#with a slump in his shoulder and a painfully quiet smile

[groundbreakingdot872]

don’t know whether to laugh or cry at your tags 🥲

in my head after the events of camlann merlin returns to camelot and, still riddled with terrible guilt and grief, confesses to leon about everything that had happened and everything he had done, magic and all. and instead of outrage or betrayal or scorn or judgement (or even death, as he had briefly considered) leon shatters him with a deeply apologetic expression and a whispered “my friend… you must have been so afraid, and so tired.” and merlin collapses into heaving sobs against him and doesn’t get back up for a long time.

[celestemona]

BENEATH THE SHROUDED SKIES

pairing: kinich x fem! reader

cw: angst. main character's death. slight spoiler for 5.1' archon quest, though there's not too much to see. canon divergence. kinich may look a bit ooc here but whatever. not proof-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

The sky above Natlan had always been a warm crimson at twilight, reflecting the flame in its people’s hearts. But now, as the Abyss cast its miasma over the land, that sky was gone, swallowed by an endless stretch of black clouds and despairing. It felt wrong—unbearably so—to Kinich, but wars had a way of twisting everything, even the heavens.

Your face was the last bright thing he had seen before the darkness came. He remembered his last moments together with you vividly: standing atop a cliff overlooking the Stadium of the Sacred Flame, where your paths would diverge. His tribe had sent him east to deliver messages and support the borders, while you had been tasked with leading a vanguard of your own people to the north. Different tribes, different duties—such was the way of Natlan’s warriors.

Your goodbye had been silent at first, both too proud, too weighed down by your duties to say what you felt. But then, with a sudden urgency, you grabbed his wrist, pulling him close. Your lips met in a desperate kiss, a promise wrapped in fire and sorrow.

“See you soon,” you whispered against his lips, though the uncertainty in your voice told him that you both knew the truth. War held no promises. Still, Kinich had nodded, his jaw tight, holding back the dread that gnawed at his heart. He had watched you walk away, your form swallowed by the horizon, not knowing it would be the last time.

Hours or even days passed, he wouldn’t know to tell. The war raged on. Reports of the dead, the missing, and the injured were relentless. Kinich fought alongside his people, cutting down the Abyss’s beasts with cold precision, each strike sharp with the promise he had made to you—to survive, to see you again. But as the time turned into a blur of battles, one thing became painfully clear: there was no word of you. No whispers of your whereabouts, no updates from your tribe. The silence cut deeper than any blade.

And then, after what felt like an eternity of fighting, Kinich returned to the Stadium of the Sacred Flame, reuniting with the others heroes.

The once-proud landmark of Natlan’s people was now surrounded by the grim faces of survivors. Xilonen stood off to the side, tending to her wounded comrades, her eyes hollow from too many losses. Mualani, usually so full of light, was eerily quiet, her usual smile replaced by a look of weary sorrow. Even Iansan, with her proud spirit, sat slumped on the edge of the arena, barely talking.

Kinich’s heart ached with unspoken fears as he scanned the horizon, hoping—begging—to see your familiar figure emerge through the smoke. But you didn’t come.

Mualani approached him, her face ashen, her hand trembling as she placed it on his shoulder. “We’re waiting for the others to arrive,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But Kinich, there’s something…”

Her words were cut off by a sudden stir in the crowd. Traveler had arrived.

Trusted by Natlan’s people, Lumine had been aiding in the fight against the Abyss, journeying between tribes, offering her strength where needed. But now, as she approached the heart of the stadium, something was different.

In her arms was a body.

Kinich’s heart stopped. He knew. He didn’t need to see the face to know.

(Y/N).

Your body was cradled gently, but there was no life left in you. Blood stained the fabric of your clothes, dirt clung to your skin, and your once-vibrant face was pale, a ghost of the warrior you had been. Lumine’s expression was solemn as she laid you down before Kinich, her eyes reflecting the weight of what she had found.

“We found her in a village,” the traveler said quietly, her voice heavy. “The Abyss was fierce there. I couldn’t make it in time. I���m truly sorry, Kinich.”

The words barely registered. Kinich knelt beside you, his hands trembling as they reached for you. You were cold—so impossibly cold. His fingers brushed the dirt from your face, and his breath hitched. There was no heartbeat, no warmth, no light in your eyes.

You were gone.

Mualani, standing beside him, looked devastated. She had always been the positive one, the one who could find hope even in the darkest of times. But now, there was nothing but raw grief in her eyes. She knelt beside Kinich, placing a hand on his shoulder. She didn’t say anything. What could she say? Her best friend was dead.

Kinich didn’t remember the last time he had cried. Had he ever? In his life as a warrior, as a survivor, tears had never been an option. However, as he knelt beside you, the woman he loved, holding your lifeless body in his arms, the tears came. Silent at first, then breaking into sobs that wracked his entire frame. His head bent low, his forehead resting against your cold skin as he wept for the promises you’d never keep, the future you would never have.

“Why…” he choked, his voice cracking. “Why didn’t I…” He couldn’t finish. The words shattered in his throat, swallowed by the weight of his grief.

Ajaw, ever so present, stood next to him. The dragon had always had something to say—cruel, biting remarks about the fragility of human life. But now, even him was silent. No words, no disdain. Just silence.

Kinich’s tears soaked into your skin as he held you closer, the world around him fading into nothing. All he could see was your face, your cold body, the life you had fought so hard to protect.

“See you soon,” you had promised. This time, however, Kinich knew. That promise would never come true.

Mualani’s hand stayed on his shoulder as Kinich wept, her own eyes filled with tears she could no longer hold back. But she let him cry, let him cling to the last shred of the person he had loved.

And in the silence that followed, the miasma of the Abyss hung heavy over Natlan, a cruel reminder of the war that had stolen so much from them all.

.

.

a/n: i don't know how to write good angst neither i do like to write angst. but this archon quest really left an impression on me. i hope you've suffered enough though i wrote this in a hurry.

[ervotica]

strange fascination

warnings: dark!ellie williams + dark!abby anderson x reader, noncon, DARK, smut (18+ only), threesome, ellie refers to her strap as a ‘cock’, drugging, tribbing, throat fucking, almost somno, r is fucked with a strap, cunnilingus, fem!reader, 1.5k words

kinktober masterlist

It’s slow at first; the way the world slowly starts to tip on its axis. Your vision swims, halted still only by Abby’s hulking presence in front of you on the ragged couch. You sniff and bat away the blunt in her hand, though your movements are disjointed, like your limbs are filled with molasses, heavy and sticky. One of her thick, calloused hands coasts the length of your arm, an action which would soothe you under normal circumstances. But you don’t feel right.

It’s an uneasiness settled in the pit of your stomach, a churning for which the cause is undetermined.

“Abby,” you mumble; your voice won’t stretch any further.

“Yeah, hon’?”

The door to your shabby one bedroom apartment creaks; your heart ticks, loud in your own ears.

You regain some awareness as Ellie latches the door shut and comes to crouch in front of you on the couch watching amusedly as you tilt your head, legs dangling from the edge of the worn fabric.

“Hi, gorgeous,” she smiles, all teeth and dimples. It’s unlike her to be so chipper.

You’re frowning. You don’t realise you’re even doing it before Ellie’s reaching a slender hand out and smoothing the creases in your forehead out.

“She’s quiet.”

You almost answer before you realise she’s not speaking to you.

The bigger girl’s hand settles on the back of your neck and squeezes. She taps your chin, settling the blunt between your lips once more.

“Have some more, baby.”

You cough and gag around the paper, trying to expel the smoke from your lungs even as the two girls encourage you to take more of it in. By the time she lets up, you’ve slumped, glassy eyed against Abby’s side.

You’d never noticed how she towers above you before now; you’ve never felt so small, so vulnerable in her presence, even more so with the other girl to your left. Ellie’s sidled in now she knows you’re still and compliant, the very point of her nose nudging at your jugular with a fervour you haven’t seen before. She nips at your earlobe and you squirm.

“No, stop,” you slur through your honey sticky mouth and slack jaw. “Don’t wanna.”

“Lift her for me, Abs,” Ellie murmurs; her voice suddenly has an edge that makes you uneasy. You moan in protest, too far away to form any words, let alone stop them. Abby’s fingers curl around the back of your neck, drawing you up and into her chest, her other hand against your bum as she lifts you into her lap.

“I know, honey,” she coos, breathless between rough kisses and nips to your exposed neck. “You wouldn’t let us take care of you sober. You should’ve made it easy for yourself. Silly girl.”

Your eyes grow hot and well, tears gathering at your waterline. How could your best friends do something like this to you? Cold hands grope at your ass, Ellie’s fingers fumbling with the button on your jeans and tugging the taut material down your legs.

“Oh, fuck,” she moans. “You’re so hot, baby.”

You grow hot and clammy with nausea. Your eyes feel like they’ve been superglued shut as you blink, peeling your eyelashes from each other.

“We’re losing her, Ellie,” Abby murmurs, undeterred in her mission to free your tits from your tank top. When they spill free, she twists a nipple meanly and grunts.

“‘S okay,” the slender girl laughs, “Don’t need her awake for this part.”

Your head falls limp, dead weight on Abby’s shoulder as she wrestles the tank top up and over you; she balls it up in her fist, discards it on the floor somewhere. Despite your weakness, you’re painfully aware of what they’re doing to you. You’re a prisoner in your own body.

You’re slumped against the muscular girl somewhat unceremoniously, eyes forced shut as Ellie finally pulls your panties aside to get a good look at your dripping cunt.

“Little whore is a liar!” She grins, triumphant. “She’s fuckin’ soaked. You like it.”

You can’t so much as lift your head to answer. Ellie draws your hips back and pushes between your shoulder blades to create a beautiful arch. You feel her thumbs against the crease of your cunt, spreading your petal soft lips to reveal your dripping hole.

“Attagirl, knew you wanted this,” Ellie murmurs.

Your mind goes blank as two of her fingers disappear, engulfed by your swollen lips. “So wet.”

You want to cry and scream and push them away but no movement will come from your body. Abby hooks her hands under your armpits and lays you flat on the couch.

“Don’t be greedy,” she snaps. “I wanna feel her pussy.”

She crouches, dragging your bare lower half until you’re hanging over the lip of the couch with your legs firmly settled over her shoulders. Her biceps bulge where they’re curled round your thighs.

She wastes no time in licking a broad, flat stripe up the entire expanse of your cunt, nosing at your clit and inhaling deeply.

“Fuck, she tastes good.”

Pleasure lights your every nerve ending on fire despite your protests to the situation. If you could kick her, you would.

She eats you out like she’s been starved of it her entire life, slaking her thirst on the almost constant drooling of your cunt. Despite your limited movement, you’re drawing to your peak with a weak cry, the coil drawing tight in your abdomen until Abby slips two fingers into your fluttering hole and you snap.

She grins like she’s the one going mad with pleasure and Ellie, who was previously pinching and twisting at your nipples until they darkened and swelled, dives forward to kiss you.

You lift a wrist in protest and can’t do much else in your current predicament; her tongue invades your limp mouth, your lips numb as hers glide over them. She pulls away gasping.

“Gonna put my cock in you, sweet girl.” She heaves a breath, unbuttoning her own jeans to reveal the silicone strap at her pelvis. You’re like a fish out of water, squirming and choking back a sob as you try to push her away. Abby hooks an arm under your back and you slump, eyes rolling as the effects of the drugs only increase.

The muscular girl sits and spreads her thighs on the couch to situate you with your back to her chest. Ellie looms, menacing over your helpless body as she drags the tip of her strap through your cunt, catching it on your still sensitive button.

When she pushes in you think you black out. Her forehead beads with sweat, nose inches from yours and breath hot as she immediately locates your sweet spot and pummels it with a force you’re not used to. It’s bruising on your cervix, painful in a way that only increases the pleasure they’re forcing onto you.

Abby reaches forward to tweak at your trembling clit, her other hand clasped firmly around your throat as your head lolls against her shoulder with every thrust.

Your body seizes as white hot pleasure shoots through you; you’re frozen with it, limp as an orgasm unlike any one you’ve ever felt before rips through you.

Your eyes flutter closed with a small cry as Ellie pulls out, spreading your lips as your hole gapes and shrinks at the absence of the strap.

Abby throws you to the side as though you’re useless as she strips herself of her bottom half of clothes; once she’s bare, she’s lifting your thighs to slot her own between them, her clit bumping against yours. It burns, the way she rubs against you so forcefully, still raw and swollen from the last two orgasms the girls have pulled from your slack body.

“Make her suck it,” she grunts, motioning for the slender girl to open your mouth. Ellie does just that, prying your lips open to feed her strap, slick and wet with your juices, down your throat.

Your throat bugles at the intrusion; you gag softly around it, and then with more force as you realise she’s not letting up.

“Fuckkk, look at her face!” Abby moans, pressing her clit to yours even harder as she creeps up on her peak.

Your eyes grow heavier as your vision blacks out at the edges; Ellie only pushes deeper into your throat, thumb pressed to the protrusion it makes.

Abby’s thighs tremble around your own and she soaks you, white knuckled where she’s clutching your knees.

You retch and gurgle around Ellie with one final fight to pull away before she takes pity on you. The spit that’s pooled at the corners of your mouth starts to leak down your face.

“That’s enough.” Abby’s tone is final.

The two girls retreat and pull on their clothes so fast you’d think they were being chased. Ellie crouches next to your ruined body and tips your chin up. You vaguely register a glob of spit hitting you in the face.

“Fuckin’ whore,” she spits. Abby’s eyes darken.

“Have some fuckin’ respect, Williams. Let’s go.”

They leave you there, passed out in a puddle of cum and drool, naked and exhausted.

They’ll be back before you know it.

[shugarbunni]

kitty!reader x professor!james pt.2 ...enjoy :p

"hang on hang on- you've been sleeping with potter? as in the professor ive been rightfully pining over? you bitch!" barty squawks, hands flailing around as you all take your seats at a booth in a dark corner of the pub.

no one wanted to get sloshed tonight, so you all decided on getting..relatively pissed at the local pub. ('all' referring to the best group of people anyone will ever meet. you, of course, barty, evan, regulus, dorcas, marlene and the ever lovely pandora!)

"you have a boyfriend, barty." Marlene snorts, smirking at the eye roll Evan gives.

"shurrup, im allowed to have crushes-" barty starts, only to be cut off by you.

"that isn't the point!" you huff, plucking reggie's cigarette from his lips and taking a drag, leaning against him "point is i do not want to end things with him, not anytime soon." you trail off, before lifting your gaze to barty "and he's more than good sex, you bellend." you scoff, pointing at him "hes like, really sweet. and funny. if you overlook the fact that he's...painfully millennial, sometimes."

"what did you two even talk about?" pandora asks, trying her very best to hide her judgement with the situation, bless her heart.

"y'know..normal shit! couple shit!" you struggle, taking an anxious puff of smoke.

"couple shit?" regulus parrots flatly, a questioning quirk to his brow.

"yes, regulus, couple shit. y'know..getting to know each other." you sigh, sinking into the booth.

"okay, so like what? give us an example, kitty cat" evan chuckles, wrapping his arm around barty

"ooo, do y'know his favourite colour?" dorcas giggles, cheek resting on marlenes shoulder.

"you lot are such idiots." you grumble, taking a sip of your bloody mary "...and its red."

"im not going in a bloody nightclub, sirius" james groans as his best friend drags him along the street.

"come on, prongs!" sirius huffs, about to go on a rant about how they never have 'fun' anymore, when remus interjects.

"how about we go to the pub? act our age, for once?" he huffs, giving sirius a pointed look and pries him off of james, running a hand through his husbands salt and pepper hair.

"alright." he grumbles, rolling his eyes at lily when she laughs at his sulking.

the group strides across the street, remus' arm slung casually over sirius' shoulder. petes been quiet, checking his phone every ten minutes - no doubt texting Emma. like a bastard teenager, he is.

james stays quiet too as they all chatter, his brows creased in distracted thought whilst he follows along into the pub.

he only snaps out of his daze when sirius heckles him from the bar, "James! what ya wanting, mate?"

"just a pint, pads" he says, forcing out a smile as he slumps in the booth, followed by the others whilst sirius gets everyones drinks ordered.

"cheer up, would you?" lily sighs softly, leaning her elbows against the table "we're meant to be taking your mind off of her, James."

"i am cheered." james mutters, giving her a sarcastic smile, earning a swat on the arm.

sirius scurries back to the table, setting everyones drinks down. hes always had a strange talent for carrying a bunch of glasses at once - must've been all the dorm parties back when they were students.

"right! cheers everyone" he exclaims dramatically, getting the group to clink their beers together "heres to healthy relat-"

"right!" a barman's voice interrupts, echoing through the pub "karaoke machines on, you lot. have at it."

most of the pub-goers (absolutely mortal middle aged men) dont seem to care all that much, but two groups seem to get elated at this news.

sirius gasps, immediately up and tugging on a begrudged peters arm (they've been karaoke partners since they were 17, believe it or not) "come on, wormy! we have to do starman!"

"sirius, mate-"

its then, that come on Eileen blasts through the pubs old speakers.

sirius shuts up - for once.

and james? well, james looks like hes seen an angel, to put it lightly.

there you are, giggling through the lyrics with Barty whilst you pathetically attempt the famous living room routine.

your whole group are creased watching, evan's filming of course. the people in the club clap along, energy up.

"come on, come on!" you wave over the others, the whole group crowding over the dingy microphone as you drunkenly shout the lyrics.

its when the song ends and your group stumbles away, clinging onto each other through bouts of laughter that you spot him. well, really you spot lily first. but then the others came into view. they all look anxious, sirius trying to tug james out of his seat. he doesn't budge.

oh christ, this is gunna be a long night, isn't it?

this feels so messy but like..ive had this idea for ages and i wanna get it out there. let me know your opinions! more parts to come<3

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

On Tattered Cloaks

Part four of this pirate!au. You didn't really think your husband wouldn't track you down, did you? ~4.5k words

Quiet sobs start to fade to disbelieving giggles. It really was that easy. All of your husband's promises had vanished with just one careful plan and a few moments alone.

You were actually getting away. You actually managed to flee his presence without letting him catch you. It's all made worse at how painfully simple it was.

He had been nearly perfect in the market, everything you had missed in the years apart. He wanted to build you a garden, a home away from the sea. He saw a life with you.

But that doesn't change that he has a life without you. Something better, something bigger without you to drag him down.

The wagons continue none the wiser to your suffering. Hours of being trapped in your own thoughts eventually come to a halt, as dirt roads turn to stone once more. Voices pick up as the wagon comes to a stop, and the canvas parts to reveal the old caravan leader.

He offers you his hand, and you hope you don't look like you've been crying as you take it. He helps you down as you murmur shaky thank yous for his generosity.

"Ah, here, you'll probably want this," he says, gently releasing your hand to pull out a decent-sized coin purse. It's filled with enough coin to buy you food and lodging for a few nights, and a ticket to the next town.

You falter, eyes darting between him and the coins, "I– Oh. I can't take this. You've already helped me so much."

His expression softens as he takes your hand and places the purse in your grip, "You've had a long journey. Take it. I insist."

"But," You start as he pulls away, "I can't pay you back."

He shakes his head faintly, sympathy crossing his features, "The look on your face was clear enough, dear. I know the signs of someone running from something. Allow me to help, at least this much."

Your shoulders slump, his words make tears want to fall all over again, "Thank you."

He shoos you along kindly, "Just be careful. It's dangerous to travel alone."

You offer him a smile and he returns it before focusing back on his cargo. You slip into the crowd without another word, heartbreak is heavy, but the old man's words make your steps a bit lighter.

It doesn't take long for you to find another caravan, offering its services to Central City. It's an easy decision to make. This town is far too small to stay in, and far too close to Star Port. All it takes is a few coin from the merchant's purse, and you're seated and traveling to the next city.

You fidget with the hair pins in your pocket as your thoughts inevitably return to your husband, to Jason. Was he looking for you? Is he relieved that the burden of his past is gone?

It's irrational, but the feeling of being followed makes your skin prick, makes your head turn to check over your shoulder as the Central City gates approaches. There's never anything there.

The guards wave the caravan through without much inspection and you find yourself in a brand new city. It's strange, to be in a city with no port. There's no cries of gulls and no smell of the sea. It's nothing like Gotham, nothing Iike Star Port. It brings a sense of security.

You're quick to leave the other travelers as the wagons stop, and you're even quicker to weave through the crowd. You make your way from the fancy, wealthy district and towards the seedier, tavern lined streets.

It takes longer than you'd like, going through the inns and taverns to look for a job, to look for somewhere to stay. Eventually, you find a sign outside of a grimy looking Tavern called The Wildcat, looking for a barmaid or barman to apply inside. The pay doesn't look exceptional, but it does offer free room and board.

The old man at the empty bar doesn't even bother to look up when you walk in. "Excuse me," You ask, "are you still hiring for the bartender job?"

He doesn't spare you a glance, just focuses on the glass he's cleaning, "yer too soft."

"I– what?" You ask, taken back.

"Yer too soft," he repeats, finally looking up at you, "couldn't handle the types we get in here."

That makes you straighten out, "I can handle whatever drunks find their way in here." It's the truth. The long days spent searching for any information at Gotham's docks prepared you enough for that.

He looks you over, but something in his eyes changes as he studies you closer. He nods, like he found what he was looking for, "Yer room is upstairs. Last door. Your shift starts in an hour."

You blink, "I– okay."

"Don't cause any trouble," he mumbles grumpily and goes back to cleaning the same glass.

It takes you more shifts than you expect to learn the owner's name. He eventually grunts out 'Ted Grant' between showing you the best way to kick the taps to get them to work. Within a few short weeks, The Wildcat becomes something like a home.

Your coworkers, who only seem to come in when it suits them, joke with you and introduce you to the best parts of central city. Cissie King pulls you onto tables to dance and she shares stories of how she misses living by the sea too. She's your first friend that's completely yours in a long time.

Ted knocks more than one handsy patron on their ass for you, and there's a story to him you haven't quite been able to get him to open up about. He pats your shoulder the first time you hit someone yourself, and murmurs how you remind him of his niece.

It's almost perfect. It really would be, if it wasn't for the dreams. Dreams of your husband, the way he used to hold you, the sound of his laugh, the color of his hair, the warm touch of his hands. His promises echo in your head, that you're his, you'd always be his. That he's going to find you, no matter how long it takes.

It makes you snap awake, grabbing at your blankets and eyes darting frantically around your empty room. Your gaze always settles on the hair pins set on your vanity. The ones you can't seem to get rid of. The silver rose seems to glimmer when you look at it.

There's an ache in your heart during mornings like this, where a part of you so desperately misses your husband. You trace the petals of the rose. You never dared to wear it, never risked even the possibility of being recognized.

The day seems to pass in a strange haze, like the calm before a storm. Not even your weekly lunch with Cissie eases the edge in your body. Every stranger seems like a threat. By the time you've returned to The Wildcat for your shift, you're jumpy.

Ted notices and waves you off to deal with the kitchen, lazily grunting that he can handle the bar himself. It's a blessing in disguise that he does.

A red-headed man swaggers through the door, and drops down at the bar. For a second, your heart drops with the idea it's Roy– but, no. Ted huffs out, "Thought I banned you, West."

The man shrugs, a boyish smile on his face as he brushes off his dark long coat, "That was ages ago."

Ted grumbles something, but you don't hear the rest of the conversation. You just see the glint of guns at the strangers side and the way his eyes lock on yours through the serving window. It makes your skin prick and the feeling of danger set in.

Nothing in his face gives away anything, but a part of you feels that he knows. He knows who you are. He knows Jason.

"Hey. Eyes off my staff," Ted snaps, waving a hand at the stranger.

'West' smiles widely, "Don't worry so much, old man. I was just leaving. Give my best to Cissie," he drawls, making his way out the door. He shoots you a wink as it closes behind him.

Ted grumbles over how he didn't even buy anything, but you can't focus, overwhelmed by the feeling of how wrong that felt. It has to be impossible, whatever that was, it can't be connected to your husband.

It's what you tell yourself as your shift ends, as you turn restlessly over in your bed, as the day passes until the next night. It's what you keep repeating right until a hooded figure walks into The Wildcat.

It's busier tonight than normal, but it doesn't stop the man from walking through the crowd and sitting in front of you at the bar. You can't ignore the figure, even if you do delay serving them by talking with other customers. The sensation of walking into a trap curls in your gut when you finally speak to him.

You ignore your unease as you smile, professional and pleasant, "What can I get for you tonight?"

You can't make out their features, concealed by the shadows of their hood, but their cold, low tone sends chills down your spine, "Rum, if you will."

"Coming right up," You chirp with a sweet smile, quickly busying yourself with pouring their drink. You set the glass in front of them, "Can I get you anything else?"

"No," They answer evenly, gloved fingers curling around the smooth glass before downing the drink with a single swing.

You take the cue to return to your other customers, but the tension doesn't leave your shoulders. He's watching you, calm and collected as his fingers drum rhythmically on the hard surface of the bar.

The night continues like this, he denies any more liquor, and even the patrons who usually are unruly and flirtatious seem mellowed in his presence. It's unnerving, so much so you find yourself in front of him again, "Would you like to close your tab?"

He nods slightly and reaches under his cloak to pull out a pouch full of coins, dropping it to the bar.

You tilt your head, whatever amount is in there greatly exceeds the cost of a single rum, "It's only a few coppers."

He seems unbothered by this, leaning forward to speak in a gravely tone, "Keep it."

Your unease is visible now, like you can feel the walls closing in, "I couldn't possibly."

The hooded figure merely chuckles and it makes you jolt, the sound quiet, low and cold and all too familiar. Chills run down your spine as he speaks again, amused, "Don't protest on my account. It's a gift."

"A gift," You ask, strained. There's no way. It's impossible it's him. You'd been so careful.

"A gift," he echoes, and his voice has a strange tone, an implication there's more to the offer, "a gift for the pretty bartender."

You pick up the pouch reluctantly, "Is there an occasion for such a generous gift?"

His fingers resume their drumming, voice still low and amused, "Call it an appreciation for beauty."

You blink, then lower your tone to match his, "Does this gift have a price? Perhaps, sir, you'd like to know when my shift ends?"

His fingers still and he tenses at your coy tone, he murmurs, almost absentmindedly, "Perhaps I would, love."

You lie easily about when you'll be free. It surprises you sometimes, how easily you've come to lie.

The hooded figure hums, you tell yourself you're imagining the disappointment in his tone, "I shall be waiting for you then, darling."

"Outside," You ask, keeping the shake that threatens to make itself known in your voice at bay, "In the alley?"

He laughs softly and nods, "The rear of the tavern will do just fine, love."

"I look forward to it," You say happily. Another lie. You have no intention of being anywhere in this city by the end of the night.

"As do I," he drawls, and for a moment neither of you move. It's a standstill, and his complete attention focuses on you in a strange, familiar way.

You watch with bated breath as he finally rises from his seat and leaves the tavern. You don't relax, immediately mumbling to Ted that you think you're going to be sick.

He doesn't get an answer out before you're taking the stairs to your room two at a time. You tug your cloak on, throw whatever you can carry into a small bag, shove the hair pins into your pocket.

You scribble an apology for Ted and Cissie onto paper, chastising yourself for not leaving after the red-headed man stared you down yesterday. You dump out the hooded figures' coin purse, quickly counting out the coins.

You freeze when you see coins aren't the only thing in the bag. There's a ring. It's beautiful. So visibly expensive and so obviously something you would wear, it makes you sick. You leave the coins for Ted. You drop the ring into your pocket alongside the hair pins with shaking hands.

Your mind races with plans and the best routes to get out of Central City as you scramble down the stairs. You stop yourself just before you take the back exit. It's too obvious. It's where he'd be waiting.

You sneak into Ted's office, it's more of a closet with a window really, and push the glass open. You drop out the window quietly into the tiny garden, the only light to guide you coming from the tavern and the moon.

You make your way carefully to the adjacent stables, constantly checking for the hooded figure over your shoulder. The shadows of the night conceal most of the area, but there's enough light to see the horses stirring within.

You wake one of Ted's horses, a young mare you convinced him to buy to help pull a wagon. You murmur a soft apology to Ted, and hope the obscene number of coins you left make up for this.

You saddle the horse quickly, and pull your hood low over your head as you pull yourself onto the mares back.

It makes your heart race, as you guide the mare from the stable, how many hiding places there are. How easily Jason and his crew could be around any corner. You head for the city gates, and goosebumps rise on your skin every time you check behind you.

There's a heavy feeling in the air, the shadows seem to reach for you as you encourage your horse out the city and onto dirt roads. You have a terrifying thought that you're being tracked. It gnaws at your mind relentlessly.

You grip the reins tighter as you ride faster. You're so far from the ocean, you've been so careful, and as you get further from the city you start to convince yourself you overreacted. It must have been nothing, only a traveler interested in the poor and pretty bartender working in a cheap tavern.

The thought is comforting, it's what you convince yourself of as you guide your horse towards an inn along the road. The hour is late, and to continue traveling only risks thieves and highwaymen.

You stable your mare, and with one more glance over your shoulder, you enter the inn. It smells of food and ale and dirt, but it's clean enough. None of the patrons seem familiar, but you pull your hood lower nonetheless.

The staff member standing over the guest book looks friendly enough as you walk over, "May I get a room for the night?"

They nod, almost uninterested, "Would you prefer a single or double?"

"Single. I also have a horse in the stable," You supply, anxious to hide away in any room they give you.

"Very well. Four silvers for the night and one for the stable," they answer, "and your name?"

You hand them the coin and lie about your name. "I'll return with your key in a moment," they say, and disappear through a curtain.

You glance towards the door as you wait. It's unexplainable, but you half expect to see Jason barge in, sword drawn, just as he did at the ball so many moons ago. It takes longer than it should for the innkeeper to come back.

"Is everything alright," You ask when they finally hand you your key.

They pause, then smile, "Apologies for the delay. We've had quite the day here today. Everyone is tired and eager to rest."

"Oh," You prompt, "is that so?"

"Indeed. We had a group of rowdy sailors stay last night, and they only left this afternoon," they answer.

"Sailors," You say, a little strained, "we're somewhat far from the ocean, aren't we?"

They nod, "They were picking over a map, quite the strange bunch. They caused a few fights with the other guests. Their captain was quite a sight."

"Their captain," You breathe out airily, heart in your throat. Any mask of a simple, curious traveler is hard to maintain as the inn keeper talks.

"Yes, his presence demanded attention. Dark red hat, more scars than I've ever seen, unruly hair. He was very intense, even as his crew joked around him," They answer, "but he paid fairly."

"I see," You mumble, forcing a smile to your face as you place a gold coin on the desk, "I do enjoy my solitude so, and I would be very grateful if you discouraged anyone from the idea that I was ever here."

The innkeeper's expression visibly shifts, greed and interest sparking in their eyes, "Of course. Your generosity is welcomed. We pride ourselves in dissuading anyone who inquires over our guests."

You smile again and head to your room in a daze, any comforting thoughts of the hooded figure not being related to Jason disappear. You have the urge to get back on your horse and keep riding. But it'd be a sure way to get hurt or robbed if you did.

You have no choice, but to wait until dawn. You settle in for the night, on edge. Sleep doesn't come easy, and the rest you do have is plagued by the color of your husband's eyes and the sound of his voice.

You're out of your room at the first rays of sunshine peeking over the horizon. It's a habit now, to tug your hood low as you drop your key on the inn keepers book. You ignore the hunger in your stomach and head straight for the stable.

The reassuring sight of your horse doesn't make you stop short, but the hooded man holding her bridle does. Neither of you speak as he pets her with gloved hands.

He's clearly no stable worker and you cross your arms at the sight, an attempt to hide your nervousness. You weigh your options, before speaking, "You're touching my horse."

He turns his head slightly at the sound of your voice, "Aye. So that I am. She's a fine stead." His voice has a subtle edge to it, almost menacing. You don't miss how his hand clenches around the reins, firm and unwavering.

"Are you going to keep touching her," You ask, and for all your plans and escape attempts, you can't think of a way out of this.

"Why shouldn't I? Such a fine beast deserves some attention, don't you think." He would sound playful, almost nonchalant if it wasn't for the challenge in his voice, daring you to confront him.

You exhale softly, stepping forward, "As much as I'm sure she adores your attention, I have somewhere to be."

He makes no move to release his hold on your horse's bridle, and you can feel how his gaze roams over you. He shrugs, dismissive and his tone dips almost condescendingly, "Do you now? What a shame. I was just beginning to delight in our little conversation."

"What is there to delight in," You bite back, fed up with the arrogance he exudes.

He lets out a laugh, his grip tightening on the reins before releasing it completely. He drops his hand to the pommel of the sword slung on his hip. "Ah, there's the spark I've been hoping for," he muses, voice low and laced with humor, "You're not one to bow down easily, are you, treasure?"

You stiffen, and it's like jumping into a cold river in the early morning and a harsh punch to the gut. He called you treasure. There's only ever one person who's called you that. It's a chilling, unarguable fact that your husband has tracked you down with a relentless determination.

Your eyes dart, scrambling for a plan. He has a sword. He's too close to your horse. You'd be lucky if you outrun him. He likely paid off anyone in the tavern that would help.

He steps towards you, tension mounting, "What's the matter, love? You've gone so quiet."

"How?" You ask sharply.

He tuts, unimpressed, but his voice is laced with satisfaction, "Well it wasn't luck, treasure. Do you think I'd be foolish enough to rely on mere luck when it comes to matters as important as this? No, no, my love. I used every resource at my disposal. Connections, favors, whispered words in the right ears, all to find you"

You imagine he looks smug right now, that despite all your careful steps, he still found you, "Take off your hood," You bite out.

His demeanor changes, any playful mockery gone as his hand tightens on his sword, voice dripping with danger, "Why should I?"

"Why wouldn't you?" You retort, hands dropping to your sides. It's not a secret who either of you are anymore, even he hasn't said your name, and you haven't said his.

He stares at you, as if weighing the pros and cons of the action, "Very well, treasure." With a steady motion, he draws his hood back, revealing a cascade of dark hair framing his face, the sunlight illuminating his features, rugged and determined and familiar, Jason.

He looks harsher. It's only been a handful of months but something about him seems off. His gaze is more intense, shoulders more stiff.

You try to reconcile your memories of your smiling husband with the man in front of you as he sets his jaw, "You look different," You tell him.

There's suspicion in his eye when you drop your hood as well, but his gaze darts over you greedily. "It has felt like an eternity without you. The months where I couldn't find you..." his voice trails off as he studies you, "it shouldn't be surprising that I look different."

"It was nothing compared to when you were missing," You say flatly, trying to keep your emotions in check.

Your husband's gaze darkens, and pain and frustration etches themselves onto his features, "Perhaps that's true, treasure."

His voice grows bitter, but his longing is clear as he continues to speak, "Yet, every moment apart feels like a lifetime. This aching absence, the unbearable uncertainty, it haunts my soul day and night. Can you blame me for taking drastic measures to find you?"

"Drastic measures?" You ask, voice pitching with surprise.

Jason's face hardens, eyes gleaming with a dangerous intensity, "I have left no stone unturned, no resource untapped. I've sent men to scour every corner, paid off every informant, and spared no expense."

He stares you down, voice resolute and unyielding, "So let me make one thing clear, treasure, I am not the same man I was before I lost you. I won't hesitate to use whatever means necessary to keep you by my side."

Your breath hitches, "I– your crew must hate me for that," You say softly. What you really mean to say is, 'you must hate me for that'.

His eyes soften as he registers your words and he closes the distance between you two, "Hate you? No. No one hates you, my love. You're a part of me. They understand that."

The way he says it sounds like a fact. You're not completely sure if it is. "Treasure," he continues, "my heart bleeds for you more than anything in this world."

"Then why was it so easy for me to leave?" You choke out the question that's been haunting you since that day in the market, hands curling in the fabric of your cloak.

Irritation flashes in his eyes, clearly you struck a nerve, "Easy? You underestimate your own cunning, love. I should have been more cautious that day, but don't mistake my momentary lapse of judgment as weakness on either of our parts."

You scoff and he steps forward to hook his finger under the clasp of your cloak, drawing you closer, "I was blinded by my own heart. You should know you've always had a way of making me lower my guard."

Your eyes widen. He's close. You can see the flecks in his eyes, the older scar lines on his face. Your voice is strained when you speak, "Why are you doing that?"

His brow furrows slightly, "Doing what? Talking to you?"

"Yes!" You lament, "that! Humoring me. What's your plan?"

"You want to know my plan," he drawls, dropping his hand from your cloak, "I'll tell you, my love. Allow me to make this perfectly clear, I'm pursuing you, humoring this conversation, leaving that ring for you," your fingers twitch towards the ring in your pocket unconsciously, a movement he devours eagerly.

He leans down, voice lowering as he continues, "because my plan is simple. I'm not letting you go again. I'm not allowing you to slip through my fingers and disappear into the ether."

His gaze is unwavering, studying your every reaction to his words, "What, no protest, treasure? No arguments?" He straightens back out, "Perhaps you recognize the futility of resistance by now."

"I don't know. I didn't really think I'd get away the first time," You admit quietly, his words swirling in your head.

A wry smile tugs after his lips, and pride over his ability to hunt you down and your own ability to get away slip into his expression. "Yes, it was rather an impressive feat, how long you managed to hide," he confesses, begrudging admiration in his voice, "But rest assured, my love, it won't happen again."

"Why couldn't you just let me go," You ask, pained. That should be what you really want, to free him and you of the endless waltz around each other. But a secret, small part of you is happy to see him.

He breathes out your name, voice longing and resigned, "Every fiber of my being screams for you. My heart and soul belong to you, they always have."

He says your name again, softly, gently. He grabs your arms, wrinkling the fabric of your cloak as he meets your eyes steadily, "I cannot let you go."

Part Five

[pretzel-box]

Tags: Established Relationship, Angst, Arguments, mentions of blood and death, main character dies, Sebastian is sleep deprived, starved, dehydrated and delusional and imagines reader next to him.

Words: 3,3k

Sebastian Solace loves midnights.

There is a serenity in those silent hours, a quiet stillness that fills the blackside hallways like a slow, gentle tide and reaches even the darkest corners that even Sebastian never saw before. The only sound that his ears picked up is the slow dripping of murky water down the steel pipes—careful, deliberate, rushing in its own pace to follow gravity's lead.. Each droplet falls to the floor, breaking the surface of a small puddle in the corner of his shop, sending ripples outward in perfect symmetry. The water doesn't just drop and ripple but it reflects the faint glow of his lure, nestled among his raven hair, its light almost a match for the illuminating moon and stars that failed to reach the depths of the facility.

Every so often, the Saboteur would set aside his endless collection of files, neatly sorting them into stuffed drawers, his every movement unhurried, almost tender. It’s a rare thing, this softness, this willingness to let his guard down and move through his world without urgency or purpose. The rigid pride, the air of invincibility he wore like armor, it all faded away in these midnight hours. It was the only time he allowed himself to just be Sebastian.

Here, in the stillness of the night, he found a kind of solace. The world wouldn’t let him die—death was forbidden, death was wrong. But suffering? Suffering was fine, expected even. He was to endure it all, every fiber of his being unraveling under the weight of an uncertain eternity within this facility, a reflection of his own fractured mind.

“The plant,” you say softly, your voice cutting through the stillness, close enough to touch his thoughts but too distant to reach his skin. Your words echo in his mind, even as he remains still, listening more to the sound of you than the faint water droplets that had once filled the silence. They’ve become nothing more than a quiet, almost fading, background hum now, as if the world itself had quieted to hear you speak.

He doesn’t turn to look at you. His body refuses to move, frozen in place. Instead, he stares ahead at the cold, gray concrete wall, its familiar chill pressing against him like a long-held grief. That wall has always been there, a constant, an unyielding presence in his life. He hates it, hates the memories it holds—the times he was happier and more broken all at once. It’s hard to say if he’s ever been lower than he is now.

“The plant wasn’t watered,” you say again, your voice soft but insistent, like a gentle breeze. You sit on the floor, legs crossed, near the puddle where the water drips, your gaze fixed on it as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the entire world. As if Sebastian Solace, sitting next to you with his feigned smile, wasn’t the most captivating presence in the room.

He feels your presence beside him like a balm to his fractured soul, a quiet comfort in the chaos of his thoughts. He doesn’t need to look at you to know that you are there, sharing this quiet midnight with him. It is enough, this shared silence, this simple act of being. For now, it is enough.

In the dark, when the world lay down to rest, the blackest hour of the night became a battlefield for those still awake. It was in these quiet, relentless hours that the mind turned on itself, each thought a weapon—memories like fists, feelings like knives, tearing down the defenses carefully built up in the daylight. You knew Sebastian fought these battles too. You could see it in the way he carried himself, in the weight he bore in his shoulders. The way they slumped, as if the pressure of it all was dragging him down, daring to suffocate him.

But you didn’t speak of it. You knew there was no need to put words to something so deep and so painfully familiar, something so natural, when Sebastian already knew it himself. Words wouldn't help, they would only sharpen the edges of the wounds that had yet to heal.

The water droplets continued their steady descent, still rushing down the same rusty steel pipe, falling from a height into the same reflective puddle. The ripples spread out across the surface in perfect, mesmerizing circles, breaking the stillness, only to settle once more. It was still oddly captivating, even after all this time. In the darkness, it was easy to lose yourself in something so simple, so repetitive. It was one of the things you could watch over and over again without getting tired.

“The plant,” he repeated after a long, aching silence. His voice, naturally deep, was rough now, hoarse. It sounded like a painful scratch against your ears, the kind of sound that spoke of nights without sleep, of thoughts that gnawed at the edges of his mind. You watched him, watched as his expression furrowed, his eyes distant. He seemed to be trying to remember, trying to dig through the fog of his thoughts to find what you were talking about. Was there a plant before? Had it mattered at all?

His thoughts were murky, clouded by a haze of exhaustion and something else—something deeper, more insidious. Green.

Green was a color he hated, he realized with a sudden clarity that startled him. It was strange to think of hating a color, but he did, with every fiber of his being. It pierced his fluorescent eyes, clawed at his mind, triggered memories so violently that he wished he could erase it from existence. Green reminded him of too much, of things he wanted to forget but never could. It was the color of his suffering, the hue of his nightmares, the shade of his regrets.

He cursed under his breath, a low, frustrated sound. How could he hate something so simple, so inescapable? How could he want to tear apart a color? But he did. God, he did. And you, sitting beside him, felt the depth of that loathing, that anger, even if you didn’t know the exact reasons behind it. You could sense it in the way his hands clenched, in the way his jaw tightened.

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you reached out, your hand moving slowly, hesitantly, until it hovered just above his. You didn’t touch him, not yet. Just the proximity of your hand, the closeness of your presence, was enough to let him know that you were there, that you understood or maybe pretending to.

“The plant,” he said again, softer this time, almost as if he were afraid of the word. He still didn’t look at you, his eyes fixed on the puddle now too, on the droplets that fell with a rhythm that was both maddening and comforting. “Why?”

Your lips curved into a small, all saying smile, flashing on your face and replaced the calmness with a familiar sight. “Because you forgot to water it, Sebastian. Because it’s still here to thirst.”

He closed his eyes, and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. He wasn’t sure why, but your words, simple as they were, felt like a balm to his soul even when you didn't say anything comforting.

“I pretended it wasn’t important,” Sebastian murmured, his eyes falling shut, as though by closing them he could erase the gray concrete walls around him, the murky puddle of water on the floor, the relentless green that seemed to taunt him, to mock his every thought. And perhaps, too, he could erase the sensation of you sitting so close, the divinity of your presence beside him. It was a sensation he could neither fully embrace nor escape from, as if the very act of being near you was both a comfort and a curse. He tried so desperately to shut it all out, to suffocate the feelings that clawed at his insides, but even as he spoke, he choked on the impossibility of his own escape. “But it pierced me from the inside.”

“The plant?” you repeated, your voice barely a whisper, like the soft brush of wind against water. The droplets continued their slow descent from the rusted pipe, splashing into the puddle below with a steady, unyielding rhythm. The wall remained as it was, tall and indifferent, and you stayed seated beside him, unmoving, as if the two of you were carved from the same stone. You didn’t turn to look at him; there was no need. He was still the same man—burdened, lost. Nothing had changed, and you wondered if it ever would.

Once, there had been a plant—small, fragile—perched on the edge of the metallic table in his shop. It had been a source of contention between the two of you, its very existence a catalyst for your frequent arguments. You would tend to it with a tenderness that seemed almost out of place in such a harsh, unforgiving environment, your fingers brushing gently against its delicate leaves, your eyes soft with care. “You can't just run off,” Sebastian had snarled during one such argument, his voice raw with frustration, his claw-like hands cutting through the air in a gesture of anger. The veins in his neck had stood out sharply, and his eyes had burned with a fury so intense it was almost palpable. There were moments when you could see the depth of his suffering, buried beneath the rage, a tempest of pain and fear and longing. His need to protect, to control, was born out of that suffering, and in those moments, you could almost feel sorry for him.

You remembered that day vividly—the way he’d stood over you, trembling with a barely restrained urge to strike, his face contorted with a mix of anger and something else, something darker, more desperate. He had spat the words at you, his voice breaking with the effort to contain himself. And you, stubborn and unyielding, had met his gaze head-on, your hands still cradling the fragile plant as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

Now, in the stillness of the night, with only the soft sound of the water droplets and the echo of your past selves hanging between you, you felt a strange sense of calm. The memory of that argument, like so many others, was a testament to the fragile balance you maintained—a balance between what was said and unsaid, between your conflicting desires and the reality of your circumstances.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” you said softly, breaking the silence, your eyes still focused on the puddle, watching as the droplets created ripples that spread outwards, fading into the stillness. You didn’t need to look at him to know he was listening, to feel the weight of his gaze on you, heavy with unspoken words. “You don’t have to hold it all in. Not here. Not now.”

He didn’t respond, not at first. But you could sense the shift in him, the way his shoulders sagged just a little, the way his breath seemed to hitch in his throat. The green haunted him, you knew that much. It was a color tied to his memories, to his pain. To things he couldn’t—wouldn’t—speak of. But you also knew that there was a part of him that wanted to, that needed to. A part that longed for release, for the kind of understanding that could only come from another soul.

“Maybe one day…” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “Maybe one day, it won’t hurt so much.”

You turned then, just slightly, enough to catch a glimpse of him in your peripheral vision. He looked small, sitting there, almost like a child lost in a world that had moved on without him. And in that moment, you just let your mind take over and replay the memories you both tried to swallow down so badly.

The dim light of the shop flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the room. The air was thick with tension, a suffocating weight that pressed down on everything. You stood at the edge of the metallic table, your hands tenderly cradling the small, fragile plant you’d been nurturing. Its green leaves were vibrant against the dull gray of the shop—a small, defiant burst of life in a place that seemed to reject it.

Sebastian stood across from you on that day, his tall frame tense with anger. His eyes, usually so guarded, were blazing with a fury once more that made your heart pound. You knew what this was about; it was the same argument you’d been having for days now. But tonight, something felt different. There was a sharp edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before, a desperation that cut deeper than his usual annoyance.

"You can't just keep doing this," he snapped, his voice rough and jagged, like gravel scraping against metal. "You can’t keep pretending that everything’s fine, that you can just…carry on like this. It’s reckless!"

His words hung in the air between you, a challenge. You met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down. “What’s reckless is you thinking you can control everything, that you can control me! I’m not some soldier you can just order around, Sebastian.”

He flinched at that, a flash of something like pain crossing his face. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a hardened, almost cruel expression. “You think you’re so much better than everyone else, don’t you?” he hissed. “That just because you care about a fucking plant, you’re somehow above all this. Above us.”

His words stung, cutting deep. You felt your chest tighten, your breath catching in your throat. “That’s not—”

“You’re delusional if you think this is going to change anything,” he interrupted, his voice rising. “That plant, your stupid idealism—it’s all pointless. Just like you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. For a moment, you just stood there, stunned. You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not in front of him. Not when he was looking at you with that cold, unyielding stare.

“Fine,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “If that’s how you feel, then I’m done.”

Without another word, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the shop, the door slamming shut behind you. The cool facility air hit your face, but it did little to soothe the burning in your chest. Your footsteps echoed in the empty corridors as you walked away, each step, despite the heavy feelings, taking you further from him, from his cruel words.

You weren’t sure where you were going—anywhere but here. The walls of the facility seemed to close in around you, suffocating, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You just needed to get away, to clear your head.

But then, as you turned a corner, you saw them—a group of Urbanshade soldiers. Their dark green uniforms were almost invisible in the dim light, their faces hidden behind masks and their shiny gear reflected the gentle light that surrounded you all. You froze, the limbs you were trusting all your life started to paralyze, your heart racing. You’d heard stories about them—about what they did to those who crossed them, or worse, those they decided to take in. You knew what they did to Sebastian, to the others, and what they will do to you with their mighty authority and the loaded guns that rested in their gloved hands.

One of them spotted you, and you saw a flash of recognition in their eyes. “Hey, you! Stop right there!”

Panic surged through you. You didn’t wait to hear the rest, you couldn't when your limbs started to ease and your body switched into the flight modus, running. You turned and ran as fast as your legs could carry you, your heart pounding loudly in your ears, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. You could hear them close behind you, their heavy boots pounding against the floor like drums, their shouts echoing through the corridor.

You turned another corner, your mind racing. But there was nowhere to go—the corridor was a dead end. You stopped, your back against the gray concrete wall, your chest heaving in a state of pure panic. They were getting closer. You could hear them, feel the vibrations of their steps.

And then, out of nowhere, a figure appeared. Sebastian. He was slithering towards you, his face a mask of determination. He held himself with pride and strength despite looking like a mirror image of your thoughts, softly illuminated by the golden light of the lamps. At that specific moment, you were too shocked to move. What was he doing here? He’d followed you?

“Get behind me,” he said, his voice low and urgent.

You didn’t have time to think. You moved behind him, pressing your back against the cold, concrete wall. The soldiers rounded the corner, their eyes locking onto Sebastian. There was a tense silence, a moment of stillness before the storm.

One of the soldiers stepped forward, his hand on his weapon. “This doesn’t concern you, Saboteur,” he said, his voice cold. “Move aside.”

Sebastian didn’t flinch, he lost the ability to be scared of those soldiers a long time ago, refusing to feel anything but pure hatred. “You’re not taking them,” he said, his voice calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it, a warning that was clear as crystal.

The soldier’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to ask again.”

Sebastian’s response was swift. He lunged forward, his movements a blur, striking the soldier with a force that sent him sprawling to the ground. The others reacted immediately, drawing their weapons, but Sebastian was faster. He moved with a deadly grace, his strikes precise and powerful.

You watched, your heart in your throat, as he fought them off. He was outnumbered, but he fought with a fierceness that was almost terrifying. You wanted to help, to do something, but you were frozen in place, fear and shock holding you captive.

The corridor was filled with the sounds of the struggle—the grunts of pain, the clang of metal against metal. You could see the determination in Sebastian’s eyes, the sheer will to protect you, to keep you safe.

But there were too many of them. And as you watched, you realized with a sinking feeling that he couldn’t hold them off forever.

You had to do something. You couldn’t just stand there and watch him fight alone. You took a deep breath, your hands trembling, and stepped forward, ready to—

Blood. Fine droplets of red liquid that hit the gray wall like a firework, the iron-like smell creeping up his nose and Sebastian took a minute. He blinked, first once, then twice. Blood. On his claws, sticking in between them like watered paint, running down the large form of his rough hands, further into his sleeves.

Then there was your face, it wasn't visible to his bright eyes, but you didn't move. Your delicate body was squished in between loose body parts of what must have been humans in expensive gear. Your hair covered your eyes, your hands covered the wound and the blood covered your body. It seeped into the clothes that you wore and dripped down your skin that started to lose its warmth.

“Did you always hated me that much?”

He finally moved his head, his face was blank. No faux smile. No depressed frown. No pride, anger or guilt. It was flat and empty like a canvas. The he stretched out his arm, his eyes looking at his own claws, the memories of blood were gone, his hands were clean. And his clean hands would seek out your touch, hovering above your cheek. He missed the warmth, the softness, the tender smile. And when he tried to close the gasp, his hand moved through you.

He blinked.

You were gone.

Sebastian Solace loved midnights. Hated the color green and bathed in the blood of a divinity.

[hazelira]

rope to nowhere

ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈

You had always known Jay carried a quiet sadness with him. It was there in the way he looked at the sunset, a distant longing in his eyes as if he were searching for something that had slipped through his fingers. You should’ve seen it coming, but you convinced yourself otherwise, hoping that the warmth of his touch and the sweetness of his words were enough to make him stay.

You find him in the kitchen tonight, staring into the cup of coffee he’s cradling between his hands. The dim light casts a shadow across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the curve of his lips—lips that once smiled at you like you were the only one in his world. But now, there’s an emptiness, a hollow look you can’t ignore.

“Jay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible above the refrigerator's hum. He looks up, startled as if he hadn’t noticed you standing there.

You take a step closer, your heart clenching painfully in your chest. “Are you still thinking about her?”

He freezes, the unspoken truth hanging heavy in the air. You see it in his eyes, the guilt, the pain, and the lingering affection he’s tried so hard to bury but never reasonably could. He opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. He doesn’t need to say it. You already know.

“She still has your heart, doesn’t she?” you ask, forcing the words out despite the lump in your throat. It’s a question you’ve been too afraid to ask, but the silence between you is enough to answer.

Jay’s shoulders slump, and he looks away, his knuckles turning white as he grips the cup. “I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, breaking the fragile hope you’ve clung to. “I thought I could move on—I wanted to—but…”

“But you can’t,” you finish for him, your voice cracking. The tears well up in your eyes, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. Not in front of him. Not when he’s already miles away, lost in memories of a love never yours.

He sets the cup down and reaches for you, but you step back. “Don’t,” you choke out, shaking your head. “I can’t—Jay, I can’t be her replacement. I can’t keep pretending I’m enough when I know you’re still in love with her.”

He looks stricken, his hands falling to his sides. “You are enough,” he says desperately, but even he doesn’t believe his words. It’s there in his eyes—the guilt, the regret, and the shadow of a love he can’t let go of.

You swallow hard, forcing a bitter smile. “If I were enough, you wouldn’t still be thinking about her.”

The silence that follows is suffocating. It’s the final nail in the coffin, confirming everything you feared. You take a shaky breath and turn away, leaving the room before the tears spill over.

Behind you, Jay doesn’t call out. He doesn’t stop you. And that, more than anything, tells you everything you need to know.

ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈

You find yourself standing in the hallway, gripping the edge of the doorframe as if it’s the only thing holding you up. The familiar ache settles in your chest, spreading like wildfire, burning through the remnants of your hope. It feels like a final goodbye, even though no words have been said. You can hear Jay’s soft, uneven breaths behind you, but neither of you moves. Neither of you dares to speak.

The memories come rushing back—nights spent laughing under shared blankets, the way he’d look at you like you were the only person in the room, the gentle brush of his fingers against your cheek as if you were something precious. You realize it was all borrowed time, a fleeting moment where you were allowed to pretend he was yours.

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to turn back and face him one last time. He’s still standing by the counter, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed. The sight of him like this, broken and lost, would have once made you want to rush over and hold him close. But now, it only makes your heart shatter more because you know his sadness isn’t for you. It never was.

“Did you ever love me?” you ask, the words slipping out before you can stop them. You don’t want to know the answer to it, but you need to hear it. You need to know if there was ever a time, even for a moment, when you were more than a replacement, more than a temporary comfort.

Jay’s head snapped up, eyes wide and filled with a pain you’d never seen before. He looks at you like he’s drowning and searching for the right words to say, but there’s nothing he can offer to make this better. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again, his voice trembling when he finally speaks. “I… I wanted to love you,” he admits, and it’s like a punch to the gut. You almost double over from its force.

You let out a bitter laugh, tears streaming down your cheeks now. “Wanted,” you echo, the word hanging heavy in the air. “But you didn’t. Not really.”

He steps forward, his hand reaching out as if to touch you, but you step back, shaking your head. “Don’t,” you whisper. “Please, don’t make this harder than it already is.”

His hand drops to his side, and the look of defeat on his face makes your heart clench. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, and you hate how sincere he sounds. You hate how much you want to believe him, to tell yourself that this isn’t his fault, that he never meant to hurt you. But it doesn’t make the pain any less accurate. It doesn’t change that you’re standing here, pouring your heart out to someone who can’t love you.

“I thought I could be enough,” you say, barely more than a broken whisper. “I thought if I just tried harder, loved you more… that you’d look at me the way you looked at her.”

Jay’s eyes squeeze shut, his jaw clenching as he struggles to keep himself together. “You are enough,” he insists, his voice raw and desperate. “You’re more than enough. This isn’t about you. It’s me—I’m the one who can’t let go.”

“Then why?” you demand, your voice rising, the words spilling out like a torrent you can’t stop. “Why did you let me fall in love with you? Why did you make me believe we could have something real when you were never truly here?”

His eyes snap open, and for a moment, you see it—a flicker of something like regret, like he wishes he could take it all back. “I thought I could move on,” he says, his voice breaking. “I thought I could be the person you deserved. But every time I try… she’s still there. In my head. In my heart.”

Your breath hitches, the final confirmation tearing you apart. It hurts in a way you never imagined. It could be like you’re being split open from the inside out. You nod slowly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I guess this is it, then,” you say, your voice hollow. “Nothing left for me to hold onto, is there?”

Jay’s eyes are wide, panicked. “Wait,” he breathes out, taking a shaky step toward you. “Don’t go—please. I can’t lose you too.”

You let out a shuddering breath, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. “You already have,” you say quietly. “You lost me the moment you couldn’t let her go.”

You turn and walk away, your heart breaking with every step you take. He doesn’t call after you this time. He doesn’t try to stop you. And somehow, that hurts more than anything else.

The door closes behind you, and the silence that follows is deafening. It feels like the end of a chapter, the closing of a book never yours. And as you walk into the night, the cold air biting at your cheeks, you finally let the sobs wrack your body, your hands clutched to your chest as if that could hold together the pieces of your shattered heart.

You loved him with everything you had, but it was never enough. The truth is, you were never the one he was in love with, and maybe you never would be.

ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈

The days that follow blur together in a haze of quiet loneliness. You bury yourself in work, in books, in anything that keeps your mind busy, hoping to silence the echo of Jay’s words. But they linger, a ghost haunting you in every corner of your thoughts. I wanted to love you. You repeat it to yourself like a mantra, but it doesn’t make the pain any less raw. You wanted to believe it. You wanted to believe that the love he offered, however fractured, was real. But now, all you feel is the hollow ache of unfulfilled promises.

You haven’t heard from him for a few days. The silence between you stretches out as if the space between you has become a chasm neither of you knows how to cross. Every time your phone vibrates, your heart races—until you see it’s not him. Memories flood your mind when you pass by places you used to go together. His laugh, his warm gaze, the way he gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, telling you everything would be okay.

You keep your distance, not because you want to punish him, but because you must protect yourself now. You can’t keep pretending you’re okay when every fibre of your being aches for something that isn’t coming. You told him you couldn’t be her replacement, but the truth is, you were never meant to replace her.

You weren’t supposed to have to fight for a love that was already spoken for.

A week later, you’re sitting on the couch, reading a book that doesn’t hold your attention, when your phone buzzes on the coffee table. You glance at it—Jay’s name flashes on the screen. You stare at it for a moment, your heart frozen in place. Then, with trembling hands, you pick it up, your thumb hovering over the message.

“Can we talk?”

You don’t know what you expect, but the message feels like a dagger to your chest. You stare at it, your chest tightening with every passing second. You’ve spent the last week telling yourself that you were done and couldn’t go back to someone who couldn’t give you what you needed. But here it is—his message, the bridge to the conversation you’ve dreaded.

You don’t respond right away. You let the minutes into hours until you’re sitting with a cold cup of tea, staring at the message as though it holds the answer to everything. You wonder if, deep down, you’re hoping for something—a spark, a sign that maybe he’s finally ready to choose you.

But deep down, you know it’s a lie. You know that whatever he has to say, it won’t change the truth. You were never meant to be his.

Finally, with a heavy heart, you type a response.

“What is it, Jay?”

The message sits on your screen for what feels like an eternity before the three dots appear—his response coming slowly as if he’s trying to find the words. You can feel your stomach twist in anticipation, in dread.

“I’m sorry. I know I messed up. I never should’ve let you get so close if I couldn’t let go of her.”

You close your eyes, the pain hitting you in waves as you read his words. The apology doesn’t feel like enough—not after everything. He can’t undo the past. He can’t erase the fact that you loved him with everything you had, only to watch him look at someone else with the same love you once craved.

“I understand.” You type, and your fingers are cold against the screen. “But you can’t keep apologizing for something you’re unwilling to change.”

You don’t know why you sent it. Maybe it’s because you’re tired of the back-and-forth. Perhaps it’s because you finally realize you’re worth more than this. The phone buzzes again.

“I wish I could be the person you deserve.”

Those words strike you with the force of a freight train. You let the tears fall, but they don’t feel like weakness this time. They feel like release. You’ve been holding on for so long, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he would turn around, but the truth is clear now: He’s not the person you deserve, either. You deserve someone who can love you without hesitation, someone who doesn’t keep their heart tethered to the past.

You don’t respond. Instead, you turn off your phone and set it aside, the weight of the silence now oddly comforting. You know it’s time to let go.

Later that night, you stand by your window, looking at the city lights, feeling the cold air brush against your skin. You allow yourself to breathe freely for the first time in what feels like forever. You didn’t get the love you wanted from Jay, but you’re learning to let go, to finally stop clinging to something that was never meant to be.

In the quiet, you find peace—not because you have all the answers, but because you’ve finally let go of the question.

ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈

As you stand there, the weight of everything pressing down on your chest, you realize you’ve been holding onto him like a drowning person clings to a lifeline that was never meant to save them. The rope, frayed and weak, slips through your fingers, but you keep gripping it, believing, somehow, that it will pull you to safety.

But in the end, it only drags you deeper into the water.

And now, as you finally let go, you feel yourself sinking, not into darkness, but into an ocean of cold, endless silence—where the only thing left to hear is the echo of your heart breaking.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Hello fen! my beloved! it is ominoose ! obligatory ily mwah! also any chance of some non smut romantic blue ? :)

ILY MWAH RIGHT BACK! And of course, it's always simping for Blue hours in my mind.

Club!Blue Jones X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? • ko-fi•requestinfo •

Warnings: overuse of italics, extremely soft Blue, references to previous sexy times, kissing, pet names, badly proofread, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 1085

________________________________

Blue’s in a foul mood. 

You knew that before he’d thrown the whisky glass against his office wall (you weren’t there at the time, but you’d heard about it after). You knew before Sabby’s hushed whispers reached you about the screaming fit he’d had. You knew before you’d seen his goons running around like panicked headless chickens. 

Some money had gone missing. A lot of money. 

A lot, a lot, a lot of money. 

So you’re a little on edge when Gorski tells you to go see him. That he’s requested you. It doesn’t exactly fill you with sunshine and rainbows. 

You knock on his office door gently, entering when he calls and shut the door softly behind you. 

You’re not sure what you're expecting. Rage. Shouting. Ranting. But it wasn’t this. 

He’s standing close, his shoulders slumped, his bottom lip pouting outwards ever so slightly. His eyes look red and glassy, not drunk or high, but on the verge of tears. 

“Baby,” he says with a sniffle and holds his arms out to you.

You swallow in surprise and move towards him quickly, reaching your hands out for him. Blue sighs as he holds you in a soft embrace, squeezing needily but being overly careful not to cause any discomfort. 

“Blue,” you speak softly, moving back a little to see his face and stroke his cheek. “You okay?” You know he’s not. But you ask anyway. 

He shakes his head and presses closer to your hand, kissing your wrist and hugging you tightly before he sniffles into your neck. “Horrible day.” He mumbles against your skin.

“I’m so sorry.” You stroke his back soothingly. 

He’s taken off his jacket and tie, you can see them discarded messily on his desk. Not folded neatly like his usual routine. 

“It’s okay.” He leans back and smiles, his voice thick and tired. He strokes your cheeks, your neck. His actions are soft, revenant. Not the needy grips and tight squeezes you're used to. 

“Come and sit with me?” The question in his voice surprises you. It sounds painfully genuine. 

You nod as he leads you to the plush sofa, keeping his hand in yours and rubbing his thumb against your skin. 

When you sit he pulls you carefully into his arms, leaning back and encouraging you to lay your head on his chest as he wraps his arms around you. 

It’s oddly comfortable being held like this, being so close to him without part of him in you or you in him. 

He kisses your temple lightly, still stroking your upper arm lazily. “You’re my most precious thing, you know that?” His voice is so soft, quiet with a slight shake to it. 

You stiffen, you can’t help it. The words seem so alien that it’s like you’ve got emotional whiplash. 

“What?” There’s a hint of worry in his tone as he moves slightly, loosening his grip so he can look down at you as you glance up at him. “Did I hurt you?” 

“No, I…” You’re not sure what to say. What you can say. Why are you being so… kind?

He nods, a small frown pinching his forehead. He traces your jawline with his thumb. “I don’t tell you enough.” He pauses. “I don’t tell you at all.” He swallows and sighs. “You’re my- you’re the most precious person.” He trails his fingers softly down the nape of your neck and you shiver. 

His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip as he intently watches your every movement and miniscule action. The way your breathing changes ever so slightly, how your eyes dilate a little when you look at him. 

Carefully he leans up to kiss you, gently urging you to lay on top of him fully as he reclines back. You follow his movements, certain that this will lead to passionately harsh kisses and his tongue in your mouth. Love bites and teeth marks, groans and sighs, and him coming inside you. You naked while he stays clothed, perhaps loosening another few buttons of his shirt, his belt unbuckled and fly undone.

But instead he holds you softly, kissing you gently and sweet. His tongue occasionally traces your bottom lip, slips inside a fraction, but it’s always delicate, thoughtful and sweet. So unlike his usual burning fire that leaves you blistered. This only warms you, wraps you tight in a comforting embrace. 

Eventually, though still far too soon for your liking, he pulls back, glazing up at you with large, doe eyes and kiss swollen lips. He smiles lazily. The look is soft on him, making him seem much younger suddenly. Less sharp around the edges. 

“I have something for you.” He whispers, pulling a box out of his pocket and opening it to show you. 

Inside is a beautiful drop necklace, decorated in delicate dark blue stones arranged in the shape of stars. It is so unlike the normal garish jewellery he makes the dancers wear, large pieces that gleam and catch the stage lights so even clients at the back can see how prettily his girls are decorated. 

You touch the necklace lightly. 

“They’re sapphires,” he says softly. “And diamonds, and white gold.” 

“Blue,” you’re not sure what to say, you’re not sure what he wants. 

He takes the necklace out of the box and carefully fastens it around your neck. The chain is loose. It doesn’t cut into your skin. You could easily remove it if you wanted to. 

“You look so beautiful.” But he isn’t looking anywhere near the necklace when he speaks, only into your eyes. 

You lean into his touch when he strokes your cheek again and he sighs happily. There’s something in his eyes that you can’t place. Contentment perhaps. 

“Lay with me a little longer?” He asks gently and you nod instantly. 

“Of course.” 

He smiles softly as you lay back down against his chest, his arms around you. 

It’s only when you settle that there’s a spike of embarrassment runs through you. “I didn’t say thank you Blue, for the necklace, it’s wonderful, I-”

“Shh,” he smiles and kisses the top of your head. “You never have to thank me for anything, ever.” He nuzzles against you for a moment. “You’re my special angel.” 

You listen to his heart calming as he hugs you. The gentle beat and warmth of his body. 

He whispers something quietly, barely louder than an inhale. Difficult to distinguish but you’re sure you caught the words. 

“I love you.”

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[alxtiny]

You like me? | Song Mingi x reader

Synopsis: where you confess you feelings to mingi unintentionally

Pairing: Song Mingi x gn!reader, college au

Genre: fluff, crack?

Word count: 0.7k

Warnings: none :)

Notes: Happy Valentines day to all the other lonely souls like me, I hope this makes a part of your day better

masterlist

In the quiet corners of the university library, you found solace among the shelves of books and the gentle hum of whispered conversations. Seated across from your best friend Yuri, you couldn't contain the excitement bubbling within you.

"He's just... so unbelievably pretty, Yuri," you sighed, your eyes glazing over with admiration. "I mean, have you seen the way he concentrates on his music? It's like watching magic unfold." you exclaimed, throwing your hands up in exasperation.

Yuri chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Ah, yes of course the infamous Mingi I’ve been hearing about so much these days. I see your crush has reached legendary status."

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could utter a word, she continued. "You know, if he likes you back, then it wouldn't be wrong for you to make some moves on this guy, right?" She grinned mischievously. Letting out a groan you slumped forward, resting your chin on your pile of books, “What am I gonna do, he’s infuriatingly difficult to decipher.”

Smiling at you fondly, Yuri placed her hand gently on yours. "Come now Song Mingi can’t be that hard to figure out. He seems like a nice guy."

Shaking your head at your best friend, you let out a sigh.

“You're probably right, but his cryptic words are giving me headaches. I don’t even understand half of the stuff he talks about whenever we’ve talked before. Plus, he hasn't shown any signs of liking me.”

"And he’s always so focused on what he does to even notice me properly. Did you know he’s a music production and sound engineering major, Yuri," you continued, animatedly gesturing with your hands. "Apparently he gets the best grades in his year. He must really be talented. I like him so much it hurts at this point.”

As you ranted about Mingi's talents and irresistible charm, Yuri's gaze shifted over your shoulder. Her expression changed from amusement to shock. With the sudden shift in her face, you followed her line of sight to find Mingi standing there, clad in his usual dark glasses and with his unruly hair sticking out at weird angles, it all made him look so endearing to you.

In one hand, he held a sleek midi keyboard, and in the other, a small bouquet of flowers. Your eyes widened, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as Mingi spoke in his soft voice, "You like me?"

You were brought back to reality, caught off guard by his sudden questioning. Stuttering slightly, you managed to nod and confess, "Uh, y-yeah?." His lips quirked upwards and you could see the pink tinting the tips of his ears. His shy smile made you want to kiss him senseless, but your legs suddenly felt very weak.

A mischievous glint appeared in Mingi's eyes, and he grinned. "Well, then I guess you won't say no to the date I was gonna ask you on." Without waiting for an answer, he placed the bouquet of roses in front of you, and placed his own instrument down on the table next to you.

Your heart fluttered uncontrollably, and you smiled back at him sweetly. A genuine smile that reached deep into your chest and caused your heart to swell with happiness. Your friend watched on curiously, smiling brightly as she watched your painfully shy ass interact with Mingi.

"I was hoping you could spare some time tonight so i could show you my work, since last time we talked you said you wanted to hear it,” a blush crept up his neck and face, “Of course if you’re busy, I understand,” he said gesturing to your books.

A shy smile spread across your face as you giggled and, unable to resist, leaned in to kiss his cheek. Yuri, still in shock, watched as her ultimate ship came true before her eyes.

Mingi's eyes sparkled even more, his face becoming the embodiment of the 🥺 emoji. "Is that a yes??"

You nodded, your heart pounding with excitement. "Absolutely, Mingi. I'd love to go on a date with you."

Yuri finally snapped out of her initial surprise and clapped her hands in glee. "Finally! My ship has started sailing!!" She looked at you with dreamy eyes like a little child who had been given candy as you and Mingi simply laughed at her expression

© alxtiny . Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my works on any platform in any way.

Send an ask or a message to be added to taglist

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS PURE FICTION AND NOT RELATED TO THE MEMBERS OF ATEEZ IN REAL LIFE PLEASE DO NOT TAKE IT SERIOUSLY

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[justinalovee]

𝑨 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen × Reader × Helaena Targaryen

Word Count: 631

Warnings: Incest, oral sex, fingering, threesome, sex toys, hint of breeding kink

Summary: Smut, smut, smut

A/N: All characters are 18+! minors DNI. Aegon is a good guy in this universe, the dance of dragons never happened and Rhaenyra is living her best life as the princess of Dragonstone

Noticing you waiting on the bed for her, Helaena smiles brightly. She rushes across the bedchamber, excited to see you, her now-bare feet padding across the cold floor. When she reaches the foot of the bed, she pulls her dress off, removes her small cloth, and climbs on top of you. It had been weeks since you had been intimate, and it was obvious she missed these moments just as much as you did. Excitement flashes in her eyes when she spots her favorite sex toy lying in the bed beside you.

“Sister!” She smiles, jumping onto the bed. She leans up and kisses you passionately.

Helaena guides your hand to cup her most sensitive area, and you’re surprised by how wet she already is. You slide two fingers inside her before removing them and popping them into your mouth to taste her. Very enthusiastically, Helaena swings her legs over yours, lines herself up with the jaded cock, and slides down on it. You moan as the flat end of it presses against your clitoral area, bringing you both pleasure. She braces one hand on your shoulder, using it to steady herself, before beginning to bounce up and down, her free hand coming down to rub circles on her clit. For being a quiet girl, Helaena certainly knows how to take what she wants.

You pinch one of her nipples while making eye contact with Aegon, who is watching from the doorway, palming at her clothed groin. He always got off on watching his wives fucking.

Helaena’s legs began to shake as her breathing became uneven the closer she got to reaching her goal. Her jaw slackens as heavenly moans leave her mouth as she finally reaches her peak.

When Helaena lifts her hips up, you pull the toy from her and toss it to the side. Catching her breath, Helaena leans forward to place kisses along your collarbone before sucking one of your hard nipples into her mouth.

You grip her ass cheeks, pulling her closer while spreading her open. “Would you like to taste your queen, my king?”

Smirking, Aegon leans on the bed behind her, causing it to dip slightly; the bulge in his pants is painfully obvious. You guide Helaena's face to your breast as Aegon cleans her up with his tongue before making her cum again. Helaena shuffles down the bed, burying her face between your thighs and lapping at your sensitive clit while you take Aegon into your mouth. You take as much of him in as you can, sucking his cock as if it were your favorite mouth-watering treat, while your hand wraps around what doesn’t fit.

Your moans of pleasure are muffled by Aegon’s cock, causing him to let out a deep groan as the vibrations add. It doesn’t take long for warm spurts of his seed to spill down your throat.

Aegon slumps forward, kissing you deeply as your beautiful wife slides two fingers inside you, her tongue swirling around your clit. Your legs clamp around her head. “Fuck, I’m so close!”

“Cum for us,” Aegon coos.

You see stars as your back arches when Helaena finds a rhythm that causes you to come completely undone. Your fingers lace into Aegon’s hair as your orgasm slowly fades away. Your head collapses onto the pillow behind you, your chest heaving as you catch your breath.

Helaena crawls up beside you on the bed, kissing you sweetly as she lays down beside you. You giggle, feeling something hard digging into your backside. “Again, so soon?”

Aegon kisses your shoulder and says, “Oh, you are in for a long night, my dear wife. I plan on filling both your sweet cunts up until I’m convinced my seed has taken in at least one of you.”

[yaniiiiism]

just fine. -h.hj / ?? 𖤐 !

🎬 chapter 4.

if you haven't, be sure to read the previous chapters before reading this!

previous ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི next !

☆┆ pairing : hwang hyunjin / ?? x fem!reader͏ ☆┆ info : sadfic , a LOT of angst , melancholy ) , drama , feelings , mature themes , suggestive , bsfs , one sided. ͏

☆┆ personas: uni students ; dancers ; hyunjin does art and dance, reader does dance and songwriting.͏͏ ☆┆ word count : 1.4k ☆┆warnings : mature themes , sad :<, hyune is a bit of an ass in this..

may not be best friends -> lovers <3

— ✿

previously.. flashback to chapter 2.

saturday night, 8:01 pm.

The night hummed softly with the pulse of muted conversations, faint music, and the warm buzz of revelry. In the small, dimly lit apartment, the air felt heavy—not just with the scent of summer heat and cheap cologne, but with something more, something unspoken.

But even in the crowd, even with people swirling past her in bursts of conversation and carefree laughter, she felt alone. Worse than alone.

She weaved through the crowd, her smile faint, eyes distant as they wandered—searching, yearning. She could feel the invisible pull, like a thread wrapped tightly around her heart, tugging her gaze toward the corner of the room.

And there, in the far corner, was Hyunjin. And he was not alone.

He leaned casually against the worn leather couch, Seori curled up beside him like they had always belonged together. Their laughter drifted through the air, soft and intimate, like the music was playing only for them. Hyunjin's fingers brushed Seori’s hair out of her face, and the way she smiled up at him made her heart clench painfully.

It was effortless. It was painful.

The girl’s heart ached, the dull throb of it settling low in her chest. She tried to look away, but it was like watching a sunset—beautiful, heartbreaking, inevitable. 

She had always known, deep down, that Hyunjin was slipping away from her. 

Maybe he had never really been hers to lose, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Her fingers traced the rim of the cup she held, absentmindedly. The laughter and chatter around her blurred into a distant hum. 

She felt like a ghost in her own life, a silent observer in a scene she couldn’t even rewrite. Every glance Hyunjin shared with Seori felt like a door closing.

But she wasn’t the only one watching.

— ??

Leaning casually against the wall, his eyes were fixed on her, observing every subtle flicker of her emotions—the way her shoulders slumped ever so slightly when she caught sight of Hyunjin and Seori, the faint sadness in her eyes. 

He knew her well enough to recognize the facade of nonchalance she wore so tightly around herself. And it stirred something in him—a mix of frustration, empathy, and the lingering, unspoken affection he had long kept buried.

He clenched his jaw slightly, trying to ignore the resentment bubbling inside him. 

Resentment toward Hyunjin for being so blind, so careless with someone like her. 

It wasn’t that he disliked Seori. 

No, it wasn’t about her at all.

It was about Hyunjin forgetting the girl who had always been there— who had silently, patiently stood by his side, waiting for him to notice. 

But instead, Hyunjin’s world seemed to revolve around someone else now.

back to chapter 4 ! (continuation)

. . . 

Minho.

The brown haired, dancer guy that had always been one of Hyunjin’s closest friends.

Yeah, the two had shared a few moments at the studio once. 

So, he pushed off the wall and crossed the room with a quiet determination, slipping through the small crowd until he reached her side. 

“Hey.”

His voice cut through the fog of her thoughts, soft but steady, pulling her back to the present. She blinked up at him, not expecting the quiet concern in his eyes. His expression was different—no teasing smirk, no playfulness. Just... him.

“Hi, Min.” Her voice was smaller than she wanted it to be, a faint echo of its usual self. 

He studied her for a moment longer, and she  could swear she saw the gears turning in his head. 

“You’re not okay,” he stated, his tone gentle but firm. There was no room for the casual deflection she usually relied on. Not with Minho.

She let out a shaky breath, biting her lip. “I’m fine,” she tried, but the words felt hollow, like a script she didn’t believe in anymore.

A lie, he knew her a bit more to get that.

And he didn’t buy it. He never did.

But didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he watched her with those dark, observant eyes, waiting for the inevitable silence that followed her empty words. The distance between them seemed smaller now, his presence filling the void that had been growing since Hyunjin started drifting away. 

“Liar,” 

His lips twitched into a half smirk, an implication of playfulness that slowly grew in the air between them. 

And though she didn’t realise it, the safety she craved, the comfort she needed—it had always been there, standing quietly beside her all along.

He let out a soft sigh, a mix of frustration and something unspoken weighing heavily between them. His fingers brushed lightly against her arm, barely a touch, but enough to send a quiet warmth through her, one she hadn’t even noticed she’d been longing for.

“Look, you don’t have to talk about it,” He began, his voice gentle but firm. 

“But I see what’s going on, Y/n. You don’t have to pretend like it doesn’t hurt. Because i’m sure as hell, it fucking stings.”

Her chest tightened, the sincerity in his voice unraveling her defenses with such ease that it almost frightened her. She opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out. Instead, she simply stood there, staring at him, feeling that raw, aching sadness bubbling to the surface.

How was it that Minho, the boy who teased her mercilessly, who acted like everything was a joke, could read her so easily?

Why did his presence feel so comforting, even when her heart was tangled up in someone else?

His eyes were gentle, yet piercing, as though he could see straight through the facade she had crafted.

She shot a glare towards his godly-sculpted face, expecting the usual teasing between to script away. 

But that wasn’t happening. Not tonight, it seemed.

“Does it show that much?”

She finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, a bitter, ironic smile etching the corners of her lips, while her gaze avoided his.

His eyes remained on her.

“Only to someone who cares enough to notice.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning, and for the first time in a long time, she felt seen—really, truly seen.

A few minutes ago, her gaze had remained fixed onto the supposed couple at that couch, her mind whirling with too many emotions—hurt, confusion, and something else, something that flickered in her chest at the way his words wrapped around her.

But then, for the first time that night, those eyes broke away from the scene, the weight of unrequited love easing, if only just a little. 

And she saw Minho—truly saw him, the way his jaw tensed with unspoken feelings, the quiet ache in his eyes as he watched her.

What does he mean?

Was he serious?

How long?

How long had he been feeling this way?How long had she been so caught up in Hyunjin that she hadn’t noticed the person who had been beside all along?

But before she could say anything, a burst of laughter broke the tension, pulling their attention toward the centre of the room. Hyunjin, with that effortless grace, was pulling Seori into another quiet moment, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder as they laughed together.

Minho’s jaw clenched subtly. He turned back to her, and though he didn’t say it out loud, she could feel the frustration radiating from him.

“Come on,” he said softly, his voice a quiet comfort. “Let’s get out of here for a bit. You don’t need to keep watching this shit.”

And for the first time that night, she didn’t argue. She nodded, letting Minho lead her away from the scene that had been breaking her heart, one small piece at a time.

So, without another word, Minho gently led her through the sea of bodies and out onto the small balcony that overlooked the city. The cool night air wrapped around them, offering a reprieve from the warmth and noise inside. The city lights blinked and twinkled below, a quiet backdrop to the whirl of emotions churning inside her.

She leaned against the railing, her hands gripping the cool metal as she took a deep breath, trying to centre herself. The silence between them was comforting, a stark contrast to the loud, unspoken emotions that had filled the room moments ago.

Minho stood next to her, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his profile softened by the dim glow of the streetlights. He didn't push her to speak, didn't demand any explanations or force his presence into her space. He just stood there—quiet, steady, like an anchor in the storm.

After a few moments, she finally spoke, her voice low and tired. "It's stupid, isn't it? Getting so worked up over something- or instead, someone, who was never mine in the first place?"

And then, it was night again.

author's note !

back to frequent posting?????? shshshshsh i so wanna post the next parts quick idk this may be a bit long SO DID U CORRECTLY GUESS WHO WAS GONNA BE 'HIM' FROM CHP2??? 🥰 JHEWFHWH ok im tweaking bad rn i was writing a song last night and hyunjin was all i could think of bye also tumblr ily but u r such a omg WTH IS UP W THE BLOCK LIMIT IDEK IM NEW TO THIS SHIT ☹️ lmk if u wanna be added to my taglist for the next part !! 💞 hope u enjoy reading this <3🤟

taglist !

@babybreadddd

[sinofwriting]

Whatever You Need - Daniel Ricciardo

Words: 3,517 Summary: After a shit one night stand, this was the last thing she expected to happen. Note(s)/Warnings(s): Angst with a happy ending, Best Friends to Lovers. Panic/Anxiety Attack, Near Throwing Up, Implied/Referenced/Mentioned Sex, Pregnancy, Discussion of Abortions, Off Screen Abortion. I promise that this has a happy ending. Reader goes by the nickname Kola (call-uh)

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Sitting down beside Daniel, she practically buries her face in the mug of coffee he had made for her. It’s near scalding hot making her hiss, but she still takes another drink before setting it down and slumping in the booth, a frown on her face, eyes screwed shut as she wills the caffeine to kick in.

“Y’alright, Kola?” Daniel asks, giving her a gentle nudge to the ribs. She has to smile at the nickname he gave her when they were barely five, mispronouncing the word Koala. Now nearly thirty years later it was a name she’s heard more than her actual name. “I’m never having a one night stand again or just having sex in general.” “Oh?” And she can hear his eyebrows raise. Her eyes flutter open as he presses her coffee back into her hands. “He told me not to cum.” Daniel’s eyebrows raise higher, “what?” She nods, smiling though it’s fake. “Yep.” She pops the p. “Best part? I wasn't even close to finishing.” He lets out a low whistle. “Did he at least?” She sends him a look, cutting him off. “Really? Of course not. He gave a few more strokes, came in me, then practically collapsed on top of me. I didn’t even have an interest in getting myself off after.”

Daniel wraps an arm around her, pulling her into his side and she gladly pushes closer, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Kola.” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her head. “Anything I could do for you?” His voice pitches lower and it makes her breath hitch, want simmering inside of her. The words, the request is on the tip of her tongue. Because she knows if she said it that Daniel would. He’d gladly take her to his hotel room and take her apart. But the irrational fear of something going wrong and losing him forever because they finally cross the line from friends to lovers makes it way to the forefront of her mind and she shakes her head. “No, Danny.” She murmurs, and she can feel him slump a bit in disappointment. “Just need this.” “Of course, Kola. Whatever you need.”

—

She stares numbly at the test results open on her laptop screen. Because they couldn’t be right, shouldn’t be right. But when she screws her eyes shut, rubs at them and then opens them, nothing has changed. The same thing is there. A hand flies up to her mouth as a sob starts to come out, tears leaving her eyes, because this isn’t what was supposed to happen.

Her other hand joins in covering her mouth as more sobs leave. And her brain is just repeating the word no as she tries to keep quiet not wanting to wake Daniel in the other room. The thought of Daniel has her stomach turning and she’s scrambling for the bathroom, nearly slamming the door shut behind her before her knees hit the hard tile in front of the toilet as she dry heaves into the bowl.

Her hands clutch at the toilet as nothing comes up, the sounds of sobs and heaving intermixing.

Eight weeks pregnant, eight fucking weeks. And she hadn’t sex with anyone in a year except for that stupid guy that couldn’t even make her cum. She shudders at the reminder of that night. And now she was pregnant with his baby. His baby and not Daniel’s. Her heart clenches painfully inside of her chest.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. She had always wanted it to be Daniel’s baby that she had. She wanted that with him, a family. She wanted the slow, sensual sex with him as they tried for a baby. She wanted the weekly progress pics as her belly grew, Daniel surely smiling behind the camera as he took every single one. She wanted his hand resting over her belly, where her womb was, as they tried. She wanted a ring on her finger, the day they met engraved on the inside. She wanted Daniel. All of that was supposed to happen. Her first baby was supposed to be with him. All of her babies were supposed to be with him. And now that was ripped from her. All because she stupidly decided to have a one night stand, wanting the edge taken off by something that wasn’t her own hands or vibrator. And instead she had only gotten more frustrated and pregnant.

She’s no longer heaving but there’s still a sick feeling in her stomach as she lets go of the toilet and curls up in the corner of the bathroom, arms wrapping around her knees as she presses her face against them. Tears still run down her face as she takes short, stuttering breaths.

She was alone and pregnant. She had no partner to share the weight with. It was just going to be her. The somewhat tentative progress she had started making in getting over her irrational fear of losing Daniel once they crossed the line into more, vanishing.

Her breath catches in her throat, her chest constricting, panic fully settling in and taking a hold of her body. She digs her nails into her legs hoping the pain will restart her breathing like it has before, but it doesn’t and her mind is starting to panic. She feels numb and she’s starting to lose the feeling of her bare skin underneath her fingers and nails.

Then there’s hands on her own, pulling them away, pulling her nails out of her skin. There’s a voice bouncing off the bathroom walls but she can’t hear any of the words, can’t lift her head to see it. But then her head is being lifted away from knees, a single finger she thinks lifting her chin.

Daniel’s face is blurry and she doesn’t know if it’s from the tears or how she still hasn’t taken a breath.

“Kola. Kola.” Her name is faint in her ears and Daniel’s face comes a bit into focus. “Breath, Kola. Breath for me.” And then one of her hands is placed on his bare chest, just over the heated skin where his heart lays underneath. “C’mon, Kola. Breath.” Her intake of air is sharp, stinging, makes her cough at the force of it. Eyes closing at the pain.

“That’s my girl.” He murmurs, a hand now rubbing her back. Her next few breaths are just as sharp, but slowly they transition into shaky breaths until finally her breathing is matching his. “Danny.” “You alright, Kola? You haven’t had an attack that bad in a long time.” “I’m okay.” Her voice is quiet with exhaustion and she tilts her head back, letting it rest against the wall, eyes still closed. She can feel him looking at her disbelief, but he doesn’t say anything. Just stays crouched next to her.

Slowly opening her eyes, they focus on the patterned ceiling before she finally looks at Daniel, worry and care on his face. “Help me up?” He nods immediately standing, her hand that had still been resting on his chest at the quick movement. And then he’s grabbing both of her hands, hauling her up. When she stumbles, he’s quick to wrap an arm around her. “Let’s get you to bed, ya?” She nods, leaning into him.

Kola isn’t even surprised when instead of taking her to her room in the large hotel suite, he guides her into his. He helps her under the covers, adjusts the pillows for her before climbing in next to her. The two of them both turned on their sides to face each other.

His heart is thundering in his chest as he looks at her. Terror still somewhat grips him from waking up to the sound of sobs and then seeing her on the bathroom floor in the midst of one of the worst panic attacks he’s ever seen her have.

“Did something happen?” He asks, hand reaching out to intertwine their fingers, needing her touch. “I got my test results back from my check up.” His eyebrows furrow, remembering her going to the doctor for her yearly physical just a few days ago. “Did they find something?” He’s holding his breath as he waits for her answer, hoping, praying, that she isn’t sick. Doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if his girl, his world, was so sick that it sent her into a panic attack. “Yeah.” The slow answered breath, makes his heart clench as he takes a shaky breath. “What was it?” His voice is shaky. “I mean, is it serious?” The question makes something strange cross her face, something like heartbreak and suddenly his hand is cold, fingers no longer intertwined with hers. And she’s withdrawn into herself, even scooted back a little, like she’s prepared for a blow. “I’m pregnant.”

He stares at her, mind scrambling, the words struggling to process. But when they do the terror that had been gripping him, the worry vanishes, replaced by joy and he’s cradling her face in his hands, pressing his lips to her forehead in a kiss that doesn’t work because he’s smiling too wide.

Because she’s pregnant. There’s going to be a little Kola in the world. Hopefully a little boy that will be just like her but with his pension for chaos. He doesn’t think his heart could take her having a girl first, a little girl that looks just like her, he’d never be able to say no to her, just like he can’t say no to her mum. Though he doubts he’d be able to say no to a little boy either. But then again a little boy first means that when they do have a girl, he’ll have help protecting her from stupid boys who can only think with their dicks and are dumber than a box of bricks.

“Really?” He questions, “I mean, fuck.” He pulls back a little, still holding her face as he gives a breathless laugh. “How far along?” She stares at him, silence lingering between them for a moment. “Eight weeks. I’m eight weeks.” Her words are quiet and the look on her face, the way she had pulled away from him finally registers.

And his own joy, joy that he had let come over him without thinking about her, is gone. “I,” he opens then closes his mouth. “Do I,” he can’t make the words come out of his mouth, so he doesn’t. “Are we upset?” She gives a hesitant nod and he watches as the fingers that had been intertwined with his, curl into her palm.

He struggles to find why she is. She wants kids, they want kids. It had always been something they talked about in the future. He had held her hand nearly three years ago when she got tested to make sure she could have kids after finding out about a friend having fertility issues. She had held his when he also got tested just to get all their ducks in a row.

Was she upset just because it was unexpected? Eight weeks meant it was from that dickhead that couldn’t even get her halfway there. Was it that? Because it was the result of a one night stand. A shit one at that. The memory of that morning still makes him angry. She rarely gave into the odd temptation of a one night stand and he hates that it wasn’t good for her. It’s easy to ignore the jealousy there that it was someone else she fell into bed with. It didn’t matter who they were with before, as soon as they crossed the line that would be it, it would just be them for the rest of their lives.

His hand slips from her face to the bed, but he keeps his one that’s between the pillow and her cheek. “Why are we upset?” “It’s just me, Dan.” His brows furrowed in confusion. “I’m alone.” He opens his mouth to protest, because what the fuck? She wasn’t alone, he was here, right here, but he can’t because she’s continuing, a heart wrenching broken look on her face. “And it’s not yours. It’s supposed to be yours.” Understanding and a little sorrow of his own fills him. “Oh, Kola.” He breathes, then gathers her in his arms, holding her close.

“You aren’t alone.” He murmurs. “Never alone.” He punctuates it by kissing the top of her head. Holding her this close and understanding her upset makes the question that he wanted to ask earlier come easier even if he still dances around it a little. “If and I do mean if you want this baby it will be mine. Maybe not biologically, but we know that doesn’t matter really.” She tries pushing away, but his hold is too strong. “You don’t get it Daniel.” “What don’t I get?” Frustration leaks into voice, hating that she’s trying to pull away from him after having already done so once tonight. “What don’t I get?” He asks again and uses her name, her actual name. “It’s just,” her breathing has picked up a little, he can feel her legs move against his, and he realizes she’s flustered. “It was supposed to happen a certain way.”

He doesn’t say anything and she groans, pressing her head into his chest, trying to hide and he lets her for all of five seconds, wanting to see her face, needing to see it as arousal starts to burn inside him. “How was it supposed to happen?” He asks, voice low. She stares at the bare skin of his chest, feeling more blood rush to her cheeks. “I,” she opens and closes her mouth, licking her lips. “We were supposed to be married.” Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. He makes a low noise in the back of his throat, the hand on her hip tightening at the thought. “My ring would have the day we met engraved on the inside.” She hesitantly rests her dominant hand over his heart and is emboldened by the way she can feel it racing. “It would be slow, not so slow that its torture but close. You’d barely pull out the whole time, wanting to make sure that when you do finish it would be as deep as it can get inside of me.” His nostrils flair and he can feel his hardened cock twitch. Her eyes flicker down to where he’s somewhat pressing against her and then she’s taking his hand off her hip, ignoring the noise of protest he makes and she slips them under her shirt before pressing his where her uterus is. “You’d have your hand here nearly the whole time. Just wanting to feel, imagining me getting bigger.” “Kola,” he breathes. Finally she lifts her head and their eyes meet, the need and desire in his eyes making her gasp. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and he snaps.

His lips are on hers, his hand on her lower belly moving to grip at her hip as his other hand rests on the nape of her neck. She eagerly returns the kiss, just about moaning when he rolls onto his back and settles her on top of him, not breaking the kiss except for a brief moment when his lips catch more the corner of her mouth.

“Wanted this, wanted you for so long.” He tells her when they break apart. “Me too.” He grins at her and she finds herself grinning back. He presses a sweet, small kiss to her lips before looking at her slightly serious. “I meant what I said. Whatever you do want, I’m here, it’s your choice. This baby will still be mine if you want it.” Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she thinks. “I don’t know.” She thinks to earlier in the bathroom when she was sure that she was going to have the baby despite it just being her. To now with her and Daniel having crossed the line finally and she’s unsure. She knows that despite it not being Daniel biologically she’d love just as much as if it was so, but it also sits wrong, heavy inside of her that it’s not his. She thinks to his joy of finding out and feels her heart sink a little, because what if he changed his mind after and it wasn’t okay, which is unfair to Daniel because he rarely if ever changes his mind. It’s then she realizes as she finally gives it some thought that she’s already made her decision.

“I want an abortion.” She tells him, watching his face closely but nothing changes. He doesn’t even blink. “Okay.” He nods and there’s a strange mixture of emotions in his chest, a little sorrow and a little glee, he pushes them both away. “I’m worried though.” His brows press together and he’s taking her hands in his, intertwining their fingers in an all too familiar gesture. “About what?” “This isn’t fair to you and I know it’s not true.” She prefaces, because she doesn’t want Daniel to think she doesn’t believe him or have faith in him. “I’m just worried that after it’s all said and done, you won’t be okay with it.” He breathes in through his nose. “Sometimes Kola, I’d like to kick your brain’s ass for making you think things like that.” The seriousness in voice makes her laugh and she squeezes his hand. “Me too.” “I won’t change my mind.” He promises her, before taking a deep breath, because if she could be honest with him about this, he could be honest about how he was feeling. “Truthfully, I’m a little sad about it.” She nods, there was a part of her that was too. Overwhelmingly however it felt wrong to her. “But also, and this might make me a bad person, I’m a little happy about it, that you don’t want a baby that’s not mine.” He gives a dark chuckle, taking one of his hands away from her to run it over his face. “God, that’s fucked. I’m fucked.” “No.” She shakes her head, grabbing his hand back. “No, Daniel. I want an abortion because it feels wrong, that it’s not yours. I know that I would love it no matter what, wouldn’t love it less than the rest of our kids.” They both share a smile at that. “But, I don’t think I could go seven months of this with that feeling.” “Okay.” He swallows a bit harshly. “Do you want me to go with you?” “Please?” “Of course.” He smiles, “Whatever you need.”

Six Months Later

“Daniel.” He groans at the sound of his name. “Daniel.” And this time there’s a shake to his shoulder. “No.” He groans again. “It’s sleep time, Kola.” He mumbles, trying to pat her but patting the bed. It’s silent for a moment and he can feel the sleep already trying to drag him under when suddenly there’s a thigh on either side of his hips and a weight on pelvis that has his eyes opening, blinking as they try to adjust to the darkness in the room. “Oh.” He mumbles, sleepily smiling at his wife and the slight pulse of lust that had stirred in his body from her straddling him turns to a small steady thrum as he remembers she’s his wife. “You want a midnight romp?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”

His hands are already creeping under his shirt she had put on ready to pull it off when she shakes her head, something he can just barely see, and his hands go back to rest on her hips, thumbs rubbing at the warm skin, letting her take her time for whatever she needs from it at, he risks a glance at the clock and nearly groans as 3:19am shows.

“Daniel.” She finally says after a few minutes pass by. “Hmm.” He hums, eyes fighting to stay open. “I’m pregnant.” His eyes fly open, left hand jerking away from her hip to turn on his nightstand filling the room with some light. “What?” He asks, staring at her. She smiles down at him. “I’m pregnant.” “Fuck off.” She laughs, a few tears slipping down her face. “Uh huh. Afraid you're really stuck with me now.” “Really?” “Yeah, really.”

He’s surging up, hands moving quickly to cradle her face as he presses their lips together, tears of his own falling. “Thank you.” He mumbles, pulling away before pressing kisses all over her face, murmuring it over and over again.

“How far along are you?” He asks, a hand going down to her stomach, resting where a bump will eventually be. “Eleven weeks.” His eyes widened. “Eleven?” She nods, smiling. “You work fast, Mr. Ricciardo. Only a week after we started having sex and you knocked me up.” “Damn, I’m good.” She laughs, but nods. “Apparently so.” She cards a hand through his curls, pressing a kiss to his brow. “Thank you, Daniel.” “Of course, Mrs. Ricciardo. Whatever you need.”

---

Taglist: @ireadthensuetheauthors @cixrosie @gemofthenight @topguncultleader @peachiicherries @lpab @copper-boom

[yuyusuyu]

bloody hell — the emos

synopsis. oh, if only, if only she hadn't crossed paths with him. then maybe, just maybe, all of this could've been avoided... except, it was bound to happen by fate. there was no escaping the fate that was given to you at birth.

pairing. ot8! vampire! ateez x fem! reader (not poly! everyone will have their own ending!)

genres/aus. vampire au, suspense, romance, angst, slow burn

warnings. mentions of being watched, cursing. if there's anything i should add, please lmk !

rating. pg-13

wc. 3.2k lol...

a/n. this was nawt proofread... super duperrr sorry for uploading late !! was very busy and am very busy right now but things should calm down during december !! this is also a long chapter bc i deadass forgot to include the first part last chapter LOLLLL

send an ask in my inbox or leave a comment to be added to the taglist! reblogs and comments are appreciated! helps with not getting shadowbanned!

TODAY IS CLOUDY AND SOMEWHAT CHILLY, though you don't mind it. you see people who are bundled up with scarves hanging around their necks, some of them even wearing mittens to protect their skin from the biting chill in the air. september has its own few days of cold before october settles in, today being one of them.

you rip your eyes from passing students down to the bag in your hand, the plastic wrinkling as you shift on your feet to lean against the familiar black car beside you. jongho’s borrowed clothes lay folded neatly inside, smelling of the expensive kind of detergent you bought to wash it. you sigh and close your eyes, your head hurting just thinking about how much the detergent cost. jongho doesn’t care about these things, you know that, yet you can’t help but care when it comes to him.

it’s no question that he’s well off, maybe even rich but you can’t gauge just how much he is. you’ve been aware of such things ever since you first met him three years ago, how your classmates from then used to whisper about the things he wore, his belongings, everything. and so you’re so painfully aware of it all now, the expensive things he owns, how you’re extra careful around him at times.

though he may not be like her, flaunting around the wealth he has and making snide remarks about how you should be careful or how poor you are, you don’t want to risk it.

she’s made you have these bad habits, the ones where you care too much over things like this that shouldn’t matter.

“i hope i didn’t keep you waiting long.”

jongho wears a beanie, hiding the purple streaks in his hair from your eyes. he rounds the car and opens one of the back doors, dumping his practice bag and his backpack in the backseat. you hop inside his car quietly and buckle your seatbelt just as he sits in the driver’s seat.

“you didn’t take long,” you say, glancing at him.

he hums and sits quietly, shoulders slumping just the slightest bit.

“are you… okay?”

jongho tilts his head to look at you, a tired smile on his lips. “yeah,” he breathes out, “it’s just been,” he pauses, “a long day.”

by the way he sits up to start the car, by how his shoulders relax and tense all at the same time, you decide to not ask him about it and keep quiet, watching as jongho drives away from the campus.

“do you want me to pick him up?”

you turn away from the window and blink at the male. “what?”

jongho’s lips quirk upwards, clearly amused. “we’re here already. you know,” he points at the middle school building on the other side of the street from where he’s parked the car, “kou’s school.” he leans over the control board, and presses his index finger to your forehead, pushing your head back. “what’s got you distracted, hm?”

you open your mouth to reply, finding that it’s dry but you’re interrupted by the swinging door from behind jongho’s seat. jongho leans away from you as your brother gets inside the car, sporting a bright and infectious smile.

“sis!” kou drops his backpack by his feet after closing the door, hurling himself at you and attempting to hug you. you laugh when he pulls away, rubbing his head after hitting it against the roof of the car.

“woah there, little guy,” jongho says, his dark eyes gleaming with mirth, “careful.”

kou apologizes, smiling sheepishly at him. “hyung,” he says, settling in the backseat, “are you staying tonight?”

“sure am, champ.” the older male watches kou through the rearview mirror, only putting the car in drive once he’s buckled up.

the eleven year old gushes about his day: what he learned in math and science, how literature class was boring, how he and his friends played a lot during their break. you don’t register jongho’s taken you to the mall until kou starts pouting and wishes you wouldn’t have to work today so you can spend time with him and his hyung. you have to promise to dedicate saturday to only him and jongho, and that’s when kou beams and lets you leave.

“no way you just got here.”

“oh shut up, mingi.” you roll your eyes at the male that twists around to walk right in front of you. “you’re going to trip if you keep walking backwards like that.”

mingi shrugs. “i’ll be fine,” he says, “but how come you’re just arriving?” he raises an eyebrow at you. “you’re an early bird.”

“nosey much?” you mumble, walking past him in a hurry, “hurry the fuck up, mingi. we have less than ten minutes to get to the store.”

the tall male loudly laughs, clearly entertained by your behavior, and follows closely behind you, pestering you with questions.

mingi leans down, wearing a look of disgust as he glances between you and the incoming flock of people. “the emos just keep coming and coming,” he whispers, standing up straight and walking out towards the cashier to tend to the person waiting to buy their items. mingi grins at them, leaving you alone to roll your eyes as you focus back on the task at hand: unboxing and sorting the new merchandise onto the shelves.

which should be mingi’s job right now.

true to mingi’s words, the emos do keep filing into the store to keep buying the edgy jewelry in stock, just like every tuesday evening and the ones before that. you huff through your nose, wiggling your fingers and stretching your arms just as mingi walks into the back, your closing shift manager praising him for getting through the emo rush in one piece while they go to flip the open sign to the closed side.

“kill me now,” mingi groans, dramatically flopping onto the makeshift chair you two had made earlier before the emo rush started (something mingi prides himself for coming up with) and falls through it because you had emptied it long ago. “the emos need to find a new store for their stupid shit!” his hands fly up and attempt to tug at his long, black hair, trying to play it cool as he quickly stands up and dusts his baggy jeans.

you snort and bite your tongue to hold back a laugh when your coworker glares at you. leaning down to grab the last couple of shirts in a box before walking back into the store, mingi follows after you with an unopened box in his hand. “you also like that stupid shit they wear… you know, the jewelry. so doesn’t that make you an emo, too?”

mingi gasps, slapping your arm as you two stand next to each other. you chortle as he tears the box open with a cutter, grumbling about how foul it was of you to say that about him. “you’re evil,” he says, lazily throwing shirts and shirts onto the shelves. “how could you call me an emo? do you know how derogatory that term is to me? and this jewelry is mine, so the emos can go suck a nut and find a different store!”

laughing, you place the last shirt in your hand onto the shelf, giving mingi’s back a singular pat. “right, sorry,” you cough. “you’re definitely… not an emo… my bad.”

puffing his chest out, the pink haired male points at the box at his feet, crossing his arms afterwards. “apology accepted… only if you help me with the last box.”

“oh no,” you take a step back, arms raised in the air as you shake your head. “i’m not helping you. you basically left me alone to go through twenty damn boxes while you handled the emos. that’s my job. you’re not very slick when it comes to trying to get out of the things you have to do, mingi.”

mingi scoffs and narrows his eyes. “actually, you were supposed to do that today and i was supposed to be out at the cashier.” when you deadpan and point at something behind him, mingi raises his eyebrow before turning around. he gulps and looks back at you, smiling sheepishly.

you, as always, are right: you were going to be at the cashier and mingi was going to unload the boxes.

“well…”

“well…” you repeat his words, smiling in amusement as mingi scratches the back of his neck.

“well… the manager actually said that they forgot to change the board for today!”

“mingi, i literally saw the manager change the board today when you clocked in late.” you grimace at him, “by the way, how the hell did that even happen? we got here at the same time.”

the male gapes at you. “what? no, he didn’t! don’t lie to me, yn! and… actually, i have no excuse for clocking in late.”

you shrug, walking into the employee room. “i’ll ask the manager and send proof later!”

“what? yn, wait! don’t—”

you grin, twirling around and taking a step back at how mingi is quite literally right behind. you’re surprised at how quick he was able to get to you. clearing your throat, you turn back and head towards the locker you put your things in. “i’m just messing with you, mingi.”

“oh thank goodness,” he says, sighing and heading over to where he put his things.

the first thing you grab upon opening your locker is your phone, turn it on and read the messages jongho sent you.

jjongs: hey, i won’t be able to pick you up tonight

jjongs: i just finished helping him with his homework and he wants me to read him a story

jjongs: i won’t be able to get there in time when you get out

you sigh.

you: don’t worry about it, jjongs

jjongs: i’m so sorry

you: i said it’s ok

jjongs: text me when you’re on your way so i can come out and get you

you: seeing me outside my own apartment building is sooo romantic and chivalrous of you

jjongs: can’t have a fair lady like yourself be out in the dark for long

you: LOL?

jjongs: oooo you want me so bad

you: in your dreams wtf

you: i’m leaving the store right now so i’ll text you once i’m out

jjongs: ok

you and mingi shut your lockers at the same time, a loud thud resonating in the room. then, the two of you walk out, making sure to say goodbye to the closing shift manager before heading out of the store, walking down the almost empty halls of the mall. once outside, you quickly bid mingi goodbye and take a step forward when mingi speaks.

“it’s really late,” he says, looking down at his phone with furrowed eyebrows. he puts it back into the pocket of his jacket, stuffing his hands into them and looks up at you. “i’ll walk you home.”

you sigh and smile, shaking your head. “i live far away, and i have to take two buses to get back. i wouldn’t want to bother you anyways.”

mingi looks at you through squinted eyes. “it’s late and it’s dangerous for women to be out at this time. i don’t want to be lonely without having my favorite coworker around to bug all because you decided to walk alone at night,” he huffs.

“damn,” you say, eyes slightly wide as you raise your arms up in mock surrender. “okay, fine. you win. you can come along, but don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

“puh-lease,” mingi snorts, joining you as you walk towards the bus stop. “how far could you possibly live from this place?

“holy shit, you really weren’t lying when you said that you lived far away.” mingi gasps as you two exit the last bus you had to take to get to your apartment.

you glance at mingi from the corner of your eye. “there’s still some walking to do if you’re still so adamant on seeing me off. honestly,” you sigh, stopping. “you really didn’t have to come all the way here, mingi. i’ve been doing this for a while, so i’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“i don’t care,” mingi says, crossing his arms over his chest. “i’m being a good friend right now.”

“a good friend?” you tilt your head, surprised. “since when did we become good friends?”

“since we started working together,” he replies, his tone so serious that it takes you aback.

you didn’t know he considered you as such.

“how are we supposed to be good friends when we barely know each other and only work together a couple days every week ?” you grumble, clutching onto your bag as you resume your trek to your apartment. it’s already late, and you feel bad for not being there to tuck your brother away to sleep

“we can start getting to know each other right now,” mingi says, catching up to you quickly. he bumps shoulders with you, grinning. “i’ll start. i really like girls.���

“no shit,” you laugh.

mingi looks at you in surprise.

you’ve never really… laughed like this before. you usually laugh quietly but never this loudly to the point that your eyes are closed and your head is thrown back in amusement, your hands covering your mouth in… embarrassment, maybe? or is it out of habit? he’d like to know.

“you’re always flirting with the female customers.” your laughter subsides into giggles, and you playfully elbow his side.

mingi scoffs. “i do not!”

you stare at him.

“...well, maybe you’re right—”

“nope,” you cut him off. “i am right.”

“well, what about you?” mingi quickly says. “what do you like?”

you hum in thought. “well, i like school.”

“really?” he laughs. “you like school?”

you shrug as you both pass the pharmacy, and you make a mental note that you have to pick up kou’s medicine tomorrow morning. “yeah,” you reply. “i like school. gives me something to do and look forward to…”

mingi frowns at the tone in your voice. something to do and look forward to, she says…

it’s then that you stop. mingi blinks a couple times and looks up, coming face to face with a run-down apartment complex. he looks between you and the building, surprised.

she… lives here?

“well,” you look at him, smiling. “thank you for walking me all the way here, mingi. you really didn’t have to, but i appreciate it nonetheless.”

“oh,” he says, “it’s no big deal… listen, is it alright if i head in with you?”

you cock an eyebrow at this. “why?”

“just to make sure no weirdo tries following you back to your place.”

again, you laugh. “no one’s going to follow me, mingi.”

“but—”

you walk towards the entrance and push the doors open, saying, “goodnight, mingi,” before the doors close and you disappear up the stairs, leaving mingi staring after you.

“ah shit,” you groan, pinching your nose. you forgot to text jongho. well, you shrug, it’s not like i’ll get in trouble. jjongs is just a friend.

the walk to your faded apartment door with the very ugly numbers of ‘117’ plastered on right beneath the peephole stare right back at you. as you rummage through your bag to find your keys, the door suddenly swings open and a boy that reaches your shoulders grins widely at you.

“sis!”

“kou,” you say, baffled. “why are you still awake?” jongho leans over the kitchen counter from behind kou. “what’s he doing up, jjongs?”

kou pouts, opening the door wider as you slip inside, kicking your shoes off and turning around, waiting for your brother’s answer. the boy looks up at you. “i wanted us to read together before i went to sleep… i’m sorry—”

“mhm,” jongho hums out in agreement, turning his back towards you two. “what he said. kou is quite the convincer, you know?” the sound of water running fills the air, and you can only assume that he’s washing dishes.

you sigh, leaning down slightly to ruffle his hair. kou perks up, smiling as he tries leaning into your touch. “there’s nothing to be sorry about, kou.” you stand up, holding out your hand. kou grabs it, and you lead him over to his room. “did you brush your teeth already?”

he nods. “yes. um, sis?”

you hum as you flick the light switch on in kou’s room, ushering him over to his bed. he goes under the covers, and you tuck the duvet right under his nose, pinching it afterwards. kou giggles, “sis, stop!”

“okay, okay.” with one last pinch, you sit back comfortably at the edge of his bed. “what was it that you wanted to ask?”

“oh. um…” kou’s cheeks flush as he looks away. “can you um, put the butterfly clips in my hair again for when i go to school tomorrow? i really like how it looks in my hair.”

“of course!” you coo, kissing both his cheeks. “anything for my little brother.”

“thank you, sis,” he giggles. “can you read to me now?”

“of course—”

kou begins to cough uncontrollably. you’re quick to get on your feet, leaving temporarily and coming back with a cup of water and two pills in your hand. you pat his back as kou carefully takes the glass and pills into his hand, popping them into his mouth before washing them down with the water. once he calms down, he awkwardly lays back down in his bed, screwing his eyes shut.

you know he doesn’t want to talk about it.

so you grab the book you two have been reading together for the past month, finding the page you two last left on and begin reading out loud to him. a couple minutes pass before kou tells you that he’s feeling sleepy. you place the bookmark on the page you just read and place the book back on the nightstand.

“goodnight, kou,” you whisper, giving his forehead a quick kiss, ready to head out when you notice that the window in his room is open. you head over to it, leaning out for a second to feel the night air. a shiver goes down your spine, goosebumps appearing on your arms and the back of your neck. you immediately lean back inside the room, shutting the window and locking it.

it felt like you were being watched… but who the hell would want to watch you?

you're nobody.

you scrunch your nose, deciding to ignore whatever just happened and opting to go freshen up before heading to sleep.

you’ll just have to worry about it if it ever becomes a problem, but for now it isn’t.

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BLOODY HELL | yuyusuyu 2024

[mouwrites]

Hiya! Congrats on 300 followers, omg!!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉

I’d like to request if it’s still available, I’ll take one-shot 3 and 15 with Cole from Ninjago x depressed reader, like reader had enough with their life and feel helpless or whatever negative thoughts, but Cole come to console them, like hurt/comfort and later fluff, it’s kinda depressed, so it’s okie if u feel uncomfortable for this

Of course my friend!! Thank you sm for your support! :D

Word count: 1.3k

Ninjago - 3. "Please don't go." and 15. "You're safe with me." (Cole) (300 follower event)

You hadn’t moved since getting home; you’d thrown your bag on the ground, planted yourself on a chair in the dining room, and stared blankly at the table in front of you for hours.

You weren’t zoned out; quite the opposite, really. You were painfully aware of your surroundings. The blinking digital clock on the microwave, the shutters that you’d been too tired to close and now displayed nothing but the blackness of night, the empty silence, but most of all, the hollow feeling inside of you. It was all making you miserable; more than you were already.

Moving for the first time in a while, you brought your elbows to rest on the table so you could hold your head in your hands. The effort was herculean, and you only felt disappointed in yourself as you tired at the negligible motion; all the more reason for you to bury your face in your palms.

You felt like crying, but somehow you were beyond that in terms of sadness. You were just tired.

You took a shuddering breath, cringing at the warbling noise that disturbed your quiet bubble. When you exhaled it took everything in you not to just collapse right there, let your head drop to the table with a thud, but you resisted the urge.

A buzz in your pocket caught your attention, but you didn’t feel like checking it. If anything you’d pull it out just to throw it away; and your hands moved to do just that. But as you lifted it, preparing to languidly toss it across the table, the screen illuminated, and your eyes locked onto the notifications cluttering it.

Sighing, you unlocked your phone, driven by a vague and dull worry that something might have happened. You hesitated for a second, your thumb freezing mere millimeters above your messaging app. Do I really care?

With another sigh you tapped the screen. 

You were met with several messages from Cole, starting over three hours ago.

4:07: Get home ok?

5:30: Y/n?

5:31: Want me to bring dinner over?

5:40: You’re probably busy lol, ttyl

6:53: Yo! Want me to order takeout?

6:59: I’m ordering your fave

7:24: Omw, you can’t escape me

You blinked at your phone, hardly processing the words. The last text was sent ten minutes ago; but then what was that notification that you got a second ago?

You closed the app, opening your notification hub to check for the most recent notification. It was a voice message, left by Cole, of course. You tapped it and let the message play.

“Hey, Y/n! You haven’t been answering your phone, and I’m getting a little worried… Well, uh, I’m here at your place, just about to walk to your door right now. See you in a second, hopefully. Love you.”

As if on cue, there was a knock at your door a second later.

You didn’t think you had the energy to deal with this right now, but apparently your body had been holding back. You found yourself walking across the floor, your feet dragging, but still making good time to open it.

The first thing you noticed was the smell of your favorite restaurant. Your eyes landed on a white plastic bag dangling from Cole’s fist, and usually your mouth would have watered, but today it stayed dry.

Cole had been smiling, but his grin faltered when you didn’t even look him in the eyes. “Everything okay?”

You closed your eyes, letting out a weighted sigh while your shoulders slumped. You couldn’t even deny your misery; that would require energy, which, again, you did not have.

Cole’s face twisted into a frown. He was about to ask if he could come inside, but you stepped aside, apparently sensing his intent before he could voice it. He nodded gratefully, putting an arm around your shoulder to guide you away from the door as he walked past.

He guided you to your table, where he set down the takeout and pulled two chairs adjacent to each other, seating himself on one and you on the other. You rested one elbow on the table and held your head with your hand.

“I’m just so tired, Cole.”

Cole’s grip slid down your arm to enclose your other hand, which was lying limp on your knee. He gave it an encouraging squeeze, prompting you to elaborate.

“Everything in my life is out of my control. I can’t do what I want; I have all these stupid responsibilities that suck the life out of me.” You shook your head, your fingers pressing harder into your temple as you rambled on. “I never know what’s coming next; it’s just blow after blow, and they get worse every time.”

You opened your mouth to continue, but your throat suddenly tightened, and tears misted your eyes. You closed your mouth, swallowing hard before trying to speak again. “I don’t know what the point is. Is there a point? Or is it all—” you sniffled, your voice cracking, “futile?”

Cole shook his head, squeezing your hand tighter and stooping to meet your gaze as your head drooped miserably. “It’s not pointless, Y/n. I’m so sorry you feel that way, but I can tell you right now that it’s not.”

Your head jerked up, eyes meeting Cole’s for one fleeting moment. “How do you know? How do you know that tomorrow I won’t just be hit by a truck or something and it will all have been for nothing?” 

You let your head hang low, half from despair and half from embarrassment at your outburst.

“Nothing like that is going to happen to you,” Cole said, “I won’t allow it.” He grasped your hand tighter still, drawing closer to you so that your knees were touching.

You shook as you cried, keeping your face downturned and letting the tears fall straight on your lap. You heard his words, but you couldn’t believe them.

He held your hand firmly, letting you unleash your tears for a while. He rubbed a thumb over your knuckles, offering what little comfort he could. He was wishing he could do more when an idea came to his mind, and he stood up suddenly.

“Please don’t go,” you managed through trembling lips, your head slowly raising to look at him. You cursed yourself for scaring him off with your problems.

But Cole just stooped down, snaking his arms under yours and around your torso. He lifted you carefully, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding your legs on either side of his waist. “I’m not going anywhere, he said, giving your back a little rub as he marched into your living room.

He lowered himself onto your couch, reclining slowly and positioning you like a child against him, your head on his chest and one strong arm around your middle. With the other he cupped your face, brushing away a tear with his thumb. 

“I’m never, never, going to let anything happen to you. You’re safe with me.”

Your eyes went wide, sparkling at the sincerity you saw in the warm depths of Cole’s dark eyes. You hadn’t believed him when he said it before, but now there was no room for doubt.

You broke down again, this time from relief. Your entire body wracked violently against Cole’s, no matter how much you tried to still yourself. He just ran a hand along your back, letting you wet his shirt with your tears while he shushed you soothingly.

It was a while before you could speak again. But at length you sniffled, lifting your head and planting your chin on Cole’s chest so you could look at him. Your throat felt raw and your eyes were sore, but the worst of your pain was definitely in your stomach.

“Can we eat?”

A grin spread on Cole’s face, and you knew you had said the exact right thing.

“I was wondering when you’d ask.”

You both giggled, you even more so when Cole scooped you up bridal-style and carried you into the kitchen to eat your favorite food, peppering your cheek with kisses every step of the way.

Thank you for taking part in our event!! And thank you for reading, take care my duckies <33

(divider by saradika)

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Home Is Where Your Heart Is Set In Stone

A/N: Happy @lucienweekofficial, lovelies! Lucien certainly wears plenty of masks, but what about a mask of stone? ;) Our favorite foxy boi is next up for my Gargoyles series, and I hope everyone enjoys! You don't need to have read Gargoyle Cassian to understand, but it can make it more fun. Also, this fic is especially dedicated to @separatist-apologist! Happy birthday-eve! What better way to celebrate and to honor you than with monster Lucien 😇 Warnings for smut and monster-fucking and all that jazz :)

Read on AO3

As the elevator doors close, Elain slumps back against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment and letting out a quiet sigh. Despite only riding the elevator up to the eighth floor, she briefly considers sliding down to sit on the floor, wonders if anyone would judge her for it. They shouldn’t. It was a long day at the bakery today, and her feet ache.

All Elain can think about is kicking off her shoes and collapsing onto the sofa. Maybe Nesta will be okay with her locking herself away in the bathroom and taking a long, soothing bath. Maybe they can break out a bottle of wine and watch some silly comedy that Elain will only have to half pay attention to and will take her mind off of the big mother-baby group in need of mid-walk treats, off the father who needed extra last minute cupcakes for a birthday party, off the women who needed almost one of everything for a brunch.

The elevator doors ding and slide open, and Elain heaves herself out and into the hall. Thankfully, it’s just a few steps down the hall before she reaches the apartment door, but Elain has to think for a moment about which key is the correct one for the apartment door and which is for the apartment complex entrance. Is it the key on the right? No. The key on the left?

Elain tries the key on the left of the keychain Nesta had given her, but while it slides in, the lock doesn’t turn. With a frustrated huff, she yanks the key back out. Just her luck, it seems, after the day she’s had. She adjusts her grip to switch to the key on the right when a sound from inside the apartment has her pausing. A giggle. Elain is confident that the last time she ever heard her older sister giggle was when they were both still girls, but there’s no mistaking the sound, nor the low, deep chuckle that follows.

Taking a deep breath and settling her expression into cool neutrality, Elain slides the correct key into the lock and opens the door. Nesta is perched on her kitchen counter, Cassian standing cradled between her thighs and leaning against his hands either side of her hip. The sound of the door has Nesta snapping her attention toward Elain, has her tugging the collar of her tee–or more likely, Cassian’s tee judging by the size–back up and over her shoulder.

“Hey, Elain,” Nesta greets easily, offering a small if not slightly embarrassed smile. “How was the bakery today?”

“It was fine,” Elain dismisses with a shrug, going over to where her bags live and crouching down to root through them aimlessly.

With her back turned, Elain is able to relax her face. She doesn’t have to worry about hiding her pinched lips and cool expression. It’s not that she isn’t happy for Nesta. She is, truly. Even if she’s still not fully sure where Cassian even came from, her sister’s boyfriend seeming to pop up one day and the two of them suddenly in love despite Nesta never mentioning him. Ever. But, it’s clear that her sister is happy, clear that Cassian loves her and respects her, clear that he’s exponentially better than Tomas Mandray ever was. But every time Elain sees the way Cassian looks at Nesta, sees the soft adoration shining in his eyes, it has her heart squeezing painfully between her ribs.

Graysen never looked at her like that.

Perhaps that should have clued her in sooner, should have been a sign of the messy end that was to come. She had just been so sure that Graysen was the one for her, that he was her true love, her soulmate, just like the princess books she read when she was little. But clearly that was an absurd notion, and all that love she held for him only led to her being blind. It only led to her coming home to their apartment and finding Graysen in their bed with his secretary.

The memories rushing back to the forefront of her mind has rage flaring back to life within her. It burns hot on the back of her tongue, sends sparks of red skittering through her veins, and Elain clenches her fists around the fabric in her hands. Fuck Graysen. Fuck him for disrespecting her like that. Fuck him for throwing away everything they had. Fuck him for having the nerve to kick her out of their apartment after what he did.

“Cassian made lasagna for dinner,” Nesta continues, unaware of Elain's tumbling thoughts.

“That’s alright. I have plans with Vassa,” Elain tells her, pulling out a simple sundress from her bag. “Just came back to change first.”

Before Nesta can say anything else, Elain scurries off to the bathroom. Her sister doesn’t need to know that it’s a lie, doesn’t need to know that she has zero interest in being an awkward third wheel. Again. As grateful as she is for Nesta allowing her to crash on her sofa until Elain figures out her own place, spending every night watching her sister and her boyfriend make obvious heart eyes that often lead to obvious heated stares at each other is not exactly Elain’s idea of fun.

Which is why Elain keeps up the pretense of plans with her best friend as she washes the flour from her hair and makes sure the strands fall in soft curls around her shoulders. Why she keeps up the pretense and changes into the sundress she grabbed. Why she keeps up the pretense and waves goodbye to Nesta and Cassian and walks right out the apartment even though she has nowhere to actually go.

The door closes with a soft snick behind Elain, and she lets out a quiet sigh. Now, she just needs actual evening plans. She supposes she could try one of the local bars down the road, but she doesn’t have an interest in listening to cheesy pick-up lines all night. She could text Vassa, maybe give some credibility to her lie, but then she’d just be trading in one third wheeling evening for another.

As Elain continues to contemplate her options, she hears the distinct ding of the elevator doors opening. Not wanting to be caught awkwardly in the hall by one of Nesta’s neighbors, Elain rushes away and pushes open the door to the stairwell, hiding out of sight. She presses her back against the wall and holds her breath, listening and waiting for any sounds out in the hallway. Voices coming from the stairwell just a floor below her have Elain scrambling up the stairs. She rushes up and up until the regular stairs end, until she reaches some sort of winding, rickety looking set of stairs.

Elain had almost forgotten that the apartment complex has roof access. She knew that Nesta was fond of spending time up there. Perhaps the roof could offer Elain the same escape. Testing the first step to make sure it’s actually steady and secure, Elain pads her way up to the large, metal door at the top. It takes a bit of force to get it to open, Elain having to practically throw her entire weight into it, but with a creak of the hinges, the door gives way, and she steps out into the evening air.

A quiet gasp tears its way free from Elain as she takes in her surroundings, the view. The city stretches out all around her, but it’s the sky that truly captures her attention. Streaks of pinks and purples through the clouds, the whole sky a golden orange hue as the sun sets. Elain’s feet are carrying her closer before she knows it, leaning against the western ledge to get a better look.

She reaches for her phone to take a photo, her arm brushing against something cold and hard. Elain looks to her left only to come face to face with a large gargoyle. She almost falls back on her ass as she jumps back and away in alarm. She’s not sure how she didn’t notice the gargoyle before. How she didn’t notice any of the gargoyles. Now that she really takes a look around the roof, she realizes there’s three. It seems odd to have an odd number, but perhaps it’s a lucky number?

Daring to step closer again, Elain takes a better look at the gargoyle facing the sunset. It seems to have some sort of strange carvings into the knees, and with the sun setting in front of it, the gargoyle’s face is cast in shadow in a way that’s almost unnerving. With a shudder, Elain turns away, focusing her attention on the other two gargoyles. The one facing south has large wings stretched behind its back that are just as unnerving, but the one facing east doesn’t look as ominous.

She walks over to the gargoyle and peers up at it, tilting her head as she admires the craftsmanship that must have gone into creating it. The gargoyle has been carved with almost a curtain of hair hanging down to the shoulders, and Elain realizes there’s horns too. She reaches her hand up, following the slightly ridged curve of them where they curl down toward the ears. Her fingers continue to trace a path to the face, to the lines that run like scars from eyebrow to cheek.

For a moment, Elain swears that she can hear a soft sigh on the wind, swears the stone almost seems to shudder beneath her touch. It has Elain snatching her hand back and cradling it to her chest. She spins back around to continue watching the sunset, but as the sun fades fully from view, the shadows and inky darkness of night start to creep in. Even with the full moon coming to life overhead, the darkness presses in from all around, leaving anxiety swirling in her gut.

Elain doesn’t know what it is, but it almost feels like there’s someone watching her, that she’s not alone. She wraps her arms around herself and tries to fight off a shiver, reminding herself that that thought is absurd, but she still can’t quite shake it. No matter what her rational mind says, her heart still ticks up between her ribs, the hairs on the back of her neck still stand on end.

She swears she feels the whisper of a touch along her arms, the warm presence of someone behind her, and Elain has officially had enough. She stomps toward the roof door and yanks it open, stepping back inside and into the safety of the apartment complex. She follows the steps down and down and down until she reaches the ground floor, putting as much distance between her and the roof, between that trepidation that had seized her, as possible.

She pushes out the backdoor of the complex and into the courtyard garden instead, taking in a deep breath of the sweet scent of begonias, of coreopsis and daisies. Now this is where she feels the most at home, the most comfortable. She follows the winding path deeper, toward the trees that mark the end of the courtyard and the property, and leans down to slide her fingers along the silky petals of the hydrangeas.

“My love.”

Elain jolts at the sound of a voice, at the strange nickname. She whirls around to find a man standing in the shadows just inside the tree line. He’s tall. Even from this distance, Elain can tell he must have over a head on her, and his eyes are pinned solely on her.

Elain has to swallow hard before she’s able to find her voice again. “Hello?”

The man steps forward, into the moonlight, and Elain realizes with a strike of fear that he’s not a man at all. He’s a monster. His fingers stretch down into points, into claws, and Elain notes the tail that swishes back and forth just behind his legs. Large, purple-ish horns curl up and over the deep, red strands of hair hanging around his face. He’s like something straight out of a storybook, out of a horror novel, and yet there’s something familiar about this monster, something that tugs and thrums deep within Elain’s chest and begs for attention.

Elain’s eyes dance over the monster’s face, taking in the different colored eyes. One russet and one golden. The long scars that run along the skin from eyebrow to cheek around that golden eye. It’s the scar that has Elain’s own eyes widening, realization crashing into her hard enough to steal the breath straight from her lungs.

“You’re the… the gargoyle. From the roof,” she whispers, barely believing her own words even as the truth stands right here before her very eyes.

“Yes,” the man confirms, daring to take a step closer. “I’ve waited a long time for my mate’s sweet scent to free me, and now, I will enjoy her sweet taste.”

Holy gods, he’s going to eat her. She came out here for some peace and quiet, an escape, and she’s going to be eaten by this monster.

Elain is still reeling from the fact that this is the gargoyle from the roof very much alive and standing in front of her that she doesn’t even realize he’s moved closer still until one of his arms is wrapping around her waist. Elain’s entire body freezes and locks up at that touch. His grip is strong, all but hauling her against his chest, and his skin is surprisingly warm despite him being literal stone before. For a moment, Elain swears she can hear his heartbeat thundering away, but maybe that’s just her own. With the claw resting at her waist, hand large enough to span the entire thing, the threat is clear. There’s no running.

The gargoyle leans in close, running his nose along her temple and seemingly breathing her in. He lets out a quiet sigh, grip tightening at her waist, and Elain starts trembling from head to toe.

“Please,” Elain begs, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t eat me. I’ll do anything.”

He groans, his lips brushing along her temple and cheek. “Hearing you beg might be the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. I can’t wait to hear you beg more, to hear you scream my name while you do it.”

Elain frowns at that. He wants her to scream out his name while begging him not to eat her? Clearly, this monster is some sort of masochist, takes some sort of sick pleasure in truly humiliating her before killing her. But still, Elain latches onto what she can. Maybe if she keeps him talking, he can’t do much devouring. Maybe, if she distracts him, he'll decide he doesn't want to eat her after all, or she can get away at least.

“And… and what is your name?” Elain asks, praying the waver in her voice isn’t too obvious.

“Lucien.”

“Lucien,” Elain repeats, causing the gargoyle to groan again. “That’s a nice name.”

“You're meant to tell me your name now.”

“Why would you need to know my name?”

Lucien pulls his face away from her hair at that, a frown tugging down his lips. His free hand reaches up toward her cheek, the tips of his claws just barely skating across her skin before her entire body tenses up, her head snapping away on instinct. The reaction just seems to confuse him more, eyebrows dipping low as he peers down at her.

“Why do you cower from me, my love?”

A near hysterical laugh bubbles up out of Elain before she can stop it. “Have you looked in a mirror recently?”

Lucien cocks his head, the red strands of his long hair tumbling over his shoulder. “Am I not pleasing to you?”

Elain rakes her eyes over Lucien's form, finally really taking him in, and well, she supposes there are worse ways to go. If she's going to be eaten by a monster, at least it's an attractive one. With no shirt to be seen, it leaves the expanse of golden bronzed skin on full display, the shadows of the night around them cutting into the lines of lean muscle that make up his arms and chest. His torn linen pants hang low on his hips and hug tight to his thighs, leaving little to the imagination in the best way. His hair falls in a cascading waterfall of red around his horns and face, framing a strong jawline, framing those golden and russet eyes. Even with the scars slashed across his skin, he's beautiful, and Elain's fingers itch with the urge to reach out and gently trace the lines until he's shuddering beneath her touch.

“You have not answered my question, my mate,” Lucien says, breaking Elain out of her staring.

“You keep saying that: my mate. I don't know what it means.”

Lucien leans in close again, pressing his lips to her cheek. “It means you are mine.” He moves to kiss her other cheek. “And I am yours.” He shifts again until his lips are hovering just over hers. “It means that you have freed me.”

“Oh…” Elain breathes, already pressing up onto her toes, already leaning into him, almost subconsciously.

“Tell me your name,” Lucien requests quietly, his breath a whisper across Elain's lips.

“Elain.”

“My mate. My love. My Elain.”

Maybe it's because no one has ever spoken of her like that, with so much reverence, like they really, truly mean it. Maybe it's because deep down she is still bitter and hurt by what Graysen did. Maybe it's because for a moment, Elain swears she feels something golden and strong wrapped right around her heart, tugging and urging her on. Whatever it is, Elain reaches her hands up, burying her fingers amongst the strands of his hair, and yanks until the space between them vanishes.

Elain's not sure what she expects kissing a gargoyle, but kissing Lucien sends heat skittering down down spine, her toes curling in her shoes. Lucien seems to radiate heat every place that he touches her, as though fire burns just beneath his skin and in his veins. And he kisses like it too. His lips slot and slide against her own, his tongue pressing past the seam and into her mouth. Even with his claws, he cradles her face so gently, bending forward to keep their lips firmly locked together despite the height difference.

Before Elain knows it, her back is pillowed amongst the grass and the dirt of the garden, Lucien settling above her. His hands trail across her shoulders, down her arms to her wrists, pinning her hands up above her head. He tears his mouth away from hers but only to press a line of kisses along her jaw and throat.

“Shouldn’t we… um… should…”

Elain’s words trail off as Lucien scrapes his teeth along her pulse point, any and all thoughts eddying out of her mind. Her entire body feels like it’s blazing, a familiar heat that’s been missing for longer than she cares to admit. Even before she and Graysen broke up, Elain wouldn’t say she had a lot of experience with passion with her ex-fiancé. But it’s hard to think of any other man when Lucien is sliding the strap of her sundress down and aside, the path of his lips moving down along her collarbone.

“Oh, gods,” Elain moans quietly, arching up against him as Lucien mouths hotly at the swell of her heaving breast.

The trail he’s tracing barely seems to pause, Lucien continuing down along her sternum, across her covered stomach. He slides down until his shoulders are cradled between her spread thighs, Elain pressing up onto her elbows to watch him. The sight has her breath catching in her throat. Lucien’s hair hangs around him like a fiery halo, a wild expression on his face, and in that moment, Elain swears she can see an actual flame sizzling in his gaze.

“Does this mean you're not going to eat me?”

The smirk Lucien settles her with is downright devilish. “Oh, Elain. I most definitely intend to eat you. I intend to have you falling apart on my tongue and my fingers until you're begging to fall apart on my cock.”

“Right,” Elain somehow squeaks out, swallowing hard. “But. We’re outside. In public. We should…”

But Elain doesn’t even know how to finish that sentence. They should what? Go upstairs to her older sister's apartment? She knows that Nesta has adventurous taste in romance books, she’s certainly seen some of the titles and covers on her sister’s shelf, but this feels like a step too far. Walking through the door with a literal monster in tow? Elain can already picture Nesta’s shocked face, and Elain has a creeping suspicion that someone of Cassian’s size would probably try to protect her, try to fight her gargoyle. Besides, where would they even go? Fuck on Nesta’s sofa?

“I cannot wait another moment for a taste of my sweet mate,” Lucien argues, his hands sliding up Elain’s thighs, pushing up the hem of her sundress with them until the fabric is bunched around her waist. He presses two fingers against her still clothed cunt, drawing a gasp out of Elain as he traces a line upwards. “Are you already wet for me, my love?”

Elain whines high in the back of her throat when Lucien starts to draw tantalizingly slow circles over her clit, bucking her hips up against his touch. “Lucien, please.”

“Did you need something?” Lucien asks lightly, his too innocent tone not fooling Elain for a second.

“Stop teasing.”

“Use your words, Elain. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to keep your word,” Elain snaps with a huff. “What happened to not being able to wait another moment?”

Lucien’s smirk only seems to grow at the quip, something like excitement sparking in his gaze. Something like pride. His claws finally hook in the waistband of her panties, tugging the fabric down her legs and off. The clothing item is barely discarded before Lucien’s mouth is pressing along her inner thigh. His teeth nip at the skin as he traces up and up, heat curling in Elain’s gut as he gets closer to where she really wants him.

Elain opens her mouth, ready to complain about his teasing again, but any possible words are cut off with a loud moan when Lucien licks a thick stripe over her, tongue swirling on her clit when he reaches it. The vibrations of Lucien's answering groan against her has Elain’s hips bucking up to press closer to his mouth, but his hands curl around her thighs, claws digging in the barest hint and holding her still.

Graysen certainly had little interest in ever going down on her, and Elain had started to suspect that no man particularly enjoyed the act, but with the way Lucien devours her, she’s beginning to think perhaps she was wrong. With the way he keeps groaning against her, his hands flexing as he works his mouth over her, it seems like there’s nowhere else Lucien would rather be.

He keeps alternating his pace, what he’s doing. Slow, thick licks. Fucking and curling his tongue up into her. Swirling over her clit and sucking it between his lips. It has Elain’s head swimming, dizzy with the pleasure that courses like sparks beneath her skin with every change up. She can do nothing but grasp onto Lucien’s horns and hold on, can do nothing but let him draw every moan of his name past her lips.

Elain can feel herself cresting higher and higher, feel that heat coiling tighter and tighter in her gut. As if he can sense how close she is, Lucien turns all his attention to her clit, one of his hands sliding across her hip, up over her stomach, and to her breast. Without missing a beat, he tugs down the scoop neck of her dress, palming at her breast and tweaking at her nipple. It sends her tumbling over that ledge, Elain hips jolting up against Lucien’s hold as her orgasm tears through her.

She expects Lucien to pull away then, but he only seems to bury himself deeper, tongue continuing to lap at her. It has another round of aftershocks crashing through Elain, a whine torn from the back of her throat even with the overstimulation. She shifts one of her hands from his horn to his hair, tugging at the red strands, but the gesture merely makes Lucien groan again, Elain shuddering at the vibrations.

“Lucien,” Elain somehow chokes out, tugging at his hair again.

Lucien finally pulls back, and just the sight of him has Elain swallowing hard. His red hair is tousled and messy where it hangs around his face, an almost wild expression to his golden and russet eyes. And she can see the remnants of her release smeared around his smirking lips. It’s absolutely sinful.

“Did you enjoy that?” Lucien asks, sliding his thumb across his bottom lip before sucking the digit into his mouth.

“Did you?” Elain fires back, daring to raise a challenging eyebrow.

Part of it is because of the underlying teasing tone to his question, but the other part is to see if the reaction she garnered from him before was a fluke or not. Graysen had never hesitated to tell Elain when she was being bratty, when she was being a bitch. He never hesitated to remind her that she should be quiet, that she should be docile, the perfect, meek little housewife that he wanted. Never raise her voice. Never speak back. Never get her hands dirty.

But the way Lucien’s eyes spark, the way he keeps smirking, it has Elain’s heart pounding in the most dangerous way.

Lucien raises himself back above Elain, aligning their hips and rocking his still clothed hardness against her. “You tell me.”

Lucien closes the distance between them, kissing her hotly and pressing his tongue into her mouth. Elain whimpers against his lips, able to taste herself on him. She tugs more meaningfully against his hair, keeping him close to her as she rocks her hips up against him and chasing what friction she can.

Elain feels a pressure curl around her thigh, and for a moment, she’s confused. She can feel Lucien’s hands cradling her face. But when Lucien pulls away from the kiss, she glances down and realizes it’s his tail that’s holding her open and keeping her hips pinned to the ground. As if it has a mind of its own, the end of the tail slides teasingly up and down along the inside of her thigh, sending a shiver skittering up Elain’s spine.

“Beautiful.”

The whispered tone of Lucien’s voice draws her attention back to his gaze, and Elain supposes she shouldn’t be surprised to find him staring intently at her. But she doesn’t expect the softness that’s taken over his expression. She doesn’t expect the tender way his thumb skates across her skin over the blush she’s sure is spilling across her cheeks. Words die in and clog the back of Elain’s throat, and she can do nothing but pull Lucien down into another searing kiss.

“Please,” Elain begs against his lips. “Lucien, please. I need you.”

“I made you a promise, Elain,” Lucien tells her, his teeth nipping into her bottom lip and tugging. “And I intend to keep it.”

Lucien’s hand slides down her front, tugging her dress down even further until it’s merely a belt of bunched up fabric around her waist. His lips follow the same path, nipping and sucking at her skin, laving attention to each breast in turn. His hand continues the downward trek, but it’s clear he’s done teasing.

Elain gasps as he sinks a finger into her, clenching hard around the single digit. She doesn’t know what to pay more attention to, the way he pumps his finger or the way he swirls his tongue around her nipple. Either way, Elain can already feel herself cresting higher again dangerously fast.

“Fuck, Lucien,” Elain moans, digging her nails into his shoulders, down his arms. “Don’t stop. Gods, please don’t stop.”

“So beautiful. My beautiful Elain,” Lucien tells her, sinking a second finger beside the first and curling them until Elain is keening. “But you’re even more beautiful when you come, and I’d like a repeat showing.”

Lucien increases the pace of his fingers, his tail sliding further up her thigh until it presses against her clit. Another curl of his fingers and Elain arches up off the ground, coming with a shout she just barely has the foresight to cover up with a hand to her mouth.

Elain is still coming down from the high of her release when Lucien shifts above her. He discards his pants and aligns their hips, sinking into her inch by inch. He’s larger than Elain expects, stretching her in a way that has her toes curling, in a way no one ever has, in a way she’s not sure she’ll ever get enough of. At least, Lucien seems just as affected. He buries his face in the crook of her neck with a groan, one of his arms stretching beneath her and grasping tightly to her waist, keeping their chests pressed flushed together.

“I think I might be addicted to your sweet cunt,” Lucien murmurs against her skin. “I don’t ever want to leave.”

“So don’t.”

Elain rocks her hip up, encouraging him to move. Lucien lifts his head and smirks down at her, and Elain worries that he is truly going to make her beg for it, going to tease and make her use her words again. But then Lucien pulls his hips back just to snap them back forward again. Each rock into her is deep and hard, setting Elain alight until she dissolves into a litany of moans and Lucien’s name.

“That’s it, Elain. Tell the whole world who you belong to,” Lucien breathes hotly against her lips before stealing another searing kiss, the pace of his movements picking up. “Gods, you have no idea what you do to me.”

Lucien’s hand snakes between their bodies, finding her clit with ease. His fingers traces circles across it in time with his thrusts, and the dam breaks. White spots dance behind Elain’s eyes as she orgasms again, her entire body feeling weightless as she arches up into him. She’s half aware of Lucien stilling above her, of warmth filling her deep. She sinks back against the dirt, chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath.

“Have I tired my sweet mate out?”

Elain opens her eyes to find Lucien peering down at her, amusement dancing in his own gaze. It has fire sparking anew in Elain’s veins. She hitches her legs up higher on Lucien’s hips, pressing her thighs in and using momentum to flip them over. Lucien lets out a quiet sound of surprise as he goes sprawling on his back into the dirt, Elain astride across his hips. His hands reach for her waist, to steady her, but Elain is quick to capture his wrists in her hands, pinning them up by his head and leaning down so her nose brushes against his.

“Who said anyone was tired?”

Elain begins to circle and rock her hips until Lucien is groaning beneath her, until she can feel him hardening again. She sets a hard and brutal pace, using her hands on Lucien’s chest as leverage as she rides him. Every press down of her hips is an overstimulation to her clit, but it’s still not enough, and Elain tosses her head back as she chases her pleasure.

“Gods, I’m the luckiest male ever. Look at you.”

Lucien shifts beneath her, planting his feet, and then he’s snapping his hips up to meet her every movement. It only takes a few more thrusts before Elain is clenching hard, her whole body practically shaking with her orgasm. Lucien groans out Elain’s name as he follows her over the ledge, both of them riding out the aftershocks together.

Elain slumps forward against Lucien’s chest, sighing happily when she feels his arms wrap around her and holding her close. She lets her eyes flutter closed, smiling softly when she feels his lips press against her hair. With her head nestled against him, she can hear the steady beat of his heart just beneath her ear, her own an answering echo between her ribs.

When Elain opens her eyes again, she’s surprised to find her dress has been readjusted to cover her again, that she’s been moved beneath the shade and cover of the treeline. For a moment, she almost wonders if she imagined everything that happened before, if she fell asleep in the gardens and it was all some strangely vivid dream. But when Elain shifts, she finds Lucien sitting beside her, his elbows resting on his raised knees as he stares out at the flowers around them, at the way the early morning light before dawn breaks paints everything in hazy golds.

Elain sits up as well, hooking her arm through Lucien’s and pressing a sweet kiss of greeting to his shoulder. Lucien shifts his hand to lace their fingers together, and Elain realizes that no longer does he have claws. In fact, he looks perfectly human now, no horns or tail to be seen.

“My love,” Lucien greets her quietly, bringing their joined hands to his lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“You don’t look like a gargoyle anymore.”

“No. You freed me from the curse that was placed upon my village, that made me into that. Cursed to be locked away in stone until the day my mate came to me on the night of a full moon.”

“So, I’m still your mate?”

“You will always be my mate,” Lucien assures her, turning so he can slide his free hand across her cheek. “And you will always have my heart.”

Elain can’t help but blush at his words, but she leans forward and closes the distance between them. As Lucien kisses her back, something warm, something so incredibly right, blooms in her chest, settling like roots between her ribs. That golden thread glows brighter, grows stronger, where it’s twined around her heart, and Elain is sure that she’s never felt happier.

~ * * * ~

“Elain.”

Elain paces back and forth across the small space. She tugs at the hem of her top and then her hair, letting out a quiet sigh. It’s fine. Everything will go just fine.

“Elain, my love.” Lucien’s arms curl around Elain’s waist, tugging her closer and into his chest. “You need to stop worrying.”

“Easy for you to say,” Elain huffs against the fabric of his shirt. “You were literal stone a week ago. Now, go through the story again.”

Lucien sighs, even as he drops a sweet, soothing kiss to her hair. “Elain—”

“I don’t need my sister thinking I’m crazy. Go through the backstory again.”

“I was a regular at the bakery,” Lucien begins dutifully. “And I always had a crush on you. When I heard that you and that absolute piece of shit—”

“Graysen.”

“—broke up, I decided to finally ask you for drinks, and you agreed. And now we are madly in love and you can’t get enough of me,” Lucien finishes with a devilish smile, reaching his hand down to squeeze Elain’s ass and haul her closer still.

Elain bats Lucien’s hands away with a fond roll of her eyes just as the elevator doors open with a ding. She steps out into the hall, Lucien capturing her hand in his and lacing their fingers together as they walk the short distance to Nesta’s apartment door. Taking one final deep breath to steady herself, Elain raises her fist and knocks.

“Elain,” Nesta greets when she pulls open the door, stepping back to allow them into the apartment. “And this must be—”

“Lucien! Gods, it’s so good to see you again.”

Elain can do nothing but gape, nothing but blink in surprise, as she watches Cassian pull Lucien into a big bear hug, slapping him on the back with a wide grin. She doesn’t understand what she’s seeing, doesn’t understand how this is possible. Cassian is greeting Lucien as if he knows him, as if they are old friends, but Lucien was a gargoyle before.

And then it hits Elain.

Cassian seemed to come out of nowhere, Nesta never mentioning him before he moved in with her. Much like how Elain announced her new boyfriend along with her new apartment she’s renting with Lucien. And when she had first gone up to the roof, she had thought it strange there was not a fourth gargoyle to make it an even set. But that would mean…

Elain snaps her attention to Nesta, her older sister’s eyes wide and the barest hint of a blush coloring the apples of her cheeks. As if she too has come to the same conclusion, has realized the implication of Lucien and Cassian clearly knowing each other. For a moment, there’s just awkward silence hanging in the air between them, and then Elain can’t help it, she laughs.

—

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[stanleypinesgf]

Falling for Mystery - Chapter Sixteen

Falling for Mystery Masterlist Warnings: another angsty/emotional chapter but i don't think it's anything specific enough for a warning, enjoy! Please note: this is a slow burn fic with eventual smut and mature themes, 18+ only and please check warnings at the start of chapters! TYSM for all the support so far!! w/c: 2,676 The fire crackled low between us, casting flickering shadows that danced over Stan’s face. He was beside me, but he looked distant, as if he wanted to be anywhere else. I reached out, holding his hand in quiet support, hoping he’d find whatever words he needed. His shoulders slumped, and when he finally looked at me, there was a storm of guilt and dread in his eyes, battling something even deeper that he seemed almost afraid to let out.

He took a long breath, then another, as if gathering the courage to unearth something long buried. His voice, when he finally spoke, was rough and guarded.

“There’s… stuff I never told you. About who I am. Or who I’m not, I guess.”

I squeezed his hand gently, conveying that he didn’t have to rush. My heartbeat thrummed in my ears, a frantic drum echoing my anxiety, but I forced myself to maintain a calm facade for his sake. I was terrified of what he might reveal, yet my longing to trust him, to be there for him, overshadowed that fear.

He looked away, his gaze sinking into the floor as though the confession was already too heavy. “You know me as Stanford, but… that ain’t my real name. I’m Stanley.” He winced, bracing himself. “Ford—Stanford—is my twin. Or he was, anyway, until…” He trailed off, words hovering painfully unfinished, his fingers fidgeting with the worn edge of his jacket. The silence between us thickened, weighted by the years of guilt and secrets he’d been carrying alone.

“So… you took his name?” I asked, my voice soft, hoping to pull him gently back to the present, to keep him from sinking too far into memory.

He nodded, but his expression darkened, etched with regret. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not proud of it. When he… disappeared, I thought… maybe if I tried to live as him, I could make up for everythin’ I did wrong. Make him proud somehow… maybe I could bring him back…”

Stan’s chest heaved as he revisited a memory he’d spent years trying to bury. “Ford and I, we were close, y’know? Same face, same hands, same heartbeat almost. But… he was the smart one. Had dreams bigger than either of us could hold. He was buildin’ a machine for this hotshot school, said it’d be our family’s ticket out. He was so damn proud of it.” His voice cracked, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “I was proud too. But I… I just couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand him leavin’ me.”

The memory seemed to claw at him, and I could see his expression twist in pain, his hand gripping mine like an anchor. “So I did somethin’ stupid. Real stupid.” He swallowed, his words thick. “I broke it. It was an accident, but… I didn’t tell him. Thought maybe if I kept quiet, he’d stick around long enough for us to go adventurin’ like we planned. Deep down, I didn’t want him to leave me behind.”

There was a rawness in his voice that I’d never heard before, an aching vulnerability he usually kept hidden. He let out a hollow, bitter laugh. “Our dad found out. Threw me out before I could even explain myself. Told me I’d done enough damage, that I wasn’t worth a damn… and I started to believe him.”

My heart clenched, hearing the decades-old wound in his words. I squeezed his hand, trying to give him whatever strength I could. “So… you left?”

I felt a familiar ache at his words, the kind that settled in after long months of trying to leave my own past behind. I nodded, a quiet understanding passing between us. “I do,” I said softly, the memories stirring in my own chest.

He looked down at his hands, the rough callouses and faded scars. “After I left, I tried makin’ an honest living once or twice, but it never stuck. I wasn’t cut out for the straight and narrow. I guess I just didn’t see any other way but to hustle.” His mouth twisted in a half-smile, half-grimace. “So, I set up shop as ‘Stan Co. Enterprises.’ Thought maybe if I had my own company, I’d get somewhere, right?” He scoffed softly. “Turns out, broken pitchforks and sham towels just made folks angrier. And when that didn’t go right, I moved on to ‘Rip-Off’ band-aids in Pennsylvania… those left more rashes than they ever fixed.”

He shook his head, eyes far off, revisiting the memory like it was a strange dream. “After enough failed schemes, I found myself banned from New Jersey, and Pennsylvania wasn’t far behind. I even tried my luck overseas. But a heist gone sideways in Colombia landed me in jail. I shared a cell with two locals, Jorge and Rico. Tried to win ‘em over, but turns out, they weren’t exactly thrilled with my company.”

A wry chuckle escaped him, but it was tinged with sadness. “Eventually, I got out, came back to the States. But I was banned from half of ‘em, renting a room at the Dead End Flats, and drowning in debt I couldn’t even put a dent in. I figured that was it. I’d burned through every chance I’d ever had.” He paused, his expression softening as if he were clinging to something fragile. “Then one day, outta nowhere, a postcard shows up. From Ford. First time I’d heard from him in ten years. Said he needed me to come to Gravity Falls, that he was in trouble.”

But then Ford, he sends me a postcard, askin’ me to come to Gravity Falls. I thought maybe… maybe he was ready to forgive me. That he wanted me back in his life.” His face twisted with a bitter smile, his hands clenching in his lap. “But it wasn’t that. He was all paranoid… just wanted me to stash some weird research of his, like I was just another set of hands he could use.”

He paused, his fingers tracing the scar on his shoulder. I remembered how defensive he was the morning I noticed it, his quick glance away. Slowly, I reached out and brushed my fingers over it, feeling the roughened skin under his shirt. “This… did this happen that night?”

His expression tightened, a look of shame flashing in his eyes. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “We got into it—arguin’, yellin’. Neither of us was thinkin’ straight. He went back toward the machine to try and save his work, and I… I was so mad, I tried to give him the journal back, but I pushed him.” He stopped, jaw tight, as if the memory was physically painful. “He… he went flyin’ right back into the machine. And then he was just… gone. I tried to grab him, but it was too late.”

Stan’s voice cracked, his face crumbling under the weight of everything he’d kept hidden for so long.

He looked away, pressing a fist against his mouth like it might somehow stop the emotions from spilling out. He swallowed hard, and when he looked back at me, his eyes were glassy, haunted by memories he couldn’t shake off. “All those years, I told myself I deserved it. Deserved the mess I made. And… being alone? That was just my punishment. Ford never forgave me, and I guess I never really forgave myself either.” He shrugged, trying to brush it off, but the pain in his eyes said everything. “Even now… sometimes it feels like maybe things just… would’ve been better if I wasn’t around to mess ’em up.”

He took a shaky breath, glancing toward the floor. “After Ford was gone, I didn’t have the slightest clue what to do. But the bank kept sendin’ letters, threatening to take the house. It was his place, his life—I couldn’t let it go up in smoke, not after everything.” His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “So, I faked my own death, took his name, his house—his whole life, really—and opened up The Murder Hut as a tourist trap to make money to keep it all going.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I renamed it The Mystery Shack after a while. Figured if I made enough selling fake mysteries, maybe I could keep payin’ off his debts, try and keep things running until I got him back.”

He looked back at me, shoulders slumping. “Guess I thought… if I kept it all together, kept his life goin’ somehow, maybe I’d make up for what I did. But it just feels like I’m draggin’ it all further into the dirt.”

He looked like he’d break from the weight of it. “I ruined everything,” he said, barely audible. “Ford’s stuck somewhere, who knows where… I don’t even know if he’s… and here I am, pretendin’ to be him, screwin’ up all over again.”

“Stan…” My heart ached for him, the heaviness of all he’d carried alone. “That was an accident. You didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

A harsh laugh escaped him, filled with bitterness. “Try tellin’ Ford that. If he ever makes it back, I doubt he’ll be lookin’ to forgive me. And you’re stuck here too, dealin’ with a washed-up loser like me.”

I tightened my hold on his hand, hoping he’d see that I was here for him, fully. “Stan, you’re not a loser, and none of this is your fault. You did what you could. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, and you’re trying your best to save your brother.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, voice laced with frustration. “It happened because of me. Like everythin’ else I mess up. And now I’ve dragged you into this… I don’t even know what you’re doin’ here. You could be with someone decent, someone who hasn’t screwed up everythin’ he’s ever touched…”

“Stan, I’m here because I want to be,” I replied gently, my voice soft but firm.

He let out a rough laugh, voice bitter with self-loathing.

I reached over, placing a hand on his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles. “Stan, you didn’t deserve that. Not from your father, not from Ford, and definitely not from yourself.” I kept my voice soft but firm, hoping it would somehow cut through the years of anger he’d turned inward. “You’re not some… screw-up that everyone’s better off without. You’re a man who did what he thought he had to, who’s been doing his best every single day.”

He looked down, brows knitted tightly, as if my words were so foreign he didn’t know what to do with them. “Maybe… maybe that’s what you see. But that ain’t what everyone else sees. Ford, Dad, my whole damn family. Even now, there’s a part of me that doesn’t think I deserve to hear… things like that.”

He paused and, just as I was about to comfort him, he continued as if he couldn’t stop himself.

“You’re too damn good for all this. Deserve better than a washed-up ex-con with more baggage than brains.” He stopped suddenly, mouth clamping shut as his eyes squeezed closed, almost as if he were wrestling with the words. “I love you too much to let you throw your life away like that.”

The moment he said it, his face went pale, his eyes widening with a look of panic. He swallowed hard, a flicker of fear crossing his face as he tried to pull back. “Wait—no, I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that.” His hand slipped from mine, rubbing the back of his neck, as though he wanted to take the words back. “Just… forget I said anything, alright? It wasn’t… it’s not like you—”

“Stan,” I interrupted, my voice barely above a whisper, my heart racing as I felt the weight of what he’d just confessed. “I love you, too.”

The words seemed to hang in the air, echoing between us, and for a second, Stan looked stunned. His tough, guarded expression melted away, leaving him vulnerable and raw. His eyes shone with unshed tears, and his breath hitched, like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard.

“You… you do?” he whispered, his voice so soft and broken that it made my chest tighten.

“Yes,” I replied, my voice trembling as I smiled, taking his hand again. “I don’t care about your past or your mistakes. I see you, Stan. I see all of you, and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he let out a shaky, half-choked laugh, his hand reaching out to pull me close. “C’mere,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me onto his lap. His forehead pressed against mine, his thumb brushing over my cheek as he let out a long, shuddering breath. He closed his eyes, pressing his lips softly to mine in a lingering kiss, rough but achingly tender, as if he were afraid to break the moment, afraid to believe it could be real.

It was like he was offering a part of himself he wasn’t sure I’d want. I felt his hand slide into my hair, his fingers gentle, his touch more tender than I’d ever expected from him. He pulled back, eyes searching mine, almost like he was waiting for me to realize I’d made a mistake, that maybe he wasn’t worth holding this close. But I kept my hands on his face, steadying him, letting him feel how much I wanted him right here, just as he was.

His face was filled with a mixture of awe and relief. “You… you’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

I smiled, holding his face between my hands, feeling the warmth of his skin and the slight tremble beneath my fingers. “Stan, you’re worth so much more than you see in yourself. I know you’ve been carrying this belief that you’re… broken, or not enough. But you’re so much more than the mistakes you made as a kid.”

His gaze faltered, his shoulders tense, and I could feel the weight of all the years he’d spent believing otherwise. “I don’t know how you can see that,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve messed up more than I’ve ever done right. People see me, and all they see is someone who’s just… trouble.”

I shook my head, letting my hands slip down to take his. “Maybe you can’t see it yet, but I see the man who never gave up on his brother, even after everything. I see the guy who’s been working himself to the bone to make things right, even if it’s tearing him apart. And I see someone who’s got more heart than anyone else I’ve ever met. Stan, you’re not worthless. You’re everything.”

He swallowed hard, looking away for a moment, as if he couldn’t quite let himself believe it. But when he looked back, there was something softer, almost hopeful, in his gaze. “I… I don’t know what to say,” he murmured, voice thick. “No one’s ever looked at me that way. Not even me.”

I leaned in, resting my forehead against his, my fingers intertwined with his. “Then it’s time you start. You’ve got a good heart, Stan, one worth more than anything I could ever put into words. You don’t have to be perfect or fix everything. You just have to be you—and that’s more than enough.”

A shaky breath escaped him, and his arms wrapped around me, pulling me close, holding on like he was afraid I might slip away. And as we sat there, tangled together in the firelight, I felt him start to let down those walls, bit by bit. I knew it might take time for him to truly believe in himself the way I did. But right now, held close in his arms, I could feel the smallest spark of hope flicker between us—like, maybe, he was beginning to think it was possible.

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