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heyidkyay · 5 days

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And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Twenty-Three

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way?

Authors Note: Another update this week?? I'm as shocked as anyone else, but hopefully this one will make up a little for the last! It's longer and a little less, um, idk, I can't say emotional?? because that would be a lie:/ Still, there are some developments! Also, it'll make sense a lot later but the 2nd image and the use of a Ride song are used in this one!

Hope you enjoy! Also thank you for all the love on this current series, it means a whole lot and keeps me writing xx

Warnings: similar to that of the last post! so pls look back there if you'd like to know!:)

> Last update: look back here if you'd like!

Masterlist

“I said no.”

Stressed was a feeling beyond words at this point. The past couple of days all I’d had was press hounding at me, calling and texting, emailing at all hours of the fucking day. They wouldn’t let up, even after I’d stayed silent. Adi reckoned it was mostly down to Teddy’s involvement in the whole thing. I didn’t want to think much more about it, although I knew she wasn’t wrong.

“Give me a reason at least?"

I shot a scathing glare over my shoulder before turning back to the filing system I’d taken to reorganising. It was my first morning back at the studio since... yeah, well Finn had Teddy- another factor to my current load of stress- whilst Adi was off doing something or other. I hadn’t asked, fearful of putting more of a strain on her current friendship- relationship??- with Ross, so instead I’d just chosen to tidy and rearrange the entire setup we had going on here. Because that was perfectly normal. And not a fucking way to evade talking or thinking about the mess that was my life. Okay?

“I don’t need a fucking reason, I just don’t want to.” I retorted, hissing slightly when I suddenly cut my thumb on the edge of a document. I withdrew my hand quickly and raised it towards my mouth, letting my eyes slip close for a moment when I heard a footfall step closer.

“Let me see.” Jamie sighed, probably thinking I’d done something worse to my hand than just a papercut. To be fair, the cabinet was old. One of them filing types from the ninety’s that we’d gotten for a score down at some boot sale, so I wouldn't be surprised if one of us did eventually end up losing an arm.

I shook my head and pushed the cabinet drawer closed, “It’s fine, just a papercut.”

Jamie huffed an amused chuckle before settling down on the edge of the desk nearby. It was Adi’s, you could tell from the sheer amount of shit she had accumulating it.

“One thing after another with you.”

My head tilted towards him with a deadened expression, “Ha ha.”

The older man raised his hands up in a mocking surrender, showing he hadn’t meant any real harm. “Too soon?”

I kicked at the toe of the leather boots he wore in retort as I moved towards the kitchenette, aware that he was just trying to lighten my horrendous mood but not really in the right mind for it.

“You want a brew?” I asked, not bothering to give him an honest reply to that question of his. Too soon? Yes, that was all too fucking true.

“Have a coffee if there’s one going.”

I dipped my head in a slight nod, filling the kettle and setting it to boil before snagging the coffee often reserved for guests on the show from a shelf nearby.

Jamie moved to better face me on Adi’s desk as I did so, wearing that same expression he’d turned up in, all concerned and weary. It bothered me a bit, seeing as though it was all I had garnered since the press had had their field day with my life, but I could also understand why. They all just seemed to feel for the idiot stupid enough to fall into another of Matty Healy’s traps.

“Stop.”

“Stop what?” He wondered around a light chortle at my demand, hands falling to rest between his thighs.

I gestured towards his face whilst I poured a splash of milk into my mug, “Looking at me like that, like I’m gonna break or something.”

With a sigh, he pressed his lips together. “You know it’s not like that.” I rolled my eyes in return but he just bounded on, “You know it’s not, I just care is all.”

I forced out a breathless chuckle, “That why you’re here trying to get me to hear him out then?”

To be fair to him, Jamie had come right out with it when he’d first popped by, having messaged me asking after my whereabouts earlier this morning. I’d told him, having spoken to him quite a bit over the last couple days, and then found him on the doorstep.

Jamie had been good with everything. He’d let me vent, rally against one of his friends and clients, question his own motives- and hadn’t even complained one bit. But now he was here asking me to give Matty a chance, a lot like he’d done that first time around in that small cafe all those months ago.

“I know you’re angry, you have every right to be.”

“Of course I’m fucking angry!” I immediately shot back at him, the rattle of the teaspoon ringing out as I dropped it into a mug, “I wouldn’t care if it had just been me he’d gone and fucked over! But he brought Teddy into this shit, Jamie. My son! So tell me, how am I supposed to hear him out after he’s done something like that and then lied about it? For weeks, mind you.”

Jamie looked back at me, wearing that ‘this meant business’ mug of his. I slumped at the sight, pressing my knee against one of the lower cabinets to continue stirring the drinks. I didn’t care, I didn’t care, I didn’t care.

“There’s a lot you don’t know, Mouse.”

My eyes slipped closed at his words and I took a second to just breathe. Because I wasn’t angry, not really. I was hurt and humiliated, and just so fucking sad. Fed up with it all, if I was being honest. Enough so that I knew that Jamie was being truthful here- and not just because it was a fact that I hadn’t spoken to Matty since things had fallen apart, but also because I hadn’t had the heart to ask Teddy about things yet. Or if ever.

The kid was four. Four, and asking after a man every night before he fell asleep and then as soon as he opened his eyes the next morning.

He knew something was up, he was smart like that. But what was I meant to do- to say? When I was just as confused as he was.

I’d ended up leaving him with Finn today, having had no other choice in the situation because the nursery was closed for an inset day, or some shite like that, and it seemed I had no other friends than the few around me.

Could quite literally count the lot of them on one hand.

But still, Finn and I’s relationship had still been rather rocky after that whole incident with him and Matty, and hadn’t improved since. In fact, he’d been a little unbearable about everything, always one to toot his own horn whenever he was right about something. But it was always slyly and I couldn’t help but feel as though it was a constant dig, like even when he wasn’t commenting on it he was still thinking it whenever he looked at me.

Which felt so horrible to think, let alone say out loud. He was my best friend. So I’d kept my mouth shut and just dealt with it, like I did everything else in life.

“He’s messed up about it.” Jamie then spoke, his voice having startled me a tad, breaking me out of my musings. He was watching me again, only when he did it, it didn’t feel as condescending as everyone else's. Like he understood my position. And I guessed that he probably sort of did.

“I bet.” I scoffed quietly, an airy titter escaping through my nose, and then I turned to toss my teabag away.

“It’s true.” Jamie shrugged, then nodded in thanks when I pushed a coffee his way. “He’s been ‘round Ross’s ever since shit hit the fan, hasn’t left the flat. Driving the lot of us mad, but he’s torn up, Mouse.”

Tongue in cheek, I wrapped my hands around my cup and propped my hip up against the counter, staring into the still swirling liquid. “Serves him right, I guess.” I replied with a soft shrug of my own, though we both knew I didn’t quite mean it.

Jamie looked over towards one of the windows to the right, most of them were either way too long or too tiny for the space, an odd build, but this particular one gave way to the skyline lying over the remainder of the city. I often wondered what the lower levels might look out at, thinking it was probably the majority of the surrounding buildings, and couldn’t help but feel a little thankful that we’d managed to snag this unit.

When he glanced back over at me, I took a sip and let him speak.

“A lot went on, that much I know, and it’s your choice how you deal with it. But, I saw the two of you. I saw him change. Which is stupid to say, I know, but it doesn’t stop it from being true. He was different with you, he actually tried in other aspects of his life and not just with the band and the music. He looked genuinely happy.” He smiled softly at the eye roll I gave, but it didn’t appear to deter him. “Don’t get me wrong, I know you didn’t fucking cure him. Don’t work like that, does it? But you helped. You and Teddy both.”

I looked away then, back towards the window, unable to really help it, and instead allowed my eyes to trail over the clouds which powdered the dusty blue sky.

“It was different. Things were different, and I know that there was love there. There couldn’t not have been. The way he looked at you…” Jamie shook his head ever so slightly as he breathed out, unaware of just how deeply his words had cut. But then he peered over at me and I found myself already looking back, air caught somewhere in the swell of my lungs.

“Don’t.” I choked out, the grip on my mug having tightened tenfold. “Just,” I shook my head.

Jamie put his coffee down on the desk and moved to stand, hands raised to convey he wasn't a threat. “I’m not saying this to hurt you more, love. Just telling you how I saw it.”

I licked at my lower lip, casting my eyes downwards. Our silence stretched and all could be heard was the odd car horn and chirp from beyond the walls of the studio, until-

“Anyone here?”

I blinked back the tears which had started to well in my eyes and sniffed, head shooting up just in time to spot a familiar giant ducking their head under the beam of the doorway, limbs following right after.

George entered but then stopped short when he spotted his manager stood by me, and I laughed to myself at the way the pair of them seemed to eye one another, before stepping in, “Didn’t hear you ring the buzzer.”

Kind eyes darted over to find my soft smile then, welcoming him in, and so George finally moved in closer, laying the jacket he wore to rest over one of the armchairs.

“Yeah, someone was just leaving and let me in.” He answered my unasked question, shrugging as he added, “Dunno whether they recognised me or if they just let anyone up.”

“Probably the second,” Jamie piped up, seemingly having broken himself from his previous bout of surprise, “This lot ‘round here don’t give much of a shit about crap like that.”

I rolled my eyes, but was glad to have a reason to smile slightly. “Or they spotted the BFG making his way over and wanted to avoid pissing him off.”

Jamie cackled whilst George just shot me a narrow-eyed look, “Hilarious. That pot just boiled?” He asked me as he wandered over. I nodded in turn and moved to grab him a cup, only faltering when he lowered my hand with his own and shook his head. “I got it.”

I dipped my head slightly, blinking before taking a step back to let him work. He made a quick go of it, rummaging around the cupboards briefly to find what he needed and only asking for the spoon I still held for some odd reason when he was near done.

Jamie appeared to have been watching him too, a calculating glaze to his eyes, and he chose that next moment to speak up, “How you been anyway, George? Not seen much of you lately.”

Something unspoken passed between them when George glanced over at him, but I couldn’t tell what.

“Good, busy.” Was what the taller decided on, throwing Jamie a quick smile when he crossed to toss his own teabag in the bin before settling on the counter to the left of me. “You?”

It almost sounded sarcastic, not how he said it but simply because he’d asked it at all, knowing everything that had recently occurred. It must have been a right nightmare for Jamie these last few days, what with him being the band’s main man.

Jamie just laughed though, goodnaturedly, though it was apparent that he was still trying to suss out what was going on, what with George’s sudden appearance. Seeing as I’d never once mentioned him to Jamie.

See, things with George had all started after that studio session Teddy had attended, followed by my wishing him a happy birthday just before Matty had gone and done what he did best. Wrecked it all.

Teddy had become all too smitten with the drummer since he’d first been introduced to the band and their many songs and music videos. He enjoyed the guitar he’d been gifted an awful lot, often playing with it and practising, but each time any sort of song played on the tele or the radio, or even in the car, it wasn’t hard to note the way Teddy instantly mimicked George’s swift movements, pretending to drum along to whatever beat heard.

George had messaged me on Instagram later that same day, seeing as how apparently Teddy’s appearance at the studio had stuck with him, and asked after him a little. It seemed strange worded like that, but George reckoned that Teds had a real streak of a musicality about him, even as young as he was, and wanted to see if Teddy would be up for learning some more.

Which had been a Godsend, honestly, what with how the next couple of days had gone down. I’d given him my number via dm just before the storm had started and then the afternoon that had followed the plethora of articles he’d called.

He’d asked how I was at first, almost consoling me in that easy way of his, so full of little words, which had been all too refreshing in truth.

I’d had texts and calls off of practically everyone I knew, even Ronan, the utter prick. And none had managed to soothe me quite like George’s had, seeing as the man had been there too. Not quite in my position, sure, but near enough. He’d even let a little of it slip when he’d popped on over that same day, bringing a bag of takeaway and a roll up drum mat as a gift for Teddy, who had been cooped up with me on the sofa for most of the afternoon.

The two of them had bonded over it rather quickly, Teddy having been caught off guard by George’s sincerity almost as much as I had been. But then I'd found myself getting to know the drummer too and very much appreciating the unnecessary gesture he’d made for me, even with the pair of us not knowing one another as well as we could have.

I had no idea what was going on between him and Matty, I hadn’t had the balls to ask, but he’d mentioned he hadn’t heard much of anything from him since the night of his party, as well as the fact that his girlfriend, Charli, had been just as annoyed with everything that had gone down.

I knew he’d be stopping by at some point today, we’d made plans to get lunch once he’d heard I was back at the studio on my own, but not recording. I reckoned he was concerned and this was his way of showing it, but it was hard to tell with him most of the time seeing as he’d made it out as though I was doing him a favour here. An effort I came to find I much appreciated.

“Work, you know how it is.” Jamie replied after a long pause. He was still standing in the same position he’d been in since George arrived, but seemed to move then, picking up what was left of his coffee and pouring what remained down the sink. “But I’d best be going, got a couple calls to make. You gonna be at the studio tomorrow?”

George hummed around his next sip, pulling away with only a dip of his chin. “Should be.”

Jamie smiled, nodding, “Good, I’ll let the rest of them know then.”

I caught George’s slight wince at that, though he didn’t protest his manager's comment. It made me wonder.

Jamie turned to me then, shucking on his jacket. I perked up, not having realised that he really was rushing to leave now. “Remember what I said, alright?”

I blinked, but then nodded. How could I forget? I wanted to ask, but instead said, “You don’t have to head out so quick.”

He sent me a reassuring grin as he flipped over the collar of his coat. “You won’t miss me much,” He then teased before roping me into a hug, “Weren’t lying when I said I had a couple calls though, so it’s best I get out of your hair whilst I still can.”

I smiled softly at the sound of his lighthearted chuckle and nodded before following him over to the door, “Stay safe.”

Jamie rolled his eyes, all too used to my typical parting now, though amused by it all the same. “Can’t promise anything.” He retorted with a smirk, shuffling over the threshold whilst his eyes flickered back to where George still stood once more. “So, about before?”

I inhaled shakily, though Jamie didn’t seem to notice, fingering the pockets of his jacket in search of his mobile. “I’ll think about it.” I told him.

He flashed me a grin at that, pleased, then let his heel trail over to meet the top step of the metal grating. “Talk to you later then.”

I nodded and watched for a second as he descended the staircase, head bobbing down the first set before he turned and disappeared from view. Sliding back inside, I shut the door quietly behind me, taking a second to steel my nerves before facing the room again.

During that time, George had seemingly gone and made himself comfy on the settee, his mug settled on a coffee table coaster. I moved to join him after putting both mine and Jamie’s cups under the tap to rinse before just leaving them to soak.

George was fiddling with something when I sat down beside him but shuffled over a tad to allow me to get more comfortable, “So what was that about?” I questioned.

“With Jamie?” He asked and I nodded, even though I reckoned he already knew what I was on about.

He shrugged slightly and I noted the way his finger trailed over a slip of folded paper, it was creased as though it had been played or fiddled with a dozen times too many. My brow seemed to furrow at the sight of it.

“He tried phoning a few times but I’ve not been too keen on answering, learnt that I’ll just get dragged into the drama if I do.” George finally answered, and for some reason I felt a wad of guilt pool in my stomach upon hearing it, even though I hadn’t been the one to cause this mess.

Or maybe I was just kidding myself.

“Sorry.”

George huffed as he turned to peer over at me, elbows resting on the tops of his knees. “Nothing to be sorry for.” He told me and then gifted me a sweet smile, “None of this is on you. Just thought we were in the clear, you know?” He looked away at that and his smile dimmed into something smaller, almost sadder. “Figured I wouldn’t have to go dodging my mates calls anymore, or be roped into cleaning up everyone else’s messes.”

He reached a hand out to settle on my knee then, probably having noticed the way I was chewing on the insides of my cheek, or maybe the fact that my lip was now trembling. I’d never felt so shitty. So at fault for something I hadn’t really seen coming, nor could I prevent.

“Not your fault, remember?” He reiterated to me, squeezing my joint softly before pulling away. I sniffed before looking up at him with a tiny smile.

“Promise I don’t usually cry this much. Just been a shitty week is all.” I told him, laughing pitifully as I toyed with the hem of the jumper I’d put on earlier that morning when I’d purposefully avoided the hoodie that had been left on my desk chair, as well as the cupboard full of clothes that didn’t belong to me.

I felt the settee dip slightly before I found him sitting right beside me, lifting an arm to wrap me up in a hug. His cheek came to rest on the side of my head and I felt my heart break that little bit more, because it reminded me that in a second, or two, I wouldn’t have that sense of protection he now offered, shielding me from the rest of the world.

“You’ve been put through the wringer.” George murmured and I had to laugh just a little bit, he laughed too, the sound of it reverberating through his chest to where my head rested. “Fucking cry if you want to, alright? No judgement here."

I spluttered a little on my next chuckle, smiling as I wiped at my eyes. George’s arm just tightened its hold by a fraction, as though he knew it would make things that little bit easier. We both sat there like that for a while, and I appreciated the fact that he was okay with a bit of quiet. That he didn’t run scared from it or try to start up an awkward conversation simply to fill it.

Silence was something I’d come to realise that George often favoured. Because sometimes that was all you really needed.

I don’t know how long we continued like that before he shuffled and pulled that same piece of paper from earlier back into view, holding the corner of it between his forefinger and thumb. I pulled away slightly, looking down at it and then back up at him with a small frown.

“What?”

George merely blinked, staring down at the paper with an odd look before he finally placed it in the hand I had resting on my thigh. My frown only deepened.

“What is it?” I asked him, finger trailing over an edge just as he had done when I’d first spotted it. When I went to unfold it from the opposing corner, he stopped me.

Confused, I turned to raise a brow at him, only to find him already looking back at me. He bit into his lower lip and then flattened his mouth into a stern line, “I found that when I was last in the studio.”

My chest tightened for some reason, but I was still so baffled. “Okay?”

We were sitting up better now, George’s arm having slipped from my shoulders to come to rest in his lap, fingers trailing over his left hand’s rigid set of knuckles.

“I figured you should see it.” He added in his usual drawl, though his eyes flickered up from the paper to catch mine then and I realised it must've been important. He seemed wary enough to warrant it.

I went to unfold it once again, but then his hand really reached out to stop my own, “I don’t know if I should be here when you do.”

That alone made me even more curious, although there was an edge of caution that now warred at me. “Why?”

George gifted me a gentle smile, the hand that still laid over top of my own squeezing kindly. “I’ll go grab us some food, alright? If you want to open it then do, if not. I won’t mention it again.”

He moved to stand then but my hand shot out to grab at the sleeve of his arm, “George.” But I didn’t know what else to say, I knew I was fearful though.

His fingers moved to meet mine, resting there for a short moment, “It’s your choice. Just, I couldn’t keep it from you.”

I swallowed thickly as he pushed to his feet, the scuff off his heavy boots bouncing off the hardwood floors. Slowly he moved to grab his jacket, giving me time to say no, to deny his offer. But I couldn’t, I couldn’t do much of anything really.

The door shut behind him with a soft click a minute later and the quiet of the studio suddenly consumed me. When I glanced back down at the paper I held once more I saw the slight tremble of my hands. I forced myself to exhale, but even that was shaky.

I was careful as I unfolded it, listening to the rustle it made before scrawled lines that had bled through to the other side caught my attention. Pausing, I took a moment to just look at them and then thoughtlessly hurried to reveal the rest of it, taking in its full form. My throat tightened at the sight of familiar scribbles.

You had me from the start Pulling all the stops out On the down low, secretly But I think you knew your psychology Was working on me Infatuated And doing this all wrong You've got My number and my name And you've got me going Yeah, you've got me going Can I see you every day? Do you love me Like I love you? Ah, you've got me going Yeah, you've got me going

(Song: Ride - Future Love)

It was as if something in me had shifted and then turned, sparking itself its very own flame on a bone too sharp and growing and growing until its singed edges burnt and blackened every part of me.

I must've sat there staring down at it for ages. Crying silently and alone in an empty room, something I’d been avoiding doing since this had all started. Though I supposed it had been inevitable.

His words. His thoughts. Bared to me on a single page. Him none the wiser to any of it. Probably having not even realised it was gone, or missing. And George had read it. He’d seen it and still, after everything, had given them to me.

A tear dropped from my chin then, blotting the page and I could only watch on as the dark ink appeared to cling to it, seeping further and further into the paper. Smudging the ‘Do you love me’ enough so that my breath stuttered and I was suddenly moving all too quickly for my mind to catch up with my thoughtless actions.

Not even a second later my phone was in my hand.

Messages now To: Jamie O (glasses!) When can he meet me?

–

Matty had always had a thing for Sundays.

There was just something about them. Not all that Godly shite that people preached about it being holy and the first day of the week, ‘cause to him Monday would always hold that title- and Monday’s fucking sucked dick.

No, it was because there was just something peaceful that settled on Sundays, it took him back to simpler times, of days when he’d just been a kid and roast dinners were spent ‘round his nana’s house. Or when Newcastle would play on afternoons and his dad would finally be home to watch with him.

There was just something about them, you know. He didn’t much believe in luck, typically only the bad sort. But if someone held a gun to his head and told him he had to claim a day which would forever work in his favour, it would just have to be Sunday.

Still, he was unsure on where he currently stood with that sentiment as of late. Seeing as how he was currently in the backseat of a cab, jittery hands clinging onto shaking knees whilst rows of houses, broken up by hues of green and blue, rolled on past him.

It hadn’t been a last minute thing, but it felt much like it. The anticipation was getting to him, he knew that much, sweat licking at the back of his neck whilst his shoulders worked their way up to the lobes of his ears.

Jamie had somehow managed it.

Called him up late last night just before Ross had headed off to bed to tell him that she would finally see him. Jamie’d asked if he’d be alright going alone or if they’d prefer a buffer there, but Matty had immediately declined. So he was doing it alone. Though he couldn’t help but wonder if that had been a misstep on his part, if it would have made things easier on her having someone there, or maybe just given him some semblance of relief as the car slowly drove its way over to her house. The very place he hadn’t stepped foot in since the night of George’s birthday party.

But he hadn’t earnt that reassurance. Felt wrong to bring somebody else along either way. So he was stuck, toying with his phone, hoping or praying that a text wouldn’t come through saying that she’d gone and changed her mind.

It had been just under a week since he’d last seen her. But it felt as though time had dragged out slowly, mocking him or maybe even torturing him for all of his many wrongdoings.

He fretted over what she might say when she caught sight of him, he himself having only spotted the state he’d worked himself into when he’d been getting ready that morning.

There were heavy bags set beneath his eyes from where he hadn’t really slept and his cheeks were hollowed in that way that they used to revert to when he’d have a particularly hard weekend way back when. If the papers caught wind of him he already knew what the first articles would say, what they would so obviously claim. But he knew the truth, just hoped that she would know it too.

He was startled from his mind at the jerk of the car pulling up onto the nearest curb. His eyes widened in sudden alarm when he realised just what that meant and then caught the look of dismay that crossed the driver’s face when the bloke looked back to announce that they’d arrived. If the man didn’t already think he was on something, then now he definitely did.

Matty swallowed stupidly and then tried for a smile, struggling to undo his seatbelt with the kickstart of shaking that overtook his hands. The driver took pity on him though, turning away to fiddle with something up front that probably didn’t need fiddling with, and finally Matty’s thumb managed to catch the button.

Releasing himself from the confines of the car, he paused just before the door could slam close behind him, handing the man a couple notes in tip, if only to apologise for his edgy behaviour or buy himself a little more time if the driver had somehow managed to suss him out even with his hat, hood and scarf. “Cheers.” He said.

The man blinked at the onslaught of cash and then nodded repeatedly, “Yes, thank you.”

Matty exhaled shakily and then dipped his chin in another goodbye, stepping back onto the curb and watching the cab pull away before he found himself alone once more.

This was it, he supposed.

The street hadn’t changed much in a matter of days but his mind made it seem as though it had. As though suddenly he didn’t belong. The odd man out.

He shoved his hands into the confines of his pockets, pivoting on his heel to face what he’d come here to do. But nothing had prepared him for the way his stomach suddenly bottomed out at the sight of her front door.

The sound of a car horn a way away spooked him, causing him to jump, but did eventually force him forward off the curb and onto the cracked pavement. He stared down at all the dips and curves they had to offer him the entire way up the path until finally, he reached her front steps.

If anyone asked, Matty would tell them it was as though he’d been working on autopilot when he pried the silver knocker up from the wood and let it rap twice. Though that would be an utter lie. His head screamed at him the whole while and his fingers blurred before him when he’d raised them up to grasp at the chilled metal.

He’d never felt so sick, just standing there, the seconds slowly trickling into minutes, or perhaps even hours. It honestly felt as the day was slowly growing colder the longer that he stood there, staring at a coat of familiar paint, before finally hinges creaked and the door opened, revealing a sight that would’ve surely cured sore eyes, if only it hadn’t gone and broken his heart first.

It wasn’t immediate, the effect the past couple days had had on her. It was more in the way she held herself, the sadness which clung to her every fibre, the way she wouldn’t quite look him in the eye.

She stared, caught in a standstill, and for a long moment did nothing before silently and slowly she withdrew enough to allow him through.

Matty didn’t dare utter a word, let alone breathe. Careful to avoid brushing against her or stepping on her toes as he slowly crossed over the threshold to get in, though the hands he’d hidden in his coat pockets curled into fists to keep himself steady.

The first thing he noted upon first entering was the significant state of the flat, it wasn’t messy or untidy by any means, but looked nothing at all like a house typically inhabited by a child should, or at least a monster as chaotic as he knew Teddy to be. It was almost as though Mouse had been expecting a letting agent to pass through with a couple dozen couples, what with how clean it was. He almost reckoned that if he were to crouch down right there he’d probably be able to make out the seam of his jeans in the reflection of the floors.

“You can just hang your-”

“I know.” Matty whispered, not intentionally meaning to cut her off but unable to help himself anyway.

It hurt, feeling as though he was just a guest in a place he had practically considered home not too long ago. He coughed lightly and shrugged off his coat to do so anyway, hanging it up where he usually did, something which made him pause for a split second, wondering whether this could possibly be the last time he’d have the privilege of doing so.

“Right.” Mouse murmured somewhere behind him, snapping Matty out of his thoughts. She stepped on by him just after, eyes trained on the end of the hallway until they reached the living room, “Erm, I’m just starting on a brew. You can wait here if you want.”

He wanted to follow after her, to fall down onto his knees and fucking sob there at her feet, but he was scared he’d dirty her floors or more than likely end up looking like a total knob. He would. Fucking felt like one just from thinking it. So he did as instructed, moving towards the sofa, taking note of everything and anything the room had to offer him.

Matty’s eyes flickered over to the kitchen doorway when he realised she’d stopped there, fiddling with her nails before she caught him looking and dropped her hands. “Just realised I didn’t ask if you wanted anything.”

God, it was so fucking strained.

He took a short breath in and attempted to smile, “Tea sounds good.” Was all that he said, and watched on as her brow wrinkled, head tilting with it.

“Uh, I still have that coffee you like. The one you brought over, if you’d prefer.” She told him and he recognised her confusion for what it was, or maybe it was just her weariness over letting him know that his stuff was still where he’d left it. Or, maybe, just fucking maybe he was reading way too much into everything.

“Tea’s good.” Matty murmured, feeling a little less tense now that he knew that she was sort of sitting in the same boat. “But thanks.”

Her chest rose and fell with her next breath and he watched her nod with difficulty at him, still not meeting his eye. “Right, just be a sec then.”

She disappeared past the door with that, whilst he simply stood and listened to the run of the tap and then the flick of the kettle, feeling stupid for having missed something he hadn’t even realised he’d taken note of before.

But that was just typical, wasn’t it? To miss something so mundane now that it was no longer expected.

Once he heard the clink of mugs Matty allowed his gaze to roam, trailing over the bundle of neatly folded throws settled on the wicker basket by the sofa, ones he knew that if Teddy was here would still be scattered all over the floor before the tv.

There were a couple of coasters laid out on the coffee table, though the fruit bowl had since been removed, something he knew Mouse did whenever there were only a few pieces left or none at all. There would probably be grapes or something of the sort in the fridge though.

She had a couple of receipts left out on the shelf below the mirror she’d hung up on the wall when she’d first moved in, and the picture frames beside them were still the same. Only one was missing, and he knew which.

He noticed that the candles over by the lamp were new though, expensive if he remembered rightly because he was sure that he’d spotted them round someone else’s place recently. He wondered briefly over who could’ve gifted them to her, knowing that she much preferred her usual scents, only ever splurging on the larger Yankee Candle jars they had to offer in the local Debenhams.

He found himself smiling at the thought.

It was then that she shuffled back into the room though, stalling his observations. She carried two mugs in her hand and a small plate loaded with biscuits on her forearm. Immediately Matty moved to help her, taking the plate from her even with knowing that she had it handled.

“I could’ve managed.” She murmured, though not unkindly, and then thanked him quietly once she’d gone and placed the mugs down.

Matty followed her lead, settling the biscuits near the edge of the coffee table, between the two coasters, before fumbling for a second over where to sit. Squeaks seemed to take to one end of the settee so Matty perched on the other, though closer to the middle crease than the arm.

“You got hobnobs?” Matty finally asked, breaking the silence again, eyes flicking over to the plate he’d just held before shooting back over to find her.

She blushed faintly at his comment, then shrugged. “You like them, don’t you?”

Matty scoffed lightly, a soft smile limning his lips, “Yeah, but you hate them. Once claimed that they were like digestives only after being shat out.”

She wrinkled her nose at that, though Matty was quite sure he could spot the mirth that flickered across her face. “Want them or not?”

Rolling his eyes in fond exasperation and knowing not to push it, he picked one up and settled in a little more comfortably into the sofa cushions.

The silence would’ve been almost unbearable if she hadn’t had the foresight to have turned the tv on low before he’d arrived. So whilst a documentary played on one of the many BBC channels, Matty struggled with himself to find the best thing to say. Though he needn’t have bothered, she was always one step ahead.

“So, I think I should start by saying that I um, I know I held a lot of expectations.”

Almost simultaneously, Matty frowned.

She just wrung her hands together once before thinking better of it and laying them flat in her lap. Matty merely wished to reach out and take them in his own. “And I get that it must’ve been a struggle for you, to basically go from like one end of a scale and then jump right off the other side. But, I-”

“What are you on about?” Matty interrupted, unable to help himself in truth, so beyond baffled by the sudden speech she’d started. She stopped and blinked over at him, finally looking him in the eye. At last.

“What do you mean?” She retorted with a pinch between her brows, “Listen, I planned this all out, alright? So can I just get out what I want to say?”

Matty stared, then forced out a breath of air. “Squeaks,” She shuttered at the name, closing off slightly, enough so that Matty took quick note and wished he hadn’t said a thing, but yet, he still carried on. Desperate to save any blundered attempt he’d make. “Look, this weren’t on you. None of it was, okay?”

Her eyes trailed back over towards him at that, though her expression was almost unreadable. Matty struggled with that bit the most, he’d always been able to read her for the most part.

“So, this crap about expectations and me struggling with whatever idea you’ve made up in your mind is stupid.” Her eyes narrowed then and he watched her work her jaw, obviously none too happy about his retort. He withheld a heavy sigh, “I’m not- Look, I’m not trying to be difficult I’m just saying that- What I’m trying to say is, that every relationship has goals or expectations, that’s normal. But nothing you ever did forced me do what I did. That shit? It was all on me. It was me being insecure and scared, yeah? So, don’t go trying to excuse it. Because I’ve had people do that for me for far too fucking long now and hearing it come from you...”

He sort of felt himself slump at that, a little bitter and resentful over the fact that she’d since come to think of it that way. As though his mistakes were all just down to her and her inability to do right by him. He realised though, belatedly, that if anyone else had done exactly that, or even attempted to, in any other scenario he just might have taken up the offer and ran with it. But this was her, this was Squeaks.

She was quiet for a time, then she picked up her mug, eyes trained on the movement of it before, “What then?”

“What?” Matty frowned once more, shuffling forward in his seat in an attempt to catch her eye again.

“Why did you do it then? Why’d you lie, why didn’t you tell me about Teddy?”

That knot he’d been feeling for weeks now. The one at the very end of his tongue, all tied and tangled in the back of his throat, suddenly shrivelled up and slackened, leaving a bitter aftertaste and a plethora of guilt behind.

Matty’s gaze wandered over to the window, to where Teddy’s guitar sat in its stand just before a heavy set of grey curtains. He withheld the urge to pick at his nails as he searched for the right words to give her, wanting so honestly to tell her the truth, to give her a play by play of what had happened in detail, as well as every thought that had gone through his mind.

“It wasn’t what it looked like for a start.”

Mouse scoffed a little at that, and Matty couldn’t be mad at it. If he was sat on the other end of this he’d been doing more than just that, he’d be up in arms, tossing shit about and raving to all who would listen.

Still, his eyes trailed down to where his hands now laid in his lap and he pressed his thumb to his palm. “We were on the highstreet, on the way back here.” He started, voice quiet as his stare tracked the faint lines of his hand, “The guy you saw in the pictures came out of nowhere really. Me and Teds had just been at that ice cream shop a way down, I didn’t even spot him until he was there, in my face.”

Matty wet his lower lip, mouth suddenly going dry. Mouse just waited.

“Teddy was quick to hide behind me, you know? The loudmouth didn’t even really notice him until the last minute. But you have to know, all I wanted was to get him out of there. To avoid staying too long and attracting the wrong sort of attention. Okay? So I’d said I had to get going as soon as he'd spoken, told him I didn’t have time to stay and chat.”

He took a quick breath with that, eyes still centred on the deepest groove of his palm. “But then he, then he brought up Luke. Said something about the funeral he didn't go to and wanting to celebrate his life.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Squeaks’s hands still from their previous bout of fidgeting. “But I told him I was clean. He didn’t believe me at first, which,” Matty huffed out a self-deprecating laugh, “Well, I can’t blame him for that, what with my track record.”

He heard her inhale then and looked up, it seemed as though she was going to say something but thought better. So Matty bit down on the insides of his cheeks to keep from asking before he exhaled slowly, digging a nail into that groove.

“He got a bit aggy, started calling me a toff and whatnot, because I 'spose I was just a rich boy who bought him a couple grams of coke every now and then.” He clucked his tongue thinking about it, but eventually shrugged. “Then I don’t know, he must’ve looked down or something ‘cause that’s when he,” Matty paused and his gaze shot over to her, then away again, “That’s when he spotted Teddy.”

Mouse wrinkled her mouth, then tried to nod, obviously wanting him to continue. Though she kept her eyes trained on the rim of her mug.

“That’s when he said some shit and I reacted.”

“Said what?”

Matty startled a little at the sound of her question but was hasty in his attempt to answer. “Just, he reckoned that Teddy was mine and that I had to have knocked someone up. So now they were just using me for the money.”

Her eyes slipped closed and her fingers tightened their grip on her cup.

Swallowing thickly, Matty went to continue, “I shoved him and told him to do one- that’s what they caught in those photos. I didn't take anything he offered, I didn't even look back after. Just walked away, thinking of Teddy, trying to get him out of there. The bloke, he kept on shouting, saying some crap about this and that. But I carried on walking.”

Matty was proud of that fact, even with everything that had happened since. Not too long ago, a different version of him would have handled it all too severely. It was a step, a tiny one, sure, but it was progress.

“Then what?” Mouse voiced, prompting him along with just a look.

“Then we walked home.” Matty replied, feeling that familiar cloud of shame dawn over him. “We didn’t really speak, I- I was a bit of a mess, trying to figure out what to do next, what to tell Teddy, to say to make it right again. But Teds, he,” Matty hauled in his next breath, all too fucking close to bawling, that he could admit. “He called for me and I looked down at him. All I could say was sorry, Mouse.”

She nodded tightly, the knuckles she had wrapped around her tea cup had whitened.

“He,” Matty felt the corners of his mouth lift as he remembered the bittersweet memory of Teddy trying to soothe him, “He told me it was alright, that we were okay, but I just kept on saying sorry. He said that the bloke was just a bad man, and I assured him of that. Wanting him to know that we were okay, that the guy was long gone. But then he-”

Matty stopped altogether then, a picture of Teddy's little face coming to the forefront of his mind, and Squeaks immediately took note.

“Then what?”

Her eyes were so full of emotion, but which ones he wasn’t too sure. Still, the sight tightened every muscle in his chest as he forced himself to finish what he’d started. “He said we couldn’t tell you.”

Matty knew he couldn’t have imagined the sharp inhale that sounded from her then, as though she'd just received a blow to the chest. And he so desperately wanted to reach out, to wrap her up and just fucking hold her. But he couldn't. It wasn't his place.

He watched on as she licked at her top lip though, blinking back the wetness that shone in her eyes, “Why?” Her voice cracked on the question but she did not cry.

It was a simple answer. “He didn’t want to hurt you.”

Mouse stood then, placing the cup down with some force before she hastily made her way over to the front window. Matty stayed seated, unsure if he’d be welcome near her.

“It fucking broke me, Squeaks.” He admitted after a moment, his lips now tingled with the sheer amount of effort it took for him to not let his emotions get the better of him. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“You should have told me.” Was her reply, sharp and cutting, enough that it fucking wounded. Because Matty knew that she was right.

“I know.” He answered.

“You should have fucking told me, Matty!” She repeated, turning then to face him. He saw the tremble of her shoulders, the curve of her mouth and how it quaked. He stared, couldn't bring himself to look away.

“I know.”

He swallowed, throat almost aching as much as the hole that made up the majority of his chest.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

“I don't know.” He murmured, mostly to himself.

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oftenwantedafton · 3 months

Text

Secret Smile - College English Professor/Vampire Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female College Student Reader

Chapter 3

Rating - Explicit

Warning for sexual content

Also available on AO3

The vampire hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said he likes to drive fast.

The car moves in an absolute blur of speed that makes you think there’s something supernatural at work. A journey that should have taken twenty minutes is completed in less than a quarter of the time. You’re willing to bet that his car had been concealed before he’d pointed out its location to you—as if he’d cloaked it somehow. It seems as if anything is possible.

You arrive at your workplace and Steve—that’s what you’re forced to call him since he hasn’t revealed his real name yet—glances over at you. A little smirk. He’s showing off. As if the mere fact that he’s a vampire is not impressive enough in and of itself.

“Best behavior inside. Tongues will wag and all that. I’m sure you don’t want to be expelled and I’d rather not lose this job position.”

As if you’re going to jump him in front of your coworkers and the customers. As if you cannot control yourself. Even without the paralyzing scent, something about him draws you. Moth to flame. You can’t resist. You’re already thinking about your last kiss. Anticipating the next time he’ll sink his teeth into you. Tomorrow night, maybe. After he’s read your writing. You can’t even imagine what it’s going to be like sitting in the classroom now. Pretending there is nothing going on. You don’t even know what to classify it as.

“You’re not that irresistible,” you mutter, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

The grin widens. “As you say. Shall we go inside?”

There are a fair amount of customers. A short line. Raglan is the tallest in the crowd. You see more than one person spare him a second glance. He eyes the table in the corner and the couple who looks as if they’ve barely touched their dessert and drinks stand to leave.

“Perfect timing. Go snag that table, will you?”

“You don’t even know what I want to order. And you won’t get the employee discount if I’m not here with you.”

“I’ll manage. I’m treating you. What do you want to drink?”

“Um…hazelnut. Medium. Almond milk. Light on the sugar.”

“Done. Go sit down.”

You nod and wave to a few people you recognize as you sit in the chair tucked against the wall. The light above the table flickers. Definitely him doing something.

More customers have filed out. It’s quieter in the coffee shop now. Your professor settles across from you and places your drink in front of you. His own is laden with whipped cream. You can see the row of x’s indicating he’d asked for a drastic amount of sugar.

“Sweet tooth?” You take a sip of your own beverage.

“It’s the only way to make things palatable. An excess of flavor. Extra sugar. Extremely spicy foods. Things of that nature. Otherwise it quite literally tastes like ash.” He sucks on the straw. “Serviceable.”

“Do you still…you know…have to go?” Your cheeks are flushing.

He laughs. “Of course. Where else do you think it would end up? It’s still processed, just without purpose.”

You duck your head and swallow some more coffee. Maybe you should stop asking questions. It’s just so difficult not to. There are so many things you’re curious about. “So what do you do? When you’re not teaching. Or…resting.”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“On what I’m in the mood for.” There’s some whipped cream trapped in the corner of his mouth. His tongue darts out to catch it. It’s long. Longer than average. You tell yourself not to stare. The white substance vanishes, dissolved now against the heat. “When you come over, one of these nights, you’ll see some of it.”

When, not if. “I’m coming over?”

“Aren’t you?”

You swallow. “I don’t…I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that.”

“What do you imagine would happen? I’ve already had the opportunity to…well. You know. There would be little point to all of this if that was simply the end goal.”

“What is the end goal?”

He hums in amusement. Your eyes dart around the room. No one is paying any attention. You try to imagine what his house will look like. Wrought iron gates. Gothic turn of the century. Sprawling library. Victorian settee. Heavy drapes covering every window. Crushed velvet beneath your fingers when he kisses you. The watchful flutter of eyes as dawn approaches.

The light above the table flickers again. You blink. The vampire smiles.

“Enough about me. What about you? Which classic authors do you like to read?”

“It’s cliché to say Poe, right? Every angst filled teen favors him. But yes, him.”

“Lovecraft?”

“Yes. Wharton. Brontë.”

“Which?”

“Any. All. Stevenson. Wilde. Hardy.”

“At least some of these are on the required reading list. Who else?”

“Tarkington. Dumas.”

“Why do you resent taking my class so much?”

You stare at him. “I never said…”

“You didn’t need to. It was written all over your face from the moment I walked into the room.”

You run your nail over the edge of your cup. “I don’t like being told what to read. And even worse, how to feel about what I’ve read. Like there’s some universal truth in every tale that everyone has to know. What if it’s not even the truth? What if that isn’t what the writer meant at all?”

Steve takes a long swallow. “Interesting.”

“What is?”

“You. I’m eager to read your work and get everything very, very wrong. You’ll tell me if I interpret things incorrectly, won’t you?”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“Not really. It’s refreshing to have someone that’s not an obedient drone like the rest. I like the challenge of it.” He stirs his drink. The whipped topping has completely dissolved. “I may be able to help you find something of value in some of the works, at the very least. And the others, well. They’re more of an expected requirement than I’d like. But that’s simply how the game is played.” Another sip and a frown. “Too much ice. It’s watered down now.”

“I do a better job making them.”

“Do you? I’ll have to take you up on that some time.” He glances at his wristwatch. “I suppose I should be bringing you back. It’s getting late.”

***

You’re returned to your vehicle without incident.

You stand beside it, keys in hand, backpack on shoulder. Steve is still behind the wheel of the Spur. You wish you were still inside with him. Or him outside with you. A kiss goodnight that would taste like coffee. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

It’s impossible to track his car as it departs. A smear of color and it’s vanished. You return to your apartment. Undress for bed and catch sight of the bite marks in the mirror. Think about the promise of tomorrow.

***

Sunday evening. Steve’s waiting for you in the entryway inside the converted Victorian again.

Still cloaked in shadows. You lean against the door now closed at your back.

Silence.

“Did you read it?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“You are wasting your time being undeclared. Pursue the writing instead.”

“It’s that good?” You flush at his praise. You’d expected him to be critical. Harsh. Unforgiving.

“It’s rough still. Restrained. You’re holding back. But the potential is tremendous. I want more.”

Sandalwood. Burnt sugar. Evergreen boughs. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

You know he’s smiling even though it’s too dark to see his features. “It’s not entirely voluntary.”

“I would have thought you’d have perfected it by now. Given you’ve had so many years…”

“Are you calling me old?”

“Maybe.”

He’s in front of you in an instant. Disobeying the laws of physics. Arguing with time. “You’re wearing a dress.”

“Do you like it?” You hadn’t packed a lot of clothes for college outside of utilitarian jeans and tshirts and hoodies. But you had brought a black dress that clings in all the right places. You’re wearing it now.

“Very much.”

“Did you sleep well today?”

“The prey is bold. Yes, I did.” You hear him rest a hand against the wood behind you, feel him leaning towards you. “So fast, soft rabbit. Your heart.” His finger traces a line from your lips down your throat and lets it rest at the hollow there. His lips are so close to your own, each word uttered bathing you in warmth. “This space here. Waiting to be filled. Shallow notch. Gossamer skin.” He groans softly. “I can smell your desire, little mouse. To fill all your hollow spaces. Honeyed cavity. Mouth watering, lips parted…” His thumb shoves against your lips and you let it invade your mouth, sucking, laving, biting the pad. “I will take you apart with my tongue, with my fingers. Sculpt you anew.” The scent is overpowering again. A struck matchbook. Leather. Oolong tea. Decaying roses.

Raglan’s hand vanishes from your mouth, from the door behind you. The air is so much colder without him pressed against you. You’re panting. Warm and wet, even as he’d claimed.

“Do you want to visit the fox’s lair?”

You do.

***

Your English professor’s home is somewhat like you’d imagined it.

Maybe not quite as overtly gothic and moody, but close. The wrought iron fence. The sprawling porch and many gables. A vast library. No fainting couch but the more traditional leather one looks soft and comfortable. Every window shrouded with blackout curtains. A clock in each room. At least one. A necessary reminder, if he should lose track of time, of the approaching enemy daylight.

A baby grand piano is tucked into one corner. You haven’t played in years. You slide back the cover and your fingers touch the keys, toying with a melody you remember from childhood.

“You have experience.”

”Some lessons. Years ago. I didn’t have the discipline to stick with it. I should have.”

The instructor slides onto the narrow padded bench. There is no comparison when his slender fingers move over the keys. They are deft, expert. His head is bowed, his eyes closed. Lost to another time and place you cannot reach. His fingers lift, his eyes open once more. The strings finally cease humming. “Beautiful,” you murmur. You mean the music. You mean him. There’s something in this eternal creature. Beyond the appeal of the dark seduction. Buried deep.

You think there must be another window as you reach the landing after the first flight of stairs. The wall is completely covered. How frightening it must be to have so little to stand between oneself and annihilation. You give voice to the thought out loud.

“It is something you grow accustomed to. You greet the dawn. I wait for the night. A dichotomy of nature that must be obeyed.”

“Have you ever waited too long? Have you…”

“Yes. And the pain is excruciating. It is another lesson one does not soon forget.”

Another flight. You hover at the edge of the doorway to what must be the master bedroom. His room. “Do you ever invite people over?”

The bearded man studies you. “Are you asking if I’ve ever brought a lover into this room?”

You blush. You don’t know why it’s so difficult to ask. “I know it’s none of my business, I just…”

“You’re jealous.”

“A little,” you admit.

“Do you imagine I’m some Casanova wooing helpless women? A continuous stream of bodies for my pleasure? No. Nothing like that. I am very, very particular about whom I bring into my home. Into my bed.” He steps inside the room, holding out a hand to you. “Are you coming in?”

Your accept his outstretched fingers and he draws you against him. A little smirk. The glasses slip down his nose as his face tips to regard you. He sighs impatiently and tugs them free, placing them on the nightstand before switching on the lamp there, adding to the faint illumination from the hallway, the bedroom door still ajar. The only light the vampire is allowed. Artificial. Imitation. You think it’s more for your benefit than his.

The bed has four posts. Canopied. An extra layer of protection against the sunlight. He sits on the edge of the mattress. Unlaces his shoes. Lies back atop the covers and waits for you to join him.

You step out of your heels. Tuck yourself against his body. His fingers stroke your hair. You line your hand up with his unoccupied one. So small against his. Rough fingertips. You wonder what he’s done for work previously.

You sit up so you can see his face. He looks different without the glasses. You touch his cheek. “Do you still have to shave?” Trim your hair?”

“No. Everything is as it was when I…transformed. A moment forever fixed in time.” He traps your hand. Pale eyes going dark. There are crickets outside. You only realize it when their song ceases. Breath held, anticipating. You bend to kiss his mouth. A gentle brush stroke. Moth’s wings. His fingers weave through your hair and he pulls your mouth firmly against his. Your stomach flutters when his tongue parts your lips. You’ve thought of this all day. Dreamt of this all night. How addicted you already are to this forbidden world of his.

Steve pushes you down beneath him. His kisses wander. Your jaw. Your throat. You think for a moment he might…but no. He continues. Kisses the suprasternal notch he’d been remarking over earlier. Fingers gathering the hem of your dress. You bend your leg, letting him slide beneath, along thigh high nylons. You gasp and arch when he makes contact with the space between your thighs. You’re wearing black lace, the patterns of roses etched in thin threads. His fingers deftly dip beneath the barrier and he’s there, at your sex.

“Oh, little one, so wet for me.” He spreads your arousal through your lips and trails up to your clit. You whimper. Your thighs tremble as he traces small circles over that sensitive spot.

He pauses only long enough to change positions, tugging your panties free. One hand rests against your mound. His bearded face between your thighs. He turns to kiss the inside of your leg. Slight scratch of facial hair. Back to center. He’s watching you. Your neck slightly craning to see him. His mouth presses to your pussy.

Your head immediately rocks back, sinking into the pillows. Tiny strokes along your nub. Sucking softly, but you can feel the points of his cuspids. Drawing lines from your entrance, through the folds, back up to your hardening button. Tongue curled. Collecting your slick. Letting it drip over you. His saliva thick in the mix. Long tongue spearing you, curling again inside. Soft moans. He’s enjoying you. You’re watching him again. Your fingers in his graying hair.

A finger slips inside you and you whine your approval, grinding against his hand, mashing his face into your cunt. His lips are so ravenous, forever kissing, lingering in all the little nearby spaces: the unfolded line of your groin, the top of your mound, between your outer labia and your thigh. He sucks your tender raised tissue into his mouth, grinning around it, watching your reaction, stabbing another finger inside of your canal.

The scent is back. Rusted metal. Freshly tilled soil. Petrol. Your head digs into the pillows, your fingers drive into his scalp. He hums and your body finds the frequency and releases. You writhe and spasm until you feel his teeth sinking into the flesh of your inner thigh and you erupt a second time.

The minutes pass. The fragrance fades. His mouth is back on yours. You taste yourself, your fluids and your blood mingling together. His beard is saturated with it. His breathing sounds labored. Your hands work on freeing him from his briefs. A gasp when you realize how much he has between his legs. He’ll destroy you with it, when the time comes.

Steve moans against your throat. He laps at the scars from his previous bites. They burn and itch. Ache and throb. You continue stroking.

“You taste so good, my little wonder, if you only knew, the piquant novelty…like drinking rapture…so hard to stop, when your pulse is at my lips…consume, devour…shatter me to pieces…burn me like the sun, I can’t look away…just like that, just like that, I’m going to…”

His cock pulses against your fingers and you feel his seed flooding over them. His breath shudders, his body sinking down beside yours.

The crickets begin their song again.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x you #steve raglan x reader #dividers credit @saradika-graphics

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c-e-d-dreamer · 1 year

Text

Something in the Way She Moves

A/N: Happy happy Day 5 of @sjmromanceweek! Today's theme is Feelings Realization, and we're back on our Nessian fluff :) Hope everyone enjoys, and if you need a visual reference, this is the group dance I imagined and this is the solo dance I imagined.

“What time again?”

Nesta sighs softly, stuffing her things into her bag, but Cassian knows the sound is fond, knows the sound like the back of his hand from how many times he’s heard it; the sound practically just for him. “I told you that you don’t have to come tonight.”

“And I told you that I have to support my best friend,” Cassian reminds her, standing up and slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“You’re not exactly the dance recital type,” Nesta points out, her eyes narrowed as she slips her own bag onto her shoulder.

“I’m the Nesta Archeron type,” Cassian shoots back, following behind Nesta to the door before the words register in his mind. “Wait… that came out wrong.”

Nesta rolls her eyes with fond exasperation. “You’re insufferable.”

“Plus,” Cassian continues like she didn’t speak, knocking his arm against hers. “Maybe you can introduce me to one of your hot dancer friends.”

“As if I’d ever make one of my friends put up with you.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Cassian drawls sarcastically, finding it hard to be too offended with the way Nesta’s blue eyes light up in amusement at the jab, at the way her lips tick up in a smile. “So what time? Seriously.”

“The show starts at 7:00, doors open at 6:30.”

“So get there at 6:00 so I can get front row?”

~ * * * ~

There’s more people mingling outside the doors to the auditorium than Cassian expected when he arrives. He carefully meanders around them all, getting as close to the doors as he can. When they finally open, he waits his turn to step inside, taking one of the programs from the volunteer with a quiet thanks. He’s unable to keep to his joke about being in the front row, but he snags a seat in the second row, opening the program and scanning until he finds Nesta’s name.

It looks like Nesta is doing a group number with some other women in the dance program early in the recital, then her solo performance near the end. With a small nod, he flips the pages until he finds Nesta’s little bio. It talks about how she’s been dancing since she was young, how her favorite style is contemporary, and she even thanks her various instructors at the university. Cassian digs out his phone, pulling up Snapchat and taking a photo of the bio.

No thanks for your best friend? After all my support? :( he adds to the photo before sending it to Nesta, knowing she’ll probably see it after the recital.

“Did you see that Nesta Archeron girl is dancing?” a voice draws Cassian’s attention.

He turns to find two guys sitting a few seats to his left. He’s pretty sure he recognizes one of them from his statistics class last semester, but it’s hard to be sure. With the way they’re both wearing university sweatshirts and snapbacks, Cassian is willing to bet they’re part of one of the fraternities.

“Dude, she was in my psych 101 lecture freshman year. She’s so hot. Maybe her outfit will be skimpy.”

The comment prickles along Cassian’s skin, and he can’t stop the annoyed scowl that settles across his face even if he wants to, his grip tightening on his program until the paper crinkles. Anger flares red hot through his veins, twisting and settling darkly in his gut. As if Nesta would ever give either of those guys the time of day. As if either of them could ever deserve or be good enough for someone like Nesta. She deserves someone who respects her at the very least, deserves someone who worships her properly if he’s being completely honest.

“Cassian. You made it.”

Snapping back to himself, Cassian turns to his right, watching as Elain slides into the seat beside him and Lucien takes the seat beside her.

“I’m sure Nesta would appreciate it,” Elain continues, flipping through her own program. “She’s always talking about you.”

Cassian preens at the remark, something warm starting to unfurl between his ribs at that knowledge, but before he can ask exactly what Nesta says about him, Elain starts chatting away about her classes, about Feyre filling out her university and art school applications, and soon the lights in the auditorium start to dim, signaling the start of the recital.

Cassian only half pays attention to the first dance, but luckily, after that, Nesta and some of the other dancers in her course are stepping onto the stage. She looks amazing in her all black costume, her hair styled down and around her face in soft golden curls, and Cassian’s smile only grows as she takes her place front and center.

The heavy bass of the song they’re dancing to starts to play through the speaker system, and Cassian can’t keep his eyes off her. Even when they shift into a different dance formation and Nesta is no longer front and center, his eyes track her. Tracks the way she cleanly and crisply dances to the beat of the song. Tracks the way her hair swings around. Tracks the way her arms and legs extend with each move. She makes it look so easy, so effortless, and all Cassian feels is awe. He's in awe of her.

Almost too soon the final notes of the song are ringing out and the dance is ending. Cassian’s more disappointed than he expected watching Nesta exit the stage. Already, he misses watching the way she moves, the way the music seems to flow through her. He opens the program still in his hand and starts counting down the numbers until it’s finally Nesta’s turn to return to the stage.

Nesta steps out alone the second time. She’s dressed in all black again, but it’s a simple black top and shorts. She sits down at the center of the stage, curling her knees up to her chest, and Cassian finds himself holding his breath. The music begins and so does Nesta’s dance. Cassian knows she choreographed it herself, knows that she’s spent hours in the studio and has even seen the occasional sequence from crashing her rehearsals, but seeing it all together how it’s meant to be? There are no words.

He’s entranced watching her. The story she’s created and woven together, the emotion pouring from every move, every spin, every leap, it’s ethereal. Cassian’s heart pounds in his chest, matching the beat of the song ringing out around him, set on becoming one with it until it’s his heartbeat that Nesta is dancing to. It’s so clear the way she feels the music, the way it’s so intrinsically entwined within her until it builds into this beautiful, expressive display. And maybe, just maybe, that music is etched into Cassian’s soul too, with the way it echoes and rises to meet her.

For a moment, he forgets that he’s in an auditorium full of people. For a moment, it’s just him and her and Nesta Nesta Nesta. Watching her dance. Watching her move. Watching her so in her element and captivating in this masterpiece she’s created. As the dance continues, pride and happiness swell so surely and suddenly between his ribs that Cassian swears they’re going to crack from the pressure.

She’s breathtaking.

She’s everything.

Too late, Cassian realizes the song and performance has ended and that everyone is applauding. He quickly hops to his feet to clap. Nesta stands back up and offers a small bow, and Cassian presses his fingers to his mouth, whistling loudly. Her gaze snaps to him at the sound, and the small, familiar smile that pulls across her face steals the air straight from Cassian’s lungs.

He barely registers the remaining dances of the recital. The image of Nesta up on the stage performing is forever seared into the back of his eyelids, the memory of it, of her and that damn smile just for him, already sinking its claws into his mind until all his attention and focus is drawn to it. His heart still continues to thump in his chest, every beat seeming to whisper her name, and the rectial’s program has been reduced to a crumbled mess between his nervous fingers.

It’s dangerous territory.

This is dangerous territory.

Cassian knows what this feeling is, recognizes that warmth in his veins, that dizziness in his head, that shake to his breath. But he refuses to acknowledge it, to name it, lest it truly become real and unavoidable. Instead, he swallows hard and pushes it down and away. He dutifully stands and claps when all the dancers step back out for a final bow. He follows Elain and Lucien out of the auditorium and into the foyer area. And he decidedly does not think about the feeling ballooning in his chest and threatening to burst.

“I’m going to run to the bathroom,” Elain tells him and Lucien once they’ve stepped off to the side near the hallway stretching back to the various dressing rooms. “Hopefully, I’m back before Nesta gets out.”

Elain stretches up on her toes to press a quick kiss to Lucien’s cheek, the redhead smiling softly down at her in response, and Cassian has to look away. He closes his eyes, and takes a deep, steadying breath, daring to send a silent prayer to any deity that might be listening that he can just make it through the rest of this evening without absolutely losing it. Or worse, doing something stupid.

“You made it.”

Cassian opens his eyes again to find Nesta standing in front of him. She’s changed into a pair of leggings and an oversized crewneck, her dance bag slung casually over her shoulder. She smiles up at him, her eyes a bright and clear shade of blue even under the harsh fluorescents overhead. There’s still a dusting of pink clinging beneath her skin from all the dancing, but it just brings out the smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose. Cassian can’t look away from her.

“I promised I’d come and support you, didn’t I?” Cassian finally answers, thankful his voice at least sounds normal. “Your solo dance was amazing by the way.”

“Thanks,” Nesta breathes, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I sort of messed up a bit in the middle, but I—”

“You couldn’t tell,” Cassian rushes to reassure her. “It was perfect.”

Nesta’s smile widens, and Cassian feels like he’s swallowed his tongue. He tries to fumble for something more to say, anything to say, but the only words that press against his throat, desperate to be blurted out, to confess, are all the wrong ones.

“Elain should only be another minute or two,” Lucien cuts in to the rescue. “Maybe we could all go to that twenty-four hour off Campus Drive? Get something to eat.”

“Actually, Balthazar asked me if I wanted to get dinner with him,” Nesta answers the redhead, although her eyes stay glued to Cassian. “Do you think I should go?”

Cassian knows the comment shouldn’t sting as much as it does, that he shouldn’t feel so betrayed, but it doesn’t stop the way the words spear through him anyways. Doesn’t stop his traitorous heart from twisting and squeezing. Doesn’t stop the way his stomach sinks.

“Well, do you like him?”

Nesta shrugs one shoulder. “He’s nice.”

“Then you should go out with him,” Cassian forces out, the words tasting bitter on his own tongue.

“I guess…” Nesta concedes, a frown tugging down her lips.

Cassian lets out a huff, his temper starting to flare at this whole conversation, this whole night. “Just tell me what answer you want to hear, Nesta, so I can say it, and we can move on.”

Nesta’s face drops in an instant, her eyes suddenly blazing. Her spine straightens like steel, hands gripping the strap of her dance bag tight enough that her knuckles turn white. “You’re a fucking idiot,” she spits, turning on her heel and stalking toward the building exit.

Cassian can do nothing but watch her walk away, blinking in shock. “What the fuck was that about?”

“You’re an idiot,” Lucien offers, shaking his head.

“Thanks for the insightful commentary, Vanserra,” Cassian scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“She wants you to ask her out.”

The words slam into Cassian hard enough it’s like a punch to the gut. He can do nothing but gape at Lucien, his mind trying to catch up and process what he just said. That can’t… could it? Cassian’s eyes dart back toward the doors Nesta just left through, hope threatening to flutter and bloom within him. He doesn’t offer an explanation or even a goodbye before he’s running through the doors as well. He steps out into the cool, night air, head whipping back and forth before he spots where Nesta is walking down the path toward the parking lot.

“Nes!” Cassian calls after her, running down the path. “Nesta, wait up!”

Nesta’s shoulders rise and fall with a sigh, but she at least stops, turning around to face. “What do you want, Cassian?”

Cassian catches up to her, taking a moment to catch his breath before squaring his shoulders. “You’re not going out with Balthazar.”

“What?” Nesta splutters, looking at him with wide eyes. “You can’t just—”

“You’re not going out with him,” Cassian repeats, cutting her off. “Because he doesn’t know that you cry every time you watch the movie Brave. Or that when you’ve had a long or a hard day, you like to watch Pride and Prejudice to feel better. He doesn’t know how your eyes always light up when you’re excited about something or that you get that cute little crease between your eyebrows when you’re annoyed. He doesn’t know that you’d do anything for your sisters. Doesn’t know what makes you laugh or that when you’re dancing, it’s when you feel the most free. He doesn’t know you, Nes, and he doesn’t… he doesn’t love you like I do.”

The confession hangs in the air between them, Cassian’s heart firmly lodged in his throat, in his hand outstretched toward her. He tries to count the seconds in his head, starts to wonder if he should backtrack, but then Nesta is moving. She steps closer, fisting her hands into his leather jacket and tugging at the same moment she presses up onto her toes. Their lips collide, and Cassian doesn’t even waste a second, bringing his hands up to cradle her face and kissing her back with everything he has.

When they finally pull apart, Nesta laughs, the sound bright and beautiful. Cassian’s answering grin is wide, and he drops his forehead to rest against hers. He keeps his arms tight around her, tucking that sound, tucking the warmth and happiness of this moment, of her, close to his heart.

“Took you long enough, you idiot.”

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @cassiansbigwingspan @unlikelypersonalknight1 @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #sjmromanceweek2023 #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #my fic

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clickerflight · 11 months

Text

"I didn't know where else to go."

Content: Villain whumpee, detective caretaker, fairly graphic cuts, amputation of a digit, mentions of stitches, large burns. Caretaking time, y'all

................................

Detective sat at his desk, two laptops, three steno pads, and uncountable numbers of pencils and pens covering the couch, floor, and coffee table in front of him. He hadn’t done any real work for the past hour, though. He was tired. He had been staring at all of the evidence he had in relation to a missing diamond for the past hour and he just couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. It was some diamond missing from a rich woman’s home, probably just a case of insurance fraud at the end of the day and he was so tired of it, but because of all of the red tape going on with the governments as three cities navigated their way into becoming one and reconciling different laws, hero and villain crimes (the interesting ones) were locked away for more popular detectives to figure out, ones with PR teams.

Detective snorted and leaned forward to snag his mug, taking a sip of coffee. Crime rates had gone up as everyone struggled to figure out what was and wasn’t legal and all of the villains in the area took advantage of that as much as they possibly could. It was almost enough for him to buy an unregistered sniper rifle and go vigilante on the streets.

He idly typed ‘what to make a hero mask out of’ into the search bar for kicks and giggles, not really reading anything on the screen that came up afterwards. He wondered if he should just go to bed. He was always so nihilistic when he was tired.

Or maybe he should just go on a rampage as a vigilante. That sounded like more fun anyways. He could wear a bandana and gain a cult following and have a stupid name and shoot bad guys in the face.

Mid imaginary fight scene, clutching his now cold coffee, there was a hesitant knock at the door, light and almost too quiet to hear. Detective frowned and looked over at the door, listening hard to make sure he wasn’t imagining things.

After a long pause, there was another knock at the door and he sighed, setting his cup down and tossing his steno books aside, hidden pencils and pens clattering to the floor as he opened a drawer and grabbed his gun before going to the door. He peered through the peep hole, but all he could see was a slightly slumped figure.

He sighed again, unlocked the door, and opened it. The man had his forehead pressed to the door, so he stumbled when it opened, clutching at his chest. He lifted his bruised face and Detective frowned. “Villain? What are you doing here?” Detective asked, readying his gun, but Villain just blinked slowly, as though dizzy and confused as he tried to solve what the shiny thing was that the Detective was holding.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Villain? What did you get into?”

Villain reached out shakily and Detective took him by the arm, hauling him in. His costume was really just a pile of rags at this point, nothing but cloth hanging off of a too thin frame. Detective sat Villain down at the end of the couch after tossing a pillow from one of his exes to the ground and pulled apart Villain’s clothing to see if and where he was hurt since Villain didn’t seem to be in a state where he could really explain what was going on.

Villain weakly tried to push Detective’s hands off of him, but Detective caught his wrists and held them in one hand, noting that they were small enough for him to hold in one hand.

“Look, buster,” Detective said sternly. “If you come to my apartment and ask for help, then you are going to let me help!”

Villain stared at him for a moment, and the tension slowly left his arms as Detective pushed back the last fold of clothing. Blood dribbled down Villain’s chest, no longer being soaked up into his costume. Detective hissed and wiped the blood with his palm, trying to find the source of it all. He traced it back to a slash down across Villain’s collar bone, deep enough that Detective could feel the bone as he grazed over it. There were a few other cuts across Villain’s torso, and as Detective found each one, Villain’s eyes fluttered as he fought with unconsciousness.

“Alright, stay right here,” Detective said, standing up and dropping Villain’s wrists. “I’m going to get my stuff. Stay.”

Villain nodded slightly and Detective sprinted to his bathroom, pulling out his heavy duty first aid kit and coming back.

“Here you are,” Detective said, holding a couple of pills to Villain’s mouth. Villain took them and Detective helped wash them down with a small flask of whiskey he kept in the kit before taking a sip from it himself to bolster his nerves.

He lost himself in that bloodsoaked hour, washing the wounds, ignoring Villain as he finally passed out, packing gauze against wounds before going back to the bigger cuts and sewing them shut and bandaging them, working his way across Villain’s body until he’d got his front bandaged.

Detective got him rolled over and swore when he saw Villain’s back. There were no cuts here, but there were large swaths of blistered skin.

He ran to his sink, washing out an empty ice cream bucket and filling it with cool water and coming back, dipping paper towels in it and plastering the paper towels to Villain’s back to help cool it.

Deciding not to move Villain too much, he simply took scissors and cut through the remainder of his clothes, checking his legs for injuries. Besides some horrific bruising, they seemed to be fine.

Detective did one more once over and finally got a better look at Villain’s bruised hands. There had been so much blood everywhere, Detective didn’t notice it earlier, but Villain’s pinky on his right hand was missing.

Detective winced and washed Villain’s hands, bandaging them as best he could and then knelt by the couch, looking at the mostly naked man that laid there. He sighed and went to put on a pot of coffee before spending the rest of the evening putting new paper towels on Villain’s back with more cool water.

………………………….

Villain woke up reluctantly, and only because he was in so much pain. He wondered what Supervillain had in mind for him today. He only hoped it would have nothing to do with his feet. He wouldn’t be able to get away if the opportunity presented itself.

Wait. Didn’t the opportunity already present itself? The guards had left and Villain remembered being able to slip from the cuffs because of how much blood was on his hands. Did he get caught?

He cracked one eye open and couldn’t really see through his hair, but the other eye was buried in something plush and soft. He was on a sofa and there was someone slumped next to the sofa, watching The Office on a computer on the table.

“Mmm?”

The figure turned and Detective’s face came into focus.

“Hey, I have some fever reducers and pain killers here for you,” Detective said, getting up to grab some pills off of the coffee table and a cup with a straw.

Villain took it without thinking, swallowing down the water gratefully. Detective took the cup away and Villain very carefully moved, testing his ability to sit up. He winced and hauled himself up so he could lean his head on the arm of the chair. Detective helped him adjust the blanket as he moved and he sighed.

“I shouldn’t have come here.”

Detective shrugged. “I don’t really mind. Now I have a good excuse not to go to work today.”

Villain smiled a little, ignoring the pain in his cheeks and eye where he was badly bruised. “Sounds good to me.”

Detective nodded and Villain saw him looking him over again. “So….. who did this?”

Villain sighed. “Trust me on this one, Deet. Stay out of it.”

Detective glared at him. “You do not get to come to my door, make me clean and bandage you all night watching shows I haven’t seen in years, and then tell me to stay out of whatever took an entire pinky off of you.”

Villain twitched his hand, startled. He didn’t have a pinky. He couldn’t really remember when that happened.

“Who. Did. This. To. You.” Detective said, very seriously.

Villain winced. “Supervillain. He wanted some Bevin Tech Batteries… uh, that I got totally legally.”

Detective raised his eyebrow, but didn’t say anything about that as Villain uncomfortably tried to rearrange himself again. He yelped, closing his eyes tightly. By the time he got himself back together, there were tears trailing down his cheeks and he cleared his throat.

“Erm, when we came to the part about payment, he objected to that, quite strenuously. I pushed it and…. Stars, I’m so stupid. Everyone knows not to deal with him, and I thought I’d be different.”

Detective nodded. “Alright, alright. It’s okay. Just rest, alright?”

Villain sighed and sunk into the couch. “Okay…. Thank you.”

“Of course. I need to go to the store and get some stuff for you. I’ll be back, alright?”

“Alright.”

…………………..

Detective closed his door behind him and reached into his pocket. He pulled out the black bandana and tied it around his neck and checked to make sure his guns were all where they were supposed to be in their holsters under his jacket. He paused only to send a text to his best friend asking her to come over that evening to hang out, and set off to kill Supervillain. If he didn’t come back, he knew his best friend would help Villain get back on his feet, but Detective wasn’t planning on letting it get that far.

#villain whumpee #detective caretaker #supervillain whumper #caretaking #cuts #amputation #stitches #burns #writing #whump

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kudzuoath · 7 months

Text

Weft and Warp

The Annals of Karsus are within reach. And Gale plans to seize all they have to offer.

A single unwary footstep and all of them would have been burned to cinders. Only his quick thinking (naturally) and the willingness to listen from his companions saw them through. Well – Astarion’s disarming skills hadn’t hurt either. But Gale was the one to spot the traps first this time. He was well versed in the dangers of a magus’ tower, after all.

Even one in the incompetent (and by now quite cold) hands of a cad like Lorroakan.

And now. Now they were finally a room away from unlocking the door he needed.

It was a struggle to remain still as the aforementioned vampire disabled the pressure plate they’d arrived on. Something that was accompanied first by scoffs – then hissing invectives as it proved more challenging than it looked.

“Karlach, darling, if you continue to fidget, I’m going to poison you,” said Astarion.

“Nah, no you won’t,” she replied, smile in her voice. “I’m your favorite.”

“I have enough coin for the skeleton,” he muttered. “Try me.”

The jostling from behind him abruptly ceased, and he heard Karlach make a pleased giggle behind him suggesting that Temperance had probably hugged her.Their fiery friend still couldn’t help laughing each time someone so much as shook her hand.

Gale ignored them. Stock still, eyes riveted on the door ahead. His heart pounded, his head felt a little light. This book – this book – it would change everything. End his incarceration, his execution in perfect symmetry. If it held the answers he thought it did – everything was going to change. Everything.

He would make it so.

Goosebumps arose at the possibilities. A world unbound. A world where it was the gods themselves with their feet held to the fire. Not mortals. He could see it so clearly.

No more would children like Temperance be abandoned. No Karlach’s with their hearts stolen and replaced with fire. Or Shadowheart’s, lied to and manipulated. No vampire spawn who prayed to an empty sky for mercy. No one would need consign their soul to the hells just to save someone else.

No more wizards, picked up and cast aside at the first hint of boredom.

A world of perfect kindness and beauty. His world. His choices.

If, he thought. Damnable word.

There was a little clunk from below his feet, and a satisfied sigh from the vampire. Astarion stood and made an elaborate ‘after you’ gesture at them all. “Go on then, my dears. You’ve the run of this place.”

He’d hardly finished speaking before Gale was across the room and through the door. At one end, bathed in pale blue light, a leaver. He made a bee-line for it – only to be caught up short with a little ‘hurk’ as a hand snagged the back of his belt.

“Trap!” Temperance admonished.

His face burned. Out of the corner of one eye, he could see Astarion with that bloody smirk of his. “We hardly came all the way down here for roasted Gale. But if you’re so keen on walking into your doom…”

“No eating the wizard,” Temperance said dryly.

“Oh of course not,” he purred in response. “That’s your job, isn’t it? I wouldn’t dream of taking your place, darling.”

Temperance rolled her eyes, but turned to Gale rather than responding. He could physically feel the weight of her gaze. He gave her a sidelong glance. There was a line between her eyebrows, and a frown on her face. It was becoming familiar, this expression of concern. And didn’t it feel jarring to see next to his imaginings.

“You’re usually more careful than this,” she pointed out.

“You can’t blame me for being excited, I hope?” He leaned in, eyes overbright. “We’re so close to finding the answer to everything that plagues us, Temperance. One book! With my rather brilliant mind set to the information held within a solution is all but guaranteed.”

Life awaited. Life unbound.

“Just don’t completely lose your head,” she muttered.

“Of course not. I know what I’m doing.”

At some point his eyes had become stuck on the lever again. His mind back to spinning with possibilities. All of them tentatively featuring his paladin at his side. He found himself wondering if she even could have a second god. Was that what had her so unnerved? When he’d chastised Lorroakan, she’d stared at him as if he were a stranger.

But then there was her oath. Vengeance.

She would understand. He only needed to explain. Unlike Mystra, Temperance would listen to him.

“Sometimes I think you only bring me along to open doors and disable traps,” Astarion said with a put upon sigh. Followed by an encouraging clunk. “There.”

Gale was more careful the second time, but no more traps awaited. Only the lever. He was first to reach it, and when he pulled it the sound of unlocking doors made his heart sing. Made the crushing weight of impatience a little lighter. With every trap taken care of – or at least those relevant – he led the way back to Karsus’ vault. The roaring in his ears and the pounding of his heart drowning out anything the others might have been saying.

Inside at last, he found himself looking at walls of scrolls, and shelves of books. Each and every one of them humming with the Weave. Containing lattice-work spells. Some as delicate and complex as the finest lace, others brutal twists of magic akin to the ropes that might tether a ship to shore. Tapestries of power of the sort that made the ghost of a familiar hunger stir within him. Not the orb – but his own.

Gods, he hadn’t felt like this in years. On the brink of near-divine creation. Was there a single better feeling than those moments when thought and desire became action and creation? He went to the first shelf – ignoring the scrolls for now – and began to search systematically.

He was vaguely aware of Karlach speaking and Temperance responding. Of the other three each searching their own bookcase. Something that – even with his nerves twanging like a lute strung too tightly – made him smile.

This time he had more than his own hands. More than a feverish desperation to not be forgotten. (Though far below his conscious mind, that fear of being set aside lurked. An ugly, broken little thing that whispered as insidiously as Mizora.) This time he wanted more than the regard of his goddess. More than his own satisfaction.

(…Didn’t he?)

This would not be like the last time. He was Gale of Waterdeep. And soon enough he’d be more even than that.

“I think I found it,” said Temperance.

Gale naturally gravitated toward her so he was already beside her when she spoke. He turned, saw the book in her hands, and let out a sigh of relief. A locked tome, gilded edges, ancient parchment feathering from its uneven edges. Bound and then rebound many times, with an intricate tapestry of magic worked into the cover and the lock. Spells of preservation that kept it from crumbling to dust.

“The Annals of Karsus,” he breathed. Reverent. “The preamble to a civilization’s downfall, committed to parchment by the very hand that wrought its destruction.”

He managed to unstick his eyes from the book – the most important book of his life! – to look Temperance in the face. “If the crown we saw under moonrise towers was truly forged by Karsus himself – ! This book will confirm it. All we have to do – all I have to do – is turn the page.”

Gale held out his hands for it. Expecting Temperance to part with it as easily as she’d parted with those magical items miles and weeks behind them, out in the wilderness.

But his hands remained empty.

She was looking at him with a carefully blank expression. Her knuckles stood out white from her grip on the thing. And for the first time since Lorroakin’s death, Gale felt a tremor of unease. As if his spine were being meticulously taken apart and frozen vertebrae by vertebrae.

“I’m… not sure I want you delving into this,” she said quietly.

A pit opened in him. Hurt. Confusion. The tiniest flicker of anger. The gnawing teeth of anxiety, puncturing his lungs and suffocating him. Why had she come so far only to turn her back on him now?

“And since when have we sought to avoid trouble, eh?”

He rallied. She wouldn’t. That was the truth of the matter – wasn’t it? She wouldn’t have broken into the archives with him only to get cold feet at the last moment. Temperance was braver than that. And a good deal kinder, too.

“Come now, the knowledge lurking between those pages could help us greatly.” And when still she hesitated, he went on in a sharper tone. “Don’t be a hindrance after you’ve been such a great help.”

The paladin stared at him, still as a held breath save for her eyes moving across his face. Searching. Measuring. And then she offered him the book.

Some small part of him worried that if he waited a moment longer he’d lose his chance for good. So he opened it, then and there, scanning each page he turned with growing fervor. Ancient writings in cipher, for the most part. But diagrams – of the same crown he’d seen. Of the somatic components necessary for a spell of binding. The stones held by the chosen of the Dead Three.

He began to chatter about what he was reading. Unable to contain his glee. Because it was exactly what he needed. No – exactly what the world needed. He really could do this.

“ – If we can collect the crown’s setting, and the three Netherstones, and with the correct invocation of certain spells and gestures detailed in these notes… I think I could reforge it.”

But when he finally tore his eyes from the page to look up at his companions, he did not see what he wanted. Karlach was giving him a sidelong glance, eyes narrow, frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. Astarion seemed oddly calculating – approving, even. And his paladin still looked completely blank.

“Wouldn’t that make things worse?” she said at last. “We should be trying to destroy the thing, not make it more powerful.”

“Do not mistake the actions of its wearer – no, rather those controlling its wearer at present – as the nature of the crown itself. It is a tool, not some great evil. No matter the hands that guide it.” Nuance she should understand, given her upbringing amongst the desperate and the starving. “If we could restore it to its former glory, it would no longer be a mere leash and collar, used to subjugate friend or foe. It would be something greater. Something divine.”

“And yet when Karsus tried to use it, he destroyed his entire civilization!” she hissed, ask cracking to reveal – anger? Sadness? He couldn’t tell.

“Correlation, not causation. It was what he did with it, not that he created it! Say what you will of the Absolute and the plot of our nemesis’ but for all the horrors they’ve wrought our civilization remains standing. I don’t intend to make the mistakes of its maker, Temperance, I know better. And under my guidance the crown could be used for such good.”

“He has a point,” said Astarion. “If we have access to this power, why not use it? Unlike our tadpoles, this one won't even turn us into enslaved tentacled abominations! It’s a win from all directions.”

“Exactly!” he said, somewhat surprised at himself.

“Wizards,” Karlach sighed. And did not further elaborate.

“Just imagine it,” he said, stepping past their friends. Close enough to set one hand on her arm. “The power of the gods in mortal hands at last. We’d be free of doctrine and dogma, confined only by the limits of our imaginations.”

He watched her swallow. The way her gaze drifted to first the book, then where he was touching her. That mask she wore dropped when she looked up again. Her eyes were too bright – even considering that she was a tiefling – and her brow was knit. Hesitance. Something he almost never saw in her.

Perhaps he’d taken the wrong track. Her magic came from faith, from the will of the gods -- and the phylactery. Would she even be allowed to follow him without breaking her Oath? Would she dare to risk it?

I would be a better vessel for her faith, he thought.

But then – oh, then she took his hand and laced their fingers together.

“You’re starting to worry me,” she said quietly. “But I trust you.”

A sigh poured out of him like the tide. Not exactly what he’d wanted her to say. He had hoped to court her enthusiasm, her curiosity. But that she did not turn away… that was enough. For now.

“We must discuss this further,” he said, squeezing her hand, hoping to banish her fears. Of course a simple touch did no such thing. “But quietly. Privately.”

Karlach lifted her eyebrows at both of them. “Oooh, private conversations. Tough luck, Astarion. Isn’t your tent next to Gale’s?”

“Ugh,” said the vampire.

Gale pointedly ignored them, focus remaining on Temperance. “Find me later, and I will show you something truly divine. I will show you what this crown could mean for both of us.”

And then she would stand with him. Wouldn’t she?

Doubt crept in.

“I’ll hold you to that, Gale.”

“Trust me just a little further, love, I swear to you that I shall prove worthy of it.”

Another long pause as she looked at him. “Tonight.”

And that was that.

Leaving was even easier than it ought to have been. All it took was a trip through a portal, Astarion breaking them out of a locked office, and then they were the four of them back in Sorcerous Sundries. It was a bit jarring to see the projection of a dead man. And somewhat concerning how none of the patrons made any comment on their bloodied and battered appearances. But then, it was a magic shop. And Lorroakan had something of a reputation.

Then they stepped out into the sun.

And there was Elminster. Waiting like a red robed omen.

A chill filled Gale’s lungs. He hated that his first instinctive reaction to seeing his friend was suspicion, now. They had both always been hers – Mystra’s. Only now it seemed he was no longer. And that divide between them might be wide enough for him to fall into.

To his left, he felt Temperance bristle. He felt her light touch at his back. And it shored up his reserves of courage.

He knew what he was doing.

And he could handle this.

#bg3 #gale bg3 #gale of waterdeep #gale #odette crier #gale dekarios #my writing #nothing like wizardly hubris and delusion #thankfully we don't also have paladin hubris to deal with because boy what a combo THAT would be #some canon dialogue

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joompheart · 4 months

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This one is Andrew. I'm really glad to finally have a kinda definitive picture that I can point to and go "that's what she looks like," and I'm looking forward to doing the same for the rest of my OC's. Long, detailed description below the cut.

-Age range: 16-21

-Physical attributes: Disgustingly lean. Almost nothing but muscle, skin, and bone. Think “teenage Olympian.” Strong for her size but not big enough to be “actually actually” strong. Shortest of my OC's, maybe 5'7” to 5'9”? I have a tendency to kinda homogenize heights with my characters but I still don't think of her as diminutive. Dark hair, approx shoulder length. Can be a couple inches longer or shorter though. [Maybe she looks a little sickly in this picture, that's just because I'm bad with color. Any human skin tone would be fine, I think the colors of her armor go well with every one I can conceive of].

-Magic specialty: Andrew is the most severely minmaxxed out of all of my characters, focusing on physical enhancement and melee combat. She's optimized for movement speed, strength, agility, grace/ coordination, and reaction speed. She also has some talent for enhancing objects, but only her own possessions. In a fair fight Andrew wins against every other character except Theodore, you just can't touch her. [Andrew I mean].

-Armor: Basically like at the end of Halo 4 where they take off Master Chief's Mark VI MOD MJOLNIR armor, it's a (supposed to be black or dark grey but the red looked better for this) skintight bodysuit with armor plates sealed on. The armor plates are small and rounded to reduce any drag or chances to snag on the environment when moving at speed, and to keep a lower profile (or at least as low as you can go when you're bright yellow-gold). Andrew was a zealot/ corpo assassin so this armor was made to be worn under more conventional clothes and could be at least partially hidden with magic. The armor plates are not exceptionally strong, but very light. They're mostly to facilitate wearing her thrusters.

-[An armor plate of note would be her cup, which is worn as a thong. Think something right out of a Radical Dream/ Rindou demon exorcist hentai, except the protection is actually real and not just ostensible lol. I point this out because you can't really see from this angle, but it feels important to the whole outfit and character for me. It's not like Andrew is supposed to be really sexy, she's got the most uncomfortable body of all of my characters. But leaving no armor there would feel sparse, and using a more conservative plate would feel lame. Idk. Idk it feels important.]

-Thrusters: Andrew can move stupid fast and could probably jump out of atmosphere if she had to, but she can't fly. This means that when she's really moving she would actually be at her slowest in free fall, or even worse at the apex of a jump. To counteract this she has sort of “reverse jetpack” thrusters on her armor angled up to push her back down to the ground, where she can get back to peak performance. Thrusters are concentrated on her upper back, but there are also some on the back of her shoulders, some right on top of her (damn near nonexistent) boobs, one above her cock, and on the back of her calves. Think kinda like Iron Man repulsors, though that makes me feel a little lame to say lol.

-Sword: The inception of this character was really enjoying the Odachi animations in the game Nioh, so that's what her sword is like. Try to imagine her padding along, holding it down in front of her, blade forward, hands crossed so her dominant right palm is down and her supporting left palm is up, tip of the blade just barely gliding above the ground. The sword is just metal with no inherent special qualities, albeit a space alloy that's more durable than anything we've got on earth and holds and edge really well. However, due to her strong bond with it, Andrew can magically enhance the durability and cutting ability of the blade even further, as to slice through rock and even metal with little resistance. Additionally, the length of the blade is magically variable. The sheath for the blade is only about a foot long, and the length of the blade for a given use is determined by how “long” the blade is unsheathed. The sheath is tied with cord so Andrew can stow her sword and attach it to/ hang it on her armor when not in use. The cord's length is also magically variable, so she can kinda “yo-yo” when her blade is too long to comfortably reach manually. In that way she can quickly change the length of the blade mid-fight, throwing the sheath to the tip of the sword to pull back to the hilt and then yanking it back off revealing that the blade is now several feet shorter (or vice versa).

-Partial Biography: Daughter of the governor of one of 2 colony mining cities, one of many children. Neither the eldest or the youngest. When Penelope (doesn't technically but effectively) kills the governor and the city is overrun with Penelope's cult [he doesn't lead it, hes just a prominent member. But that's off topic.], Andrew and her family flee to the other city on the other side of the planet. Andrew's aptitude for magic, both inherited from her father and developed on her own, leads her to be enlisted as a sort of political assassin for the governors of that city. Over time her convictions are loosened by the nature of her work and she's assigned a final suicide mission to kill Penelope and as much of his cult as she can, basically being told she's fired and that's the last listing they're leaving her with.

-Personality: Frustrated and vengeful, feels strongly about the concept of “justice.” Andrew is reckoning with having lost so much faith in the system that she and her father believed in, how she can possibly make “the world” “better” when her primary skill set is extreme overkill murder, and if her hate for Penelope and his cult even matters. Used to a high standard of living, if a little spartan. Very very very capable in action, moving efficiently and with little pretense. Very driven, expects to always know what her next goal is.

-Associated NiN songs: “The Wretched”

#my art #nausea #Character Sheets

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itsclydebitches · 1 year

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By all means, go off about The Blacklist. What's it about? 👀

Bless you, anon, for indulging my current obsessions :D

OKAY so the premise is great imo. Elizabeth “Liz” Keen’s life is basically perfect. She’s married to a handsome, adoring, successful teacher. They’re very near to finishing the process of adopting their first child. Best of all, Liz is beginning her career as an FBI profiler. Today’s her first day on the job and, other than being a little late rolling out of bed, it’s going to be great!

Except for one teeny, tiny snag. An hour or so before she’s due in the office, Raymond “Red” Reddington, #1 on the FBI’s Most Wanted list, turns himself in. He offers himself up as the FBI’s informant, specifically feeding them info on what he refers to as the blacklist: a list of criminals so heinous, secretive, and downright dangerous that the FBI doesn’t even know they exist, let alone how to catch them. Red will serve up his fellow fugitives on a silver platter. The catch?

He'll only work with Liz.

So the FBI is like, “Why the fuck is the ‘concierge of crime’ interested in a newbie profiler who hasn’t even made it into work yet?” and Liz is also like, “Wtf, I don’t know him, why would Reddington be interested in me?” It’s the mystery at the heart of the whole show, interspersed among the stand-alone episodes where they go after blacklisters: who is Liz to Red? Because he is very protective of her. Accommodating. Downright adoring—or perhaps obsessive. But really, Spader is fantastic in the role and keeps things on the side of charmingly sweet (in a ‘I’ll kill huge swaths of people for you :)’ kinda way) as opposed to creepy, which I really like. Honestly, a good 75% of the show's appeal for me is in Red's characterization and Spader's performance.

The point though is that everyone wants to know why such a powerful, immoral man would go out of his way to not just work with Liz, but bend/break every rule he’s ever made—tear apart years of self-serving contingency plans—just to keep her safe. I mean, the whole thing starts with Red turning himself in, risking disappearing into some dark FBI hole, just for the chance to see her.

So is he in love with her? (Lizzington is a popular ship, despite—or perhaps in part because of—the May/December dynamic and frankly the show does a lot to feed that possibility. It's never going to be canon, but fans aren't just pulling this ship out of thin air either. Trust me. I went in expecting it to just be fans being fans and... it's not. It's really not.) Is he her father? (And now we see why lizzington is controversial lol.) Is he manipulating Liz? Are the two of them in on something together? Theories abound, with each season providing new clues and revelations, nine seasons so far in total… so you can see where I’m going with this. Frankly, it doesn’t add up. I knew as soon as I understood the premise and caught wind of the show’s length that there would be no satisfying resolution. You don’t pose a singular question like that and dole out supposed answers each season without eventually retconning the hell out of previous episodes, or dropping previously important reveals, or just plain making stuff up for the sake of drama rather than logic. It’s inevitable in a form with so many fingers in the writing pie and, having been spoiled for the later seasons, I know that this isn’t magically fixed along the way.

So that’s a definite flaw in the show, though one I fully expected and thus am pretty indifferent to. The far bigger issue I have is that, as said in my tag rant, poor Liz is barely allowed to be a character anymore. She’s treated as a plot device, with her emotions serving whatever the current conflict is, rather than occurring as a result of her experiences. As you can imagine, Liz has some complicated feelings about Red, but they’re far from logical or consistent. I’m not joking when I say that she’ll despise him at the start of one episode, be hugging him by the end, and then be back to wanting him cut from her life at the start of the next episode with no explanation as to why this change occurred. Much like RWBY, the viewer is forced to decide for themselves why Liz is constantly on an emotional roller coaster that defies gravity and though yes, there are PLENTY of potential explanations in the show—I think this woman has been through enough to have earned a blanket ‘You think she’s emotionally stable??’ justification—but from a writing perspective it’s less than satisfying to continually do the writer’s work for them. In some episodes things won't stay consistent between scenes and I want to kick down the responsible party's door to ask what the actual hell they were thinking.

It's the kind of show with a few key, GLARING problems and if you’re hoping for something tightly written that will neatly wrap up all your questions and presumed inconsistencies with a pretty bow… keep waiting. But I’m used to shows like that—it happens with most long-form action stories, frankly, especially if they’ve got a core mystery like Blacklist—so I’ve learned to prioritize other aspects. Like the cast of characters? Top notch. Liz and Red’s dynamic is obviously the heart of the show and as much as I prefer them getting along, Liz’s cyclical anger is compelling too, in large part because Red remains completely devoted to her, no matter what she throws at him or how badly she treats him. Not to overshare on main, but I cannot possibly emphasize enough what a sucker I am for a sophisticated bad guy who would burn the world for his loved one even when she hates him. Actually, especially when she hates him because oh no, no one can hate him more than he already hates himself.

We’ve got Dembe, Red’s right-hand man and all around badass with a marshmallow center. Ressler who I’m usually pretty meh about because he’s the boring by-the-book cop, but every once in a while he pulls some chaotic move out of left field that makes me cheer. Samar who is even more of a badass than Dembe and that’s REALLY saying something. Aram, easily one of my favorite quirky tech characters of all time: literal ball of sunshine who will nevertheless cut you if you threaten his found family. Their boss, Cooper, who seems like a hardass but ultimately treats his team like his kids (letting them get away with shit included). Tom, Liz’s husband, who is… complicated. Mr. Kaplan who you just need to watch to fully appreciate. The cast is A+

Which means I’m watching the stupidest plot-line man ever devised, or a character suddenly did a 180 with no explanation, and yeah that makes the meta-writing part of my brain seethe and bite her imaginary pillow to muffle screams of rage… but then the characters have A Moment™, or there’s an actually well done twist, or we get an action sequence that yeah, is pretty silly when all is said and done, but it’s fun and I remember why I want to watch this show through to the end. Not because I think the big mystery will have a satisfying conclusion and not even because I like a lot of the major plot-lines coming up (I don’t) but because I still like the characters and so long as they’re interacting together in interesting ways, I’ll keep tuning in.

Particularly when it comes to Liz and Red. For however badly their relationship is written at times, the underlying dynamic itself remains stellar: successful FBI agent vs. renowned criminal. Poetic charmer vs. down-to-earth realist. Answers vs. questions. Is she making him better? Is he making her worse? What are they to each other and, even if the show did define that clearly on some level, can it really be answered so easily? I don’t think so. The fact that some days my brain goes, “God they have such a good father-daughter-esque relationship” and other days it’s going, “I ship it 👀” and other days it’s just, “You two need to stay FAR AWAY from each other. I mean, I’m digging the dysfunction, but if you were real people holy shit” just speaks to the complexity here. As frustrating as it can be, the messiness is kinda fun too? They’re compelling and they make my brain go brrrr with possibilities and sometimes that’s all you need in a show!

At least for the first three seasons. Lets see how I feel after 3 times that lol

Thus ends my 1k+, mostly non-spoilery Blacklist ramble ✌️

#Blacklist #The Blacklist #Lizzington #mymetas

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special-interest-infodump · 2 years

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I'm having a very no good night and I've recently fallen down the Sapphic Senate rabbit hole (whoever came up with that name is a goddamn genius btw) so, have some soft Ronance/Sapphic Senate/Vickie x Chrissy ideas.

Soft Sapphic Senate related headcannons

Touch-starved Nancy

Could legitimately write a whole fic on this. This girl needs cuddles and hand holds far more than she will ever let on or admit to. Obviously, Robin is the go-to: the amount of times Nancy will just 'casually' find an excuse to cuddle up next to/lean against/hold hands with her girlfriend is borderline uncountable. And as much as she loves being the little spoon and having Robin just hold her, some days, she desperately just needs Robin to lay on top of her, usually with Robin's head tucked under her chin, just to ground her in reality. The pressure helps, and being able to feel Robin breathing against her neck is just an extra reminder that they're both okay.

Protective Vickie and Nancy

Okay so here's the thing; I love the agent of chaos/possible cryptid headcanons of Chrissy more than I can articulate. That said, just imagine the potential of the double rays of sunshine (Robin and Chrissy) and the sunshine protectors (Nancy and Vickie.)

Constantly walking in on each other

Even in a universe where these four don't live together, if they live within walkinh distance, at some point someone will accidentally walk in on the other couple. Nancy's walked in on Vickie and Chrissy 4 times, Robin's done it twice, Vickie's walked in on Robin and Nancy 3 times and Chrissy's done it once. Steve asks why the hell none of them just lock a damn door and gets 4 variations of "in case of emergency!"

"Hello people who do not live here."

Fairly self-explanatory. When they all move out of Hawkins, the older kids really stick together, the boys included. Vickie and Chrissy have the comfiest furniture and Vickie's a damn good cook, so the others frequently end up at their place. Whether or not Chrissy and Vickie are there at the time is wholly irrelevant. More than once have Chrissy or Vickie come home to find Robin and Nancy on their sofa, Eddie raiding the fridge, Jonathan and Steve talking at the dining table, stuff like that. They don't even question it anymore, they just ask for money whenever the rest of the group steals food.

Robin does Nancy's hair before bed

So whenever one or both of them are stressed, Robin asks if she can brush Nancy's hair. Nancy's curls were the bane of her mother's life when she was little, so she always treats her hair with a bit of contempt and tends to be rather aggressive when she styles it herself. Robin though, Robin is gentle when she does Nancy's hair. She's patient, she takes her time with it, she softly kisses the top of Nancy's head when she hits a snag. It's soothing. And while it starts as a way for them both to just take some time to breathe on bad days, it eventually becomes their go-to ritual when Nancy gets out of the shower or a bath before bed. That's how much it calms them both.

If Chrissy survived S4 and Vickie knew about the Upside Down

If Chrissy survived (and I mean she never got Vecna-d) and she and Vickie found out about the Upside Down holy crap would they be protective of Ronance and the kids! They don't find out until they've left Hawkins and the day that they do, Chrissy basically tackle-hugs Nancy, while Vickie makes Robin swear to tell them if anything ever happens again. If the four of them move in together, Chrissy and Vickie happily support Robin and Nancy through nightmares or flashbacks or paranoid moments. Because those are their friends damnit and they're going to help them however they can.

Hope you like these!

#stranger things #ronance #the sapphic senate #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #chrissy cunningham #vickie stranger things #stranger things season 4 spoilers

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killemwithkawaii · 1 year

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Oh no now I’m thinking about sex with merman sal 😩💕 tucked away in a secret cove, halfway in the sun-warmed waters….oh but I can only imagine a land-dweller’s hand would be SO much warmer…gently rubbing your fingertips over that special slit until his cock starts to peek out 💕 so much longer than a human’s…maybe even prehensile/tentacle like so he doesn’t have to move his body to fuck you, he can just wrap his arms and tail tight around your body to hold you as close as possible

I forgot about mer!sal for a hot minute but now I remember so thank you and enjoy UwU 👌💕💦

Sex with Mer!Sal-

[CW: NSFW lemon/grapefruit, teratophilia, unsanitary, unprotected sex, reader is AFAB with neutral pronouns, readers body is referred to as ‘exotic’ because they’re a human getting fucked by a merman and this is all new to him but he’s very, very into it]

>I originally imagined Mer!Sal hanging out under the docks on the lake a lot (where he looks for food, searches for trinkets and observes the humans that come to the lake from beneath the boards) but he needs a safe place to sleep and keep his stuff (some of which needs to be kept dry). A little tucked-away cove (maybe hidden away by a thick curtain of weeping willow vines and surrounded by a steep rock face) would be absolutely perfect!

>Him taking you there would be just like him taking you to his room, and it’s a very big deal. He’s never voluntarily taken a human there before, and has gone to great lengths to discourage people from getting close to the entrance (scattering broken glass and rubbish on the beach to discourage swimmers, sticking branches in the mud at the lakebottom and hooking discarded fishing nets to them so that they’d snag the propellers of motorboats, weaving the vines hanging from the treeline so that they grew in tangled messes above the surface and make it nearly impossible to pass without cutting your way through…).

>After earning his trust over many hours of conversation through charades (and quite a few gifts of novelty trinkets and ‘exotic’ foods), he decides he wants to show you his secret hideaway. He gently tugs your arm and points to get you to swim where he leads, letting you hang onto his shoulders if you’re not great in the water, and guides you through the maze of vines until you both emerge into the half-sunned cove.

>Sal leads you to the far side of the clearing, in the warm shallows and under the protection of a mossy overhang, where he’s made himself a ‘home’. The setup is surprisingly tidy (for a creature that lives outside)- His collections of human odds-and-ends are thoughtfully displayed on the rocks and roots near the waterline he uses as shelving, including some old beach toys, pool floaties, jewelry, coins, shiny metal scraps, flashy fishing lures, and various other discarded items he’s gathered off the beach and from the bottom of the lake, but most of the things he's collected are carefully sorted and stored in coolers and tackle boxes for safe-keeping (of course, he’s very excited to have someone to show all of this to, and you make an admittedly slightly-exaggerated show of being impressed by what some would consider a lot of meticulously-sorted trash). The centerpieces of his collection are a few lovingly macgyvered musical instruments and a beat-up boom box (both of which he plays to try to impress you).

>He also makes a point to show you that he’d fashioned himself a surprisingly comfy looking daybed inside an abandoned row boat, using life jackets and beach towels as cushions. You’d seen him comfortably sunning himself and snoozing on rocks and fallen logs plenty of times, so you’re not really sure why he’d go through the trouble of putting together a ‘bed’, until you remember that time you stood from the dock and commented that your butt was a little sore from sitting on the wood for so long, only for Sal to swim away and come back a few minutes later with a few (soggy) towels for you to sit on…

>You point to him, then to the ‘bed’, then to yourself. “Did you make this for me?” He sinks a little lower into the water and nods, bringing his webbed hands above the surface. He held one hand flat and hung two fingers of the other over the side to mime the act of sitting on a platform, bobbing and sliding the sign so it was clear there were two figures sitting together, then pointing to you, then at himself, then to the ‘bed’, and finally pressed his hand into the ‘cushion’ to show it was soft. “I made it for the two of us to sit together comfortably.” You smile at him and waste no time climbing right in to try it out. He follows and settles in next to you, the boat rocking a little on the water with the weight shift.

>When you’d first arrived, he’d seemed very sure of himself, like 'look at all my cool stuff aren't you so impressed?' but he got visibly nervous and fidgety when you were finally in the ‘bed’ he’d made for you to share. He kept a respectful distance, his ears fluttering ever so slightly when he glanced in your direction and saw you were staring at him and not the view of the cove like he’d expected. Realizing you’d probably have to make the next move, you stretch out on the ‘bed’, closing the gap between you by slowly twirling a lock of his wet, blue hair around your finger for a minute. He was frozen until you turned and threw a leg over what could be considered his lap and nuzzled into his neck, dragging your nose and lips against the frills of his gill slits. You could tell he was starting to lose his shit by the way his fins were bristling and his tail kept flicking back and forth along the surface of the lake, but he still managed to put his arm over your shoulder and gingerly take your hand from his hair to guide it to his chest, signaling he wanted more contact, and then pressed his cold, uneven lips to yours, just like you’d taught him. (He didn’t know what kissing was before you showed him, but he was very impressed once you’d given him a demonstration.)

>From there, neither of you would knew what the fuck you were doing. While you both trusted each other, you figured you’d kind of have take the lead the first time, since he always seemed to be afraid he would scare or hurt you by accident. It was all very exploratory- feeling him all over, learning the different textures of his scales, noting what touches made his gills flutter open or made his ears perk up. Your hands were so warm and relaxing, gliding up and down his cool body… he ended up lying back and letting you do as you please- until you found the now-swollen slit between his dorsal fins and started giving it light, experimental presses.

>That makes him sit up on his elbows, but he doesn’t stop you- he just watches slack-jawed, his good eye half-closed, as your fingertips run up and down the opening, which was gradually parting and becoming slicker by the minute. As gently as possible, you put your fingers on either side of his slit and pull them apart, allowing a purplish, finger-tip sized nub to peek through. You couldn’t help but think it looked kind of cute… You barely grazed over it with your palm, and his gills flared open as he gasped at the touch. A few slow clicks escaped his open mouth, and he nodded when you looked up at him to check if what you were doing was alright. You kept going, prodding at the entrance, tracing around it, shallowly dipping your fingers in, grazing over the nub as it gradually unsheathed itself from his body and steadily swelled in size, making it very obvious to you that he was indeed a very impressive male specimen… It was exciting to see, albeit increasingly intimidating and certainly not what you would call ‘cute’ anymore. You looked from it to him and back again, biting your lip as you held eye contact and finally gave it a firm squeeze.

>He gave a sharp exhale and turned on his side toward you, carefully pressing on your shoulder so that you were lying on your back against the lifejacket cushions. He pressed his mouth to yours again and slid his clawed, webbed hand over your skin, so gently you felt the need to grab his wrist and show him that you weren’t as fragile as he thought you were. You pressed his palm firmly against your body and curled your hand over his to encourage him to take a grip of your flesh. He did, and you felt his nails dig in just enough to coax a whimper out of you. You felt him try to draw back, mistaking your sound of pleasure as one of pain, before you stuck your tongue between his sharp teeth and held fast to his wrist, keeping his hand against you, guiding him downwards and bucking your hips to signal an invitation for him to continue. Now more sure of himself, he took his time in thoroughly exploring the exotic structures of your hips and thighs and ass, his cock twitching and slick against your leg, until he finally cupped your pussy above your swimsuit and dragged a few claws along the slit. You fumbled around to remove your garments, admittedly a little clumsy now that your head was swimming, but you confidently spread your legs to reveal yourself to him once they were off. He just stared at you for a few moments, and you began to wonder if he didn’t like what he saw until he sat up to get a much closer look.

>He spread your thighs wider and shoved his face within an inch or two of your crotch, tilting his head a little, inspecting you from multiple angles with a curious look on his face. Not negative at all, just a little perplexed…

“Uh, you can…” you reached down and parted yourself with your fingers, rubbing over your clit, petting along the lips and dipping a finger inside in demonstration, “Like this…”

>You removed your hand so he could try it for himself, and the first thing he did was softly pat your pubic hair and look absolutely delighted at the texture, taking some of the curls between his fingers and playing with them. He gave some excited clicks and looked up at you, and you couldn't help but giggle a little before he really started prodding around in the same exploratory way you’d been feeling him up before. He ran his fingers and claws along your lips, repeatedly parting them and letting them close again, running his palm over your clit (much like you’d done to him), and finally, just barely letting a claw breach your entrance, once again looking at you to get the greenlight. You nodded, and he carefully put it the rest of the way in, the webbing adding an interesting additional sensation. You held up two fingers, and he added another, then you moved them back and forth, and he began to gently fingerfuck you, watching as his digits sunk in and out of you, becoming increasingly wet and warm…

>The curiosity on his face slowly morphed into hunger. He started going a little harder, a little faster, then gave an experimental twist of his wrist that made his claw graze against your g-spot and got you to thilt your head back and moan. You felt teeth dragging against you, a cold tongue on your thigh. You grabbed him by the hair and guided him to where you needed him, putting your fingers in the shape of a V and putting your tongue through when he looked up for guidance. He got the message and compiled, twisting his fingers in you and lapping at your clit. It was strange and new and fucking delicious, and it wasn’t long before your were coming around his fingers, your involuntary spasms rocking the boat. He didn’t quite know what he had done, beyond it being very enjoyable for the both of you, and you had to scoot back and lift his jaw to get him to stop and look back up at you. After catching a few breaths, you pointed to him, pointed to yourself, made a circle with the thumb and pointer finger of one hand and put the pointer finger of the other through it, and then made a ‘come hither’ motion. ‘Come up here and fuck me.’

>He scooted back up on the cushions, and you wasted no time in guiding and positioning yourself under him. His cock was (presumably) fully on display now- impressively long, thick in the middle and tapered at the head, with firm, flexible ridges along the underside, and so slick with its own thick lubrication that it left strings trailing behind and connecting it with wherever it had touched. You spread your legs, guiding it to and rubbing it against your pussy, letting him know exactly where you wanted him. Sal let out a shuddering sigh against your ear, and to your surprise, his cock pushed forward from his slit while the rest of his body stayed in place, allowing you both to watch as it gradually penetrated you. With each ‘thrust’ it went a little deeper, stretched you a little more, cold and textured and slimy, a surprisingly pleasing contrast to how hot and swollen you felt inside after having already enjoyed an orgasm from his tongue and teeth and claws.

>Once you were comfortable taking it all, he pressed his body fully against yours and brought you into a tight hug, and you wrapped your limbs around him in return. It was admittedly odd, getting fucked so deep and so thoroughly while your partner gently nuzzled his scarred face into your hair and trembled and sighed with pleasure in your arms, but it was wonderfully intimate- gentle yet rough, comforting but intense, making love in perfect privacy while simultaneously fucking like animals out in the open….

>You felt his fins and gills start to twitch and bristle like you hadn’t before, his breath coming in quick gasps and clipped patterns of clicks escaping his throat. You babbled and moaned encouragement, “Yes, come, come in me, this feels so good, please, come in me…” even if he didn’t know what the word ‘come,’ meant yet, he understood your tone, your moaning like you were doing before, and body language, your panting and clinging and grinding your hips in tandem with his thrusts, and knew that it meant you enjoyed it, and that he could continue until he was finished.

>His hold on your became extremely tight, his clicks and sighs giving way to breathy hisses and his tail slapping against the water until he arched his back and bared his pointed teeth, bellowing something between a hiss and a roar, his cock twitching and spilling an impressive amount of cool, thick come as deep inside of you as it could reach. He went slack in your arms, trilling softly and curling his tail around you, and you kissed his head and ran your hand along his back as he came down from his orgasm, his cock slowly receding from your pussy where he’d left it and back inside himself.

>You stayed like that for a while, the ‘bed’ softly rocking you and lulling him to sleep, the breeze across the sparkling water of the cove rustling the vines of the willows above you. It was so peaceful and relaxing, a beautiful view in the perfect secluded spot… you were really happy he’d decided to show you his ‘home’. You’d have to tell him so, once he woke up from his post-sex snooze. For now, you’d just enjoy the view and the feeling of his scales as you relaxed on the bed he’d made for the two of you to share. It was really comfortable, and after today, you were looking forward to spending a lot more time in it with him.... 💙

#k.e.w.k. writes #sally face fanfiction #sally face au #sal fisher #sal fisher x reader #sal fisher x y/n #mer!sal #merman x reader #mermaid x human #tw teratophilia #tw unsanitary #lemon #grapefruit #sorry steve #Me: IM GONNA ANSWER SO MANY ASKS TODAY *spends 4 hours writing one(1) mer!sal lemon*#oh well uwu

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