ago. And yet Ezra’s remained a cat, a familiar, disdained.

Suddenly, the anger you’ve been tormenting yourself with turns outwards and you think your powers could set fire to the dry leaves at your feet. It’s all so unfair. The Elders turned him and witches like River scorn him and none of them feel a lick of shame. The back of your neck heats with a protective rage.

“He’s my friend,” you choke. “And you’re a fucking asshole.”

And you leave River speechless in the middle of the woods.

🐈‍⬛

Part 3

Thanks for reading! Comments and reblogs appreciated! My inbox is always open.

#ezra prospect #ezra x f!reader #witchy #ezra prospect x f!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #ezra x witch!reader #halloween

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nonchalantlucy · 1 month ago

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Introducing...

Royal Life - ROYAL!CHRIS STURNIOLO X ROYAL!READER

PART 1

warnings: smut, enemies to lovers, size kink, arranged marriage, unprotected p in v (wrap before you tap), daddy issues, angst, petnames (babh, princess, slut, my girl, ect), use of y/n, homophobia (NOT FROM READER), cussing, oral (f recieving), no aftercare, taken virginity, degrading, NOT PROOF READ,

details: ROYAL!READER will be using SHE/HER!! in which y/ns father has arranged her to marry chris, the prince of the rival kingdom. little does he know his daughter has met him before.

a/n: hi guys! hope you enjoy this one, i absolutely LOVED writing it. i am a BIG chris girl, so i love writing for him! lmk what other scenarios i should write!!

"Mom, you can't let him do this!"

You shout, turning to your mom with an angered look.

"Honey, its no lady like to yell."

Is her only response. You stare at her dumbfounded.

"Your mother has no say in this"

Your father snarls, stepping in between you and your mother.

"The king of Halker has two other sons, why does it have to be Chris!?"

"Because, Matt is married."

"What about Nick?"

"He has been exiled from the kingdom. He is no longer a prince."

Your face drops at your fathers words. Flashback of the kind soul running through your head. Times you two hid from the war together, or snuck to the river seperating your kingdoms to talk to each other. What could such a sweet man do to be exiled?

"Why...?"

Your voice breaks unwillingly as you speak.

"He was caught having intercourse...with a man. Disgusting. If he were not exiled, I would've forbid you from seeing him anyway."

Anger bubbles in your throat at your fathers word, tears swell in your eyes. You lower your gaze to the ground, your head following.

"You must despise love."

You mumble, but your father catches on.

"What do you speak of? Love is the most beautiful thing in the world."

"Then why must you tear it from other people!?"

You snap your head back up as you speak, gritting your teeth and yelling.

"What are you talking about!?"

Your father screams, his fists tightening into a ball.

"Your forcing me to marry a man I do not wish to! And you find someone disgusting for loving the same gender? How is it disgusting, it is just love!"

Your father slaps you hard, causing you to gasp as your hand flies to your quickly reddening cheek.

Tears finally fall from your eyes and onto your face, like a waterfall breaking past a beaver dam at last.

"You will not speak to me like that! You will marry Chris Sturniolo tomorrow, end of the discussion. I do not understand why you are upset. You've never even met the man!"

Your father sighs, turning and walking towards your mother. You can only stare at him in disbelief as memories flood your mind.

~beginning of flashback~

You let out a sob as you fall onto the dirty forest floor. Snapping your head back to see if you lost him.

You hadnt.

He was standing over you, a rock in hand.

"Please... Chris..."

You plead, but he just scoffed.

"You fucking slut."

He snarled, throwing the rock at your face. You lifted your arm up, protecting your face. The rock hit your arm hard, bruising and gashing it open.

He stared and watched you bleed before walking away and leaving you there.

Your father never knew about this because one of your maids had cleaned you up, and you paid her to keep her mouth shut.

~end of flashback~

You wipe your eyes before speaking.

"I hate you!"

The words leave your mouth in a scream, and before your father turns to hit you again, you run to your room.

You rush into your room, falling into your personal maids arms, sobbing.

She comforts you, helps you change into your nighttime robes, and tucks you into bed.

You lay there, thinking about how pathetic this is. A 20 year old princess getting tucked in by her maid.

You sigh as the maid walks out, and you slowly fall asleep.

———

You wake up to someone poking your cheek, assuming it was the maid you swat their hand away.

"Leave me alone.."

You groan, rolling around.

"Get up."

Your eyes shoot open as you hear the familar voice, and you quicky sit up, wrapping the blanket around you to cover yourself. You look at him. Chris.

"Why are you here?"

You speak, tensing up.

"We're getting married today, what do you mean?"

He scoffs, sitting down on the bed edge next to you. On instinct, you scoot away slightly, squezzing the blanket to cover more.

He notices and rolls his eyes.

"Are you still shaken up by that time in the forest? That was 2 years ago."

He mocks you, but you don't respond and just stare at him. Eventually, he sighs and stands up.

"Your father said to dress in a white gown and meet us downstairs. The preacher is here and waiting."

He walks out, and you can feel tears. You really dont wanna get married.

~time skip~

You step into Chris's. Well, now yours and his. It's quite large, bigger than yours at your home.

You look around, sitting on the edge of bed. Your night gown in hand.

Your personal maid is dropping all your stuff by tomorrow. You look at chris, who is looking through his wardrobe.

"Chris, I uh, I need to change."

"Then change. We're married, it doesn't matter."

You nod, standing up and placing your night gown on the bed as you quickly take off your dress.

As you're laying your dress on the bed, you reach for your night gown. But before you can grab it, you feel two hands on your waist.

You quickly stand up straight, tensing skightly. You feel a head nuzzle into the crook of your neck, and Chris's hair tickles as it falls against you.

"You smell good..."

He mumbles against your neck. You feel a small, open mouthed, kiss on your neck. The sensation makes you gasp softly.

"Mm, my girl is so pretty."

He speaks as if you've been together for years, and you feel his hips grinding into yours, his buldge rubbing against your most intimate area.

You squeeze your lips together, trying to surpress your moans. When he bites your neck, your head falls back against his shoulder as a quiet whimper falls from your mouth

"Lay down for me, baby..."

He speaks, lifting his head and taking his hands off your waist. You do as he says, climbing into bed and laying on your back. Your movements cause the gown and dress to fall off the bed.

He follows shortly after you, hovering above your body. He stares into your eyes, almost as if he's trying to read your mind.

Then, he starts moving down, kissing your chest. At the feeling of his lips on your skin, you let out a breath that you didn't realize you were holding.

His hand sneaks under you, unclasping your bra. He gently kisses each breast, licking your nipples before kissing a trail down your body.

You gasps as he kisses the most intimate place on you through your panties. This causes him to smirk.

"Aw, princess, never done this before, hm?"

You shake your head, staring down at him as he drags your panties down with his teeth.

He crawls back up to your pussy, licking it once. You throw your head back and whimper and the new feeling.

He smirks at this, massaging your clit with his thumb while his tongue teases your folds.

You let out a loud yelp as you feel his tongue enter into your folds, swirlling around the inside of your pussy.

He curls his tongue up, hitting a certain spot that sends a sensatiom you've never felt throughout your body. Your head throws itself back as your hips involuntarily buck up into Chris's face.

His thumb presses down on your clit as his tongue swirls around. You can feel yourself becoming close.

"Chris, I...I think im gonna-"

You cut yourself off with a load moan, almost a scream as you feel yourself release all over Chris's face.

He pulls away, licking up any mess before wiping his face off with his shirt.

He quickly discards his own clothes, leaving you staring at his hardened cock. It's much bigger than you thought.

"Big, right?"

You look back up to Chris, who is staring at you.

Without leaving his gaze, you prop yourself up on your elbows and nod slowly. He slowly lays down on top of you, supporting himself with his own elbows.

"You can take it anyway, cant you?"

His cock brushes against your pussy, cause your elbows to give in and a moan to eacape your lips.

Now, laying flat on your back, you wrap your arms around Chris's neck and pull him into a kiss.

He kisses you back aggressively while simultaneously lining himself up with your entrance.

He pulls away momentarily,

"Ready?"

You nod eagerly.

"Use your words, princess."

"Yes."

And with that, you can feel him entering you. You let out a yelp from the initial pain. He kisses you again, slowly pushing in.

When he finally bottoms out, he lays still for a minute, still kissing you. He pulls away, looking at you.

"Tell me when it doesn't hurt anymore."

You squeeze your eyes shut, adjusting to his size.

"...it doesn't hurt anymore.."

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Chris is thrusting in and out of you. You throw your head back, loud whines and moans leaving your mouth.

Chris groans, but it sounds almost like a whimper. He leans down, attacking your neck with kisses and bites.

You feel him speed up, and words leave your mouth before you even think.

"Fuck, Chris...your so big.."

You can feel his cock twitch inside you, and his thrusts speed up.

"Hell yeah I am, and your gonna take it like the slut you are."

You thought you would be hurt by his words, but for some reason it made your back arch into him and your nails dig into his skin.

Chris obviously noticed.

"You like that? Like it when I call you a slut while my big cock slams into you? Hmm?"

His words mixed with the sensation of his cock hitting the perfect spot, made your eyes roll back as you let out a loud whine.

"Fuck, Y/N Im gonna cum. Cum with me, okay?"

You nod eagerly at his words, already feeling yourself on the edge.

His thrusts become sloppy and fast, which causes your nails to dig even further into his skin.

"Come one, princess. Be a good slut and cum all over this big cock."

His words send you over the edge, and you feel yourself release all over him.

Soon after, you feel strings of warmth shoot into your pussy. He thrusts a couple times after he's done before pulling out.

He sits on his knees, looking down at you. You open your eyes to see cold, emotionless ones staring right back at you.

"Still the same slut you've always been."

He scoffs before getting up and walking towards the bathroom.

You sigh. You knew it was too good to be true.

You wrap yourself up in the blankets, closing your eyes.

A single tear rolls down your face as you wonder if he meant anything he said. You eventually fall asleep before he comes back.

is this good? do yall like it? cant wait to write pt.2!!

#chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #smut #for you #sturniolo smut #masterlist #nick sturniolo #fypage #matt sturniolo #needy princess #daddy's little princess #british royal family #degrade and humiliate me #degrade kink #x reader #x y/n

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riverwritez · 6 months ago

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masterlist

matt sturniolo:

movie nights (with the boys).

golfing motivation.

snaps:

snaps would get if matt was your bf.

chris sturniolo:

pending…..

nick sturniolo:

pending…..

#river speakz.#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo x reader #river writez.#yay I finally made it

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hoseokslefteyebrow · 5 months ago

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The Anomaly || JJK || 0

Prologue

summary : In which you're isekai'd from your (own) parallel Jujutsu Kaisen universe to the canon universe.

wordcount : 1.3k

Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen X Reader, eventually Character x Reader (idk who yet tho)

Masterlist | Next

[ 19.58, parallel Jujutsu Kaisen Universe ]

Your eyes narrow, taking in the scene in front of you. This fight is becoming tougher by the minute.

The special grade cursed spirit across from you smiles, it's face agonizingly similar to that of a human's.

You're weighing your options. This special grade seems to have powers that connect with space. It can move at an impossible speed, managing to pop up in the nick of time in a completely different spot meters away.

It's powers are powerful. Currently, you're a second grade sorcerer. You're powerful, but more against curse users than actual spirits. You can do a lot of things other sorcerers are still dreaming of.

Your cursed technique is Water Manipulation. Like the name suggests, you can manipulate and change the structure of any body of water. You're powerful, but especially against people, as they are made up of 60% water after all.

" It seems you're losing. "

The cursed spirit is laughing at you, it's dark, hollow eyes scrutinizing you as it takes you in.

You huff at him, forcing yourself to stand your ground. You raise your arms, ready to continue your fight.

A fake, easy smirk settles on your face.

" Maybe you should open your eyes, I'm actually imagining all the different ways I can exorcise you. "

Your expression is smug, though you feel anything but, internally panicking.

You'll have to fight your way out of this, even if you're not sure you can win.

You're not dying today. You will make it out alive.

You unclasp the water skins resting on both of your hips, your hands moving fluidly as they guide the water into a make shift weapon. Today, you choose for it's vast, sharp nature, speeding the water's movements as you form two ring blades- two huge circles who act as an extension of your arm. The water they exist of is whirring at an incredible speed, making them exceptionally sharp. Right now, you're not aiming to fight the spirit. It doesn't seem all too afraid of close up combat, but you hope you can draw it back far enough towards the bridge that connects this village to the city over a river. If you can do that, you'll stand a chance. You could escape, or better yet, win.

Your eyes narrow into a serious expression as you charge at it. It's smug, it's counter powerful as it fights back.

" This is also quite fun you know, I didn't expect we'd be getting all close and personal. " It grins.

The spirit you're fighting might look humanoid, bit it's still got a weird purple skin colour. It's hair is blue, the colours clashing with one another. It's not pretty, in fact, it's very uncomfortable to look at.

You scoff.

" Don't get used to it. "

You don't bother to say more as you quicken your movements, your aim a little desperate, but definitely dangerous. It's starting to work. Your rapid attacks are sending the cursed spirit back, not wanting to be caught in one of your make shift blades. Soon enough, it's drawing back, slowly getting closer and closer to the river. It raises it's arm, and you jump out of the way. A new, free path lies in front of you, and you take your chance.

To your horrific surprise, it seems to launch some sort of ball, vaguely reminding you of Gojo's sensei's technique. It doesn't just explode the building it hits, it turns into a small, black hole, sucking in a part of the falling bricks. You're running towards the river, however, just before you reach it, it jumps in the way. However, the river is now in your reach, and you seize the opportunity. Reaching out your hands, you command the water far below you, and it shoots out in a spike towards the cursed spirit. It moves out of the way just in time, and you take it's place instead, continuing to summon the water around you. It turns into a huge circle, spinning protectively around you. The weight of the water is heavy, but you can handle it, even if it does weigh down your movements.

However, as you're getting ready to launch the attack, the spirit laughs, sending another ball your way. You release all the water, letting it fall on the ground as you jump out the way. The ball hits the ground, and this one doesn't turn into a small black void. Instead, it releases a huge wave, sending you back. First, it makes you hit the railing of the bridge, your back hurting on the impact. Ouch. Lucks seems to be on your side, as you somehow manage to flip over the railing, now falling towards the river. A very rich power source.

The spirit smirks, catching you of guard. It creates some kind of golden ring, and to your surprise, it teleports. It's under you within a second, and before you know it, you're falling in it.

You groan as you wake up, squinting at the harsh sunlight.

" Huh?.. " You're puzzled.

Where are you? It takes you a few moments before you realize exactly where you are. As you turn to your left, the archway to Jujutsu Tech greets you.

You're back here? How?

Something is wrong. You were in a nearby village just now, not too far away. It was cloudy there. It was only a 10 minute drive from your school. How was it sunny here already?

You rub your face, completely confused. You can swear that the air is different too. Something isn't right. However, a searing pain spreads through your body. Shit, your back. You forgot about that. You groan as it hits you.

You turn to your water skins, only to see that you left it uncapped. The water must've fallen out as you fell. Damnit, you don't even have enough water to heal yourself.

" Salmon roe? "

" Inumaki senpai! Holy shit am I glad to see you. " You groan, struggling to get up.

He sends you a questioning look, stepping back when you reach for him. You return his look.

" My back's killing me-"

" Pickled mustard leaf. "

He's raising his hand at you as he speaks, a warning for you not to move. Your eyes widen in realization. He doesn't recognize you. He's asking how you know his name.

Your mouth opens slightly. What was going on? You were relatively close with your upperclassmen.

" You- what? - You're playing a game, right? You know who I am. C'mon, we've sparred so often. You trained me for the exchange event a few months ago-"

Inumaki shakes his hands at you, making you pause your words. The both of you blink at each other for a good minute. Him wondering who you are, and you wondering what was going on.

" I'm your underclassman. You know me. I know you. You're Inumaki Toge. You can only speak in rice ball ingredients because of your cursed speech technique- your favorite rice ball ingredient is Tuna mayo. I know because I asked months ago when we got to know each other. Also I accidentally hit you in the head with a baseball during our baseball game against the Kyoto school.- I'm Kamo Y/N. Your favorite underclassman (you're probably not, but that doesn't matter), Ryomen's best friend-"

He blinks in question again, as you blink in response.

" Ryomen Sukuna? My best friend? He's like-"

" Sleep. "

Your eyes fall closed as you fall to the ground, completely unconscious.

#idkeitherman #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #platonic jujutsu kaisen #inumaki x reader #Spotify

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wishset · 6 months ago

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i don't smoke, until i miss you boothill x reader

summary: Boothill was never a greedy man, he didn't ask for much yet he received the whole world. Just you and your child, he really didn't need much else, yet the cosmos seemed to have made a mistake and tried to rectify it by taking everything away.

explored themes. possibly ooc or lore inaccurate. 1k+ words, fluff to angst. written in 2nd pov. play i don't smoke while reading this, trust. can potentially be interpreted as platonic, if you squint rlly hard.

from author: i haven't played hsr in a while, yet researching boothill's lore just struck the rdr2 writer in me. per usual, i can't let myself be happy with anything but angst so grab a tissue. i haven't posted a work like this online before so i'm highkey nervous, but i'd love to hear what you think! there is some bonus info at the end, but i hope you enjoy this! (she said knowing this is what she ends up writing:)

Boothill was never one to smoke a cigarette, the most he would get close to one was standing next to you under a tree after a long day. You'd still offer him one, even though he always said no, as an act of acknowledgment. He couldn't do that now, though, the smoke would damage his robotic body even if he weren't the one inhaling it.

He'd be perched down on a large root of the tree you leaned back on, staring at your boots in his peripheral as you watched the sunset. The river running in the distance, your horses chewing on the grass below y'all when they weren't nipping at each other, the livestock settled down in the barns, and dinner sat on the warm fire for when the two of you returned.

"What's next?" He asks, his eyes following the line of your boot up to your face.

You always shrug, as if you never thought so far ahead. He did, fairly often in all truthfulness, and you only knew that because of how often he asked.

"'Suppose not much next, is there? Keep doin' this, 'till we're old and gray, then someone else takes over. Life goes on," you answer, flicking the ash out the tip of your cigarette.

He watches the ash burn itself in the grass as he thinks about your answer. It was food enough, neither of you learned much besides farm life. No such thing as anything more for the uneducated, which Boothill wouldn't have any other way.

He didn't mind waking and talking to Nick about the farm as he waited for you to come down for breakfast. He didn't mind wounding up the cattle every day while you watch or watching the horses while they round about the fields with you. The crops wouldn't harvest itself and there's no one else he'd rather harvest it with than you.

Life was good and Boothill was fine with it.

Would he have been so fine with it if you hadn't been hired by Nick and Graey when he turned a teen? He was glad he wouldn't have to find out. They hired a farmhand and he got a best friend, even if he was jealous they hired you in the first place.

He thought it meant he wasn't enough for them, not helpful enough, but that couldn't have been farther from the truth and you taught that to him.

And, while Boothill never liked to say he was right all along, there was more for the two of you than the repetitive cycles you'd fallen into. Matter of fact, he couldn't believe he was so content with just that now that you both had a daughter.

Maybe if you hadn't left your cigarette pack up in your room, the both of you wouldn't have returned when you did. Maybe if he wasn't waiting on the porch downstairs for you to return so you could join him at your usual place, he wouldn't have heard crying a little ways off from the house.

"What am I supposed ta' do with her?" He looks up at you when you find him. The cigarette pack falls into your pocket as if the box itself might contaminate the bundle of purity crying in Boothill's arms.

"Dunno. She like ta' join us?" You propose, motioning towards the tree up on a hill that waited patiently for you two. (Now, three.)

Boothill stood, joining you at full height. "Looks like she might."

The red-faced babe looked between the two of you, tears staining her little cheeks. How long has it been since you seen a baby? Quite a while, yet your first instinct still is to smile.

"Looks like it indeed."

From that day forward, you and Boothill were parents. Not even Nick or Graey questioned it when you both returned with a child. Finding one seemed to be common 'round those parts.

And boy, did parenthood change just about everything? She already had her first pony picked out before she could even walk, little boots and a hat, a sass about her, too.

Boothill couldn't recall the last time he was near a cigarette, not after you gave them to him to dispose of so that your little girl would never find them. It was never just the two of you at the tree again, always you three. Two grown horses and a little foal, growing along with her.

Now this he'd have no other way.

He was perched down on the large root of the tree beside you, where you sat as well. He could see the little girl in your lap in his peripheral, which he turned to look at when she called him.

For her, it wasn't Boothill, something more like "Papa." She had this little giggle in her voice when she said it and even after the most tiring days, Boothill never had been happier.

"What's it, sugar?" He asks, turning to look at her. You look as well when she crawls out of your lap and stands, waddling her way over to him.

Was this how the mares felt when their foal stood and walked over to them for the first time? If it was, he was jealous it took him so long to figure it out for himself. You looked just as surprised as he felt and neither of you knew how to respond. Nick and Graey taught him everything he knew, yet the two of you taught him more every day.

Boothill was never one to smoke a cigarette, but now he was the one flicking ash off the tip and watching as it burned the knee of his pants. Now he couldn't get the stench of smoke off of him.

It was nice, even though his metal body hissed in disagreement. He took another puff, then another. Would you feel betrayed that he never really disposed of the pack of cigarettes? He didn't know. But it was late nights where he thought of how he got them in the first place he was glad he didn't.

It was a brand new pack when you came down from the house, now it was nearly halfway empty.

Was this what it smelt like when the house burned? Did it burn the same way? ─ No, it couldn't have. This burn burnt good, this burn was all he had left of you. This burn reminded him of you and the sacrifices you made for your daughter, this burn reminds him of the two of you and all the sacrifices he'll make for you.

bonus information: | more here.

[ 1 ] "It was a new pack when you came down from the house, now it was nearly halfway empty." That's about how many times Boothill found himself thinking of you, so much so he needed something palpable. Y'know, because everything was burned so all he has is this vague smell of you? I'm sorry. He also has blown through other packs when he just wants to remember the comfort your presence had brought him at one point, he only uses your pack on those nights.

[ 2 ] Wanna know another kicker? Boothill knows for a fact you wouldn't have been happy if you knew he smoked, before his enhancements and after. You used to tell him that they were bad for him, which he already knew, but that was very long ago in the overall timeline of this fic. When he thinks about those times, he smokes another.

[ 3 ] He doesn't have anything to remember your daughter by, he might've if the IPC nuke came a little later so that she could've given him the gift she'd been working on. You might've been able to give him your gift as well, so he had something healthier to cling on to. Those are long since burned and buried, though.

[ 4 ] In the image thing, my brain is blanking on what it's called, the "Everyone you love is dead anyway" is a reference to "You're going to die anyway". Yes, that is the front of a Marlboro pack, lol.

[ 5 ] Alright alright, you've cried enough tears, but if you notice any other little details, I'd love to talk about them/hear your thoughts. I poured my soul into this so many thanks for giving it a shot!

#BY: 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐒𝐄𝐓 ───── ⟢ HONKAI SR #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #boothill x reader #hsr boothill #boothill #honkai star rail #hsr #boothill x you #boothill x gender neutral reader #boothill angst #boothill fluff

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 2 years ago

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Our Home (Azriel x Reader)

Hiiii. This one has long been in the works. It's the follow-up part to this little one I did called "Why Are You Still Here?"

Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Some alcohol use. Angst. Discussions surrounding mental health. Suggestion of infidelity.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You were not where you wanted to be. And you did not know where you fit anymore.

Solace had once been the home you’d made your own. It had once been the warmth and security of your mate’s arms. A life. A belonging.

It was never supposed to be dark, dingy taverns and drinking yourself to oblivion. You were aware of your hypocrisy — that you were now no better than Azriel, himself, had been.

But you didn’t know what else to do. How else to keep patching over the wound that was opening you up from the inside.

Three days and nights away from Azriel felt like three centuries. Three days and nights spent on Amren’s couch, your ears barely catching the way she groused at you about making things up with your mate — and getting out of her hair. You knew that she only had your best interests at heart; a swarm of concern wrapped up in sharp, barbed words and orders.

Stop sulking, girl, and speak to your mate. Wallowing on the couch and taking up my space doesn’t do either of you any good. If he knocks on my door and asks to speak to you again, I’m letting him in this time. Stupid, foolish children in love.

You knew that she was right. You’d asked Az to give you a few days…and for what? So you could get yourself into a clear enough headspace to talk to him.

So, no, the wisest choice had not been to end up in a bar on the other side of town — but here you were. If Azriel could spend months upon months pushing you away, indulging in self-serving vices…so could you.

You whiled away the hours on refills of whiskey and off-kilter music and the presence of numerous males coming up to you and offering to buy you another drink — all of which you politely turned away. You weren’t there for attention, or to feel wanted…the mere thought of looking at somebody other than your mate—

It took you right back to the possibility that Azriel may have done just that. That he’d come stumbling home after hours of unexplained absence, stinking to the high heavens of booze and cloying perfume. You wanted — needed — to believe that there was some other, reasonable explanation. That there was no way the male tied to your soul would fall into the arms of somebody else.

But the truth was that you just did not know anymore. He’d successfully pushed you away enough to fill you with doubt.

The feeling was far worse than any battle wound. Far more excruciating than the critical injury you’d received during the war with Hybern. This pain was like a sickness, spreading through you, slicing at you, becoming you. This pain could tear you apart, limb from limb.

“The same again, please.” You rasped, sliding your empty glass towards the pretty barmaid. She eyed you cautiously before fulfilling your request. The amber liquid didn’t burn quite as much this time.

But it seemed that no amount of alcohol was giving you the desired effect. Drink after drink after drink, and you still didn’t feel it seeping into your bones and blood and carrying you off to a place that wasn’t as painful. You may as well have been pouring the drinks straight onto the floor, rather than down your throat.

Still, you remained sitting at that same spot at the bar, nursing your drink and studying the nicks and callouses of your weapon-worn hands as your heavy thoughts bombarded you. Where would you sleep tonight? You were sure Amren would growl at you if you turned up at her door again. You could go to the River House, but you didn’t want to cause any disruption or upset for Nyx. And it seemed that both the House of Wind and the Town House were a no-go — that Az could be staying at either. Something told you that he was unlikely to be at the house you shared together, but…you didn’t want to go there, either.

Perhaps you would just drink yourself so stupid that you’d eventually curl up on a bench and fall asleep without feeling the cold.

The cold. It swept in, encasing you from behind as somebody entered the tavern, their heavy footsteps carrying across the wooden floor. You paid them no mind, not interested in the various other punters around you. You hunched over your drink, tracing your finger over the rim of the glass, and you didn’t bother to look up even when the stool was pulled out beside you.

“Before you say anything,” you murmured, too used, now, to the sleazy routine of the males around you, “no, you cannot buy me a drink.”

“Good.” Azriel’s voice came quietly from beside you. “I don’t think it’d be wise for you to have another.”

That voice — deep and smooth and rich. A voice that had spoken countless I love yous, that had breathed quiet laughs at your shared, inside jokes, that had moaned your name in peace and pleasure. A voice that had always been a comfort to you.

It now twisted your stomach. Filled you with a sickening anxiety. You no longer knew what words would be spoken in that voice. You weren’t sure you were ready for them.

Your body tense, you slowly turned your head to meet your mate’s eyes. The look that sat on his face, in his hazel stare…it was one of beautiful agony. Of stunning, twisted devastation.

A flawless face marred by pain.

Azriel studied you, and you couldn’t help wondering what he saw on your face. Besides your cheeks being flushed from the alcohol, and your eyes red-raw from days of weeping. Whatever he found there…it made him flinch.

“What are you doing here?” You willed your voice to sound strong, but it was weak. Pathetic.

“I followed your scent from Amren’s apartment to here.” He swallowed. “And given that this was where we had our first drink together…”

You looked around. Pretended that such a thought hadn’t dawned on you, even though that exact spot in the corner was where you and Azriel had sat for hours that first night, drinking and talking and laughing.

You’d known, by the time that he’d walked you home, that you were going to spend the rest of your existence with him.

Or so you’d thought. You weren’t so sure, now.

“Finish your drink.” Azriel nodded to your glass. “We’re going home.”

You snorted, turning back to your glass. The liquid sloshed as you lifted it to your lips. “That’s not been home for a long while. It’s just…bricks and mortar and pain.”

He paused. “That’s not true.”

“Is it not, Azriel? You can’t seem to stand spending any time there, either—”

“I want to talk to you about all of this, Y/N.” He stared at you seriously. Pleadingly. “Just…not here. Please.”

Because Azriel was a staunchly private person.

And maybe he didn’t love you anymore. The thought — though complete agony — was entirely possible.

But he wouldn’t end your relationship in the same place it had begun.

So you drained your glass, savouring the feeling of the liquid sliding down your throat. And then you set it down on the bar, and turned to face him.

“Where is your coat?” He studied the thin tunic and breeches that did nothing to keep out the cold.

You shrugged a shoulder. “Left it at Amren’s, I guess.”

“It’s freezing outside.”

“Oh, now you care—”

The clearing of a throat stopped you both in your tracks. You glanced at the young barmaid who stared between the two of you uncomfortably. She had the same look that most people adopted in Azriel’s presence — awe and fear at their High Lord’s spymaster.

“I’m sorry, but,” she cleared her throat again, straightening out her shoulders, “if you two are going to have a domestic, I’m going to have to ask you to take it outside…”

Beside you, Azriel’s cheeks pinkened. “We’re not.” He said brusquely. “We’re leaving.”

Before you could offer your own response, he was tugging you from the barstool and draping his heavy jacket around your shoulders. It swamped you a ridiculous amount, and when he actually stopped in front of you to fasten the buttons, you scowled and stepped out of reach.

“I’m not a child.” You said. “Let’s just…go.”

It was hard to not feel like a child as you meandered your way to the door in that preposterously large coat, the arms swinging and the material swallowing you up. Azriel remained a step behind, following you out into the icy night air. You walked a few paces in a still silence, only stopping to face him when you were well out of earshot of the bar.

“So.” It was instinctive — the way you wrapped his jacket around yourself. Not something you were wholly aware of doing. Though you were certainly aware of the way you very pointedly sniffed it, looking for some trace of that sweet scent you’d smelled before. But…nothing. “Which house do you want to finish with me in? Ours? The Town House? The House of Wind? We could go to the River House, but I don’t think Rhys or Feyre would appreciate the performance—-”

“Is that what you think?” Azriel cut you off, the pain on his face moulding into something stiller. Icier. “That I’m finishing our relationship?”

You shrugged. And you hated — utterly hated — being so confrontational. This wasn’t you. And some small part of it could be blamed on the alcohol, yes, but…mostly…mostly, you were just at your wit’s end.

After months of trying to reach him calmly, compassionately. Months and months of trying to talk to him gently, to get him to open up to you. It had gotten you nowhere.

You felt your only option, now, was to shuck off that soft, soothing exterior, and go hard. Go real.

“I don’t know what to think,” you retorted. “You don’t speak to me anymore — besides the occasional grunt. And given that I’m not a gods-damned mind-reader—”

“I am not finishing things with you.” Azriel snapped — so loud, so harsh, so unlike him, that you stopped in your tracks. “Not now, and not ever.”

You stared at him, already feeling your hard demeanour slipping. The words — though a small relief — were hard to believe. Hard to believe, when he’d given you no indication for a long, long time that he even wanted you anymore.

You shrugged weakly, begging your eyes not to tear up. “But what kind of relationship is this, Az? Months and months of silence. Of coldness. What am I supposed to think?”

“...I’ve handled things so badly. But I’d like a chance to explain.”

Perhaps it was the muted pleading in his eyes, the hunching of his shoulders. How he looked the smallest he ever had. Or perhaps it was just because he was your mate…whatever the reason, you found yourself relenting. You swallowed, crossing your arms over your chest and silently nodding towards a bench that overlooked the river. Az dipped his chin in acknowledgement of the request and promptly followed suit.

You sat, leaving distance between the two of you. Az tucked his wings in as tight as he possibly could; uncomfortable for him, you knew, but he was respectful of the fact that you wanted space. A small glimmer of the Azriel you’d always known and loved.

He seemed to suck in a slow breath, twisting his scarred hands around each other. You could feel the nerves that rolled off of him in waves. This – speaking and baring his soul — was perhaps harder for him than outright combat.

You cleared your throat. “Before you start…I need to ask you something.”

Hazel eyes turned to study you. Azriel gave a small nod.

“I have to know if you…” The words tasted sour and wrong in your mouth. In your whole body, in fact. You were sure a shiver shot through you as you blurted in one breath, “I just need to know if you fucked somebody else.”

Azriel paused — and then blinked at you.

Gaped at you, like the suggestion in and of itself was utterly absurd.

As if he hadn’t come home stinking of perfume. As if he hadn’t lied about his whereabouts when you’d asked. As if you were wrong to so much as think it, let alone voice it.

He shook his head, still blinking. “What?”

“Perhaps you were too drunk that night to remember.” Your lips pressed into a thin line. “You disappeared on me for hours, Az, like you always seem to these days. Then you come home smelling of perfume and lie to me that you’d been with Mor when I knew you couldn’t have been. So tell me. Honestly. Did you fuck someone who isn’t me?”

“Of course I didn’t. I would never do that to you. Do you know how sick it makes me feel, just thinking of being with someone other than you?”

He couldn’t possibly have a clue how much you needed to hear that. But they were just words. He’d done nothing to back them up for so, so long.

Your eyes filled with tears as you stared at him. “But you can’t seem to stand being with me, either.”

His own eyes shuttered — as though he was trying to block out your words. He slumped back on the bench, wings awkward and limp around him. You could see his chest heaving, hear his heavy breathing.

“I don’t—” His voice cracked. “I’m no good with words. I’m no good with…with talking.”

“But I can’t take the silence or the loneliness anymore. Azriel, please—”

“I was with someone that night.”

He blurted the words in such a rush, you almost didn’t catch them. His hands squeezed into fists at his sides, as though the mere feeling of speaking so earnestly was like peeling his skin off.

You fell so, so still. Stared at him. Your stomach plummeted, twisted, and your voice didn’t sound like yours as you croaked out, “who?”

“That night, I…I was with Madja.”

It was all you could do to stare at him. And as Madja’s face floated through your mind — the old, withered, beloved healer of Velaris…you could do nothing but stare.

“Is that supposed to be funny?” You demanded.

Az stared down at his hands. “Of course not. A little while ago, I started regularly visiting Madja.”

“...Why? Are you injured?” Your eyes immediately searched him for anything you might have missed. And yet — nothing.

He shook his head. “Physically, I’m fine, but…in here?” He tapped a finger to his forehead. Moved that finger down to sit over his heart. “And here? I’m…I’m not. I’m not fine.”

Those cold, hard walls you’d thrown up to get you through this conversation…you felt them falter a little. You swallowed, studying your mate. “I don’t understand, Az…”

Finally — finally — he angled his body towards yours. Faced you. And the raw emotion that lay in his eyes…you almost couldn’t bear it. It could cut you. Cut you into pieces and scatter you to the wind.

Tears were clouding his vision, muddying that hazel into a watery run of colour. He blinked, his lips quivering as those tears spilled over and ran down his cheeks. It was second nature for you to reach out and wipe them away, but he stopped you in your tracks. Allowed his tears to run free as he held onto your hand like he may never get another chance.

“When I try to sleep at night,” his voice cracked. “When I close my eyes — do you know what I see?”

You swallowed down your own emotion, shaking your head. You’d known of him sleeping fitfully, of course — if he bothered to sleep in the same bed as you at all. But you’d never been overly aware of it.

He blinked another wave of tears away. “I see you in that healer’s tent after the war, covered in blood. I hear—” He cut himself off, voice once again hitching with his emotion. “I hear your screams of pain. Your cries. I hear you begging someone — anyone — to make it go away. I see your face turning far too pale. And I hear, over and over and over again, the moment that Madja told me there was a chance you wouldn’t make it.”

You were unable to stop your own tears forming again. You squeezed his hand, face creasing with pain. “Azriel—”

“It haunts me.” He whispered. “Because what you and I have…I never thought I’d have this. I never thought I’d find my mate. I never thought I’d be able to have such happiness. So when Madja told me there was a chance she wouldn’t be able to save you…I didn’t know what I was going to do. I didn’t know how I was going to go on.”

“But she did save me, Az.” You scooted closer. “She did.”

“I just…I came so close to losing you. To losing the love of my life. It sent me spiralling into this mindset of being scared all the damn time. Every time you left the house, or I had to go on a mission…I was losing my mind with it, Y/N. And I was so terrified of ever feeling that way again that it seemed so much easier to push you away. I was too selfish to let you go completely. I thought if I could just…have you at arm’s length…at least until I sorted myself out…”

You stared forward. Everything seemed to click into place as you rasped, “which was why you distanced yourself from me.”

Az nodded. And he was unable to stop the sob that broke from him. “But I just ended up hurting you. And I’m so sorry.”

You couldn’t bear a second longer of it — of seeing him so crushed, so defeated. And even though you, too, were a crying mess, you found the strength to slide into his lap. To wrap your arms around him and allow him to rest his head on your shoulder.

“You should have just told me how you were feeling.” You whispered, stroking his hair. His body heaved beneath you as he cried, raw and unguarded. “I would have listened. I would have helped. I love you.”

“And I love you.” He shook. “More than I could possibly put into words. But I was so scared of losing you. And ironically, in my efforts to avoid that…I’ve come so, so close to it happening.”

You shook your head. Lifted his until he was looking at you. And it was like that, his face inches from yours, that you promised him the same thing you’d promised long ago. “You will never lose me. Ever. You are my mate, and I am yours. We love each other, when we’re happy and fine, and when we’re not. This is our life, Azriel. We can’t avoid living it in some pointless bid to outrun death.”

For a moment, he just…studied you. As if your words cleared months and months of accumulated fog and cobwebs, and helped him to see what was right in front of him. That you were right in front of him.

You had survived the war. So had he.

The two of you deserved to live — together.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am. A little while ago, I started to visit Madja for help with these feelings. I knew I couldn’t go on like this.” He explained. “But I don’t — I swear to you, I never went near anybody else. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.”

And you knew that. Gods, you knew it. You almost felt foolish for even thinking it, but…you supposed, like him, you’d gotten so far inside your head, you didn’t know the way out.

One thing did linger in the back of your mind, though. Torturing you a little. You swallowed, wiping Az’s cheeks free of tears as you asked, “what of the perfume you smelled of?”

Again, his eyes shuttered. He bowed his head slightly to touch yours. “Check my jacket pocket.”

Frowning, you paused. And then slid your hands into both pockets of the jacket you still wore. It was in the front left one that your hand enclosed around what felt like a small, glass vial. You plucked it out, tilting your head.

“Smell it.” Az instructed softly.

Your eyes met his. And slowly, you pulled the stopper out of the vial and lifted it to your nose.

The smell hit you immediately. That same smell — undoubtedly — that had clung to his clothes that night. A little too sweet for your liking, slightly floral…you grimaced, stoppering the little bottle once more. “What is it?” You asked.

“Madja has been helping me to open up…to get better at voicing my thoughts and feelings.” Azriel explained quietly. “And along with that, she made me this tonic. It has soothing properties that help me slip into a state of mind ready for a more peaceful sleep. That night you smelt it on me…it was the first time she’d given it to me. I’d applied it right before I’d entered the house, because I wanted to see how well I would sleep. If I could truly get past my nightmares.”

It was your turn for your eyes to shutter then. Guilt swarmed you, brash and unwelcome. “And I ruined your sleep by starting a fight and storming out.”

Azriel’s face turned serious. “You had every right to confront me the way you did that night. I should have told you sooner what was going on. That I was seeking help. I should have avoided hurting both of us like this.”

You sighed softly, tugging him closer once more. Your strange, complicated mate…the male you loved happily and proudly.

He’d been hurting. Struggling. You should have known.

But then…you’d been hurting and struggling, too. The aftermath of war wasn’t easy for anyone. It wasn’t a case of slipping back into your old life before you’d almost perished on that battlefield.

You’d both become chewed up and spat out by your own respective grief from that time. And instead of communicating…you’d both taken your eye off the ball. Allowed deep feelings to fester.

Never again. Never again would you allow this to happen.

“I think we’re all a little broken from the war, Az.” You brushed his hair from his face, staring at him earnestly. “But now that we know what we’re dealing with…we can heal. Together.”

His eyes threatened to well up again. And before you could see the tears form, he was leaning forward and planting a firm kiss against your lips. “I’m so sorry.” He apologised a third time.

“Shh. No more of that.” You whispered, rocking him. “From this moment on, we move forward.”

His arms held you tightly against him, warmth seeping into you. You didn’t know how long you sat there for, in each other’s arms, but as a breeze whipped over you, you felt your home calling. Coaxing the two of you back.

“Let’s go home, my love.” You kissed Azriel’s forehead.

He stared at you through wet lashes. “...To our home?”

Not Amren’s apartment. Not the River House or the Town House or the House of Wind.

“Yes.” You laced your fingers through his. “To our home.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ azriel tag list:

@hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @audie-writes @aaronwarnerswifereal @starxqt @lulufairbank @laurzwrites @livelaughlovenestaarcheron @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden @emturtles @lostpirateinwonderland @kammsinn @localhopedealerr @pee-stachio @tobifeemo @torchbearerkyle @honeycriess @shadowsingersmate24 @azziessidehoe @camillo-420 @aztheshadowsinger

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storiesofsvu · 8 months ago

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Decadent Desires Ch 2

Future Emily Prentiss x reader Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, sexual situations alluded to. Okay y'all were super interactive on the first chapter so I figured I'd give you an early chapter as a treat. Lol.

A full week had passed, another one full of overbearing work, handling the slight squabbling from the team while also dealing with constant badgering from the higher ups and Emily was over it. She scooped the final bite of linguine out of the pan, chewing it down while she moved the dish into the dishwasher thankful at least that she didn’t have to hand wash things tonight. It had been an annoying week and the bottle of wine on the counter had been calling her name since about two in the afternoon, the thought of an orgasm to relieve some stress on her mind from the moment she got home. However it wasn’t close enough to shower or bed time yet so the wine would have to do for now.

Emily refilled her glass, picked up her phone and opened the door to the patio, figuring at the very least she could enjoy the warm evening and actually get some fresh air after being cooped up in the office all week. Settling into one of the chairs she swiped open her phone and immediately had to resist the temptation to check her email, reminding herself she wouldn’t be so frustrated if she left work at work unless it was completely urgent. So she scrolled through a couple of social media apps, wasting time looking at pictures posted by friends, which in turn made her feel even more like she was missing out on something. She closed Instagram and her thumb hovered over the screen while she tried to figure out what to doom-scroll on next, finding herself staring at the little red apps Heather had installed. She took a breath, a large sip of wine and bit the bullet, opening the first one and she was pleasantly surprised she could scroll through a handful of profiles without setting one up for herself first.

‘Caitlin. 21.’

“Okay well you’re barely legal.” Emily muttered to herself, scrolling down further.

‘Steven. 32.’

A better age, but still a step in the wrong direction.

‘Kyla. 38.’

Better. But she could only see the main picture, age and location. Pulling her lip into her mouth she flicked around through a couple of pages until she found the how to tips and realized she would have to make a profile after all, even if it was just to see more information. She let out a huff, closing the app, hesitating only a minute before she opened up her text conversation with Heather.

‘Are you SURE this is a good idea?’

Her phone buzzed only a few seconds later.

‘The apps are fine. I’m assuming you haven’t even made a profile yet and it’s just pushing out what it thinks people want to see. You can curate your own experience once you put in your preferences.’

‘And if it still sucks?’

‘Oh come on, what’s the harm in one date? At the very least it’ll keep you entertained.’

‘Who said I’m not entertained?’

‘It’s Friday night and you’re texting me instead of being out somewhere.’

‘And you’re answering.’

‘I’m waiting for Rob to pull the car around; you just caught me at a convenient time.’ ‘Make a profile. There’s no harm in seeing what’s out there. You can blame me if it’s terrible.’

‘Add on a free lunch.’

‘Tell you what, this doesn’t work, I’ll bump it up to dinner and show you a couple of the discreet clubs around the city.’

‘Mark me down as intrigued. Deal.’

Emily let out a huff, swigging back a mouthful of wine before finally reopening the first app to start to put together her own profile. Maybe there really was a chance that this could work out.

Carly. 35.

Emily was almost late, one work call turning into another, turning into getting put on hold meant she didn’t have time to go change after work, arriving at Smoke and Mirrors still in her business casual. She was just in the nick of time and instantly found her date nestled into a cozy table on the patio overlooking the river, martini already in front of her.

It wasn’t necessarily that she slipped back into work mode, but her job did help her meet and interact with new people on a regular basis fairly easily. A warm smile and greeting, unsure how awkward something like a handshake would be considering the situation. A few rounds of drinks, a couple of split appetizers, and a decent enough time. While Carly could hold a perfectly good conversation and Emily could see them perhaps being friendly in the future, it wasn’t the right vibe. It certainly wasn’t helping that Emily could practically feel every set of eyes in the lounge on them throughout the night and that you didn’t have to be a profiler to put it together what kind of a situation was going on. It made Emily uncomfortable, like everyone was judging them, more specifically, her. If the two of them had been more friendly to each other right off the bat you might have been able to tell that it wasn’t a date, that they were colleagues or friends but that simply wasn’t the case. Her mind wandered to the thought that there was someone in the room that likely just assumed they were mother, daughter and that made her skin absolutely crawl and instantly ask if they could get the check. She at least felt a little bit better when Carly offered to split it, offering her a small smile that meant she was about on the same page.

Alice. 36.

This time Emily gave herself more than enough time to get home, have a glass of wine to help her relax and change into something more date appropriate. Alice had recommended Fiola and Emily had simply gone along with it, not realizing just how high end it actually was, her eyes widening at the fact that a single cocktail could set you back twenty-five to almost thirty dollars much less the food menu. At the very least, it seemed like the restaurant’s lounge was the place to be for date night on a Thursday, couples scattered throughout the place in various levels of dress. She noticed something on the menu advertising it being the place to be prior to theatre events and their server asked if they were attending a show tonight.

Emily had a little bit more faith in this one, feeling more comfortable considering the setting, actually relaxing as she laughed over her very expensive drink. It didn’t take long for the conversation to roll around to what one did when not out on the town and she let it slip that she worked for the government, a few more carefully worded questions and Alice had enough to figure out she was a fed, excusing herself to use the bathroom. When the room started to clear and Emily realized the other woman’s purse was gone from the back of her chair she let out a soft groan, realizing she was definitely stuck with the pricey cheque.

Lily 31.

Emily knew going in this one could be risky based off age alone. Lily’s profile seemed like she did this full time and she already wasn’t sure about things by the time she set foot into 1798. Her suspicions were confirmed when her phone went off with an urgent call she had to take, letting out a sigh as she returned to the table explaining that she had to leave for work and likely wouldn’t be back for a few days at least. In return Lily let out a huff and a whine like she was a toddler, crossing her arms over her chest and demanded that Emily pay for a three course dinner and send her roses each day she was going to be gone since she had wasted her time. Emily outwardly laughed, saying drinks were the only thing she’d even agreed to have, much less pay for and left as fast as she came in.

Kimberly. 39.

This one got postponed immediately as a case kept them out of town longer than anticipated. They were still only chatting back and fourth on the app and Emily was venting about being the one in charge and how her team were agents and you’d think they could handle certain things themselves but apparently not. She woke up the next morning to find a couple of messages that insinuated Kimberly might have been doing other things for money that weren’t exactly legal and thought it wasn’t a good idea to get involved with a cop. After Emily sent a reply agreeing, the match disappeared.

Emma. 34.

This one started off slow, a match, Emily shot off a message and waited a while to hear back. She was pleasantly surprised when her phone pinged with the reply she’d been hoping to get for a few days. They got along wonderfully, everything seemed to be falling right into place, their opinions, expectations, they shared a handful of the same favourite movies, foods, for once it seemed like things would be perfect. Emily opened the app when she got home from work that night to ask her out for drinks that weekend to find that she’d been completely ghosted, unmatched and no way to find Emma again.

Kori. 40.

The second match that had gone off without a hitch and a plan to meet at Blue Duck Tavern that coming Thursday night. Emily arrived a little bit early thanks to a complete lack of traffic and figured she would just grab a drink at the bar while waiting. You could only imagine her confusion when she was tapped on the shoulder and turned around to see an older than middle aged man with a timid smile introducing himself, apologizing that he didn’t look like his pictures.

That one earned an eye roll and a ‘yeah, right’ before Emily was heading for the door.

The week had finally come to a close and Emily had dismissed the BAU shortly after lunch, telling the team to get out of there while they still had the chance and everyone was quick to leave the building, herself included. Construction rerouted her normal commute home and when she ended up in the same neighbourhood as Heather’s office her mind wandered back to how unsuccessful her past two weeks had been and before she even really realized it, she was pulling into the parking lot.

“I’m being serious Heather, it’s fucking terrible.” She groaned, dropping down into a chair across from the other woman’s desk. “This is almost as bad as dating men was.”

“From what I heard some of them are men.” Heather replied with a tease and Emily shot her a glare.

“I just thought this would be easier.”

“Finding the right fit is the hard part, it’ll smooth over once you do.” Heather flipped the book in front of her closed, standing from her chair and crossing over to the liquor cart, filling up two glasses of scotch.

“I didn’t want to deal with the hard part though.” Emily continued to mope, thanking her for the glass.

“Drink. You’re too pent up.” She settled back at her desk, “you really do need to get laid.”

“Don’t you think I’m trying!?” She sucked back a mouthful of the liquor, stewing in her thoughts for a moment. “Please tell me you’re having more success in this than I am, how’s your bartender doing?”

“Are you kidding?” Heather laughed, “you saw her. She’s practically pathetic. She was pretty enough, but my god the level of insecurity? The constant whining and worrying? Don’t get me wrong, I love a good brat but there was no way she wouldn’t have been crying on my doorstep begging me to leave my husband in a week’s time.”

“Have you had that happen before?” Her eyes widened at the sheer thought of it as Heather nodded.

“Best piece of advice I can give you, don’t let them know where you live. Stick to hotels.”

“Noted.”

“What are you having the biggest trouble with? Maybe I can help.”

Emily sighed softly, swirling her cup as she stared into it, sorting through the string of failed dates, “honestly I don’t even know. Maybe I just need to play around with the age range…. Would probably help to bump it up a little it.”

“Anything under thirty-five does usually end up getting messy.”

“I want someone who has their life a little bit more put together; you know?”

“Mmhmm.” Heather replied over the rim of her drink, “you need to make sure that this isn’t their only source of income, that they have something else going on to fill their time and bank account up. Maybe someone who has an actual partner.”

“I don’t know about that.” Her nose crinkled, “would feel wrong. But someone who has a full time job and wouldn’t be completely dependant on me certainly would be nice. I don’t have the time or energy for that.”

“You need a gorgeous, ambitious girl who knows how to be discreet in public and likes get her brains fucked out in private.”

“Exactly.” She laughed, taking another sip of her drink as Heather tilted her phone screen towards her, hitting a couple of buttons before returning her attention to the other woman, “you know, if you ever think of changing career paths…”

“Become a matchmaker for sugar babies?” She chuckled, “there would likely be a market for that, maybe after retirement.”

Emily laughed, shaking her head as she watched the wheels start turning in the other woman’s head. She heard a brief knock on the door behind her before it swung open,

“I didn’t realize you needed this by the end of the day, sorry.” You swung through the office, coming to perch on the side of Heather’s desk as you handed her the file.

“It’s alright, it slipped my mind too.” Heather replied as she opened the file, skimming through it.

Her eyes flicked over to Emily briefly, watching the way her gaze drifted from the designer heels on your feet all the way to the necklace laying against your collarbone. You were dressed professionally yet incredibly stylish, dark pencil skirt, a peach sleeveless blouse tucked into it, blazer no doubt laying over the back of your desk chair. A delicate silver watch around one wrist, perfectly manicured nails and eyes that were suddenly set on her.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt. You’re FBI, right? Prentiss?” Your words jolted her out of her trance and she caught herself scrambling over the fact that you knew her name, wondering if she’d left her ID badge on after work.

“Well now I feel bad.” She laughed.

“Don’t.” Heather cut in, her eyes back on the file, “she just does checks on anyone that comes in here.”

“Ignore her.” You replied with a grin, sticking out your hand to introduce yourself, “y/n Walton.”

“And you’re what? Secret security?” Emily asked with a tease and you laughed as Heather tucked the file away into her desk.

“She’s the head of my PR team, does incredible work.”

“I should hope so, you practically groomed me into the assistant you needed.”

“I did not—” Heather scoffed, “you’re a horrible tease.”

“I do my job and then some, and I do it phenomenally.” You showboated for a second, grinning over at Emily before looking up at your boss, “which is why I’m double checking it’s still okay to duck out early tonight?”

“Why?” The other woman asked with a smirk, “you have a hot date or something?”

“Heather, please.” You barked out a laugh, “you’re a slave driver! You know I don’t have time to properly date with my schedule.”

“So why the need to play hooky?”

“A new Netflix special drops at six and I have a frozen pizza, a pint of ice cream and that bottle of Bordeaux screaming my name.” You slipped off the side of her desk, “besides, you still owe me the OT for putting together the gift baskets and flower arrangements for Senator Reeves. You do remember you have an assistant for that kind of shit, right?”

“Oh but sweetheart you’re so much better than them.”

“I know.” You grinned at her, “which is why I’m leaving early.”

She laughed, shaking her head, “keep your phone on.”

“Of course.” You turned, smiling across at Emily, “nice to meet you Agent Prentiss.”

Emily couldn’t help the way her eyes followed you out of the room before she finally turned back to Heather who was grinning like the cheshire cat over the rim of her drink.

“What?” She asked, feigning confusion and Heather chuckled.

“You liked what you saw.”

“Hard not to.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drool like that over someone before.”

“I—I was not drooling!”

“Maybe not from your mouth.”

“Heather!” Emily felt her cheeks begin to burn, attempting to hide behind her glass as the brunette let out a dark laugh.

“Here, at least take her phone number.” Picking up a pen she scrawled the digits out onto a post it note, handing it to Emily.

“I don’t have time to date, you know this.”

“And you heard her.” She gestured toward the door, “she doesn’t either. You wanted someone with their head on straight who is comfortable occupying themselves when you’re working. I make her schedule; I guarantee she works as many hours as you do. Besides… she’s done this a couple of times before.”

That caught Emily’s attention, looking up from the yellow paper in her hand with her brow furrowed, “really?”

“Yes.”

“With women?”

“She needed some help through college, I was bored.” Heather shrugged, “worked out for both of us and now she’s on my actual payroll.”

“She’s been working for you that long?”

“Mmhm.” Heather nodded.

“So you really did groom her?” Emily teased and it was Heather’s turn to scoff, rolling her eyes.

“Just call her.” She half glared, “god knows she could use a night out, and one where she doesn’t have to rub elbows with politicians the entire time. She deserves a break and likely needs a good fuck, both of which I’m sure you can give to her.”

“We really don’t need to have that conversation.” She laughed, tucking the post it into her pocket, “but thank you. I will think about it.”

“Don’t think too long.” Heather smiled as Emily got up from her chair, scooping up her jacket from the back of it. “If you come back here in two weeks complaining about the shitty apps and you haven’t called her yet I’ll start feeding her lies about how much you suck.”

“Okay, okay.” She laughed, “I’ll call. And I’ll see you later.”

_________________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @scorpsik @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @five-bi-five-mind @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @hotchs-bitch @ollysmulti @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @hopedoesntknow @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx @momily @nilaues @borinxnovak @soverign @v3nusxsky @blackbird-brewster @mccdreamys-writes @l4yne @obsessedwjill @supercorpstan97 @asolitaryrose3 @honeyycatt @trauma-factory @lisqueen

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds #decadent desires #criminal minds fanfic #emily prentiss fanfiction #heather dunbar

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frannyzooey · 7 months ago

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On The Green: 3

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: Mature-ish? More space violence, gratuitous descriptions of Ezra’s body 🤡

A/N: thank you to both @the-scandalorian who always sets me in the right direction and gives me the best reassurance and @bageldaddy who, I’m pretty sure, is giving me more of an education than any English teacher I’ve ever had and thank god ❤️

Series Masterlist

—

For the next couple days, it rains.

Sheets of it pour down, a steady drum against the roof, trails of it sliding down the windows. It creates rivers in the rich soil, deep trenches that lead to even deeper puddles, and the world outside looks like a muted blur from your seat inside. A smear of dark green, a blot of rich brown, the watery shape of roots that distort with every drop.

Tucking your knees tighter under your chin, you give your legs a squeeze, hoping to squash the restlessness that thrums through them.

“Anything new out there?”

You sigh, knowing he’s teasing. “No.”

“Fitting, the way you can sit still for so long, Birdie. Perched there in your little nest.”

The only blanket you have pooled at your hip, your headphones on the floor, and your notebook open and face down next to them, you suppose it does look a bit like a nest. You shrug. “Not much else to do.”

Ezra fiddles with a ship part in his hand, his head bent in focus. “Always something to do.”

After days stuck inside, it doesn’t feel like it.

You’ve combed over every inch of the pod, putting it back to rights. Cleaning every surface, organizing every cupboard. The med supplies were pulled out and meticulously sorted, the food stores combined with Ezra’s meager offerings, the dash scrubbed free of every particle of dirt that’s collected on it over the years. Your fingers finding a few rusty drips of blood that were missed, you spent more time than necessary scouring every inch of the pilot’s seat until your fingers ached.

One untouched compartment remained: your father’s private belongings.

“Hand me that wrench, would you?”

Ezra extends his hand, and you crawl over to the open tool kit, rifling through it until you find the one he’s looking for. Handing it to him, you abandon your seat by the window and sit next to him. His fingers are thick and long, marred with the nicks of small scars, his fingernails short and black with permanent dirt—but his handling of the part is graceful, his touch deft when he uses the tool.

“Tell me everything he said again, from the top.”

Resting your cheek on your knee, you recite every detail you can recall, your voice monotone with boredom.

“He didn’t say much. A group of mercs hired him to help with the dig, but I don’t know where he met them. Called “The Queen’s Lair,” it’s supposed to be an untouched dig site that holds more gems than any other on this planet. A deposit the size of this pod. Depending on his source, the whole thing could be real or it could be nothing, but either way, he thought it would make us rich. He said it would be enough to retire on, that this would be our last run.”

Ezra huffs. “If the rumor is true, then he’d be right.” He passes the wrench back, looking at you. “If it’s true.” He waits a beat. “Do you think it is?”

You still had to get used to that – someone asking your opinion about something. You shrug. “It’s possible, right?”

“Sure, it’s possible,” he agrees. “Probable, though?”

You pause to think, and his expression softens into a smile. “A dreamer like myself, I see.”

“I don’t know about that,” you reply. “But as long as we’re stuck here, might as well look, right?”

He nods, thinking for a moment.

“The Queen’s Lair,” he muses, dragging the words out in a slow drawl. He looks up, wiggling his eyebrows, and a small smile pulls at your lips.

Mirroring it, he goes back to work.

It had taken you all of a couple days to tell him about the reason your father came here. Tossing in your lot with Ezra the second you agreed to his deal, the idea of a hidden cache of gems that had the potential to make you both rich was too valuable to keep to yourself. You had the location; he had the digging skills. You had, as minimal as they were, details about who was waiting, and he had the skills to navigate the situation.

You needed each other.

Cautious around him for the first couple of days, you were surprised by his geniality. For someone who appeared so ruthless when you first met him, he was…kinder than you thought he would be with you. You had remained hesitant, convinced that it was a ruse to get you to lower your defenses, but after a while, you came to see that he was just desperate for someone to talk to.

So were you, it seemed, for how easily the words slipped out once you let them.

After a lifetime of being left to wilt alone in empty apartments, or being dragged around the universe only to be ignored until your father needed something from you, it felt good to have someone’s attention. His curiosity about you was endless, his questions never ending, and when you answered, he really listened. Not like he was searching for anything to give him a leg up on you, but rather just openly interested. His face was expressive, his eyes fixed on yours whenever you were talking, and even when you tried to shy away from the direct attention you weren’t used to, he never faltered.

He was patient, a gift you’d never been given from anyone.

Unfortunately, along with that came a blossoming attraction to the man, but you pushed that down. The pod was a tight space with two people, and he was broad. You couldn’t help but notice his presence. Especially at night, when it was just the two of you.

When a blanket of tension seemed to build across the small space between your cots.

When it was just you and him and the darkness; the steady sound of his breathing over the thrum of your restless limbs.

Squashing down the nagging shame that surfaced every time you remembered that he was a stranger and also a murderer, you ignored that logic and leaned into the warmth of his companionship instead.

Besides, even if he was planning on taking advantage, what could you really do about it anyway?

“You mentioned a map?” he says, his brow furrowing in concentration.

You tilt your head towards his cupboard. “I haven’t checked, but it should be in there. I remember him looking at it.”

Knowing you’ve been avoiding that particular cupboard, he nods.

“How many mercs are waiting for him at the dig?”

“He didn’t tell me.”

“What terms did he negotiate?”

“He didn’t say.”

Ezra shakes his head to himself, looking up. “The more you tell me about this old man of yours, the less I’m impressed with how he treated his partner.”

“I was never his partner,” you correct. “Just his daughter.”

He gives you a level glance, and you look away. Fiddling with the leg of your thermals, you change the subject. “Do you think it’s safe to leave the pod unattended?”

“I’m not assured that she’s fit to fly in the state she’s in, but just to be sure, we’ll take this with us wherever we go.”

He holds up the part in his hand with a smirk, and you give it a closer look, huffing a laugh when you recognize it.

The starter.

He stands with a soft grunt, stretching. The muscles in his shoulders shift underneath his threadbare thermals, and you keep your eyes on them when he tucks the part away in his case.

“I’ll need a digging partner out there, if this opportunity is what you say it is,” he says. “I think we should practice some, to get you ready. Is that amenable to you?”

You bite the pillow of your lip. “He never taught me that. How to dig,” you clarify.

“Course he didn’t,” Ezra frowns, his voice sliding low with unamused disappointment. He shakes his head clear of whatever dark thought seems to pass through his mind, his expression softening. “All the more reason.” He bends, peering out the window. “Looks like it’s tapering off. The sooner we get some practice under your belt, the better.”

A swoop of relief flowing through you at the thought of leaving the pod, it mixes with excitement at the prospect of learning something new. Your father never trusted you with the actual digging – you had been brought along to carry things, made to follow for “assistance”, but he never let you touch the blade. You’d once thought it was a father’s way to protect his child from the dangerous job but quickly realized it was born out of impatience.

Unfurling your tight limbs when he holds his hand out to help you off the floor, you grab your suits from the closet. Slipping them on in silence, you click your helmet into place while he secures the connection of your filters, and hunching to get through the door, you follow him outside.

The ground is saturated with water, your boots leaving clear impressions in the soil as he leads you into the forest. He’s broad, even more so with his suit on, but the trees that surround you are still big enough to conceal his entire body, not to mention yours. The canopy of lush growth glistens with droplets, shafts of misty light piercing through it to highlight the floor of moss and growth underneath you. Vines and tree roots spread and crawl underneath your feet, no visible path that you can see.

You follow the beacon of his worn yellow suit, his voice carrying through the comm into your helmet.

“So, Birdie,” his voice sounds deeper through the link, scratchy with static. “If your father never taught you how to dig, what did he teach you?”

You huff under your breath. “A lot of things.”

Missing the low tone of your sarcasm through the radio, he continues in his conversational tone. “Anything useful?”

“I know how to navigate.” You think of using your father’s last coordinates to find him in the seedier part of town. “I’m resourceful.” Rationing your vouchers, making sure they bought you enough food to last. “I’m actually not a bad mechanic.”

“Oh yea?” He turns to look to peek back at you for a moment.

You immediately backtrack when you see a glimmer of hope on his face. “I mean, nothing like we need. I can try to help though, if you show me how. My father used to bring me with him everywhere but always left me behind, so I got pretty good at fixing things around the ship. He always wanted me to do the wiring because my hands were smaller than his. He said my fingers were more precise.”

You remember the rest of it silently: the way his hands trembled and shook between doses.

Ezra hums in acknowledgement. “And yet he never taught you how to dig?”

The moss softens your footsteps, flakes of dust floating through the thick air.

“No,” you reply. “He tried, but…I don’t know. He was too impatient, I think.”

Memories of his harsh words come back: the biting clip of his reprimands, the disappointed yet dismissive tone he always had when it came to you.

Ezra’s voice pulls you back. “Seems like a waste to me. If I had access to those fingers of yours, I would have made use of them.”

Your steps falter as his unearned praise catches you off guard, at his automatic assumption that skills he doesn’t even know if you have were wasted. Warmth unfurls in your chest, the edge of your mouth unconsciously lifting. Feeling slightly foolish and young at your reaction, you look down at your feet.

You’re still thinking about it when he pushes through dense bush, halting you with his arm.

Peering over his shoulder, you see a dark, gaping pit of disturbed earth obstructing your path. He creeps closer, toeing around the edge of it, and you follow, taking in the size and depth. Shallow but with steep sides, roots bulge out from below the soil, extending into the sky with gnarled fingers. Looking closer, you note pockets of earth gaping open just underneath each one. The whole site is eerie, appearing abandoned – though Ezra seems to know what he’s looking for.

Standing on the edge of the pit with a narrowed gaze, he crouches, studying the crater.

You watch with curiosity as he eases down the slope, into the dig site. Sitting on your butt, you carefully slide down the embankment to join him.

You’re not experienced enough to know for sure, but everything about this looks barren to you.

“Is there anything left in here?”

He flashes a smile your way. “If you know where to look.”

He paces the length of the pit, studying it. “Many sites were depleted during the Rush, but carelessness left some treasures behind.”

He squats next to a thick, gnarled root, his helmet tilting in study.

“Come here, Birdie.” His voice slipping into something softer and quieter, he motions you closer. “Here. You see it?”

His gloved fingers splay over the earth, dusting along tiny pin-prick holes that pierce the rich dirt, and he brushes away the crumbling top layer to reveal a deeper set. As if whatever is buried underneath needs access to the toxic air.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he coos.

Blinking, it takes you a second to understand he’s talking to the hole he’s gently unearthing. He hums to himself, one of satisfaction when the earth tumbles away and an involuntary shiver of pleasure at the sound surprises you by rolling down your spine. Shifting your crouch, you push it down.

“Hand me my kit?”

You reach for it, watching as he preps his tools.

“I’ll go first, and then teach you how to do it. Watch my fingers.”

Bracing his hand on the side of the site, he uses the strength in his other one to scoop into the pocket of soil until it completely opens. His arm disappears as he reaches into the dark pit, and trepidation spreads through you. He searches for something, his eyes lighting up when he finds it.

"I knew somebody oughta give her a go,” he says with a smile.

His hand wrapped around the root like a rope, he tugs with a soft grunt of exertion, and a thick, milky white root pearl spills from the hole. He keeps pulling, coaxing everything out and a bulbous pod covered in mucus emerges, sliding out onto the ground by his feet. Shifting onto his knees, he picks up his knife.

“You want to be careful when you cut,” he starts to explain, motioning you to scoot closer. “Easy does it, with delicate things like these. One wrong move and the whole thing will go to shit.”

You hold your breath as he makes a careful incision, his knife slowly drawing across the top of the pod. Your eyes widen in half revulsion and half curiosity as it splits open, strands of thick mucus connecting each side.

“I saw my dad do it once,” you say lowly, mesmerized by his deft movements. “Mess it up.”

The dark crown of his shorn curls shakes under the dome of his visor. “It’s a shame to waste it. All the effort it takes to get her to give it up, only to be ruined with a misplaced touch.”

A hissing sound slips through the thick air, and his fingers form a vee to hold the slick seam open.

“That's the price for a dry breach,” he explains. “My chem will calm the brine.”

You have the bottle of pre-mixed chemicals ready in your hand, and he gives you a nod in thanks, taking it from you. Pouring it slowly into the crack, the pod disintegrates into a steamy cloud, a slimy puddle forming underneath. A core remains, and setting the bottle down, he holds up the unpolished gem.

“Small, but still worth it.”

“You made that look so easy.” Clear experience in every movement he made, you’re still looking at the gem when he speaks.

“Your turn.”

You look up at the words, unsure, and his gaze is steady and encouraging. “I’ll be right here. If you slip, it’s just a trial run.”

You frown in hesitation, and he chuckles. “Don’t look so serious, Birdie. The stakes are about as low as they can get. Come on.”

He jerks his chin towards something behind you, and crawling over to it, you follow.

“Just there,” he says. “You can see her. Look.”

You follow his finger, and reaching your glove out, start to brush the crumbling soil away from the side of the pit. He guides you through every step with a patience you’ve not encountered before, every instruction murmured in a cadence so soothing that would be distracting if not for the intensity of your concentration on the task.

Watch it, girl. Straight finger.

You got it?

Hold it nice and tight.

Oh. That’s perfect.

The sense of accomplishment you feel when you hold up the gem is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. All of your other skills discovered through the lens of isolation, forged by way of necessity without the luxury of help, this one feels different. A safety net beneath you every step of the way, you know if you were to mess up, he would have saved you – but you didn’t.

The faith he placed in you when he handed you the knife suddenly feels so much more earned, and you beam up at him with pride.

“Not nearly as daunting as you thought now, was it?” He smiles back at you, holding his hand out for the gem. “Your father was right, by the way. Your fingers are nimble. The most precise and steady I’ve ever seen.”

You know he must be humoring you but the flush of validation flourishes in your chest as he tucks the stone carefully into the soft foam padding of his case.

“I would have us stay out longer, but we didn’t charge the filters as much as we should have. Let’s head back and admire our loot in a more hospitable environment.”

Clicking it shut, he climbs the slope of the pit before turning to help you out.

“Your first gem,” he muses, leading you back into the forest. “How does it feel?”

“Good,” you breathe, a small smile still on your face and you follow him, his constant stream of words fading into the background.

Entirely dependent on the whims of your father, you’d been existing inside of an isolated bubble until now. You hadn’t been lying when you told Ezra you had no idea what you wanted to do, because the freedom to choose your own path was something that had never occurred to you. You’d been self-reliant, but always within the shadow of a burden. Your dad forced you into a caretaker role, and for the first time in years, as Ezra’s voice flows into your helmet from his, you feel the possibility of something else breaking through the fog.

A glimmering edge of potential, the hue of an amber colored gem.

The shift inside you sparks to life, a realization dawning on you: a life you never thought possible. For the first time since you landed on this planet, you see opportunity stretching out in front of you instead of a dead end. Pride kindles in your chest as you walk back to the pod, and you think about sharing it with Ezra, but stating your excitement over something as routine for the competent man in front of you seems foolish. Like something you should keep to yourself, in order to protect it against the power you know other’s words hold.

You make it to the edge of the clearing before it spills forth from your lips.

“I can’t wait –” you start, your words interrupted by Ezra’s arm whipping out for the second time that day to stop you in your tracks.

“Hello, stranger.”

Your head snaps up, both at the greeting itself and the tone his voice has slipped into: something colder than the easy geniality he’s been using with you all morning, an edge to it that you can sense without seeing his face.

“Can I help you?” Ezra’s hand rests on the thrower attached to his hip, and from your place behind him, you slowly reach for your own weapon strapped across your back. Peering over Ezra’s shoulder, you spot the edge of a man.

Sneering through the visor of his dirty helmet, he looks starved, almost feral underneath the dome, his eyes dead with hunger. Dangerous is the first word that comes to mind, and when the man’s gaze settles on you, you shrink back behind Ezra.

“Pretty ship,” his voice crackles through the comm link. “Pretty girl.”

Your stomach bottoms out, but Ezra remains still.

“Both of whom belong to me,” he replies, steady and sure.

Your fingers bury themselves into Ezra’s suit at his side, and you feel him straighten, standing taller in front of you.

“Seems like a lot for one man.” The man’s chin tilts up in a challenge, stepping closer. “Maybe I can take one of em’ off your hands.”

“As generous as that offer is, I will have to decline.” You can hear the casual smile on Ezra’s face, meant to disarm. “I’m partial to both, you see. I wouldn’t be able to choose.”

The stranger takes a step closer, testing. When Ezra doesn’t move, he takes another.

“Actually,” the stranger confesses, “I’ve got a ship. It could use some parts, and I intended to take them from you…but I’d be willing to walk away.” He pauses a beat, tilting his head to look directly at you. “For her.”

He smiles, and the sight of his rotted teeth causes bile to rise in your throat.

“That is a bold offer,” Ezra drawls. “Unfortunately,” his voice dropping into a firmer tone, “She stays with me.”

The man’s greasy smile disappears, replaced with a menacing frown.

“I’m not gonna ask again,” he growls.

Ezra stands firm, shifting to cover you with the whole of his body and a tight tension fills the air, crackling amongst the slow floating dust.

“Then I guess I’ll have to take her by force,” the man says, taking another step forward.

Without any warning, Ezra whips the pistol from the holster attached to his hip and fires. You shrink at the first shot, scrambling to hide by the pod at the sound of a second one, and by the third, your ass hits the ground with a thud. A cold sweat soaks through your thermals, your pulse pounding as you watch Ezra saunter closer to the dead man with a relaxed gait and aiming his gun right between the man’s vacant eyes, you flinch when he pulls the trigger again.

A crash echoes through the field, followed by silence.

–

“It’s really a thing of beauty, isn’t it?”

Still reeling from the confrontation outside, you blink numbly at the refresher.

“Um,” you swallow, taking a seat. “Sure.”

He seems so unbothered it’s disorienting, and you tug your boot off, placing it on the floor next to the other one. Needing him to go somewhere else so you can process what just happened alone, you attempt casualness. “You just gonna stare at it, or are you gonna shower?”

“You just gonna watch me, or are you gonna turn around?” he mimics.

You pause, and he grins.

“Either way suits me just fine, little bird. Just fine.”

He crouches to dig through a bin of his belongings, and you turn your back to him, your body slipping into the rote memory as you take off your suit. The difference between who he’s been the last several days with you versus who he just turned into is jarring, a slap in the face, a stark reminder of what he’s capable of.

“You want to bathe first, or do you mind if I have the honor?” he asks from behind you.

“Go for it,” you reply.

You hear him pause behind you and turn to face him. A frown pulls between his dark brows as he studies you. “Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting for you to get your own relief. In fact, I’d prefer it.”

You shake your head, just wanting him to give you space. “I’m good. I’ll wait.”

He nods and before you can turn back around, reaches over his head to strip his shirt off with a tug. Marks of rough won survival litter the skin of his back. A gouge here, the thin stripe of a scar there; some cleanly healed, some not. He leans forward into the fresher, turning the water on to let it run for a moment and you eye the dark curls that edge the nape of his neck. The wings of muscle that make up his broad shoulders seem so much wider with his suit off, so much wider against the small opening he stands in front of, and your eyes follow the strong plane of his back down all the way down to the dimples on either side of his spine, just above the waistband of the pants he’s already working open –

Turning, his face registers surprise when he sees you’re still looking – yet he makes no effort to cover himself. Instead, he stands taller, confident in his bareness. His chest is covered in the same marks as his back, visible strength held in his arms, and dark hair collects in a swirl around his belly button and leads down, his hand obstructing where his pants hang open.

“I’m – sorry,” you hastily apologize, heat rushing to your face. Averting your eyes, you get a glimpse of his amused smile before you turn your back on him again.

You expect him to tease you, but he doesn’t. Instead, the door to the fresher clicks shut and you let a breath out you didn’t know you were holding.

Finally alone, you close your eyes.

He killed…again. Right in front of you, shamelessly, so confident in his own skills that you never sensed even a fraction of fear. Going back to the moment you both saw the man, you focus on the memory of his calmness, on the image of confidence he presented delivering that final shot. Almost lazy with it, like he was so desensitized by killing it didn’t even register with him.

Searching deeper, where you should find fear, you find reassurance instead.

He’s the one that took out the initial threat of his original partner, he’s the one who buried your father like it was nothing, he’s the one who has taught you about this place. Treating you like an equal except for when he needs to take out a threat, the way he slides into territorial protection should make you worry…but instead, it makes you feel safe.

You don’t belong to him, but you don’t find yourself rebelling against the idea as much as you probably should. The stranger meant to take you, and when Ezra told that man you belonged to him, you should have shrunk away, probably should have mentally protested. Instead, you silently clutched him tighter.

You hear him behind the door, water splashing against the tiles as he moves around and that swirl of hair above his waistband flashes behind your eyelids, along with an image of his thick fingers. The width of his chest, the rounds of his shoulders. The muscles along his ribs.

You jam the heels of your hands into your eyes, willing it to stop.

He’s a murderer. He’s a thief. He’s a dangerous man who has taken advantage of a situation in order to save himself.

And yet, you breathe out, listening to the shower – he’s saved you every time too.

–

You stay quiet the rest of the night, sitting with your thoughts.

He notices, those dark eyes resting on you every now and then over the map. He’d waited until you were in the shower to go through your father’s belongings, a courtesy you silently thanked him for.

Picking at your dinner, you finally ask him one of the questions weighing on your mind. “Am I really that much of a commodity around here?” you ask. “Is a girl that…rare?”

He stops eating, his expression turning solemn. He holds your gaze for a moment, answering honestly. “You have no idea, Birdie.”

There is a weight to the answer that gives you pause, and a clear implication that confirms the worry that you’re really not safe here – not just for the reasons you thought.

You go back to eating – or rather, picking at your food – and you feel him watching you.

“It is not my intention to scare you,” he starts, “but it is important that you stay close to me. If anyone asks, you’re mine. You understand?”

You nod, the words sparking to life an empty ache inside you, and you swallow hard.

“Not because I own you,” he continues, “but because they need to think I do.”

“Wouldn’t being your partner be enough?”

He shakes his head slowly. “I wish it was, but they…” He pauses, being careful with his words. “It’s been a long time since these men have seen a girl. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one. Your father was foolish to bring you here.” His hand splays on his chest, his thumb catching the worn collar of his thermal. “I would never hurt you, Birdie. But them? They’d do it in a heartbeat.”

You go quiet again, and he puts his fork down, leaning in.

“Again – I don’t say this to scare you, but –”

“That man today,” you interrupt. “How can you kill like that?”

He misunderstands your question, his body language shifting into defensiveness.

“It was all in the name of self-preservation, Birdie. It was nothing personal. Out here –”

“Can you teach me how?”

Your question takes him aback, his eyebrows popping up with surprise.

You let the question hang in the air between you, fully expecting him to say no. He shouldn’t help you learn to protect yourself, you know it would be in his best interest not to. Despite that, you hold eye contact with him, pleading inwardly for him to say yes.

You know he’d protect you, but you want more freedom than that. You want more, just like he taught you earlier.

Taking in your measure for a moment, the corner of his mouth lifts just a fraction, his dark eyes glinting with warmth – and pride.

“Of course.”

#ezra prospect #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect/you #ezra prospect/reader

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strniohoeee · 1 year ago

Note

chris and reader are fighting and he accidentally shoves her and she hits her back causing her to form a bruise and she cries because it hurts a lot and this leads to matt and nick to intervene and then angst and fluff

Bicker

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Chris and the reader seem to have a few disagreements. Sadly one argument leads to injuries that may not be fixable👥

Warnings⚠️: None, I like actually hate this….idk what’s going on lately, but I can notttt write for the life of me. I feel like I’m struggling to come up with good ideas for these requests.

Song for the imagine: Cry Me a River-Justin Timberlake

The bridges were burn

Now it’s your turn

To cry

Cry me a river

I wasn’t sure what Chris' issue was lately, but he has become insufferable. It was becoming a burden to hang out with them because of his attitude.

Chris and I weren’t the closest of friends like how Nick and I were, but we still spoke. However, him being in a pissy mood all the time was stressing me out.

I was hanging out with them all last week, and Chris and I kept arguing here and there. He was acting like a bitch and it became hard for me to be nice to him.

“No you were an asshole to the waiter” I said shaking my head at Chris

“I wasn’t at all” he said laughing

“Yes you were Chris. You acted like a spoiled brat” I replied

“I could really act like a spoiled brat” he said sitting up in his chair

“It’s so fucking embarrassing coming out with you. Like why do you act this way?” I asked him rubbing my temples

“I wasn’t acting any type of way, stop putting yourself in things that have nothing to do with you!” He said giving me a dirty look

“In case you haven’t noticed. You’ve been making this week painful for all of us, so lose the weird attitude or just stay home” I said shrugging my shoulders

“Please don’t tell ME what to do” he said taking a sip of his drink

“Oh cry me a river” I said rolling my eyes at him

That was the end of our bickering. Often exchanging dirty looks throughout our dinner, and not talking to each other. As I kept going over to their house though Chris and I would have at least two arguments a day. Then he would stomp down to his room and slam the door like a child, and ignore us for the rest of the day.

Just like today we had our first argument when I first got here because he left his sneakers in the driveway and I ran them over. I mean totally not my fault I didn’t see them.

He was ignoring me for that, but right now I wanted to make cookies for them and he was in my way. I kept my composure for a while, but I literally kept tripping over him

“Chris you need to get out of the kitchen” I said adding chocolate chips into the dough

“Why?” He said looking at me

“Because I keep tripping over you, and you’re in my way” I said looking at him

“I’m literally not in your way though” he said taking chocolate chips

“Yes you are, and you keep eating my ingredients you fucking heathen back off” I said smacking his hand away

“You’re such a bitch” he spat at me

“I literally do not fucking care get the fuck out” I said rolling my eyes at him

“There’s a nicer way to ask me to leave” he said smiling at me

“I asked you nicely now please get out” I said sighing

Chris snatched the bowl of dough from me and ran to the other side of the kitchen

“I’m not playing these childish games with you, give me the fucking dough” I said

“No I’m good” he said pushing me away and holding the bowl above his head

“I’ll fucking kick you in the balls right now” I said sticking my hand out for the bowl

“Not till you ask nicely” he said shrugging his shoulders

“Chris, I'm trying to do something for you and your brothers. I already asked you to leave and now you won’t. You’re so fucking annoying give me the bowl” I said

“Say please?” He asked

“Fuck you” I said

His face dropped and threw the bowl at me. I barely caught it

“Fucking dick” I said

Next thing I know off instinct I kicked him in the knee, and his face dropped

“You fucking bitch” he said and shoved me

But he shoved me so hard my back hit the sharp corner of the island in the kitchen and sent some things falling. Immediately losing my breath from the pain. I gasped and I couldn’t take a complete breath in

“What was that?” We heard Nick yell as him and Matt ran into the kitchen

“Christopher…..what the fuck is wrong with you” I said still shocked in pain

“Please I didn’t even push you that hard” he said

I felt tears in my eyes as I touched my back. A bruise for sure forming, and a large scratch

“I wanted to do something nice for you guys, and you fucking ruined it by acting like a complete imbecile” I said throwing the bowl down on the island

“Chris what did you do” Nick said walking over to me

“I pushed her” he said

“Are you a child? Like you’re a grown man, why would you push her?” Matt said looking over at him

“She kicked me in my knee, and I just turned around and pushed her….it was my reflex” he said staring at me blankly

“You’re such an asshole” I said pulling away from Nick as he looked at my back

I grabbed a frozen bag of peas from the freezer, slamming it shut and stomping past Chris shoving him on my way out.

I sat outside in their yard with the bag on my back as I let the tears fall. I was hurt and I was embarrassed.

Nicks POV

“Chris, what has gotten into you lately? Putting your hands on a girl?” I said staring at Chris

“I didn’t think it was that hard” he said

“Doesn’t fucking matter dude, you’re a grown man shoving people? Looks ridiculous” Matt said shaking his head

“You know what, whatever okay. She’s been barking at me all week and yall haven’t said shit” Chris said snapping

“Because you’ve been acting like a piece of shit. We agreed with her, and you still are so blind to it” I said

“You need to fix your attitude, and you need to fix what you just did to Y/N” Matt said

“I don’t need to do anything” Chris responded

“I’m not about to potentially lose a friend over your stupidity. Go apologize you animal” I said to Chris rolling my eyes at him

“Whatever kid” he said shoving past me

End of Nick's pov

I sat face down in a lawn chair as the peas soothed the ache in my back. My tears now dried as I listened to the crickets in the trees. My thoughts just running

Suddenly I heard the side door open and I figured it was Nick, but to my surprise when I turned my head, it was Chris and I looked at him and rolled my eyes

“Can we talk?” He asked me

“Gonna hit me with a lawn chair? Maybe throw me in the pool? Ouu how about throw the grill at me when I turn away?” I said giving him a sarcastic smile

“ No, I'm not going to do that. Actually came out here to apologize to you.” He said sitting in front of me

“ I don’t wanna hear an apology because I know it’s not real” I said to him

“ Whether you think it’s real or not doesn’t matter I’m going to apologize anyway” Chris said

“You could save yourself the embarrassment. I don’t want to talk to you” I said rolling my eyes

“Fucking listen to me already” he said getting annoyed

“No, okay! You really hurt me, and embarrassed me. I do not want anything to do with you” I said struggling to sit up

“ I know you hate me right now and I get that but please just listen. I’m not sure why I’ve been acting the way I’ve been acting but I’m just so sad and angry and lonely all the time and I let that get to my head and I let that affect you guys.” Chris said, looking down.

“Chris you don’t have to go through this alone you know. I know you might not like to talk about your feelings, but we’re all here for you” I said looking at him

“This just isn’t me. So I try to ignore it, but it doesn’t go away” he said shaking his head

“If you don’t address it, it will never go away. If it’s too awkward to talk to your brothers, just know that I’m always here for you, but not when you act like a piece of shit.” I said to him

“ I know, and I truly don’t deserve you after putting up with me for so long, just know that I’m sorry for putting my hands on you. It was the worst thing I could’ve ever done. Just know that this isn’t a reflection of who I truly am, I really am sorry for what I did.” Chris said looking up at me

“It’s fine” I said in a whisper

“It’s not okay. I hurt you really bad” he said shaking his head

“ Listen, what's done is done and there’s no going back. I may not forgive you right now, but I also cannot hold this against you.” I responded

“ I don’t expect you to forgive me and that’s fine but do know that I genuinely am sorry. I don’t even know what took over me. It’s like you kicked me and then a switch went off in my head and all I could do was put my hands on you.” He said

“ I can’t act innocent in this either because I did kick you and for that I’m sorry” I responded

“ yes, but I also didn’t have to push you” he said

“ Chris it’s fine I’m not gonna hold this against you” I told him

“I’m uhh I’m sorry. I’ll give you space” he said standing up

I nodded my head and looked at him

“Take this inside for me” I said handing him the bag of peas

“Sure” he said offering me a smile

“Chris there is one thing” I said as he gave his back to me

“That is?” He asked

“I’ll forgive you on one condition” I stated

“Go on” he said back still to me

“You rub my back and put healing ointment on my injury” I said giggling

“You have yourself a deal” he said looking over at me

“YAY” I said clapping my hands

I stood up and walked over to him

“Chris don’t beat yourself up over this okay. This was nothing” I said smiling at him

“I’m sorry” he said nodding his head at me

“It’s okay Chris” I said offering him a smile

“I need to do better” he said

“Yeah you do because right now I smell cookies. I’ll race you for it” I said

“You’re on” he said laughing

I smacked his chest and booked it into the house, locking the door behind me

“AHAHA YOURE TRAPPED OUTSIDEEEE” I said laughing

“LET ME IN” he said laughing

“Nooo I don’t think I will” I said laughing

“There’s a spare key out here I’ll get in” he said

“No there isn’t” I said

Chris disappeared from my site, and I strained against the glass looking for him. I hadn’t heard him walk in through the front door.

As my face was up against the glass I felt two hands grab me causing me to jump

“CHRIS” I yelled turning around

“You have got to do better” he said shaking his head

“I thought I had you” I said laughing

“Maybe next time” he said slinging his arm over my shoulder as we walked into the kitchen

It’s so weird how an hour ago I wanted to punch Chris in his head, but now we were laughing while eating cookies as he rubbed ointment on my injury and massaged my back….man I was living the good life

The End

This was actual trash….like idk why I can’t come up with good ideas anymore. I just lose motivation towards the end, and write whatever. I promise I’ll do better😭😭 I love yall🖤🖤

-J💅🏽

These stories are my own original ideas, so please do not post them without giving credit, or asking. ☺️

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets imagines #christopher sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo imagine

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teapartyprincess4two · 10 months ago

Note

I need a jealous matt fic from you. like actuallyyyy

Urban Cowboy- M. Sturniolo

pairing: Cowgirl!reader x CityBoy!Matt

classification: fluff, angst

warnings: use of y/n, mentions of jealousy, slight cursing, mentions of alcohol and alcohol use, set in the county/ a ranch

inspiration: request^^, Urban Cowboy (the movie) but with a twist & none of the abuse. Also, we’re taking a different route with jealousy hehehe

summary: Matt, a city boy, tries one upping you, the best bull rider in town, only to be met with a painful outcome.

—

Every summer the triplets were shipped away to their grandparents ranch out in the country. For a couple of months, they left their busy city life behind in favor of days plowing the field, tending to livestock, and helping their grandparents out.

Since they were kids, Matt and his brothers have always loved summers out in the country. They spent their days swimming in the river, attending the state fair, running across acres of land, and riding their bikes down dirt roads. So many of their core memories were made during these summer trips, the change of pace allowing them to unwind and relax.

But, as the boys grew older, they began practicing less innocent hobbies. Days playing in the sun were replaced with long, drunk nights at local bars. They danced with attractive people, got into bar fights, and most importantly, they traded in their bikes for mechanical bulls.

Nick and Chris were experts on the mechanical bull, easily outlasting everyone else, but everyone knew that they were just the warmup. The real show started once Matt mounted that bull, his firm grip on the leather rope enough to hold him for longer than anyone else. He had an unmatched strength that helped him too, and he quickly became cocky about it.

Crowds of drunk people would gather just to watch Matt, cheering him on with each passing minute. They would bet on how long he’d last, each time surprised that he was able to hang on for so long. The mechanical bull thrashed and bucked, but Matt’s firm grip held him steadily in place.

No one could ever outlast Matt, until you came along at least. Unlike Matt, you weren’t a city transplant. No, you were born and raised in the country, spending more than just summers doing manual labor. So, where he had natural strength, you had muscles built from years of hard work. There was also another distinguishable difference; he was bull riding as a serious hobby, but you were only doing it for fun.

Bull riding is a past time you’ve practiced your whole life, you didn’t see the point in showing off, but the second you mounted that bull and beat Matt’s time, he couldn’t help but feel like you were. It felt like you were kicking dirt in his face.

Matt, Nick, and Chris watch from the bar. They’re sitting on the stools, facing the crowd that has piled up around you. The conductor, who sits just behind the bull setup, is jolting the remote aggressively from side to side, but no matter how hard he tries he can’t knock you off. Matt feels the jealousy stir in his stomach as the crowd cheers for you, they were only supposed to cheer for him!

“Who the fuck is that?” Matt grumbles mostly to his brothers, but loud enough for the bartender to hear.

Nick and Chris shrug, how were they supposed to know who you were? Chris calls the bartender over with a tilt of his head, silently ordering three beers with his hands.

The bartender immediately fills up three glasses, the alcohol fizzing and frothing at the top. “That’s Y/n… Her dad owns the mill on the outskirts of town, biggest flour company in the west. I heard they made enough money to buy another ranch last year… Shit, they own just about every business this side of town. Pretty sure they own this damn bar,” the bartender chimes in his deep country accent catching the boys off guard as he slides the glasses to them.

Matt, who’s leaning against the bar counter, crooks his neck to look at the bartender, looking him up and down before quickly averting his gaze back to you.

Matt can’t believe anyone could ever outlast his record time of 10 minutes, but as he watches the clock he notices that you were nearing 15. “She’s fucking beating you, dude,” Chris laughs, taking a sip of his beer before slapping Matt’s chest enthusiastically. The neon clock numbers are taunting Matt, causing him to clench his jaw as his pride gets the best of him.

His whole shtick was that he was the city boy who easily outlasted all these country kids, what good did that do if he was beat by a girl?

The mechanical bull thrashes violently as the conductor tries knocking you off, but you’re using your momentum to push you past the 15 minute mark. You don’t even look like you’re struggling either, a big smile plastered on your face as you grip onto the leather rope with one hand and your hat with the other. Everyone is watching excitedly, suddenly erupting into a loud cheer as you create a new record.

“I’ve never seen anyone last that long,” Nick comments, a look of awe and shock on his face. “Then you must not be from ‘round here. That girl is a natural on that thing, she wins the bull riding contest at the state fair every year,” the bartender replies, butting into the conversation once again before shaking his head and walking away.

Matt waits until he’s out of earshot to say, “What the fuck does that mean? ‘You must not be from ‘round here?’” He puts on a dramatic, exaggerated country accent as he says the last part, an annoyed look written all over his face.

You’re standing on the bull now, riding it like a surfer rides a wave. The crowd is going crazy, cheering you on as you continue putting on a show. A smile is spread across your face as you gently sit back down, laying on your back and propping your feet on the horns, your hands weaved between your thighs as you hold onto the leather rope. Everything about your performance was effortless, and it angered Matt.

Matt decides he’s seen enough when you throw both legs to one side, casually holding yourself up with your hands on either side of your hips. He snatches his beer from the bar violently, practically chugging it before throwing it back in the counter. He sucks in through his teeth shortly after at the strong sensation, following it with a burp before throwing his hat back on and stomping over to the crowd.

“I’ll show you who ain’t from ‘round here,” Matt mutters, pushing his way through the crowd until he’s directly in front of the inflatable foundation of the bull machine. You walk right past him as you dismount, making brief eye contact as you drunkenly giggle and laugh your way to your friends. He watches as you stumble, dizzy steps guiding you through the crowd. For some reason this only further upsets Matt, causing him to mount the bull haphazardly.

He sends the conductor a look, signifying that he’s ready to start, before gripping the leather rope so tightly that his knuckles turn white. The machine starts off slowly, rocking back and forth at a pace that gives Matt enough time to properly adjust himself.

But, before he knows it, the bull is gyrating, twisting, and turning so aggressively that he’s struggling to hold on. Matt’s mind is racing with thoughts, the fear of embarrassment causing the anxiety to build up. It feels like the conductor is purposefully trying to knock him off with enough force to hurt him, and it doesn’t help that no one in the crowd is cheering.

After the show you just gave, Matt’s performance was sub par in comparison. He was stiff as a board from the nerves, making it harder to keep his balance. By this point his his hat flew off, bouncing on the inflatable floor beneath him, and he was holding onto the rope for dear life.

“Look at this guy, showing off because he got beat by a girl,” someone snickers from the crowd, the comment being followed by a roar of laughter. That’s when the conductor bucks the machine forward, quickly knocking Matt onto his stomach before pulling the remote and forcing Matt to straighten his back to stay mounted.

Just as he’s gaining confidence in himself, the bull tilts to the right sharply enough to send Matt flying. The inflatable cushion beneath him does nothing to break his fall, the sheer force at which he was thrown being enough to break his arm. The crowd immediately groans as they watch Matt’s body ricochet when it comes in contact with the edge of the ring.

You were facing away from the crowd, engaged in a conversation with your friends, but as soon as you hear the crowd groaning and yelling you turn towards the scene. Matt is laying on the ground, clutching his arm as he tries to breathe through the pain. Everyone watches, but nobody helps, they just stand there either laughing or wincing at the idea of being in that much pain.

“Move!” you exclaim, pushing your way through the crowd and immediately walking into the ring. The spongy ground makes it harder to walk to Matt, who’s looking at you with wide eyes. This was the most embarrassing moment of his life.

You crouch in front of him, using all your force to pull him up from the ground while still being careful not to hurt him.

He lets you pick him up and guide him to a secluded area. His cheeks are burning hot with embarrassment and his eyes sting, the tears threatening to spill from the build up of anxiety and pain.

But he sucks it up and follows you, avoiding everyone’s wandering eyes.

—

“It don’t look broken, just sprained,” you comment, wrapping a bandage around Matt’s limp wrist. He hums in response, avoiding eye contact with you and you can’t figure out why.

“Sorry if I’m oversteppin’. just thought you could use some help,” your country accent is thick, and for the first time since the night started Matt isn’t completely jealous of you. He’s silently grateful that you evacuated him from the embarrassing situation, immediately feeling guilt for trying to one up you and show off.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, wincing as you accidentally pull his wrist. Once the pain subsides he continues, “you were pretty great out there.” The compliment hurts his ego, but you’re being so kind to him that he puts his own jealousies to the side. Matt’s sitting on a bar stool, the both of you in a secluded corner of the bar as you continue tending to his injury.

“Thanks, weren’t too bad yourself,” you offer him a genuine smile, gently placing his arm onto his lap. It was evident, just by looking at him, that Matt wasn’t from here and that made him more alluring. You stand in between his legs, the close proximity building a tension that neither of you know what to do with.

“Can I be honest?” he asks, once again avoiding eye contact and looking into the distance. His eyes train on the mechanical bull, watching as someone else takes a turn on it. You hum in response, trying to move in front of his line of vision to catch his attention.

“I only got on that bull because I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” His statement caught you off guard, what did he have to be jealous of?

“Yeah, jealous. It sounds childish, but I really wanted to beat your time… all I ended up with was a sprained wrist,” he chuckles, fiddling with his fingers. If he wasn’t being so vulnerable, and if he wasn’t injured, you might’ve gotten upset.

“Well, I’ve seen you ride before. You’re better than everyone here,” you reply, trying to keep the conversation uplifting.

“Not better than you.”

“Yeah, not better than me,” you reply seriously, waiting for him to face you before smiling. “I’m kidding,” you laugh, punching his shoulder slightly. He winces before joining you with a chuckle.

“Don’t worry. I can teach you a few moves,” you continue, your eyes wrinkling from how hard you were smiling. Matt’s smiling too, he felt silly for feeling jealous earlier.

“I’d like that,” he chuckles, opening his legs wider for you to scoot in closer. You take the invitation, your hats bumping together slightly. The smile on your face is engulfed by Matt’s lips as he moves in for a kiss, his uninjured wrist resting on your waist.

“Easy there, cowboy,” you murmur as you feel his hands inch down towards your ass. He laughs in response, going in for another kiss.

—

MASTERLIST

a/n:

Cowboy Matt is my favorite. I might make a part two that’s much more angsty bc we need that full Urban Cowboy moment, but for now enjoy this 😋

-L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

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