#The nine-judge bench | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sl4sh3rsub · 2 years ago

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art the clown hcs (nsfw: mdni)

art the clown x reader (AFAB, AMAB, FtM, MtF)

warning: so so much. unhygienic behaviour, p in v + anal (all unprotected - pls stay safe irl), creampies, fingering (receiving), overstimulation (receiving), dubious consent + cnc (with art), noncon (with [sometimes intoxicated] victims + art, not with reader), art is mute, reader is put on display and used as bait for art's activities, art makes his own snuff?? idk but there's sexual stuff with dead bodies + art in the same vicinity, masturbation, blood kink but lots of blood in general, gore, mentions of injury and giving injury (not on reader), public sex/exhibitionism, oral (giving + receiving), rimming (giving), period sex, cumrag, sexual photographs taken of/for reader, art goes commando, scarification, art is a switch - if only to commit to the bit, fear play (empty guns, dull knives), bondage (reader receiving), cum eating, somnophilia, shoe humping, cum tributes, feet stuff mentioned, musk kink, corruption kink mentioned?, mtf section mentions art performing an orchiectomy

a/n: kinda edited. he's so nine inch nails/orgy coded and the movies are so scary that i chickened out rewatching parts of terrifier 2 pls forgive me :3 the first dot point is to set the mood, sorry but it gets right into it

READ THE WARNINGS this one's very intense - please, if you think this might be too much for you or just uncomfortable, skip this one.

order: general hcs first then amab + afab then ftm + mtf, different sections = different content n tried not to repeat much

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general hcs

art will put on a home video of him torturing and toying with someone while you're held between his legs - he wants to have a fun little viewing party for his recent exploits! he toys with your hole, teasing you as his cock ruts into your lower back. the sinister clown ignores the thrashing of your legs as he pulls orgasm after orgasm out of your poor, tired body. the only time he lets up, giving a break from his constant stimulation on your sweet spots, is when he pauses to mimic a wave or jolly dance in the video he's showing you. the way your slick arousal thins and connects his fingers whenever he waves at the screen would be comical if your head wasn't so fuzzy from the constant edging. he loves tormenting people but the methods for you are a bit more... delicious

whenever he comes home injured, he patiently sits propped against a wall as you tend to his weeping wounds. judging by the ripped clown suit and gashes littering his skin, it was evidently a rough night. he doesn't bother to tell you that he will heal at abnormally fast speeds, he just loves the sight of his blood smeared on your skin. while you bandage art up, the gauze ends up giving him more coverage than his shredded suit - he meets your gaze with a sly grin as he thrusts up into your hand, showing what he has to offer. you'll have to ignore the drying blood all over the two of you, as he rushes to pull your face into of his lap to let out some pent-up energy :<

he's always so playful whenever you both get down and dirty, whether it's pulling surprised expressions whenever you cum, dragging his finger down from your lips to your throat to shush you or flick your nipples only to giggle at your surprised face

if art is not in the mood to trudge home alone after a rampage, he'll text you an address to meet him at. to no one's surprise, it's always a laundromat. he loves to fuck you in the empty establishments while his clothing is in a washing cycle - after all, it would be rude to get your clothing dirty while he's taking you from behind over a dryer. he pays extra attention to getting off and finishing inside you as a way to wind down from a wild time, his creamy release dripping onto the floor. guess you'll have to bust out the mop on shaky legs while art cheerily dresses himself and patiently waits for you on the bench next to the window - he can't help but admire his special person and be proud of how he made them come undone

his favourite way to wake up is to have his throbbing cock in your mouth, his gaze half-lidded as you work your hand along his length and envelop him with your soft lips. art is addicted to you sloppily gagging on him, spit and precum drooling down his balls. his huffs of pleasure gracing your ears are the sweetest part of any early morning

whenever you finish giving art head, kiss his tip softly after swallowing, making sure to slurp up his cum from dribbling down his shaft and he'll trace a heart on your forehead with your tears from gagging on him. if you meet his gaze as you catch your breath, he'll quietly shush and tut at you in reassurance while you rest your cheek against his bare thigh, petting your hair

the clown likes to play a game where he captures male victims he's focused on, strips them down, then ties them up in a row and gags them. he makes them watch as he pleasures you in front of them, spread on display as he mocks them and their tears, all while you come undone on his cock and fingers. he punishes the one that gets hard first (away from you, of course - he drags the guy to the next room to deal with later). art puts you on display in front of the remaining men, dons a shitty wig and red lipstick then slowly jerks off the softest person as they gradually get more aroused at the sight of you playing with yourself and moaning for art to fuck you. art is overall most turned on by other people watching you without touching what's his - he loves showing you off and feeling proud that they could never pleasure you like he could :3

art fucks you against the windows of buildings he's snuck into - he loves giving an eyeful for his potential victims and he's not above tempting them into the building he's camped out in with the false promise of joining in

he has certain hand signals for you to bend over, drop your pants or get on your knees. it's not in an intimidating dominant way, it's simply out of necessity as he cannot verbally order you to do anything in the bedroom

your pleasure is not the priority all the time - art's main goal is for him to feel good, however he may realise that certain things make you squeeze his cock perfectly and as a result, your orgasms are a coincidental byproduct of his lust

art is a sucker for being balls deep inside you when he cums but he also enjoys painting your sloppy hole - an excellent view, plus there's so much to scoop up and finger deep back inside you

whenever he cums, art's tummy tenses and his thighs spasm as his eyes roll backwards. his chest shudders as his breathing gets shaky, needing to grab onto something to steady himself. his cum itself is generally thick but whenever you remind him to drink water, it'll get very thin and watery. it's important to note, his cum colour fluctuates between a regular milk colour and pitch black goop

art the clown freeballs in his satin costume, just hangin out for the sake of convenience and simplicity - if he's needing to piss, rub one out or get undressed to sleep, why should underwear be in the way? he's an absolute pervert, so he loves you seeing his dick whenever you look at him

force him have a shower - not even a bath, the water would get dirty too quick. caked layers of metallic blood and dirt don't help anyone's general scent and if he's around you a lot, you don't want a smelly clown trailing you and in your general vicinity

he wanders around naked after he takes a hot shower, when his costume is drying and his painted neck is waiting to be properly touched up. expect to see his bare dick twitch while you stare in shock, mouth hanging open at his blatant lack of shame in his nudity. the same thing applies to whenever the clown suit has a hole in it - at this point it's any excuse to be in the nude and flaunting his body around, the tapered tip of his cock always pulsing under your bashful eye

art carves his name into you - or something like 'art was here', 'art's art' or 'art's toy' - but you get to choose where! in his mind, it's like a collaborative effort :<

he's addicted to your warmth and tightness, so be ready to have his pasty cock buried in you whenever there's nothing to do. he'll pull you onto his lap while bunched up and all tense, pull down your underwear and spit on his length, slowly sliding into you as his muscles release all tension. he's practically a limp puddle once he's deep inside - he's comfortable enough to nap like this and will cuddle you until you feel the same way. the bastard will occasionally toot his horn to scare you into clenching around his softly throbbing dick

his love language is physical touch - his hand is always hovering near your hip, ass or lower back and he pats your cheek or kisses your temple if you've been good, petting your hair as you doze off next to him. his version on an 'i love you' is a warm palm cupping your face as he intertwines his body with yours, your muscles relaxing as you lean into his heat

the clown always, always leaves deep bites and bruises all over your body. prepare to have painkillers at every single meal, because he makes sure you're aching and bleeding when he's done with you after a rough day

as he doesn't make you participate in his meals of flesh and rubbish, expect to have his victim's homecooked leftovers, as well as pizza and other take-out regularly - all with a little extra salty glaze ontop <3 he's a romantic after all and still wants a small part of him inside you no matter what, that way you're never really lonely - his warmth settling in your tummy and also leaking from between your legs

art marks up your neck with his tongue and nails, leaving crescent moons and maroon roses etched into your skin like a morbid necklace. although he's not happy that you don't heal abnormally fast like he does, your shudders as his cold nails trail over your tender flesh spark a warmth within his gut and a glint in his eye

art chokes you so often that his hand is practically your necklace. he likes the control he's able to exercise subtly with a squeeze of his fingers and you don't mind the comforting pressure of his thumb skimming over your pulse. be sure to wash his gloves often thought - whenever you drool or have given him head and his hand then takes its place around your throat, the remnants of the fluids often soak into the material clinging to his palms. eventually, it'll make his skin tacky with dried cum and spit, stuck to the threadbare gloves

his guilty pleasure is having you ride him and take control, with zero regard for accidentally overstimulating him - sure he could breed you of his own volition, in his own time, but he's your toy in that moment with no control. the coincidental creampie being fucked deeper and deeper in you makes a shiver run down his spine. he's willing to be a pliable doll for you to mould into a quiet fuck toy to play with. be sure to hold art close and comfort him after you take control and he'll do the same back after he's been rough

art gets his hands on incredibly dull knives and empty guns with no magazine, especially pistols, and brings them into your sexual life. he loves the fear in your eyes as he trails the blades down your chest, tracing your nipples and thighs but the clown is especially turned on by making you suck the barrel of a gun - pretty eyes glittering in panic and arousal. he makes a game of rigging a shotgun with tripwires - if you shift too much while he trails his tongue down your body or thrash as he makes you cum on his face, the threat of the trigger being pulled gives you a rush of adrenaline that makes your eyes roll back, vision fading white. his gun fixation is not limited to just that - some other ideas he's been cooking up include you being fucked by a dead cop's handgun while humping his clown shoe, as well as you christening each new weapon he creates during his tinkering sessions

if he's desperate to jerk off, he'll do it wherever - ready to get it over with even if he ends up rubbing one out next to a dead body or in the middle of a public park. if he returns to you with dirty gloves and semen drying on the wrist, don't ask what happened because his mimed description of events is never pleasant

art sits on your face and gets off with his fist while you fuck him with your tongue, lapping at his hole. he tosses his head back and pants very softly, thighs trembling as he grinds himself on your face - bonus points if you let him pull back and fuck your mouth with his cock for a bit before returning to suffocate you between his asscheeks

he loves licking your skin everywhere. absolutely everywhere. he loves the taste of your salty sweat and warmth, feeling powerful having your pulse race under his tongue. if you fuck him, stuff your fingers in his mouth and his eyes will roll back in his skull

art suspends you with chains and rope, teasing you until you're begging to be fucked. his deft fingers trace your curves and edges, flicking and pinching your nipples, inner thighs and ass as he manically grins with a clear cock print in the front of his suit. he only maneuvers you to take his cock once you're dripping spit, tears and arousal onto the cold floor and screaming for him

as art knows you belong to him, sharing you with another man gets him going like nothing else - he'll eiffel tower you with a restrained captive, urging you to choke on the stranger's hardening dick as he fucks you so deep you're gasping for air and seeing stars. what's gonna happen, the guy survives? fuck no, he's already practically giftwrapped at death's doorstep just from becoming art's captive. why not make the last few hours of his life enjoyable and more than fulfilling - if the poor sod is willing, you could even keep him for a night or two as a pet

if you have genital, nipple piercings or even a septum done, art will dangle a little bell from each hoop. it immediately brightens his day to hear the little jingles whenever you're bouncing on his dick and he can't resist flicking them to make you jolt or smacking your ass whenever you walk near him just to hear the sweet soft tinkle under your loose clothing

art cleans up each basement/house he temporarily stays in, with a designated bed to fit the two of you and ensures there's a bathroom and basic laundry attached for your comfort - he notices you tend to avoid his being in his proximity whenever he gets too smelly. he may also move in with you for bouts of time - provided you have the space - but also camps out at his usual haunts and drags you along to hang out with him! the poor clown hates being lonely :(

he might go on a walk with you and toy with you - he gets off on watching you panic as he whips his dick out in public and gestures for you to kiss it, rub your face over it and worship him, hard or not. the control he holds over you and the headrush of power, combined with your submissive gaze aimed up at him, makes his growing affection and attachment towards you grow stronger

he brings you human organs and shitty handwritten poems - 'here's a heart but i wanna be the one pumping inside of you <:o)' or 'i could call you this esophagus the way you swallowed me so well last night >:)'

he has a collection of picture frames in his hideout because he takes photos of you and sticks them in nice frames - who needs playboy magazines when he can make tributes to you? you can tell which one is his favourite, with the crusty sludge stuck to the glass and wood protecting the flimsy picture

art definitely wants a footjob every now and then, every once in a while. it means he can tie up your hands while you get him off AND he still has two hands to play with you - a win win situation all around. he's not really into it strictly because it's feet, he just gets off on the thought of corrupting you more with such a taboo action

he has a love-hate relationship with piss too - he loves to have you obediently under him as he showers you with piss and cum, corrupting you a little more each time he marks you with his smell, but he hates because it masks your natural scent which is one of the few things that makes his head spin

if you get anxious or restless, he always has a cold body nearby.. oh you want something warmer? feel free to suckle on his soft cock or his sac while you cuddle his leg and fidget with the cloth of his pantleg

although he's gotten a lot better at regulating his personal hygiene since you met him, he doesn't always clean himself up - the musky and tangy stench of blood, sweat and grime permeates his suit until he scrubs clean

art loves it when you do filthy things for his pleasure, like sniffing his armpits while humping him or rimming him with his sweaty balls resting on your nose, making your brain go dumb

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amab hcs

whenever art is thinking about being away for a few days to camp out at a certain location, he'll grab himself a clean rag and dedicate an entire night to getting you to cum on the cloth as many times as possible. it wouldn't be a pair of underwear from either of you - he hates wearing any type of clothing under the suit, even if it's your cum stained boxers - so it'd have to be a ripped piece of cloth from an old clown outfit. he'll jack you off and fuck you while holding it over your tip and even gag on your cock until the flimsy material is coated and probably permanently stained in your spend. he just wants a keepsake for the road and why not make it imbued with memories of the two of you enjoying yourselves? his own little cumrag to remember what he has back home, something special to return to!

art will ask you to be bait for him - either through stripping down sensually and pressing your bulge and ass against the windows of art’s current setup to entice horny, often intoxicated, onlookers late at night or indulging catcallers and inviting them to get it on with you back at the designated building, caressing their chest and crotch as you both giggle and meander inside. the clown always has your back and would not let you get hurt by the strangers at all, but the bait portion of his plan is extremely important to lull the victims into an optimistic headspace for them to ignore the shady setting

art craves the sensation of you throbbing under his tongue, the feeling of your pulse as you leak your pleasure all over his lips and the heavy musky taste slips down his throat

he'll get you a cute, sparkly plastic ring from a gachapon machine down at the arcade and fake proposes to you! later in the week, he'll break into a sex shop and bring home a matching cock ring (he's a romantic)

art has an obsession with your balls - nipping at them, having them slap against his chin or nose bridge as he messily takes as much as he can down his throat, you name it. expect greasepaint at the base of your cock and staining your pubes

he scrapes his nails down your back whenever you fuck his tight ass, pale cock bobbing and leaking everywhere. he adores marking up your back with the red ridges of broken skin as he cums all over your chests, shooting warmth up and splattering it on your flushed neck

if he's on top and riding, he'll put all his weight into choking you while he bounces up and down on your cock, eyes glinting with pride at your gasped thanks whenever he pulls you back from the brink of unconsciousness

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afab hcs

art is obsessed with you whenever it's 'that time of the month' - you can barely get away from his wandering hands and quiet presence. he drops everything the moment you reach for your favourite snacks and heat pack, drags over a dark towel he keeps on hand for you. ever since he learnt that orgasms help relieve cramps and pain, he has felt a lot less selfish for wanting to ravage you while you're tender and bleeding. he has numerous photos of his bloodied cock framed by your ass cheeks or your warm cunt and he often takes videos on your phone of his length throbbing and oozing copious amounts of pink cum <3

art has an addiction to taking upskirt pictures of your puffy pussy imprint against your thin, practically see-through panties, still slick despite your embarrassment. his guilty pleasure is taking the pics when his cum is leaking from your hole, soaking the fabric

art will ask you to be bait for him - either through stripping down sensually and pressing your chest, ass and pussy against the windows of art’s current setup to entice horny, often intoxicated, onlookers late at night or indulging catcallers and inviting them to get it on with you back at the designated building, caressing their chest and crotch as you both giggle and meander inside. the clown always has your back and would not let you get hurt by the strangers at all, but the bait portion of his plan is extremely important to lull the victims into an optimistic headspace for them to ignore the shady setting

art pretends to talk and communicate with your cunt - acting out gestures as if holding a conversation with your clit while slowly coaxing you to cum and even gesturing at you to shush if you try to interrupt the important moment

eats devours pussy like a demon, a man starved. no hesitance and no restraint, he’s the type to suckle open mouthed kisses to your clit and fucks your dripping hole with his abnormally long tongue. nipping at your folds as he coaxes you to the edge with just a finger, tongue swirling in your slick as you cum - he is sloppy in his work but enthusiastically diligent with the cleanup, not a drop gets past his mouth. greasepaint might stain your thighs afterwards but it's a small price to pay for a talented clown's best efforts

art will find pretty lingerie for you to wear for him, parading around his hideout, making sure you know how hard he gets at your nipples and pussy covered delicately in lace

he flicks and circles your clit while you sleep, cumming all over your pussy before putting your panties back in place. he loves leaving little presents like that for you when you wake - a fuzzy head and a sticky and throbbing mess down there, strings and globs of cum connecting your thighs and the flimsy, soaked material

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ftm hcs

art has never had a handsome toy with a self-lubricating hole before - his fascination with your t-dick leads to endless nights of him experimenting on you with his mouth, fingers and cock to see what makes you tick. his favourite pastime is suckling on your tender dick while he pulses his fingers against your cervix, your whole body jerking from sensitivity as his deft fingers circle your sweet spots

art will ask you to be bait for him - either through stripping down sensually and pressing your chest, ass and boypussy against the windows of art’s current setup to entice horny, often intoxicated, onlookers late at night or indulging catcallers and inviting them to get it on with you back at the designated building, caressing their chest and crotch as you both giggle and meander inside. the clown always has your back and would not let you get hurt by the strangers at all, but the bait portion of his plan is extremely important to lull the victims into an optimistic headspace for them to ignore the shady setting

he keeps a pair of your slick-stained boxers in his ol' bag of tricks, a little keepsake for his on-the-go orgasms - he's a sniffer for sure, securing it over his face so both his hands are free to use on his dick as he gets off to your scent

eats devours boypussy like a demon, a man starved. no hesitance and no restraint, he’s the type to suckle open mouthed kisses to your cock and fucks your dripping hole with his abnormally long tongue. nipping at your folds as he coaxes you to the edge with just a finger, tongue swirling in your slick as you cum - he is sloppy in his work but enthusiastically diligent with the cleanup, not a drop gets past his mouth. you both tiredly giggle after he's done - the face paint around his cheeks and lips is hopelessly smudged, especially after he licks his lips and grins at you. guess he'll have to redo it later, no harm done <3

he fucks you so hard and bruises your cervix to the point where you can only moan his name and whine when he properly pulls out and gives you water with a heatpack and blanket, genuinely scared he went too rough on your insides. if your legs fail after such a long night, he'll throw you over his shoulder or pick you up like royalty and use his inhuman strength to carry you around

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mtf hcs

art the clown is thrilled to have a pretty toy with parts he's familiar with! his fingers nudge your prostate as he suckles on your tip to draw out your sweet noises. he takes you down his throat with ease, tongue lapping at your base - the combination of art's deft fingers working your hole and his hot throat clenching your length brings you to the edge embarrassingly fast. he's always had a thing for seeing his black lip paint smeared on your balls

art has an addiction to taking upskirt pictures of your bulge imprint against your thin, practically see-through panties, slick from your precum drooling and sticking to the fabric despite your embarrassment. his guilty pleasure is taking the pics when his cum is leaking from your hole

he insists on battering your prostate until you're shooting blanks - he never lets up on your poor hole until you're fully spent and your head is empty with only his name on your pretty lips

art will ask you to be bait for him - either through dressing up prettily and then stripping down sensually and pressing your bulge, chest and ass against the windows of art’s current setup to entice horny, often intoxicated, onlookers late at night or indulging catcallers and inviting them to get it on with you back at the designated building, caressing their chest and crotch as you both giggle and meander inside. the clown always has your back and would not let you get hurt by the strangers at all, but the bait portion of his plan is extremely important to lull the victims into an optimistic headspace for them to ignore the shady setting

the clown loves to have you dolled up in lingerie and parading infront of him, bulge and hard nipple pressed against the soft and dainty fabric. his cock gets visibly hard at the sight of you and his head spins at the sensation as you shyly offer to help with his urge to take you then and there

if you're desperate for gender-affirming surgery, art will hone his skills in surgery and sterilization to safely give you an orchiectomy - pun intended. he'll practice and go through the motions for weeks if it means you are happy and he gets to care for you

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thanks for reading. lmk if you liked it, i'm writing this at 5am. if i got anything wrong, don't hesitate to tell me.

stay safe.

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@stonerinthelonlycorner

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slowdrawl · 5 months ago

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Whiskey and Want |dbf!Joel x f!reader| | 18+ MINORS DNI | {series masterlist}

Chapter 4: The Buzzkill | wordcount | 3.5k {TLOU AU, modern-ish, no outbreak, Sarah lives!}

| a/n | Chapter 4!! Drunken car rides home with Joel! What could go wrong? Things are gettin' a lil steamy now. Hope this chapter messes with your head as much as I want it to. apologies in advance. Your comments and reblogs are making my heart so happy, I'm glad you're enjoying my first lil fanfic (: xox - Liv “Joel reaches up, cupping your face in his calloused hand. His thumb drags over your bottom lip, pressing lightly, tugging it downward. Your lips part slightly, breath shuddering against his fingertips. ‘What was that, huh?’ His voice is a low drawl, thick with amusement. ‘Thought I was the pathetic one?’”

Warnings/tags: 18+ only, minors DNI, slow burn, forbidden romance, angst, yearning, Alcohol aftermath, intoxication, vomiting, kissing, straddling, sexual tension, age gap dynamics, strong language, emotional vulnerability, mild injury (fall) aftermath. series warnings after the fic. reader uses she/her pronouns and has hair. no major physical descriptions of the reader. no use of y/n but has the nickname Bird, Birdie, etc. reader has a backstory.

You don’t move over to the passenger seat.

Instead, you stay in the middle of the bench, your bare thigh just barely brushing against the sweatpants Joel threw on before coming to get you and Tommy from the bar. The tequila still lingers in your stomach, but it’s not the only thing making you feel woozy. The air in the cab is heavy, warm—it smells like Joel, even with the little tree-shaped air freshener hanging from the mirror.

You zone out, watching the winding road as you drive toward home, slipping in and out of sleep. Every so often, you jolt awake, your head going slack and crashing toward your chest. Joel hasn’t said a word. He just keeps his eyes on the road, hands at nine and three, lips pressed together in a quiet hum.

He flipped on the radio when you pulled out of Tommy’s complex. It plays softly, tuned to some classic dad-rock station. You recognize the late-night host’s voice from being in this exact situation before—riding home drunk, half-asleep with your dad.

From the corner of your eye, you watch Joel until the steady hum of the truck’s engine, mixed with the rhythm of his breathing, lulls you back to sleep.

You wake up again, this time to the sound of Joel mumbling. You notice the faint vibration against your cheek, you must have rested your head on his shoulder while you slept. Half-opening your eyes, you realize you’re in the drive-thru of a fast-food restaurant. Joel pays at the window, and you let your eyes drift shut again, leaving your head where it is, trying to ignore the way he smells; like lavender and musk.

Judging by the passing scenery, you’re only about five minutes from home when a sudden panic jolts you fully awake. You untangle the arm you somehow wrapped around Joel’s, carefully moving his hand from where it rests, palm up on his thigh. Squinting against your blurred, doubling vision, you turn your head toward him and whisper in his ear,

“Joel.”

You feel his whole body tense. The hand on his knee scrunches the fabric of his jeans, and the knuckles gripping the steering wheel turn white.

“What do you need, darlin’?” he asks, caution in his voice.

“Pull over.”

He turns to look at you, his nose just inches from yours. His expression catches somewhere between intrigue and terror.

“Why do you want me to pull over? Your daddy’s gonna lose his mind if I don’t have you home soon.”

“I’m gonna throw up.”

The second the words leave your mouth, you snap your head away from him, fumbling with your seatbelt as you lurch toward the passenger door. Joel cranks the wheel hard to the right, jumping a curb and bringing the truck to a rough stop halfway onto the sidewalk. You barely get the door open before you’re heaving, stomach acid and cranberry juice burning your throat.

Fucking awesome.

You try to push him away, but Joel insists on helping. He holds your hair back, rubbing soothing circles between your shoulders. It’s clear this isn’t the first time he’s done this.

Of course, it isn’t. Joel always picked Sarah up from the bar, or any party she went to. He preferred it—never trusted her to take a cab home from the city.

Honestly, it’s surprising you haven’t ended up in this position before tonight. You and Sarah went out most nights whenever you were both home.

Once you’re sure you’ve emptied your stomach, you drag yourself back into the truck. Sliding back into the middle seat, you rest your head on his shoulder for the remainder of the drive. Neither of you say a word.

Joel just lazily drapes an arm over the back of the seat.

Before long, Joel pulls into the driveway.

He tugs you from the cab, setting you down, but your knees buckle like a newborn fawn’s—weak, wobbly, Jello-soft.

He huffs, exasperation sharp, and scoops you up before you hit the ground, cradling you like it’s nothing.

“Hold onto my neck,” he mutters, and you do, fingers sinking into the soft curls at his nape.

Your head spins, booze-soaked, and a memory flickers—three years back, right after Mom died, you spiraling into vodka stolen from Dad’s stash night after night, chasing numbness until it became your only lifeline. You’d been drowning in it, dependency creeping in as grief hollowed you out, barely 22 and already cracking. That night, he found you half-passed out on the porch, bottle tipped over, voice breaking as he whispered, holding back tears,

“I can’t lose you too, Birdie.”

The next day, he’d turned to Joel, pressing the key into his hand with a hollow, desperate look.

“You’re family, Joel—keep her from breakin’ like she did…” He stopped, eyes wet, the unspoken weight of her absence hanging between them.

You try to blink it away, clinging tighter now as Joel digs out that same key—a copy he’s had since then. He’s been Dad’s rock ever since her silence took hold, and you know this closeness is a shard in that fragile trust.

With a quiet click, the door unlocks. He carefully shifts sideways, making sure not to knock your knees against the frame as he carries you inside. His footsteps are light as he moves through the living room, lowering you onto the couch like it’s nothing. He’s still strong, handling you with ease, but he’s smart enough not to haul you upstairs and risk throwing out his back. Maybe when he was thirty, he wouldn’t have thought twice. But now? Pushing closer to fifty, his knees and back have the final say.

You roll onto your side, hugging a throw pillow and burying your face in it.

Joel heads into the kitchen, reaching into the cupboard above the sink. He grabs a bottle of whiskey and the ibuprofen, then pulls down two glasses—one for alcohol, one for water. He shakes out two pills, one for now, one for the morning.

There’s no need to be quiet. Your dad is half-deaf, could probably sleep through an artillery strike without stirring. He’s the heaviest sleeper you’ve ever met—a huge perk when you were a teenager. You never even had to sneak out; you just left and came back. He never had a clue. And your mom? She checked out of being a parent long before you hit your teens.

Joel settles beside you on the couch, pulling your legs across his lap. His fingers move to the buckle of your shoe, and at the first brush of contact, a shudder rolls through you—goosebumps prickling across your skin. It feels too intimate. You think about telling him to stop, but you don’t. Instead, you just watch as he slips off both heels and tosses them beside the couch.

Then, he nudges your shoulder.

“Sit up.”

When you don’t move, he sighs, grabs your wrist, and pulls you upright.

“Here, drink this.”

He presses the glass of water into your hand, holding out the pill in the other.

“Like I was saying earlier, cowboy—you ain’t my daddy.”

“You see him around right now? No, he’s sleepin’ while I take care of you. Now drink the damn water.” His voice is even firmer this time.

You oblige, placing the pill on your tongue in front of him and tipping the cool glass to your lips. You sip, then chug the rest. You hadn’t realized how thirsty you are until the liquid touches your tongue—parched, like a neglected houseplant or someone rescued from the Sahara.

Joel takes a slow sip of whiskey, watching you over the rim of his glass.

“Atta girl. Finally fuckin’ listenin’ to me.” His voice is low, a gravelly purr.

The praise makes your heart—and your pussy—throb.

It also makes you choke on your last sip of water. You double over, coughing into your elbow, eyes watering.

“You good, kid? Don’t go dyin’ on me now; I just got you home safe,” Joel says, half-amused, half-concerned.

“I’m fine. Went down the wrong pipe.” Your face burns with embarrassment.

“Mhm. Alright, whatever. Eat.”

He hands you a grease-stained brown paper bag. The smell alone makes you salivate. You reach inside and shove a handful of fries into your mouth, sighing softly as the salt and grease coat your tongue. Joel, thankfully, either ignores it or does a good job pretending to.

“You want some?” you ask, mouth full, holding out the box of fries.

“Nah, I’m good. You need the carbs to help soak up all the liquor in ya, kid.” He chuckles softly. “You’re gonna feel it tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine. I barely ever get hungover.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts. You hit my age, you go out drinkin’ like you did tonight, and you’ll feel it for a week.” He takes another sip of his drink, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

You smirk.

“Oh yeah, so true! I keep forgetting you’re an old man.”

Joel doesn’t laugh. Just stares at you, unreadable. Then, slowly, he moves his hand from the arm of the couch down to your ankle, wrapping his fingers around it. He squeezes once before tracing slow, lazy circles into your skin.

“You’re on mighty thin fuckin’ ice, brat,” he mutters, exhaustion making his voice even growlier.

For a second, you consider pushing him further just to hear more of it. But then you remember how pissed he got earlier at the bar. Maybe best to let it go.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “For bringing me home. And buying me food. And holding my hair, even though you didn’t need to do any of those things.”

Joel snorts.

“I didn’t need you to tell me to take you home from the bar. Watchin’ you dancin’ on an old man told me you were plenty ready to leave.”

His expression twists slightly, like the memory alone makes him taste something sour.

“Tommy’s not that much younger than you. If he’s old, you must be ancient,” you tease. “And if it’s any consolation, I was only doing that to keep him from breaking some poor kid’s nose.”

Joel just watches you talk, nodding along as you babble.

“That’s why I texted you. He almost beat up some guy for hitting on me.”

“Well, did he deserve it?” Joel asks.

“Not really. He was pretty harmless. Tommy must’ve been jealous.”

Joel hums in agreement, still absentmindedly rubbing your lower legs, every now and then dragging his fingers down to your feet. It’s a harmless act—a paternal instinct, you tell yourself. It reminds you of the nights your dad would sit at the end of your bed, rubbing your shins to ease the growing pains that left you sobbing.

Your eyelids feel heavy.

You close your eyes and let yourself sink into the warmth of Joel’s touch.

“Where’s my phone? It was in my jacket last time I saw it,” you ask him.

“Oh, must still be in the truck. I’ll go get it, hold on,” he answers.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll grab it—I need to change out of this stupid dress anyway. You stay.”

You shift off his lap slowly, swinging your legs over his knees. The movement is careful, measured, and when your bare skin grazes over his crotch, you feel the way his body stiffens beneath you. He doesn’t say anything, he just watches, expressionless—but you don’t miss the way he swallows hard, his grip tightening for a second on his glass of whiskey before he sets it down.

As you head for the door, you glance back. Joel’s adjusting the throw blanket over his lap, his jaw clenched like he’s trying to will himself into stillness. You don’t say anything, but a knowing smirk plays at your lips as you step outside. //

The air is cooler than you expect, the contrast against your warmed skin sending a small shiver down your spine. You climb into the truck and grab your jacket from the floor of the cab, but as you lift it, something catches your eye. A crumpled sticky note, partially stepped on. You smooth it out between your fingers and immediately recognize the handwriting.

Thank you for supporting our small business—Sweet Berry Farm.

Your lips twitch into a small smile as you remember the bouquet of sunflowers Joel brought you the day you came home. They’re still sitting on your nightstand, petals a little wilted now.

You swing the truck door closed and step onto the porch, deciding to light a cigarette since you’re already outside. The porch swing creaks under your weight as you sit, leaning your head back and taking a slow drag. The tobacco is sweet on your tongue, the warmth settling low in your belly, making everything feel a little easier, a little looser. The quiet hum of the night wraps around you, and you get so lost in it that you don’t hear the front door open or close.

You only notice Joel when the swing shifts beside you.

“Your daddy know you smoke?” His voice is thick, a little rough around the edges.

You pause, cocking your head slightly.

“What he don’t know won’t hurt him.”

“I ain’t tellin’,” he murmurs, plucking the cigarette from your lips before you can react. He brings it to his own mouth, inhaling, the ember flaring bright, a red glow pulsing like a heartbeat.

“Too pretty to be smoking, though, darlin’,” he adds, exhaling, the smoke shimmering unnaturally in the dark.

You should roll your eyes, should brush him off, but you don’t. You just watch. The way the smoke curls from his lips. The way his chest rises slow and steady, broad and strong. The way his fingers linger near his mouth before offering the cigarette back to you.

Your mouth goes dry, and your thoughts scatter. Can he taste my chapstick? Why does he make smoking look so good? What do his lips feel like? What do they taste like?

You reach for the cigarette, but Joel notices the way you hesitate. His lips twitch.

“You still in there? You’re starin’,” he drawls, holding it just out of reach.

Real smooth, fucking weirdo.

You recover quickly, snatching the cigarette back with a huff.

“Not staring—zoning out. Headrush. Don’t flatter yourself.” You take another slow pull, but the warmth in your face betrays you. The heat that started in your chest is lower now, simmering beneath your skin, and when you shift in your seat, pressing your legs together, Joel notices.

His eyes flick down, then back up. He leans in, just enough that you smell the faintest hint of whiskey.

“Whatever you say, kid.”

His voice is low, teasing, and you officially lose any chance of pretending you have the upper hand. He knows exactly what he’s doing—he’s enjoying this.

You keep passing the cigarette between you, his fingers brushing yours each time. When it burns down to the filter, you stomp it out and flick the butt into the yard. You pull your phone from your pocket, exhaling slowly, but when you glance at the screen, your stomach drops.

Your eyes widen at the first notification.

(1:08AM)T-Mills: Had a lot of fun tonight, bird. We should hang out more. 😜 Srry Joel's such a fuckin’ buzzkill. 🙄

Your stomach twists. Whatever reaction flickers across your face must be obvious, because before you can even think to hide it, Joel leans in. His eyes flick over the screen, and before you can pull away, he snatches the phone from your hands.

“Is he fuckin’ hitting on you still? Jesus Christ.”

His voice is sharp, edged with something rougher, something possessive. His whole demeanor shifts—shoulders squared, jaw tight, fingers gripping your phone like he’s about to snap it in half. You can’t tell if it’s scaring you or turning you on.

“Joel, give me back my phone. Who cares if he is, anyway?”

You reach for it, but he jerks his arm away, forcing you to grab at his forearm in a weak attempt to pry it from his grip.

“Oh, I fuckin’ care. He knows better.”

Joel scoffs, shaking his head like he’s personally offended. His grip tightens around your phone, and then he mutters,

“You’re off limits, and he knows that.”

Your brain short-circuits.

Off limits?

Your hands go slack, any fight draining out of you. What’s the point? He’s stronger—he could keep it from you all night if he wanted to. You watch as he unlocks your phone, swipes to the camera, and snaps a picture of himself flipping off the screen. Then, he types out a message and hits send.

(1:27AM) You: Get fucked, Tom—The Buzzkill 😉

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You guys are both fucking pathetic.”

It must hit a nerve, because Joel’s expression changes instantly. His eyes darken, pupils blown wide—so wide, you swear you can see the whole damn moon reflected in them. But this time, he doesn’t look angry. Just… intense.

Heat licks up your spine.

Joel reaches up, cupping your face in his calloused hand. His thumb skims across your cheekbone, fingers trailing lower, slow and deliberate, tracing down the side of your neck. Your breath falters in your throat, and before you can stop it, a quiet whimper slips past your lips.

For fuck’s sake.

Joel grins.

“What was that, huh?” His voice is a low drawl, thick with amusement. “Thought I was the pathetic one?”

His thumb drags over your bottom lip, pressing lightly, tugging it downward. Your lips part slightly, breath shuddering against his fingertips. He doesn’t move any closer, just stays right there, hovering. You’re sharing air now.

You’re inches away from something irreversible.

You try to say something—anything, but before you can find the words, Joel closes the gap. His lips meet yours, rough and consuming, and you swear your pulse is loud enough to drown out the whole city.

Your body ignites.

You press into him, mouth parting wider, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth. You bite down, just enough to feel resistance before you soothe it with a slow drag of your tongue.

Joel’s fingers tighten around your jaw, tilting your chin up, deepening the kiss. His tongue slides against yours, tasting, exploring, claiming. His other hand grips your thigh, fingers digging into the flesh, pulling you closer. Your own hands find their way into his hair, twisting into the curls at the base of his neck, tugging just hard enough to draw a low growl from his throat. The vibration shoots through you like lightning, settling deep in your core.

It’s not enough.

Your pussy aches, you’re desperate for some kind of friction, anything to get some relief. You continue mapping out his mouth with your tongue, never breaking the kiss until you turn to swing your knee over his thigh. You hover, hands planted against his shoulders, thumbs pressing into the space between his collarbone and traps.You settle over him, straddling his lap. Or at least, you try to.

Joel’s hands clamp down on your hips, holding you still.

“Can’t do that, darlin’.” His voice is rough, strained. “S’not right. You’re drunk.”

His hesitation threatens to snap the moment in half, dragging him back to reality, but you refuse to let it slip away that easily. Your breath is still heavy, your heart beating relentlessly as you meet his gaze.

“I’m sober enough to know what I’m doin’.”

Joel exhales hard through his nose, shaking his head.

“Sure, but I don’t think you have a fuckin’ clue what you’re gettin’ yourself into, little bird.”

His pupils are still blown wide, but his face is serious again—his mind warring with his body. You can see it. The restraint tightening in his jaw, the way his fingers flex against your skin like he’s debating whether to push you away or pull you closer.

“We shouldn’t be doin’ this, your daddy’s gonna have my fuckin’ head.”

You tilt your head, voice dropping to a whisper.

“I’ll never tell, cowboy.”

That’s all it takes.

He breaks.

His hands tighten on your hips, dragging you down as his mouth crashes into yours. A sharp whine escapes from the back of your throat, swallowed up by the heat of his lips. Your nails dig into his shoulders, anchoring yourself against him, his pulse beneath your fingertips racing.

His tongue dances on yours, slow, like he has all the time in the world to take you apart piece by piece. The taste of whiskey lingers, sharp and heady.

You shift, rolling your hips against his thigh—chasing friction, desperate for more. He growls into your mouth, fingers surely pressing bruises into your skin as he holds you there, letting you feel exactly what you do to him.

Then—

Creak.

Joel tenses beneath you.

You barely have time to react before—

The swing creaks too loud, the night bending around you.

Snap.

The porch swing collapses beneath you both. You plummet backward, limbs tangling with his as you hit the ground.

And just before your head smacks against the siding of the house—

You wake up. (I'm so sorry for this please don't hate me I promise I'll make it up to you)

series warnings!!! fluff, smut, angst,unprotected p-in-v (please wrap it up), f/m masturbation, fingering, large but legal age-gap (joel is in 40's reader is in mid 20's), size kink?, choking, pervy!obsessive!joel, pervy!mean!Tommy, possessive/rough sex, vomiting, alcohol intoxication, praise, sex on the phone, drinking/smoking, strong language, sneakin around, lowkey obsessive and reckless Joel, blackmail, competency kink, risky sex, infidelity/implied, semi-public sex, breeding kink lowkey, overstimulation, a tiny bit of coercion, dirty talk, oops its a creampie, brief mentions of grief and implied suicide, Tommy is a jerk in this one, guilt and betrayal, bar-fights @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @brittmb115 @mystickittytaco @your-nightmaredoll @leenieweenie12 @jokesonthem

#dbf!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #dadsbestfriend!joel #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #dbf trope #tlou smut #tlou fic #joel miller x oc #joel miller fluff #tlou x reader #dbf!joelmiller #joel miller #whiskeyandwant

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tonyboneysblog · 1 year ago

Text

MOTHER HEN: PART EIGHT

parings: hawks x mother!reader

wordcount: 3.4k

warnings: descriptions of panic attack

note: I was laughing maliciously while writing this I hope yall know

summary: you, the mother of Fumikage Tokoyami, are just a simple nurse! Who caught the eye of a certain pro.

two weeks.

two weeks without a single word from hawks.

whatever, no time to think about him.

not when poor Fumikage has exams, sweet thing needs help!

“Fumikage, twelve times nine- cmon…”

Fumikage stared blankly at the paper, he may not look it but..he does not know his times tables.

“I-I don’t know.” He continues to stare at the paper filled with different questions you’ve written down

“Twelve times nine.”

“You repeating it isn’t going to help me, mother.” His eyes flickering towards you and the paper.

“Just guess!” You exclaim.

“110!” He exclaims back quickly.

You smack his head gently, “so close- so far…”

Fumikages head whips up, “I was wrong?!”

“By like two numbers, it’s 108.” You pat his head gently.

Fumikages head droops slowly in defeat, “I’m failing.”

You chuckle softly and Fumikages small bit of depression, truly you doubt the entire times table will be on the exam.

You tap Fumikages chin, “keep your head up, you’re not failing anything.”

Fumikages head drops into your lap, signifying that he’s waving the white flag on studying for today.

You pet his feathers gently, your son’s been through a villain attack so you suppose he can rest!

Fumikage did mention a training camp if he passed both exams, thought he wasn’t able to tell you the location since he himself didn’t even know.

You personally wanted to bring him some food when he got home sick- Fumikage could never go over to the houses his few friends were at.

he missed his mama too much, that’s what he said.

Thought your heart was it dismay, you could feel like something was off but you couldn’t quite place it? it was deep in your gut.

if you focused too much on it then it would become nauseating.

But it was just a feeling, not truly affecting your daily life!

If you remembered correctly, Fumikages exams were tomorrow- then the training camp?

well you were quite prepared, you already predicted that Fumikage would pass with flying colors- which he did- so you gave him the most delicious meal your could think of.

With a mouth watering apple pie for dessert.

Sometimes Fumikage confused you, and bird liking apples feels wrong..but Fumikage is also just human with a bird for a face.

Your son’s confusing.

Fumikage is obsessed with apples, when he used to sleep in your bedroom you could swear it smelled like a tangy, ripe apple.

then we he left, so did the smell.

and the apple scented products didn’t help, kids said he smelled fruity so he went for more woodsy scents.

never got the apple out though.

You can take the apple out of the boy but not the boy out of the apple you suppose?

You watch joyfully as Fumikage huffs down all the food you prepared, mostly for him but it could feed a family of three or four.

Fumikages a growing boy- you’re not judging!

“You excited for camp?” You ask with excitement lining your words.

Fumikage muffled out a quick “very” almost choking on his food.

“Don’t talk while eating, you’ll choke.” You point at him.

Fumikage glares at you softly, but fixed his little attitude quickly. Whipping mouth, then pointing towards the pie.

You chuckle softly, cutting the pie dutifully into a thick piece of warm apple pie.

Fumikage holds the plate like it’s a million dollar vase, like it’s valuable.

Then he basically eats it in three bites, damned bird beak.

You can tell on his face he enjoyed it, reminded you of his father but only for a second.

He always said that your cooking made his heart swell.

well he’s not here and hasn’t been for 16 years, no point dwelling on the past.

Which is what hawks is doing at the moment, with Mirko more specifically.

Mirko rests her head the bench, arms behind her head while kicking her legs lazily to a slow tempo.

Hawks is hunched over, his hand covering his mouth while mumbling.

Mirko sighs, “you know I can’t hear you right? Stop covering your mouth.”

Hawks straightens up, leaning back on the bench with a huff.

“I mean- why would I get angry at her for kissing mean?!” His voice growing louder.

Mirkos head whips over to look at hawks, “she what..?”

“Relax, it was only on the forehead.”

Mirko deflates, pouting.

“So, let me get this straight before I yell at you.” Mirko starts slow and calculated.

“You wake up from your little nightmare in her house, then she comforts you like a “baby” in your opinion- kissss your forehead, you yell at her for confusing your small brain and then storm out?”

Hawks stays silent for a moment, staring at Mirko.

“M-my brain isn’t small.” He stutters out.

Mirko shrugs her shoulders, “don’t into that stuttering habit again, commission hates it.”

Hawks sighs softly, nodding.

“Still- my brain isn’t small, I was just confused.” Hawks retorts.

Mirko sighs heavily, agitated that she has to spend her dinner break listening to hawks, “Why are you confused..?”

Hawks plucks out a loose feather from his wings, twirling it in his fingers gently.

“I don’t know..I wanted her to do that but I still got angry.”

Hawks relaxes into the bench, staring up at the stars.

“I didn’t expect her to do it I guess? I worked so hard on trying to get her to like me and when she did that- I didn’t know what to think. Kinda like I reached my goal, but I didn’t reach it the way I wanted to.”

Mirko hums, her feet tapping softly to a faster tempo than before.

“So, your just upset cause you didn’t get the kiss you wanted?”

Hawks closes his eyes tightly, “it’s not that..i guess I didn’t want it?”

Mirko kicks his leg, “You did want it- you practically vent to me everyday on how you want to pounce and kiss on her.”

Hawks scoots farther away from Mirko, “I don’t know then, I dont even now why she kissed me anyways.”

Mirko knocks his ankle again, “She has a whole kid, her motherly instincts probably just kicked in when she saw a sad little birdy.”

Hawks hums, placing his hand over his face blocking the moonlight from seeping in.

Even though hawks was devastated on the fact that the both of you have basically cut contact, Fumikage was ecstatic.

And he even gets to go to a training camp to make his quirk better, with all his friends?

he’s living the absolute dream at the moment.

Until you rudely throw a remote at him.

You hop over and onto the couch, “Your pick.”

Fumikage relaxes into the blankets you threw onto him, what’s with you and throwing things.

Fumikage always enjoyed picking out the movie, always finding gems in the dirt.

Fumikage continues to scroll through all the options, sadly not finding anything that caught his eye.

He huffs, “there’s nothing good.”

“Not true, you just have terrible taste.”

Fumikage slowly looks over towards you with a “are you serious” face, which only makes you burst into a fit of giggles.

“You’re not funny.”

You gasp dramatically, “you’d say that to your own mother?!”

You kick his arm playfully, your laughter dying down at his hardcore facial expression that he’s sporting at the moment.

Almost like he’s planning something in that head of his..

“What’s on your mind Fumi?”

“Where’s that weighted blanket?” He cocks his head to the side, which is not a thing he does usually.

You play dumb, “What blanket?”

“The one you got me so I’d stop sleeping in your room.”

Truthfully, you have no idea where Fumikage is even going with this.

“Sold it.”

“Liar.” He retorts.

you gasp again, “don’t call me a liar!”

Fumikage hums, all you do is just confirm his suspicions.

Next time he sees hawks he’s getting that blanket back.

Hawks doesn’t need any piece of you, plus Fumikage actually did in-fact use that blanket..

Only when he went to his friends though.

And maybe when you worked nights.

not his fault he always put it back where he left it, he has manners unlike another bird he knows.

What should you even do in this situation?

change the subject obviously.

“You going to that training camp tomorrow aren’t ya?”

Fumikage nods, pride swelling into his chest.

“It’s quite exciting.” He responds monotone.

“Yea I can tell by your voice.”

Fumikages face droops slightly, “if I remember, it’s starts early in the morning.”

“Your trying to get out of hanging out with me?”

Fumikages eyes shoot wide open, “no- I-i just meant that I’d have to be there early!”

You hum, “then go to bed, don’t want you all groggy and mean to your classmates.”

“Is that what your co-workers say about you?”

“Bed, now.” You point towards his bedroom door.

Fumikage chuckles out a small “fine”, making his way to the bedroom.

“Night mom.” He calls from the bedroom.

You hum, “Night Fumi.”

You didn’t give me his nightly ruffle and kiss, you doubt Fumikage would notice though.

You wouldn’t be able to see him in the morning either, work starts just an hour before Fumikage would wake up.

You also try your hand at finding a decent movie, though your efforts were for nothing.

The feeling in your stomach wouldn’t settle.

it just got worse until it made you sick from doing nothing.

You stand up, walking over to the bathroom, trying to find some medicine that would deafen the effects.

Probably just an upset stomach, you thought.

The feeling settled, slowly may you add, as you walked over to your nest.

Letting yourself fall into the mess of blankets and small plush’s, including that damned hawks one.

your hands felt- sweaty? clammy more like, you felt nervous for something but it never came.

Reluctantly, you grab onto the soft plush.

It was nice to occupy your hands.

the feeling didn’t leave, only softened.

That’s all you needed though.

After you woke up and left for work Fumikage texted you, just checking on you of course.

He inherited your anxiousness.

Though you continue to work through the day, hoping that Fumikage had fun on his small little trip.

You got less texts and phone calls but the explanation was that they were wringing him dry.

intense U.A…that could be an email.

On the third day of Fumikages training camp, you got not texts or calls.

And when you got home from work, maybe around 11:30? The nausea came back full force.

It was a gut feeling, you tried to calm yourself down but you ended up texting Fumikage a quick message to see if he was okay.

He didn’t respond.

he was probably asleep! That was the logical way of thinking.

most logical.

you turn on the news, mostly to distract your brain from Turing to the worst possibility’s.

Fumikage was fine, no one knows where he is.

neither do you.

You sit down onto the couch, nervously biting your nails.

It doesn’t say anything about U.A. which Is a good sign.

Only says something about a spotted forest fire that they’re trying to deal with, weird that the flames are blue though.

Even more news stations can be seen in the background, they never care about forest fires? It’s not like All Might of Endeavour will be there either, so why do they care so much?

The longer you watch the news, the more information released, it seems like the aftermath of an attack but it apparently has the possibility to still be continuing.

Fumikage still hasn’t texted.

You heart doesn’t drop until they say “U.A.” And “villain attack” in the same sentence.

It’s a fucking fire, and there’s students.

is Fumikage okay?

did something happen to him?

is that why he hasn’t responded?

you can feel your breath quicken, bringing too much air yet none at all at the same time.

The scream that comes from you is guttural.

Your neighbors probably think you’re being murdered, you can’t stop though.

Imagine if you didn’t get off of work.

Would you had to see Fumikages body on the stretcher?

The nausea comes back again, you can feel yourself getting lightheaded.

And sudden knock on the door knocks you from your thoughts, only for a moment.

Quickly, you walk over to the door.

It’s police. They came to tell you Fumikages dead because U.A. Is an incompetent school-

“Y/N” hawks voice calls gently.

You don’t know what to feel, why is he here?”

“W-why-“ “I heard on the news.”

You look terrible, horror is written all over your face.

Hawks holds your shoulders, “He’s okay.”

good thing for that, you practically fall into him.

Sobs rack your throat, you can’t stop crying even though you finally know Fumikage is fine.

Hawks closes the door behind him, slowly pushing you towards the couch.

trying to make you comfortable.

He holds onto you as you cry your heart out, he can feel his ache.

He was notified on the radio before the news was, villains attacked the secret training camp.

He flew like a bat out of hell to make it to your house, he thought about going through your balcony but that would’ve scared you.

He holds onto you, rubbing your back and trying to tell you to just breathe.

You hold onto him tightly, until your knuckles are white.

He brushes your hair gently, taking off his gloves beforehand.

“Y/N, calm down.” His voice is stern but gentle.

You only respond with more sobs.

“Everything’s okay, I promise you.” His voice almost sounds like he’s begging you to feel better.

To feel like it’s not your fault.

You take a big breath, trying to control yourself.

“W-where is he?” You ask slowly through hiccups and sniffles.

Hawks continues to hold you, “most likely at the hospital getting checked for any injuries.”

He can feel your breathing speed up, “he’s fine, he’s a strong kid.”

You push your head farther into him, trying to find comfort in him.

“Why’d you come.”

“…I don’t know.” His voice tender.

You hit his stomach, “I’m not forgiving you for ignoring me.”

He chuckles nervously, “I know.”

“I despise you.”

Hawks sighs, “..I know.”

You hug onto him a little tighter than before, exhaustion coming down onto your body.

You can’t drive to the hospital like this.

“Hawks.” You mumble out from his soft jacket.

“Yeah?”

“Please go get my son.” You beg him.

Hawks nods softly, placing his gloves back on and gently settling your back onto the soft pillows.

“I was planning on it.” He sends you a small goofy smile.

you can’t return it, only just a huff of amusement leaves you.

Hawks makes his way out the door and over to the a hospital that Fumikage would most likely be at.

Hawks guess was correct since he was able to Fumikage next to the vending machines.

Fumikage glances over to hawks, then realizing that it’s hawks he stares dead at him.

“Hi Tokoyami.” Hawks calls cheerfully.

Fumikage tilts his head up, “Why are you here?”

“Your momma asked me to come and get you.”

“Liar, you just gonna kidnap me and bargain my mother for her love to ensure my safe return.” Fumikage says with an 100% serious face.

Is this what you have to deal with everyday?

Hawks smiles, “No, quite the imagination you got.”

Fumikage doesn’t return it, only grimacing.

hawks sighs, “look, your moms worried sick- just let me take you home.”

The vending machine makes a soft clutter as Fumikage speaks, “How’d she find out?”

“The news?”

Fumikage makes a small tsking noise, then dropping to the opening of the vending machine.

“Get me my drink, then you can take me home.”

Hawks laughs, clutching his stomach softly.

This kid is seriously trying to make some trade deal.

Hawks walks over to the vending machine, hitting it in the middle then shaking it.

A loud clunk comes from the opening, fumikage reaches his hand into it only to have two drinks.

He grabs both, a free drink is a free drink.

Then looking at the second one, “my mother, she’s okay?”

“Slightly disturbed, but alright.”

Fumikages words suddenly quiet down, “dkd she cry?”

He talks his foot nervously as hawks nods, then Fumikage hands him the second drink.

Hawks raises his eyebrows in surprise, “what’s this for?”

Fumikage looks away, “I’m aware that your…infatuated with my mother, and I’m assuming that you comforted her when I was unable to. This is a token of my gratitude, Hawks.”

Hawks smiles, snapping open the drinks.

Two birds with one stone, Mirko. He got to technically get good with you and your son!

Fumikage doesn’t make eye contact with hawks again, maybe it hurt his pride to thank someone he apparently despises so much.

Hawks walks out of the hospital with Fumikage, who really only had scratches apparently.

A lot of the other kids had a lot worse, one even being kidnapped.

Hawks wrap his arms around Fumikages waist, lifting the two of them into the air and making their way back to your home.

The flight was quiet, not awkward like last time.

It was enjoyable in hawks opinion.

Walking through the door, Fumikage stops just to stare at you.

Your lips wobble as you open your arms up to him, inviting him into your warm embrace.

Fumikage runs into your arms, shaking.

Hawks didn’t even notice Fumikage was affected by the attack.

Your holding Fumikage so tightly, it makes hawks heart feel..empty?

Seeing something he wished he had, not you holding onto him but his own mother.

Fumikage starts to stutter, trying to not let the tears affect his speech, “mother- im so sorry!”

You mumble to Fumikage that he did everything he could’ve possibly done, that he has nothing to apologize for.

“I-i let dark shadow out of control.”

you hug him tighter, you don’t really understand how it feels to be Fumikage, how it feels to have someone else attached to you.

You can only whisper reassurance into him ears, kissing his forehead softly.

You look over to see hawks standing there awkwardly, so out of place.

The only place you know where to put him is with you.

You reach out your hand to him, he grabs it.

You whisper quietly, “thank you.”

Hawks only tightens his grip on your hand, wanting to feel the pressure of your bare hand against his but he’s unable to due to the thick gloves he wears.

Fumikages cries grow softer until it’s quiet, seemingly fallen asleep.

You smile, happy that he’s home.

But you have another business to attend to so you shift out of his hold, laying him down onto the couch.

You look at hawks, “We should talk.”

He nods sheepishly, following you to wherever you’re heading.

You open the door, sitting on the steps and patting the spot next to you.

He sits down next to you, letting out a small breath he’d been holding in.

He speaks first, “I’m sorry for being angry with you.”

You hum, almost like you’re urging him to continue speaking.

“You confuse me, and I regret..w-walking out like that..” he stutters.

His wings flutter softly, ears growing red as he covers the lower half of his face.

he mumbles something incoherent.

You giggle softly, “What did you say?”

“I-i said I enjoyed…your a-affection.”

You hum, “thank you for the apology, and compliments.”

hawks nods, his ears growing redder.

You pinch his ears softly, “Fumikage wants his blanket back.”

“It’s mine now.” Hawks says sternly.

You laugh and stand up, waiting for hawks to do the same.

“You should get some rest at home.”

Hawks nods, standing up and making his way down the stairs.

Until you grab his shoulder softly, “hold on.”

Hawks looks over to look confused slightly.

You push up his visor towards his forehead, kissing the space between his eyebrows gently.

Hawks wings puff up and almost spread to their full length before he stops them.

“There, your reward.” You say nervously.

Hawks nods, seemingly speechless by your actions.

Then making his way quickly down the stairs, bolting out of there like a mad man.

Taking off into flight, only slightly off balance and almost tripping.

Hawks quickly flies home, shedding himself of his clothes and throwing himself onto bed.

Grabbing your blanket and holding it close.

He starts to giggle and kick his feet like some school girl.

If only Mirko could see him now.

Actually- he can’t wait to tell Mirko.

TAG LIST: comment to be tagged!💕

@lost-in-horrorland @boopjuice @validveenus @qardasngan @arminsarlerts @star-the-rabid-dog @bunni-teeth81 @lightsgore @portgasdbruh @camejlo-35 @marsbars09 @tharae514 @yoongiwantsme @kimahrii @pink-jello-fish @l1vvvvv @miy-svz @bumblebeebutter @lacunaanonymoused @emmmeoo

AUTHORS NOTE:

I am genuinely so sorry that I can’t tag some of you guys, tumblr won’t even let me and I feel like I going crazy😭 I hope the people who I could tag were able to see this next part part and again I’m really sorry! But you better love me again after all that fluff😒

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the-quaint-quail · 9 months ago

Text

i like thinking about azul and a spiritual reader-

cw: azul has a single thought alluding to his past body issues, azul doesn’t believe in zodiacs 😞 but he will now 😼

—

azul seeing you one day, legs across your heartslabyul friends lap on a bench in the court yard.

jade, actually, was the one to point you out (more like sharply elbow into his gills- ribs he meant!) to the octomer.

you were boredly flicking through your phone as the one called ‘mackeral’ by floyd chased grim around groups of lingering students. “like those cartoons of the chicken chasing the wolf” floyd mused with his brother. but azul was too busy screen peeking as he walked by.

you were on that mage-tok, and a document in your notes.

azul’s eyes widen when you scroll down and start typing into search ‘retrograde’- yet he was too far past to see what else you were typing.

he didn’t need to look back to know what you were searching.

“it seems like our little prefect is looking for some… celestial guidance” jade’s smile is damning as he looks at his brother, arms lyingly behind his head giving the moray a bored demeanor.

yet his brother and octofriend know the truth. the three already devising a plan.

‘a happy accident’ azul scowls externally at the memory of jade’s knowing eyes. but what was worse than that stupid glint in his eye was the evil shine in his pearly white, carnivorous smile.

a shit eating grin, if you would.

azul shook himself of the thought and paced in front of the ‘operation: make [name] fall in love with the power of fate!’ or MNFLPF for short.

“man i dunno why’re yer so outta shape ov’r this.” azul’s pacing stops at the lilt in floyd’s voice.

“because” azul swiftly runs both of his pointer fingers and thumbs across the metal pointer. azul’s oversized jacket ruffling as he steps towards the lounging eels. dressed to the nines in their monstro lounge uniforms, azul had called them in for a ‘strategy meeting for next month.’ yet here they were, staring you and 20 red, dizzying strings in the face. wrapped around thumb tacks like kelp to a boat’s motor, the connected to different photos, written paragraphs, a star chart? no. two star charts.

your’s and- presumably- azul’s

“there is no such thing as fate, only preparation, hard work, grit” azul squeezes his baton inspirationally.

“but” his face softens, his shoulders relaxing into an almost dissapointed shrug. “[name] thinks differently- which is why” he takes a step back, smacking the chart with it’s own lines and symbols on it. “-we’re going to push her in the right direction?” jade finished with a poised sip of tea, legs crossed elegantly compared to his brother’s brutish man spreading.

“precisely” azul hums.

“why not just ask ‘er out?” floyd asks, drilling for gold in his ear, inspecting it, it appears he got nothing. he meet’s his ‘boss’’ gaze in a challenge.

“it’ll beat whatever” he ways his pinkie dismissingly “this is”

“none sense floyd. if azul think’s he needs help from the stats then let him consult his lucky one. who are we to judge, hm?” jade sips his tea, hooded eyes drinking in the offended octopi’s expression.

“you- no! i am merely convincing [name] that i am the right one via playing along with their horoscope.” he points to a ‘O’ with horns, bright red marker under it.

“according to” he rolls his eyes at the twin’s snickering “the stars- yes yes, it says that for the next month a ‘romantic oppurunity will make itself known, so stay villgient’ verbatium from the app they use- privy to jade and his, resources”

jade’s free gloved hand bows for him, floyd ‘whooping’ and celebrating his twin. a ‘go jade!’ spurring the twin to stand up and full bow. floyd only started clapping aggressively not because he cared, but because of the blooming blue blush that was making it was on azul’s cheeks.

“enough!” his hand slashes for attention and respect! his foot stomping in anger and a juvenile show of emotions. but the twins shaking bodies quickly deflates the bubble of control. a defeated sigh and a calming brush through his silver locks, his pinkie catching his long bang, he looks back to the board.

he circled the board once to attempt diffusing his embarrassment. “so for the entire month i will put myself and the prefect in situations where attraction can- and will, spark. that may lead to further progressions in our relationship-“

“just ask ‘em out!” the twins had sat down in their respected spots on the couch like nothing happened. floyd, not one to keep his thoughts to himself sounds from the peanut gallery.

azul ignores him, turning to the board with an eyes roll.

“now!” he swats the board again “the plan.”

“so the plan’s bullshit”

by the end of the month azul and the twins had navigated rose mazes in heartslabyul and scaled sand dunes in scarbia and had nothing to show for it.

except for an embarrassing amount of black mail material the twins had gathered up. that was something that made this whole crapshot worth it.

by some higher power (jade thinks the universe should tip them for keeping you safe from azul’s tentacular hold) you had alluded and or missed every attempt azul had planned to ensnare your heart by convenience.

your umbrella was magically missing? why, a kind soul like azul has one to spare! better yet, why not share it?

except he didn’t account for you hoisting your jacket over your head, grim’s fat stomach tussling you hair as you both held onto the makeshift covering and ran for it.

tsk. fine. one of many plans he had in mind.

your lunch money was pick picketed by an expert thief [for hire]? how troubling indeed dear prefect, how about you allow him to- and off you ran to your friends, chastising ace about him ‘owing you one from that one time that one time’

azul bites his lip in a vain attempt to control his emotions.

no matter, he has ample opportunity.

yet none came as time after time his plans would get foiled by you or own of your anemone friends.

it was the last day of the month on a full when azul decided, uncharacteristically of him, to go on a moonlit walk. usually, his daily routine guided him into his dorm at the end of the day, yet a flicker of melancholy and nostalgia of lonely moonlit night spurred this need for moonlight.

so there he was, on a bench head in his lap and hands tugging his hair as his mind races over the prolonged abuse he had suffered.

he’d never admit it, bur with each attempt his heart sunk lower, and deeper into the pits of this human stomach he’s borrowing. yet with grit in his teeth and determination in his eye he stoodfast and did his best. azul prided himself in the thought that he was better than everyone else.

over coming the tragedy of childhood loneliness is a feat many cannot brag about, but not him. he showed them, beat every single bully at their own game, rose to the tops in academia and had the oppurunity to continue his studies on land- something his classmates can only dream of.

he’s azul ashengrotto! a house warden in his sophmore year, en-route to be salutatorian points behind riddle rosehearts, he has a successful business at the age of 17 for crying out loud! he is better! smarter! skinnier than everyone else! so why-

“hey-“

azul jerks up with a gasp. eyes stinging behind his foggy glasses, novemeber air biting his nose.

fuck.

it was you.

“you okay?” cold air puffed from your lips as you tilted your head quizzically. he hated the way your eyes carful picked at him, he felt exposed in you gaze. so he did what he did best, and hid behind his practiced charm.

“naturally, i was just enjoying the crisp november evening…“ ‘a half lie,’ he thinks. he wasn’t enjoying any of it. yes, the cold weather soothed a pit in his stomach and calmed his frying nerves, but he couldn’t escape the mental torment raging inside his mind.

the constant flexing and un-flexing of his hands and toes, gritting of his teeth and sudden bursts of intense, anxious breathing.

he wasn’t enjoying any of it.

like a march lit against a match box in a pitch black room, you had managed to steal his attention away yet again.

you hum in agreement, looking around at the scenery. the black metal street lamps warmed the forever growing leaf piles that decorated the walkway in fall. different reds and browns contrasted with the glowing greens, the light wind rustling and messing with the fallen leaves.

“i had the weirdest dream”

“is that so?”

you sit down next to him, fiddling with that necklace you have on. running your thumb over its grooves and ridges. you had told him once that you got it at some shop for a few bucks. whatever ‘a few bucks’ meant, he assumed it must’ve been quite the penny with how you talk about it. how he’s never seen you without it once. the black yarn holding up the pendant could’ve been fused to your skin as far as he was aware.

“it was about…” you look at him, your eyes narrowing a millimeter in thought as you raked over his slightly more relaxed form. his body language betraying every nerve he thought he had hidden as he struggles to suavely sit back against the bench.

“you actually”

azul’s blue blood ran white as he felt his entire body freeze up.

“w-what?”

you gave him no time to finish as you scotted closer to him, bright eyes peering at him unnaturally.

“you sell yourself short mr-“ you raised your hands in quotation marks “20-step-plan”

a fire was lit in his as the november air turned his suit and jacket into a sauna suit. his cheeks were calming up as his mouth was gaping like a fish thrown on board.

you fix the croaked fedora on his head and lovingly close his mouth.

“i’d love to go on a date with you azul, text me the deets, ‘kay!” like a switched flip you scooted away, bounced on your heels up and continued on your merry way.

no need to tell azul about the day dream of two whispering eels in PE. especially not the one where you saw him trip and fall over his own shoe laces trying to catch up with you.

you decided (and the twins) decided he needed a little lucky star of his own.

fate, if you would.

boo i got lazy at the end

#grammar for octpus you will be the end of me #azul x reader #azul ashengrotto #twst azul #azul ashengrotto x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader

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democracyunderground · 2 years ago

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A group of Democratic senators introduced a bill Thursday that would radically change the makeup of the Supreme Court, amid ongoing concerns over court ethics and its increasingly conservative makeup.

The legislation would appoint a new Supreme Court justice every two years, with that justice hearing every case for 18 years before stepping back from the bench and only hearing a “small number of constitutionally required cases.”

“The Supreme Court is facing a crisis of legitimacy that is exacerbated by radical decisions at odds with established legal precedent, ethical lapses of sitting justices, and politicization of the confirmation process,” Sen. Cory Booker (D-N.J.) said in a statement.

“This crisis has eroded faith and confidence in our nation’s highest court. Fundamental reform is necessary to address this crisis and restore trust in the institution.”

Only the nine most recently appointed justices would hear appellate cases, which make up a bulk of the court’s work. All living justices would participate in a smaller subset of cases under the court’s “original jurisdiction,” such as disputes between states or with foreign officials.

The bill was introduced by Sens. Booker, Sheldon Whitehouse (D-R.I.), Richard Blumenthal (D-Conn.) and Alex Padilla (D-Calif.), and it was co-sponsored by Sens. Mazie Hirono (D-Hawaii), Jeff Merkley (D-Ore.), Peter Welch (D-Vt.) and Brian Schatz (D-Hawaii).

Calls for Supreme Court reform grew louder this year after ProPublica revealed that Justice Clarence Thomas received hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of perks from conservative political donors. Further investigations have uncovered multiple significant and undisclosed gifts from politically connected friends over his time as a federal judge.

Justice Samuel Alito also took a luxury vacation paid for by an influential conservative donor while in the judiciary, another investigation found earlier this year.

The Senate Judiciary Committee advanced a bill earlier this year along party lines that would require the Supreme Court to create and abide by a code of ethics. Unlike lower courts, Supreme Court judges are not beholden to an official ethics code.

“An organized scheme by right-wing special interests to capture and control the Supreme Court, aided by gobs of billionaire dark money flowing through the confirmation process and judicial lobbying, has resulted in an unaccountable Court out of step with the American people,” Whitehouse said in a statement.

“Term limits and biennial appointments would make the Court more representative of the public and lower the stakes of each justice’s appointment, while preserving constitutional protections for judicial independence.

“As Congress considers multiple options to restore the integrity of this scandal-plagued Court, our term limits bill should be front and center as a potential solution,” he added.

Attempts to reform the Supreme Court have been denounced by both Republicans in Congress and by some members of the court, namely Thomas and Alito.

Alito argued earlier this year that Congress does not have the authority to force any reform on the court without a constitutional amendment.

“I know this is a controversial view, but I’m willing to say it,” Alito told The Wall Street Journal. “No provision in the Constitution gives them the authority to regulate the Supreme Court — period.”

But Whitehouse’s office argued in Wednesday’s statement that the Constitution allows Congress to regulate how the court handles appellate cases from lower courts. That’s why all justices would still weigh in on “original jurisdiction” cases, avoiding the constitutional hang-up.

Trust in the Supreme Court remains near all-time lows, according to national opinion polling. A Gallup poll last month found that just 41 percent of Americans approve of how the Supreme Court is doing its job, with 58 percent disapproving.

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calicocoffeecafe · 3 months ago

Text

Sleepy & Sweet

Colin Gray x Reader (NSFW)

A lazy morning with your love goes from cuddly to passionate ~

The light filtered in through the dark curtains Colin had hung in his room, though not much was able to make it past the dense fabric. He had specifically chosen it because he wanted to sleep in longer on his days off and normal curtains let in too much light. His walls were covered in various art pieces he had made and band posters, some more recent than others in both cases. It wasn't the cleanest of spaces, but it wasn't anything to freak out over. Colin was a creative type; his space reflected that.

Stirring awake, you felt the warmth of the bed contrast with the crisp morning air that permeated the area. Colin was still asleep, his chest to your back and his arms around your waist. Even asleep, his hold on you remained more on the firm side, as if he was afraid you'd slip away if he let you go. Of course, you'd never dream of that, but he couldn't stop himself from being as clingy as he was. Colin felt so safe with you. To him, you were the only person he could be this needy with. You never judged him, you never pushed him away, you just made him happy. No one else had been able to bring out that side of him, especially not the way you did.

Your lover had you flush against him, just as he liked it, his face buried in your hair. He was so warm. You lay there for a few minutes, basking in the morning's promise of a new day before you hear him mumble something.

“...time is it?” Colin's voice was hoarse with sleep, deeper than normal and soft. He shifted a little as he started to properly wake up, still holding you close to himself.

“I think around nine, maybe?” You answered, not being able to see any clocks but just making an educated guess. Colin nuzzled into the back of your neck and hummed in understanding. He pressed a gentle kiss on your skin, pulling a small giggle from you.

“Good morning, baby,” You cooed to him as he slowly got out of his drowsy state, but rather sleepy nonetheless. He grumbled something in response, trying to hide his eyes from the light.

“Morning, my dear,” Colin spoke against you, his breath dancing along your flesh. A few seconds of silence passed before he uttered a question. “Are you wearing my shirt?” He vaguely recognized the color and texture. The truth was that you, in fact, were wearing his shirt. It was an oversized tee he got from a concert a few years back. It was big on him and bigger on you. He adored when you wore his clothes, though. It warmed his heart. Not to mention, turned him on just a bit.

“Oh, yeah, I had to pee last night but I got cold,” You explained, keeping your voice low to match the quiet morning vibe.

“You look good in it,” He purred, squeezing you a little tighter and kissing you once more. You couldn't help but feel your face flush slightly at his affection.

“Thank you.”

The two of you remained in a comfortable silence for a few minutes as he relished the chance to have you so near to him. You had no objections, so you happily stayed put. Colin was the one to break the silence, murmuring a sentiment that made you smile.

“I could stay just like this forever…” His voice was dreamy. Even without seeing him, you knew he had that dumb grin on his face. It was cute. You had come to love his near-constant touch. If the two of you were together, he had at least one hand on you. If you were out at the mall, he was holding your hand. If you were sitting on a bench, he had an arm around you. If you were in a room alone, well, he was all up on you like he was right now.

“Me too…” You agreed, the same stupid smile on your face as his. That's when a thought came to mind, prompting you to ask him, “Hey, baby?”

“Mmm… yeah?” Colin mumbled.

“Do you have any plans for today?” This was only part one of your question, of course. His answer would determine the next query you were to propose.

“I… don't think I do, no,” He paused to consider it for a second, finishing out with relative certainty. He knew he didn't have class, that much was for sure, but he wanted to think and verify if he was doing anything else.

“Well then, what if…” You began, choosing your words carefully even though you had a fair guess as to how he'd respond regardless. Continuing, “You and I…” However, Colin answered before you were even able to get the whole thing out.

“Sounds divine to me.” Colin rubbed small circles on your stomach, his fingers tracing tiny designs on your skin lovingly. You laughed at his impatience.

“I didn't finish the question, silly,” You playfully told him off, not harboring any sincere annoyance.

“Didn't have to. I heard all I needed to,” He snuggled into you some more, lightly shifting positions a little but not majorly disrupting your spooning. You could hear the smile on his lips as he spoke, his voice still retaining that tired quality that gave you butterflies. One time, you told him that whenever he woke up, he sounded like a dead man. He grinned ear-to-ear for like two hours.

“Goof.” A light-hearted tease.

“Your goof,” Colin retorted, knowing he wouldn't rather be anyone else's. That brought out more of your laugh, much to his pleasure.

“Anyway, as I was saying…” You continued.

“Yes, please, go on,” He encouraged, chuckling a bit himself.

“What if we stayed in today and only wore what we have on right now?” Your offer was tempting, referring to you wearing his shirt and nothing underneath and him clad in just his boxers. They were black with little skulls on them. You got them for his birthday as a joke, like a goth version of the white boxers with red hearts, but he unironically loved them.

“Mmm, now that is a good idea,” Colin propped himself up on his arm and trailed a few light kisses along the side of your face and neck. Not enough to set off any kind of mood, but add a dash of passion to the morning lull.

“Perfect, it's a date,” You agreed, leaning into his kisses and turning your head over your shoulder to look at him. His hair was all sorts of messy and his eyes were stained with yesterday's eyeliner. That silver ring on his lip drew you in, forming a desire to reach up and kiss him. Before you could act on it, he beat you to the punch and eased his lips onto yours. They were so soft, contrasted by the hardness of the piercing.

The kiss was tender and sweet, not yet laden with the burn of desire. Colin trailed a hand to your face, cupping your cheek and stroking it with his thumb. Fuck, you were so perfect. Pulling away from you was the hardest thing he could do, but knowing it meant he got to look at you, he figured it was a fair tradeoff. His warm, brown eyes traced over your features, meeting your gaze again as his smile remained. Colin's eyes held so much adoration in them. Him being such a deep and poetic man meant you could always see just how much he thought about the world around him. It was never critical or analytical, his pondering, but always seeing the beauty in the macabre, the unspoken elegance in the smallest characteristics, and appreciating that which many others may consider odd. With you, his stare always said the same sentiment: You are everything.

“What's on your mind?” The question rose from you, words hushed and delicate.

“You,” Colin had no hesitation, further adding, “How you look so effortlessly gorgeous no matter the time of day or what you're doing. It's as if every time I look at you, time stands still as I view the infinite beauty of the stars.”

Your eyebrows furrowed up in flattery, his kind words wrapping around your heart and making it skip a beat. He had such a way with language that never failed to hit just right.

Settling back down behind you, returning to the position he held you in prior, Colin resumed his caress of your lower stomach, his hand slipping under the shirt. With the sensation of his touch on your bare skin, you felt chills slither up your spine, goosebumps appearing all over. It was near impossible to ignore the heat of Colin's growing erection between your asscheeks.

Your breath hitched as his hand ventured lower and lower on your stomach, teasing a few inches above your slit. Biting your lip, you arched your back as his skilled fingers began to lightly rub your folds. Colin had learned every point on your body that would make you unravel within seconds and he loved to show you all the ways he could get you to cross the finish line. There had been many nights where he didn't even take his shirt off but ensured you had cum at least once before calling it a night. He was a giver, in all respects. Colin was a selfless lover who prioritized your needs way before his own, but when it got to be his turn, he held nothing back. Not unless you needed him to, though seldom was that the case.

As you ground your ass on his hardening cock that strained against the confines of his underwear, he circled his fingers around your clit, shooting jolts of electric bliss throughout your body. His touch was so specific, so methodical, as though he were a trained professional. You were unable to bite back the moan that escaped your lips. Your sound was met with him humming deeply, feeling his own pleasure in both knowing he was making you feel good but also your backside providing delicious friction to his now aching dick. With hunger in the way he massaged your button, you could tell he needed you and now.

“My dear,” He growled, his voice gravelly with arousal and tense as he fought back the urge to take you right then, “I don't think I can wait.”

“Please, don't,” You sighed, your own urgency shining through as your body longed for him inside and all over you.

Those were the only words Colin had to hear before he positioned himself between your legs and pulled his shirt off of you so quickly you were worried it might've ripped, but that was a problem for later. Your figure was now bare to him, a hauntingly decadent display. His eyes showed a ravenous yearning as he surveyed every curve, crease, and mark. Just as breathtaking as the first time he saw you in such a way.

You could see the tent that threatened to tear clean through his underwear but Colin wasn't nearly as focused on himself at that moment. His hands instantly went to work, sliding up from your thighs to your hips, and settling at your waist. He kissed a needy line that followed the same path, exploring further up to your chest, the metal on his lip adding to the sensations you felt. Colin's lips found their way to your nipple, having moved gingerly up your breast and ever-so-carefully enveloping the bud as you let out a shudder. With closed eyes and an open mouth, he sucked on your tit, his tongue flicking out and making you whine softly as your body writhed beneath him, your thighs squeezing around his hips. While his mouth gave all that attention to the one breast, his hand pawed at the other, pinching your nipple intermittently and fondling you with gusto. As he worked you over, you felt yourself getting wetter and wetter, growing desperate to feel his cock breach you. You grasped his hair in your fists, crying out much louder as his teeth bit down on your nipple. It stung so good. Colin was dizzy with all the noises you were making. That was always one of his favorite parts of pleasing you; getting to listen to the symphony of moans and babbled pleas that came from you.

Colin, after feeling he made you wait long enough, tugged off his boxers and freed his leaking cock. It was nothing to sneeze at. Maybe it wasn't the most exceptional, being only an inch or two above average, but it had a good girth and he knew how to fucking use it. His bush was dark and lush. He was never the type to shave his body hair, nor did he expect the same of you. He appreciated the body in its natural state. As you trembled with anticipation, nearly losing your mind with how turned on he had made you, Colin rubbed his throbbing dick against the folds of your pussy, getting an idea of just how wet you were for him.

“Mmm, look at you... Such a needy girl” Colin remarked, his voice suave, “You're being so good for me. I'm so lucky to be able to tantalize you so.”

That was about the extent in which he could hold out before lining himself up and rocking his hips, effortlessly hilting himself in you all at once. The sound you let out filled the room and flooded his senses as he groaned, your tight insides gripping him like a vice and quaking at the stretch. He felt so at home inside of you. His mind went blank at the feeling.

Colin placed one hand next to your head, the other firmly gripping your hip. The spot where he held you was sure to bruise, but you didn't mind one bit. He gave you a few seconds to adjust to his size before his resolve ran out. Agonizingly slow, he pulled back, only to plunge right back in, drawing out another mewl from you. Colin's eyes were back and forth between being shut and watching the way your face contorted as he fucked you. It was a sight he could watch all day.

Building a solid rhythm, his balls slapped your taint with each thrust. Colin was so horny for you. You had no idea the things you did to him. You clawed your nails into his back, holding onto him as if he were your life preserver in a typhoon. He was drunk off the cacophony of all that he felt, his grasp on your hip unyielding.

Colin buried his face in the crook of your neck, biting down on you hard and suckling at the marks, leaving a profound hickey in its wake. He let himself get carried away with attacking the sensitive skin of your neck, covering it with more and more hickies that you would surely have to cover one way or another despite his insistence you wear them with pride like he did.

On your end, you couldn't form a single coherent thought, let alone speak a solid sentence. The good thing was that Colin did all the speaking for the both of you. He often talked you through whatever he did, his words varying from sweet and gentle to possessive and commanding.

“That's my good girl, you're taking it so well,” Colin huffed against your neck, "You like the way I feel inside you? The way I pound your pretty little pussy raw?” All you could do to answer was moan out louder, letting him know everything he needed to hear. His mouth latched back onto your neck, his thrusts hitting all the right spots.

The hand he had used to hold himself up, now being obsolete for the time being, made its way to your clit, which he proceeded to stimulate expertly. All that you were feeling was becoming too much, a fire inextinguishable raged inside of you as pressure accumulated between your hips. You were so close, so so close. Colin knew. He always knew when you were getting close to the edge, being able to pull a climax out of you without even trying. He was that good.

“C-Colin!” You choked out, right at the precipice of your orgasm. Colin kept going just as he had been, wanting to feel you quiver with ecstasy as you came.

“Yeah, baby, I know,” His voice was right in your ear, "Cum for me, my dear. Be a good girl and let go.”

Fuck.

You almost blacked out as the bubble burst and your whole body convulsed with euphoria. Your cunt squeezed around his dick, your thighs giving his hips a similar treatment. As you dragged your nails down his back, leaving lines of red in their wake, his name lept from your tongue, only more breathless this time. Colin wasn't far behind you now, his pace growing irregular, his thrusts getting harder and sloppier.

Then it was that incredible feeling. Riding out the waves of your own bliss, you felt him unload deep within you, shooting pump after pump as he throbbed, his breath ragged and heavy. He ground his hips against your ass as he finished, his cum leaking out of you.

Lazily, he kissed you on the neck a few more times as you caught your breath. You could feel the way his body strained above yours. Colin pulled out slowly, both of you shivering with the sensitivity that followed your completions.

You continued to lie there as he wiped his dick on your pussylips, soon descending to clean you up. With great care to not overstimulate you too much, Colin lapped up his own release, doing his best to make sure he got all he could as you clutched the sheets. Once he had gotten what he believed to be the majority of it out of you, he left a few kisses on your thighs and got settled back at your side.

The two of you, relishing the afterglow, shared the moment in silence, save for the sounds of your panting breaths. Colin slipped his arms around your waist as he had them before, pulling you in nice and snug, your bodies flush against each other. You heard his breathing slow and his grip loosen a little as he fell back asleep, a bit spent from such intense activity first thing in the morning.

You decided you would let him sleep as you prepared a breakfast for the both of you, but when you started to scoot away, he pulled you right back in, his arms firmly around you.

“Mine…” Colin mumbled, his voice stern yet sweet. He let there be no room for confusion.

“Baby, I'm gonna go make us something to eat,” You informed, keeping your tone caring, not at all upset with how clingy he was, but just sharing your plan with him.

“Don't leave…” His words were sleepy and not very well enunciated, a subtle hint of fear. Your heart did a flip at his wanting you so near. He couldn't bear to be separated from you for even a moment sometimes. Relenting, you stayed put, enjoying the snuggles he was so adamant about.

“Don't worry, baby, I won't,” You confirmed.

“Good… don't want you… to…” Those were the last words he was able to get out before slumber claimed him once again. Colin was so cute when he was all cuddly and tired like this. He slept like an angel, which you found slightly ironic given his whole aesthetic.

Recognizing you were also rather beat from that whole ordeal, you settled on letting yourself join your love in sleep. The two of you staying in bed for a little while longer with nothing but love and sincerity between you.

This was going to be a good day.

~ ° +. ⛤ .+ ° ~

#colin gray #colin gray x reader #fanfic #second person pov #x reader #jennifers body #smut #mdni #kyle gallner #ao3 #fanfiction #oneshot

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fundametalright · 1 year ago

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youtube

#Private Property can Be Considered “material resources of the community”#article39(b)#supremecourt #Article39(b)#dpsp #SupremeCourtDebate #Article39bDebate #MaterialResources #privatepropertyrights #The Big debate #The Supreme Court on Tuesday (23 April) commenced hearing on the issue whether private property can be brought under “material resources of #BENCH:#The nine-judge bench #comprising Chief Justice of India D Y Chandrachud #Justices Hrishikesh Roy #Abhay S Oka #B V Nagarathna #J B Pardiwala #Manoj Misra #Ujjal Bhuyan #Satish Chandra Sharma and Augustine George Masih #is hearing the case.#Article 39(b) of the Constitution of India places an obligation on “The State” to create policy towards securing “that the ownership and co #This provision falls under Part IV of the Constitution titled “Directive Principles of State Policy”#which are meant to be guiding principles for the enactment of laws #but are not directly enforceable against citizens.#Bombay High Court #Constitution Bench #Directive Principles of State Policy #private property

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hypostatic-oath · 2 years ago

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Tales Of Meropide

SAGAU!Tartaglia-centered, angst with some comfort.

Warnings: Swearing. I think it's just one but I'm not entirely sure. Written before 4.2, but finished after 4.1 - contains spoilers for the released story quest so far.

_________________

Childe had never once in his life assumed jail would be fun. He had no delusions in that regard. But he had to admit, his hopes were raised once he heard of the Pankration Ring in the Fortress of Meropide. A competition ring for those who had "extra energy" they wished to "burn out" through regular sparring matches? Sign him up!

His hopes were very quickly shattered once he was told that no, a Fatui Harbinger was not allowed to compete, because "no way anyone would sign up to fight him" and "even if he did fight with one hand behind his back, that would set the bar too high for the other matches, and the spectators would be bored." Damn it - so the ring wasn't truly for fight afficionados - it was a marketing ploy! The fight itself wasn't the focus, it was the fact that it had to look good for an audience.

Childe huffed as he sat in the bed he'd taken to occupying. Fontaine was getting on his nerves - it seemed as though everything was for show, and very little was actually real. Where were the Traveler or the Overseer when one needed them?! Oh, what he wouldn't do to fight against a decent opponent!

His boredom was made worse by the fact that the Overseer - damn them and their excuse of "immersion" - had decided to bench him until he was out of prison. So now he rusted away in the Fortress of Meropide, with no one to fight, no one to banter with...

He could try the Duke again, he figured. While at first things hadn't gone his way, after explaining his issue, Wriothesley had, once or twice, been amenable to a sparring match, and it was the one thing keeping Tartaglia remotely sane. But lately the warden had been more and more busy - and less and less inclined to indulge the restless Harbinger. Were it not for the fact that he already had an escape plan in the works, Childe was sure he would have lost his mind for real. He was getting rusty. Every day that he did not raise his weapon was one day he grew weaker, and that the competition grew stronger. And he knew he had competition, both among the Fatui - how he was the Eleventh of a group of nine still eluded him - and among the other vessels.

It had hurt, the knowledge that right after his banner would come that of the Iudex who'd promptly knocked him out and sent him to jail... and that he wasn't even there to fight him about it! He hadn't been aware of the sheer strength of Fontaine's Chief Justice, but now that he'd caught a glimpse, Childe had to admit he was intrigued. And by intrigued let it be absolutely clear that what he meant was "eager to fight him again". Hell, the judge had managed to knock him out while he was using Foul Legacy! What else was this Neuvillette guy capable of? And, more importantly... had you noticed?

It was a thought Ajax didn't like to have. One he'd been trying to drown out - hah! Drown! Now that his hydro Vision was gone, and Neuvillette was out there using hydro as he pleased - since he'd first been told he wouldn't be able to fight down here. And yet, now that the Fortress had quieted down for the night, there was no sound to overpower his own thoughts.

The thoughts of being replaced. The thoughts that told him he was no longer enough. He was growing weaker, even before being arrested. His Vision had failed him. And now, how convenient - an insanely strong Hydro user was available. It didn't matter whether or not you'd pulled on Childe's banner earlier - he knew you needed strong members on your team, and at this rate he'd be no match for Neuvillette. Not in a fight, and not in your team. What was he supposed to do without it?! The worst of all was the nagging feeling that you'd grown used to not having him with you already. He'd been imprisoned for a while now, and not a peep from you. Not for the Abyss, not for Ley Lines, not for Domains, not even for Commissions.

He missed it.

He missed you.

Childe laid down on the bed - which was only slightly less uncomfortable than the slab of rock he used to sleep on during hos months in the Abyss - and turned to face the brass wall, his fingers absentmindedly tracing along his Delusion.

If only he could use it while you were taking hold of him - if only he could use his Foul Legacy transformation, too. He had developed (and tested) the theory that due to your influence, these things would have almost to no toll on his body. That was, apparently, part of the unspoken contract between an Overseer and their Vessels - not only would they become stronger, but their injuries and exhaustion would be your responsibility instead of theirs. For Childe, it was the perfect deal, lending you control of his body to fight all kinds of opponents and having his strength increase a hundredfold. Except for the part that, try as he might - and most importantly, try as you might - it was impossible for him to use his Delusion, or his Foul Legacy transformation, or, much to your chagrin, his signature "whale toss".

Ah, yes. That had been another issue.

Ever since he'd gotten to the Fortress, he'd seen it.

In dreams, in flashes during the day, hell, he was even hearing it, its song echoing through the brass walls. And yet, no one else seemed to be able to. That in itself was a sign - this was indeed the one he'd roused from slumber... and it was beckoning him to answer its calls.

He closed his eyes. Perhaps tonight's dream would provide more insight. He'd seek it out as soon as he managed to leave, he just had to wait for a pipe cleaning day in order to make his escape. For now, though, all he could do was wait, as time passed agonizingly slow. And so, lulled by boredom and whalesong, he forced himself to sleep it off.

_________

You were getting impatient.

You'd decided to give storyline immersion a try once Childe was arrested, thinking that it'd be pretty weird for the recently arrested Harbinger to be roaming the streets of Fontaine - and you'd been doing a lot of roaming recently, having a whole new nation to explore. By now, you were aware that your game was responsive to you, and that had been a big reason why you'd made that decision, knowing that they were aware of what you did. You did not want to stir up trouble with Neuvillette or Wriothesley... not when they hadn't come home yet. It was best to play to their interests a little bit. However... this was getting ridiculous.

"We're gonna have to break him out at this rate." You huffed, as you picked up yet another Romaritime flower. As usual, the members of your party who hadn't been so used to you seemed a little startled at hearing your voice, while the Traveler and Paimon were far more relaxed. You supposed it made sense - if a disembodied voice started talking about jailbreak out of nowhere, you'd probably be pretty spooked too.

"But, Overseer..." Paimon began. "If we break him out of jail, won't people notice he's missing? And you still want to get Monsieur Neuvillette as soon as his banner drops - are you sure we should interfere with justice right now?"

"Neuvillette will come whether he likes it or not." You said, a steely determination in your voice. You'd meant nothing threatening by it, only that he was guaranteed and near pity, but it still sent a chill down the most inexperienced members of your team's spines. "Besides, I'm pretty sure that's what the next Archon Quest will be - break Childe out of jail. He's gonna come home with us, and everything will be okay. So it shouldn't really matter... if we give him a taste of freedom early, now does it?"

"I suppose it's alright." The Traveler chimed in. They were still the vessel who was more in tune with your emotions after all these years together, and thst could be both a blessing and a curse. Now, what they felt was your eagerness to see Childe again... and concern.

You were worried about him.

With a few clicks, you opened the map. Were it anyone else, you would've teleported to somewhere nice. Maybe Angel's Share, or Liuli Pavilion, or any of the many other restaurants and cafés that dotted the regions of Teyvat that had opened themselves to you.

But you knew that after being stuck for so long, your Tartaglia would need something more than a simple apology meal.

__________

The Golden house. Of course his dreams would take him there - he'd fallen asleep to thoughts of you. It was a respite from the other ones, but pleasant as dreams of fighting may be, they had about the same effect as dreams of a feast to a starving man. No matter how much he fought, he'd still wake up feeling empty.

"What's the matter with you? No 'Surrender is a valid option' today?" Your voice rang out. Oh, yeah. He'd forgotten his usual taunt... did it matter, in a dream? Apparently it did, because you'd commented on it. Still, he wasn't sure if he felt like going along with it. Why would it matter? It wasn't real. He'd likely never see you again, and his stupid dream was only making things worse.

"You seem out of it. Childe." The Traveler stood before him as you spoke, their weapon lowered but still unsheated. "Maybe prison put you in a worse shape than I thought... oh, I'm going to kill them. I don't care. Traveler, we're going to take this man out of there."

"Paimon's pretty sure that's illegal..."

"Illegal? Look at what they've done to him! They massacred my boy! He has no will to live!"

Tartaglia watched as you spoke with the Traveler and Paimon. It wasn't often that he got to witness such direct interactions, and he had to admit, it was a little bit funny seeing the blonde outlander and his companion arguing with the air. They usually faced the direction opposite of where Paimon hovered - mostly so the poor guide didn't feel like they were arguing with her instead - but it still looked as though the Traveler were speaking to absolutely nothing.

Even though he was sure this was a dream - of course it was, after all, you bringing him for a fight now, and within a few seconds immediately deciding to break him out and go on a murder spree for his sake? Tartaglia could recognize his own wishful thinking - the image brought a smile to his face.

"What have they done to you?" You asked, addressing him directly once more. "How bad is it? Are you eating enough? Are you eating at all? Are you sick? Bastards..."

Concern. He could almost feel your warmth. He had to remind himself that it wasn't real. He had to remind himself that, in the real world, in the waking world, he was still in bed. That you, powerful entity that you were, could pull him out any time, and yet you hadn't.

He'd started thinking this was just like last time. Just like in the Abyss.

At first, he'd wanted his parents to come looking for him. He'd wanted them to notice he was gone, and many a night had he dreamt of them finding him. Then came his master, and with her, he held even less delusions that she'd come to his aid. And then, he'd joined the Fatui, and there it was set in stone that comrades as they may be, there'd be no help whatsoever, so he might as well give up hope.

He still dreamt it, sometimes. That someday there'd be someone to reach out a hand, someone who'd give him a bright smile when he was at his worst and help him stand, so they could take on the world together. He still dreamt that for once, just once, someone would care enough to help.

But nobody came.

He needed to be strong. He loved being strong, he loved fighting. Which was a good thing, he'd many times surmised, since it was the only thing the world needed him to do. You win the fight, you live. That was that, and it was all it had ever been and all it ever would be.

There'd be no parents looking for him. No Skirk coming in at the last minute to parry the blow. No comrades to call upon. No Overseer willing to go on a murder spree to take him out of jail.

The truth, the cold truth, was nothing like the warm dreams where someone came to his aid. The truth was that once again, he'd have to break out alone.

All he could do for now was enjoy the opportunity to fight "you", even if just in a dream, so he took a deep, shaky breath, and got ready to spar.

_________

You wondered if he knew he was crying.

It didn't last too long. You quickly opted out of the Golden House - you'd clearly overestimated his will to fight. Even as he stood at the ready, you could see the changes in his demeanor. Maybe you should've gone with Angel's Share after all.

You emptied your party - save for the Traveler - and placed Childe on one of the empty slots. Then, you quickly teleported the three of them (because the Traveler always counted as two, with Paimon beside them all the time) to your teapot. It was clear Childe needed more than just an apology fight.

"Traveler, do me a favor." You asked, once the loading screen was out of the way. "Could you get some food started, please?"

That should give you a little alone time with the Harbinger. Maybe it'd be easier, you figured, to coax information on his wellbeing if you were alone.

As the Traveller nodded and went to handle the cooking at a nearby stove, you switched to Tartaglia. It was a little odd now, controlling them when you knew they were aware of your existence. The vast majority didn't seem to mind, and you took some comfort in how responsive and talkative they were - at least you weren't some malevolent, brainwashing eldritch entity. Your characters - erm, Vessels, as they preferred to call it - seemed fine.

Childe, however, didn't.

"Hey. Ajax." You made sure to keep your voice softer than usual as you guided him towards the hot springs, sitting him down. "I'm sorry. I genuinely thought we'd get to break you out sooner."

For a while, he didn't answer.

You placed the cursor over his shoulder. By now, you knew they could feel a sort of phantom touch, and it was the closest thing you could do to offer a comforting hand.

"Whatever they did to you ends now. I'm hereby overruling your sentence. You're staying here while I'm logged off until the Traveler and I resolve this, and when I'm around, you're back on the team."

You could see Childe trying to look at you, so you did him the favor of turning the camera in such a way that it looked as though you were sitting beside him.

"Over here."

He couldn't see your expression, but you still hoped he could somehow hear the way you felt through your voice. Oh, how you wanted to be able to reach him.

Tartaglia looked in the vague direction of you, and you wished you had a way to cup his cheek and wipe away the tears threatening to spill from those lifeless eyes. You moved the cursor to rest over his pinky finger - this was the closest thing you could do to a pinky promise, after all.

"It's over, Ajax. It's done. Canon can go fuck itself. If they want to put you back in jail they're gonna have to go through me first."

__________

Ajax had wished you were physically in Teyvat many times. Most of these times were because he wished to fight you personally, some because he wished to share some food with you. This time, feeling the unmistakable warmth of your phantom touch slide from his shoulder to his hand, before focusing on his pinky as you promised to fight for him, he wished he could pull you into the tightest embrace. What a cruel dream - couldn't his mind have dreamt you a physical body, too? One he could hold on to. One he could curl up around.

He felt your touch on his back, soothing circles of warmth rhytmically rubbed, and he would've leaned into your touch if he had any idea of which direction to lean into.

"I have an escape route planned already." He sighed. "And a few other things I need to handle, too."

"Still." You insisted. "You look terrible. No offense."

"I'm f-"

"You're not fine, Ajax. I'm not an idiot. Look, the teapot has a place for you whenever you'd like. You have the Sigil of Permission, and I'll make sure to leave an empty room, so you can come and go whenever. So you at least get food, drink, a place to sleep... I'm pretty sure that with the Shogun around you'll always have someone to spar with, too, that should keep you from boredom-"

The Sigil of Permission.

Of course.

How could he have forgotten?

A dream as this may be - and he was start to suspect it wasn't, due to the unmistakable feeling of your energy seeping into his own and, perhaps a more obvious sign, how his clothes felt against his body due to being in the hot springs fully clothed (perhaps Overseers had no concept of clothing, and you refused to remove it because you considered his outfit a part of his skin? He'd heard you refer to the Tianquan's new outfit as a "new skin" once, after all...), the water making them heavier - it had still provided him something that could help him once he woke. The Traveler had once bestowed him with a sigil of permission that granted him access to your Serenitea Pot - a sigil of permission that was still in his possession.

Childe could feel a spark of hope inside his chest, the corners of his lips curving in a discreet yet confident smile.

He'd definitely take you up on that offer later.

"That's more like it!" You sounded relieved. And, as it usually was for Vessels when you were pouring your energy into them, your energy felt relieved as well, your emotions bleeding through into his body. All that, just for a small smile? Tartaglia smiled wider, in the general direction of where you should be, and the feeling increased.

He felt that familiar sensation of your focus on his hair, and found himself thinking that maybe, if you were there beside him, you would've ran your fingers through it, and maybe he'd lean closer, perhaps to rest his head on your shoulder or your lap.

Archons, what was happening to him? He wasn't supposed to let himself go like this. This wasn't a dream at all, he couldn't simply indulge as though it were. He had to stop leaning into your phantom touch, he had to stop hoping. This sort of hope, this sort of weakness, it'd kill him. He needed to-

"What you need is rest. And to be comfortable. And to let me and the Traveler take care of you." Your voice brought him out of his spiraling train of thought. Oh, right. He'd forgotten that lately you'd gotten better at hearing their thoughts. A trick you'd picked up in Sumeru, no doubt. He sighed.

"That... would be nice. Thank you, comrade. But you really don't need-"

"I don't. But I want to, so I will. So come on, let's get you fed while I redecorate the teapot again. It was bound for a change sooner or later, anyway."

#oof this one got LONG #sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin au #genshin impact sagau #sagau tartaglia #sagau childe #i made myself sad with this one ngl #also if yall haven't listened to Say Don't go (TV) I recommend it so much #it's so good for writing angst to #sagau overseer

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chrisfavdrink · 4 months ago

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Anomaly part 3

Freedom Is Worth a Fortune

Prince!Matt, Prince!Chris, Red!reader

warnings: slow burn, talk of stealing, talk of weapons, talk of running away. should be it.

————————————————————————

Peyton has known Charlie Whistle for a long time. He’s old, too feeble to work the lumber yards, so he sweeps by day. At night, he sells everything you could want out of his moldy wagon, from heavily restricted coffee to exotics from Archeon. Peyton was nine with a fistful of stolen buttons when she took her chances with him for the first time. He paid her three copper pennies for them, no questions asked. Now she’s his best customer and probably the reason he manages to stay afloat in such a small place. On a good day she might even call him a friend. So, naturally the things she and Weston can't sell to the usual shop owners, they have to take to Charlie.

Some call this system the underground, others the black market, but all Peyton cares about is what they can do. They have fences, people like Charlie, everywhere. Even in Archeon, as impossible as that sounds. They transport illegal goods all over the country. And now she’s betting that they might make an exception and transport a person - or two people, she supposes - instead.

“Absolutely not.”

In all her eight years of knowing him, Charlie Whistle has never refused anything from Peyton. Now the wrinkled old man is practically slamming shut the doors of his wagon straight in her face. She’s happy Weston decided to stay behind, so he doesn’t have to see her fail him.

“Charlie, please. I know you can do it -”

He shakes his head profusely, eyes narrowed. “Even if I could, I am a tradesman. The people I work with aren’t the type to spend their time and effort shuttling another runner from place to place. It’s not our business.”

Peyton can slowly feel her only hope, Weston’s only hope, slipping right through her fingers.

Charlie must see the desperation in her eyes because he softens, leaning against the wagon door. He heaves a sigh and glances backward, into the darkness of the wagon. After a moment, he turns back around and gestures, beckoning her inside. She follows gladly, her spark of hope returning.

“Thank you, Charlie,” she babbles gratefully. “You don’t know what this means to me -”

“Sit down and be quiet, girl,” says a high voice that stops Peyton right in her tracks.

Out of the shadows of the wagon, hardly visible in the dim light of Charlie’s single blue candle, a woman rises to her feet. Girl, Peyton should say, since she barely looks any older than herself. But she’s much taller, with the air of an old warrior. The gun at her hip, tucked into a red sash belt stamped with suns, is certainly not authorized. She’s too blonde and fair to be from the Stilts, and judging by the light sweat on her face, she’s not used to the heat or humidity. She is a foreigner, an outlander, and an outlaw at that. Just the person Peyton wants to see.

The woman waves Peyton to the bench cut into the wagon wall, and she sits down again only when the Fox girl also has. Charlie follows closely behind and all but collapses into a worn chair, his eyes flitting between the two girls before him.

“Peyton Fox, meet Cyrus,” he murmurs, as she tightens her jaw.

Her gaze lands on the brunette’s face, hard like steel. “You wish to transport cargo.”

“Myself and a boy -” But the girl - Cyrus - holds up a large, calloused hand, cutting her off.

“Cargo,” she says again, eyes full of meaning. Peyton’s heart leaps in her chest; this Cyrus girl might be of the helping kind. “And what is the destination?”

Peyton racks her brain, trying to think of somewhere safe. The old classroom map swims before her eyes, outlining the coast and the rivers, marking cities and villages and everything in between. From Harbor Bay west to the Lakelands, the northern tundra to the radiated wastes of the Ruins and the Wash, it’s all dangerous land for them.

“Somewhere safe from the Silvers,” she manages to come up with. “That’s all.”

Cyrus blinks at her, her expression unchanging. “Safety has a price, girl.”

“Everything has a price, girl,” Peyton fires back, matching her condescending tone. “No one knows that more than me.”

A long beat of silence stretches through the wagon. Peyton can feel the night wasting away, taking precious minutes from Weston. Cyrus must sense her unease and impatience but makes no hurry to speak. After what seems like an eternity, her mouth finally opens.

“The Scarlet Guard accepts, Peyton Fox.”

It takes all the restraint she has in her body to keep from jumping out of her seat with joy. But something tugs at her, keeping a smile from crossing her face.

“Payment is expected in full, to the equivalent of one thousand crowns,” Cyrus continues.

That nearly knocks the air from Peyton’s lungs. Even Charlie looks surprised, his fluffy white eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. “A thousand?” she manages to choke out. No one deals in that amount of money, not in the Stilts. That could feed her family for a year. Many years.

But Cyrus isn’t finished. Peyton gets the sense that she enjoys this, and the thought makes her want to knock one of the blonde’s teeth out. “This can be paid in paper notes, tetrarch coins, or the bartering equivalent. Per item, of course.”

Two thousand crowns. A fortune. Peyton and Weston’s freedom is worth a fortune.

“Your cargo will be moved the day after tomorrow. You must pay then.”

She can barely breathe. Less than two days to accumulate more money than she has ever stolen in her entire life. There is no way.

Cyrus doesn’t even give Peyton time to protest, as she says, “Do you accept the terms?”

“I need more time,” the Fox girl does best to explain.

The blonde shakes her head, leaning forward until the two girls are practically nose to nose. Peyton thinks that she can faintly smell gunpowder on her. “Do you accept the terms?”

It’s impossible. It’s foolish. It’s their best chance.

Their only chance.

“I accept the terms.”

The next moments pass in a blur as Peyton trudges home through the muddy shadows. Her mind is on fire, trying to figure out a way - any way - to get her hands on anything worth even close to Cyrus’ price. There’s nothing in the Stilts, that’s for sure.

When she gets back, Weston is still waiting in the darkness, looking like a lost little boy. She supposes he is.

“Bad news?” he says, trying to keep his voice even, but it trembles anyway.

“The underground can get us out of here.” For his sake, she keeps herself calm as she explains the situation. Two thousand crowns might as well be the king’s throne, but she makes it seem like nothing. “If anyone can do it, we can. We can.”

“Peyton.” His voice is cold, colder than winter, but the hollow look in his usually warm eyes is much worse. “It’s over. We lost.”

“But if we just -”

He grabs her shoulders, holding her at an arm’s length in his firm grip. It doesn’t hurt her but it shocks her all the same. “Don’t do this to me, Peyton. don’t make me believe there’s a way out of this. Don’t give me hope.”

He’s right. She knows that it’s cruel to give hope where none should be. It only turns into disappointment, resentment, rage - all the things that make this life more difficult than it already is.

“Just let me accept it. Maybe - maybe then I can actually get my head in order, get myself trained properly, give myself a fighting chance out there.”

Her hands find his wrists and she holds on tight, as if it would keep him here. “You talk like you’re already dead.”

“Maybe I am.”

“You’re not. My brothers -”

“Your father made sure they knew what they were doing long before they went away. And it helps that they’re all the size of a house.” He forces a strained smirk, trying to get her to laugh. It doesn’t work. “I’m a good swimmer and sailor. They’ll need me on the lakes.”

It’s only when he wraps his arms around her, hugging her, that she realizes that she’s shaking. “Weston -” she mumbles into his chest, but the next words won’t come. It should be me. But her time is fast approaching, she can only hope Weston survives long enough for her to see him again, in the barracks or in a trench, maybe then she’ll find the right words to say. All she knows is that she cannot bare to lose another person in her life, another friend, another brother.

“Thank you, Pey. for everything.” He pulls back, letting go of her far too quickly. “If you save up, you’ll have enough by the time the legion comes for you.”

For him, she nods. But she has no plans of letting him fight and die alone.

By the time she settles back into her cot, she knows she won’t sleep for the rest of the night. There must be something she can do, and even if it takes all night, she’s going to figure it out. She will.

Ellyce coughs in her sleep and it’s a courteous, tiny sound. Even unconscious she manages to be ladylike. No wonder she fits in so well with the Silvers, Peyton can’t help but think. She’s everything they like in a Red: quiet, content, and unassuming. It's a good thing she’s the one who has to deal with them, helping the superhuman fools pick out silk and fine fabrics for clothes they’ll wear just once. Ellyce tells Peyton that you simply have to get used to it, to the amount of money they spend on such trivial things. And at Grand Garden, the marketplace in Summerton, the money increases tenfold. Together with her mistress, Ellyce sews lace, silk, fur, even gemstones to create wearable art for the Silver elite who seem to follow the royals everywhere. The parade, she calls them, an endless march of preening peacocks, each one more proud and ridiculous than the next. All Silver, all silly, and all status-obsessed.

Peyton hates them even more than usual tonight. The stockings they lose would probably be enough to save herself, Weston, and half the Stilts from conscription.

For the second time tonight, lightning strikes.

“Ellyce. Wake up.” Peyton doesn’t whisper. The girl sleeps like the dead. “Ellyce.”

She shifts and groans into her pillow, waving her off. “Sometimes I want to kill you,” she grumbles.

“How sweet. Now wake up!”

Her eyes are still closed when Peyton pounces, landing on her like a giant cat. Before she can start yelling and whining and get their mother involved, the oldest of the two clamps a hand on her mouth. “Just listen to me, that’s all. Don’t talk, just listen.”

Ellyce huffs against her sister’s hand, but nods all the same.

“Weston -”

Her skin flushes bright red at the mention of him. She even giggles, something she never does. But Peyton doesn’t have time for her schoolgirl crush, not no. not when it comes to something this vital.

“Stop that, Ellyce.” she takes a shaky breath. “Weston is going to be conscripted.”

And then her daughter is gone, her face dropping in shock. Conscription isn’t a joke, not to them.

“I’ve found a way to get him out of here, to save him from the war, but I need your help to do it.” It hurts to say it, but somehow the words pass her lips. “I need you, El. Will you help me?”

The younger girl doesn’t hesitate to answer, and Peyton feels a great swell of love for her sister.

“Yes.”

It’s a good thing Peyton and Ellyce are the same size, or else the youngest of the two’s extra uniform would never fit. It’s thick and dark, not at all suited to the summer sun, with buttons and zippers that seem to cook in the heat. The pack on her back shifts, almost taking her over with the weight of cloth and sewing instruments. Ellyce has her own pack and constricted uniform, but they don’t seem to bother her at all. She’s used to hard work and a hard life.

The pair sail most of the distance upriver, squashed between bushels of wheat on the barge of a benevolent farmer Ellyce befriended years ago. People trust her around here, like they can never trust Peyton. The farmer lets them off with a mile still to go, near the winding trail of merchants heading for Summerton. Now they shuffle with them, toward what Ellyce calls the Garden Door, though there are no gardens to be seen. It’s actually a gate made of sparkling glass that blinds them before they even get a chance to step inside. The rest of the wall looks to be made of the same thing, but Peyton can’t believe the Silver king would be stupid enough to hide behind glass walls.

“It isn’t glass,” Ellyce tells her, answering the question she never asked. “Or at least, not entirely. The Silvers discovered a way to heat diamond and mix it with other materials. It’s totally impregnable. Not even a bomb could get through that.”

Diamond walls.

“That seems unnecessary.”

“Keep your head down. Let me do the talking,” she whispers.

Peyton stays on her little sister’s heels, her eyes on the road as it fades cracked black asphalt to paved white stone. It’s so smooth she almost slips, but Ellyce grabs her arm, keeping her steady, like an anchor. Weston wouldn’t have a problem walking on this, not with his so-called “sea legs.” But then again Weston wouldn’t be here at all. He’s already given up. She will not.

As they get closer to the gates, Peyton squints through the glare to see to the other side. Though Summerton only exists for the season, abandoned before the first frost fall,it’s the biggest city she’s ever seen. There are bustling streets. Shops, cantina bars, houses, and courtyards, all of them pointed toward a shimmering monstrosity of diamondglass and marble. And now she knows where it got its name. The Hall of the Sun shines like a star, reaching a hundred feet into the air in a twisting mass of spires and bridges. Parts of it darken seemingly at will, to give the occupants privacy. It’s breathtaking, intimidating, magnificent - and this is just the summer house.

“Names,” a gruff voice barks, and Ellyce stops short.

“Ellyce Fox. This is my sister, Peyton Fox. She’s helping me bring some wares in for my mistress.” She doesn’t flinch, keeping her voice even, almost bored. The Security officer nods at Peyton and she shifts her pack, making a show of it. Ellyce hands over their identification cards, both of them torn, dirty things ready to fall apart, but they suffice.

The man examining them must know Peyton’s sister because he barely glances at her ID. Peyton’s he scrutinizes, looking between her face and her picture for a good minute. She wonders if he’s a whisper too and can read her mind. That would put an end to this little excursion very quickly and probably earn her a cable noose around the neck.

“Wrists,” he sighs, already bored with the pair.

For a moment, Peyton is puzzled, but when Ellyce sticks out her right hand without a thought, she follows the gesture, letting the officer slap red bands around their wrists. The circles shrink until they’re tight as shackles - there’s no removing these things on their own, that’s for sure.

“Move along,” the officer says, gesturing with a lazy wave of a hand. Two young girls are not a threat in his eyes.

Ellyce nods in thanks, but Peyton doesn’t bother. She has no doubt in her mind that that man doesn’t deserve an ounce of appreciation from her. The gates yawn open around them, and they march forward. Peyton’s heartbeat pounds in her ears, drowning out the sounds of a Grand Garden as they enter a different world.

It’s a market like she’s never seen, dotted with flowers and trees and fountains. The Reds are few and fast, running errands and selling their own wares, all marked by their red bands. Though the Silvers wear no bands, they’re easy to spot. They drip with gems and precious metals, a fortune on every one of them. One slip of a hook and Peyton can go home with everything she’ll ever need. All are tall and beautiful and cold, moving with a slow grace no Red can claim. They simply don’t have the time to move that way.

Ellyce guides Peyton past a bakery with cakes dusted in gold, a grocer displaying brightly colored fruits she’s never seen before, and even a menagerie full of wild animals beyond her comprehension. A little girl, Silvers judging by her clothes, feeds tiny bits of apple to a spotted, horse like creature with an impossibly long neck. A few streets over, a jewelry store sparkles in every color of the rainbow. Peyton makes note of it, but keeping her head straight here is rather difficult. The air seems to pulse, vibrant with life.

Just when she thinks there could be nothing more fantastic than this place, she looks closer at the Silvers and remembers exactly who they are. The little girl is a telky, levitating the apple ten feet into the air to feed the long-necked beast. A florist runs his hands through a pot of white flowers and they explode into growth, curling around his elbows. He’s a greeny, a manipulator of plants and the earth. A pair of them have orange hair and hatful eyes, even while kids mill around him. All over the square, every type of Siver goes about their extraordinary lives. There are so many, each one grand and wonderful and powerful and so far removed from the world Peyton knows.

“This is how the other half lives,” Ellyce murmurs, sensing her sister’s awe. “It’s enough to make you sick.”

Guilt ripples through Peyton. She's always been jealous of Ellyce, her talent and all the privileges it affords her, but she’s never thought of the cost. The younger girl doesn’t spend much time in school and has few friends in the Stilts. If Ellyce were normal, she would have many. She would smile. Instead, the fourteen-year-old soldiers through with needle and thread, putting the future of her family on her back, living neck-deep in a world she hates.

“Thank you, El,” Peyton whispers into her ear. Ellyce knows she doesn't just mean for today.

“Salla’s shop is there, with the blue awning.” She points down a side street, to a tiny store sandwiched between a pair of cafes. “I’ll be inside, if you need me.”

“I won’t,” Peyton answers quickly. “Even if things go wrong, I won’t get you involved.”

“Good.” Then she grabs Peyton’s hand, squeezing tight for a second. “Be careful. It’s crowded today, more than usual.”

“More places to hide,” Peyton tells her with a smirk.

But her little sister’s voice is grave. “More officers too.”

They continue walking, every step bringing them closer to the exact moment Ellyce will leave Peyton alone in this strange place. A thrum of panic goes through her as Ellyce lifts the pack from her shoulders. They’ve reached her shop.

To calm herself, Peyton rambles under her breath. “Speak to no one, don’t make eye contact, keep moving. I leave the way I came, through the Garden Door. The officer removes my band and I keep walking.” Ellyce nods as she speaks, her eyes wide, wary and perhaps even hopeful. “It’s ten miles to home.”

“Ten miles to home,” she echoes.

Wishing for all the world she could go with her, Peyton watches Ellyce disappear beneath the blue awning. She’s gotten her this far. Now it’s Peyton’s turn.

————————————————————————

this one’s a little bit longer sorry! don’t worry cause someone’s gonna make a special appearance in the next part! any guesses???

-Roni

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #chris sturniolo au #anomaly #matt sturniolo au #prince!chris #prince!matt #red!reader #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #fantasy

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mack-devereaux · 2 years ago

Text

King Sized Bed

Sebastian Aho

Authors note! This is a work of fiction and of my imagination. This is in no way based on true events or how I think these people would act in real life. If you don’t like the fic please scroll on, if you do like it please reblog or give a ❤️! Much love to all of you!

Pictures are from Pinterest so credit to who ever took them.

Triggers: Cursing, drinking. Suggested adult activities but no actual smut. I think that’s it.

Enjoy!

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

You’d always enjoyed sports. Hockey especially, so when you and your best friend moved to Raleigh North Carolina for school it was just a perk that you could attend the occasional hockey game. That was until your best friend had caught the eye of a certain Finnish player. Teuvo Teräväinen. They’d met at a bar after a big playoff win, she looked so happy, and you loved that. A few months into them dating it was almost required for her to be at every game during the new season, not that you were complaining. You loved spending time with her and of course seeing hot nhl players was a huge perk to your shenanigans, but as always the world had a funny way of bringing certain people together and wherever one Finn went, there was another close by. Which was how your little crush on Sebastian Aho developed.

When your best friend got her ticket for the game from Teuvo, yours came shortly after. Always seated together. Always close to the home bench. Always close to the ice. You thought it was just Teuvo telling Sebastian he didn’t want his girlfriend being alone at the games and that your ticket was being forced from the forward, but truthfully Sebastian was actually extremely excited that he could give his ticket to someone. Especially you. He thought it was perfect. Teuvo being his best friend and dating your best friend. It all made sense, but he was a man who didn’t express his emotions very often, so he left it alone. Just dropping hints with the free tickets and invites to all the parties as his ‘plus one’ or more so Teuvos ‘extra plus one’. He found your obliviousness endearing. No matter how obvious he was with his flirting or comments about how happy he was to see you, you never caught on to the genuine feelings and truth behind his actions. Or if you did you just brushed it off, although he saw right through your nerves and shyness.

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

Waiting down in the tunnels by the locker rooms at the end of the games were always your least favorite. You didn’t belong there, no matter how hard your best friend tried to get you to feel comfortable you just weren’t. All the girlfriends and wives were gorgeous and dressed to the nines. Most of the time you just wore jeans or leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. Then of course there were the puck bunnies, leaving very little to the imagination. Not that you were one to judge, you always said ‘if you’ve got it, flaunt it’. You knew you had a nice body, you just preferred not to show it off around the wags and at games. You tried to ignore the stares from the wags and groupies, but soon all you could hear was the girls trying to get the attention of some of the players. Teuvo came over grabbing your best friend and whisking her away, you laughed because you knew he hated the extra attention after they left the locker room. You soon felt a hand on your back, turning to see the most beautiful brown eyes you had ever seen, of course belonging to the man who had your feelings all over the place.

“Hey Sebastian, good game out there. You guys played great” and you meant it. He was on fire, and everyone knew it.

“Thank you for coming to watch, means a lot” he said without breaking eye contact.

He looked up at his friends and noticed they had all headed towards the parking lot.

“Did you drive here? I can take you home if not” Sebastian said “I think your ride is leaving.”

“We grabbed an Uber, I didn’t really think of having a plan to drive home” you laughed, slightly embarrassed by the lack of planning on your end.

“No worries, I’m glad to drive you” he grabbed your hand and led you towards the parking lot.

The ride to your apartment was too short. His hand immediately finding a spot on your thigh, and your hand immediately finding the top of his. You guys found your hands constantly touching each other when no one else was around. He had asked about your schooling and how everything was going with your last year. You asked him about the upcoming games. It was all very domestic and you couldn’t help but think what everyday life would be like with him. As he pulled up to your apartment neither of you moved. How comfortable you were around him spoke volumes. You had never really felt this comfortable around anyone besides your best friend. Looking down at your hands you started playing with his fingers . “Thank you for driving me home Sebastian” you smiled at him.

He smiled back as you opened the door and walked towards your apartment building. As you buzzed yourself in you turned to find him still sitting there watching you. Making sure you made it safe.

Ten minutes later a text came through to your phone.

From Fishy 🐠:

How were your seats for the game this time? Were they ok?

To Fishy 🐠:

They were perfect. Thank you ❤️

From Fishy🐠:

Some of the guys and their girlfriends are coming over tomorrow night. You should come.

To Fishy 🐠:

I’d love to. Goodnight Sebastian 💕

Throwing his phone to the side. He stared at his ceiling. This was his chance. He had spent months trying to find a way to make his move on you. He knew how you felt about him. He’s seen multiple text conversations between Teuvo and his girlfriend and heard multiple phone calls between the two girls, unknowingly to the girl in question of course. She would die of embarrassment had she known what he knew. He had tried to make his feelings clear but somehow you hadn’t caught on to any of his hints. He was just going to have to be more forward the next time he saw you.

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

You and your best friend were getting ready for the party at Sebastian’s house. They had a great month as far as games went and the guys wanted to celebrate. It wasn’t uncommon for you and your best friend to get ready together on FaceTime. Normally she would come over to get ready with you but she had stayed with Teuvo the previous night. You technically still lived together but you couldn’t blame her for wanting to stay with her hot nhl boyfriend overnight. In fact you were positive you’d do the same thing if you had a hot nhl boyfriend. Suddenly a teasing voice came over the phone breaking you out of your thoughts.

“So you do realize you actually have to talk to Fishy tonight right? Especially since he’s the one that invited you” Teuvo teased you.

“Oh my God Teuvo stop. She’s already nervous” your best friend said.

“I talk to him! And you really shouldn’t be going through our text conversations, there’s classified information in there” You said rolling your eyes and glaring at your phone. Teuvo just rolling his eyes back at you. This was a common conversation between the three of you. “What are you wearing tonight?” You added, deciding to ignore her boyfriend.

“A short tight dress! Maybe you do the same!” Teuvo shouted.

“Ok you’re done, out!” Your best friend said as she was pushing Teuvo out of the bathroom she was getting ready in. “Anyway, I am wearing that cute little navy dress I bought two weeks ago” she said as she went back to curling her hair.

“So a short tight dress” you said laughing.

“Oh wear that cute black strappy one! The one you wore for New Years last year! Oh my gosh Sebastian is gonna die when he sees you in that again” your best friend said.

“Ugh, I remember waking up on his couch the next morning” you groaned.

“Nooooo, you remember the both of you waking up on that couch, and he damn near ripped Seth’s head off when Seth commented how good you looked” your best friend said grinning at you “anyway I think we are gonna leave soon, text me when you head out. Love you!!”

“Love you bye” you threw yourself on your bed and sighed as she hung up the phone. Thinking back to New Years, that happened to be the first night you had spent with him, all innocent of course. You had too much to drink and Sebastian was kind enough to let you crash on his couch, in his arms. Looking at the clock you decided you had wasted enough time. It was now or never, and you were dying to see a certain Finn tonight.

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

You wore the dress. Because of course you did. You put your car in park as you looked up at the house, there were a few cars out front but not many. Assuming only a few players with their significant others and all the single guys came over. You checked your makeup in the mirror one last time. Letting out a long breath you grabbed your keys and got out of the car. As you made your way to the front door, slowing your strides, your delusions began to kick in. Wondering what it would be like to come home to this house every night. To have one of the star players come home to you every night. To have him love you in ways no other man ever could. Was this a crush? No, it was much more. It was just now that you realized you were in love with Sebastian.

You walked in to the house and were immediately greeted with the sounds of laughter and chatter from all the people you had grown close to in the last year. You saw him as soon as you walked in, his eyes catching yours and for a moment time stood still. He looked good. His brown eyes softening and a small smile crept on his face. Before you could even take a moment to breathe your best friend and a few of the other girlfriend’s immediately greeted you and you soon felt at ease. What you didn’t see is how Sebastian’s gaze dragged down your body, inappropriate thoughts flooding his mind as he saw what you happened to be wearing, and then smirking at the memory of New Years when you fell asleep in his arms wearing that particular dress. He took a drink as he jumped back in to the conversation between Seth and KK.

As the night went on you slowly drank your glass of wine. Not wanting to drink too much or too fast so you could drive home later. The party had slowly moved to the back yard around the fire pit. As you finished your wine you got up and walked back into the house to put your glass away and to get a drink of water. Sebastian watching you. Teuvo nudged him and Sebastian downed his beer and followed you into the house, it was now or never. Oblivious to what was happening behind you, you noticed some empty food containers and wine bottles on the counter, setting your glass down you decided to tidy up a bit.

“You don’t need to clean y/n” Sebastian said as he opened the fridge to grab another bottle of wine “have another glass of wine and come back outside, let’s just relax and enjoy time with our friends.”

“Umm, I think I’ll just have water, I need to drive home tonight” you said quietly, grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge.

Sebastian looked behind him making sure no one was eavesdropping. He stepped closer to you.

“You are always welcome to stay here” he said as he grabbed your glass from in front of you. “I’ll move your car into the driveway.” He held his hand out for your keys.

“I don’t want to impose Sebastian, you’ve got a lot going on tonight” you smiled shyly.

“Y/n” the way he said your name was so sensual, eyes staring so intensely at you “at what point are we going to acknowledge what’s happening between us.”

“I don’t know what you mean” you tried avoiding his piercing stare, as he cornered you in the kitchen.

“I’ve got a spare bedroom, and I’ve got a very comfortable couch, as you already know.” Your heart almost stops as he steps closer to you, he puts a hand on your waist as he pours more wine in your glass. Your favorite wine, of course he had that in his fridge, you thought. He knows everything about you.

“Or… I’ve got half of a very comfortable king sized bed that isn’t being used” he sets the wine bottle down, “unless you find yourself on my half of the bed” he smirked, he then sets the water bottle next to the glass of wine he just poured. You realizing he’s making you choose. This decision was more than just water or wine. Water meaning staying friends, and wine meaning more.

“You are more than welcome to any of those three options, but..” he grabs your chin and drags his thump down your bottom lip, tilting your head up to look at him. “The king sized bed is definitely the more..” he paused, “enticing option.” His eyes flicker from your lips to your eyes “your choice love.” He walks away and back outside.

You felt hot, the room was all of a sudden so small. Did that actually happen? Did he actually just invite you to his bed? You stared at the bottle of water and then moved your gaze to the wine glass. A million thoughts were running through your head. Looking outside you saw all your friends, how they were with their significant others. You deserved to be happy too. And Sebastian could give you that, you knew you’d be happy with him, and he’d be happy with you. All you’ve ever wanted just right in front of you. Taking a deep breath you grabbed the glass of wine and made your way back outside to your friends. Catching Sebastian’s eye over the fire he smirked, noticing the wine glass in your hand. A silent confirmation as to what was going to happen later that night. You turned into your best friends side and told her about the encounter that happened just a few minutes ago in the kitchen. Her eyes shooting to the Finnish players. A silent conversation happening between her and Teuvo as they made eye contact.

“It’s about time, I’ve been waiting for this to happen for months. You better call me as soon as possible tomorrow morning” she smiled at you.

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

You were slightly more relaxed after the second glass of wine, very much coherent and in control of your actions, you had just enough alcohol to take the edge off. The party started to dwindle. Teuvo and your best friend currently saying their goodbyes. As soon as the front door lock clicked into place you immediately felt his gaze on you. His eyes taking every part of your body in, and you doing the same to him. His broad shoulders, his muscular chest. Everything about him was just beautiful. He truly was one of the most attractive men you’ve seen. And he wanted you. He made that very clear earlier.

“Should I set up the spare room for you or are you joining me tonight” he spoke so calm and confident. His gaze so intense.

“I think I’d like to stay with you tonight, if that’s okay” you said quietly but with just as much confidence.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you to say that” he said as he walked towards you. You could practically feel his heart beating just as fast as yours as he pulled you into a kiss, your lips moving together so perfectly. Electricity shooting down your spine. As he pulled away you could only think of what he was like in bed, what you two would feel like together in such intimate moments in his bedroom. What caught you off guard was how relaxed you became as soon as his lips met yours the second time. No more nerves, no more anxiety, you felt at home. Your mind reluctantly went to a moment last year when your best friend had met Teuvo.

*flashback*

Hearing the front door shut you said “so.. how was your night?” You turned to smirk at your best friend.

“He is absolutely incredible y/n. It was the perfect date and the perfect night and he’s just so…” your best friend gushed on and on about her date with a guy she met a few days ago.

“Let me guess, perfect?” You laughed.

“Y/n I wasn’t even nervous around him. That’s how you know you’ve met the right person. There’s no nerves, there’s no anxiousness. Just calm. He’s the one I know it.” Your best friend laid on the couch next to you.

“I’m happy for you, you deserve to be happy” you said genuinely.

“Who would have thought my person was THE Teuvo Teräväinen of the Carolina Hurricanes.”

*present*

Soon it was a flash of teeth clashing and hands grabbing. Clothes disappearing as he lead you to his bedroom. You soon felt your back hit his mattress and good lord he was right. The king bed was definitely the best option of the night. As the rest of your clothes came off the praises began. You had never felt more beautiful than in that moment. In such intimate moments where men often become selfish, Sebastian was the opposite. He spent all night worshiping every single inch of your body, making you feel like the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Putting your pleasure before his, and he definitely satisfied you more than once. As you both came down from your highs your breathing started to slow. Cuddled into his chest and drawing shapes on his stomach with your fingers. In that moment you both realized you were it for each other. He shifted a bit and you looked up towards his face, grabbing your chin and kissing you softly one more time that night.

“In case I wasn’t clear enough, I really want to see where this relationship can go” Sebastian spoke softly.

“I think I’d like that” you whispered.

“Goodnight y/n”.

“Goodnight Sebastian”.

#nhl imagine #nhl x reader #hockey imagines #carolina hurricanes #sebastian aho imagine #sebastian aho

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 year ago

Text

It's Who We Have | Part Nine

Summary: It's time for Billy to try and make amends with their friend group, whilst also anticipating the fallout of the incident | Word Count: 6.5k~ | Warnings: connotations of racism, mentions of terrorism, smut, p in v, quickie, mentions of funerals

General Taglist | Billy Washington Masterlist | Series Masterlist

The smell of varnished wood made her nose wrinkle. It made her think of the school’s assembly hall, the one in primary school, scratched to shit, and when the sun shone in on it during the day, it had a mustier quality to it than usual. She still remembers the dust in the air, drifting in front of her face like tiny fairies. It reminded her of those spring days at Cranstead Fields, when the flowers were pollinating, and the yellow haze that clung around her.

The only time she’s ever liked that smell, was at the Year 6 disco, when she looked out at the others, dancing to ‘Uptown Girl’, with Panda Pop and Wotsit-stained fingers, faces bright with laughter. She felt her chest tight with nerves, only eased somewhat by the squeeze of Billy’s hand beside her. She had to look up at him now, he’d shot up since she first met him. But his soul remained the same.

“Miss?”

Her head shot up, shaking her head slightly of her trance, brought back to the musty smell of the courtroom, her eyes flitting about, the odd familiar face in a sea of unrecognisable ones. Billy to one side on the bench where the witnesses would be, his gorgeous blue eyes wide with worry, but not for him, craning his neck forward at her in concern.

She looked back at the lawyer, her cheeks warm with embarrassment, “I’m sorry…could you repeat the question, please?”

She clutched her dress in her fist, luckily hidden behind the witness box, but the judge might have been able to see.

“Could you describe your relationship with the other witness, Mr Washington?"

She found her mouth was so dry, as if made of cotton for a moment, a hoarse, nervous voice escaped her, feeling the eyes of everyone in the courtroom zero’d in on her alone.

“Billy and I have known each other since we were kids. We grew up in the same neighbourhood, went to the same schools. We've always been close.” she answered, reaching for the glass of water to take an anxious sip.

Friends. It felt strange saying that now, in the mere weeks after what they’d done in Billy’s flat on that rainy evening in July. If she’d have looked closely, she would see the faint dusting of pink on Billy’s cheeks as he bowed his head.

She continued, “When I went off to university, we lost touch for several years. It was only when I returned to London that we reconnected. As for now," she concluded, her voice softening, "I consider Billy one of my closest friends. Someone I trust with my life."

The man before her nodded, his face stern. Unwavering.

"Had Mr Washington ever expressed any extreme or radical views in your presence?"

She glanced out, locking eyes with Lana across the room. As usual her expression was unreadable. And then when her eyes slid back to Billy, he looked somewhat tired, nervous that she would tell the truth, anxious it would sway the Jury's decision on Karl. But all the same, he smiled at her reassuringly, a tiny one, and nodded. It’s okay.

Inhaling deeply, she acquiesced with a firm nod, her voice resolute yet tinged with empathy. "Yes, but only once," she divulged, sensing the courtroom's collective intake of breath. "It happened after the incident with the halal butcher's window. I confronted him about his actions, and he later confessed to me that he had no real understanding of why he'd done it. I didn’t believe he was capable of genuine hatred towards anyone purely based on race, especially as he’d never had these opinions before."

A ripple of murmurs cascaded through the room, accompanied by the rhythmic scratch of pens against paper. Under the weight of the moment, she felt Billy's gaze fixed upon her, a silent plea etched in his eyes, silently beseeching her to be his beacon of hope amid the storm of uncertainty.

"Were you aware of any plans or discussions about a bomb or an attack?"

A flash of confusion passed her face before she replied, “I wasn't.”

"Can you describe in detail how Mr Washington reacted at the exact moment the bomb was found? What were his first words or actions?"

The inquiry hung in the air, weighty and demanding. She hesitated for a brief moment, gathering her thoughts, before beginning her response.

"At the exact moment the bomb was found," she began, her voice steady but tinged with emotion, "he appeared...shocked, bewildered even. His first words were, naturally, expletives, and then he attempted to get out of the car, before I stopped him."

“And why did you stop him?”

Irritation clawed at her, at the way she was being scrutinised for protecting him, “it was Lana, his sister and a member of the bomb squad, who alerted us to the presence of the bomb. She instructed us to remain in the car, and I followed her guidance to ensure our safety, and so when Billy had calmed down, we drove to Cranstead Fields at the MET’s request.”

The lawyer paused for a moment, seemingly digesting her words, before continuing with a slightly sharper edge to his voice. "So, you're saying you trusted the instructions of Lana, despite knowing there was a bomb in your vehicle?"

"Of course," she affirmed, her voice firm. "Lana is a professional, and she knows how to handle these situations. She assured us it was safer to wait for the bomb squad to come to us. In addition, as Billy’s sister, she naturally wanted to save him.”

He paused again, eyes scanning the courtroom before returning to her. "One final question for you," he said, voice steady. "At any point before this incident, did you ever witness Mr Washington associating with individuals known for radical or extremist views?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. She knew the importance of her answer, aware of the delicate thread on which Billy's fate balanced. "No," she said firmly, locking eyes with the prosecutor. "Billy has always been a kind-hearted person, never one to harbour hate or engage in violence. His actions towards the halal butcher's shop were out of character, spurred by manipulation from those he thought were his friends."

The lawyer nodded, signalling the end of questioning. As he returned to his seat, the courtroom buzzed with whispered speculations and the scratch of pens on paper. The witness's testimony had painted a complex picture of Billy, one of a man caught in a web far beyond his understanding or control, a narrative that would undoubtedly play a crucial role in the jury's deliberations.

Her breath trembled as she retreated, the echo of her statement lingering like a shadow. Walking with shaky legs back into her seat, she dared a glance, eyes seeking Billy. In that fleeting moment, their gazes met, a silent exchange fraught with hope and uncertainty. And when she sat down beside him, he was quick to hold her hand, mouthing, ‘are you okay’, to which she simply nodded with a thick swallow.

She thought she was.

She had yet to spare a glance at Karl Maguire, sat in the middle of the courtroom, an impassive expression etched across his face. He sat sideways as if bored, a stark contrast to the way Lana had known him.

Everything just seemed to get more confusing after Cranstead.

Over one particular shouting match that took place in the Washington household, this time it wasn't Billy who was on the receiving end, but Lana.

When Karl was rumbled, arrested on suspicion of being The Crusader's self-appointed leader and responsible for the multiple terrorist attacks, including Nut and Billy, her parents were naturally fucking furious.

As much as they praised her for how clever she was, her dad would tail it off with ‘well this wasn't very fucking clever of you, was it. Taking a fucking terrorist to bed’.

It was horrendous to watch, nevermind to listen to. How could Lana have not seen this? Billy had been groomed by the Crusaders, yes, but so had Lana. And she had no rebuttal to any of it. She just bowed her head, admitted how stupid she felt, and her guilt was clear as day, thinking about how they could've died in that car that sunny July afternoon.

Naturally, Karl was all ‘no comment’. But the police had plenty of evidence to suggest he was associated, no less with Nick Roberts, showing a clear link from Karl not only to the Farringdon Tube Station attack, but to all the attacks that came before, and right to Billy.

Her presence in the car that fateful day enhanced the seriousness of it, as a person with no association with the Crusaders whatsoever. An innocent bystander. The lawyers took her situation and made a show of it, to convince both the Judge and Jury that this man was dangerous.

It didn't mean the Defence couldn't have a dig at the witnesses though. They'd bought up all the dirt on her and Billy that they could, focussing on Billy's extremism, without divulging the emotional manipulation that had occurred before and during that.

“I believe Mr Washington has an impact statement prepared?”

All eyes drifted from the judge towards Billy's Mum, who descended from the public gallery to appear before the court.

The usual softness Val gave off in everyday life, the look of a mother that she had so often saw, was replaced with a tight lipped scornful gaze as she glanced up at Karl and then to the paper in her hands, trembling slightly.

“Judge.

Before this incident, I led a life unmarred by the shadows of extremism and violence. I was an ordinary person, with hopes and dreams for the future. That future now feels irretrievably altered.

The day we discovered the bomb in my car marks not just a moment of terror but a fracture in the narrative of my life. The realisation that I was unwittingly made part of a plot to cause harm has left me with a profound sense of betrayal and vulnerability. My trust in others, once given freely, has been eroded by suspicion and fear.

In the aftermath, the psychological scars have been deep. Nights are the hardest; sleep has become a battleground for nightmares replaying the what-ifs. My days are punctuated by moments of panic at the slightest reminder of that day. The isolation I feel is compounded by the public's scrutiny and the stigma attached to being involved, however unwittingly, in such an event.

Professionally, the path ahead has become even more uncertain.The stigma from this case has darkened my prospects of finding employment. Already jobless, the widespread publicity now taints every attempt to move forward, casting a long shadow over my future. Relationships that I valued, with friends and loved ones, have been strained or severed, unable to withstand the whirlwind of emotions and the shadow of doubt that follows me.

But perhaps most painful of all is the impact on my relationship. We shared a bond of trust and friendship that was tested in the most harrowing way. The guilt I carry for her involvement, for the danger we faced together, is a weight that I am learning to live with every day.

I stand before you today a changed person. The future I envision now is one of rebuilding – not just my life, but my sense of self. I am committed to moving beyond this, to finding a way to trust again, to sleep without fear, and to live without the constant weight of what happened.

And most importantly to rebuild my life with the woman I love.

Thank you for allowing me to share the impact this has had on me. I trust that justice will be served, not just for me but for all who have suffered at the hands of extremism and hate.”

She felt her whole body get hot, emotions swirling like a storm inside her, raging to break free. And when Billy squeezed her hand and looked sideways at her, his expression soft and dreamy, as if he just wanted to wake up from this dreadful nightmare, she swallowed as a warm tear fell to her face.

The next few hours drained all energy out of them both. She and Billy simply remained like this, hands clasped, desperate to just get out and start fresh. And they half-listened to Lana's testimony, regarding bomb disposal and her personal history with Billy, as well as the forensic analysis and psychologists who worked to enhance the already serious nature of the trauma they had endured.

“The Jury will begin their deliberations. Court is dismissed for today. Thank you.”

Even the judge sounded tired.

The first thing she did when they were all filed out into the foyer was sink into Val’s waiting arms. There were no tears she could shed, not anymore.

“You alright?” Val whispered. And she only nodded, half-tired of the question she'd been asked non-stop since the Cranstead Fields incident. But she knew Val only asked out of love.

That pleasant warmth rolled in her gut, feeling Billy's hand at the small of her back, “d’you wanna go home?”

She nodded, “can we pop by the shop first?” She asked, “need some flowers for the grave.”

The funeral was no big service. As if she didn't have enough to deal with after Cranstead, planning this in the wake of her mother's death was just twisting the knife inside her further.

Billy, as expected, offered to take most of the emotional weight off her. After waking up in his flat the following morning, he'd barely known what to do with himself. Sure, he'd thought about this for so long, being with her. But now that it was right before him, in his grasp, he didn't know what to do with it. As if it were so precious he was afraid one wrong move would break this newly formed connection.

The day of, she'd begrudgingly met up with her extended family of whom she'd barely seen for years and years. Her mother was a solitary creature, buried deep in her addictions, it was only natural she shut herself away from her own family.

Her mother's brother was surprisingly keen to meet her though, and after the service was concluded with a speech drawn up about ‘she was a mother, a member of the community’ etc etc, she milled about the outside with Billy, making idle chat.

Her Uncle, a whole eight years younger than her Mum, was an image of what she imagined her mum could be like, had she taken help, had she taken those steps to look after herself. Her uncle was bright, happy, fit and teeming with life. It only served to supply her mind with the ‘what ifs’.

Him taking an interest in her didn't soften the blow of all their side of the family feeling like total strangers. People who hadn't seen her mother in years bloody cried, but didn't even know who she was. Her daughter was just a lingering ghost of her mother's abuse.

She invited her dad purely because she wanted to be polite. But he only showed up to pop some flowers down and gave her a nod of the head before retreating into his partner's car.

Her real family had come.

Val and Jeff were the gold stars in the weakened darkness. Making sure she was okay, asking what needed to be done. Everything. And on top of all that, Billy never once left her side, one hand perched on her hip permanently, every now and then leaning down to plant a boyish kiss to the crown of her head.

It was the only time she never felt numb.

And after the long, long day, abstaining from the offer of a lift from Val and Jeff, being much too soon after Cranstead to even think about that, Billy walked back to his flat with her hand in his, entertaining her chatter about literally anything other than her mother.

And the memory of the funeral was quickly shed past the threshold of his apartment, alongside her clothes. And the second time they ever had sex was similar to the first, minds too hazy to think about much else than just each other, and the sensations of this new, unbreakable bond.

There was a lingering sense of unease about the day. London, once bustling with life. Families, friends and people with wide smiles and bright eyes, had made way for a new era of melancholic routine. With summer drawing to a close, but the heat persisting somewhat in the clear, blue skies above, the children had all but gone back to school, and thus the crowds and tourists along with it. And without the excited squeals of children playing outside to fill the silence, all she could often hear was the low hum of traffic and the rustling of foliage in the trees above.

It was somewhat comforting.

And yet, she felt her body was tight with nerves in the weeks that followed their time in court. She willed her phone to vibrate, to finally find out.

What sentence would Karl be given? Would Billy’s involvement sway the Jury or the Judge?

Who could know.

Her eyes looked over Billy’s bowed head and sullen form as he stepped out the corner shop, having panic-bought a packet of fags to stem the rising anxiety in his system. She leant against the wall, watching as he struggled to open the pack and slide one cigarette between his lips, waiting for him to say something.

There were two reasons Billy was nervous.

“Billy, it’s gonna be fine-”

“Fuck,” he cursed, managing to light the cigarette the second time, blowing smoke between his lips and relaxing his shoulders. He raised his eyes to her then, offering her a drag, to which she shook her head and insisted she was trying to come off them. “Easy for you to say. You didn’t smash up a halal butcher’s window.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes, “they wouldn’t have invited you if they didn’t want to make amends,” she insisted, “or me by association, for that matter.”

Billy gave her a tight-lipped smile. Lately he was never able to keep his eyes on her for long before looking away. She wished she could somehow peer into his mind, to see what mysterious things he thought about. But the truth was, now that Cranstead had really sunk in, he couldn’t shake the unwavering feeling of guilt– that she, like him, could have died because of the stupid decisions he’d made, because he was too overly-trusting. And that he had foolishly placed that trust into malicious hands.

She knew him so well. Perhaps too well. And seeing all this doubt swirl around his beautiful mind had her hand seeking his, “Hey..”

He chewed his lip, raising his blonde eyelashes to glance at her calm face.

“You can do this.”

Taking a deep breath, Billy squared his shoulders, steeling himself for what lay ahead. He knew that facing his friends would be no easy task, that their judgement and condemnation would be a bitter pill to swallow. But he also knew that he couldn't continue to hide from the consequences of his actions, that he owed it to himself and to her to confront his past head-on.

So he dropped the half-smoked ciggie to the floor and crushed it with his shoe, his longer fingers tightening around hers, “Okay. Let’s go.”

On an impromptu trip to Portugal, Libby and Abi had finally taken the leap of faith. Or rather, Abi stopped being a bit less scared of her dad, and finally proposed. Nobody was more ecstatic about it than Abi’s Mum, much to everyone’s surprise. Apparently when she found out, she cracked a few ribs with the force of the hug she gave her and stated that she had better start getting used to spicy food if she wanted to be in in.

She’d been berated with texts from the group chat, of which Billy had been removed from a few months before the wake of what he’d done, with Libby trying to organise a little barbeque to celebrate the engagement.

All of the friend group would be there. And she could feel the heavy anxiety seep off Billy the closer they became to their house.

“Ready?” she asked quietly, looking down the alleyway between houses that led to the back garden. She could already smell something cooking, the clinking of glasses and the soft, airy laughter of Libby, as well as the squabbling nature of Harry and Paddy.

Billy nodded, though his expression remained tense. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. "As ready as I'll ever be," he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

She squeezed his hand reassuringly, offering him a small smile. "Remember, they're our friends. They care about you, too."

He managed a weak smile in return, grateful for her support. Together, they made their way down the alleyway, the sounds of the celebration growing louder with each step. As they reached the gate to the garden, she gave him an encouraging nod, silently urging him forward.

Stepping into the warm glow, Billy felt a wave of relief wash over him. Surrounded by familiar faces and the comforting buzz of conversation, he began to relax, the weight of his apprehension slowly lifting.

Libby spotted them first, her face lighting up with a bright smile as she rushed over to greet them. "You made it!" she exclaimed, enveloping them both in a tight hug. "We've been waiting for you."

She hugged Libby just as tightly, her eyes glancing over her yellow sundress and handing her a bunch of flowers as congratulations, “You look lovely.”

Libby scrunched her nose, pulling her hand into hers, semi-forcefully, “Mmhm. You, missy, have a lot to tell me.”

She couldn’t have rolled her eyes enough. Libby obviously wanted to know about that day when she and Billy…reconciled. She cringed at the thought of having to give details, “get a drink in me first.”

Feeling the semi-judgemental eyes of the lads on him, Billy swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck as sweat began to form there, “I’ll get us one,” he muttered quickly, disappearing into the kitchen, as a means to hide from the lingering glares.

“Is he okay?” Libby whispered, or rather mouthed it, so he wouldn’t hear.

“He’s nervous. Understandably.”

“Hm…so do you find out the verdict today?” Libby asked, pulling her towards the barbeque where Paddy had taken over from Abi. She only nodded, unable to shield her own anxieties, and insisted on seeing the engagement ring, both out of sheer nosiness and at a desire to change the subject.

All while Billy's hands clasped the kitchen counter tightly, the anxiety of feeling judged made his other vulnerabilities bubble to the surface. And even when he closed his eyes tightly, he could still feel the fear he had felt in the driver's seat of that car, the guilt he still feels for putting her…the woman he loved, in a position of danger.

It was nearly enough to make him break down every time.

Abi entered the kitchen to find Billy standing by the sink, his posture tense and his expression troubled. The clinking of glasses halted as Billy turned, startled by Abi's presence.

"Billy," Abi's voice was firm, tinged with disappointment. "We need to talk."

Billy's shoulders stiffened, a flicker of apprehension crossing his face. "Abi, I..." he began, but Abi held up a hand, silencing him.

“I won't mince words here, Billy. I am beyond fucked off at what you did.” Abi’s gaze bore into Billy's, unyielding. The weight of Abi's words hung heavy in the air, each syllable a reminder of the consequences of his actions.

"I know," Billy murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I fucked up, pal..."

Abi's expression softened slightly, a flicker of understanding breaking through his stern facade. "Look, Billy, I get it. I understand that you were in a dark place, but that's no excuse for what you did. Yes, you’ve tested all of our trust, but you could have seriously hurt someone, mate."

Guilt gnawed at Billy's insides, a knot tightening in his stomach as he struggled to find the right words. "I know, Abi. I'm sorry," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "I never meant for any of this to happen. I was just...lost, you know?"

Billy's voice quivered as he continued, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He couldn’t even really look at the man in front of him anymore, his vision was so misty.

"I have nightmares, Abi. Every night, I see her in that car, scared and vulnerable because of me," he confessed, his voice choked with emotion. "And the guilt...it's eating me alive. I can't shake the feeling that I've let everyone down, especially her."

Abi's expression softened further, a pang of empathy washing over him as he listened to Billy's words. "Mate, I can't imagine what you're going through," he said gently, his voice tinged with compassion. "But you can't let this define you, Billy. You've got to find a way to move forward, to make things right."

Billy nodded, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his burdens. "I'm trying," he said earnestly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive myself for what I've done."

Abi sighed, his gaze soft yet determined as he met Billy's tear-filled eyes. "Listen, Billy," he began, his tone firm but gentle. "I believe you when you say you're sorry, and I understand that you're struggling. But that doesn't mean you get a free pass. You messed up, mate, big time."

Billy nodded, a lump forming in his throat as he swallowed back his emotions. "I know, Abi. And I'm willing to do better," he said, his voice filled with resolve.

Abi gave him a reassuring smile. "Good," he said, clapping Billy on the shoulder. "Because we're going to hold you accountable, mate. Not out of spite or anger, but because we care about you. We want to see you learn from this, grow from it." There was a beat before a more teasing smile crept across Abi’s face, “and no more bitching and whining either.”

Billy managed a weak laugh, grateful for Abi's attempt to lighten the mood.

Abi's smile widened, the tension in the room easing slightly to make way for camaraderie. "And who knows, maybe one day we'll look back on this and laugh," he said, a hint of playfulness in his tone. "But until then, come here you mardy fucker."

As the weight of their conversation hung in the air, Abi reached out, pulling Billy into a hard and firm hug. In that moment, amidst the quiet of the kitchen, they both knew that forgiveness would be a long and arduous journey. But together, they would face it, one step at a time. As friends.

“Ummmm, Billy, that’s my fiance!” Libby shouted from the garden.

The tension broke with Libs' unexpected interruption, her voice carrying through the open door. Billy and Abi exchanged sheepish grins before stepping back from their impromptu embrace.

"Sorry about that," Billy muttered, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks as he wiped away the traces of tears.

Abi chuckled softly, a warmth settling in his chest at the sight of his friend's vulnerability. "No worries, mate," he replied, clapping Billy on the shoulder. "We've got plenty of time for heartfelt moments later. Right now, let's go join the celebration."

“Congrats, by the way.”

Abi gave him a warm smile and gestured with his head towards the two women gossipping by the sun-loungers, “you too,” he replied with a raised eyebrow.

A blush crept again to Billy’s cheek as he shoved Abi’s shoulder casually, “shut up.”

With a shared laugh, Billy and Abi made their way back to the garden, leaving the weight of their conversation behind in the kitchen. As they rejoined the group, laughter and chatter filled the air, a reminder that amidst the challenges and struggles, there was still joy and camaraderie to be found.

Under the warm glow of the late afternoon sun, the garden came alive with laughter and chatter as friends gathered around the barbecue. The smell of sizzling sausages and burgers filled the air, mingling with a summery aroma.

The other lads had given Billy a ribbing, but had very much followed in Abi’s approval, and once they too became aware that all was forgiven (pending the proof that Billy was going to do better), it was all smiles and gentle banter.

Paddy and Harry, self-proclaimed kings of the barbecue, manned the grill with gusto, though Billy couldn't help but chuckle at Paddy's attempts to get the burgers just medium well, which he was thus failing to do.

It was nice to laugh with them again, after all these months. And he felt the warm afternoon pleasant on his skin, a cold bottle of beer in one hand as he glanced over at the two girls on the other side of the garden. They sat, engrossed in conversation, probably pertaining to Libby's interest in their relationship judging by her wide-eyed expression.

He found himself trailing his eyes over her as if he couldn't believe she existed. Or rather like he couldn't believe that after everything, she was with him. It was like his heart was so swollen with love it ached.

She was like a dream, a breath of fresh air. And he had been through hell and back with her, and yet she still managed to look every bit as beautiful as the day he lost her all those years ago.

The littlest thing, from the way she slung her hair over her shoulder, to the way she readjusted the hem of her dress everytime she crossed her bare legs. Even, Billy shamefully thought, the little peek of her bare chest between the buttons at the front of her dress.

Torn from conversation, she felt her phone buzz and looked right up at him, “Billy-” she called, ushering him over.

He felt his heart go fast.

The verdict.

Libby, always the saviour, “go upstairs if you want, for some privacy.”

Hand in hand, they ascended the stairs, their hearts pounding with nervous anticipation. Squeezing into the guest bedroom, they stood close together, seeking comfort in each other's presence. Billy wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her tightly as she answered and set it on speakerphone.

“Hello?”

The solicitor's voice came through calmly, giving little indication of the news he was about to deliver. “Afternoon. I've just left court.”

“And?” Billy's voice trembled with anxiety, his grip on her tightening.

There was a pregnant pause, and she could feel the tension radiating from him.

“Three life sentences. And they're whole life orders, so he's not seeing the sun again.”

Relief flooded through them, a heavy weight lifting from their shoulders. Three life sentences meant that Karl would be behind bars for the rest of his life, never again posing a threat to society or to them. It was the justice they had hoped for, the closure they desperately needed. She felt Billy’s chest deflate, a stuttering breath leaking out with a sense of safety replacing the trepidation.

“Thank you,” she whispered into the phone, her voice choked with both emotion and happiness, her fingers shaking with excitement.

The solicitor's voice softened. “You're welcome. Take care, both of you.”

As they ended the call, a wave of relief washed over them, mingling with the bubbling excitement that their future held. She couldn't contain her joy, letting out a squeal of delight that echoed through the room, a pure expression of the happiness that coursed through her veins. Billy's heart swelled with happiness at the sound, his own relief merging with her infectious joy.

In one fluid motion, she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace that mirrored the depth of their shared elation. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close, as if afraid that this moment might slip away if he didn't hold on tight enough. Their laughter mingled in the air, a symphony of happiness that filled the room.

She buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply, taking in the familiar scent that was uniquely him. It was a comforting blend of his natural scent and the faint aroma of beer, a reminder of the simple pleasures of life.

Feeling the surge of emotion coursing through him, Billy couldn't resist the overwhelming urge to express his joy in the most primal way possible. With a sudden, yet gentle movement, he tilted her chin upwards, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss that spoke volumes of his love and longing.

At first, she was surprised by his sudden boldness, but the warmth of his lips against hers quickly melted away any hesitation. She responded eagerly, her arms wrapping around his neck as she deepened the kiss, their bodies pressing together in a rush of desire and anticipation. All the pent-up emotions of the past months spilled over, their kiss grew more fervent, more urgent, as if they were trying to convey all the love and passion they felt for each other in that single, electrifying moment.

Their breath mingled in the air, coming in ragged gasps as they broke apart, their eyes locked in a heated gaze. Billy’s forehead pressed to hers as he glanced down, his hand stealing between her thighs to rub at that sensitive spot over her underwear with infuriating accuracy. Her lips parted, cheeks flushed as a bolt of desire made its way up her spine at his touch, “Billy-” she managed in a breath, voice quivering with a quiet excitement at his brazen desire.

“Fucking love you.”

When his other hand bunched her dress up, he left goosebumps on her skin, but she didn’t complain. Even though it was both incredibly risky and wrong to do this when their friends were likely waiting with bated breath downstairs, it was exhilarating to be wanted like this so desperately. And she couldn’t deny herself, with his touch igniting it, that she wanted it too. She slid her hand down his chest to his jeans and ran her palm over his rapidly growing erection, strained against the fabric, and assisted him in undoing the button.

No sooner was her hand down the front of his boxers stroking his length with a languid touch was Billy hooking her leg around his waist, pressing her back against the wall of the guest bedroom.

Their lips locked and tongues seeking each other with ragged breathing as she held on onto his shoulder to keep herself stable, only to shudder when he pulled the gusset of her underwear aside and slid into her with one confident thrust. Though aroused somewhat, the spontaneity of the tryst had her lips parting with the pleasant sting as he pushed his way into her, but it only served to heighten her desire for him.

“Fuck-”

He whispered against her lips, bottoming out with a groan inside her, one hand clamped around her leg to keep it around his waist. With every lazy thrust into her, white-hot pleasure hummed up her spine, the feeling of being stretched around him one she'd never tire of.

His breath batted against her neck, hips pushing her harder against the wall, and when she let out a moan that was far too loud for comfort, a lazy smile made its way to Billy's lips as he shushed her.

“Be quiet-”

The duality of the moment, the wholesomeness of their bond and the fact they were having a quickie here of all places made her erupt in a quiet laugh, “sorry-”

Billy laughed too, until his brows knitted together and his stomach muscles strained at the added stimulation around his length, “fuck, don't laugh-”

“-sorry.”

He surged forward to capture her lips in a searing kiss to muffle her voice, thrusting up into her with heightening intensity. And she tightened her grip on his shoulders and with a stifled moan tightened around him as well, her body trembling with climax, her skin hot and tacky from the primal energy.

She could see the strain of his muscles and how much effort it took for him to clear his mind enough to pull out of her, painting the inside of her thighs with a quiet groan.

Even in the afterglow of sex, being held by him, with his rapidly drying spend on her legs, completely out of breath, all she felt was relief and sheer happiness. And it was impossible to stop the lazy smile on her flushed face, her eyes taking every bit of his face in.

Billy closed his eyes and leaned into her hair when she brushed his moistened hair from his eyes. His lips grazed her palm, and she felt her heart squeeze.

“We should get back downstairs..” she uttered softly.

Billy let out a light laugh and lowered her, pulling his jeans back together to button them up, “right, yeah, sorry-”

She raised on her tiptoes, praising him with a quick kiss, “I'm not complaining,” she smiled, still partly out of breath, “just let me get cleaned up and we'll go down together.”

Neither did a good job of hiding the blushes on their faces as they rejoined the group outside, met with knowing glances and barely-hidden smirks, though she had fixed her hair and made sure there were no obvious hand prints on her legs.

She and Billy slipped back into the group seamlessly, their smiles bright and their laughter genuine. They shared stories and jokes, and added the result of the verdict to the reason for celebration.

Even when the sun dipped beneath the buildings, the air was warm and comforting on their skin, a feeling of contentment warmed their hearts. And every now and then, when Billy showed outward affection, with a hand on her waist or a peck to the cheek, Libby would let out a half-drunk squeal and nearly start bawling about how happy she was for them.

The group felt whole for the first time in months.

While collecting glasses and bottles, as the afternoon turned to evening, Harry elbowed Billy in the ribs, with a boyish and cheeky expression.

“Told her you love her yet?”

Billy flushed, and chanced a glance outside, where she and Libby were setting up the fire pit for the evening. For some reason, something as simple as her raising her arms to tie up her hair stirred that familiar feeling in him, the same as when he'd had her in the guest bedroom not a few hours before.

He wet his lips, and thought with an ache in his heart, that he'd always feel this way about her. And Billy finally responded.

“Something like that, mate.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blackswxnn @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch

@castellomargot @emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy

@justbelljust @minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian

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#billy washington #billy washington smut #billy washington fanfiction #billy washington x reader #billy washington x y/n #billy washington x fem!reader #billy washington x oc #billy washington trigger point #trigger point itv #trigger point fanfic #trigger point #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters #trigger point billy washington #billy washington angst #billy washginton fic #billy washington fan fiction

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nophunleague · 7 months ago

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stare decisis: chapter nine - frigus

frigus: latin for cold

masterlist

wc: 1586

rafael barba x original female character

The crisp December morning air fills Quinn’s lungs, the temperature awakens her lungs in a way humid summer New York could never. Pulling the knit scarf tighter around her neck she makes her way up the courthouse stairs. She bypasses the line of defendants and family members to get to the staff entrance.

“Lady, are you my lawyer?” is shouted at her a few times as she passes the crowd, but knowing most of these people are most definitely not her clients she walks by without making eye contact with any of them.

Quinn heads straight to Courtroom 7 for the morning of First Appearances, which starts not too long after her arrival.

“State, what say you on bail in the case of Kiara Cortez for felon in possession of a firearm?”

“Your Honor, given the fact that this is not only Ms. Cortez’s third felony charge but my office is also currently investigating Ms. Cortez for other possible criminal infractions at the moment the State requests that Ms. Cortez remain in custody pending the resolution of the charged offenses,” Quinn’s pale finger flips through the fairly thin case file that followed Ms. Cortez in her visit to the courthouse. The judge agrees with Quinn, ruling Ms. Cortez to be confined.

“This is bullshit!” the defendant shouts as she is placed in handcuffs by the bailiffs. The young woman is red in the face as she squirms away from the officers.

“Ma’am, you need to calm down,” strong arms hold her by her bound wrists, Quinn’s eyes bounce from the file for the next case on the docket to the commotion in the courtroom - silently begging it resolve itself quickly. The noise continues as she reads Mr. Peralta’s charge sheet until the podium is knocked out from underneath her hands. The brunt shoulder of a bailiff bucks Quinn back over the top of the counsel table while the bailiff attempts to reign in Ms. Cortez.

Quinn’s head smacks the table top with a thud as she slides across it, but her head is thankfully safe from another blow as she hits the floor - and her not so friendly neighborhood bells quickly return. Dazed, she lays on the floor for a minute and thanks herself for wearing pants today. A hand appears in her eye line, she takes it instantly and is pulled up to stand on her feet once again. Blood rushes through her ears to the beat of heart, the ringing compliments the bass beat in a symphonic hell.

The savior’s hand feels familiar as Quinn’s eyes follow the arm up to the face of its owner. Hazel eyes meet her blue ones, the skin around them crinkles as a grin stamps itself on his face.

“Mac?” the commotion in the courtroom is fairly contained at this point, the distant screams of Ms. Cortez can be heard as she’s dragged away and placed into custody.

“Hi Quinn,” Mac greets but then kicks into doctor mode to examine his big sister’s head. “How’s your head?” His hands turn her by her shoulders then he draws his fingers across her scalp gently to check for abrasions.

“Fine,” she tries to move away from him but he holds her in place and drags two fingers together across her eyeline. “I don’t have a concussion,” she shoves his hand back down to his side.

“But your ears are ringing, aren’t they?”

“Ms. Brady, don’t let me interrupt your conversation but I’m ready to proceed,” Quinn’s eyes snap to the bench to find unimpressed eyes.

“My apologies, Your Honor, please, let’s proceed,” Mac seats himself just behind the bar on the side of the state and waits patiently as they go through about a hundred or so more cases.

Packing her tote bag she turns back to look at her younger brother again. “Why are you here?” she sighs, hands defeatedly falling to her sides.

“I’m worried about you and I had the leave to burn,” his hands are shoved in his pockets, the innocent look of feeling that as the youngest sibling he could do no harm plain in his hazel irises. Reading her watch she realizes it’s already lunch time.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” she crosses the bar to leave the courtroom, him following behind her. “I’ll take you to my place and we’ll talk later after I get off of work.”

***

When Quinn returns, Carisi, Liv, and Rollins are having a meeting in Rafael’s office; with Christmas having been the previous week everyone has a lot of work to catch up on.

She ignores the meeting and heads straight to her desk, diving right back into work. Carisi knocks on her door frame on their way out, the group has now migrated to her office.

“Hey Counselor, how was your Christmas? Your kids enjoy it?” he blurts, her right eyebrow raises so high it almost touches her hair line.

“Kids? I don’t have kids, Detective,” Sonny stutters and begins to motion toward the picture that sits on the bookshelf next to her desk. The photo is old once you look at it, it showcases a small redheaded girl, maybe around 6 years old, holding hands with a boy who had to be only a year or so old.

“I think what he’s trying to spit out is that he saw that picture and assumed those were your kids,” Rollins speaks for him, as Sonny’s face flushes with embarrassment.

“Well maybe next time we don’t assume. That would be me and my brother, circa sometime in the 80s,” she stands and grabs the photo from the shelf, glaring as it reminds her that the little boy in the picture is sitting in her apartment right now. The nagging voice in her mind berates her for giving Mac the cold shoulder earlier.

The picture was taken on a random day, probably after Quinn had been picked up from school for the day. “Honestly thought the Smurfette shirt would have given that away. Now what’s your update?”

“Our supposed accomplice Justice Yang has identified a person of interest. Carson Baird,” Carisi hands over a file including the young man’s DMV photo as well as his school records.

“No criminal record?” Quinn’s eyes look from the paperwork to the detectives, her pointer finger runs down the nonexistent rap sheet of the teenage boy. The detectives all shake their heads. “So what makes him an interesting person?”

“Baird and our victim dated, she broke up with him three weeks before she was killed,” Liv explains.

“Interesting timing, but has Baird ever shown a penchant for acting violent or sought revenge against someone before?”

“Well, no, but he’s a teenager - they always have pent up rage,” Rollins quips. Quinn shuts the file and hands it back over to Carisi before speaking again.

“It’s clear to me that you all like him for the crime. But it's also exceedingly clear that 1. you do not have enough evidence to support the DA’s office charging him and 2. that Barba also shot you down so you came here thinking you would get a different answer. Come back when you have more,” she gives a slight shrug of the shoulders to imitate that she felt sorry; but she doesn’t. The squad’s habit of coming to the office with way less than the necessary evidence was something Barba had murmured to her about during her first week. “If it’s there, and he’s your guy, you’ll find it. Until then, don’t waste our time please.”

They excuse themselves without another word - finally allowing Quinn to take a breath after what has felt like the longest morning she’s had in a while.

As the day winds to an end, Quinn’s groove of getting work done is halted by a distraction from her co-counsel.

“Do you have your first appearance notes? We need to pass them on to the respective prosecutors.”

“Oh yeah,” Quinn ruffles through the various legal pads on her desk until she finds the right one. “Let me scan them and then I’ll send them over.”

“Maybe next time you won’t find yourself so distracted after court and get them to people on time,” his quip comes in rhythm with the clashing of more intracranial bells. Her flat hand slams hard onto the top of her desk, the sound causes an eyebrow of his to raise.

“Stop speaking to me like that,” she’s seeing a hue as red as her hair. “I’m am just as competent of an attorney as you and I’m allowed to have fucking bad days. In case you didn’t know, I got thrown over a fucking table in court this morning, my ears have been ringing all fucking day, so no I haven’t had the chance to send these off yet.”

He doesn’t back down quite yet, “but you were able to have a lunch date,” her fingers pinch the bridge of her nose as she takes a deep breath.

“That was my goddamned little brother who flew in without telling me so I took him to my apartment and left him there so I could come back to work.”

“Your brother?” he falters, eyes softening as he realizes that no, she didn’t have a hot lunch date but instead probably didn’t eat lunch at all. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“You’re right, you didn’t and you don’t. You. Do. Not. Know. Me. For god sake let me be and maybe I will succeed in getting some work done today.”

#svu #law and order svu #rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #amanda rollins #fin tutuola #nick amaro #olivia benson #original character #sonny carisi #rafael barba x oc

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banabiohazard · 4 months ago

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TEASER OF THE WRIGHTWORTH FIC IM WORKING ON RIGHT NOW “Turnabout Timeloop”

“TAKE THAT!” I handed the judge a photo of the tape outline of one of the ‘wet footprints’ with a ruler next to it, “I measured these footprints that Mr. Lester testified about, tell me, what is your shoe size?” “. . .” The judge lowered the photo, “Please tell the court your shoe size Mr. Lester!” “. . . . Thirteen. . . .” “The exact size!” The judge exclaimed, “Kyle,” I turned to Mr. Porter, “Would you toss me one of your shoes?” I asked, “Oh! Yeah, here.” He slipped off one of his vans and threw it at my chest, after slipping it twice I caught it, peering inside despite the smell at the number on the inner heel. “Nines!” The jury gasped and rabbled as I turned it for all to see, taking an opportunity to quip I cleared my throat, “Well Mr. Lester, if the shoe fits-“ “YOU SPIKY PRICK!” Moe breathed heavily after cutting me off, “THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH MY TIME BEING OFF! THAT’S WHAT WE WERE TALKING ABOUT!” Edgeworth butted in, glaring resentfully at his witness, “I hardly think that matters anymore.”

The judge nodded, “I DIDN’T HURT LYLA I DID NOT! ERAAAH! CURSE THESE CLOWN FEET!!”

After he was arrested and taken away for his own trial later, Kyle was found not guilty, I swelled with pride, I’d have to take Maya out for burgers, whether she knew it or not, she had earned us this paycheck.

ELEVEN PM

I sighed happily, content with my victory. I let sleep slowly take me on the couch in my office, thanks for the do overs universe, really handy.

MORNING

I woke up around six AM soaking in the surroundings of my bedroom, for once I had actually went home to sle- oh oh. Okay, uh, hm. What exactly was I supposed to do now, I sat up in bed, I need to talk to someone smarter than me, someone who might know what’s going on, or if I’m going insane. Maya maybe? She knows about freaky stuff like this, no, she’d probably freak out and try to drag me up to the mountain or something… after sifting through a few more options I land on Edgeworth, he’ll either believe me with our history and try to help, or he’ll think I’m insane and try to get me help, yeah.

OUTSIDE THE COURTHOUSE, BEFORE THE TRIAL

I waited outside for Edgeworth, tapping my arm with my fingers, when I saw him approach I stopped him at the door, “Miles I need help.” I said frantically as I grabbed his shoulders, the panic having really set in over the last few hours. He looked me up and down with concern, “Of course Wright, are you alright??” He asked, I took a deep breath, “I’m stuck in a timeloop, I’ve done this trial three times! I keep on waking up this morning after.” He stared at me wide eyed silently, “What did you take Wright?” He asked, “I didn’t take anything! This is real miles!” I shouted. He looked down in thought, “You are clearly unfit to work right now, stay here. I will go in and request postponing, we will go get you a drug test and if you pass I will consider the possibility that you are telling the truth.” He said flatly, “..Fine.” I replied.

OUTSIDE THE DOLLAR STORE

As I stood outside my phone pinged,

‘Nick what happened to the trial??’

Oh boy, I forgot to make up an excuse for Maya, whatever I’ll deal with it later, I pop my phone back in my pocket as Edgeworth exits the store with an all purpose drug test.

As he stares at the results sitting across from me at the Waffle House he clicks his tongue, “Okay, you’re just crazy.” I hang my head in my hands, “This is real Edgeworth.” I say quietly. “Yes well, I recommend getting help.” And he got up, and left.

I can’t say that was expected, dear god.

EIGHT PM

I spent the rest of the day at the park and ended up falling asleep on a bench, wondering what to do.

MORNING

I woke up around six AM soaking in the surroundings of my bedroom, for once I had actually went home to sleep rather than crashing at my desk, I sigh deeply as I sit up on the side of my bed, when to my surprise, something new happens, my phone rings, Edgeworth.

‘Phoenix Wright.’

‘Wright. What did you do.’

#wrightworth #pheonix wright #miles edgeworth #ace attorney #fanfic #ace attorney fanfiction #ace attorney fandom #fanfic teaser #time loop

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fourthwingfan · 1 year ago

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Madness - Chapter 3

Edited - 2025.07.02.

Hi guys! With this chapter we're finally at Basgiath. From this point it will be more exciting, at least I hope so. Aaaand there are some Liam and Garrick moment. Enjoy it :)

Warning: It's a war college, you know the drill

Blue dragons descend from the extraordinary Gormfaileas line. Known for their formidable size, they are the most ruthless, especially in the case of the rare Blue Daggertail, whose knifelike spikes at the tip of their tail can disembowel an enemy with one flick.

– Colonel Kaori’s Field Guide to Dragonkind

If Jack wants to kill me, he’ll have to get in line. Besides, I have a feeling Xaden Riorson is going to beat him to it.

“Not today,” I respond to Jack, the hilt of my dagger solid in my hand. Somehow, I manage to suppress a shudder of disgust as he leans in and breathes, scenting me like a fucking dog. Then he scoffs and disappears into the crowd of celebrating cadets and riders gathered in the sizable courtyard of the citadel.

It’s still early, probably around nine, but already I can see there aren’t as many cadets as there were candidates ahead of us in line. Judging by the overwhelming presence of black leather, both the second- and third-years are here as well, taking stock of the new cadets.

The rain eases into a drizzle, as if it had only come to make the hardest test of my life even harder… but I did it. We did it.

We’re alive.

I made it.

“Vi, we did it. It’s over.” I turn to her with a relieved laugh.

“Yeah, you’re right.” And then I see her body begin to tremble. She takes a step and sways a little.

“Come on, we need to explore this fantastic place.” I try to distract the people around us, hoping they won’t notice Violet’s condition. I grab her arm as if I want to hurry her, when in reality I only want to support her.

“I think you made an enemy there,” the redhead says, casually shifting the lethal crossbow strapped along her shoulder. She glances at us over the scroll, a shrewd look in her hazel eyes as she looks me up and down. “I’d watch your back with that one if I were you.”

I nod. I know we’ll become irresistible targets.

Shit, I knew it before the Parapet - it’s just now it feels all too real. As if one mistake could mean Violet’s life, or mine, is over. I can handle myself well enough, but I grew up with Vi, and I really like her, despite her naive way of thinking. I mean, she wanted to be a scribe her whole life, and now she has to watch her back for 24/7. I feel sorry for her. My only option was to be a rider, but at least I wanted this - unlike her.

The next candidate approaches from the Parapet just as someone grips Violet’s shoulders and spins her around.

My dagger is halfway up when I realize it’s Rhiannon.

“We made it!” she grins at us.

“We made it,” Vi repeats with a forced smile that I know all too well.

I manage to sheath my dagger at my ribs, my other hand still holding Violet up.

Now that we’re here - as cadets - can we trust her? Probably, but we’ll see.

“I can’t thank you enough. There were at least three times I would have fallen off if you hadn’t helped me. You were right - those soles were slick as shit. Have you seen the people around here? I swear I just saw a second-year with pink streaks in her hair, and one guy has dragon scales tattooed up his entire biceps.”

“Conformity is for the infantry,” I say, as she loops her arm through Violet’s and tugs us along toward the crowd.

Damn it. Violet must have hit her knee when she tripped on the stones. I can feel her leaning on me more.

“Speaking of which,” she says, glancing down. “We need to trade boots. There’s a bench-“

A tall figure in a pristine black uniform steps out of the crowd, striding toward us - and Violet stumbles right into his chest.

“Violet?” He asks.

Fuck. That’s Dain Aetos.

I’d really hoped to see him much, much later.

Well, truthfully… never.

Violet looks like a lovesick puppy. She’s smiling… and is that a blush?

Gods help me.

I really don’t like Aetos. Violet thinks he’s charming and kind, a good man, but I doubt that. There’s something in his eyes that screams he wants to know all your secrets - as if he’d like to open your skull and drag out every dirty little thing you’re hiding. I believe he’d betray every single one of us if his father gave the order.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he barks, the shock in his eyes transforming into something deadly.

“Dain. It’s good to see you,” I greet him in a sweet voice.

In that moment, Violet’s knees give out and I have to use both of my arms to keep her up.

“Damn it, Violet,” he mutters, hauling her back onto her feet. With one hand on her back and the other under her elbow, he quickly guides us away from the crowd and into an alcove in the wall, close to the first defensive turret of the citadel. It’s a shady, hidden spot with a hard wooden bench, which he sits Violet on.

“I’m going to be sick,” she says.

“Just breathe, Vi, you’re going to be okay,” I try to reassure her.

“Head between your knees,” Dain orders in a harsh tone as he starts to rub circles on her back. “It’s the adrenaline. Give it a minute and it’ll pass.”

I hear approaching footsteps on the gravel. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Rhiannon. I’m Aelin and Violet’s… friend.”

“Listen to me, Rhiannon. Violet is fine,” he commands. “And if anyone asks, you tell them exactly what I said: it’s just the adrenaline working out of her system. Understand?”

“It’s no one’s business what’s going on with Violet,” I hiss at him sharply.

“Agreed, so I won’t say shit,” Rhiannon backs me up.

“You’d better mean that,” he warns us.

“Fuck off, Dain. You know I care about Violet. You don’t have to play the boss here,” I grimace.

“I’m a second-year rider, cadet,” he growls.

“I don’t give a shit if it’s about Violet. Besides, it’s just us here - who will know if I don’t show you the respect you deserve?” I ask him with a smile.

“No one can see you here, Vi, so take your time,” Dain says softly.

He’s ignoring me. That’s fine with me.

“Because puking my guts up after surviving the Parapet - and the asshole who wanted to throw me off it - would be considered weak.” Violet rises slowly, sitting upright.

“Exactly,” he answers. “Are you hurt?”

“My knee is sore,” she whispers.

“That’s all? You’re sure?” His hands run down Vi’s sides. “Are you wearing daggers?”

“Three at my ribs and one in my boot.”

“And she knows how to use them,” I butt in.

“Huh.” He looks at me as if he wants to say something, then his gaze slides to my boots, then to Rihannon’s. “Get your boots switched. You two look ridiculous. Vi, do you trust this one?” He nods toward Rhiannon.

“Ridiculous, my ass,” I mutter, then take off my left boot to switch back with Rhiannon - my darling comfy boots. “And it’s ‘her,’ and not ‘this,’” I add helpfully.

Vi lets out a snicker and nods.

“All right.” Dain turns toward us. There are sheaths at the sides of his leathers, too, each holding a dagger. “I’m Dain Aetos, and I’m the leader for Second Squad, Flame Section, Second Wing.”

Wow. A squad leader? I wonder how he managed to become one. He’s an ass. But that means I’d better watch him.

The highest ranks among the cadets in the quadrant are wingleader and section leader - both positions held by elite third-years. Second-years can rise to squad leader, but only if they’re exceptional. Everyone else is simply a cadet before Threshing - when the dragons choose who they will bond with - and a rider after. People die too often around here to hand out ranks prematurely.

“Parapet should be over in the next couple of hours, depending on how fast the candidates cross- or fall. Go find the redhead with the roll - she’s usually carrying a crossbow - and tell her that Dain Aetos put both you and Violet Sorrengail into his squad. If she questions you, tell her she owes me for saving her ass at Threshing last year. I’ll bring Violet back to the courtyard shortly.”

“Wait! Where are you taking her?” I ask suddenly.

“It’s none of your business, Cadet Melgren.”

“Aelin, just go. I’ll be fine with Dain,” Violet says, trying to ease my suspicion.

I glance at her and Rhiannon.

“Go, before someone sees us,” Dain barks.

“Shit. Fine.”

I say then Rhiannon and I try to find the woman Dain mentioned. It’s not an easy job with so many people gathering here.

“Look, there,” Rhiannon says, pointing toward the other side of the courtyard.

“Hey there,” Rhiannon greets the redheaded woman as we approach.

“What do you want?” She eyes us suspiciously.

“Dain Aetos sent us to tell you that he wants both of us and Violet Sorrengail in his squad,” Rhiannon continues.

“Dain? Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s a fucking teddy bear at heart,” I say sarcastically.

“She’s just kidding,” Rhiannon interrupts, elbowing me in the ribs. “He told us to tell you that you owe him for Threshing.”

“Fine. I can put you and Cadet Sorrengail in his squad, but not Melgren. I’ve received instructions from a superior about her.”

“Who gave you these ’instructions’?” I ask her.

“I can’t tell you. Now, I have to go - I don’t have time to chat.” The woman leaves us.

“Someone higher ranking than Dain? Do you have any idea who gave that order?” she asks curiously.

“No, I don’t,” I say. I mean, I have ideas, but I don’t know for sure. “Let’s split up. I want to observe the other cadets.”

“Well, see ya later.”

I walk to a spot where I can see everyone in the courtyard, then lean against the wall. More and more people are arriving- surely there will be a couple hundred cadets this year. I’m musing to myself when a light-blond man approaches me.

“Hi. Why are you so far away from everyone?” he asks.

“I don’t need friends or whatever, so go away,” I say sharply.

“Good. I just wanted to find a quiet corner,” he answers with a smile.

“Then try to find it elsewhere,” I snap back at him.

I don’t want to make friends or get acquainted with the other cadets. Most of them are going to die, and if I have to kill one of them to save our lives, I don’t want to hesitate. But why is this man staying here with me? It’s not like I was kind to him. Actually, I was a real bitch. So what does he want?

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He’s tall, with light blond hair and blue eyes - quite handsome. He shifts his weight, and now I can see his other arm. The dark lines on his skin. A rebellion relic.

“My name is Liam Mairi,” he says, turning fully to me. “ And you? Or should I call you Snappy?”

“Don’t you dare!” I glare at him. “I’m Aelin Melgren.”

I watch him carefully, searching his face for any sign of recognition- or resentment. After all, it’s my father’s orders that branded that rebellion relic into his skin.

People with rebellion relics rarely look kindly on the daughter of General Melgren. I almost expect his gaze to turn cold, or for him to spit on the ground, curse my name, or just walk away like most of the marked do when they learn who I am. Still, I force myself to stand my ground and meet his eyes, no matter what comes next.

“Melgren?” he asks. “Then I think you know what this is.” He points to his arm, to the relic etched in his skin.

“Yeah, so what?” I ask, frowning in confusion.

“It doesn’t bother you?” He lifts his brows, as if challenging me.

“Why would it? It’s not like you did something to deserve it,” I say quietly, looking at his arm.

“I like you, Melgren. You can be my friend,” he says, smiling at me.

“Who said I want to be your friend?” I narrow my eyes.

“Then I’ll be your friend. Snappy.” Liam winks at me.

“That’s the most ridiculous nickname I’ve ever heard,” I snap at him, glaring- though I can’t quite keep the corners of my mouth from twitching. “I have a name, you know.”

“Liam! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” I hear a voice call out to him. “What are you doing here?”

“I made a friend,” he answers, smiling.

“I already said I don’t need friends,” I say, rolling my eyes at him.

“And I said I’ll be your friend. You’re stuck with me.” Then he turns to the man in front of us. “She’s Aelin Melgren - she doesn’t know how to behave properly, and she’s a little bit snappy, but that’s fine.”

“Melgren?” the man in front of me asks.

“Yeah, so what? You got a problem?” I grumble, raising my eyebrows. I’m really getting bored of everybody asking the same questions. All the time. Melgren? That Melgren? General Melgren’s daughter? It’s exhausting. I sigh.

“No. It’s just surprising that he’d send his own daughter to this death trap of a school.”

“Well, it clearly shows you don’t know him,” I laugh bitterly. “And who the hell are you?” I look at him properly for the first time since he’s been here.

The first thing I notice are his eyes - beautiful hazel, full of depth and light. He has dark, curly hair that looks really, really soft. Oh, and he’s fucking tall. I spot a rebellion relic on his arm, too. That explains why they know each other.

And what is it with this school? Do only handsome men attend? Gods, the world is so cruel.

“I’m Garrick Tavis.” He nods at me, then turns to Liam. “You should join the crowd - it’ll start soon.” With that, he walks away without sparing me a glance.

“Let’s go, Aelin,” Liam says, looking at me as he waits to join the other cadets.

“Fiiiine,” I sigh, rolling my eyes as dramatically as I can before following him. I try to act annoyed, but the truth is, it’s kind of nice not to be alone- and Liam… well, he actually seems pretty decent. Not that I’d ever admit that out loud.

The clouds are breaking, and the drizzle is burning off as the gravel crunches beneath my feet on my way toward the gathering riders and cadets. The massive courtyard is shaped like an angular teardrop, its rounded end formed by a giant outer wall at least ten feet thick. Stone halls line the sides. I know the four-story building carved into the mountain at the rounded end is for academics, and the one on the right, towering over the cliff, is the dorms. The imposing rotunda that links the two buildings also serves as the entrance to the gathering hall, commons, and a library behind it. There’s a stone dais on the right side of the Parapet, occupied by two uniformed men I recognize as the commandant and executive commandant, both in full military dress, their medals winking in the sunlight. Finally, the last of the cadets walks into the courtyard, followed by the riders from the other turret.

Xaden is among them. It’s not just his height that makes him stand out in this crowd, but the way the other riders all seem to move around him - like he’s a shark and they’re all fish giving him a wide berth. For a second, I can’t help but wonder what his signet is- the unique power that comes from bonding with his dragon - and if that’s why even the third-years seem to scurry out of his way as he strides up to the dais with lethal grace. There are ten of them in total up there now, and from the way Commandant Panchek moves to the front, facing us, it seems we’re about to start.

“Three hundred and one of you have survived the Parapet to become cadets today,” Commandant Panchek begins with a politician’s smile, gesturing to us.

“The guy has always talked with his hands,” I whisper to Liam. He doesn’t answer - just gives me a look meant to silence me. It’s a shame, because I really like to comment on these things.

“Good job. Sixty-seven did not.”

„As the Codex says, now you begin the true crucible!” Panchek shouts, his voice carrying over the five hundred of us I estimate are in this courtyard. „You will be tested by your superiors, hunted by your peers, and guided by your instincts. If you survive to Threshing, and if you are chosen, you will be riders. Then we’ll see how many of you make it to graduation.”

„Your instructors will teach you,” Panchek promises, sweeping his hand toward the line of professors standing at the doors to the academic wing. „It’s up to you how well you learn.”

He swings his pointer finger at us. „Discipline falls to your units, and your wingleader is the last word. If I have to get involved…” A slow, sinister smile spreads across his face. „You don’t want me involved.”

„With that said, I’ll leave you to your wingleaders. My best advice? Don’t die.” He walks off the dais with the executive commandant, leaving only the riders on the stone stage.

A brunette woman with broad shoulders and a scarred sneer stalks forward, the silver spikes on her uniform flashing in the sunlight.

„I’m Nyra, the senior wingleader of the quadrant and the head of the First Wing. Section leaders and squad leaders, take your positions now.”

People start pushing past us until about fifty of them are standing in front, spaced out in formation.

„First Squad! Claw Section! First Wing!” Nyra calls out.

A man standing closer to the dais raises his hand.

„Cadets, when your name is called, take up formation behind your squad leader,” Nyra instructs.

The redhead with the crossbow and the roll steps forward and begins calling names. One by one, cadets move from the crowd into formation, and I keep count, making snap judgments based on clothing and attitude. It looks like each squad will have about fifteen or sixteen people in it.

Jake is called into Flame Section, First Wing.

Rhiannon and Violet are both called to Second Squad, Flame Section, Second Wing. Good - at least they’re together. Now, which wing will I be in?

„Second Squad, Tail Section, Fourth Wing,” the redhead continues.

„Liam Mairi.” He grins at me, then goes to join his squad.

„Aelin Melgren.” It seems I have no luck today. I sigh and the sorting continues.

„Hi, Snappy. Good to see you just can’t let me go,” Liam says, winking.

„Shut up. It’s not like it was my choice,” I grumble. But I have to admit, it could be worse.

We’re silent as the rest of the cadets are called. The sun is out in full now, beating down on my leathers and scorching my skin.

When the order sounds, we all turn to face the dais. I try to keep my gaze on the roll-keeper, but my eyes betray me and jerk right, my pulse leaping.

Xaden watches me with a cold, calculating look - like he’s plotting my death from where he stands as wingleader of Fourth Wing.

Like I said - no luck today. Shit. He’s my wingleader. And he’s still handsome.

I lift my chin, refusing to drop my gaze. No one else dares to meet Xaden’s eyes for more than a heartbeat, but I’m not about to look away- not now, not ever. Brave, or just stubborn? Maybe both.

He cocks his scarred eyebrow at me. Then he turns his attention to Violet, says something to Second Wing’s wingleader, and suddenly every wingleader joins in on what’s obviously a heated discussion.

Finally, the wingleaders turn to face us, and the slight tilt to Xaden’s lips makes my stomach instantly twist.

„Dain Aetos, you and your squad will switch with Aura Beinhaven’s,” Nyra orders.

Wait. What? Who the hell is Aura Beinhaven?

Dain nods, then turns to his squad. „Follow me,” he says once, then strides through the formation. They’re moving to Fourth Wing. My wing. Xaden’s wing.

„Shit, it just keeps getting better,” I murmur.

Liam hears me and raises an eyebrow, giving me a questioning look.

There’s a fucking smirk on Xaden’s arrogant, infuriatingly handsome face.

Then it clicks.

We’re entirely at his mercy - subordinates in his chain of command. He can punish us for any infraction he likes, even the ones he makes up.

Nyra looks at Xaden as she finishes assingments, and he nods, finally stepping forward and breaking our staring contest.

„You’re all cadets now.” Xaden’s voice carries over the courtyard, stronger than the others. „Take a look at your squad. These are the only people guaranteed by the Codex not to kill you. But just because they can’t end your life doesn’t mean others won’t. You want a dragon? Earn one.”

Most of the others cheer, but I keep my mouth shut. So does Liam. Smart move.

Xaden’s eyes find mine, and my stomach clenches before he looks away. „And I bet you feel pretty badass right now, don’t you, first-years?”

More cheers.

„You feel invincible after the Parapet, don’t you?” Xaden shouts. „You think you’re untouchable! You’re on your way to becoming the elite! The few. The chosen!”

„Man, he’s completely lost it.” I facepalm.

„Shh,” Liam hisses at me.

„What? It’s true.” I blink, confused.

„Maybe, but it’s not the right time to talk about your wingleader that way,” he explains. I just shrug. Whatever.

Another round of cheers rises with each declaration, growing louder and louder.

No. That’s not just cheering - it’s the sound of wings betaing the air into submission.

Oh. My. God. They’re magnificent.

Just when I think they’re about to fly overhead, they pitch vertically, whipping the air with their huge semi-translucent wings, and stop - the gusts of wing-made wind so powerful I nearly stagger backward as they land on the outer semicircular wall. Their chest scales ripple with movement, and their razor-sharp talons dig into the edge of the wall on either side.

Now I understand why the walls are ten feet thick. It’s not a barrier. The edge of the fortress is a damned perch.

A few cadets scream.

I guess everyone wants to be a dragon rider… until they’re actually twenty feet away from one.

Steam blasts my face as the navy-blue one directly in front of me exhales through its wide nostrils. Its glistening blue horns rise above its head in an elegant, lethal sweep, and its wings flare momentarily before tucking in - the tip of their top joint crowned by a single fierce talon. Beautiful.

Their tails are just as deadly, but I can’t see them from this angle- or even tell which breed each dragon is without that clue.

All are deadly.

There are three dragons in various shades of red, two shades of green – like Teine, Mira’s dragon – one brown, one orange and the enormous navy one ahead of me. They’re all massive, overshadowing the structure of the citadel as they narrow their golden eyes at us in absolute judgment.

If they didn’t need us puny humans to develop signet abilities through bonding and to weave the protective wards they power around Navarre, I’m pretty sure they’d eat us all and be done. But they like protecting the Vale – the valley behind Basgiath that the dragons call home – from merciless gryphons, and we like living. So here we are, in the most unlikely partnership.

A cadet bolts out of Third Wing, screaming as he runs toward the stone keep behind us. We all turn to watch as he sprints for the giant arched door at the center. I can almost see the words carved into the arch from here, but I already know them by heart: A dragon without its rider is a tragedy. A rider without their dragon is dead.

Once bonded, riders can’t live without their dragons, but most dragons manage just fine without us. That’s why they choose carefully - they don’t want to be humiliated by picking a coward, not that a dragon would ever admit to making a mistake.

The red dragon on the left opens its vast mouth, revealing teeth as big as I am. That jaw could crush me like a grape if it wanted to. Fire erupts along its tongue, then shoots outward in a macabre blaze toward the fleeing cadet.

He’s a pile of ash on the gravel before he can even reach the shadow of the keep.

Sixty-eight dead.

Heat from the flames blasts the side of my face as I jerk my attention forward. If anyone else runs and meets the same fate, I won’t watch it. More screams echo around me.

Two more gusts of heat blast past me- one to my left, then another to my right.

Make that seventy.

The navy dragon tilts its head at me, its narrowed golden eyes seeming to see straight through me.

I force my shoulders back and lift my chin, meeting whatever comes with steady resolve.

The dragon blinks - perhaps a sign of approval, or maybe boredom - and looks away.

„Anyone else feel like changing their mind?” Xaden shouts, scanning the remaining rows of cadets with the same shrewd gaze as the navy-blue dragon behind him. „No? Excellent. Roughly half of you will be dead by this time next summer.” The formation is silent except for a few untimely sobs from my left. „A third of you again the year after that, and the same your last year. No one cares who your mommy or daddy is here. Even King Tauri’s second son died during his Threshing. So tell me again - do you feel invincible now that you’ve made it into the Riders Quadrant? Untouchable? Elite?”

No one cheers.

Another blast of heat rushes toward me – this time directly at my face – and every muscle in my body clenches. But it’s not flames… just steam, and it blows back my hair as the dragons finish their simultaneous exhale.

They want us scared. Mission accomplished.

„Because you’re not untouchable or special to them.” Xaden points toward the navy dragon and leans forward slightly, as if letting us in on a secret while locking eyes with me.

„To them, you’re just the prey.”

#fourth wing #violet sorrengail #liam mairi #fourth wing x reader #xaden x reader #xaden riorson x reader #xaden riorson #garrick tavis #fanfiction #fourth wing fanfic #oc #the fourth wing

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