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syd-djarin · 7 months

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Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice (neighbor!joel AU)

chapter two: sex and candy

*18+ minors DNI*

tags: mentions of anxiety, religious shame/guilt, reader being insecure, mentions of (negative) past sexual experiences and partners, brief mention of alcohol consumption, v fingering, oral (f receiving) joel is a cunnilinguist, 2000’s nostalgia, mentions of the patriarchy (booooo) squirting (sue me), Joel-Land™️™️™️

reader has hair that she fidgets with, "grows warm" /"cheeks burning" but not necessarily blushing, with embarrassment - minor edits to make this more inclusive for my readers <3

word count: ~4.5k

Author/s notes: Sorry it took longer to get ch. 2 out than I anticipated. I've had a lot going on in my personal life (I got a new job!) But I promise it won't be as long for ch. 3 hehe. this is a lengthy chapter, hope y'all enjoy!!

had to name reader's bestie after my dear friend @katiexpunk <3 thanks for always letting me run ideas by you and being a peach in general.

and thank you to @softiedingo for being a beta reader as well <333

It has been two weeks since you introduced yourself to Joel and Sarah. You hate to admit it, but you haven’t been able to stop thinking about Joel. Your mind will stay preoccupied temporarily, then they circle back to him.

Throwing clothes in the washer? Joel.

Boiling water for pasta? Joel.

Doing the dishes? Joel.

In the shower? Yep, definitely Joel.

And this morning is no different.

You’re staring at yourself in your bathroom mirror, brushing your teeth, mind deep into Joel-Land, then your thoughts take a sharp turn - for the worst. You’re thinking about all of your past sexual encounters.

How unsatisfying and selfish your past partners were. You hadn’t been romantically involved with any of your past partners, all of them casual-no-strings-attached type of arrangements.

Even if the sex was casual, did that mean the pleasure had to be one-sided? Of course not.

However, after each encounter you found yourself feeling disappointed, and truthfully, it made you feel…..icky. Was it religious shame? Even though you don’t participate or believe in any religion anymore, your formative years were spent in a conservative, Christian church; where sex is bad, and sin is bad. And you don’t want to be bad, because you will go to hell. You don’t even believe in hell, yet, there is a small voice in your head that still worries about eternal damnation. Jeez, I should really see a therapist about that.

Perhaps it’s the misogyny and sexism, rampant and hard-wired into society and into mind’s since the beginning of time.

Your internal theological and philosophical debate gives you a throbbing headache.

+++

It’s Friday. Halloween falls on a Tuesday this year, so most Halloween celebrations would occur this weekend.

If you were still in college, you’d most likely attend a costume party at a frat party and drink until the sun came up. These days, you don’t recover from hangovers as easily and find the anxiety spiral that follows a night of drinking to be too debilitating so you’re planning on keeping it chill this year.

You’re pouring out a bag of candy into a bowl, so candy is easily accessible for your sweet tooth cravings when you hear a strong, loud cluster of knocks at your front door.

Knock. Knock. Knock-knock.

Shaking off your initial startling from the sudden knocks, you open your front door to find Joel. He’s leaning his shoulder on the doorframe, one half of his body bears all his weight. He swiftly straightens upright again when you greet him. He looks even more handsome from the last time you saw him. He’s wearing dark wash jeans that accentuate his body in the most delectable way and a black t-shirt with a faded MILLER CONSTRUCTION graphic that is just barely legible.

You have the urge to steal the well-worn shirt so you can sleep in it, relish his scent, and let it become a metaphorical embrace of Joel.

Fuck, I really am down bad, you internally scold yourself to come back to the present moment.

“Joel! Ho-how are you?” you manage to creak out through nerves and surprise.

His beautiful, dark brown eyes are staring right into yours. His eyes could compel you to do anything.

“I’m doin’ alright, you?” The word ‘alright’ is drawn out making it sound like “awllll-right”

“Can’t complain. Y’all settling in okay?” tilting your head unconsciously, as if to convey genuinity.

“Oh yeah, ‘s a nice neighborhood. Sarah seems to be enjoyin’ her new school, I was a lil worried she’d have a hard time but she’s a smart kid and gets along with pretty much everyone. Awful silly of me to worry in the first place…” he’s rambling, hands moving at the same pace as his speech.

You find his rambling to be cute, it’s a bit of a juxtaposition from his strong, demanding presence.

Joel realizes he’s nervous after he concludes his tangent. When’s the last time he felt nervous around women? Especially a sweet, non-threatening woman like you?

“Anywho, I came over to uh- ask you somethin’... Sarah liked your cookies so much she wants to learn how to make them herself and was wondering if you’d teach her?”

“I’d love to!” You shoot him a flattered smile, learning that Sarah wanted you to teach her to bake makes your heart sing.

Joel is amazed at you. You agreed to teach a twelve year old, one who you hardly know, to bake. He shouldn’t be surprised given your sweet demeanor and generous heart, but he’s in awe of you.

“You sure? I mean, you obviously don’t have to if you don’t want—”

“Joel, I’d be honored to. Send her over in an hour,” you cut him off, hoping to convey your delight in teaching someone else to bake, the same way your grandma did for you.

Joel can’t stop the shit-eating grin that appears on his face.

“Sounds good. I’ll send her your way, sweetheart,” he lingers just for a moment to watch your reaction to the nickname, the one he’s used twice.

You desperately try to keep your composure cool and collected, but you’ve never had a good poker face. You wear your emotions like an accessory. And right now, you are flustered. You divert your attention to the ground as if looking into his eyes would expose your every thought.

“O-okay!” You can barely stammer out a response before he is pivoting off your porch, back to his own house.

You can’t see it with his back turned to you, but Joel is smirking to himself and feeling amused at his effect on you.

+++

“You sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

“Yes, dad. I don’t need a chaperone to bake cookies. I’m a big girl now, remember?”

Yes, he is acutely aware that she is a big girl now. Well, not really, to him she will always be his baby girl, but that doesn’t stop her from growing up. Too fast for his liking. The idea of her becoming a teenager almost gives him a coronary. It won’t be long before she’s driving, then graduating, and college. What if she wants to attend a school in another state? Across the country?

He feels queasy at that thought, afraid that she will grow out of thinking her dad is the coolest, afraid that she doesn’t want to spend time with her old man anymore.

He wills himself to think about something else. Anything else. Inevitably his thoughts wander to you.

Joel hates to admit it, but he was hoping to join Sarah for the baking lesson. He wants an excuse to be in your radiant, sweet, beautiful presence again.

While you can’t stop thinking about him, he can’t stop thinking about you.

Driving home from work? You.

Making dinner? You.

Making his morning coffee? You.

Laying in bed? Oh, yeah. Definitely you.

Exactly one hour passes when Sarah arrives at your house. You’ve already set up in your kitchen in preparation; already pre-measured the ingredients, setting out all the necessary baking equipment and you even found a spare apron for Sarah to wear. Ya know, to give her the full experience.

“Oooh, this apron makes me feel like a professional!” Sarah exclaims after tying the strings on her designated apron.

“Well, after this, you will be.”

You can’t remember the last time you felt this much joy. Sharing a passion of yours with someone who is eager to learn from you delights your heart and soul in a way you didn’t know you needed until now.

“So first, we’ll need to combine the butter and sugar,” Sarah dumps the butter and sugar into the mixing bowl. “Great, now we want to beat the mixture until it looks fluffy.”

She is completely engrossed in watching for the desired texture, furrowing her brows together in a way that mimics Joel. You find it adorable.

“Excellent, now we are going to add in the eggs and vanilla extract.”

She follows your instructions to a T, meticulous and concentrated as if she were mixing hazardous chemicals in a lab.

“You’re doing great. Now let’s add our dry ingredients, half of it at a time.”

Her eyes light up when it’s time to fold in the chocolate chips. You both agree it’s the best part, both of you indulging in a few before adding them to the dough.

You assist Sarah in rolling the dough into little balls and placing them onto the baking sheet.

While waiting for the cookies to bake, you learn more about Sarah and Joel. She tells you about their old house, the camping trip they went on this past summer, the catchy pop songs on the radio that Joel will pretend to hate but she catches him humming the tune later, how Joel makes a big breakfast for the two of them every Sunday, a ritual they started when Sarah started school - he makes pancakes just for her.

Getting a snapshot of Joel and Sarah’s lives and their dynamic makes your mega crush on Joel that much bigger. From what Sarah has shared with you, he seems like a caring, protective yet fun dad. You’re aching to learn everything about him.

“Do you have any plans for Halloween?” Sarah asks as you’re pulling the baking sheet out of the oven.

“Oh um, I usually just hand out candy to trick-or-treaters. Nothing super exciting. What about you?”

“We always order pizza and watch a scary movie - nothing super scary though. We dress up too. Well, I dress up but dad thinks he is too cool to do that so he wears the same boring mask every year,” she has a mischievous grin on her face, concocting a plan when she asks, “do you want to come over and join us?”

On one hand you’d love nothing more than to spend more time with your new friend and Joel, but on the other hand the thought of being in the same room as Joel, in his house, makes you both anxious and aroused. Dizzy, nervous, and horny makes for an unpleasant combination.

Gaining a sliver of bravery, you swallow your apprehension and say yes.

“Sure, yeah, what time should I come over?”

“6:30. And you better wear a costume!”

+++

You’ve spent the past hour trying to put a costume together. Not making any progress, you decide to seek external advice - your best friend Katie.

You both met as freshman and have been close friends ever since, even rooming together in your first off-campus apartment. She moved to the West Coast shortly after graduation, though you still keep in touch via email and phone. You give her the scoop on Joel - him moving into the neighborhood, your gigantic crush on him, how you baked cookies with Sarah yesterday. She’s impatiently waiting for you to bone your hot neighbor. Girl, I’m waiting too.

“Do you still have that bunny costume you wore junior year?”

You rummage through your tote of seasonal clothing in search of said costume. Pulling it out, you now realize just how skimpy the costume really is. Bunny ears and a tail paired with a skin tight black bodysuit leaves virtually nothing to the imagination and definitely too much skin for this occasion.

“Dude, I can’t wear this! His daughter will be there! I can’t believe I wore this out in public. This is X-Rated,” you’re growing agitated in having no success in your costume, to the point that you are tempted to tell Sarah you came down with something so you don’t have to go.

“Okay, okay, the ears and tail are still salvageable. Do you have something besides the bodysuit?”

“Ummm…” you trail off into the phone, frantically searching for something to replace the risque bodysuit. You find a plain white baby tee amongst the sea of clothing, deciding you can pair it with your favorite jeans, the ones that accentuate your body in all the right places.

“This could work..” muttering to yourself when a devious thought pops into your head. White shirt, no bra.

“Found it! Gotta go, loveyoubye!” You hang up the call before Katie has a chance to respond, tossing your pink Razr on your bed. Your body hums in anticipation and jitters, feeling emboldened by your no bra plot.

After throwing on your outfit, you style your hair differently than you normally do. You add several coats of mascara to your lashes, sweep on some blush that complements your skin and add a sparkly lip gloss to your lips, making them appear extra plump and juicy.

You grab a bag of Halloween candy and you practically skip across the street. Reaching the front door of your new bestie and her gorgeous dad, your confidence is replaced with a furious ball of anxiety. Your heart is palpitating and you feel your stomach churn.

Would Joel think you looked stupid? Or worse, childish? Fuck, you should’ve stayed home.

Joel opening the door snaps you out of your thought spiral but only briefly, because he’s staring at you like you’ve started growing extra limbs. He looks both puzzled and pissed?

“What uh-what’re you doing here?”

His voice has a sharpness you haven’t heard before and it stings.

You have a moment of realization.

Sarah didn’t run the invitation by her dad.

You deduct that he isn’t a fan of surprises.

Before you can formulate a response, Sarah saves you from having to do so.

“You dressed up! I’m glad you came,” she squeals while wrapping her arms around your middle in an embrace.

She looks up at Joel from where she’s latched onto you and gives her confused dad an explanation.

“Dad, it’s okay, I invited her.”

That seems to alleviate his confusion. You, on the other hand, not so much. You’re internally screaming at yourself. It’s obvious to you that Joel wasn’t expecting you, and in conclusion, doesn’t want you here.

“I didn’t mean to impose, I—I’m sorry, I’ll uh— just go back home,” fighting back tears of embarrassment, looking everywhere except at Joel. You think now is a superb time to move across the country, change your name, dye your hair, somewhere far away from this humiliation.

Joel senses you’re feeling rejected in some way.

“No, no, come on in. Jus’ wasn’t expectin’ you s’all,” he gives you his most reassuring smile.

You swallow the lump of emotions in your throat.

He didn’t expect you to come over, nor did he expect you’d show up as his personal version of a Playboy bunny. He almost busted in his jeans when he could see your nipples through your very thin white t-shirt. He thinks you’re trying to kill him.

+++

You’re starting to relax once you three settle on the couch, Sarah nestling between you and Joel, Alien on the TV. Turns out, you and Joel share a love for the film. You may or may not have gotten into a heated (playful) debate about the other films in the franchise.

Joel gets an influx of trick-or-treaters, more than you usually get, residents of the neighborhood taking advantage of this opportunity to be nosy. Again.

In between costume clad visitors, you sneak glances at Joel, who looks absolutely scrumptious tonight. His hair had been damp and combed back when you arrived, his curls now almost dry and in all their glory. He’s wearing an obviously well-loved, faded Pearl Jam concert tee that clings to his arms and grey sweatpants that sit dangerously low on his hips. You wonder if all his shirts fit like that. When he stands, you can see the outline of his dick through his sweatpants. You have to manually restrain yourself from pouncing on him. You’re soaking through your panties and you’re a little worried that if you stand, the seat beneath you will be soaked too.

The scent of his body wash invades your nostrils, a heavenly mix of sandalwood and cinnamon. You’re imagining yourself running your hands through his hair and burying your nose into his neck, alternating between kissing and sucking on the skin there. You want to taste every inch of his skin, taking your time to savor him.

Joel’s stealing glances at you, too. He’s never seen someone look so sweet and seductive, divine even. You smell warm and sweet, amber and vanilla. Not the artificial, manufactured type vanilla scent, it’s like vanilla straight from the bean. When you readjust your position on the couch to get more comfortable, your tits lightly bounce, unrestrained by a bra. He has to stifle a groan, disguising it as a cough. He wonders how much they’d bounce if you were riding his cock. Your lips are absolutely sinful. Pouty and plump, juicy from the lip gloss. The bunny ears are the nail in his coffin. He’s picturing you bent over on his couch, still wearing the bunny ears as he devours your pussy from behind.

Only a quarter of the way through the movie, a few of Sarah’s friends from her old school pop in to invite her over for an impromptu sleepover to which Joel agrees to, since they no longer go to school together.

Which means you and Joel are left alone. Together. Your body is aching to close space between you and the man you’re enamored with. You don’t know that Joel is itching to do the same.

“Sarah couldn’t stop talkin’ bout yesterday. She loved hangin’ out with ya, thanks again for doin’ that.”

“She’s welcome to come over anytime. She’s a sweet kid,” you’re beaming at the fact she enjoyed baking with you. Joel notices the way your eyes gleam, overflowing with delight.

You finally have the courage to meet his eyes. The way his eyes are raking over your entire body makes your clit throb in anticipation. Your heartbeat is erratic, thumping loudly in your ears.

The energy in the room is magnetic, pulling you and Joel closer together.

“You can uh-scoot closer t’me if ya want,” he gruffs out, beckoning you to scoot closer to him. Joel wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but you make him feel like a flustered teenage boy about to kiss a girl for the first time.

You scoot closer to Joel, hoping he doesn’t notice your body trembling from nerves.

With your body flush next to his, he stretches one of his toned arms behind your head, resting it on the back of the couch. You can feel the warmth radiating from his body and it sends a shiver down your spine, straight to your aching core.

The tension in the air is palpable, both of your bodies buzzing in arousal. You’re both pretending to watch the movie in front of you, but your minds are elsewhere. He gently removes his arm from the couch and rests it across your shoulders. It’s a seemingly innocuous gesture, but its impact makes you clench around nothing, more arousal dripping into your panties.

He leans his head down close to yours, his mouth behind your ear.

“No bra? You’re a naughty lil bunny aren’t ya?” His hot breath tickles your ear, your eyes clamp shut involuntarily and you whimper. A high-pitched, whiny whimper, and Joel’s never heard anything sweeter.

He places his other large palm on your thigh, gently squeezing it. Your skin prickling in goosebumps and your nipples are hard enough to cut glass. The wetness pooled in your panties is beyond the point of comfort.

Joel presses a chaste kiss behind your ear, eliciting another whimper from you. He peppers kisses from your neck all the way to your collarbones.

“This okay?”

“Mhmmm…” You’re already so keyed up you feel hazy. Your whole body feels hot, lit aflame by Joel’s lips on your skin.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” he rasps while his hand is caressing your thigh, intentionally not too close to where you want him. Need him.

“Mhmmm,” you moan, still unable to form words, arousal taking over all of your bodily functions.

“Need you to use your words, honey.” He squeezes your thigh again.

He pulls his face back from your neck to look you in the eyes, and slows his movements on your thigh so you can tell him to back off or give him the green light to continue. You grab his hand on your thigh and squeeze it, to keep him from removing it.

“Joel, pleeease. Want it so bad. Need you so fuckin’ bad.”

You beg in the most sultry voice you can muster, emphasizing every syllable.

Your lust laden eyes and the way you mewl for him ignites something ravenous, primal, carnal in him. He hasn’t heard you cuss before and it sounds so filthy in your honeyed voice. His rock hard cock twitches in his pants.

He presses his plush lips against yours. It’s hesitant at first, but his apprehension dissipates when you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back with fervor. Joel deepens the kiss, one hand gripping your hip, the other hand splayed between your shoulder blades, pressing your body further into his. You tangle one of your hands in his luscious curls. He tastes like sweet peppermint and a hint of black coffee. You feel dizzy, tasting him, finally feeling him.

He breaks the kiss, guiding you to lie down on your back and props your head up on one of the couch armrests.

He’s looking down at you and he’s never seen anything more beautiful. You’re always pretty, effortlessly so. But seeing you underneath him, sweet and desperate for him? He’d do anything you ask him to.

“You’re the prettiest lil bunny. So fuckin’ pretty.”

You’re bashful under his gaze and his compliment, cheeks burning.

Joel notices you trying to shy away and he places a thumb under your chin, forcing you to keep looking at him.

Now you feel embarrassed for trying to shy away in the first place.

“Sorry I’m—”

“Nothing to ‘pologize for, sweetheart,” he’s caressing your chin with his thumb, alleviating all of the embarrassment from you.

“Wanna taste you. You’ve no idea how bad I’ve wanted to taste you. Needed to know if you were as sweet as your cookies.”

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe out, “yes - yes please, taste me, Joel”

He chuckles softly at your enthusiasm and promptly rids you of your jeans, making the leather of the couch feel cool to the back of your thighs.

Joel lets out a guttural moan when he sees your sky blue satin panties soaked through. He runs a finger over the damp spot, making you quiver. His touch is featherlight and it’s maddening. You’re squirming, hips lifting off the couch, chasing for more.

He obliges, running a finger over your clit with added pressure.

“Joel, please–” You’re a whiny mess under him, and he’s just getting started. He’s rubbing gentle circles over your bud, still-panty clad.

He presses a kiss on your belly, just below your navel. The tenderness makes your body shudder.

He finally removes your panties and you gasp when the cool air hits your throbbing pussy.

“Pretty girl with a pretty pussy to match.” Joel’s admiring the way your pussy is glistening for him, begging to be touched.

He runs a finger through your drenched seam, your juices dripping onto his thick digit. He licks his finger, then shoves it into his mouth so he can taste every drop. His eyes clamp shut, groaning at how you taste. You commit the image to memory, not wanting to forget how he looks and sounds when he tastes you for the first time.

“Knew you’d taste sweet. So fuckin’ sweet.”

Your brain short circuits when you realize that means he’s thought about this before. That he’s imagined how you’d taste. Picturing him fantasizing about you makes you light-headed.

Joel spreads your legs wider, giving him full access to your pussy. He dives in without warning, licking from entrance up to your clit.

“Fuck, Joel!” You hoarsely shout with one hand gripping the couch cushion and one tugging onto Joel’s messy curls. His beard scratches the sensitive skin of your pussy as you grind your hips into his mouth, desperate for release.

You see stars while he expertly alternates between flicking his tongue and sucking on your clit. He’s keeping a steady rhythm, on the slower side, taking his time pleasuring you. He’s enjoying this.

Obscene sounds fill the room; Joel devouring your pussy like it’s the Last Supper and your chorus of moans and expletives.

“Fuck, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop!”

“Shitshitshit–”

“Joelllll-”

He picks up the pace, your fingers cramping from their deathgrip on the couch. You feel your peak approaching - sweat beading on your forehead, chest heaving, head thrown back in ecstasy.

Joel senses your approaching release and pushes one of his thick, dexterous fingers into your weeping hole.

He reaches for your hand that’s tangled in his hair and intertwines your fingers with his, resting your connected hands on your inner thigh. It’s overwhelming; the intimacy of your interlocked fingers paired with the filthy onslaught of his mouth.

He speeds up as he adds another finger, hitting the spot that no one except you has reached before. You never knew it could feel this amazing. You thought you were doomed to a life of bad sex.

Apparently, you just needed Joel to show you differently. And you are so glad he proved you wrong.

Joel hooks his fingers inside you bringing you closer and closer to that peak you’ve been dying to reach. You’re squeezing his fingers, both the ones inside you and the ones interlaced with yours.

“Joel I-I’m close,” you manage to choke out, mind foggy from the intense pleasure.

He sucks on your clit, hard and you’re coming, entering a euphoric plane of existence. You’re floating, body trembling, coming harder than you’ve ever come before.

Joel slows his fingers and removes his mouth from your pussy, beard glistening with your release, gently bringing you back to reality. He keeps your fingers locked with his, grounding you in the present.

The orgasmic fog clears from your brain, regaining awareness of your surroundings when you feel how drenched your lower half is. Like, really drenched. You lift your head from the armrest and look down and you’re appalled by the scene.

You fucking squirted. Everywhere.

On yourself, on the couch, on Joel. His beard is soaked completely, to the point it’s dripping down his chin. He’s just as stunned as you are.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, fuck I-” you’re scrambling to get off the couch and Joel grabs your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

“What’re you sorry for? That was so fuckin’ hot, sweetheart.”

“I-I didn’t know I could do that…”

“Oh yeah? First time ever squirtin’?

“Yeah, the first time anyone else has made me come… like, ever.”

His gaze goes dark.

You get the feeling that he’s just getting started with you.

And just like your cookies, he’d never have enough.

THE END

#joel miller #joel fic #joel x f!reader #fanfic #first fanfic #joel miller is babygirl #joel miller smut

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gravedigginbbydoll · 9 months

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Hawkins University : The Munson Edition

AN: Hey y'all! I'm sorry for the brief hiatus, my birthday was last weekend and my family came to visit last Monday. From now on, I will be posting on Fridays! Anyways, we're diving more into Eddie and Bug feeling some physical attraction ;) We're about halfway through! (Don't worry, once Eddie is over we get Steve + I would be down to do blurbs of Eddie and Bug <3 ) Anyways, I hope you enjoy! Also pls remember reblogs and comments are appreciated ! I love feedback!

→ cliches: friends to lovers, heavy use of nicknames instead of Y/N, we're all just struggling college kids, Music Tutor! Eddie, Resident Assistant! Reader, good girl x bad boy, instant connections, 'I don't trust most people but I trust you', 'are we friends or more?', and 'I can't believe you're such a slut that you have a special dtf drawer...'

→ warnings: mature topics, drinking and drug usage, strong language, bullying, mental health, discussion of suicide and self harm, mature thoughts, eventual smut, minors dni

→ pairing: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

Chapter 5

Eddie’s POV

Eddie didn’t want to admit it at the time, but he was so nervous about having you over. Sure, you were over every weekend and usually it was the two of you alone, but never were you staying in his room. You always stayed in the living room or kitchen, both of you out in the open. He had sort of asked you in a spur of the moment need of a distraction. He would usually bother Nancy or Steve, but Nancy was headed to visit her little brother in the nearby town, while Steve had planned on sleeping over at Rob’s for their weekly movie nights. So he asked you, which wasn’t usually a big deal. But Eddie didn’t just like you or think you were cool. Eddie thought you were gorgeous. He often shook off the thoughts because he knew you were often stretched thin with both of your jobs and he was on the verge of failing a course, a relationship out of the cards for both of you. Plus, Eddie knew you were such an exemplary student and a high achiever. He was embarrassed to admit he felt ‘lesser’ around you sometimes due to being a ‘super senior’ in high school and being older than you despite you both being Sophomores. Sure, being 22 in comparison to being 19 or 20 wasn’t a whole lot, but Eddie still felt some shame.

Eddie raced around his room after his quick shower, panicking and trying to tidy the place a bit. He wasn’t extremely messy, just often disorganized. He hid his cuffs and ropes which had been left out after a previous encounter, along with putting away clothes and trying to make the room at least look presentable. You were headed to your dorm to grab some clothes and such, sure to be headed his way soon. When Eddie could finally see the floor and felt secure in knowing his special toys were in their box and shoved under the bed, he began to calm a bit.

Well…at least for a bit. But then his thoughts began to wander.

Did you wear a bra to bed? Would you be okay with sharing the bed? Or should I take the couch? Would you cuddle? What if you did, without a bra, and- Shit.

Eddie sat at his desk, his cock half hard, mind swirling with sinful images picturing you without a bra, one of his t-shirts on you. He imagined the way your breasts would move without the restrictive fabric, the way they’d feel against him with only a thin layer between the two of you. His cheeks flushed as he groaned softly, trying to shake the thoughts away. Eddie sighed and looked toward his phone, cursing himself for not thinking this through. He’d have to be cautious so as to not be so turned on with you here.

He saw his cracked screen light up, his heart thumping at the sight. He picked up the phone, able to read the message despite his very fucked up cell.

Bug: On my way!

He sighed softly and decided to head into the kitchen, readying the movies and snacks. There were sour gummies for you and chocolates for him, along with a bowl of popcorn and sodas and beer. He laid them out while staring at the movies he had picked. Most were cheesy retro slashers, both of you bonding one weekend over a love for goofy horror films like Killer Klowns From Outer Space and Frankenhooker. Eddie rented both films and was excited to giggle with you over the campiness of it all. He had placed all the snacks on the coffee table and made the movies ready to go when you knocked on his door, surprising him.

He came up, opening the door, only to feel his chest tighten and his cheeks heat.

You stood there, face free of the makeup you sported earlier, and clothes much more casual, a pair of pajama bottoms and an oversized shirt on your upper half, sneakers on your feet. You smelled fresh, like you had quickly showered and washed off all the sweat you had built up that night. But Eddie was really flushed at how gorgeous you still were dressed down. He also noticed one thing he knew he would have to pretend he wasn’t noticing.

You didn’t wear a bra.

You beamed at him, your smile causing the rest of the blood not already there to travel lower and his stomach to flutter.

“You gonna let me in, Munson?” You joked, eyes glittering with mischief.

Eddie stepped aside, grinning sheepishly, ushering you in.

Good God, he was fucked.

You and Eddie sat down on the couch, giggling at the ridiculousness of Killer Klowns and Eddie doing his best to make you laugh at his impersonations. By the end of the third film of the night (which had been Elvira Mistress of the Dark, whom you and Eddie both had a crush on as kids), you were both crashing from your sugar high and yawning, with you rubbing your eyes sleepily. Eddie ushered you to the bathroom, letting you brush your teeth and wash your face. You used the restroom, only to groan and open the door, clearly looking embarrassed.

“Eddie…I may have to go home.”

Eddie walked over, frowning down at you. Only your head was peaking out of the bathroom, only leaving him to guess what was wrong.

“What’s wrong, Bug?”

You looked like you wanted to melt into the floor, making Eddie’s stomach twist. Were you okay? He felt a sense of fear wash over him as he worried that maybe he pushed you too far.

“Y-yeah…I just, ugh, I- I got my period,” You mumbled, looking away.

Eddie felt a wave of relief and sighed, smiling softly at you. “Oh thank God. I have stuff in the bottom cabinet closest to the toilet. So don’t worry about it. But I’ll drive you back if you feel uncomfortable.”

You looked up in surprise and smiled softly, still looking a bit embarrassed. “Oh. Okay…Uh, I’ll-I’ll try to stay.”

Eddie smiled and went back into his room, changing into his comfortable sweats and loose cut off Metallica shirt. He was in the process of fluffing his pillows when you came in, looking at him inquisitively.

“What?,” He cocked his head at you, confused.

“What’s up with the minor convenience store in your bathroom cabinet?,” You teased, sitting on the bed by him.

Eddie froze up. You were referring to ‘the baskets’. Eddie would be honest, he knew he ‘got around’. He used sex in college as a form de-stress, a way to break away. He started last year as a freshman when he discovered that girls and guys alike in Hawkins liked rough around the edges men who wore makeup and played in bands. In high school, Eddie was ‘The Freak’ and consistently treated like some kind of weirdo. But in Hawkins? He was viewed as a devil's food cake, delectable and sinful. The ‘baskets’ had started as a little thing that Eddie did when having people over, so he could be the most amazing host. There was shampoo, deodorant, tampons, pads, midol, ibuprofen, salve, and more in the little gray tubs, all organized and neat. The ‘baskets’ were split into masculine and feminine products, seeing as Eddie swung either way. He wasn’t ashamed of it, but felt something stir in his stomach about you knowing about his hookups. He hadn’t had many once meeting you, aside from Chrissy a few times. But she never came over, and he’d truly slept with her maybe 3 times.

“It’s…Uh,” Eddie scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, looking away. “It’s for when people come over.”

You nodded, looking away nonchalantly before your eyes began to grow wide in realization, probably remembering the morning after pills stashed beside the period products. Eddie felt his stomach twist as you laughed a little, your eyes glinting with mischief.

“Eddie. Darling. Light of my life. You have a Hookup Basket?!,” You giggled, looking over at him in shock as he pouted.

“Hey, I just want to make sure people are comfortable when they are here,” He defended himself weakly, blushing red.

“Eddie Munson, you are a manwhore. Lovingly, you are such a manwhore. This is the first time I have ever heard of a hookup basket,” You teased, Eddie pouting at you.

He hit you softly with a pillow before getting up and heading to the bathroom, cheeks still red as apples.

“Whatever,” He grumbled, pouting still.

“Be sure to floss, manwhore,” You teased, leaving Eddie to groan in the bathroom as he brushed his teeth.

You’d never let him live this down.

Eddie sat in his bed next to you in the middle of the night, mind racing. He was woken up by a nightmare of failing all his classes, only to show up at a party naked, both you and Chrissy there laughing at him. It was a silly nightmare, truly, but Eddie couldn't help but be terrified of the reality. He was staring at his phone and reading a book when you sleepily sat up, eyes barely opened. Eddie would’ve thought it was the cutest thing ever if he wasn’t still panicking over his life choices.

“Eds? What’re you doing up?,” You grumbled, eyes squinting at him in the dark. Your voice was slurred and drowsy still.

“Jus’ had a nightmare ‘s all…Go back to sleep, Bug,” Eddie whispered softly.

You sat up a bit, frowning at him. “Nightmare? Is everything okay?”

Eddie sighed, putting down his phone and looking at you. The room was dark, only the dim light of the moon shining through the blinds to let him make out where you were. His chest felt tight. Maybe he could tell you what was wrong.

“Have you ever wondered if you made the right choice? Or whether or not everyone was actually right in what they said about you?,” Eddie asked, heart thumping. He didn’t feel like you would relate, but he still wanted to get his feelings out. You stared at him silently, eyes begging him to continue.

“I spent all this time in high school struggling only to finally make it to college at 20 and fail. I hate my fucking major, but going into just music is ‘impractical’ and I’m just going to wind up flunking and dropping out, disappointing Uncle Wayne by turning into my father-” Eddie was surprised by the blurred vision and tears falling down his face. His voice was cracking and shaking. He hadn’t spoken to anyone about this really, not even Steve.

Eddie felt you grab his hand, softly squeezing. He sighed, tried to regulate his breathing, before continuing.

“I almost signed up for Music Therapy when I first applied here. But everyone I spoke to suggested Production. Wayne, my advisor. And even the idea sounded cool. I could earn money and get to work with big names I love or meet new ones and help make music. But…god…it feels so soulless. I feel dread walking into those classes and the only thing that has kept me going is guitar or those snotty and bratty kids I teach at The Ghost Note, “ Eddie laughed humorlessly. His hands were shaking as tears still fell down his cheeks slowly. “I just don’t know what to do. I’m supposed to be the first gen student. I don’t want all of Wayne’s work to be for nothing.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, rubbing the back of Eddie's hand soothingly before speaking.

“Look, Eds…I don’t know much about music or even production. But what I do know is that you are an amazing teacher. I see your eyes light up when I finally nail something and…honestly? It’s an amazing feeling. And sure, you’re older than most sophomores, but who cares? Some people don’t get a degree until they’re like 40! And you’re blazing the trail for your family. Honestly, I think you’d do amazing in Music Therapy or Education. And plenty of people change their major. Don’t just stick to it because it’s ‘practical’. You deserve to love what you do, Eddie Munson. And no matter what you decide, whether it’s that you want to drop everything and suddenly move to California and be a rockstar, or you want to teach ‘snotty nose brats’ how to use music as an outlet like you do, I’ll be proud.”

Eddie felt his heart be squeezed and his stomach twist. Could he follow his heart? You sure made it seem so. Eddie had always assumed he needed to ‘man up’ and do what was needed, but you made it seem so easy. Maybe he could turn this around.

“Thanks, Bug.”

“You’re welcome, Stinky. Now go the hell to sleep, you barely get enough as it is,” You yawned, laying back down and still facing Eddie.

Eddie scrunched up his nose, frowning. “Stinky? What the hell do you mean? You always ramble about how I smell like apple pie!”

You giggled softly, face already nestled in the pillow. “You definitely farted in your sleep at one point. I heard it when I woke up to go pee.”

Eddie felt his cheeks heat to unimaginable degrees as he huffed and laid down, turning his back to you. “Liar. I did not,” He grumbled.

You sighed, laughing a little before tugging gently at his messy bun. “Go the hell to sleep, Stinky. We can debate your farts tomorrow.”

Eddie tried to keep a pout on his face but couldn’t stop the slight smile as he heard you begin to doze off before him, your light snores filling his room.

He’d tease you about it in the morning.

Taglist: @josephquinnsfreckles @corrodedcoffincumslut @kirisuteg0men @bebe07011 @amira0303 @vintagehellfire @lottie-90

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thoughtfullyrainynightmare · 1 year

Note

Yay your asks are open

Can I please get headcanons with Fuegoleon, William, and nozel with an s/o who sings beautifully and sings them a soft lullaby as he lays his head on their lap when he has a headache from overworking?

Yes they are!! ^^

Oh this was so cute that I just had to jump on it, and... I got a bit carried away ^^' Whoops. But I do hope that you like these ^^

Pairings: Fuegoleon x gn!reader, William x gn!reader, Nozel x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff

Fanfic type: Oneshots

Warnings: None

Total length: ~2.6k

Fuegoleon

Dusk was beginning to peek from behind the horizon and with it, just behind the treeline, you could see a veil of orange, red and gold, almost as if the warmth of your home was reflected in the world that opened before you from the window. Though, at times, you mused to yourself that it was only fitting to see such sunsets from the Crimson Lion Kings’ living quarters. It was a mere thought that tugged the corner of your lips up for a short while, in passing, whenever it occurred. But just as a summer breeze, in was soon swept away.

The door behind you opened, which made you turn around, only to see your husband return much earlier than anticipated. Not that you complained, oh no. In fact, it was much better this way, that he came home early every once in a while to get some rest.

But, just as soon as he stepped through the door, your expression turned into a frown, as the gentle loving smile you had grown to know, wasn’t there. Instead, he was pinching the bridge of his nose, and his head hung low; as low as it might hang when speaking about the king among lions.

His hair draped over his shoulders, and his cape was hanging from his left arm as he held it against his body, as if having shed some weight off of his shoulders.

Which in itself, perhaps, shouldn’t have been surprising. If anything, it was a wonder how he could carry the weight of his responsibilities with such elegance and poise to begin with. But, then again, he was special. He was strong and brilliant.

However, now, something was the matter, which is why you needed to ask about it.

“Is everything alright, my love?” You inquired, voice soft and gentle like silk to his ear, as in it there was also a welcome to home.

“Yes,” he replied as a faint smile appeared on his lips while hanging the cape away. “It’s just that… I think the last week has taken a toll on me, as I have a headache.” He admitted. And in the admission there was a hint of a … not quite shame, but perhaps apprehension. Because he knew that he ought to take good care of himself. After all, he was always telling you to get plenty of sleep, and remember to rest, while working ungodly hours himself.

“Then you should rest,” you said, speaking out a fact with a kind, understanding smile. Because you did understand him. You understood his drive, his motivations and wish to be the best version of himself while wanting nothing but the best for his knights and the kingdom. But he shouldn’t do it at the expense of his health.

Which he knew.

“Come one,” you urged with a near whisper while taking his hand and leading him towards the bed, with which he complied.

Of course he complied. Because though he might have had to retire early for the day, because of a headache, and simply not being able to process information, having you there made it all the more sweet; being home. Though, he had to wonder, if it would have felt like being at home in the first place without you being there. Because home was no longer a place for him, it was a person; you.

And as you laid together in bed, him placing his head onto your lap as you sat against the headboard, he could already feel some of the tension and dreariness off his body seeping away from him.

You sank your fingers into his hair and let the silken locks run through your fingers, gentle like a summer stream on a warm evening just washing over his body.

“Would it be easier if I removed my hair tie?” He inquired while looking at you with those eyes that were not quite royal purple and not quite lavender, but something else instead. A combination of silk and velvet that pulled you in time and time again.

“Maybe, if you like this that is,” you smirked, earning a chuckle from him as he lifted himself just enough to take off the hair tie and settle back down, head securely in your lap.

And just like that he closed his eyes, sinking into the sensation of your fingers brushing against his scalp, through the vermillion locks that bore the slightest scent of lavender. His chest rose as he took a deep inhale, and lowered back down with a steady, low, exhale that held the slightest hint of a hum.

With it, you begun humming a tune that had grown to be fond to you. A comforting melody of a lullaby that he had grown to know well too, and yet not quite well enough for his taste. A melody that he had only heard you hum, since you thought it to be, perhaps, strange to be singing a lullaby to him.

“Which song is that?” He thought to ask, this time, as he laid there, concentrating on the feeling of your touch.

“It’s a lullaby,” you answered with the faintest of senses of amusement in your tone.

“Oh,” he uttered, meaning nothing more with it. “Will you sing?”

There was a hint of absurdity in the request, but only a hint, a speck of dust on an open ocean. Because, he loved to listen to you sing.

“You wish to hear?”

He chuckled, only a little, and almost too quietly for you to hear. Almost, but not quite. “I love to hear you sing.”

And with it you, in turn, chuckled under your breath, before breathing in, and beginning to sing: “Golden slumbers kiss your eyes…”

His smile grew wider, more content, softer and more relaxed, as if all the burdens of the world couldn’t reach him anymore.

“Smiles await you when you rise…”

His breathing grew more calm and deep, speaking of how he was supposed to dose off out of exhaustion, the weariness in his bones. But he had more than earned a good rest. So, you sang, and let him drift away as you held him, with a wide, proud, loving smile on your lips.

William

Light cascaded in through the window, painting the entire room in various hues of golden light with the setting sun, as if creating a veil between the world that existed outside and the room itself. A welcomed state of being that allowed one to settle in for the night, for the evening, and to shed the burdens of life behind the bedroom door. Though, sometimes, it was easier than at other times, which was only natural.

And from the way William walked in through the door that evening, told you enough.

It’d be one of the days, when shedding that burden would be harder.

His eyes were down, and his chin was hanging low, but still he tried to give you a faint smile as a greeting.

And yet there was something in his demeanour that spoke of something else, an added sense of trouble.

“How was your day?” You asked with an innocent question as he put his cloak and mask away for the day.

His steps were heavy, nearly dragging. And the exhale, nearly a sigh, was almost defeated.

“Long,” he replied after a brief pause. “And I seem to have gotten a headache too,” he continued, almost as if an afterthought.

“Well… you do have a lot on your mind,” you told, with faint, careful amusement, to which he replied with a quiet chuckle.

“That I do,” he agreed as he sat onto the bed and took off his boots.

“You should rest, for the evening,” your voice was gentle, warm and loving, but beneath the layers there was a hidden sense of insisting. Because that was what he should do. He should rest, and take his mind off of work, for at least a short amount of time.

“I’ll try,” he sounded absent minded. He sounded like he knew that he should, while being simultaneously reluctant to do so, because of the age old dilemma of needing to think about it in order to think of a solution, and that allowing him to do something about it. Only that he had more of a habit of staying in thinking of even a better solution, as he had difficulties, at times, in settling for one.

But that was an observation that you had made, as his spouse, and it would stay as your observation.

“I know something that will make you feel better,” there was a hint of a tease in your tone, as if laced with a delicious smirk that he could hear.

And so, he turned his head, to look over his shoulder with a curious hum.

“Mhm,” you grinned while climbing onto the bed from the other side. “Come here,” you tapped the covers next to you, close to the head of the bed. “I’ll sing for you.”

His eyes fell again, but this time his lips were tugged up into a smile, as if burden was leaving him layer by layer, and relief took its place. “Like my beloved songbird,” he spoke out loud, but it sounded more like something he was thinking. Because you were his precious, beloved songbird; his nickname for you.

“Like your beloved songbird,” you teased as you settled against the head of the bed, and sat with your legs straight in front of you. “Come rest your weary head, and I’ll sing,” you repeated with a smile and a smirk. Something that was a bit of both, but was quite neither.

There was another, inaudible chuckle from him, as he crawled over the sheets to you and placed his head onto your lap.

“Is this alright?” He asked while settling down, because he didn’t want the weight of his head to cause discomfort to you.

“Yes, it’s alright,” you replied while running your fingers through his hair and over his scar. You could still remember the day when he had first shown it to you, and it had been clear from his eyes, his demeanour and the words he had said, that he was terrified to his bones of you leaving him.

But how could you have? He had trusted his insecurities onto you, and he was still as handsome as ever, perhaps even more handsome, because of it.

And now, as those deep purple eyes of his, like amethysts, closed and settled into the sensation of your fingers running over his skin, your smile was as wide as ever. The golden light of the setting sun cascaded onto his complexion as he took a deep breath, and sank further in into the moment.

“Now it’s time to say good night…”

The corner of his mouth tugged further up as the first notes left your lips.

“Good night, sleep tight…”

As if whatever headache would have been there had subsided into thin air with the sound of your voice.

“Now the sun turns out his light…”

And who knows, perhaps, it had.

“Good night, sleep tight…”

But what you did know, was that the man, the person you loved with all your hear, was drifting into sleep right there, in your arms, to the sound of your voice.

Nozel

Most would perhaps have said that the halls of the Silver Eagle base, or their part of the castle, was cold and hollow, as if painted with silver, snow and ice. But, for those who knew better, only one was true. For those walls might have bore the colour of silver here and there, and though you could understand why the cold of winter frost had howled through the halls, once upon a time, to you, here and now, the specks of silver glimmered in the light of the setting sun, and made it seem as if the star sky was right there on earth itself.

And it was there, under that glimmer of silver and light that the door to your bedroom opened, and revealed the frowning face of your beloved.

His eyes were down, and his chin was lowered, which wasn’t an unusual sight per se. Because there was a lot on his plate, and he wore his heart on his sleeve while at home. He didn’t hide his emotions from you.

“Rough day?” You asked with a compassionate smile and a gentle tone that flowed through the air like feathers caught in a breeze.

“It was,” he sighed while putting his cloak away. “All of it gave me a headache.”

“Hmm,” you hummed with a hint of a tease. “Or it was rough because you had a headache?” You suggested, making him glance to you.

“Does it matter?” He quirked on eyebrow.

“It matters if you haven’t remembered to drink enough water and eaten well,” you told him while reaching him.

And he still looked at you, but didn’t say a word. Which told you enough.

Your look told him enough. Because you had had this conversation before, and he assured you that he’d eat and drink and take care of himself. But it was sometimes difficult being in the position that he was.

So, you did also understand him.

“Have you eaten now?” You asked while brushing his hair back with your fingers.

“Yes, I ate right before coming here,” he replied, and there was no lie in his eyes or his tone, so you nodded.

“Then come on, let’s get some rest for that gorgeous head of yours,” you smirked while tugging his hand closer to the bed.

“Just my head?” He asked with tired eyes and a tender smile, and you laughed.

It was a short, and yet loud laugh that left your lungs. Because he didn’t joke often. Only once in a blue moon.

Most would have argued that he didn’t have a ‘fun bone’ in his body, but you knew better. He had a sense of humour too. He just didn’t show it. Because he wasn’t supposed to be funny. He wasn’t supposed to make people laugh.

But it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t have been able to make a joke, when he was comfortable in doing so.

“All of you,” you corrected with a slight laugh while climbing onto the bed and pulling him with you.

The sheets were soft, silken, perhaps far too comfortable, as if a silver cloud floating through the air as you crawled to the headboard and propped yourself against it.

“You can rest your head on my lap,” you told him while patting your thigh and smiling to him.

And again, he said nothing, but instead followed the suggestion and settled his head onto your lap.

His arms wrapped around your body, and his legs tangled together with yours as he closed his eyes, and breathed in your scent as it seemed he was ready to drift off into sleep.

“Somewhere over the rainbow…”

Your ran your fingers through his hair, which was thick and lush; silken much like the bedsheets under you.

“Way up high…”

The rising and falling of his chest grew more and more heavy, tranquil.

“There’s a land that I heard of…”

As if the melody, the sound of your voice was making his worries and troubles melt away and his pain subside like storm clouds.

“Once in a lullaby…”

The word you would have used to describe him in that moment, would have been ‘adorable’, something that one wouldn’t have thought of the dashing captain of the Silver Eagles. But… he was, in fact, adorable. Behind closed doors.

#fuegoleon x reader #fuegoleon vermillion x reader #william x reader #william vangeance x reader #nozel silva x reader #nozel x reader #black clover fanfiction #black clover x reader #black clover oneshots

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sundrownsthehouse · 1 month

Text

Take This Pain And Give It A Name, Part Four

Posted to AO3 (I much prefer the formatting there)

Prologue

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Summary: George breaks his shoulder. Matty looks after him. It gets complicated.

Words: 4.2k

AN: Much love to my bestie (you know who you are), to @allylikethecat, and to @lookedlikethebins for all the moral support- you're all amazing.

The faded grey light of the city filtered in from the windows where they’d forgotten to draw the curtains closed, casting streaky shadows across the ceiling. There was a gentle hush over the hotel room broken only by the muted hum of the aircon. George gazed up into the darkness. Comfortably cocooned in cool, plush blankets, with a warm body at his side, it should have been easy for him to fall asleep; this was the exact kind of quiet stillness he craved whilst on tour. And yet.

His eyes flicked down to the top of Matty’s head where it lay heavily on his chest, dark curls spilling across his skin. He could tell that Matty was still awake by the cadence of his breathing. Despite himself, George was hyperaware of the fact that Matty must be able to hear his heart hammering out a steady rhythm against his ribs. That notion alone threatened to send it racing.

And that’s sort of strange, George thought as he stared at the ceiling, because they’d done this so many times. Matty’s presence at his side was so familiar, it really shouldn’t provoke much of a reaction at all. Then again, it was unusual to lie awake together, entangled like this, without feigning ignorance; the cuddling wasn’t something they’d ever acknowledged openly in the past. It had never bothered him before, the way they’d always danced around it— it hadn’t really mattered— but to think about it now made him inexplicably sad. He didn’t know why they tried to pretend that they didn’t want the same things.

Over and over the night replayed itself in George’s mind, the gravity of it all weighing on him. In the span of only forty-eight hours, everything he thought he knew and felt about his relationship with Matty had changed. It was confusing, overwhelming, and slightly terrifying. There was so much he still didn’t understand, and the unspoken questions permeated the air between them like a thick fog. What did it mean, exactly, that they both seemed to want something more? Did it have to mean anything at all?

And what if it did?

As much as George wanted to pretend that everything was fine, the degree of Matty’s distress had seriously shaken him; they needed to talk about this. In the morning, he told himself firmly. Now wasn’t the time, not when they were both utterly exhausted. He found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he could actually read Matty’s mind; even seeing Matty’s expression would give him some idea of where they stood. Nevertheless, he was secretly grateful they weren’t face-to-face. He was a little afraid of what he might find, and somehow, more intimidated by what Matty might see.

The bed shifted slightly. Matty sighed. The puff of breath fell hot on George’s skin, already sensitized by the tiny brush of Matty’s lashes as he blinked, gazing out at a city still aglow despite the late hour. George shivered curiously at the feeling. An unexpected wave of shame that he couldn’t reconcile burned in the pit of his stomach.

“Can’t sleep?” he mumbled. He was compelled to break the silence, if only to distract from the noise inside his own head.

Matty exhaled softly through his nose. “No.”

His arm was draped across George’s waist, absentmindedly drawing small circles into his hip with his thumb. Whether it was an indication of contentment or anxiety, George couldn’t tell. “Are you alright?” he asked hesitantly.

Matty didn’t respond at first. George lightly stroked his shoulder, aching to comfort him in whatever way possible after having seen him in such a state earlier. Matty shrugged eventually, his voice a whisper as he admitted: “No. Not really.”

George’s heart sank— what was he supposed to do with that?

He tried to sit up, struggling to right himself as the mattress dipped. Suddenly, Matty surged toward him. The weight of his body knocked George off balance and sent him toppling backwards, landing hard on the bed. Fire seared through his shoulder, tearing the breath from his lungs. Matty’s voice rose in a panic, but only when the pain began to ebb could George make sense of what he was saying: “….fuck, sorry, I’m so sorry, Christ….”

Though his head was spinning, George reached for Matty, still fretting, and pulled him in. He gently thread his fingers through his hair, playing with the curls— something he knew Matty loved, but would never ask for. Placated, Matty trailed off with another low sigh.

“Fuck, I… just don’t go,” he said after a moment, his voice thick with emotion.

George’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But I’m not—”

Matty pressed impossibly closer, burying his face into the side of George’s neck. It was sort of startling; he didn’t know what to make of the way Matty was clinging to him. “M’not going anywhere,” George vowed. His fingers traced the smooth expanse of Matty’s back in slow, soothing motions, as if to show him:

I’m right here. I’m not running away. I’ve got you.

Matty sagged with relief, letting some of the tension bleed from his body. He turned his head, his parted lips coming to rest softly at the base of George’s throat.

It felt a bit like a kiss.

It wasn’t.

Breathe.

Clutching one another in the dark, time seemed to stretch on endlessly. At some point, Matty went lax and began to snore quietly. Utterly captivated by the places where their skin met, George gazed up at the shadows on the ceiling, and wondered why on earth that was.

Before he even opened his eyes he knew that Matty was gone.

George could feel the absence of him in the bed even on the barest edge of consciousness. Half awake, he raised himself up onto his good arm and squinted at the sunlit room, only to find it empty. The balcony was similarly vacant. George strained his ears, hoping to catch the sound of the shower running, footsteps, anything, but it was all for naught; Matty had vanished. The only evidence he’d been there at all was the crumpled pillow on the other side of the bed. It was cool to the touch.

Fuck. George curled up into the sheets, mentally berating himself. He should’ve expected this; it’s not like Matty ever stayed when they were at home, either. The thought was tinged with bitterness. If Matty were to disappear on him again, the way he did yesterday, he honestly didn’t know what he was going to do with himself. They had to fix this. Whatever happened, whatever was still going on between them, they couldn’t keep avoiding it forever— if not for their own sakes, then for the sake of the band. So much was on the line, and George didn’t want to think about what could happen to them if they handled this poorly. A series of horrible scenarios flashed behind his eyes anyway, filling him with a sickening sense of dread.

Lost in a grim, imaginary reality where he’d been abandoned in Wilmslow to shovel Chinese takeout into styrofoam for the rest of his miserable life, George barely registered the subtle metallic snick of the door as it was unlocked.

Matty strode into the room humming softly to himself, fresh-faced and vibrant. Dressed in skin-tight jeans and a gauzy black blouse (pilfered from the women’s section, surely), he balanced two paper cups precariously in one hand and carried a nondescript takeaway bag in the other. He caught George’s startled expression out of the corner of his eye. “Oh— you’re awake!” Kicking off his boots, he crossed the room to set one of the steaming cups down on the bedside table next to George, flashing a warm smile: “Rise and shine, love.”

George gazed up at Matty, a little stunned by his presence. He had so many thoughts racing through his head, he couldn’t actually grasp onto any of them in order to form a coherent sentence. He shook himself internally, feeling like an idiot; it’s only Matty.The same messy curls forever falling in his eyes, that familiar gangly frame (too thin these days…), the dark ink peeking out from under his shirt, hinting at tattoos George knew like the back of his hand… and yet something wasdifferent. The early morning sun pouring in through the open window cast Matty in a strange, golden light. Somehow, George felt like he was seeing him properly for the first time.

“If you take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

George felt the tips of his ears burn hot at the amused quirk of Matty’s brow. He quickly averted his eyes, training them on the takeaway bag instead.

“The buffet was closing for the morning,” Matty explained, unpacking fruit, yoghurt, and a couple of sugared pastries. “I mean, it’s only closing just now, but you were proper dead to the world when I left— there was no way you were gonna make it. So I searched ‘round online and figured I’d pop out to this little café down the street instead, cos there’s a Starbucks a few blocks over but I just couldn’t be arsed to go that far, and this place was really nice actually, had great reviews and…” He trailed off self-consciously. “I mean, it might be shit,” he warned, holding his hands up in surrender.

George sat back against the headboard, adjusting his sling with care. He took a small sip of the tea— definitely not shit, and just the way he liked it. He hummed happily.

“Alright?” Matty asked, plopping down on the loveseat by the balcony.

George shot him a grateful smile: “S’good— thanks.”

Pleased, Matty dug in whilst George sipped on his tea. It was remarkable how easily they slipped back into their usual routine of spending the morning together, as if nothing ever happened. Though George was more the cook between the two of them, at home, Matty took care of breakfast. He was almost always up first, usually on account of not sleeping very well, and more often than not had something burning by the time George dragged himself out of bed. Waking up to the smell of coffee and charred toast was, strangely, one of the things he missed most about being in London. The little gesture of familiar domesticity… well, it meant more to him than he really wanted to admit.

Seeming so much more like himself than the night prior, Matty rambled at length in a stream of consciousness: he talked about the show (“don’t get me wrong, it was wicked, but I hate that you weren’t there”), the redundant nature of interviews (“honestly George, they could’ve just Googled most of that shit”), Ross’s determination to hit up the pool (“don’t suppose you know what vitamin D’s for, d’you?”), and Adam’s blatant refusal to go out for drinks later in favour of an early night (“but I’ll bet you twenty quid— don’t laugh, you know I’m right!— I’ll bet you twenty quid he’s off his face by ten”).

George smiled into his tea, content. Matty always had a thousand thoughts racing around in his head, and he’d jump from one to the next so quickly that people who didn’t know him often found it overwhelming, if not abjectly infuriating. “Does he ever shut up?” was a question that had been leveled at George more than a few times, accompanied by long-suffering sighs and rolled eyes— but George had never been bothered. Matty’s mind fascinated him, and besides, he’d long since mastered the ability to interject here and there in the gaps.

Even so, when the topic inevitably turned to George’s shoulder, the conversation grew stilted.

“I’m fine,” George insisted, hating the concern painted all over Matty’s face. “Really. It’s not so bad. Just strange not being able to use my arm, is all.”

It wasn’t an outright lie; the pain wasn’t nearly as intense as it had been that first day. Instead, it had morphed into a persistent, dull ache that never really went away, and flared sharply with the slightest insult. Paracetamol didn’t touch it much, but George found himself leery of the narcotics. He’d left them behind on the bus.

Matty searched his face knowingly. George couldn’t help but feel exposed under his gaze. He forgot, sometimes, that their connection went both ways; Matty knew him better than anyone, and was as attuned to George as George was to him. The stretch of silence wasn’t awkward, exactly— it couldn’t be, after all these years— but there was an element of strain. Apprehension.

“Where were y—”

“I wanted to—”

They both paused.

“You first,” Matty conceded. His expression was carefully blank as he set his coffee down on the table. George took a breath to steady himself. Now or never.

“Where were you yesterday?”

He posed the question gently, but Matty fidgeted in discomfort, his hands fluttering in his lap. “Right, that’s what I… I wanna talk to you about that.” He seemed quite small all of the sudden. Shy, even. Shy was a rare look for Matty. “Honestly George, I was freaking the fuck out. I really thought I’d…” He turned away to gaze out at the balcony, the muscles in his jaw tense.

“Matty—”

“And I don’t know why I did that, the other night,” he confessed in a rush, as if he couldn’t stop the words from spilling forth. “I wasn’t planning on it, it just sort of… happened.” George opened his mouth again to speak, but Matty pressed on. “I think— I think I was a bit drunk, and I’d been worried about you, and I got a bit carried away. I’m sorry.”

George shook his head. “You never had anything to be sorry for in the first place. I—”

“Good,” Matty interrupted. “Good, cos I really didn’t mean… I’d like to just forget that it ever happened, if that’s alright.” He offered a small, lopsided smile, but his eyes were hard. Pleading.

Oh. George found himself nodding automatically.

Visibly relieved, Matty leaned back into the cushions and propped his feet up on the coffee table— the very picture of ease to anyone who didn’t know him better. “Though I am flattered,” he teased with a wink.

George snorted and rubbed a hand across his face, lips quirked feebly in an attempt to mask the profound sense of disappointment washing over him. He couldn’t seem to find the right words; the questions that had plagued him all night got caught and died in his throat.

Matty laughed. “I think you need to get laid,” he said as he ran his hands through his hair— another nervous tick that George would recognize anywhere. “Fuck man, I need to get laid.” George felt himself chuckle weakly at the joke, small huffs of breath that left his lungs against his conscious will, but he wanted to melt into the mattress and disappear.

This was a good thing; this is what you wanted, he would remind himself. Matty was fine. He wasn’t mad or upset. He wanted things to go back to normal. Best case scenario.

Maybe, if he kept telling himself that, it would eventually start to feel like it.

***

“WANKER!”

George peaked one eye open from behind his shades as an errant spray of cold water splashed his legs. Waughy surfaced roughly in the center of the pool, sputtering as he flipped off Ross, who was standing on the deck with a suspicious, shit-eating grin. The others howled and scrambled to swim out of the way as Ross landed a cannonball that drenched Waughy (and George’s legs) all over again. Scattered bursts of laughter rose and echoed across the deck.

To Ross’s credit, the pool was a massive hit. He’d gotten word out to the rest of their crew, and by the early afternoon, they had something of a party going. They were being a bit rowdy, but the hotel was evidently letting it slide— one of the perks of being minor celebrities, apparently. Touring was demanding work, and full days off were precious.

George stretched on the lounger where he’d been laying out for the better part of the afternoon, lazy and content. The weather was perfect; the sun was hot, but there was a cool spring breeze that kept the humidity blessedly at bay. Nervous that swimming would mess with his shoulder too much, and unwilling to take any risks, he’d set himself up poolside with earbuds and a book hours ago. A warm glow of deep relaxation had settled into his bones. He yawned, pleasantly drowsy.

Just as he began to nod off, a flash of skin caught his eye.

Matty was lifting himself out of the pool, the muscles in his back and shoulders shifting with the effort of it. He pulled himself up to sit on the side of the deck, letting his legs dangle over the edge as beads of water dripped from his hair to stream in little rivulets down his skin. Hidden behind his sunglasses, George dragged his gaze away from Matty’s upturned mouth only to get caught on the slope of his neck. He traced the delicate dip of his collarbone, following it to the black and grey marking Matty’s sternum— the heart over his heart, the tattoo he knew Matty was proudest of. He roamed over the hard plane of Matty’s stomach, lingering as it flexed with his laughter. From there, it was far too easy to drop down, down, down, following a small trail of hair to the top of his waistband, where a glimpse of blue ink peeked out near his hip like a suggestion.

George shut his eyes, swallowing thickly. Stop it.

He didn’t think he’d ever really noticed Matty’s body before. It had never mattered; like background noise, it was irrelevant. And yet as the afternoon trudged on, George found that it was slowly becoming all he could think about. Matty was surprisingly strong for being so slender, all lean muscle and sinew, but there was a softness about his waist… an almost feminine sort of grace in the way he moved. Now that he thought about it, Matty really was quite pretty for a man, wasn’t he? The recognition of it had George’s mind growing hazy. He found himself searching for the tattoos, moles, and scars that marked Matty’s skin, cataloging what he was familiar with and fighting a strange thrill whenever he noticed something new. He’d resisted the temptation at first, fully aware that it was wildly inappropriate to be ogling his best friend— not to mention the little voice inside telling him that he shouldn’t— but Matty had somehow become this new, exciting, mysterious thing that George couldn’t help but be captivated by.

It made no fucking sense.

Matty’s voice rang out across the pool. George couldn’t quite make out what he and Ross were giggling about over the music, but whatever it was, it made Matty grin, animating his features in a boyish sort of way. His stomach flipped. He shut his eyes in some desperate attempt to reason with himself; he was only watching Matty because he was still anxious about everything that had happened between them… he was just keeping an eye on his body language, seeking reassurance that everything was alright. Though that didn’t explain why his blood was humming with electricity, alive with something delicious and traitorous that he couldn’t quite name, elicited by— Christ, of all things— the sight of Matty nearly naked and dripping wet. Just like…

No. He shouldn’t think about it. He’d been trying very hard not to think about it. The way their bodies felt sliding against one another in the steam… the little ghosts of breath on his skin… the careful, feather-light fingertips tracing his hip… the gentle press of impossibly soft lips to his shoulder. To his throat.

“You’re gonna burn.”

A sharp spike of adrenaline sent George’s heart racing as cool, wet fingers prodded the warm skin of his tricep. “I’m fine,” he choked out, gazing up at Matty’s silhouette against the sun. He’d been so distracted by his own thoughts, he hadn’t noticed Matty walking right up to him until it was too late.

Matty snorted and shook his head, little droplets of water flying from his hair. “M’not gonna listen to you whine all night cos you’re burnt on top of everything else.” He jabbed at George’s arm pointedly, watching the tanned skin blanch and then turn pink.

“Won’t be. Haven’t got your delicate Northern complexion.”

“Yeah, that’d be clever if you weren’t blistering as we speak.” Matty reached for a bottle of sun lotion and flipped the cap. “Here, budge up.” He made to sit on the edge of the lounger. George didn’t move.

“You don’t have to do that— seriously mate, it’s fine.”

A hint of irritation crossed Matty’s face. “Don’t be stupid. C’mere,” he insisted, drawing closer.

Too close.

George shot up and took a careful step back, shaking his head. “I can do it myself,” he blurted, holding his hand out for the bottle. A nervous energy snaked up his spine, setting him on edge.

Matty stared in disbelief for a moment, eventually scoffing. “You literally can’t,” he said, squeezing lotion into his hand.

Panic bloomed in earnest, immediate and terrifying. George only knew that— no matter what— he couldn’t bear for Matty to touch him. He waved his hands dismissively and spun around, making a beeline for the changing room. He didn’t care how fucking bizarre it must seem; he had to get away. He couldn’t think, could barely breathe. He was vaguely aware of his name being called, of the exasperated tone in Matty’s voice, but it was all secondary to the buzzing in his ears, growing louder by the second as his feet blindly carried him away.

The men’s room was empty. George huffed a shaky sigh of relief, leaning up against the wall to steady himself. A fresh wave of dizziness had his stomach rolling; for one horrible moment, he thought he might actually black out. He pressed his forehead into the faded blue tile, letting it leach the heat from his skin. It was all just too much. He couldn’t— he didn’t want to face it, whatever this was, whatever was happening to him. As his awareness slowly returned to his body, he noticed that his hands were trembling, among other things.

Please stop, he begged— as if contrition alone would change anything at all. Fear and hunger, shame and desire, it all tangled in his mind, fighting with the conflicting sensations of his body. He didn’t even recognize himself anymore, and God, why was his cock throbbing? He shuddered violently at the feeling, enthralled by the heady rush of endorphins mixed with adrenaline and latent frustration. Slowly, mindlessly, he pressed his hips into the wall to abate the pressure in his groin, only to gasp at the sheer relief of it. Out of that hazy cloud of sensation, clarity struck like lightning— sudden, brilliant, and terrible.

It was difficult to know how long he’d been gone. It could have been minutes; it felt like hours. But when he emerged from the men’s room half-dazed, George glanced around to find the others staring at him strangely— as if they could tell that something fundamental within him had shifted.

***

In the evening they separated off the elevator, Ross and Adam heading to their respective rooms, George trailing behind Matty towards their own.

Matty chatted casually about something banal as he dug through his bag, preoccupied with putting together an outfit. Something about dinner… the restaurant, George recognized dimly. He was grateful, really, that Matty hadn’t brought up their strained encounter at the pool, but he couldn’t pretend to care about their reservation at the best sushi restaurant in Austin, George, it won a James Beard award last year, did you know?

Perched on the edge of the bed, George nodded and hummed in agreement here and there to fill the gaps, but he struggled to follow the one-sided conversation. He was hopelessly distracted, and growing ever more certain by the minute that he’d been ignoring what was right in front of him for years.

“Gonna rinse off,” Matty announced as he walked toward the bathroom, clutching fresh clothes and his toiletry kit to his chest.

“Can I come?”

Matty froze, whipping his head to stare at George with wide eyes.

Fuck.

“Erm— I mean, my hair… the chlorine… makes it dry odd…” he trailed off feebly.

A dozen different emotions flit across Matty’s face. It seemed to take him a moment to find the words— and Matty always had the right words. When he did speak, his voice was soft. Apologetic. “You didn’t swim, George,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I mean, I got splashed a bit by you lot, didn’t I.” George tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. He’d thought… he didn’t know what he thought.

Matty’s expression was inscrutable. He went to speak, then hesitated, swallowing hard. “There’s not a lot of time… m’gonna be quick,” he replied thickly.

George nodded. Shame burned through him. “Yeah, right. Okay.”

“Okay.”

He flinched when Matty shut the door behind him.

#matty healy #george daneil #the 1975 #take this pain and give it a name #matty x george #the 1975 fic #matty healy fic #george daniel fic #gatty

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useyernamesteven · 1 year

Text

It might just be me, but I kinda like the concept of Enid still having trouble "wolfing out" post s1

Don't get me wrong wolf!roommate antics would be great too, but like imagine:

....

Enid goes home and she's over the freakin MOON cuz she's finally a real werewolf now, just like the rest of her pack! She tells her family and obviously her mom is relieved (and yet still critical of Enids other invisible flaws) and her Dads happy she's happy and her brothers are annoying and for some reason her scars aren't healing as quickly as a werewolf should be able to heal but it doesn't matter cuz at least she finally feels normal (even if there is a small monotoned voice that sounds suspiciously like her fav lil psycho somewhere in the back of her mind telling her she was "normal" just being herself)

Then a month goes by and its the night of the full moon and Enid's with her family and pack in the woods and everyone starts wolfing out around her and Enid's so excited to join in. But ten minutes go by, then 30 and Enid's excitement starts to dwindle. At the hour mark she feels like she's panicking bcuz why hasn't she turned yet?? and the other wolves in the pack are starting to get antsy waiting for the hunt. After another twenty minutes still waiting, the pack take off and Enid's left alone at the campsite, still human.

The next morning the pack come back and Enid comes out of her tent, keeping her head down as feelings of shame and embarrassment color her cheeks. Her Dad pats her shoulder, tells her she'll get the next one, but her mother refuses to acknowledge her until they get home, and even then its only to hand her another round of brochures before Enid heads off to go cry herself to sleep.

Fast-forward and Nevermore opens back up and Enid's scrambling to get out of her house bcuz she can't stand it any longer. At least at school she has friends who don't really care if she can't shift. She even gets a three-second hug out of Wednesday when they reunite!

A week later is the full moon and Enid's trying so hard to not let it get to her but it seems Wednesday can see through all her fake smiles and nonchalance cuz she corners Enid the night before the full moon and asks her to either produce an explanation or suffer Wednesdays interrogation methods. And Enid comes clean in a sloppy sobbing mess of "i thought i was normal now!" and "its not fair".

And she feels bad cuz Wednesday is obviously NOT the person you should be dumping your emotional blights upon, but surprisingly her roommate seems solemn (more so than per usual Addams fashion) and it isnt until Wednesdays gingerly patting her head that Enid realizes she's actually attempting to cheer her up. And Enid bursts out laughing bcuz its very sweet and caring and so unlike her dreary bff that it actually does the trick.

Thing puts on Jennifer's Body which is a little on the nose given what happened last semester but its something they can all enjoy and Enid nearly chokes on a mouthful of popcorn when Wednesday admits she finds Megan Fox attractive but only when she's covered in blood and devouring the foolish men who fell victim to her seductions. Then they put on Legally Blonde and Enid chokes on her popcorn again when Wednesday says she's seen it before, and they spend three hours playing and pausing it to argue and critique the plot points and "its a girlpower movie Willa!" and eventually they fall asleep and Enid forgets why she was even upset to begin with.

Well, until the next day when its the full moon and Enid's a lil disappointed but not terribly so bcuz her wolf friends invite her out to lunch for some food and a howl, Ajax and Yoko have been sending her silly memes all day, and Thing gave her a manicure this afternoon, but the cherry on top is Wednesday promising another movie night and she gave Enid full control over what they watch. By the time the moon starts rising Enid feels like she's on cloud 9...

Which is inevitably when everything goes to shit bcuz the pain kicks in mid-way through "Let it Go" and Enid has enough strength in her to at least push past a notably worried roomie and out onto their balcony before her bones start cracking and holy shit she's wolfing out! But shes freakin out and so disoriented, not used to her new body or the flood to her senses that are suddenly on blast, and shes panicking and panicking until she hears someone calling to her, coaxing her, and a scent she knows all too well. It calms her, centers her, and Enid comes back to her senses a little to see Wednesday out on the balcony with her, hand outstretched but not touching. And Enid gives a few cautious sniffs and whines and its then that Wednesday finally brushes her fingers along her snout, up to her ears, and begins to softly, soothingly pet her and its then that Enid finally feels like herself in that moment.

She wakes up the next morning on the floor of their room with a small mountain of blankets, stuffed animals, and pillows around her, and Wednesday on her bed beside her. There are claw marks along the floor and fur shed all over the place, but nothings broken and she doesn't smell blood (beside the usual aroma a la Addams). How her roomie managed to get a full blown werewolf back into their room is beyond her but Wednesday looks too peaceful curled up on her bright colored sheets to wake her and find out just yet.

...

What I'm saying is that Wednesday is Enid's anchor and she'll only wolf out when she's around.

#wednesday netflix #enid sinclair #wednesday addams #wenclair #if you squint a lil #its a show about outcasts among the outcasts like it just makes sense if she still had problems shifting #like maybe the blood moon and the stress were enough to trigger it but a normal moon 🤷#idk i just like the idea of Enid still being a lil imperfect #this is very long #maybe i ought to just make it a one-shot or smthn #blurb

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undermounts · 10 days

Text

bite the hand - chapter 6: blood kin

pairing: Astarion/The Dark Urge

summary: Astarion helps her hide the body. Romance ensues.

chapter preview:

She vows—spits, “I’ll rip out his throat.”

She will. She doesn’t care if a dead thing as powerful as Cazador can’t die twice; she would rip out his throat again and again and again if given the chance, and she’ll drop it at Astarion’s feet, like a dog with a bird in its teeth.

The look he gives her is searing. “I know you will try.”

Read it on Ao3

Alfira’s sudden departure hardly causes a stir, Irileth is ashamed to admit.

It is a miraculous stroke of luck that her companions are simply too preoccupied with what they have begun to refer to as ‘the tadpole problem,’ for no one seems to care much when they wake in the morning to find the bard’s resting place empty and her belongings gone. In fact, nary a brow is raised when Astarion shares their hasty cover story.

Irileth, for her part, merely nods along, feeling her companions’ gazes slide to her for confirmation. As far as she can tell, it seems to be enough, though she tries not to think about what it all means, how the others have come to trust her.

“Still, it’s a bit rude to just leave without saying goodbye,” Gale sighs once the matter settles, half-distracted as he folds his nightshirt and tucks it into his pack. “We had such a delightful conversation last night, too. Ah, what a shame.”

“Maybe that’s the problem. All of your chit chat,” Shadowheart quips around a mouth full of pins for her hair. “She probably decided a fascinating tale for her songs wasn’t worth all the sleepless nights, and I don’t blame her. Who can sleep when you’re always up late jabbering with ‘Me, myself, and I?’ ”

With near-brutal efficiency, the morning conversation turns from Alfira to their plans for the next few days: consult Dammon in the Grove about Karlach’s heart and continue preparations to infiltrate the goblin camp and rescue Halsin. If the number of goblins they’ve encountered in the wilderness thus far is any indication of the population they can expect at the camp, then this final task will be no small feat.

Fortunately, the tadpole might just be their way in.

In between convincing the goblins occupying Moonhaven to stand down and encouraging a pair of cultist siblings to find their death in an owlbear lair, their illithid abilities have proven to be particularly useful in the party’s dealings with the devotees of the Absolute. And if Irileth was able to command the gnoll pack leader to feast upon her own hunters without so much as breaking a sweat, well—surely she can persuade a few guards to let them pass through the front gates.

What dark turns her mind takes, luxuriating in all of the terrors she could inflict with these newfound powers. Barely a handful of hours have passed since Alfira’s body turned cold and Irileth’s blood is already burning, boiling, begging for more death, more violence.

(Her weak heart protests—No! )

But first things first: to Dammon.

The following hours are filled with dread and anxiety for Irileth.

Back and forth they traveled all day, between the Grove and Moonhaven, obtaining infernal metal for Dammon’s repairs, while simultaneously running other errands for the denizens of the Hollow. It was a tiring endeavor, especially while operating on such a deficit of sleep, but it had been worth it, so worth it for Irileth, to see the way Karlach lit up with equal parts joy and relief at the sound of her heart, beating along as it should. (Hello, hello, hello.)

Irileth’s attention had repeatedly strayed to Astarion, wondering—waiting for him to leap up and proclaim in a dramatic fashion, true to form, that it was all a lie, Alfira was dead, and she, Irileth, was to blame. She had decided to trust him that morning, had decided to believe that he really meant it when he claimed to be on her side, but now as the day drags on, she can’t help but fall prey to the doubts that creep into her feeble mind.

Her stomach writhes with guilt and unease. What would she even do if Astarion turned on her? Admit to it? Explain it was all his idea to cover it up—she had wanted to be honest! (Well, she had considered it.) Or would she accuse him instead?

…Could she accuse him? If she framed it right, she might just be able to, especially given his track record for preying upon members of their camp in the middle of the night (just her, only her).

But—no. She couldn’t.

For whatever reason, the thought of turning on Astarion seems unbearable, unconscionable. She’s not that kind of person.

…Right?

She won’t be.

Astarion, for his part, does not give her any reason to doubt him. He has been remarkably silent throughout much of the day, lingering at the back of the group as they traveled and quietly accepting whatever requests she made of him: picking locks, scouting ahead, and even entertaining Mattis and Silfy with his sleight of hand while they waited for Dammon to finish working the metal.

Still, Irileth worries. She doesn’t know what any of this means for them, or what to do about it.

Supper that night consists of bland acorn soup and a handful of grapes—yum . Camped once more by the river, Irileth and her companions linger around the fire as they wind down after dinner, chatting idly about Karlach’s plans after her second repair.

“You all better watch out,” Karlach announces, making eye contact with each member of their camp in rapid succession, “because I’m. Going. To hug. Everyone. ”

“I don’t hug,” comes Lae’zel’s flat reply, though it lacks her usual steel.

“Oh no.” Shadowheart rolls her eyes as she dramatically fans herself. Over the course of their meal, the cleric had scooted closer and closer to Karlach, leaning in as far she dared to without singing off her own eyebrows. (Interesting.) “What a terrible fate awaits.”

Through it all, Irileth watches Astarion as she polishes her newly purchased daggers—she couldn’t bear to look at her old ones, which now sit where they belong, at the bottom of the Chionthar.

Astarion doesn’t eat with the rest of them, though he still lingers in their circle occasionally slipping small quips into the conversation. He is sprawled out by the fire with one foot resting on his knee, a book propped against the other, and he turns each page slowly, deliberately, like a man who knows he has an audience.

Irileth is reminded of the second night they spent together as a party, when she and Astarion looked upon the dying nautiloid from the cliffs. So much has changed since then, but also, hardly anything at all.

The night ticks on; Gale goes to bed first, then Wyll, Lae’zel, and finally, Shadowheart. Karlach lingers, stretched out on her back and stargazing as she hums to herself, foot tapping the earth. Eventually, it becomes clear that she’s not leaving any time soon, and only then does Astarion close his book with a snap before approaching Irileth on silent feet.

“Come,” he tells her softly, his voice nearly a purr, and holds out his hand. “Walk with me.”

She can feel Karlach’s attention on them, though Irileth keeps her gaze locked with Astarion’s, studying his face. His voice is sultry, dripping with a seductive offer, and his expression is not so dissimilar to the one he gave her yesterday morning, when they talked about her blood. (‘I’ll take anything and everything I can get.’)

Is that what he wants? Blood, or something more? She supposes she’ll find out.

Irileth looks at his hand, pale in the moonlight, and takes it.

Astarion leads her deeper into the surrounding wood. Even in the inky darkness of the woods, he moves with certainty, as if he has traveled this way before. It occurs to Irileth then that he must know these woods better than any of them, given how much time he spends stalking them nightly for prey while the rest of them fill up on real meals, or at the very least, rations.

Before long, they come across a small clearing, punctuated by a fallen tree. Moonlight breaks though the canopy in silver shafts, illuminating the small patches of violets and ivy that creep across the ground.

“Ah, here we are,” Astarion declares as he sits on the fallen tree, gracefully arranging his legs before him as he leans back and smiles. “Alone at last.”

Irileth chews on the inside of her cheek as she studies him, then hesitantly sits when he pats the space beside him. She can’t tell if he looks a little hungry, or if he’s up to something else. “Been waiting long?”

“All day, in fact,” Astarion answers lightly, reaching between them to catch a lock of her pearly hair between his fingers. Irileth can’t help but be reminded of how just hours ago, he’d untangled those same strands, undoing the abuse she’d inflicted upon her hair. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

Oh. That’s not what she was expecting.

His smile dips slightly. “See how you’re doing after… well, you know.”

Oh.

Irileth does know. As if she could forget.

“You look troubled, darling,” he observes, peering closer at her, and if Irileth wasn’t already so full of doubt, she might have thought he genuinely appeared concerned, despite his taunting tone. “Not having second thoughts about our plan, are you? Things are going well; don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind.”

Yes. She has—multiple times, in fact. “No. I mean, yes, I have thought about it. But… no.”

For now, at least.

Irileth swallows around the lump in her throat, the tangled knot of anxiety that has been pressing down on her chest. She supposes now is as good a time as any for this conversation.

“Actually,” she says slowly, gauging his reaction. “I rather thought you might.”

“And betray you?” He arches a brow as he tips her chin up with a single finger. “I would never.”

“You keep saying that,” Irileth mutters, “although I’m still not sure why.”

She can practically feel the air between them grow thick with tension as Astarion’s guileful expression falls. (Gods, she really should have a better sense of self preservation by now, shouldn’t she.)

“Oh, not this again.” Astarion leans back and drops his hand away from her chin, letting it sit, as if burned, in his lap. “Is it so hard to believe that perhaps I just wanted to help you in the way that you have helped me? To return the kindness you showed the other night?”

Well, yes, Irileth thinks, though she doesn’t dare say that.

“You’re telling me that you helped me—” Hide a body, her sickened mind supplies. (Nope, try again.) “You helped with Alfira because you wanted to pay me back for letting you bite me?”

“You did more than just let me bite you,” he mutters, still staring at her disbelievingly. He looks at her for a long while, then sighs, resting his elbows on his knees. His expression is surprisingly earnest. “Do you think any of the others would have allowed me to stay, much less live when they found out I’m a spawn, had you not spoken on my behalf?”

“Yes,” Irileth replies quickly, thinking of Wyll. But then she remembers Lae’zel, how she had been so quick to draw her blade, and hesitates. “Maybe.”

“‘Maybe,’” Astarion says lowly, “is not so reassuring.”

Irileth shakes her head. “I didn’t help you because I wanted you to owe me a favor, Astarion. And I find it difficult to believe that you would risk so much just to settle a debt. You’re careful and you’re smart and you don’t do anything without a reason. I know you.”

Astarion’s gaze flattens and he leans back, his face becoming cold in a way she has never seen it before. “Do you now?”

Irileth’s mouth falls open. “I…”

No, she doesn’t. Not really. In fact, she had assumed this outing of theirs would result in her giving him her blood—which she would have done, without a question. But here they are, talking. Of all things.

“No,” she admits, face burning with shame. How presumptuous of her, to think she had him figured out. They met barely a week ago, and while true that their close proximity forced them to get familiar with each other, and fast, she doesn’t know enough about him to speak with such authority.

Irileth takes a deep breath, fighting to organize her thoughts. Her instincts still tell her that there is more to his kindness than meets the eye, but for whatever reason, Astarion is not inclined to admit it. And perhaps she really should just let it lay; so long as he intends to keep her around, she doesn’t need to know his motives. But there’s more to it than that.

She wants to understand him. Not just his intentions, but him. And pushing or making assumptions clearly isn’t working, so she must try something else. A better approach.

“I don’t know you. But I would like to,” she says carefully, her palms splayed on her knees like a peace offering. “I’m trying to understand you. And if there’s something you want, I would rather you ask me, than make me guess. Maybe I can give it to you.”

Astarion regards her silently, gaze flicking between her hands and her face, before he exhales sharply. Then, as if reluctant to admit it, he says, “You just may know me better than most.”

Irileth stifles her feeling of victory. Why does that excite her so, the idea that Astarion considers her to be someone—not close, perhaps trusted, but at least within that orbit.

“If you must know, I feel a sort of…kinship between you and I,” he begins, sliding ever closer to her on the fallen tree. Irileth catches that look in his eye, the one he gets when he focuses on something he plans to execute, and she just barely manages to think, oh no, I’ve made it worse, before he barrels on, voice made of satin. “You must feel it too, how well we work together—so perfectly in sync. Together, we could be quite formidable.”

“We’ve got a few knives and bows between the two of us. That’s not much.” Irileth scoffs, though her dismissal is half-hearted.

She cannot deny a part of her is intrigued by this sudden turn in the conversation, even if it may not be as productive as she’d hoped. Or maybe she just likes the way he looks at her. (Hungry—always, but also a bit wanting.)

“Oh, I think our foes would disagree,” he remarks dryly. “My point is,” Astarion adds before she can nudge him on. “I have a feeling that our troubles are far from being over. The mind flayers aren’t the only ones who are out there.” He grimaces, his voice full of thinly veiled meaning. “And they might not be the only ones hunting us.”

Who else? Irileth wants to ask, but she already knows.

Cazador.

Oh, and that makes her chest ache. She grips the tops of her knees, resisting the impulse to touch him, comfort him. She knows he doesn’t want that and she still doesn’t know how to give it.

“He can’t find you out here.”

“He might.” Astarion’s words are soft, barely more than a whisper, but he bares his teeth in a snarl.

And although Irileth knows he isn’t angry with her, her heart starts to race with fear, excitement, and a sudden rage that mirrors his own. She vows—spits, “I’ll rip out his throat.”

The look he gives her is searing. “I know you will try.”

Her neck heats. Is that meant to be a dare?

No. Where his former master is concerned, Astarion does not joke. His expression is severe as he scans the forest around them, eyes darting to the shadows between the trees, as if searching for something—for him?

“I’ve never known Cazador to leave the Gate, but that doesn’t mean he won’t send someone in his stead.” His lip curls disdainfully. “Send the wolves, send his lackeys— I’ll kill them all, because I’m not going back.”

“And when they come.” He turns to Irileth, taking one of her hands between his own. He grins, and his expression turns menacing—daring. “There’s no one I’d rather have by my side. My closest ally. My most terrifying hero.”

Irileth’s heart burns, mirroring the passion he lays out before her. She should be repulsed by the idea of soaking her blades with blood so soon after the horror of this morning, but this is different. This would be deserved. If Cazador or any of his minions so much as lay a finger on Astarion she will cut it off and make a necklace out of their bones.

His thumb strokes the back of her knuckles and Irileth looks down at their joined hands; his, the pale face of the moon and hers, the blush of dusk. Is Astarion always so cold? She finds herself wondering.

“Now, is that sufficient enough? Have I adequately waxed poetic the reasons why I want to help you?”

Irileth looks up at him, withdrawing her hand. “I’ll protect you.”

His brows lift for an instant, then quickly smooth into a pleased expression. “And I, you. I’ve never been one to receive more than I give.”

Irileth lets loose a dry laugh, feeling some of the tension dissolve in the air. It’s strange, what sort of things her brain has forgotten and what it has retained. Apparently, she remembers enough to understand that. “Terrible.”

They sit there for a while, quiet in the clearing, listening to the sound of oak leaves rustling overhead and insects humming in the distance. Irileth ruminates on all that he has told her; all throughout the day, she’d been torn in two by guilt. Even now, she feels ill when she thinks of Alfira, and she is filled with misgivings over being dishonest with the people who have come to trust her, follow her.

However, it certainly changes things, knowing how Astarion wants her (she refuses to be so egotistical as to believe he needs her) by his side; wants her protection, her help. She’s reasonably sure that even without her, he could survive; he’s clever, cunning, and certainly ruthless enough. But… What are his odds?

“Well then,” Astarion breaks their silence and brushes at his knees, dusting off chips of wood and bits of moss. “Shall we return?”

“I thought…” Irileth remains seated and tugs her lip between her teeth, feeling her cheeks flush. She gestures vaguely at herself. “Do you need…?”

Astarion grins, never one to remain serious for long, and arches a brow. “Ooo, just what are you suggesting, my sweet?”

Irileth’s face burns hot as flames now. Why is he like this.

“Blood,” she explains flatly, and she is proud of herself for keeping her voice even. “I thought you might want it. I thought that’s why…” She waves her hand at the clearing.

Astarion stills, peering at her cautiously. “That actually wasn’t my intention in bringing you here. You must think poorly of me if you think that’s how I would persuade you. Although, ah, are you offering?”

She had already assumed that this is where the night would lead, but it is surprisingly… nice to have the choice. Irileth considers it for a moment, then nods. Why not? If he needs this and she can provide it, he should have it. She wants him to have it.

Irileth tugs at the collar of her shirt as she sweeps her hair to the side, exposing her neck to him. “I suppose I am.”

Astarion lingers for a moment, as if waiting for her to revoke or second-guess her offer, and when Irileth doesn’t, she can see some of the tension ease from his shoulders.

“A paragon of generosity, you are.” Astarion smirks as he resettles himself beside her once more. All loose-limbed and graceful, Astarion curls into her side, taking her hair into his hand. “Were I a bard, I would sing your praises.”

Something in Irileth twists in discomfort at that.

“I don’t want to be praised for giving you something you need.” She swallows, mouth growing dry at the strange way he beholds her, as if he is attempting to see straight through her. “And you don’t have to ply me with compliments either. You can have this, whenever you want.”

Astarion huffs, shaking his head, and drags the back of his knuckles along her jaw as he reaches for the side of her neck. “You shouldn’t make offers like that. Someone might take advantage of your generosity.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m only offering it to you,” Irileth replies, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. (And Astarion wonders why the others believe him to be untrustworthy, when he makes unsettling comments like that.) “Seeing as you wouldn’t do that.”

“Of course not,” he hums, brushing his thumb over the bite marks he left two days ago, still tender and bruised, and Irileth curls her fingers into the tops of her thighs to stop herself from flinching.

It wasn’t until she caught her reflection in the mirror earlier today at Moonhaven that she realized how different her marks were compared to his. While hers were clean and precise, two nearly perfect circles in her purplish flesh, Astarion’s scar tissue was thick and jagged, like twin sunbursts.

Like Cazador had wanted them to hurt.

“Whenever I want…” Astarion muses as he bows his head, tucking into her neck, and Irileth fails to suppress her shiver at the low tenor of his voice. “And what about what you want? Surely there’s something I can give you in return this time. It doesn’t feel quite fair otherwise.”

Irileth plants her hands against the tree, digging her nails into the bark, carving indents into the wood. “It’s not a trade.”

Astarion becomes still, and Irileth can tell he is weighing her words, trying to determine if she truly means that. Then, he says, “Very well. Play coy all you like, dear. I’m sure you’ll let me know sooner or later.”

Astarion’s hands hold her carefully, cradling her head and pressing against her shoulder. She can hear the wet sound as he opens his mouth but Irileth stops him suddenly, pulling gently at the hair at the back of his neck. “Wait.”

Astarion inhales sharply, fingers digging into her shoulder in a way that sends a thrill down Irileth’s spine. She… gods, she really wants to just let him get on with this. But after all of his talk about rewards and returns, this, Irileth feels, is important.

“This isn’t payback either,” she breathes, squeezing his arm for emphasis. “For helping me this morning. I just… wanted you to know.”

Astarion doesn’t reply, though she can feel him tremble beneath her hands. Then, with a final caress over the back of her shoulder, soothing the spot where his nails had dug in, he bites down.

The pain is sharp at first, twin shards of ice that pierce and pop the delicate flesh of her neck. Irileth gasps, arching against him, and one of Astarion’s hands flies to her sternum to hold her in place lest she tear her skin on his teeth. Soon enough, the sensation dulls and she slips once more into that lake of cool placidity, feeling her essence drain into him with every beat of her terrible heart.

Irileth likes this, she realizes, helping Astarion.

(An insidious thought, spoiling her peace: Or do you just like that helping him makes you feel better about yourself?)

It is over too soon and Irileth sighs, bereft, when she feels Astarion’s teeth slip free. He retreats, though not before he indulges in one final, slow suck.

“A wonderful little treat,” he purrs, right in Irileth’s ear and she shivers again. She feels both numb and oversensitive, her skin prickling all over, like static.

“A treat?” she laughs a bit dazedly. “Is that all?”

“Hm, perhaps I misspoke. A feast,” he mumbles, resting his temple against her shoulder as he drags his finger through a small line of blood that trails down her neck. His hair tickles the edge of her jaw (So soft!) and he puts the reddened tip of his finger in his mouth. “A five course meal is what you are.”

This incorrigible man… “I wasn’t fishing for compliments. I only want to make sure you’ve had your fill.”

“You have given me more than enough.” Astarion’s fingers curl around her wrist as he lifts his head, pressing his thumb into her pulse point. Measuring. “It is you, my dear, who could stand to be more selfish.”

He pulls her hand into his lap and draws the tip of his finger along the inside of her wrist, following the vein up the length of her arm, exposed by her loose sleeves. Irileth jolts away, feeling his sudden touch on her sensitive skin—so feather-light and teasing—spear through her nerves like lightning. Her neck twinges in protest.

“I—sorry,” Irileth hastens to apologize, abashed by her sudden jumpiness, all over a simple touch. “I think it’s just… too much, right now.”

“No harm done,” Astarion replies smoothly, pulling his hands back into the safety of his lap. “Lesson learned: I’ll ask before I touch.”

A hungry part of her mourns. That’s not at all what she wants—for him to stop touching her. (To stop making her feel real.)

“You don’t have to.”

Astarion regards her carefully, though without judgment. “I think I still will, if it’s all the same to you.”

Irileth nods, trying not to let her disappointment show, especially when Astarion gets to his feet, dusting bits of moss and bark from his trousers.

“Shall we return to camp now?” he asks. “Or do you need a moment?”

“I’ll be fine,” Irileth answers, though as she moves to stand, it immediately becomes evident that she does, in fact, need a moment. Or at least some help.

She staggers back to sit on the fallen tree, pinching the bridge of her nose as dark spots swarm her vision, waving Astarion off when he braces to catch her. He hums slightly as he waits for her to collect herself, a song that sounds oddly familiar to Irileth, though she cannot place it.

“I’m better now,” Irileth announces when her head stops spinning.

“Oh? And are you sure?” Astarion teases.

Irileth drops her hand from her face, opening her eyes to roll them, when she finds Astarion knelt beside her, his red gaze bright. He holds his hand out to her, palm up.

“May I?” he asks, curling his fingers toward hers.

And if that isn’t a sight. She finds that she quite likes it when he asks.

Irileth nods and fits her hand into his, letting him guide her through the night.

She dreams she is in a city.

Not just any city—Baldur’s Gate.

This knowledge comes from deep within, a resonance that rings through the cavernous depths of her soul. The signature terracotta-roofed buildings strike a chord of familiarity in her, as if she has spent many a day gazing at them and just as many nights sheltering beneath them. She can see the River Chionthar, sparkling under the beaming sun as it curls against the edge of the Lower City. She walks the cobblestone streets, guided by instinct alone, and runs her fingers against the stonework of the city’s defensive wall.

All of it familiar, all of it coated in red.

Bodies are piled along the edges of the streets, spilling into the town square like so much rubble. The grand fountains that accentuate the well-manicured parks gurgle sluggishly with ichor, and Irileth yearns to bathe in the crimson depths. Cemeteries overflow, full of victims, her victims, of the past and of the future. Not a soul stirs, above or below ground, and Irileth basks in the silence as she winds her way through this labyrinth of death, a city executed, her feet carrying her toward the docks, as if on their own accord. Onward she moves, with divine and detestable purpose.

The Gate is gloriously empty, devoid of life, and soon, so too shall be the world.

Irileth bursts into wakefulness, gasping.

Instinctively, she clutches at her chest, nails scraping a touch too hard over her sternum, causing fine welts to swell up. Her heart beats wildly, loudly, threatening to punch through her chest, and Irileth has to squeeze her eyes shut to stop herself from imagining what her most vital organ would look like, disembodied and quivering on her bedroll. Would it be dark and twisted, or does it look like any other heart, insidious in its banality?

Irileth tears her hand away from her chest to slide her fingers over her neck, and—She hisses a sharp breath through her teeth as she probes against the tender and bruised wounds there, the bite marks Astarion left behind. Then, and only then, does awareness return and her fear ebbs away, leaving a strange hollowness behind.

Irileth struggles to sit up, her body at once too light and too heavy for her bones. Her limbs prickle all over as her blood—spread thinner than usual—sluggishly returns to them, instilling feeling once more. Ah, that.

Irileth casts about, her gaze flitting around her tent as her mind slowly catches up to the present. Last she remembers, she was in the forest with Astarion, his teeth in her neck, and—yes, their quiet walk back to camp, hand in hand.

Everything is as Irileth left it when they first made camp, before she dragged herself to the fire to supper. Her blades are stowed away, tucked beneath her bedding, and her armor sits in a misshapen pile near the tent flaps. With no small amount of relief, Irileth notes that there are no innocent dead to be found, though she still catches herself checking her hands and beneath her nails for blood.

She is hesitant to believe it, but Irileth ultimately deduces that all is well. Or as well as it can be, anyway.

She sags against her bedroll, lacing her hands over her stomach, and tries to remember what roused her awake. Although her heart still hammers away, her dream has already faded, sunken into the depthless craters of her porous brain, leaving only the faintest impression behind: I am home.

The idea makes her chest ache, yearning for something that will make this gruesome mess of her life make sense. She had belonged somewhere, once—where? And to whom? Irileth tries to dig deeper, but both her dreams and her memories are all but water in her hands. Her temples throb with exhaustion.

Time ticks slowly by, and as Irileth feels her body start to grow heavy with sleep once more, her mind drifts, as it has been wont to do all day, to Alfira. She wonders what the girl looked like as she died. Squirming, skewered, in abject agony—

Irileth gets up, covered in a cold sweat, and abandons her tent as well as any hopes of returning to sleep altogether.

No one else is awake when she emerges, although the campfire still burns brightly at the center of their site. Irileth’s brain thumps painfully within her skull in response to the light, so intense compared to the darkness behind her eyelids. She staggers toward the edge of camp and beyond, offering a brief pat to Scratch when he whines and lifts his head at her passing.

Irileth crosses a fallen tree trunk over the waterfall-fed stream that borders the northern edge of the campsite. On the other side of the waterway stands a small ruin made of crumbling stone and Irileth hobbles inside, taking advantage of the privacy the (barely) enclosed space offers her.

They first found this campsite on the eve of the day they met Wyll. The ancient building had been the visible marker that drew them to investigate the area , and, already a group of six (seven, including Withers, though he came and went as he pleased), the stone enclosure was too small to hold them all, though it needn’t have. The clearing it watched over was perfect for their needs, right next to running freshwater, bordered on one side by a large rock formation and the river on another, making it easy to defend. It was an oasis by all relative standards; a safe haven.

And now, Irileth has tainted it.

She slumps to the ground in the corner of the ruins, ill with regret and bones heavy with fatigue. As the minutes tick by and she distracts herself by studying the stars through the open roof, Irileth thinks that maybe she could fall asleep here. It is peaceful, and although they are cracked and coated with dust, being surrounded by walls of stone rather than flimsy canvas soothes her by some margin. If only she didn’t see the bard’s face every time she closes her eyes. Why did she die?

“Milady?”

Irileth jumps to her feet and her head throbs at the too-sudden movement as she reaches for her blades. Too late, she realizes that they’re missing, still tucked beneath her bedroll back in her tent.

Standing before her is some sort of being, short and gnarled. Instantly, Irileth is struck with a feeling of fond disgust at the sight of it: beaked nose, pointy bat-like ears, long nails, and decomposing corpse-skin. Irileth cannot put a name to it, this thing, and though her knowledge of Faerûn’s beasts is only limited to what she has read in books or encountered here in the forests of Elturgard, she has a strong feeling that this being in front of her is not common nor is it something that is just found in the wild.

(She thinks, for some irrational and unfathomable reason, that this creature was made for her.)

“Jubilant day! I have found your vile self at last!” he exclaims in a quivering voice, clasping his hands as he looks Irileth over with naked adoration. She can only return a blank stare, tinged with her slowly growing horror.

“Sceleritas Fel. Your loyal and ever-adoring butler.” He bows to her, hands held out beseechingly. His tiny teeth are sharp and yellow, peeking out from thin, scarred lips. “I followed you, my dear rotted Master. We have been parted so tragically long.”

A fixture of her past, then, he must be. Irileth narrows her eyes, curling her fingers in the air. Her nails are long enough, she thinks, to strip his flesh from his bones. “What in the Hells do you mean, you’re my butler ?”

“One Hell of a Butler, the most unprincipled servant you could hope for,” Sceleritas Fel announces proudly, hobbling from side to side on revolting, clawed feet. “You have always struggled to conduct yourself properly without me.”

That gives her pause. Struggled to conduct herself properly? Does that mean she has always fallen prey to these despicable urges, or that she has always tried to resist them? She supposes it comes down to what this dark devotee of hers thinks is proper . Irileth strains to remember anything useful about her old self, but she succeeds only in making her brain pulse, a maelstrom of nausea storming through her.

“I found you,” the profane Butler explains, “following the stench of that bard. She reeked across the coast like a piece of dog-muck on the road.”

Irileth’s heart stops in her chest. “Did you…” She becomes furious, enraged. “Was it you who caused me to kill her?”

Irileth lunges for Sceleritas Fel, but he leaps away, giggling in delight. “Oh no! Such fine work could never be done by a wretch like me!”

“Then what—” Irileth starts to ask, though she knows it is pointless. She alone is responsible for Alfira’s slaughter, even if she still does not know how.

Sceleritas Fel holds his gnarled hands up before him, and something long and flowing materializes in his palms. “I come once again bearing a part of your dreadful inheritance,” he proclaims.

His clawed feet click click click against the rough-hewn stone floor as he approaches, and Irileth stumbles back until she meets the wall. But the creature doesn’t touch her. Instead, he only lays his boon out at her feet, and Irileth sees that it is a cloak of some sort; even with only the dim light of the moon and stars above to support her vision, she can see how the fabric shimmers, a deep and rich velvet.

Irileth’s soul purrs at the sight of it, the color—

Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood.

“You earned this iniquitous prize through your great show of exceptional violence the other night,” the Butler elucidates, his voice filled with sick reverence, all for her.

Then, he reaches toward her to graze a sharp, blackened talon down the length of her thigh, and Irileth jerks back so hard, her elbow collides into the stone wall with a snap. Pain radiates down her arm—not broken, but certainly bruised—and the Butler inhales deeply with sadistic pleasure.

“Oh, my Lady,” he sighs in awe, closing his beady amber eyes. “The pain you bring is always the most succulent. I’m sure Master will be better soon. A fellow of your fine breeding is never down for long, and I cannot wait until your next act of shameless barbarity.”

Her fine breeding? Her dreadful inheritance? What riddles this loathsome servant speaks in, alluding to some accursed lineage, some foul benefactor to whom she belongs to. Irileth surges forward again, and this time she succeeds in grabbing the Butler by the front of his leathery, tattered doublet. “There will be no more barbarity!”

But contrary to her proclamation, her fingers itch to wrap around his neck, to squeeze until his spoiled flesh bulges out and she can cradle his exposed throat in her hand. She wants to fling him against the wall, see how he splatters —

Sceleritas Fel titters again, like he knows exactly what she is thinking. “Death wants everything to do with you, good villain!” Then he smiles, sharp teeth exposed, fetid breath wafting out. “Be true to yourself, my Lady.”

And then he’s gone in a puff of red mist. Irileth’s fingers instinctively flex, grasping nothing but air. The only thing that remains of the Butler is the cloak he left behind.

Something in Irileth screams not to touch it. Any remnant of her old life should be cast into the furthest reaches of the Hells; she wants no gift from her dread Butler. But… Irileth edges closer to it, this nefarious pile of fabric on the floor. It’s just a mantle, it cannot hurt her or anyone else. She is the weapon, the thing to be feared.

The cloak is a token of her past. Maybe there will be something she can glean from it; if she understands her old life better, then maybe it will help her prevent it from consuming her again.

At the very least, the damn thing might be useful in a fight.

Irileth picks up the cloak. Nothing happens. There is no curse bestowed or sickness cast upon her, but she does extract its name, vibrating through her marrow: Deathstalker Mantle.

She thinks she has an idea of what it will do, this new boon of hers.

#bg3 #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x durge #the dark urge #durge #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fic #astarion ancunin

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somekndofnature · 1 year

Text

Hope everyone is enjoying their weekend! I’ve been working on this modern day rock band AU for Inuyasha. It’s completely self-indulgent and honestly, I have no idea where it’s going, but I haven’t been able to stop writing it. Up to 16k words in seven days...I’ve been ensorcelled.

Anyway, I just wanted to share the same short smutty snippet that I did on the 20+fanfic discord server. Would love to hear what you think, I’m a little self-conscious about it.

A little context, Inuyasha knows that Kagome is his fated mate. has known for years, but he pushed her away. He hated feeling like fate was choosing for him. Now, he wants her back, and is trying to win her back, but Kagome is reluctant. Before this scene, Kagome was woken by a nightmare and went to the sink to get water but gets distracted by Inuyasha crashing on her couch. She starts remembering her nightmare (about him) and starts crying. Inuyahsa wakes up and offers to hold her while she sleeps. She’s reluctant but ends up giving in because Inu gives the best cuddles. She falls asleep immediately and he holds her all night.

In the morning, Kagome starts acting like she’s having another nightmare, but Inuyasha realizes it is actually a much more pleasant dream. She is moaning and rubbing against him in her sleep and he knows he should wake her up and leave but can’t help wanting to see this dream of hers through until the end. Unfortunately, Kagome wakes up before she can ehemm...reach her peak. This picks up right after she wakes up and realizes that she has been sleeping on him having a wet dream.

HERE WITH YOU

“Good morning,” he purred while nuzzling his nose against hers. “Sweet dreams, I hope?”

She flushed and pulled away suddenly, hiding her face against his chest and squishing his pulsing erection between their bodies. Inuyasha moaned and dropped his head back, relishing the way her small body fit against his like a missing puzzle piece. She trembled with an unquenched arousal that called to him. This was part of his job as her mate, to make sure her desire never went unsatisfied.

Inuyasha slipped his fingers along her jaw. “’Gome, look at me.”

She lifted her flushing face until her chin rested on his chest but avoided meeting his eyes.

He smiled and brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear. “What are you embarrassed about?” he asked in a conciliatory tone.

Kagome tossed him a look of disbelief, cheeks heating a darker shade. “Are you serious? I just had a sex dream about you, while you were holding me.”

“Yes,” he admitted without a hint of shame. “And it was probably one of the most gratifying experiences of my life.”

She scoffed and tried crawl down the sofa away from him, but Inuyasha caught her arms and pulled her back in until she was laying against him. He cupped the back of her head and brushed his nose along her jaw line. Kagome was still tense in arms, but she sighed at his touch and her eyes fluttered closed. He almost pumped a fist in triumph.

“Come on, baby,” he breathed, teasing the dark strands of hair caressing her face. “Nothin to be embarrassed about. Do you know how often I dream about you?” He placed a light kiss against her skin. “Hell, it’s an almost nightly occurrence, one means I need a shower first thing nearly every morning and if not, definitely means you don’t want to be around me that day. I’m a grumpy fucker when I’m horny for you.” His lips pressed a little more firmly to the tender skin behind her jaw.

The smallest smile curled her lips. “What do you—” She cut herself off, biting at her lip.

“Ask me,” he pleaded, nipping at her earlobe.

She mewled and squirmed as he flattened both his palms against her back, arching into his touch as he rubbed up and down her spine. “What do you dream about?”

He rewarded her with a soft kiss against her temple. “You, ‘Gome. Only you,” he purred into the shell of her ear as her hand threaded through his hair, keeping him captive against her skin. “I dream about holding you. I dream about seeing you smile, hearing you laugh. I dream about your scent,” he whispered, pushing his nose into her hair, and inhaling deeply before releasing a heady groan. “I dream about tasting you,” he said, running his tongue along the column of her neck and feeling his cock twitch against her belly. “Fuck, I can’t believe I get to taste you again.”

Kagome moaned, rocking her hips into his when he settled his mouth against her neck, sucking at the tender flesh until it darkened to a plumy purple but careful not to use his fangs. He didn’t want to incite that primal part of him that was all too eager to mark her as his mate.

Soon, soon, he soothed himself.

“What else?” Kagome prompted, voice breaking as he slid the camisole strap off her shoulder and kissed along her collarbone.

“I dream of kissing and touching every part of you,” he whispered against her skin, hands slipping down her back to cup her ass in both palms. “I dream of lapping at your sweet little cunt until you come all over my face.”

She gasped as he suddenly drew her up until she was straddling his hips, placing her warm damp core against the ridge of his aching shaft. Kagome’s startled blue eyes flew open, locking with his.

“I dream of being so deep inside you that I don’t know where you end and I begin,” he admitted, each ragged word filled with longing.

#inuyasha #kagome #inuyashaxkagome #inukag #inukag fanfic #wip #smutty saturday #cw #thar be smut ahead

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mystery-talks-chaos · 9 months

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Hola!

This is my first contribution to Wholesome Sonic and Tails Wednesday. I totally did not stay up until 2 am looking for an idea, nor did I wake up and 5:18 to write this, so don't worry! XD

You can read this on either AO3 or Wattpad

I hope everyone enjoys!!!

Movie Night

Sonic hummed pulling put a bunch of disks.

What movie would a 5 year old like?

He didn't want to put one of those baby movies, yet, at the same time, he knew he shouldn't put something too violent and/or un- child friendly...

Despite the fact that the same five year old fights roots on a daily basis, and technically is a genius, he knew that he still had the mind of a kid.

Maybe he should ask the kid what movie he likes?

Yeah... that seems like a good idea...

Though he did want to keep it a surprise...

Oh well...

They'll be watching it either way! No point of not asking.

Making up his mind, Sonic made his way to his little brother in a Sonic second.

"Hey Tails!" Sonic exclaimed, startling the poor little fox.

Tails turned himself to his caller, cocking his head to the side a bit in confusion. He put down the wrench and watch that was in his hand, and turned his full attention to the Hedgehog in front of him.

"Yes?" He asked, confused to why the elder needed him in the moment.

"How are ya bud? Working hard I see?" Sonic said rushinbto his brothers side, putting a hand over the other's shoulder.

"Uh, not really..." the younger admitted pulling at the ends of his gloves uncomfortably, "I'm just fixing Knuckles communicator, nothing big."

"Nothing big ya say? Really? Cause I know for a fact that I wouldn't be able to do half of the things your doing right now!" Sonic joked trying to ease the other's mood.

Sadly, however, that didn't work, as the younger of the two let out a small huff of laughter.

"Yeah... um- I'm not really in the, I guess, 'mood' for working on something to big, you know?" Taiks said looking down in slighht shame, before plastering a smile and looking at the other, " What about you? Do you need something?"

Despite not being pleased at the other's answer, the Hedgehog shaked his head and decided to answer the question.

"Yes, actually!" Sonic said, keeping note of how the younger's shoulder deflated slightly at his answer, "I was wondering what movie you liked."

Tails clearly wasn't not expecting that answer as his eyes widened at the answer and he let out a small "Huh?" in question.

"I asked what movies you liked?" Sonic said waiting patiently for the other's answer.

"Oh! Uh. I- uh- I don't know? Why?" Tails answered looking at the Hedgehog in front in slight confusion.

"Because I want to set up a movie night, of course!" Sonic replied with a smile, before frowning a bit, " What do you mean that you don't know? Who does then?"

"Uh... I don't know... no one?" At this point Tails looked as if he wanted to be anywhere, but there- which he did feel indeed.

"How do you not know what movie you like?" Sonic said, confusion seeping through his voice.

"I never- um... I never got to watch a movie before... but- uh- I don't mind watching whatever movie you like!" Tails said, finishing with a small smile.

Sonic frowned. Of course. That village didn't want to give the kit a place to sleep, nor something to eat. Of course they wouldn't give him the 'luxury' of watching a simple movie.

At that same though, Sonic wanted more than anything to speed back to the village and make all the people who made the cute, tiny fox's life living hell pay.

But he new better than to do that. He was a hero, and making then pay is illegal by law, sadly. (That didn't remove his urge of revenge though)

Sonic shook his head and plastered a smile on his face.

"Well that won't do!" He exclaimed, reaching out and throwing the young kit over his shoulder. The said kit gave out a scared squeak in reply (to which Sonic thought was adorable!).

"What are you doing?!" Tails asked kicking slightly at Sonic's chest, at the displeasure of being carried.

The Hedgehog in question only spared a wink. "You'll see!"

When the two reached the living room (which didn't take long at all of course), Sonic dropped Tails on the couch, and rushed to bring supplies.

Not even a minute later, Tails found himself buried under a bunch of blankets and pillows, and the console table beside the couch was filled with chips and other junk.

Looking up at the Hedgehog smiling on top of him, Tails sent him a confused look, which was only replied by a wink from the other.

Sonic then flopped down beside Tails, placing a pillow behind him, before freeing Tails from the pile of blankets on top of him, and pulling Tails into his lap. He then covered the two of them in the blankets.

Tails looked up at his elder brother in confusion once more, opening his mouth to ask what was going on only to find that Sonic has put a finger on his mouth in a silencing manner.

"Get ready for your first movie night, little buddy!" Sonic said turning on the television and searching for a movie. "What?" Tails asked only to find one of Sonics fingers poking at him, and put back in a shushing manner on his lips. "Really, Tails? Hasn't anyone ever told you to not talk on a movie night?"

Tails eyes sprung up to live as he finally processed what the Hedgehog meant. He was going to watch his first movie...

"How about this movie?" Sonic said pointing at the screen with the remote.

Tails looked and saw the words Zootopia on the screen.

"Um, sure... if you want to?" Tails said hesitantly, not wanting to make the older one watch something he doesn't like.

"Good! I haven't watched this either, you know? Heard its a kids classic, though!" Sonic said pressing play.

"Hey! I'm not a kid!" Tails complained, only to find a finger back at his mouth and to heara quick "shush!" from Sonic.

Tails huffed slightly, however turned his attention to the screen filled with colours.

By the end of the movie the two layed asleep draping on each other, as the ending credits went on.

To Tails, the movie was amazing and magical. He has never seen anything like it (quit literally) and adored the way the animation was displayed. The movie was currently the fox's favorite (and only) movie he ever watched.

To Sonic, on the other hand, the movie was boring as hell, only watching it throughly due to Tails liking of the movie. That doesn't mean that he didn't complain nor question the things that happened in the movie.

("They are wearing clothes! Look! They are wearing clothes! Look at him! He's wearing pants! How is he alive?!")

Overall, the movie night was a success as the two snored softly, snuggling to each other. There was no doubt that this wouldn't be the first time...

#miles tails prower #sonic & tails #sonic and tails #wholesome sonic and tails wednesday #tails the fox #sonic the hedgehog #sonic

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saras-devotionals · 2 months

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Quiet Time 3/11

What am I feeling today?

Just really wish I wasn’t awake right now. I was struggling to fall asleep last night and I only got a few hours of actual sleep. And my cat have been meowing and scratching at my door for about two hours now and I wish she’d just give up because I’m so so tired. I’m also back in school and this week is just going to be so hectic and I’m just not looking forward to it. I just feel like crying and giving up.

Bible Plan: healing what’s hidden

Holding on to Hope

God doesn’t operate as humans do. He uses the foolish to shame the wise. He makes a no-name shepherd into a king. He lets the last go first. He prays for his enemies. He turns the other cheek. He overcomes evil with good. He defeats death itself by submitting himself to death. And he births hope out of suffering.

Yeah you gotta admit, but human standards, God operates in a really weird way that most of us struggle to understand.

Don’t give up. Keep holding on to hope because God is faithful to provide it and because you are not alone in the struggle. Trauma may have been what brought you here, but soon enough, God’s redemptive love for you will take you to places so rich with joy and purpose you can’t even imagine them yet!

Right on time with the last thing I wrote was that I want to give up, isn’t it cool God can work like that? That He’s just always aware and gives His word in such a timely manner? Yeah He’s pretty awesome and just mind boggling and insane to fully comprehend.

‭‭Romans‬ ‭5‬:‭3‬-‭5‬ ‭NIV‬‬

“Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.”

The formula this passage gives us: suffering produces perseverance, perseverance produces character, and character produces hope. Of all the ways we’d expect hope to be produced, suffering wouldn’t have been at the top of the list. And yet, here we see that it is the unlikely place where hope is actually found. And you know what, it makes sense, because what would call for the need of hope if we didn’t suffer at some point?

Ephesians 3:20 NIV

“Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us,”

Yeah that’s so true and sometimes I forget it when things don’t always go my way. God is literally all powerful, like insanely so. And sometimes I can be selfish with that, asking for things for me when really I don’t deserve anything. Why should He give me what I ask for? There’s no reason! But all the more reason to be grateful when He does!

James 1:2-4 NIV

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.”

We all know there are no quick fixes to trauma. It’s going to take patience and grit but do. not. give. up. What does he mean by “let perseverance finish its work”? I’m inclined to believe that he meant something like this: Don’t give up when you’re already partway there. Don’t let it all be for nothing. Yes, the pain is awful, but if you keep moving forward, it will mean something someday. Somehow, this terrible experience will be recycled for something good even though it doesn't make sense right now. And I really do believe that from past experiences. We don’t go through things without reason, trust that it fits in the plan some way down the road.

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askcamilenull · 3 months

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Beginning Part 1 (and Rules/Boundaries)

If not for the simple fact that he could literally feel the poison atmosphere in his lungs, Jack would have suspected the informants information to be faulty at best. he had chosen this city to lay low in for a reason after all. Anything that was likely to be after his head at this time wasn't likely to be able to breathe in this atmosphere at the same time.

Or at least not anything that had been alive here in the past 10,000 years or so.

so why Did it look like a girl fresh out of a college party had passed out on this rotting apartment couch?

It was hard to tell if she was dead or simply sleeping by just looking at her. it didn't look like her chest was rising or falling anyways. Even if she was dead then it looked like she died yesterday. this wasn't the kind of atmosphere that would have preserved a dead body either, not from everything he'd seen so far.

and her face, well, it was beyond preserved. it was… well it wasn't hard to look at. She looked at peace and youthful with short, almost fluffy, blue hair. And her clothing was unmistakably Earthling attire. He couldn't even begin to imagine how she gotten here.

His hand twitched at his side. Should he… should he see if he could find a pulse?

He reached out a hand slowly to her, reaching for her own hand. part of him hoped she would wake up just from this contact but no such luck.

Her hand was cold.

He swallowed but willed himself to focus, feeling her wrist.

Nothing.

Sighing, he got back up abandoning her hand, albeit gently.

It was a shame, as much as he wanted to lay low, he admitted he could have used the company.

He wandered into the kitchen to give himself some space from the girl, when he stopped up short. marking the entrance to what was left of the kitchen was a pile of wood that he supposed to be a counter, riddled with holes.

But that wasn't what stopped him.

Rather it was what was on top of it

Unmarked by time was a light blue cup, filled with a clear, bubbling liquid and covered completely on the outside by condensation.

Forget the girl's appearance, this was fresh, there was no doubt about it.

He reached out towards it to confirm he wasn’t hallucinating. He even gave the liquid a sniff. It smelled like some off-brand soda, but ordinary nonetheless

Before he could even form any theories, footsteps cracked up from behind him, and he turned to see the girl upright and rubbing at one of her eyes like she had just been crashing at a friend's apartment for the weekend.

They stared at each other for a few moments before she winked.

“Heya, handsome! Ya mind handing me my drink?”

Then her eye fell out.

Rules/boundaries

Warning: This will contain body horror and dismemberment of a kind as you've seen in the introduction... Camile has a hard time... holding herself together. If that's something that will bother you, I completely understand.

For now, there will be no drawn responses, due to hand pain and other similar problems :/

No pr*shipping or NSFW requests

No hate, bullying, ect.

Please do not use this blog to vent.

Fan content is welcome as long as it doesn't violate the other rules :DDDDDDDDD

Crossovers and rps are extremely welcome as long as it doesn't violate the other rules. :333333333

There will be lore because yes :333333

Admittedly, I haven't yet had the chance to watch Torchwood yet, but I plan on changing that soon. (It's also been a minute since I've watched good old DW.) As such, this won't really follow the lore of the show anytime soon. Even when I watch it, I'll probably take liberties for fun especially since that's what this blog is for.

Well, I think that covers it for now, so ask away.

#doctor who #dw #torchwood #captain jack harkness #jack harkness #ask #asks open #send me asks #ask me stuff #oc blog #oc #oc rp #tw dismemberment #jack harkness x oc

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writerfae · 5 months

Text

Sooo I wrote a small something for the main squad cause I love them 👉👈 (kind of inspired by a Talon fact and a fanfic I read yesterday). Enjoy!

Talon hated sleeping outside. To him, it was the worst part of a mission.

The mattresses were uncomfortable and the blankets too thin for his liking, making it even harder than usual for him to find rest.

He always tried to postpone having to go to sleep as much as he could. Thats why he was currently sitting by the fire, keeping watch while everyone else was asleep.

A cold breeze made him shiver, the flame of the fire not enough to keep Talon from the cold of night settling in his bones.

He always got cold easily and now more than ever wished that he was more like Aiden, who was always warm, no matter if it was summer or winter.

A yawn escaped him, despite his best efforts. He hated to admit it, but he was starting to get a bit weary.

Suddenly someone came to stand beside him. “Go to bed, Talon. I’ll keep watch now,” Hector said.

Talon sighed. “I probably won’t be able to sleep anyway. It’s too cold and uncomfortable.”

The other guard sat beside him. “You should at least give it a try. You look tired.”

He looked over Talon’s shoulder and let out a quiet laugh.

“Your friends over there are huddled up like wolf pups. Maybe you should join them, it’ll keep you warm for sure.”

Talon followed his gaze. There in the distance lay three figures that might as well could’ve been one with how close they lay.

Maya, Halea and Aiden, all cuddled up together.

It was a habit that they had developed somewhere along their first journey together, a method to keep warm in the cool nights of late spring.

Maya and Halea had started it, soon talking Aiden into joining them to profit from his warmth, until it was a set arrangement, something that meant more than just fighting off the cold.

Back then, Talon had refused to join them, pride and shame keeping him from giving in to their offer.

But things had changed since then. So he stood, wishing Hector a peaceful night and made his way over to his friends.

He came to stand before them, taking in the sight before him. The three friends peacefully slept next to each other, their mattresses pushed together to make a big bedding.

Their blankets were abandoned, carelessly tossed to the side. They didn’t need them, apparently. Just being close kept them warm enough.

Aiden lay on his side. Next to him was Maya, one arm thrown over his waist and her face buried in the small of his back. Between them, curled up almost like a kitten, lay Halea.

Talon couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his lips at the sight, feeling a sudden rush of fondness for his friends.

Aiden, always a light sleeper, seemed to have noticed him, because he opened his eyes.

Blinking slowly to adjust to the darkness, he looked up to the person that stood before him, smiling lazily as he recognized it was Talon.

“Hi,” he whispered, voice still heavy from sleep. Reaching out with one hand, he beckoned Talon closer.

Talon oblieged, grabbing Aiden’s hand and squatting down before him. “Hello.”

He kissed the boy’s knuckles, which gained him a pleased hum in response.

Aiden didn’t say anything else, too sleepy still to hold up much of a conversation.

“Come here,” is all he mumbled before pulling at the hand still clasping his, trying to get Talon to lay down next to him.

With a smile Talon gave in to his request. He didn’t realize how tired he was until he laid down and let Aiden pull him close.

Immediately, Talon was enveloped by much needed warmth, melting away the cold he felt earlier.

Aiden shifted just the slightest bit to get them more comfortable, careful not to disturb the sleeping girls.

Maya’s grip around his hip tightened but luckily she didn’t wake up. She only cuddled a bit closer, content sigh on her lips.

Halea didn’t even budge, way too deep into dreamland to be woken up by anything less than an earthquake, probably.

Both kept sleeping, comfortable and warm. And Aiden, too, seemed to slowly drift back to sleep.

His breath grew more even, his chest slowly rising and falling under Talon’s hands, along to the steady beating of his heart.

Aiden turned his head to the side slightly, pressing a light kiss against the side of Talon’s face, then he was asleep once more.

Talon allowed himself to relax, face buried in the nape of Aiden’s neck, breathing in his scent. It was calming, being so close to him. Being so close to all of them.

It didn’t take long before he fell asleep. And this time, he didn’t mind sleeping on an uncomfortable mattress all that much.

tag list: @andifthestarsweretodie @bloodlessheirbyjacques @bluehourskyeli @deadlycupid @dustylovelyrun @justafrogandherumbrella @ladywithalamp @magic-is-something-we-create @myhusbandsasemni @my-cursed-prince @phantasticdomains @rhikasa @saltysupercomputer @sleepy-night-child @soupopoireau @thegirlwithnonickname @thewalkingnerd @vampywriter @vsnotresponding @writing-is-a-martial-art (if you want to be added or removed from the tag list let me know!)

#proof reading? I don’t know her. I got a book about queer history in German to read #I just love the four so much #writer speaks #writeblr #wip: the knights of the alder #writing #my writing

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twinklelilstarkey · 2 years

Note

Can i request waking up with rhett? Like the morning after where youre not sure if youre supposed to make your exit? And then he wakes up all soft and mushy, asking you to stay and telling you that last night was special and that it meant something :3 can totally go smutty if youre up for it!

Omg, stop cause this really warmed my heart. I didn't include the smut, but I did make it a little angsty. Hope that, and any smaller changes, are okay!

Benefits - Rhett Abbott

Words: 2.6k+ Type: Angst and Fluff Summary: Friends with benefits don't always work out as you want, and no one ever knows how to admit the truth. Warnings: GenderNeutral!Reader [no mentions of race or bodytype]. Idiots in love. Mentions of friends with benefits gone wrong (or right). Slight mentions of alcohol consumption.

You two have been doing it for a while. And no matter how many times you have time for yourself and your mind in the mornings, it never feels right. The nights with Rhett are not the same for him as it is for you. All of this started due to boredom and alcohol, nothing more. And now, with each night that passes, everything gets worse for you.

Maybe it’s cliché, and you definitely put yourself in this situation but, you are the common result of friends with benefits. You were too distracted and didn’t catch on to the first moments of falling in love with Rhett Abbott. And, before you could even notice, you were already at the bottom of this lonely and cold well called "one-sided love". One that will lead to nothing but your own suffering.

You should’ve stopped it as soon as you noticed. You remember that you swore you would refuse to do anything with him on your next time together. Yet it doesn’t take a genius to know that it never worked. It never does. And all of it always makes you feel weak.

You turn on the bed one last time, unable to fall back asleep. You had woken up by the sound of someone outside of your motel room. That was probably an hour ago, and they were very much drunk. They were trying to get the key in the hole of their door and drunkenly missing it while giggling hysterically. You woke up to their noise, yet never found yourself able to fall back asleep.

Rhett sleeps beside you peacefully, without any worries visible on his face. As always, he’s completely oblivious to how bad you feel every morning and for how long you stare at the walls and ceiling in silence.

Having had enough, you finally decide to get up and get ready to leave. It’s still early in the morning, nearing 8 AM, but you can’t bear to lay in this bed anymore.

You stand up and gather some of your clothes from last night off the floor. You’re careful. You walk around slowly and softly, putting on those same clothes with ease and not wanting to wake up Rhett. You walk over to your bag at the corner of the room, getting the usual things you use whenever in need of doing a walk of shame - clean clothes and toiletries.

You’re never sure if you should wake up Rhett before leaving. He’s still your friend, after all. Maybe he would worry if he didn’t see you. But, at the same time, he might as well not care in the slightest.

You walk over to the bathroom, wearing only a shirt and underwear. You don’t close the door behind you, not wanting to make any noise with clicking it close, but do leave it mostly closed. You begin to open your little bag and wash your face from the evidence of lack of sleep. And right as you’re almost done, Rhett wakes up.

Rhett’s not sure he wakes up with anything in particular but he does wake up a bit confused. Right as he opens his eyes, he expects to see you, either asleep or awake - being the latter the most common - but, much to his disappointment, he finds the bed empty. Before he could begin to lay with his own saddened thoughts, the sound of the bathroom’s faucet is heard, right before being turned off again.

Rhett sits up on the side of the bed, putting on his boxers before actually doing anything else. He scrubs his eyes, heavy with sleep, and waits for you to come out of the bathroom, leaving him to his own thoughts for a bit.

He doesn’t hate the routine, meeting up with you at the end of awful days or awful weeks, beginning your rants about life while sipping beer, laughing randomly at what one another has going on in their life, yet always ending up kissing and in bed together. Rhett has noticed that he’s always the one to kiss you. You’ve never rejected him, not ever since your first time together all those months ago, but tonight was different.

Rhett can’t bear to hold onto his feelings any longer. He’s done holding them back. He's so done that he has begun to get annoyed and let these thoughts spoil his mood for the days he’s not with you. But he always has this voice in the back of his head that tells him to enjoy what you two have without any commitment.

He tells himself all of this as if yesterday night wasn’t different because of these same thoughts. He knows that he was softer with you, may he say romantic even. Your shared kisses were sweet and things moved slowly. He’s not sure if you noticed the difference, but he knows that he, himself, did. And he’s not proud of making his feelings so obvious.

No matter if he tries to tell himself that there is a possibility that you might like him too, Rhett can never promise himself such a thing. In the morning, for the past few weeks mostly, you’ve been acting cold towards him, never talking much and, other times, not being there when he wakes up. He never mentions it to you because why would he?

Tired of not exactly liking where his mind is taking him, Rhett gets up from the bed and walks over to the bathroom. The door isn’t closed and right as he knocks on it, it opens further. As he steps inside, he sees that you’re brushing your teeth and have clean clothes laid on the counter just beside you.

“Good morning.” He tells you, his voice deeper due to sleep.

You don’t answer right away, leaning down to spit on the toothpaste first, but there’s something that Rhett notices. As you answer him with the same words, your voice is monotone, with no excitement or even tiredness in your words. Just nothing.

Rhett stands there as you finish up with your morning routine, and he can’t help himself but stare for a bit.

When done, you wipe your hands on the towel beside you and let your eyes meet with Rhett’s through the mirror one more time. He offers you a short grin, to which you force one as a response, not able to leave him with nothing.

Both of your hearts react painfully at the same time, and yet neither of you ever guesses what is going through each other’s minds.

You move back to your pile of clothes and grab onto your t-shirt, looking down at it for a bit. Before you notice, Rhett is standing right beside you, looking down at your figure and noticing your lack of words or emotions.

“You okay?” He asks you, and you nod. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You say, your voice sounding a little harsher than you intend it to.

Rhett doesn’t react to the tone right away, but you feel his hand coming to rest on the side of your head, holding it in place, right before he lays the usual kiss over your hair. That makes you look at him, and he stares back into your eyes.

“Just checking on you.” He justifies.

“I know… I’m sorry.”

He kisses your forehead next, and your heart squeezes at the action. His hand smooths down your hair, and you unconsciously lean closer to him. Rhett doesn’t think much about it, but when he notices that you’re leaning towards him, he pulls you into a hug.

He’s not sure who is in the biggest need of a hug, him or you. He might not know the reason why you are feeling the way you are, but he knows that you’re not okay. Rhett isn’t much of a hugger, only really a little in the mornings while he’s lost in the grogginess of his sleep, but you don’t refuse to hug him back. In reality, you do it without even thinking.

Your arms wrap around his warm naked torso, and his own are around your shoulders, covered by the fabric of your shirt. You feel him rest his head against yours in the hug as the two of you stay silent, and you lean your cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

When the hug is over, Rhett pulls you away by your shoulders, leaving you to stare up at him. His hands rest on them, caressing them comfortingly, and you let out a small sigh before offering him a grin.

“You can talk to me.” He reminds you.

You stay unnaturally silent, and Rhett looks down at you with slight confusion.

“You know that, right?” He asks you, and you nod. “Then why don’t you?”

You shrug while looking away for a second, trying to find a way out of this situation without any type of confession. You don’t want to think about it, let alone say it out loud. You know the best for you is to not say your truth. It's for the sake of your friendship and to spare yourself from a broken heart. But, this truth keeps on getting heavier.

“I… It’s nothing.” You dismiss it.

You move away from him, making his hands fall from your shoulders and come back to his sides, and you turn back to your clothes. Rhett stares at you confused, not knowing what to say or to think. His in-love-and-obsessed mind wants to create all sorts of theories, but all of his rational side is too worried about you to even start.

You can feel him staring, his eyes putting holes through your head. As well as the annoying voice in your mind telling you to scream out your own feelings. All of it is too much.

“Is there something I can do?” He asks.

You shake your head.

“Not really. It’s a me-thing.” You tell him.

The two of you fall into silence all over again, and you look up at him this time, admiring his face for just a little before forcing yourself to snap out of it. There is no way you’d ever fall out of love for Rhett, no matter how much you try.

“I help you with you-things all the time.” He reminds you.

“I know, but not this.” You reassure him.

The two of you stare at each other for a little. The silence is not as comfortable as it once was between the two of you. Silence is whenever you two are left with your own minds, left to fight your own instincts. Rhett is and looks severely worried about you, and you feel like there is nothing you can do about it.

Rhett’s hand comes back to you and lays across your back. His palm comforts you, and all you can do is stay silent, simply staring ahead.

Should you just say it?

The question repeats in your mind time and time again, almost like an echo. It repeats so many times that you swear that it is starting to make your ears ring. Adrenaline is ridiculously pumping through your veins as you try to gain the courage to finally talk, but, right as you open your mouth, Rhett moves his hand to your shoulder, breaking your sense of strength.

You know you have his full attention and that is what is making you so anxious. All you want to do is spit it out as fast as you can, and then... run.

If you could choose a way to tell him the truth, it would be like that. Say it and run away. Away from any consequences or a new reality. But, as of right now, you’re still very much undressed. You can't run anywhere like this. And… Gosh, you drove here with his truck.

You stare into the sink as you think of all your possible escape routes. Even if you have money in your wallet for a taxi. All of it. Rhett watches as you seem to have disappeared in your own thoughts once more, and that leaves him with his. All over again.

He can’t do this anymore.

“I like you.”

Your mind goes blank and your breathing stops. Rhett’s hand on your shoulder can sense the way your body tenses up and he quickly takes his hand away, hating every bit of it. He stares at you while his heart bruises the inside of his ribs with the force of its rapid pumps.

The truth is finally out, but he’s not sure he will like the outcome.

You don’t move for a good bit, nor do you say anything. It’s not until Rhett begins to take a step back that you actually come back to reality.

“What did you just say?”

Truth be told, you swore that what he said had been something from your mind. Something completely made up as your own body feels tired of hearing you whine. But, when you felt him pull his hand away and show his need to distance himself from you, you realized that it’s true.

Rhett stares at you for a little, and you notice that embarrassment takes control of his body. The way he looks at you and even the way he stands. He can’t read the expression on your face, and you can only feel your heart begin to hurt from watching him crumble in front of you.

“I said that I like you.” He repeats. His voice is much, much lower this time, and it has a mixture of guilt and humiliation.

You two stare at one another for a good bit, and Rhett seriously just wants to leave. He feels as if he has ruined everything for the two of you, especially your friendship, and that is leaving you to stare at him as if you’re in a dream.

You almost ask him questions such as “really” or “are you serious”. 'Almost' as in you actually opened your mouth to speak but the words never came out.

It takes a bit of time before you break yourself out of your shock and, once it does, you don’t let him take another step back. You reach and hold onto his hand.

Rhett looks down, staring at your hands and then back up at your face, and he swears that he gets ready to get rejected. He takes a deep breath, building up his own walls of protection for whatever is coming next, and then, you kiss him.

There are probably a few good and long seconds where Rhett does not move, he simply stands there, feeling your lips on his. It’s only when you’re about to pull away that his vacant hand lifts to your cheek and he chases the kiss before it ends.

Your lips move, this time, at the same time, kissing in a way so soft and so sweet that you two can’t even imagine it to be true.

When it’s time for you two to pull away and look each other in the eyes, everything is different. The way the two of you look at one another has changed and, now, all that you see when you look into each other's eyes is a mix of relief and adoration all in one.

Rhett swears that the kisses and pecks he gives you after are truly just for good measure. You two find yourselves smiling and laughing while he does so.

One of your hands smooths over his skin, from his tattooed chest to the back of his head, and your fingers work through his soft strands of hair. You two pull away again and stare at one another yet again.

“Was this your you-thing?” He asks in a whisper, all while the two of you stand so close.

Your smile stretches, and you nod.

“Yeah, it was.” You confirm.

Rhett’s smile is just as big as yours and he kisses you all over again. His hands hold you tenderly close to him, and his kisses never begin to be less sweet.

Both of your hearts are full and your minds are empty of worries. You two swear that you haven't felt like this in a long time. Months, to be more precise.

God, you’re really thankful you didn’t have money for a taxi.

I really hope you liked this!! ❤️❤️

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott fanfic #rhett abbott one shot #rhett abbott oneshot #rhett abbott imagines #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott x y/n #outer range fic #outer range fanfic

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anerdquemoraaolado · 11 months

Text

So I was really interesting in reading some Quaritch x Varang stuff, so my hand slipped and I did this. I have more ideas about the two of them, so if you´re interesting too, let me know. Enjoy!

Upon waking up feeling his body illuminated by a bright sun, Miles felt his head spin, dizziness made him sit with his eyes closed. He was sure the pain was due to what he had drunk the night before, his Na'Vi body not used to Pandora's natural drinks. Struggling for some balance, he slowly remembered what had happened the night before.

As a military man, facing the rational part of the whole thing, he had become the consort of the leader of the ash clan, in a sinister ceremony to say the least.

The emotional and complicated part of the thing came from now on. He was officially the husband of an unknown woman. At one level, he was able to decipher Varang very quickly. She was ambitious and angry, with a thirst for revenge. She desired supremacy for her downtrodden people, even if it meant joining the sky people, even if she had to marry a stranger. On that side they were even.

The woman was still sleeping beside him, in a fetal position, fragile, much different than the bride from last night.

The wedding had started with painting their bodies, each on one side opposite the other. Tribesmen painted them purple and red, and adorned both with sashes over the chest and a loincloth at the waist that covered the hips. Quaritch felt strange without his normal clothes. However, understanding the size of the tactical advantage he would have in this deal, he swallowed his shame or whatever it was and let himself be prepared by the Na'vi.

The local tsahik said words related to unity and agreement of which he understood some words, thanks to Spider. Spider…he hoped the boy was at least okay.

Noticing his momentary distraction, Varang pulled him by the arm with some force. He made a mumbled apology and returned his attention to the present moment. Varang ordered him to lie down, so he did, even though he didn't understand what that would be for.

Quaritch saw her approach with a cup in her hand. This time, she was gentle as she pulled his chin down, making him drink. It was only one sip, but enough to judge the drink as odd, to say the least. When he coughed, he watched as Varang chuckled in pleasure at his expense.

Not happy about that, Quaritch thought he would take matters into his own hands when he had the opportunity and make it clear who he was and what he liked and didn't like.

To his surprise, Varang lay down and the same cup was handed to him. Understanding that he should give her a drink, Quaritch gripped her chin firmly. The touch sent a shiver down the clan leader's spine. He was a strange man, but even so, she felt it would be good to have him as a husband.

Quaritch understood that he should pull her to her feet and he did as the clan celebrated the union with Na'vi shouting. He had the feeling that it served much more to please Varang than the happiness of having him as the clan's consort.

Varang raised her arms victoriously to the clan, which Quaritch did, more awkwardly and less gracefully.

She laughed at him again and without further ado, brought him to a passage in a cave. Inside, there was the bare minimum of comfort the Na'vi could offer, a mat with a blanket woven from an ancient loom.

-Very well, Miles - Varang said approvingly, before he could continue reacting to the situation - you have done your part well.

-I just followed the cue - he admitted - I did my part, now I hope you do yours.

-I'll keep it, you have my word - she made it clear, with no doubt in her voice, and something told Quaritch that she really wasn't one to lie - we'll organize the warriors, however, you have other responsibilities as my consort, responsibility with me.

Saying that, she sat down on the mat, waiting for her new husband to follow her.

-This... sharing a bed... it´s strange for me, at least for this body - he admitted, still standing, in a warrior's posture that certainly favored him in Varang's eyes.

-Oh don't worry, it's new for me too - she said casually, as if giving him a break on purpose - but Miles, don't think I'm going to give up on you, you know that I take our agreement very seriously, and that choosing a partner for the Na'vi, it's a lifetime thing, that goes for you too.

-Your turn to not worry, Olo'eyktan - the proud soldier in him made him accept the challenge - I chose this deal... I chose you.

-Really? If you chose me, feel free to start - she openly suggested - coming together is an exchange, you will touch me and I will touch you, reciprocally.

The proposal made Miles nervous again, which made Varang laugh again, which made him angry. The reassortant's startled expression turned defiant, even snarling and showing his prominent fangs.

-Calm down - Varang replied kindly in turn, speaking lower - there is no need to be angry with your wife, save it for the battlefield.

She held his face gently, watching him. Miles closed his eyes, suddenly focusing on the fact that he had never been touched so tenderly and purposefully before.

-We can do the following - she passed a finger by his ear and he opened his eyes again - as my consort, you must serve me, so follow my words and I promise you will feel much better, Miles.

"Okay," he ended up agreeing.

-Very well - she praised his cooperation - lie down, stretch yourself...

Quaritch did as Varang asked, silently waiting to see what would come next.

She dropped to her knees over him, reached out and touched his hair evenly, feeling the ash and soot between it. She decided she would wash it as soon as she could, but not now. She continued across his forehead, running her index fingers around his eyes, down to his lips, which were surprisingly soft to the touch.

She felt his temperature on his neck then, warm, like her people, which was a good sign. She ran her palms over his broad, strong chest, feeling his abdomen firm and defined in the wake. She then stopped, holding Miles' waist.

Varang watched him for a few seconds, deciding what to do next. Surely kissing his lips wouldn't be a bad idea. Varang pinned his hips between hers and then leaned over him.

Quaritch understood what was coming and allowed himself to receive the kiss, something he hadn't had since Paz's death. He knew he owed her a lot, but for a moment, he thought he might be better for Varang than he had been for her.

-Is this to your liking? - the Olo'eyktan questioned.

-Yeah, but I thought I should serve you, my body is still here to serve you - he answered carefully.

"You're right," Varang agreed and kissed him some more.

She could feel Quaritch reciprocate, but she still felt him wary. It was then that she decided to give in to him.

Suddenly, she leapt to her feet, spreading her arms wide, completely willing.

-You served me well, now it's your turn - Varang explained.

"I hope I don't offend you with any gesture, Olo'eyktan," he remained obedient, knowing that his life and his agreement were at stake.

To Varang's surprise, Quaritch knelt and kissed her feet, a very human act, but what he knew as submission. He hoped to please the Olo'eyktan in this way. This time, she didn't laugh at his gestures.

The soldier then stood up, one hand gently tracing the curve of her waist, bringing her closer. Until they shared the same air, until their gazes were locked. At that moment, they thought that it wasn't so bad that they were there, in each other's company. On the contrary, it was quite pleasant.

Quaritch then used his other hand to gently squeeze under her ribs. He looked down at her lips and then kissed her back, harder than she had before.

Surrendered to her husband, Varang climbed up his torso, wrapping her legs around his hips, letting him hold her there while he was still kissing her.

When he stopped kissing her, she had only one thing on her mind.

-Lie down with me, husband... - Varang asked once more, and he was happy to oblige.

Their bodies became one eventually, solidifying their union, more than agreement, but the beginning of a deep love that was about to emerge.

#avatar 2009 #avatar the way of water #avatar the seed bearer #varang #varang of the ash clan #miles quaritch #recom miles quaritch #quaritch x varang #quarang #recom quaritch x varang #my writing

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