#he is the shadow in the corner of my room

[shotmrmiller]

And when reader can no longer pay her rent, neighbor 141 is so selfless that they move their missus into one of their apartments. She can stay rent-free and it’s easier access to her and her cooking for them

i read missus and blue screened.

something about the boys using missus unprompted makes my heart gallop.

okay okay listen. she's still unused to being around them. that dinner had been.... an experience. something one can look back to when they're older and not regret because it'd been adventurous. maybe a quirky little story to tell the grandkids (or nephews/nieces. she's not sold on the offspring idea.) paychecks aren't what they used to be. less hours at work or laid-off. it stings to dig into the cushion you've been padding since you started your career to pay bills. john throws you a lifeline.

"live with me. got plenty o' room. no ex-wife/husband. you can help with whatever you want." (don't thank him. feed him. feed them.)

the dinner table on sundays at john's (before dinners start turning to every other evening) looks as follows:

johnny sits too close to you. hovering, almost. takes food with an eagerness that almost seems selfish. greedy. compliments feel forced. practiced. blue eyes flit from the table, to you, to his captain.

simon's bulk looms at the edge, filling up the corner, darkening it like a shadow. he serves himself with a heavy hand, his laughter a little too loud, filling. doesn't ask for a place at the table, merely takes it.

kyle sits adjacent to price. there's an intensity to the way he watches your hand scoop up mashed potatoes. the fresh greens drizzled with olive oil. use the cloth napkin to dab the sauce off the corner of your lips. all ingredients he brought himself for you. (you wouldn't bite the hand that feeds you, eh?) he eats with quiet grace, every movement deliberate.

and john just eats with gusto. sits at the head of the table, obviously. softly groans in appreciation when you serve him a thick-cut steak. savors each bite, licking his lips. feels fortunate to have a missus who not only takes care of him but his boys too.

[siaslash]

Alastor had summoned demons before. He enjoyed the power involved in trapping them in the circle until they fulfill their end of the bargin he proposed. They were usually little things, things to tease those around him. Shadows in the corners of their eyes. Voices lingering on the edges of hearing. Just enough to give them a taste of insanity.

Petty revenges, admittedly, but Alastor knew the power in bargins. And so far, none of the demons he had summoned had the power he required.

He was getting close. He had almost been able to summon Lucifer, himself, last time. However, something had gone a bit wrong. Instead, in the middle of the circle had been a bright yellow rubber duck with a note pinned to it. He was still trying to puzzle out the meaning of "afk", and how the toy managed to be so much lighter and softer than the hard, vulcanized rubber ones he knew. Demon powers, maybe.

Regardless, the melody of summoning was a familiar one. The composition of scrawls on the cleared floor, the sacrifice still making muffled laments against the gag, the knife, and the chant, all played as easily as an old tune on the radio.

The circle lit up, bright blue and crackling with static. Alastor raised an eyebrow at the display. This one was a bit of a show off.

And with the loud SNAP of two universes briefly conjoining, there it stood. Facing the wrong way. The form was generally human shaped, which so far had seemed to be optional. However, in place of the head was…

The figure turned and the other side lit up the room, eyes wide on a flat surface as they darted around.

"What the fuck?" the demon sputtered.

"Why is your head a window frame?" Alastor couldn't help but ask with his signature brilliant smile. To his mild surprise, the demon reeled back as if in shock.

The demon's face flickered blue with white text, there and gone too fast to read.

"You!?" The demon looked around again. His overly expressive face twisted. "What *year* is this?!"

(I fixated and ended up drawing the scene from my story blurb. It's based on my original text post here. The above text includes a little extra edits to clean it up a bit)

[pseudowho]

18+, pwp, Authoritative!Higuruma

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Ever since he could remember, Hiromi needed to fiddle, with his hands or his mouth. Since taking up, and then quitting, an unsavoury smoking habit (the perfect solution for a man who liked something between his lips, and something to excuse himself from unwanted social gatherings for), he had, instead, a pile of chewed pens, and overclicked pens, and ties with frayed ends.

In the evenings, and the dark blanketing night, however, his fidget toy was you. The living room was dark, and warm, the dull orange glow of a vintage Edison bulb in the corner, the only illumination. With your back to Hiromi's chest, and your knees draped apart over his spidery legs, what he did to you beneath the blanket was a mystery to anyone but the two of you.

Hushed, heavy breaths, and weak little moans broke through the gloom. Any time you squirmed too much, Hiromi selfishly restrained you, trapping you back against him. One of your fingers was trapped within his mouth, being licked, licked, licked, by the hot flick of the tip of his tongue.

Hiromi watched the documentary intently, his face cast in stark shadow. His fingers moved constantly, his thumb and forefinger pinched softly around your clit, rolling and flicking over the little nub with gentle insistence. Pleasure pooled hot and deep between your legs, climbing up your thighs and belly. He barely seemed to hear your cries, simply resting his chin on your head, and yanking you back to him whenever you squirmed yourself out of his grip.

Hiromi had lost another case, that afternoon. One that wounded him, deeply. After arriving home with taut shoulders, and exhausted, angry eyes, you had had to rescue him from the shower, where clearly, he was trying to drown himself. He hadn't spoken a word to you. But, he had been intermittently clicking his fingers, rolling a stress ball in his hand...and you shivered, knowing where that stress would be directed.

"Does that feel good?" Hiromi whispered, deep voice husky against the side of your throat, his eyes still fixed on the television. His tone was lazy, emotionally blank after the extreme stress of the day. As if, somehow, your pleasure was secondary to his need to relax. It was so unlike him...except, for when the cracks appeared, and he became selfish, convicted, authoritative in a way that sent shivers down your spine. He never looked at you with such cold disregard, as he did when he was emotionally spent from fighting the unwinnable fight.

"...f-fuck...Hiro...need to cum, don-don't leave me like-like this, haaaaahhh...please..."

His response to your whimpers was visceral, though; his cock twitched, fat and thick in his pyjamas, against the small of your back. It annoyed him. He was too stressed to cum. His orgasm would be dry, and painful, and would force him to fuck you again, in a way he didn't have the energy to, just to rid himself of that creamy poison.

"Need something inside you too, I suppose." Hiromi mused, pissed off. "Shit...don't wanna move. Just need...need to relax." His other hand slid under your top, locating your hypersensitive nipple and rolling, flicking, twisting, just as he did to your poor, aching clit. You cried out, colours fizzing in your vision as your back arched, and Hiromi slammed you back against him with a grunt of irritation. He sighed, heavy and resigned. You were letting him use you. He supposed he ought to return the favour, and did so only begrudgingly.

"Get my cock out for me. There's a good girl." You felt Hiromi's breath hitch as your trembling little hand grabbed the silky length of him, his cock heavy, throbbing in your palm. Hiromi shifted you on his lap, your pussy slick and wet with arousal as Hiromi continued to overwork you. You saw stars to feel his cockhead nuzzle at your entrance. Hiromi still watched the television, his eyes dark and seething, so tired of catering to the needs of others.

"Get it in," Hiromi mumbled, his lips and tongue working at your earlobe, "and fuck yourself on me as much as you need to. I don't care. Just don't make me work, please."

You did as you were told, sliding yourself down onto Hiromi's cock, deliciously filled and stretched, belly deep. So close already with how he pinched around your clit, selfishly holding you down so his anxious fingers could continue working, just a few frantic bucks downwards had you reeling. You came with a guttural moan, twitching and convulsing around him, your pussy milking at him, hungry for his seed.

Hiromi felt a sharp, aggressive peak approach, and hissed, teeth gritted, eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back. "--shit-- SHIT-- too much, fuck-- not gonna-- gonna be no cum-- arghhh ffffuck--"

Hiromi's balls clenched tight, his cock leaping and bounding...but nothing came, just a dry orgasm with no milky spend and no release. Hiromi was blinded by dreadful pleasure, fucking upwards hard into you, desperately trying to make his balls release something, anything.

Riled now, with an overbearing need to cum, Hiromi threw his head back onto the sofa with a growl, while you panted, plugged and spent, impaled on his cock. Hiromi pulled out, turning you round to face him. His hand stroked his cock, lubricated by your juices, with slick little plap plap plaps. Still hyperstressed, needy and commanding, he tangled one strong, gentle hand in your hair. The fire in his eyes broached no argument.

"On your knees," Hiromi ordered, trying to masturbate himself to orgasm, but failing, "and let me fuck your mouth."

[formulas-bitch]

Meant to be - mob boss Max x sainz/reader

The room was dimly lit, with the flickering light casting eerie shadows across the walls. The scent of burning candles and expensive cologne filled the air, mixing into a haunting aroma that seemed to hang like a veil between the mob boss and his guest. The two men sat across from each other at a massive, polished walnut table, their expressions carefully neutral as they waited for the other to make the first move. This was a meeting that could potentially change the course of both of their lives, and they knew it.

As the tension in the room grew, Max leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, and spoke in a low, steady voice. "So, Carlos, you understand why I've asked you here tonight." It wasn't a question, but he offered it up anyway, his piercing blue eyes boring into Carlos's brown ones. Carlos nodded slowly, trying to maintain his composure. "Yes, Max. I understand. You want to marry my sister."

"And you're not opposed to that?" Max pressed, his expression unreadable. Carlos took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "No, Max. I'm not opposed to it. But I want you to know that I will protect her with my life. If you hurt her in any way, if you make her unhappy, I will find you, and I will make you pay." His voice was low and steady, but there was an undercurrent of menace that could not be ignored.

The mob boss nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. "I understand, Carlos. Your sister is very important to you. She's important to me too. I want to make her happy, to give her a life filled with love and luxury. A life she deserves." Max leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "But I also need to know that you trust me. That you believe I can provide that life for her. and it will bring our two families together"

Carlos studied the mob boss's face for a moment, searching for any hint of deceit. But there was none to be found. Max's expression was open, honest, and filled with a genuine desire to make his future wife happy. Slowly, Carlos nodded. "I do trust you, Max. And I believe that you can give her that life. A life filled with love and protection, just like our parents did." He paused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "And who knows? Maybe our two families will find a way to be together, not just through marriage, but as friends too."

There was a brief moment of silence as the two men contemplated the weight of their words. Then, Max reached out, clasping Carlos's hand in a firm grip. "Thank you, Carlos. I appreciate your trust, and I won't let you down. I promise to make your sister the happiest woman in the world."

The tension began to ease, replaced by a sense of camaraderie and understanding. They spoke for several more hours, discussing their families, their hopes for the future, and the challenges that lay ahead. The candlelight flickered softly, casting dancing shadows across their faces as they shared stories and laughter.

As the night wore on, Max excused himself to make a phone call. When he returned, he was carrying a small, velvet box. He placed it on the table in front of Carlos, and a look of pride and anticipation spread across his face. "Carlos, I wanted to give your sister something special. Something that symbolized not only our commitment to each other, but also to the future that we're building together."

Carlos opened the box, revealing a stunning diamond ring. It was exquisitely crafted, sparkling in the dim light, and Carlos couldn't help but gasp in awe. "It's beautiful, Max. She's going to love it." He held the ring up, admiring the craftsmanship before slipping it onto his own finger. The two men shared a brief moment of silence, each lost in their own thoughts about the significance of the ring and the promises it represented.

As the evening drew to a close, Max stood up, offering his hand to Carlos. "Thank you, my friend. I appreciate your understanding and support. Together, I truly believe we can build a future that our families will be proud of." Carlos took Max's hand, their grip firm and confident. "I'm honored to stand by your side, Max. And I promise to do everything in my power to make sure our families prosper and grow."

The two men exchanged a final, knowing glance before they parted ways. Max walked out into the cool night air, his shoulders back and his chest puffed out with pride. He knew that the meeting with Carlos had gone better than he could have hoped for. Now, all he had to do was wait for the right moment to propose to Gabriela .

In the meantime, he would continue to focus on his work, ensuring that the criminal empire he had built continued to thrive. He had a team of trusted advisors and lieutenants who helped him run things day-to-day, but he remained the undisputed leader, the one they all looked to for guidance and direction. His word was law, and he took his responsibilities seriously.

Max's thoughts often drifted to Gabriela, wondering what she was doing, if she was happy, and if she had given any more thought to their future together. He couldn't help but feel a sense of possessiveness whenever he thought about her, knowing that he wanted her all to himself. He knew that their marriage would be a complicated one, with their families' pasts hanging over them like a cloud, but he was determined to make it work. He wanted them to have the life that they deserved, filled with love and luxury, and he was willing to do whatever it took to make that happen.

In the midst of his planning and preparation, Max received word that one of their rival gangs was making a move on their territory. He knew he had to handle the situation delicately, as any misstep could lead to all-out war. He called a meeting with his most trusted lieutenants, a group of men who had been with him since the beginning. They discussed strategy and tactics, debating the best course of action. Max listened intently, taking each of their opinions into consideration before making his final decision.

As they planned their counterattack, Max couldn't help but think about Gabriela. He longed to share this news with her, to see the look of admiration in her eyes as he discussed his leadership and strategic thinking. He imagined her telling him how proud she was to stand by his side, how much she loved him and believed in him. The thought of marrying her and starting a family together filled him with a sense of purpose and joy that he had never experienced before.

The meeting concluded with a plan of action, and Max left feeling confident that they would emerge victorious. He couldn't wait to share the news with Gabriela and ask for her support and counsel. He knew that together, they would make a formidable team, able to navigate the treacherous waters of the criminal underworld and build a life of love, luxury, and security for themselves and their families.

As he drove home late at night, Max's thoughts once again drifted to the engagement ring and the moment he would propose to Gabriela. He knew that he wanted to do it in a way that was both romantic and memorable, something that would show her just how deeply he felt for her. He considered taking her on a private jet to a secluded island, where he would have a team of chefs prepare a gourmet meal and a string quartet play their favorite songs. But as he pulled into his driveway, he decided against it. He wanted something more intimate, something that felt special just for the two of them.

The next morning, Max woke up early, anxious to see Gabriela. He had arranged for a private chef to prepare breakfast in bed for the two of them, complete with freshly squeezed orange juice and his favorite croissants. As he waited for her to emerge from the bedroom, he couldn't help but feel a surge of adrenaline, his heart racing with anticipation. When she finally appeared, wearing one of his favorite dresses that showed off her curves, he knew that this was the moment.

With a deep breath, Max got down on one knee and pulled out the engagement ring from his pocket. He looked up at her, his eyes filled with love and devotion, and asked her the question that had been burning in his heart for months. "Gabriela, from the moment I first saw you, I knew that you were someone special. You're beautiful, smart, and strong. You've been by my side through everything, and I want to spend the rest of my life showing you just how much I love and appreciate you. Will you marry me?"

Tears welled up in Gabriela's eyes as she looked down at Max, her heart racing with emotion. She felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and love wash over her as she gazed into his sincere eyes. "Max," she whispered, "of course I'll marry you." She reached out and took his hand, gently sliding the ring onto her finger. The sparkle of the diamond in the morning light was a testament to the bright future that lay ahead of them.

They stayed like that for a moment, holding hands and soaking in the happiness that filled the room. Max couldn't help but feel grateful for this woman who had come into his life and given him a reason to believe in love again. He leaned in and kissed her tenderly, his heart swelling with love and devotion. As they continued to embrace, Max felt a pang of guilt as he thought about the rival gang and the challenges that lay ahead. But for now, he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in Gabriela's arms and forget about everything else.

Gabriela smiled up at him, her green eyes sparkling with love. "I've been thinking," she said, her voice soft and sultry. "I've always dreamed of having a wedding that was as extravagant as your lifestyle. What do you say? We could have it at one of your private estates, with a guest list that rivals the Forbes list. We could hire the best chefs, designers, musicians… anything you desire. It would be our dream wedding, just like you deserve."

Max's heart skipped a beat at the thought of sharing such a moment with her. "That sounds perfect," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life making you happy, and showing you just how much you mean to me."

As they lay there together, lost in their own little world, Max couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over him. He knew that with Gabriela by his side, they could overcome any obstacle, and that together, they would continue to build their empire and live a life of luxury and love.

[avastrasposts]

Big Sky Country - ch. 4

Hello! I hope you're enjoying poor, trouble Frankie lost in the big city. He got some in the last chapter but maybe not in the best or most honest way...

Chapter 4 and our Cowboy!Frankie faces the aftermath of his decisions as he leaves Aisling's bed and decided on his next steps.

Series Master List

He didn’t know what time it was, his phone was in his pants somewhere on the floor, when he rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling in Aisling’s small studio apartment. 

The place really was claustrophobic. He hadn’t noticed when she first pulled him in, he’d been focused solely on her, her lips, her skin, her hair in the dim, golden light from the lamp in the corner. Now the lamp had been switched off and the small room was dark apart from the street light spilling in through the two rectangular windows on one of the walls. His head, which had been so blissfully silent when she was awake, was now running at full tilt again, the insistent thoughts rolling through. And the guilt had returned, squashed down while he lost himself in her. Now it sat in the pit of his belly, made him feel queasy even. 

Aisling slept peacefully next to him, he could feel the warmth of her body against his skin, the smell of sex between them and the body wash they’d both used. Carefully he rolled over onto his side and looked at her, soft features, long, tangled curls spilling over her shoulders, her lips parted as she slept curled in on herself. It was a cliche, but she really looked younger in sleep, vulnerable in a way Frankie hadn’t seen her before. She was always the confident, assertive Brooklyn bartender, the New Yorker with a hard edge who was unfazed by the city, comfortable with it in a way that Frankie would never be. But now he saw her relaxed features, comfortably curled up on the bed, sleeping soundly next to him, and Frankie put his hand out, hovering over her cheek, wanting to touch her again but not wanting to wake her. Leaving would be so much harder if she woke up. 

It would be so easy to just stay, to wrap an arm around her and shift himself closer. Stay until morning and then…. And then what? 

Frankie sighed and carefully rolled onto his back again. 

And then what, Morales? Get your stuff from Eva’s and move in with Aisling like some creepy freeloader? ‘Hi, I’m your new boyfriend and I live here now even though we’ve only just met because I’ve cheated on my girlfriend and now I have nowhere to live in the city.’ 

No, better to just leave, pick up his stuff and find that bus heading west and leave her out of his shit. This was a mistake. 

With another low sigh he pushed himself off the bed and carefully fished his boxers and jeans off the floor. He dressed silently, taking his boots in hand before he glanced back at the bed. Aisling hadn’t moved, still sleeping with her arm as a pillow, a sheet over her lower half, turned towards the spot where he’d been. 

It would be so easy. 

He leaned on the bed with one knee, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. 

“I’ve got to go,” he mumbled as she hummed something in her sleep, “I’m sorry.” 

The street was almost quiet when he left her building, turning back towards Eva’s apartment, but the whirl of thoughts in his head made sure the noise was the same as always. He made his way home, dodging late night drunks and joined the small crowd of those whose shifts began extra early.

No, not home, that place is not home. It’s just her apartment, home is back west, back in Montana. Just get the stuff, and leave. She doesn’t need an explanation, she knows it’s over. 

He quietly unlocked the front door of the apartment and stepped inside. As soon as he saw the light on in the living room, he knew she was awake and he silently took a deep breath, bracing for her reaction to his reappearance. 

“Frankie?” 

The couch creaked as she pushed off from it and he heard her move across the room. He pulled his boots off and looked up as her shadow fell over the small hallway. Her face was tear streaked and swollen, and as she took two unsteady steps towards him, he saw fresh tears start to fall down her cheeks again. 

“I’m s-so-rry,” she sobbed and he caught her in his arms as she stumbled against him, her face pressed into his chest, “I thought you’d l-left, and I couldn’t get h-hold of you and th-en…” 

Frankie felt her shoulders shake under his hands as she struggled to catch her breath between the tears before she managed to continue. 

“I-I was so horrible to you, but I was so sc-scared. I should’ve told you, I sh-should’ve let you come t-to the cl-clinic,” she pressed out between gulps of air and Frankie rubbed his palms up and down her back, trying to calm her. The guilt in his belly bubbled and churned, Eva’s desperate tears clawed at his heart and he felt his resolve to just grab his shit and go, weaken. 

She heaved another sob, her fingers digging into his neck as she clung to him, desperation in her teary breaths. He could hardly leave her like this. Not in the middle of the night, it would be better to wait just a little. Maybe they had to work this through. He heaved a sigh. 

“Carño, we need to talk,” he said, gently guiding her towards the bedroom, “but tomorrow, you need to calm down first.” 

“Don’t leave me, Frankie,” Eva sniffed, more tears falling down her face, fingers gripping his arms as she looked up at him. Her eyes were red rimmed and pleading and Frankie shook his head. 

“I’m not leaving, I’m here now. Let’s just get into bed and get some sleep.” 

She let him lead her, almost like a child, to the bed and stood by him while he pulled back the covers. 

“C’mon, get in and get comfortable, I’m just going to take a shower and then I’ll be right there.” 

She nodded, rubbing her hands over her face as she wiped the tears. 

“I’m such a fucking mess, Frankie,” she said, her voice cracked as he helped her pull the covers up over her. “I need you, but I’m such a fucking idiot, I don’t know why I did it, I should’ve told you and now it’s o-over-” 

Fresh tears slipped from her eyes as she heaved another sob, falling back into the bed, hiccuping as she tried to catch her breath. 

“Cariño, calm down, breathe,” Frankie said, pulling the covers up as she sobbed again, “Yeah, I was pissed off, you really fucking hurt me because you didn’t tell me, you just cut me out. But we can talk about it tomorrow, I’m here now.” 

She grabbed his hand as he tried to stand up and pulled him down again, reaching for his lips and he let her kiss him, keeping his mouth closed and praying she didn’t taste Aisling on him even though he’d showered at her place a few hours ago. 

“I’ll be right back, just let me shower. It’s been a long fucking day, ok?” He pulled back and stood up, but she still held his hand. 

“Where were you, Frankie?” 

“Just walking around, sat down by the river for hours, then some bar,” he half lied, pulling his hand from hers, “Just let me shower.” 

He left her and retreated into the bathroom, closing the door behind himself and leaned on the vanity, dropping his head between his shoulders rather than look at himself. He knew he’d see the guilt in his eyes. The conflict between wanting to ease his guilt and stay with Eva, and the pull in his chest to go back to Aisling. He knew it should end with him just leaving them both and going back home. 

What do you want, Morales? What do you really want? 

I have no fucking clue. 

Yeah you do. Flip a three sided coin, what do you want it to land on? Eva, Aisling or Montana? 

There are no fucking three sided coins. 

It’s a metaphor, pendejo. Force yourself to make a choice. 

I don’t know. I can’t pick Aisling. I barely know her, she doesn’t know me. Maybe in a different life, if we’d met at a different time, then something could’ve happened. 

Something already did happen, you had your dick inside her just a few hours ago. But I get it, you don’t want to drag her into all your shit. That’s commendable. Leave her out of it. 

Yeah…I’ll leave her out of it. 

Frankie lifted his head and met his own gaze in the mirror, dark, tired eyes, and he dropped his head again. 

But if fucking hurts, she’s special. And I feel like a shit for just walking out on her. 

You want to pick her. 

Yeah, I do. I really fucking do. 

He heaved a sigh and pulled his t-shirt over his head, dropping it in the basket along with his jeans. The shower took a while to heat up but he stepped inside anyway, the cold spray jolting his mind. 

Eva…maybe this was a wake-up call for her. Maybe we can start again, go back to Montana and make those changes we talked about. Maybe she realized that what we had was good, back when it was still working.

Do you even believe that, Morales? 

I don’t know, maybe? She was really upset just now, when she thought I’d left. Maybe she wants to try again. 

Yeah, but do you? 

Frankie scrubbed his hands over his face, the water turning warm as he rolled the thought around his head. 

Did he want to try again with Eva? He did when there was a baby on the way, had that changed just because of the abortion? At first, yes, it was such a fucking betrayal to not even let him be there. He clenched his fists hard just thinking about it, the anger from earlier rising inside him again. But he tried to be rational, break it down. If Eva really regretted doing it without him, who was he to not give her a second chance? He’d been given endless second chances, many of them by her when he was still using. She’d been there, held him together, even moved away from her friends and family in Florida because he needed to be in Montana. 

Yeah, I owe it to her, to try it with her again, I owe her that much. 

He squashed down the small voice in his head that told him that wasn’t enough, not by far enough to build a relationship on. He knew the voice was right, but the guilt that still gnawed inside didn’t let him listen to it. 

With a sigh he turned off the water and grabbed his towel. The guilt churned in his stomach and he couldn’t shift the image of Aisling from his head. And it wasn’t an image of her while they’d had sex, although he could easily conjure up those in his mind too. Instead it was her sleeping form in the bed, curled around herself, turned to him, looking soft and vulnerable in the dark room. When he carefully crept into Eva’s bed, trying to not wake her, and closed his eyes, that was the image that stayed in his head and he sighed again. 

I really wanted to pick you, Aisling. But I owe it to Eva to try and fix this. I owe her that much at least. 

“You know, that tip jar is going to be empty by the end of the night if you keep snapping at customers like that, Ash.” 

Aisling scowled at Jenny and grabbed another pint glass. 

“I’m just saying…we’re going to be poor at the end of the shift because you’ve got a face like you’re about to bite every guy’s head off,” Jenny said as she shook her head and shifted a tray of clean glasses from the dishwasher. “Just be a bit nicer to them, I promise I won’t say a thing if he comes into the bar, just don’t chase away all the other customers, please?” 

“I’ll try, I just can’t fucking believe he just took off, not even a note. If I see him, I'll punch him.” 

Aisling scowled, feeling the tension in her jaw creep into her neck. She hadn’t been surprised when she woke up the next morning and Frankie wasn’t there, he hadn’t said he was staying and maybe he needed to be somewhere. But he hadn’t even left a message, no note, and he hadn’t come by the bar in the three days since it happened. She’d thought they’d had something, at least something more than just a one night stand and then being ghosted. 

Now it was Saturday night and Aisling’s disappointment had turned to anger. In a fit of rage yesterday, she’d thrown away the note with his name and number from the first time they’d met. No fucking way was she going to recommend him to anyone. Or cave and call him first. 

“Just put him down as another guy who can’t commit, he’s not the first and he won’t be the last,” Jenny continued, grabbing a stack of glasses and pushing open the door back into the bar. “Come with me to Smorgasbord tomorrow and we’ll get some of that cheesecake, maybe eat our body weight in empanadas, trash talk every man we’ve ever met. Forget about the cowboy.” 

She winked at Aisling as the door slipped closed again. 

Aisling grabbed another stack of glasses and followed her. 

“You just want to flirt with that guy who sells the hot sauces,” she said, placing the glasses behind the bar, “but yeah, empanadas and cheesecake sounds like a plan.” 

“I need to find my own man who can give me incredible orgasms and then disappear,” Jenny quipped, “because, at least he did that before he ghosted you, be grateful for that.” 

“Fuck off,” Aisling scowled, but Jenny just laughed and turned to one of the patrons at the bar. 

Empanadas and cheesecake didn’t help, Aisling decided the next day, but at least the weather was nice and the food good. The not very helpful thoughts of Frankie still chased around her head whenever she was left on her own, but Jenny’s chatter had kept them at bay for a few hours. Now she’d gone to dispose of their empty paper plates while Aisling kept their seats, and the thoughts were back. She leaned back against the threstle table, her face turned towards the sun with her eyes closed, trying, and failing, to not think about Francisco fucking Morales. 

The bench next to her dipped as someone plonked down on it, making the table shake. Aisling opened her eyes and glanced over, expecting to see Jenny with lemonade in her hands, but instead it was a man she didn’t know, grinning at her from behind a hideous set of wrap-around sunglasses. 

“Hey, honey,” he smirked, “you look kinda lonely on this sunny day.” 

“Not interested,” Aisling said, turning her face to the sun again and closing her eyes. 

“Aww, c’mon, don’t be like that,” the man replied, she could hear the smarmy grin in his voice, “it’s a beautiful day, you’re a beautiful woman, let’s have some fun.” 

“Jeez, dude,” Aisling sighed, “just fuck off. And you’re in my friend’s spot.” 

“Is your friend as pretty as you? ‘Cause maybe we can invite her too, you know? I’m sure we can think of a way to involve her too.” 

Aisling shuddered and made a face of disgust as she turned to the man, “Fuck off, not interested, what part of that are you not getting?” 

“You don’t know what you’re missing, I’m real-” 

“She told you to fuck off, so fuck off,” a man’s voice interrupted the creepy guy as a large shadow blocked the sun in front of Aisling. Her heart leapt into her throat, she knew that voice. 

“Hey, man, we’re talking here, she’s with me,” the guy next to her said and to her utter disgust, she suddenly felt his arm around her shoulders as he pulled her into his side. 

Frankie reacted instantly, grabbed the man’s other arm and yanked him off the bench, twisting his arm up behind his back. 

��Touch her again and I’m breaking your arm, now fuck off,” he snarled, shoving the man away from the bench and placing himself between the guy and Aisling. She couldn’t see Frankie’s face, but the low pitch of his voice and the fearful expression of the other guy let her know that he was probably an intimidating sight. 

“What happened?” 

Jenny rushed over, almost dropping the lemonade cups on the table as she grabbed Aisling, who was getting to her feet, eyes locked on Frankie. He was still staring down the other man. The creepy guy was holding his hands up in a placating gesture and backing away through the crowd. 

“Jeez, I’m leaving. Chill, dude.” 

“You ok, Ash?” Jenny asked Aisling, her hand on her arm now, a worried look on her face. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, just some creep who tried hitting on me,” Aisling said to her as Frankie turned around. She opened her mouth to say thank you, then she saw a woman step up next to him and slip her hand around his waist. 

“What’s going on, baby? You know her?” The woman’s voice was curious but not suspicious, and she had a friendly smile as she looked up at Frankie, hugging his arm. Frankie didn’t respond, he was looking at Aisling with almost pleading eyes as it all clicked into place for her. 

“You have a girlfriend?!” she snarled, taking a step towards him, her eyes flitting between Frankie and the woman. The other woman’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as she looked at Aisling. 

“You have a fucking girlfriend, Frankie?!” Aisling almost yelled, anger flaring up inside her, and she shoved him backwards with both her palms on his chest. He didn’t say anything, just accepted her attack as his face fell, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod. 

“That’s Frankie?” Jenny exclaimed behind Aisling, catching on as she looked between the man and the woman hanging on to his arm. “You fucking pig!” she spat and took two steps forward, protectively putting her arm around Aisling who felt her jaw ache at how hard she was biting back the angry tears that suddenly threatened to well up. 

Frankie looked pained, the hand of the arm that his girlfriend wasn’t hanging on to, clenched and unclenched as he tried to find something to say that wouldn’t make it worse. 

Aisling suddenly felt nauseous, staring at the man who just four days ago she’d let get so close. Now he was standing in front of her, looking like a fish gasping for air, clinging to fucking straws. 

“You are a fucking pig, Frankie,” she said, her voice low and laced with hatred, “Just so you know,” she added, looking over at his confused looking girlfriend, “We met a week ago and had sex on Thursday, he didn’t say a word about you.” She looked back at Frankie, shaking her head as she eyed him up and down, “You’re fucking pathetic.” 

Aisling turned and stalked away, grabbing Jenny by the hand and pulling her with her. The hot, angry tears were burning in her eyes, and as Jenny wrapped her arm around her waist, they started falling. 

Frankie felt Eva let go of his arm and he briefly closed his eyes. His world had come crashing down, and he felt an almost crippling fatigue wrap around his body. Eva moved to stand in front of him and when he looked down at her, her eyes were black with rage, she was ready to kill him. He couldn’t blame her. 

He’d really fucked up this time. 

Chapter 5

A/N: Well, there we go. The cat's out of the bag and Frankie's got himself into even more trouble... Would you forgive him?

Tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @thewiigers  @lady-bess @missladym1981 @peppermintfury @typewriter83 @anoverwhelmingdin

[andreas-river]

IN VINO VERITAS

TW: fluff, light angst, hurt/comfort, drunken confession, love confession.

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader

A/N: Third repost. Because, for some unknown reason, this post does not appear in any tag. And it makes me angry that despite everything, despite putting all my soul in what I write, the system decides to simply fuck me up.

Your goal for the night was to not get drunk. Ever.

How you failed so easily, you already forgot.

It was a Saturday night, and like many others, you planned to stay in your own room, with the most comfortable clothes, and lie down on your bed to rest. But everything changed when your teammate knocked at your door at six p.m. sharp. He proposed to go out with the team, and it was the first time he ever did this.

Five minutes later, with your shoes on and your jacket draped over your shoulders, you were following Rodion outside the base. The rest of the team was already outside, waiting.

The twins, as usual, were discussing with each other, while Nikto was leaning against the wall a few steps away from them, a balaclava covering from the bridge of his nose down to his neck. It wasn’t the first time you saw his hair: black and short, their color creating a sharp contrast with his eyes, that blue that had so many shades inside them.

Maxim pulled you into one of his bear hugs the moment you got closer, with Dmitry scoffing behind him as his brother managed to escape his scolding, again thanks to you.

Walking on the sidewalk, you tucked your hands in your pockets, already sweaty. You brushed away the red from your face as ‘the air is too hot’ when Rodion teased you for it, but the real reason was right behind you, walking less than a meter away, your shadow dwarfed by Nikto’s. Your mind was screaming all the curses your vocabulary contained like you were a high-schooler sitting next to your crush, but you were more than an adult, with a more than an adult job. Bloody fucking hell, you were part of the Spetsnaz.

All your coldness, all your professionalism, were all thrown out the window. So you took a big, deep breath, and you, Rodion, Nikto, Dmitry, and Maxim sat on the couches of the bar, and luckily on the corner of the room, where the air was fresh and the buzzing sound of the other people around you was less loud, knowing that at least, you weren’t going back on base with the worst headache of your life.

The last, famous, words.

One and a half hours later, still sitting on the same couches, you were drunk. How? You don’t remember—not anymore, too busy staring at the bright and cold liquid on the glass you were holding. But you ordered a beer. Maybe?

It was getting harder and harder to think normally, so you excused yourself to go to the restroom, and managing to put one step after the other, you enter the bathroom without bumping into anyone. When you looked at yourself in the mirror, your face was flushed red, a sign of the alcohol in your system. Groaning to yourself, you turned on the faucet, gathering the cold water in your palms and splashing it on your face—not caring if you made a mess on some parts of your clothes. After repeating the same action enough times, you finally decided your mind was clear enough to walk back to your team.

The bar was now fuller, and the music seemed louder than before, so you tried to make your way back through the crowd, but when someone grabbed from behind the curve of your ass and squeezed not once, but twice, you turned around on your heels, the face of some drunkard barely a few inches from you. So, you answered how your instinct suggested you to do: your fist connected with the left side of his face, and you swear you heard the cracking sound coming from his bones. You weren’t sure if you broke his teeth or his nose, you just knew that three seconds later, that man was on the floor, then a firm grip on your wrist dragged you outside the bar.

The fresh air of the night hit your face like a truck, recognizing that Nikto was the one dragging you away from the building. Oh fuck, was the only thought that crossed your drunk mind.

For this time, you didn’t question yourself why your face was red as a tomato. Lying to yourself that it was because of the cold air wouldn’t work at all.

“Are you angry?” The question left your mouth before it could go past your brain, making you want to face-palm yourself.

He gave you a quick glance, and from the state you were in, you weren’t sure what he was thinking. “You’re drunk.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Where are the others?”

“They went back. Dmitry was the only one sober.” He explained, his tone of voice more calmer than you expected.

You giggled, already imagining the state Rodion was, probably even worse than yours.

“Niktooo...” You dragged the last letter as you called his name, trying to get his attention again, and you swear you heard him muttering something before humming, acknowledging your voice. “Can I see your eyes?”

He stopped so suddenly at your question that you hit his bicep with your face, his scent hitting your nostrils in waves, but you recognized something that seemed an aftershave, and the rest was a mix of something that your mushed brain couldn’t give a name to it. He looked down on you, and that made you see his eyes perfectly, a part of his face illuminated by a streetlamp nearby. “So pretty…”

Again, he mumbled something in his mother language, grabbing your wrist and making you walk at a faster pace.

“I’m not jokin’, y’know? You are pretty...”

Even if you couldn’t see his face, you knew he rolled his eyes. “You’re drunk, woman.”

“I’m nooot—you’re right, I’m drunk... but I’m not lying!” You scoffed, puffing your face theatrically.

Silence fell again between you two, the road empty beside the sound of your shoes hitting the sidewalk. You sigh, rolling at the lack of response from him. Maybe you could hit him like that man in the bar so would finally listen—

“Nikto, I like you.” Again, he stopped, his whole body tensing like a violin string as he turned around, his eyes slightly wide. “I mean it. I like you, and not like a friend. But more.”

He shook his head, his eyes darkening like clouds covering a clear sky. You took advantage of the silence, the words coming out of your mouth uncontrollably, ignoring the state you were in.

“I really like you, Nikto. But I’m not sure you do—I mean, every day at lunch you stare at me, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m clumsy as fuck and I always make a fool out of myself, or if it’s something else—” You spit out the words from the bottom of your heart, not sure if you even spoke clearly. Staring at the ground, you can still feel his eyes on yours, and after a few moments of tense silence, your eyes were slightly blurry, and for just a moment you realize that maybe, just maybe, you fucked up.

The moment you startle awake, one of the strongest headaches of your entire life forces you to push your face back into the pillow, a low groan escaping your chapped lips. Stretching your right arm over the bed, you patted your hand in search of the nightstand, but there was no nightstand, no water bottle. You could feel something soft under your palm. Annoyed, you opened one eye, and by the time your vision focused, you finally saw where your hand was—on someone’s chest.

And that someone was Nikto.

Already awake, he was staring at you, always silent. Without saying another word, he stretched his arm towards the nightstand, grabbing the water bottle for you. You took it without a second thought, jolting in a sitting position, avoiding his gaze, your cheeks on fire. Glancing around, you realized you were in your room. Sparing a look at him, he was motionless, lying on your bed, and he didn’t seem he had the intention to move any time soon.

“Sooo..” Glancing around your room, you avoided his gaze for obvious reasons, because how in the world could you start a conversation while he was staring into your soul, while lying on your bed?

“You remember.” He simply stated, hearing something else inside his usual flat tone.

Groaning, you covered your face with both palms, your skin warm from the blood rushing to your cheeks, but you didn’t want to say anything.

Obviously, you remember everything you did yesterday.

From getting drunk as fuck to confessing your deepest feeling to Nikto, in the middle of an empty road.

“Do you remember our second mission together?” As your shaky voice echoed in the air, from your drunken state you didn’t notice how Nikto sucked a breath in, holding it in his chest. He knew what you were referring to: like many missions, there could be the ones that could end badly, and that one was almost going in that direction. A stray bullet didn’t have any mercy, and you were bleeding profusely from a hole in your shoulder. “That’s when I realized that I liked you. A bit strange, I know—but it’s the truth.”

You had never felt so useless in your entire life because you couldn’t even hold your rifle anymore, and shooting with your handgun with the other hand made the recoil ten times worse. Running towards the extraction point, another bullet grazed your thigh. But before you could fall to the ground and with the rising risk of being left behind, Nikto was the one who literally saved your life. Shooting with only one arm, while the other was holding you straight, you both managed to get out of there.

Despite being dizzy from the blood loss, you noticed how he was looking at you.

And he, too, knew you had noticed.

As he sat up next to you, Nikto was still silent. He even tried lying on the bed with you, searching for an answer to give it to you the moment you would woke up, but nothing came up.

So, silent like always, as soon as you uncovered your face, he quickly used his hand to cover your eyes. Your muscles tensed as soon as he covered your sight, but you didn’t pull back. Something was telling you it was going to be okay, despite his ways of expressing himself were a bit strange.

For a long minute, he didn’t know how to do it. He just wanted it so bad. But when he noticed how you were so calm, it made his own muscles relax a bit.

“Afraid?” He asked, the sound of his voice reverberating inside the room. He sounded more clear, as if... his mouth wasn’t covered anymore.

“Why should I?”

Good question, he thought to himself. Often, he was scared of himself. He leaned closer, feeling the texture of your skin under his palm, your lashes brushing against it.

“Because I am.”

You smiled. “Do you want me to do it?”

Scoffing, a half-laugh left his throat. “Do what?”

This time, you chuckled too. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

“Da.”

“Then do it—”

And like that, your attempt of teasing him were stopped by his lips on yours. With your brain in short-circuit and your heart racing as if you were having a heart attack, he successfully made you shut up. You could feel him smiling on your lips, their warmth making you lean more towards him. You could not see him, just feel him.

And that was enough.

When he pulled away, your cheeks flushed and your lips parted, you grinned. “Maybe it wasn’t a mistake getting drunk—”

He had to shut you up himself again, making you giggle as he kissed you again for a second time, this time without holding back. In the end, it was definitely worth it.

[radiaurapple]

Lucid Dreams of New Orleans: Chapter 5

CHAPTER SUMMARY: IN WHICH Alastor seeks answers. The last time Lucifer saw his father, he was granted a fragment of His divine power — a punishment in the guise of a blessing — that he might serve as steward of the wayward souls cast down into Hell. It is a cruel gift, designed to ensure that he will always be haunted by his mistakes; Lucifer has endured the past seven thousand years by avoiding its use at all costs. But in the aftermath of the fight with Adam, Alastor's worsening injury threatens the foundations of his daughter's dream. Lucifer does what any good father would do: he uses his long-forgotten power to deliver Alastor's soul from the brink of destruction. In turn, knowing Alastor — with all his sins, past lives, and heartbreaks — teaches Lucifer a little more about what it means to be human.

[AO3 LINK]

New chapter and new promo art for the chapter!! hope you enjoy, next chapter is dropping a week from today as usual!!! 📻🍎

Alastor knocks firmly on Lucifer’s door.

There’s a clattering sound inside the room, followed by the unmistakable squeaking of a chorus of rubber ducks. A moment later, Lucifer peeks through the door, looking disheveled. His hat, cloak, and vest lie discarded on the floor behind him. The top three buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned.

His eyes meet Alastor’s. “No. Fuck, no. Please — get out.”

“Not so fast,” Alastor says. He melts into the shadows, slides along the wall, and reforms inside the room. Lucifer rounds on him in indignation; Alastor snaps his fingers and the door closes gently behind him. He makes a show of brushing off his jacket. “I believe you owe me an explanation,” he says.

Lucifer steps forward and grabs a fistful of Alastor’s shirt. “I said get out.” He drags Alastor forward, toward the door; Alastor stumbles and grabs at the collar of Lucifer’s shirt. His thumb brushes Lucifer’s exposed collarbone.

Then the floor gives way beneath them. They are falling through the sky, into the darkness — the air rushes up around them, so cold it burns. A terror unlike any Alastor has ever experienced floods his system — he hears a scream, but he doesn’t know if it’s his. There’s no space left in his mind for anything but the approaching darkness, the herald of their inevitable deaths.

Lucifer is still gripping Alastor’s shirt — and, Alastor realizes belatedly, already in the middle of some kind of lecture, shouting over the roar of wind.

“God damn you, you controlling bastard — you couldn’t just leave it, could you? Couldn’t just say thank you, Lucifer, for saving my life — ”

Alastor hardly hears him. He’s staring down at the shapes forming in the darkness beneath them. Are they pools of water? Jagged rocks?

“— and I’ll have you know my knees hurt like Hell afterwards. How dare you act like I’m the one in your debt. How dare you — what are you looking at?”

Lucifer follows Alastor’s gaze down to the earth rushing up to meet them.

“God damn it!” Lucifer says. He reaches for Alastor and pulls him in with both hands, then twists in the air so that Alastor is above him.

“What are you doing?” Alastor says.

Lucifer looks at him incredulously, as if it should be obvious. His eyes are incensed and incandescent blue.

Then they hit the ground.

The sound, like a sigh, of the air being knocked out of Lucifer’s lungs. A flash of searing, blinding pain — then he’s sprawled on the floor of Lucifer’s room, curled up facing Lucifer, who gasps — one desperate breath — then rolls up onto his knees and leans over Alastor.

“Alastor,” he says. “Are you okay?”

Alastor sits up and wills his heartbeat to slow, digs his fingers into the carpet. In the corner of his eye, his Shadow grows restless — he breathes there for a long moment to bring it back under his control, but when he finally speaks, his voice still shakes. “That was miserable. Stay the fuck out of my head.”

Indecision plays out across Lucifer’s face. “That wasn’t your head,” he says at last. “It was mine.”

“That was my dream.”

“No — that was the memory the dream is based on. I have that dream almost every night. Sometimes humans catch it from me — I don’t know why.”

“We were falling from heaven,” Alastor says — daring Lucifer to deny it.

“That doesn’t concern you,” Lucifer says.

“Doesn’t it?” Alastor says — he snarls and lunges toward Lucifer, who jumps back, like he’s been burned. Alastor’s fingertips brush Lucifer’s forehead, and they’re toppling backward, again —

Alastor is sitting behind the piano bench at a dance hall, mid-performance; on instinct, he searches the stage for Hollis — but then he recognizes this as one of the white venues he played towards the end of his jazz career, before his radio station and after Hollis was gone.

His fingers still over the keys, moving instead to press on his temples — the rest of the band comes to a discordant stop. The audience mutters uneasily — Alastor scans the crowd and finds Lucifer’s glowing blue eyes among them.

“What are you doing to me?” Alastor says. His voice echoes through the room. He intends it to be commanding, or at the very least demanding, but he can’t quite keep the tremor out of it.

In the corner of his eye, the third man Alastor ever killed exits the washroom. Alastor’s gaze zeroes in on him instantly, as though not a day has passed since he tailed this man on his morning commute, to his home, to his children’s school. The sight of him alive and content, with a faint smile on his face as he spots his low-life friends across the dance floor, fills Alastor’s stomach with burning, indescribable rage.

It hardly matters that this man is already numbered twice in Alastor’s list of kills — the first tally on the list that landed him in Hell, and the second in his inventory of radio screams. It also hardly matters that all of this is merely a picture-show for Lucifer’s amusement.

After Hollis, Alastor never left home without a pocketknife in his shoe. He finds it there, right where it belongs. He leaps off the stage and, with the practiced hand of ninety years in Hell, throws the knife.

The knife lodges in the man’s heart. A wet, choking sound — the man collapses to the floor — a scream —

And Alastor is back in Lucifer’s room with a manic smile on his face.

Lucifer scrambles to his feet and backs away from Alastor. “Stay away from me.”

[AO3 LINK]

[esta-elavaris]

Prologue [771 words]

Jane Eyre inspired Aemond Targaryen fic (except there's no wife in the attic - only Vizzy T and his miniatures) -- I've been meaning to write this for ages and now with the new season around the corner my brain said it is time.

It's not on AO3 for now but I do have a whole load of other fics over there!

Let me know if you wanna be tagged when I update this 💜

Brambles tore through her sleeves, and then her arms, as Jeyne tumbled to the ground. The shadow above took an impossibly long while to pass – but Vhagar was the largest dragon living, and the fear that seized her drew out the seconds into eternities. Was it that same fear, she wondered, that had her thinking she could even hear her name, cried out into the wind? It had to be. He had no cause to call for her that way…nor at all. The last time he’d spoken to her – the last time she knew for a fact that she’d heard his voice – he made that more than clear.

“What did you expect? That we’d marry? That you’d carry my heirs? You? A servant? One of your birth would hardly be fit to have my bastards, should I have been so foolish as to spawn any.”

He hadn’t looked at her, as he said it. No, his eye had been fixed steadily – coldly – on the wall behind her head. That fact had given her the strength to ask what she did.

“Why are you saying this? Why are you talking like this, Aemond? I thought…you said…you don’t mean-”

At that, he had looked at her, violet eye steely, wide with outrage that she would dare disagree with him.

“You forget yourself,” he’d sneered. “Along with how one of your birth should refer to a prince.”

And there had been such disdain in his face, so much that it seeped into his voice, that her blood ran cold and she felt sick to her stomach, blinking hard against the tears that stung her eyes. That look left her without doubt as to what she was hearing. Most of all, it left her mortified that she was even surprised.

Jeyne had not been able to feel her legs as she sank into a curtsey and managed to force out a strained, reedy forgive me, your grace, her eyes downcast.

“You’re dismissed. I’m sure my sister can find some use for you – I myself cannot.”

That was it. Those were the last words Prince Aemond Targaryen had spoken to her. The last ones he would ever speak to her. Nothing within them could leave any room for misunderstanding, even had Jeyne been the fool he’d treated her as. And while she was much – obscure, plain, and little, all at once – she was no halfwit. A halfwit would have remained in the Red Keep thereafter.

No, by now the Princess Helaena would have found her parting letter, and if any were looking for her, they’d look to the Kingsroad – northwards, where she’d come from, long before she was called to King’s Landing. Not among the brambles, aimless through a wilderness that would lead to either the Reach, or to death. She cared not which. But it had been days, now, with water only when luck graced her, and food not at all. It was becoming clear what possibility was the more likely.

Senses heightened by hunger, the cold of the evening bit at her fingers as she dug them into the dirt as if clinging to the ground would help her further escape notice. It gave her something, anything, to cling to, at least. And Vhagar was as like to spot a mouse as she was to spot her, all the way up there.

I myself cannot…

You forget yourself…

What did you expect?

The three parts that had hurt the most to hear – the ones that drove the blade deeper and deeper into her chest until it threatened to pierce through to her back – were the ones that she replayed in her head, over and over. It was a willing exercise, not quite because she hoped that repeating them would remove their edge, but because he’d been right. What had she expected? To anticipate it ending any way other than precisely how it had ended was the height of stupidity.

Perhaps she was a halfwit, after all.

A long while had passed, and the rush of Vhagar’s wings was well out of earshot, when it even occurred to her that she should move. She could no longer feel the cold – a fact that she dully acknowledged was dangerous in the back of her mind, but could find little energy to care about.

She would move in a moment. A few minutes. She just needed to collect herself first –  and to be sure that he was truly gone. That tactic made the most sense. No doubt the feeling would soon return to her limbs, and she could continue.

By the time she heard footfalls drawing near, it didn’t even occur to her to open her eyes.

[beehindblueeyes]

Therapist: Haunted house finney isn’t real he can hurt you.

Haunted house finney:

[redstrewn]

But the magic of human consciousness is a two-edged sword. We can use it to shape a brave new world or crack open a Pandora's box of hidden devils to destroy our world and all life on this planet. The temptation to misuse power is a hidden aspect of any archetypal figure; but since the powers of the Magician are so primitive and subtle, this temptation is his special bête noire. It is perhaps in recognition of this fact that the Magician's "black beast" is specifically pictured in card fifteen, where we shall meet him as the Magician's shadow, the Devil.

In Jungian terms, the shadow is a figure appearing in dreams, fantasies, and outer reality that embodies qualities in ourselves which we prefer not to think of as belonging to us, because to admit to these would tarnish our image of ourselves. So we project these seemingly negative qualities onto someone else. Such a person seems to always haunt our dreams, disturbing the atmosphere by saying or doing inappropriate or even downright devilish things.

Sallie Nichols, Jung and Tarot: An Archetypal Journey (1980)

[strawberrycircuits]

My favorite number is 7! whats your favorite poem?

aaabh... mary olivers wild geese is a v good one i thibnk...

also the crime of being small / 10 legs 8 broken fucks me up hard

[shotmrmiller]

When Johnny takes Simon to his home, and you open the door, Simon's heart stops beating. You direct that lovely smile he's fallen in love with at Johnny as you hug him and usher him inside. Simon's frozen in place, his body refusing to move, because gods, you're a fucking dream.

And then you turn your attention towards him, with ruddy cheeks and pink lips and a delicate neck he could easily wrap his hand around—

"You must be Simon!" and his cock starts to stir. All you said was his name, in that angelic voice of yours, and his blood started to rush to his groin.

When you move to wrap your arms around him in an embrace, he finally breaks from his trance and returns it. Barely. It's awkward— one arm coming up to inelegantly pat your upper back a little too hard, and the other stiff at his side. But you seem completely unbothered, just giving him one last squeeze and step back, holding both of his arms in your dainty hands, and you say, "It's great to meet the one that keeps my Johnny safe. Now, come on in, make yourself at home!"

Simon timidly walks inside, and closes the door behind him, and utters, "Thank you for lettin' me stay here."

The joyful laughter you let out sends exquisite prickles up his spine. "He actually speaks! I'm surprised, Johnny said it took a bit for you to warm up to others," and you give another stomach-fluttering giggle. "You're welcome here any time, Simon. Now let me take you to the room you'll be staying in."

Simon has to carry his duffle bag in front of him as you lead him to the guest room to cover the throbbing erection he's got. When you leave him to freshen up, he wastes no time in pulling his jeans down and taking himself in his hand, stroking firmly. When his imagination paints a picture of you wearing an apron while cooking a meal for him, his vision blurs as he climaxes.

--

Simon knows he's atypical. He has no real decorum. He tells piss-poor dark jokes, inadvertently stares at people when he's lost in thought— and since he's been here, Simon likes to shadow you.

But you don't seem to mind any of it. You laugh at his jokes, the ones Johnny never fails to scoff in disgust at, you tilt your head innocently towards him, silently questioning his intense gaze — and it's so fucking adorable that he's come to that look 8 times in the last 3 days— and you always ask him to reach for things that are out of your reach because you know he's around. (Johnny made a joke once, said that you're being haunted by a ghost, and the quip you replied with as you came to his defense had him dizzy.)

His favorite thing about you though, is how unafraid you are of him. You had rounded a corner and saw his skull mask for the first time, and had you been like any other woman, you would've been startled. But you hadn't been— If anything, you asked him if he wanted it fixed.

"I can see a couple of tears here, Simon. I can patch it up if you like."

It was so deliciously domiciliary that he counted each stitch of his mended mask with his thumb as he touched himself that night.

And then, through the thin walls of the home, he suddenly heard your dulcet moans. He quickly got up and put his skills to use— silently crossing the living room and leaning against the wall closest to your bedroom door.

The bed repeatedly creaked and every choked moan that left you, Simon heard clearly. He hastily took out his achingly hard cock, spit on his palm, and stroked himself to the rhythm of the slapping of skin. Squeezing his eyes shut, he fucked himself to the thought of him being the one in there with you.

He has no doubt that you'd feel heavenly. Your slick cunt swallowing his turgid length, walls almost painfully tight around him. You'd beg for him to hammer into you, relentlessly, mercilessly. You'd tell him to bite the crook of your shoulder once you were about to come around his cock, and when he actually hears you reach your peak, he rhythmically tightens and loosens his grip, imitating your fluttering walls. His toes are curling inside his socks, he's so bloody close—

And then Simon hears your lascivious voice murmur, "Come in me."

He bites his lip so hard it splits under the pressure as he comes. Tiny, hushed whimpers seeped from behind his mouth, as hot cum spilled onto his fingers, and trickled onto the floor.

The only noise Simon can hear now is his own shaky breath— the fun's over on both sides, it seems. He looks down, gives his softening cock one more stroke, wringing out the last of his seed, before tucking himself away, and sluggishly wiping his mess off the floor with his foot.

He quietly moves, heading back to his room, when he spots your laundry basket in the utility room.

Simon has never believed in luck until now when he's sniffing your knickers in the privacy of the guest room, and he realizes they've been worn. And by how strong the smell of you is, they've been used very recently. He felt like he won the goddamn lottery.

Wrapping it around his cock, he touches himself. Again. And when he comes, he makes sure to spurt his cum directly onto the gusset of the undergarment.

Come morning, when they're all stiff and crusted, he laments that he didn't lick them first, in a pitiful bid to experience a taste of you, before stowing them into a secret compartment in his bag. He makes a mental note to remember to do just that when he takes another pair.

Simon wordlessly makes a cup of tea later, hissing as the hot liquid comes in contact with the small wound on his lip, when Johnny approaches him.

"Mornin' LT."

A grunt is his only reply.

Johnny then shoots him a sly grin.

"Last night, ye weren't as wheesht, as quiet, as ye thought. But dinnae worry, Bonnie doesn't ken a thing."

He claps a hand on Simon's petrified shoulders. "If ye wanted a slice of the cake, ye could've just asked. I dinnae mind sharin'."

Simon gives him a borderline-demented look, puts his tea down on the counter, and clears his throat.

"When?"

[pellucid-constellations]

Of Oblivious Minds

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: You're positive Azriel is in love with Elain. It seems so obvious. But Cassian is laughing at you and suddenly nothing makes quite so much sense anymore.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Pining, yearning, idiots in love?? (an angsty moment as well)

a/n: What am I doing!! I don't know!! This is part one and there will be one or two more parts :) Thank you for reading ily ♡

Part 2

~~

You were having an epiphany—of that you were certain. 

Sitting in the main room of the townhouse, a glass of wine spinning in your hand, many things were beginning to make sense to you. It was ridiculous that you hadn’t come to this realization before. All of the hints were right in front of you. 

You leaned back in the armchair, a scrutinizing gaze pointed toward the corner of the room. You took a sip of your wine—a contemplative sip—and then ran through the facts in your head. Yes, it made perfect sense. 

You wanted to kick yourself for not noticing before. 

“Don’t hurt yourself thinking so hard.” Cassian’s voice startled you out of your thoughts. You blinked up at him as he took a seat on the arm of your chair. “Want to share why you’re staring a hole into the wall?” 

“I was just… noticing something,” you murmured over the rim of your glass, voice low. 

“And what’s that?” 

You paused, pursing your lips. It would sound silly if you were wrong. But Cassian looked at you expectantly, so you simply whispered, “I think Az is in love with Elain.” 

The sudden, rumbling laugh bouncing off the walls set your cheeks ablaze. The entire room halted their conversations to look at Cassian as he doubled over, holding his stomach with no signs of letting up. You stared up at him, mortified, and smacked his arm as his laughs lowered into senseless chuckles. 

“Cassian, quit it. It’s not that funny—stop it or I’ll hit you again.” 

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” he laughed, wiping a tear from his eye. “Sorry, that was just… that was a good one, y/n.” 

“What’d she say?” Rhys asked, perking up from the other side of the fireplace. 

“Nothing to warrant that reaction,” you grumbled, sinking lower into your seat. 

Fighting back the vibrations in his chest, Cassian took a deep breath. “Inside joke, Rhys. You wouldn’t get it.” 

Rhys huffed out an offended breath, quirking a brow at his antics. He looked to Mor and Feyre to garner some support, but they only giggled back at him. 

“Maybe we would.” 

Azriel’s gravelly tone only made you collapse further into the armchair. If you’d known there would be consequences to sharing your epiphany with Cassian, you would have kept your mouth shut. Cassian was usually wonderful at keeping secrets. 

“Oh, brother, you’d find it funny as well, surely,” Cassian shared, heaving up from the chair. “But, alas, I have to go. No inside jokes for the room.” 

“Well that’s not fair. You don’t get to cause a riot and then leave,” Mor whined, her cheeks rosy and her eyes glassy. Clearly, she had been having her own drinks throughout the night. 

“Lovely. Now you want to know? Where was that attitude while you were giggling with my mate?” Rhys accused. 

Feyre jumped in this time, pinching the high lord’s cheek and cooing, “Oh, you big Illyrian baby.” 

The focus was no longer on you and your apparently laughable realization. Cassian’s reaction did little to deter you from the thought, however, and you were still quite resolute in your observations. Looking over at the couple in question only solidified that. 

They were huddled close, Elain’s knees pressed against Azriel’s thigh as they spoke in low tones. Azriel would occasionally take a glance around the room, lingering on you as he went, but that was natural for the shadowsinger. His shadows were gone, where they went you had no idea, and his wings were held tightly behind his back. 

And he stared at her—intently—as she nodded her head and answered whatever it was he had asked. 

He had to be in love with her. 

You were usually quite good at reading these types of things. 

“I’m taking you home now,” Cassian spoke, holding out his hand. “We’ll walk.” 

“What if I don’t want to go home?” you asked, taking his hand and following him despite your words. 

“After all that nonsense, I think it’s clear you need a good night’s rest. Plus, you and I are in the ring bright and early tomorrow morning.” 

You groaned, knocking your head back at the reminder of your obligations. It always sounded like such a good idea over breakfast. Cassian had clearly learned that you would only say yes to early morning trainings when you were half-asleep. 

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go, sweetheart.” 

You let him yank you to the door, your feet dragging behind you, when a warmth encased your shoulders. You recognized the material of your coat instantly and turned to see Azriel smoothing it down over your arms. 

“For your walk,” Azriel quietly explained. “You left it on the back of my chair.” 

“Oh!” you chirped, feeling the early licks of embarrassment barrage your chest. It’s not like he heard you talking about him, right? “Thanks, Az. I almost forgot.” 

He offered you one of his soft, rare smiles. “I know. I remembered.” 

He nodded over your head to Cassian after that, and you heard Cassian’s low, I got her, Az, only because you strained your ears. 

You ended up being extremely grateful for Azriel’s forethought to grab your jacket. It was freezing outside. You could have winnowed home instead, but Cassian hadn’t really given you the option and no one ever let you winnow after you’d had something to drink. 

You landed in Summer Court one time and suddenly everyone treated you like a hazard. 

Your shoes scuffed against dark cobblestone as you walked. It was really dark, now that you looked at it. Maybe it had rained? Or a merchant had dumped their excess water? 

Or maybe it was nighttime and you were a little drunk. 

It was then that you noticed the silence. When Cassian walked you home, especially when Cassian was tipsy and he walked you home, he never shut up. So this was unusual. You squinted as you looked up at him, but he gave nothing away, keeping his gaze forward and his steps in steady pace with your own. 

“Okay, out with it,” you accused, crossing your arms over your chest. “What was so funny earlier? And why are you walking me home all stoic?” 

“I’m always stoic. Adds to my charm.” 

“Liar.” 

Cassian smirked, shaking his head, and then schooled his expression into one that was a touch more serious. “You really think Az likes Elain?” 

You watched your breath puff out white. “Don’t you?” 

“No, I don’t.” 

You shot him a skeptical glance. “Well, then you’re wrong. I’m good at picking these things out. I knew Feyre was Rhys’s made before the rest of you figured it out, didn’t I?”

“It was pretty obvious, y/n,” Cassian scoffed. He took a fleeting glance down to the ground beneath your feet. “Honestly, I’d wager that you’re actually the worst at picking these things out.”  

You gaped at him, bringing your coat closer to your body in a ploy to protect your damaged pride. Cassian only shook his head—again—and then flung an arm over your shoulder. 

“Don’t take that the wrong way. Just…take a second look, maybe.” 

“A second look at what? She was practically sitting in his lap tonight.” 

“If you say so,” Cassian hummed. 

“Stop being cryptic and buy me a snack on the way.” 

~~

The following days were… strange to say the least. 

Everywhere you went, Elain of all people was sure to follow.

And she spoke of Azriel. A lot. 

Azriel did this and Az is so sweet isn’t he and oh, did I mention that…

Obviously, she was just as in love with Azriel as he was with her. 

You were so, so right. 

There was something off-putting about that truth, but you couldn’t put your finger on why. After a few days of hearing the younger girl rave about the shadowsinger, you chalked it up to the novelty of it all. You had known Azriel for over a century, and things were changing. Of course a serious love interest in his life would make you feel strange. 

Azriel had had lovers in the past, but—now that you thought about it—you hadn’t heard him talk about another woman in months, much less seen him with one. 

Well, other than Elain. 

Perhaps it wasn’t healthy, nor productive, to be so caught up in Azriel’s love life. He was plenty capable of managing it on his own, and it’s not like you had that much of an interest, anyway. 

You blinked, shaking your head and attempting to focus back in on the book you were reading. Elain had followed you into the library under the house, but thanks to the priestesses and their admonishing looks, she kept quiet. She flipped through her own book as you continued your research assignment from Rhys. It wasn’t very interesting, which was clearly the most plausible explanation for your mind drifting to Azriel. 

Boring texts were the leading cause of nosiness.

“Do you have dinner plans?” Elain whispered after an hour of silence. 

You sent her a small smile, looking up from the archaic book. “No, are you inviting me out?” 

“Perhaps. I was thinking of asking Azriel.” 

A suffocating sort of pressure clawed at your skin. “Oh?” 

That was new. 

“Yes, but I would really appreciate it if you came,” Elain continued, eyes downcast. “It could be fun.” 

You bit into your bottom lip until the pain was uncomfortable. This was no different than her talking about Azriel all week. And you already figured that they liked each other—that they loved each other. You had relished in the discovery just a few nights ago. 

So why did it suddenly feel so different?

“I wouldn't want to intrude,” you whispered. “I think a dinner with just the two of you would be nice. Azriel would surely agree.” 

Elain shook her head. “I think he would be more inclined if he knew you were coming.” 

As a buffer. She was asking you to come to displace any awkwardness that would arise on a first date. You had done it before for Cassian. You’d done it plenty of times for Mor—even making it a double date with random men you never spoke to again. But you’d never done it for Azriel. 

Something about it felt… wrong. 

“I could come,” you found yourself saying anyway, words tumbling out before you could catch them. “But I really do think he would love a dinner alone. I might be a bit of an outlier.” 

Elain gave the closest thing to a smirk you’d seen on her face. “I somehow doubt that.” 

“What does that—” 

The ground was shaking. The faelights began violently flickering and the ground began shaking with even more vigor. You pressed down on the book in front of you and braced yourself as the air grew frenzied. The priestesses ran down the many stairs of the library as panic began setting into your bones. The last time something like this happened… 

You shuddered at the thought. 

This couldn't be an attack on Velaris. 

Elain called your name. You answered with wide eyes. 

“Get under the tables!”

You both dove beneath your table at the call, clutching at the legs with shaking hands. There was a commotion as books fell from shelves and lights popped, but there were no screams. No one was hurt. There was no attack. 

Realization coursed through you, but it did little to quell your fear as the shaking continued. 

“It’s an earthquake!” you shouted to Elain. “It’s okay, we’re going to be fine!” 

Velaris hadn’t been struck by an earthquake of this magnitude in many, many years. The last one was centuries ago, and it had led to many rebuilding efforts and a handful of injuries. You hoped this wasn’t on the same scale. Or at least that Rhys’ magic was enough to abate the worst of the damages. 

After another moment, the shaking ceased. You let the panic and adrenaline run its course as you caught your breath, Elain right beside you. It didn’t seem so bad now that it was over and the building had stayed intact. With a hand at your chest, you shook your head in disbelief. 

“By the cauldron, that was unexpected.” 

Elain let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt an earthquake before.” 

You offered your own breathy laugh as you both got to your feet. “Well, you have plenty of time to get The Mother scared out of you and experience another.” 

She opened her mouth to reply but was abruptly cut off as shadows materialized. Heavy footsteps rushed up stairs and it was only another beat before Azriel was upon you. Scarred hands cradled your face, turning it back and forth as hazel eyes took in every inch of your skin. Light became sparse as wings flared out behind him, shielding you from nothing.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, voice still low despite the urgency. “Were you covered?” 

“Azriel? What are you—How did you know we were down here?” 

“Are you hurt?” 

You attempted to reconcile the chaotic present with the very calm, very expected past. Sitting in the library with a boring relic in front of you and a new reading partner compared to an earthquake and a frazzled shadowsinger clutching at your face. 

Gripping his wrists, you answered him with a slow and confused, “I’m fine.” 

He closed his eyes as he let out a long breath. “Good…. good.” 

When he released your face, he ran his hands along your hair. And then your shoulders and your arms. It wasn’t until he had touched most of you that he took a step back and ran a hand through his own hair. It was then that he seemed to remember Elain. 

“And are you alright?” he asked, far more composed than he had been a moment ago. 

“A bit overwhelmed, but I am fine as well,” she sighed out. 

Azriel didn’t touch her as he nodded in relief. 

“Was it as bad as the last one? Is everyone okay?” you cut in. 

Azriel, who had gone back to unnecessarily looking you over, furrowed his brows. “What?” 

You mirrored his expression. “The earthquake. Do you remember the last one? Was this one that bad?” 

“Oh. No. Not as bad.” 

“And how is everyone else?” 

“I’m not sure.” 

Azriel was typically short with his answers, but right now he was being particularly short. And he was never one to not have information. Ever. 

“Are you okay?” you asked instead. 

“I am now.”

You left the library wondering why Azriel had run to you and not Elain—why that moment felt so monumental in the face of all others. 

Maybe being right wasn’t what you wanted anymore. 

But maybe that wasn’t your decision to make. 

[steddie-as-they-come]

"Mom," Steve whispered in the inky blackness of his parents' room. "Mom, there's something under my bed."

Patricia Harrington turned over. "Steven, go back to sleep," she murmured.

"I can't." Steve said. "There's a monster."

"No such thing." his mom said, angrier, more awake. "Go to bed now, and if I catch you out of bed again you can forget going to Tommy's this weekend."

Steve nodded and padded back down the hall, pausing at his door then taking a running jump into bed.

The room was silent.

"I know you're here." Steve whispered, making sure all his limbs were tucked safely away under the covers. "You don't scare me."

A couple minutes of quiet, then Steve heard a scraping sound come from under his bed. He squeaked and pulled his blankets up to his nose.

A horrible, raspy laugh came from below him. "I do scare you!" said a voice. "You lied!"

"No-no you don't!" Steve said boldly. He clutched his blanket tighter, then said, "I can't be scared of something I can't see! That's just dumb."

Something dark began to slither across the floor out of the corner of Steve's eye. Oh, I'm gonna regret that, he thought.

The thing began to pull itself up, looming over Steve. It cracked a smile, and sharp white teeth gleamed in the light from his closet.

Steve screamed.

"Shut up!" his dad shouted angrily from downstairs, and Steve clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes flicking between the shadow and the door like he wasn't sure which monster to be more afraid of.

The monster crept toward him, and Steve dug his fingernails into his face, scooting away from the horror. He whimpered, not daring to close his eyes.

Then the monster began to shrink.

It shriveled away, changing color and backing up, until a little boy, about Steve's age, stood in front of him. He had long curly hair and was dressed in a t-shirt that was way too big on him. When he opened his eyes, Steve flinched, because the whites of his eyes simply...weren't there. His eyes were an onyx black.

"Hi," the boy said. "I'm Eddie."

Steve was too stunned to speak, but he did uncover his mouth.

"I'm the monster under your bed!" Eddie said. "I'm supposed to scare you, but, um-" he risked a quick look at the door "-I don't think you need my help for that."

"Why are you supposed to scare me?" Steve asked.

Eddie shrugged. "Dunno. Every kid's got one. It's just how it works. I was made to be your monster, forever!" He sat down on the edge Steve's bed, bumping Steve's shoulder against his. "Weird to be on this side of the bed. No dust bunnies or anything."

Steve giggled, forgetting his fear. "You're fun!"

Eddie grinned at him. "Thank you! None of the other monsters think my jokes are funny."

"So you have to scare me?" Steve asked. "But you're not scary. Not after talking to me."

Eddie paused. "Oh, right. I'm not supposed to talk to you. Um..."

"What if we just say you're scaring me?" Steve asked. "I'll pretend I'm really scared of the monster under my bed, and you pretend you scare me every single night. But really we're hanging out instead of scaring!"

"Ooh, I like that idea!" Eddie struck a dramatic pose. "I'll be the monster under your bed, but I'll be ready to protect you if you need it too!"

Steve stuck out his hand like he saw his dad do for business deals. "Deal?"

Eddie shook it. "Deal."

-

Steve sprinted through the forest, the kids hot on his heels. "There!" he shouted. "Everyone in!"

The kids bolted to the abandoned cabin, and Steve slammed the door shut. "Is there a bed in here?" he called. "A couch? A fridge?"

"Bed's in here!" Will yelled, and Steve followed his voice to the cluttered bedroom, complete with partially-caved-in bedframe. He gingerly took a seat on the mattress, cringing when it crackled. He did not need to know what was on this.

"Eddie?" he called, tapping on the flaky painted wood.

The shitheads crowded in, and Mike murmured. "What the fuck is he doing?"

Steve ignored him. "Eddie, come on, I need your help."

Something tall, dark, and lanky slid out from under the bed, and all the kids jumped back in fright, raising their various weapons. Steve leapt to get in front of them, raising his hands as a shield. "Chill! Calm down, this is Eddie!"

Eddie shrank into his human form, draping himself over Steve. "You had to summon me to the nastiest bed in Indiana? Really, Steve?"

Steve shrugged. "This was the closest one. We need your help, Eds."

"We?" He focused on the Party. "Well, these must be the infamous buttheads." Eddie slid into the shadows and reappeared behind the Party, inspecting them. "Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Will, El, Max, right?" he said, pointing at each one as he said their names.

"What the fuck are you?" Dustin asked.

Suddenly Eddie was under Steve's arm, wrapping a hand around his waist. "I'm Steve's monster under the bed." he said. "I'm just... friendlier with Steve than most of the monsters I work with."

Steve rolled his eyes. "You can tell him you're my boyfriend, they know I'm bi." He kissed Eddie on the cheek.

The kids all broke into gasps, except for Max, who fake gagged. "Don't be gross!" she yelled. "Demogorgon outside, remember?"

"Ah, right." Steve said. "Eds, can you-"

"On it." Eddie kissed Steve. "I'll be back."

The kids watched Eddie melt into shadows, then wheeled on Steve. "Steven Don't-Know-Your-Middle-Name Harrington," Dustin said. "You have a lot of explaining to do."

edit: i did not expect this response to the short little thing that took me 30 mins max at 2am!! i’m planning on rewriting it and turning it into a full length fic, so i’ll come back and edit this with the link!

edit #2: if there’s anything you guys want to see in the full length version of this please let me know!! i’m trying my best to make it a slowburn which is horrid for my adhd so let me know if there’s anything you want!!

[impeakcharacterdesign]

Just the Tip

— Thomas Hewitt x Fem!Reader —

MDNI!!!

Summary: It’s the 1960s and Luda Mae frowns upon premarital sex like any good Christian woman. You and Tommy are young, hot, and in love but the only problem is that Tommy was raised to wait until marriage and never lets you two go any further than kissing and some groping.

But the devil lives in the hot Texan sun and even God takes a break from the summer heat.

Notes: this is super short, just pure smut, self indulgent I’m obsessed with big boy Tommy 😭😭😭 i swear I’m working on part 2 of my sister Sinclair fic but Tommy has me in a choke hold and I needed an outlet.

No TW that I can think of other than bad smut and maybe ??? Coercion??? Cause Tommy wants to be a good boy and stop before y’all go too far but you flash him and then he’s absolutely 100% in. A bit of religious stuff, period typical sexism but vaguely. Let me know if I should add anything else and I’ll get right on it. Reader isn’t ever referred to using “she/her” pronouns but is described as having breasts and does have female genitalia so I tagged it fem reader to be safe

Enjoy!!!

The early morning sun burned, chasing away what little cool air remained of the night before. While the barn shaded you from the unforgiving sun and hid you from disapproving eyes — or lecherous in the case of the older men of the family — it also trapped in the heat your two bodies gave off.

Thomas pressed his open mouth to your own, tongue swiping over your teeth eager to taste you. Your hands gripped his dark hair, ruining any half-effort attempt he had made earlier in the day to smooth down his unruly hair. He held you in his arms, body pressed tightly against him in an attempt to get as close as possible, his large frame hiding you even further from prying eyes than the shadowed corners of the old barn. The kiss was deep and hungry and served as a brief respite from Luda Maes ever watching eyes. While she had been fine with you living with the family before you and Tommy were married, she forbade you from sharing a room or being intimate, a rule she absolutely refused to budge on and one that Uncle Charlie took a strange glee in ribbing you about. But much like the Texan heat, the heated looks you gave each other were unavoidable and only grew hotter as the summer days went on. Luda Mae wanted to wait until the following spring to make your union official but at the rate the town was drying up, there wouldn't even be a priest to officiate the ceremony, much less any guest to attend. You highly doubted anyone outside of the family would want to witness your union anyway but still, Luda Mae didn't want the few who would to get wise and start counting months.

These stolen moments in the barn were as good as you could get — and by god were they good.

Tommy’s large hands groped at your breasts, pawing roughy at your nipples through the worn fabric of your old dress. It wasn’t long before you found yourself in the familiar position of being sprawled out on the barn floor, coarse hay a discomfort you had long learned to endure for the sake of pleasure.

You desperately thrust your sex up onto his growing bulge, whining when he groaned and pinned your hips with his own, preventing you from getting your desired stimulation. “Please Tommy,” you beg, lips separating, “We don’t have to do too much, I just wanna touch you.” You press open-mouthed kisses to his neck, pulling softly at the flesh with your teeth and tongue dragging across the bites to taste the salt on his skin. Your hands eagerly worked to untuck his faded green shirt and wrap around him, roaming the vast expanse of his back. His whole body shuddered in your arms, an attempt to hold back from eating you whole.

You know Thomas will put an end to your romp soon, the tense lines of his shoulders and the way he shuts his eyes a sign that he's reaching his limit, that if you two don't stop now you won't be able to stop — but that’s exactly what you want.

You're tired of holding back, of this constant edging you have to endure when you’re in his presence and it gets harder every day. Just yesterday afternoon, Uncle Charlie sprayed Tommy with the hose, telling him that he was filthy and needed to get out of those clothes before he went inside. Watching as he undressed by the back door so that you could put his clothes on the line to dry had nearly given you a heatstroke — and if Charlie’s leering grin was any clue, you swear he did it on purpose in an attempt to rile you up. You ran off before you sinned right there in the yard, the memory of Thomas's shirt clinging to his arms, his chest glistening with water had kept you company well into the night.

So before Tommy puts a stop to your roll in the hay you make your move. You lift your dress up past your breast and expose yourself to him, you can see his breath stutter in his chest, this was quickly becoming the farthest you two had ever gone.

“Just watch me, Tommy, watch me,” you say breathlessly.

And he does, he sits on his haunches like a predator, his engorged cock straining against his pants and imagining just a taste has your tongue darting out to wet your lips, his gaze fixated on the movement.

Sliding your panties off your legs, your fingers dip briefly into your wet hole, gathering slick to rub onto your clit. At the very first touch, you let out a shuddering breath and you watch as his shoulders heave.

You begin rubbing your clit at an intense pace already turned on from the earlier heavy petting, not once breaking eye contact with Thomas as you do. With each moan you muffle you see his eyes grow darker with desire breathing with his mouth open as though he could taste your scent in the air. When he finally lets his cock spring free you let out your loudest moan yet. It’s better than you ever thought. His cock is thick and heavy, drooping slightly under its own weight but still undeniably firm. It curves slightly and you imagine that if it was inside you it would scrape against your walls in a way you've never been able to do with just your fingers.

Thomas grips his cock firmly and gives it a few tugs, eyes alternating between hungrily drinking in the sight of your blissed-out expression and your dripping pussy. You buck your hips, desperate to press your clit against your fingers and Thomas jerks his length even faster, rubbing his tip and spreading his precum on his hand.

God, you wished it was you that was touching him.

Thomas settles onto his knees and after a brief hesitation begins to shuffle closer to you. The sight of him crawling to you on his knees with his dripping length in hand made your pussy clench around nothing and you let out a whimper. You remove your fingers from your clit, feeling the heat radiating from his cock as he settles on top of you, legs spreading around his waist, your hips slightly raised and resting on his thighs.

The tip hesitantly pressed against your clit and your moan fills the small space before you can suppress it. This was better than you were hoping and it felt as though you were pressing against the boundaries the lord had set for you. Tommy’s eyes find yours looking for reassurance, asking without words, “Do you think this is okay?”

You find enough comprehension in your lust-addled brain to come up with a coherent answer, “It should be fine, I think,” you stammer out, “I mean, it’s not like — not like you’re putting it in so, it should be fine.”

You’re not overly familiar with the word of God outside of Sunday services and Luda Mae’s lectures, both of which you were forced to attend and spent tuning out in favor of watching the sweat build on Tommy’s brow while he worked through the window.

You think that if God could feel the weight of Thomas like you did, feel the heat like you could, you think he’d forgive the sin of your act.

It seems like that was all the reassurance that Thomas needed because no sooner than the words fumbled their way out of your mouth that he begins to drag the length of his cock against your slit.

God, if this is what hell was supposed to be like, burning and full of decadence, then perhaps you didn’t mind being a sinner.

The way he ruts against you is euphoric. Heavy breaths escape you both and you can’t help the words that spill from your lips.

“God, Tommy, I wish you would put it inside me,” you whine out “‘wanna feel your fat cock in my pussy, wanna get filled,” you might as well be begging at this point, and Tommy's increases his pace to the point that you think he wants the same thing, that he’s desperate to thrust into you rather than against you and —

And then the tip of his cock catches on your entrance and you both stop breathing.

“Maybe — Maybe it doesn’t count.” You stammer out, “It didn’t go in and it’s just the tip, and I don’t think that the tip counts” With the slightest twitch of his hips the tip of his cock has slipped inside.

"It's - it's just the tip it's fine” Your words sound empty even to you but the reassurance is all Tommy needs to push forward and let the head of his cock slide into your welcoming heat

His soul nearly leaves his body when he feels your raw pussy on the head of his cock. He jerks his length furiously and your fingers begin to move against your clit again, eager to meet your high with Thomas.

But it’s not enough. He was right there, right there just one push of his hips he’d be right where you needed him

“Please Tommy” Canting your hips slightly so the tip begins to dig deeper into you, you begin to plead once more, “wanna feel you fill me up, wanna remember the shape of your cock please”

Thomas feels years of control break at your words and with one swing of his hips, he bottoms out instantly. You feel like you've been punched in the gut as the air rushes out of you and you let out a sound like a wounded animal. Tommy stays still deep inside you, shaking and heaving, absolutely drunk on the feeling of your soaked walls clenching vigorously around his length.

You feel full in a way you've never thought possible. His length throbs, its girth stretching you in a way that burns.

When he finally starts thrusting, you’re not ready. He’s like a man possessed, solely focused on the feel of you around him, your skin pressed against his, his blood pounding in his ears.

“Wait— Tommy, ah, slow — slow down, oh god!” You can’t hold back your moans and he can’t stop, both fully engrossed in the feel of each other with no control over your own lust. Thomas crashes his lips onto yours in a halfhearted attempt to keep down your moans, it’s sloppy, clashing teeth and drooling tongues, spit escaping your lips, unlike any you’ve shared before.

This is completely different from what you’ve imagined your first time together would be like. It’s not your wedding night, you're laying on the dirty barn floor and there’s absolutely nothing gentle about the way Tommy is ravaging you. Your pussy is sopping wet and with every thrust, it lets out an embarrassing squelch, your juices and Tommy’s pre-cum leak down your ass and make a sticky mess in his dark pubes.

He doesn’t stop even as your walls spasm around him, cumming on his cock and digging your nails into his strong back. He works you through your orgasm even as your mouth clumsily forms the words to beg for him to slow down or to give you a moment. It’s too much, the sensations completely overloading your brain and all you can do is hold on tightly to him, lost in the ecstasy of your release.

Thomas lets out a deep, guttural groan as he cums, hips stuttering as he bullies his fat cock into the deepest part of your sex, filling you to the brim and your vision goes white.

Boneless, neither one of you makes a move to separate from the other, so thoroughly satisfied and content to lie where you are holding each other, Thomas’s softening cocking slipping out of you and spilling his release onto the ground.

His weight on you is comforting, you gently press kisses to his face and bask in the way his heavy breaths caress your sweaty skin.

“I love you.” You whisper into the shell of his ear and he squeezes you against him, repeating the words in his garbled voice the best he could. Your love is just for the two of you, no one else had a place in your world, no one else had the right to peak in on your affection or gawk at your differences.

This moment in time was just for the two of you.

“Thomas! Where the hell are ya, boy!”

Well, until Uncle Charlie’s voice brought you back down to reality.

[pucksandpower]

Don’t Touch Her

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando will do whatever it takes to ensure your safety after the unthinkable almost happens during a night out

Warnings: spiked drink, attempted SA, descriptions of seizure, hospitalization, and the implied murder of a minor character

You sway your hips to the pulsing beat, the colorful lights of the club flashing across your skin. Lando’s hands rest lightly on your waist, guiding you to the music. You lean into him, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the tang of sweat in the humid air.

“I’m parched,” you say, turning to face him. “Want me to grab you a drink?”

He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I can get them, love. You keep dancing.”

You shake your head, leaning in to give him a quick peck on the lips. “I need to get off my feet for a bit anyway. Same as usual?”

“Please. I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

You make your way through the crowded dance floor, weaving around gyrating bodies and flailing limbs. The bar is packed, patrons jostling for the bartenders’ attention. You manage to wedge yourself into a tiny gap, shouting your order over the commotion.

While waiting for the drinks, you check your phone. A few missed texts from friends, asking where you are. You fire back quick responses before pocketing the device just as the bartender slides two glasses toward you.

Vodka cranberry for you, rum and coke for Lando. You pass over a few bills, waving away the change, and turn to head back to the dance floor.

You take a long sip of your drink as you walk, the bubbly sweetness refreshing after all that dancing.

Lando is easy to spot, standing out due to the size of the crowd surrounding him. He smiles when he sees you coming, his whole face lighting up. Your heart flutters at the way he looks at you, like you’re the only person in the room.

You’re halfway to him when the first wave of dizziness hits. You stumble, drinks sloshing over your hands. Sudden nausea swirls in your gut. The room starts to spin, lights blurring into a kaleidoscope.

“Hey ...” You blink hard, trying to clear the fog creeping over your thoughts. “I don’t … feel so good.”

The glasses slide from your grip, shattering on the floor. You try to take a step toward Lando and the ground rushes up to meet you. Strong hands grab your arms, keeping you from collapsing completely.

“Whoa there, looks like someone started the party a little early.” The voice is unfamiliar, masculine with a hint of mocking laughter. You try to pull away but your limbs feel like lead.

“No, I ...” You shake your head, which only makes the dizziness worse. Through your dimming vision you can see Lando pushing through the crowd, his eyes wide.

“C’mon, there’s a back door this way. Let’s get you some air.” The man starts to guide you away, arms wrapped around your shoulders. Panic shoots through you and you try again to wrench yourself free, but it’s useless.

The cold night air hits you as the door swings open. The alley swims before you, dingy bricks and overflowing dumpsters. The man keeps walking, bearing you along while your weak protests fall on deaf ears.

Fear claws at your insides. You catch a glimpse of streetlights at the other end of the alley before he steers you into the shadows halfway down.

“S-stop,” you mumble, tongue heavy in your mouth. He just chuckles, pressing you against the brick wall.

“Shh, just relax. I’ll take good care of you.” His hand squeezes your thigh, rucking up your dress. Somewhere in the recesses of your fading mind, terror shrieks at you to fight, to run, but your traitorous body refuses to respond.

As the man leans in, the alley floods with light. Heavy footsteps pound on the pavement.

“Get your hands off her!” Lando’s voice booms with more fury than you’ve ever heard from him. The man holding you whirls around just as Lando’s fist connects with his jaw. He reels back with a cry, grip loosening. Lando catches you before you can slide to the ground.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you.” His touch is infinitely gentle compared to the bruising hold of the stranger. He strokes your hair back from your face, eyes searching yours. “Can you hear me, love?”

You try to respond but only manage a faint whimper. Lando swears under his breath. Scooping you into his arms, he carries you swiftly from the alley. You press your face to his chest, clinging to him like a lifeline as he strides toward the street. Each jostling step sends the world spinning again.

Something is wrong. Terribly wrong.

Lando lowers you onto a bench outside the club, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “Talk to me, please. What’s happening?”

You lick your dry lips, forcing words out with monumental effort. “Dizzy … everything … blurry ...”

Lando’s face creases with worry. He pulls out his phone to dial for help, but pauses when you suddenly convulse, muscles seizing. Your back arches, head slamming against the hard bench.

“Shit! Hold on, I’ve got you.” Lando slides his hand under your head, cradling it gently as the seizure wracks your body. Tears stream down his face as he murmurs soothing words, helpless to do anything but wait it out.

After endless moments, the convulsions stop. You go limp, gasping raggedly. The world fades in and out of focus, Lando’s anguished face floating above you.

“Please, baby, stay with me,” he begs, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. “The ambulance will be here any second.”

You try to respond but darkness crowds the edges of your vision. The last thing you see before slipping into unconsciousness is Lando bent over you, shoulders shaking with sobs as he clutches your motionless hand.

***

Beeping.

Hushed voices.

The astringent scent of disinfectant.

You drift somewhere between waking and oblivion, grasping at fractured memories.

Lando’s face, streaked with tears.

Dancing bodies.

Pulsing lights.

The weight of unwanted hands, dragging you into the shadows.

With a sharp inhale, your eyes fly open. You’re in a hospital room, IV line taped to the back of your hand. Pale morning light filters through the blinds. The beeping comes from a monitor tracking your heartbeat.

“Hey.” Lando sits in a chair beside the bed, leaning forward when he sees you’re awake. His eyes are rimmed with red, hair disheveled. “How are you feeling?”

You try to speak but your throat is painfully dry. Lando grabs a cup of water, angling the straw so you can sip. The cool liquid soothes like a balm, washing away the cottony feeling in your mouth.

“What … what happened?” You rasp out finally.

Lando’s expression turns grim. “Someone drugged you at the club. Probably targeting an easy robbery, but ...” His jaw clenches, hands balling into fists. “If I had been even a few seconds later, he would have ...”

Unable to finish the thought, Lando buries his face in his hands. His shoulders tremble. Your heart aches, and you reach out to comb gentle fingers through his hair.

“But you weren’t,” you say softly. “You saved me.”

He looks up, eyes shining wetly. “I never should have let you out of my sight. If I lost you ...” His breath hitches, raw anguish written across his face.

“Hey, no.” You catch his hand, squeezing firmly. “This wasn’t your fault. You found me in time. That’s all that matters.”

Fresh tears spill down Lando’s cheeks. He brings your entwined hands to his lips, pressing a trembling kiss to your knuckles.

“I was so scared,” he chokes out. “Seeing you like that, helpless, shaking ...” He clenches his jaw, looking away. “And not being able to do anything. Just having to watch ...”

He breaks off with a shuddering breath. You tug gently on his hand, urging him up from the chair. He perches on the edge of the bed, enveloping you in his tender arms. You cling to each other, tears mingling as the enormity of what almost happened sinks in.

After long moments, Lando pulls back to cup your face in both hands. He searches your eyes, still flooded with relief and lingering fear.

“I could have lost you,” he repeats in a shattered whisper.

You cover his hands with your own. “But you didn’t. I’m right here. With you.”

His breath leaves him a rush, the frightened tension easing from his frame. Leaning in, he rests his forehead against yours. The beeping monitor and distant hospital noises fade away, leaving just the two of you suspended in this quiet intimacy.

When Lando finally lifts his head, the fire in his eyes makes your heart stutter.

“I love you,” he says, low and fervent.

You meet Lando’s intense gaze, equally overcome by emotion.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

He cradles your face again, thumbs sweeping feather-light over your cheeks. Slowly, he leans in and presses his lips to yours in a kiss that steals your breath. It’s soft yet saturates you with his passion, fear, relief — every shade of the feelings coursing between you in this moment. You sink into it, hands coming up to twist in his rumpled shirt, keeping him close.

When he pulls back, you’re both a little breathless. Lando smooths your hair, regret pinching his features.

“I should let you rest. The doctor said you’ll probably feel weak and foggy for a few days.”

You give a small shrug. “I don’t feel that bad right now. Just … stay with me?”

He smiles softly. “Of course, love.”

Settling next to you on top of the sheets, he loops an arm around your shoulders. You nestle against him, comforted by his familiar warmth and scent. For a long moment, you simply savor being wrapped in this bubble of solace.

“Do they know who did it yet?” You finally ask, unable to quell your lingering unease about the attack.

Lando shakes his head. “The police looked at security footage but the guy’s face wasn’t visible. They’re still investigating.”

You nod, chewing your lip. Lando tilts your chin up to meet his eyes.

“I won’t let him get away with this,” he says, quiet but fierce. “I’ll do whatever it takes to find him and make sure he never hurts anyone again.”

There’s cold fury underlying his tone that you’ve never heard from him before. It reminds you viscerally of that brief glimpse in the alley — Lando transformed in the heat of protective rage.

But now the fire in his eyes is fanned and smoldering. A determination that won’t relent.

He tightens his arm around you, pressing his lips to your hair. You settle against his chest again, comforted by the steady thump of his heartbeat.

***

A few days later, you’re curled up on the couch with Lando, a movie playing quietly in the background. You’re mostly zoning out, still feeling residual exhaustion. Lando plays idly with your hair, a comforting sensation.

When your phone buzzes with an alert, you grab it lazily, expecting a text from a friend. Instead, a news headline makes you bolt upright.

Lando notices your change in demeanor.

“What is it, love?”

“That man, the one from the club … he was found dead. I would recognize his face anywhere.”

You continue to scan the article. “Doesn’t specify much, just that he was found in an abandoned building across town. Ruled a homicide but no suspects or motive yet.”

You wordlessly tilt the phone screen for him to see. He looks at it blankly, face impassive.

“Oh. Well, perhaps some justice has been served after all.”

You narrow your eyes at his mild tone. “Did you ...”

“Did I what?”

“Have something to do with this?”

Lando presses a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “Me? Now why would you think that?”

“Lando.” You level him with a knowing look. “Did you?”

He meets your gaze steadily for a moment before sighing. “I told you I’d make sure he never hurt anyone again. A man like that doesn’t deserve to keep stealing breaths.”

You absorb this, unsure how to feel. “So you ...”

“I didn’t personally do anything,” Lando hedges. “But I have … connections. People who know people who can handle things quietly.”

You bite your lip. “You had him killed.”

Lando takes your hands in his. “Hey. Look at me. That bastard drugged you, dragged you into an alley. He would have ...” His jaw flexes. “I did what needed to be done to keep you and others safe.”

“I just ...” You wrestle with your conflicted emotions. “I don’t know how I feel about you essentially ordering a hit.”

He drags a hand over his mouth. When he speaks, his voice is low and controlled. “All that matters is he can’t hurt you or anyone else now. Try to remember what he did to you — how you felt. Helpless. Frightened. I wasn’t about to let him continue terrorizing women.”

You take a shaky breath. “No, you’re right. It’s just a lot to wrap my head around.”

Lando caresses your cheek. “You have the biggest, kindest heart of anyone I know. But some people are simply too dangerous to be allowed to go on hurting people. I don’t take this lightly, but there are times when permanent solutions are necessary. Do you understand?”

Up close, you can see the storm of emotions he’s battling to contain. Anger, satisfaction, hints of doubt and guilt. You cup his face.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For protecting me, even if it meant ...”

Lando closes his eyes, leaning into your touch. “I would do anything for you. Anything to keep you safe.” His thumb strokes along your jaw. “You never have to worry. You’ll always be safe with me. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you, no matter what.”

His voice rings with quiet conviction. You cover his hand with your own, meeting his solemn gaze. In this moment, you truly comprehend the depths he’s willing to go for you.

“I know you will,” you whisper. “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me.”

Lando searches your face, shoulders losing their rigid tension when he finds only acceptance and gratitude shining back at him.

“I would be lost without you,” he murmurs.

You lean in, kissing him softly. “You’ll never have to find out.”

Drawing back, you offer a tiny smirk. “And clearly, I should never get on your bad side.”

Lando huffs a surprised laugh. The lingering shadows in his eyes fade as he pulls you close. You sink into his embrace, heartbeat steadying against his.

Whatever lengths Lando went to in order to protect you, to remove the threat hanging over your regained sense of safety, you know you’ll forever be thankful for this devoted, fierce, and tender-hearted man you love.