#so I’m just sitting here shaking and loosing it a little bit

[batwynn]

Me, on my ADHD med: this can’t be working. I still have memory problems and ‘bad habits’.

Me off the meds because of storm and PA delays: oh. lol. Nvm.

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

This piece contains 18+ content

pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader

summary After stumbling across Eddie’s intimate drawings of you, you’re left reeling, but what unfolds that night is less about the pictures and more about the honesty, trust, and closeness they force to the surface. [contains fluff, artsy eddie who's a little rough around the edges, nude drawings, smut | wc 5.8k]

a/n based on this request by the lovely @valinherfantasyworld

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Under the hum of fluorescent lights, you stand waiting as a small fan rotates to blow air your way. The gas pumps outside had been empty, but the open sign held enough promise for you to mosey on in. With a sigh, you reach out to hit the top of the dainty silver call bell for the second time. The checkout counter is dotted with planetary and extra-terrestrial figurines. Old, peeling stickers are stuck to the wood as well. 

It isn’t lost on you that you could bypass paying for the trail mix and jerky and walk out the door. The intrusive thought comes just as Nelson bursts from the break room with his famously grizzled beard. His shoes squeak against the sticky floor as he hobbles to his place behind the counter with considerable reliance on his scuffed, wooden cane. When he sits on the stool, air expels from the cushion in a low, high-pitched whine. 

“My apologies,” he tilts his head to look at you from over the top of his chunky glasses. The prescription is so high that it makes his hazel eyes look larger than they are. 

You shake your head in dismissal as you push Wayne’s snacks towards him with a polite smile. He punches the prices into the cash register with practiced ease. His fingers move quickly and precisely like a starved bird pecking the ground for food.  

“No help today?” you ask. 

Nelson puffs an exasperated breath. “That Henderson kid’s supposed to be here,” he says. “Runnin’ late ‘cause of math club.” 

You hum, trying not to smile when he mutters something about priorities and the youth these days. 

“Need a bag?” He puts the snacks in one before you can answer. “Say, aren’t you dating the Munson boy?” 

“Only for the past six months,” you lightheartedly quip. 

Nelson seldom asked a question he didn’t know the answer to. Everybody in Hawkins shopped at Boone’s Quick Mart, whether they wanted to or not. Convenience trumps luxury any day, and there’s nothing quite like Southern hospitality wrapped in a Midwestern package.

As a pillar in the community for the past thirty years, Nelson Boone knows who’s who and what’s what—Tina Johnson’s divorce from her wandering-eyed husband, Jaden Rockwell’s C+ on his report card, the McNulty family’s move to Boise. This is a man who sees and hears all. 

He meets your gaze with his googly eyes. “So you heard about what happened to him last night?” 

A small stone of worry drops into your gut. “Something happened?” 

Nelson looks at you from over his glasses again, a thrilled smirk playing on his lips. “Something? Hell, I reckon he saved my ass from getting killed.” 

The spark of excitement that curls in his tone reminds you of his tendency to stretch the truth just enough to make eyes widen and jaws drop a little faster. You bar yourself against the bait in hopes he’ll be more stripped and forthcoming. It works, if the way his shoulders relax is any clue. 

“Guy from outta town comes in all big and bad, demanding I empty the register,” he starts. “Meanwhile, Munson’s in the back near the pop. All I’m thinking at this point is, I should’ve gone ahead and made those revisions to my will like I was planning to—” 

“What did Eddie do?” you cut in. 

Nelson clears his throat. “Long story short, the guy whips out some kind of folding knife, they scuffle for a bit, then Munson knocks the rest of buddy’s screws loose.” 

“What?” Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. 

“Scout’s honor,” Nelson says, holding up three fingers. “He didn’t mention it?” 

You blink a few quick times as worry swirls within you. “Haven’t seen him in a few days.” 

Nelson shifts on the stool and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a meaty finger. “Well, that kid’s got the biggest pair in all of Hawkins, I tell you what.” He laughs a quick bark of a sound that sends him into a brief coughing fit. “Imagine that, though. Me dying in ‘88, the year of our Lord.” 

“Imagine that,” you murmur. 

You place the money on the counter with buzzing fingers and blood rushing in your ears. 

•••

Wayne’s truck is the only vehicle parked out front when you arrive at the trailer. The grass is greener, and the small flower bed Eddie helped you plant is vibrant and thriving. Before Spring settled, you’d told both Munsons that nurturing their slice of Hawkins could give them something to feel proud of. They’d taken it to heart. 

Though neither would ever admit it to your face, you’d come into their life and transformed it from grayscale to technicolor. 

As a breeze rustles through the surrounding trees, the early evening sun ventures closer towards the horizon. 

When the front door pushes open with a dull creak, Wayne looks up from where he’s wiping crumbs off the small kitchen table nestled beside the window. He’s in jeans and an old tee that’s loose around the collar. A smile pulls at his lips as you pad inside. 

“Thought that was you,” he says. “What’s this?” Wayne peeks into the bag as you set it on the table. 

“Special delivery.” 

“Told ya you ain’t gotta go outta your way for me like this.” He shakes his head with a sigh, but you know he’s grateful. 

“Saves you an extra stop before work, right?” You gently nudge his shoulder. 

“Thanks, darlin.’” After walking the towel back over to the sink, he catches the hint of concern in your eyes as you linger near the table. 

“Everything alright?” 

You open your mouth a couple of times. “Is Eddie okay?” 

Wayne’s gray eyebrows furrow. “Yeah. I mean, he’s Eddie.” He chuckles. “You just missed him. Called about five minutes ago and said something about getting off a little later than usual.” 

You frown. “So that’s why he hasn’t made it in.” 

Wayne hums a sound of confirmation. “Said he could meet you at Benny’s at six, though,” he says. “Also mentioned something about the lake. Asked you to bring his camera.” 

At the very least, the man’s words assure you that the events of last night hadn’t been as bad as you made them out to be in your mind. 

•••

The next hour passes with a slow, Hawkins kind of ease. When you push into Eddie’s bedroom in search of his camera, the air smells like him: pinewood with a faint, smokey undertone. All things considered, the space is tidier than it’s been over the past couple of weeks. 

The open surfaces are no longer strewn with random receipts and wrappers. All his fantasy figurines are organized with a greater sense of intentionality. Even the Iron Maiden poster, whose corner once slouched off the wall, has now been readhered. 

Leave it up to Eddie to make order out of chaos again and again.  

You locate the Nikon on his dresser in seconds. The frame counter rests a few notches before 1, and after a brief pause of debate, you pop the film door open to see if there’s any film inside. Relief washes over you when you realize the chamber is empty, and you haven’t just exposed a brand-new roll to the light. In search of a fresh canister, you squat at his nightstand and pull open the top drawer. Nothing. Mainly guitar accessories: picks, sheets of music, old bridge pins—along with a couple of stray condoms. 

You move to the drawer beneath it, where journals, sketchbooks, and art supply pouches. However, a small cylindrical container tucked in the back corner catches your attention. The top of your hand pinches against the drawer when you attempt to reach the new roll of film without disturbing the other contents. That’s when you make the executive decision to pull out the first couple of sketchbooks. 

In doing so, three pictures slip out: you on a park bench smiling, you sitting on his bed attempting to play his guitar, you taking too big of a bite off an ice cream cone. 

A smile buds on your face as you flip the sketchbook open to tuck the photos back inside. Time stops. On the page is a beautiful portrait of you. It's not a mere sketch; this is much too involved. You were under the impression that he only ever drew the characters for his campaigns this intricately—dragons, celestials, faye. 

As far as you knew, your likeness was only ever confined to his quicker sketches because you were always around. It was easy to capture you in the moment with no pressure. Can’t replicate perfection, sweetheart. 

It isn’t until you’ve turned a few pages ahead that a different type of surprise prickles through you. Blooming and warm like the beginning of spring, but with a more rogue intensity. One that feels borderline forbidden because this next drawing itself ought to have remained tucked away in a secret place. 

Your lips aren’t wrapped around ice cream but Eddie’s index and middle fingers. A line of saliva runs down your chin as your eyes sparkle. 

You flip to the next drawing. In this one, you’re topless and kneeling, legs spread in an unabashed V. One of your hands plays between your thighs as you look up through your lashes. It’s drawn from memory, no doubt. Eddie had yet to capture you on film in such a vulnerable light. 

Another page. Eddie’s hand is wrapped around your neck. You recognize the skeleton tattoo that constitutes the back of his right hand to give the illusion that his bones are bared. 

Another. Your backside is drawn from the perspective of whoever stands behind you. There’s an abstractness to it, in a way. The shading suggests slight irritation or bruising from impact against your delicate skin. 

The last drawing you gleam features you lying face down with your bottom up, wrists tied with rope. Indents on your skin suggest that you’ve tried to pull free—

Something flips low in your gut. White noise fills your ears as you snap the sketchbook closed and put it back where it belongs. You move on autopilot as you toss Eddie’s camera and film into your tote bag and scramble out of his room. 

•••

The water is calm as it laps at the bank of the lake. Gnats flutter around while tree leaves rustle. On a summer evening such as this, Lover’s Lake is a wonder. Above, the sky stretches like the handiwork of a master artist. Blue fades to burnt orange to rustic lavender in a seamless ombre. Your eyes remain on the water below as you kick your feet off the edge of the dock. 

Eddie nudges your knee with his after a while. The upper portion of his coveralls is tied around his waist, exposing his white T-shirt and lean tattooed arms. The sleeve on his right arm is fuller and extends all the way to his hand. 

Despite the intricate designs inked across his skin, you can make out the thin, red scratches on his forearms and the few cuts that pepper his knuckles. None of them override the dark ink of his tattoos, but you can see them since you’re sitting so close. The ones on his neck are visible all the more because they have little to camouflage with. Some are old, but most of them are undeniably fresher. You’ve been cataloguing them all evening. 

You peer over at him with a pensive smile. His camera rests on the opposite side of him. He’d captured a few shots of you and the scenery when there was a little more light. 

“You’re quiet,” he says.

“Just enjoying the view.” 

Eddie briefly wrinkles his nose and looks out at the lake. Touché. 

The silence returns, but Eddie can’t settle into it for the life of him. He shifts, one knee propping up. “You gotta give me something to work with here.” He tries to meet your adverted gaze. “Did I say something to piss you off?” 

All you can do is manage a swallow. There were enough distractions to carry you through dinner at Benny’s, but the world seems much smaller and stripped out here. No music, chatter, or waitress checking in to refill your drinks. It’s just you, Eddie, and the unmatched stillness of nature. All of which are fertile ground for your thoughts to wander and unavoidably return to the fact he hadn’t said a word about what happened at Boone’s—or the contents of his sketchbook. Especially now that he won’t look away from you. 

Worry intensifies Eddie’s gaze. The same gaze that you now know has studied and considered you more intimately than you ever imagined. You can’t help but feel bare and exposed now. It was yet another brick to lay on top of the fact that he’d refrained from telling you about the events at Quick Mart. 

You finally look over at him.  

“Please talk to me,” he says. 

You take his larger hand in yours. He remains quiet, hopeful. You study his palm, then turn it over to assess the back of his hand, the cuts just barely visible over the skeleton tattoo covering it. You wish he could be a fraction as open and forthcoming as the illusion his tattoo presents.

“Did something happen last night?” you ask. 

A defensive edge slips into his voice. “What do you mean?” 

“At Quick Mart,” you say. 

In the time that Eddie combs through his mind in search of the right approach, you say it yourself, “You were in a fight.” It’s not fair to state it so clinically, but you do it anyway. 

Eddie looks more betrayed than surprised. “No, I wasn’t,” he says. “Not like that.” 

You feel a pang of guilt over the earnest way he expresses it, like a kid trying to prove their innocence. 

Over the years, he’d gotten better about his temper. About how quick he was to handle certain situations with the scrappier instincts of his youth. He knew now, more than ever, that words alone could get him much further than his fists. Throughout the latter half of his overstayed run in the public school system, he’d been forced to prove himself physically time after time, so he had no choice but to get good at it. Sometimes, he jumped the gun, but that wasn’t him. Not anymore.  

“It wasn’t over nothing,” he explains. “Asshole was trying to—” 

“I know, Teddy,” you’re quick to assure, voice soft. “Wasn’t pointing fingers. I’m just glad everybody’s okay.” You squeeze his hand. 

His gaze flickers down. “Sorry,” he murmurs, exhaling. He speaks up after a while. “Was it Nelson who told you?” 

The thought of Nelson—endearing, googly-eyed Nelson—makes your lips twitch upwards. Eddie almost doesn’t believe it, but he’s grateful. A fraction of the tension melts from his shoulders as levity creeps in. He presses closer to feel the shake of your shoulders as you chuckle despite yourself. If you don’t laugh, you’ll mess around and find a reason to cry. 

Your amusement eventually subsides into something stiller. “Wish it’d been you, though.” 

Eddie takes the blow. “Swear I was gonna tell you.” He dips his head to kiss the bulb of your shoulder. “Just wanted to give everything some breathing room. Didn’t want you to get all worked up and worried. Hate making you worry.” 

“Forget worry,” you say lightly. “If something involves you, I’ll always wanna know. I care about you.” Those words stir a gratefulness in his chest.  “I want you to tell me things even when they’re scary or hard.” 

Eddie sees the sincerity in your gaze. A hint of confliction seems to reside there as well.  

“No more secrets,” he promises. 

He holds out his pinkie, and just when he thinks you’re going to ignore it, you hook yours around his. It’s no surprise that he squeezes. As playful as he is, you should’ve seen it coming. You yelp and attempt to pull your hand away, but he leans in to steal a kiss that you allow him to take. A satisfied smile lingers on his face afterward. 

With a proud sigh, he lays back on the wooden planks of the dock, hair splaying like mane. With your eyes you map the faint freckles on his face when he closes his eyes, then trace his eyebrows, the slope of his nose, the relaxed pout of his lips. 

Eddie’s eyes soon flutter open to meet yours.

He offers a smile. “Hmm?”

You shrug, chuckling in a mix of nerves and relief. “Just thinking of something Nelson said about you,” you say. “‘That kid’s got the biggest pair in all of Hawkins.’” 

A surprised laugh bubbles out of him that makes his eyes crinkle and his chest shake. You join in. When the moment settles into something tamer but still a bit charged, Eddie holds your gaze as he reaches down between his legs to rest a hand over his crotch. 

“You’ve seen ‘em first hand,” he drawls, palming himself through the fabric of his coveralls. “Whaddya think?” 

Heat floods your cheeks, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of leaving you speechless. “Jury’s still out.” 

Another laugh rumbles through him and ends with a snort. His eyes shimmer when he calms down. You’re there to twirl your finger around one of his curls and give it an affectionate tug. 

A gentle breeze rolls through and makes a part of you wish it could carry the memory of his drawings away with it. At least so you could settle into the serenity of the moment in an unadulterated way. Those thoughts don’t leave you, however. His face alone is a reminder of his secret envisionings of you. 

•••

Later that night, in the dim lamplight of Eddie’s room, you lie face up on his bed, eyes glued to the ceiling. It’s as if the act will still your nerves, but it doesn’t. 

Eddie emerges from the bathroom whistling, a gray towel wrapped around his slender waist. You loll your head to look at him just long enough to catalogue his damp curls, his myriad of tattoos, the light dusting of hair between his pecs, and the even darker trail that descends from his belly button. His back turns to you as he saunters to his dresser. There’s a dagger tattooed between his shoulder blades. 

“Miss me?” he asks as he digs pajamas out of his drawer. 

When you don’t respond, he peeks over his shoulder. Your gaze is directed towards the ceiling.  

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Sorry. I’m just tired.” 

He hums. Your silence takes root beneath his skin and yields a certain self-consciousness. It wasn’t like you to be so disengaged. Not when it came to him. There was no denying his magnetism, even when he wasn’t actively trying to work the room. 

“Okay, what’s really going on?” Eddie walks to the side of the bed and stares down at you. “You’ve been acting funny all evening.” 

You push yourself upright, swinging your legs off the side of the bed. To buy yourself some time, you rub your eyes with your fists as if tiredness truly is to blame. There’s nowhere to hide when your hands inevitably drop back down to rest in your lap. Still, Eddie fails to get a read. 

“Talk to me, Goose.” He taps your chin with a gentle knuckle. “Is that gas station shit really bothering you that bad?” Eddie winces at his own irritation. “That came out wrong. Shit.” 

He takes a deep breath. “I honestly didn’t think it was that big of a deal. The guy had what was coming to him.”

“I care about you, is all,” you say. “Am I allowed to do that?” 

His eyes are apologetic as he looks down at you. “You’re allowed.” 

“No more secrets, right?” you say. “That’s what you promised.” 

Eddie nods slowly, unsure of where this conversation is headed. 

“That means we let each other in,” you continue. 

“You’re in, baby.” 

You bite your lower lip.

“I saw something earlier. Drawings of me that you’ve done.” 

“I sketch you all the time.” 

A few seconds pass before you bring yourself to speak again. “Not the sketches. The actual drawings. The detailed ones.” 

Eddie stills as if turned to alabaster. He looks away from you, but you don’t look away from him as silence permeates the air like a slow rising fog. Color rises in his cheeks, then the tips of his ears. If he doesn’t move, maybe he’ll wake up. Maybe he’ll disappear. A few seconds pass like an hour. The world begins turning again when you take his hand in yours, gently brushing over the back with your thumb. 

Reality fades back in slowly. His breaths, your breaths, his thick swallow. 

“They caught me off guard,” you admit. 

Like a severed branch, his hand falls away from yours. His Adam’s apple bobs as he considers what to say in the wake of embarrassment that toes the line of frustration. 

Eddie’s eyes find their way back to yours. “We’re going through each other’s things now?” 

“I was looking for film for your camera,” you explain. “Pictures fell out of the sketchbook, and when I went to put them back—” 

“They don’t mean anything.” His words are void of any conviction. 

You hold his gaze until his shoulders sag with the weight of the truth. “I’ve never had this, alright?” He makes a weak motion between the two of you. “Someone who makes me feel the way you do.” 

You nod for him to continue. 

“I think about you all the fucking time.” His voice comes out shy and gruff. “You’re beautiful.” 

“So they do mean something.”

“But now you probably just think they’re perverted when it’s not like that at all,” he accuses with a slight waver in his voice. You’ve never seen him quite like this. Frazzled in a raw, open way. “It’s the trust aspect—fuck, I’m not making any sense.” 

He runs his hands through his hair and paces a few steps away. You study the tattoos on his torso. Audentes Fortuna Iuvat is scripted just beneath his collarbones with a slight upwards curve; Latin for fortune favors the bold. A symmetrical, abstract pair of angel wings span beneath it. There’s also the small inverted crucifix on his sternum. The snake curled on the right side of his ribcage beneath his pecs. A considerable host of others have made a canvas out of his skin as well.  

“So help me understand,” you insist. 

You’re messing with him now. You have to be. This is his punishment for ever daring to put his pencil to the paper in that way. A few beats of silence pass.

“Are those things you wanna try?” you coax. 

He finally musters the courage to look at you again. “There’s so much I wanna try with you.” There’s a weighted look in his gaze, like the sentiments it bears stretch beyond this moment. “I wanna do life with you.” 

Warmth kindles in your chest at his words. “Well, here I am,” you say. “Gonna have to try harder to scare me away.” 

A humorless laugh escapes him, but it’s true. Here you are. 

“None of this was ever about the fight or the drawings, E,” you start. “It’s about you. I don’t want you to think you have to keep things from me.” 

You nearly fall into the depths of his eyes as they bore into yours. 

“I can’t mess this up too.” His voice comes out smaller than you’ve heard it. He wouldn’t make it to the other side of losing you.  

“It’s gonna take something terrible for that.” You think for a moment. “Like you cutting off all that gorgeous hair.” 

Eddie laughs. The sound coaxes you to your feet and over to him, where he cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours. His breath catches in his throat when he feels your fingertips ghost along his waistline where the towel is secured. 

•••

Just relax. 

Those were the words you’d uttered to him a few short moments ago before you tugged his towel down and stripped yourself of your clothes. If anything, it was more like a purr. Something about that low, melodic tone always worked with him. Even when he was the one desperate to get his mouth and hands on you. He listened because you always handled him with care. Always made it good for him. 

The sound that leaves him now seems broken, but Eddie’s never felt more whole. His arms shake where they’re braced behind him on the bed, and his spread thighs tremble. You look up at him from your kneeling position on the carpet before him without pulling away from mouthing at the warm, velvety weight between his thighs that hang like two joint fruits. They draw up when you pay keen attention to one side, making a suctioning motion with your mouth that makes him curse beneath his breath. 

He curls forward with a pleasured groan when you take the entirety of his length into your mouth. The sweet drag of your lips, paired with the encompassing warmth, makes his head spin. You venture down halfway before drawing back up to suckle on the tip with a glimmer in your eyes. Eddie doesn’t get through his next shudder before your lips are descending again, this time all the way to where curly dark hair rests at his base. 

You can feel every vein and pulse along the way. His stomach quivers at the sight as something hot stirs low in his gut. 

One of his hands settles at the back of your head, but he doesn’t push or pull. It’s a grounding gesture. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you pull back up, taking your time. At the top, you lap over his slit, where another pearly bead has formed. He huffs out a ragged breath when you begin to place lingering kisses over the head, then allow your tongue to gently trace along the slightly raised edge that separates it from the rest of his shaft. 

A selfish part of him wants more. 

“Angel…” he sighs. 

You hum around him curiously when he’s back in your mouth. Eddie knows you’re trying to make him cave and guide you into what he wants. His fingers twitch with hesitance at first, but then he applies just enough pressure to encourage you back down. You’re gracious enough to fall into your own bobbing rhythm thereafter. 

His breath stutters when one of your hands dip between your thighs to begin rubbing easy circles over your bud as your mouth continues to work him like a dream. You clench around nothing as warmth and pleasure pool between your thighs. 

“That’s so hot,” he grouses. 

You pull off of him, saliva slinking between your lips and his arousal. “Is it?” you murmur coyly. 

He nods earnestly, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. What he’s not expecting is for you to sit back on your knees and redirect all your attention to yourself, bringing one hand up to cup your breast. Your cheeks warm at your own boldness. He’d seen you like this in his mind and on the page, but only you could bring the vision to life. There’s a pleasant rush to that sort of power. 

He kicks up towards his stomach when you release an airy hum as your middle finger drifts down to run along your entrance and collect the thick moisture gathered there. He scoots closer to the nightstand and grabs a condom from the drawer. Eddie strokes himself a few careful times, stopping before the tide can rise. You watch with shining eyes as he rips the foil open and slides the rubber down himself. 

“C’mere,” he rasps, repositioning fully onto the bed. “Wanna make you feel good.” 

You bite your lip as you gently probe your entrance, maintaining eye contact even as your face burns. “Think you do it better?” 

“You already know the answer.” There’s no overt cockiness in his tone. Just a steady sort of confidence that makes your stomach flutter. 

An invisible flip switches. No doubt, because he finally feels as though it’s allowed to. You can’t pinpoint the exact moment, but you feel the aftermath. It’s in the way he becomes firmer; he isn’t rough, but you can feel the strength behind his movements more than you usually do. It’s also in the way he lifts his head from your center when you’re mere seconds away from falling into thralls of something your entire body craves. 

You plead with your eyes as you meet his gaze, frustrated and desperate all the same. His lips upturn in a small smile that’s barely there. Your thighs fall open as he leans back down, and the fan of his breath makes you shiver. His mouth and fingers have already made you slick with arousal, only to leave you right on the edge. 

“Eddie, please.”

He gently parts you open and presses a gentle kiss to your clit before suckling it into his mouth. You whimper and cant your hips upwards into his face, but he moves away. 

“Easy,” he coos. 

You breathe an apology as he presses his middle finger to your swollen bud and circles it nice and slow. A whimper escapes you as you squirm, trying your best to keep your hips down. As maddening as it is, you like this little game. The challenge. If he maintains this same pressure and speeds up just so, you know it’d be enough to get you there. He knows that too. 

Everything hinges on his call. Eddie’s been at the helm even though he let you think you were for a time.

“Who does it better?” he asks. 

Your stomach flips. “You, Eddie—c’mon.” You huff an exasperated chuckle in spite of yourself. Eddie bites back a smile. Then your voice dips into a tone that’s impossibly sweet. It reminds him just how much he burns with desire himself. “Keep showing me how much better.” 

Eddie braces himself overtop of you and notches at your slick warmth. It takes a moment for him to gather himself, but when he does, he slips into you with ease. Each inch is welcomed with the same steady pressure, all the way until he’s buried entirely. 

While you hum at the fullness, he moans from being welcomed in so wholly. Even though you’re the one stretched to accommodate him, it’s him who needs a moment to get acclimated. It feels like he’s seconds away from falling apart, and he sure as hell isn’t ready to test the theory. 

When you circle your hips in a silent encouragement for him to move, he stills you with a steady hand. You make another attempt.  

“Angel, wait,” he weakly complains. It’s half desperate, half amused. 

“But I need you,” you murmur. 

That’s enough to spur him into an easy rhythm. Your mouth falls open, and he can’t help but run his thumb over your bottom lip. You surprise yourself when you poke your tongue out. Eddie takes a leap of faith and pushes it just past your lips. You close your mouth around it and give it a weak suck before he pulls it back out. 

As it turns out, life imitates art too.  

“You feel so good,” Eddie pants. “Taking me so well, aren’t you?” 

“Mhmm.”

His thrusts reach deeper when you hook your legs around him, eyes briefly scrunching closed as he meets that tender spot within you that threatens to make everything wound tight inside of you unravel. 

Your hands move to scratch down his back, and his hips stutter at the steady pressure of your nails. So you do it again, a little harder, and it sends a strong shiver through him that feels unfairly good. When your hands smooth back around to his chest, fingers grazing his nipples, he manages to gather your wrists in his hands and pin them above your head. Your chest pushes into his.  

“I’m close,” you breathe. “So full.” 

A groan rises in his throat. “Not until I say, alright?” 

Your whine borders on petulant, but you nod anyway. Eddie kisses you for it. First, on your lips, then he trails a few more sloppy, lazy kisses down your chin. When he pulls away, he lets go of your wrists and braces that forearm beside your head, breaths heavy. He’s so close, you can see the faint sun freckles dotted over the bridge of his nose. The grind of his pelvis against your clit makes you clench around him. 

Your breath hitches. “I’m gonna—”

“Not yet, angel,” he says, even as he lowers a hand between your bodies to rub that pulsing part of you with just the right amount of pressure as he continues his deep thrusts. It’s the furthest thing from fair, and he knows it.  

Your mind grows fuzzy with a sudden swell of pleasure that borders on panic. “Eddie, baby, I can’t,” you whimper. “You’re gonna make me come. Please—” 

“Go on, angel,” he soothes. The wave crashes. “That’s it, there you go.”

You close your mouth to stifle the helpless sound that rises up your throat as you arch beneath him. Immediately, you’re thrown into a suspended place where all you can feel is yourself fluttering around him in strong pulses as warmth floods your entire being, pulling him in. He guides you through it with gentle praises that barely register to your ears. 

With a guttural sound Eddie buries himself within your warmth and lets go, his abdomen flexing with each wave that shoots through him. As the radiating pleasure dwindles, he touches his forehead to yours, and your lips just barely brush as you catch your breaths. You raise your hands to his neck to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He shivers, then jolts with sensitivity as you shift beneath him.  

“Sorry,” you whisper. 

Eddie shakes his head. “You’re fine,” he breathes. “You’re perfect. Don’t deserve you.” 

“You’re gonna give me a complex,” you murmur. 

Eddie chuckles and grasps the base of himself to slowly pull out. The loss draws shuddering exhales out of both of you. He’s overcome by a surge of fondness and gratitude. 

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod as he dots a few kisses to your neck. “Hey, Eddie.” You cup his cheek to get his attention and he nearly melts at the content way you look up at him with slow, sleepy blinks. “Maybe next time you can tie me up.” A small smile plays on your lips, but you mean it. Even though the thought alone gives you wild butterflies. 

Eddie’s swallow doesn’t let on how dizzy the thought makes him. “Yeah?” 

You offer a tired hum. “I trust you.” That alone means everything. 

And with him, you wanted it all. 

-

Thanks for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all!

EDDIE MASTERLIST 

ALL MASTERLISTS

[zae-heeyyy]

Causerie

Summary: You send Arthur a letter. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word Count: 2,185 Tags: Male Masturbation, solo handjob, mentions of oral and unprotected p in v, dirty talk, long distance relationship, high honor Warnings: 18+ MDNI

an: So this came out of nowhere LMAO It's a bit different from what I'm used to, but I ran with it. The mentioned photo was heavily inspired by @sir-walton-goggins's under-the-cut sketch of their OC, Kris Blake. 😍😍😍 I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading!

Causerie: an informal conversation

Channeling the self-control of a brigade of soldiers, Arthur willed his unruly cock flaccid as he left the post office. An envelope addressed to Tacitus Kilgore in familiar dainty cursive teased him from inside his satchel. The nagging twinge in his gut could only be satiated by his fist wrapped tight around himself in the solitude of his tent. 

He didn’t know how he’d make it through the rest of the day without losing his sanity. Once you’d unknowingly planted the seeds, his thoughts of you grew wild and untamed like the weeds at your feet. He’d never seen something so ridiculous—a woman in her day dress, the lacy hem stained with dirt, trying to repair a loose fence post on her own.

“No man ’round here?” he had asked, holding his hand out for the hammer.

“There is now.”

You beamed, your smile stunning him like a camera flash. Unbeknownst to him, that grin was a brand, marking him as yours for a long time to come. 

Every time he passed by the quiet homestead, he found himself lightly pulling on Boadicea’s reins and scoping out something to fix. Your ways of showing gratitude, like a hug or kiss on the cheek, turned his neck to shades of crimson, yet he’d still come knocking again some time later. On his last visit, you were dragging him to your room by cotton suspenders, mouth attached to his before he could get a word in.

An innocent lamb you were not—he was sure of it now in a half-daze, hypnotized by your breasts as you bounced on top of him. Matter of fact, you must’ve been a witch or a succubus; he’d never felt so used, drained, and perfectly satisfied.

And guilty, too. He couldn’t even look at you as he confessed to his life of criminality, finally admitting what he’d come to tell you in the first place. After this job, he was leaving for good.

To his surprise, you didn’t put up a fight—just wished him well—and dammit, that made him want you even more. You didn’t follow him outside—only watched from under the blanket as he said his last goodbye and promise.

“I’ll write t’you.”

Receiving your letters kept his heart ticking and dick aching. What started as a pile of polite notes quickly transformed into a library of erotica. His hands trembled in anticipation as he opened the latest letter. 

Dear Arthur, 

Are you still alive? I hope you haven’t gone and gotten yourself killed. I’m sorry if I kept you waiting. A new photographer opened up in town, and I stopped by the studio one evening just before he closed. I may have batted my lashes and stood a little too close when I asked for his help. A special photo of me would be the perfect gift for my dear husband, who was about to be shipped away to war in the Philippines. You should’ve seen how red he got when I dropped my blouse. I tried to sit pretty. Did it work?

A photo? Arthur checked the discarded envelope, searching for the supposed gift. A small photo was still tucked away in the envelope. He took it out and held it up to the lantern to get a good look.

Christ.

You were directly in the center of the camera with a lazy smile on your face. Pearls adorned your neck, and velvet cloth draped over your shoulders, just barely covering those twin humps on your chest. Fuck, he wanted to rip that photographer’s head clean off his shoulders for capturing you like that, but goddamn, he wanted to shake the man’s hand too. This slip of paper was a slice of heaven on Earth.

And for what he was about to do with it, he was going straight to hell. Setting the letter aside, the gunslinger undressed down to his union suit with the ardor of his twenty-year-old self. As he settled back onto the cot, he locked on to your sultry eyes and sighed contently.

I had a dream about you. Do you ever dream about me?  

The bulge in his pants begged for attention, and he appeased it, palming himself idly while his eyes stayed trained on the photograph. He’s too old and weathered for this—pining over some girl and touching himself like he’d gotten a second wind of puberty. 

But he couldn’t help it. Even after deafening gun fights and vicious animal attacks, he’d find a letter to re-read, and now he had this picture to accompany his fantasies. His gaze shifted from the photo back to your words on the page. 

We were in this beautiful room in a palace or someplace like that, swimming under blankets. It was far from my humble bed, but it felt like paradise. 

If only you knew, that little bed was his paradise.

Dream you tasted like whiskey and ash and smelled like leather and gunpowder. I don’t think it was too far off from the real thing. We weren’t wearing any clothes, of course, and your head was tucked between my thighs. 

Breath shaking, his hips shifted upward, the memory of your thighs on either side of him overwhelming his senses. Arthur sucked in his bottom lip and didn’t waste any more time undoing the bottom two buttons of his union suit. His cock sprung free, twitching and yearning. Flicking his eyes to your photo once more, his right hand moved on its own, kneading his leaking tip. He peeked over the edge of the paper, watching precum drizzle down his shaft, imagining it was you leaking around him. 

Oh, Arthur, I could feel your lips on every part of me at once, kissing up my stomach, bosom, arms, thighs, legs, all over. But when you found my lips again, I don’t know how my pounding heart didn’t suck me out of the dream. Has anyone ever told you how gorgeous your eyes are or how heavenly your hands feel? And your back, Mister Morgan, is like a brick wall. How I wish I could’ve dug my nails into it.

Arthur’s fisted pace quickened as he stifled a groan, trying his very best to keep the sounds of his sin quiet. He urged himself downward into the cot, hoping the friction could mimic the sting of your nails dragging down his spine, but it was no use. Tightening his grip in frustration, he turned his attention back to the photograph of you. He wanted to study your hands, to imprint them in his mind’s eye so he could imagine them scratching his back and pleasuring his cock.

But the photo was too close up, only your face and a peak of your breasts captured at that moment in time. Would he be too brazen to ask for another? To request a pose? Hell—he’d stuff the money in an envelope with a list of the depraved positions he’d like to see you in. Your hands on your bust, legs spread open, on all fours, one with your pretty fingers in your mouth, and a full body shot with just the pearls. Dammit—he’d kill for it. 

But then, at the very end of the list, he’d ask for a respectable one. One of you with your hair pinned up under a fancy hat, dressed in your finest, wearing a necklace, earrings, and a bracelet with your hands folded politely over your lap. One that was sweet and proper. One that he could tuck in his journal, frame, or pin up on the wagon. One that he could take out in broad daylight and pretend, just for a moment, that he really was that war vet admiring a photo of his loving spouse.

His hips moved involuntarily again, jutting up into his fist—the placeholder for the pussy of the woman he’d one day make his wife.

I didn’t plan to get you in bed that night, as unbelievable as that may sound. You were just so damn handsome and so so kind. I couldn’t help it. I needed to know how you’d feel inside me. I hope you don’t see me as just some Jezebel.

“No,” he gasped out. Wet sounds of his strokes accompanied his declaration.

I really did and still do have feelings for you, Arthur. It’s quite scary, actually. Maybe that’s why my dreams about you are so vivid? I realized just how much I cared that night, looking down into your eyes. I don’t take you as the type of man to just give yourself away on a normal day like that, so I hope you feel the same way as me. Did I ever say thank you? Thank you for being such a giver. I have a tendency to take, take, take when I’m on top, but you got payback in my dream. You had me pinned under all of your weight, damn near suffocating me. It was the good type, though. When you pushed into me, I forgot all about it. I never took you for an eager man either, but you were drilling me into those blankets with the fervor of a threshing machine. Are you an eager man, Mister Morgan?

He answered in shallow pants, twisting his fist around his length and rocking his hips. 

I have a curse of waking up right when I’m on the edge, so as you can imagine, I had a wet problem to take care of. My fingers just don’t quite do it like you. I wish we could’ve had more time together. I get the feeling that you do a lot of taking care of other folks and don’t get that in return. Am I right? I’d take care of you, Arthur. I’d keep your belly full and drain your balls all in a night.

They tightened at the thought, and his hips were a piston now, going up and down on their own accord.

I know you’d never ask because you’re too nice, but I’d get on my knees for you and take care of you in that way. I’m sad we never got to try it, that I never got to taste you. The thought gave me the silliest idea. Are you looking at my picture? Imagine that pearl necklace is your spend on my chest.

Jesus—the perverted imagery hit him like a train. He looked at the pretty pearls atop your chest. Goddamn, minx. 

Don’t think me too crass, but do you touch yourself to my letters like I touch myself to yours? Yours are more well-mannered than mine. But still, I wonder, is your fist wrapped around your cock?

“Yes, darlin.�� 

Goddamnit, he was talking to himself now, arm cramping as he pumped feverishly at his engorged dick, his orgasm waiting to explode behind his eyes.

Do you imagine it’s me instead? I wish it was me. I wish I was on top of you again, milking you for everything you’ve got. Would you give it to me this time, Arthur? Would you spill inside of me?

And spill he did, teeth gritted and grunting, as hot ropes of lust spurted out over his hand. Once again, he’d made a mess of himself on account of you.

Shame crept in as he floated back to reality and stared up at the canvas of his tent. He brought the letter back to his face to read the last paragraph. The least he should do was finish it—dirty old bastard. But when he landed on your words and processed them, he was left with a numb, longing ache in his chest.

If we were together, I’d help clean you up, then maybe we could spend the rest of the night all tangled up in each other. I’m sorry I’m not there to touch you for real, but I hope these letters bring a little light to that hard, lonely life of yours. If I can make you feel good, even from far away, that’s enough for me. I miss you. Any chance you could come see me soon? 

Yours.

Arthur sighed and folded your letter back up neatly, tucking it away in his now hollowed-out copy of Rambles Through Woods and Plains. Though your photo and letter were out of sight, his mind refused to wander from the subject of you.

An assortment of motion pictures flickered in his memory: the way your head tipped in laughter at his dry sarcasm, how you so graciously welcomed him to that sitdown meal, the way you worried about him just as much as he worried about you, and how your words, even from afar, brought him unmeasurable comfort. Making it back across the Upper Montana could be a brutal fight, but he’d outrun the law and take a few bullets if he had to. He’d bare it all to bring you back with him. 

As he relaxed into the cot, another thought drifted by, small and almost weightless like a dandelion seed in the wind: maybe he wouldn’t have to bring you back at all. Perhaps he could stay right there with you.

[mintyys-blog]

RAIN CHECK — dick grayson x reader

WARNINGS: smut, interrupted sex

The universe was actively conspiring against you and Dick Grayson.

It had been an entire month since you had gotten your hands on him properly, and every single time you tried, something interrupted. At first, it was almost funny—a minor inconvenience, a little bad luck. But after the sixth time? It was personal.

Attempt one: A perfect date night. Wine, candles, your dress slipping off your shoulders as Dick kissed down your neck. Then—his comms buzzed. Emergency. Gotham needed Nightwing.

Attempt two: A weekend getaway. Just the two of you in a cozy cabin. No crime, no distractions. Just as things were heating up? Your best friend called in full-blown crisis mode. She’d just been dumped and showed up at your door, crying into your robe.

Attempt three: The worst one. You were actually naked this time, pinned under him on your bed, fingers tangled in his hair, both of you breathless. Then—Alfred called. And you both knew better than to ignore that call.

And on and on it went.

A car chase. A literal explosion. Jason barging into Dick’s apartment unannounced, flopping onto the couch with a “Don’t mind me.”

By week three, you were beyond frustrated. At week four, you were considering drastic measures.

So, tonight? It was happening. No interruptions. No excuses.

Dick had just finished patrol when you called, your voice dripping with honey.

“Hey, handsome. You busy?”

He smirked, already peeling off his domino mask as he entered his apartment. “Not anymore. What’s up?”

You bit your lip. “I’m home alone… and I was thinking about you.”

That got his attention.

“Yeah?” His voice dropped an octave.

“Mhm. And I may or may not be wearing a satin robe and absolutely nothing underneath it.”

Silence. Then a sharp exhale.

“Give me ten minutes,” he said, already grabbing his keys.

You grinned, twirling a piece of your hair. “I was hoping for five, but I’ll take it.”

“Brat,” he muttered affectionately before hanging up.

He was on his bike in seconds, weaving through the streets of Blüdhaven, hell-bent on getting to you.

And then, because fate had a twisted sense of humor, he saw the flashing lights.

A bank robbery.

“Son of a—”

Gritting his teeth, he veered toward the chaos, pulling on his mask mid-ride. He parked a block away and hit his comm.

“Babe, change of plans. Quick detour.”

You sighed, swirling your wine in your glass. “Should I even ask?”

“Bank robbery. Five guys. Shouldn’t take long.”

You took a sip. “Mmm, take your time. I’ll just be here… in my robe… all alone.”

Dick groaned. “You’re evil.”

Then you heard it—the unmistakable sounds of combat. Grunts, the crack of a punch landing, the sharp zing of his escrima sticks.

Then gunfire.

You tensed, gripping the stem of your glass. “Dick?”

“Still here, babe,” he gritted out, followed by a loud thud—probably a body hitting the floor.

You rolled your eyes, propping your feet up on the coffee table. “You better not be getting shot while I’m sitting here half-naked waiting for you.”

“Not a scratch, promise.”

More scuffling, then silence. A second later, his voice came through, breathless but victorious.

“Alright, I’m back on the bike. ETA four minutes.”

You smirked. “Mmm, you gonna make it up to me, Nightwing?”

“You have no idea.”

You bit your lip. “Hurry, baby.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You hung up, anticipation thrumming through you.

And, true to his word, exactly four minutes later, your living room window slid open.

Dick stepped inside, still in full Nightwing gear, his hair wind-swept and messy. His mask was on, but you could see the heat in his gaze as he looked at you—your satin robe loose around your body, wine glass still in hand.

“Hi,” you purred.

He exhaled, shaking his head with a grin. “God, I missed you.”

Then he was on you, his lips crashing against yours, lifting you effortlessly.This time, nothing was going to interrupt. His lips crashed against yours, hot and desperate, like he had been starving for this just as much as you had. His gloved hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, the cool material of his suit contrasting with the warmth of your bare skin beneath your robe.

You barely had a moment to breathe before he was walking you backward, his mouth never leaving yours. You let out a soft gasp as the backs of your knees hit the couch, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

“You’re still in your suit,” you murmured against his lips, fingers tracing the emblem on his chest.

“Couldn’t wait,” he admitted, voice husky. “Didn’t even take off my boots.”

You smirked, running your hands up his chest, feeling the hard lines of his armor. “Well, I do like a man in uniform.”

Dick groaned, dropping his head to your neck, kissing along your pulse point. “You are so lucky I love you.”

You grinned, tilting your head to give him better access. “Mm, I really am.”

His hands slid to the tie of your robe, his fingers brushing over the silky fabric. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his expression dark with want. “Can I?”

You exhaled slowly, nodding. “God, yes.”

He tugged the robe open, his hands skimming your sides as he pushed it off your shoulders. The cool air sent goosebumps across your skin, but his touch was burning hot, his gaze drinking you in like he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

“Jesus,” he breathed, his hands tightening on your hips. “You’re so—”

The ringing of his comm cut him off.

You both froze.

Your eyes widened in horror as Dick let out a slow, controlled exhale through his nose. He squeezed his eyes shut, muttering something under his breath before tapping the device in his ear.

“Grayson, we need you back at—”

He ripped the comm out of his ear and tossed it across the room.

Your eyes flicked from the now-silent device to his face.

“That’s it,” he said, voice dangerously low. “I am done being interrupted.”

Before you could even process, he grabbed you, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. A startled laugh left your lips as he carried you toward your bedroom, his lips crashing against yours again.

“Door locked, comms off, phones on silent,” he murmured between kisses.

“Agreed,” you breathed, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Good,” he growled. “Because you’re not getting rid of me until morning.”



Dick kicked the bedroom door shut behind him, his grip on you firm yet reverent, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go.

“You say that like I’d want to get rid of you,” you teased, your breath hitching as his fingers dug into your thighs, still holding you effortlessly.

“You better not after everything we’ve been through just to get here,” he murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw, then another down your neck. “I swear, if someone knocks on that door—”

“They won’t,” you promised, threading your fingers through his dark hair and tugging just enough to earn a delicious groan from him. “And even if they do, I’m not answering.”

“Good,” he murmured before finally lowering you onto the bed. He hovered over you, his masked gaze raking over your body, his gloved hands tracing slow, deliberate patterns on your skin.

You sighed contentedly, stretching beneath him, knowing full well the effect it had on him. His breath stuttered, his jaw tightening as you arched your back ever so slightly.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Not before you make it worth my while.”

That was all the encouragement he needed.

Dick rolled his shoulders, exhaling sharply before finally—finally—tugging off his gloves, then his domino mask, tossing them both to the side. His bright blue eyes met yours, intense and full of heat.

Then he was kissing you again—deeper, slower, more possessive. His hands slid over every inch of exposed skin, like he was making up for lost time, like he was claiming you.

And you? You had absolutely no objections.

You reached for the fastenings of his suit, but he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head with ease. “Uh-uh,” he murmured against your lips. “I go first.”

A shiver ran through you at the dark promise in his voice.

“You gonna take your time with me, Grayson?” you teased, your pulse quickening.

He smirked, his grip tightening just enough to send a thrill down your spine.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, lips ghosting over your ear. “You have no idea.”

The way he looked at you—like he’d been starving for you, like he was memorizing every inch of you—sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

“Dick,” you breathed, shifting beneath him, trying to free your wrists.

He just smirked, holding you there with ease. “Something you need?”

“Yeah,” you said, arching slightly to brush your body against his. “Less clothes.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Patience.”

You huffed, rolling your hips up against him in retaliation. That wiped the smirk off his face. His grip on your wrists faltered for half a second—just long enough for you to slip free and push at the seams of his suit.

“Not fair,” he muttered, though he was already helping you peel off the top half of his suit, shoving it down his arms and tossing it to the floor.

You sucked in a sharp breath. No matter how many times you’d seen him like this, it never got old—the way his muscles flexed under your touch, the scars that told stories of battles won, the way his chest rose and fell, his breaths growing heavier with every second.

Your fingers traced the defined ridges of his abdomen, then dragged up to his shoulders. “You’re so beautiful,” you murmured, just because you could.

A faint pink dusted his cheeks, but the look in his eyes darkened. “Sweetheart,” he warned, voice rough.

You grinned, pulling him down for another kiss. This one was slower, deeper, your hands threading into his hair as his weight pressed you into the mattress.

His lips trailed lower, down the column of your throat, to your collarbone, and lower still. Each kiss, each lingering touch, felt like an unspoken apology for every interrupted moment before this one.

And for the first time in weeks, there was nothing standing in your way. No comms buzzing in his ear, no phone ringing at the worst possible moment. Just the two of you, tangled together, making up for lost time.

And when he finally, finally gave you what you wanted, you were both in full agreement— No more rain checks.

The night unfolded in slow, deliberate movements—like the two of you were savoring every second, making up for every lost moment, every interruption that had kept you apart.

Dick worshipped you, his hands mapping your body like he was relearning every inch of you, his lips tracing paths of fire across your skin. He took his time, dragging out every touch, every kiss, making you feel the frustration of the past month melt away in waves of pleasure.

And when he finally, finally gave in, it was nothing short of desperate.

Your name spilled from his lips like a prayer, his voice hoarse as he groaned against your skin. His grip on your hips was firm but reverent, his body pressed against yours as he moved with slow, deep strokes that had you clinging to him, gasping his name between breathless moans. He slid in easily, your body aching for him.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered against your neck, his breath ragged, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. “You feel so good…”

Your fingers raked down his back, nails leaving faint red lines in their wake. “Don’t stop,” you pleaded, tilting your head back, letting him press open-mouthed kisses to your throat. Your legs locked around his waist, and he pulled your hips closer.

“Not a chance,” he groaned.

His movements were unrelenting, each thrust sending sparks of heat through you, winding you tighter and tighter until you were right there, gripping onto him for dear life.

“Dick—”

“I got you, sweetheart,” he murmured, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath hot against your lips. “Let go.”

And you did.

The pleasure crashed over you in waves, your body arching into him as he guided you through it, his lips murmuring soft praises against your skin. He followed soon after, a deep, shuddering groan leaving his lips as he buried himself deep, his body tensing before he finally collapsed against you, breathless and spent.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your mingled breaths, your fingers idly tracing patterns on his back as he pressed lazy kisses to your shoulder.

Then, finally, he chuckled—low and satisfied. “Worth the wait?”

You exhaled a soft laugh, threading your fingers through his messy hair. “Hell yes.”

He rolled onto his side, pulling you with him so you were tucked against his chest, his arm draped over your waist. “Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You arched a brow, smirking. “Oh?”

His grip on you tightened slightly, his blue eyes dark with mischief. “Baby, I just spent a month pent up for you. I owe you at least three more rounds.”

You laughed, tangling your legs with his. “That so?”

“Oh, absolutely.” He kissed you again, slower this time, full of promises.

And this time, there was nothing standing in your way.

The second time was slower, almost lazy—like he was savoring every inch of you, making up for lost time. His lips traced along your jaw, down your neck, his hands mapping your body as he moved against you with deliberate, intoxicating precision.

The third time? Filthy.

By then, neither of you had anything left to prove. No teasing, no buildup—just pure, raw desperation. Dick had you pressed into the mattress, his name falling from your lips in breathless gasps as he drove into you like he was making up for every second you’d spent apart. Your legs were thrown over his shoulders, as he drove in as deeply as he could.

And when it was over, when you were both thoroughly spent and tangled together in the sheets, you lay there in the aftermath, your body still humming from him.

Dick sighed deeply, his fingers tracing absentminded circles on your bare back. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this relaxed in my entire life.”

You chuckled against his chest, pressing a lazy kiss over his heartbeat. “I told you all you needed was a night off.”

He hummed, tilting his head back against the pillow, his eyes slipping shut. “Yeah, well. Next time, we’re taking two nights off.”

You smirked, running your fingers through his messy hair. “Mm. You planning ahead, Grayson?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he muttered, shifting to pull you even closer. “I’m never going a month without this again.”

You exhaled a soft laugh, nuzzling into him. “Guess I should keep the satin robe handy then?”

He groaned, rolling onto his side so he could kiss you again, deep and slow. “Sweetheart, if you wear that robe again, I will cancel patrol.”

You grinned against his lips. “Promises, promises.”

He smirked, brushing his nose against yours. “You love when I break the rules.” You kissed his jaw, “so no more rain checks?” He laughed, pulling you closer, “No more rain checks, babe.”

[shinigamigloss]

sweet mornings!

cw: just fluff, stuff, very short, husband leon, and mentioned scar on his chin!, he makes a 'joke' about the age gap between the two of you, idek;3

⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The morning light streams through the half-open blinds, spilling honeyed inks across the bathroom tiles. The redolence of fresh coffee lingers in the air. Then there’s the sharp aroma of Leon’s usual aftershave – the very scent you’ve grown to affiliate with home.

He reclines on the shut toilet seat, legs spread wide, arms flung loose on his thighs. His baby blue bathrobe is sloppy over his impressively big shoulders, sleeves a little bit too short, contributing to his appearance of the harried, underpaid househusband that he so often claims to be.

The sight is a lovely one, from Leon’s favorite coffee cup inscribed with ‘My dad is a superhero’, to the newspaper he always peruses in the morning.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” he tuts at you. You don’t say a thing. Rather, you dip the shaving brush in tepid water.

“I’m a grown-up man. I've been shaving myself since– damn, since before you were old enough to drink.”

Ouch.

You shake your head in faux disbelief and lather the soap onto the brush. “Leon, you and I both know that you consistently miss this specific spot.”

Of course you’d hurt his feelings like that. Leon absolutely feels betrayed.

Your husband huffs dramatically. “One time. One time I leave just one patch, and suddenly I’m the inept one.”

“Well, you do have a reputation to uphold, Mr. Kennedy.” An impish smile graces your lips. You prod at his chin, tilting up his pretty face.

“Now, stay still.”

“Yas, ma’am.” Smiling to himself, he obliges.

You apply the foam to his stubbled jawline. His hair is fetchingly tousled from sleep, silver threads woven into his otherwise brown locks that reflect the morning light in a way that makes your heart race inside the cage of your ribs, your bones.

“You starin’ at me?” he impeaches playfully as you reach for the razor.

“Shhh. You talk too much.” You draw the knife slowly down his jaw. “I gotta be careful. One mistake and—“

“You slit my throat?”

“Yup.” You don’t hesitate.

His lashes flutter, and he draws a long, balmy sigh. “I knew there was a reason I married you.”

“You figured it out, huh?”

“Yep. I love a slow-burn assassination plot and a femme fatale.”

You wipe the blade and move on to the next part on his skin – cautiously so when you feel the trace of a healed scar under your thumb.

“Tragic,” you retort.

He snorts out a laugh. The bathroom is warm, heavy with steam from the shower he just took.

When you near his upper lip, he raises his brows. “Bet you won’t kiss me right now.”

Mind games are his absolute favorite when it comes to teasing the hell out of you.

“I won’t.” You obviously lie. Leaning forward as if to show him, you dab a tiny bit of foam on the tip of his nose instead. “Oops.”

He automatically grumbles. “Unbelievable. There goes my kiss.”

“You’ll live, Leon. You’re a big man.”

When you’re finished, his face is vividly smooth, and you can’t resist running your fingers along the curve of his jaw. “Perfect.”

Leon catches your hand before you can pull it back, giving a slow kiss to the inside of your palm. “Mrs. Kennedy, I think you missed a certain spot.”

“Huh?” A frown sits on the gap between your eyebrows.

“No way! Where?”

He touches his peach-kissed lips. “Right here.”

Greedy.

You nearly roll your eyes at this cheesy attempt to flirt.

“That was so bad, Leon.”

“It did the trick, didn’t it, sweetheart?” He pulls you in. Tips his chin up expectantly. Looking adorable in a way you don’t understand how.

With a flourish of a sigh, you bend down and finally kiss him on his lips. Soft and all familiar. He tastes like morning coffee and mint. Simply delicious and inherently him.

In these very vibrations of seconds, you subconsciously know that you’ll let him get away with any missing spots for the rest of your life.

[moonstruckme]

absolutely live for ur roommate!james could you maybe write one on him meeting some of readers friends for the first time or calling james to pick u up after a girls night 😇would love to see him finally feel “included” in our life like we are in his

Thank you for requesting lovely!

cw: alcohol

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ��� 1k words

James is so absorbed in the football match on his phone that when there’s a tap on the window next to his face, he jolts halfway across the center console and squeaks like he’s twelve years old again. 

You’re beaming outside the car. Your shoulders shake with quiet, un-self-conscious laughter, so it’s impossible for James to be any kind of upset. Still, he makes a show of huffing a little as his own smile spreads. He reaches over and opens his door. 

“Sorry,” you say. You don’t look it, so he lets you off the hook for your over-apologizing. 

“Who do you think would drive you home if I had a heart attack?” James asks. He’s somewhat breathless, either because of the scare or the easier-than-usual grin still fixed on your face. 

You lean against the side of his car and roll your eyes. “Oh, your heart’s too healthy to be in danger of attacks.” 

“What are you doing on this side of the car? You’re the passenger, you know.”

“Okay, listen.” You give him a very intentional look. It’s more eye contact than he’s used to from you, and it makes his guts go all twisty in a surprisingly nice way. “It’s completely up to you, of course, but I think I’m about to make you an offer you can’t refuse.” 

It clicks into place. “You’re drunk.” 

“Not very.” Your grin is a short fall from impish. Your eyes sparkle. God help him. “But you’re about to be.” 

James feels his eyebrows float up. “How do you figure?” 

“Because I’ve come to collect you. If you want.” 

“To collect me…where?”

“Inside,” you say, as though this should be obvious. You tip your head towards the restaurant. “We’ve just closed, and we have so much wine. Pleasepleaseplease, James, come in.” 

“Okay.” He’s letting you tug him from his car before he knows what he’s agreed to, only that one please will always be enough to get whatever you want from him. “Alright, love, but doesn’t your manager mind that you’re drinking their wine?” 

You let loose a bark of laughter, loud and sharp and totally unlike you. “Tom? Yeah, right.” 

Tom, James learns quickly upon entering the rowdy atmosphere of your workplace after hours, is younger than the both of you, hardly old enough to serve alcohol and yet managing the restaurant. And the wine isn’t stolen, necessarily, but the fortunate leavings of a wealthy customer who bought more bottles than his table could handle and then left nearly all of them. 

Everyone who’d been on the night shift is strewn about the empty restaurant. Servers and busboys and dishwashers all perched on stools, standing behind the bar, sitting criss-cross-applesauce on tables. You take James by the hand, first reclaiming the bottle of wine you’d evidently stored behind the host’s station and then leading him around the room to introduce him to various coworkers. His hand feels warm and tingly. You have an easy repartee and a million in-jokes with the servers, but even the kitchen staff seems to adore you. As they rightly should, James thinks. It’s obvious you’re as kind and considerate here as you are at home, and he feels a bit silly for not having been able to picture you in this place so clearly before now. 

Art is working with you again tonight. It’s embarrassing, the warm wave of relief that James feels when he notices you don’t pay him any extra attention. He makes a mental note to extend his offer of a ride home more often. Every time your hand starts to slip from James’, you readjust your grip before he can even think of doing it himself. Suits him just fine; ever since your mugging incident, suddenly James is in this weird place where he always wants a hand on you.

You say his name, and then the lip of a bottle is being pushed against his lips. 

“You haven’t had hardly any.” You look like you’re trying to pout, but your eyes are smiling. 

James takes the bottle from you. He looks you in the eyes as he takes a sip as if to say, Happy? It’s barely enough to warm his throat. “I am still driving us home, you know.”  

The pout is getting better. “I know, but I’m trying to be fun for you. You don’t have to drive us if you don’t want to! You’re always the one doing the nice things.” 

“Oh, don’t.” His tone is fonder than he means for it to be, but luckily you’re too tipsy to mind. “You’re plenty fun. You do nice things for me all the time.” 

“Yeah, but not enough to balance out.” You make your eyes big and pitiful. James feels fortunate this isn’t a skill you seem inclined to utilize sober. “Obviously you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but—Jamie, don’t hold back because of me, please.” 

His stomach does an impressive flip. He doesn’t think you realize you’ve called him that, doubts you’d have done it under normal circumstances, but his nervous system cares not for rationalizations. He wants desperately to hear you say it again. 

You beam as James lifts the bottle to his lips again, taking a few hearty gulps. You both end up walking home that night, but you wake even before James to go retrieve his car in the morning.

[mywritersmind]

AT YOUR EX’S WEDDING - LN4

summary : Getting invited to your ex’s wedding isn’t ideal. Going with a douchebag from your highschool is even worse. But meeting a very attractive man in the deep of a garden? That might just make it all worth it.

listen up : suggestive comments! alcohol! wrote this forever ago and never finished but suddenly got motivated so here ya go! no part 2!!

words : 2621

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I wasted the prettiest dress I own for my ex’s wedding and a guy who’s staring at my tits. “You look upset…” His grubby little hands rub my arms, “We can leave.”

I eye the guy, blonde and pale. I shake my head and down my champagne, “I’d bet you would love that…”

I don’t look back as I walk away, just grab another glass of champagne and walk out into fresh air. My heels are hurting my feet and the setting sun is blinding me.

As soon as I get into the garden though, I feel like I can finally breathe. I can’t lie, this place is beautiful. The sky is pink and blue, the gardens are green and I can’t see them ending anytime soon.

I walk slowly, letting the cool air wash over me. I’ve got to hand it to him, his dream really did come true. He used to talk to me about a picture perfect wedding, big and white. Something that showed the value of his marriage.

We disagreed a lot after that.

I sigh and sip my drink, turning a corner to see a huge fountain. It’s surrounded by flowers, an array of colors that compliment the bright green and setting sun.

I walk slowly around it, listening to the water and faint music from the wedding.

I stop when I see someone sitting on the grass, his head leaning back on the stone of the fountain. I can’t see his whole face, just his side profile.

He’s got dark hair, curly and cut into a messy mullet. He’s wearing a suit, some buttons undone and his tie loose around his neck. In his hand lies a bottle of champagne and when he brings it to his lips, his jaw goes sharp.

I take another step and he clearly hears me because his head cocks towards me quickly. “Sorry.” I mumble as he stares blankly at me.

“Uh…” He stands quickly, looking disheveled and surprisingly attractive, “Don’t worry.” My gaze goes to the bottle in his hand and when his eyes follow, he laughs a bit, “Want me to top you off?” He eyes my own empty glass. He has an accent and I don’t know why it catches me so off guard. Maybe because he got instantly hotter?

I hesitantly smile, he’s oddly welcoming and when I step forward, he pours the sparkling drink into my glass, “Thank you. I did not want to go back in there just for a drink.” I joke but the expression on his face makes me nervous, “Shit, you’re not one of the groomsmen are you?”

He shakes his head, clearly finding this funny as a smile tugs at his lips, “No, Lucky for you, I'm just a plus one.” I nod slowly as he plops himself back down, sitting on the fountain's edge this time. He looks up at me, holding out his hand, “I’m Lando.”

Something about him feels familiar. His grip is strong and his ring makes a noise against mine. “Y/n.” I sit down next to him, sipping my drink and breathing out.

“Why are you so adamant on not going back in there, Y/n?” He says my name softly and with his accent it makes me want to melt.

I can’t help but laugh, “My ex is the groom, My date has tried to kiss me four times, and the groom's mother is drunk and won’t stop asking me why I broke up with him.”

He lets out a big laugh, “Fuck. Those are great reasons to not go back.” Shaking his head, he takes another swing of the champagne, coughing a bit.

“Why are you hiding out here?” I ask, pushing my hair behind my shoulder.

“My date knows the bride but has left me for a groomsman.” He shrugs, “Not too upset though, just wanted something to do tonight.”

“Very interesting. Normal people would go out and see a movie for entertainment, not go to the wedding of someone you don’t know.”

“Well, I've met you so it worked out for the best.” He gives me a little glance and I notice his eyes. The sun is almost down but the light still shines in them, green and a bit brown.

I shake my head, “You don’t even know me.”

He scrunches his nose, keeping eye contact, “Yet my nights looking up.”

I take the bottle out of his hand because my glass is empty, bringing it to my lips and letting the liquid into my mouth. “Something about you is familiar.”

He raises a brow, taking the bottle back. “Oh?”

I would have to remember him, he’s too pretty for me to forget. “I can’t figure out what. Maybe you just have one of those faces. But then again I think I would remember you.”

He laughs, “Well clearly not because you recognize me from somewhere.” I frown, looking at his face intently, “Come on… think about it.”

So he must know me then. Otherwise, where else would I know him from? “I definitely haven’t met you, the accent alone would stick. So what is it then? Do we have mutals on instagram?”

Lando just smiles softly, “I’ve never met you. I can say that for sure.”

“So what is it? God don’t tell me you’re a model-”

“You think I'm hot enough to be a model? I’m flattered.” I roll my eyes but secretly I bite back a smile.

“You’ve definitely got the attitude of a model. Are you famous?” A slight change in his expression gives it away. “You are! What do you do? Is it embarrassing that I don’t know you?”

Lando shakes his head, “Unless you know the sport.” So he’s an athlete. His build sort of gave that away, even under the suit I can tell. But he’s not very tall and I honestly hate sports so I don’t think I'm going to get this one.

I sigh, leaning back on my hands, “I give up.”

Lando laughs again, the type of sound that makes you feel accomplished because you made it happen, “Maybe i’ll tell you later.”

“Mysterious.” I look him up and down, “That’s hot.”

He gives me a funny look, like he’s trying to figure me out, “I like you.”

I laugh a bit, looking around at the now dark gardens, the moonlight shining and matching with fairy lights around us, “Probably because you still don’t know me.”

“Fine then, Y/n.” His eyes sparkle as they land on me again, scooting closer to me. “Tell me about yourself.”

“That’ll be easy, I love talking about myself. What do you want to know?”

“Why did you and your ex break up?”

“Getting right into it I see…” I take another sip, “I broke up with him because he was obsessed with our future, not even in a cute way like genuinely wanted me to drop out of school. We dated in college after being friends for all of highschool.”

“So… why were you invited? I mean, no offense, but I wouldn’t invite my ex to my wedding.”

“Who knows? I was drunk when I replied to the invite and clearly did not think it through. My ex is nice though, it’s not like I'm getting champagne drunk because I'm sad, I'm happy for him.” I drink more from the bottle.

“Where did you go to college?”

“Charleston. How about you?”

“I didn’t go, I barely finished mandatory school.” I pull my heels off as he says, “I’ve never been to Charleston, I heard it’s pretty.”

“Very.” A chill washes over me as the night seems to rest over us, “How do you know your date for tonight?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking sheepish, “Sort of a one time thing…” Hookup. Got it. “But she was talking about how she didn’t have a date and how it would be sad so I just said I could go. Got a bit awkward when she paraded me around just to ditch me.”

“Well it all turned out well didn’t it? Now that we’re here.” His eyes are so soft and endearing as he listens to me speak.

“Why do you keep swerving your dates kiss attempts? Bad breath?” I laugh and bury my face in my hands.

“God it’s so stupid. I knew him in highschool and he always wanted to hook up with me so I knew he’d say yes… But he’s a total tool!”

Lando thinks this is quite hilarious, “Well then,” He holds up the bottle, “To our shitty dates and weird ass night.”

He pours some into my mouth, misses a bit and swears before holding my jaw and pouring more in as I’m about to start choking on my laugh and champagne.

“Fuck.” He giggles as he tries to wipe my mouth but ends up just rubbing his hand over my face, “Sorry!” He drinks as I swallow and let out a much needed laugh.

“I should handle champagne better at this point.” I raise a brow at Lando’s words and it reminds me that I truly know nothing about him.

“Can I try to guess what you play?” A slow smirk tugs at his lips, turning to me and nodding.

“Go ahead, love.” I pretend I don’t hear the nickname and try to think.

“Well it’s not football.” I screw up my face and sit criss cross to look at him better, “Tennis?” He shakes his head.

“What’s your favorite color?” I guess it’s a sport for a question then.

“Green.” Looking into his eyes and saying that feels oddly intimate. “Volleyball?”

He makes a face, “No. Favorite hobby?”

“Reading.” I shiver a bit at the cool air, “Does it involve a ball?”

I think he’s going to say yes but when he shakes his head, I frown. “Skateboarding?”

“Nope. What do you like to read?”

“Romance and mystery. Is it swimming?” That could make sense, he’s fit enough but not exactly slim.

“No. Have you ever dyed your hair?” I laugh at the question because it’s so out of the blue.

“When I was really young I had blue and pink highlights.” His eyebrows raise at this, “Oh shut up it was a great phase!”

“I’m sure it was. And I can't judge because I had a buzz once.” I cover my mouth at his words. I can not imagine that. His hair is like the cherry on top.

“I will be needing photos of that later… My last guess is gymnastics!”

“Still no.” He smiles as I groan and take another drink of champagne, “I drive.”

I sit up straighter and I'm dead serious when I say, “Monster trucks?”

He laughs out loud again, “Formula 1 cars.” My jaw actually drops at this.

“I would never have guessed! I mean, I don’t know a lot about Formula 1 anyways… but doesn’t that mean you’re like really rich?” He looks a bit shy at this which means i’m 100% right.

“And humble.” I nod.

“You really didn't know?”

“Nope. My family is into soccer and soccer only, so I never really cared about anything else.”

“I like that.”

“You like that I know nothing about your job?”

“Absolutely. I hate when people know it… Especially women.”

“Oh? So I'm a ‘woman’ to you now?”

A little smile settles on his face while he looks anywhere around the garden but me, “I think I'm a good judge of character. And I like yours.”

I’ve never had a guy express his interest in me within an hour of meeting, especially one that I found in a garden like a fucking fairy.

“Does that usually work on women?” I decide to tease him a bit.

“Not sure, I’ve never tried it. Is it working on you?” I suddenly have the feeling that he’s being serious. I can tell he’s a flirt, that’s obvious enough with who he’s here with.

Yet I just stand up and take the bottle with me, walking away from him. He follows, a rustling of his clothes and the sudden warmth of his jacket over my shoulders surprises me.

I don’t thank him, I just watch him walk quietly next to me, his eyes scanning the night sky. “What’s your last name?”

“Trying to figure out how you’ll sound with it?” I roll my eyes, “Norris. Don't lie though, Y/n Norris sounds good.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I get that a lot.” We continue walking, my feet feeling the grass as I realize Lando’s holding my heels. I had left them with the intent to go back, but he just took them.

I turn to him, “So, Lando Norris.” I start walking backward, watching the way his eyes trail up and down my body. “You’ve got a good name.”

He nods, slowly walking with me, “Thank you, love.” His shirt is well fitted, his arms pressing against it and the sleeves rolled halfway up.

His eyes get wide as I'm checking him out, causing me to turn to see what he’s looking at. My jaw drops at the sight. “That’s-”

“My date!” we say in unison. I whip my head to him as he raises his brow. The two are in the midst of pulling off each other's clothes while their lips stay attached.

I slap my hand over my mouth as they turn to us. His date is very pretty and her lipstick is smeared over her mouth. My date doesn’t look embarrassed at all, just annoyed we interrupted.

“You two carry on.” I hear Lando say as he grabs my hand and pulls me out of there. We start running then, laughing and out of breath.

“I need to bleach my eyes!” I scream as Lando slows, his breathing labored.

“I think his hand was up her dress!” He looks scarred for life.

“Oh my god!” I stop, “Our dates!” I’m practically bent over laughing, “Lando, Our dates!”

“Fuck this weird ass day!” His hand tightens over mine, reminding me that he’s holding onto me still. “I need something stronger than champagne. Come back to my hotel?”

I raise a brow, teasing him, “Why Norris, I've just met you.”

His smile is slow and sexy, “I’ll save you from a one night stand and raise you whiskey and netflix. I promise I'll keep my hands to myself.”

“I weirdly have trust in you.”

He wraps his arm around me, our hands still attached as we leave the grassy area, “It’s not weird. We’re just two friends who happen to be very pretty and a tad bit drunk at an ex and a random wedding.”

Lando and I spent the night laughing over drinks, room service, and how to lose a guy in ten days. He didn’t touch me besides his arm comforting me as I fell asleep next to him, and even shook his head when I joked about it being a one night thing.

His promise was never broken… more like expired and loopholed by me. I kissed him in a bookstore and he gave me a new favorite version of his smile. Soft and romantic with his eyes focused on me and his hand in mine, “And to think… it all started at your ex’s wedding.”

He sighed as we walked into the elevator, I elbowed him, “Lando, that was yesterday.” His hands went to his pockets but not before slipping his arm around mine so we’re intertwined. I looked up to see him biting back a shit eating grin as if we’ve been married for years.

I just shake my head and stare at the silver doors in front of us. Yet still, I couldn’t help but smile.

[writingroom21]

heyy, Can i request where camerons are going on a family trip to the mountains and the car is fully loaded but there is space for a one person at the back of truck besides boxes and tents, as everyone gets into car theres no space for everyone so Rose,readers mom makes her sit on stepbrothers rafe lap the whole ride,but the road gets bumpy so rafe gets hard and fucks reader while whole family is in the front talking and driving(sorry if i messed up with grammar English is not my first language)

A/N: I love this idea so much

“No, absolutely not.” You shake your head as you back away. “Sweetie, can you please just do this?” Your mom pleads with you as you stand outside of the little van. “I am not getting in that and I’m definitely not sitting on his lap.” You yell as you point to the one person you do not want to be stuck with. Rafe, your stepbrother, smiles at your outburst. 

This has to be your own personal hell. You knew Ward wanted to get back at you for ruining the cake. Your mom and Ward have been married since you were a kid but they wanted to renew their vows. During the after party you and Rafe may have been arguing when the cake happened to have fallen. Ward was pissed and you could tell your mom was sad but they went on like nothing happened. Now here Ward is forcing you into a tiny van packed full of luggage with no room. But there’s a kicker.

Your seat is in Rafe’s lap.

As if making you all go on a family trip to celebrate wasn’t bad enough you have to sit in his lap. “C’mon we’re already late. Just get in the car and we can figure something out later.” Ward orders as he gets into the car. Everyone follows, leaving you outside alone. Huffing you climb in passing Sarah and Wheezie to get into the back. They send you sympathetic looks as you make it to the back of the van.

Rafe sends you a smirk as you settle into his lap. He puts the seat belt over the both of you as his arms cage you in. “Hey there honey.” His face is practically beaming at you as you make you way closer. Grumbling you sit in his lap, shuffling a few things around to get more room. But to no avail nothing moved and you were crammed into a tight space. He had to wrap his arms around you just to sit properly. 

As Ward drove the van you tried not to think about the fact all you could think about was Rafe’s smell. His hands would often scrunch, letting his fingertips graze over your exposed skin. Your elbow meets his side making him hiss. “What the fuck.” Rafe pulls your hair hard causing your head to fall back. “The two of you stop right now. I won’t hesitate to leave the two of you on the side of the road.” Ward yells out as he swerves to the side of the road. The two of you sat still and after a minute he went back to driving.

“I swear your dad is doing this to torture me.” Rafe lets out a little chuckle. His nose slowly grazes the side of your neck. “No honey. He’s upset at me and this is my torture.” There’s a pothole that makes the van shake. Due to the motion you jump slightly in his lap causing a low moan to fall from his lips. Snapping your head back you see that he has rested against the back of the seat. His eyes are closed, lips open just a bit. When cerulean blue eyes met yours, you snapped your head back to the front of the car.

Two hours into the drive everyone besides you, Rafe and Ward is asleep. The radio is playing some country music that you don’t know. You are looking out the window when a blanket is draped over your lap. Looking back at Rafe he just shrugs. “I’m getting cold.” His arms tighten around you as he shifts his hips. The decision of wearing loose shorts seems to be a bad choice. Every move of his hips makes his growing erection dig into your thighs and ass. “You really can’t have a boner right now.” You glare at Rafe, the movement making his situation worse.

Looking around the car he grabs your hips, pushing you back down onto him. He grinds you back and forth. There’s a brush of warm breath on your neck as he lowers his lips to the skin. “Can’t help it honey. Not when you’re on top of me.” You hold back a moan, choking it back down hoping he didn’t hear it. But his fingers are now gripping your inner thighs, prying them apart. Lightly he plays with your pussy, stroking it over your shorts before pulling them down. “What are you doing?” You whisper only to be met with him shushing you. 

You sit there as he teases you over your panties. The teasing only made you wet and you were soaking the fabric. Rafe lifted you, using one of his hands to pull his pants and boxers down. You want to get up and yell at him for what he is doing. Yet even though your brain is telling you to do so, you don’t. You stay there letting him use the tip of his cock to part your lips as he moves the panties to the side. There was a movement from the front of the van. Your hand pauses his movements waiting for a moment. 

When the only sound was the song from the speaker, Rafe moves you down onto his tip. Just as he pushes in he kisses the back of your neck. As you sink all the way down your head falls back onto his shoulder. He kisses the side of your head and right behind your ear. “Like having your step brother in you?” Fuck. Yes you do. You do like the feeling of him in you, feeling every ridge of him. As the car sways, pleasure erupts through you as his cock twitches. It felt so good. You bury your head in his neck trying to hide your face. “Just sit right there, honey.”

Another hour ticks by as Rafe holds you down to his cock. His balls grazes your clit with each rock of the van, his dick twitching every time. Cock warming your step brother was not how you envisioned this trip. You can’t stay still, squirming with each bump in the road. Rafe’s fingers dig into your skin, dragging you forward and back. Half way through his fingers found your clit with the other hand covering your mouth as he got you off. Now the two of you are soaked as you edge closer towards your second orgasm. 

“Alright everyone out.” Ward's voice snaps you out of your thoughts to see that you are at a pitstop. Everyone climbs out the car yawning as they head into the store. Your mom sticks her head back into the car looking towards the two of you. Thankfully since the van was packed so she really couldn’t see anything. “Are the two of you coming?” You lean forward blocking Rafe completely. “I’m tired so I think I’m going to keep sleeping.” You lie, giving her a sweet smile, one that she returns.

Once she was out of sight Rafe had you pushed forward using the armrest as your support. “God, look at how wet she is for me.” Rafe uses the grip on his base to slap his tip to your clit. He slides back in, rocking his hips to fuck into you. “I’m going to cum.” You moan out as Rafe’s fingers meet your clit as he delivers a good thrust. He lets out a long moan as your walls squeeze around him. The pulsing of your walls triggers his own orgasm. He pulls the both of you back into the seat.

Rafe moves the blankets back over the both of you. You wanted to go to the bathroom and clean up but he pulled you back down. His dick gets hard again as you squirm. The need to keep you plugged up with his cum settles deep within him. From the corner of his eye he can see everyone coming back. He acts normally, maneuvering you to look like you are sleeping. Leaning in closer he whispers in your ear.

  “We’re not done yet.”

Taglist : @rafedaddy01 @rrafeswhore @10ava01 Let me know if you want to be added

[itneverendshere]

my angsty little heart just imagining you looking at rafe after baby’s been born and you start sniffing, and you’re like “i’m so sorry i put you through that”

couldn't make them suffer more so i made this kinda short💔thank you for the request, hope you like it!💛

rafe watched autumn, now bundled up and sleeping peacefully, her tiny chest rising and falling like it hadn’t just stopped for what felt like years.

he’d talked big game, said the right things, held your hand through every ultrasound.

but nothing, nothing, had prepared him for that moment.

he’d felt like he’d been gutted alive, emptied, and only now was the relief wrapping itself around him and making him feel like he could maybe breathe again.

you lay there, propped up in bed, the exhaustion written all over your face, but you still managed to look at him with this soft, broken smile.

you took a shaky breath, still staring at him like you hadn’t yet snapped out of that agitated state, and then you started sniffling, quiet sobs you were trying to control.

rafe’s stomach dropped, the lingering anxiety coming back up all over again.

“i’m so sorry i put you through that.”

rafe blinked, stunned, “what? what are you talking about?” his thumb grazed over your knuckles.

he didn’t know what he’d expected you to say, but it wasn’t an apology. if anything, he’d wanted to tell you how sorry he was for what you'd just been through, for how he couldn’t do anything but stand there while it all happened.

you sniffed again, wiping at your cheeks, eyes still shining with this look of guilt and sadness that made him feel like he’d been punched in the lungs all over again.

“i just…she didn’t come out crying, rafe. she was just there, and you had to see that, go through that… i just, i feel like i dragged you into—”

“hey, hey,” he cut you off, gripping your hand tighter, his other hand brushing a few loose strands of hair away from your face. “stop. you didn’t ‘drag’ me anywhere, alright? i’m here because i want to be. because you’re my family.”

your mouth trembled, “i’m just—i was so scared she wasn’t…” you trailed off, looking back at the baby. “i thought we lost her.”

he couldn’t lie to you; he’d thought the exact same thing.

for a few agonizing seconds, he’d thought he’d lost everything that mattered, and he couldn’t even understand that feeling now.

but she was here. you were here.

“she’s here. and she’s okay. we’re okay.”

rafe moved to sit on the edge of the hospital bed, not caring about the cramped space or how uncomfortable it was. he needed to be closer to you, needed you to understand that he didn’t see this as something you’d put him through.

it was something you’d both survived.

he leaned his forehead against yours, his hand pressed against your cheek, “you don’t have to be sorry for anything, you got that?”

you let out a wobbly breath, pressing your face into his palm, eyes fluttering closed, “okay.”

he looked over at the bassinet again, and there she was, your daughter—his daughter, your little autumn, with her tiny fists and barely-there eyelashes.

she was still sleeping, looking so peaceful like she hadn’t been seconds from scaring him shitless.

a weird, tight laugh bubbled out of his chest as he shook his head, in disbelief, still in awe.

he couldn’t stop looking at her, still couldn’t believe she was real.

“i… i can’t believe we made her,” he confessed in just a whisper, “that’s ours.” he laughed again, shaking his head, “we did that, baby. you… you did that.”

he felt your hand tighten in his, and when he looked back at you, you were smiling, tired but so proud, a little bit like him—still not fully believing it yet.

this whole thing was real, it wasn’t just a dream he’d woken up from.

he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

he looked at you, catching the way your hand shook a little as you wiped at your eyes, saying “sorry” like somehow you still thought this was on you, all he felt was this deep, gut-wrenching gratitude that you were both here.

“you’re still apologizing,” he reprimanded you quietly, squeezing your hand a little harder, as if that would get the point across.

“i was supposed to—” you stopped as you looked at autumn, lying there so still, so alive. “i was supposed to protect her.”

“you did protect her. you protected her every day before she even got here.”

your lips quivered as you nodded, even as a couple of silent tears slipped down your face, and he could tell it was a lot more than the relief you were feeling.

he wanted to tell you a thousand things—that he’d never felt prouder of anyone in his life, that you’d been braver than he ever could be, that he was just grateful, in this a way he couldn’t translate into words.

“always gonna be right here. for you and her. promise.”

rafe would never let you feel like you had to apologize for something that wasn’t your fault to begin with. he would carry it with you, or he’d carry it himself—whatever it took to make sure you knew that.

[amxritt]

Wrong Code

Tim Bradford x f!reader

summary: after a home security mix-up Y/n lands herself in a holding cell

word count: 1.4k words

warnings: wrongful arrest, fluff

It was supposed to be a chill morning. y/n was in her sweatpants, hair in a loose braid, and slippers as she padded up to her friend’s house. She was dog sitting for the week while her friend was away shooting for a new movie. She was happy to get a break from the chaos of her job, or so she thought.

y/n typed the code into the keypad next to the front door.

Beep. Beep. Error.

Weird.

She tried again.

Beep. Error.

Panic started to fizz under her skin. She was sure this was the right code.

The alarm went off—blaring, screeching, end-of-the-world kind of loud.

“Oh my god,” y/n muttered, fumbling with her phone and the slip of paper with the override code on it. Her fingers were shaking. “It’s fine, it’s fine…”

It was not fine.

The alarm company had already pinged the LAPD. Neighbors peeked out of windows, one of them already on the phone. And then—

Flashing red and blue lights.

A black-and-white cruiser pulled up, and outstepped two officers. y/n froze mid-button press.

“Ma’am,” Bradford called out, hand near his holster. “Step away from the door. Put your hands where I can see them.”

“I live here!” she yelped, then immediately corrected herself. “No—I don’t live here. I’m dog sitting! My friend’s an actress! She’s in—where is she filming? Italy? No, no—France! It’s in France—”

Chen raised a brow. Bradford was already walking toward her, expression unreadable. “Ma’am, we have a report of a suspected break-in. I need you to stay calm.”

“I am calm,” y/n lied, hands shaking as she gestured to her slippers. “Would a burglar wear slippers? These are bunny slippers!”

“Regardless, we’ll have to take you into custody until we can confirm your story,” Bradford said, matter-of-fact. “You have the right to remain—”

“Wait!” Y/n blurted. “Can I at least let the dog out first? He hasn’t been out since last night and I really don’t want him to pee on the couch.”

Tim blinked. It was the kind of request no perp ever made.

He looked at Chen. She gave him a “don’t-look-at-me” shrug.

“Make it quick,” he muttered, unlocking the door.

y/n dashed in, the dog—a fluffy golden retriever named Henry—bounding up to her in joy. “Hi, baby!” she cooed, then opened the back door. Henry zoomed outside, tail wagging, barking at the wind.

Bradford watched her carefully, arms crossed, but something in his stern face had shifted. Just a little.

“He needs to run a bit or he’s going to go stir crazy,” she pleaded, throwing a tennis ball for Henry. “Please. My friend won’t be back for days. I swear, if she would just pick up—”

“You have five minutes,” Bradford relented, jaw still tight.

She looked at him gratefully, cheeks flushed, and that was when he really noticed her. The way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. The messy braid. The oversized sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder. She didn’t look like a criminal. She looked… soft. Real.

Eventually, she returned inside, scooping up Henry’s water bowl and refilling it. “Alright,” she said, voice small. “Let’s go.”

Tim gently took her wrist. “Sorry, but we still have to cuff you.”

“Even if I’m cooperating?”

“Policy.”

“Ugh,” she muttered, holding her wrists out dramatically. “Do what you must, Officer Serious.”

—

Six hours. That’s how long y/n say in the holding cell.

Her one phone call? Straight to voicemail.

By the fifth hour, even Officer Chen had brought her a granola bar and an apologetic look. “We’re really sorry,” she said softly. “We know it’s a mistake, but we have to follow protocol.”

Y/n sighed, head in her hands.

At hour six, the holding cell buzzed open and Bradford appeared.

“She called,” he said simply, unlocking the door. “You’re good to go.”

Y/n stood, rubbing her wrists, eyes wide with exhaustion and relief. “Thank God.”

—

Outside the station, she stood on the sidewalk, phone clutched in her hand, waiting for her Uber.

Bradford’s truck pulled up instead.

“Need a ride?” he asked through the open window. “Figured it’s the least i can do.”

She eyed him. “You’re off-duty?”

“Clocked out ten minutes ago.”

“Then…yeah. Okay. Thanks.”

—

They pulled up to her friend’s place twenty minutes later. y/n punched the code perfectly and gave him a pointed look as the door clicked open.

“See?” she teased. “I do know the code.”

Tim shook his head, amused.

“You hungry?” she asked suddenly, turning in the doorway.

He hesitated. “I don’t want to impose.”

“Come on. You arrested me. You can at least let me feed you. If she has anything edible in here.”

They ended up cooking pasta together—well. y/n cooked, Tim let the dog out again and insisted on washing the dishes. They sat side by side at the kitchen bar, laughing and sharing stories.

“So, be honest… do you secretly judge people by how they parallel park?” y/n asked with a slight smirk.

Tim raised an eyebrow, and gave a small chuckle, “Depends. Are we talking ‘can’t park within the lines’ or ‘curb it like they’re drunk’?”

“I mean, the ones who do a 12-point turn to squeeze into a space that’s basically a football field,” y/n replied in a playful tone, “because I nailed it in two moves out front, and I feel like I deserve some kind of medal or something.”

“Is that so?” Tim laughed lightly in response.

“It is!” she exclaimed as they both broke out laughing.

As they came down from their laughter, she leaned a little closer. “You know,” she said, voice warm, “you’re kind of cute when you’re not arresting people.”

He raised a brow. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

A pause.

Then Tim looked her dead in the eyes. “Go out with me.”

y/n blinked. “Like, on a date?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, honest and direct.

She grinned, eyes lighting up. “Only if you promise not to arrest me again.”

“No promises.”

They both laughed—and when he leaned in, she didn’t pull back.

The kiss was soft. Unhurried. Like maybe this was the start of something neither of them had planned—but weren’t about to run from either.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Could I please request Spencer & Fem Reader based on the episode 9x24 when he gets shot and reader is super worried about him so is comforting him and doing all she can to make sure he’s ok and just fretting over him and on the jet she’s helping him in and just sitting with him next to the couch, brushing his hair so he sleeps. Just lots of cuddles. Maybe overbearing for Spencer because he’s not used to being the one taken care of since it’s usually vise versa. Thanks!!

Wounds: Physical & Emotional

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, hurt

Warnings/Includes: aftermath of Spencer getting shot, reader being overbearing, Spencer snapping, no happy ending

Word count: 2.1k

a/n: hiii i hope this is okay <33 i needed some angst so this was perfect

main masterlist

The atmosphere in the hospital room was filled with a quiet tension, the sterile smell of antiseptics mingling with the dull hum of machines. Spencer lay there, eyes half-open, a little pale and looking both exhausted and grateful just to be alive. His neck, wrapped in fresh bandages, still bore the marks of his ordeal, a stark reminder of how close he’d come to something irreversible.

You stood by his bedside, fingers gently resting on the thin hospital blanket, as if the mere act of touching it could somehow channel some of your strength to him. You'd been pacing the hallway for what felt like hours, running through every worst-case scenario, but finally seeing him, hearing the faint sound of his breathing steady and rhythmic—it brought a wave of relief so overwhelming it nearly took you to your knees.

As his eyes fluttered open, a soft but tired smile curved on his lips when he saw you there. “You… you really didn’t have to stay,” he murmured, his voice a bit strained, weakened from both the injury and the exhaustion that came with it.

You shook your head immediately, your hand instinctively reaching for his, fingers wrapping around his gently. “Don’t even say that, Spencer,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, each word infused with the worry you’d been bottling up since the moment you’d found out he’d been hurt. “There’s nowhere else I would be. You… I was so scared.”

He squeezed your hand weakly, his thumb tracing a small, reassuring pattern against your knuckles. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I know... I know how it must've felt, seeing me like that."

“No, no,” you replied quickly, shaking your head. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. None of this was your fault. You just… you’re always putting yourself out there for everyone else, and… Spencer, I can’t lose you. Not like that.”

His gaze softened as he looked up at you, the slight sheen of tears glistening in your eyes. He’d seen you in countless stressful situations, through endless cases and late-night work sessions, but this—this was different. “I’m still here,” he assured, his voice barely above a whisper, but steady. “I’m still here.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out and brushing a loose strand of hair from his forehead, your fingertips lingering, just relieved to feel the warmth of his skin beneath them. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that,” you replied, your voice catching. “I didn’t… I didn’t know if I’d get to.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch, letting himself be comforted by your presence. The weight of what he’d been through hung between you both, unspoken yet deeply felt. It was as though your silent worry, your prayers for his survival, had wrapped around him, bringing him back.

“Are you… are you comfortable? Do you need anything?” you asked, your voice barely louder than a whisper, but still filled with all the care and concern that had carried you through those agonizing hours of waiting.

He chuckled softly, a little hoarse, but there was a warmth in his eyes as he shook his head. “Just having you here is… more than enough,” he replied, his hand squeezing yours a little more firmly, a silent acknowledgment of how much it meant to him that you’d stayed, that you were there.

Your hand drifted from his forehead to his cheek, your thumb softly tracing the edge of his jaw, and for a moment, he simply closed his eyes, letting himself rest, letting himself lean on you.

“Promise me,” you said softly, breaking the quiet that had settled over you both. “Promise me you’ll be more careful next time, that… that you won’t go scaring me like this again.”

He opened his eyes, looking up at you, a small, apologetic smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll try,” he whispered. “But you know me…”

You rolled your eyes, a reluctant smile of your own finally breaking through the worry. “Yeah, I do,” you murmured, shaking your head fondly. “Which is exactly why I’ll be here, making sure you keep that promise.”

—

Your concern for Spencer had taken on a life of its own, a constant, consuming presence that followed him from the hospital back to work and even into the comfort of his own home. Every glance his way was laden with worry, every touch a check for signs of strain or pain, an endless stream of small but deeply attentive gestures. It seemed you couldn’t stop yourself from fretting over him, as if that watchful care alone could ensure his safety and recovery.

On the jet, you were never far from his side. When he tried to settle into the couch, you followed, bringing a small pillow and blanket, making sure he was comfortable, even sitting right beside him as if to act as a physical buffer against anything that might cause him pain. 

“Let me know if you need anything,” you whispered for what felt like the tenth time, fingers gently brushing a stray curl from his forehead. You stayed close, sometimes pulling a chair beside him, sometimes gently brushing your fingers through his hair in a rhythm that would lull him to sleep. Every time he shifted or opened his eyes, he found you right there, watching him with that same blend of worry and tenderness.

But back at home, your concern reached new levels. You simply couldn’t bear the idea of leaving him to fend for himself—not after what he’d just gone through. Any movement he made was met with your insistent, gentle intervention. “No, no,” you’d say softly but firmly when he reached for the coffee pot or attempted to carry anything from the kitchen. “I’ve got it. You’re supposed to be resting.” You’d guide him back to the couch or bed, a hand on his shoulder as if you thought he might collapse any moment if left unattended.

He found himself surrounded by the constant reminders of your care: you’d already brought him fresh coffee, placed his favorite books within easy reach, even left snacks and water close by. You practically fussed over him like he was made of glass, which at first he found touching. There was an odd but comforting warmth in how your love translated into these little gestures of support.

In the quiet intimacy of his apartment, you’d taken to accompanying him into the bathroom, even the shower, ensuring he was never alone. “I just… I can’t bear to leave you alone yet,” you’d said with a nervous laugh the first time, reaching for his hand. “It makes me feel better, okay?” 

Spencer, both surprised and touched, had reluctantly agreed, though he couldn’t deny the awkwardness. You watched him carefully as he bathed, helping him wash himself, bringing him his towel, even brushing his hair afterward with the same attention you give every one of his movements. 

Every small thing, even the routine act of bathing, became a moment for you to ensure his well-being. And while it was comforting, he found himself increasingly confined by your constant care.

Finally, it became too much. Spencer, who had always prided himself on his independence, was beginning to feel suffocated, trapped by the very love that usually gave him comfort and strength. He’d always been the one to look after others, the quiet pillar of support, and the sudden inversion had been tolerable at first. But as the days wore on, he found himself unable to breathe under the weight of it.

One evening, after yet another shower where you hovered nearby, he reached a breaking point. Just as he reached for the towel, he looked up seeing you already holding it, his face was now laced with frustration and fatigue. “Can’t you… can’t you just give me a little space?” he snapped, his voice louder than he intended, sharp enough to startle you.

The words hung in the air, and you looked at him, taken aback by the sudden tension in his voice. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, the frustration evident as he struggled to put his feelings into words. “I know you’re worried about me—I know. But you won’t even let me bathe alone,” he continued, his tone edged with an exasperation that mirrored how he felt. “I can’t even think for five minutes without you hovering!”

You took a shaky breath, hurt and confusion clouding your expression as you tried to process his outburst. “I… I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” you said softly, your voice breaking with the vulnerability you’d tried so hard to keep hidden.

Spencer’s gaze never softened, “I know you’re worried, and I want to appreciate it, I do. But I need time to myself. I need to feel like I can still do something without help. I need space from you!” he raised his voice again.

You flinched as your heart sank, realizing how tightly you’d been holding on to the fear of losing him, how it had manifested in every act of love, every worried glance, every touch that you’d thought was comforting. You nodded, stepping back a little, trying to offer him the space he so clearly needed. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, eyes dropping to the floor. “I… I’ll give you that space.”

As you quietly closed the bathroom door behind you, Spencer felt a calmness settle over him, a rare feeling of unencumbered space. He hadn’t realized until that moment just how much the attention—though well-meaning and deeply appreciated—had begun to weigh on him, like an invisible net keeping him grounded. The soft click of the door seemed to signal a return to normalcy, to a routine he thought he’d lost somewhere in the haze of his injury.

But what he didn’t realize was how deeply his outburst had hurt you, how you’d clung so desperately to the idea of keeping him safe, only to feel dismissed, even resented, for the very care you’d thought he needed.

Spencer felt lighter as he brushed his hair, each stroke a small declaration of independence. He took his time shaving, enjoying the familiar ritual. He finished, splashing cold water on his face, feeling as if he’d reclaimed a part of himself, a small but significant piece of control.

Satisfied, he wrapped himself in a fresh towel and stepped into the bedroom, thinking of nothing but how good it felt to finally be able to tend to himself. But the moment he crossed the threshold, a chill settled over him. His eyes flicked to the small armchair in the corner, the one that had become a fixture for your bag during your stayover, always waiting quietly, a reminder of your presence and your watchful care. Except now, the chair sat empty. Your bag was gone.

His heart stilled, a sinking feeling creeping into his chest. Quickly, he threw on clothes, barely fastening the buttons of his shirt before moving through the apartment, calling out your name, his voice echoing through the silent rooms. “Y/N?”

He stepped into the living room, glancing around in hopes you were just out of sight, maybe near the kitchen or just down the hall. But there was no answer, no sound, just an aching quiet that pressed in on him like a vise.

“Y/N!” he called again, louder this time, almost pleading. But the silence that met him felt crushing. His mind whirled with dread, memories of the sharpness in his tone, the flash of hurt in your eyes just before you’d turned away. The realization of what he’d done, what he’d said, crashed over him with a painful clarity. In his desperate need for solitude, he hadn’t stopped to consider what his words might mean to you, hadn’t thought of how they might cut deep after all you’d done to care for him.

The hollow ache in his chest grew as he scanned the empty room, his mind replaying each moment you’d been there, every touch, every comforting smile. He could still feel the warmth of your hand in his, the gentle brush of your fingers through his hair. The thought that you might’ve left, might have taken that warmth and devotion with you, was more terrifying than anything he’d faced in the field.

His voice softened, almost a whisper, as he spoke into the empty room, “Please, don’t go.” But the quiet, unyielding silence lingered, leaving him alone with the weight of his words, and he realized that maybe, just maybe, he’d pushed away the one thing he truly needed.

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[tan1shere]

i have no idea if you do fics for eva from swarm but i’m begging you for another!! maybe like we join the group unknowingly but eva takes a particular liking to us? you can change stuff about that idek what i’m saying i just need more eva fics

(i know she’s a cult leader but she’s hot. arrest me 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️)

All Mine

Eva x female reader !

A/n: yesss we love Eva here, I hope you enjoy !

Summary: there were many girls in the cult. But she was drawn to you, obsessed with you.

Warnings: smut, eva is cray cray but in a hot way (we know 😋) eating out (r receiving) hickeys - I think that might be it, leme know if I missed anything !

Masterlist

It was 3 months in, and you loved it there your new friends, letting you stay with them after your car had broke down not far from them. You had no idea where you were heading if you were honest so when they offer you to stay you ofcourse say yes. Eva, the lead girl of the little group was the first one to find you on the side of the road.

"Fuck sake." You cursed under your breath. You then hear a voice behind you, startling you slightly. "Everything ok?" You turn to face her. "Yeah just a flat tire- probably a sign I shouldn't keep going." You awkwardly laugh a tiny bit, causing her to flash a beautiful smile, it made you go a little crazy. "Im Eva." She sticks her hand out. "Y/n."

And ever since then you've been happily living there, alongside all the others. You had your own room, just like Eva did. Which confused you to say the least. Because the others all slept in one room. Why didnt you? But those wandering questions soon enough unfolded.

There was no doubt Eva was hot, you deeply thought so. Whenever she'd speak so softly, with a hint of teasing, it was alluring. And to be honest you loved it. You didn't quite understand why, you were all just friends. Right?

"Good day?" You then hear her voice, causing you to look at her as she approaches your seat, sitting next to you. "Great thanks, Eva. It's so lovely here." Her eyes wander your face. "Good, angel. Im so glad." You look into her piercing blue eyes, feeling like you were in a trance. She was like nothing you've seen before.

You then think for a moment. "Can I ask you something?" She just nods, moving a loose strand behind your ear. "What's up?" You take a moment to process. "Why do I have a room to myself and the others don't?" She then thinks, needing to come up with a lie. "They've all had it at one point, each new girl gets to have it til they're settled in with one another." You believed anything she said, so you just smile and nod. "Makes sense!"

But suddenly it didn't make sense. You ofcourse talk to the others, but you mainly kept to yourself. "Hey Cricket!" You smile, she returns it. Patting the spot next to her. "Hey babe, everything good?" You nod with a hum. "I did have a question though." She swivels to face you. "What's on ya mind." - "How long did you have the room I'm in before you went into the main one?" Her brows furrow slightly. "I've never had that room, no body has in fact. Eva said it was just empty but nothing was going in it. Why's that?" Your mind thinks for a moment. Eva lied to you.. but for what reason.

"Oh- uh. Nothing important, I just assumed thats what had happened." You shake your head slightly, pulling yourself out of your thoughts. "Nope, you're the first actually, I didn't know that could be a bedroom to be honest." You nod, going to get up. "Yeah, well. Thanks Crick." She nods, giving you a last smile.

You march up to Eva's room and open the door, you'd usually knock but she was just sitting on her bed reading. "Everything alright love?" Her brows furrow, going to get up. She comes over to you, putting her hand delicately on your cheeks. "You lied to me, why?" Confusion strikes her. But your instant with your words. "You know exactly what I'm talking about." - "Baby, hey. I said that so you wouldn't rub it in the others faces. Did you?" You felt angry for some reason. "Ofcourse not! That's not who I am. You know that." She hums in reply. "Look, they aren't bothered that they don't have that room, they're pretty happy being in the main."

"So whyd you lie to me?" You fold your arms, but you just looked so cute in her eyes. "Because I didn't want you knowing the real reason, not them." You ponder for a moment, huh? Why though.. "i don't understand." You look into her eyes, but hers get closer by the second. Backing you up against the wall. "Let me show you." She says into your neck. Her breath causing you to shiver visibly. Your mouth opens slightly, going to put your hand in her soft hair. Her lips make contact with with your skin. Beginning to suck hard.

Noises come out of you. Liking this a bit too much. "Eva-" You gasp as she bites. She wasn't listening, continuing to suck as you let out a noise of approval. But she abruptly removes her mouth, clearly done with the task. You whimper, wanting more. And she smirks, exactly how she wanted you. "Go down for dinner hm?" She bites her lip but you freak out. "But my neck-" "good. Let them see." Your eyes widen in size, but you were so drawn to Eva. You just wanted to do exactly as she asked.

That was now a few weeks ago, nothing has actually happened and you were growing incredibly frustrated. Why hadn't she made another move like that night? It was bugging you. So you did what you thought would get her attention. You wore a short summer dress that was tight around your breasts making them sit incredibly nicely. You wanted to go for a small walk down to the gardens, but before you could leave the house a hand is gripping your wrist. "What're you wearing?" You turn to look at her. "Clothes? Can I not?" Her brow raises.

"Things are very.. tight." She says as she observes. "Don't look then." You say with a cheeky smile, about to leave again. She scoffs, pulling you back considering her grip was still tight around your wrist. "Uh uh, don't do that." - "Or what? Why do you care so much."

"When you come around looking like this, don't think I don't recognize that shit."

"Bothered?" She tilts her head, looking at your lips. She honestly had no idea why she was putting off going further with you. Maybe beyond all the sexualness she had grown to truly care for you. The fear of hurting you in any way was evident. "My room, now." Something in you changes and you do just that, loving the way her voice sounded.

You make your way up there, standing in the middle of the room. "Are you afraid of something Eva?" She sh's you, going straight to kissing your neck. She didn't want to talk right now. "But it seemed-" "Silence angel, just relax." You let out a breath you had been holding in, trying hard not to go too mental. But you ofcourse failed. Miserably. You were now laying on your back against her bed. Her ontop of you. Your brain fuzzed over when her hand slides up your thighs, inching closer and closer to you. "You're so warm." Her voice was like a whisper inside your brain. Like she wasn't real.

"Please Eva, need you so bad." You pleaded desperately. She smirks down at you, moving her hand inside to feel just how wet you had become. You gasp yet again, not as prepared for her next move. She plays with you, exactly how she's been playing with your mind. But you loved it, craved it. It never felt real. It certainly did now though. "So wet, wonder who got you like this." You try to form any kind of words. "You Eva.. you made me wet." The confession makes her go insane. Adoring how much power she has over you.

"Precious precious girl." She softly says, lifting your dress up and planting her face directly over your clothed pussy. But her hands yank them off within an instant, seeing for herself just how wound she had you. "Goodness me, angel. Get to see it all for myself." Another whimper escapes you. "All mine." She then breathes, diving in immediately after saying that. "Fuck!" You screech, but a soft hand flies to your mouth. "Quiet baby, unless you want them to hear how I'm having you right now." You shrink as she says that, feeling a lil embarrassed. "Didn't think so.." She trails off, licking your cunt real good.

Causing you to bite her hand, knowing how loud you can get. "I mean, I'd like them to hear, all those pretty noises. How much of a mess you'll be when I'm done. All, because of me" Her finger makes way into your mouth, getting you to suck. "You're so well behaved huh?" Your mind goes blank feeling like an empty piece of paper. "What a good girl, very good." Your eyes shut as her tongue enters you, her pace fast. Making your head spin. "Eva." You mumble against her finger, feeling it coming quick. "Go on baby, let me finally taste you." And with a few more fucks of her tongue. That's what you did.

Cumming all of it into her mouth. And she couldn't be more happy. "So easy to make cum. Good to know."

[aliwritex]

some franco fluffy blurb? as much as i find that man hot i can't help but want to hug him and kiss him and cuddle him. i'm a lost cause

here’s a little wintery fluff (tho i am brazilian and this doesn’t make sense to me) enjoy! :)

“Baby, you don’t have anything to eat here”

You were visiting his new apartment in Spain for the first time. He had moved in a couple of weeks before but only now had the chance to actually stay for a bit before flying back home for the holidays.

You had gotten there the night before and ordered take out for dinner but when you got up in the morning you realized his kitchen was basically empty.

“Humh?” he hummed, walking into the small kitchen already drinking his mate.

“We need to shop. Don’t you have food?”

“I have protein shake” he opened the cupboard, “some rice and,” he walked over to check the fridge “to be honest I thought had some chicken left”

“Breakfast, baby. What about breakfast?” you looked up at him, starting to question how he even survived living alone, Franco just lifted his mate to show you. “That’s not breakfast, I thought you were supposed to be healthy, like an athlete”

“Well, it’s off season and I’m not even set in doing something next year.”

“Right, go get dressed, we’re having breakfast and going shopping. Now!” you said, squeezing past him in the small kitchen.

“At least your closet’s organized” you praised as you walked past him, wearing one of his sweaters with your jeans.

“Thanks?”

Franco got up from the couch where he had been waiting for you to get ready grabbing both of your coats and his keys before letting you out the door first.

“Scarf?” he asked by the door and you shook your head, already making your way down the stairs.

He went after you, making sure to get to the car first and open the door for you.

“What can you eat?” you asked as he got a kart in the grocery shop.

“Told you it’s off season, don’t care”

“Great, cause this weather makes me want a thick hot chocolate every second of the day”

“Thought you were planing on cooking something for lunch” he followed after you, into the sweets isle.

“I could do that. Some chicken, and a little pasta salad? Sounds good?” you looked back, catching him nodding, his face red from the cold. “I told you not to leave the house with wet hair, you’re freezing” you said, pulling his hood over his head and tugging the strings a little.

“I’m fine” he tugged the hood back loose.

“Sure, baby” you kissed his nose quickly, “just don’t freeze your fingers off.”

Back at his place he had watched you cook, annoyingly taking up space in the kitchen even though he wasn’t doing anything. He just wanted to be around, he had missed you in the last triple header and his time back in England so now he wanted to be close.

Thats why you ended up in his bed, all tangled up after lunch, taking a siesta in true spanish spirit. Franco was lying on his side, his head on your chest and his hand had sneaked up to hold your boob. You could feel his curls tickling your neck but it was fine, you loved to provide him comfort, be his rock when he needed.

Your fingers ran through the short hair on the back of his head, grazing softly on his neck.

“If you don’t stop i’m never getting up” he mumbled.

“I don’t want you to get up” you said into his hair, pulling him closer to you.

“Really?” he looked up at you, tired green eyes staring into your soul as his brows furrowed “I was thinking of making that chocolate you wanted”

You hummed just thinking about it “I’d love that right now”

“Then let me go” he whined

“No, take me with you”

“God, you’re so clingy!” he teased getting up from the bed “Come here”

He helped you attach to him like a coala as you giggled and walked to the kitchen, sitting you on the counter.

“Do you know how much I love you?” you asked, taking his face in your hands, thumbs rubbing his stubble

“I’m hoping it’s a lot”

“I think it might be more than a lot.” you kissed the tip of his nose and then his lips.

“I love you to, mi amor”

“I think I might just love you more” you told him and started kissing all over his face, cheeks, forehead, eyes, lips, anywhere you could reach.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ludos Imperiales 11

A/N: A little bit of wound-tending to make up for the wait of this chapter :)

Content Warnings: Blood and Gore, Gladiator Fights, Unnamed Character Death; Reader Tends to Rhys' wounds post fight (I know nothing about medical procedures, this is based off a Google search don't come for me)

Previous Chapter/ Masterlist

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Torchlights flicker in monstrous shapes across the rough stone walls, the path beyond ominously dark. The rattling of chains and distant sounds of wheezing coughs lead me forward as I pull the hood of my cloak a little lower.  

If I don’t find them down here, I think I might die anyway.

The bond is a bleeding thing in my chest, the tether echoing with agony that feels like it might just rend my soul from my flesh. I can’t breathe beyond the pain that pulses through me, that compels me to move faster in the dark. Danger is irrelevant. My mates need me. Nothing beyond that matters. 

The path curves to the left and slopes, loose rock crunching under my feet with every step. I’ve never been so aware of how loud my own footsteps are until now. 

Once the path levels out, it goes straight for what feels like miles, I keep a hand on the wall as I inch forward little by little, until another torch finally comes into view. It’s anchored above a door, the wood old and faded, the iron edges covered in rust. Beside it, on a stool that’s seen better days, sits a guard. Not a Praetorian, which is the only reason I know this reckless decision of mine will work. A Praetorian will give word back to my Father, but this male? He’s human, round enough that he’s using his stomach as a table to balance a plate piled with bread and grapes. Crumbs cling to the patchy stubble that rims his round face, eyes glassy. There’s at least four empty bottles around his sandaled feet. Not drunk enough to be asleep, but not awake enough to remember I was here.

I slide a bag of coins out of my belt and toss it at him as he registers my presence. “I was never here.”

He opens the bag, nods to himself and hands over the key to the door with a chuckle. “Or you could stay for the company, doll.”

I ignore him as I jam the key in the worn lock and force the door open. The fact that it doesn’t creak when it opens tells me I’m not the only one that’s been sneaking through these tunnels lately. 

I lock it behind me and slide the key into a pocket on the inside of my cloak. I don’t need anyone sneaking up behind me. 

The room I find myself in is leagues taller than the tunnels, the roof stretching high out of reach, supported by massive iron pillars. We’re far beneath the Pit floor, but the smell of rot and decay and damp earth assaults me as soon as I step in. 

There’s a door to the right, locked with a padlock, probably a way towards the Pit, but no Guards on this side. Why waste them when you know the occupants can’t fight their way out?

My heart clenches so tightly in my chest I almost can’t breathe.

The Orc crawls its way up the boulder, meaty hands grabbing for purchase on the lip of the rock, just missing Rhys’s shoulder. 

My mate’s movements are terrifyingly slow as he manages to roll onto his side, pushing Cassian’s shaking frame off his chest. 

Azriel is screaming beneath him, throwing rocks and debris, trying desperately to get himself airborne, but his wings aren’t strong enough. The membrane shutters and twitches and Azriel is a deep shade of green as he keeps flapping them harder and harder, managing to get up an inch or two before they give out. He hasn’t had enough time to heal!

The rocks make the Orc chuckle as it gets another hand on the lip of the rock and begins hauling himself over the edge. 

I can’t do anything but sit there uselessly, my heart in my throat, watching in terror as Rhys manages to sit up, face twisting in pain. Only desperation has him throwing a punch into the Orc’s good eye, but the blow lacks the muscle he needs to dislodge him, he has to throw them again and again until the monster slips an inch or so down the rock. 

Rhys manages to twist so he’s sitting on the edge, using his heels to kick at the Orc’s hands and keep him from climbing back up, but it’s not doing enough. Cassian can’t yet help him, any attempt to sit up has his whole body shaking, the twitching starting all over again with each and every moment. 

I watch as Azriel’s gaze sweeps over the arena, looking for any remaining weapons, anything he can use to his advantage. There’s nothing, everything that had been left on that floor is ash. His gaze sweeps to our booth, past Amarantha and my Father, before settling on me. Without the bond it is hard to be sure, but that look, the way his lips droop, the way his hazel eyes turn pleading, it feels an awful lot like an apology.

There aren’t enough words to describe the terror that lodges itself in my throat as his shadows dislodge from behind his back, writhing through the air like a living breathing thing. 

“You said the gorsian would keep them at bay!” The Emperor snarls at Amarantha. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him find a flaw in her and it would be an entirely more unsettling experience if Azriel’s shadows weren’t pulling the Orc from his perch!

The crowd is in an uproar, booing and hissing and throwing things into the arena in outrage. The amount of money the crowd will lose has to be astronomical. And while they may lose the money on a technicality, Azriel will still have cheated. 

It’s like a bad dream, watching the Orc’s arms pinwheel as the shadows drag him through the air towards the yawning chasm of lava below. 

The Gamemaker’s mage flails his hands frantically, trying to shift the floor around in time to keep the Game going. 

Half a dozen of those disks come shooting out the walls, all aimed in Azriel’s direction, the buzzing loud enough to be heard over the screaming of the crowd. 

The ground splinters beneath Azriel’s feet, and even as he jumps to safety, a single shadow peels away from the writhing mass around the Orc, arching towards the Mage like an airborne snake. 

“Az no!” Rhys screams. 

But the shadows and their master pay him no mind as the tendril snags the Mage around the throat and hurtles him down into his own lava!

The crowd suddenly goes deadly silent.

The ground stops shifting, the loss of magic making the pieces of rock floating around the air come crumbling down. Rhys manages to get an arm under Cassian’s shoulders and hauls him off their descending perch so they don’t get smashed as it tumbles, their fall so hard I can practically feel the impact in my teeth. 

They land at the same time Azriel’s shadows bring the Orc down into the rapidly disappearing lava, the creature’s massive bulk just barely hitting the magma before the rock closes over his head, effectively sealing him in a fiery tomb. It all happens so fast there’s not even time for the male to scream before he’s gone and the world finally stops moving. 

The tether in my chest is finally reachable, leading me through the twisting tunnels, past cages filled with grizzly, slumbering males. The stench of decay and infection gets stronger the deeper I go, fighting against the heavy press of booze and opioid smoke. Can’t have rebelling gladiators if they’re too drunk and high off their winnings to fight back. 

At least it’s late enough that my sneaking doesn’t alert too many people.  I’m sure this whole place has been in enough uproar as is.

“You fucking knew, didn’t you?” The Emperor snarls so loud I see Eris and Tamlin flinch in their seats.

I don’t let myself look at him, don’t fold in my shoulders and duck my head to try and make myself as small as possible. My attempts at playing the subservient little girl have failed me. Fainting like a weak-hearted child did nothing but piss him off. If we are to survive, we have to be smarter than this. 

I have to be smarter than this. 

So far, playing this Game by my Father’s rules has gotten us to this point. It has brought us nothing but pain and misery. 

I don’t want to play anymore. I want to win.

I told Azriel that I wouldn’t let anything come between us, and I meant it. Maybe that means it's time to do this another way. 

“Yes. I knew.”

The silence in the booth is deafening.

I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting every instinct I’ve ever had to run and hide. 

I am not weak. I am not helpless. I beat that Raven; I will beat its Master too. 

“I was curious,” I continue, drawing a deep breath to steady myself as I turn to face him. The playing field was never going to be level between us. He’s spent my entire life making sure that I would always be small and weak and too scared to move. “They seemed so eager for the opportunity I presented them. I wanted to know how far they would take it.”

“And yet you did not consult me on this?” The Emperor snarls, not buying it. 

“It needed to look real. I needed them to think I was vulnerable.”

“And what have they shown you?” The contempt in his voice is clear. 

Almost as clear as the confusion Eris is trying really hard to keep off his face. At least for now, he keeps his end of the bargain. 

“They’re trying to get close. See if they can use me. The Shadowsinger slipped up with the shadows one night. I told him I’d keep his secret in hopes of finding what else they’re hiding. It is a long game. One I need more time in, but I assure you, Father, it was never for ill intent. I am only acting on the good of the Empire. You can have the twins look into my head if you’d like confirmation.”

Maybe that’s too much of a lie, but I’ll find a way to use it to my advantage. Whatever I need to do to ensure my mates walk out of this; whatever roll becomes necessary for me to take on I will take it. 

He runs a hand over his mouth, thinking. If this had happened in the Senate Meeting during one of his episodes, I’d be dead already, but he’s in a good mood today, far clearer headed than he was then. It might save them. 

At least for today. 

The Emperor stands. It’s customary for him to give a judgment before a death, the crowd is waiting to see what he will do now that one happened before his intervention. 

“You truly expect me to believe that you’re capable of handling this sort of thing?”

I bite back the bile rising in my throat. There is only one way I get him onboard with this; only one way I ensure he doesn’t kill them right here and now. “Weakness must be purged from the Empire.” The words stick like tar in the back of my throat. “You told me that story every night as a child.”

He goes very, very still. Only he would know which story I’m referring to; I doubt he’d tell anyone else that the gods cursed him with a mate. 

“The Shadowsinger thinks he’s your mate?” 

I raise my chin, hoping he can’t see how hard it is for me to swallow, how hard it is to even get air down. He will not kill them for this. No, this is grounds for him to test me, to see if I can purge the supposed weakness he has always seen in me and rise to the occasion, or if he can finally get rid of me. 

It’s my last card. 

“They all do.”

Romulus swears beside me. I don’t look at him. Only at my Father, who suddenly looks a little green. He has to know what mates were considered before the Empire changed the story, has to know that legend says mates are to be equals. I’ve just put a giant fucking target right over my chest.

But I’ll take it. It means the arrows are pointed in my direction, instead of there’s.

“You can’t be serious,” Amarantha starts, but the Emperor raises a hand to silence her.

“This is a grave weakness, child.”

“And an advantage to your cause. Illyria doesn’t share your sentiment with mates. They think it can be used to turn me against you. With enough time, they’ll tell me everything, and I in turn, will report it back to you. This rebellion nonsense can finally be put to bed, and the Empire will have the peace it deserves.”

“And when the time comes, you will kill them, as your Emperor demands.”

Red tints my vision, even as I bow my head. “That has always been the plan, Father.”

He smooths his hands over his robes. “Then they live to see another day.”

I have to clench my hands in my skirts to try and hide the shudder of relief that rolls through my body. I’ve bought them another day. “Thank you, your Majesty.”

The Emperor turns to face the crowd, the Guard flanking him, just in case Azriel’s shadows decide they want to try and yank him out of the booth this time. Before he reaches the railing to address the crowd, he says to his Captain, “Instruct the Gamesmaker to bring out the posts. I want them flogged for their disobedience.”

My stomach pitches. No no no!

“I said they’d live. I didn’t say this behavior would go unpunished. We can’t have the other gladiators thinking they can cheat and get away with it.”

I find Rhys first, his cell cramped and dark, his body dumped onto the dust covered floor like he’s nothing, no better than an animal. I can see the rust covered chain tied to the wall, looped around a new collar. The Emperor made sure the gorsian was stronger this time around. The edge of it juts farther out, scratching back and forth across his shoulders with every wheeze of a breath he draws. The metal has to be scraping against the gashes carved into his bare back. 

There’s no more mirthroot in my system, I never went home to give Anise the chance, and without it, the bond becomes a roaring, living thing in my chest. Darkness leakes from my fingers, hissing as it slithers out my skin.

How could I let this happen?

It takes every ounce of self-control I possess, every bit of my Mother’s training to keep my powers from tearing the doors off their hinges. My hands shake as I slide the key through the lock and slip inside.

The iron door screams on rusted hinges as I open it, and Rhys groans as he tries to lift his head off the floor to see who’s coming for him. 

My heart might just bleed out my chest as I kneel beside him, gently running my hands through his hair, matted with sweat and blood. They’ll pay for this! Every last goddamn one of them.

“Shouldn’t… be here… Princess,” his voice is raw from screaming. There was no tuning out the sound of it as they tore through his flesh with a metal spiked flagrum over and over and over again. I hadn’t needed to pretend to be lighthearted, I’d grabbed a pale and vomited twice before they were done. Much to Amarantha’s glee and Eris’s evident pity. 

“I’m sorry.” This is all my fault! This is so much worse than the brand. I could blame Rhys for that one, but this? This one’s on me. I hadn’t done anything to stop it! “I’m sorry.”

Rhys rests his forehead on my knee and I can’t stop my hands from the frantic patterns I comb through his matted hair, trying in vain to soothe him. “You didn’t…” he grunts, trying to find a more comfortable position and blood falls freely from one of the deeper wounds that spans from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. “Didn’t make Az do that.”

The pack of supplies I’d brought with me feels inadequate at best, but the sight of fresh blood knocks some sense into me and I start grabbing gauze and some oils I’d found at a small market in the street. An old Elvish healer has said olive oil and honey would help keep out infection, I’d bought out every bottle she’d had.

“I should have done more.” My hands shake as I try to find the best place to hold the gauze to stop the bleeding. There isn’t a patch of undamaged skin, any pressure at all will be horrific. It takes a solid thirty seconds of reaching for one spot, then changing my mind and searching for another, before he mumbles out something that sounds like “above my hip, love”. I settle my hand as lightly as I can as directed and even then the noise he lets out sounds like a cat being stepped on. 

Tears drip down my cheeks, I have to turn my head to make sure they don’t accidentally land on his ruined flesh. “I’ll fix this. I’ll find a way to make this better.”

He draws a shaky breath beneath my hands. “How… are we alive?”

Figures he’d ask me that first.

I start at the spot he’d directed, dripping a bit of oil into the most shallow cuts to weigh my options here.

His whole body spasms like it had when he’d been electrocuted and I stop what I’m doing entirely. “Fuck!”

“Shit! Shit I’m sorry, the Elf said it would help.”

Through his teeth, Rhys hisses, “I’m sure she’s right but fuck me!” 

I just make everything worse in every department, don’t I?

“Um, you want to try the honey instead?” Thank the Mother I never had the notion to become a Healer, I would have been absolutely awful at it. 

“I’m not hungry.”

“For your back, Rhys.”

“Oh,” he chuckles softly, realizing the mistake, then immediately groans from the way it pulls on his back. “Either has got to be better than the salt water.”

The air leaves my lungs in a rush. Forget the long game, I’m burning this whole godsdamned Empire down tonight.

“Easy, Darling,” he coos, and our bond ripples with a warmth I don’t deserve. “Just talk me through it.”

I give myself a little shake to clear the red tinting my vision. They will all pay for this.

“Tell me what happened last night? Why couldn’t we feel you?”

“Anise drugged me,” I say and I can’t tell if he flinches because I’ve started again with the oil or if that’s in response to what I’ve said. “Some kind of faebane and mirthroot mixture. She said my Mother had it made in case… in case I ever lost control.”

In case I ever turned into my Father.

“Mother’s tits!” Still not sure if that’s in regard to the oil or the story. 

“I was trying to get to you, to tell you that…” the coughing of one of the males in the cell across me reminds me of the lack of privacy. “That I’d found something that might be useful, but you were already gone and she jabbed me in the back of the neck with a needle. She must have done it again this morning, I don’t remember anything until arriving at the Arena.”

His breathing is labored as I work, body tense beneath me. I should have brought mirthroot, as unpleasant as my own experience had been, it could have eased his pain.

“Guard came quick last night,” he says through his teeth. 

The last twenty-four hours had really gotten away from me, I swear on the Mother I’ll never let myself be that powerless again. 

“I’m sorry.” 

The oil makes the blood look like it’s flowing freely, once I’m satisfied that it's covered enough, I reach for the bandages. 

“Don’t,” he says gently. “They’ll know you were here.”

My chest constricts. How can I tell him what I've done? He was already so angry about the marriage contract, this might just break him, but if I tell him the truth, would it give me an opportunity to help him. I can explain it away to the Emperor in the morning, claim I was trying to strengthen their trust in me by pretending to betray him. 

“I won’t leave you down here like this.”

“It will only make it worse,” he insists. 

“Maybe not,” my voice betrays me, nothing more than a cracked whisper in the darkness of these awful dungeons.

The bond ripples with enough concern I can feel a faint hum on both Azriel and Cassian’s end. At least I know now that they are all conscious, and that the gorsian hasn’t removed our ability to feel each other like the faebane had.

Rhys’s own voice shakes and the pain I can hear in it makes me look away from him when he asks, “What did you do?”

When I don’t immediately answer, he tries to sit up, tries to turn and look at me and I have to pin his palms to the floor to keep him still. “Don’t do that!”

“Tell me you didn’t marry any of those pricks? Tell me you didn’t barter another piece of yourself away-”

He’s going to tear his back open beyond repair if he keeps trying to move like this. “I told him we’re mates.”

I might as well have sucked the air from the room! Rhys goes deathly still beneath me and I think I liked it better when he was yelling. 

I try not to worry my lip between my teeth. “My Father murdered his own mate because he believes mates are a weakness that must be purged. I needed him to think I was trying to do the same.”

He doesn’t say anything, the minutes stretching out between us as I start using a bit of the honey to stick the strips of bandages over his back. The quieter the cell becomes the more the tether betweens us howls in pain. Maybe I need to resign myself to the fact that I might have been right all along; maybe this was always meant to end with him hating me. 

“I can’t beat him at his game by just sitting there uselessly. It wasn’t working. I needed to try another way.” If he can’t get past this fine, I will not let myself regret my decisions. I can’t afford to. They have to work. I have to make them work.

It might break my heart beyond repair if he can’t find it in him to understand where I’m coming from, but I’ll take that pain over the agony of him being dead. If I hadn’t acted, he could be another body rotting on the Pit floor right now. I do not need his permission, nor will I sit here and hold my breath for his forgiveness. We have to be willing to adapt. I have been so stubbornly set in my ways for years; I won’t let the stubbornness that ruined my Father ruin me.

I’m finished with the bandages before he speaks again. “When we went to war with the Empire, I gave up a lot of myself to be what my people needed. I wore whatever mask was necessary. I have worn cruelty and hatred in equal measure. There were days, weeks, where I looked into the mirror and didn’t recognize who was staring back at me. I can’t… I can’t let you do the same thing to yourself.”

I let my fingers drift back through his matted hair. Nothing would make me happier than to take him home, to get him cleaned up and into a bed that was safe; into a place where I knew he could rest. One day I will give him that. One day there will be no more dungeons or bloodshed or torture. One day we won’t have to swap horror stories to comfort each other. I can hold him and he can hold me and there will be no more pain between us. There will not need to be a question about whether we can live with our decisions.

“I can live with my decisions,” I say. “Let me help you shoulder this burden. You do not have to be alone to carry it.”

“People die when I let them in,” he whispers.

I can’t hold him like I ought, not without hurting him, so I allow myself a moment to lay down on the floor next to him, the filth covering the old stones seeping through my skirts as I lean my forehead against his.

“The things I love have a tendency to be taken from me.”

The bond hums between us, warm and alight even in this darkness. We are one and the same, Rhys and I. “Me too,” I confess. “But I never did anything to stop it then. I won’t ever do that again.”

His breath stutters out of him, a twinge of fear slithering down the tether to me. “You’re sure I can’t convince you to take that boat you talked about?”

That boat is long gone. 

And so is that girl who was so scared she’d need it. 

I can do this. We can do this. “We can beat him. Together.”

He nods gently, like it’s too much effort to do anything more, it probably is. “Together.”

I feel a twinge of pain flash across my left hand, just a flash and then it’s gone. Almost like something bit me. In this cell, bugs are a given. I raise my hand to take a look, and am surprised to find a band of black ink around my ring finger, a trio of stars circling the thin band of what looks like a tattoo.

Even wounded, the smirk Rhy’s flashes me is infectious. “Illyrian bargains come with ink.”

“You’re impossible,” I say, rolling my eyes. He’s honestly worse than Az.

He manages to tilt his head just enough to kiss the tip of my nose, his lips cracked and dusted with dried blood still. “If you’re going to make life threatening statements to the Emperor, so am I.”

I won’t admit to him that I like it, not now anyway. “I should go check on the others.”

“What if there were other parts of me that needed tending to?” He pouts.

I stand and dust off my skirts, rolling my eyes again. “You’ll survive.”

I push the door to the cell open. “I’ll bring some mirthroot next time. So you can sleep.”

He waits until the door is locked again. “Be careful, Princess.”

I won’t lie and tell him I will. The time for being careful is over.

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Thank you all for your patience! Hope you enjoyed the new chapter! As always, if you want to be added to the tag list, let me know :)

[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton Chapter 2, Part 1

masterpost - this is just a first draft, please no editing or concrit! I have had a migraine for over a week now (。﹏ 。)

“Are you even sure that they’re here with us now?” Mina asked as she shuffled her tarot cards almost absentmindedly.

Mina was taking Danny’s request apparently very seriously. They had moved from the cozy kitchen into the appropriately mysterious reading room. Mina sat in her navy blue, wingback chair. Danny stood next to the more demure guest chair at the table. The candles were even lit.

He picked up on of the coins scratched with odd symbols and turned it over in his fingers. He knew that Mina would use them as oracle coins with her cards, a way to add more depth to what was being told, but they were basically a complete mystery to him.

Danny set the coin back down. “They’re here. I think they feel bad for the seizure so they’ve been sticking close. There’s this… you know old monitors and screens? The big chunky ones. If you got close to them you could basically feel the static electricity coming off of them? That’s what their presence feels like to me.”

“Oh, huh. The cards can sometimes feel that way to me when I’m picking them,” Mina said. Her head was tilted thoughtfully, her eyes just slightly absent. “I wonder if they’re less ghost and more magic. Or if they were magic when they were alive? Magic of course being used loosely here for a variety of otherwordly and arcane forces.”

“Maybe,” Danny agreed with a helpless little shrug. “Like I’ve said, they don’t feel like a normal ghost, but if they’re not a ghost I don’t know why they came to me. Someone like you would be better at helping them if they’re magic and not dead.”

“On the surface, sure, but like, you don’t feel like a ‘normal’—” Mina made airquotes with her fingers around the word normal. “—human yourself.”

“Say what now?”

“Well you don’t!” Mina finally set the cards down so that she could motion freely as she talked. “It’s not something that the average person is going to pick up on, but to an adapt like me you also feel like you’re an adapt or something. Heck, I bet that you’ve met some people that you just weird out for no real reason you can tell. That’s the otherness.”

Well, she was right, he had freaked people out before, but he had always thought that was just a bad day and his ghostliness was bleeding through a little or something. He wasn’t magic.

“Now sit down,” Mina said.

Danny blinked. “I’m not who you’re reading.”

“No, but I can’t read them, so I’ll have to read them through you,” Mina explained like it was the most obviously thing.

It was best just to trust Mina, Danny figured, and took the seat across from her. Immediately, Hubris jumped up in Danny’s lap and nudged at his fingers for a pet. Mina stacked the deck straight and slid it over.

“Shuffle these for me. Don’t try to focus inside or on a question or anything, just focus on them.”

“Them as in them and not them as in the cards, right?”

Mina rolled her eyes. “Yes, Danny.”

“Look, I’m just making sure! I don’t do magic,” Danny said as he started to shuffle. It was a little hard to do so, what with Hubris trying to bat the cards away, but Danny did his very best to focus on the ghost. He thought about how it felt to interact with them. What they looked like. What the echo of their nearly there voice sounded like.

The tags on Hubris’ collar zapped Danny with a sudden zap of static electricity and Danny put down the deck to shake his hand out. Mina snapped them up as soon as he did. He guessed he was done shuffling.

“Ghost friend,” Mina called out. (Danny thought the ‘friend’ bit was generous.) “If you can hear me, focus on what got you in this mess.”

Danny leaned forward to try, as always, to see if he could sense something from Mina as she cut the cards, fanned out several on the table in front of her, and ran her fingers along them. As always, he didn’t see a damn thing about what made her pick the card she did.

Mina gave the sort of sucked in breath that pulled her bottom lip into her teeth as she flipped over the first card. It was the Tower. The bricks detailed by gold foil outlines that paled in comparison to the large lightning bolt striking it.

“Not good?” Danny asked.

“Very not good. You know how Death isn’t actually a card to fear?”

Danny nodded.

Mina tapped the card. “This is the card to fear.”

“Huh. Damn.”

[msmk11]

Mean

James Potter x Evans!fem!reader

CW: Hurt/comfort; fluff; James is a bit arrogant; brief cheating; reader has ponytail (sorry I usually try and make r as neutral as possible)

Summary: James Potter is a very mean boy

A/n: inspired by Little Women the 2019 version, specifically the scene where Laurie confesses his love to Amy (some lines are directly from the movie and I don’t claim to own them.)

You’re sitting on a blanket under the huge willow by the Great Lake, it finally being warm enough to enjoy the fresh air. You have your sketch pad out, drawing your newest- okay that’s a lie, oldest- muse. James lays lazily in the shade, tossing his snitch into the air repeatedly. You hum at him disapprovingly and he looks over, his hazel eyes glinting at you mischievously.

“What?”

You sigh and shake your head, returning to your drawing, “nothing, nothing.”

He sits up and leans towards you, his devilishly handsome face propped up by his palm. James tugs your ponytail, “don’t hum at me so disdainfully and expect me not to say anything about it, Evans.”

You don’t look at him, instead keeping your focus on the sketch in your hands, “I just….Well I wish you’d make yourself useful instead of lounging around and playing with your snitch.”

James smirks, “and what would you have me do dear saint?”

“Study hard to join your father’s company after we graduate.”

He groans and flops back down, “that’s not fair. You know I don’t want to pursue hair care for the rest of my life. Anyhow, I’m almost guaranteed a spot on the Magpies as soon as I’m out of here. There’s no point in studying anymore.”

You look at him and tut, “You won’t be able to play quidditch forever, James. What are you going to do once you retire?”

“Enjoy life with the boatloads of money I’ll have earned and inherited.”

Your stomach twists and you look at him with a little bit of disgust.

“Don’t like at me like that,” James pleads softly.

“I’m embarrassed for you, Potter,” you grunt, “you throw away your intelligence and hard work because money and your reputation is always there as a fallback.”

He scoffs but it doesn’t carry too much malice, “I really don’t want to hear it, Evans. Sure, you may work harder than me, and be smarter, but everyone knows Amos Diggory is set to propose to you within the month, and he’s nearly as wealthy as me.”

“I’m not dating him for his money,” you say, voice trembling.

“It certainly helps.”

“Amos is kind and sweet. He knows how to care for me, and I care for him.

James sits up entirely, looking at you, “but do you love him?”

Your heart stills as you look up at him, his hazel eyes boring into your soul, “I just said that I care for him. Pay attention!”

James reaches out, but instead of tugging your ponytail, he runs a hand over it once, “caring is not the same as loving.”

You turn away, moving his hand out of your hair, “why do you care, James?”

“I just find it odd that an Evans girl would do anything but marry for love.”

You don’t glorify him with an answer. Instead, you hand him your sketchbook, “here.”

James’ eyes soften as he takes your sketchbook into his hands, your fingers gently brushing his. His fingers trace over the gentle lines and slopes of his portrait, “this is really good. You’re really talented.”

“I just draw for fun,” you say, heat rising to your cheeks, “it’s nothing special.”

“So humble, Evans. You discredit yourself.”

He goes to hand your book back to you, and a loose page falls out.

“What’s this?”

Your eyes widen, “wait!”

James smirks and looks at you teasingly, “when did you draw this?”

You groan and put your head in your hands, “you were never supposed to see that!” Your eyes peek through your fingers, “I drew it first year, during broom class. Remember how I broke my ankle?”

He hums, “I remember. You had to sit out.”

“I drew instead. You were just one of many subjects.”

His eyes glimmer, “but you chose to keep this?”

“I guess I knew one day that we’d be good friends.”

James smile falters just slightly, almost subtly enough that you don’t notice it. You don’t mention it, instead taking the loose page back from him and shutting your book. You stare out at the glittering lake, enjoying the cool breeze on your face. If you were better at landscapes, you’d draw it. Alas, you know any drawing you’d make would do the beautiful Scottish countryside injustice.

“Don’t marry him.”

You startle and look at James, who is looking at you so intently and so pitifully that your heart clenches and your stomach drops.

“What?”

“Amos. Don’t marry him, Evans.”

Your breath catches in your throat and your hands begin to shake, “why?”

“Why? You know why?” He says desperately, almost pleadingly.

Tears spring to your eyes and you jump up. You point your trembling finger at him, “No. No. No. James. S-stop it. Stop it. You’re being mean.”

James stands up and moves closer to you, grabbing your hands, “How am I being mean?”

You rip your hands from his grasp and try to keep your lower lip from quivering, “I have been second to Lily my whole life, in everything. And I won’t be what you settle for just because you cannot have her. I won’t-“ you hiccup loudly, “I won’t do it. Not when I’ve spent my entire life loving you.”

You turn and storm away towards the castle, a sob escaping your mouth. You clutch your shirt painfully.

“Wait! Wait!” James calls, running after you.

He grabs your wrist and you gasp as he pulls you back into his chest. Your noses are inches apart.

Gently, tentatively, he reaches his hand out to cup your face. He runs his thumb over your cheekbone, wiping your tears away.

“Please,” he says hoarsely.

“I love you. I really do. I- I thought I loved Lily, but it was just infatuation. Spending all of this time with you recently has made me realize I never really knew love at all. Not until you. I think about you all the time, even when I’m asleep. I can never take my eyes off you. And my heart pounds desperately in my chest every time you even glance my way. I’m so hopelessly and desperately in love with you. Please, please say you won’t marry him.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. Every word in your brain screams for you to deny him. To make the smart choice. But your heart, your heart knows what you really want. What you need.

“James….”

He leans in and captures your lips, and you melt into his hold.

Finally.