#this fic is still far from done so don’t expect anything soon

[euthymiya]

you want to change my mind (and maybe you already have) — ft. wriothesley.

art credits: rana_co_co on twitter

synopsis: november 23rd comes and goes just like every year. wriothesley looks at you in his bed, curled under his sheets—pretty. soft. kind. a gateway to a cushy sort of life he never envisioned for himself. this birthday, he finally realizes that neuvillette sending you down for weekly compliance checks at the fortress was the first time celestia had ever favored him

word count: 8.7k — this was truly agonizing. just know that

before you read: female reader ; reader works at the palais ; work relationships ; fuck buddies who clearly are smitten ; newly turned duke wriothesley ; my own personal headcanons about his childhood and past (spoilers for his backstory ahead!) ; mentions of murder and child trafficking (his canon backstory) ; mentions of serial murders and disappearances of women (the canon missing women’s case so major fontaine spoilers if you’re not done) ; very lightly implied sexual comments about reader made by an inmate ; violence, injuries, and blood descriptions (wriothesley defends her honor) ; blow jobs ; cum eating ; semi public office sex ; exhibitionism ; wet dreams + male maaturbation ; cunnilingus ; unprotected vaginal sex (he pulls out) ; fluff and getting together

commentary: a little late, but here’s my birthday fic for my birthday boy who owns my whole heart <3_<3

“Duke,” you say as soon as you walk into his office, making Wriothesley want to hide in the corner, “You’re late.”

He saw it coming, really. Knew it would be the first thing you’d point out as soon as your shoes would thump against his quiet, peaceful office floor. Well, peaceful until now—now you’re here to disrupt that tranquility with demands that he’d like to politely ignore. Unfortunately, because Celestia have never exactly favored him, that’s not an option.

“Ah, my favorite babysitter. Whatever do you mean?” He smiles at you innocently. He knows exactly what you mean, of course—and he knows you know it, too, because you stare blankly at him before rolling your eyes. But there’s still a small hint of fondness underneath the staged irritation. He can’t help but throw you a little playful wink as he notices it.

As far as babysitters go, you’re not bad, exactly.

That’s how Wriothesley likes to think of you. His weekly babysitter. You come in once a week, keep an eye on him, check and make sure he’s doing what he’s supposed to and following all the rules, tattle on him if he does anything wrong, and you force him to do his homework.

Neuvillette likes to call it an administrative compliance audit. You make sure Wriothesley is keeping things at the Fortress running smoothly, get an update on how the standing situation is, report back to Neuvillette so he stays informed, and make sure that no paperwork is submitted or completed past the expected deadline. 

Wriothesley says babysitter, you say compliance officer. Tomayto, tomahto. 

“You’re late to sending in the quarterly reviews of the most recent batch of prisoners,” you hum, jotting that down in your convenient little notepad that is the bane of Wriothesley’s existence. You return his cheeky wink with one of your own. Every time you pull it out, he knows he’s about to get a write-up. Every time he gets a write-up, he knows a letter from Neuvillette is coming with a lecture about his responsibilities and how seriously he should take them.

Fighting back a groan, he rubs his face tiredly as he mumbles, “I’m getting to it.”

“Yes,” you agree, “You are. It’s not exactly optional—the sooner, the better, of course.”

“You love pushing my buttons, don’t you?” He looks up at you petulantly. 

One thing about Wriothesley is that his rugged, almost tactless demeanor only adds to his charm. He wears formal wear only because he has to—which, to be fair, his outfit choices are considered formal by a very loose definition as is. He keeps his tie knotted loosely and borderline informal. He has a rather sarcastic and playful way of speaking professionally. 

All of these things should scream that he's a misfit for this position, but you think they almost make him the perfect candidate. In an odd sort of way, he’s not as stiff as a board and at risk of using his position to his advantage. He’s down to Earth enough that you can trust him not to take his role too seriously and run the Fortress like his own personal military grounds. 

Grinning, you walk over to him, seating yourself on the armrest of his chair before tracing a finger along his bicep as you lean in and murmur against his ear, “C’mon, they’re not so bad. If you finish it up, you might even have a nice little reward waiting for you after.”

He swallows thickly for a moment before reconstructing his carefully crafted composure. Raising a brow, he gives you an amused—although shaky—smile as he hums, “Oh? Is this some sort of incentive?”

“You could say that,” you bite your lip to keep from letting out a giggle. “Incentive. Reward. Compensation. Whatever you want to call it.”

 “Can I pick what I get?”

“Perhaps if you’re lucky, I’ll let you have your way,” you tease.

Neuvillette sends you from the Palais to the Fortress to make reports about the Fortress of Meropide after observation. It’s imperative, of course, that during this weekly assignment, you stay fair and unbiased. That seemed easy enough when you took on the job.

That is until you met Wriothesley. 

It happens by accident. One second, you’re letting him walk you around the underwater prison that he calls his home, taking notes of the way prisoners do their jobs and how they're compensated. (The name credit coupon still makes you giggle sometimes, but you keep it to yourself for the sake of avoiding his glare). The next second, you’re slipping on leaked water from a burst pipe and heading straight for your demise of a face-first fall onto the hard metal flooring of a tunnel. 

Wriothesley catches you with ease. Effortlessly, his strong arms wrap around you to catch you against his chest before you have a chance to fall any further. It’s cliche, you think—how this weird difference between professionalism and personal attraction gets blurred more and more every day. How it all started with your body being pulled flushed against his for the sake of avoiding a rather painful injury, only to have both of your lips be mere inches away from each other as your wide eyes bore into each other. 

You never knew who kissed first. It never mattered. All you know is that you’ve been kissing in the comfort of his office ever since. Sometimes in his bed, too. He tries to convince you in riskier, less-than-appropriate spots, too—but luckily, between the two of you, one of you has a sense of proper risk calculation. 

That person would not be him.

“Would you do me the honors and make me a lucky man today, then?” He asks sweetly, blinking innocently before his arms wrap around you, pulling you from the armrest of his chair to his lap, comfortably perched for him to have easy access to your lips. 

“I’ll have to see if my schedule allows it,” you say slyly, pretending to look at his clock as you add, “I’m a busy woman, you know. They demand my time underwater and above land. Can you believe the requirements they have for me?”

“Sounds like you’re severely overworked,” he nods in faux sympathy, shaking his head as though he really feels for your predicament. You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands firmly grip your hips.

That’s the thing about Wriothesley. It’s just so easy to be charmed.

“I am,” you murmur, leaning in.

He closes the gap as he mumbles, “I can think of a way or two to take the edge off.”

With that, your lips meet. It’s not the first time, and the Gods certainly know you hope it’s not the last. Your mouth slots against him perfectly enough that it feels like sunlight on water—warm, bright ripples of light gliding along the surface that waits for them to make their home against it. 

He brings you closer, dragging your body up his lap as he kisses you deeper, groaning lowly into your mouth as your fingers tug at the roots of his hair. You feel it between your bodies—the proof of his arousal is clear and so hard to miss that you can’t help but reach a hand between your bodies to get a better feel.

 “Already?” You grin, pressing your hand over his hard, clothed cock. He grunts, glaring at you as he stiffens in his chair at the way your hand offers limited friction to a rather delicate issue. “I’m flattered.”

“Great,” he hisses, “Why don’t you do something about it, then?”

“Here?” You gasp dramatically, “In your office? What if someone walks in?”

“No one would disrupt the Duke without knocking first, sweetheart,” he gives you a smug, self-assured wink. You snort before shaking your head, slowly climbing off of his lap before sinking between his legs onto the floor. His breath hitches—sure, you’ve taken him in your mouth before. But it’s never been here and not there. Never in his office and at his desk instead of the bedroom that's just a few feet away. 

It feels more intimate there. He almost misses that sort of atmosphere. But there’s something filthy enough about watching you unzip his pants and slowly free his cock just enough in his office that almost makes his brain short circuit too.

So beautiful, he wants to tell you. Because you are. And he thinks he will, but just as he opens his mouth, his door interrupts him with a knock, vibrating through its metal surface. You pause. He almost curses under his breath.

“Your Grace?” A voice comes from behind his door. “There are urgent matters I must report to you.”

“Not now,” he grits, fighting back a groan as you take this opportunity to throw him a sly, almost evil grin before wrapping a hand around his cock, leaning in to run your tongue along the slit and get a taste of his pre cum. “I…I’m busy.”

“But Nurse Sigewinne has insisted we tell you immediately.”

Well, fucking hell. It’s not like he can exactly ignore that—and you seem to know it, too, because you blink up at him with innocently expectant eyes. So, gritting his teeth, he gently shoves your under his desk and rolls his chair to cover himself under the open leg space where you’re cramped. 

He clears his throat. “C-come in. I’m late on documents to the Chief Justice, so it better be quick.”

You hold back a snort at his convenient excuse that happens to consist of papers he’s really in no rush to get finished at all. He fights back the urge to glare at you, instead peeking up as soon as the door to his office opens and a guard steps in. 

“You’re Grace,” he nods politely. Respectfully. A small part of Wriothesley is still not used to being addressed so…seriously. So formally. So importantly. “The head nurse would like to bring to your attention that a group of inmates have been ganging up on others. This has been the third fight this week, and the infirmary is busier than usual from flu season for her to properly handle such constant injuries.”

He’s only half listening. It’s hard to pay attention when your lips are wrapped around his cock, sucking slowly as you move your head up and down his length. Warm. Hot. Tight. Your mouth feels obscenely good—he can’t help but let out a low groan of pleasure. 

The guard flinches slightly at the sound. “I apologize for springing this on you while you’re so busy, Your Grace. The head nurse insisted I tell you as soon as possible for things to be handled properly.”

It’s clear the guard is oblivious to the way Wriothesley is hardly holding onto his thinly kept composure. Your tongue traces that heavy, thick vein along the side of his cock. You take him as far as you can, bobbing your head up and down impressively well along his length for being stuck in a tightly cramped place like under his desk. 

He grabs the edge of his desk, gritting his teeth as he lets out a sharp inhale when your hand reaches to fondle the delicate, sensitive sacs of his balls. 

“Your fault,” he hisses abruptly. 

The guard shrinks back, furrowing his brows in confusion as he stammers, “Y-your Grace?”

“I mean,” he clears his throat, barely fighting back a low moan as your swirl your tongue around his tip, “I-I mean it’s…it’s not your fault. That’s all.”

If relief was an expression, it would certainly be the cowering guard’s expression in front of him. Deciding it's time he put both of them out of their misery, Wriothesley barely grits out, “I’ll be done with this report for Monsieur Neuvillette shortly. It’s very—v-very time sensitive.”

You let out a quiet snort that only he hears at that. He nudges you warningly with his knee. 

“As…as soon as I am, I’ll drop a visit to the infirmary and have a chat with the group involved,” he continues. “J-just…fuck…just give me a few minutes.”

The guard rushes to insist a panicked, “No, no, no! No rush! Take your time, Your Grace. I’ll leave you to it—just wanted to get the message across as the head nurse wished.”

“Thank you,” he hardly manages to keep a straight face. A slight grimace of a smile is all he can offer before the guard nods and hurries out as if trying to avoid whatever wrath he thinks he’s conjuring up by being in the Duke’s office any longer than he should be. 

Wriothesley thinks that’s a habit of most guards he needs to correct: assuming that being anywhere near him is a quick to be punished sort of behavior. But for now, he’s too worried about sliding his chair backwards and letting you crawl out of his desk’s enclosure as soon at the door shuts closed and the guard is gone. 

Finally. Fucking finally. 

“You’re a piece of work,” he glares down at you, watching as you suck on his cock innocently. Your lips look so wet. So sticky. So swollen parted around him that he almost wants to pull you off for just another taste. “You know that?”

You only hum around him, the vibrations forcing his head back against the chair as he moans low and drawn-out. Freely this time that no one’s here, but still quiet enough in case anyone’s outside the door. 

One more swirl of your lips around his thick, swollen tip, and he’s limp in his chair, groaning into his hand as he tries to muffle the sounds while cums down your throat. You can feel every twitch of him, hot, thick seed painting your throat white with his release. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, completely lost in his own world of pleasure. You watch him like that. It’s pretty. You’re a little too used to it—a little too dependent on the routine of watching his face break over the devastation of pleasure like that. 

When you pull away, making a show to swallow everything you can, he groans and rubs a hand over his face as he mutters something about trying to kill him. 

“So,” you wink with a cheeky, sly little smirk. “See you next week?”

“If I make it alive long enough,” he says tiredly. “You might kill me before that. Or these damn prisoners and their shenanigans.”

You laugh, standing and dusting yourself off before leaning down and pressing a small kiss to his lips. He tastes himself on you. Something about that makes him swell with more pride than it should. 

“You’ll be fine,” you hum softly. “I’m sure of it.”

────────────────────────

Wriothesley never earned the title of Duke—not at first, anyway.

You’ve heard the story.

He was supposed to be released from his sentence a few months ago. Except, by some stroke of bad luck, the warden at the time was nowhere to be found in his office the day of Wriothesley’s release. So, as on-brand as ever to his nonchalant, carefree attitude, Wriothesley signs the papers himself and effectively crowns himself with the title of Duke. 

He’s been running things down at the Fortress ever since. And pretty well, too—you’ve heard that things have improved rather drastically in prison for inmates. Free meals once a day. Better regulation of currency to exchange for benefits. A system of rules that keeps them in check and prevents them from behaving like dogs.

You’ve heard it all. 

But hearing everything means you hear the snide whispers, too: not everyone thinks he’s earned the title enough to keep it even if he’s done good—he’s a murderer, they gossip. We can’t have someone like that running the Fortress! That’s an outrage! Neuvillette has received enough formal complaints on the matter that you’re the product of a compromise—weekly audits done by a relatively impartial member of the Palais who doesn’t necessarily ignore his stained record but doesn’t particularly deem it as an irrefutable reason why he shouldn’t be Duke. You accept under the agreement of a slightly better paycheck for your troubles of making the trip to the Fortress and a little extra vacation time for the added paperwork to your usual responsibilities. 

Under the Palais and court rules, you take an oath to honesty and promise to offer, to the best of your abilities, the truth of what goes down in the prison and how its warden runs it. 

But, well…Wriothesley grows on you. A lot. It’s not that you ever have to lie about him—he really is a good Duke. But you like him enough that you’re starting to wonder if you could keep your honest streak if it really came down to it. You like him enough that you can’t claim anymore that the once sexually charged tension is just that: sexual. Because it’s not. It’s more complicated than that. Coming down and seeing him every week, finding your way in his sheets, getting to know him through a tangle of sweaty bodies and bantered pillow talk only makes you human. With feelings. Feelings for a man who’s more good than he’s not—you learn that pretty quickly. 

Wriothesley is a good person. Murder be damned. He did it to save people—sure, it’s a sin all the same. An extreme all in the name of justice, but it was to save people. He’s not a cold-blooded man. And he cares about the prisoners, too. That much is palpably abundant with the headaches he takes on to better the quality of life for convicted criminals.

No one believes in second chances like Wriothesley. No one has put as much work into offering people second chances like him, either. You think, despite initially earning his title or not, he’s certainly earned it by now.

So, when you watch him get pulled off of the limp body of a beaten prisoner by a handful of guards, you’re more than a little shocked by the almost feral, heartless look in his eyes as he snarls at the crumpled body on the floor in disgust. 

This is not the Wriothesley that you know. This isn’t the Wriothesley who runs the Fortress. The Wriothesley that you know doesn’t tolerate violence within his walls, and he certainly doesn’t instigate it. 

“What happened?” You ask quietly as you bandage his knuckles. It’s a deadly tone. He doesn’t answer, choosing to stare at his desk instead as he sits and lets you disinfect the broken skin. “Wriothesley.”

“He was being an asshole,” he grumbles vaguely. 

You raise a rather unimpressed brow at the juvenile response. He doesn’t seem to miss it either—even if he doesn’t meet your gaze to see it, the way he wilts a little is a hint enough that you know he’s aware. “Being an asshole,” you repeat. “That’s your sound logic for pounding someone into a bloody pulp?”

“Oh, please. He’s fine—”

“Really? He has a cracked rib, Wriothesley, for crying out loud!”

“So he’s fine,” he snorts almost bitterly. “In my time here, I’d have considered that lucky.”

“That’s exactly why you’re still here even though your time is over,” you say, the anger in your voice almost palpable as you throw your hands up and look at him in disappointment. “You’re supposed to be here making sure something like that is not the standard for luck anymore! Not upholding it.”

Wriothesley exhales sharply, his jaw tightening as he leans back in his chair, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. He looks like a stubborn, moody teenager being scolded. You have to take a deep breath and remind yourself his teen years probably didn’t consist of a lot of patience, so you try to keep yourself calm for both of your sakes—the storm brewing in his icy eyes is far from calm.

“You just wouldn’t understand,” he says, his voice low and strained, “Things are different down here than up there.”

“Then explain it to me,” you challenge, arms crossed as you stand your ground. “Help me understand why the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide—the one who’s supposed to set an example—decided to act out like a rowdy delinquent.”

His lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, it almost looks like he’s going to lose his temper, the same temper that’s already rather thinly composed. His hand clenches into a fist in your hold, the faint wince that follows indicating the pain in his injured knuckles. “He said something,” he mutters finally, his voice barely above a growl.

“Something?” you glare, your voice doing pretty much nothing to hide the frustration that’s mounting. “Wriothesley, I’m going to need a lot more than that. You realize I have to report this, right? To Neuvillette? People already have tons to say about your position as Duke at the Palais—we’re supposed to try and change their minds! You’re telling me you threw the progress away because some asshole said something you didn’t like?”

“Yes. He said something he shouldn’t have said,” he mutters vaguely, voice low but laced with a dangerous edge. It’s almost like he’d do it all over again if it called for it. 

You pause, narrowing your eyes. “Okay, then let’s hear it. What did he say?”

His jaw tightens, and he looks away, his gaze fixed on the faint bloodstains on his knuckles. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Wriothesley.” Your tone is sharper now, more insistent. “Tell me.”

“He said something about you,” he snaps, his voice cutting through the room like one of his well-practiced uppercuts to a jaw. 

“About…me?” you frow, crinkling your brows in confusion. “What about me? Because of my job? Who cares—they’ll realize soon enough that I’m not here to harm the Fortress rather than help it. You didn’t need to—”

He clicks his teeth as his gaze drops to his legs, unable to meet your expectant gaze as his jaw works while he tries to force the words out. “Not like that. Something…disgusting. Something he had no right to even think, let alone say out loud. So yeah, I broke his rib. I could’ve broken more, but he got lucky.”

The ferocity in his tone leaves no room for doubt—he means every word, and he’d do it again if you let him. Maybe even worse without the intervention of guards dragging his body off the limp figure. You chew your bottom lip as you process what he’s telling you, the almost tangible way he’s so…so what? You stop to think. So protective? What exactly is it that he’s making you feel that has your anger washing away so fast? So respected? Perhaps he respects you enough to fight for your dignity, but that’s not quite it.

You know that. 

You know that really, at the heart of things, it’s so easy to stop being mad at him when there’s real proof that he cares. About you. Sure, you have faith in Wriothesley’s ability to be a respectable man to the ladies—you doubt he’d accept someone talking about any woman that way. But it’s clear that…well, he cares enough to take it this far because it’s not just a woman. It’s you.

You.

“Wriothesley…” you start, slow and careful. It’s like you’re approaching a cornered animal in a cage you trapped yourself. 

“I know what you’re going to say,” he interrupts, his tone softer now, almost resigned. He slumps back in his chair almost petulantly as if he’s accepted that this is a lecture he can’t avoid. “That I need to be better. That I need to think before I act. That there’s a lot riding on my behavior and all that nonsense about proving to some assholes in a chair that I deserve this title and so on. And you’re right—I know you’re right,” he sighs.

You raise a slightly shocked brow at his admission. “Oh, well—”

“But I had to, okay? So everyone knows things are different around here now. Things like that were normal before, you know? Things weren’t safe for girls like you in the Fortress, and it’s about time they changed, so yeah, I set an example. Not the best one, but it got the message across, didn’t it? I’ll take some losses, sure, but that’s okay. It’s one minor setback.”

“Yes,” you nod carefully, “And I just want you to know—”

“But…about you? It’s…it’s different when it’s you, and you know it. Hearing someone talk about you like that...” He trails off, his fists clenching again. “I couldn’t let it slide. Not you. So—”

“Thank you.” You interrupt before he can finish. You say it softly. Like you mean it. 

He pauses, reeling back. “What?”

“I said thank you,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “Don’t make me say it again, you jerk.”

“You’re not mad?” He looks at you bewildered, like you’ve grown two heads. You snort, looking at him like he’s an idiot. He huffs at just the look on your face alone.

“I’m furious,” you shake your head, “But I’m not ungrateful enough not to appreciate someone defending my honor. I’d prefer it if it was less violent next time.”

Wriothesley sits in silence for a moment after your words, the tension in his frame ebbing. “Less violent,” he repeats, a sulky, almost pouty look on his face. “I guess I’ll work on it.”

“Yes,” you nod, “You will. So that I won’t have to lie to Monsieur Neuvillette next time.”

He blinks. “What—”

“Since an inmate attacked you, I’ll let him know you had no choice but to throw him off and crack a rib from the impact,” you shrug innocently. 

He looks at you in wonder, a small, amused smile curling on his lips as he lets out a soft, quiet snort. “I don’t know if you can crack a rib from—”

“You should be quiet and think about what you’ve done,” you hiss. “Awful behavior means you’re on time out!”

“Oh, yes,” he salutes, obediently straightening as he folds his hands together on his desk. He winces a bit at the strain it puts on his hurt hand, making you bite back a fond smile. “I’m deeply thinking about my mistakes and regretting my deplorable actions. I promise.”

“Good,” you roll your eyes. “Don’t let it happen again.”

You turn to leave, and he sinks back in his chair, sighing as he watches you go. Next week’s audit can’t come fast enough, he thinks.

────────────────────────

When he hasn’t seen you in too long, Wriothesley has dreams. Vivid ones, in fact. 

They start not too long after the shift in your fragile friendship—you’re still friends, of course. It’s not as though that part of your relationship was ever fragile. It's just that….now, you’re more than friends without actually being more. It’s a delicate sort of arrangement that can easily have someone like him wanting more. And regrettably, he wants more. That much is clear by these dreams of his—and you’re often in these dreams of his. Scandalizing dreams, if you will. 

He never really took himself for a guy who’s attracted to someone with a pristine and spotless record—if anything, all Wriothesley seems to be attracted to anymore is trouble. 

But you’re different. Not because you’re unique or anything special by any means (which, he realizes, sounds a little bit rude in his head when he really thinks about it), but that’s exactly why he likes you. You’re rather ordinary. You work your ordinary job at the Palais, go home, do what’s expected of you, and go about life simplistically. He can’t help but enjoy it because there’s this weird, odd sense of normalcy that you grant his life. 

Nothing about Wriothesley’s life is normal. Not now, not then, not ever. 

He was young as an orphan. Doomed to the fate of no family by the tender age of four. A poor, sickly father who left this world long before he left his mother’s womb and, by fate’s desire, later orphaned by a missing mother who never came home from work. By the time he’s old enough to piece together that his mother was yet another victim of the missing young women’s case in Fontaine, he’s far too past that life to properly grieve her. 

And then there’s the darker part of his past…the messy memories of blood and betrayal that he chooses not to dwell on for the sake of his own peace. It landed him on the streets for the better part of his youth and then in a dark, ruthless prison where just even a meal is a burden to acquire. 

Nothing about his life is normal. His mother was ripped away by the nation’s darkest mystery, his siblings weren’t ones he’d acquired by normal means, his “parents” were anything but standard, and his housing conditions (or lack thereof once upon a time) consisted of a large, metal cage situated at the bottom of the ocean. Even his romantic history, which he can count on one hand the instances of, have been odd, unconventional flings that he indulged in rarely because he was but a growing boy turned into a man, raging desires that make any form of relief seem like a blooming romance. 

His first girlfriend left the Fortress after finishing her sentence when he was barely an adult. She promised to write to him every day until his own release. He’d never heard from her again. His second “girlfriend” didn’t even make it far enough to earn that title at all. She was a girl, who was a friend, who sometimes when he was exceedingly lucky, wove herself into his sheets and let him have his way with her so his growing frustrations have an outlet. 

Romantic intimacy is a world beyond the skies of Teyvat for him.

So, when you wander into his life, working a standard nine-to-five job that requires nothing excessively abnormal of you, grinning at him with a happy, free smile that carries little to no burdens, he can only fight the human part of him for so long before his desires come hitting him full force. There was a time when dreaming of a wife and kids and white picket fences was well within his reality. When he dreamt of being like his father, hearing small, excited footsteps pounding against the hardwood floor to greet him at the door. When he dreamt that the mother of his children would smile just as sweetly and brightly as his own mother. 

That’s gone now, of course. Well out of his reach and far from his realm, but at the very least, you bring some rare burst of normality in his fascinatingly odd life. 

So he dreams of you. Admittedly, they’re not always the best-natured of dreams.

He wakes up sweaty and tangled in sheets as a familiar heat is already built between his legs—for quite a while, too, he surmises, because the ache is thick enough to let him know that he’s been sporting this erection for quite a bit. How—he wonders—did he end up with such a shameless problem in the middle of his rare and well-deserved rest? The answer is infuriatingly obvious, but he hates to admit it to himself. 

You. 

You’re the reason for this predicament—that raunchy, filthy dream of his from just a few moments ago, the vision in his subconsciousness of your mouth taking him, your hand stroking him, your lips kissing him. All of it lands him here with a thickly hardened cock and little to no dignity left for the pure filth he indulges himself in. 

Flaring his nostrils with a tired exhale, he decides there’s no point in dragging out his suffering any longer. What’s happened has happened. 

“Fucking hell,” he hisses as he frees his length from his boxers, tugging them down just enough to rest against his balls. Even under the protection of his blanket, he can feel cool air kiss the hot, velvety skin enough to make him twitch involuntarily. “Mmh,” he groans.

His fist takes shape around his cock. It’s different from your touch—he’s felt it enough times briefly to know that your hand is far smaller and far softer. Less wear and tear from boxing and fights, less scabs and calluses of healed skin. But he works with what he has, stroking himself slowly as he throbs in his own hand. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he all but whines to an empty room as if you’re right there with him, helping him through his glaringly obvious problem. “Fuck, it almost hurts, baby. You’ll help, right?” 

You will. You nod from the depths of his imagination in the back of his head, where you live to play out his shameful fantasies. He bites his lips and lets out a shaky breath as he imagines you leaning forward, pressing a soft, delicate kiss to the tip of his cock. 

As if in response to the phantom touch of your mouth, his cock does another little twitch. I’ll take care of you, Wrio.

No one has ever called him that—not affectionately, at least. (He refuses to let his old prison nickname born from bantering mockery count.) The nickname falling from your (imaginary) lips has him throwing his head back against his pillow as he groans deeply. 

“Don’t be a fuckin’ tease,” he demands gently. Obediently, you giggle and listen to him. “Gods,” his back arches as soon as your hand pumps his aching length, finally offering him some sort of relief as he bucks his hips up in time to meet your strokes.

Feels good, huh, baby? You hum. He nods, letting out a throaty sound in response. I can tell. It’s all over your face.

“Quit it,” he clicks his teeth petulantly. A thumb rolls through his slit teasingly, collecting pre cum and smearing it along the thick, sensitive vein along the side of his cock. “You’re…you’re such a brat, you know that?”

You like it, you hum.

“I do,” he lets out an airy, breathless chuckle of admission before the strokes get faster. And faster. He’s grunting freely now; something crossed between a moan and a gasp sounding through the small, secluded bedroom built in with his office. Luckily, it’s deep enough into the Fortress that no one could hear him if they tried—not unless they were standing right outside his bedroom door from his office.

No one has the audacity to do that, he thinks with smug satisfaction, so you don’t have to worry about how much noise he’s making. You’re the type to get stressed about things like that.

Close, Wrio?

“So close, baby,” he chokes.

Do I make you feel good?

“Better than anyone,” he confirms. 

You look so pretty like this, did you know?

“F-fuck, fuck—I…I’m gonna cum, sweetheart,” he warns.

Yeah? Then do it, pretty boy.

He does. He cums in thick, full loads of cum that have his cock twitching with every rope. Your hand is a mess, coated in his release, stroking him through his pleasure and smearing it along the heated skin. You know just what he likes—have his little quirks and preferences memorized as if you know him better than himself. You know he likes having the vein traced with your thumb, and you know that when he’s just about almost finished, giving his balls a soft squeeze makes him gasp and let out one final rope of his seed. 

By the time he’s done, slumped against his bed with boneless, tired muscles, he realizes with a sigh that the hand on his cock is not yours. It’s his.

Somewhere in the midst of his fantasies, he forgets what’s real and what’s not. Your voice in his head sounds so close, so real, so tangible, he forgets he’s talking to the empty air of his room and not you.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he groans to himself, rubbing his good hand over his face tiredly, “You’re seriously messing me up in the head. What’re you doing to me?”

────────────────────────

“What time do you need to return to the Palais by?” Is the first thing he says to you when you walk into his office. You pause, staring at Wriothesley before you blink and huff.

“Ah, yes. It’s wonderful to see you, too! I’ve been doing fantastic; it’s so kind of you to ask,” you bat your lashes with a sarcastic smile before adding, “And you? How have you been? Rather well, I’m sure.”

Wriothesley purses his lips, looking at you with a fractional amount of patience before giving you an equally as sarcastic smile and responding, “I’m doing quite well. Thank you for your generous concern. In fact, if it wouldn’t trouble you too much—because you know I’d hate to do that—I would be faring quite a lot better if you’d even more generously answer my question.”

“I don’t have to return to the Palais today,” you roll your eyes, “I go home directly after five and bring Monsieur Neuvillette your report card tomorrow morning.”

“Wonderful,” is all he says. “Perfect.”

“Why—”

You don’t know how he got up fast enough to bridge the distance between you and his desk and cut you off mid-sentence with a crash of his lips to yours, but he does. His lips are pressed to yours in a desperate kiss that has you melting against him against your will. Like he’s expecting it, his arms are there waiting, catching you to hold you upright against him as he chuckles against your mouth.

Bastard, you want to say into his lips. He’s too busy keeping them occupied to give you the chance.

“I need you,” he rasps, “Now.”

“It’s technically still my work day,” you gasp between breaths, “I’m supposed to observe—”

“Then observe me from here,” he grunts.

With that, he sweeps you into the bedroom connected to his office. You’ve been in it so many times, yet you always wonder why it still shocks you that such a convenient room is in his personal office—but you figure the Duke of a prison surely would not sleep with the rest of the prisoners. And more importantly, it’s…good for the noise to be located in such a private, secluded area.

“Been thinking about fucking you all day,” he mumbles in between kisses, his large, callused hands cradling your face as your hands tangle in his hair. 

“Then fuck me,” you challenge, making him let out a low, unimpressed sound from the back of his throat. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says lowly, trailing his lips to nip at your neck and jaw, “Trust me, I will.”

Your back meets his mattress. You don’t have the slightest concept or understanding of time—by the time you’re both bare with all your clothes tossed to the floor, you can feel a dull, building ache between your legs as a pool of slick coats your inner thighs. 

“So wet,” he grins to himself, bringing a hand between your thighs, right to the apex where he studies the leaking essence waiting for him there. “All this for me?”

“Not for long if you don’t make good use of it,” you hiss stubbornly. His gaze darkens at that, making him let out a snarled sound of displeasure before he lowers himself between your legs. 

“Careful, baby,” he warns, “You have no idea what you’re signing yourself up for.”

And you don’t. Because by the time Wriothesley’s face unburies itself from between your legs, your two orgasms and a semi-decent stream of tears smeared along your face in. He finally unlatches himself from your clit once the waves of your second high finally come down, glistening slick coating his chin and lips as he grins. 

“How was that for making good use?”

“I don’t know,” you huff. “I had something else in mind.”

Pointedly, you stare at his tall, standing and neglected cock. It’s clearly painfully hard and painfully aching for some form of relief as it twitches between his legs. 

You admire it for a moment. The nearly trimmed hair at the base—how Wriothesley supplies the necessary equipment to even trim himself downstairs in a place like a prison, you’re unsure but definitely not ungrateful. He’s always been pretty, in a ruggedly handsome way—but his cock…well his cock is pretty because it responds so well to you. To your body. To your every movement. 

You gently grab him, gently stroking a few times and humming in satisfaction as he groans and clenches his jaw while it twitches in your touch. 

“Sensitive,” you tease. 

“I could argue the same about you,” he replies smartly through a labored, breathless voice. You laugh, sweet as honey on warm bread. 

He doesn’t taste that too often in the Fortress, but he doesn’t think he’s missing out. Not with you here. 

“Come here,” you whisper. “I want you too.”

With that, you guide him slowly to your entrance. He shivers as he rubs the tip along your folds, coating himself in your wetness and swearing his own pre cum along your cunt before slowly sinking in. 

“Fuck,” you both hiss in unison. 

“Feel…feel so good,” he says hoarsely, “So fucking tight.”

With that, it’s a blur. Something you’re used to by what feels like your millionth week feeling him, but something that never feels like it’s not the first time all over again. 

He rocks his hips in a steady, perfect rhythm. You pull him close and feel his body searing against yours. Skin on skin. Heat against heat. Body melting into body. 

“Never get enough to you,” he whispers. 

“Then keep taking more of me,” you whisper back. 

“Yeah?” He chuckles, breathless. Hopelessly smitten. It’s written all over his face. You’re sure the same goes for yours. “You want that? Want me to keep taking more and more of this pretty cunt?”

“What, you’re saying you’ll get bored of me?” You pout teasingly. 

He huffs, pulling you into a deep, bruising kiss. “Never. You hear me? Never.”

Like that, you fall apart. And with that, he follows not long after. He pulls out just before he can spill into you, hand moving to pump himself until yours beats him to it, wrapping around his girth and stroking the way you know he likes it. With his vein traced. With a fast pace but not too fast. With everything he needs to feel seen and known because that’s what you do best. 

See him. Know him. Treat him like he matters. 

“Gods,” he says shakily as he finishes. “I needed that. Needed you.”

“You always have me,” you remind him softly. “Always.”

He grins. Kisses you softly—ike you’re a fragile, blooming lakelight lily. He’s gone momentarily to grab a warm, wet towel to clean you off before he’s sinking into the bed beside you, turning to look at you as he takes in your curled up figure under his sheets. 

He could get used to this. More than just once a week. 

“It’s the twenty-third,” you whisper quietly, like it’s a secret. 

Huh, he thinks. It doesn’t register what day it is until you bring the date to his attention—he didn’t even realize today’s date. Not that this date ever matters enough to make his day any different from the rest of the days of the year. But typically, he at least remembers when it passes by. 

It’s the first time it’s slipped his mind completely. 

“It is,” he agrees, looking at you with a slightly confused look. “Any reason why that’s relevant?”

“It’s your birthday,” you look at him incredulously, lifting your head off of the pillow to get a better look at him. 

He lays quietly beside you, still slowly catching his breath. He doesn’t answer at first—just pulls the sheets over both of your bare bodies as he curls an arm around you and pulls you close. You used to never take Wriothesley for the cuddling type. You used to never take him for the affection type, in general. 

Maybe, you like to think, maybe even people like Wriothesley aren’t above enjoying something soft. It’s a comforting thought. It’s nice to know that even someone so strong and immovable like him craves some sort of bond with another human. Some tangible form of safety and kindness. Some form of proof that people can be—and are—good enough to trust, good enough to lie beside and slowly lose consciousness around.

“And who told you that?” He quirks up a half amused, half shocked brow, voice low and smooth enough that you almost think you could go another round just from the sound of him.

You don’t tell him that, of course. The Gods know he doesn’t need any more reasons to be smug. 

“I read the files,” you answer with a wave of your hand, trying to dismiss him. “I like to know who I work with.”

“Yeah?” He snorts, “That so?”

You don’t really have to answer him. You shouldn’t let him win—but something about that wolfish grin and that cocky glint in his eyes tells you he already knows more than you’d like. They have you huffing as you quietly mumble out, “Okay. I asked Sigewinne when it was. You’re awfully ungrateful about the fact that I cared enough to ask.”

“Your benevolence graciously exceeds my expectations every time,” he chuckles. 

“Well,” you raise a brow expectantly, “Are you going to do something to celebrate?”

He shakes his head. It’s too instant for your liking—and he seems to notice that, too, because he takes one look at your frown and shrugs, “My birthday’s not that important to me. I’ve never really celebrated it much.”

“What?” You ask incredulously. You think you’re being a touch dramatic—you seem more hurt about this than him, but you can’t help yourself. “What do you mean? Birthdays are the one important day we get.”

Wriothesley lets out a soft breath, his chest rising and falling steadily against you as he looks up at the ceiling. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—something fleeting and hard to name. It’s not quite pain, but it’s close enough that you can feel it in the way his body tenses beneath your touch.

“They weren’t important growing up,” he says finally, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “And now I’m too old for it, anyway.”

He keeps the answer pointedly vague, like he’s avoiding the truth on purpose. You don’t mind. Not so much when it’s him, not so much when something heavy and unresolved that he doesn’t elaborate on is clearly there. You don’t like to push him—not yet. Maybe not ever. He deserves patience and compassion for once, you think—someone who puts his feelings first so he knows that his feelings aren’t at the bottom of some tiered list of relevancy that he somehow always ends up on the bottom of.

Instead, you shift closer, laying a hand against his chest and feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

“Not even when you were a kid?” you ask softly, careful not to sound too intrusive.

His lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you think he’s going to brush you off. That maybe he’ll throw you off his scent with some annoyingly smooth-talking joke and change the subject. You’re prepared for it—for the disappointment of being pushed away and not let in. You’re prepared for anything because it’s him, and you don’t mind when it’s him. But then, his hand moves, his fingers idly tracing along your arm as he speaks again, his voice low and resigned.

“I did celebrate. Briefly. We’d get a party every year, my siblings and I.” He pauses, his jaw tightening briefly. “And there would be people. I thought they were friends…you know? Friends my parents would invite over to celebrate with us. When I got older, I realized the truth. Those parties were just another excuse to show us off. To market us easier.”

Your heart clenches at the bitterness in his tone. You don’t need to ask what he means—you’ve heard the rumors about his past, heard the whispers about how the Duke of Meropide is a killer. Cold-blooded and ruthless as he watched the life drain from his own parents’ eyes without a single regret. Didn’t even hesitate to plead guilty and admit to his crimes.

You read the files in Neuvillette’s office before he first sent you down. Something about reading his testimony made you feel helpless—like there’s still a child stuck in an awful predicament with no way out instead of a now grown man who’s well on his way to being a rather significantly important figure in Fontaine. 

“—And after that,” he continues, his voice almost a whisper now as it breaks you from your thoughts, “I was stuck down here. Not many birthday festivities you can do down in the ocean alone, so I didn’t see the point. A birthday’s just a day. Another reminder of…everything I’d rather not think about if I can help it.”

“Wriothesley,” you start gently, lifting your head to look at him. He meets your gaze, his eyes darker than usual, guarded but not completely shut off. He doesn’t like being comforted—doesn’t like the idea of his emotions being in someone else’s domain to handle. It leaves him open to worse wounds. But you ignore the way his jaw tenses, cupping his cheek as you hum, “It’s not just a day or some reminder of them. It’s about you if you make it about you. And you’re not a sick marketing scheme. You’re…”

You trail off. Not because you don’t know all the things he is: cunning, resourceful, selfless, incredibly smart. But because you don’t know which one to start with. Like choosing one first means it’s the most important one—you can’t bring yourself to define him as one thing more than the others.

“Devilishly handsome?” he cuts in with a faint smirk, the tension in his face easing just a little as he pushes your buttons. “You seem stuck there, so let’s start with that.” You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your smile is impossible to ignore as you let his good-natured jab slide. 

“Yes, that’s one way to describe you, I suppose. But you’re also just…good.” You settle on that word because he is. He’s good, and he makes things good. He makes life feel okay and the day a little better. Like your own piece of good from the world to have for yourself. “And you deserve to have something good. Something that’s just for you.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you, his expression unreadable but soft in a way that makes your heart beat with a painful ache. Then, he leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Maybe,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and almost tender. “Maybe next year, I’ll let you change my mind.”

“Next year? Surely, if you mean I’ll be around for that long, then this is your way of asking me out?” Your lip twitches at the corners, hopeful. You force it down to a neutral look before faking a yawn and saying, “What an underwhelming way of asking.”

He raises an amused brow. Still, there’s something dangerously cautious about his expression as he looks at you. Like he’s guarding himself from possible disappointment. “You’re saying you’d say yes if I asked nicely?”

“Depends. Are you asking?” You ask softly. 

He lets out a shaky breath, studying your features and avoiding your eyes as he brings his gaze along your nose and lips and the slight sweatiness of your skin from your earlier activities. “If I’m asking, is that a yes?”

“Yes,” you say breathlessly.

“Then yeah,”  he stares at the ceiling, voice quiet. Hopeful. A rare moment that he lets himself try to be happy without worrying the world will fuck it up for him. You’ll handle it if it tries, he thinks—you always do. “Maybe next year, you’ll change my mind.”

“Not maybe,” you insist. It’s firm enough that he believes you. “I will change your mind.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“Happy birthday, Wrio.”

“Thanks,” he grins, “Same time next year?”

“Same time next year,” you laugh, nodding in confirmation. He doesn’t tell you that you’ve already changed his mind. Maybe he’ll even tell you next birthday that you haven’t managed to—just to have an excuse to keep you around one more year.

But something tells him you’ll stay even without such a ploy. 

This fic was genuinely such a struggle for me to write. I’m not sure why. I suppose because it doesn’t have a real conflict to guide me in a sense—I wanted it to be mainly happy and just a small sort of timeline of them having each other but still finding each other. If that makes sense. Idk if it does LOL. The main focus was just making his bday happy. Hopefully I achieved that but ANYWAY!! If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading!! Kissing you on the forehead <3

[datkat08]

Zosan fic preview :) basically the aftermath of a fight

-

Chopper speaks directly to Sanji. “Your ribs are bruised, and your neck. Other than some ointment, bandages, and painkillers, I can’t help much. This is going to take some time and ample rest to heal. Promise me you’ll take it easy, okay?”

Sanji laughs lightly, “those are the doctor’s orders. I promise.”

Chopper turns to Zoro. “Could you help him into a sitting position? You may need to support his weight while I bandage him.”

Zoro nods and turns to the cook. “This might hurt, are you good?”

Sanji huffs, “I’ll be fine, I’m not a— oh, oh, okay, ow—” he groans as Zoro holds him by his arm and lifts him up with a hand under his back.

Chopper nods in satisfaction. “Perfect, thanks Zoro.”

Zoro smiles teasingly at Sanji. “You’re being so brave, cook-san.”

“Oh shut it, you.” He feigns annoyance, but he’s smiling. Zoro’s hands remain in place. If the cook’s heavier breathing was indication, he probably couldn’t sit up by himself just yet. Sanji makes no protest, silently thankful for the physical support.

In just a few minutes, Chopper is done wrapping him up. “Here,” he holds out a few pills in front of Sanji, “take these.” He pulls out a small flask, “and here’s some water. Now, since you have bruising on your neck this may be painful. But I promise it’ll make you feel better overall.”

Sanji nods and pops the pills into his mouth, his expression becoming pained as he drinks the water and swallows. He huffs, “shit, if this is any indication of how eating is going to feel, this is gonna suck.”

“Don’t worry curly,” Zoro chimes in, “I can chew your food for ya.” What. Why did he say that.

“WHAT?” Sanji’s face is a tomato. Zoro is sure his is too.

“Uhhh,” Chopper speaks up, “I need to go get something, I’ll be back!” He runs out of the room.

“Zoro, what the hell—”

“Shit, I don’t even know.”

They avoid looking at each other, the silence between them growing increasingly awkward. Finally, Sanji breaks it.

“Was that an attempt at flirting?”

“What— no, I—”

“Because I know you can do better than that.”

Zoro blinks in bewilderment. “I’m sorry?”

Sanji, probably a bit out of his right mind from the pain, doesn’t back down. “If you’re gonna flirt with me, do it right. Tell me I have pretty eyes, or something.”

“You have pretty eyes.”

“You— did you just say that because I told you to, or do you mean it?”

“I mean it.”

“…Well.”

The silence is less uncomfortable, but more flustered.

“You have a nice nose… shape.”

Zoro is the amused one this time. He chuckles, “and you said mine was bad.”

Sanji gets defensive, “hey, that’s nowhere near as bad as what you said!”

“Alright, alright.” He thinks for a moment. “You have pretty hands.”

Sanji’s eyes shimmer at that, his expression becoming one of hope and appreciation.

“You really think so?” He asks softly.

Zoro nods and moves the hand holding the cook’s arm to lace their fingers together. He wordlessly turns the blond’s hand in his own, admiring it with soft eyes. “I’ve always thought so. You take really good care of them.”

Sanji smiles bashfully, looking down at their hands and observing how they interlock so perfectly. “I like your hands, too. I like how they’re different from mine,” he says thoughtfully, “They’re strong.”

“Yeah?” Zoro asks softly.

“Yeah,” Sanji confirms.

[kimstills]

i can see you

pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader summary: "here i was thinking that i was special because you would only look at me with that desperate look on your face, but i see that you give any old man that look, right?” content warnings: jealous!hotch, reader is a panther (aren't we all), bathroom sex, mirror sex, p in v, sexual tension, unprotected sex (r mentions being on birth control but wrap it before you tap it!), rough sex, dirty talk, size kink if u squint, spanking, hair pulling, choking, dom!hotch, sub!reader. word count: 3.9k (y’all this was not supposed to be this long lmao) notes: day 18 of @hotchfiles marchhotchness 'self-image' but also HEAVILY inspired by this post from @softhairedhotch because it made me go FERAL and i love jealous hotch (but pls lmk if taking inspo was okay!!) this is also my first hotch fic ever so pls lmk ur thoughts or any other feedback <333

aaron hotchner was not a jealous man.

he had no right to be jealous over something that technically did not exist or someone that technically was not his.

and although he only had himself to blame for that, he really did wish that you were his. and as much as he was telling himself not to be, he was jealous.

but it wasn’t the typical jealous where he watched you be approached by someone much younger than him—someone your own age instead of his—and by someone who already had him beat in reciprocating that flirtatious energy you often used on aaron himself.

no, this type of jealousy was one that was boosting his ego and making him feel lightweight, albeit the fact that it still made him see red.

it was a typical night out with the rest of the team, all of you having agreed that the eight of you were in need of a couple of drinks after some long weeks of paperwork and back and forth cases.

you were all engrossed in the conversation, but you had left the table to get yourself another refill on your drink and had taken far too long than it normally would have, the rest of the younger members—all besides reid—having decided on hitting up the dance floor throughout the time you hadn’t returned to your seat.

it was practically natural for aaron to look for you in a crowd, but what he hadn’t expected to find was you, sitting in a bar stool on the right side of the bar, being hit up by a man who had to have been a couple of years older than aaron himself.

the front hairs of the man’s head were peeking of several grey hairs, paired with a matching grey beard and an overall radiance that screamed of that older man type that you were apparently into.

the sudden revelation made aaron feel dizzy, the confirmation of your attraction towards older men making his pants tighten as he watched the way you stared up at the man with that sultry look of yours—the one where you were somehow able to perfectly mix mischief and innocence seamlessly together.

while you had used that look on aaron countless times before, times where it had been only you and him alone in his office, way past working hours, he had never done anything about it. but, god, as he watched you do it to someone else, out on the open, there was nothing he was currently regretting more.

aaron’s train of thought was interrupted as he felt someone kick him from underneath the table he sat at, whipping his head to the person in front of him only to find rossi staring at him with a smug look on his face.

he cleared his throat, “what?”

aaron mentally cringed at the way his voice wavered.

“you gonna be done being jealous anytime soon and make a move or are you just gonna sit there throwing daggers at the guy?” dave asked, brows raised.

he took a long sip from his drink, trying to avoid the question for as long as he could as he tried to compose himself, “i don’t know what you’re talking about,”

rossi rolled his eyes, “oh, please, aaron. you don’t have to be a profiler to notice the way you can cut the tension that’s between the both of you with a butter knife,”

aaron’s brows furrowed.

“you have all the confirmation you need right there,” dave pointed his thumb behind him, signaling at you and the man, “if that’s not enough for you, then i’m declaring you helpless at this point,” he let out a sigh, standing from his seat, “i’m going to get another drink and if i find you still sitting here, wallowing in your thoughts after getting my refill, i’ll go up to them and encourage her to go home with the man.”

aaron’s fists clenched at the thought. at the thought of you sprawled on the bed of another man, wearing that same look you had on just now and staring up at him as you—

his body acted faster than his brain did, and before he even had the chance to process what he was doing, he stood from his own stool, not allowing for another moment to pass by as he stormed over to where you and the man were sitting.

from your side of the room, you can see aaron make his way over to you through the peripheral of your vision, the excitement of finally getting a reaction out of him making your heart skip and your thighs press together as you took into count the way his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.

the pressure you put on your thighs didn’t do anything to relieve the ache you felt in your core as he reached where you sat, coming to stand behind—was his name michael? although the stranger you had began talking to was definitely older than him, aaron was a good several inches taller, towering over the both of you.

he cleared his throat, cutting michael off from whatever he had been talking to you about as he turned around with a raised brow. aaron’s expression didn’t falter, not sparing a single glance at the man as his eyes landed on you, “y/n, can i speak to you for a moment?”

you mentally rolled your eyes. ever the formal one.

michael scoffed from in front of him, angling his body so that he was able to properly glare daggers at your boss, “we were in the middle of a conversation here, if you don’t mind?”

although your attraction for aaron skyrocketed in comparison to the man you had just met, you were thriving off of the jealousy radiating off of the one you wanted the most, the ache in your stomach only growing.

before aaron had the chance to shoot out a reply, you set your hand on michael’s forearm, giving him a small, but sad smile, “i’m sorry, michael,” you butted in, jumping off of the bar stool, “i’ll be right back, okay?”

another scoff comes from michael’s direction, “whatever,” he grabs his drink and rolls his eyes, “don’t even bother coming back,”

ew.

this time you actually rolled your eyes, grabbing at your drink and drowning the rest of it. you shrug, “older men are always a hit or miss,” you mumble, setting the glass down.

aaron’s hand comes to wrap around your wrist, a firm but gentle grip on it as he pulls you close to him, “let’s go,” he seethes in your ear.

you hide a smirk as you follow behind him, letting your body practically flail as you struggle to keep up with him. when he notices your staggered pace, he matches his footsteps with yours, moving his hand from your wrist to your waist as he guides you through the crowd and towards the hallway that lead towards the bar’s restrooms.

the both of you gave a silent thanks at the fact that there was no line, the hallway scarce and dimly lit with the exception of a few people standing together against the walls, either flirting or talking.

“what are you doing?” you ask, standing behind him as he knocks on one of the doors, his grip on your waist still very much present.

“you’ll see,” he mumbles, yanking the door open by the knob after no one replies and pulling the both of you inside before slamming the door shut behind him.

you try to take a good look at the interior of the bathroom, trying to guess if it was a good enough place to do whatever the two of you were about to do.

a faint gasp escapes your lips as you feel something hard press into your ass, immediately melting as one of aaron’s big hands comes to rub at the side of your leg, right below your hip. his whole body comes up behind yours, his other free hand coming to your stomach to press you into him.

“aaron—” you try to speak but get cut off as you let out another gasp, one almost like a sigh, as the hand that was rubbing at your leg sneaks further up and wraps itself around your hip, aaron’s thick fingers digging into your skin despite the material of your shorts that blocked his hand.

aaron dips his head so that his mouth is right next to your ear, his breath and the faint touch of his lips against the lower part of your jawline sending shivers down your spine.

“is this okay?” he asks softly, a total contrast from the vice grip he had on both your front and hip.

you nod quickly, your hand coming up to your right where he held your hip to wrap around his own.

“use your words, honey,”

the pet name makes you whimper and your thighs clench in spite of the fact that you were standing up. you let out a ragged breath as he awaits for your answer, the hand that was pressed to your stomach furthering down until it was right above your pelvis but below your tummy, pushing you further back until you could feel how hard he actually was.

you whine, your other hand coming to wrap around that one, too, “yes,” you sigh, “it’s okay,”

aaron presses his lips into that same spot below your jaw, gently and lovingly before whipping you around so that you were facing him and pushing you up against the counter.

not even giving you a chance to process what he had just done, his lips crash onto yours roughly, making you moan directly into his mouth. your bring your arms up around his neck, running your fingers through his hair and tugging.

aaron hisses, slapping at your thigh in a firm way that had you let out another moan.

“aaron,” you whine, pushing up into his chest out of desperation.

he hums, “do you want my attention now?” he asks through the kiss, “don’t wanna go back and talk to that guy you were all over just a couple of minutes ago?”

“no,” you mumble, huffing as he breaks away from you to wrap his fingers around your chin.

he chuckles as your lips form into a puffy pout, “here i was thinking that i was special because you would only look at me with that desperate look on your face, but i see that you give any old man that look, right?”

“no!” you whine again, your arms dropping from around his neck to wrap around his bicep, squeezing at the muscle to try and pull him closer to you, “just you!”

his confidence was beyond what it normally was, feeling you squirm from against him yet still wanting his touch, “really? so you weren’t planning on going home with that man? all those times you touched his shoulder or the times he would touch your thigh meant nothing?”

“yes, they didn’t mean anything!” you huff, “you’re the one i want to go home with all the time!”

aaron’s heart clenched at your confession, knowing that deep down you really did mean all the time. he had just never been sure if you truly were interested in living a joint life with him. up until now, that is.

he brings his hands to your back, right by your shoulder blades as he connects your lips once more. your shoulders relax and you lean into him with earnest, squeezing at the muscle from his bicep.

you hum, satisfied as he begins to run his hands up and down, resulting in the fabric of your shirt lifting with every time he went up, eventually ending up in nothing but rolled up fabric under his palm. he breaks the kiss once more to toss your shirt over your head and near the sink’s counter, leaving you in only your shorts.

aaron stared at your bare breasts, not expecting you to have not been wearing a bra despite the tight shirt you just had on.

you shiver under his gaze, opening your mouth to say something before he lowered himself and quickly attached a mouth to one of your breasts, the other one coming up to grab and squeeze at it. you moan, gripping onto the marble counter for support as he presses sloppy and wet kisses to each breast.

his fingers come to undo the button of your shorts, hooking them inside your panties before shoving both articles of clothing down your legs, signaling you to kick them off of you. you toed your shoes off as well, leaving you completely naked and bare for him while he remained fully clothed.

he turns you around gently, bringing you face to face with the sight of you completely stripped in the mirror, the image making you clench your thighs together once more as you stabilized yourself on the sink.

aaron’s hands soothed all around your body, a whimper leaving you at the feeling of his calloused hands groping at your breasts before moving down to your soaking pussy.

as if on instinct, you spread your legs open for him, practically inviting him to dip his fingers into your folds and inside your entrance. the thickness of both his index and middle fingers stretching you out. you knew you had always loved his hands for a reason.

a moan bounced off the walls as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, moving torturously slow before he began to pick up the pace. you could feel your slick drip onto the floor and probably onto the rest of his hand, but all you could focus on was shamelessly bucking your hips into your hand and spreading your legs for even more access.

“you’re soaking, honey,” aaron says, hand coming back around to squeeze at your breast again, leaving you gasping as he pinched your nipples.

you whimpered, “just for you,”

“‘just for me?’” he repeats, “not for anyone else, right?”

you shake your head no, pussy clenching around his fingers, “j-just for you, aaron,”

his hand left your breast to smack at your ass, making you jump, “good girl,”

with that, he takes his fingers out of you, a throaty whine leaving your lips at the empty feeling. you arched your back into him, but immediately stilled at the sound of him removing his belt filled the room. you watched from the mirror in front of you as he undid his pants button, reaching past his boxers to pull out his cock.

oh shit.

your mouth dropped at the sight of his dick spring out from where it had been confined, your slick hole clenching at nothing at how big he was. you knew that aaron hotchner was definition of big dick energy, always wondered what he was secretly packing, but now you wondered if you were going to be able to take it all.

he was thick, veiny all around with girth too thick that it hurt just looking at him. as much as you could tell you wouldn’t be able to walk after this, it excited you far too much.

you gulped, meeting his eyes in the mirror, landing on his hungry gaze, “is it going to fit?” you ask quietly, trying to bring your legs back together.

“we’ll make it fit,” he says, sounding confident of himself, a hand coming to stop you from closing your legs, “will you let me know if it’s too much?”

you take another look at his cock before giving him a determined look, “i will,” you nod.

he nods back, angling your head with his hand so he could press a kiss to your mouth.

you give into him easily, arching into him until you feel the tip of his cock slip through your wet folds and line up with your entrance. you had taken dick before, but never this big, so as he gave you one last look, you took a deep breath before feeling him sink into you.

you gasp, already feeling full by just the tip, though the slickness of your pussy helping you in adjust.

“still good, honey?”

you nod again, too busy focusing on how his length was stretching you out further than his fingers had.

smack!

aaron’s hand landed another spank on your ass, making you snap your heads toward him with a confused, dumbfounded expression. he glared, “use your words.”

you huffed, doing your best to not roll your eyes, “still good,” you replied, going back to focusing on how full your pussy already felt, “is it in yet?”

“almost, baby,” you whined again, pushing your ass back onto him and earning yourself another inch inside.

humming in delight, you felt aaron begin to move, setting a slow pace as he inched himself in and out to get you used to the length that was already inside you.

“aaron,” you sighed, “give it all to me,” you pleaded at him through the mirror, “i can take it,”

he studied your expression, all needy and flushed as you tried to buck your hips further back to fill yourself up more, “let me know if it’s too much,” he warned.

you nodded eagerly but didn’t get a chance to reply as he shoved the rest of his length inside, the tip immediately hitting that one spot. you gasped loudly, the feeling of his whole cock inside you awakening a hunger inside of you, “fuck,” you moaned, dropping your hands so that you were resting with your elbows on the counter, “please, aaron. move,”

he hesitated for another moment, and just as you were about to look behind you, you felt him begin to move, pistoling his hips into your ass roughly.

you let out a shriek, your hands grabbing at anything you could reach in order to stabilize yourself as he began to mercilessly pound into you from behind. he slipped his dick in and out of you each time, your pussy hugging the veiny length each time he did.

the sounds your juices made due to you being soaked vibrated against the room each time his hips hit your ass roughly, and it only edged you on further.

“a-aaron,” you moan, breasts jiggling against the cold sink as the girth of his cock stretched you out, “aaron! oh, fuck!”

you thought you had felt good getting his attention when you were back flirting with the guy, but nothing could have prepared you for the feeling of his dick slamming into you.

from above, aaron grunted and groaned, fingers and nails digging into your hips harshly as he pounded into your perfect pussy. he loved the way you clenched around him, taking it back perfectly each time he slipped back in.

his hand reached for your hair, wrapping his hand around it and pulling you back until you were flush against him with your back still perfectly arched. he dropped his hand from your head to wrap around your neck, fingers digging into the sides.

you gasped, not having a choice as you looked at him through the now foggy mirror, the image of your body rocking with every smack against your body only adding onto the sensation.

“such a perfect pussy,” aaron grumbled into your ear, “this pussy was made for me, wasn’t it sweetheart?”

you did your best to nod regardless of how weak your body felt, of the way you could feel your slick drip down to your thighs or the way you were drooling from your open mouth, “belongs to you, aaron,” you mumble, surprisingly coherently despite the way he was choking you.

“yeah, it does,” he grunts, free hand coming to grab at your stomach again before pushing against the spot where his cock was evidently sliding in and out of you, making you squirm, “this greedy pussy belongs to me. not to that bastard you were flirting with, right, honey?”

you nod again, eyes stuck on the tummy bulge you currently displayed, your hole clenching at aaron’s cock even tighter at the way the indent disappeared when he slipped out versus when it reappeared when slipping back in.

“feels so good, aaron,” you mumble, saliva dropping from your lips and onto your pointy, practically rock hard nipples that jiggled with each thrust.

“yeah?” he asks, breath hot against your ear, “taking it so well for me, such a good girl,” he praises, hand leaving from your stomach to slither down to where your bodies connected.

you let out a squeal as his middle finger slipped through your finger and his index began to rub furiously at your swollen clit, the feeling making the knot in your stomach tighten and tighten.

you babbled aaron’s name like a loose mantra, bodies rocking together as he quickened his pace after realizing that you were close to orgasming, hand tightening around your neck and finger rubbing even faster than before.

“c’mon, honey, come for me,” he encouraged, “come all over my cock, pretty girl,”

it was all the confirmation you need to let yourself go, body shaking and aaron’s name being repeated as you chased the high, glad that he was holding you up with his hands as your whole body stuttered.

the feeling of your pussy clenching and unclenching around him violently made aaron groan, sweat dripping down his body as he began to reach his own high just from the way your body reacted to orgasming from his dick. from the way he was fucking you and from the way he was naming you as his own.

you could feel his pace falter from behind you, lazily meeting his pace as you tried to encourage him to finish, “come in me, aaron, please,” you whined, needing to feel him fill you up to the point where his come would leak out of you, “fill up my pussy, aaron,”

he gave you a look of unsureness through the mirror before you nodded at him, “i’m on the pill. it’s okay. please,”

that had been all the confirmation he need for him to finish inside you, his cock twitching inside you as his seed filled you up, making you moan as you rode out your own orgasm, still clenching tightly around him.

you giggled at the way his body practically toppled onto yours as he tried to catch himself, bodies pressed together as he held onto the counter with his dick still inside you.

he snaked his hand around the side of your face as his breath evened, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek and shutting up your whines as he pulled out from inside you with a kiss to your mouth.

“jack’s at a sleepover today,” he says after a few moments of silence.

you inch an eyebrow at him, watching as he leaned over to grab some toilet paper, snatching some off the holder before wiping himself clean of you and wincing at the sensitivity as he wiped gently at your own folds and thighs, “is he now?”

he hums, tucking himself back into his boxers and quickly buttoning his pants to help you put your own clothes on, “he is,” he grabbed your discarded shorts and parties from the floor and signaled you to lift your legs, “we can go home and i’ll wake you up with breakfast in bed and ask you to be go on an official date with me in the morning,”

your heart pulls as he buttons up your shorts for you, reaching for your shirt, too, “i’ll only say yes if we keep going when we get home,” you admit, making him freeze in his movements.

he pinched your nipple.

[lovings4turn]

୭ 🗝️ ✧ ˚. 🪩 you’re my painkiller . . . (j.s.)

— your boyfriend apparently has zero regard for his own wellbeing. you, on the other hand, seem to have enough concern for you both (1.6k words)

+ aka the classic ‘patching up your injured s/o’ trope. brief mentions of injury and blood but nothing serious

+ also my first time writing any sort of nhl work so pls don’t be too too harsh ! a special shoutout to my lovely @wintfleur for all of the support and for listening to my various ramblings n complaints about this fic😭

juraj regrets nothing.

even now, sitting in the penalty box with a bust lip, he couldn’t care less. not about the player that he was swinging at two seconds ago, nor about how well the small cut on his face is going to heal. shit happens, after all.

though, no.

maybe there’s one small thought gnawing away at him, sitting persistent at the front of his brain and demanding his attention. it’s the knowledge that you’re sitting at home and have definitely just watched the whole ordeal unfold.

fuck, he thinks, taking a drink and pushing his hair back. cold water brushes against his split lip and he winces slightly, breathing still laboured from the exertion of both his play and his onslaught of hits onto the opposing team. you’re a worrier by nature, and juraj’s sure that whatever close up of his face that they’ve displayed on the broadcast has done nothing to quell your concern.

scraps happen all the time in hockey. it’s a fact that you were well aware of long before you’d even started dating juraj, and it would be ridiculous to expect him to never get caught up in a bit of a scuffle. if anything, it should be assumed. but this doesn’t mean you have to like the thought of it, either. 

no one likes to see their partner roughed up and bleeding, no matter how good they may or may not have looked whilst getting into said fight. especially not when you have to wait another two hours or so to see them again.

two minds intertwined, both you and juraj desperately wish you could have attended the game tonight so the distance between you could be a little smaller. he would find a way, some method of conveying to you that he was completely okay, and worrying was the last thing you needed to do. the dickhead deserved it, after all.

sadly, things can’t always work out the way that juraj wishes, and now he has to deal with the consequences. it’s a painful rest of the game, and his drive home is even more laborious. how he will find a way to quell your worry, to assure you he was fine, and that if anything, this method of getting out a little extra aggression was pretty healthy depending on who you asked, is beyond him. luck and charm is all he has on his side. 

turns out, all of his planning and preparation isn’t needed.

he doesn’t even have the chance to get a word out before you’re rushing over to him, a surprise yet fond oof escaping his bitten lips as you bury your face into his sturdy chest. large calloused hands find their way to sit at your waist, the fabric of your hoodie hiking up slightly to grant juraj’s fingertips access to your skin.

he’s granted a tight hug before you’re pulling back far too soon for his liking, your warmth lingering against his chest and tunnelling through his skin to reach his heart. juraj’s thumbs stroke at the exposed strip of your waist as he awaits your next move.

in an effort to reach his face, you push up onto your toes and juraj automatically stabilises you by tightening his grip on your waist. cautious to not hurt him, you cup his jaw with a gentle hand, the dusting of faint hair familiar against your skin. your thumb barely ghosts over the dried crack of blood sitting on his bottom lip, a place you’d pressed countless kisses in the past now marred by a mark of frustration.

with your furrowed brows and pouty lips, you look downright adorable to juraj as you survey his scrapes, which are arguably nothing in his eyes. he’d be lying if he were to say he wasn’t enjoying the way you were fussing over him, and he was a little amused at just how concerned you were over a few little cuts.

finally, your observation comes to an end.

“you’re an idiot,” you surmise, clicking your tongue softly as you fail to hold back a smile.

the blunt nature of your words takes him aback, and he barks out a laugh.

“it’s not bad.”

his voice is thick, accent heavy, and it takes a lot of effort for you not to swoon.

“there’s blood.”

he holds his hand up, pinching his pointer finger and thumb close together. “little bit.”

“still blood.”

his eyes are locked onto yours, and though you want to do nothing more than kiss him silly, the thought of causing him any more pain or discomfort is out of the question. all you can do is stare at one another, hoping your expression can convey far more than touch or words.

eventually, your hand leaves his jaw, and juraj finds himself having to stop his face tilting, wanting to follow the caress of your palm, to chase the warmth it gives him. the longing doesn’t last long as your hand finds his own, squeezing it in a show of love.

he doesn’t think twice as you lead him into the bathroom. your hands are on your hips as you huff out a breath, squinting slightly in a laboured effort to remember where exactly you stored the haphazard medical kit that was invented for moments exactly like this.

luck is on your side, as your guess of rooting through the cabinet underneath the sink proves to be successful. your fingers swipe through various medical products, and you pluck out some plasters and antiseptic, hoping that they would do the job.

juraj stands behind you like a lost puppy, half amused and half concerned at the speed at which you’re moving. he truly doesn’t think his injuries are anything to dwell on, but the way that you’re acting prompts him to think twice.

oblivious to his hovering, you plant your palms firmly onto the cold marble of the bathroom counter before you push yourself up, your new height bonus granting you easier access to the scrapes on juraj’s face. you pat your thighs and give him a smile.

“come here then, let’s get you patched up.”

juraj doesn’t need to be told twice. in two long strides he’s standing between your split legs, hands finding purchase on your thighs as you take a minute to properly assess the damage done to your boy’s face. truly, it could be far worse - you’ve seen players lose teeth in the past, after all - but you think you’ve earned the right to be a little dramatic.

“this might sting,” you warn, beginning to pour some of the antiseptic liquid onto a cotton ball. the strong scent causes your nose to scrunch and juraj can’t help but to press a kiss to the wrinkled skin, a silent communication of consent.

it hurts like a bitch. you murmur apologies throughout, cursing and wincing with him as you dab at the area around the wounds in an attempt to clean up as much of the blood as possible. it’s impressive, how efficiently you work, considering you’re not exactly well versed in cleaning up wounds. 

“what even happened?” you ask. “whole thing happened out of nowhere, from what i saw.”

juraj drums his fingers against your thighs, jaw clenched slightly as he distracts himself from the harsh sting of the antiseptic liquid. your question gives him something to think about, to focus on.

“eh, nothing really. was frustrated, he chirped me. next thing i know, we are fighting.”

you can’t help but laugh at his nonchalance, and your smile reflects onto his own face, the sun lending light to the moon. the motion stretches the gash on his bottom lip and he hisses a little, letting out an indignant sound as you swat at his curious hand.

the plasters you purchased are far too big for the small cuts along his lip and cheek, so you’re forced to slim them down slightly with a pair of rapidly acquired nail scissors, tongue poking from the corner of your lips. you delicately press the bandages to his injuries, smoothing over the fabric with a level of caution reserved for fine china or glass. 

evaluating your half-assed medical job, you move to cup juraj’s face once more and relish in the way that he steps closer to you. a hand swipes at his cheekbone, and you tsk slightly as your knuckles graze the mottled skin in an act of sympathy. “that’s definitely gonna bruise love.”

“eh, it will make me look tough,” he jokes, puffing out his already large frame even further. it’s impressive, you have to admit.

“don’t want you looking tough,” you huff. “want you looking okay. no matter how good you look when y’roughing someone up.”

though you’re joking, juraj senses the underlying worry in your tone, your mind wandering to the threat of him stumbling through your doorway in a far worse condition. 

“i’ll be more careful.” a promise.

“what am i gonna do with you, hm?” you tease.

your hands come to rest around his broad shoulders, and juraj slides you off of the counter, hands coming to support your thighs as you wrap your legs around his waist. he carries you towards your bed like it’s nothing, laying you down gently before crawling next to you. he wastes no time in pulling you into his chest, your ear against his chest as the steady thrum of his heartbeat lulls you into a calmer state.

“for now? cuddle me. all i need.”

“i’d love nothing more.”

[girlfriendstan]

Hii, so I was thinking about enemies to lovers with gyuvin, where you just don't like each other and are always bickering. But one time it turns a bit sexual because he said you wouldn't be able to take him. So you decide to prove him wrong, but it backfires because you can't handle him and he just makes fun of you (a lot of dirtytalk). Thank you, I really liked your gyuvin fics so far! They are really good!

you expect a lot of things when you end up at kim gyuvin’s house for a school project: a huge headache, at least 3 arguments on how to execute a project, and zero work done.

what you don’t expect, though? his tongue running through your folds, and your mind running away from the mere possibility that deep down, a sick part of you is enjoying being at his disposal.

“told you you couldn’t take this,” he briefly lifts his head away from the center of your thighs to show off a grin you wish you could wipe off. you wince at the sight of his lips coated in your juices and crucify yourself for being even a bit aroused by someone you consider an utter bastard.

“i haven’t come yet. don’t get ahead of yourself,” you manage to retort, deliberately avoiding eye contact. after all, you’re a hater, not a liar, and it would be a lie to say that his mid-oral sex visuals don’t make you feel things.

as soon as you finish that sentence, he buries his impossibly tiny head into your core with a new sense of hunger. you thank your lucky stars that he had the decency to keep your call on mute, because the sounds he makes while eating your pussy feel intentional, but you still can’t help but feel like you’re both at the risk of being found out.

if you hate the mere thought of that, gyuvin seems to love it as he goes down harder on you. refusing to make any more sounds and give him that satisfaction, you react in the form of tugging at his hair instead whenever he hits the right spots.

gyuvin lets his index finger graze your clit, while his nose is all but buried in your folds. “why can’t you run your mouth now, huh?” he taunts you again, putting a halt to his devouring. you think you’re free, that you put up a good fight that you’ve won since he did all that and still didn’t get an orgasm out of you, but he pulls out his throbbing hard-on from the grey sweatpants you’ve always been wanting off, and you wish you could melt into his bed and disappear.

“why the long face, babe? you said you could take anything i’d give you,” gyuvin says, stroking experimentally at his cock, signaling what you should be anticipating next. “aren’t you obsessed with winning against me? you can’t exactly do that when you’re scared,” a significantly obnoxious thrust into his hand “of this.”

when gyuvin’s balls deep inside you, all you can do is throw an arm to cover your face and act like you’re not having the best sex of your life. every thrust is harder than the last one, and he’s just so, so big there’s no inch inside you that doesn’t feel his length and girth. save for a couple of accidental moans he’s definitely taking note of, you stay quiet as he fucks you. you act like it’s a form of refusal to his cockiness, when all you do is comply and take what he gives you almost pathetically.

“you win,” gyuvin says as he places his cock in your mouth just in time for him to come inside it. “i didn’t know you could be such a good girl, though, just taking anything i’d give you like a pliant slut.” more drops of cum find their way on your lips. “there’s always more i can make you take, though.” gyuvin’s hands all over you feel like a dangerous sign, and you can feel him start to prop you up in the spirit of simply taking more from him, but at least you don’t need to put up a fight anymore.

[brianwashere]

hello!! saw your writing today in my tags and got interested, read some more and you seem really cool :D i got one fic stuck in my head though, the one you posted earlier today with the 7 foot spider reader! it was really cool but i kind of thought about a follow up (and I made sure to check your rules before this)

i was thinking, m/n is really big, intimidating and generally a badass- however. in bed (nsfw) he’s inexperienced, shy af, and ends up just being really submissive (you actually didn’t specify if you prefer dom or sub reader, i assumed you mind neither, but if u don’t feel comfortable with this then just ignore)

thank you, and keep up your great works so far :D

Anon, you’re officially my favorite fucking person ever. Oh my god. This req. warmed my heart. Idek what. It just did. Thank you for reading my other fics too. Wow. I’m reeling rn.

Also you didn’t specify who with so I just did HCs for Noir and Miguel

Pls req again soon! You’re so sweet

**I do not own any characters or part of the franchise from marvel or sony **

Summary: look at req

Tw: explicit activities ehehehehe, language

-Miguel-

The first time you two try anything he’s expecting you to be all dominant and get his ass blasted

Y’all two are making out and he’s ready to take it to the next level

And you’re nervous cause you know he’s expecting you to be this super experienced “knows how to make you scream immediately” kinda guy

The truth is you haven’t had much experience because while people may be into the whole “huge man” thing they’re too scared to actually come up to you and even have a conversation

And you’re also scared of hurting your partner

Just a mix of things that led you to little experience

It doesn’t take long for Miguel to figure it out

As soon as you glanced at his face nervously he knew something was up

At first Miguel is surprised bcc he would’ve expected men and women to practically be hanging from you

Once he recovers from the initial shock he’s down with topping and showing you the ropes

It’s a bit of a boost to his ego, not to mention a massive turn on for him

He never lets you shy away from him/cover your face. He loves seeing you. He knows he’s not stronger than you but he’ll still pull your hands away/pull you closer

But sometimes he does wanna be on bottom

Queue very erotic teaching sessions

When you do something he likes he’ll definitely over exaggerate so you’ll know

He also loves marking you up in more…intense ways because he knows it won’t really hurt you

Clawing your back. He’ll claw the SHIT out of your back.

Biting you too. Sometimes he just can’t help it

He finds out you have god tier stamina and impecable recovery time and will definitely use that to his advantage

*cough cough* Overstimulation and denial *cough cough*

He’s down to do whatever you’re comfortable with but sometimes he really needs some stress relief i.e. getting a blowjob or just fucking you senseless

He won’t admit it but he likes when he’s the little spoon after you two are done

~Noir~

You got nervous and told him the first make out session that you had practically no experience

He was a little taken aback, again, you’re so big and so hot how could people not be lining up for a piece of you

It makes him feel even more lucky to be with you though

“Oh…that’s ok, dear. We’ll take it slow, then.”

Then he finds out your submissive too and he’s pretty sure he has a heart attack

Now he was pretty vanilla at first but then he found the internet and stumbled upon some kinks and did some…research

Behind. He loves seeing your back muscles move and twist under him

He likes tying your wrists together with some of his webbing

It’s strong enough that it could actually hold you if you tried resisting, maybe not for very long, but it wouldn’t snap like thread at the slightest pressure

He loves praising you. Praise. All the time. Always praise. You could breathe and he’d be on his knees for you

Every time he does something new he asks if you’re ok with it

He’ll be gentle if that’s what you want but he figures out that’s usually not the case

Usually you want everything he’s got, as much as he’ll provide you

He does love soft romantic nights with you though

Where he gets to enjoy your large beautiful frame and your contrasting shyness

When he gets to slow down and drink in ALL of you

The noises you make, the small movements, your incoherent mumbling

He loves ALL of it

He’s so down bad for you not even a joke

A little guilty pleasure for him is kissing you senseless

He loves being the big spoon for you, even if it just feels like a backpack is attached to you

[scribbles97]

The Nightmare Come True - Part 5 and The End

Thanks @loopstagirl for the original idea of this whole fic that spiralled far further than I think either of us expected. Scott's POV 1 | Part 1 | Scott's POV 2 | Part 2 | Scott's POV 3 | Part 3 | Scott's POV 4 | Part 4

Christmas had come and gone as loudly as it always did in their house. 

The best gift for Gordon was the day his oldest brother had turned up at a training session alongside Jeff, the kid hadn’t stopped talking about it for a week. Jeff had been confident Scott would soon be making his way into the pool himself, especially if his request for an olympic sized pool on their newly purchased island was anything to go by. 

John and Virgil had both returned home for the holidays full of stories and with open invites for their big brother to visit them at their respective colleges come the following semester. Scott had been keen, immediately opening his calendar and circling dates between appointments and other plans. 

Even Jen had paid a brief visit, greeting the younger brothers as old friends proving just how much Scott had spoken of them all to his squad at one point or another. 

By spring Jeff had noticed just how Scott had begun to fill out again, his time in the gym paying off and rebuilding the muscle that had been lost. He was starting to relax, to enjoy life as he once had and found the confidence he had always worn like a comfortable jacket. Gradually, he was becoming a version of the son Jeff recognised. 

March was spent in the air, racking up supervised flight hours after passing the required psych exams. It had taken time for him to be comfortable in the pilot's seat again, but Scott had said himself that being in the air was as natural to him as being in the water was for Gordon. All he had needed was a supportive shoulder, one that Jeff was willing to offer. 

By his birthday, Scott’s full pilot’s license had been reinstated, giving cause for a celebration alone without the news of John’s new Space Rated status. They had called Virgil on hologram, celebrating from their separate corners of the country louder than they had done over the festive period.

It had been late in the night when Jeff had found Scott out on the porch, a letter discarded but evidently not forgotten in his lap.

“I was going to tell you earlier, but the surprise party kind of distracted me.” Scott had smiled as Jeff had joined him on the step and poured them each a measure of whiskey.

“Cambridge offered me a spot to study English Lit, it’s all online so I’d only need to go over twice a semester so I’d still be able to--” He paused to glance over his shoulder, making sure no younger brothers were lingering in the kitchen.

Jeff had chuckled, glad that Scott was doing something for himself, something that didn’t immediately lead to any plans that had seemingly always been in place.  

“You don’t have to, you know?” He had pointed out, “If you want to take some time for yourself before joining the Project…”

Scott had shook his head, grinning as he sipped his drink, “I want to get in the air again, Dad, and that rocket? I’m not letting you have all the fun.”

Both had laughed at the implication, wordlessly reaching their glasses towards one another in a silent salute to everything they had overcome in that year alone. 

Things still weren’t perfect, Alan and Gordon were far from happy about moving to a boarding school away from their family. Scott still had a way to go before he was back at his full strength and fitness, but with the encouragement from Val and Lee, he was well on his way to outperforming them all. 

“This is what I need.” Scott had nodded, “Despite everything, I’m glad we’ve ended up here Dad.” 

Jeff had slung an arm over his shoulders and pulled him close, “Me too kid, me too.” 

Of course, it hadn’t lasted. 

A short eighteen months later, Jeff had been shot into the farthest reaches of their solar system. He had been sure that he would never see his family, his boys, again. It hadn’t mattered what he had tried with the engines, there had been no way for him to get home. He had tried, time and again to find a way to get through to them but it had eventually become apparent that all he could do was try to stay alive.

He had taken to sketching and writing when he wasn’t trying to keep himself alive, focussing on thoughts of each of his boys. How Scott was at least back doing something he loved, that John had made it to space as he had always wanted to, that Virgil was close to graduating with Honors on his engineering degree, that Gordon would have made it to the Olympics, and Alan at least had four older brothers to look out for him. It had been the thought and memory of them that had kept him going, the irony not lost on him that it had been the same things that had kept Scott going through his imprisonment. 

There had been little else to occupy him over those long years. 

He had never given up hope, not even as the planetoid had begun to separate beneath his feet, he had known they would come. 

Right at the last possible second, he had spotted Scott. 

Just like that, their roles were reversed. 

Scott had stepped up in the time Jeff had been gone, and the more he had seen of the man his eldest had become, the more his heart had hurt. 

He had dropped out of his Literature degree almost immediately after Jeff had gone, had taken up the role of commander in International rescue, and the role of Father to younger brothers that weren’t ready to be orphans. Once again, thanks to Jeff, Scott had lost sight of the man he wanted to be for himself.

Once again, Jeff had vowed to set that right.

There had been months of recovery, hospital appointments and physiotherapy, most of it familiar from the year before he had taken the unexpected trip. Scott had resolutely been at his side through all of it. 

“Alan asked how you did it…” Scott had started one night, sat out by the pool waiting for Virgil and Gordon to return home from a rescue.

Jeff hadn’t needed further clarification as he had trailed off. He’d had therapy that morning, had spent the day pulling his boys closer after talking about what the isolation had done to him. Of course, they had all picked up on it.

“I imagine much the same way as you did during the war,” Jeff admitted softly, “Thinking of your family, remembering all the good times.”

Before he had left, talking about the war had been coming easier for Scott. It hadn’t taken long for Jeff to realize that Scott had clammed up once he had no longer had his father to talk to about such times.

Scott snorted, looking out to the horizon, “Admittedly, it’s a good method.”

Jeff smiled sadly across to him, “It got us both a long way.” 

It had gotten them both back home, back to their family, to somewhere where they could find their feet again and work towards the version of themselves they wanted to be.

The man sat next to him was physically recovered from his time as a prisoner, but had never found a solid enough footing to find himself amongst all the chaos life had thrown at them.

“You didn’t end up where you were aiming, I’m sorry for that.” Jeff sighed after a moment, reaching out to Scott’s shoulder, “Because of all of this, I think you lost yourself again Scott.”

“I--” For a moment it seemed like he was ready to argue, before his shoulders had fallen and he had nodded in admission, “I became who I needed to be.”

They had shared a look, one that spoke of burdens that had fallen back on tired shoulders that had barely gotten free before being weighed back down again.

“You deserved to live life for yourself Scott.” 

Scott ran a hand through his hair, “I know that now.”

“I know it wasn’t my fault,” Jeff continued, “but I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you see that, Son, I’m sorry that life has been so cruel and unfair.”

Scott’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, “I’m glad you don’t blame yourself.” 

Jeff would never admit to him that it was a concept he still sometimes struggled with, but something he was working on regardless. His son didn’t need any more burdens. 

“So,” He started, looking across with raised eyebrows, “Alan’s headed to college in the Fall, how about you take another look at that Literature degree?”

Scott’s laugh was full bodied against Jeff, “Yeah, I suppose that doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

Laughing with his son, Jeff nodded to himself. 

They were going to be just fine.

[farfromharry]

I love you, forever | Eddie Munson fic

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend was an idiot, the biggest idiot you had ever met. The belief he was a loser and a coward had broke him down so much that he was willing to risk his life to be a hero, only he didn’t consider the consequences it would have on everyone else if he didn’t make it out alive.

Word count - 5566

Warnings - character death, angst sorry lol

a/n i literally started this july 2022 and got the sudden urge to finish it now, so pls enjoy

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Your boyfriend, though you liked to rave about how smart he was, was an idiot. He was the biggest idiot you had ever known to be.

The plan was to distract the bats, nothing more, nothing less and that had been made abundantly clear. As soon as that had been done he and Dustin should have been making their way out of the upside down and to safety, as agreed. But no, despite the fact that his motto was ‘there’s no shame in running’, this time he didn’t run. This time he went back, he endangered himself, he endangered everyone. You were all so close, so close to being back in Hawkins and this being over when everything turned to shit.

As the adults, you let Dustin climb back through the gate first, back into the destroyed Munson trailer where you would be safe– safer, at least. You were to follow as insisted by your boyfriend. There was no tell you picked up on that Eddie was going to deviate from your plan at any point. Not even when he’d called your name, catching you off guard with a long kiss. Now you knew that he had been confirming to himself what he was going to do. At the time it hadn’t felt like a goodbye kiss, but clearly you had misjudged.

He helped you up the rope, waiting until he was sure you were safe on the mattress at the other end of the gate, where Dustin helped you to your feet.

You looked back expecting to see him making his way towards you, but instead were just in time to see as he cut the remainder of your makeshift rope, severing his way out. Your body felt frozen, heart dropping into the pits of your stomach as you became overwhelmed with a new sense of fear. You cursed under your breath.

“Eddie.” Your voice was shaky as you tried to combat the tears. Nothing good would come out of him trying to be a hero. “Don’t do this. Think about what Steve said… don’t be a hero.” At the time you had thought Steve was being pretty dramatic. None of the 3 of you would be stupid enough to do anything life threatening, or at least more life threatening than what you were already doing, least of all Eddie. But now it felt like very fitting advice, almost like he had already known what could happen.

He looked to be reconsidering for a second, pausing in his movements. You could practically see the cogs turning and you were praying he would do the right thing. However the second he looked at you, you knew.

“I’m sorry.”

He ignored every one of your pleas to come back.

When you looked at Dustin, you could barely see him through the water building in your eyes. You were sure you’d both come to the same agreement. “We have to go get him.” And you never expected him to protest.

There was another problem when the 2 of you remembered he had made it difficult for you to get back through the gate. You no longer had a functional rope and the drop was pretty big. It was going to take some guts to head through. You lead the way, despite hoping 5 minutes ago that you would never have to step foot in the upside down again. The landing was far from graceful, but you seemed to be intact and without injury. The same couldn’t be said for Dustin though, who hit the floor with a pretty nasty crack from his knee.

“Shit, are you okay?” you asked. Your hand hovered over his leg, scared to touch it in case you made it any worse. It sounded bad enough already, especially if his face was anything to go by. You had heard the snap, so you could only imagine the kind of agony he was in. But even so, he was still willing to get back up on his feet (with your help) if it meant saving Eddie. He wasn’t backing down that easily.

You helped the boy limp his way out of the trailer, rounding the corner until your eyes landed on Eddie with his spear and makeshift shield. You could see the weird bats circling around him and you did not have a good feeling about what was going to happen next.

“Eddie!”

Maybe it was all your fault for distracting him, or maybe he never really stood a chance with the sheer amount of the animals that were there, but he couldn’t defend himself when they all began swarming him.

The scream that ripped from your throat was one you never thought you’d be able to produce, but the sight in front of you was one that was enough to shock you to your core. A pair of arms wrapped around you the second Dustin caught on to the way in which your knees were giving way beneath you. He didn’t expect the impact of having to catch your entire body though, not with his injured leg, so as a result the both of you descended to the floor.

You tried your hardest to get out of his arms, to run to Eddie to see if you could help him in any way, but the kid was surprisingly strong. In his defence, he didn’t think he could handle losing 2 people he cared about in the same moment. If you could help Eddie, it needed to be after the bats cleared. None of you stood a chance against those things. They were out for blood.

You had never felt as useless as you did in that moment. You just sat there, crying and watching as the things mauled your boyfriend. There had to be something you could do.

It was sudden when it came to an end. You didn’t know what happened, seeing all the bats drop, you just assumed your other friends had been successful in their half of the plan, that things were finally coming to an end. Dustin didn’t care to speculate, he just took off limping within a second towards the boy lying motionless on the floor. In any other scenario you probably would’ve teased the kid about how much he cared for your boyfriend, but the reality of the moment was beginning to weigh on you and it was heavy.

It took you a little longer to gather yourself, but when you finally stopped crying and built up the courage to head over there, you only caught the tail end of their conversation. You didn’t expect that any of it would be relevant to you though.

“Take care of her, Henderson,” he said, pleading with the boy with those big doe eyes. His grip on the kid’s arm was as tight as he had the strength for, telling the curly haired boy just how serious he was. He would have told you to take care of yourself, but he knew you far too well. This was going to ruin you, there was no way you could get past this on your own. Dustin nodded. It was easy for him to make the promise, because he would fulfil it for Eddie no matter what.

Now that he had mentioned you, it was hitting him that he couldn’t see you. He vaguely recalled the scream he had heard earlier and suddenly he was nervous. Had the scream been because the bats were coming after you too? What had happened that he didn’t know about?

“Where is she?” he asked, frantically. He tried turning his head to look for you, but he was only making his injuries worse. Dustin was trying to calm him, to tell him you were right there and you were fine, but it seemed nothing would put a stop to his writhing until he heard the sound of your voice.

“I’m here. I’m right here, Eddie.”

You switched places with Dustin, the younger putting some distance between you so he could go and feel his emotions without interrupting your goodbye. You took Eddie’s hand, bringing it up close to your face so you could feel him. “You’re such an idiot. We were almost out and you just–” you frowned. “It was so dumb.”

He took your words in his stride, managing to let out a strangled laugh. “But I didn’t run. I was the hero this time… right?” There was hope swimming in his eyes as he waited for your response. He needed you to confirm it.

The fact he didn’t consider himself a hero broke your heart a little bit. You forgot he couldn’t see himself the way you saw him. In your eyes he was the biggest hero in the entire world. More importantly, he was your hero. “You were always my hero, Eds.” It was important to you that he knew that. “Remember that time in junior year, the first– and last– time I ever played D&D?” Initially he looked confused. He sure remembered it, it was the first time he realised he might have feelings for you, but he didn’t understand its relevance now. “Man, I was so terrible at the game, and all your friends were mad, but you did everything to try and save me. That day was the first time I ever called you Eddie the hero, and I meant every word. Do you remember that?”

The sight of a tear rolling down from the corner of his eye made your heart clench. It wasn’t the first time you’d met, but it was the first time he really thought that maybe he wasn’t going to be on his own forever. That had been the day he really fell in love with you. Never in his life had he ever forged one of his beloved games so much for a single person, but he couldn’t destroy the excitement that was written all over your face. That was how he knew he was completely whipped.

After that game you had waited in the room until everyone had left, leaving you alone with Eddie as he tidied up. He didn’t notice you at first, too busy with cleaning all his gear and such away, so you had to clear your throat to catch his attention. You remember the way he jumped as he realised there was another person in there with him.

“Oh hey. Did you forget something?” he asked, rubbing his hands together nervously. You didn’t know exactly what was making him like that, but part of your brain thought it might have been you. It was quite the ego boost to know outspoken junior Eddie Munson was intimidated by you.

“I actually wanted to thank you.” The look on his face was one of pure confusion. “For all the help,” you clarified. He made a quiet ‘ah’ sound in understanding. “I know I sucked, so bad, but I really appreciate all the times you saved my ass so I could keep playing.”

The two of you laughed together. “Yeah, uh, you just looked so excited. I really wanted to give you a fair chance, but you sucked so hard, dude.” Although he’d been nervous to be alone with his crush at first, he was starting to realise how easy it was to talk to you. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so comfortable around someone who was essentially a stranger.

“I appreciated it, maybe you should change your character's name to, like, Eddie the hero or something. I think it has a nice ring to it.”

He shrugged, trying to force away the blush that donned his cheeks. “Round here I’m just known as Eddie the freak, so I don’t know how well that hero stuff would go down.” The way he brought up the insult regularly used to belittle him so casually shocked you. You knew what people said about him in Hawkins, but you also didn’t believe it. The people in the town were judgemental and loved to gossip about everything, but more than half of what they said was never true.

“I don’t think you’re a freak,” you told him. “I think everyone else is an asshole.”

“Trust me, sweetheart. You don’t want to let other people hear you say that, ‘cause you’ll no sooner be joining me and the outcast club.” He didn’t know why he was trying to scare you away when he wanted to do nothing more than confess his every last feeling to you. But you didn’t seem repelled at all.

“Look, maybe I’m not a full blown freak because Dungeons and Dragons isn’t my forté at all, but I’d like to hang out again sometime, if you want to that is, and if that makes me an outcast then so be it.” You were taking a big leap there.

His eyes were wide and he was slightly taken aback. “Are you sure? There’s no going back.”

“A thousand percent sure, Munson. You guys seem so much cooler than them losers anyway.” You meant every word.

That had been almost four years ago. Since that day you’d been pretty much inseparable. The love that blossomed between the two of you over the years withstood everything. Eddie’s dad going to jail and the boy having to move in with his uncle permanently, his decision to start selling drugs when he needed the extra money, when your constant ridiculing from being associated with him started to get to him. That had been a real rough patch for you guys. Never in your life had you received so much negative attention than you had from the moment you’d been spotted outside Hawkin’s high school kissing Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson. He wanted to protect you from it and the only way he could think to do that was put distance between you. But you didn’t want that. In the end you made it pretty clear that he was stuck with you.

“You mean it… I’m your hero?”

You smiled. “Not only did you save me again, but, you saved the world, saved all of us. ‘M so proud of you, baby. Of course you’re my hero.”

His gaze was beginning to wander, to grow unfocused and it made you panic. “Hey. Hey, look at me,” you whispered, choking back your tears as the boy’s gentle eyes stared up at you blankly. Usually they were so full of life, emotion– he was very expressive with his eyes– but now there was almost nothing. He managed to offer you the sweetest smile he could, given the pain he was in, and you couldn’t help but admire his selflessness. “There’s that gorgeous smile.”

You stroked his cold cheek with your thumb. Sometimes when you would compliment him, especially right at the beginning of your relationship, his cheeks would burn the brightest pink and he would get so flustered that he wanted nothing more than to hide. But now there was nothing. He was cold to the touch.

He grunted slightly from the pain as he began to speak. It must have been taking a lot of energy that he didn’t really have just to even talk to you. “‘M glad that if this is it… how I die–” You saw the way he winced. “Then the last thing I saw was your face…”

You hated that he had used that word, that he was reminding you of what was basically the inevitable now. You didn’t want him to die. He couldn’t die. Part of you was still under the belief that the others would find you down here, that they would just know something was wrong and they would be able to help you. Maybe there was a possibility of Eddie walking out of here alive. You just had to get him to a hospital. They could help him there.

“You can’t die on me.” You were very insistent. “This is meant to be our year. We were gonna get out of here, remember? Head down to Chicago, find somewhere you could play your music and I could teach.” It had been the plan for a while actually, something you’d talked about in depth on nights when it was just the 2 of you wrapped up together. He just needed to graduate first and then your plan could be put into motion. You were excited; so was he.

“In the house, with the pretty garden…” he muttered.

You nodded, laughing wetly as you pushed some of his hair from his clammy skin. You didn’t remember when the tears began to fall so freely. “Yeah, Ed, the pretty garden.” It was so vivid in your mind. “And I was gonna help people fit in; the outcasts that aren’t given a chance. Just like you and me.”

He hummed. “Those kids would love you.”

“I hope so,” you said, continuing to run your fingers through his crazy curls, being as gentle as you could when untangling. You didn’t want to hurt him more than he already was. “And you, you were gonna be some big shot musician and I was gonna come to all your shows.”

“Gonna be a rockstar…”

Your chest ached painfully. “Yeah. You’re gonna be a rockstar.” Neither of you acknowledged how you weren’t using past tense when you probably should be. It wasn’t important right now.

As the seconds passed by it was clear that less and less of him was present. He was slipping away from you and far too fast. There was no way you could hold it against him though. He deserved some relief.

“It’s okay. You can rest now, baby.” It pained you to even say it. Hell, it felt like your heart was being ripped out of your chest, but it wasn’t right to be selfish. He was in a lot of pain, you were sure and he was only holding on to keep you happy. You were asking too much of him in a state like this. The smile you offered him was clearly forced, but it didn’t take a genius to realise that, not when your face was already covered in tears.

It was clear his pain was growing, but there was something holding him back. “Kiss me first?”

Really you shouldn’t have been surprised. That was typical Eddie. He believed even the worst of things could be healed with a kiss. Whenever he was sick, despite how much medicine or home remedies you supplied him with, he would insist it was your kisses which had made him better. Whenever he was sad, his mood could be improved with the gentlest of kisses from you. It all came down to you and your little pecks filled with love.

You chuckled and nodded. He had a little bit of blood on his lips but it didn’t bother you. This might be the last time you ever got to kiss him, you weren’t going to let something so trivial get in the way. You wiped it away with your sleeve, uncaring of how it was probably going to stain your clothing. Clothing could be replaced. Without another second to spare, you dipped your head down, lightly pressing your lips to his. The kiss was a weird tasting mix of metallic-y dried blood and salty tears, but you wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

As you pulled away, he smiled, managing to raise his arm enough to place his hand on your cheek. “One last thing…” Right now you’d listen to anything he had to say, no matter how silly. “Go into my jacket for me,” he instructed.

Obviously you did as he asked, ignoring the way your hands seemed to be getting covered in specks of blood. You tried to push that thought into the back of your mind. If you paid too much attention to the fact that your lover’s blood was literally on your hands, you didn’t know if you’d be able to function any longer. You didn’t know what you were looking for– he hadn’t told you– but eventually your fingers brushed against a velvety box and you saw him nod out of the corner of your eye.

You opened it as it came into your view, but the last thing you had expected was to see a ring sitting there. “What…?” You kept glancing between the object in your hands and the boy in front of you. What was going on? Surely he couldn’t be proposing right now. You were already certain you were going to be destroyed for who knows how long after this, but throw a proposal into the mix too and you knew you would never recover.

“A promise ring,” he clarified. “Was gonna give it to you to tide me over until we get out of here…” The breath he took was wheezy. “Then I was gonna get you a real one. Was gonna marry you as soon as we got to Chicago.”

That prompted another pained cry from your lips. You wished you would have been able to hold it back in a bid to protect his feelings, but you had no choice. You didn’t want his last image of you to be this heartbroken girl, he would feel guilt that he didn’t need to. This wasn’t his fault. But you had no way of reeling it in when you were so overwhelmed with anger and sadness. “Eddie, I would’ve married you in a rundown courthouse with some dirty, old shoelaces or something as rings.” You meant every single word of it. It didn’t even matter that he was still trying to pass high school– you’d marry him regardless. “You’re my world.”

He sighed. “Wanted the best for my girl.” You didn’t doubt that for a second. “But… you have to promise me that you’ll try and be happy without me.”

“You know I can’t promise you that.” There was no way you could be happy without him. He was your other half, your whole heart, your Eddie. Nothing was ever going to be the same again. It certainly didn’t help that you weren’t going to be able to talk about what had happened either. Whether it was to your parents or possibly even a therapist, you couldn’t tell them the real story behind what had happened. To Hawkins, Eddie was missing, they might never even know that he was…

“You have to try. For me.” And at the very least you could do that. Even if you ended up being unsuccessful, at least you’d have tried. “I will love you, forever,” he said, breathlessly.

You smiled, brushing all his hair back from his face. He truly was the most handsome man you had ever seen. “I love you forever, Edward Munson.”

On a whim, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to the centre of his forehead. You heard him exhale shakily, in what was presumably his final breath. Eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to keep your tears at bay. He probably felt the drops of water landing on his skin.

The feeling of him going limp in your arms was one you were sure you would never forget. It would be the very thing that haunted your dreams until the day you died yourself. How many people could say they had held their lover as they literally died in their arms? The thought of it was overwhelmingly horrible, but you couldn’t help but find slight amusement in the fact you knew Eddie would have found it extremely metal. As tragic as it had been, he would have been thrilled at how cool the whole thing made him sound.

After a few minutes of just trying to accept what had happened, you finally lifted your head and noticed Henderson was watching you. You were sure the look in your eyes was just as broken as the one in his. Neither of you said anything to one another. What were you even supposed to say? In the end you sat in silence with Eddie’s body between you, replaying the horrid final moments of his life in a way to torture yourselves.

Even when Dustin staggered away you couldn’t bring yourself to leave Eddie just yet. He looked so peaceful now, so calm that you were almost jealous. You stroked his hair, trying not to think about how this was probably the last time you would ever see him. If you had known that when you woke up this morning, you wouldn’t have gone through with this crazy plan. You might have even pitched a life on the run to Eddie. Anything was better than this outcome. You felt like you’d failed him, like everyone had failed your sweet boy.

So many in this town viewed him as a freak, a creep, a satan worshipper. None of those things were true. Eddie was the sweetest man you had ever met, a ray of sunshine who brightened up your life. He was nothing like people said he was– he had just been stuck with an unfortunate label that in the end had cost him his life. Life wasn’t fair.

It was the kid’s voice that broke you from your thoughts. “We have to go.”

You couldn’t stay in the upside down forever. This place was dangerous, hugely so and even if your friends had managed to put an end to Vecna’s reign of terror, that didn’t mean all the other horrors this place had to offer were gone.

You frowned, feeling a bubble of anger situate itself in your chest. “We can’t leave him here.” He deserved more than that. He deserved a send off, a proper funeral. His uncle deserved to know what had happened to his boy. It didn’t look like the kid had any plans of helping you get him out of here. Despite how much he cared for Eddie, there was no explaining this in the real world. You were in disbelief. “Dustin…”

“It’s not–” his voice broke and he quickly blinked back tears. “It’s not safe for him back there.”

He was obviously referring to people like Jason, who had jumped at the opportunity of leading a witch hunt against him. If they got their hands on Eddie’s body, god forbid, you didn’t know what kind of terrible things they’d do with it. But the same could be said for whatever lurked down here. At least there was a chance he could be at rest back in your world. He deserved a grave, where people would lay flowers and you could talk to him. The look on Dustin’s face though told you you weren’t gonna get that.

“We can’t just leave him.” The tears had begun falling again at the idea of just abandoning him here. During your late night talks with him, you had come to learn that thanks to his parents, he had a fear of being abandoned by those he loved. He was already outcast by Hawkins enough, he didn’t want to end up completely alone. Leaving him here would feel like you were betraying him in a way. “He shouldn’t be on his own. He–” It was easy to forget he was still young. He was just a kid, a kid who got scared just like anyone else. Leaving him here alone would surely be terrifying for him.

“Y/N, we can’t…”

Your sadness was beginning to morph into anger, but it didn’t feel like you could take it out on the kid. He was only doing what he thought was best.

You took some deep breaths, then looked back at your lover, then the ring that he’d given you and slowly felt your anger subside. It was for the best. Maybe if you left him here the weird ways of the upside down could even bring him back. At least that was what you hoped– but it was a little crazy. With a sigh and a final kiss to his head, you got up to your feet, allowing Dustin to lead you out of this hellhole, one man down from when you entered.

You barely even remembered him taking you back to the rest of your group. It wasn’t until someone actually spoke that you realised it wasn’t just the 2 of you anymore.

“Is that blood?” Robin yelped. Her loud voice had caught the attention of Steve and Nancy, their eyes trailing over you and Dustin looking like you’d both just seen ghosts. He could see your body shaking, the dried tear stains on your face when the light hit just right, it all terrified him. Were you bleeding? Was Dustin? Was someone hurt?

“Who’s blood is that?” he asked, scanning you over for any visible injuries. He couldn’t see any, though he didn’t like the mass of blood that was staining your shirt either. When you didn’t respond he became more firm with it, repeating his question. “Y/N, who’s blood is on your hands?” He was getting more impatient the longer you took to answer. If someone was hurt, or bleeding, he needed to know so he could help stop it.

There was radio silence from you. You thought if you opened your mouth all that would come out was another wave of sobs that you couldn’t stop. But that dam was soon to break when Nancy couldn’t help but notice the last member of your trio was nowhere to be seen. She asked the question that hadn’t seemed to hit your other 2 friends yet.

“Where’s Eddie?” Nancy spoke. Your teary eyes finally looked up at them and the sight of your resolve breaking was all they needed to know. There was a round of curses from them as you began to quietly cry again, standing frozen in your place helplessly.

The lack of Eddie, the blood, the horror on your faces, it could only mean one thing.

Robin cursed under her breath, she was really starting to like Eddie. Meanwhile Steve took it upon himself to try and be the comforter in this situation. A large hand settled itself on your shoulder and you didn’t have the energy to work out who it belonged to. You believed it was Harringtons, but you didn’t care enough to check.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

What was anyone supposed to do in this situation?

They all looked around at one another, silently asking where they went from here. They had hoped that things were fixed, they’d go back to normal finally, but really their interdimensional problems had just flipped even more people’s lives on their heads. You and Eddie should have never gotten mixed up in this.

You didn’t really know what was happening around you after that, it was like time was moving but you weren’t. Somehow though you ended up in Dustin’s house, being led through the halls until he sat you down in a bathroom. He was washing the blood from your hands; Eddie’s blood.

“Tell me about your plan.”

Your brow furrowed and your head finally raised to look from your bloodied hands to the boy helping to clean them. Sometimes when Dustin spoke you truly had no idea what he was getting at. He liked to say things that only seemed to make sense to himself. “What?” you questioned, hoping for a little more context at least.

His plan was to try and distract you, something that seemed to be working already. “I heard you saying you had a plan to get out of Hawkins, tell me about it.” Maybe it was personal, maybe you didn’t want anyone else to know, but there was also the chance that this would help you, that you could get some of your pent up anger at the world out here.

“He–” you didn’t know if you could say his name. “He wanted to go to Chicago, hoped he could find his big break with his music.” You smiled at the thought. There had been so many late nights spent talking about your hopes and dreams. Your future together was planned out to a tee pretty much. The idea had always been there, you just had to figure out together how you were going to execute it. None of that mattered though, not as long as you were together.

Dustin listened to every single word you had to say, interrupting every now and then to ask a question. It completely distracted you from the fact he was cleaning your boyfriend’s blood from your hands. At least until you had that thought and then suddenly you were conscious of it all over again.

“That all sounds lovely. I’m sure Chicago’s nice this time of year too.”

His words had tears welling up in your eyes for what felt like the millionth time today. It wasn’t his mistake that had made you cry, more so just the reminder of the situation, but he cursed like he was to blame all the same. There was nothing he could do but give you a hug as you dealt with a million thoughts about what you were supposed to do now that you were alone. This whole thing wasn’t a dream. Those damn bats had attacked him and left him for dead. You should’ve all gotten out of this unscathed. But you didn’t. Eddie didn’t make it out. He was never going to make it out. Eddie was dead.

━━━━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━━━━

[kittyball23]

How about a short fic of how poppy was so happy that she got to dance with brozone mostly Bitty B, and Branch reminds her he not that kid anymore getting a rizz out of her but their soon kiss gets interrupted by john

Sure :)

Baby No More (a Trolls fanfic)

It was only after the exciting hype of the evening had fizzled down into something more cool and collected that Branch and Poppy found the opportune moment to do as any couple would when they had a lovely sunset and each other - take a romantic stroll along the beach.

His larger blue hand gently entwined with her delicate pink one, Branch followed alongside his girlfriend’s light, energetic steps as she merrily skipped, swinging their conjoined arms back and forth, and guiding them to and fro from the white, foamy surf as it washed up against the shore.

Branch shook his head at her antics. “Don’t you ever get tired?” he questioned.

“Nope!” she chirped, not a hint of hesitation in her voice.

“Well,” Branch began to reply, “I know I’d be after all that dancing.”

“Come on, Branch, it was fun!” Poppy chided. “What’s the use of being in a band if you can’t bust out a move, huh?”

“Singing,” the blue Troll replied easily. “Isn’t that the most important thing of being in a band?”

“The most important thing about being in a band is having fun with your bandmates and your music,” Poppy stated matter-of-factly, “and I should know since” - she paused to giggle - “I’m in a band now!” She gave a delighted squeal and stopped them in their tracks so that she could give him a big hug. “Oh thank you, so, so much, Branch!!”

“Poppy, you don’t have to thank me,” Branch wheezed, nearly out of breath from the tightness of her embrace, “I mean, you knew it was gonna happen eventually, right?”

“NO!” she exclaimed with a flail of her arms. “I was SO not expecting that. Do you know how BIG this is for me?!” She grabbed him by the shoulders and looked him right in the eyes. “I’ve been wanting to dance with BroZone since I was a little girl! Oh, and it was BETTER than I could’ve ever hoped for!”

Branch chuckled when her fangirl-mode kicked in hard, the Pop Queen fanning herself and rapidly pacing back and forth on the sand. “Oh my gosh, I STILL can’t believe it! Me onstage with The Leader! And The Heartthrob! And The Fun Boy and The Sensitive One!…”

The blue Troll rolled his eyes. “Yeah, we’re prooobably gonna have to think up new nicknames to give ‘em…”

She turned on him with a sparkle in her eyes. “Aw, and we definitely can’t forget about you, Bitty B the Baby!” She squished his cheeks in a loving manner, giggling, though Branch didn’t quite share in the amusement she had.

“... and we’re starting with mine,” he finished, continuing off of his earlier statement. He gently removed her hands from his face and held onto them firmly, speaking to her slowly so she could hear him very clearly. “Poppy, you do know that I am NOT a baby anymore, right?”

“Yeah, of course I know,” Poppy laughed. “I mean, a baby wouldn’t be able to do this, would he?” Batting her lashes, she leaned in closer to his face, eyes fluttering shut and lips puckering slightly. Branch felt his heart race. Poppy was getting far more comfortable exchanging kisses more frequently with him, and he was certainly not going to be one to deny her whenever she wanted one.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Branch whispered, right before he closed the gap and pressed his mouth to hers.  Her lips were warm and soft, perfectly smooth against his like they always were, nearly able to take him away completely from the world around him - if it wasn't for the rambunctious cheering that sounded.

“All right, YEAH! Now that’s how a man gets things done!”

Branch groaned, breaking apart from the sweet smooch earlier than he would have liked to shoot a glare at the only brother who probably would interrupt such a moment without seeing anything wrong with it (and, who always seemed to pop in out of nowhere at just the wrong moments!).

When John Dory caught his intense gaze, he became sheepish and stammered an apology. “Whoops! Oh, sorry… I guess I probably shoulda waited till afterwards to start cheerin’ then, huh?”

“Yeah,” Branch answered tersely, crossing his arms.

“Heh, my bad! Um, see you later, I guess?” JD said, not waiting for a reply and scampering off to wherever he had so suddenly come from.

Branch rolled his eyes and met Poppy’s gaze. “I think we should make his new nickname ‘The Blockhead.’”

Poppy gasped and shoved him in the shoulder. “Branch! That’s mean!”

He laughed. “It’s just a joke, Poppy, I’m kidding.”

“Good,” she huffed. Grabbing his hand, she leaned in close to him again. “Now, where were we?”

Branch smirked and met her halfway, never one to be tired of displaying his affection to her.

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

(btw, @happyqueenandgrumpydork, for the other oneshot request of yours about the broppy kiss at the end of TBT, did you want the perspective of Branch or Poppy? I'm going to work on writing it this weekend 🙂)

[kivino]

TAKE US BACK || ZOMBIE AU || KYLE ‘GAZ’ GARRICK X GN!READER

Word Counter – 6.4k words

Summary – The new world was rotten, and you rotted away with it. 

Tags/Warnings – Zombie AU (heavily twd coded, don’t expect some l4d type of stuff /lh. Death and turning after the bite ARE slower, however. For the sake of drama. obviously), gore, blood, gn!Reader, established relationship, heavy angst, major character death. 

A/n – So, this fic is my contribution to the spooky season! Special thanks to @mockerycrow for helping me with the pictures for the header, you're the best, pookie!!! I have a playlist for this fic too, so in case you want to read this with complete immersion I’ll link it here. Enjoy <333

also available on my ao3

upd. if you saw that unfinished paragraph you didn’t see anything, move along 👁️👁️

“Kyle, I think…I think I’m bitten.” was all it took to shatter him into millions of tiny pieces. Just like that. Nothing mattered anymore, even that you promised each other to stay alive, no matter what. In the back of his mind, he knew all those promises muttered into his lips while he feverishly kissed you were empty, shallow attempts to silence his mind, to make him sleep in peace, thinking you’ll be there no matter what. And of course, he didn’t doubt your words even for a split second.

Kyle knew he was a fool to believe that. To think the two of you were inseparable. In a world like this, how could one even think of something staying forever untouched by decay that spread far beyond the horizon? Rot overtook everything, and if something was still untouched by it, soon enough that wither would find a way to slither inside, spoiling it forever. It would even find its way into people’s minds, ruining humanity in a manner no physical disease could ever hope to damage them. Kyle and you have seen it happen far too many times, and his only wish was for you to meet your end together, peacefully. But now…he only wished he had the strength to go on, he truly did. 

Because you needed him. Now more than ever. 

And so, he kept trying. If he didn’t then both of you would be done for. You didn’t deserve that, not when all he wanted was for you to be safe and well, not caring much about himself. You were the one who saved him when all the shit went down, now it was time to return the favor. So, he pushed himself through every agonizingly slow day. But he was starting to feel the already feeble remains of his strength slipping away from him. He wouldn’t give up, however. Never. Not when your life depended on it. 

That’s why while you were bedridden, weakness setting in your body as a permanent, bitter resident, Kyle was scouring the old town for fever and cold medicine, trying to be as quiet as possible, not to attract any undead. He had a gun, but he did not use it – too loud and bullets were a luxury, not a commodity. Kyle only had one bullet, following the advice of a nice older man with mutton chops he remembered meeting in one of the survivor camps a long time ago.

“Always save the last bullet for yourself or your loved ones. You never know who’ll need it more”

Methods aside, recent days were spent wandering abandoned houses in attempts to find at least some food for the two of you. Only when the darkness started to settle, Kyle would head back, throwing his backpack over the fence and barely managing to climb it, sore muscles and empty stomach sending jolts of pain all through his body. Even then, he was restless, sitting by your side, wiping your forehead of sweat, and taking your temperature. Your breathing was strained, chest rising and falling under thin blankets that barely kept you warm. And each time he looked at you for more than a minute at a time he felt his insides twisting in pain, eyes getting white-hot with tears, and throat closing, barely letting him take a short breath just so he doesn’t suffocate in his misery.

And then the sun rises, warm rays painting the room in a variety of colors, falling over your face, morning birds wake up Kyle from his nightmare-filled sleep. He jolts awake from the dreams, filled with the image of you, dying in agony over and over, crying out for help, begging him to do something. You get torn apart, your intestines spilling out on the damp floor, pulled out by a crowd of the undead who devour you with vigorous hunger, biting into your flesh until he can’t recognize your face from the bloody and mangled pulp that rotting hands and jagged teeth turn you into. Your raw, pained screams haunt him even when he’s awake, observing you lose your life all over again. Much slower and in a much more painful way. 

The sun rises. And so does Kyle. Your desperate pleas that drag from the dream are muffled as soon as he sees you sleeping. Forgetting, that you were getting weaker with each day that passed. Choosing to bask in your tranquil glow, in the way your eyelashes fluttered while you slept, choosing to neglect the worry clawing on the back of his mind just to stay like this with you for a little longer. Kyle knew he couldn’t delay the inevitable, but he still decided to make the best out of the short amount of time he had left with you. Hoping that some miracle would happen and you wouldn’t succumb to the decay. That the bite would turn out to be a bad dream you both had on the same night, waking up from it in cold sweat, searching for the comfort of each other’s embrace, while letting out relieved sighs, realizing that you’re safe. 

That would be great, wouldn’t it?

Instead, he shakes you awake with a gentle hand, almost not wanting to wake you up from your slumber. You blink up at him, looking even more tired than before you went to sleep. Circles under your eyes are even darker than the previous night. And Kyle is in pain once again. He wants to help you up, throwing your arm over his shoulder, to lead you through the long, silent halls of the school where you were staying, full of dust and damp, moldy smell, to have breakfast together. Like good old times. But he sees that in your eyes, you’re too weak to pull your weight up and stand up. So, he brings the heated-up cans of beans here, putting one on a stool in front of you, helping you to sit up before he even thinks of touching his food.

“Kyle, that’s twice what I usually eat.” You mutter, watery eyes rising to him, sitting on the mattress in front of you with his legs crossed. He raises his eyebrow and his head shifts to the side in a questioning motion.

“Well, you have to eat plenty to recover.” He said, matter-of-factly. You stay silent, unwilling to have that debate right now. You barely managed to stay awake as it is. Let him think that you’ll get better, despite everything you saw together. Despite every rule that you’ve discovered. Let him live in the illusion, in the waking dream that all will be well if he tries hard enough. “Well, what are you waiting for? It’s growing cold” 

You didn’t realize that you’d been drilling the can of steaming beans in front of you with your glassy gaze for the past several minutes, submerged in your thoughts deep enough to suffocate. You pick up the spoon with a weak, shaky motion. Then your eyes fall on the can. Somehow, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to pick it up. Failing at something so simple…you knew it’d hurt your pride even more. So, you opted to push the tin closer to the edge of the stool.

Kyle glanced over at you, beads of sweat glistening on your forehead. He sensed the fatigue from you, lacing the air that surrounded you and leaving dark, oily traces over anything your fingers lingered on. You breathed sickness. Your hands, which were able to easily bash an undead’s head on the wall just several days ago, now could barely hold a spoon steady without it trembling and threatening to fall, spilling all the contents over the moth-eaten blanket. He felt his heart squeeze in pain, and he swore that something shattered inside of him once again. 

“Let me help you.” Although it sounded like an offer, Kyle didn’t look like he was going to let you debate it, shuffling closer to you, taking the spoon from your hand in a swift motion. You purse your lips, knowing that protesting that would be stupid. If it wasn’t for how weak and sick you were, and for a lot of other circumstances, it would be a cutesy moment. Your dear spoon-feeding you something? Please, one’s teeth would rot from how sweet it is. But now it was just another deep, bleeding gash on your pride. Kyle blows on the food, cooling it off and promptly moving it towards your mouth with his hand cupped just under the spoon. You obediently clamp your lips around the spoon. “There we go.” He gives you a small smile, but you see the melancholy in his eyes when Kyle wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb. He means well, yet you can’t help but feel like you’re a burden to him. 

You loathed being like this. Being this weak. Fragile. You were able to fend for yourself, you had resilience and strength, but now you were just rendered useless, only dragging Kyle down, depriving him of the freedom to go on.

He’ll die if he continues like this.

You knew it. He was exhausted, and you’ve been like this for a little over a week. Survival wasn’t about skill anymore, it was about luck. You lost yours already, the moment rotten, jagged teeth sunk into the flesh of your forearm like it was butter, drawing the first blood. But Kyle, he…sooner or later he will lose his luck too. And it was apparent that it was coming sooner than you anticipated. A bullet he won’t be able to dodge. An infected scratch. An undead that he simply didn’t notice because of how tired he is. A bear trap in the vicinity of someone’s camp. Something will get to Kyle. Or someone. And thankfully, you won’t be here to witness it. Hopefully.

 “What are you doing? Where are we going?” You barely managed to mutter out, clinging to him with all the strength you had, which, to be fair, wasn’t a lot. He could feel the cold of your hands clasped around his neck even through several layers of his clothes. Kyle’s hands carefully held you under your thighs as he went up the stairs, not showing any signs of exertion except for beads of sweat on his temples. 

“Just thought we might watch the sunrise together, like good old days” You could hear the soft smile that tugged on his mouth when he said that. Another reminder for you that he probably loathed the way you lived right now and would prefer to go back to the way things were. With you not being his…burden.

You didn’t need to be reminded of this. Of the “good old days”. Finding that abandoned farm, deep in the buttcrack of the countryside was what saved the both of you when the world started going to shit. You and Kyle met each other years prior, but it didn’t matter anymore. Not when everything as you knew it was gone.

Hiding there gave you a sense of normalcy you missed so much, after having to live for months, years like an animal. You didn’t feel like the world as you knew it was falling apart beyond that fence with cracked white paint. Deserted fields full of dead crops, empty house with a bunch of stuff forgotten or thrown around messily - it was obvious the owners wouldn’t come back any time soon. Snooping around gave you too much information - you couldn’t help but feel a bitter burn on the back of your throat when you picked up a framed family photo from the fireplace, five tan faces staring back at you with perpetual smiles etched into the glossy paper. 

You didn’t have the gall to throw away or burn everything personal the previous family left behind. Photo albums, children's clothes and toys, diplomas, drawings, letters, posters, and even something as small as shopping lists on the fridge, five life stories were packed into several boxes, taped and put in the attic. Kyle didn’t understand your wish to preserve something that wasn’t even yours, but he didn’t interfere, choosing to give you a hand instead. If it helped you to sleep in someone else’s bed calmer, replacing the presumably dead strangers, he was willing to indulge you.

Despite how far away from the civilization this farm was, seeing an undead roaming around wasn’t a very rare occurrence, but at least you could handle the occasional walking corpses. You wake up, you go on patrol. You finish patrol, and you meet the sunrise with Kyle by your side, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, with a blanket thrown over the both of you, sitting on the front porch, right on the creaking stairs. These fleeting moments felt so right. Like home.

Eventually, you had to continue moving. Started to run short on supplies ever since then. Running into all sorts of different people, relying on strangers, leading a nomad way of life. It wasn’t unfulfilling, since you only needed the company of each other to keep it together. In a variety of groups that you’ve been through it was always a known fact that you’ll stick by each other before someone else.

All he needed was your loving hug when you came back from a supply run. A soft kiss that you would put on that scar right on his cheek. Or to hold your hand under the table when you sat down to eat with whatever group you were with this week, like your love for each other was a secret meant only for the two of you. All you needed was his warmth, his comfort, his mere presence, that would light up your shitty day like a damn light beam. He managed to take your breath away each time he looked at you with such gentleness and softness that sometimes you didn’t think you deserved it. You’ve found the world in each other. A purpose.

So what is Kyle going to do when you’re gone?

The morbid thought suddenly crosses your mind, while the man carefully sits you down on a worn lawn chair with a soft grunt, plopping down on the ground by your side, warm palm reassuringly resting on your thigh. Bringing you down to earth. Gusts of frosty wind brush through your hair, nipping at your cheeks, nose, and ears. You missed the outside, despite it being quite cold and unwelcoming this time of the year.

“I think the herd's close. See that dust?” Kyle taps you lightly on your leg and points towards the horizon. And true to his words, there is a fine dark line separating the sky, burning up in a mix of reds and yellows, from the earth. “They’re moving weird.”

“What does that mean?” you croak at Kyle, not able to peel your eyes from that sheet of gray, bunched-up dust that sat on the edge of the horizon like a shadow.

“Means if we’re lucky they’ll pass the school.” Kyle mutters, trying to reassure you, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze.

And then it clicks.

When he came back from the supply run you were nowhere to be found in the wind-torn building. There were no traces of you in the old cafeteria on the first floor where the two of you would heat up the canned food that your taste buds got used to over the long months the end of the world stretched over. Before you got bit.

He felt his heart sink to his stomach, so nauseous from the mere thought of something happening to you. Kyle fought himself not to double over, press his forehead against the wall and throw up everything you two had for breakfast until he feels the acidic burn on his tongue and cries his damn eyes out from the pain. You knew that the herd was getting closer, why did you have to disappear right now? You two were supposed to wait it out together, by each other’s side. What were you doing, and more importantly, what were you thinking? Nothing made sense. Nothing at all.

Kyle felt the wall with an awkward, stiff motion of his hand, before putting his weight on it and sliding down, he felt like his legs could not hold him anymore. You barely had the strength to sit upright, where would you go in your condition? 

The only place he could think of that was close enough for you to get to was the motor inn down the street. Of course.

The herd was already here. Kyle had no time to spare, he needed to act now, to get you and run away as fast as possible. He remembered there was a car in that old motor inn, so that could be your getaway plan, sure thing he could figure something out…and to get there…He can use that old trick that another group of survivors taught you two. “If you smell like them, they won’t notice you, simple as that. Just make sure not to bump into anyone, or they’ll get real friendly with you.” Of course. It was that easy. You never resorted to that trick, preferring to avoid or dispose of the undead on sight. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

Kyle cringed at that sinking feeling in his stomach, but not at the thought of having to walk through the herd and probably be eaten alive, no. The possibility of you not being in that motor inn was what made that hollow pit inside of him grow. The fact that he might never see you again. Or that he would find you already gone.

He moves with calculated precision. Catch the undead’s attention, yellowish whites are dull under the daylight. Let it get close enough, it groans with each movement, joints snapping and clicking. Make the undead lose its balance, kick it in the knee, and the rotting leg almost falls off under the force that Kyle unintentionally applies. Destroy the brain, put a hunting knife right to the forehead, and let it thud to the ground, finally at rest. He’s thoughtlessly going through the motions, every step ingrained into his consciousness, almost like second nature to him. Rips through the stomach of the undead, black, resinous blood oozing out. Sinks his hands in the intestines, they smell so strong Kyle tears up and gags, hands shuffling around clothes caked with dirt and grime, swiping putrid, nasty mass all over himself. But it’s nothing. It’s alright. It will be worth it when he finds you.

After that, everything he remembers is under a thick blanket of haze, accompanied by the smell. You never get used to it. He feels nauseous, his insides twisting in worry, gnawing and biting at his heart like a terrified, desperate dog. His eyes grasp onto anything, but all Kyle sees is the sea of rotting flesh all around him, groans and moans of the undead so echoing in his ears loud all he wants is to tumble to the ground and end it all. He barely breathes with how tight his chest is squeezing his heart, it feels like in a split moment his insides will collapse onto themselves, capturing him in this meat cage. He has to remind himself that he’s not doing it for himself, he’s doing it for you, only for you. Kyle has to let his thoughts travel to your voice, to the way your nose scrunched when you laughed, to the frown between your brows when you slept in his arms just so he doesn’t go mad. Stares from decomposing, milky white eyes with yellows, blues, and reds here and there felt like stabs right through him, each could be the last if he gave himself away.

He could be grabbed by any of the half-rotten hands with sickly yellowish bones sticking out like spears of the cavemen, bitten, dragged away, or devoured. But he pressed on through the seemingly endless crowd of the undead. He would be lying if he said it didn’t affect him. That abandoned motor inn was like a beacon right now, but his imagination still ran wild, his hope growing more and more dim with each minute spent away from you. He didn’t feel like any hero. Kyle was scared. Mostly for you, but he could feel the tremble in his knees at the mere thought of any undead in the crowd recognizing him as an impostor. If that happens, he won’t be able to mutter even a single word. Rotten fingers will dig into his flesh, tearing it apart and Kyle will meet his end like this, on the damp ground, abandoned and scared out of his damn mind.

When Kyle pressed himself against the closed door of the motor inn, he finally could breathe in again. It wasn’t the time for a break, however. He still needed to find you. He wanders through the dusty, ransacked rooms in a daze, fixated on finding any traces you left, noticing the old rusty car in passing. The getaway plan. If the two of you are lucky enough. Footprints in the dust. They look new, and similar to the ones on the soles of your old boots. He follows. Your thin blanket lies forgotten on the stairs. Kyle practically flies up to the second floor, picking up the blanket, while he’s at it. More footprints in the dust, door to some old office is left ajar.

First, you felt the smell. Then you heard him cry out your name in surprise. And then you finally saw Kyle. He’s a blur of red, black, and brown. Covered head to toe with blood, guts, rotting flesh, and dirt, you presume. A sad, heartbreaking sight. Kyle, however, doesn’t mind it and immediately runs towards you, falling on the floor with a loud thud, and you’re sure he might’ve scraped his knees with how hard he landed. His arms cage you in a tight hug and you hear him let out a shaky exhale. Tears start to sting your eyes when you feel him pressing your head into his shoulder, stroking you with a gentle motion. You weren’t sure if he was trying to comfort you or reassure himself that you’re real, and not a fragment of his imagination. Regardless, you manage to reciprocate the hug, raising one of your arms and wrapping it around his back.

All of these days you saved up your energy for the last push. You needed to get away from him. You couldn’t trust yourself to remain near Kyle anymore. Any moment you could turn. You felt it in the way your bones ached with every gust of wind, how your blood boiled under your veins and your vision turned even more blurry. And in that case, you’d be a threat to Kyle, possibly getting him at his most vulnerable. It didn’t matter that you’d be long gone by then, you would still never forgive yourself if there was any possibility of it happening. Because, deep down you knew. No matter how skilled and ruthless Kyle was with handling the undead…he didn’t have it in him to bash your head in. So, you only had one choice to ensure his safety.

Yet he finds you. Here. You could feel your cheeks burn from being so angry at him, for his lack of acceptance that you were on the brink, and all it would take for you right now to fall into the abyss would be a light gust of wind or a slight shove. But you couldn’t blame him. You thought a lot about what you would do if the roles were reversed. The scenario brewed in your mind, haunting those short hours you were awake and trapping you in restless dreams.

You would want to live in illusion too.

“There you are.” You could practically feel something inside of you crack when you catch his smile beaming at you. Kyle just went to hell and back to get to you. And he still finds it in himself to smile at you, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders with hurried, but soothing movements. You were so weakened by the bite that you couldn’t even find any strength to go down the stairs and get the blanket when you dropped it. Humiliating. “Come on, we have to go, now, we can’t stay here.” He tries to scoop you up in a warm hug again, but you dig your heels into the ground. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” he looks at you again, trying to catch what is wrong,

“No.” Kyle looks you over, eyes open wide, expression of confusion and sadness on his face. Of course, he doesn’t understand.

“You don’t…have anything on you. Then how, how did you even…” You didn’t have any grime on you at all, looking like you just walked through the herd of the undead without any preparation. But then his eyes trail lower and he sees it. Your left hand, cuffed to the rusty radiator. Suddenly the wave of terror cuts through him, like a fine, thin string through a block of fresh clay.

You came here to die.

“They stop paying attention to you once you’re far along enough. So…I guess that’s it.” He hated you for saying that. God, he hated you so much, he wanted to cling onto your body and suffocate you, arms wrapped around you in weak, pathetic attempts to shield you from any harm. “I…I don’t have any time left.” Kyle felt like he got punched in the gut. Air squeezed out of his lungs, wheezing in pain that he felt for you, because of you, chest aching, tearing apart, and baring his heart under the cage made of bones. 

“No. No, no, no, no, you can’t say that! Why are you saying that?” And for the first time, since Kyle saw the bloodied, ragged teeth marks on your flesh, he broke down into minuscule, fragile pieces right in front of you. His voice trembled, frantic and exerted, refusing to believe you even dared to make peace with the inevitable. He grabs your shoulders firmly and his fingers dig into you so hard he can feel how cold you are through your clothes.

Key. He has to release you from the handcuffs. The herd was here, the way the floor vibrated under his feet, and the way gargled moans and sighs echoed outside made Kyle even more agitated. Where did you get those handcuffs anyway? It only takes a moment for him to remember. One of the supply runs that feels like a lifetime ago. Police station. Searching the bodies, or rather, what was left of them, for anything useful. You take out the handcuffs and show them to Kyle, telling him some kind of joke. He can’t remember what it was or the way you smiled, only that you made him laugh. 

He wished instead of quiet rasping he could hear your laugh again.

“Where is the key from the handcuffs, where did you put it?” Kyle jumped to his feet and started looking over the room in a hurry, suffocated by the fear of losing you. He was wishing, hoping that you would show him where you hid the key, somewhere, anywhere, Kyle needed to throw you on his back and run right this moment.

“Fuck, listen to me, listen. To me.” you tried to snap him out of his delirium, with your harsh tone, freezing palms digging the bloodstains Kyle left on your blanket “You know what you have to do.” He shook his head wildly, looking at you like were mad for even suggesting something like this. “I don’t want to become one of them! You have to make sure I won’t come back.”

“Have you lost your damn mind?! I-” Kyle didn’t understand you. How can you say, make a request like this? Something was fundamentally wrong and the bite, the illness were to blame.

“Have you?” you interrupted, pouring all of your strength into this yelling match. You didn’t care anymore. You felt your fingers going numb, black, inky spots dancing on the edges of your vision, taunting you in their vicious dance macabre. You did not have time for his lame excuses and whatever it was he was trying to be right now. “I’m asking you one thing, and you can’t even do that! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You couldn’t feel the way tears burned your cheeks.

“Listen to me, please! I’m not putting a bullet in your head; do I look like a fucking murderer to you?” Kyle pinches his brow in frustration, not even able to look at you right now. Every single suggestion and comment from you stings, fucking hurts and tears him open once again. Because you’re talking nonsense. Absolute bullshit. And you don’t even realize it, he thinks, blinded by your sudden chase after death.

“I’m fucking dying and you’re worried about not being a murderer? Are you being fucking serious right now?” You couldn’t believe your ears, quite frankly. It was the only thing that you had asked of him. The only thing that you wanted. To be finally released. You couldn’t bear it anymore. Your body working against you, living with the constant threat of turning any second, massacring and desecrating Kyle’s corpse as a bloodthirsty, disgusting creature, that will have your face, your body, your hands, and your voice, but not anything that makes you – you. No memories. No love. No inner strength and compassion. Just hunger and urge to slaughter, destroy, and ravage everything in your sight.

“You know that’s not what I meant! Why are you doing this right now?” Kyle felt like he was about to collapse into himself from despair. He couldn’t just do what you were suggesting. And you knew it, yet you chose to ignore it and refuse any acceptance? You always listened to him, even if you didn’t quite agree. You always were patient with him. What’s gotten into you now, what happened?

You don’t have any more time. That’s what happened.

“Oh, so I run away, trying to keep you safe so you live another day and see another one of these stupid sunrises, cuff myself here just so I don’t harm anyone and you can’t even do what I’m asking you to?!” Your voice rises to a volume you didn’t even know you had in you right now, after dragging yourself through the imitation of your former life for a little less than a week. To think your suffering so far lasted less than a week, yet you were ready to end it all right this moment.

Because you could feel it in your bones. You were close.

“Well, tell me, what’s the point of me living if you’re dead?!” You can hear the way his voice breaks in the end. Desperate. Pleading.

The silence rings in your ears with how loud it is. 

“I’m sorry.”  You croak at him after a short while, eyes trained on the dirty floor. Kyle chuckles, the sound that you love so much, but then it’s followed by a muffled sob. He kneels in front of you once again and your eyes rise to meet his. You can’t help but think that he looks even more beautiful covered in rotting guts, with his eyes full of light and love for a doomed failure like you.

It’s almost impossible to breathe from how hard your heart aches. God, you love him so much. You want to take all the pain from him with you, into the vile, putrid abyss. Kyle takes your hands in his. You’re terrifyingly cold. And he’s too warm. You feel tears rising to your eyes, prickling at them, as you fail at your attempts not to break down right now.

“I can’t stay mad at you when you make that face.” Kyle says with a small laugh that breaks into dry sobs, as his shoulders shudder violently with every single one, before he clings onto you, seeking comfort and reassurance, that you’ll be here. With him.

His embrace feels suffocating. It’s so tight you think any more pressure from him will break your bones into yellowish sharp daggers and fine dust. And you’d forgive Kyle if that happened. You’d forgive him for anything, quite frankly. Funny, how now you have the answer to what you would do if he was the one turning. You’d let him devour you wholly, in the ultimate show of love. You’d let him bite into you, whatever he wanted – neck, arm, a leg, he could have. You’d lay in the pool of your blood, muffling your pained cries by stuffing that worn blanket into your mouth. You’d slowly slip away into oblivion, letting your undead beloved gnaw on your bones and taste the love that would seep out of your flesh. You would probably turn a lot faster if that happened too. And then you’d be together for eternity. You knew Kyle always wanted you two to be together. Both in life and in death.

“I’ll wait for you. I promise.” You barely manage to squeeze a smile out of yourself to comfort Kyle, feeling your strength leaving you. Succumbing to the weakness that spread a dull ache over your body, to that festering rot inside of you, that was finally overtaking. You felt cold, thin digits of terror sink right through your chest, sweat prickling once again on your forehead and temples. There was no use clinging unto something that was unsalvageable. Your body and your mind were beyond repair. You knew it. Only he kept you here.

“Please…don’t leave me.” Kyle couldn’t feel anything besides the pain and hot needles jabbing his eyes. Your touch almost felt unreal, how weak, subtle it was. He tore away from you only for a moment, bloody palms cupping your face. His lips pressed against yours in a quick, feverish kiss, and even more pecks like this followed – to your forehead, eyelids, corners of your mouth, and nose. As if this would save you from inevitably losing the remains of your strength. As if you weren’t clinging to your last seconds with him as it is. “Please…please.” He whispered against your skin. His tears glittered like gemstones in the dim glow of the sunset. Kyle looked so beautiful like this. Yours.

He missed the moment when he stopped feeling short, warm breaths on his neck and your body started to get cooler to the touch. But he wasn’t ready to let you go just yet. A little more time, that’s all he needed. So, he lays your head across his lap, carefully, gently. Like he’s trying not to wake you up from a peaceful dream about places far better than this world. Kyle desperately tries to find that strength to make sure you won’t come back, to grant your last wish, but he just…he can’t. Now when you were right here, beside him, getting your well-deserved rest.

But you started stirring back to life unexpectedly, and just when Kyle wanted to say something, he realized, that it wasn’t quite you. The glazed-over eyes with a milky white cloud over them looked right through him, the blood that was dripping down from your nose, ears, eyes, and mouth after your brain finally shut off from the illness. The strained rasp, full of pain and hands that started grabbing and clawing at Kyle with crooked fingers, contorted into bizarre figures.

Kyle’s heart leaped down to his feet again in fear and he forced himself to push away your undead form, reaching out to him, pleading for something he no longer understood, as he crawled away, still facing whatever you turned into. If his heart wasn’t pumping blood through his body as fast he would’ve felt the small cuts from scraping his hands on the dirty floor. But his eyes were on what was left of you.

There were no traces of what he was searching for in this hollow shell, stolen from his love, stolen from you. Crimson trickling down from the mouth, the creature in your shape bares its bloody teeth and lets out a gargled moan, stretching the trembling hand towards him, demanding flesh, demanding sacrifice. And in Kyle’s mind, this isn’t you. This just can’t be. Absolutely not.

Kyle thought about the way you held him in your arms, while he gripped his shoulders in a tight hug. He thought of the way your thumb brushed over his knuckles. His thoughts traveled to the distant past, when you met him years ago in that summer camp, even before the world started rotting, only to be reborn a sick copy of itself.  He remembered your smile when you sat near countless bonfires. The way fire played in your eyes. Your old leather jacket, the tent in your old survivor camp, the older man with mutton chops.

It wasn’t long before a bullet was between his fingers, being drilled by his sharp eyes. Kyle sat there, silent, eyes trained on the gun in his hand, unable to even look at your cuffed undead. Contemplating. Letting his mind stir around, thoughts sticking to the inside of his skull, brewing and bubbling there, like heavy resin. Kyle’s heart sent waves of dull, ringing ache all over his body. His eyes were on fire, burning and raw from tears.

Nothing made sense anymore. Kyle’s endless search through his mind landed on another memory again. Survivor camp in the forest. Ring of mountains to the west. A woman with dark, brown eyes and a shaved head.

“Turning is not the end. They still harbor the memories of their former selves. They’re just prisoners in their own bodies. I know that it’s not the end for them, it can’t be.”

Right now, Kyle would’ve clung to any lie that would explain to him your state. He would’ve believed any tale. You can’t just be gone in an instant, just shedding all that made you yourself like a snake sheds its skin, or a bird picks out the old feathers. How could he ever accept that you were gone, like a puff of smoke on the wind, leaving no visible trace, only the gaping, bloody hole in his heart and years’ worth of memories in his head?

All he ever wanted was to be with you. In life and death.

A minute passes. Another one follows.

A single gunshot echoes through the valley, drowned out by the rumble of the herd.

Taglist - @mockerycrow, @stridersdiner

check out my other fics or send me a request/comment!

[pinkroseblooms]

Thank you thank you so much for taking my request! I wish there were more Bucchigiri fics out there. I love it so far! Matakara needs more love! And Shindo being a rival is perfect!

I'm glad you're enjoying it! Here's part 2! (ngl this might end up being a 4 or even 5 part story. I'm getting invested)

A Whole New World! An Unknown Admirer and an Unknown Enemy!

Matakara/f!Reader/Shindo, Pt.2

Summary: Your first day at Ichizu high has finally arrived! As you take the next step towards your long awaited fresh start, Matakara reflects on the past and looks forward toward a future with you and him, finally no longer separated. Meanwhile, Shindo is making plans of his own... wc: 2.6 a/n: There's a lot of references from Disney's version of Aladdin because of course there is. Enjoy!

“Arajin, you couldn’t have done worse if you had thrown the rock at her head.”

“It was supposed to be romantic! What do you know?” Arajin has half a mind to drop the book bag he had offered to carry for you. “It’s not like you have any experience.”

“I have common sense.” You retort lightly. “If you want to get anywhere with this Mahoro, you can’t ignore her feelings. Reign it in and don’t be so pushy.”

“Yeah, I know.” Arajin hangs his head, trudging alongside you; his frown only grows deeper as the school gates come into view. “Are you sure you don’t want to meet up for lunch?”

“What, you’re not eating with your girlfriend?”

“Ha ha.” Arajin hands over your bag, shouldering his own with a yawn. “Listen, keep a low profile, okay?” He scans the entrance gates with narrowed eyes. “It’s a mad house but you should be fine if you keep your head down and…keep close to Matakara.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Is that your way of giving us your blessing?”

“Ugh, stop! Look, if people know you’re cool with him, they’re not going to bother you.” 

“Maybe you ought to take your own advice; stop being such a big baby and start talking to him again.”

“Dammit, will you butt out?”

“I’m only saying, it’s obvious Macchan cares a lot about you. Can’t you just-?”

“Isn’t it bad enough we had to come back here?” Arajin cuts you off tersely. “The past is the past. Drop it.”

“Fine.” Your hand tightens around the strap of your book bag and you pointedly turn away to the Ichizu high’s doors. “I’m sorry I messed everything up for you. I didn’t ask to be here either, but I am and I’m going to make the best of it. If you ask me, the only one hung up on the past here is you.”

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like-”

“I’ll see you at home.”

You don’t give Arajin a chance to say anything else, opting to hurry off to your homeroom, wherever it was; the map Arajin had sketched out for you was still in your bag’s front pocket, but you didn’t want to do anything to slow down. You had to get away from him and the regretful look on your brother’s face. Even if he’s sorry, you can’t stand Arajin’s stubbornness; your nerves are rubbed raw and all you want to do is get through this day quickly. After the first day, surely you’ll feel more at ease being back in a classroom with other people. You don’t need your brother lecturing you to add to your anxieties. 

“Good morning!”

You flinch; you were hoping you wouldn’t run into Matakara before getting settled. As soon as you see him speed walking down the hall towards you, two unfamiliar boys trailing after him, all you can think about is how nice it would be to latch onto him and stick by his side for the remainder of the day.

“Good morning.” You wave and attempt a smile. “Hey, am I anywhere close to 2-C?”

“Sure, I’ll walk you.” Matakara skids to a halt in front of you, bright eyed and breathing a touch labored. “I can give you a tour later. These are my friends, Zabu Kakeru and Sakigake Komao, we’re all in the same class as Ara-chan.”

“I apologize in advance for any trouble my brother might cause.” You tell them with a sheepish smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Yo.” Zabu regards you curiously. “You’re that shrimp’s sister?”

“Huh, I was expecting you to look prettier.” Sakigake looks you up and down. “Matakara wouldn’t shut up about you all week, so I kinda assumed you’d be a supermodel or something.”

“Hey, knock it off!” Matakara looks at you with a shaky smile. “He’s kidding, really, I was just telling them how we went way back and, er, you know, I was excited we’d finally be going to the same school.”

“You already seem less annoying than Shorty.” Zabu smirks at you from over Matakara’s shoulder. “Where is the brat anyway?”

“I told my brother dearest I could find my own way to my homeroom. He’s probably already in his class now.” You unzip your bag’s front pocket and take out a folded up piece of notebook paper. “I’m guessing he didn’t make the best impression.”

“Aw, don’t listen to Zabu, he skipped breakfast.” Matakara sidles up to you, looking over your arm to scan the crudely drawn map. “Did Ara-chan make this?”

“You can tell?” You’re a bit impressed. “I guess it looks pretty similar to those old treasure maps he’d make up. See?” You move in closer to show Matakara the place Arajin had marked your classroom with a big, bold ‘x’. “X marks the spot.”

“Thi-this looks about right, but it only shows you how to get to your homeroom.” Matakara moves back a few steps. “Why don’t you let us show you around?”

“Us?” Sakigake grins, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Sweet, now we have a reason to cut class!”

“Since when do we need a reason?” Zabu snorts. “I wouldn’t mind ditching the first period.”

“Um, I really shouldn’t.” You speak up carefully. “I don’t know if Macchan told you, but I’m a bit easily winded. I wouldn’t want to slow you guys down and I really should stick to my schedule.”

“Lame.” Sakigake pouts. “Matakara said you were cool.”

“He did?” You eye your old friend with a half smile. “Sorry to disappoint you, but believe me, he’s exaggerating.”

“We could give you a tour during lunch.” Matakara offers, face flushing slightly. “I was hoping we could all hang out, maybe do something after school? You said if we ever attended the same school we’d do stuff together, like get lunch or study and all that…”

“I did?”

Matakara nods quickly. “You pinky swore.”

“Well, I can’t break a pinky promise.” You’re beaming; somehow, he always knows just what to say to get you back in good spirits and you feel like you’ve gotten your second wind. “Alright, I’ll drop by your homeroom for lunch period, but if you change your mind and just want to be with your buddies-”

“Not a chance; I want you to get the whole high school experience! We’re all going to grab food at the cafeteria and picnic on the rooftop, you’ll see, it’s gonna be a lot of fun.”

You don’t need convincing. “I’m looking forward to it. I’ll see you at lunch then.”

“Awesome.” Matakara grins. “No take backs, okay?”

You make your way to your homeroom, waving over your shoulder at the three boys; when you turn the corner, Zabu and Sakigake glance at one another as Matakara stands there, hand still waving despite you not being in his line of sight any longer. The expression on his face is similar to one might make if they were beat silly over the head a dozen times with a sack of bricks. 

“Why do I feel like we’re gonna be third and fourth wheels?” Sakigake leans over to whisper in Zabu’s ear. “Cause I won’t be able to keep my lunch down if those two start going at it at his desk.”

“Ew.”

“Sorry guys; you don’t mind me volunteering you for the tour, do you?” Matakara finally regains some semblance of awareness and smiles at the two boys bashfully. “She’s putting on a brave face, but I know she’s feeling nervous being here.”

“It’s fine.” Zabu shrugs. “Are you sure she’d want to hang around with us though?”

“Huh? Of course.” Matakara says simply. “You guys are awesome”

“Cut the crap.” Zabu crosses his arms, but he can’t contain a small smile. 

“Zabu, Sakigake, I really would appreciate you guys helping me make her feel welcome here.” Matakara grins softly. “I guess I’m hoping if anything happens, you two will have her back like how we look out for each other. I’d like that.”

“Alright, alright, we gotcha.” Sakigake thumps Matakara on the back between his shoulder blades. “Let’s see how things go; you know, she might end up making friends in her class though?”

“Oh, right.” Matakara hadn’t really thought of that. “I guess. But until then, I want to do as much as I can to help her until she’s settled. She’s a really good person, you’ll see when you get to know her a bit.”

Matakara remembers you were all but bedridden and barely able to walk past your own front yard for most of the time he knew you; if he wanted to see you, he would have to go to your bedside or sit with you in the backyard where Yayako had planted you a small plot of veggies to help keep you occupied. You spent a good amount of time there, trying to soak in the sun and the fresh air, a book in your lap and Matakara glued to your side, following along or listening to you read aloud. You never failed to ask him how he was doing, how his brother was, ushering him to take home any of the vegetables you spent so much time tending to with the little strength you could muster to do so. You, who seemed so small and frail in spite of being a head taller than Matakara and with a much thicker skin, had no shortage of time or energy for him to come to you for advice or to wipe away his tears. Back in those days, he admired Arajin, borderline idolized him, but you were something else entirely in Matakara’s eyes. 

When you moved away, Matakara cried until his eyes were raw and his stomach ached and then he cried some more. Now you’re here, finally able to be out and about like you always wished you could do and attending Ichizu with him. It’s like a dream come true; Matakara could hardly contain his own joy when your somber expression brightened at his offer to meet up. He’s essentially bound now to make sure you enjoy yourself at Ichizu high. Even at this moment as he listens to Zabu and Sakigake go over what they should do after school ends, Matakara wants to rush out to your classroom and take a seat at your side and stay there for the rest of the day. Really, how can he do anything else when you give him such a blindingly gorgeous smile? A smile like that should be protected at any cost; Matakara is almost ashamed at how eager he is for you to turn to him for support the moment you feel any discomfort or unease with your new surroundings. 

“I should be wishing her good luck and for her to make a lot of new friends.” Matakara slumps at his desk, hardly conscious of the rest of the world around him. Not even Arajin’s cold shoulder in response to his morning greeting phased him, at least not as much as it would have before your arrival. “I thought I was over being so childish. I’ll have to be careful not to get too clingy; we’re not little kids anymore and it’s not as if I can keep her all to myself.”

Matakara buries his face into his arms; he can feel his cheeks burning. In spite of admonshing himself for getting carried away, he simply can't force you out of his head. It doesn’t help that you somehow managed to become even cuter over the span of five years. No, scratch that: cute doesn’t cut it. The sensation of you leaning in slightly to show him the hand drawn map had nearly caused Matakara to freeze up just from the feeling of your shoulder pressing against his.

“So pretty. I remember her being cute but now? I mean, seriously…she has those eyes and that hair and…that smile...” 

Matakara exhales; imagining your warm, gentle smile alone is making him lightheaded. All those times Matakara spent leaning on you, head on your shoulder, so brazenly nuzzled against your side and he had nearly done so again out of habit or perhaps instinct only minutes before.

“She smells nice too. I still wish we had the same homeroom. If I asked, maybe she would read to me again and let me hold her.” Matakara presses his face harder into his arms, pretending he has you in them, your own arms wrapped around his neck, his mind somehow hearing your voice low and soft in his ear. “Wanted to hold her so bad…she’s so pretty and smells so good."

“Matakara Asamine?”

“Asamine-san, wake up, roll call.” 

There’s a tap on Matakara’s shoulder from the student seated behind him and he raises his head; everyone is staring at him. Had he been asleep? How many times had the teacher said his name? Even Arajin is turned in his seat, looking his way but turns his head immediately when they make eye contact. After a moment, Matakara finds his voice to call out a hasty response.

“Here!”

The teacher goes ahead with the next name and even though no one dares laugh at him, Matakara is self conscious anyway. He knew it would be hard to keep himself in check around you, especially considering how long he had spent hoping to see you again one day, but Matakara had no idea exactly how hard it would hit him. If anything, his feelings for you have only gotten more intense. 

“I’ve decided…I’ll do everything I can to make her wish come true. We’ll make a whole new world, one where she can do anything she wants with nothing holding her back. I can’t believe this is actually happening; she’s here and we can be together again.”

Matakara smiles to himself as he idly flips through his workbook, not really seeing the words and having absolutely no idea what page he’s meant to be reading; he’s already counting down to when the clock strikes half past noon, despite the morning having barely started.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Arajin Tomoshibi’s sister? I see.” 

Shindo leans back against the couch; the information he had a few of his underlings gather on you isn’t much, but it’s enough to satisfy his curiosity. The file, if it can be called that, is one sheet of basic information with a couple of photographs attached. One is of you from that morning, walking with Arajin on your way to Ishizu. The second photo is one of you taken of you watering some potted plants and a planter of herbs outside your family’s restaurant; you look a bit tired, frowning slightly as though disappointed with the progress of the herbs growing on the windowsill. You hold the small watering can, tipped downward, hand on one hip and lips pursed in a way that makes Shindo recall the face you had made when you left him standing in the aisle of the bookstore. A scarf is tied around your head and the apron draped over your body is stained. Not the most flattering angle or ensemble for a surprise photograph. 

And yet, Shindo continues to stare down at the picture, held between his slender fingers; he turns it over and around, eyes scanning every detail. It’s as if he’s searching for something, but it’s not like there’s anything to gain from gazing upon your discontented pout.

“How dull a life she must lead: in and out of doctor’s offices and hospital rooms and when she’s well enough to be released, all she can do is pitter patter the hours away with books and plants. It explains her misconduct; names or not, she wouldn’t have the first clue of who I was, too ignorant to realize how easy it would have been to discipline her for being so mouthy.”

Shindo considers the photograph with a chuckle; his pinky traces your lips with a feather light touch. Such an unattractive expression; he’ll make sure to obtain a photograph with you looking more presentable. 

“Poor little bunny, trapped in a burrow for so long. I know how to bring a little excitement into your life.”

[domripley]

There and Back Again

Pairing: Amber Freeman/Reader

Summary: Amber wasn’t the jealous type, of course she wasn’t. You just needed to be reminded that you were hers.

Warnings: Dubcon, Fingering, Spanking, Face Slapping, Amber isn’t nice in this, Toxic Relationship, Gaslighting, Daddy Kink, Threats of Anal, Mentions Fisting. This is a semi-dark fic, so you have been warned but it’s on brand for Amber

this is a repost

“C’mere,” you heard your girlfriend say from the other couch. The two of you were at Wes’ house, trying to watch whatever movie he had on. Mindy and Chad both left the room and you wanted nothing more than to go home. Amber had started to argue with you before the two of you made it to their house. She accused you of flirting with Tara any time she was out of the room. Which was a lie.

“No, I'm good.” you said, your voice cold and short.

Amber didn’t like that.

Looking around to see if anyone could hear what she was about to say. “I said, come here. You’re not going to like it if I have to come to you.”

Amber leaned forward, waiting for your response. You sighed, shaking your head. “No. I don’t want to be near you nor do I want to talk to you.”

Before Amber could respond, Mindy came back into the living room. “You guys are still watching this movie? It’s really shitty.” She laughed and you watched as Amber faked a smile.

“Nah, we were just leaving.” She said, getting up quicker than you expected her to.

Amber pulled you up and off the couch by your arm a lot rougher than she wanted to. Mindy gave you an odd look, but soon dropped it when you said goodbye. You knew Amber was upset, but you didn’t think she’d pull you away from your friends. Literally. The walk to her car was rushed and you tried to keep up with your girlfriend – you hadn’t realized that she was this angry with you.

Once the two of you were in her car and the doors were shut, you spoke up, “What the fuck is your problem? You keep acting like I’m doing something wrong, when you and I both know I didn’t do anything.”

Amber gritted her teeth, trying her best not to let her anger seep out. “You didn’t want to sit next to me so Tara could sit next to you!” she shouted, turning her car on. She wanted to be as far away from her friends as possible, a little worried that they’d be able to hear the two of you.

“Excuse you? Maybe you want to fuck Tara with the way you keep bringing her up constantly. You hate the idea of me being friends with anyone else huh? I’m fucking done.” You snapped and Amber kept her eyes on the road. You were expecting her to say something back, but to your surprise, she kept quiet.

You didn’t say anything else all the way to her house – unsure of where you stood. You loved Amber so much, but you weren’t going to deal with her accusing you of things that weren’t happening. You loved Tara as a best friend, even as a sister and Amber knew this. Or she should at least know this.

As soon as the two of you were in her room and the door was shut, Amber pushed you onto the bed. “I’m sorry baby… let me make it up to you.” She pouted before sitting on the bed with you.

Pushing you onto your back, Amber kissed your cheek before she got on top of you. Placing a kiss on your lips, you closed your eyes as you kissed her back. You whined as Amber got off you, taking a step back from the bed so she could get a better look at you.

“Clothes off baby, Daddy’s going to make it up to you.” She said softly and a part of you wondered what she was trying to do. Even when the two of you weren’t fighting, she never talked to you in such a soft voice.

”Amber,” you said, unsure of how to react. You weren’t expecting her to change how she was acting so fast – it was confusing you, and you needed to know what her problem was.

“We can talk about it after, I promise. I just want to make you feel good. Won’t you let Daddy make you feel good?” she asked, trying her best to hide the smirk that was forming. She knew she had you where she wanted you – wrapped around her finger. You were never going to break up with her, no matter how much of her jealousy came out. Soon enough she wasn’t going to have to share your time with anyone but her. But she knew she was going to have to wait until the right moment, and that time wasn’t now.

You started to undress yourself, feeling your face burn in embarrassment as Amber’s eyes never left you. Knowing full well you would eventually give in to what she had wanted. Of course, she loved you, but the fact that she could get you to do anything she wanted you to do.

“Come on baby, we don’y have all day,” she rolled her eyes, watching as you went faster. Once you were completely undressed, Amber sat at the edge of the bed, patting her lap so you knew she wanted you across her lap.

“Oh come on, Amber. I’m not letting you spank me,” you stated, crossing your arms to hide your chest.

“It’s either that or I fuck your ass, and I don’t have any lube. So which is it.” She stated, smirking when you began to walk towards her.

You refused to say anything as you laid across her lap, hating the fact that she was having you do this. You were embarrassed. When you were comfortable, Amber rubbed the small of your back – normally it would help you relax, but all it did was cause you to want to get away from her again. You had conflicting feelings, not wanting to lose her but you also didn’t want her to get away with her attitude. Tara was just your friend, and if Amber couldn’t see that, then maybe you needed her to leave you alone for good.

“I’m only going to spank you ten times and don’t worry, I’m not going to make you count this time.” Amber stated as if it would make you feel, but before you could say something back in protest, she brought her hand down against your ass as hard as she could twice.

You cried out, trying to wiggle out of her grip. You bit your lip as you tried to focus on anything but Amber’s hands on you, but you soon failed as she brought her hand down against you twice more.

“Six more, baby. I know you can take it, then I’ll fuck you like you’ve been wanting me to.” Amber cooed, running her fingertips against your sensitive skin. You knew you were going to have a bruise on your ass tomorrow from how hard she was spanking you.

“I don’t want you to fuck me, Amber.” you said, trying your best to not stutter. Amber was quiet for a few moments, not responding to what you had just said.

“Okay then,” Amber sighed before bringing her hand down once, twice, three times before she continued. You whimpered, unable to keep yourself from crying. “We can break up if you’re not wet.”

Bringing her fingers to her own mouth, she sucked on the tips before bringing them down between your legs. You bit your lip as her fingers began to rub at your pussy. Amber gasped in faux shocked, “Well would you look at that baby. You’re so wet, you’ve made a mess all on your thighs and my legs. So you’re not breaking up with me any time soon.”

You closed your eyes as she slid a finger inside of you - keeping it in place as she spanked you three more times. You were glad she was done spanking you, but soon your thoughts left as she slid in a second finger. As she began to fuck you with her fingers, you tried your best not to make any sort of noise - you didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

“God, you’re so fucking wet for me, I could probably get my whole fist in if I wanted to,” she commented, causing your eyes to snap open.

As she continued to pump her fingers in and out of you, you tried your best to gather the words to say something, anything. But all you could think about was how good her fingers felt inside of you.

“F-Fuck, D-Daddy,” you whimpered, unable to hold it in any longer. You knew you were never going to hear the end of it, but at that moment, you didn’t care.

“You want me to make you come?” Amber asked. Of course, she already knew the answer to this - but she loved embarrassing you as much as she could and this was a perfect opportunity. Her fingers sped up, only slowing down to add a third. “I asked you a question baby, you need to answer me so I can give you what you want.”

“P-Please make me come, m’need it, need you,” you begged, hoping that Amber would give in to what you wanted. You didn’t want her to drag this out any longer, and thankfully, Amber seemed to be satisfied with your begging.

As she fucked her fingers into you, Amber pulled your head up by your hair. “You and I both know that you’ll never leave me. I make your pretty little pussy feel good.” she stated, smirking down at you when you started to squeeze her fingers.

“Come for me, baby.”

In which you did.

Amber kept going, fucking you through your orgasm - only stopping when you began to wiggle away from her.

“You’re such a good girl for me, and I’m sorry I get so jealous, it’s just… you’re mine and I see the way Tara looks at you.” she sighed as she helped you to your feet. You knew she was lying - Tara never looked at you the way Amber was trying to say. “I promise I won’t act like that again. Stay the night?”

Another lie.

“I’ll spend the night.” was all you said, not wanting to have another argument.

“I’m glad. Now let’s put on a movie and cuddle.”

You knew Amber was going to bring Tara up again - it was only a matter of time.

[gaybananabread]

Tickletober 29 ler Willow, lee Amity(belly button/tummy, boo shirt outfit)

TickleTober Day 29 - Magic

~Oooh, been a sec since I’ve written anything TOH. It was a bit of a challenge to get back into their swing of things, but I like how this turned out. Thank you for requesting, and I hope you Enjoy!~

Lee: Amity

Ler: Willow

Summary: Amity’s in a lee mood, all her usual helpers not around to aid her. Luckily, Willow is there to lend a couple helping hands. Or rather, helping vines…

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!

Amity’s knee bounced in front of her as she sat on the couch, trying to appear somewhat normal. She’d been in one of those moods the whole morning, but Luz and Hunter had gone to the library for a comic signing. The two had been spending more time together, and Amity was all for it. It just made things harder for her at that moment.

Willow walked in then, carrying some lemonade she and Vee had made. It was just the powder stuff, but they’d added some blueberry juice as well. “Hey, Amity! You want some lemonade?”

“O-oh, sure.” She smiled as she took the drink, trying to stop her jitters. It was no use, though; her knee was bouncing again the moment she took her mind off it.

“Are you okay? You look…fidgety.” Willow sat beside her friend, her brows slightly pinched in concern. Amity usually wasn’t an antsy person, but she knew how far she’d let her problems spiral if they weren’t confronted head-on.

“I’m fine, Willow. Just…one of those days.” She wasn’t technically lying; it was one of “those” days, though she didn’t specify what “those” meant. The blue-haired girl wasn’t going to let that vague answer slide.

“Yeah, no. What’s going on?” Her tone was firm, yet caring. It made Amity feel a little guilty for hiding something so innocent from her, though the thought of saying it out loud made her stomach do a flip.

“Fine. I’m…” Amity sighed, feeling her face start to heat up. Her blush wasn’t full-tomato level yet, but it was still visible. “I’m in a lee mood, and Luz is out with Hunter today. I’m happy they’re getting along, but…well. Yeah.”

“Oooh, that’s all?” Willow smiled softly at that, an idea already forming in her mind. It had been a while since she’d done anything like that with Amity, but then seemed as good a time as any to take that next step in their rekindled friendship. “Want some help?”

Amity blinked, feeling the rest of her face pinken. Ugh, why did she have to blush so easily when she was in moods? “U-uhm, sure? Only if you’re comfortable.”

“Trust me, it’s no problem.” The girl raised her hand, a green ring lighting as she summoned a handful of vines. Amity’s face burned at the sight of them, a giddy feeling rising in her stomach. Oh Titan…

“W-Wihillow, wait-” Amity’s half-hearted protest was quickly cut off by her own giggles, a vine wiggling on the thin tank-top beneath her “Boo” shirt. The small plant was somehow very good at tickling, immediately making her squirm and giggle like a child.

“Wow, still works on you, huh?” Willow giggled as she watched Amity’s reaction, conjuring up a few more little vines to toy with the girl. It had been a long time since she’d been able to use the silly technique on the Blight, but it still worked perfectly.

“Y-yehehes!” Amity didn’t see a point in lying, leaning back on the couch as her fellow witchling’s magic continued to attack her. Willow followed her down, sending the extra vines to her personal favorite spot: Amity’s underarms.

“NAHAHAHHAHO! *snort* OHOHO MYHY TIHIHIHITAHAN!” The purple-haired girl was not expecting Willow to go for her worst spot so soon. The vines snuck under the warm fabric of her purple sweater, attacking the exposed skin beneath her arms. The black tank-top she was wearing beneath it did absolutely nothing to protect them.

“King’s not here right now, sorry. Just us,” Willow teased, sneaking a few jabs to the girl’s sides with her hand. Sure, she was using her magic already to be evil, but a few little pokes here and there wouldn’t hurt. “You still snort, too.”

“WIHIHILLOHOHOW!” Like she hadn’t noticed she snorted, the bully. Despite that, Amity was massively enjoying the tickling; the annoying buzzing in her stomach was gone, replaced with the chaotically blissful sensation of tickles.

“Yes?” She tilted her head innocently, acting like she had no idea what was going on.

Amity would’ve whined about that, but she was too busy laughing her head off to get anything other than the essentials out. Having your most ticklish spot attacked tends to make it kinda hard to talk.

“I-IHIT TIHIHICKLES! *snort* GYAHAHAHAHA!” Amity kicked her feet as a new vine settled on her stomach, that one teasing her navel. Willow narrowly dodged a foot to the face, holding back a few laughs of her own.

“Well, duh. That’s kinda the point, Amity.” Willow rolled her eyes fondly, acting exasperated at the statement. She might have been having more fun teasing Amity than actually tickling her. “You were dying for some, so that’s what I’m giving you, silly. Did you forget?”

“N-NAHAHAT THEHEHERE! *snort* MOHOHOVE!” Amity shook her head as she cackled, pleading with the young witch beside her. She could only take so much under her arms, and she wasn’t done with the tickling yet.

“Alright, alright. Since you asked so nicely.” Willow’s words were full of sass, but she did as she was asked, focusing in on the Blight’s belly. The two vines under her arms receded, disappearing into Willow’s sleeves. Only the two on her stomach remained, soon joined by the blue-haired girl’s hands.

“G-geheheez, Wihillow! Youhuhu’re mehehehean,” Amity whined, sucking in air between giggles. Her face was on fire with her signature blush, making it difficult to take anything she said seriously.

“I wouldn’t say I’m mean. Just efficient.” Willow giggled as she said it, spidering five fingers on either side of her tummy. Meanwhile, the vine in her navel continued to wiggle about, pulling little squeaks and the occasional hiccup out of the witchling. The vine that was in the middle of her stomach had moved, twirling lazily across her side.

“Thahahat’s nohot ahahahany behehetter!” Unable to hold back any longer, Amity grabbed Willow’s wrists and gave them a little shove. She wasn’t done quite yet, but she couldn’t keep her arms up.

“Oh, here: lemme help you with that.” With a smirk, Willow sent the vine on Amity’s side up, coiling it around her wrists and hoisting them above her head. There wasn’t any pressure, but she made sure Amity couldn’t escape the hold.

“Ihihi dihihidn’t ahahahask!” Amity weakly tugged at her wrists, her eyes silently thanking Willow for the help. She didn’t have to worry about holding back her squirms anymore, thrashing and twisting in the vine’s hold.

“Didn’t have to. I’m just that good, Blight,” she taunted, suddenly vibrating both of her hands into the girl’s stomach. Amity kicking out, squealing before dissolving into a wicked giggle-fit.

“GYEEEEHEHehehehehe! Wihihillohohow *hic* nohohoho!” Amity shook her head, little tears of mirth beading in the corners of her squeezed eyes. She couldn’t keep them open any longer, just blindly giggling beneath her friend.

Willow took that as a good sign to stop, slowly switching from tickles to gentle belly rubs. She dispelled the remaining vines, her magic slowly receding back into her. “You okay? Want some water?”

“Y-yeheheah, and yehes plehehease.” Amity took a few deep, giggly breaths as she recovered, relaxing from the soothing rubs. Willow was surprisingly good at tickle aftercare; then again, Willow was good at a lot of things.

“‘Kay. Be right back, tomato face.” Willow got one last crack in before heading to the kitchen, leaving Amity’s mouth agape. She wasn’t that red…

Oh, who was she kidding. She was as red as a sunburnt ghost.

Willow returned with a nice glass of ice-cold water, which Amity happily gulped down. The little cubes of ice clinked in the glass as she finished it, promising some more hydration when they melted a bit. Amity set the cup aside before meeting Willow’s gaze, her face somehow burning even brighter.

“H-hey, uhm…thank you for that, Willow. It really helped.” Amity’s voice was a little light from embarrassment, but she didn’t break eye-contact once as she spoke. “You’re a good friend.”

Willow beamed at the praise, a happy smile lighting up her already-cheery face. “Aww, thanks, Amity! I’m glad you trusted me with it.”

“Of course; you’re awesome.” Amity straightened herself out on the couch, scooting a little closer to her friend. Willow immediately met her in the middle, the two teens leaning against each other in a half-cuddle.

Amity sighed happily, relishing in the giddiness and warmth she felt in that moment. She’d have to ask for Willow’s help more often…

[icey--stars]

We'll Keep You Safe

Azriel impulsively offered a home to a young, orphaned Illyrian girl in Windhaven and it was the best decision of all time. (prequel to "After Everything, You're Still Mine" from AzrisWeek2023.

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Day 4 of @azrisweek (Free Day)

a/n: The "slice of life" prompt made me think of the last fic I did for last year’s AzrisWeek: After Everything, You’re Still Mine, but the fic fit more in the "free day" category. In short, I decided to write about Azriel meeting dear Evera, Azriel's and Eris's adopted Illyrian daughter and how she quickly became a part of the family. Also, a little reminder!! Evera is an English name meaning “Brave One” and later gets a nickname of “Evie” pronounced “ehv-ee.”

Also, I almost cried as I wrote this. Take that as you will. (def not my best work, but I love it regardless)

WARNINGS: Illyria’s horribleness, misogyny, mentions of wing clipping, maybe a little child abuse if you squint???

Read below or on ao3 here!

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Azriel was checking on Illyria for Rhys despite wanting to be back at home with Eris, caring and loving their first daughter: Aurora. She was such a wonder that even the tiniest bit away from her felt like she’d grown an inch and Azriel had missed it all. He didn’t want to be like his own father- he wanted to see his little girl grow up more loved than anybody in the entire world.

For now, however, he was sentenced to this hellscape. Illyria always set his nerves on fire and made his skin itch. Maybe it was his memories of the place, but it always felt wrong. An itch under his skin. Right now, he was walking around Windhaven andAzriel truly wished it wasn’t Devlon heading straight for him with a determined look.

“Shadowsinger!” The lord called. Azriel sighed but held his wings high and kept his shadows swirling intimidatingly.

“Yes?” He answered simply, folding his arms over his chest.

“You were supposed to be here an hour ago!” Devlon accused.

Azriel hummed and tilted his head in a fake thought. “Oh, was I? Too bad. What did you need, Devlon?”

“What I need is some damn respect around here!”

Azriel’s facial expression hardened but he remained silent, waiting for Devlon to realize his own mistake. The lord stared at him for a long time, lips curled back like he was a beast of some sort. Even his wings were puffed out a bit. The lord truly was pissed for some odd reason.

Finally, the lord relented against Azriel’s unwavering patience. Eris’s annoying days before they’d declared their love and mate bond prepared him for far worse. “I need the General’s help to manage the females entering the army. We have no damn clue where to put them.”

Azriel’s brows raised a bit. Interesting. “I’ll speak with him,” Azriel stated plainly. “You’ll get an answer soon enough. For now, treat them as you would any soldier. As you should have done in the beginning. Is there anything else?”

Devlon huffed at him for a moment. “The High Lord requested someone to watch one of the training sessions including females. Had you been here an hour ago, you’d have seen it.”

“They train for less than an hour?” Azriel asked incredulously.

“No. They left to work in the mountains. None of the group were clipped, so we sent them to work in the mines for a bit.”

Azriel repressed a shudder. That was the worst bit of training. Worked wonders for his arms and swinging blows with a sword, however. Swinging the pickaxes in the mines helped your balance and swing, especially with the trainers right behind you waiting for you to fuck it up.

“Right,” Azriel said. “Well, I am aware of that location. Don’t worry your head about it, Devlon. Rhys will hear what he needs to.”

Devlon huffed. “Very well, shadowsinger. I expected you to be more punctual, however.”

“I no longer work purely for the Night Court,” Azriel reminded him with a sour tone.

“And what a traitor you are for that,” Devlon accused.

Azriel’s shadows shot forward, forming a gag in the male’s mouth while Azriel used a grin he’d picked up from being around Eris for too long. “I’m no traitor if both High Lords are in agreement, Devlon. Now be on your way before I decide to use the swings I learned from the mines on you.”

The lord glared at him for a moment longer after the shadows retreated, but eventually walked away. Azriel winnowed to the location of the mines, already hearing the sounds of the pickaxes against the salt and coal that was down in the caves. He took a deep breath of fresh air and told himself to make this trip quick.

Once he’d made it far enough, he could see females and males lining the walls with trainers watching them carefully. Each swing was practiced and those cursed to carry the ores and salt they mined looked worse for wear. However, it was likely almost time to switch them out for someone else.

“Shadowsinger,” A trainer acknowledged him.

He didn’t bother to acknowledge him back, simply walking further into the mines. One female tripped and he gently moved forward to correct her stance. Her eyes were terrified.

He gritted his teeth and tried to hide his shadows and pull his wings in tighter. “Stand with your feet further apart,” he stated. “Your swing will be stronger and more balanced. A little more than shoulder width for the weight of the pickaxe.”

She nodded wordlessly and corrected her mistake. Azriel nodded in approvement when she glanced over and continued his journey. 

It was when he saw a punishment being ruled out did he intervene. A female mining salt was being forced to kneel on scraped knees while a trainer issued a punishment: cut into the upper arms and shove salt in. Nothing deep, but it didn’t have to be deep for it to burn. Tears were in her eyes while she held back sobs. Azriel had never seen a male get such a severe punishment. Going by how many cuts were on her arms… this was excessive.

“Stop,” he commanded the trainer.

The quiet command was enough to pull the trainer back and demand, “What?”

“What did she do?” Azriel asked simply, staring at the female kneeling on the ground.

“She tripped,” The trainer answered, carelessly waving around a dagger. “Shoulda stayed on her feet, the bitch.”

Azriel swiped the dagger from the trainer and glared at him. “Would you have given a male the same treatment?” He asked with a lethal tone. Rage pooled in his heart and he could feel a light tug from Eris in question. He tugged back once to assure his mate.

The trainer’s face went pale and Azriel smirked a little, handing back the knife. “Seeing as you’re incapable of handing out correct treatment, what is your name?”

“You don’t-”

“If you don’t tell me your goddamn name, I will pull it from your screams,” Azriel threatened, stepping closer to whisper it in his ear.

“Aaron, sir,” the trainer answered obediently.

“Great. Rhysand and Devlon will hear of your disobedience. In the meantime, I will take her to see a healer for your stupid act,” Azriel said, reaching a hand down to the female. She took it, wings weak as they almost dragged behind her.

Azriel glanced further down the passage and then back at the female, leading them just a little further to talk to her. “I will make sure you see a healer for that. It was completely unneeded. I still have things to check, but if you’d like, you can take one of my shadows and wait for me at the entrance to the cave system.”

She nodded, wiping her tears. Azriel grimaced. “Head up,” he said softly. He whispered for a couple shadows to follow her up and make sure nobody dared question that she was under the protection of anybody but the shadowsinger of the Night Court and Autumn Court.

At the bottom of the cave, however, was a sight that made his heart clench even more than before. The youngest female he’d seen here yet– just a little girl with small wings hanging off of her while she attempted to get enough coordination to swing a pickaxe into some coal.

The trainer wasn’t even bothering with her now, but Azriel could see scars on her arms. Evidence of previous punishments.

He went forward, heart clenching in pity and concern. He saw himself, if anyone. The girl turned to him fearfully, wings spreading behind her. Only the youngest still had that sort of reaction.

“Where are your parents?” He asked, leaning down and putting a hand on the floor, melting his shadows away to try and seem more friendly.

Tears filled her eyes instantly and Azriel could feel Eris yanking on the bond more forcefully. 

“Where do you live?” Azriel breathed.

“No… nowhere,” she answered hesitantly. Azriel could surely see himself now. No parents, no home… forced to work to survive in an effort to become a warrior- anything respected. When you were weak, you either appeased the adults by working for something or became something more. But she was so young.

Azriel gritted his teeth and then impulsively, he said, “Do you want a home?”

She perked up a little, the pickaxe dropping to the floor beside her with a thump. “Yes,” she admitted, her head drooping down.

Azriel smiled a little. “Do you want to come with me, then?”

She nodded and came a bit closer. Azriel stood, offering her a hand. They slowly made their way up the caves. He had to walk a lot slower on account of the little girl’s smaller footsteps, but they made it up eventually. The other female was waiting patiently, trying to get some of the salt out of her wounds.

“Let’s get you both to a healer,” Azriel murmured, offering his other hand to the first female.

She grabbed it and he winnowed them back to Windhaven, in front of the only healer they had. He barged into the building with little care, seeing the healer, a female as well, sitting beside a variety of elixirs and potions.

She jumped and turned to them with her eyes wide and a potion bottle still in her hand. However, the healer quickly turned to set it back down.

Azriel winced a bit at the fear in her eyes. He never tried to be intimidating to the innocents, but he was inherently. His reputation had become too good over the years he’d been alive. “We need a healer,” he stated.

“Of course,” the healer mumbled, patting the bed beside her.

The first female walked over, explaining the salt in her wounds while the little girl stayed with Azriel nervously still holding onto his hands that he refused to let go of until she did.

“What’s your name?” He asked gently, realizing he’d forgotten to ask that one simple question.

“Evera,” she answered.

“Evera…” he said, testing the name on his tongue. “You’re going to like your new home, I promise. I’m Azriel, okay?”

She nodded, tears filling her eyes again. Azriel leaned down gently and scraped away one on her cheek. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m not ever going to make you go down there again. Not for food, water, or anything. You’re free.”

Eris, He whispered down the bond.

Oh, so now you care enough to answer, The snarky mate on the other end of the bond replied.

I’m bringing someone home with me today.

Who?

A little Illyrian girl named Evera. I… I offered her a home.

Eris was silent for a long time and he could feel conflicting emotions on the other side of the bond. Somewhere between guilt, sadness and exhaustion.

I’ll get a room ready, his mate finally responded. Is she alright?

I’m going to have the healer check her out. The females at Windhaven weren’t doing the best.

Evera moved a little once Azriel had stood again, hiding in the cover of his wing and holding onto his hand still while staying close to his leg. Her dark brown hair was messy, but he had a feeling it would be soft once washed. Her face was smudged with coal, but she’d survive. However, her bright green eyes were beautiful.

“Alright, that should hold. Please come back tomorrow so I can make sure,” the healer said to the first female.

Azriel snapped out of his daze. He’d been staring down at Evera while she seemed to wobble a bit beside him.

“You next,” the healer called, looking at Evera.

“I don’t wanna,” Evera mumbled, hiding her face in Azriel’s pant leg. “Don’t make me.”

Azriel’s brows furrowed as he looked down at the cowering little girl. “Evera, she just wants to make sure you’re alright. I do too. Are you hurt anywhere?”

“No,” Evera mumbled. “No healers. Too much work.”

“Evera, you don’t have to work for it this time. I promise,” Azriel said, leaning down again. “You’re coming home with me, remember? I don’t… I don’t live here.”

Evera looked up at him with tears in her eyes and his heart cleaved into two. “Alright, how about we go home then,” he suggested, relenting because the tears she had on her cheeks. “There’s a better healer there anyway.”

He glanced up at the Illyrian female healer. “Thank you,” he said simply before leading Evera out of the building.

“We’re going to winnow again, alright?” He warned, holding onto Evera tightly. “It’s going to be really colorful when we land. I live in the Autumn Court with my mate. He’s really nice. I promise.”

Evera nodded, holding tightly to his pant leg now. “I don’t wanna be hurt.”

Azriel nodded, tears flooding to his own eyes. “I won’t let you,” he promised and winnowed them to the front of the Autumn Court manor.

Eris was waiting there, holding Aurora on his hip. His mate looked down at Evera while she shrank away, but his expression softened and he leaned down. “We’ll keep you safe,” he said simply, glancing at Azriel with a look that said if anything happens to this girl, I’m committing a lot of violence.

Evera nodded, tears running down her face.

“Are you hungry, Evera?” Azriel asked.

She nodded. Aurora also perked up and said, “I’m hungry! I’m hungry daddy!”

Eris grinned. “It’s lunchtime anyway, let’s get inside and get you both some food.”

It wasn’t long before Evera was sitting happily at a table, drawn away from his pant leg only by the delicious scent of Autumn Court syrup and pancakes.

“What happened?” Eris asked as they watched Aurora and Evera eat.

“She was at the bottom of the mines,” Azriel said. “The youngest I’ve ever seen down there. No more than 7 or 8. I was much older when I went in. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let her suffer there. Her parents are dead and that sort of living…” Azriel didn’t finish, only trailing off leaving Eris to imagine the rest of the details.

“Aurora is so…” Eris hesitated. “Chaotic,” he settled on. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“I hope so,” Azriel said. “Because there’s no way I’m leaving her back there.”

Eris nodded in agreement. “Okay,” his mate agreed. “You know I won’t ever say no.”

Azriel chuckled. “I know,” he agreed. “This one needs our help,” he said simply.

Eris smiled and leaned into Azriel’s shoulder, offering a little kiss.

After, Azriel would inform Rhys of the asshole of the trainer named Aaron, but he tried to make Evera as comfortable as possible first. He helped her work the bath to get clean and made sure a water bottle was on the nightstand as well as extra sets of pillows and blankets to help her be more comfortable in the new environment. He even offered a stuffed bear he’d bought for Aurora who’d ended up not liking it. Apparently, its eyes were ugly. But Evera loved it.

He’d never seen someone hold on so tightly to something like that. Once she was clean and comfortable, he sat in the armchair on the other end of the room and picked out a story once Eris came in with Aurora.

All three of them were out within minutes. He’d chuckled a bit and tucked Evera in gently, and took Aurora from Eris’s arms and putting her in her bed before coming back for his mate. He was successful in not waking up anybody besides Eris when he set his mate on their own mattress.

And for the next few weeks, he did the same. He took care of Evera. Even when she ended up moving to the floor to sleep because the bed was ‘too soft’ or hid away in the bathroom, terrified after accidentally spilling her water glass.

It was hard, he had to admit, but he refused to let Evera suffer as he once had. Azriel had grown to love her as he did Aurora and Eris. They were a family and would continue to be one.

Evera asked one day to learn to read and man, did Eris jump at that opportunity. Apparently, his mate was not as unaffected by the girl as Azriel had seen. Seeing his mate and new daughter bond, however, melted his heart. And when the younger Aurora also joined in to help Evera learn… they’d be sisters forever, he decided. (Evera eventually developed a love of reading because of this.)

When he visited his family, he held Evera in his arms despite her being quite big and gently introduced her to his brothers, the Archerons, and even Amren. Nyx seemed very happy to have another cousin, especially because she was winged.

However, it also occurred to him that day that Evera didn’t know how to fly. Nyx had tried to coax her into the air, but she had refused. Azriel knew about not knowing how to fly. He’d been locked in a dungeon for so long… he knew that feeling.

So, the following day, he stole Cassian and Nesta for the day (also causing them to fall in love with Evera even more) and took Evera to the same lake he taught Feyre to fly. Evera was a fast learner, but the feeling of taking her up into the sky in his arms, telling her to spread her wings was unparalleled. She didn’t fly that day on her own, as she needed wing strength, but Azriel could feel the joy radiating off of her. She must’ve had someone fly her to the mines that day… but she was safe now.

Evera also took to calling Cassian and Nesta Uncle and Auntie which probably broke Azriel the most. Eris had to almost pinch his wing to make him snap out of his daze.

In short, Azriel had decided that adopting Evera had been one of the best ideas he’d ever had.

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

TAGLIST HERE! - see post for specifics <3

Tagged in all ACOTAR Stories: @bunnymallowo, @officiallyunofficialperson, @margssstuff, @rebloggiest-reblogger, @inpraizeof, @graciereads, @eos-princess, @bubybubsters, @fieldofdaisiies, @skyesayshi

Tagged in all Azriel Stories: @ladylokilaufeyson5, @marina468,

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

Hello everyone! It's another Wednesday <3 Thank you to @changelingsandothernonsense for tagging me (love the Josh and Erra updates) I'm tagging @lady-iizsil @dirty-bosmer @theoneandonlysemla @thequeenofthewinter (you've already since this snippet oops) @lucien-lachance

This is a part of a much dark part 2 to this fic, my depraved Thalmor Embassy shenanigans. So this snippet features mentions of things in that fic including: sex, blackmail, voyeurism, the glove (iykyk). Under the cut also has mentions of torture, murder (as speculations) and Rulidnil being even worse (that's definitely present). So yeah, MDNI and read if you're cool with that. Anyways time to tease the horror. Chapter 1 is done and currently being edited, expect to see it soon~ its 6k OOPS

“Theodora.” She almost snaps her neck with how quick her gaze finds him. How did one of them know her name… she had only met one other male Thalmor… Akatosh preserve me. With each step inching closer, her body tenses as the suspicious are concerned. 

“Ah, Rulindil.” She grits her teeth. “Fancy running into you here.” 

It was none other than the mer who used them for sexual blackmail, first listening into their conversation and other activities at the Embassy, and then demanding to watch them engage in more of these activities. That had been his compromise after being told he could not fuck her himself. Originally Theodora had told Ondolemar she would have done it just to shut him up, but after meeting him, she could see his concerns were not unfounded. Her lover had told her all about how he ended up in the position he occupied now, how his life experiences lead him to serve the Dominion and of how he was harbouring severe doubts. Many of which had come from knowing her. With Elenwen, she could see that although she could be cruel, having been a torturer during the Great War, she understood there were multiple ways to solve a problem. Violence was not the only way to get information, treating people well, good wine and good food, could do wonders and was far easier than bleeding them out. The Ambassador was firm, but fair; at least as far as the Thalmor went. 

She didn’t see any of that in Rulindil. Interrogation was not his job, it was his passion. I enjoy making people scream he had told her. Enjoy. There was this pit in her stomach thinking about the fact that even if he was not in the Thalmor, he would likely still be doing that very thing. Perhaps he would be not unlike the Butcher in Windhelm, carving up all manner of people to just hear the sounds they made dying. The screams of those she killed during the war made their way into her nightmares sometimes. How anyone could desire such a sound she hoped to never understand. From the way he shook her hand, less shaking it than grabbing her wrist, grip lingering too long that the mere memory of it caused her to shudder; to the way his sexual degeneracy had no bounds. Stealing a glove that had been inside her. She hoped it was just a trophy, but the sinister look in his gaze now told her that that was decidedly untrue.

“I am freed from the confines of the Embassy for a few nights. Many of us are here, I believe Ondolemar is having a solo meeting with our lovely Ambassador.” Slight panic washes over her face at that. The dark chuckle that comes from him unsettles her even more. “Oh no, it’s not like that, I haven’t said anything. Seems he's been especially productive to the cause lately and is currently getting a rare bout of praise from Elenwen. Isn’t he lucky?” She smiles, happy to hear he’s okay and so that Rulindil stays friendly until she can leave this conversation. 

“Very lucky indeed.” She clears her throat, stance facing towards the Temple. “Wonderful to see you again” she lied “but I’m afraid I must be going, I’ve got plans.” 

“Your plans don’t include him do they, unless you’re all dressed up for someone else?”

“No, not him nor anyone else. Just going to have some drinks and do a bit of dancing.”

“Perhaps I will join you.” He smirks as he says this, enjoying the uncomfortable look on her face. 

“I was planning to go to the tavern here. The Skeever, and I don’t think you’d like to be seen in public with me, least of all places in a grubby Nord tavern.”

“Hmm.” She continues smiling. “Well, you own property here, don’t you? Why don’t we return there instead?” The smile falters. 

“How do you know I own property here?” His hand reaches for her hair, she forwent her normal circlet for some wildflowers, to match the embroidery on the new dress. One of the flowers is plucked from her. It twirls between his fingers.

“I know a lot about you.” 

“Ondolemar said you were… satisfied.” 

“I am satisfied with him, I never said anything about you.” Chest tightens. 

“I’ll tell him, you must know that.” Another sick laugh from him made her nauseous. 

“And what will he do? Harming a fellow agent is grounds for extreme discipline. Killing me would be certain death. There would be nothing he could do that wouldn’t result in more eyes being drawn to you. Not everyone will be as kind as me.” Kind. The word makes her nauseous. There’s an audible gulp. “All I want is a little time with you, Theodora. Why can he have that and not me?” She wants to tell him why, all the reasons Ondolemar is leagues above him, in every manner from their organization to her affections. But upsetting him is the last thing she wants to do.  

“I suppose you’re right. There’s no harm in a few glasses of wine.”

[vargaslovinghours]

EleVeN!11!!1! (1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 10½)

Fuzzy Edgar forever. I don’t remember the context now, maybe there wasn’t any to begin with haha, he’s just so cute with slightly longer hair! And upset :)

Some Diaryfic snuggles ♥ Scriabin can be so sweet to him at the worst time ah, I love Edgar’s hard on his arm and Scriabin’s pulling his hair out of his injured eye 💕

While I was very inspired by the Red Flags meme going around (we’ll get there), I was just as inspired by Mixed Messages - this exchange is so silly and them to me. He’s just trying to flirt back, you don’t have to make it harder! That’s just what Scriabin does haha

🥐 🖕 D:’

What else did you expect Scriabin to do with texting capabilities?? I’m still very enamoured with the thought of Scriabin using emojis and Edgar using emoticons - they are sort of different generations!

Here’s the Red Flags! So gd catchy, damn lol. I was specifically inspired by the X is on a date with themself edits, it was so tempting to consider a Ladyverse version as well haha. Edgar’s uncomfortable smiles were so incredibly fun hehe ♪

Y’see because with that many eyes- you get it

Edgar’s little “Or do I??” makes me laugh haha, anything to get out of this situation!

Waiter Jake ❤️💕💖💞💗 Rescue him!

Very inspired by this one specifically, he’s totally innocent! Not offputting at all! ♥

Alright well good luck with that bye. I love Edgar being menaced into continuing this date hehe ♫

Scriabin just keeping on the pressure for this date to keep going! Slight neg in “Couldn’t you have dressed up a little nicer though? ✨” pft

Brief aside with Scriabin!Edgar out drinking with my OC Mint who has very openly had a crush on the Vargases for a while now, thanks Mint

Honestly it was all just an excuse to turn him down and have Scriabin call Edgar his “landlord” haha; I was feeling nostalgic and went back to reread some old YuGiOh fics and had been so long away that I forgot that was a term used in the fandom to refer to the bodies of people the various Yamis would take over hehe ♪ It felt very fitting!

I can call him that but don’t you call him that >:(

Angy Scriabin!Edgar, the usual

Handplates re/reading doodles!! Hghgh!!! The theses of these stories of codependent relationships cut me to my very core I’ll have you know 💕 I managed to avoid falling down the rabbit hole of Handplates!Vargas but I was this close, lemme tell you. The subtle shift in phrasing changes so much ;; I love them dearly

A kind-of leftover WOY style Scriabin, since I made his hair all pointy in my first doodles - the WOY style is quite soft and round! He looks very silly hehe

Another song that is, yes, unironically in my Vargas playlist. This is a Nny song to me and you can pry it from my cold dead correct hands. That beautiful facial hair ♪

More Handplates/Vargas, this time obviously inspired by my holiday request 💕💖💞 I honestly rather like how calm Gaster seems whenever he’s in Edgar’s vicinity, he is a fairly unassuming human haha. Is it because he doesn’t laugh very often? Oh no that’s sad actually haha

I’m not done with Blank Slate Ch. 4 just yet - hopefully soon! - but this lineup stands out to me especially since I made it while rereading Handplates. Specifically after Gaster is pulled out of the Void - Gaster having to face the people he loves who have no memory of him really spoke to me in a Blank Slate way - the scenario of being able to completely start over and have never done anything to hurt your loved ones, at the expense of never having done anything to them, as far as they’re concerned, ah! It hurts so beautifully!! That’s one of the central themes I’m chasing so it was so cool to see in that context! Very inspiring ♥

So remember how in my Sims post, one Vargas family ended up with two Todds? Well what if that but actually

Twin Todd AU, just try and stop me

The saddest little twins y’ever did see ahh 💔 Having to share Shmee because there’s just the one of him! Who has a greater need :’0

I actually went and skimmed the SQUEE! comics to get a better grasp on the Casils, I’d forgotten basically everything haha. It seemed in keeping that if they could barely keep track of the one Todd, they wouldn’t bother even differentiating between two :’) Taking Todd shifts to better share the load

At least they have each other! More helpful than a stuffed bear who eats trauma? On par at least?

I also happened to catch this screenshot of the Todds gossiping about their shadow-dad, though I’m not sure who had seen him :0 By now I have found an adoption memory-loss prevention mod - thank goodness :D - but it wasn’t installed at the time! :0 Blue Todd is the Todd who’d already been the Vargases’ kid, Red Todd is newly-adopted Todd :)

Greetings in order! One of the Todds came by to scout out this strange new person

It’s a name to go by, if nothing else

Reporting back from the field, he has served his big narrative influence hehe ♥

Uh, yeah, about that- While I don’t doubt you were seeing double at times, uhm-

Surprise! Double the sons!

Only so much space in this apartment! They’re probably used to sharing a space to sleep weh, the implications of this AU are sad! I have no one to blame but myself haha

I have never been able to give up this twisted love I have for Edgar getting flustered about incredibly silly things and Scriabin chiding him with just his name haha ♥ Real twins do not delegitimize whatever the hell you two are to each other 💕

Who me? An affinity for how names shape identity and what it means to be a whole separate person? In love with this story in particular? You must be mistaken. But really, what would their name(s) be? I also love the subtle differences even just here - one Todd speaks up for the other! Dynamics ✨

1994, 2004, basically the same year innit. Scriabin is so much more on the up-and-up about the latest technology than Edgar, that old man

In which the offscreen is me lol, I was so blown away by how much more advanced the Sims 2 was from the Sims 1 ♥ Scriabin doesn’t need a box with a program in it, he has the absolute funnest toy in the world already!

And isn’t that the most important part ♪

Scriabin immediately makes himself and hooks up with every Sim he can, Edgar uncomfortable and totally not watching a~ny of the animations hehe ♪ Honestly though, the thought of Scriabin being genuinely excited to virtually get it on with any-and-every delights me haha

Look. Look, okay, look- If I could choose what to be inspired by, I would but sometimes

Obviously Scriabin would be a long Furby lol, this exchange can be summarized to “Scriabin no D:” “Scriabin yes >:D”

He’s complaining that Edgar ignoring him sleeping is boring haha

I did briefly lose my mind over how the Furbish word for “I/me/my/mine” is all the same - linguistically it makes sense, self-possessive, but in this, in their context ♥

Based on that one Wojak format - looks into the camera like “Yes. I am in your head. Insanity tracks” pfft

And it’s @jaspravex with the steel chair!! I hadn’t drawn any of them in like a month and then all of a sudden- I was 1000% not expecting to be hit with such a huge wave of inspiration but gosh and dang did this line of thought light me up. The implication! The jealousy! Wow that’s a lot all at once I wasn’t expecting ♥ Somehow these two never ended up on my shipping chart, dynamics I swear haha ✨

There’s September through February for the fourth go ‘round! Wild when I put it like that :0 Like clockwork, these lads ♪