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vanteguccir · 1 month

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── ୨୧ !　𝟵 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗛𝗦 𝗔𝗙𝗧𝗘𝗥

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N's and Matt's babies are finally born after 9 long months of waiting; OR, where Matt is finally a dad.

WARNING: Pregnancy, crying, mentions of labor, pain.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: I cried while writing this one, it totally melted my heart 🥺

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The contractions hit Y/N like a tidal wave, her breath catching in her throat as she gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, her knuckles turning white. The pain radiated from her lower back, wrapping around to her abdomen in tight, relentless waves. She sucked in a sharp breath, her heart pounding in her chest.

They had been waiting for this moment for nine long months, and yet, now that it was here, the reality of it was almost overwhelming. She tried to call out for Matt, her voice wavering, but the pain was so intense that it felt as if it was squeezing the sound right out of her.

Matt was in the living room, his eyes glued to his laptop as he reviewed some emails. It had been a busy few weeks leading up to the due date, and he was trying to get ahead of things before the twins arrived.

The sound of Y/N’s voice, strained and filled with pain, cut through his concentration like a knife. His head snapped up, his heart skipping a beat. He leaped from the couch, knocking his laptop to the floor, and sprinted into the kitchen, his heart racing with panic.

"Honey? What’s wrong? Is it- oh God, it’s happening, isn't it?" Matt’s voice was a mixture of excitement and sheer panic as he reached her side. He placed a gentle but trembling hand on her back, his eyes wide with concern as he watched her struggle to breathe through the contraction. "Breathe, baby, breathe. Do you need water? No, wait- sit down. Should you sit? Or should you lie down? Oh my God, I should call 911!"

Y/N squeezed his hand, her face scrunched up in pain, but she managed a breathless laugh.

"Matt, relax... it’s okay. Just-" She interrupted her own sentence when a new wave of pain invaded her whole body.

"Come here, sweetheart." Matt gently guided Y/N to the edge of the kitchen chair, his expression shifting from sheer panic to a momentary calmness, trying to ground himself in the situation.

He knelt down in front of her, his hands trembling slightly as he placed them on her knees. His eyes, wide with worry, locked onto hers as he tried to steady his breathing.

"How long has this been going on?" His voice held a perfect mix of calmness and nerves, the gravity of the situation starting to dawn on him. He reached out instinctively, his hand gently resting on her stomach, feeling the tension in her muscles.

"Oh God, I don’t know." Y/N replied, wincing as another contraction hit, this one even stronger. She grasped Matt's hand tightly, her grip involuntarily squeezing his fingers. "Maybe an hour or so... but it’s so much worse right now."

Matt’s eyes widened, the shock and concern evident in his expression. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady as he spoke.

"Okay, okay, don’t panic." His voice was a bit firmer now, though a subtle tremble betrayed his nerves. He gently cupped her face in his hands, his touch warm and reassuring as he looked deeply into her eyes. "We need to time these contractions, okay? See if they’re far apart or getting closer together..."

Y/N nodded weakly, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she tried to focus on his words. Matt quickly grabbed his phone, fumbling with it slightly as he opened the timer app. He sat back on his heels, his eyes darting between the screen and Y/N's face, waiting for the next contraction to hit.

When it did, she squeezed his hand again, and he hit the timer. They both watched the seconds tick by, the silence in the room only broken by Y/N's labored breathing. The contraction passed, and Matt stopped the timer, noting the time with a furrowed brow.

"Okay, that was... three minutes." He said, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked up at her, his heart pounding in his chest. "We’re close, Y/N. We need to get you to the hospital now."

He helped her to her feet, moving with a newfound urgency but still managing to maintain a steady calmness, knowing he had to be strong for her. He wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her as they made their way out to the car, his determination stronger than ever.

He opened the passenger door of their car, gently easing her into the seat before rushing to the driver’s side.

"Matt, the... the bag."

"Right! The bag!" Matt practically yelled as if suddenly remembering the concept of bag. "I'm gonna be right back, baby!"

He darted back to the house, running around the kitchen like a man possessed, searching for the hospital bag they had packed weeks ago. He spotted it by the door and grabbed it, nearly tripping over his own feet in his rush to get back to Y/N.

"Here, I’ve got the bag! And... what else? Do we need snacks? Maybe you want something to eat before we go?"

Y/N's response was a groan as another contraction hit, stronger this time.

"Okay, no snacks, got it. We’re going to the hospital now, I promise. I’ll get you there, Y/N. I won’t let anything happen to you or the babies, okay?"

As he started the car, his mind raced. He had planned for this moment, had rehearsed it in his head a thousand times, but now that it was happening, he felt completely unprepared. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and he glanced over at Y/N, who was trying to remain calm despite the pain.

Matt hated seeing her in so much pain, his heart aching with every sharp intake of breath she made.

"Okay, okay, we’re going. We’re going." He muttered to himself as he pulled out of the driveway, his voice a mix of determination and barely contained panic. The streets of Los Angeles blurred past them as he sped toward the hospital, his mind racing with all the things he needed to do.

"Siri!" He suddenly barked at the car’s dashboard, his voice urgent. "Send a text to Chris and Nick."

"What would you like to say?" Siri responded in its calm, robotic tone.

"Um... Uh..." Matt hesitated, trying to form a coherent sentence as he glanced nervously at Y/N, who was breathing heavily beside him. "Tell them... we’re on our way to the hospital. Y/N's in labor. Get there by tomorrow morning. And don’t panic like I am because... just get there!"

"Sending message to Chris and Nick." Siri confirmed, and Matt let out a shaky breath, his hands trembling as he continued driving.

Y/N chuckled softly, despite the pain, and Matt shot her a quick, incredulous look.

"What? What's funny?"

"You are." She managed to say between contractions. "You're... adorable when you're freaking out."

Matt’s face flushed as he gave her a sheepish grin.

"I'm just trying to keep it together here, baby. You’re the one doing all the hard work."

"Trust me... I know." She replied, wincing as another contraction rolled through her.

Finally, they pulled up to the hospital entrance, and Matt jumped out of the car, nearly forgetting to put it in park in his haste to get to Y/N's side. He waved frantically at a nurse standing nearby, who immediately came over with a wheelchair.

"She's in labor! It's happening! We need to- she needs- help!" Matt's words tumbled out in a rush as he helped Y/N into the wheelchair, his voice rising in pitch with every word.

The nurse smiled reassuringly, clearly used to panicked fathers-to-be, and guided them inside.

"Don’t worry, we'll take good care of her. Just follow me."

As they were whisked away to the delivery room, Matt's heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing with thoughts of what was about to happen. He couldn't believe that in just a few hours, they would finally meet their babies.

Once in the right room, Y/N was settled onto the bed, her breaths coming in short, sharp bursts as the contractions intensified. Matt stayed by her side, clutching her hand as if it was his only lifeline. He leaned in close, his voice trembling but filled with love as he whispered,

"You’re doing amazing, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you."

Y/N squeezed his hand, her eyes locking onto his.

"I need you to stay calm, okay? We've got this... together."

Matt nodded, swallowing hard as he brushed a few strands of hair from her face.

"Together. I’m right here with you, every step of the way."

The room buzzed with activity, doctors and nurses moving around with practiced efficiency, but all Matt could focus on was Y/N’s face, her eyes squeezed shut as she battled through another contraction.

Time seemed to warp in the delivery room. Minutes stretched into hours, the pain of each contraction relentless, only broken by brief moments of respite. Matt stayed by Y/N’s side, his voice soft and steady as he encouraged her, even though his own nerves were frayed to the core. He watched the monitors anxiously, every beep and flicker, causing his heart to jump.

"Matt." Y/N whispered, her voice trembling with exhaustion as another contraction hit. "I can’t... I don’t know if I can do this."

Matt’s heart broke at the sight of her so vulnerable, so exhausted. He took a deep breath, brushing a few strands of hair away from her sweaty forehead and leaning in close, his lips brushing her temple.

"You’re the strongest person I know." He murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You’ve got this, baby. I’m right here with you. And in the end, everything will be worth it, yeah?"

Hours later, after what felt like a lifetime of labor, the doctor finally said the words they had been waiting to hear.

"It's time to push."

Y/N gritted her teeth, her entire body trembling with the effort as she bore down, Matt’s hand in hers, his words of encouragement a constant in the whirlwind of pain and exhaustion. The room seemed to close in around them, everything else fading away as they focused on bringing their babies into the world.

"Breath." Matt murmured, his hand gently rubbing her tense shoulders. "Just focus on your breathing. In and out, slow and steady. You got this, sweet girl. It's almost ending."

The first cry shattered the tension in the room, a tiny wail that echoed in Matt’s ears like the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He watched in awe as the doctor carefully lifted their first baby - a tiny, wriggling girl - into the air.

Time seemed to freeze as the nurse quickly wrapped her in a blanket and handed her to Y/N. Matt felt tears well up in his eyes as he looked down at his daughter for the first time. She was perfect, with a shock of dark hair and rosy cheeks, her eyes squeezed shut as she continued to cry.

"She’s beautiful." Y/N whispered, tears streaming down her face as she cradled their daughter against her chest, gluing her small head to her chin. Matt leaned down, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s forehead, his own tears finally spilling over.

But the moment was short-lived as Y/N was hit with another wave of contractions. The doctor quickly reminded them that there was still one more baby to bring into the world, taking their daughter away from them so Y/N could concentrate.

"One more, honey. Just one more. You can do this. You're so strong, I know you can." Y/N, though exhausted, steeled herself for the final round, and with Matt’s unwavering support, she pushed again.

Minutes later, another cry filled the room, this one just as heart-wrenching and beautiful as the first. Their son was born, his tiny fists clenched as he wailed with the full force of his little lungs.

"I don't... I don't know how to hold- Oh, okay." The nurse placed him in Matt’s arms, ignoring his sentence. He stared down at his son in awe, his arms trembling with fear of holding him in the wrong way, or worse, dropping him.

The baby boy was the spitting image of his sister, with the same dark hair and tiny features, though his cries were slightly less intense.

"He's... he's so small." Matt whispered in awe.

Matt’s breath caught in his throat as he carried his son over to Y/N - who was already holding their girl again -, his heart swelling with a love so profound it was almost overwhelming. He gently placed their son in Y/N’s free arm, and for the first time, they looked down at their twins together, their hearts filled with an indescribable mixture of joy, relief, and pure, unconditional love.

"We did it." Y/N whispered, her voice trembling with emotion as she looked up at Matt, tears streaming down her cheeks. "They’re here, and they’re perfect."

Matt could only nod, his throat too tight with emotion to speak. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his daughter’s tiny forehead, then his son’s, feeling the warmth of their little bodies against his skin. They were so small, so fragile, and yet so full of life.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The next morning, the first rays of sunlight filtered through the blinds of the hospital room, casting a warm glow over the quiet scene. Y/N was resting peacefully, her exhaustion from the previous night’s labor evident in the serene expression on her face as she slept. The twins were nestled in their bassinets beside the bed, their tiny chests rising and falling in a synchronized rhythm, the only sounds in the room being their soft breathing.

Matt sat in the armchair near the window, his eyes moving between Y/N and their newborns, a small smile playing on his lips. He had hardly slept, but he didn’t mind. He was too filled with wonder, still wrapping his mind around the fact that he was now a father to two perfect little beings. The magnitude of the moment wasn’t lost on him, and every time he looked at his family, his heart swelled with a mixture of pride and overwhelming love.

Just then, a soft knock on the door drew Matt’s attention. He stood up quickly, careful not to disturb Y/N, and opened the door to find Nick and Chris standing in the hallway. Both of his brothers looked a little disheveled, their hair slightly messy from a night of restless sleep. Chris held a bouquet of flowers in one hand, and Nick had a stuffed animal - a small bear with a yellow bow - tucked under his arm. The moment they saw Matt, their faces broke into wide grins.

"Hey, Dad." Nick joked softly, giving Matt a one-armed hug while still holding the bear. "How’s it feel?"

Matt chuckled, the sound low and full of affection.

"Surreal." He admitted, stepping back to let them in. "Come on, they’re right over here."

Chris was the first to approach the bassinets, his breath catching as he looked down at the sleeping twins. He placed the bouquet on a nearby table, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out, but then hesitated, as if afraid to disturb the peaceful scene. Nick followed, standing beside him, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of his new niece and nephew.

"They’re so tiny." Chris whispered, his voice cracking as he looked over at Matt, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Oh, my God, Matt... they’re so small."

Nick nodded, his usual bravado momentarily stripping away as he gazed at the twins.

"Yeah." He added, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "How is this possible?"

Matt felt a lump form in his throat, seeing the raw emotion on his brothers’ faces. He watched as Chris finally let out a shaky breath and reached down, his fingers gently brushing against his niece’s tiny hand. The touch seemed to undo him completely, and within seconds, tears spilled over, streaming down his cheeks.

"Chris." Matt said softly, his voice full of understanding as he placed a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. "It’s okay, man."

But Chris couldn’t find the words to respond. Instead, he just nodded, tears continuing to fall as he stood there, overwhelmed by the sight of his niece and nephew. He had always been the emotional one, the heart-on-his-sleeve brother, and in this moment, he felt everything with an intensity that was impossible to contain.

Nick, on the other hand, was struggling to maintain his composure. He swallowed hard, his jaw clenched as he fought back the tears that threatened to spill over. He wanted to be strong, to keep it together, but seeing Chris break down and knowing just how much this moment meant, even he couldn’t hold back completely. He let out a shaky breath, wiping his eyes quickly.

Matt noticed Nick’s struggle and gave him a reassuring smile.

"It’s okay to cry, you know." He said quietly, his own eyes misting over. "They’re your niece and nephew. This is a big moment."

Nick managed a small, watery laugh, shaking his head.

"Yeah, yeah." He muttered, his voice thick with emotion.

Matt grinned, pulling both of his brothers into a tight hug. The three of them stood there for a moment, embracing each other, their silent bond stronger than ever before. When they finally pulled away, Chris wiped at his eyes, sniffling a little as he turned back to the twins.

"Can we hold them?" Chris asked, his voice still shaky but filled with awe.

"Of course." Matt replied, his heart warming at the thought of his brothers meeting their niece and nephew properly. He carefully lifted his son from the bassinet, gently cradling the tiny bundle before handing him to Chris. "This is your nephew." He said, watching as Chris took the baby with the utmost care, as if he were the most delicate thing in the world.

Chris’s breath hitched as he looked down at the baby in his arms.

"Hey, little guy." He whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I’m your Uncle Chris. You’re going to be so loved, I promise."

Nick took his niece from Matt, holding her close, his eyes wide with wonder as he gazed at her tiny features.

"Hi, princess." He murmured, his voice soft. "I’m your Uncle Nick. And don’t worry, I’ll always have your back. You’re in good hands."

He cleared his throat, blinking rapidly, but when the little girl's tiny hand grasped his finger, Nick’s composure slipped. He bit his lip, trying to hold back the tears, but a few escaped, trailing down his cheeks.

"They're perfect... You and Y/N did good, Matt."

Matt felt his own eyes sting with tears as he watched his brothers, their love for his children evident in every trembling breath, every tear they tried to hold back.

"They really are." He whispered, his voice filled with pride as he watched his brothers bond with their niece and nephew.

The soft rustling of sheets drew Matt’s attention back to the bed, and he saw Y/N slowly stirring, her eyes fluttering open. She looked groggy, her movements sluggish as she tried to orient herself.

"Matt?" She called out, her voice hoarse and weak, a faint frown creasing her brow as she tried to sit up.

Matt was by her side in an instant, his hand gently brushing her hair back.

"I'm here, baby." He said softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. "The babies are right here, and Nick and Chris are with us."

Y/N’s gaze shifted to where Nick and Chris stood, each cradling a baby in their arms. Her eyes softened, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips as she saw them.

"Hey, guys." She murmured, her voice raspy but filled with warmth.

"Hey, Y/N." Chris replied, his voice thick with emotion as he carefully sat down on the edge of the bed, still holding the baby boy close to his chest. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I’ve been hit by a truck." Y/N joked weakly, managing a small laugh despite her exhaustion. She reached out for Matt, her eyes pleading for his help. "Can you help me sit up? I want to hold them."

"Of course." Matt said, his voice tender as he gently supported her back, helping her sit up against the pillows. He adjusted the bed to make her more comfortable, his movements careful and precise, always mindful of her comfort.

Once she was settled, Y/N looked at her babies, a rush of love flooding her system. Chris carefully handed her their son, his eyes shining with unshed tears as he watched Y/N cradle the tiny bundle in her arms. The baby boy squirmed slightly, his little face scrunching up as he nestled into Y/N’s embrace, and Y/N felt her heart melt at the sight.

"Hi, sweet boy." Y/N whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks as she pressed a soft kiss to her son's forehead. "Mommy’s here."

Nick, still holding their daughter, hesitated for a moment before offering her to Matt, a silent question in his eyes. Matt nodded, and Nick carefully placed the baby girl into his brother’s arms. The little girl yawned, her tiny fist curling up near her face, and Matt felt his heart swell with a fierce, protective love as he looked down at his daughter.

"She's got your eyes." Nick teased softly, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"And her nose." Chris added, his voice still wavering with emotion.

Y/N smiled, looking at Matt, who was gazing down at their daughter with such love and awe that it made her heart ache in the best way. She could see the tears in his eyes, the overwhelming emotion that he was trying so hard to keep in check, and it made her love him even more.

"It's like I've waited my whole life for this moment."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"Ready?" Matt asked, his voice soft as he looked over at Y/N, his heart pounding in his chest.

Y/N nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she gazed back at him.

"Ready." She whispered, her voice steady, filled with a quiet determination.

They walked up the path of their house together, Matt balancing his baby boy in one arm while Y/N held onto his other arm. The front door, painted in a cheerful shade of brown, seemed to welcome them home as they stepped inside. The familiar scent of home - fresh linen, a hint of lavender, and the comforting smell of wood - washed over them as they crossed the threshold.

Matt paused in the entryway, taking a deep breath as he looked around. Everything was exactly as they had left it, but now it felt different, infused with the anticipation of this new chapter.

"Welcome home, little lovies." Y/N whispered, leaning down and brushing her lips against her daughter’s small head covered by her light pink beanie.

Matt led the way, his steps slow and deliberate as he carried their son into the living room. He paused in the center of the room, turning in a slow circle as he looked around.

"Look, little guy, this is where we'll spend most of our time together." He said softly, his voice taking on a warm, inviting tone as if he were talking directly to the babies. "Right here, in this room. We'll have family movie nights, and you’ll play with your many toys on the rug... and when you’re a little bigger, we’ll build forts with blankets and cushions."

Y/N followed him, her heart swelling with love as she listened to him talk. She could see it all so clearly in her mind; tiny feet pattering across the hardwood floor, peals of laughter filling the air as they chased each other around the coffee table, and sleepy cuddles on the couch after a long day of playing. It was the life they had dreamed of, and now it was finally real.

"And this." Matt continued softly, leading Y/N out of the living room and down the hallway to the master bedroom. "Is Mama and Dada's room."

He pushed the white door open, revealing the room they had shared for a year now - after they moved in to their own shared house -, now feeling so much more significant with the addition of their new roles as parents. The bed was neatly made, the pillows fluffed and arranged just the way Y/N liked them, and the soft curtains billowed slightly in the breeze from the open window.

"This is where you’ll come when you need comfort." Matt said, his voice thick with emotion as he looked down at their son, still cradled in his arms. "Where you'll crawl into bed with us on stormy nights, or just because you want to be close. And we'll always be here, waiting to hold you, to keep you safe."

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears as she looked up at Matt, her heart overflowing with love for him, for their children, for the life they were building together.

"They’re so lucky to have you as their dad." She whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "And I’m so lucky to have you as my partner in this."

Matt’s gaze softened as he looked at her, his eyes filled with the depth of his love.

"I'm the lucky one." He murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips. "I get to spend my life with you and our beautiful babies. I don’t think I could ever ask for more."

Leaving the bedroom, Matt led them to the one right by the side, stopping in front of a door that had been carefully painted in soft pastels. He pushed it open gently, revealing the nursery inside. The room was bathed in the warm, golden light of the afternoon sun, and the soft colors of the walls and furniture created a peaceful, serene atmosphere.

"Now, this is your room." Matt said softly, his voice full of pride and love as he stepped inside.

He carefully set the bag that was held by his free arm down on the plush rug in the center of the room, turning to Y/N as she entered behind him.

"We've spent so much time getting it ready for you." Y/N muttered, her eyes shining as she looked around the room.

"That's right. This is where you'll sleep, where you'll have sweet dreams and where we'll sing you lullabies every night. Also, where your mama is going to read all those cute little stories every day."

Y/N carefully placed their daughter in the crib, brushing her fingers over the soft white blankets they had chosen with so much care. She looked around the room, her heart swelling with a deep, almost overwhelming sense of love.

"It’s so beautiful." She whispered, her voice catching in her throat as she looked up at Matt, her eyes lowering to her baby boy still on his arms, his big blue eyes now appearing smaller with the heaviness of sleep that dominated them. "They’re going to be so happy here."

Matt’s hand found hers, their fingers intertwining as they stood together, looking down at their tiny daughter, who was already drifting off to sleep in the crib.

"We all are."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

I also wrote it while listening to a really beautiful brazilian song about pregnancy. I'm gonna let it right below so yall can listen to it and see the translation through Spotify! 🩷

taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @earth2starkey @freshloveforthefit @sturniolowhore @luvr4miya @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @hearts4chriss @cupidzsq @junnniiieee07 @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @soimightlikeoldmen69 @ldr-sl0t @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @soso-scarlettolivia @bitchydragonparadise @freshsturns @h3arts4harry @patscorner @strnilolo @bernardsbendystraws @poetatorturadaa @meg-sturniolo @orangeypepsi @jnkvivi @chrisactualwife @fratbrochrisgf @elordilover @somegirlfromasgard @hpyjw @colorthecosmos444 @thewhispersofthewaves @mattslolita @imwetforyourmom @mrl217 @sturnsmia @mattsfavbitchhh @sturnioloshacker @soursturniolo @blahbel668 @sarosfilms @moncherriis @tobesolonelyjess @zainabthescientist @littlemisswhore

(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

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seoulzie · 3 months

Text

blurred boundaries

WHEREIN: huening kai needs help with his...! MDNI

pairing: inexperienced!hyuka x f! reader genre: suggestive, smut warnings: explicit sexual content, swearing, desperate kai-ish, handjob

SEUL SPEAKS! this was only supposed to be suggestive but i got carried away.. this is my first time ever writing straight-up smut

the room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a single bedside lamp, casting a warm hue over the scattered books and papers. huening kai sat on the edge of the bed, his usually playful eyes filled with a mixture of anxiety and desire. you’d been friends for years, the kind of friendship that often teetered on the edge of something more, but had never quite crossed that line.

tonight felt different, though.

“kai, what’s up? you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” you teased, trying to lighten the tension that had settled between you.

he looked down, avoiding your eyes. “can we talk? about something serious?”

you nodded, moving to sit beside him on the bed. the silence stretched out, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. “of course. what’s going on?”

he took a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “i… i need your help with something. and it’s not something i can ask anyone else.”

his words sent a shiver down your spine. “anything, kai. you know that.”

he finally looked up, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity you hadn’t seen before. “i need you to help me… with this.” his eyes flicked downward, and you followed his gaze, understanding dawning on you.

“oh.” it was all you could manage to say, the implications of his request hitting you like a tidal wave. am i really going to do this? to a friend? the thought echoed in your mind, the internal conflict rising.

“i know it’s a lot to ask,” he said quickly, his face flushing with embarrassment. “but i trust you, and… i don’t know how else to deal with it.”

you took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. this was uncharted territory, a step that could change everything between you. but the vulnerability in his eyes, the trust he was placing in you, was undeniable.

“okay,” you said softly, the word feeling heavy with the weight of your decision. “tell me what you need.”

his relief was palpable, and he reached out to take your hand, his touch warm and slightly trembling. “just… help me with this. please.”

you nodded, moving closer to him. your fingers brushed against his thigh, and you felt him shiver. the air between you seemed to crackle with tension as you leaned in, your lips hovering just inches from his.

“are you sure about this, kai?” you whispered, giving him one last chance to back out. your mind was still racing, questions and doubts swirling. this was huening kai, could you really cross this line?

“i’m sure,” he replied, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes. “i need you.”

with that, you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting in a tentative kiss. it was soft at first, a gentle exploration, but quickly deepened as the desire between you ignited. his hands found your waist, pulling you closer as you shifted to straddle his lap.

you could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against you, and it sent a thrill through your body. breaking the kiss, you moved to press your lips against his neck, eliciting a low groan from him.

“kai,” you breathed against his skin, “tell me what you want.”

his hands tightened on your waist, guiding your hips to grind against him. “i want you. all of you.”

you nodded, understanding his need and your own desire to fulfill it. slowly, you began to undress, each piece of clothing falling to the floor, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. his eyes roamed over your body, filled with a hunger that matched your own.

as you reached for the waistband of his pants, he caught your hand, his eyes meeting yours with a silent question. you nodded, giving him the reassurance he needed, and together you removed the last barriers between you.

the feeling of his skin against yours was electric, and as you moved to take him in your hand, his breath hitched in anticipation. you began to stroke him, slow and deliberate, watching the way his eyes fluttered closed, the way his lips parted in pleasure.

his breaths came in short gasps, and you felt the tension coiling in his muscles. you quickened your pace, your hand gliding smoothly over his length, the soft, slick sounds filling the room. his moans grew louder, and you could see the struggle in his expression, the way he tried to hold back.

“kai,” you whispered, leaning in to press a kiss to his parted lips, “let go. i’ve got you.”

his response was a deep, guttural groan, his hips bucking against your hand as he finally surrendered to the pleasure. you felt his release, warm and wet against your palm, and you continued to stroke him through the aftershocks, milking every last drop of his climax.

when he finally stilled, you released him, your hand sticky with his essence. he looked up at you, eyes glazed with satisfaction, and pulled you into another kiss, this one slow and languid, filled with gratitude and lingering desire.

as you pulled away, you reached into the nightstand drawer, retrieving a condom. his eyes widened slightly as he watched you tear open the foil packet, his breathing quickening once more.

“are we really doing this?” you asked, your voice soft, giving him one final chance to change his mind.

he nodded, his eyes locked onto yours. “i’m sure. please.”

you rolled the condom onto him with practiced ease, the sensation making him groan with anticipation. positioning yourself over him, you slowly lowered yourself onto his length, the feeling of him filling you completely sending waves of pleasure through your body.

the rhythm you set was slow at first, each movement deliberate and controlled, savoring the sensation of being joined so intimately. but as the pleasure built, your movements quickened, driven by a shared need. his hands roamed your body, caressing and exploring, heightening the sensations.

the sounds of your shared pleasure filled the room, a symphony of gasps, moans, and the slick, rhythmic slap of skin against skin. you felt the tension building within you, the familiar coil of impending release tightening in your core.

“kai,” you murmured, “i’m close.”

“me too,” he replied, his voice strained with desire.

with a final thrust, you felt yourself tip over the edge, the waves of pleasure crashing over you. he followed moments later, his body tensing beneath you as he found his release.

for a few moments, you lay together, catching your breath, the reality of what had just happened sinking in. you rolled off him, lying side by side, your fingers intertwining.

“thank you,” he said softly, turning to look at you. “for everything.”

you smiled, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “we’re in this together, kai. no matter what.”

and as you lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, you knew that whatever lines had been blurred tonight, the bond between you was stronger than ever.

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soulofapatrick · 11 months

Text

Rebuilding - Derek Hale x female reader

Summary: You show Derek the rebuilt Hale House you did for him

Words: 1.8k

warnings: none really; heavy making out

Notes: I can make a smutty part two

Y/N’s POV

The old Hale House had stood as a haunting reminder of the past, a testament to the tragedy and loss the family had endured. But now, it has been transformed into something new, something hopeful. With the combined effort of the pack and my Dad, it had become a symbol of rebirth and unity, a mansion that has welcomed every member with open arms and spare rooms for new pack members.

As I stand in front of the restored mansion, I can’t help but feel a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Derek, who had once lived here in its glory days, deserves to see what I’ve done to the place. He’s been through so much, and I wanted this surprise to be a new beginning for him… for us hopefully.

The anticipation in the air is palpable, and I can’t help but fidget with the key in my hand as I wait for Derek. The old Hale House, bathed in the soft light of the setting sun, seems to hold its breath in eager anticipation of his arrival. And then, I hear it - the familiar purr of Derek’s car engine. It’s a sound that I’ve come to associate with his arrival, and my heart quickens in response. The car pulls down the long, winding driveway, and I keep staring at the house, my hands shaking a little as I fiddle with the keys.

Suddenly, there he is. Derek appears beside me, his tall, brooding frame casting a shadow on the gravel driveway. He looks rugged and handsome as ever, with that alluring air of mystery that has always drawn me to him. His dark brows are furrowed in curiosity and confusion, his eyes scanning the mansion before us as if he’s trying to work out where we are. It makes my heart drop as he doesn’t recognise it despite me trying to keep it as near as I can to the original Hale house.

But then, something remarkable happens. As his eyes roam over the mansion’s exterior, his brows furrow even deeper, and then there’s a hint of disbelief in his expression. It’s as if the familiarity of the place has begun to dawn on him, piece by piece. The realisation hits him like a tidal wave. His kaleidoscope eyes widen, and a gasps escapes his pretty and plump lips, “Is… is this….?” His voice trembles with emotion, and for a moment, he can’t seem to find the words.

I hold out the keys for him and he looks between the house and the keys and then back at the house, “I can’t… I… can you…” His voice falters, and it’s clear that he’s fighting back tears, the enormity of the moment almost too much to bear. Without a word, I’m nodding and reaching for his trembling hands. Our fingers interlace, and with a gentle squeeze, I lead him towards the grand entrance.

Derek’s eyes remain locked onto the mansion, his disbelief and wonder still etched across his features. But he doesn’t need to say anything more for me to understand the whirlwind of emotions storming within him.

I turn the key in the lock, my own fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. The door swings open, revealing the lovingly restored interior. The warm, golden light spills into the entryway, painting a new chapter on the old canvas of the Hale House. The grand entrance is now invitingly open, Derek taking a step forwards. His presence is so close to me that his chest is practically pressed against my back. The feel of him so near is electrifying, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

“Welcome home Derek.” I say, my voice a soft, heartfelt whisper, as we cross the threshold together.

The atmosphere inside is a mixture of nostalgia and fresh beginnings. The original features of the Hale House have been preserved, the hardwood floors polished, the walls adorned with artworks from the pack. The spaciousness of the rooms has been maintained, yet there’s a sense of cozy warmth that wasn’t there before.

Derek’s gaze dances the space, a mixture of awe and sentimentality reflected in his expressive eyes. He appreciates the care and attention that went into preserving the essence of the house he called home.

Then, he grabs my hands again with a gentle yet firm grip, leading me through the echoing halls as the pack gave us the house for Derek to see alone. It’s a touch that sends a rush of warmth through me, the electricity of his touch palatable. We move through the house, our footsteps echoing, and Derek’s strides confident, as if he’s revisiting his own memories.

As we ender the kitchen, Derek stops in his tracks. A soft, almost reverent sound escapes him, and his eyes widen again as he takes in the layout. It’s practically identical to the original Hale House kitchen, meticulously restored to match his recollections with the help of creepy uncle Peter.

His grip on my hand tightens, and he turns to me, his expression filled with amazement, “This… it’s just like I remember it.” He says, his vice soft and filed with wonder, “You’ve brought it all back to life.”

I can’t help but smile at his reaction. The kitchen holds countless memories for him, both happy and bittersweet, and seeing it so faithfully restored means the world to him. "We wanted it to feel like home," I reply, my voice equally hushed, knowing how much this place means to him. Derek’s thumb brushes over the back of my hand, his touch conveying the depth of his gratitude. It’s a silent exchange of emotions, the unspoken understanding between us.

And then, something changes in the air. Derek turns to me, his kaleidoscope eyes now shining with warmth and something else, something that sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine. His gaze flits down my lips, and in response, I can’t help but wet them with my tongue, suddenly feeling acutely aware of their dryness. It draws a small sound from Derek’s throat, low and almost involuntary, a testament to the magnetic pull between us. He leans in, closing the distance between our lips with a purposeful intent. Our mouths meet in a soft, longing kiss, a silent declaration of the emotions that have simmered between us for so long.

His lips are soft yet insistent, moving against mine with a deliberate tenderness. I can feel the gentle, rhythmic movement of his mouth, each touch setting my heart racing. There’s a hint of urgency in his kiss, a desire that has been simmering just beneath the surface. Derek’s hands finding their way to my waist, holding e close as if he never wants to let me go. The touch of his fingertips against my skin sends shivers down my spine, and I press my body closer to his, wanting to feel every inch of him.

My own hands move to rest on his chest, feeling the solid warmth of his body beneath my touch. They gradually work their way up, entwining in his shirt, wanting to pull him closer still. The connection between us deepens with every passing second, a silent confirmation of the emotions we’ve held back fr so long.

Derek’s hands, which had been gently holding my waist, suddenly tighten their grip and before I can react, he’s lifting me up with a powerful yet careful motion. My legs instinctively wrap around this waist as he sets me on the edge of the kitchen island, never once breaking the kiss.

Our lips remain locked in a heated embrace, a heated embrace, a testament to the fiery passion that's been ignited between us. Derek's tongue brushes over my lips, seeking entrance, and without hesitation, I part them, with a small, embracing sound escaping my lips which he swallows, tongue slipping past my lips. It's a dance of desire, a clash of longing, and a melding of two souls that have been drawn together by an irresistible force. Our mouths move with a shared urgency, each kiss deeper and more consuming than the last.

As our tongues explore and intertwine, Derek’s grip on my hips tightens, pulling me closer until I’m arched on the edge of the kitchen island. The sensation of his body pressed against mine is electrifying, sending heat down south where I’m pressed against his growing problem. It has my thighs tightening around him, hips jerking a little and drawing sounds from both of us.

Finally our lips part, but only slightly, our foreheads resting against each other as we catch our breath. Derek’s voice is a husky whisper, filled with raw desire, “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He confesses, his words heavy with yearning, “ I couldn’t keep it in any longer.”

My heart flutters at his admission, and I look into his kaleidoscope eyes, my own filled with the same longing, “Der…” I breathe, “I’ve felt the same way. I’ve wanted this as much as you have.”

His lips find mine again, and the kiss that follows is fierce and fervent, a passionate culmination of our unspoken desires. It's a promise, a declaration, and a celebration of the love that has finally been acknowledged.

But then, Derek's lips trail down from mine to my neck, and his kisses ignite a trail of fire across my skin. I gasp as his mouth leaves a mark, a fervent, possessive hickey, and another one right beside it. Each one is a silent proclamation of his desire, a mark of his longing for me. As Derek's kisses continue to trail down my neck, I gasp and my fingers clutch at his shoulders. The sensation is almost too much to bear, the heat of his mouth leaving a trail of fire across my skin, marked by possessive hickeys.

“Y/N,” He murmurs breathlessly voice heavy with desire, “If we don’t stop, I won’t be able to stop myself.” He pulls away slightly, his eyes dark and smouldering now and he lets out a low and sensual chuckle when an embarrassing moan escapes me.

“Maybe…” I have to clear my throat, “Maybe we should check out your room.” My heart is racing as I say it, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and desire, eager to hear his response but also somewhat ready for the rejection.

Instead, he groans, head falling to my shoulder before he growls out, “Don’t… don’t say things like that baby girl.” I stay silent, knowing there’s more and he kissing my collarbone sweetly before murmuring, “But, I think it’s a very, very good idea.”

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

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khristie16 · 6 months

Text

All flavours

Summary: Each man possesses unique qualities that draw you in, making your journey both exhilarating and challenging

Warnings: smut, 18+, foursome, p in v, p in a, oral m receiving, dom!guys, submissive!reader, slight degradation, consensual

author’s note: one of my work redone

You appeared in a dire situation. You are between three men. Between three men you really liked. And every one of them was completely different.

Everyone brought something different to the table. It was exciting what a blossom of flavours you have experienced.

It all started at the paddock. You were lucky enough to be able to auction off the entry fee to the paddock for 5,000 euros. You have loved the formula since you were a child and wanted to fulfill your dream of standing so close to everything that you have only observed through the screen until now.

You were a Ferrari fan, but over time, Max won your heart too. You got used to him and started to like him as much.

The whole experience of that day was really normal, but then you appeared in the room. Locked. With these three.

You stood there, trapped in a trance, your senses dulled, your surroundings fading into insignificance compared to the overwhelming emotions coursing through your veins.

You remained, paralyzed by the intensity of your own emotions, unable to move or speak.

The trio stood shoulder to shoulder. Max, with his inscrutable expression, his stoic demeanor hinted at a storm brewing beneath the surface, leaving you with a sinking feeling that you had indeed messed up, and the consequences were about to hit you like a tidal wave.

Charles was smiling at you sweetly which calmed you down.

But Carlos, — you could feel the warmth that radiated from his body and you were incredibly attracted to him.

You swallowed.

"So, how do we do this?" Max's voice cut through the tension, prompting an exchange of glances between the boys.

As they deliberated, uncertainty gnawed at your insides, causing your hands to fidget nervously. You felt the urge to break the silence. But before you could speak, hesitation held your words captive until you moved.

"You know, I—"

“Pst pst pst cariño” Carlos pointed at you.

You stood in place, your mouth agape in stunned silence. Time seemed to stretch endlessly. Every muscle tensed, yet you remained immobilized, a silent observer trapped in the grip of disbelief.

"Hm, but a nice mouth that talks." Carlos winked at you.

The boys began to pace around you, their movements calculated and deliberate. What were they planning? The air grew thick with apprehension, suffocating you as the realization dawned that you. But with each passing moment, the circle tightened, trapping you in.

"Guys, please—" you began, your voice trembling, but Carlos cut you off with a commanding tone.

"Cariño!" his voice boomed, drowning out your plea.

Charles shot Carlos a cautionary glance, silently urging him to ease up. Then, with a gentler demeanor, Charles turned his attention to you.

"What's wrong, cherie?" his tone softer and more understanding.

You shifted your gaze from Max to Carlos and back again, uncertainty flickering in your eyes before settling on Charles.

"What's going on?" you asked, your voice tinged with confusion.

Max, already brimming with impatience took matters into his own hands.

"Come on, little one. We noticed you peeking at us," Max remarked, "Making eyes on us. And we like you too, so why not do something about it?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their scrutiny.

"Only if you want to, of course," Charles said kindly, his words offering a glimmer of reassurance amidst the tension.

You simply stared at him, your gaze locked onto his. Suddenly, Carlos leaned into your back. The heat emanated from him even more and he absolutely burned your skin with his touch. He lowered his head to whisper into your ear.

"Don't you want it, cariño?" he stroked your bare arm with his right hand.

A chill ran down your spine, but slowly, almost instinctively, you leaned your head against his chest. The warmth of his embrace enveloped you, offering a brief moment for you to breathe. Not for long, you gasped as Carlos grabbed your cunt.

"Darling, do you want it?" Charles asked, the words tumbling out in a rush as if he couldn't contain them any longer.

Confusion swirled in your mind, your senses feeling like they were submerged in hot water, overwhelmed by the intensity of the situation. You found yourself at a loss for words.

"Y/N, look me in the eyes. You are safe with me," Charles urged gently, his voice a comforting anchor.

Taking a deep breath, you finally met Charles's gaze, finding a genuine tenderness reflected in his eyes. With a silent nod, you conveyed your consent.

"Words, cariño," Carlos interjected, his touch soothing as he stroked your arms.

"Yes, I want it," you whispered, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

But before you could dwell on the feeling for too long, Max pounced on you, shattering the fragile moment of vulnerability with his sudden action.

His soft lips pressed against you, and with each kiss, he peeled away some layers. He took every breath of air from your lungs like the wind from sails. As he held you with his left hand, his strong grip around your neck left you helpless.

You placed your hands on his chest to create space, hoping to at least retain before he draines the breathing life out of you.

With each glance, the red of your skin deepened. Carlos chuckled, amused. Max let you go and you were able to turn to Carlos. Panting, you stared into his eyes.

"Strip." Max said.

The words cut through the tender atmosphere and you frantically started undressing, feeling ashamed and nervous for what came next.

Approval nods from Max gave you confidence in your beauty and Charles's gentle caressing of one cheek gave you a moment of comfort, romantic gestures that made you close your eyes.

As you opened them again, your eyes almost burst out of you head as you stared. Both of them were absolutely gorgeous, and just the thought of them being able for you to take advantage of their bodies made you salivate.

"Don't drool,'' when Charles laughed, you became even more overwhelmed to see them in full naked glory.

At that moment you lowered your eyes and looked at your palms. You noticed that Charles is still dressed. And you decided to act. You looked into his eyes and started undressing him. Charles grinned at you like he was proud of your reaction.

You were just on your knees when you had his erect cock in front of you.

Taking it carefully in your hands, your gaze was focused on him. Whether you could touch him or not, it was unclear; you wanted to, but at the same time, you felt like you shouldn’t. The tension between the two of you was heavy; there was a desire to touch, but also a fear of doing something you weren't supposed to.

He stroked your hair in return as a green light for you. Your fears and doubts dissolved away under the heat of the moment. The only thing that mattered now was the desire to touch, to suck him as best you could. The excitement of the moment made you lose yourself in the sensation. Only after a while did you realize that the boys were also around you, their presence an additional stimulation to the already palpable tension.

You left your mouth wrapped around Charles and reached out for both of them with each hand. You started riding up and down, taking your pace slow and taking it very sensually. The sounds of muffled and suppressed noises as they moan filled the air like a lullaby.

"I can't take it anymore," Max hissed "I'm taking her ass."

Hearing those words made you excited.

"I'm going to lie down and you're going to sit on me, okay cherie?" Charles told you.

Following Charles's commands, you strap his lap while he looked at you from below. Listening to his words without hesitating, you were already fully immersed in the moment and willing to do whatever pleases him without further ado.

By this time you were getting lost in those green eyes, Max stuck his fingers in you.

You gasped as he whispered in your ear and peck your cheek, "I'll borrow some," his warm breath brushing your skin made you feel dizzy and your heart beating faster.

You felt overwhelmed with emotions. The intensity of the moment made you choke back tears, and as Max started kissing and biting your neck, the sensation overwhelmed you more that you reached your hands into his hair, tugging lightly. Meanwhile, Charles's grip on your hips kept you steady, not letting you move too much.

"If she’s acting like this now, I don't know how she will make it to the end" Carlos said.

Hearing Carlos's words disturbed you, and the look of fear on your face reflected that. Suddenly, it was as if the whole world came to pause. Max and Charles waited patiently, both having a neutral facial expression.

Carlos walked over to you as he stroked your hair, the smile on his face made him seem more friendly and comforting.

With that, he asked, "Will you be a good girl right?" a question that made you hesitate and wonder what that really meant.

You nodded to Carlos's question, but with him kissing your forehead, you felt some sense of reassurance and comfort. You didn't quite know what he meant by 'till the end', but you trusted him and his gestures.

Charles focused on you, slowly directing you to sit on top of him. You took him in, taking it slow as you looked into his beautiful eyes, feeling yourself consumed by his gaze. The urge to obey took over as you felt yourself becoming lost inside the intimacy of the moment between the two of you.

You started to sob as time went on, feeling like the experience was too much for you. Charles waited a moment for you to get used to it, but before you actually could, he was pulling you down again.

The sensations were intense and overwhelming. You felt both panic and excitement as you felt Max trying to insert himself in you.

But you pulled away from him from the overwhelming sensation.

"Cariño, you said you would be a good girl."

His words filled you with both a sense of panic and excitement, as if he was reminding you of his power over you. He had brought you to this moment and he was the one setting the rules of it.

"I'm sorry."

Is all you could say at the moment, as the words of him were still ringing in your ears.

"Spread your cheeks honey." Max said sweetly.

Following his instruction to be a good girl, you went with the flow in that moment, feeling Charles's presence inside of you and Max slowly creeping into you. The sensation was new and intense, and it took some time before you could adjust to it. But once you did, all those feelings of excitement and lust escalated into you coming undone with a loud cry.

"So fucking tight." Max hissed.

Lost in pleasure and the high of the moment, you fell on Charles's chest, his presence inside of you creating an intense experience.

"Kiss Me." Charles told you.

Hearing his words, you looked up to him and saw him gazing at you intently. His gaze filled you with a jolt of energy and desire.

Raising your head to meet his lips, you let yourself be carried away by the kiss while Carlos’s wandering hand toyed with your clit.

The loud moans escaping you were a reflection of the overwhelming sensation of satisfaction you were experiencing. It all became too much, too intense, and too perfect. Max's grip on your hips kept you steady and you felt so good in his arms.

"Such a good girl." He rasped in your ear.

Charles grabbed you by your breasts and started thrusting into you from below.

You were coming for the second time with Carlos as he was handling himself while looking at the intense scene.

"Such a good girl." Max told you and Charles pinched your nipples.

Seeing the state that Charles had been brought to made you feel powerful. The color of his cheeks, his parted lips, and the pure passion in his eyes, unlike anything you had seen before, made you understand the immense pleasure he was experiencing, and the intense desire he had for you.

You felt him slowly buck under you, his cock starting to stretch and grow inside of you.

"Charles, cum in me."

The command you gave made Charles let out a loud moan, and to that Carlos laughed.

Carlos walked next to you and placed his hand on your face, turning it towards him, and locking your gaze onto his. His grip was firm, letting you know who was in charge.

He tapped your lips and you opened them up for him. He drove his cock into you.

You felt Max grow inside you and even with Carlos' cock in your mouth you screamed as Max bit your neck hard enough to silence his moans.

Charles was lost in the sensations, moaning and stuttering which made him unable to form any coherent words. His eyes were open and wide, filled with pure desire and pleasure watching you taking Carlos.

In the afterglow of the intense high that everyone was experiencing, you were all panting, the effects still lingering, making the whole moment seem even more real.

"We are very proud of you."

Hearing Charles's words and the gentle pinch on your cheek, you felt a warm, fuzzy feeling come over you.

“Shall we switch positions?”

Carlos's question brought you back to reality, and you nodded eagerly, eager to experience more.

#charles leclerc smut #carlos sainz smut #max verstappen smut #charles leclerc x you #carlos sainz x you

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superblysubpar · 2 years

Text

Baby, Kiss Me:

steve harrington x fem! reader

Summary: Tangled up in the bed sheets all night, Steve can’t stop asking for kisses and you blurt out three little words to him. | masterlist | steve's music | even if a fic is not marked 18+, my blog is - please respect this

WC Range: 1k-3k

Warnings: none really? Petnames used, lots of kissing

"Baby," roaming hands lead to tingling spines, a wet and precise press of silk lips to the column of your throat before they brush against your skin as he commands, "Baby, kiss me."

Humming as you card your fingers through his hair, his mouth moves over your skin, savoring your taste, cherishing your sighs, making your eyelashes flutter.

A tangle of limbs, soft sheets swirled around you both, chests moving together as one breathes out and the other breathes in. The soft glow of purple dawn leaking in through the curtains behind his shoulder lets you know you've been at it for hours. That didn't seem to matter to Steve though, who was still asking for kisses between small bouts of almost falling asleep.

Mouth on his temple, you press your lips to his skin once, "Steve," another press, a squeeze of his fingers to your side, "It's almost five in the morning."

Arms wrapping around your back, falling into your hair to cradle your neck, he pulls you away so he can see your eyes, asking softly and a little smugly - proud of himself, "Yeah?"

Noses bumping together just slightly as you nod, hands trailing from his hair, to neck, to press to his chest. Your tone aching to not be amused, yet you are, "Yeah."

Rustling of sheets as he moves his body closer, his sun kissed skin pressing against yours. Steve was your sunshine, cradling you close like he was made to keep you safe and warm always. How could you not want to spend every moment fighting sleep to be closer to him?

His fingers trail down your side, a large and calloused hand grabbing at your thigh and pulling your leg across his hip as he sighs, breath warm across your cheek as he asks, "Can we not kiss at five in the morning?"

Laughing quietly, your fingers drag through his dark chest hair as a tidal wave of butterflies hiccup in your stomach. His fingertips buzz circles and swirls into your thigh, around your hip and back down.

A kiss to your nose, your cheek, your jaw, he whines against your skin, voice barely louder than a breath, "I can't stop."

He doesn't miss the way your leg wraps around him a little tighter at his admission, the way your hands press against his chest to bring you closer to him, not to push yourself away.

His hand on your lower back secures you as he rolls onto his, roaming down your body to lay you against him, thighs straddling his, nose bumping your chin as he pleads, "Just one more kiss?"

Dipping into the crook of his neck you hum as you place a kiss on his sweet pair of freckles, your little vampire bite - your favorite spot to tease him, fingers reaching up to brush them and he shivers.

Voice exasperated but tinged with humor, he sighs as he squeezes your hips, "Baby," hands moving to cup your butt, you roll your hips against him as you kiss them again. He moans, "Baby, you know that's not what I meant."

A laugh escapes you, "Steve," he squeezes your butt at his name, lips pestering your temple and forehead as you speak to his neck, "We haven't slept. We need to get some-"

He rolls you suddenly, eliciting more laughter and he's on top of you, smiling. Nose and forehead touched to yours and his eyes make you fall deeper, the colors of the ocean more prominent in them in the early morning light. Welcoming the feeling of drowning in him when he looks at you like that.

Like he loves you.

Your legs on either side of his hips raise, knees caging him in and your hands reach up to find his hair again, soft locks against your fingertips. Scratching at his scalp lightly he moans at the feeling, a small yawn escaping him. His eyes widen and he's dipping into your neck, gasping around your laughter, mumbling, "Trying to make me fall asleep," he kisses your neck, "Using the hair trick. Despicable, babe."

A form of payback, he kisses around your neck. Just barely touching the area he knows you want him most until you're wiggling and squirming underneath him.

Lips so close to that spot he can melt you with, he's greedy with his power. He nips at your ear before whispering, "Just a goodnight kiss?"

Soft whimpers from the kisses egg him on and he keeps going, lips moving up and down, but never in just the right place. Trying to remain strong you whisper, "It's five A.M, Steve Harrington," he kisses just under your ear finally, nose brushing up as you shiver. You arch your body against him as he presses another kiss to the area. His breath hot in contrast to the wet of his kiss, raising goosebumps across your skin as you remind him, "The time for goodnight kisses has long passed."

He kisses the spot again, "Well then," another kiss before a soft scrape of his teeth as he hums, "a good morning one then?"

Giggling at his antics that haven't stopped, his smile against your neck, body warm from his, buzzing off the high his lips give you - it's all to blame for what falls out.

"I love you."

The clock on the nightstand is a cruel enemy, each punctuating tick a kick to your gut as the seconds pass and he says nothing in return.

Panicking that you've ruined everything you're about to backtrack when he sits up, pulling you with him. Legs wrapped around his waist, his muscular arms around your back, chests pressed together, you feel his heart beating against you as he whispers, "What?"

Carefully pulling your hands from his hair, you cradle his cheeks. Thumbs brushing softly back and forth, you take a deep breath and repeat your devotion louder, "I love you, Steve Harrington."

His grin is so wide, dimples peeking out from under your hands and he squeezes you closer to him, "I love you too," his forehead presses to yours, "So much."

The ticking clock drowned out by your hammering heart, you can barely hear yourself ask, "Really?"

The warm pads of his fingers press deeper into your spine, nose bumping against yours as he pulls you tighter to him. Your body filling with warmth, you could overflow with buzzing nerves and excitement - with love.

Your hand moves down his jaw and his eyes flutter closed as your thumb glides over his bottom lip. He nods as you feel the exhale from his slowly parting lips, hear the almost inaudible gulp before his eyes open again.

Warm hand reaching in between yours to cradle your face in the same way you are. His eyes a swirling sea of safety, love, home as he breathes the words out against your lips once more, "I love you."

Lips pressing to yours, you could float away if his body wasn't the thing tethering you to the earth. Your hands pull him closer to you, fingers in the hair at the tips of his ears as his draws your mouth open for him.

Parted lips allow your sighs to fall into him as you feel his brows furrowing against your forehead as he focuses on your kissing. Lips moving slowly like honey dripping into you, soft and sweet like ice cream dissolving on your tongue as they taste each other, plush and comforting like the pillows he was pressing you down into.

Locking your arms around his neck, legs still around his waist, his elbows cage you in, hands tangling in your hair as he cradles the sides of your face. Kissing that's effortless and makes you keen up into his body, makes you want to freeze it in time, to let the pocket you're in together surround you forever - absorbing every touch, every sound, every movement.

But focusing on the way Steve sighs into your parted lips, the way his fingers brush your hair behind your ears, the way his nose bumps yours or his hips roll against you makes you greedy - makes you want more.

Kissing Steve is always sweet, but knowing how he feels now - how you both feel, means there's a passion and fire that was quietly building under the surface until you were both ready to set it free. A pan that’s been over the heat for too long and is threatening to bubble and boil over, too much to contain any longer.

Lips moving faster, like you were chasing the other before they could leave. Stronger, love and lust filled as your bodies press against each other harder. Gasping for air around one another's mouths until you have to part and catch your breath.

Steve is the first to pull away, forehead still pressed to yours as he pants, kissing you one more time, a short press of his lips. His eyes still closed and your hearts hammering against each other's chests, desperate to be closer, to claw out of your own skin and into the other's if they could.

Your hands find his hair again and your voice is raspy, not your own as you let out a quiet whine, "Steve," his eyes flutter open as your whisper lands against his cheek, and your body arches closer to him, "Baby, kiss me."

His mouth twitches into a smile and he keeps eye contact as he moves his head just slightly, pressing his lips softly to your wrist.

You roll your eyes as his smile becomes a smug smirk and you vow you'll never deny Steve Harrington a kiss again.

Can always add you to a Steve, Eddie, Robin, or combo for tag lists, just let me know 💞

Tag list: @boomhauer @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfiction

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kareofbears · 3 months

Text

never been a natural

"Usually," Oikawa starts, shoving the wires in his pockets, and Hinata flinches for no good reason. It dawns on him that he's never had a one-on-one conversation with Oikawa before. "Reconnaissance is supposed to be a secret, chibi."

---

Or, Hinata gets lost and runs into an Oikawa he isn't quite familiar with.

read on ao3 or below the cut

Mondays are days of misery for Hinata.

It didn’t used to be. Mondays used to be filled with volleyball. Receives, spikes, sets, strategy. Bike up the hill, shower, pretend to study, then crash for the night. Rinse and repeat. It was his life, and he's fiercely protective of it.

Hinata’s pumped every minute he possibly can into cramming more volleyball. Every bubble of open air in his schedule is inflated with volleyball, body slick with sweat and eyes trained on the ball in front of him. More, more, more, until—

“From now on, Mondays are off.”

Silence rang across the gym, the incessant squeaking of shoes coming to a halt at once.

"...Of what?" Nishinoya tried, question bitten off short with a sharp laugh. A nervous tick, a dead giveaway of what everyone had hoped they misheard.

Coach Ukai looked each of them in the eye. Seeing him serious outside of a tense match has them all kept quiet. There isn't even a hint of a smile on his features. "I've decided that practice will only be on Tuesdays to Fridays." Hinata takes a sharp intake of breath, and Ukai's gaze flickers at him, eyes sharpening further. "Is that clear?"

It was probably the most unclear thing Hinata's ever heard in his entire life.

Obviously, they didn't take the news lying down. Immediately after that practice, Hinata and Kageyama locked eyes before nodding, no words needed. Monday rolls around and they walk up to the gym doors, bleary-eyed and geared-up, to find the door locked.

They expected this. Kageyama silently leans down and Hinata clambers onto his shoulders, movements steady and practiced. This isn't the first time they've broken into the gym to get extra practice time, and—Hinata sticks his tongue out in concentration, aggressively patting Kageyama's head when he needs more height, reaching up to shove his hand in the third broken light bulb where he knows Takeda-sensei keeps the spare key—he refuses to let it be the last.

When he pulls his hand out, what's in his fist isn't a dusty silver key, but a folded piece of paper:

Try it again and you're off the team.

He doesn't know what's more impressive—the foresight to do this or the fact that it was signed by Coach Ukai, Faculty Advisor Takeda, Captain Daichi, and Vice-Captain Sugawara.

Hinata lets out a frustrated yell and forces himself to run faster, early morning jog turning into a dead sprint. That was two weeks ago. Two entire Mondays of feeling like he's skipping practice, of having to endure that gnawing feeling that he's being left behind with every passing week. An entire day where other teams are combing through strategies to figure out how to improve and beat them out of the Nationals lineup.

His feet hit the pavement hard, throat tight and breath coming hard and fast. Running. At least they can't stop him from doing this. Even when he didn't have a team, he had this. He had himself. And they can't stop him from improving. There's a tight feeling in his chest, a bitterness that he hasn't felt since he lost that match in middle school. A tidal wave of emotion that comes from being face to face with the fact that the world isn't fair. That there's always going to be something in his way, something that prevents him from being where he wants to be. His only remedy against that was practice, and somehow, he lost that too.

Finally, he has to hunch over, skin covered in sweat as his lungs try to catch up with him. Idly, he looks up, relieved that the sun is barely up, soft rays of sunlight peeking out through the mountains in the distance. The last thing he wants is to go to school today, but he doesn't know how far he can push his luck before Daichi really brings the hammer down on him.

Turning around to head home, Hinata pauses. Turns around again. Swivels left. Then right. Then, out of desperation, up and down.

He smacks his hand over his face, scrubbing roughly.

He doesn't know where he is. Again.

A sigh comes from the deepest part of his gut as he resigns himself to his new fate. Slowly walking around, he counts himself lucky that he's somewhere that's pretty populated. Actually, he looks around, mildly curious, this entire neighborhood is...nice. Stores and their shopkeepers starting to open businesses with a yawn, a few keeners making their way to classes early. He glances around, starting to get excited at his new surroundings. There's a playground, empty but of a much higher quality than anything his neighborhood has, and a dirt patch that looks just big enough for a volleyball scrimmage if he was desperate.

He ups his pace to an easy jog, feeling good from the run despite the initial inconvenience. Maybe he can ask someone here how to get back home. His stomach grumbles, and he fights the urge to sigh again. A snack, too, would be pretty good right now.

Turning the corner, neck craning to see what awaits him. There's a cafe at the end of the street, mostly empty except for a few businessmen darting in and out for a quick coffee. Through the big glass windows of the cafe, there's a few booths visible to Hinata, predictably vacant, except for one right in the middle.

Then Hinata stops in his tracks. He takes a step backwards so that he’s hidden again. Rubs his eyes. Peeks around once more, just to make sure.

Oikawa Tooru glances—earphones visible even from here—in his direction and Hinata scrambles back, clambering behind the wall, jaw slacked.

His luck.

The only player that gives Kageyama Tobio—his best friend and nastiest guy alive—the heebie jeebies, is sitting in a cafe in some unknown neighborhood. Only unknown to you, his mind supplies unhelpfully. This is Seijoh's turf and you just strolled right into the Great King's throne room.

Slowly, Hinata backs away, carefully walking backwards into the opposite direction. It's fine. There's no way Oikawa saw him. All he needs to do is leave as quietly as possible and get back to Karasuno.

—

He's walked past the cafe six times before he admits defeat.

Hinata—properly sweaty again, not from the run but from the nerves—can't figure out which direction he even came from before. This bookstore looks familiar. That lamp post is one he's seen before, right? He swears that child is the same one he keeps running into. The only thing that’s changing is the sun’s position above him, mocking him for the time he’s wasted wandering around, directionless.

The whole time, Oikawa's still there, mug to his right, papers scattered across the table and pencil tapping on the wood to whatever undisclosed song is playing in his earphones. With each pass, Hinata expects someone to join him—he's never seen Oikawa without his team, or at least without the stern-looking Iwaizumi by his side. But nobody ever does.

Taking a deep breath, puffing his chest up as big as he can, and mustering all the bravery he can hold in his frame, Hinata meekly knocks on the window of the cafe.

Oikawa looks up at him, expression unsurprised and almost offensively disinterested, pencil still loosely gripped between his fingers.

They stare at each other for a long moment, before Hinata raises a hand. "Hi," he mouths.

It's enough to pull a quirk of a brow from Oikawa. Setting down the pencil, Oikawa points to the seat across from him. An invitation.

WIth a gulp, Hinata enters the cafe, bell ringing above, the scent of coffee beans almost overwhelming. After a quick greeting to the barista, he warily makes his way to Oikawa, who'd taken out his earphones. Their eyes meet and for a split-second, he's back in the inter-high gym, his freak quick getting blocked, getting read. He blinks and suddenly he's back in the cafe, in direct line of Oikawa's gaze.

He hesitates, mind whirling at the implication. "What?"

“I’ve been seeing your little feet skittering around my block for the past twenty minutes.” Oikawa gives him a look. "I guess secret isn't really your style, though."

"What?" he repeats, before realization dawns on him. "Oh! No. I'm not here to spy, I just got lost on my run, and—" he cuts himself off as he takes in Oikawa's appearance. White blazer, sweater vest, red tie pressed immaculately against both. "Wait, what are you doing here?"

Tilting his head to the side, his expression morphs into one of intrigue. "You got lost to the point that you accidentally made it to Seijoh?"

Hinata isn't listening. He glances around until his eyes land on the calendar against the far wall, just in case he's mistaken. "It's Monday," he states.

"So I've been told,” he waves off. “You accidentally ran 12 kilometers?”

"It's Monday," he insists, confusion coated thick in his words. And then, uneasily, he asks, "Are you skipping practice?"

Oikawa levels him with something that isn't quite disappointment, but close to it. "Think about it very hard before you accuse me of something, chibi." He starts collecting his scattered papers, and Hinata catches a glimpse of numbers across the pages. "We don't practice on Mondays."

Surprise runs through his body. "Your coach made you guys do that, too?"

"Coach?" It was Oikawa's turn to look surprised. "Coach doesn't make us do anything. I instated it."

This time, he can't keep his jaw from dropping. "What?" Any nerves about being in front of the Great King leaves his body. He flops into the booth, sitting across from Oikawa with his palms pressed against the table. Is he crazy? "Are you crazy?"

A snort gets pulled out of Oikawa. "Tobio-chan really did find his equal, didn't he?"

Hinata opens his mouth, dozens of questions on the tip of his tongue, when Oikawa continues. "As much as I'd love for you to disappear off the face of the planet and get rid of that nasty quick of yours—" he points out the window, almost bored. "Go past that yellow house there. Three blocks down, there'll be a bus stop. It should take you back to your flock."

What? he almost says again, before realizing that it's directions to go back to Karasuno. Directions he isn't quite interested in anymore. "Oh, thank you," Hinata says distractedly, still unable to process that a top four school in the prefecture doesn't practice for an entire day every week. "Um—"

Oikawa’s eyes flicker to Hinata, taking in his sweat-slick forehead and running outfit still sticking to parts of his torso, and grimaces infinitesimally. Hinata stays quiet. There's something familiar about this, and it dawns on him that he feels this way before every Nekoma match. The intense feeling of being watched, of being studied, dissected.

After a moment, Oikawa shrugs, almost to himself. "Try not to get lost again," he tells Hinata instead of whatever he wanted to say. "Don't want your team to think I've kidnapped you or anything. Despite what Tobio thinks, I do fight fair."

He feels his eye twitch. There's something that deeply irked him about being left in the dark about himself. It reminds him of Tsukkishima. Or Kageyama, earlier on in their partnership. Or maybe, that run wasn't enough to wipe Hinata's frustrations clean from the world.

When he doesn't move, Oikawa claps his hands together twice. "Go on, now. Time for the crow to fly back home."

"Tell me," he says, voice coming out harder than he meant it to.

Oikawa pauses, hand still raised, a flicker of surprise in his features. "Tell you what?"

"You..." Hinata deflates, whatever bravery struck suddenly seeping out all at once. "It looks like you wanted to say something. Sorry."

Oikawa studies him for a long moment, enough that Hinata has to fight not to shift in his seat. Then, he sets the stack of papers down on the table, leaning back into the cushion of the booth. "I don't talk shop unless someone asks me to," he says finally. "Unsolicited advice is the worst."

Hinata doesn't know how to answer that. Most of the advice he gets is unsolicited—or maybe because everyone knows that Hinata soaks up volleyball like a sponge and would never see advice as unsolicited. "I'm asking."

"You're running on your team's rest day." It wasn't an accusation, but it wasn't a praise, either. "Running isn't resting."

Hinata clenches his fists under the table. "It's better than sitting around and doing nothing."

"Resting isn't nothing," he scoffs. "Especially you. Sprints in every match, decoying a real spike, jumping high enough to make it all look convincing. You think it’s magic that keeps you flying?" Oikawa leans forward, elbow on the table and chin resting on his palm. "It's muscles. Tendons. Flesh and bone. Physical stuff that breaks down if you let it. Don't make that mistake again."

Hinata bristles, the urge to argue equal to his urge to curl in on himself. "But—"

Oikawa crosses his arms and waits, and Hinata feels his words die in his throat. The usual exaggerated levity in his eyes was absent. He wonders for a moment if this is what Kunimi and Kindaichi feel when they're being scolded. The moment is long and tense, Oikawa's gaze surprisingly heavy and Hinata unwilling to relent.

Then Oikawa sighs, leaning back into his seat. Taking out a folder, he files his scattered papers away, stows them in his bag before throwing something at Hinata.

He catches it without thinking, bewilderedly taking in the banana in his hands.

"Potassium after runs, always," Oikawa slings his bag over his shoulders, scooting out the booth. "You look like you're going to fall over. Can't have you forfeiting the game because you're malnourished, of all things."

Hinata watches as Oikawa makes his way out, thank you stuck in his throat. He’s not sure what to make of this strange version of Oikawa.

The bell rings as he leaves, and Hinata eventually exits, banana peel in hand and deep in thought. At least the bus stop was easy to find this time.

—

Next Monday, Hinata slides into the booth with no hesitation. "I took the bus here," he says in lieu of a greeting. "So I'm still resting. Don’t yell at me."

Oikawa sighs, overexaggerated. He's wearing glasses today. Thick, black rims that he pushes up his nose as he continues writing. "This isn't exactly open practice," he says. "I'm not taking questions. Or giving free advice, for that matter."

Hinata lets his gaze settle on the paper's scattered once more around the booth, attempting to read upside down kanji. Half the papers, predictably, are volleyball tactics, success statistics, or general notes (Mad-dog —> low sets + flexible shoulders. Note: Iwa's presence non-negotiable). The other half is filled with—

"Is that math?" Hinata asks, nose scrunching.

"Calculus," Oikawa corrects, before finally looking up from his page. While Hinata isn't surprised that Oikawa is an early riser, it's one thing to get up early for volleyball; to get up early for homework is a different torture entirely. "Why are you here, chibi?"

It's a question he's prepared for, thinking about how to answer it on the entire bus ride here. "I hate rest days," he proclaims, unashamed in the slightest. "They suck and I hate them and I'd rather keep playing volleyball until all my bones break and I want to know why you—" he gestures wildly at Oikawa, "of all people are okay with it."

Hinata braces himself for the inevitable argument he's going to get into, but he has to know. The diagram in his head is simple—Oikawa taught Kageyama a lot about volleyball. Kageyama is crazy about volleyball. That means Oikawa taught Kageyama to be crazy, so Oikawa should also—

Oikawa bursts out laughing, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Chibi," he smiles, mirth audible. "I bet I hate rest days more than you do."

Hinata brightens up at that. "Really?"

"Of course," he puts his pencil down, giving Hinata his full attention. "Why on earth would I rather be doing anything else if I could be on the court?"

"Right? I want to play!"

"I want to get better.”

"I want to spike."

"I want to set," Oikawa agrees, and there's a sparkle in his eye that Hinata's never seen on him before, or Hinata's just never seen it up close. A devout love for the sport. He knows exactly what it looks like, because he sees it in the mirror every single day. It dawns on him that he’s never had a practice match with Oikawa. Every interaction they had is a do-or-die, no room to breathe around each other. "I want to serve. I want to get better. I want to play tough teams and win hard games and touch the ball and play more volleyball until my fingertips are bleeding from setting."

Hinata’s grinning properly now, an idea forming in his head. "I saw a park nearby," he says excitedly, mind already whirling with possibilities. "I brought a ball in my bag, I think we can—"

"And, like I said before," Oikawa cuts in, tone still light. "I don't practice on rest days."

The grin on Hinata's face falters, his heart sinking. "But you just said—"

"Do you want to play volleyball forever?"

He can have his memory wiped and he's sure that his DNA strands can answer the question for him. "Of course."

"Past high school?"

Hinata bristles at the idea of doing anything else. “Yes.”

"And what are you willing to do to make that happen?" Oikawa asks, and he feels as if he's being tested in some way, but he's too excited to care. This is the closest thing to volleyball that he’s gotten on a Monday.

"Anything!" he exclaims. And then, quietly: "I'll do anything."

"Then, unfortunately for you," Oikawa's smile turns smug and haughty and Hinata realizes, belatedly, he's stuck in a web that's been spun specifically for him. Kageyama's voice echoes in the back of his mind: He's got a nasty personality. "That takes a lot of hard work."

Hinata tilts his chin upwards. "I’m not afraid of hard work.”

“Yes,” Oikawa taps his pencil against the paper in front of them, calculus staring back mercilessly. “You are.”

An incredulous wave washes over him. “What does this—“ Hinata carefully pushes the paper away from him, afraid it’ll attack him somehow. "Have to do with anything?"

"Ever heard of university-level volleyball?" Oikawa asks, smile faux-pleasant as he takes in the blanched color of Hinata's face. "You think they'll let you in just because your vertical is impressive?"

Hinata blinks at him. "You think my vertical is impressive?"

Oikawa throws the pencil at his head. "Best in the prefecture, without a doubt," he sniffs as Hinata rubs his forehead with a pout. "But it's not enough. Good grades lead to good universities, and good universities have good volleyball teams."

His vision swims as he stares at the paper between them. Symbols he doesn't even recognize seem to mock him, numbers seemingly floating off the page as he gets dizzy just looking at these unknown equations. What even is calculus?

"Easy for you to say," Hinata mutters, toying with the pencil in his hand. It's short, almost sharpened down to the nub. He doesn't think he's ever had the same one long enough to get it to this length. "You're good at school."

A bark of laughter sounds like it came from Oikawa's soul and Hinata jumps at the sudden sound. "Oh, that's funny," he huffs, humor still sticky in his tone. "Say, chibi, tell that to Iwa-chan next time you run into him, will you?"

Hinata tilts his head to the side, brow furrowed. He peers down at the table once more, this time with a different perspective. The people in Karasuno who are natural academics (Tsukkishima, of all people, come to mind) are almost never surrounded by flashcards. Backpack never more than half-way full, never staying behind for extra studying lessons from the upperclassmen. Eyes drifting back to Oikawa, who's cheat sheets and notes are surrounded by eraser shavings, brightly colored sticky notes, and pale hands gray from where his skin slid across still-dusty pencil led.

"You're stupid?" Hinata blurts out. Something light flutters in his chest, and it pulls the corner of his lips upwards.

"I am no such thing!" Oikawa flares out, snatching his pencil back from Hinata. "And you're rude. I may not be your senpai, but I'm still older than you."

"No, it's okay!" he points at himself, proud and eager. "I'm stupid, too."

That only seems to rile him up more. "I'm fine in most subjects," he insists. "It's just calculus, and these damn—" he shoots a glare at nothing, face twisting. "Derivatives. I've been at it for weeks, and there's only so much Mattsu's willing to explain to me before he makes me buy him ramen for his time. I mean," he continues babbling, words pouring out of him like an unstoppable current, a build-up of pressure that's rushing to be let out. "I'm their captain, and they can't even spare me time to break down the rate of change. I'm sure Mr. Refreshing doesn't give your captain a second thought with homework, because that's what a team is for, isn't it? Argh!"

Oikawa looks the most frazzled he's ever seen him, matches included. To be honest, Hinata has no idea what he's even talking about anymore (is this still math? Maybe they moved onto chemistry without him realizing), but the more he talks, the more the thing in Hinata's chest is taking flight.

"Is…" he hesitates, not sure if now's a good time to bring the conversation back on track. Or if Oikawa would listen to him, still lost in the sea of his own rant. "That why you don't practice on Mondays? For… homework?"

Stopping suddenly, Oikawa visibly refocuses back on Hinata. "It's part of it. The other parts are physical—" he kicks Hinata's knee from under the table. "Mental—" he points the pencil at Hinata's head again, who rushes to block this time. "And emotional,” Oikawa taps two fingers over his own heart. “Take care of all three and you can play forever.”

Nursing over his freshly-bruised knee, Hinata grimaces. “Then when’s practice?” he grumbles. “There’s no way you have enough time for all that.”

The look in Oikawa’s eyes is unflinching. “You make time.”

It’s a slap in the face. Oikawa, third-year captain of a powerhouse team, telling him to make time.

What have you been doing for three years?

The fluttering feeling his chest wilts, and what gets resurrected is this ugly, now-familiar twist in his gut. Being locked out of his own gym just when he felt like he was making progress with himself. Height always, always, always a wall for him to overcome. Losing the preliminaries to the boy in front of him.

"I don't think it's fair of you to say that, Oikawa-san," he mutters, struggling to keep his tone level. But it’s as if his tongue was loosened from his building frustration, years of isolation and drowning in inadequacy crashing down on him all at once. "You have the talent. You have the confidence. People know who you are. You're the captain of Aoba Johsai. Everybody in this prefecture knows about your serves. You have no—" Hinata lets his eyes slip close, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry if I'm rude. It isn't fair to compare you to me. Not when our experiences are—are—basically opposites of each other. Not when it took everything I had to get this far."

It was probably too far. He's never been this upfront with someone from another team, even Ushijima. But Hinata doesn't regret saying it.

Opening his eyes, he meets Oikawa's stare dead-on. He doesn't seem angry, at least, but there’s something there that Hinata doesn’t can’t read. Somewhere behind them, the barista sneezes. A clock ticks. Morning rays pour into the cafe, and idly, he remembers when Mondays used to be simpler.

Then Oikawa huffs. Shoving a hand into his bag, he ruffles through its contents for a few moments, papers audibly crinkling, before sliding a notebook across the table. It's an old thing, the binding fraying in several places and the cover bent this way and that. Gingerly, Hinata picks it up, carefully spreading the pages—

Only to be met with a page of Xs. Dozens of tiny Xs, dutifully crossed across the Campus lines, written in with various pencils and pens, different colors and sizes.

He glances up at Oikawa, who crosses his arms, and Hinata takes that as an invitation to keep going. He flips to the next page, and it's the same thing. And the next. And the next. And the next, until he starts to get impatient and flips to the middle, where, finally, there's a highlighted yellow circle, followed by countless exclamation points.

Oikawa yawns, reaching for his mug. "Landed my first jump serve," he says lightly.

Hinata's eyes widen. He opens his mouth, before closing it shut, teeth clacking together.

Nonetheless, Oikawa smiles, a touch sardonic. Caught. "No, you can say it."

Even with permission, he hesitates. "That's a lot of Xs," he says carefully.

"Took a while." He takes a sip of coffee, placing the mug back down onto its saucer. "Do you want to guess how many times it took for our dear Tobio-chan to do the same thing?"

Hinata stays silent.

"Four," Oikawa's smile turns twisted. "Four times. I saw it happen, actually. I was in the gym with him when the ball flew over the net. Good for him, I suppose."

“Kageyama trains hard, too,” he points out quietly.

Oikawa's mouth twitches. “As hard as you?”

"Why are you telling me this?" he asks, desperately, anything to get Oikawa to stop talking. Anything to keep him from shattering the illusion of the Great King. Because if he's not the Great King, if he's not the third-year who serves bullets at Hinata's team, if he's not the figure that convinced Hinata that unstoppable monsters exist—

"Because, chibi, no matter how hard you train, someone out there will be able to do what took you months to master in the span of an afternoon."

—Then he has to come to terms with the fact that Oikawa Tooru is just as human as the rest of them.

Oikawa points a finger. "But that doesn't give you the right to give up. That doesn't give you an excuse to let up, or to drown in despair. You'll get there. Even if it takes," he falters infinitesimally, before rallying himself with a bright smile. "Even if it takes a little while."

Stamina monsters, Ukai calls them sometimes. Hinata had reveled in it, shone with pride. But sitting in a cafe in front of Oikawa dutifully doing homework while the world is still deep in its slumber, Hinata pales in comparison. Because his approach to volleyball is a sprint, Oikawa's is a marathon, and he’s ready to play the long-game in a way that Hinata can't possibly imagine.

“Well!” Oikawa declares, arms stretched high into the air, breaking the atmosphere between them. “You've ruined my Monday routine more than anyone else has in the past few months." He points an accusatory finger at Hinata. "If this was Karasuno's plan to take me down, I'm not letting you have this victory. You know where the bus is. Shoo, shoo."

"I understand," Hinata says quickly, syllables bumping into each other clumsily in his haste to get the words out. "I understand rest days now."

Oikawa raises a brow, doubtful. "Do you?"

"I..." He knows what it is now, that thing in his chest, ballooning in him until he feels like he can float from it. Hope. Because it’s possible. Someone as incredible as Oikawa, a seemingly unsurpassable mountain on court, is somehow sitting at the same table as Hinata. The curtain fell away to reveal that there were never any super powers, no magic wand that made those serves. It’s grit. It’s diligence. It’s enduring Monday after Monday with nothing but an unwavering focus on what’s in front of him. The only thing that can bring them to the level of a genius is hard work, and hard work doesn't always take place on the court. “I think I’m starting to.”

"Humph," Oikawa shoves his earphone back in his ear, turning his attention back to his worksheets. "As if I care."

Disappointment rises in him, slow and heavy. There's still so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to ask. When did you start learning jump serves? Why did you start learning jump serves? Did people look down at you, too? What’s Ushijima’s spikes like? Why is Kageyama so scared of you?

Sliding off of the faux-leather of the booth, he fights not to let the dismay too obviously on his already-readable face when Oikawa speaks again. "Did you find the bus stop last time?"

He pauses. “Yeah?”

"Good." Fingers finding his phone, Oikawa turns up his music, enough that even Hinata can hear the muffled sound from here. "Then see you next week.”

It takes a moment for him to understand what he’s saying, convincing himself he misheard. When it hits him, Hinata can't repress the garbled noise that spills from his mouth, words slurring together to make one long, string of excited noise. He all but runs out of the cafe, bell ringing shrill behind him, before Oikawa can change his mind. Hinata can't wipe the grin off his face, inspiration thrumming through his veins as he skips to the bus stop.

Mondays. He can’t wait for Mondays.

#“just a quick fic to get my feelings out maybe 700 or 800 words” HOW IS THIS 5K #if youre here for maze runner...............sorry #haikyuu is BACK baby #haikyuu #haikyu #haikyu!#fic tag #oikawa toru #oikawa tooru #hinata shoyo #hinata shouyou #theyre besties!!!!!!!!!!!! <3333 #never been a natural #mirrorball aka oikawas anthem

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tparker48 · 1 year

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There was an event going on in the frat houses on the northside of campus, giants and tinies alike jumping at the chance to go as they ventured to the dorms past the trees. Along with them, was Packer, curious at the thought of mingling with the big leagues. Perhaps this was his chance to get involved, but didn’t know for sure if it was a good idea. But then again, he wouldn’t know if he stayed in his room the whole night. With that dreadful thought swirling in his mind, he decided to go, if only to hush the rushing thought in his head. He followed along the smaller barricades, fellow tinies walking inside while the rest of the towering giants waited along the stairs next to him..

The benefits of being small, he presumed. Electric music welcomed his ears, booming through the dimmed room as he followed the crowd through two paneled doors. Lanterns stacked along the walls, casting its crimson glow as strobe light flashed the panels above. Along the main floor, many danced to the beat of the music, Tinies shrouded by pairs of tapping legs as giants danced higher above. It was vibrant, too vibrant for Packer’s taste. He moved around the crowd to the small escalators, taking it to the higher floors as he looked to the crowd below. It was there that he spent most of his time, observing the many students as drinks passed around to the jocks and cheerleaders along the floor. Taking a swig of from his straw, fluid started to build inside him, his cock flexing for release as it bulged into his pants.

“Damn it, I drank too much.” he said, waddling toward the padded cushions along the couch. Hopping off the desk, He followed the table toward the groups surrounding it. He could barely hear his own voice, the booming music from the speakers.

“Hey!..Yo! Does anyone know where the bathroom is?” He asked the surrounding crowd, falling on deaf ears as they laughed and sipped their drinks. He tried waving to the passersby, fanning down anyone that would look down. Their had to be someone who would look, he thought

Continuing to wave at the crowd, one of the students turned his way, their cheeks growing red as they swayed around. “Hey, do you think you can tell me where the bath-” they fell onto the counter, Their hair casting over him like a net.

He was snagged upwards. toggling at the strands of hair as he spun through the air. He tried to call out them in efforts to cease floundering, but it was to no avail, the drunk student continuing to move like a madman as they tossed around the couches. It was only when they cock his head did he finally get his wish, spinning through the air as he fell into a sponge-like opening.

“And this is why I don’t drink.” he groaned, massaging his back to ease the impact.

His gaze soon turned to the space around him, its walls surrounding him in a cylinder-like pattern. Clumps of rubber spiraled upwards to the slitted opening above, smell of dried musk flaring his nose as his face warmed. Where was he anyway? It wasn’t like any couch he saw out there, let alone a chair. He wobbled to his feet, his toes seeping into something slimy as it touched his sandals. Its texture was White as snow, gooey in nature as it soaked into his feet. It smelled salty, fresh as if someone..fucked it.

The area shook, muffled voices echoing outside as his body met the rubbery walls. Tapping from a microphone drowning them out. "Alright ladies and gentlemen, we got a very special game. It's time for our contestants to come up, and play a game of ‘Can You Fill It!!’ "

He puzzled at the words, looking to the opening as shadows danced on the outside. The realization dawned upon him, this space wasn’t just a tube, it was a fleshlight. Rumbling came from below, straps locking from the walls before steps lingered. A sharp squeak came from the entrance, a nozzle squeezing its way through the opening as clear liquid oozed from it. It squirted a thick stream, sending a tidal wave of lube through the tube before it washed Packer to the bottom. It was so slick to move through, his feet slipping from beneath him as he splashed into the translucent puddle.

“Hey, I’m in here you know! Stop the game!” He said, floundered against the rubber.

"Looks like the contestants are ready. Let’s say we get this party started with our beloved host of the party.” The announcer said. ” Give them a round of applause as the first crack of this thing."

A shadow loomed over the opening, taking to the plastic lips like a stamp before it caved in. A bulbous head stuck its way into the folds, the slit in the center smacking with drool that mixed with the contents inside. It wormed its way through the rubbery tube, bulldozing into him as it crashed at the bottom. His torso was subdued, locked in place by the massive cockhead as white drool spilled into his chest. It was warmer compared to the gunk that drenched his toes, thick as it lubricated his face. As the slit retracted, the shaft began to thrust slowly, steamrolling over his body as it tapped at the end of the fleshlight.

He was bombarded,plunging into its spongy walls by the cock’s flesh as it retracted to the top. He placed his palms in front to block the protruding manhood, but its kiss eventually met his form, carrying him with it embrace as it tossed him around. It drooled more, filling a puddle at his shoulder and along the rubbery folds. It was there that it finally erupted, unleashing a tidal wave of milky seed as it waves crashed at his back. It rose higher, the cockhead nuzzling into his body while splooging into his lap. Only a pool of warm cum remained, filling a portion of the chamber that rocked with each twist along the outside.

He emerged, gasping as he wiped its substance from his face. “Ugh that in my mouth.”

"What a wonderful display folks, as expected from our grand host. Now it's for the other two participants."

There was more? He didn't think he could handle another blast of that kind of magnitude. But the feeling seeped in that he had no choice, looking to the rubbery slit that pulled apart like a curtain as a thinner cock entered the cave. Its slitted mouth gaped as it drank the seed filling the chamber, charging through the puddle like a torpedo. It crashed against the bottom, Packer barely having time to think before the shaft retracted and rushed again, pumping itself through the chamber as its aggressive grunts boomed outside. Dodging its strike through the tube, his foot snagged against the shroomed edges, its inertia pinning him beneath its underbelly and into the milky puddle. Cum filled his nose, seeping into his mouth as he dragged to and from the entrance.

His back ached, and his vision dimmed as grinding filled his ears. Pressure increased as the rubbery walls flattened beneath him. The sound of water releasing filled the space, the girth of the cock bulging as its surface cushioned at his back. Seed erupted into the chamber once more, its wave split by a fold in the walls as it drizzled the corners. Its climax was quicker than the hosts, but more rough as its Rigid cock grinded at his back.

"The Alpha captain certainly knows how to rock it ay folks?" The announcer said, the roars of people echoing around the tube. "But it's time for Big Willy to take the stage."

Packer launched from the pool of seed “For who?!”

The crowd grew concerningly softer, heavy steps replacing them before a shadow cast over the slit. When a heavy thud came from the ceiling, A cock peered its ugly head inside, crowned by a layer of loose skin that peeled back by the lips. When it pushed into the tube, he fell backwards as the ground slipped beneath him, Rubber grinding against flesh as the cock made its way deeper.

Its mass clogged the lips as it slithered its way into the tube, like a trash compactor as its walls compressed the space inside. He clinged to the walls, looking for gaps to cushion its blow, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run as its girth flattened the folds beneath its meat.

He placed his palm along the bulky head, his sandals sliding off as his toes glided against the floor. When it crashed at the bottom, he wheezed as straps snapped on the outside, the skin unraveling over his head to bring him into its frowsty embrace. The space beneath the cock’s hood was like a blanket, warmth filling his face as the shroomed head coated with slime, tucking beneath his chin as the skin morphed around his neck.

It was there, the pounds began. The sound was softer compared to the fleshlight, Squelches shrouding them while claps echoed through his ears. His stomach compressed upon the cock head’s weight, tenderized by its beating thrusts in efforts to satisfy its owner. The skin climbed higher over him, the thick meat pounding him into a flesh pocket as it wrapped around him.

"Look at him go folks, Big Willy's giving it his all in this competition. And it's only a matter of time before this volcano blows." The announcer said.

The grinds increased at a startling rate, Hinges creaking from the corners of the fleshlights as they withstood Big Willy's wrath. In a matter of moments, he felt butterflies in his stomach when a hard snap muffled outside, his prison smothering him into the clammy skin as they used his head like a Q-tip. His stomach continued to toss around, the pressure of the head not helping in the matter as it nudged against him. But it seemed to have grown worse, when a moan came from the outside. The skin surrounding him yanked off, the head retreating to the middle of the fleshlight.

It hovered over like a dark eclipse, the slit sputtering as if it were about to speak. A wad shot from its lips, striking the walls before it smothered the folds in a waterfall of seed. Its flow grew, sending the cum around the chamber as he swirled to the very top. As it floated him toward the shaft, he clinged to the loose skin for leverage, fighting against the current that threatened to take him under. It soon settled when heavy grunts ceased outside, bubbles coming from a gap in the opening as cheers roared outside.

"What a wonderful display of dominance, Willy still holds the championship for the fourth year in a row. Just look at that smile on his face."

He clinged to the skin, weakly crawling into the pocket as his body slipped against it. When he thought he finally had a hold against it, the head dropped into the sea of seed. Granting him shelter beneath the skin, but not without sending the seed to Packer’s shoulders. As it crashed at the bottom of the fleshlight, it sat upon his legs as giant steps boomed around.

“Hey! Can anyone hear me! Let me out of here!”

**********************************************

Outside, The party dispersed from the event table to the surrounding activities, Big willy guiding himself through the crowds of people to the drink tables along the walls. He heard cheering from the left of him, cheerleaders palming a chant in his triumph as he swigged at his drink. An admirable reward he must say, it was nice to have praise for such a normal feat. But it didn't compare to the tightness that surrounded his manhood, the shaft hanging from his cock by the fleshlight. This was what he was proud of, the fullness surrounding his cock, the collection of his own seed mixed with others. It was a true sign of his champion title, and so he wore it with pride. Fondling over the milky liquid dripping into his pants, he couldn’t help but focus on the feeling inside. It was like being sucked by a really hot girl, but something tingly added to the sensation, like a tongue lapping at his skin. He didn't know what it was, but it felt good. He dropped the fleshlight to let it bob at his pants, taking another glass as he enjoyed the frat party.

#musk #unaware

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nshtn · 1 year

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Incendiary Eddie x fem Café Reader

[[ Kicking off writing for Eddie and taking short written requests for my boy now!! This is a little oneshot outside of canon <3 If you'd like something, feel free to send in an ask stating that you'd like it written! 🤗 ]]

"I know a little of something, I don't know everything, but each day I learn anew. What am I?"

I'm sitting on a weathered barstool in the name of a café I have, regrettably, already forgotten. The woman in front of me has just rattled a riddle off to me, and the tornado of thoughts in my mind have redirected themselves like the tidal gusts of a typhoon to funnel into solving the puzzle neatly laid, word by word, in the metaphysical dimension of my mind.

A human! Oh, no, Eddie, get yourself together. That's too obvious, and you're supposed to be the Puzzle King. She's referring to herself, I think; pretty hair and eyes that pierce something fierce through you, but every time they hit me, they search softly. Searching. Searching for information - or perhaps - connection? No - don't think about that, you, uh...

"A s-student." The corners of my mouth turn up slightly. Hers have lifted considerably, of note...

"You're right!" She presents me a coffee in a brown mug. The smell is different, though. The aroma that wafts from it has some hint of cherry... alcohol... dark... chocolatey and earthy and ... wrong. I momentarily consider, though brief, the possibility of being poisoned; her lilt, however telling of the expression that has dawned upon me, breaks me from the trance-like spiral my mind has descended upon fitfully - "Dark almond cherry amaretto flavor. It's on the house. You're one smart cookie!" That smile of hers belies greatly the subtle sheen of loneliness that lies beneath. There's no way I, thirty-odd-something of a man of strange expression and a coiling darkness, have held her interest by natural wit. Still, the thought of being poisoned has been quashed by her enviously natural reply, a feeling I am quick to swallow.

My eyebrows dash up a tad and my eyes wander over the darkly shaded drink. A hair darker, and it might have matched the shade of my thoughts when I'd first walked in. I suppose she's taken it as a sign of apprehension in the way she tenses. Damn. "Don't--" a nervous laugh breaks free of her, embarrassed, "don't worry, it's good with pie." We -- no, I -- am still waiting on the slice. I am so deranged in the reins of sheltering from the fruits of emotional labor that my reactions to her are stiff enough to paint me a robot. Background character. It's not what I want, it's what I need - deserve - need for later, later. But what I want...

Somehow, I am content with waiting - with this awkward back-and-forth exchange of words in a game I normally lose. She, having stuttered, cannot call me out on my own. In hindsight, it is foolish of me to chase my want for socialization, maybe. Probably. Absolutely.

"I trust you." What way and how? Well, with this coffee, it doesn't seem too hard. I lift the stirrer to show vested interest and give an idle circling, the cream dispersing in soft shades and delightful little bubbles. It betrays the city this gem nestles itself in, a respite, oasis, an opening, clearing, a light tunnel, a beacon -- but I'm trying not to fall into a rabbit hole, pulling my thoughts away from the chain of synonyms that beckons the addled mind. I feel the urge to pull out a puzzle book. I feel the compulsion to tell a riddle.

I think of one for her. It doesn't have to be good - I just want to keep talking. To her -- to someone, and she happens to be the one currently diverting my mind's personal assault, that's my own excuse.

"I'm shrouded in mystery and danger surrounds me," I begin, voice soft and dry. I have not yet tried my coffee. Was this a mistake? Is this too deep for a lonely café? But, her eyes lock onto mine and her mind is readily accepting. "I'm often denied, but eventually I must be satisfied," Think! "-- farther than skin, it is the heart I am deep within." My glasses reflect in a way I enjoy as I fold my hands beneath my chin and push my sore body a little further up in the stool. She's about to say something, pursing her lips thoughtfully. I complete it with the same ending she'd given her own, mimicry for the chance of closeness. "What am I?"

And before she can answer, a beep interrupts her thoughts. Damn. "Oh shoot!--" The woman hurries off to get my slice, and I'm left alone for a moment to collect my thoughts. Just what do I think I'm doing? I'm probably boring her to death. I'm... so annoying. Pestering. I'm bothersome. I feel myself turn inwards. I feel my senses creeping up on me. I feel a sudden and extensive dread, like a cover pulled over me too sharp, emotional whiplash, fast and unbearable. The darkness is creeping - rushing - surrounding - grasping itself in with every second that passes and I force myself to focus on the sound of her steps, quick and light on tile floor, and then metal, and tile again. Ground yourself, the podcasts had said, pay attention to your surroundings. Best to acquaint myself with footsteps until it's second nature for the journey that lies ahead of me, anyway. But for now…

She returns, laying down a green plate with a plump piece of pumpkin pie on it (alluringly alliterating, allaying my arduous addiction). There's a scoop of vanilla ice cream heaved over the top as generously as possible, and there's another gob that slips off the side. I could reason all day that she doesn't have any interest in me, that she's being friendly as part of the job, but with free coffee and extra effort I find my mind spins less steadily its' unstoppable wheels of hatred.

"The answer to it is... is it justice?" The light from the kitchen's rusting door sets upon her a delicate outline of white. I want to berate myself for the three seconds it takes for me to get past the perfection of the mood lighting adjacent to her comment, but I can't.

"That's correct."

"That was a tough one!" She presses a black fork in my hand with her own, and our fingers brush, and my mind unravels in so many different directions of possible conversation that I stutter and my cheeks treasonously shade themselves pink. My own are pulled at the corners, tough skin, bitten fingernails. Hers are soft and warm... she pulls away, apologetic, but then pauses. I'm so stupid, delayed, so lonely that the mere touch of another friendly hand has sent my mind hurtling, and my head turns down to avoid eye contact and--

"You're... um, very cute--" "Thank you," we say, almost on top of each other. Mine is nerves and paranoia and every facet of my being that wants to scream that this is a dream or a trap, and hers seems like an untrained reply of enamorment. I am not left to decide as she continues, unprompted, hands drawing past the counter to hold onto themselves for comfort. Is she as many jumbled nerves as I find myself? A dual spotlight drawn between us, the light from a drab kitchen in a shitty part of town? The moment, this moment, is isolated from the association, though. "It's... free, all of it, i-if you come visit again." Her face knits together and she pushes a loose strand of hair that has bound free behind her ear. "Sometime," she adds, sheepish.

And how can I say no? Even if it were a trap, how can I decline the saccharine sweetness of continued conversation? My heart hungers, my brain wants for the potential - even if miniscule - of contact, and in a café of nameless abandon surrounded by squalor and sewer rot, I am made to feel the dangerous drip-feed of hope. It is a mistake, and I know it will hasten the cracks in my psyche when she inevitably casts me aside as so many have, but in the moment my heart activates my vocal cords and rips the words I need to say before the rational choice of my mind can punctuate the matter. I am surprised at how quickly it all happens, over in a second and stretching on into some infinite horizon.

"Deal."

#edward nashton x reader #dano riddler #dano!riddler #[[ I have given this a hearty word cycling and made it more definitively Incendiary Eddie <3 ]]#[[ hope ya'll enjoy !! ]]#ooc #/dev/fic/

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unbreakabledawn · 8 months

Text

Tidal Lock 🌊 chapter 2

[read on ao3]

4.5k words (9.1k total)

this chapter's got some kissing (sort of), some talking (not much) and some feelings (lots of those). Bruce has really been on Clark’s mind lately, but who can blame him?

Nearly dying sucks. Not as much as actually dying, and Clark can unfortunately attest to both. His most recent near-death experience was no exception, but it was by far the most memorable—the parts he could remember, at least. Most of that day was a haze of green pain due to the kryptonite knife that had slipped past his ribs, and he can’t recall much before the moment he’d woken up in the sunbed at the Watchtower. What he does remember really well is Bruce showing up at his apartment later that same day.

#dawn post #my fic #superbat #fan fic #ao3 #batman #superman #dawn's tidal lock

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bonesandthebees · 11 months

Note

Bee I am very sorry for forgetting subtract the L’ from Manberg earlier :(( (in my defense I’ve kind of been busy reading Stars and haven’t gotten much of a chance to brainrot on Glass yet) but anyways, for whatever reason, it’s a bit difficult for me to picture what Eldingvegr (just realized that I misspelled it previously- my bad) looks like.

So ah…

Do you- Do you want to ramble about the appearance of the planet? It just seems very cool in concept but from where I’m at in Stars I don’t think it’s been elaborated on much.

Like architecture and culture and stuff

-🪞

I am responding to this ask very late my bad and I feel like I might've answered something similar to this in the past week or so but i'm sleepy and my memory is failing me so might as well provide more references

anyway of course i can ramble about the appearance of eldingvegr!

Eldingvegr as mentioned in the text is a tidally-locked planet, meaning it doesn't spin. one side of the planet always faces their sun, the other is always shrouded in darkness. the place where the day and night side meet to create dusk/sunset/sunrise/dawn creates a 'band' wrapped around the entire planet, while it's roughly only 1-2 thousand miles wide (this band is called the Røkkrring). as a result, when you're in the Røkkrring the sky is always a dusty shade of pink no matter the time of day or night. there's no such thing as a day/night cycle on Eldingvegr. the planet is standardized to 'galactic time' which is the time zone used by people traveling between planets on space ships

inside the Røkkrring, I always imagined buildings being made of white and grey shimmering stone with lots of metallic accents. for the royal palace that wilbur and tommy grew up in, think this kind of architecture/vibe

(by Ji Young Joo on ArtStation)

this isn't exact, I picture the towers a lot thinner and more futuristic looking I guess? and there's lots of gold accents as opposed to green and blue. I actually found what I thought was really accurate art of what I had in my head and then I realized it was AI art so :/ this art I linked here is still pretty good though!

other really good inspo for the vibes: the Antwerp Cathedral in Belgium! ironically I'd never seen a picture of this church or even heard of it when I wrote stars. it wasn't until I was in Antwerp back in September and my dear friend who was showing me around took me there that I was like holy shit wait this is like how I pictured the architecture in stars-

anyway it's all made of white/cream stone with lots of gold accents and is very gothic in architecture style. I'd say eldingvegr's architecture has less gothic influence, but the shape and colors and overall vibes are very similar

I hope that helps!

#ask #mirror anon #the stars and their children

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ms-oswald · 1 year

Text

timeless | final chapter

author’s note: this is the end of the road! to the ones who have been reading this story and who stuck around, i’m sending you all my love! thank you ❤️ hoping the ending will be just as enjoyable :) Lots of love and stay safe 💕

With a tidal wave drowning him at sea, Finan had woken up from his nightmare in a fright.

Body drenched in sweat, heart ragingly palpitating in his chest, the Irishman was catching his breath as the moon’s glow shone behind him, the timid light casting itself across the bedroom.

He felt pressure behind him, weight on his right; Becca had been pulled away from her sleep at the agitation shaking the bed. She quickly reached for him, her hand stroking his back as she leaned against him, bringing him to her.

“Finan-”

Chest heaving heavily, his stare remained straight into the void, his mind’s cloud slowly dissipating as his view acclimated to the darkness around them.

“Finn, love- are you alright?” She was gentle, knowing all too well not to either panic or rush. “Was it her?”

He reached for her, his fingers grasping tightly.

She moved around to sit in front of him, hands on his cheeks, as to direct his haunted eyes back to her. It took a moment, but he eventually fell into reality, the colour of her irises becoming the rope he hung onto.

“I-I’m fine.” He knew she didn’t believe him - he simply ignored it. He adjusted his sight, blinking and rubbing his eyes. His hand then rested on hers in reassurance, calmer. “I’m alright.” His breath had caught up and slowed down.

“It’s the first time she reaches out to you… She must have had something to say.”

“Nothing she hasn’t already said to you, love. It’s alright.” He kissed the heel of her palm and lingered into her touch. She could still sense his budding agitation, and so she dropped the subject.

Instead, she gently pushed him to lie down as she followed.

Face to face, she wrapped her arms around him, her leg following suit as she placed it around his waist, bringing him closer. He nuzzled his face against the pillow and the crook of her neck, breathing her in. All the while, she brushed through his hair, soothing him into sleep once more.

He had his arms curled around her as well, and his lips pressed on her neck - soft pecks that made her close her eyes in surrender.

His hand wandered around her naked body, the pressure increasing through every inch until it settled on her stomach.

She grew worried, feeling his fingertips grasping her as if they lacked air and needed it.

“Finan… What did you see?”

He was hesitant to answer, and so instead he said nothing, and kept himself in place as he caressed her skin tenderly, his eyes down and away from her.

She closed her own once again, the feel of his warmth bringing her peace despite the tumultuous awakening they were pushed into.

“Finn-” She whispered his name, the letters floating in the air, a siren looking for her sailor.

His eyes brimmed with tears when they met hers.

He moved, making it so he hovered above her while she lied on her back.

He leaned down and trailed gentle kisses from her lips down her body before meeting her again. Their hands joined, fingers interlaced, resting atop her head as he closed in the distance further, the budding strength of her body gently molding into his.

They locked eyes, the silence speaking the thousand words.

He nudged the tip of his nose with hers before caressing her lips and losing himself in the feel of her, forever tethered to her.

Through life and beyond death.

It was the crack of dawn when they hit the road, the sun slowly peeking through the horizon.

Still half asleep herself, Finan had taken the wheel, driving out of London and back to Bamburgh. Only days after his reunion with Thora, the goddess had sent her messenger to Becca; it was the falcon appearing at her windowsill that told her it was time, before it flew back North.

Her family’s place was further out so they decided to rent a room in town for a closer distance to the castle.

She was able to gather all items that would be needed for tonight; all that was left was to go back to the source, to Finan’s last place alive before the curse was enacted at his first death.

The drive was a quiet one, the radio playing through its schedule and embellishing the background.

Becca was falling in and out of sleep throughout the trip, her body having grown more and more tired the past couple of weeks. The effect of the sacrifice spell still seemed to have taken a toll on her, a lingering shadow in the dark.

They had been holding hands while he drove. Finan had quietly insisted, wanting every second of today to be near her, touching her. Fingers interlaced, she would smile to herself whenever she felt him stroke the top of her hand.

If she wasn’t asleep, she would spend her time awake looking out the window, the calmness of their surroundings helping her remain so as well.

“You okay, love?” They were half-way through, still morning as the sun was yet to reach its highest peak of the day.

She turned her head to him, sporting a lazy smile. “Mhmm.”

He brought up their joint hands to his lips, placing another kiss on top of their hold. She kept the small grin, appreciative of the silent gesture.

Still watching him, she bit the inside of her cheek, the upward curves of her lips still present. “What is the first thing you want to do after tonight?”

He had a beam across his face as he pretended to be in thought; he already knew his answer, having pondered over it more and more in the last couple of months.

He didn’t, however, get the chance to respond as she quickly stopped him.

She pulled her hand away urgently and placed it straight to her chest.

He frowned, confused. “Bex?”

“Stop the car.” She gulped, swallowing saliva as she held onto herself. “Stop-” She remained still, the car still moving though slowing down, while she tried to catch her breath. “Finn, stop the car.”

She had opened the door just as he was pulling by the side of the road, and fell to her knees, not even able to step a bit further away from the vehicle.

Nausea gripped at her insides - she thought her nerves, or at least motion sickness, had taken the best of her.

She then threw up, her lungs coughing for air.

Finan ran to her side, worry etched to his core.

With her head facing the ground, she didn’t see him but knew he was there by the way he had gently pushed her hair behind her as well as resting his hands on her, stroking her back through her episode.

Hurting at her stomach, tears welled in the corners of her eyes and echoed through the sound of her strained sobs.

Once it was over, with her breath heavy in her throat, she leaned backwards and rested against Finan’s knees.

From her back, he placed his left hand on her shoulder while caressing her hair with his right, pushing the strands backwards. “Are ya feeling better?” His voice was tender, softly spoken to her ear.

She could only offer him a nod, her head turned to her right, as she struggled to speak.

“Here.” He handed her a water bottle, which she happily took and cleaned up. “There is a stop along the way we’ll make. Are ya gonna be okay?”

“Y-yea.” He helped her get up, her hands gripping his jacket while she tried to find her footing. They remained still for a moment, the Irishman watching her carefully. She found her seat again, on the passenger’s side, and leaned backwards against the head rest with her eyes closed.

Without a word, he followed and resumed their drive until they reached their rest stop.

They got out of the car; she waited against the door while he went into the store attached to the gas station to pick up a few items.

Some short minutes later, he came out and walked back to her with hasten steps.

“What’s the surprise?” She teased while watching him rush back to her. He tried to smile, wanting to push past the discolour of her cheeks.

He was about to open the bag as she leaned over, perusing the contents that were inside. She chuckled while eyeing him, amused to see he could have almost emptied the store. “You really went all out, didn’t you?”

He only shook his head, snickering as well. She picked out the saltines, and quickly opened them before swallowing a whole of them.

She fell back against the car, relief traced across her features. Finan watched her, amused at the way she was devouring her snack.

Though the grin eventually faded, switching to concern.

He approached her and pushed locks of her hair behind her ear. “Bex…”

Her name hung silently in the air, unable to sing any further.

She met his gaze with a small smile gracing her dried lips. “I’m okay.”

He sighed heavily. “You’re not okay, love. The colour’s drained from ya- Was it the spell? Is it still making you tired? Or is it-”

“I think it’s a combination of everything.”

Another exhale, he nodded quietly.

He then placed his hands on her shoulders and placed the softest of kisses on her forehead. His arms trailed down to her back, rubbing to calm her as he pulled her against him. “Are ya feeling better at least?”

She dropped the saltines back in the bag before hugging him. “Just a little bit.” She tightened her hold around his waist and stayed still for a few minutes, letting the breeze carry them in this scene.

She hid her face in his chest, breathing him in, content; if she could, she would stay like this forever.

But unfortunately, time was of the essence.

Today was the day and she could not miss the window of opportunity.

She reluctantly pushed herself away and ran her fingers through her hair.

He gave her one last kiss, his lips pressed to her cheek, and walked to the driver’s seat, looking back at her.

“You ready?”

As they entered the small bed & breakfast room they had rented for their stay, Finan had gone straight for the bed and sat down at the edge, exhaustion draping over him.

Becca closed the door behind them watching him as he lied down and stared at the ceiling; a small smile escaped her lips.

She walked over to him and stood between his legs. Feeling her in front of him, he sat back up, a grin plastered on his face.

He silently placed his hands on her hips, his thumbs circling the skin under her shirt. Her own fingers threaded through his hair, their gaze entwined in a silent waltz.

He leaned closer towards her, lifting her shirt further up until she felt his lips pressed against her stomach, right above her navel. She giggled at the feel of his beard tickling her.

He lingered, tightening his grip ever so gently to her body.

In exchange, she tugged at his hair when his warm breath hovered above her skin.

She then sat down on his lap, straddling him. He wrapped his arms around her just as her hands rested on his cheeks. She brushed her nose with his before sharing a tender kiss. He pulled her closer, flushed against him.

His fingers sought her out under her shirt as they traipsed towards her back. The gesture made her sigh between their lips, shivers running down her spine.

She broke the kiss, entertained by his mood. “Are you trying to undress me, Irishman?”

He chuckled as he quickly pulled her back to him. “Is it that obvious?”

“Unless you have another explanation as to why you’re tugging at my shirt?”

“Just examining ya. Making sure ya are well.” He teased, still holding onto her as he trailed his mouth down to her swollen breasts.

She could only giggle, her small fit of laughter mixed with her reply. “Of course, that makes perfect sense.”

He pressed his lips against her covered chest before suddenly turning around and making her land on her back against the mattress. She met him with a gasp, taken by surprise, and yet the grin plastered on her face could not escape. “Finan!”

He met her gaze, the mischievous glint in his eyes as apparent as the sun. “I’m sorry, love. It’s a better view from up here.”

“You are incorrigible!”

The rumble of his laughter vibrated against her skin as he settled on top of her, placing kisses all over her exposed flesh.

She fell into the ticklish sensation, not able to stop the fit of laughter that dressed the room - until hunger softly grumbled inside her.

Hearing the disruption, he lifted his head up with a smirk captured on the corner of his lips. “Someone’s a bit peckish.”

She sat up as he pulled away. “You bring it out of me, what can I say?”

“How about some room service?”

“I’d love that.” She softly kissed him, simple and loving.

He got up and turned around to reach the phone that was on the dresser, opposite the bed.

While on the line, with his back facing her, she quietly started to undress. She stripped her clothes off, quietly throwing them on the floor, before she slipped under the covers and waited for him.

Once he hung up, he turned to find her with her back against the headboard, sheets covering her body though she teased him with her right leg exposed to him, knee bent in temptation. All the while, she wore a sly smirk, her teeth biting her bottom lip. “We can keep ourselves busy until the food arrives.”

He matched her stance as he removed his shirt and unbuckled his pants before jumping on the mattress, earning a laugh out of her lungs.

He pulled the covers off her, exposing her bare upper body to him before he found her lips.

She wrapped her arms around him, smiling into the kiss and giggling at his eagerness as anticipation seeped through her as well.

Not long had passed since their arrival into Bamburgh.

Finan was first to wake up from their nap, where the afternoon light peaked through the curtains.

He carefully readjusted himself, not ready to leave the bed.

He sat up, sitting against the headboard and looked to his right - Becca was still deep in her sleep.

He started to gently stroke her hair, his mind adrift to tonight, to tomorrow, to the day after that.

The soothing feel of his touch slowly brought a smile to her face as she was waking up from her slumber.

She quietly lifted her eyes up to find him lost in his thoughts, his head tilted to the ceiling; chest bare, cross dangling on his chest, bed sheets covering his lower half - what a sight, she thought.

She let him be, where his hand was still tangled in her hair.

It felt too good to stop.

A low satisfied moan escaped her. The soft noise caught his attention as he dropped his head to her, his mouth curved upwards in a lopsided smile.

She stretched her left arm, caressing his cheek before her fingers settled on his necklace, gently calling for him. “Come back down here.”

Without a word, he laid down and turned so his chest was pressed against her back. He wrapped his arms around her, settling comfortably before instinctively reaching for her stomach, his palms caressing her.

They stayed this way for a few minutes, bathing in utter quietness.

She pushed herself further against him, loving the way their limbs molded so harmoniously into one another. Following her, he lifted his head just high enough to press soft kisses along her shoulder to the crook of her neck. His hand then started to wander up and down her skin, hiding under the covers. He could never get enough of the softness of her flesh; she was warm against him, her complexion glowing more fervently than usual under the sunlight.

“We had a son…” His voice startled the atmosphere, though he spoke with a low undertone.

“What? W-when?” She turned around within his embrace, facing him with furrowed brows.

He chuckled and shifted to lie on his back, his right arm still holding onto Becca.

“It was a dream…” His gaze landed on the ceiling once again as he kept going. “There was a wee boy running around with a wooden sword, outside somewhere. It felt like we were having some kind of picnic at the cottage house or something.”

She was grinning as she followed the tracks to his daydreaming.

She turned to lie on her side, her elbow against the pillow with her left hand supporting her head. “A boy, huh?”

“Our boy.” His eyes went to her as he brought her closer, every inch of their bodies pressed to one another.

“One hell of a dream you had there, love.” Fingers traipsed along his jawline, her own mind wandering.

“Can ya blame me?” The smirk on his face had made her quietly laugh against him. She was overwhelmed by the thought, by the desperate need of wanting it all, now.

“We have a boy.” She mumbled her words joyfully in the air, mesmerized.

“We do.” The way he smiled at her left her heart stumbling across the pavement, still taken aback by the way he could take her breath away. “I can’t wait.” She bit her bottom lip as she spoke up, giddy. “What else happened in your dream?” She placed her leg over him, using his body as an anchor as she hung on to him.

He shrugged - there wasn’t anything else to say. “Nothing, it was peaceful- just us…”

She started trailing kisses along his arm to his shoulder, nipping at his skin tauntingly. “Were we trying for a second child at least?”

“You menace.” He spoke with a crooked grin and placed his hand to her abdomen, gently caressing her. She turned to lie on her back without looking away from him; his palm rested carefully on top of her, not letting go, as he quietly searched for her eyes. Searching for the silent words that raced around her irises, dancing so intimately and only for him. The thought of moving on with his life, the mere inkling of even the possibility of having such a life with her, overwhelmed him, imminent to burst at the seam.

She grew timid, heat creeping up to her cheeks. She approached until she met his lips, sharing a slow kiss - a gesture that left them chasing after one another.

Becca eventually had to break away, though remained reluctant in her endeavor. “We should get going soon…”

He sighed, knowing they did not have a choice. “I know. Just…” He kissed her once again and spoke between their breaths as he slightly strengthened his hold on her. “Just a few more minutes.” He was quietly begging, desperate to make this very moment last a little bit longer.

She silently agreed, placing her hand on his.

He inhaled, a sudden heaviness in the pit of his stomach crawling inside him. “Will it be safe? The spell…” He asked gently, frowning. He still touched her, his fingertips stroking timidly her burgeoning puffiness.

“I don’t think the gods will harm us.” His worry, etched across his features, she retraced them in the hopes to calm his nerves. “She is here to help. She’ll make me stronger.”

Her words eased him a bit, his gaze never wavering away from her.

She was in awe - the intensity of his eyes always left her breathless, swimming in the vastest of ocean without ever feeling lost or incomplete.

Her thoughts were swirling inside her mind, still conjunct with the earlier minutes.

She was abruptly shaken out when something caught her attention.

He saw the gears in her head, the look in her eyes portraying shock and confusion. She pushed him away, hand against his chest, to widen her view.

“Wait, did you say wooden sword?!”

He laughed, his voice booming within the walls of their room. Unable to catch him, he had quickly jumped out of the bed and ran to the bathroom. She called for him, completely dumbfounded, and could still hear his cackle on the other side of the door.

“Finan!”

The sun hit its pinnacle of the mid evening hours.

While waiting for Bamburgh castle to reach its closing hours for the day, they had decided, in the meantime, to spend their remaining time walking around the small town.

The normalcy of the moment had taken over, making them partially forget what was waiting for them in the coming hours.

The trail they had taken eventually led them towards the waters, the waves of the beach reaching the shore in a fiery dance, its feet tip tapping across the sand’s surface.

The couple pulled themselves away from the dying crowd, wanting their own privacy as they settled on the ground.

Side by side, she laid her head on his shoulder as she brought her knees up, the best she could, against her chest. Finan placed a small peck on top of her forehead before looking towards the sea, memories of his past flooding him like a storm.

As for Becca, she could only think of tonight; her mind had wandered, fear taking its opportunity to sneak back and rest heavily on her chest. She felt it in the back of her throat, the lump lodged with strength as it shook her, forcing tears to grip the corners of her eyes.

The dread weighing on her shoulders had pushed her away from him. She turned to look at Finan, the man still left in deep reverie himself.

It wasn’t just revisiting the lifetimes he’s lived anymore. The path had taken him to ponder over what he would do next - as of tonight, he would be a free man.

He could finally live the remainder of his life and find peace at the end. And he would be living it with her, the only woman he had fallen for in the last millennia.

What would come next was finally his choice.

He was brought out of thought when she spoke, her voice quivering against his shoulder.

“Finn… I’m scared.”

He tilted his head to her, understanding the intent behind her words.

He remained silent, letting her speak further.

“If-” She took a second, breathing in deeply. “If I fail and the spell doesn’t work-” She closed her eyes, biting down her tongue before proceeding, desperate to let her words out the way a bandage is ripped from the skin. “I’m scared that if I fail, you would grow to hate me. To resent me and leave me…”

He furrowed his brows. “Why would ya think that?”

“Because I would have given you false hope.”

“Nothing will ever change the way I feel about you.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “I swear it.” His hand rested on the back of her head, palm caressing her hair, before he placed a kiss. “I’m grateful you were willing to try.” He gingerly pulled away, catching the glimmer of tears in her eyes. “Despite the obstacles we kept encountering… Ya did not give up on me.” The recollection of memories of the last year had suddenly washed over him, a haunting of a ghost. “I could never hate ya for it.”

The was solace in his words; she tried to find them.

“What about when I die, and you are still here? Would you resent me then? Would you curse me ‘till the end of days?” She tried to lighten the mood with her last words, even though her heart wore her heavy.

“You have power, Bex. I can feel it.” Once more, she dug for the comfort in his voice, searching for warmth so she could hang onto it. “Believe in it.” He reached for her amulet, holding it gently in his hand. “Believe you can channel this and break me free.” The soft undertone shaking his cords sent shivers down her spine. The letters of his speech shared between their parted mouths, she grabbed onto them and squeezed them tightly.

“I’ll try.”

She promised herself she would. She had also told herself there was another way at this. A way she wanted to share with him.

“But if it doesn’t work, will you let me join you?” He frowned, confused. A quiet crooked smile tainted her right cheek. “Will you let me curse myself, so you won’t be alone anymore? So, we could spend forever, together?”

She rendered him speechless.

It had to come this, and it saddened him. How could he become the reason someone else was willing to give up everything for a poor soul like himself?

“Our love could be timeless. Wouldn’t that be romantic.” Once again, she tried to lighten the grimness around them, the curve of her lips faintly spreading across her face while hiding the depth of her confession.

He chuckled at her attempt. “It’s a tempting offer… And I love you for even thinking of risking ya life for me.” The smile faded away from him. She could see where he was going; it was too obvious. “But I can’t let you do that.”

“Finan, I want to do it. If it comes to it, please let me do this.” Tears pricked her cheeks, grief-stricken. “Don’t make me live in a world without you. I don’t want us to be apart.” She whispered her plea against his breath, silently crying.

He felt her cheeks wet as he kissed her, both desperate and sorrowful.

Even if it meant desecrating the order of nature - the one thing a witch should never do - she would give it all up for him.

He pulled her backwards until they lied down, not caring that they were resting on the sand.

His arm curled around her shoulders, she hid herself within his embrace and let her emotions silently erupt out of her. Her fingers grasped onto his shirt, her knuckles whitening at the force of her hold.

The sound of the waves had become background noise, made for their ears only.

The crowd was dying down, the people walking away as the day was coming to its end with the sun sliding under the water by the horizon.

His head was up to the sky, the warm hues colouring his sight.

His heart was breaking.

Part of him hated himself for having started all of this, or at least for having encouraged their relationship right at the start. It shouldn’t have gone the way it did - he tried to convince himself but knew, in the end, it was futile. He was hooked on the first night, and then again when he purposely encountered her, and once more the first ride to Bamburgh, and every day since.

But that other part, the one that fell for her, that loved her with such depth, could not see it any other way.

She was made for him. Their connection so innate, so intuitive from the first glance to the first touch. He believed she was a blessing to his mundane and lonesome existence, the bloom of spring after a brutal winter.

He had stumbled along the way since he met her, but she stuck to him no matter what and it left him overwhelmed.

Their little moment was interrupted.

The cries of a falcon hovered above them, its wings flapped against the breeze of the ocean before it settled behind them, perched on a rock.

Becca pulled away from him, both sitting up as she tilted her head to see the bird.

She clenched her jaw, eyes closed.

She breathed in, calming her nerves, before turning back to Finan. With a reassuring smile on her face, she placed her hand on his cheek.

“It’s time.”

They were waiting inside the castle as tourists scurried away at closing time. And as he knew his way around, Finan had made sure they would be able to sneak away, turning into ghosts within the walls.

It took a while, not that they were complaining.

Only when the moon was ready to reach its peak did they finally leave their hiding place and made their way outside.

And it seemed the falcon had been waiting for them.

Becca followed the bird, making them cross the inner ward until it flew further up, reaching the flagpole above the Keep. They followed suit and reached the highest point of the property, where the view of darkness surrounded them with only the moonlight guiding them.

The bird gave its last call before flying away, leaving the couple to start.

Becca sighed, her heart rapidly beating inside her chest.

“Ya ready?” His words rang in her ears. She looked to him, partly terrified at the upcoming moments that would unravel.

Midnight was approaching.

They shared one more kiss, lingering within each other’s embrace for a little while longer. She held him, hands to his cheeks, and quietly whispered into his lips. “I love you.”

A faint smile flourished across his face.

“You can do this.”

She nodded at his words and proceeded.

She looked through her bag and started taking out a vial of salt - blessed by the high priestess of her coven. Back up to her feet, she looked to Finan, wanting a quick glimpse of him. She then continued, using the salt and marking the ground with runes in a circular motion, following the path of time as her mind fell into focus.

And then the circle was sealed with intersecting lines, the final touch to call the goddess.

Once complete, she cleaned her hands, the palpitations in the pit of her stomach growing heavier.

She took a deep breath, a slight tremor apparent in her lungs. “Now comes the part where you need to step inside.” She stretched her hand out to him as he followed her instructions, taking his place in the center.

Becca stood still for a second, squeezing her hold on him, before eventually letting go, a cold sensation suddenly wrapped around her palm.

She fetched the remaining ingredients - a candle, her dagger and the totem representing the hex.

As she held the last item in her hand - a ball of rope, tightly tied into a knot with its loose ends ever so slightly peeking out from each side - her breath shortened in her lungs.

She was holding Finan’s liberation in the palm of her hands. The knot was a simple representation of his lifeline, stuck in a loop, his true path blocked.

All she needed to do was to re-manipulate reality, to untie the knot and set him free.

She placed the candle at her feet and approached Finan, her knife and totem in hand. “This is going to hurt.”

“Don’t worry about me, love.” The softness in his voice captured a smile at the corner of her mouth.

She lent him the knot as she took his left hand, palm up, and carefully used her dagger to cut through his skin. A subtle hiss escaped his lips; she clenched her jaw, her heart trembling. She then helped him close his hand, the blood dropping straight onto the knotted rope, staining the texture with his essence.

She repeated the process with her own hand. She was about to cut her own skin when Finan stopped her, gently placing his unmarked limb on her own. “Let me.” He took the dagger as she remained quiet, and let him cut her palm. Despite the gory gesture, there was a certain tenderness to the act.

The blood seeped from the bruise, falling onto the other side of the totem.

Becca whispered under her breath as she watched the knot’s colour change. “Blood of the cursed, blood of the blessed.”

Once the totem soaked under its rain, she fetched a small piece of cloth. He took it from her hand and ripped the piece in half, wrapping her wound first before she repeated the gesture for him.

She then tilted her head up to Finan. The look in her eyes let him know it was truly time.

He brought the back of her hand to his lips, sharing the softest of kiss. And without letting go of his hold, she leaned in, pressing her own lips into his.

She backed away out of the circle and sat on her knees.

The ball on her lap, she placed the candle in front of her and called for light.

The stem lit, its fire casting shadow around its body.

She exhaled, a heavy breath to calm her nerves.

She picked up the totem, the object resting between her hands.

“We begin.” She spoke with a firm tone, her back straight, her mind focused.

And at her words, the seal came to life, the salt burning as flames decorated the ground.

Finan remained in the middle, quiet and watchful. Trepidation stemmed from his fingertips, the throbbing pain in his hand completely ignored.

The language of the gods slipped smoothly across her tongue, her voice carrying out as she called for her favour, the heftiness of the plea echoing through her bones and shaking the earth underneath.

The fired seal grew taller around Finan, leaving her to become almost a mirage to his eyes; she was channeling the energy of the flames, the particle of embers lacing their way through her fingertips and colliding with her magic in an unparalleled percussion.

The knot levitated a few inches above her hands, the threads of the spell woven subtly through the air and holding the item in place. Glowing in the dark, a faint golden sheen, it was the shimmer of the lighten strings that came to life as they danced around her fingers while the young witch was, once again, invoking the celestial power - the one she anchored to her own strength, to severe the link.

To untie the knot and reverse the coerced bond that was, to set free the man that was wronged.

As the chanting boomed through the core of her being, shining violet seeped through her irises, settling as a new inhabitant. Her amulet, heated chain around her neck, held a similar path, its purple hue creating light around her.

A faint breeze rushed around him, heightening the flames that imprisoned him on the seal.

Slowly, the totem started to detach itself from its confine, unfastening its intricate knots.

She was trembling.

A tremor, a subtle shake like the earth, transcended through her bones.

Channeling the powers of a god, for her mere mortal flesh - it was too much.

It was working, but the weight of such strength echoed through the vibration of her body.

While he could hear her, the sound of her voice standing in his ears, he also saw the toll the ritual was taking on her.

She was about to crumble, thinly cracked at the seam.

The nosebleed was apparent, trickling down over her lips to her chin.

Her breaths grew heavier, her dizziness taking hold of her mind, of her eyes.

And yet, she couldn’t forfeit.

She heard her name, his voice calling for her with terror and anxiety rushing through him.

He tried to move, to run to her, but she stopped him, pushing him back with her mind’s eyes.

One step out and everything could be lost.

The knot still floated, following the trance of her chant, like a snake swaying to the flute of its master.

Her voice grew louder and louder through the air.

The chain of her necklace burnt her skin, the stone fracturing through every repeated syllable of her spell.

He could feel the magic work through him, the blood receding from his veins as he grew cold. The tightening hold that choked him for so many centuries was loosening, the grip around his neck fainting until it eventually let go.

The burden of the curse was turning into dust, the remnant pieces drifting away from the Irishman’s skin with the wind pushing them to the flames, burning their essence on hellfire.

And then - the totem resolved, the knot unknotted.

It was done.

The ritual completed.

Everything became dark once again, the blaze gone, the wind vanished. The rope lying flat on the floor.

Only Finan and Becca were left.

Weakness overtook her muscles; she almost crashed to the floor as she was catching her breath.

She leaned over, using her hands as an anvil against the ground to hold herself from complete collapse.

Only her lungs serenaded the empty air.

Finan stood still, dazed. Overwhelmed.

She saw the trickle of blood falling on the stones beneath her. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, the traces vivid on her limb.

When trying to get up, Finan ran to her, helping her.

Once she was on her feet, she held on, her fingers grasping at his shirt, her eyes back to normal.

Her amulet had reached the ground at her movement, the chain broken.

He frowned as he bent down to pick up the necklace.

He watched it, silent. The gears in his brain working through a thought.

“You gave up your magic for me?”

“A small price to pay.” It was a tired smile that graced him.

She did it.

She broke the curse like she had promised.

He was a free man.

As their new reality dawned on them, a small laugh escaped him.

She followed suit, a grin forming on her stained lips as joy reached the pit of her stomach.

On a high, she ran to him, and he caught her in his arms, embracing her figure tightly against his chest.

“You did it.”

He whispered against her hair before crashing into her lips for a fervent kiss. With his arms curled around her, he had lifted her from the ground.

She squealed, taken by surprise. A light giggle had escaped the back of her throat from excitement.

Her feet touched the ground again, though they hadn’t let go of each other yet with their lips still tangled, heated.

Just a few more seconds of bliss.

“Let’s get out of here.” She spoke, breathless.

He smiled, a beam so bright, biting at her bottom lip before pressing his lips again against hers, and then pulling away.

The last thing he felt was the touch of her hands in his as she stepped back to clean up the mess around them.

He felt a sudden stiffness in his neck. He rolled his head around to dissuade the discomfort until he became lightheaded, the vision in front of him blurring.

It was almost blinding him when he heard Becca call for him, his name turned into a question.

He shut his eyes tight, trying to get a hold of himself when he felt a wet trail running down his nose.

He felt his muscles grow weaker, as if they were depleting.

When opening his eyes, he met a distorted horrified look on Becca’s face.

He tried reaching for her but couldn’t feel his body move until the weight of it dragged him down.

“Finan!”

She caught him as they both fell to the ground. She called him over and over again, trying to reach his consciousness.

He couldn’t speak, his voice - gone.

But his perishing sight was set on her, his ears aching at the pain; she was yelling, screaming at the top of her burning lungs with tears furiously streaming down her cheeks.

“Bex?”

She looked down at him, frowning, her chest heaving. Her hand caressed his face but could not see her name coming from his lips.

“Bex, love?”

His voice stood as clear as the night sky above them.

She lifted her head up and saw him standing in front of her, confused. “What happened?”

She bit her tongue.

She then got up to her feet, her body trembling.

“Y-you di-”

How could she finish her sentence? The weight of the word stood heavy on her heart, unable to ring it out into the world.

It held such destruction, a wrecking ball destroying everything around them.

The look in his eyes was enough for her to know he understood.

He shattered, his heart breaking into pieces.

A sob caught in her throat. “I-I’m so sorry- This wasn’t supposed to h-appen.”

Denial, hefty in its wake, she fell to the ground again, her mind working a resurrection spell - anything to bring him back.

But of course, it wouldn’t work.

She reached for her amulet but clutched at the ghost of it when she saw the stone on the floor.

Bewildered, eyes wide, she lost her breath as she whispered under the last of it. “What did I just do…”

She was powerless, and so, she was unable to save him.

“It’s okay…” There was no harshness in his tone. “We’ll be okay, love.” He needed her to believe it, his new reality squeezing itself between them.

She snapped, looking back up to him.

“No, it’s not okay! We need more time- I needed more time w- with you.” The lump in her throat was lodged tightly, invoked.

He approached her, hand to her cheek in a soft caress, ignoring the empty sensation. “Ya are an incredible woman.”

She scoffed, angry.

“Not enough to make you live out this lifetime.” Tears trailed her cheeks again, quivering from anguish. She leaned into his attempted touch, trying to feel his warmth. She hesitantly met his gaze - his hues still managed to give her such love, she could feel herself crumble from inadequacy. Undeserving. “We were doomed from the start, weren’t we?”

The disillusion of it all was killing her on the spot, torturing her.

“Finn-”

Words evaded her, sentiments unable to speak out.

“I know.”

He wasn’t angry, nor was he furious.

He simply mourned; sorrow reached the deepest parts of himself, from the marrow to the surface.

She collected herself - or at least, she tried. She wiped her tears, not able to look at him anymore, ashamed of her failure, and backed away to stand up again.

“You’re free now… You can find peace.”

He swallowed heavily. “Is it really peace without you?”

Eyes shut tight, she was silently crying again.

The thickness of melancholy wore her like a coat, suffocating her in this unruly heat.

He reached for her again, desperate to touch her and comfort her, to wipe her tears away.

He found he wasn’t able to feel her.

Nor could she.

He tried again, his hand trailing down to her stomach as he leaned against her, attempting to feel her breath against his lips, any sign of movement at all.

It was faint, almost undetectable.

Unfocused, he wouldn’t have felt it.

“Finan, I-I love you.”

Shaky, destroyed, broken.

The wind was knocked out of her, completely gutted.

“I love you too.” It was a mere whisper, loving and inconsolable in its undertone.

And then, he was gone.

His ghostly presence vanishing as if, for all the cruelty in the world, he was never here at all.

She held onto herself, the best she could, but found no strength.

She collapsed on the ground, head resting atop his lifeless body as her cries shook the waves of reality.

The next week was a blur.

She was a corpse walking amongst the living, an icy dread in the middle of the warmth of budding summer.

“Don’t you think it’s a little bit rash?”

Her brother was by her side, his eyes reading the engraved tombstone; it was the day of the funeral, and they were three.

The sun was at its peak, ignoring the welting sorrow that beat down on Becca.

She stood in her family plot, gifting Finan his final resting place.

Marcus spoke without looking at his sister. He couldn’t comprehend the latest decisions she had been making. “Quitting your job, leaving the city, and moving here? There is nothing here.”

“He’s here.”

He finally turned his head to her, and she never wavered, her sight focused still on the stone in front of her. “Becca.” He grieved for her, saddened by the drastic turn of events that broke his sister.

She said nothing more, so he quietened down, his sight returning to the headstone, in prayer.

The words etched across the grave were simple, each without true meaning when read separately. Only once meshed together did they hold such sorrow, such grief for the widower, the abandoned lover.

She dropped her head, unable to hold on any longer. “I don’t think I can do this without him.”

Hand on her shoulder, she looked to her right just far enough to see his caring touch. He spoke up with an ache; he was hurt to see her like this. “You’re not alone.”

She ignored his remark, her teeth clenching from past anger trying to crawl its way back. She breathed in deeply, calming herself, and fell back into her torment. “Without him, I am.” She still hated herself for having created such deception, enraged at herself for having failed so immensely. “I scarified my powers for him and… it was all for nothing.”

Her brother hoped his words would bring her comfort. “Your family are still witches.” She turned her head to him, wondering over the meaning behind his words. “Your brother still is. Anything you need, magical or not, we’re here for you.”

She pushed his hand away from her. “Why was I so stubborn?” All the fights and arguments were haunting her, left her to wonder if she had been that blind to believe she would succeed without consequence. “I-I should’ve listened to him. To you, a-and everyone-”

“Don’t.” He stopped her, reaching for her hand and gently pulling her his way. “Don’t do this to yourself.” He forced her to look at him, to meet his gaze as he spoke with solace. “You gave him what he needed. Be thankful it worked.”

“But he didn’t need to die.” Tears brimmed over her eyes; it was the first time she had spoken that word, the dreaded destructive letters clouding her. “That was not part of-”

He interrupted her, as she needed to understand it wasn’t her failure. “The gods can be cruel.”

She shook her head in disagreement. “It wasn’t them.” She ran her fingers through her hair before they settled on her chest. “It was her. That damn bitch-” She bit on her tongue; rage born like embers in a fire pit. “She won.”

Marcus pulled her against him, hugging his sister tightly as she broke down. She was clutching onto the gold cross, the Celtic knots imprinting in the wounded palm of her hand.

She was a powerless woman, no longer a witch.

She lost everything in the fire.

She cursed herself for what she had caused, for having been tricked and for having failed him.

Thora had won, and there was nothing to be done to reverse it.

Six months had passed since then.

Bamburgh was grey and dark, the clouds gathering as they prepared to cry over the townspeople.

Becca couldn’t care.

She had been staring at the tombstone, Finan’s name stretched across it.

She hadn’t recovered and she knew she never would.

She mourned the loss with such gravity, life blooming in front of her became a cruel joke.

Standing in front of his grave, her body yelled for her to sit; her feet were sore and swelled as the weight of her womb grew heavy.

Their child was restless, tired and hungry. How could he know, though, what his mother was going through? That she had forgotten him, for a mere second, to mourn the loss of his father?

She looked down, bringing her hands to rest over her pregnant stomach, to calm the boy.

She knew it was time to go and yet, she couldn’t move.

And the breeze changed direction, as if it was running away from something.

“Good riddance, I say.”

Becca didn’t need to look to know who stood next to her.

“Thora.”

“Niece.”

The sound of her voice already irritated the young woman; it was by undoing the curse that Thora came back to haunt the earth.

A warning she never saw coming.

“What do you want?”

The red-haired woman stood tall, arched brow and staring at the cursed man’s grave. “You took something of mine.”

Becca still didn’t turn to her, trying to control her rage. “He was never yours.”

Thora scoffed, unrelenting. “Maybe not, but that child-” She never finished her sentence, a strong pressure suddenly gripping at her.

Her niece violently turned her head to her, almost hurting her neck in the process. Anger seethed through her entire being. “Don’t you dare threaten my son. Do whatever the hell you want, but you leave me and my child out of it.” She had been grasping onto Thora’s wrist so tightly, inflicting such pain, she could break the bones like a twig. “You’ve done enough damage.” The elder tried not to look too shocked at the sudden act, remaining composed the best way she knew how. “Now get out of here and leave us be.”

At Becca’s last words, the gods had spoken; the sky rumbled, ready for battle against each other. The mischievous and chaotic Loki against Freya, protector of witches and goddess of love.

Thora let go, shaking her arm away from her niece, a smirk underlined across her face.

“I’ll see you in a hundred years, then?”

Becca sneered. “No, you won’t.” And she knew she wouldn’t. Not because Thora would live that long, but because the hex had been destroyed the night of the ritual.

It was foreseeing her future that made the elder witch decide to tether herself to the curse she created.

It was because she knew one of her own would one day break it that she let it happen.

Abiding time, and waiting patiently, until six months ago.

Thunder struck the skies, rumbling the earth in anger. The witch cheated death, and she would not go unpunished.

Becca stood her ground as she watched her elder walk away, a smirk of conquest painted across the witche’s dry lips.

The widow was tricked - to be believed that the warning she had seen was telling her the curse would hit her in retaliation, as it had no way to die. The pushback from her family came from knowing the truth - that their ancestor would come back from the dead.

The subtle kicks inside her brought her back to her grief. She was due any day now, and her heart broke at the thought of going through childbirth without Finan by her side, of going through the rest of their son’s life without his father.

She held onto her stomach again, rubbing away the ache caused by the baby’s movements.

She teared up, whispering her goodbye for now, and reluctantly walked away just as the rain started to mist over the village.

The words floated through the cold air, their echo hopeful in its distance.

“I’ll see you on the Other side, my love…”

---------------------

a/n: for those who are familiar with The Originals, the knot is a reference to the Sanguinis Knot :)

xoxo,

@gemini-mama, @fangirlninja67

#the last kingdom #finan #finan x oc #tlk fanfic #finan fanfic #finan the agile #tlk #mark rowley #finan fic #tlk fic #the last kingdom fanfic #Photo by Ksenia Yakovleva on Unsplash #the last kingdom fic #finan x ofc

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