scribefindegil · 1 year ago
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i love art of Mob and Reigen gardening but every time i see it i make a wisdom saving throw and if i fail i have to go re-read this beautiful but devastating fic and sob for like an hour
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moonlight-prose · 19 days ago
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angel of the morning
a/n: about a month ago i got an idea for a threesome fic and well it has lived in the back of my head since then. and normally i wouldn't write smut with wade, but this one actually made me feral. thankfully the promptober list this year gave me the perfect opportunity to bring it to life. so i give you a filthy and fun fic brought to you not from the execs at disney, cause let's be honest this would kill them on sight.
logan promptober: day nine - deadpool
summary: wade has a proposition to offer: he will sit quietly (a complete lie) as logan shows him how fucking you properly is done. only it's not up to logan...it's up to you. his sweet angel of the morning.
word count: 3.4k+
pairing: logan howlett x f!reader x wade wilson
warnings: EXPLICIT SO MDNI 18+ ONLY!!, threesome activities, voyeurism, bondage, wade wilson breaks the fourth wall, oral (m receiving), gags, coming untouched, p in v sex, fingering, cumplay, squirting, logan is rough with the pussy, gratuitous descriptions of filthy acts, biting, unedited + unbetad.
RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME SERIES MASTERLIST
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"Think of it as a learning opportunity peanut." A glass shattered on impact - ricocheting off the wall and lodged into Wade's chest. Neither the pain nor the blood could get him to stop talking though. "Possibly a way to work out those Hulk-like anger issues."
"No," Logan snapped, itching to rip the voice box out of Wade's throat. Maybe then he'd get an hour tops of silence as the fucker healed.
"You won't even ask her?" he whined. Truly the entire thing reeked of desperation. Wade knew how pathetic he looked right at this moment; whether he cared was an entirely different story.
"Shut the fuck–"
"Ask me what?"
They looked like two deer caught in headlights mere seconds before death. Wade's lips curled into a smile bright enough to rival the sunlight that poured in through the open window. Logan however looked as if he witnessed a ghost climbing out of the shitty painted walls to your right. You stopped inches away from the shards of glass that lined the floor—your eyebrows raised in disbelief at the sight.
How they both wound up in your apartment still remained a mystery to you. Logan went home before you even fell asleep, promising to return with your usual Sunday breakfast from Rosemary's. You came to the conclusion—given the food on the table—that Wade must have followed him. Intent on being a third wheel. Again.
"N-Nothing," Logan replied, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson.
You grinned, eyes trailing down to his jeans that sat snug on his hips. "Are you sure?"
"Sweet angel of the morning can I proposition you for a moment? Don't worry I'm not selling you a car. Although I could." Wade poured coffee into your new favorite mug—a tiny painting of Wolverine sat neatly on the front. "This is more of a learning experience."
"Learning what exactly?" You took the mug with a smile, entirely aware of Logan's eyes tracking your every step.
He thought you were going to run; you leaned into his side to prove you would stay. Whatever question Wade was intent on asking, it clearly touched a nerve. One you had to fix before another mishap occurred in your relationship. Logan wasn't the greatest at communication, but you could make up for his lack of talking in a language he understood well enough. Physical touch.
"Have you ever studied the art—nay the science—of a threesome?"
You choked on your coffee.
Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be enough of a warning for Wade to stop speaking. "There's classes dedicated to its research. I'd be a teacher, but have you met your boy toy over there? He's been alive for two hundred years. There's no way he's not danced the twisters tango."
"Twisters...tango?" Logan's hand patted your upper back as you forced the words out through a choked rasp.
"Twice the fun, three times the knot." He smiled, stepping so face you barely had a chance to stand upright before he was looking down, his finger tipping your chin gently. "Something tells me you'd be an expert."
"Get the fuck off her," Logan snapped, silver flashing in your peripheral.
You gripped his wrist in an attempt to stop the bloodshed from going even further. Cleaning broken glass from your floor was one thing. Scrubbing Wade's blood out of the carpet near your couch was another thing entirely.
The air around you grew tense as Logan's hand fell to your hip in a silent claim you felt curl at the base of your spine. Wade's smile never wavered, even as you felt your mouth dry. The offer circled in your head with a quickness that left you dizzy and gasping for breath. A threesome wasn't the most outlandish of propositions—hell your ex boyfriend had even asked at one point in your relationship.
But a threesome with both of them. Men who never faltered, never grew tired. Keeping up with Logan took the majority of your energy some nights—his insatiable need to have you became an overwhelming trait you grew to crave. Yet the thought of Wade joining in on that. The blood rushed to your head at the very concept, your heart ramming against your chest with each breath.
Logan tensed which gave you the answer you were looking for.
He wasn't worried about his own feelings. He merely wanted you to feel safe. There would never be another day you were put in harm's way because of something he caused. This was simply another one of those moments; a time where the choice remained entirely up to you.
"Drop it mouth–"
"How exactly would it happen?"
They froze, mouths gaping and eyes fixed on your inquiring face. What must have started out as a joke - something for Wade to relentlessly tease Logan over—became something else entirely. Before you could laugh it off, push past whatever awkwardness lingered in the air. Wade's smile returned—eyes alight in a type of joy you'd only seen come from him watching The Great British Bake Off.
Or cocaine.
"So glad you asked angel."
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"God this feels like a teacher student porno. Except instead of me getting bent over a desk for being a bad boy I get to watch the teachers fuck." Wade practically leapt out of his skin as Logan tied the knot around his wrists. Pulling until a ring of white formed around the skin. He'd lose feeling in his hands, but something told you that remained part of the appeal. "Do I get to ask questions? In case there's a test?"
You smiled, sitting on the chair stuffed in the corner of your room. "I don't think the professor would like that, Wade."
A soft snarl emanated from Logan's chest, his hands chest heaving with each shift as he did his best not to look at you directly. The bulge on his jeans remained evident enough of what he thought of this. How he had to resist tearing through your clothes to get to what lay beneath.
Logan and self control never went hand in hand. Yet he held on by the skin of his teeth in order to help you settle into a familiar state of comfort. You silently thanked him for that - your nerves jumping with every second that passed.
"You're not gonna fuckin' talk," Logan replied gruffly, pulling out a spare leather belt he kept in your drawer for when he stayed over. "You wanted a learnin' experience. So that's what this is."
"But how am I supposed to learn if I can't–"
The belt went into his mouth harshly, yanking his head back as Logan pulled it closed with surprising speed. You began to wonder if he had done this before. Gagged someone with the efficiency of a pro who partook in sexual activities far more adventurous than what you'd been giving him. Maybe that's what this was all about. Dipping your toe in the waters to see if this experience was meant for you.
His thumb smoothing your furrowed brows pulled you from your thoughts. "You can say no honey. Don't have to do this if you don't want to."
"Logan–"
He shook his head, dropping to his knees before you. "If you say no I'll heat up the breakfast and Wade can put on a movie. Yeah?"
"And if I say yes?" you breathed.
"Then we take it as slow as you want."
The answer lay on the tip of your tongue, begging to be put out into the world. So you pulled him in for a kiss. Your fingers dug into his hair as you licked behind his teeth with a soft moan - the ache from last night building once more in the crevices and curves of your body. Wade echoed your sounds with a few of his own, body writhing to get closer to the edge of the bed. Logan however consumed you entirely.
He rose to his feet, hand cupping your chin to keep you in place. Spit trailed down your chin and for a moment you felt the urge to wipe it away. To clean your body in case that's not what he desired at this time. He cut you off with a growl, licking at the wet smear of spit before letting it fall back on your tongue. His thumb dragging the rest down the length of your throat.
"I want you fuckin' messy honey," he muttered. "Gotta show off my pretty little thing."
A gasp pierced the air, your body jolting at the command. This was familiar to you. Logan leading the dance as you trailed along with the hopes he'd see how good you could be. How much you longed to please him. Somehow the aspect of your relationship flipped when it came to sex. He was no longer tentative or worried there was a chance you might find him repulsive.
When it came to this Logan understood your love for him held no ands, ifs, or buts.
You'd never let him touch you if you didn't love him—that remained clear in his mind. It allowed him the chance to breathe.
"How about we give him a better view."
Whimpering out your unintelligible response, you let him move you with ease. He took the chair, spreading his legs wide for you to prop yourself on his thighs. Tugging at the t-shirt you slept in with a soft grunt he pulled it up and over your head—the softness of your skin on full display. He could practically feel you dripping onto your inner thighs, coating your body in that familiar tangy sweetness.
The thought made him dizzy—his fingers digging sharply into your hips. A stunted groan echoed from the bed, Wade's eyes flicking madly from your breasts to the shiny slick that covered your pussy. His cock strained against his gray sweatpants, a stain leaking into the fabric and turning it a shade darker. If his hands weren't tied Logan had no doubt he'd be fisting his cock to the sight of you naked and wanting.
And what a fucking sight that would be. Seeing this mouthy asshole finally grow quiet just from a mere glimpse at your body.
"What do you think honey? Should we free him?" Logan pointedly looked at Wade's groin—his chin hooking onto your shoulder as his hands slid along your thighs.
You whined, your ass pushing back into his hard cock. "He looks like he needs it, baby."
"Be a good girl and pull it out. Wanna see how wet he is."
"Okay."
Sliding off him, you dropped to your hands and knees, crawling the short distance towards Wade who looked ready to cum right then and there. He sucked in a broken gasp, his hips bucking up into nothing when your hands gripped the edge of his sweats. Your lips dragging along his clothed shoulder—fingers tugging down the waistband until it hung around his knees.
"Oh," you sighed, eyes fixed on the ruddy length of his red and purple cock. It practically dripped like a fucking faucet—spilling onto what sparse hair stuck to the base.
Blistering heat filled your body at the sight of his cock throbbing in your face, the length of it sticky and shiny. Wade never mentioned how much he wanted you. Or perhaps it was the fact that both you and Logan were giving him the show of a lifetime. Indulging him in a fantasy that felt like his imagination came to life.
"Give it a lick," Logan said. "Tell me how he tastes."
Hesitation was nowhere to be found in your body; the thrill of being told what to do shot through your stomach. Wade's eyes rolled back into his head when your mouth closed around the tip, suckling him in between hollowed cheeks—your tongue sliding through the slit.
A choked moan broke free around the belt, spit flying down his throat. You met his noise with one of your own, slick smearing across your thighs, your pussy fluttering at the salty tang of him spread across your tongue.
"That's enough."
You sat back on your heels—eyes meeting Wade's bleary gaze. The both of you were torn to shreds from the inside out. Pieces dispersed in a mess on the floor. Only for Logan to gather what remained—intent on putting you back together.
"C'mere honey," he huffed, gathering you back in his arms.
Logan's touch was relentless. Quick strokes along your bare thighs as you settled in his lap—teeth nipping along the line of your shoulder until pain bloomed beneath the pleasure. Each press of his hands made you melt into his chest, back pressing to his bare chest. The warmth of his arms became something you latched onto.
A constant source of comfort, of a promise to never let you sink below the waters.
You spread your legs over his thighs slowly in a show of revealing your pussy to the man across from you—his eyes practically glued to your pulsing hole. How it fluttered each time Logan sunk his teeth in. How you could feel it leak enough slick to drink down. You wanted to guide his face closer, see if he would like a taste, but Logan had other ideas.
The echo of his belt undoing seared a hole in your chest. Your body vibrated with anticipation—heart hammering a quick timed beat that left you breathless. He pushed you up, the slide of his cock pushing through your glistening lips drew a soft moan to the surface. Your fingers were a tight grip on the sides of the chair, and for a moment you felt a numbing sensation trickle into the palms of your hands.
"She's needy for it huh," Logan boasted, tapping the head against your clit to watch you jump. "So ready to be fucked."
You whined, loud enough to echo off the walls. "P-Please."
"So polite." His hand gripped your hips and in a swift thrust he pushed past your entrance, filling you until your mouth dropped in a pitiful moan. "And fuckin' tight. Don't tell me you like being watched."
A gasp tore from your throat, hips pushing back to take him right down to the base. The burning stretch only helped to drive you even higher. Wade's moans were a muffled chorus in the background, an audience member enjoying his free show. And for a brief moment you opened your eyes to find his gaze.
Tears streamed down his cheeks—agony glistening in his blown out pupils. But it was his cock that grabbed your attention. Purple and strained and aching for someone to touch him. Saliva filled your mouth, a high moan slipping past your parted lips.
"I knew it," Logan grunted, grinding up into you. "My dirty girl. Look at him. He's begging for it."
"L-Logan."
"Give your old man a kiss." He gripped your chin roughly, dragging your lips to his as his tongue invaded your mouth. Sucking the taste of Wade off your tongue with a hoarse moan.
He let you set your own pace, settling back into the chair to give you space and keep you steady. With stunted movements you lifted yourself off his cock and sat back down. A sharp cry bouncing off the walls, each thrust forcing the head of his cock right up against your walls. The slap of skin mixed with Wade's sounds—the wet squelch of your pussy sucking Logan back in echoed filthily in the room.
A sinful euphony of sex that had your toes curling and chest heaving.
Wade's eyes flicked between where the two of you were connected and the bounce of your breasts. The harsh thrusts began to force his cock to jolt—precum pouring into his lap and staining the sheets below. He'd never get tired of this sight. You entirely lost in chasing your pleasure as Logan watched proudly below.
"I-It's hard," you gasped, thighs trembling with each shift.
Logan tutted under his breath. "I know honey. Let me finish for you."
You weren't prepared for the ruthless pace he set. His hands became a vice-like grip on your hips with each pound of his cock into you, the sounds you made nowhere near anything you'd heard before. He fucked you without mercy. Every thrust punctuated with a biting growl—his cock slamming repeatedly into that perfect spot along your walls.
Nails ripped at the chair's arms, your body a shaking mess in his hold, and you could barely see straight in front of you. Wrenching your eyes open, you focused on Wade—your mouth forming a permanent shriek of Logan's name that closer you got to shattering. You watched him struggle to free his hands. His body trembling on the edge of the bed.
"Bet he can't fuck you like this," Logan spit, his teeth bared in a snarl. "Watch and fuckin' learn mouth."
"Logan!" you sobbed, the hot swell of tears spilling rapidly down your cheeks. "I'm gonna. Oh f-fuck–"
"Yeah you are." He yanked you back, his teeth setting into the skin of your shoulder, forming another ringed mark that would serve as a reminder to who you belonged to. A mark of his claim imprinted in your flesh.
The swift slap to your clit wrenched a choked sob from your throat, your eyes rolling back with the second hit. You held onto the edge by the skin of your teeth, your hands moving to grip his wrist. Breath became obsolete with each move and with a harsh third slap you broke with a garbled moan of his name. A wet gush splattered against your thigh, your body shaking viscerally in his tight hold as he came with a broken whine.
The harsh thrusts forced another wave of searing bliss through your body, a second stream of cum spilling onto the hardwood floors. Your eyes were blurred with tears, mouth sucking in sharp gasps, but Wade's pain muffled cry drew your attention back to the present moment.
His hips bucked up into nothing, eyes rolled back and spit drooling down his shirt. The veins of his neck were strained with each shift of his body—for a moment you worried he would choke. Until he came with a muddled shout, cum shooting up to his torso and splashing beneath his chin. The mere sight of it had you clenching down around Logan - your mouth parted in complete awe.
"Shit," Logan gasped, eyes wide and cheeks flushed crimson.
"C-Can I?"
He tapped your thigh. "Go on honey."
On shaky legs you practically fell to the floor and dragged yourself towards Wade. Your mouth immediately swallowing his cock with a hazy sigh—tongue licking up the heady taste of his cum. It slid down your throat, warmed the insides of your body. And Wade looked down at you with eyes full of adoration. A sight you'd never seen him wear in your presence.
Logan shuffled to his feet, quickly moving to undo the restraints. Only for Wade's hands to press against your head—shoving his softened cock down your throat with a soft fuck.
"You guys would make a fucking fortune on Only Fans," he grunted, another spurt of warmth spilling into your mouth.
Logan growled. "Count yourself lucky mouth. She may not want this again."
You grinned, pulling off to press a messy kiss to the still leaking tip. "This was fun." Your voice was hoarse, body covered in a sheen of sweat, yet they regarded you with an emotion you felt weigh heavy at the base of your chest.
A feeling you never believed might occur in your life.
"Logan?" The warmth of his hand spread down to your chest when he cupped your face, swiping at the mess on your lips. "How about that breakfast?"
"Anythin' for you honey," he vowed.
"You guys ever seen the movie Oklahoma?" Wade butted in, his forehead knocking gently against yours before Logan pulled you to your feet.
You laughed, dizzy from the high that still coursed through your veins. A flannel was draped over your shoulders, fingers working to button them up before he got frustrated.
"Might inspire a second round of teacher, teacher, student."
A breathy giggle was muffled against Logan's lips in a swift kiss. "Isn't that musical?"
"It's not just a musical sweet angel. It's a lifestyle. Literally for some people who live in well...Oklahoma."
Logan groaned, dragging you behind him in an attempt to stop the conversation short. You merely called over your shoulder in response. Wade stumbled after you buck naked—his shirt and sweats discarded on the floor in favor of giving the world a view yet to be forgotten. You eyed his chest with a smile, even as Logan palmed your ass to bring you closer.
"Play it." You grinned, hand sliding down to cup Logan through his jeans. "We'll see what happens."
"For fucks sake."
note: i don't even know if this is good. but i hope y'all enjoyed it. drink some water!
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katakaluptastrophy · 11 months ago
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Oh no now I'm thinking about the Fourth and the Fifth again and how Jod's awful colonial space feudalism poisons everything.
You are four or five years old. Maybe you're Isaac and you never knew your dad, only that he died at enemy hands in some far flung campaign and six years later you were made to ensure an heir for the baronetcy. Or you're Jeannemary and your mother defied orders, went beyond the rim, and jumped on a grenade. If either of you have surviving parents, they're not considered sufficiently important in this great process of ensuring a suitable heir with a suitable cavalier to keep you. There is no Baron until Isaac comes of age, and the leader of a House needs to be properly trained. You are four or five years old, and you are sent away.
You're five year old Jeannemary. You're not yet sworn to your necromancer, but you've been promised to him since birth and you've been sent away from your planet and your siblings to serve him. You are your generation's Chatur and this is your purpose. And when the cavalier primary of the House you have been sent to sees a little child struggling to see over the table at a reception and props you up with a cushion, you challenge him to a duel. You don't understand why all the adults are laughing. Your honour and your necromancer are all you have left of home. Far away, at the edge of the system, Harrowhark Nonagesimus decides that puppeting her parents' corpses as her House collapses around her is a better fate than yours. At night you are tucked into bed in a room that you don't have to share with any siblings and the man who is looking after you now reads to you from a book of adventure stories and strokes your hair until you fall asleep.
You're nine year old Isaac, swearing to be one flesh, one end with your cavalier in a foreign chapel on a foreign planet. You go to school. The woman who is not quite but almost your mother is helping you to discover spirit magic far beyond the thanergy fission you would have learned at home. She is teaching you to cook and to dance. She tells you that the parts of you which back home would have been considered flaws are your greatest strengths. You have friends and playmates who will never be on the front lines, whose parents write books or engrave stele or organise the bounty of empire from ledgers and transmitter boxes. You are loved and you love, but you are beginning to understand that love comes with a cost.
You are 13 year old Jeannemary. You are back on the Fourth and after last year's bombing you are now cavalier primary. As far as you are concerned, you are grown and ready to serve god and his empire. And you have been denied twice. You don't understand why the people who love you are going to such lengths to stop you from doing what you were born to do or why they have always looked so upset when glorious news comes from home about how someone you would have grown up with, had you not been sent away, has given the ultimate service to the empire. You are cavalier primary of the Fourth House and you fear you are still being propped up on cushions.
You are Isaac Tettares and you are Baron of a planet you spent most of your childhood away from. Everyone else your age long ago shipped out with the Junior Territorials. You are the Baron of a planet but you are not in charge and you have come to understand that your father wasn't in charge either. You love the closest thing you have to parents and they love you. You miss them terribly. You resent the fact that thanks to them you will never truly lead the Fourth. There is talk of a marriage alliance when you are older. You want to be family with them. You don't entirely believe you'll live long enough to marry him when you come of age. And if you do, your half Fifth children will be another crack in what's left of the Fourth House. You miss you dad's stupid jokes and your mum's earnest discussions. You're free of their meddling. You will never be free of their meddling.
You are Jeannemary and Isaac, properly off planet and on display as scion and cavalier for the first time, offered an unimaginable chance to serve god and his empire. You crave the security of your parents. You chafe at the idea that you might be perceived as children. But for a little while you are all together again. You are planning a party. You are making friends. You will all serve the empire together. Perhaps, when you are the fingers and gestures of god, none of these differences will matter any more.
They die horribly. And later so do you. God doesn't care.
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fish-crow-star-snowman · 1 month ago
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LaDS Zayne Imagine
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Zayne x reader/mc
angst, fluff, pregnancy and labor
You had gone into labor before you knew it. Everything was planned and carefully organized for the big day that your little one would arrive.
No one is ever really READY though. Your excitement and nervousness was getting the best of you. While Zayne whom was often on the other side of that spectrum, calm and collected as ever, was quite the nervous wreck himself.
He'd been at work all day, not too busy. Regardless, he hated leaving you at home. Prayed in hopes that he would conveniently be home by the time you went in labor. His heart dropped receiving a call from the obstetrician gynecology department of the hospital.
"Dr.Zayne, your wife is in labor."
Throughout the months of the pregnancy, there were several talks with your obgyn about this being possibly high-risk. Every possible scenario surged through Zayne's head. During the whole experience, you often were met with doctor Zayne rather than what you needed the most, your partner.
The second the call hung up, he was quick to run to your side. He'd already given notice to his colleagues prior to your arrival just in case. He was almost always prepared. Almost.
His eyes gleamed upon seeing your already exhausted but seemingly relieved look. While he's obviously glad to see you're okay, his attention turns to the doctor, another colleague.
"How is she doing, Dr.Turner?"
"Oh Dr.Zayne, it's been a while! How have you been holding up?"
Silence sweeps the room for what felt like an eternity. Zayne clearly was not in the mood for a reunion. The doctor opting to answer his question instead.
"She is one centimeter dilated. No imposing risks so far. It's been smooth sailing. However she's not progressing nearly as fast as we would like.
"How long has she been here?"
"3 hours, sir."
"Why wasn't I called earlier.."
His tone deepens, irritation seeping from his obviously overworked body. The doctor stayed quiet, knowing the words 'too busy' wouldn't have been a good enough answer.
"My love, I tried calling you first but you didn't pick up. I remembered you had a 6 hour surgery this morning. I chose to call an ambulance instead. I'm sorry."
Guilt stung his chest. Of all hours of the day, why. He walked to your side and took your hands in his, pressing your fingertips to his lips and whispered.
"You always come first. No matter what."
His words were meaningful and for a moment you had the man you had been longing to have for months. It was short-lived however.
Like the doctor predicted, it was an unusually long process. You didn't dilate your second centimeter until 6 hours after your partner's arrival at your room. It's been about 30 hours of nonstop cycles of contractions. Unbeknownst to him, Zayne hasn't been making things easier.
Both of you were completely worn out, haven't ate or slept. Zayne's surgeon mode was still on and you were about to combust. Talks with the doctors about your condition like you weren't in the room, like you were just another one of his patients. Looking over your chart and giving demands to the nurses as if he were still working.
You knew he was trying his best to keep his composure for you. Making sure you were in the best health at all times and he was doing an amazing job. It didn't change the fact it was making you feel a little alone in this. What you needed was his hands on yours, telling you that you were going to be okay. That you can do this. A kiss to your forehead every now and again for reassurance maybe?
Nine centimeters. Finally. You were close to the end and soon you'd be holding the proof of yours and Zayne's love. At least it's what it should have been but you were at your breaking point. Zayne had his back towards you still keeping up conversations with nurses.
"Zayne!"
He tensed hearing your strained shout. He turned to look at you with that oh so familiar concerned gaze. Everything was quiet once again. All that was heard was the sound of the monitors beeping. It was your turn to feel guilty.
You closed your eyes briefly and sucked in a deep breath before holding out your hands for him to take. Understanding your gesture, he walks to your bedside crouching slightly to your eye level.
You fought hard to keep the tears from spilling out of your water line. You spoke in the softest tone possible, in hopes to forget how you just yelled at him.
"You are an amazing doctor and I couldn't ask for a better one these past few months." You paused for a moment, letting a tear shed your cheek and huffing another breath. "But I would like to have my husband for this.. please.."
His eyes widened at the implication of your words and letting out a soft gasp of realization.
He stands up finally relieving himself of his white coat he had been wearing since yesterday and removed his glasses to set on your bedside table. It showed how disheveled he was underneath. Hair was a mess, tie crooked from his constant fidgeting and tugging, and two buttons at the top of his shirt undone.
Zayne motions you to scoot down your bed a little, sitting behind you to cradle you with his strong legs on both sides of your body. His fingers traced the back of your arms before resting them on your shoulder and giving them a tight squeeze. Small kisses made their way from your shoulder to your neck.
Your body reacted immediately, letting loose the tension you didn't know you even had.
"I'm sorry." Zayne's voice a little shaky but gentle and clear nonetheless. "I'm sorry I've left you alone in this. It was never my intention. I love you so much." He repeats those same two words over and over.
While you can feel your gown dampen from his own tears, you can't help but smile. This. This is what you needed to relax. Before you could open your mouth to respond, the obgyn breaks the moment.
"Alright, ten centimeters dilated. Are you ready to start pushing?"
Zayne drops his hands to your side, signaling for you to take them into your own as support. Placing more kisses to the top of your head, he whispers reassurances. 'You've got this' 'You can do it' 'You're so strong'.
You have a tight grip on his wrist threatening to break his arm, but he didn't seem to care. If he could take all your pain, he would. Dilation was a tiring process, everything after seemed to flow rather quickly. The head, then shoulders, and finally legs.
Within seconds of the doctors clearing your baby's nasal passage, you and Zayne hear that oh so beautiful sound you had been waiting for. Before moving on any further, the baby was placed on your now naked chest. You admired every inch of your baby, in awe. Thick black hair sat on top of their small head. Eyes glowing hues of orange and green.
You have a Zayne mini me. Speaking of which, distracted by your own emotions, you forgot to see how your husband was hanging on. And it definitely wasn't like you expected, he wasn't saying anything but he didn't have to. His expression said enough. Your baby already had him wrapped around their finger.
His hand came to rest upon yours that was cradling the back of the baby's head. "Thank you for this new chapter in life you've given me, my jasmine."
"Congratulations Mr and Mrs. Li, it's a—"
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a/n: I never intended this to be a fic, it was just meant to be an idea for a better fic writer. one who writes more. It just rolled this way. however if anyone wants to use this, please do. Just give me a little credit ❤️
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shadowandlightt · 9 months ago
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Of Nightmares and Memories | nine | Azirel X reader
Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. Eventual smut
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight
A/N; *to the tune of Britney Spears* OOps I DID IT AGAIN. Also I'm more nervous about this part than I have been for this entire series, so be nice and kind and I hope you enjoy <3
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Mor showed up a few days later. She appeared as you were lounging in a chair, attempting to read some random romance novel you’d come across. 
“He’s taking her to The Weaver,” She stated in lue of a greeting. 
“Well then he’s a fool,” You snorted, not looking up from your book. 
“YN,” She warns, “He’s taking her to The Weaver.” 
“Yes I heard you,” you roll your eyes and look up, “What difference does it-” 
You stop upon seeing the look on her face. The worry and the pain hidden there. You swallow the lump in your throat at the sight. She looked at you like you would break at any moment, and maybe you would. Maybe she saw the truth in you. 
“They’re mates, aren’t they?” You question, voice sounding strange. 
She only nods and moves to sit on the couch across from you. You nod slowly in understanding. You wanted to be happy for them, but somehow you couldn’t feel it. Like there was something wrong with you. Like you were broken. 
“I had a feeling,” You tell her, “From the moment she became Fae and he came for her the first time. I had a feeling.”
It was true, you did have a feeling. Something deep within you told you that they were drawn to one another in ways that neither of them could explain. You often wondered if that was the same with Azirel too. If you were secretly mates, you used to pray for it as a child. Because you couldn’t imagine a better mate than him 
To this day you still couldn’t imagine a better mate. But how could he want you now? Mate or not. You’d never have the same relationship that you had before. Nothing would be the same. How could you pretend to be the same person you were when you were taken when everything around you was different? You weren’t sure how you were going to do any of this. 
“Please come home,” Mor begged. 
“I can’t,” You try to keep your voice from breaking, “I can’t go back there.” 
“Why?” She demands, standing from the couch, “Why are you denying yourself this? It’s Valaris! Your favorite place in all the world! You hate being here, you always have.” 
“Maybe I deserve to be here,” You mumble, “Maybe I deserve to be away from all of you.”
“What are you talking about?” She questions. 
“I didn’t try to run when I could have. I gave up. I fucking gave up and accepted my fate there,” You explain, slamming your book shut, “I let myself become Tamlin’s little play thing, I allowed him to strip my powers away. I let him do everything to me and I never fought back.” 
“You never deserved what happened to you,” She shook her head, “I’m not so sure that I wouldn’t have given up either, if I’d been in your shoes.” 
“I spent fifty years thinking all of you were dead.”
“Oh, Y/N.”
“I really did give up then. Because I realized Rhys wouldn’t be able to come for me. Up until that point, up until she took him, I was convinced he would come save me. That all of you would somehow find out I was still alive and come marching into the Spring Court and raze it to the ground.” 
You shake your head, trying to clear the thoughts that were swirling about. Your back ached along the two big scars. Everything about you just hurt. Your skin, your head, your chest, your heart…everything. You just wanted it to stop. You needed it to stop. 
Mor sat back down and reached over to take your hands in hers. There was nothing but love in her eyes, no sign of the pain that you saw when she first arrived. You want to pull away from her, pull away from the tender touch that reminded you too much of your mother. 
“You survived,” She swore, looking deeply into your eyes, “You made it out. You were brave and cunning and you survived. That’s all that matters now.” 
Your head shakes again, “No, it’s not all that matters. You can’t understand, none of you can.”
“Then help me understand,” She begs, “Help me understand what’s going on. Help me help you.” 
“You can’t help me, Morrigan,” You said, standing up and ripping your hands away from hers. 
You walked to one of the large widows, wondering how bad it would be if you flung yourself from the Palace. How much would it hurt when you crashed into the mountain below? Would it be enough to bring you the release you so desperately craved? Would Mor be able to stop you in time? 
You thought long and hard about it, but in the end you turned away from the window. Hating yourself for even thinking such a thing. It would destroy Rhys to get you back only to lose you again. You couldn’t do that to him. That was the only thing stopping you. 
“Azriel knows we’re hiding something,” She says from her spot on the couch, “I’m not sure how much longer we can hold him off.” 
You nearly cringe at the sound of his name. Cauldron, what is he going to do when he finds out about you? How will he react? Will he even want to be in the same room as you? Will he be able to stand to look at you after everything you’ve done? 
“I don’t care,” You lied, “I don’t give a fuck if he thinks you’re hiding something. You don’t tell him about me.”
“Yes I know, Rhys’ order was very clear,” She rolls her eyes. 
“You should go,” You tell her, “Before they wonder where you are.”
She sighs and gets up from the couch. You can tell she wants to say something else but decides against it. You watch as she disappears into darkness. You finally felt that you were able to breathe once she left. 
You fell deeper and deeper into the darkness as the days went on. The feeling in your chest only got worse with time. You wondered what would happen if you went down to The Hewen City. What would they do if their princess suddenly reappeared after so many years. 
You wondered if they’d kill you, just to spite Rhys. Or if they’d bow down to you like they used to. But then you remembered one of the last conversations you had with Azriel, and how he hated the way so many of the males talked about you and you felt sick. 
Everything surrounding Az seemed to make you feel that way these days. You could feel it deep in your chest, the sort of ache you always seemed to feel whenever you were away from him. After all of these years it still hadn’t subsided. In fact it seemed to be getting worse as each day passed by. Like being back in the Night Court and being so close to him was making it worse. Or maybe it was the fact that the Faebane was finally starting to wear off and your powers were coming back. 
No matter the reason, you weren’t sure that you could go on like this any more. You didn’t know how you could live with the constant ache forever. Because you never planned on going back to Valaris, you couldn’t face the city you loved after what you did. After how you allowed your mother to be killed. She loved Valaris, and loved flying over the city. And it was your fault she was dead, no matter what anyone else said. You were to blame. 
You didn’t expect Rhys to appear several days later. He looked tired. You wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and tell him that it was going to be okay. But even you didn’t believe that. You couldn’t believe that it would be okay. Too much had happened. 
“We’re going to the Summer Court,” He tells you, “Feyre, Amren, and myself.”
“Enjoy.”
“Little Star, tell me what to do,” He begs, stepping closer to you, “Tell me how to help you.”
“I’ll tell you like I told Mor,” You sigh, “You can’t help me.”
“Come back to Valaris, be with your family.” 
Your head shakes. You couldn’t bear to face Cassian and Azriel. Not now, maybe not ever. It’s something Rhys could never understand. He was able to readjust easily after Amerantha. But he hadn’t spent hundreds of years being beaten and mistreated. He wasn’t starved and drugged every day. You couldn't be mad at him, as much as you wanted to be. Because you knew he suffered too. 
“I can’t come back.”
“You keep saying that but you never say why,” he challenged. 
“Because it’s all my fault!” you finally broke, tears streaming down your face, “It’s my fault, Rhysand. She could still be alive if I had just done something. Anything. But I didn’t.”
“If you’re to blame, then so am I,” He countered, “It should be just as much my fault. I told Tamlin where you would be. I’m the one who didn’t come to meet you as I promised, I left you undefended.” 
“It’s not your fault, Rhys,” You felt anger boiling up in you now. 
Because you didn’t blame him. You never did. He had duties to attend to that day, you understood that he couldn’t get away. He trusted Tamlin. The son of spring had him fooled, and that was not Rhys’ fault. Not in the slightest. 
“Then it isn’t your fault either,” He gently argued. 
You can’t help but shake your head again. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand. He wasn’t there. He didn’t hear her. He doesn’t see her every time he closes his eyes, he doesn't hear her screams in his nightmares. 
“You don’t understand,” You cried, “She didn’t even beg for herself. Even as they cleaved her wings from her body, she only begged for my life. Begged for them to set me free. Even as they hacked her to pieces, she cried for me.” 
“Y/N-”
“I’ll live with that knowledge forever,” You sob, “Do you have any idea what that’s like? To know that you failed your mother? That she died for nothing, because you are nothing?”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why? It’s true. I have nothing left to give,” You shrug, fighting back the tears, “There’s nothing left for me.”
He surges forward and grabs your shoulders, “Don’t say that. Don’t you even think about it. Never think about something like that. There is so much left for you in this life.”
“It doesn’t feel that way, Rhys,” You feel numb all of the sudden. 
The void is back. And you’re once again a shell of yourself with no fight left to give. You sag against Rhys’ hold on you, wishing you could just crawl back into your bed and forget that this conversation ever happened. 
You wish he would just leave already so you could just disappear within yourself again. You wished he would just leave you alone to waste away. It seemed to be the only thing you could think of doing these days. 
He looks into your eyes and goes silent for a moment. You know the look he has, he’s speaking to someone, mind to mind. You feel anxiety well up within you, because you have no idea who he’s speaking with and what he’s telling them. 
You can only hope that it’s Morrigan and nothing else. You can only hope that he’s trying to ascertain how serious you are about having nothing left. But then shadows ripple in the room, subtly at first, but enough that you realize it. And it’s not you calling to them 
“You promised me,” You cry, hitting his chest, “You fucking promised.” 
“I won’t let you wither away to nothing,” He says sternly, “Not when there’s someone who can stop it.”
The shadows take form. You rip yourself from Rhys’ grasp and try to run but you hardly make it out of the room before the man is then flesh. You know the second he’s here, because you can feel it in your very bones.  Like a song in your blood. You try to keep moving but your body betrays you and stops. You think that maybe he won’t take notice of you. Maybe he’ll be too focused on Rhys. But then you hear footsteps. So hesitant, so light you hardly hear them. 
You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, or maybe it’s his. You think you might drop dead here. Right in front of both of them, and then where would they be? Your hands are shaking, just like the rest of your body. But you keep your back towards him, too afraid to turn around. 
A hand reaches for your shoulder. His touch is featherlight, but you can feel his scars through the thin material of your shirt. You knew it was him, long before he touched you. You could smell him better now though. Could feel that void in your chest slowly starting to fill. 
As if his very presence was enough to bring you back to life. 
Hesitantly, he speaks. Voice so silky and deep, just as you remembered it in your dreams. Only now it’s a dream made real, and he’s here. You’re alive and he’s alive and suddenly he’s gently spinning you around to face him. 
There are tears in his eyes as he opens his mouth, “Y/N.”
It’s the only thing you hear as he studies your face. Your lip trembles as tears fall anew. You can feel the air filling your chest, nothing but the scent of him filing your nose. For the first time in years you want to smile, because he’s here. And more devastatingly beautiful than you remembered him being. 
“Az,” you cry out softly. 
He pulls you into his chest, holding you there tightly. For the first time in a couple of hundred years, you felt complete. You nuzzle into him, still crying, getting his leathers wet with your tears. You couldn’t bring yourself to care though, because it just felt right. You could feel it deep within your chest, the part of you that always seemed to connect you to him. 
“You’re alive,” You can hear the disbelief in his voice, and the wonder too.
“You’re alive,” You cry, finally allowing the words to sink in. 
He was alive, after all of these years. He was untouched during Amarantha’s rule. Valaris was untouched. Everyone that you loved was okay, and so were you. Somehow, for the male holding you and your brother, you would fight to be okay. 
He pulls away from you and cups your face. You watch as he looks you over, carefully scanning your body. Any of the lingering bruises from Tamlin had faded away into nothing. There was nothing to prove that anything happened at all besides the two long scars on your back. 
“Y/N,” He whispers again, “Oh my Y/N.” 
Then he leaned in to kiss you and it was as if your whole world shifted to just him. He was the only thing that mattered. Just Azirel. Always only Azriel. Your Azriel. Your perfect, beautiful, scarred Azriel.
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robbinghisdick · 5 months ago
Text
It's as they're wrapping up yet another potential world ending threat when Hal's voice cracks across Bruce's comm-link.
"Hey, heard everyone's still alive."
Bruce is more relieved to hear his voice than he'd ever be able to let on. "We could've used your help." It comes off harsher than he means to.
"Missed you too, Spooky." Hal sounds tired. "Any chance you can come meet me in the Watch Tower?"
It has been a solid nine months since they had last seen each other. Their ambiguous relationship meant they had sex before Hal left and Bruce pretended that he wasn't bothered by the radio silence. It was better to keep things more professional, less involved, in any case.
Bruce glanced around at the barely contained destruction around him. They might've actually come away from this incident with no casualties. Superman and Flash have doubtlessly already scoured the affected area for anyone caught in the crossfire.
"I'll come up in a few." He didn't bother asking why Hal wasn't coming down to talk to him. If he could, he would have.
"A few what?" Hal asks in exasperation. "Minutes? Hours?"
"Maybe more."
"Oh my god," Hal hisses, "you are insufferable."
The slightest of smiles twitches on Bruce's lips. "I'll be up as soon as I'm sure I'm not needed down here."
///
Hal looked just about as tired as he sounded over the comm. It was clear he hadn't showered in a few days, hair disheveled and greasy, tired bags under his eyes. While there weren't any apparent injuries on his body...
"You had a baby."
Babies, especially newborns, grew up fast. This baby looked only weeks old at most. If Hal hadn't joined the fight, Bruce estimated the baby was only days old, and that Hal was far from recovered.
Hal snorts. "Great deduction skills there, detective." He swallows hard. "Can you solve the rest of the mystery?"
For a moment, Bruce doesn't say anything. He stares at the sleeping baby, at its whispy locks of dark hair. He glances back up to Hal's eyes, notes the guarded look on the other man's face given away by his tense shoulders.
It doesn't take a genius to put together the fact that Hal wasn't pregnant when they last slept together nine months ago.
Bruce's eyes fall back down to the baby, chest constricting as he finds himself moving forward towards Hal. He wordlessly reaches out, and Hal responds in turn after only a moments worth of hesitation to hand over the baby.
Cradling the baby in one arm, Bruce pulls off his cowl with the other. Bruce suddenly finds himself needing to sit and finds himself sinking into the nearest available chair.
"For what it's worth, I tried to get back to Earth before he was born."
Bruce barely hears Hal, making a small hum of acknowledgement. His hand reaches to touch his son's face before freezing. He's quick to bite off his glove and drop it off to the side. The baby barely stirs as Bruce rubs his finger against his cheek. The tiniest eye peeks open, not enough to really see his eyes before it closes again and he grunts softly.
When Bruce is finally able to tear his gaze away, Hal is looking at him nervously.
Suddenly there is issues to be had with their ambiguous relationship... but Bruce doesn't really feel like getting into all of that at the moment.
"Have you..." His voice comes out hoarse, prompting him to clear his throat "Does he have a name yet?"
Hal relaxes a little. "I've just been calling him "little man" the past couple of days. Been thinking of some names, but I really thought I'd have time to talk to you first."
The thought that Hal had an entire pregnancy on a foreign planet was enough to unnerve Bruce. Hal could've died, the baby could've died, and Bruce might not have ever found out.
"Are you mad?" Hal asks after a beat of silence.
Anger was far from Bruce's mind. "Did you purposely keep your pregnancy from me?"
"It pains me that I couldn't use the pregnancy against you and you wouldn't have been able to fight back," Hal laments with a sigh, an attempt to lighten the tension. "But no. I couldn't get back home, it was out of my hands." He studies Bruce for a moment, a serious look on his face. "You're not upset at another kid being sprung on you?"
Bruce had met Damian not too long ago, all things considered. He had wanted him, back when he found out Talia was pregnant, before she lied about a miscarriage and left him. Ten years he was left out of his child's life.
"No," Bruce says, looking back down at the infant, "this is the first one I've been able to hold."
He's carried his Robins before. When Dick was still so young and tired, when Jason was hurt and could've walked it off, but didn't pass off a chance to be carried, Tim in a rush to get him somewhere safe when he got injured, and Damian as huffed and puffed about being fine, but didn't fight Bruce too hard on it. He's held Cass hard enough to hurt and she held him back just as tightly.
This was different. He never got to hold his own baby.
Bruce feels his throat constricting. He swallows hard and takes a deep breath. "What names did you have in mind?"
"Was considering maybe Thomas after your father, Tommy for short."
Bruce briefly considers it, but is very quick to decide no. "Maybe as a middle name. What about your father?"
Hal immediately shakes his head. "No. He's too young to be a Martin."
It's not like Bruce had never thought of names before, names he would've potentially given Damian... but that was for a different time.
They lapse into silence.
"Are you okay?" Bruce finally asks, taking another good look at Hal. He wasn't sure where they were going to go from here.
"Just need some rest, really." Hal rubs at his eyes. "It's been non-stop for weeks now--"
"Hal!"
In a blink, Barry is there, hand on Hal's shoulder. "Where you've been, man?"
"Oh, you know, space," Hal smiles and brightens up a bit.
"Very descriptive," Barry said with a huff. "You look like shit. You alright?"
Hal waved him off. "Yeah yeah, I'm fine." He gestures over at Bruce. "What should we name the baby boy?"
Barry glances over. "Uuhh, Finneas?" He then does a double take. "Wait, what the hell?" He immediately drops into a crouch in front of Bruce, a grin on his face as he coos at the baby. "Hey there little guy!"
Barry holds out his hands and Bruce reluctantly hands the baby over.
"He's way too cute to be your baby," Barry teases Hal before booping the baby's nose. "Am I the god father?"
Hal spares a glance at Bruce before saying, "Of course!"
Bruce didn't have any complaints anyways.
"I like the name Finneas too, Finn for short." This time Hal's look towards Bruce was seeking actual approval.
"No objections here," Bruce finally decides on.
He notices the way Barry's eyes dart between them, realization suddenly dawning on his face. "Hold up! Hal, you and Bats are a thing?"
"No!"
That stung a little.
"Well, I mean," Hal runs a hand through his hair, pointedly not looking at Bruce as he seems to reconsider. "Kinda. I don't know. Either way, yes, he's the other parent."
Barry hums thoughtfully, looking down at the baby. "So... who's last name is little Finn here gonna take?"
Hal and Bruce stare at each other.
"I carried him for nine months."
"Finneas Wayne sounds better."
(Art of Finneas!)
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crownofgildedlilies · 7 months ago
Text
oh, don't let your sunshine burn me!
in which: a son of hephaestus discovers a problem he can't solve. mainly, a daughter apollo who doesn't realize just how much her smiles hurt him.
pairing: leo valdez x daughter of apollo!reader
warnings: not proof read, slight cursing (otherwise, n/a)
tropes: friends to lovers, fluff, pining
word count: 3k
notes: my inaugural fic post on this blog. how special. plz enjoy. feedback is much appreciated.
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Leo Valdez was going to lose his mind.
Or maybe a limb. Maybe that would get your attention. He wasn't going to pretend that he wasn't that desperate for you to turn your focus to him.
Stupid Garrett from stupid Ares. Why did he have to go and nearly get his head chopped off by Clarisse while sparring, stealing his thunder?
He should have done more than let his finger slip while hammering away in bunker nine. An exciting injury would have earned the most prized reward of your attention, for sure.
"Are you sure she's too busy?" Leo asked Will for probably four times too many to be considered casual. The blond only rolled his eyes and shoved an icepack into Leo's chest, nearly knocking him back a step, snapping him from his far too obvious admiring of you.
Even from across the infirmary, three hours into your shift, you stole the wind from his lungs. He was convinced you were a favorite of Apollo's, what with the way you glowed and lit up every room you were in.
Which is how he ended up in his current predicament. Absolutely desperate for any hint of your sunshine smile sent in his direction.
"Positive. Now, get out." Will confirmed, checking things off on his clipboard. Leo figured he was probably recording basic information like the patient—himself—had all his limbs, both eyes, ten fingers, and was practically drooling at his half-sister. Leo darted another glance across the room to you, still diligently assessing moronic Garrett from Ares who had been brain dead enough to accept Clarisse's offer of sparring.
Why were you blushing so much?
Something awful and too familiar twisted in his stomach, and all Leo could hear was Piper's voice telling him that he better make his move on you soon, because you were too sweet and too pretty to remain single much longer.
"When's her break again?" Leo asked, ignoring the way Will tipped his head back and closed his eyes, like he was praying for the strength to not hit his patient while under his care.
"And you can't ask her yourself because...?" Will prompted, dragging out the final word and forcing Leo to snap his attention towards the son of Apollo, his jaw practically open in shock.
"Because then she'll know I'm totally into her!" Leo whisper-shouted, waving his hands around as if to emphasize his point.
"You come in here everyday with a new injury asking for her to fix you up." Will pointed out, voice flat. "If she hasn't figured it out yet, I'm not sure she will. You should probably just be direct and ask her out."
Leo narrowed his eyes at Will, but on a rare miracle, he was at a loss for words. Maybe Will had a point. Leo was never exactly good at being subtle about his many, many, crushes, and if you hadn't realized he was hopelessly in love with you yet, then maybe he was safe from feeling the sting of your rejection.
"You're not going to talk to her, are you?" Will sighed, tilting his head slightly as he studied Leo, who, despite having already been given the magic remedy of an ice pack, remained perched on the side of a cot used as a medic's bed.
Leo shook his head side-to-side so quickly Will was a blur of blond hair and orange t-shirt in front of him.
"No can do." Leo said solemnly. "She's miles out of my league. Not even I'm stupid enough to think I have a shot with her."
"Well, at least Garrett isn't as oblivious as you," Will shrugged, shooting Leo a pointed look he didn't understand. The ugly feeling was back in Leo's stomach as he darted his attention towards you and the gods-damned son of Ares.
You were laughing, and Leo wasn't the cause.
Jealousy flared up in him.
You, on the other hand, were completely ignorant to the conversation occurring on the opposite side of the infirmary, far too engrossed in charismatic Garrett from Ares who was retelling the story of how Clarisse had knocked him on his ass and sent him to get bandaged up.
For a child of the war god, he was surprisingly graceful in his defeat.
"Next time, at least bring a shield with you." You smiled at Garrett, checking off the final few items on your clipboard. No major injuries towards his limbs, nor his ten fingers, neither of his eyes had been affected, and he was able to hold a proper conversation with you. "Otherwise I've got nothing else for you. Just an order to take the rest of the day easy."
"I can manage that," Garrett relented, which, for a demigod, was a pretty big ask. Taking it easy was never really an option when one of your parents was a god or goddess. "Hey, any particular reason Valdez is looking at me like he's going to send one of his inventions after me?"
Your heart skipped a beat, but you forced yourself to act casual as you turned around slightly, finding that Leo had in fact found his way into the infirmary and in fact was staring at Garrett like he might make a good snack for Festus.
You had been starting to worry, thinking that maybe he wasn't going to show up that day.
"Dunno," You shrugged, ducking your face into your clipboard so you didn't have to look at Leo, or Garrett, or Will—who was sending you a look that was both pointed and annoyed at the same time. "But you're set to go."
"Perfect," Garrett jumped off of the examination bed, acting like he hadn't been carried in by two of his half-brothers, a sly grin on his face. "You sure that's not jealousy on Valdez's face?"
"What? Why would Leo be jealous?" You were ashamed to admit you stumbled over your words, your face turning a vibrant shade of red, as you considered the implication of Garrett's words. That Leo might have been into you, enough that just the sight of you talking to Garrett might have been enough to turn his mood sour. "We're just friends."
"Sure," Garrett grinned wickedly, the kind of grin only children of Ares could ever create. The kind that told he totally didn't believe her rushed dismissal of his words. "All I want is an invitation to the wedding. Talk to you later!"
Garrett darted off before you could swat at him with your clipboard, your face flushed with embarrassment. Gods, were you really that obvious in your crush on Leo?
Sure, he came into the infirmary just about every day you were working, with some minor injury or another for you to tend to. And maybe you took a little longer to heal him than you did when Percy or the Stolls came in, were a little sweeter, but were you so transparent that even Garrett from Ares knew what you felt?
"For the love of all the gods and goddesses, would you please just go talk to him?" Will grumbled, borderline exhausted, as he appeared at your side. You jumped, nearly lost in thought, and narrowed your sunshine stare at your half-brother. "He won't leave until he gets the chance to brag to you about his latest made-up injury."
You didn't have to ask who Will was talking about. Leo was still watching you from across the room, rather impatiently. He'd managed to find a few loose bolts and washers and was currently inventing something you couldn't comprehend while he stared very pointedly at the ground by your feet, having averted his stare the moment you darted yours in his direction.
"Shut up," You mumbled to Will, but regardless you dashed off across the room with what felt like permission to engage in your favorite part of the day.
You had received Apollo's gifts of healing, not his poetic words. And every day you cursed that fact, because never could you put into words just how much being around Leo Valdez made you feel centered within yourself. It was like his very personality gave you permission to the version of you that was nearly lost to time and circumstance and the tragedy of being a Greek hero.
"What's the problem today?" You grinned, the smile your half-siblings claimed shined brightest in the camp plastered on your face almost of its own accord as you stood before Leo.
"My hand, Doc." He sighed, playing along and holding up his left hand while the right shoved the ice pack Will had already given him behind his back. You snorted a laugh, and Leo's grin broke out from the solemn facade he had attempted. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to work again if you don't help me."
"Well there's only one solution," You nodded, pretending to read something off of your clipboard—which was still filled out with Garrett's information.
"Anything you recommend is good with me," Leo leaned closer, trying to read over the edge of your clipboard, which you quickly tugged close to your body.
"Right, I've got it." You grinned, dropping your face closer to his, almost like your heart was in control of your body instead of your mind. Leo nodded, and you would have sworn you saw his gaze shoot to your lips for the briefest of seconds. "Amputation. Mr. Valdez, I'm afraid we're going to have to take your hand off."
"But, that's my pretty hand!" Leo protested, playing into your joke quickly. You couldn't even pretend to hide your smile, laughter falling past your lips just as easily as breathing.
"Then I'm afraid there's nothing else we can do for you." You shook your head, grinning widely at Leo, who was—for a guy with ADHD as severe as him—giving you his full attention. "You're free to go. I'll see you and your pretty hand at the bonfire tonight."
"Glad to hear you agree that my hand is pretty." Leo slid off of the examination bed with a grin that had you flushing and looking over the contents of your clipboard simply for something to do with your eyes. "See you later, Doc."
Waving, you sent Leo off.
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Over the course of the following week, Leo had found himself at the infirmary—during your shifts only—six more times.
Three smashed fingers from equipment you knew for a fact he knew how to handle properly. One cut to his arm from a piece of scrap metal. A paper cut.
On Thursday, he came in complaining of a serious burn.
"Doc, you'll never believe it. My whole arm caught on fire."
Will hadn't let him into the infirmary, claiming that Leo needed a better lie than that to come visit, since everyone already knew he was fireproof.
Leo came back fifteen minutes later with a second paper cut. Will took his break an hour early, claiming he needed to for his sanity.
But then you didn't so much as catch a glimpse of Leo for four straight days.
You felt more than a little pathetic, jumping every time the door to the infirmary opened, hoping against hope that it would be the curly haired son of Hephaestus you so adored.
On the afternoon of the fifth day, the door opened and you couldn't stop the way your body instinctively twisted around from where you words repacking first aide kits that were left in various locations around camp.
But it wasn't Leo standing at the door, but Piper.
You weren't the closest with her, but you were friendly. So you didn't think she was there for you, at first, until you saw her talking to your half-sister Stella and pointing towards you.
"Hey," Piper's voice had an edge of seriousness to it that snagged your attention, halting your efforts of resupplying. "I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you."
"Okay...?" You trailed off, not sure what she could have needed from you.
"Would you be willing to talk to Leo for me? He's in Bunker Nine, convinced he's going to make some big breakthrough on whatever machine he's currently working on." Piper explained and you nodded slowly, not seeing the problem. From your conversations with Leo, he always seemed to be in the middle of some big breakthrough. "He hadn't come out in four days. It's not healthy."
You frowned, trying to recall the last time you'd seen Leo at any of the meals. And when your mind came up blank, you settled on your answer to Piper's request.
"I'll talk to him."
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You had never been to Bunker Nine.
As much as you talked to Leo, pretty much everyday, it was always in yours and shared spaces. The infirmary, mainly, but every once in a while at the dining pavilion or at the camp bonfires.
But you could barely focus on any one thing in the bunker. Half-finished projects littered the space, along with countless tools, scraps, and blueprints tacked haphazardly against walls and bulletin boards.
Since it was nearly dinner, the bunker had cleared out of all but one of its occupants. Perched over a table, working so diligently he didn't hear you approach, was none other than Leo Valdez.
Without thinking of the consequences, you dropped the canvas bag you had brought with you on his worktable, startling him so much he jumped in surprise and nearly sent his latest project clattering to the floor.
"Gods!" He shouted, wide eyed and hand pressed to his chest as if he could physically calm his racing heart. You couldn't help the way you grinned, a little lopsided, wholly endeared by him. "Sorry, were you trying to kill me? Because, if so, mission almost accomplished!"
"Actually, the opposite." With a confidence you didn't really possess, you leaned against the worktable next to him and started pulling tinfoil wrapped sandwiches out of the bag. "Everyone's convinced I'm your appointed caretaker, since you don't seem to do it yourself."
Leo had the good sense to seem chastised by the glare you sent him following your words. It wasn't like he could deny it, anyways. How many times had he ended up on your patient list?
"Did Jason put you up to this?"
"Piper," You confirmed, pushing a wrapped sandwich across the table towards him. Next out of the bag was a metal bowl, the bottom slightly charred and filled with paper scraps and twigs. "Light this for me, will you, please?"
"Well, when you ask so nicely," Leo grinned, a ball of flame forming in his palm and igniting the twigs in the bowl. Without needing to be told, Leo unwrapped his sandwich and ripped off a chunk to throw into the flames.
You copied his actions. And if you made a wordless prayer to Aphrodite to ask for a little assistance, that was no one's business but your own.
"I've..." You hesitated, darting a glance to Leo before focusing on your sandwich, biting down your declaration that you've missed him in the infirmary. He had already started eating, only further proof that he had been skipping meals while holed up in the bunker. "How come you're always getting hurt, Mr. Clumsy? I thought children of Hephaestus are supposed to be good in the forges."
You would have sworn you saw Leo blush, but your attention quickly darted away from him the moment he lifted his eyes to yours.
"You sure you wanna know the truth?" Leo asked his voice a kind of serious that was almost out of character for him. You nodded, slowly, and forced yourself to meet his eye. "I've been getting hurt on purpose."
"Leo Valdez!"
"Wait, let me finish!" Leo held up his hands to defend himself from your words and your glare, the healer in your absolutely hated the fact that Leo would have done anything to intentionally cause himself harm. "I did it because I got an excuse to see you."
"What?" For a child of Apollo, you sure didn't have a way with words. Distantly, you cursed the fact that you were a gifted healer and not a poet, because you knew what Leo's words meant and yet you couldn't get your own to function. "Wait—"
"I know this sounds stupid," Leo dragged a hand through the dark, disheveled curls atop his head. "But Will wouldn't let me in to see you if I wasn't hurt! So I... maybe... lied, a little bit."
You frowned, in thought. Thinking back, you couldn't remember Leo ever actually being hurt beyond the occasional cut or scrap. You'd always been so caught up in him and his visits to notice.
"I swear I'm not weird. I just really like you." Leo winced, no doubt taking your silence in a bad way.
And you weren't one of Apollo's poetically gifted children, so you simply pressed your lips against his and hoped he got the message.
It was a short kiss, a good first kiss, you noted with no small satisfaction. Your lips tingled and your fingertips were buzzing—and Leo looked like he had just won the lottery.
"You're sweet," You smiled, a thousand watt one that maybe Leo adored as much as your half-siblings did, and nudged his sandwich closer to him. "But you're banned from the infirmary unless you're actively dying. And for real!"
Leo paused, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head, trying to create a scenario that would get him past the barrier of your totally official and absolutely within rules ban.
"I can make that happen,"
"No, you can't," You tried to shoot him a discouraging look, but your smile was far too wide to deal any real damage. "Or else I'll go to tonight's bonfire with someone else."
"Nope!" He shook his head quickly, hair bouncing with the movement and expression light with an impish grin. "You kissed me, Doc. You're stuck with me, now."
You smiled, silently deciding you wouldn't mind being stuck with him.
"That's what I thought."
Leaning over to press a second kiss to the corner of his lips, you pretended not to notice the sparks dancing in his curls.
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roosterforme · 9 months ago
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How Do You Feel About the Parking Lot? (Rooster x Reader)
Part of The What If Collection of blurbs for Roo and Baby Girl. My masterlist. Banner by @mak-32
Warnings: language, drinking, angst, fluff
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You were excited at first. Very excited. You showed off your ring to everyone and gushed over the fact that you were engaged. And while you were still wearing his mom's engagement ring, it was becoming obvious to Bradley that things were not quite as they should be.
"Hey," he said softly as he walked into the kitchen. It was exactly nine weeks ago that he'd proposed in the dining room and you'd happily accepted that ring that glittered on your finger right now. But tonight you just mumbled something at him without looking up from your computer where you sat at the island. It was nearly midnight on Friday, and he would have given anything for you to start planning this wedding with him. "Are you coming to bed soon? I thought we could talk about potential wedding dates."
"Oh," you replied without looking up at him. "I'm still putting this presentation together."
Bradley sighed. "Baby Girl, you've been working nonstop for weeks. I just want... a little bit of your time." He wanted a lot of things, actually. Like a long snuggle on the couch while you and he watched a movie, or a soak in the tub together. He'd love a blowjob or pinning your hands above your head while he slammed you into the bed. But mostly he'd love to plan his wedding to you, because more than anything, he wanted to get married this year. And it was already late September. 
You glanced up at him and adjusted your glasses. "How about tomorrow? I really need to get this done before my work trip."
"Sure," he whispered before pecking you on the cheek and heading off to climb into bed alone. 
But it only got worse from there. You worked all weekend. On Monday, you didn't come home until seven o'clock. Tuesday was eight o'clock. By Wednesday, he wasn't sure if you were even eating or sleeping any longer. And worse yet, you were leaving for Annapolis in a few days. Bradley wouldn't even see you for a week. Not that he really saw you now, he supposed. 
He ate a bowl of cereal for dinner before sinking down onto the couch with Tramp and a bottle of scotch. He turned on Real Housewives, but he wasn't really watching it. He took a sip, and it burned. But the next one didn't. And neither did the one after that. He started to feel better. But he'd stop when you got home. 
Another episode started, but it still wasn't holding his attention the way you would have, and that's when he realized it was once again seven o'clock, and you still weren't home. When his phone rang, he sloshed some of the alcohol onto his tee shirt reaching for it, and he was praying it was you calling to tell him you were on your way home. 
He pressed his lips together and then took a deep breath before he answered. "Hi, mom."
"Bradley! I haven't heard from the two of you in days! How's your lovely fiancée? And Tramp?"
The dog must have heard her voice through the phone, because he perked right up. But Bradley couldn't answer with anything other than a raspy, "Fine." 
The line went silent. "Are you sick? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, mom," he lied. "How are you? How's dad?"
"Well, I went to lunch with Brenda, and I got the scoop on all of her kids. And your dad needs hearing aids, but he keeps arguing with me about it. Maybe you can talk some sense into him, if he can even hear you."
"Okay," he replied, realizing the room had started spinning when he leaned back against the couch.
"Bradley, are you drunk?"
How could she possibly tell? His own wife-to-be couldn't seem to see what was going on, but Carole could tell by his voice from almost three thousand miles away. "I'm... fine, mom. I need to take Tramp for a walk. I love you and dad. Bye."
Then he ended the call, because he could feel tears in his eyes. And when you got home at nine, he was already asleep. 
-------------------------
You needed to go to happy hour with your boss and coworkers on Friday, but you really didn't want to. You'd been pulling twelve hour days, and you were so exhausted, you just wanted to climb into bed with Bradley and sleep until you left for Maryland on a Saturday night red eye flight. You also really needed to tell him that he had to lay off the wedding planning until you finished this work project. It was just a few months of all these extra hours, and you desperately wanted to be promoted. 
Your plan was to stop home quickly and change out of your uniform before heading back out with everyone to celebrate that fact that you were going to present your research at the Naval Academy. When you pulled into the driveway in your shitty, little red car, the Bronco was already there. But when you looked around the house for Bradley, you didn't immediately see him. But then you heard his voice through the open sliding glass door. He was sitting on the back patio in just his gym shorts with his back to the door and a half empty bottle of scotch set on his knee. 
His voice sounded miserable as he said, "I tried, mom. She just... doesn't seem to want to. I don't know what I did wrong." 
You froze in place. He had to be talking about you. Embarrassment and sadness filled you as you listened to what he said next. 
"I really wanted to get married this year."
You ran down the hallway to the bedroom as you fought off your tears. You had to get changed and go right now while you still could. In another week, you'd have a little more time to talk to him about the fact that you couldn't plan a wedding and get married in the next three months with your current schedule. 
You left the house again without talking to him, but he was still sitting on the patio on the phone. And when he dropped you off at the airport the following evening, he didn't seem to want to let you go as he whispered, "I love you, Sweetheart," and ran his thumb along your ring. 
"I love you too, Roo. I'll be home in a week, and then we can talk about maybe planning a wedding for next year?"
He swallowed hard and nodded. "If that's what you want."
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When you landed in Maryland on Sunday morning, you were still exhausted and looking forward to crashing until your presentation on Monday. But Carole called you when you were at the baggage claim, and you knew you had to answer. A guilty feeling was about to eat you alive as you put on a bubbly voice and said, "Hi!"
"Have you arrived in Annapolis?" she asked straightaway, and you sighed because at least she didn't sound angry with you. 
"I did," you told her softly. "Still at the airport."
"Perfect," she replied. "I'll leave now, and I'll be there in less than fours hours, and we can go get lunch."
You were so stunned, you watched your bag go past without realizing you needed to pick it up. "You're going to drive up from Virginia?" you asked her slowly.
"Yes. I'm grabbing my keys right now. Bye, Goose! I'll be back later!" You listened to her call out to her husband, and then a few seconds later, you heard a door close and a car start. She was actually going to drive up here.
"Oh, okay," you muttered, pressing your lips together, embarrassed about where you'd left things with her son. "I'll... see you in a few hours."
You managed to take a short, restless nap while you waited for Carole to arrive. You changed into a simple dress and put on some makeup, but you didn't really feel any better until you met her at a restaurant in the city. She rushed down the sidewalk toward you with a bright smile on her face. "My sweet girl!" she called out, wrapping you up in a hug next to a few tables full of people enjoying their lunch outside. "It's been too long." She kissed your cheek and started to lead you inside. 
"Thanks for driving all the way up here," you told her, not bothering to fight the smile tugging your lips. She was absolute sunshine, and it was pointless to try to resist it. "You didn't have to do this."
"Nonsense," she said as the two of you made your way to a booth. "I wanted to see my future daughter-in-law."
You nodded and enjoyed some pleasant conversation. She told you all about Goose's appointment with an audiologist and about Brenda's kids. And after you finished your avocado toast and bowl of soup, she said, "Now, I think we should talk about what's really important."
Her voice wasn't unkind, and she was still smiling softly, but you knew what was coming as you whispered, "Okay."
Carole reached across the table and took your hand gently in hers. "I know you're smart and independent. And I also know that's part of why Bradley loves you so much. You don't need him. He's not offering you anything you can't get on your own or with someone else. You chose him, because you want him." Tears started to fill your eyes, and you had to swallow against the lump in your throat. "And he just wants you to be happy, so he would never tell you to your face that you're hurting him."
You tried to speak, but you just made a pathetic sound and started to sob. "I don't want to hurt him."
"I know you don't," she replied softly, squeezing your hand. "I know you're not trying to. But I think you need to tell him once and for all that you don't want to get married this year so he can finally get used to the idea of waiting a bit."
You buried your face in your free hand. Why were you trying to push it off anyway? It's not like you really cared where you got married or what the two of you were wearing. Planning some sort of huge celebration was not something you wanted to spend your time doing. You wanted to be with Bradley exactly as you were right now, just with two more rings and a certificate involved. 
When you looked up at Carole, you whispered, "I don't really think I actually want to wait. And I don't want you to hate me either."
"No," she gasped, standing and coming to sit next to your on your side of the booth. She kissed your tear streaked cheek and whispered, "I could never, my sweet darling girl. I think you just need to talk to Bradley, okay? Can you promise me you'll give him a few hours of your full attention? And maybe let him know how much he still means to you?"
"Yes," you croaked, and you let her hold you as you cried.
---------------------------
The week without you was kind of miserable. Bradley managed to dump the rest of the bottle of scotch at Carole's urging over the phone. And he did notice that she and Goose started calling with a bit more frequency which he didn't really mind. But the best part was that fact that you called him every night before you went to bed. 
Every time he answered your calls, his heart thundered in his chest. And as soon as he called you Sweetheart, he could practically hear you smiling through the phone. "I can't wait to pick you up on Friday," he said over and over. If he just felt like he mattered to you again, then he could wait until next year to get married. That was no big deal in the grand scheme of things.
But when he met you in baggage claim at San Diego International late on Friday night, he was so surprised, he could barely speak. You ran for him with a garment bag in your arms, but you let it fall to the floor when you reached him. "Roo," you moaned as soon as you were in his grasp. "I missed you so much." You kissed him deeply. "I just got off the phone with your mom again. And I didn't tell you before, but I went to see my friend Caleb a few days ago," you said as you smirked.
"The tattoo artist?" he asked as he kissed your cheek fifteen times. When you nodded he asked, "What's in the garment bag?"
"My wedding dress."
"Holy shit." He scooped it up off the floor and held it tight. "You bought a dress?" he asked, trying to hold you and the garment bag both to his chest at the same time.
"Yes," you told him matter-of-factly as you tugged him toward the exit while you kissed his lips. "How do you feel about getting married in the parking lot in two months?"
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dropsnectar · 1 month ago
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New here, found you from your kitsune post. I don't know if this is the kind of ask you like but. I'm imagining fluff of the kitsune, maybe he takes a prank too far, messes with something too cherished, a necklace, stuffed animal, something of the sort. He hadn't expected to make you cry, that's not the face he wanted you to make. Quickly moving into a perceivable form while handing you back the thing he whisked away or helping you pick up the mess before coming over to kiss your face, wrapping his soft tail around you and rubbing your back. He hadn't meant to upset you this much.
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Our Kitsunes nonsense strikes again!
Ever since he had revealed himself to you, things had been... entertaining. He still messed with you of course. It was in his nature to twist thongs to suit him, whether it be replacing your furniture with higher quality, more comfortable seating or you finding random groceries on the counter, often the ingredients of the dinner he wanted you to offer him tonight. And instead of waiting outside by that uncomfortable stump, he had graced you with his presence, his nine tails flitting about over a meal well cooked. It was only right that he sit with you, as he could see your face better from a chair, rather than a corner or a window.
Sensing his thirst for variety you had also started bringing different types of alcohol to dinner. You'd learn the stories and histories around each drink and share their tales over dinner. You only ever had a glass but your fox, not having to worry about work tommorrow, would take his full fill.
He was rather cute while drunk, moving you to the living room couch to cuddle as he'd ask you more questions, about the alcohol but mostly about you. His tails always had a habit of curling themselves around you, pushing you closer to him as he stared at your face with an unbreakable gaze. It made you blush.
Sometimes when you were midsentence he'd cut you off with a kiss, sharing the taste and tipsiness of the alcohol. But sometimes the two of you would talk all night, and he'd follow you to bed to watch you sleep in his arms. Hed been very clingy recently, ever since that night.
You were his favorite entertainment, as their was always something new he could gleam from you. A new reaction, new information, a new experience as you guys walked together under the moonlight. Their was an issue though. An annoyance. A bane of his that made possession boil in his chest and his hackles stand.
He had given you a gift, him! Holding you as you sleep! He was so generous, he knows this, sharing his heat with a human in the cold of night. He was saving your life really. But you had this... habit. Instead of pulling yourself into his warm chest, or wrapping your beautiful legs around his tails. You had a habit of holding this... thing in your arms.
It was a pillow-like thing, an anima. Pperhaps a dog? Or a bear. The thing was so weathered it was hard to tell. And you'd kiss its little snout every night before you'd snuggle it and pass out. It wasn't every night, just the nights he was your big protector spoon.
But still! He could be small and fluffy too! He had a fox form! You should have kissed his snout.
When his graciousness had finally run out he took that wretched little pillow and dropped it out in a marsh pond in the woods. He even magicked the pond so no one else could find the thing, lest you wander about in the woods and find it.
What he hadn't expected was to find you the next day searching every corner of the house manicly, like hed stolen your paycheck for the next month.
He makes himself known and you rush to him, desperation and panic in your eyes.
"Where did you put my stuff animal? I know you like to play games but this is really important!"
His eyes narrow in disdain.
" You mean that little plush rag? Why do you need it? I can hold you so much better than it can." He refused to be sorry but your eyes welled with tears as the realization flit across your features. Hurt. True hurt filled every crevice if your face and his stomach turned. No no, he didn't like seeing you like this, not that face. Never that face, he didn't want it.
"My grandmother gave me that stuffy before she died. Its all I have left to remember her. Give it to me now."
Immediately, he magicked up the plush. It was dripping and muddy. You grabbed for it quickly but he held it up above your head, a finger out. He magicked it clean, then passed it back into your arms. He understood now. Once, he used to have a grandmother too.
Blazing hot shame trickled down his throat and blazed into his stomach. His ears pushed flat against his head as he felt sick for what he had done. There would always be games to play, but he never wished to hurt you. And with something so sentimental too. Family was everything after all, especially to a kitsune.
"There is no excuse. I will never touch it again, I promise."
You held your stuffy to your face, staring at his limp tails and flat ears. You had never seen him so openly ashamed before. Pride was like air to this being and to see him so devoid of it was novel.
"I'll forgive you. But only on one condition."
He looked at you, eyes tired.
"What is that, then?"
You held out your stuffy with both arms.
"You kiss his snoot and say sorry."
He looked at you, and with as much poise as he could manage, he kissed the plastic nose of the stuffed animal.
"I'm sorry, little thing." His eyes went back to you.
"So you like small fluffy things, huh?"
You gave him a small smile.
"Maybe. Whats it to you?"
Their was a puff of white smoke. When the air cleared you looked down to find a small fox kit, staring up at you with big adoring eyes. You squeeled, and carefully set down your stuffy on the table.
You leaned down to the kit and hesitantly pet his little head. It was soft. He chirped at you, encouragingly and you pulled him into your arms, cradling him to your chest as all of his tails wagged about and brushed your skin.
You knew it was him but you couldn't help it. You crooned and pet him, kissed his snout and his little fuzzy forehead. You snuggled him furiously and sat with him on the couch. You swear you could hear him purring the whole time, the grumbling making you feel calm and at ease with him. Eventually, you lean foreward and kiss his forehead again.
"You are forgiven."
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baratiddyappreciator · 9 months ago
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The Baki Cast Cuddle their S/O on their period (SFW)
I'm on my period and shit sucks so I figured I'd write some very self-indulgent fluff, NSFW post coming up soon for the lads and ladies I swear. Also idk if it's just me but I turn into an outright carnivore when I'm on my period. Chocolate, sure, but like, meat?? Meat snacks??? Gimme that shit.
Baki: His arms were wrapped around your chest, avoiding contact with your stomach entirely, his lips pressing softly against your temple as the corny action movie played on the TV, mostly unwatched as he was busy whispering in your ear about how he was sorry he couldn't do much more than just hold you close for the time-being, but that he promised to get you something tasty for supper, Musashi was somewhere outside, probably lounging in a warm patch of sun on the concrete. You'd never been more jealous of a damn dog before in your entire life. Baki nuzzled the back of your head, gently rubbing at a spot on your hip with the pad of his thumb, trying to soothe any aches and pains that might have settled in before your attention was drawn back to the movie, it looked like the action was finally kicking in. The both of you watched the events unfolding on screen for a moment before he spoke up, tone entirely full of confusion.
"Did... Did that priest just turn into a velociraptor??" He asked in such a tiny vulnerable voice it almost made you want to laugh, but all you could do was nod solemnly. "Dude... That's like, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." And he was right, it really was. "Baby, I want you to know that I love you, even if you can't turn into a velociraptor." He said, before kissing your forehead, leaving you to scoff and roll your eyes in amusement.
Kozue: She sniffled, her box of kleenex practically empty by this point, the both of you snuggled up under her comfy blanket, temples throbbing with the headaches that had come on from crying all day. You didn't even remember why you'd both started crying, but clearly it had been needed. She looked over at you, and reached up to tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear, sniffling lightly, her eyes red and puffy. The skin on her cheeks was blotchy and tear stained, but she was still so pretty. One of the prettiest people you'd ever laid eyes on, actually. She sniffled again, tears welling up as she cupped both of your face in her hands, bottom lip trembling as she stared deep into your eyes, your own emotions welling up in response.
"Honey you're just so... You're so... You're just so pretty." She blubbered, and like that, you both started crying again, hugging tightly and sobbing messily, though she did pull back, still crying, to look up at you again with a trembling bottom lip. "Why are you crying? Pretty girls like you shouldn't cry!" She sobbed, completely ignoring that she was also a pretty girl and shouldn't cry.
Hanayama: Your back hurt. You'd been complaining about it all day. Your upper back, your lower back, your neck, just your entire back hurt and felt out of whack. But right now? Right now, you were on cloud nine. Hanayama had just given you the most powerful back massage of your life and put a heating pad on your back while you were laying on top of him, his large hands still kneading at your lower back to soothe any remaining aches. You could probably fall asleep right then and there, but something was keeping you awake. Not that you could figure out what it was. Maybe you were laying weird, maybe you were both too warm and too cold at the same time, or maybe it was something else, but you were fairly sure that Hanayama assumed you were dead to the world. He paused in his massaging to rub up and down your back soothingly, not pulling the heat pad off yet, though you knew he would soon to avoid your skin getting burned.
His face leaned up slightly so he could kiss the top of your head, thumbs returning to their slow, gentle massaging of your lower back muscles, a heavy but comfortable silence reigning as sleep desperately clung to the corners of your eyes, your eyelids becoming heavier as you started fading off to sleep. "I love you baby." He mumbled, kissing the top of your head off, and that was just the edge you needed to drift off to sleep.
Chiharu: You'd been laying in the same spot for a few hours now, and he was getting worried. He hesitantly approached, his only line of defense clutched in front of him like a shield. He knew that a blanket and some candies wouldn't necessarily protect him, but it might give him enough time to appease you and check to see if you needed anything. Your head slowly turned as he stepped on a creaky part of the floor, and he smiled nervously as your gaze locked on him, slowly approaching some more. "H-hey doll, I brought you something." He attempted, your eye locked onto him. Was this it? Was this how he was gonna die? Your hand reached out towards him and made lazy grabbing motions, and he had to hide his exhale of relief. That had been a close one.
"I tossed this blanket in the dryer so it's nice and warm for you, and I've got some sweet treats and a nice warm water bottle for your stomach." He said, approaching cautiously to avoid provoking your ire. You were like some sort of horrifying beast, lying in wait, ready to strike. He offered a nervous smile as he gently draped the blanket over you, earning a groan. He softened. "Do you want me to rub your legs baby? You look sore." He offered, the horrifying beast turning back into his sweet beloved, wrapped up in a blanket and needing some serious TLC.
Katsumi: Food. He had food. You knew he had food, he just wasn't giving it to you. The suspicious looks you were shooting at him since he'd come home from his parents place smelling of brownies had him visibly sweating as he busied himself around the apartment. He tried distracting you with blankets, pillows and snacks, even a back rub and a nice hot bath, but the suspicious glaring persisted until you two were getting into bed for the night. He'd stood in the doorway sheepishly, hands held behind his back as he toed at the floor, refusing to meet your gaze. You didn't even need to ask, because he caved in. "I've gotta admit something, and I think you know what it is." Your eyes narrowed further.
"Mom did send me home with brownies." He said, and your glare sharpened, but he raised his hands in surrender. "BUT! But, they're not baked yet. She didn't have time to do that part. I kept trying to find the time to put them in the oven for you, but you kept getting suspicious." He admitted, coming to kneel beside you by the bed. "Can you find a way to forgive me baby? I promise I won't withhold brownies from you ever again." He said sincerely, holding your hand. You couldn't stay mad at that face, now could you?
Jack: He couldn't stand it. You both looked and sounded miserable, laying on the couch, back turned to the outside world, sniffling, coughing and occasionally letting out tiny whimpers and groans. It was like being kicked in the chest by a guy twice his size. So there he was, sitting on the floor, his chin resting on your shoulder as his large hand rubbed up and down your spine as he asked you what he could do for you to ease your discomfort. Pressing tiny kisses to your shoulder, he rumbled as he gently wrapped his arm over your shoulders so he could wipe away a frustrated tear from the corner of your eyes, turning your face slightly so he could kiss your forehead, resuming the gentle back rubs he was giving you.
Your cramps didn't let up easily, however, and you only started crying more in both frustration and pain, leaving him to stand and lean over you, kissing your pounding tembles as he rubbed between your shoulders. "Hey, don't cry sweetheart, I'm right here. I'll make it better for you, I promise." He muttered, walking around to the other side of the couch. "I'll be right back with something to help, you don't need to tough this out on your own." He said softly, tucking your hair behind your ear and smiling down at you.
Kosho: It was one of the rare moments where Kosho pulled you into bed and let you get comfortable first, prioritizing your comfort above his, even if it meant that he only had a little bit of mattress left, his fingers rubbing little circles above your stomach to ease the cramping muscles, kissing your temple as he held the blankets close to your chin, practically tucking you in with himself right there. He'd retrieved a glass of cold water for you before, the glass sitting on the bedside table just within reach, the smell of lavender and vanilla emanating from somewhere in the other room, presumably some wax melt he'd put on. He kissed your temples again, arms stilling.
"Well? How are you feeling?" He asked, earning a sleepy hum. "Do you want a snack? A drink?" He continued, not giving you the time to answer before he was kissing your forehead and cheeks. "Just say the words, I can do it for you." He promised, kissing your forehead, only to then notice you reaching for the glass of water and realize that he'd been pinning your arm as you tried to grab the glass for a drink.
Kureha: He'd walked in to find you, a puddle of misery on the couch, disgusting, wet sobs leaving your lips from both the pain and the intensity of the emotions you were feeling. He took one look at the writhing mass of pathetic beneath the blankets and sighed, hanging up his coat and wordlessly walking past you towards the bathroom, and then the kitchen, returning to your side with a cold glass of water in one hand and a few pills in the other, the edges of a pad peeking out of his pocket and a pair of clean pajamas over his shoulder, staring down at you over the rims of his glasses, a brow cocked, waiting for you to acknowledge him. He promptly nodded at your hands. "Hold out your palm." He said, depositing the pills in your palm before he held up the glass of water to your lips. "Take these, they'll help a little with cramps." He ordered, and while you obeyed, he started lifting things out of his pocket.
"You're going to want to get changed into these, they're warm but breathable, and you're going to put this pad on." He ordered, watching you stare up at him, sniffling pathetically. You reminded him of a wet cat. "Don't look at me like that, I can't stop the discomfort, but I can make it easier to deal with." He said, clicking his tongue, a slight flush to his cheeks.
Retsu: The whole house smelled like herbal tea, a spread of meals sat in front of you that you didn't think you could finish if you were given an entire decade. Deserts, sat at the furthest end of the table as Retsu sat behind you, lifting another spoonful of soup to your lips so you didn't have to pull your hands out from beneath the blankets and do it yourself. As a matter of fact, he told you outright that he just wanted to spoil you and make you feel better. This was a bit much, but the soup was delicious. All because he'd noticed a single drop of blood on your underwear. "Come on, eat up! There's plenty of nutrients and vitamins in this soup broth that will help ease your cramps and give you energy!" He said, even though your cramps hadn't even started yet. They hadn't had enough time to start yet.
But when you'd told him that, he'd simply grinned. "The best medicine is prevention, the extra nutrients are good for you regardless." A kiss was pressed against your forehead, the bowl being moved aside and a small desert brought up to you. "Some sweets for my sweet, to lift your mood." He said, and you had to admit it, the man was doing a great job at making you feel better already.
Doppo & Natsue: Doppo hadn't had a daughter, though part of him had always known that he'd be the best girl dad in existence. But now, the two women in his life were suffering through their periods together, and he was about to be beaten into submission by only their harsh glares (pleading glances) and evil demands (requests to come cuddle). He was a karate master though! He was strong! He would resist their evil wiles (Attempts to get him to cuddle for a few minutes because their show has a new episode released)! And yet, he found himself yawning as he dramatically slinked onto the couch, throwing an arm over each of his beloveds, grinning at the both of them roguishly.
"So, how are my two lovely demons today, hm?" He asked, and the glares he got in return sent a chill up his spine. "Hang on, I'm just joking, you know I love you both very much, I'm just trying to lighten the mood." He said, trying to defend himself, but it was too late, as pillows smacked his face from both sides. he was strong, but the two of you were clearly stronger.
Shibukawa: For once, he was being really sweet. Oddly sweet. Suspiciously sweet. You didn't want to trust his gestures of affection as genuine, but you would take them as much as you could. Hot soup, a warm blanket, a gentle back rub. It had all been very sweet as your cramps caused you more and more discomfort. You couldn't understand why he was being so sweet until you opened the bedroom closet to find that the shelving units had all collapsed, leaving clothes and your pads to spill out all over the floor at your feet. He could hear the wooden frame crack beneath your grip, his smile staying in place as you turned around, some hulking, frightening beast full of rage. He should have just come clean about the shelf having fallen before you woke up.
"Now now, no need to get upset, I'll clean it all up and fix it, I promise!" He said passively, sipping at his tea as you slowly approached. "You don't have to lift a finger to clean up the mess, I'll take care of all of it, I promise." He said calmly. Of course, he didn't want to mention that he'd been plotting a prank the entire morning and hadn't realized that you'd be getting your period. He simply sat, arms outstretched for a hug, hoping to lure you into a cuddle so he could claim it was an accident so you wouldn't bite his head off.
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fannyyann · 10 months ago
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Keeping up with the Florida Panthers (aka Sara Civian interviews Matthew)
EP Rinkside: What's something away from the rink that’s making you happy these days?
Matthew Tkachuk: I would say, just, I'm lucky at this time of year. Especially across the whole country, it seems like it's freezing everywhere. It's beautiful down in Florida. And we just moved into our new practice rink recently, so that's been awesome.
EP: There was a quote floating around from (head coach Paul Maurice) from before the nine-game win streak and before you started getting hot on the scoresheet. He said people are going to say “Matthew Tkachuk is back,” and he's going to say you never left. Did you see that?
MT: I did, yes.
EP: How did you feel about it, and what's your relationship with him like?
MT: Well, Paul's been a very important part of my last few years. He’s one of, if not the best, coaches that I've ever played with. He's been very important for my development, and I just think that he trusts my game, and I trust my game. I wouldn't say (the puck) was going in early, but I haven’t changed one thing, I'm still doing the exact same thing, it's just finding a little bit more success right now.
It’s been a great year for our team and as of late, it’s picking it up a little bit for myself. Hopefully, we can just keep trending into the second half of the year here.
EP: How important is that trust between a coach and a player and how is it developed?
MT: I just think that he's always given me the right leeway, but still expects me to play the right way. He knows that there's some parts of my game that (are unique) I need to maybe take a little bit more chances than the average player. He gives me full leeway to do that, but also expects me to work my butt off and to lead by example.
EP: We always talk about “buy-in,” it's kind of cliché at this point, and you guys obviously have that factor. But how does something like that start?
MT: I just think being so close to winning it all last year has made it very, very easy to come back this year and have that immediate buy-in from the guys wanting to win a championship here. So many returning guys who are so close and so upset with not finishing it off. There's a lot of motivation.
EP: Do you have a favourite moment from last season's run?
MT: I would say, probably all of the series-clinching wins, the series-winning goals. The overtime winner in Boston, the overtime winner in Toronto, the last second one at home against Carolina.
All three of those are by far the greatest goals I've ever been a part of.
EP: I feel like we're not as a society talking about Sam Bennett enough. Can you give us a little bit about what he's like off the ice and what it's like to play with him?
MT: He just plays so hard.
He was one of the first guys I met when coming to Calgary, and we've been so close ever since. I'm so happy that we got to play together again down here in Florida. He was the first guy I talked to when I got traded, and we've just been so close for eight-plus years now.
It’s so fun that we're able to play with each other still, we just have such great chemistry on and off the ice. He just plays so hard and he complements my game so well. And off the ice, we're just super close and have a great group of guys that pretty much do everything together away from the rink.
It makes it so much fun to come to the rink every day, work with them, and then when we leave the rink, do stuff together.
EP: If you became the commissioner of the league today, what's the first thing you'd change?
MT: Overtime until somebody scores. No shootouts. And no back-to-backs. I don't know if we need any more back-to-backs right now.
EP: Other than you, who has the best chirps in the league?
MT: I'd say the guy who chirps a lot on our team is Brandon Montour. He has some good ones. Nick Cousins has got some good ones. (Ryan) Lomberg, too. They all have some good ones.
EP: Best advice your dad ever gave you?
MT: Two things: Compete and be a good teammate.
EP: Last year you gained some recognition outside of the hockey world, and it kind of sparked, like, a debate about personality in the NHL. I've always wondered What you actually think about this whole conversation, like, do you like being kind of the personality guy in the NHL?
MT: Well, I’m never going to not be myself. I grew up with great parents that taught me great things and around a great family. I’ll carry that for the rest of my life. I’m not trying to do anything, and some guys are (quieter) and that’s OK. This is just how my personality is.
EP: Can you give me three words to describe the current Panthers?
MT: Oh, I would say very fast. So fast. Close – we’re a super close team.  I've never seen a team like this where, you know, we're going to dinner on the road and we're having, you know, 15 people reservations and everybody hanging out with each other. it's been awesome. Fast, close, and fun. Nobody has more fun than our team.
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silverskye13 · 7 months ago
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Cursed/turned into an animal Tanguish, make him actually a cat
"How do these things happen to you?" Helsknight asked, crouching down on the balls of his feet so he was closer to Tanguish's level. Closer, but not on his level, as Tanguish, by some clever, terrible miracle, had been transformed into a cat. He was a handsome enough little creature, all blue-black, with a handful of sparse white hairs that salted his back and shoulders. But there was a large difference between handsome little cat and the full helsmet he was supposed to be, and Tanguish was, understandably, he thought, upset about his current circumstances. Even more upset now, given Helsknight seemed incapable of taking it seriously. "No really, I'd like to know. If I make an offering to whatever god or saint you pissed off, they might pass me over."
Oh haha, very funny, Tanguish said. Or he tried to say. What actually came out of his cat-shaped mouth, which made itself unavailable to forming human words, was a string of yowls that conveyed vague allusions to indignation. His fur spiked up his back for good measure, and he flattened his ears, just in case Helsknight needed the extra hint.
"I don't speak cat," Helsknight informed him helpfully, crossing his arms on his knees and raising his eyebrows in an amused expression. "You know, I've always been more of a dog person. Matches my aesthetic better. Do you think you could shape shift into something a little more intimidating? Even a large cat would do. You're a bit too scrawny and gangled, if I'm being honest."
Tanguish rumbled back a growl that he hoped would sound fierce and insulted.
"I'm terrified, truly," Helsknight informed him patronizingly. "Would a sardine help soothe your temper, O Mighty Feline? Maybe some cream?"
Tanguish swatted at him, tiny, impotent claws raking across Helsknight's boot.
"Hey now, be grateful," Helsknight tsked disdainfully. "Cream and sardines are an expensive find in hels. Probably worth your tiny cat weight in diamonds."
Tanguish huffed a sigh out of his nose, and then sneezed when the sensation tickled his whiskers. He was still getting used to whiskers. A tail and claws he was used to. The eyes weren't so good as his sculk sight, but not so different that it took a lot of adjusting. No, it was the whiskers that made his body feel the most awkward, little strings attached to his face that made him feel like he was constantly in danger of getting stuck somewhere, only to realize no, he'd just walked a little too close to a wall. It was his whiskers that told him, while he pawed miserably at his nose, that Helsknight had reached for him. Before he could jump away, Helsknight had picked him up by the scruff and tossed him on a pauldroned shoulder like he was nothing.
"So I guess we'll start with a quick prayer to my Saint," Helsknight sighed, "and then we'll start visiting alters until some priest comes up with a solution. Have you tried respawning yet? No, don't hiss at me. I don't know what that means. Just meow once for yes and do that weird growl-thing for no. So have you tried-- no, didn't think so. Put the claws back Tanguish, I'm not going to kill you. Killing cats is bad luck."
Tanguish snorted indignantly again, and then sneezed again, and at least got some satisfaction at the disgusted look Helsknight flashed in his direction.
"Sneeze somewhere other than my ear next time please."
Tanguish growled.
"I'm sorry, was that a no?"
He meowed brightly.
"You know, you've got at least nine lives. I'm sure my Saint will forgive me if I wring one out of you."
Tanguish swatted him on the side of the face. If Helsknight was bothered, he didn't show it. Instead he walked off down the street, clearly intent on his plan that Tanguish was sure wouldn't work, but they might as well try. Under his breath Helsknight hummed:
"There's an old poem about cats and monks. Can't really remember the lyrics. Something like... Pangur, white Pangur."
Helsknight chuckled.
"Tanguish, O Tanguish, how happy we are. Alone together, warrior and cat."
Tanguish settled down on the knight's shoulder, tail held out stubbornly for balance as he strolled down the street. He had to dig his claws in to Helsknight's cape to keep from falling off, but at least if was warm place to sit.
"Each has his own work to do daily; For you it is hunting, for me, slaying. Your shining eye watches the wall; My fair eye is fixed on a blade. You rejoice when your claws entrap a mouse; I rejoice when my mind fathoms a problem. Pleased with his own art neither hinders the other; Thus we live ever without tedium and envy. Tanguish, O Tanguish, how happy we are, alone together, warrior and-- are you purring? That's hilarious."
Tanguish, who hadn't realized he was purring, stopped abruptly, feeling vaguely betrayed by his own contentment. He swatted Helsknight's face, careful to keep his claws sheathed.
"What? It's not my fault you can't keep your little cat noises to yourself -- stop swatting at me! That's rude. Do it again and you can run your little paws off through town all on your own."
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whosjunglejim4322 · 2 years ago
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Incarnadine - E.M
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Warnings ® angst, fluff, SMUT, you suck him off<3 Established relationship, mentions of injury, scars, Eddie has nightmares and is still recovering from the Upside Down, lots of reassurance and praise, he's needy but he will never admit it, this story involves wounded Eddie, you show him how beautiful he really is, no matter what <3 good boy! Eddie
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Today marks five months exactly. Chatter still moves around town like an echo of an old friend. People are still nervous when they're in crowded spaces, even more nervous when they're alone in their homes, big and ostentatious or small and quaint. They still talk about him like he's a monster, like he's not a victim.
It's excruciating. And maybe you're selfish for saying that, but knowing what you know, it's hard to hear anything negative come out of any snooty or high strung suburban residents mouth's.
The only saving grace is being able to be with him. Everyday, give or take. But this week he will be under your care entirely. After what happened to Chrissy Cunningham, and what happened after, which is regarded as 'the incident', the town of Hawkins did nothing to cover Eddie's medical bills. Despite the fact that he and your friends became faces of a bullshit cover story - to save everyone else's asses.
Wayne has been doing doubles for the past four months and twenty nine days, but his boss has given him an out of town gig that pays twice as much, and goddamn it he will make everything right again. That's his words, not yours. Wayne has taken it hard, understandably so.
You had to explain to him, and your boyfriend alike, that you love Eddie. Dearly, without judgement, with an open heart and mind. Eddie isn't a pass off, and you making sure he's alright is second nature, not obligatory in any definition of the word.
Eddie hates this feeling, admittedly. Like he's a burden, like he's got to be watched after and like everyone has to redirect their lives for him of all people. You'd kill him if he ever said that out loud. The only thing that makes it even remotely worth it, is that you're the one here by his side every day. And not just at the hospital anymore, but here, in his home.
Now, you're gonna be a permanent resident for the foreseeable future and he can't hide his excitement despite the physical pain he's in.
"Eddie, Eds, baby -" Your scolding falls on deaf ears and turns into a full blown giggle before you're able to establish any actual authority. The brunette is too worried about kissing your face like an overly excited golden retriever, elated that you're finally here. "you're not healed."
You keep your eyes from staring at the mauve and plum colored scar that decorates the side of his neck.
He groans petulantly, nipping your earlobe. His chest and back and sides are still on fire after all this time. It doesn't really go away, it just simmers down like someone has stopped on the flames. He's gotten used to it, but not enough to push it. Not enough to forego your advice and pounce you like he normally would.
"l probably won't ever be healed, what harms' a little lovin'?" He toys with the strands of your hair that are unruly, smiling down at you like he hasn't been through the literal pits of hell and back. It'll never not amaze you, his resilience. He doesn't even notice it in the creases of his smile lines or the shake of his hands.
"We have plenty of time for lovin', Munson. Just not right away. I haven't even gotten a good look at your pretty face."
His blush burns across his nose, cheeks, and brow bone. You reach up to cup his jaw, to stroke his skin. He leans into the touch like he hasn't felt your warmth in eons, sighing through his nostrils. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, and opens them when you lean in to kiss his chin.
"I really...I'm glad you're here. You don't have to -"
You flick his nose.
"Shut up, I love you, dummy. Don't you know that I practically begged Wayne to let me tend to sweet little Eddie? Hmm?" You've grabbed two thick handfuls of his hair, swinging it above his head like puppy dog ears. He chortles, scrunching his face.
"and by the way, you're right. I don't have to do anything. I want to." His cheeks are squishy and moldable between your palms, lips pouty and too kissable to bear.
He believes you. He believes it in the way you peck his mouth over and over again, little strings of your shared saliva in the middle. He believes it in the way you allow him to wrap his arms around your middle and pull you close to his still healing body. In the way you trust him enough to let him grab your hands and place them on his waist.
You tense, and then relax when he pulls away with sparkles in his eyes.
"Just didn't want anyone else to be here playin' doctor with me, did ya sweetheart?"
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The nights always start the same. Eddie gets up halfway between the movie that's on, wincing and giving you an apologetic smile. Cold showers help when they burn, which seems to happen mostly at night. You're still new this, to the interdimensional eldritch horror situation - but you know enough about it through Dustin Henderson's graphic retellings to know that it is having some residual effects.
As far as when they will go away, if they go away, everyone is still in the dark about it. No one has had such awful injuries from being in the Upside Down, and survived.
Doctor Owens is only sure about a few things. It won't spread. And it won't kill him. However, the pain will stay as long as the scars do.
Eddie is still apprehensive about letting you see them. The one on his neck is the only one that's visible. Instead of waltzing out of the bathroom with just a towel around his lithe hips, he returns fully dressed, wet hair drenching the tops of his broad shoulders. It's like this for almost an entire week.
And you're not angry, you're not hurt. You're just worried. Worried about the tossing and turning in his sleep, the fearful whimpers that sometimes escape him during the midnight hours. He sometimes even clings to you so hard in his half consciousness, that you wake up with fingerprint shaped bruises.
Tonight is no different.
His hair is still damp against his pillow case, he wriggles and writhes and mutters words you can't quite interpret. Your back is facing his, warm and solid. You feel him twitch and whine, and it tears you from the half conscious state you're in.
You roll over, carefully placing your arm around the expanse of his hip, resting your nose against the nape of his neck. This usually calms him down, sometimes he even sleeps through the whole night if you hold him like this.
"Burns..." His voice is small, almost silent. Your body reacts instantly, removing itself from his proximity so you can sit up and give him a once over. He rolls over onto his back, and a tear slips from the corner of his half opened eyes.
Your heart cracks in half, and all of your love for him spills into your body, lighting you up like a bonfire.
"What can I do? Please, tell me what to do." The lump in your throat is obtuse. He reaches out, grabbing at your arm like he's offended you left him. He blinks a few times, licks his lips, and you know he's awake now.
"Ice pack - there's an ice pack in the freezer." He sounds reluctant, like the idea of you doing anything for him when he's like this, hurts. It should be the other way around. He thinks to himself. He's in too much pain to put up a fight about it.
You bound out of bed, around his long legs and over the clutter on his floor until you're booking it towards the dark kitchen. Slinging open the freezer, you search for a quick minute until you see the blue ouch sitting atop a miscellaneous selection of frozen meat and vegetables.
A Hershey's bar in the door calls for your attention, but you save that thought for a later time.
"Got it," you breathe out, returning to the quiet room. Eddie is sitting up, panting, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched. His bottom lip quivers and you feel like you're breaking in half. You sit across from him, moving his hair out from in front of his face. "baby, let me see."
He stalls for a moment, blinking up at the ceiling. He has to prepare himself for the worst, for you being so terrified of how he looks now that you may run. He isn't the same, his body isn't the same as the one you touched before. He takes a deep breath.
"I gotta...gotta get this off." He gestures to his shirt, arms stiff from the searing pain coursing through his nerves. You move slowly, gently. You grasp the hem of his shirt, Black Sabbath, and carefully lift the material past his abdomen. A strained whine leaves his lips when it's almost over his head, when he has to lift his hands in the air so you can pull it off.
The moonlight is beautiful. A pale iridescent light that serves as a reminder, I'm here you're safe, I'm bathing lovers in my essence. It's the only thing that illuminates his body, the still healing skin. They're pink and purple and form ridges and valleys across his belly, sides, chest. It takes your breath away, the thought of those things doing this to him. You gasp when a tear cascades down your bottom lip.
Wiping it away fervently, you realize you've been staring. Eddie is so still you have to look up at him just to make sure he's still here.
Big brown eyes stare back at you, glossy. He looks crestfallen, like hes waiting for the worst. Waiting for you to scream, look disgusted, call him a monster. His bottom lip is wobbling again, and you are careful to avoid the injuries when you reach over and smash your lips into his.
It takes him a moment to realize that you're kissing him. Not just kissing him, you're fucking consuming him. Now he's the one breathless, clenching fist-fulls of his bed sheets while you hold his fevering face in your soft palms. Your noses are scrunched together, neither of you can breathe, and you hold it for just a moment longer so that you can taste his tongue before you're pulling away.
"Holy fuck." He pants. For some odd reason, the pain has lessened.
"Lay back, tell me which one hurts the most okay?" You say it like you his pupils aren't blown out, like his breathing isn't eerily steady. You say it like he isn't blush and kiss bitten. He listens, leaning back. How the fuck have you made him speechless?
You crawl beside him, sitting on your heels and pretend not to be disheveled. His hand has found purchase on your hip, rubbing circles against the skin that's exposed from your shirt rising up.
"The one in the middle...s'the worst." He watches you with intensity, every move, every breath. You hover over the healed wound with the blue ice pack. His belly tenses.
You're light with your hands. So gentle, all he feels is relief instead of discomfort or pain. The doctors had been rough, probably had something to do with their own biases. But you. You're a fucking angel, your touch is heavenly and all consuming. He's melting into the mattress, sighing in relief as the coolness graces his skin.
You feel your heart piecing back together, looking over to see his eyes half lidded, his tears dry. He keeps a steady pace with his thumb against your hip.
"Better? Worse? Talk to me." Your voice isn't scolding. It isn't judgmental. It's curious. He smiles like he's drunk, staring up at you. He's never looked more beautiful.
"Better, much better." There's a mischievous lilt in his tone. You quirk your eyebrow, giggling.
"What is it, Munson? You look like the cat who got the cream. Or however that goes," you trace the blue veins that branch outwards at the corner of his inner elbow. "it's cute, but I feel like I should be worried."
"I thought you'd think I was horrendous. A real freak show." He tries to sound like he's half joking, widens his eyes comically and snarls his lip sardonically - but you cock your head, confused.
Eddie thought you wouldn't love him anymore.
"Are you fucking insane?" It's the harshest you've sounded all night, and he can't help but to chuckle. It hurts his ribs, but the giggles bellow from him like smoke.
"Eddie, you're the most beautiful boy I've ever seen. I don't say that to blow sunshine up your ass, I say it because I mean it," you stroke his face, and he seems bewildered. "you're so pretty it hurts. You always will be, to me. How could I? Why would I-?"
You sound like you're on the verge of tears again, and his bones feel heavy, stomach churning. He sits up, disregarding the burn, and places his warm palms against the sides of your neck. You look at him like he's just said something inhumane.
"Baby, hey," he presses his forehead to yours. "I love you, I'm sorry."
You shake your head, his curls tickle your face. "You don't have to be sorry Eddie, of course not. Just...I love you so fucking much."
He wants to cry again, but he doesn't. He mouths the side of your cheeks. Your eyelids. The tip of your nose. "I love you too sweetheart," he pecks your mouth. "more...more than I'll ever really be able to say." And again. And again.
You probably shouldn't be as slick between your legs as you are right now. But you can't bring yourself to feel guilty about it. Not when he's kissing you like this, the way he knows you like, in a way that you haven't felt for three entire months because of the state his body has been in.
His hair billows through your fingers, and you absentmindedly pull him closer to your mouth by the roots. He groans in your mouth, a sound that reverberates through your throat, downwards behind your ribs. It flurries through your body like a memory that's so close you can taste it; feel it.
You pull back hastily, wired from the tips of your ears to the bottom of your feet. He looks so goddamn pretty, so messy and raw. You stroke his plump bottom lip with your thumb. He resists the urge to suck it into his mouth. He doesn't know if you're ready for that type of thing yet.
"I wanna suck you off, Eddie."
Well fuck.
He looks as incredulous as you expect, eyes practically bugging out of his head. His cheeks puff outwards when he lets a breath out.
"Really? You're serious?" He knows the answer. You're looking at him like he's the reason for your starvation.
"I want to...I want to make you feel good Eds," his cock was already growing, now it's practically bursting at the seams. You grab his big hands, bringing rough knuckles to the surface of your lips. "wanna make you cum. Will you let me? Do you want that?"
He feels a little dizzy. He honestly didn't know when you two would ever be able to do anything like this again. Hell, he couldn't fathom you liking his appearance anymore, let alone asking to suck his dick with the lilt of a beg in your voice.
"Jesus Christ, yeah baby 'course I want it. Y-you're sure you want this- ohh, ohh sweetheart."
You've already brought your palm to his pants, stroking the twitching appendage underneath. He's so touch deprived he doesn't know what to do with himself, so he settles for throwing his head back, gripping at the sheets once again for dear life.
You don't want to wait. You're set a fire on the inside, between your legs aches to be filled but you're too focused on making him feel good to really want anything done about it. Him. That's what matters right now. The desperate groan that escapes him, the vein bulging at his jugular.
"Lay back baby." You kiss his throat, and he does as you ask.
You're careful when you kiss his chest. You move around the scars, teetering around the perimeters. He's stuck between wanting to close his eyes, and wanting to watch every move you make. You're careful, delicate like he's the most important thing in the world.
As you kiss the trail of hair underneath his belly button, across alabaster hip-bones, you pull his bottoms off all the while.
From your position, it nudges against your chin when it's out of the confines of his pajamas, dribbling with precum, sticky all the way down the shaft. You coo, kissing the tops of his thighs. Eddie doesn't know what to do with himself. He's never felt this vulnerable, this fucking horny. His balls are about to burst.
"Eddie...you're so hard. Baby, mm, my boy." You grip the very base, starting your mouths ascent from there. He whimpers into the cool air of his bedroom, holding on by a very thin veil of consciousness. Your elbows rest between his thighs, belly atop his mattress. You close your eyes and hum when you get to the swollen, ruby tip.
"Oh god - please," he doesn't know what he's begging for. For your mouth, your being, your soul. His fingers grasp your face as your tongue gathers the pre arousal that's made such a mess of him. You have to hold his shaft steady so that the twitching doesn't move him away from your lips. "feels so fucking good, you've no idea."
The praise is getting to your head. You feel wetness leaking from your hole, dripping into your underwear. You pull his cock forward slightly, angling it so that you can take him in your mouth.
His whole body clenches when you slide it in.
He's moaning obscenities into the wind, writhing like he's too overwhelmed to think. He is. It's been so long. Too long, since he felt you like this. Since he felt your mouth. You're feeling the same sentiment as you begin to stroke what you can't fit, from the thatch of brunette hair to the glossy head. The salty aftertaste of his pre-cum keeps you satiated.
It's intoxicating, being able to make him feel like this. Feeling him fill your mouth and throat up like this. Just knowing the sounds he's making are not only for you but because of you - that's enough to have you on the verge of an indescribably neediness yourself.
"Taste' so good Eds, missed this."
It's barely coherent, but he knows your voice too well - knows your sweet talk too well. The most excruciating part is that you mean it, you say it with so much truth he feels it in every part of his body.
You suck him off like you've missed it as much as he has. Because you have. You're not shy, not ashamed. The sounds are lewd and sticky and wet, it's driving him fucking mad. He reaches down to grasp one of.your hands that are around his cock, replacing it with the intertwinement of his fingers.
You take him further, till the head of his cock touches your uvula, and you gag. Eddie groans like he's in pain, but you know he isn't. He's thrusting up into your mouth, chasing all of your warmth, all of your spit even though most of it has leaked from your mouth and coated his balls and inner thighs.
"Ohhhh shit, m'gonna cum baby I can feel it," he looks down, fucked completely out by this point. You're a fucking goddess, messy hair and a wet mouth and fluttering lashes. "don't stop, p-please."
You wouldn't dream of it, not when he's so close. Not when you can feel the muscles in his abdomen clenching, convulsing. Not when he sounds so pretty, so unbelievably yours.
You moan around him, elated by the fact that you're able to please him like this, and Eddie is a goner.
"Cu-cumming!" He's barely able to breathe it out.
He shoved his face into the pillow beside him, biting down on the fabric. The sound that rips through him is animalistic, and you have to use a good bit of your strength to keep his thighs parted as he spurts his seed into your mouth, down your throat.
You don't let up until you've swallowed every drop, every remnant of his arousal. His chest is rising and falling with such a rapid pace, you're almost worried you've hurt him.
But then he's looking down at you, with your mouth releasing from his semi softening cock. He's got glossy eyes again, blotches of red on his neck and chest and face. His hair is sticking to him like saran wrap and this big, dopey smile is etched across his face. His tongue darts out to lick the perspiration from his upper lip.
He doesn't have to ask for you to start moving towards him. When you're in close enough proximity, where he can actually manage to move a limb, he's grabbing your face and pressing your lips to his like a man starved.
Your giggle echoes his own.
"When I'm mobile again," he suckles your tongue, tasting himself.
"I'm showing you no mercy, sweetheart"
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rwbyrg · 11 days ago
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sometimes i wonder how ruby would've reacted if she knew that the more magic oscar uses the more his soul merges with oz's. because like...Surely she would be feeling things if she found out and put two-and-two together and realized the nuke was oscar's magic. SURELY she would be feeling Things knowing oscar did it to keep salem at bay to protect his friends regardless of the consequences to him and His identity???
Oh, I'm sure we're going to find out anon.
Oscar's spent the last five volumes honing the skill of repression so as to not let those around him know what he's feeling or struggling with (how very Ruby of him). Ruby's spent the last nine (especially the most recent) realizing she can't shoulder all of this on her own. And both of them have spent the last four having their attachments to each other tested and amplified to the point where there's very little either of them wouldn't do to make sure they didn't lose the other again.
Oscar doesn't tell them how Qrow or Jaune attacking him made him feel. He doesn't tell them how he ended up in the crater or how he blew a hole in the bottom of Atlas. Doesn't tell them Oz is back until Ren figures it out. Based on the epilogue, he's also distancing himself from people - i assume - in an attempt at hiding the merge attacks he's having.
If Ruby doesn't push him to talk to her first (maybe for a dojo scene reprise of sorts? 👀), then she's going to find out first hand some other way. He can't hide it forever. He's either going to have a merge attack in front of her, or he's going to do something gloriously stupid like use his magic to protect her if he still can't unlock his semblance. Maybe both, even.
And at that point there won't be any way for him to keep it a secret anymore, nor will there be any way for us to not see how Ruby reacts.
If I were to speculate, I think it's going to scare her. I think it's going to make her fear of losing him that much stronger. I also think she might be angry at him for not relying on them sooner. Because even if there's little to nothing she can do to help him - beyond kicking Salem's ass and negotiating with Gods - she would have wanted to support him through it regardless. Which are some big words coming from her given her track record... but I also think that might be just one part of why Oscar's kept things on the down low all the time. Yeah there's the negative belief he has that he's not really part of the team... but how could he burden Ruby with his struggles when hers are already so heavy?
they're both idiots (affectionate). very excited to see how all these threads finally come together.
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jessefandomunited · 10 months ago
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Alone for Christmas
It's Christmas Eve and you realize that there is no way you'll be able to see your parents this year on such short notice. Luckily it seems like someone else dosent have plans either and it may just be someone you've had a crush on for a while.
Spencer x GN reader - no smut just probably some snuggles and kisses
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Christmas had come too quickly this year, and while working at the BAU was rewarding it was ridiculously hard , especially during this time of year. I called my parents a few times and told them that unfortunately the case we were on was running long and I couldn't get a flight out in time. They told me that we would just have to have Christmas whenever I could make it over, which made me smile.
" hey did you hear ," Penelope asked as I slowly came back to reality. " Hu...oh uh no sorry I was spaced out," I said nervously. "Well they got him! They'll be home by Christmas Eve," she cheered . I smiled ," that's great but I literally have nothing to do now," I sighed leaning back in my chair. She thought a moment," well... I mean... Spencer is probably free." I could feel heat creeping up my neck, " so." She rolled her eyes," SOOOOO ask him out come on you have movie nights all the time what's so different about this?" " it's CHRISTMAS EVE that's the difference, I maybe will ask him to hang out but the last thing I want is for this to be a day where I lost my best friend due to a little crush," I insisted. She nodded," okay fiiine, me and my guy can drop by and give you some of the dinner I cooked , I always make too much anyway." I smiled," sure that would be great."
Everyone was back and I was drumming nervously on the strap of my back pack. I didn't think he would say no but my mind always jumped to the worst case scenario. " welcome back guys," Garcia greeted causing me to almost jump out of my skin. I looked up and locked eyes with Spencer. I forced a smile and waved. " relax," I heard Garcia whispering as she gently nudged me towards him. I walked over and said ," hey, how was the trip." " it was great we made better time than most trips, I thought we would be snowed in. You know the clouds are the best indicator a storm is coming" I was once again in the Spencer trance. While most people told him to hurry up or get to the point I was stuck enraptured by his words. His voice his passion everything, he was wonderful. " so do you have plans for Christmas," he asked. The question threw me off and I almost didn't answer, I didn't expect that he would bring it up. " oh.. no I wasn't able to get tickets in time," I said beginning to massage my hands to ease my anxiety. He looked a little surprised," oh... well you know I don't have any plans either so we could have a Christmas movie night, I still havnt given you your Christmas present so it'll be perfect." My head was swirling and I felt like I ascended to cloud nine," yes , yeah that would be fun, you know Garcia said she would bring over some food too." " great it's settled I'll go home and grab some clothes and I'll meet you at your place in an hour 35 most likely ," he said scooping up his satchel," see you then" I waved then slumped into an unattended chair, he actually said yes.
I got home and decided to quickly make some of the tub chocolate chip cookies I have in my fridge as something to snack on while we watched a Christmas movie or two. I also stressed out way more than I should have deciding what pair of pjs to wear. I had a limited option but what combo of old shirt and pj pant truly said I'm secretly in love with you. After that I brought out a blanket for the couch and started to heat up milk on the stove to make hot chocolate. Even if there was no dramatic confession I was excited to spend time with him.
Almost exactly as he predicted I hear a light knock at the door one hour and 35 minutes after we had left the BAU. He had an overnight bag and a huge grocery bag as well. " wow what's all this I said helping him with his things. " well I thought we could decorate gingerbread house while we were watching Christmas movies ," he said beaming. My heart almost melted , he brought a secondary activity. " oooOo cookies and hot chocolate," he said excitedly, " perfect! Have you decided which movie we're watching first?" I nodded," it's kind of embarrassing but I havnt watched white Christmas yet and I really love it." He nodded," that's a great choice I love those old musicals. If you want to start it up I'll get the gingerbread houses sorted." I agreed and put on the movie.
Soon enough we were annoyingly singing the songs while we made our houses and drank our filll of hot coco. I tried my best to make the house as good as possible but it still ended up pretty sloppy. After we migrated over to the couch and settled in. We watched the muppet la Christmas carol which Spencer insisted was a must , then home alone, and then we were both fast asleep.
I woke up to the smell of bacon wafting through the air and Christmas music was playing on the radio. I smiled and checked my phone before fully waking up. Garcia sent a text that said " merry Christmas I'll be over at about 11 TELL HIM" I said merry Christmas to her and maybe. As I sat up I noticed there was a plate of half eaten cookies by the small tree I had that now had two presents beneath it. I chuckled, " looks like Santa came aye?" He glanced over ," would you look at that he did!" " thanks for making breakfast," I said stretching. " no problem at all, Thankyou for offering your home to me," he said smiling . I took a cup and poured some coffee in before sitting at the table and gazing outside at the sparkling snow covering the roads, everything seemed so still. And I felt like I did need to tell Spencer, today, now. " hey uh Spence," I asked looking over . He had two plates that he picked up and plopped in front of each of us, " yes?" I poked at my eggs and took a deep breath before saying, " if I say this can you promise our friendship we will be there." He got a worried look on his face as he said , " it depends but I believe so." I swallowed, " ever since i met you I think .... I liked you, like .. maybe even loved. I've had some issues in the past so I didn't think you would like me back. So I hid it. But it's eating me up inside and I'm fine if you don't like me back we can still be friends but I had to tell you." He didn't answer and I risked a glance up at him. He was shocked and his face was beat red, " really?" I nodded anticipating a smooth rejection. " I thought ... you only liked me as a friend too, I ... feel the same way," he stumbled over his words but it seemed to be from excitement. My eyes widened," is .. is that a yes... are we like together?" He laughed, " yes please." We both got up and embraced eachother, I felt tears come out as we stayed there. We both pulled back a bit and kissed. It was better than I thought it would be. He was more forceful than I expected his hands pulling me closer to him, we probably would have stayed like that longer if it wasn't for a kick at the door. It was 11, garcia had impeccable timing. I walked over and opened the door to an overjoyed Garcia who hugged me immediately," did you do it." I nodded and her eyes lit up she looked from me to Spencer , " are you guys?" Spencer tried to hide a smile but also just sheepishly nodded. She squealed in delight and ran over to hug him to, her boyfriend trailing behind her with food and gifts.
The rest of the day was wonderfully lazy. We ate with Garcia and her boyfriend who left quickly after to see his parents. Then we made out a bit more before remembering our presents. We sat underneath the tree and exchanged our presents. I had clumsily attempted to make him some crocheted socks (mismatched of course) but I also got him a first addition copy of " the blind banker" which he was ecstatic about. For me he had remembered how much I loved his 4th doctor scarf and made me one too. I was over the moon and gave him the tightest hug I could.
The rest of the evening we put on various Christmas movies and cuddled and talked. It was wonderful. I was overjoyed at how well this turned out. I honestly could not have been happier than I was now
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molly-ghuleh · 1 year ago
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Camellia: Copia x f!reader - Chapter 4
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Camellia: n. - A flower which symbolizes a deep desire or longing.
Summary: Sister Imperator gives you an ultimatum, and Papa helps talk you through it.
Word Count: 5.3k
A/N: Here is where it gets interesting!! I'm proud of this one hehe, I hope you all enjoy!! <3
Warnings: Religious trauma, anxiety, brief mentions of family trauma
AO3 / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3
“You are telling me,” Sister Imperator eyes you sternly, “that you have only translated one word?” 
You shrink under Sister’s harsh gaze. She’d come to the restricted room just before the dinner hour, touting a poorly-masked frown of annoyance, to inform you that she’d scheduled a meeting after breakfast the next morning. There were no pleasantries whatsoever. No good afternoon, Sister, how are you? No How are you settling in? No How is the translation coming along? Simply a raised eyebrow and a request for your presence in her office at nine o’clock sharp. 
You’d tossed and turned all night, trying to figure out a way to say ‘I’ve been working for three days straight and have almost nothing to show for it’. With sleep evading you, you’d trudged back up to the restricted room in the middle of the night to stare at the diary again until dawn. 
Part of you had hoped Papa would come to the library again. A very large, very noisy part of you centered somewhere in your chest had pounded at the mere thought of seeing him. Maybe you’d get the chance to ask him what he’d been looking for the first night you met? He was poking around the romance section… 
But you stamped that feeling down. You are no use to Elizabeth if your mind and heart are preoccupied with a man you know you shouldn’t be thinking about. He is just taking care of his flock, you’d told yourself. He’s Papa, it’s his duty. 
He had been so sweet to bring you oranges.
Despite your efforts, you’d gotten nowhere this morning. You’re still stuck on Today, with no hints or prospects of figuring out what happened on that first Today of the diary. So here you stand, feeling rather like a kicked puppy in front of Sister Imperator. She’s frowning again but this time she has good reason to do so. 
“Yes, Sister,” you say, hanging your head. Your face burns hot under her scrutiny. “But you must understand, the journal is in a—”
“I don’t care if it’s written in hieroglyphs, Sister. You are here to figure it out. Are you telling me you can’t do it?” 
You shake your head. “No, Sister, I can—” 
“Then do it.” 
You’re eleven. Your mother stares down at you, holding your secret (or, what you’d thought to be secret) diary in front of your face. It’s opened to the page you’d hoped your parents would never see. The page which prompted your visit to Liège. If God loves me, you’d written, why does He make me question myself? Is it because I doubt Him that he makes me doubt myself?
“Yes, Sister,” you nod. 
Sister Imperator lifts her glasses from the chain around her neck to the tip of her nose. It’s a sign of dismissal, you know, but you are almost scared to move without her permission. 
“Come see me tomorrow. I expect progress, Sister. Otherwise I will have to look elsewhere.” 
“Yes, Sister.” 
You turn with a small bow (which she doesn’t acknowledge) and make for the door. Your heart pounds in your ears. If you don’t figure out Elizabeth’s method, you’ll be sent home. 
You’ll be sent home to Marseille.  
Perhaps you should allow her to send you home. That’s what you’ve wanted the whole time, isn’t it? Though you’re not sure which outweighs the other: your homesickness, or your curiosity about Elizabeth. 
You hadn’t exactly been given a choice when Sister Imperator summoned you to the Abbey, but that doesn’t mean you hadn’t been intrigued. You had known you’d miss home, and you were somewhat prepared for it. What you hadn’t been prepared for, however, was to discover just how badly you want to unravel the history written in the diary. Elizabeth must be a significant figure in the Ministry’s past. Why else would Sister Imperator want it translated so urgently?
It doesn’t matter. If you don’t make some sort of breakthrough in the next twenty-four hours, you’ll be on a plane back to France in forty-eight and you’ll never find out just who Elizabeth was. 
Why is that idea so abhorrent to you?  
You close your eyes and try to calm yourself down. Sister Imperator is not your mother. She is not holding your faith over your head. No one is holding your faith over your head. Your worth as a person doesn’t go away if you fail just this once, you tell yourself, breathing intentionally slowly. Lucifer will not value you any less. 
When you finally push yourself away from Sister Imperator’s closed door, you find Papa standing at the next door down the corridor, regarding you. His brows are furrowed, which carves the line between his brows a little deeper. He holds a key, slotted into the brass doorknob of what you assume is his office door. He doesn’t move, doesn’t turn the key and push the door to enter his office, just… stands there, and looks at you. 
You look back. 
He’s wearing a leather vest with intricate gold clasps over a black shirt with a high, frilly neck. His sleeves are puffy, but cinched in at the wrists. On anyone else the shirt might look overly antiquated, but Papa wears it well. The high neck frames his jaw and chin, the black contrasted with the full Papal paints he’d decided to wear this morning. His trousers are, of course, black, and tight. Tight enough to make your face flush with heat when your eyes involuntarily wander down, following the curve of his spine as he stands sideways. 
Oh, Hell.  
“Sorella? ” Papa speaks. Your eyes flick back up to meet his and you find that your heart is pounding in your ears yet again. “Are you alright?” 
You nod and attempt a smile. “Yes, Papa, thank you.” 
He doesn’t seem convinced, and if you’re honest, you wouldn’t be either. He moves his gaze from your face to the closed door of Sister Imperator’s office, and then back to you. “She can be, eh…” he searches for the right word, “...harsh. Don’t let it get to you.” 
You huff out a small laugh. “That is easier said than done.” 
“Yes, it is,” Papa smiles back. The crease between his brows fades. “Will you… come in, for a bit?” 
His invitation catches you off guard. You think it catches him off guard, too, because his eyes seem to flick back and forth between your own with an uncertainty like he’s anticipating your refusal. 
Should you refuse? You do have a deadline to meet, but… It’s very likely you won’t find the missing link in time for your meeting with Sister Imperator. If you haven’t found it by now, chances are you won’t ever find it. 
It’s not just about the deadline, though. You realize this as soon as you contemplate turning his invitation down—the thought of saying no and bidding him a good morning leaves a heavy weight in your chest. Satan, this hadn’t been part of your plan. You’d planned to keep to yourself, keep your head down. You weren’t supposed to crave connection with someone. You weren’t supposed to want to agree to invitations, to accept oranges, to hope he’d be in the library in the early hours of the morning. You weren’t supposed to want to stay, and it certainly wasn’t supposed to be for Papa. 
But you do, and it is. 
“Actually, you know what,” Papa says. Your cheeks blaze with heat again when you realize you must have been staring at him like a loon. He removes the key from his office door and pockets it. “Let’s go for a walk, eh? Have you seen the Abbey gardens yet? There’s a wonderful little path that goes all the way around the grounds. It might help you to clear your head. And then you’ll tell your Papa what’s wrong, yes?”
He extends an arm, inviting you to walk beside him. You push yourself up from where you’d been leaning on the wall and fall into step with him. “Thank you, Papa. I… I think I need fresh air.”
Papa leads you past the rest of the Clergy offices and down the staircase which leads into the main hall. The opening of the staircase had taken you longer to find than you’re willing to admit. It’s flanked on either side by large potted plants, making the doorway leading to the stairs virtually impossible to see until you’ve already passed it. You wonder how many other corridors and stairwells and secret doors you’ve missed because of conveniently-placed decorations. 
Instead of turning towards the large front doors of the Abbey, Papa guides the two of you towards the refectory. The large room is empty at this hour, save for a few Siblings who use it as a meeting place. It’s a different way than you’d expected, but you don’t question the route Papa takes—he must know the Abbey like the back of his hand. 
He leads you through the refectory and into the kitchens. Several Siblings are already working hard to prepare lunch. The large, brick-walled room is a whirlwind of smells and heat and aprons flitting about. Whatever it is that the Siblings are preparing today smells delicious, and it makes your stomach twist with hunger. Oh, Papa would be angry at you if he knew you’d skipped breakfast again. 
The two of you skirt along the walls of the kitchen, careful not to get in the way of any Siblings at work. They hardly even notice you. One Brother of Sin nods his head respectfully at Papa and gives you a smile, which you shyly return, but he misses it when he ducks his head back down to focus on not mincing his fingers into the large pile of garlic under his knife.
Despite the delicious smells swirling around the kitchens, you breathe a sigh of relief when Papa leads you through a creaky wooden door and out into the chilly morning air. It’s an overcast day but not too dark, casting the grounds in a cool glow. A thin, grassy dirt path leads from the kitchen door down a hill to the Abbey gardens. 
You understand why they’re called the gardens now, rather than the singular garden. 
Four large greenhouses and a garden shed are lined up at the bottom of the hill. Through the transparent glass, you can tell that each greenhouse is filled wall-to-wall with greenery. Several Siblings carry baskets and walk up and down the greenhouses, checking soil, pruning leaves, and harvesting ripe vegetables. A basket full of ripe red tomatoes sits outside the rightmost greenhouse. The path from the kitchen door leads directly to the greenhouses, likely a result of Siblings carrying fresh ingredients directly to the door you’ve just stepped through.  
About halfway down the gentle hill, the path forks to the left. It veers off and disappears into a labyrinth of shrubs. The only thing flowering this early in the year are the bright yellow daffodils, which flank the garden path leading into the flower bushes. 
From this vantage point atop the hill, you spot another building off in the corner of the Abbey grounds, nestled just outside the edge of the forest. You hadn’t noticed it until now. It almost looks abandoned, but the neatly trimmed garden at its front suggests otherwise. The tiny steeple with an inverted cross, made of red and yellow stained glass, tells you that it’s a small chapel.
The step from the kitchens to the worn dirt path is a large one. Papa hops down with a small oof, and before you can step down after him, he turns and holds his gloved hand out for you to take. 
The leather feels like smooth, warm butter against your palm. His fingers gently grasp your hand, and you meet his eyes as he guides you down the tall step. For a moment you understand the swell of music, the stray flower petals, the slowing of time that moments like these are described with in books. While it is a simple gesture, Papa handing you down off the step seems incredibly… intimate. You are not the type to swoon but you can see how a Lady might, while being guided down from a carriage or a grand staircase.
You almost reach down to gather expensive silk skirts, but the moment is broken when your foot lands on the ground. This isn’t a romance novel and you aren’t a Lady. Even if you were a Lady, Papa is the King and you are the third daughter of some country Baron with a tiny homestead and a measly dowry. 
“There we go,” Papa says as you land on the ground. He gives you a warm smile and squeezes your hand for a brief moment before letting it go. “Now, would you like to tell me about what happened with Sister?”
You stroll next to him down the hill, following the left fork of the path which leads into the labyrinth of flower bushes. “Well,” you sigh. “Last night she asked me to come to her office this morning to discuss progress. She was… less than pleased that I’ve only been able to translate a single word so far. I’m sure you can imagine.”
“I can,” Papa says sympathetically. “What did she say?”
A humorless laugh escapes you. “She said that if I haven’t made significant progress by tomorrow morning, she’ll send me home.”
Papa’s head, which had been slightly bowed to watch his footing as he walks beside you, shoots up. “Home? To–-to Marseille?”
Oh, no no. Copia doesn’t like that idea at all. He is just starting to know you, to figure out why he feels so drawn to you. So attracted to you. You can’t leave him. Not yet. 
You nod, but leave the conversation at that. The silence floats in the air between you like a mutual understanding. There’s something here, it says in the breeze. And there is something—regardless of how desperately you’d tried to stay detached, how adamantly you tell yourself you don’t care about him at all. There is something, and it will be gone tomorrow morning. 
“I will talk to Sister,” he says quietly. 
You shake your head. “No, Papa, it’s alright. I will—”
“Copia.”
You blink. “What?”
“Call me Copia,” he asks gently. His gaze meets yours and you notice that there’s an errant lock of hair in front of his eyes. 
He wants to hear his name leave your lips. Just once. Sweet Satan, just once.
“Copia,” you say, as if you read his very thoughts. And oh, you sound so sweet saying his name like that. He’s grateful for the full paints he’d decided to wear today, otherwise you might catch his very hot, very red face. Though, perhaps his ears give that away. He never does paint them. 
The two of you finally reach the labyrinth of flower bushes. The sounds of the Siblings working in the gardens fades away until it’s just you and Copia, together on the gravel path. 
“Let me talk to Sister,” Copia tries again.
You smile at him, grateful for his offer. “I tried. She didn’t seem to care that it’s written in a cipher. She said,” you paraphrase, “‘I don’t care if it’s in hieroglyphs, you’re here to figure it out.’”
That brings an unexpected bark of laughter from Copia. “Hieroglyphs might be easier. At least there would be some pretty pictures to look at.” 
You laugh with him, then settle into another, more comfortable silence for a few moments. “I don’t know what to do. Part of me wants to just accept it and go home.”
“And the other part?” Copia asks. 
“The other part of me wants to go back up there and try like hell,” you admit. “But what can I do? I feel like I’ve tried everything. I can’t think of anything else.”
He regards you for a second, then looks forward. “Maybe you need to, eh… take your mind off it for a little while. Think of something else, yes?” 
Your stomach does a jaunty little flip. Is… is he suggesting—?
“Will you tell me about Marseille?” Copia asks. “I’ve never been.”
Oh. No, he’s not suggesting. Of course not, désespérée. 
“I will tell you about Marseille,” you agree, turning to him as you walk side-by-side, “if you tell me about where you’re from.”
Copia looks at you as well, his heart swelling with fondness at the mention of his home. He adores that you want to know about him, about his life before becoming Papa. He finds that he wants to tell you everything, if only to draw out that shine that grows in your eyes when you’re happy. Copia remembers how your eyes had shone when telling him about La génie, and when you’d finally uncovered that first word of Elizabeth’s diary.
He hates that Sister Imperator is threatening to send you home. Does she not realize that to translate one word at all from that enigma of a diary is an accomplishment in and of itself? Does she not realize how hard you’ve been working, sacrificing meals and sleep for work? It’s one of the things he admires about you, but it makes him worry to no end. He hadn’t seen you in the refectory for breakfast this morning, but can he blame you? You must have been anxious to Hell and back about the meeting with Sister. He could see that from the second you stepped out of her office door. 
Yes, he will tell you about his home. Because he wants to see you happy and distracted from the weight on your shoulders.
“Deal,” he says with a smile. “You first, cara.”
You’re happy to talk about your home. There’s a warm fluttering in your heart when you think about it, and even more so when you talk to Copia about it. You tell him more about the Marseille Abbey, about how it’s ancient and drafty but it breathes life into you. You tell him about your windowsill full of prayer books. You tell him about Bishop Beaumont, and about each Sibling who lives at the abbey, as well as the few Siblings who don’t. Then your focus shifts to the area outside your Abbey, to the hilltop it sits on as it overlooks the sea. You tell him about the wildflowers that bloom in the tall grass all through the summertime and how they must be budding this very second. 
Copia asks about the city proper, and about the area surrounding your Abbey. You tell him that your small cathedral is nestled on a grassy hillside, between steep, rocky slopes which overlook the water. Not many people in Marseille actually know it’s there—it’s hidden from the city proper, and not a short drive away. The roads leading up to the Abbey are long, winding dirt paths that are hardly roads at all. You tell him that if one was in a hurry to run an errand, they would be better off using the ancient stone steps which lead into a smaller village and are likely older than time itself. 
You tell him about Alphonse, a tomcat who lives in the village and who sometimes makes the journey up the hill for ear scratches and to sunbathe on the flat stones which surround the Abbey walls. He is scraggly and old but sweet as sugar, and yes, you spoil him whenever he visits. 
And then, Copia asks about Liège. 
“I… I was eleven,” you tell him. You find yourself wanting him to know, wanting to speak about what had happened. “I was going through a crisis of faith at the time, and my mother found my diary. She read all about how I was doubting the Catholic faith, how I was angry at God for one thing or another. I don’t even remember what I wrote at the time, but it was enough for my parents to bring me on a trip to Liège.
“They told me it was to tour Saint Paul’s Cathedral. And we did, but…” you pause and bite the inside of your cheek. “My mother said she wanted to bring me to the Cathedral so I could find the glory of God again. She said, ‘l'amour de Dieu est perdu en toi’. ‘God’s love is lost in you.’ Funny, how that was the day I found where I would eventually put my faith.” 
Copia watches you silently. The line between his brows is back now, and deeper, but it isn’t a look of pity. 
You laugh through your nose. “They told me we were touring the Cathedral. They didn’t tell me they were leaving me there.”
Copia gently takes your arm and slows the two of you to a stop. You’re somewhere in the bowels of the flower garden, far enough in that the bustle of the Abbey and the gardens has faded to a soft murmur. Somehow, despite how early it is in the year, the bushes around you aren’t dormant. No, they’re nearly bursting with color—white and pink flowers with layers upon layers of petals, so dense that you can hardly see the deep green leaves of the bushes they grow on. The chilly breeze carries their sweet scent and wisps it between you and Copia. 
A neatly handwritten sign in the soil reads Camellia. You wonder how something so beautiful can bloom so early. 
He dips his head down to meet your lowered gaze. “Tesoro,” he says so gently that you almost want to cry. The wounds you’ve just told him about are old and scarred over, but the way he coos at you in Italian… It rips open the hurt and stitches it back together at the same time. 
“They enrolled me in a Catholic school run out of the Cathedral,” you tell him. “Do you know how far Liège is from where I grew up? Quite far. In a completely different country, in fact.” 
Copia is silent. You realize that the warmth of his hand never left your arm. His thumb strokes small circles where it rests. 
You smile at him, but there’s no joy behind it. “I had to leave everything behind. Everything I knew, everything and everyone that was familiar was gone in a moment. So you know what I did?” 
He shakes his head. 
“I left God behind, too.” 
Copia wants to hug you. He wants to pull you into his arms and never let you go, even if you begged him to. He wants to whisper little reassurances in your ear. Lucifer below, he hates what happened to you. He understands now why you are so reserved. How could someone not be, after going through what you’d gone through? But… look at who you’ve become. 
He’s proud of you. Not just as your Papa, but as… something else entirely. 
“What happened after?” 
The two of you start walking again, and he removes his hand from your arm. You wish he wouldn’t. You move past the blooming camellia bushes and the air loses that slight sweetness. “Well, I spent a lot of time with La génie du mal while I was there,” you smile, this time with a bit of fondness. “And then when I was old enough to leave the school, I enrolled in a University and learned all I could.” 
Copia watches you as you speak, as he had been the whole time during your stroll in the gardens. Though now, the path leads you out of the flower grove and along the tree line at the back of the Abbey grounds. It’s even quieter here, with only the light birdsong of Spring to interrupt you. 
From this far, the Abbey looks like a dollhouse. It sits pretty on the hilltop, with little figurines dressed in black flitting back and forth between the kitchens and the greenhouses. Everything seems so distant, so small from where you are now, that even the worries you’d had fade away into the background. The only things that matter are the birds, the trees, and Copia. Just Copia. Not Papa, not the figurehead of the Satanic Ministry, just… Copia. 
You feel as though you’ve talked his ear off. All through the flower labyrinth you’d talked, answering his questions or telling stories of your own. But now you find that he knows much more about you than you do about him. 
After a brief pause as you walk past a small cluster of stone benches, you turn to Copia. “Your turn,” you say. “I think I’ve talked enough for half a lifetime by now.”
Copia laughs. “I’ve said it before, cara. I enjoy listening to you talk. But, eh… I suppose we did have an agreement, yes? What would you like to know?” 
“Everything,” you say before you can stop yourself. And it’s true, you do want to know everything, but you weren’t supposed to say it out loud. “Uh, I-I mean, whatever you wish to tell me.”
He wishes you wouldn’t censor yourself like that, but watching you nervously flick your gaze around to everything except him makes his heart do strange flips and jumps against his ribcage. You are so honest with your emotions, even if you don’t mean to be. You might say one thing but your face betrays another, and it’s something Copia adores about you—how expressive you are. Perhaps he’s just good at reading people after having been a fly on the wall for most of his life, but you are something different. You seem to trust him past the mantle of Papa. And, well, if he’s honest, he trusts you as more than just a member of his unholy flock. Like he could tell you his secrets with full confidence that you would keep them.
Copia wonders if you’ve noticed he hasn’t called you by your title since you stepped foot in the gardens. He wonders if you’ve noticed you haven’t called him Papa, either. 
“I was born in Rome,” he begins, “but I was raised in the Florence Abbey until I was ten.”
“Away from your brothers?” You ask, hoping you’re not prying too far already. 
Copia nods. “Eh, yes. My brothers were born and raised in Rome, with my father. I was sent to Florence because my mother… Well. I believe she didn’t want my father to know about me.”
You want to take his hand and squeeze it. You don’t. 
“So I stayed in Florence, raised by the Sisters of Sin there until I was ten. Until I started to ask questions about this.” He gestures to his white eye. “And then, people started to wonder why a nameless Florentine boy had the mark of the Morningstar, like all the Papas before.”
You watch as he turns about, as if looking for someone. He tilts his head back to peer over the tall shrubs of the flower labyrinth, which you stand outside. The tops of the greenhouses are just visible, as well as the spire of the small, stone chapel far beyond. Seemingly not finding who he’s looking for, Copia turns back to you. “Primo came to the Florence Abbey after he heard about me. Word travels fast in the Ministry, sì? Until then it was common knowledge that Papa Emeritus Nihil only had three sons. But Primo took one look at me and said, 'sì, sei mio fratello', and scooped me up and took me to Rome.”
The way Copia says the last few words makes your heart warm as if the memory was your own. He seems to remember it fondly—there’s a small, warm smile on his black-painted lips. “Were you happy to leave Florence?” 
“Yes—eh, yes and no. The Sisters who took care of me were kind, and I hold them in my heart dearly, but… they were no Primo.” 
“Papa Primo raised you, when you went back to Rome?” 
“He did,” Copia tells you. “He raised all of us, you see, and very well, too. I would like to think we all turned out alright. Our father was… he was busy being Papa, I suppose. No time for three little rascals and a teenage son more responsible than him.” 
There’s an unmistakable edge of bitterness in his tone, and you can imagine why. To find out he had a father, a father who was Papa no less, but to learn that he had no regard for children as anything other than proponents of a bloodline… it must have hurt him terribly. You remember craving approval at that age, doing anything and everything you could for your parents’ praise. But you can’t imagine how it must have felt to be pushed aside by the father you didn’t know you had, who you’d craved your whole life. 
“Copia,” you whisper. “That’s… I’m so sorry. No one deserves that, especially not a child.” 
He looks at you then. His hair, slightly graying at his temples, is a little disheveled from the chilly breeze at your backs. He still holds that smile, but now it’s rueful. “It’s alright, cara mia. I had my brothers. I still do.”
Your hand is in his before you realize. His palm is warm underneath the leather. 
“And your mother?” 
Copia looks ahead but his gaze drops to his feet. “I… never found out. Not for sure.” 
You don’t want to pry any further. It’s obvious that this is a sore subject for him, and so you let it hang in the silence between you. 
You feel as if you could peacefully coexist with Copia. Both of you know that nothing more needs to be said. You let the quiet float between you, enveloping you like a warm blanket. Neither of you interrupt it with forced small talk about the weather, or your favorite books, or what might be served for dinner tonight. You can talk about those things later. 
It almost startles you when you realize that you want there to be a later. You want for there to be a tomorrow, a next week, a next month. You want for there to be stupid little chats about favorite books and food and weather, and you’re still holding his hand but you don’t want to let go of it. You want to hold his hand on walks like this, or when you’re both sitting quiet on a loveseat and reading those favorite books you might have talked about, or when he raises it up above your head to twirl you around and then pull you into him and kiss you sweetly. 
But oh, if you only knew how he felt the same. How he wishes you’d come and work in his office so the two of you could just exist in the same space, even if you don’t talk for hours. How he wants to drag you back to the Abbey to work on Elizabeth’s diary, and help you think until you both are sleep deprived and a little loopy, just so you can figure it out because he doesn’t want you to leave him. You can’t leave him so soon after he’s found you. Sweet Lucifer below, you’re the only bright spot in the lonely darkness that he’s seen in so long. You’re the flowers blooming in the early spring, beautiful and sweet and unexpected after walking through a labyrinth of routine. You’re his camellia. 
The two of you stroll on the path behind the row of greenhouses. Copia doesn’t remove his hand from yours. He doesn’t care that Siblings or ghouls or Primo might see. The two of you find comfort in each other, and holding onto that feeling is the most important thing in the world to him right now. This feeling, and you. 
A fat drop of rain lands against the side of your nose. You reach your free hand up to swipe it away, and pull your finger back to look at the offending droplet. “Oh,” you hum. “I think it’s going to rain.”
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