#i get little parts or ideas but nothing ever makes it onto paper

[empresskaze]

I MISS WRITING MY BLORBOS WHEN WILL MY MUSE RETURN?????

[silasours]

ৎ⸝⸝⠀COCKWARMING ! —

#pairing : lucifer, alastor, vox, valentino, x gn reader. #cw : 18+ content, mdni. unprotected sex. edging. office sex. public sex. sub/power sub reader. no mentions of specific anatomy. vox is in an online meeting for work. touch starved lucifer. val blowing his smoke on you for fun. non proofread because it's six in the fuckin morning and I have not slept a wink. #summary : in which they keep themselves buried deep inside of you while being busied by other stuff. #note : save me, I've been writing nothing but hazbin smut lately. i should really start working on other shows.. alastor's a bit shorter than the others, can't really think of a solid idea for him and I wanted to get this out as soon as possible

ʚ LUCIFER .

lucifer whines when you force him to focus on his unfinished work once again. he has been going back and forth from attempting to thrust into you, but you always found a way to press him down in his place firmly. he had some unfinished work that he left sitting in his office for almost a week now, and it irritated you. that's when you offered to cockwarm him while he worked, get him to finally get his hands on those unfinished works.

being absolutely touch starved, lucifer agreed without hesitation unaware of how miserable and impatient this will make him. his hand remain on his working desk, occasionally scribbling some words and a signature on the paper filled with printed words. he does his best to resist the urge to finally thrust into you, worried that you'd leave him unsatisfied if he doesn't do as he's told.

but there's a limit to how much he can contain himself, especially when he has you sitting on his lap with his cock stuffing you to the brim, when you'd tease him so often by clenching around him or moving your hips ever so slightly. lucifer whines every time, the hand that's placed on your hip squeezing on your flesh desperately.

"can i please.. just finish this up later?" his voice muffled from nuzzling his face into your shoulder, eyes closed shut to focus on the warmth engulfing his throbbing member. you let out a small chuckle, baring your teeth into his neck to draw out those pretty moans of his; his cock leaks pathetically inside of you.

"no can do, luci. you're not going to get whatever you want until you finish up." you pull away and tilt your head slightly, pressing a soft kiss onto his jaw while giving a quick glance at the papers sprawled across his desk. he's only halfway done with them. "you're doing pretty well, no? you're halfway done."

lucifer groans, annoyed as he picks up the pen from the desk again while reading through the papers. this time, you decide to tease him a little more instead of staying still. you connect your lips with his exposed neck, sucking on the sensitive skin as your hips slowly grind against his. you hear his breath hitch, his knuckles turning white from how hard he's gripping you.

your name spills out from his lips breathlessly, following with a whimper that you love so much. you carry on with your actions, dark marks gradually bloom all over his skin like breathtaking flowers. lucifer shifts to lay his forehead on your shoulder, shuddering from pleasure; you tug on his soft hair, firm enough to lift his head up from your shoulder.

"stay focused, luci. remember what's waiting for you to finish your work."

ʚ ALASTOR .

"oh, what a twist!" alastor exclaims with his eyes glued to the book he's reading, chuckling like you're not clenching down on his cock out of desperation. your eyes are teary as you turn to peek at the page he's on, frustration brewing in your chest. upon noticing your reaction, alastor laughs while moving his hand to cup your face, leaning in with a grin. "don't you agree, my dear?"

you groan, parting your lips further enough to drop his thumb into your mouth, biting down on it. alastor mutters a small "fiesty" before buckling up his hips, watching your eyes widen from the sudden pleasure that shoots up your veins. his arm tightens around your waist to stop you from squirming around excessively.

"put.. the fuckin' book down, a-alastor.." your nails dig into his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt, the back of your other hand hovering over your mouth with a frown on your face. alastor smiles in response, holding the book between the both of you now that there's a gap.

"why, it has only gotten interesting! patience is key, darling."

"it has been almost a whole fucking hour, alast-" your words get cut off by yet another harsh thrust of his hips, an uncontrollable moan slipping off your tongue. a low, barely audible grunt could be heard coming from alastor because of how you're squeezing around him like your life depends on it.

slowly, he places the book down, pushing two digits into your mouth as his sharp nails graze past your gums. your tongue swirls around them, gaze fixated on his that seems to be mocking your desperation. you grind your hips, wanting to feel more of that sensitive spot in you being stimulated by his tip brushing against it. alastor grunts every time you tighten around him, the feeling making his skin jump and his eyes close shut from the pleasure he receives.

you reach for the book to toss it aside, not allowing him any chance to get it back and return to what he was previously putting you through. he laughs at the action before getting cut off by yet another groan, a frown slowly finds its way to spread across his face despite the grin that remains on his lips.

"the book shall wait after all."

ʚ VOX .

the sound of vox's workers and colleagues echoes through his workplace, the source of it coming from the laptop that sits in front of him. he's holding an urgent meeting with them to discuss some things about work, yet you're here obediently sitting on him, cockwarming him. your arms hug his neck tightly, hands grabbing tightly onto his shirt while listening to him speak to the people in call.

you bite down every moan that builds in your throat, not allowing any sound to be heard by anyone but your partner. times when vox isn't discussing important matters, he leans into your ear to whisper praises, thrusting into you, and stops so suddenly when you're close to release.

he grins as you whine at the sudden loss of friction, skin flushed while feeling him draw lazy circles on your hips with his thumbs. he starts speaking again just when you're about to voice your frustration, drawing out a grumble from you. you stay there unattended, glancing at the part where the two of you connect; you're craving release, and you're done waiting.

with a steady pace, you move your own hips while holding onto his shoulders for support. vox's head snaps toward your direction, teeth gritting as he bites back the groans that threaten to leave his lips. he tries to hold you down, but his body betrays him and allows you to carry on with your movements. his head tilts back to lean against the headrest of his chair, the words that his workers speak gradually shifting to a blur in his mind.

"fuck, w-wait," his breath grows heavy, barely managing to keep his eyes open as you fuck yourself on his cock. you're supposed to be cockwarming him, not riding him. he has allowed you to the point of no return, how is he going to carry on with the meeting now? you grab him and connect your lips with his, drinking in his groans like how he does to your moans.

ignoring the calls of his name from the meeting, he pulls you closer by the waist as you grind yourself on him. it wasn't until he started getting annoyed by the meeting that he broke away from the kiss, strings of saliva still connecting your lips while his hand reached out to shut the laptop down. the room falls to a sudden silence, the only sounds that remain are your heavy breathing.

"you're gonna fuck up my company if this carries on," vox snickers before crashing his lips with yours again, hands holding onto your hips to thrust into you without anything holding him back this time.

ʚ VALENTINO .

you still can't process the fact that you're in valentino's studio with his cock buried deep inside of you while people walked around to work on set. valentino takes puffs from the cigarette he holds between his fingers, often ordering and even yelling at people as they rush to obey his commands.

nobody pays any mind to the both of you; in fact, they see it as something normal. after all, they're working for a porn producer, what is there not to be normal? you keep your face stuffed in the fluff of his coat, hands gripping tightly onto his outfit while still trying to adjust to how good he stretches you apart. everyone has just started working, and the set is still being prepared for a new film.

"you're tighter than usual my love, are you that excited to be around everyone?" he teases with a mocking tone, puffing out a wisp of pink smoke onto your flushed face. you lightly shake your head with a whine, the smoke that you inhale causing your vision to spin immediately. humming, valentino lifts your body up with the help of his lower pair of arms before roughly slamming you back down onto his cock. "I doubt that. you've always loved being fucking in public, no? look at you,"

you gasp, body tensing as a moan escapes your throat. you immediately bite down on your lower lip, eyes screwing shut while simultaneously having your body trembling under his hold. you don't want to draw too much attention to yourself, yet the idea alone excites you in an odd way that you never knew it would. noting your reaction, valentino continues repeating the action before stopping promptly, feeding himself with your choked back moans.

"keep looking pretty like that while i work, i'll have a reward waiting for you." you mewl at his words, giving him a weak nod while tugging onto his shirt. he takes another long drag from his cigarette before letting his gaze fall onto the prepared set displayed in front of him, eyes scanning for the stars of the show in the room.

he would moan softly into your ear whenever you clenched around him, teasing you with his mere voice and carrying on with his work. you don't complain, though, considering how you'll be fucked into a moaning mess once he's done with work.

© silas ( @silasours ). all rights reserved. every work posted on this account belongs to me, and only me. please refrain from reposting, plagiarizing, translating, or reproducing my work in any form possible.

[chastiefoul]

regret pt. 2 | alhaitham

a/n: soooooooooo, this was a bit overdue.. hahaha... i apologize for the delay but it's here now!! short disclaimer though, if you expect a make up and lovey dovey scene on this one it's not happening sadly. this end up being more of a character study of the scribe somehow? like i was really going in there with his pov, but of course this esentially is the continuation of the part one so i hope you all enjoyed and sorry for being so late!!!! (more of a/n at the end!)

3k words!!! (wasn't kidding when i said i really went in there)

summary:

alhaitham's own emotion and how he dealt with it proved to be an obstacle for himself. how deep does his regret truly runs?

read part one here!

-

 alhaitham didn’t know before that the world could be this... quiet.

no, it’s more accurate to say that he couldn’t appreciate silence as he used to. there are pieces of you remaining across his day. at his office, on his way to lunch, the tavern, and even when he closed his eyes, persistently, you’re there. however those weren’t real, not anymore, since he himself was the one who had driven you away rather horribly.

and he shouldn’t regret it, he really shouldn’t. but he did.

he let out a sigh yet again, resting his eyes as he leaned back on his chair.

alhaitham hated vexatious things, especially stuff that had nothing to do with him. you, used to fell into this category. someone he shouldn’t bother with or care about, but you kept slithering in breaking what he thought was a solid wall. and uncharacteristically, he kept letting you. perhaps at a life-threatening moment where he had to tell the truth to live, he could consider admitting that he did not hate the way you smiled while you greeted him, or the way your eyebrow crinkled slightly with worry when you saw the piled up paper he had to tend on certain days. and even your lovable little pout when he told you he had skipped his meals. and it’s only now he realized that his useless pride wasn’t something worth holding onto if in exchange he would be missing all of these.

these bothersome yet endearing memories that refused to get out of his head. that he refused to forget.

and to think your last memory of him was him being so heartless—wait, come to think of it. was he ever nice towards you? was there ever a time where he didn’t treat you so cold?

alhaitham was stunned when he couldn’t find a positive response to both question. he felt like his heart was being clenched tightly. he had no choice but to go back to work, forced to stop his train of thoughts before he was overwhelmed.

it all had become so troublesome. too troublesome.

❀

alhaitham also had no idea how small the chance was of running into you, even though you both work at the same place. it’s news to him that if you hadn’t come to him all the time, you wouldn’t even be meeting at all.

the regret he felt just keep piling up.

now alhaitham found himself out from his office more often; in the library, or just walking around randon hallways to take a breather, these were all solely for the purpose that perhaps he would run into you. even just a glance for the briefest second, he thought he would be happy with just that. however it proved to be difficult since he hasn’t seen even a single strand of your hair for the past week.

and that’s when it happened, he saw a familiar figure walking towards him, it was like a slow-motion, something that he had been waiting to  happen. alhaitham’s inside was all thundering, he knew he’s been missing you, but he didn’t know it was this bad.

but all of that nerves and excitement died down as quick as it came, as you walked past him without sparing even a single glance. turns out you were just rushing to get to the hall behind him. the silver-haired man could only stand there, witnessing your back until it disappeared at the very last second at a turn. his stomach churned in the worst way possible.

that nonchalant, ignorance, reminded him of nothing but himself. he now realized that he’s way past a stage where a single apology would fix everything he’s done.

❀

alhaitham went home with a heavy feeling inside of his chest. it’s been that way for too many days now.

he thought pushing you out of his life was the hill he was going to die on, but he played himself. he grew accustomed to a world with you now he thought going back to his old routine was something he wanted. turns out far from it.

he needed you.

he arrived, and as alhaitham opened the door, he never expected the sudden hit on his right jaw, making him staggered as his back touched the door. “you deserved that one, and i think you know that,” kaveh said. alhaitham couldn’t even react; ah, (y/n) has told him all about it, then.

alhaitham who had no energy left from the lack of sleep and meals held his jaw carefully, sliding down the wall and sat on the floor. he wasn’t in any way hurt badly, since obviously he had a stronger physique than the blond, but the other part inside of his chest ached. as kaveh said, he deserved that one. although it’s a bit infuriating that the architect was the one who did that, alhaitham also knew that you’d never be able to do that to him. not that your strength was the problem, it’s just that you’re so very kind, even to people that don’t deserve it.

then if what it took to see you smile at him again was a punch to the face, he’d put his as a target gladly.

alhaitham was in a daze, couldn’t even bring himself to retort the harsh welcome, he’s just quiet. which was very unusual.

“what should i do?” he finally mumbled. “what?” kaveh widened his eyes at the response. “what can i do.. to fix this?” that was very surprising coming from the prideful man, kaveh had doubts that the man in front of him was really his room mate. but kaveh only sighed, and lent out his hand. “get up, let’s talk.”

after the scribe finished putting an ointment to the bruise, they both sat on the dining table. there was no noise for a while, until alhaitham decided to break that. “how is (y/n)?” he treaded carefully. “good actually, now that they’re free from a weight that’s dragging them down.” kaveh spat, the grey-haired man made a blank look. “-is what i liked to say. however they’re not doing very well.” his expression turned into something of a deep concern for a friend. “how so?” alhaitham’s voice too, spiked with worries. something that kaveh wasn’t really familiar with that he couldn’t help but chuckle. “you’re really a funny guy. now you’re worried? after treating them like that?” kaveh said, astonished by the audacity of his roommate.

“i’m aware that all of this is my fault.” alhaitham clenched his fist tightly, he didn’t need anyone to remind him that he was at fault, he never allowed himself to forget that. “i mean, how could you alhaitham?!” just thinking about it made kaveh blood boiled once more. you who had treated everyone so kind, especially alhaitham since he knew you had feelings for the scribe, and for him to trample on all of that, it was all just too much, too miserable. kaveh wasn’t stopping there. “to think they were just offering assistance too. if you don’t want help, then say no, don’t lash out like a goddamn child!”  the blond was beyond worked up, you were such an important friend to him. “we know dealing with emotions isn’t your forte, but that was low, alhaitham. even for you.” kaveh finally finished his piece. sometimes the architect wondered with how alhaitham talked and how blunt he was, a hit to the face should’ve been something he’s used to getting—or at least the attempt to, since we all knew he wasn’t a weak guy.

alhaitham could only agree, it was all true what kaveh has said. “i know! i know i messed up really badly, that’s why allow me to be shameless and ask for your help. i really regret it,” the sword-wielder meekly said. kaveh relented slightly at the sincere words he spouted once in a blue moon. he relaxed back into the chair, realizing that he needed his head to be in the right place to get through this conversation. silence loomed over them once more.

“why were you so worked up everytime you talked to them anyway?” kaveh asked, his tone solemn. alhaitham seemed to be pondering for a moment, “i... don’t know,” he said slowly, his eyebrow twitched slighly in frustration, once again he was forced to remember how much of a jerk he was to you sometimes. kaveh too, wails with frustration at the response.

he’s hopeless, utterly hopeless!

however the scholar did not stop there, “i was always alone as you know, and i was fine with that. but ever since (y/n) came into my life, i realized that i started to look forward on days i would meet them, i started to find their company very comfortable and that unsettled me.” he finally got to say the truth out loud. “and that fear what was made me so adamant to reject it. i hated the idea that single person could turn my whole life upside down easily like that.”

alhaitham thought he was protecting himself, turns out that that did nothing except hurting you in the process. before lashing out on you, he’s been keen on perusing books he normally avoid, he’d spend his time reading what he thought was unusual titles, in hope that one of them could teach him about the overwhelming sensation he’s been experiencing ever since meeting you. yet none of them succeed. he was having a hard time understanding things that didn’t have reasoning behind it, that didn’t have clear method or formula that provides a precise and accurate solution. he realized he was at a place he wasn’t familiar with, a place where the line of logic is blurred.

how the hell was he supposed to understand it?

“alhaitham, just answer me this. do you like (y/n)?” kaveh asked. alhaitham was stunned for a moment, but surprisingly the answer came easy, but he did not want the blond the hear it for the first time. he wanted you to hear it, no, he needed you to hear it. that he liked you, so so much that literally, literally, he did not know what to do with himself. and that’s when a gear turned on the back of his mind. you needed to hear it. and alhaitham was going to make sure you hear it.

❀

just your luck. it’s just your luck out of all the signature of the people in akademiya, the higher-up told you that you needed alhaitham’s for your project.

just. your. luck.

you knocked on his office, that terrible day flashes on your mind for a second, but you quickly pushed that thought. it’s all gonna be okay, you’re here for pure business, exactly like the way he liked it.

“come in,” a voice replied at the knock. you took a deep breath and went in.

you could see alhaitham’s face was startled for a moment; a brief slip up for the usually emotionless man. but you couldn’t careless, as you set the document on his desk rather urgently. “i need your signature, no need to read through the document as it’s already pre-approved and just needed your agreement for it to proceed.”

alhaitham was quiet as he stalled, wishing to stare at you for that few additional seconds. you had bags under your eye—alhaitham almost reached his hand out to touch over them but he stopped himself. he should know his place.

as soon as the pen left the paper, you snatched it from his desk, and went to make your way out from the hellhole. alhaitham’s shoulder slumped, he knew you’re still mad at him, but to think you’re that bothered just to be in the same room as him. how was he supposed to get you to talk to him?

❀

“good morning, (y/n),”

that’s when it happened. alhaitham on your office with a cup of coffee on his hand first thing in the morning. your jaw dropped slightly, you couldn’t believe your eyes. he put the coffee on your desk. he didn’t react strongly at the lack of response as he didn’t expect you to welcome him. "what are you doing?” you asked, your tone was cold.

“just.. visiting you and thought that maybe you’d like coffee,” he said, even he wasn’t certain of his own words. wasn’t this the same man who had tear you apart just a week ago just because you cared for him? now he wanted to talk you pretending all of that crap didn’t happen?

you laughed loudly, yet it sounded sad. “you must think i’m a joke, alhaitham,” you stated, throwing away the coffee in front of you to the trash bin next to you. the scholar in front of you now looked a little timid, it’s almost pitiful. “no- of course not!” he frantically retorted, “then i’ll ask once again, what are you doing here?” you crossed your arm.

“i wanted to apologize for my actions,” he firmly said, his expression sincere.

oh, is this what’s it all about? it’s regret. something you don’t need, what you need is for him to realize that you wanted nothing to do with him anymore. nothing.

he looked restless as he await for your response, you couldn’t help but laugh a little. “why are you so nervous about, it’s not like you’re saying sorry to someone close to you or anything like that. anyways, apology accepted. anything else?”

at the stinging words his heart sunk, though his eyes widened at your response, “really?” that easy?

“yeah, now don’t come to this playground anymore, unless it’s strictly for business. good day,” you said, sitting back down getting back to your work. this is all new to alhaitham; feeling of wanting to jump out of the window. your harsh words, how easy it was for you to ignore you in a blink of an eye. and to think he did the same thing to you. no no, he did worse.

the difference is that your actions were justified, considering how much of an asshole he’s been to you. but him on the other hand, treated you just because he was a coward, not having the courage to face his own emotions.

alhaitham never thought he’d be envious of that specific trait of yours but right there as he stood in front of you, he wished that he understood all emotions in this world.

“please, please give me a chance to-“

“alhaitham, for someone as intelligent as you, there’s no way you didn’t understand what ‘strictly for business’ means, right?” you shot him down swiftly.

“just once. please. i won’t ask for anything anymore.” his voice was quiet, laced with utter desperation, that your conscience couldn’t help but respond to it. you were mad, but let’s not stoop to his level. you out of all people, was familiar with pain of being ignored by someone who you wanted to talk the most.

“you have one minute.” you finally relented.

“(y/n). i couldn’t be so shameless and ask you to forgive me, and while this may sound like a really bad excuse, i just wanted you to know that i didn’t mean any single word i said that time. as laughable as it was, i never wished for you to be hurt, especially on words that shouldn’t have meaning, words that i made up as a cowardly defense, words that had zero truth in them. i-i was scared that you changed my world so quickly that my initial reaction was to reject it, even though every time i met you i had nothing but pleasant warmth brimming in my chest. i’m sorry. i’m so sorry that you were hurt because of me.” it was all over the place, it may have missed a lot of points he had made on his head, but it was genuine. at this point with just this apology, alhaitham won’t be greedy and hoped his was accepted, he just wished that the wound on your heart that he had tore with his words would ease even just a little. because he truly, truly regret it.

you weren’t sure what to say, your eyes stopped at a window in the room.

“i.. don’t know what to say, alhaitham. all of this didn’t make the heartbreak i felt that day any less painful,” you mumbled, you could still remember it very vividly. “of course, that wasn’t my intention! i was stupid. i didn’t come here expecting you to welcome me with open arms, i just—very selfishly, realized now that i need you in my life, and i’m going to work very hard so you can at least tolerate that idea as well.” he was visibly stressed, his face filled with guilt. something you never thought he was capable of.

as much as you wanted to just push him away, you couldn’t ignore the emotional struggle he’s been having. you had no idea. though the reason excused nothing, you now had a better understanding of the man who’s standing right in front of you.

you sighed. “things are going to be very different, alhaitham. i sincerely hope you know that i’ll never come to you first again for anything ever. i never wanted to experience something like that again.” you said, setting out clear boundaries that what had happened in the past, was not going to happen for a second time. you’re going to make him work for it.

“i wouldn’t have it any other way. thank you so much (y/n), thank you,” alhaitham said, currently still feeling guilty because he knew the only reason he was getting a second chance was because your boundless kindness. he knew he didn’t deserve it, but he now was going to do everything in his power to accept him back into your life. which was something he did not expect to be easy, but he prefer it this way. he's beyond grateful that you had selflessly given him another chance to fight for you, and he's gonna fight like hell.

now alhaitham had hope. something he doesn’t really say out loud due to its nature being a bit childish, however at that time, he allowed himself to imagine a future with you, and how truly strange it was that the mere image of you being with him could make his stomach fluttered with pure joy.

alhaitham now understood very well that rationality did not work well with love.

and he’s okay with that.

-

more a/n: i love alhaitham but i wanna see him get punched once for the things he said hahaha..... that aside thank you all so so so so much for the interest on this fic that so many of you guys requested a part 2 :') i wanna say i had a blast writing this one. alhaitham is such an interesting character, especially regarding his relationship with emotions. once again thank you much and i'll be back with fluff soon so look out for that!!!

TAGLIST

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also should i make a general tag list??????

[lvlyghost]

pairings: simon riley x f!reader

summary: reader suffers from a chronic illness and ghost finds out.

wc: 1.1k

tw: chronic pain, chronic illness, slight angst i think, comfort. not edited and not proofread. that's it.

a/n: sorry y'all i'm struggling a lot with writer's block lately so i'm writing these silly little things to help me out of it so don't mind me!

By the moment Ghost enters his shared office he's frowning so hard that he fears it might leave a permanent mark on his forehead. The first day wasn't unusual as it was normal for soldiers, technicians and federal agents to come and go. Gaz is humming under his breath and greets him with a slight nod when he spots him but he barely returns the gesture. His desk is full of reports waiting to be filled some labeled 'Urgent' in big red letters.

Sitting down he manages to get done the first stack of papers but his mind was lost elsewhere barely paying attention to the work he never had trouble getting done in no time. Part of him wonders if Kyle will tease him if he asked about her. But better asking him than Johnny. As he leans back in his chair, fidgeting with the pen in his hands. Gaz barely pays attention, too enraptured by whatever he's watching on his own computer.

"Where's the girl?"

The Sergeant startles at the sudden sound of his deep voice. Hard and demanding.

"Sir?" He half chuckles when brown eyes meet each other.

"Have you seen her? She's supposed to report back to me and she hasn't." It was only half a truth. She did have to report to him every progress made for future missions, give him the intel so he can report to the Captain. The thing was, there were no missions taking place soon. No black ops, nothing. But Kyle didn't know that.

Gaz lifts his brows, trying to figure out who his Lieutenant was talking about, until it hits him.

"Oh." He murmurs. "The tech girl, Lt?" He shrugs. "Haven't seen her in a few days, have you tried calling her or you know... going to the women's barracks?"

Ghost scoffs as if the mere idea was ridiculous.

"No. Guess she'll show up."

She has to.

Standing up he exits the office under Gaz's questioning look. The hallways feel endless the more he walks to the tech wing, he knows if he passes down that specific hallway he'd be able to see through the glass that serves as walls if she's there or not.

Much to his already building annoyance she's not there.

-

Rolling onto your back you squeeze your eyes shut once more. An unyielding pain throbbing in the back of your skull shoots yet another wave of nausea making you feel more miserable than ever.

It's been two days since the whole ordeal started. It began with a subtle pain that couldn't recognize the symptoms at first, merely blinking away the black dors that started to blurred your vision one afternoon when you were trying to fill the reports for Ghost, pages and pages of new intel recovered from long lost contacts online.

Saying it was hard to dig in all those dark places was an understatement. You had tried to push the symptoms of uneasiness to the back of your mind, typing and decoding algorithms for what could be days. Days without sleep or proper and much needed rest.

So, when the first wave hit you had ran to the bathroom, throwing up what little you had eaten that day. Oh how you hated it. Tears prickle in the corner of your eyes and the terror began, everything went down hill from there.

Shutting the computer off you gathered your belongings. The corridors were in complete silence, abandoned hours ago when everyone went to their dorms.

You remembered picking up some of your things from the women's barracks and retreating to your personal dorm where no one would bother you. As a member of the task force you had a place for you alone —just as the rest of the team— and you're grateful because the next days were a nightmare.

The curtains were tightly closed. Not the tiniest bit of light could pass even if the sun burned brighter. The earplugs helped but they didn't do much to alleviate the external noises. Fuck why were the soldiers so loud? You asked to yourself, jaw tight in an effort to soothe the pulsing on your forehead.

After laying in the same position for another hour you decide to get up, dragging your feet in an enormous attempt to get to the bathroom. With the lights turned off you undress as quickly as you can; standing on your feet is hard enough already but you wait nonetheless for the bath to fill with cool water.

With numb extremities you step in and lower yourself, it's almost soothing and calming the way the water swallows your body and then your head. Ever since these headaches —these migraines— started to interfere, you learned that cool water could help to ease the symptoms. Time passes by and when you emerge your teeth chatter, lips turned purple but it was worth it. God was it worth it.

You're exhausted, this has taken a toll on you. Fitting your pajamas feels like an impossible task. Your head throbs with the slightest of movement. And then the door opens just a tad, reveling the dark shadow of the man you'd recognize anywhere.

"Ghost," you murmur acknowledging his presence, half shocked half embarrassed that he's right here in your bedroom. Your bathroom.

"Why is everything dark?" His voice is too loud and it makes you flinch; he's quick to notice even in the sheer darkness. He notices the whimper in your voice when he speaks too loud. He notices the way your body sags, and when he takes a step close you lean on him. Forehead pressing down on his broad chest. "Hey." He calls you, voice lowering this time. "Let me take you to the bed."

And you almost want to say something it. Make a comment about it being inappropriate but you're too sick to even do it so you let him guide you. You let him lay you down and surprises you when he follows.

Bodies curling against the other. You rest your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes so hard until the pain soothes. "You never told me about it."

"Never had the chance. Thought you hated me, remember?"

Ghost sighs. He had never intended for you to feel like that around him, he just wasn't accustomed to having such a nice person around him. You were so different from everything he knew.

"Forgive me, love." He mutters. "They're gonna start asking questions."

"What do you mean?" You grab him by the shirt when a sudden wave of nausea hits you. He caresses your hair in a calming manner.

"I asked Garrick about you." Before you can fight it a smile spreads on your face.

"Johnny..." you snort, regretting it the moment the laugh rattles in your brain. The Scot is about to have a field day when he finds out. "Ow..."

"Will never hear the end of it." His thumb presses down on your temple massaging the spot. "Better?"

"Yeah." There's a moment of brief silence where all you can hear is the sound of feet outside your dorm. People carrying on with their lives. "Would you stay with me tonight Lt.?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

[collecting-stories]

Strawberry Gazpacho - Carmen Berzatto

A/N: Some people asked for a part 2 of Blueberry BBQ, so I decided to stay on the fruit trend!

Summary: Reader and Carmy continue to bond over food.

The Bear Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

"What is this?" You asked, staring down at the bowl Carmy had placed on top of your papers. You were in the back office, trying to work on the week's payroll when he'd come in, told you that you needed a lunch break, and placed a plate down in front of you. 

"Try it," he urged, wringing his hands in his apron and looking like an eager little kid. 

"Carm-"

"Try it," he repeated and you obliged. Regardless of what it was you knew you would like it. Carmy made it, which immediately meant it couldn't be bad, but also, Carmy made it. For you, more specifically. You took the proffered spoon and dipped it into the bowl, surprised when you pressed it to your lips and found that it was, in fact, cold.

"Gazpacho?" You asked, after a second bite.

You had told him last night, while watching TV and letting him finish the tupperware of tofu feta that's you'd made the day before, that you hated gazpacho. You loved soup and tomato was your favorite; a nice, roasted red-pepper tomato, heavy on the garlic, that you'd perfected over the years. But no gazpacho. You couldn't get used to the fact that it was cold. 

"You like it?" He asked in a way that suggested he might genuinely be worried that you would tell him it was horrible.

"I mean, it's the best gazpacho I've ever had," you took another bite as proof, "it's spicy."

"But?"

You weren't sure if he was fishing for a compliment or trying to convert you onto a food you held in disdain but you assumed that if he wanted someone to tell him that he was a skilled chef he would've gone to Syd or Marcus with his cold soup.

"It's cold soup Carmy, I just can't fuck with cold soup." You replied, "it's good though."

He reached for the spoon in your hand and dipped it into the bowl, trying some of the gazpacho that he had made. He nodded his head, as if to confirm that it was good, as if he didn't already know it would be.

"Should I like, fall over at your feet and tell you that you've converted me to gazpacho and it's the only thing I'll ever order for the rest of my life?" You teased, leaning an elbow on the desk. It felt completely natural to be this relaxed with him and yet, just weeks earlier, you'd been fretting over the idea of having him come over for Sunday dinner. 

He handed the spoon back and you took another experimental taste.

"I mean, you're still eating it," he pointed out, grinning. 

In no world would Carmy say that he was 'good with people'. If he wasn't saying the wrong thing then he was saying nothing at all (and that was also wrong). He wanted to spend more time with you, the most time he could afford outside of The Beef but the only way he really knew how to spend time with anyone was cooking. So he kept cooking for you, things you liked, things you hated but liked when he made them. He kept trying to find the perfect thing to say and the perfect recipe to go along with it, as if that would remedy his inability to tell you that he wanted more from whatever this situation currently was. You weren't dating but he wanted to be dating but he wasn't exactly the dating type (as far as having an actual open schedule went). 

"Touche," you replied, taking another bite. "I can't decide if I'll regret telling you this or not but my mom has a recipe for strawberry gazpacho that apparently my grandma used to make every summer."

"Strawberry?"

"I can already see the gears turning in your head Carmy," you laughed. 

He looked down at you, piercing blue eyes taking your measure, "can you get me the recipe?"

"Are you gonna make me eat it?" You practically pouted. 

He nodded, "yes."

You groaned and leaned back in the office chair, "god, the things I do for you Carmy." You sighed. "I'll text my mom for the recipe...I can pick stuff up on my way home, if you want. Or if you're all gazpacho'ed out-"

"No, tonight works." He agreed.

Before you could say anything else Marcus was calling Carmy back to the kitchen. He wiped his hands on his apron once more and push himself off the desk. Before he could pick up the bowl you put your hand over his, "I might try another bite." 

There were other things that Carmy could probably be doing with his evening. Catching up on sleep, working on the recipes that he and Syd had been spitballing for the updated menu, mending whatever semblance of a relationship he still had with Sugar. Instead he was looking forward to going to your apartment (which was leagues nicer than his shitty place) and cooking. He'd lived so long on white bread and peanut butter and chips and soft drinks and anything quick that he'd forgotten what it was like to cook just because he enjoyed cooking. Hell, he'd forgotten that he enjoyed it. The only thing, lately, that really felt like it brought that enjoyment back was standing in your kitchen.

"Rigoletto has taken up residence on the island and he refuses to move so...we're down some counter space," you said as soon as you opened the door to Carmy, moving aside to let him into your apartment. 

He stopped at the island, leaning over to pet Rigoletto, who half-heartedly rolled onto his side to give Carmy better access to his stomach. "Hey chef," he teased. He turned to look at you, still stroking the cat as he did, "strawberry gazpacho?" 

"I would just like to disclaimer that I don't think strawberries are going to improve my deep-seated hatred of gazpacho but-"

"I mean, you did eat most of the one I made earlier," Carmy pointed out as your mouth fell open in surprise. 

"Angel! What a snitch!" You laughed, "I can't believe he told you."

"Hey, it's my kitchen, I've gotta know what's going on." He followed you around the other side of the island, grabbing the notebook you had sitting on the counter and scanning over the recipe. You'd called your mom on the way home and asked for a copy of the recipe, which she'd gladly texted ("does this have something to do with that cute chef where you work?"). You'd picked up whatever ingredients you didn't already have at your house and set everything out for Carmy before he'd even gotten there. You felt a little silly, being so excited just to have him come over and cook with you (for you) when there was no real definition to what your relationship was. 

"Did you cook growing up? Like with your mom and stuff?" You asked, stealing a strawberry out of the plastic container. 

"No," Carmy shook his head, then amended his answer, "not really. My ma always told us to help but if we did she yelled at us for doing something the wrong way...it was better to just stay outta her way when she was in the kitchen. You?"

"Oh yeah, my mom's not like...the best chef in the world or anything but she loved trying new stuff. Anything we wanted we could ask for and she'd try to make it. And then as we got older we would have like, nights where one of us got to cook." You replied, "I like it but...I don't think I'm good at it."

"You are...I mean....not like, you've got potential." Carmy explained, blue eyes glancing up to meet you across the island and you smiled. 

"Thank you chef."

You left Carmy to the strawberry gazpacho and the chicken he'd brought over to make some dish you'd never heard of before while you got Rigoletto's dinner out. The cat had finally moved off the island and you sprayed it down with cleaner to at least give yourself a better chance of not picking white cat hair off your dinner plate. 

Carmy fit right into your kitchen, probably the whole apartment for that matter. It was something both of you had thought, more than once, but neither of you said anything about. He felt like he was waiting for something bad to come from all the good you had been supplying in his life recently. Bad news always felt like it was lurking around the corner for him, especially these days, and he didn't want to put everything in one basket. But being in your kitchen, in your space, felt good. It felt like he was supposed to be there. 

"Did you know," you were saying as you came back into the kitchen, leaning near him to look at the chicken he was searing on the stovetop, "that I didn't know what mortadella was before I started working at the Beef?" 

Carmy turned his head to watch you fish a piece of garlic out of the skillet and eat it whole, "Did you just?"

"It was cooked."

"It was a whole clove of garlic."

"I love garlic," you shrugged, dropping the fork in the sink, "but seriously, I had to google it cause I didn't know what Richie was talking about when he was trying to explain it."

"It's very Italian." Carmy replied. 

"You're very Italian." You grinned and he rolled his eyes.

"I am, yeah." And then, "I still can't believe you ate that."

"You act like you've never eaten garlic before."

"Not just shoved a whole clove in my mouth." He replied. 

"It tasted good." You shrugged, "I always use too much garlic. Like if a recipe says three cloves I use six."

"Yeah that's why I said you had potential." 

"Well now I just feel like that's your 'I don't wanna hurt your feelings' way of saying I'm actually shit at cooking." You replied. 

"Nah, if you were shit I'd tell you."

"Yeah but then who'd balance the books for you?" You teased, searching in the cabinet under the island for wine, "red or white?"

"Uh...white for this." Carmy replied.

You pushed the bottle of red you were holding back into the cabinet and went to the fridge, pulling out the Chardonnay you'd bought last week. You grabbed two glasses from the cabinet, handing him one once it was poured. 

"Is this the 'only white you'll drink' wine?" He asked, taking a sip. 

The last time he had come over to cook with you (for you) there had been a long discussion about different wines in which you'd explained that there was only one type of white that you liked. More accurately, one brand that made a chardonnay you didn't completely hate. 

"Yeah...they finally restocked!" You exclaimed, leaning against the counter, "the woman at the Wine and Spirits definitely thinks I'm an alcoholic though...I bought like, four bottles." 

Carmy shook his head, reaching a hand out for the bottle and splashing a little into the pan when you handed it to him. Kitchens were crowded and Carmy was more than used to working in an environment where people were constantly at each other's side or back or space but something about having you leaning there against the counter beside him was both extremely nerve-wracking and extremely comforting. 

He didn't say anything about it though, at least not until after you'd eaten dinner and were sitting on the couch avoiding the dishes. Then he blurted it out while you watched reruns of Murder, She Wrote with Rigoletto. "I always thought I would do stuff like this when I was younger."

"Watch 80's tv shows on a Tuesday night?" You asked.

"No," he laughed, "Just like...I don't know....you know, make dinner with someone. Or, I guess, not feel like my entire life was in a restaurant all the time."

"Well I'll always be happy to make dinner with you...or at least supply the wine while you make dinner." You replied, grinning at him.

"Yeah," he nodded his head slowly, as if convincing himself that what you were saying was true. 

"Yeah," you agreed.

[the0racl30fd3lphi]

More than friends, less than lovers. x.t

pairing: xavier thorpe x gn!reader

summary: the whole hyde ordeal has faded slowly in the background as life carried on, the student body ready to grasp onto some new drama. luckily for them, a love triangle is exactly what they needed to fuel the gossip.

warnings: fluff, angst, love triangle (kinda)

a/n: y'all this idea literally came to me at 4 in the morning so please bear with me (as i also wrote it at the ass crack of dawn) i am so obsessed with percy and xavier and wanted to write this desperately, he is all i can think about.

word count: 1,727

part 2 part 3

——————————————————————————

You hated this. This, stage, between what you were and what you could be. Xavier was your best friend. He always had been, truth be told. Yet as soon as he broke up with Bianca your relationship had a shift. Suddenly somethings had a deeper connotation, a hidden meaning. You didn’t hate it. In fact, this was exactly what you had been waiting for for years. Until She came along.

You didn’t hate Wednesday, unfortunately. She had done nothing to spark your anger. It wasn’t like she was purposely making Xavier adore her. It looked like she would rather be without it, being honest. But did it annoy the hell out of you that he was so enamored with her so quickly, when she did nothing to give the idea that she would reciprocate? And yet he seemed to not want to give up on her? While simultaneously leading you on, making you believe you might have a romantic future with him? And being oblivious to the pain it caused? It was the only thing you ever thought about.

Genuinely, you wondered how he could still be so obsessed with her to buy her a phone, after she wrongfully got him imprisoned. If that wasn’t a walking red flag you didn’t know what was.

You and Xavier had stayed close throughout this internal turmoil you went through. It hurt like a bitch, but you’d be damned if you lost him over a girl he liked. Suppressing your feelings wasn’t anything you were stranger to, there were other ways to get out your thoughts.

Something you did often, that you’d never tell him was how frequently you abused mimicking his ability. At first he had found it interesting and expressed he had no problem with you copying his habits. But if he knew what you used it for he’d probably be mad.

Each night, after leaving his dorm and sneaking back into yours, you drew a photo from that day. What he looked like when he smiled. How he laughed. Taking into extreme detail his face, scrunched, while watching a show together. Though you weren’t really watching the show so much as watching him.

You kept these drawings in a box, under your bed, all the way in the back. It was hidden enough to never be seen or touched by anyone. So you used the late Rowan’s telekinesis ability to bring it out and put it back. Was this a healthy coping mechanism? Oh not at all, seeing as some drawings that originated from the latest of nights and most intimate moments, would have made Wednesday blush. Of course it's all innocent, right up until you put it down on paper.

"Drawing lover boy again?" Your best friend Val, barked at you from across the room.

"Lover boy? That's a new one," you softly put the new drawing of him in the box, and back under your bed in the furthest corner. "Not such an accurate name this time, you're losing your touch my friend."

"Well you wish it was, so close enough in my book," She shrugs and jumps onto your bed.

"Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades," you pull your laptop on your lap, and press play on your favorite show to watch together.

"You sound like your father," She gags and you playfully slap her arm before shushing her and cuddling into her side.

——————————————————————————

It was lunch the next day, you had a free period the class before so you were waiting for Xavier to show up at your usual bench in the quad. He was taking a little bit longer than normal so you started early on your homework.

"If it isn't Xavier's little girl," she paused. "friend."

"Bye Bianca," you waved and put the volume up on your phone.

“Where is he this time? With Wednesday maybe?" she crossed her arms and smiled maliciously. "It's already started!" She laughed.

You tried to mind your business, she only ever wants to cause problems and you know this. "What's started?" you kept your eyes on your work, putting the volume lower to hear her better.

“He's bored of you. Just like when he got bored of me and you two got closer? He's onto Wednesday now, and done with you." She raised her eyebrows and put on an innocent doe-eyed look. "Well, anyway, have a good lunch!"

She walked away and went back to her friends. You didn't want to believe it. Would Xavier really replace you with Wednesday? He couldn't, he wouldn't. Even when he was dating Bianca, sure you hung out less, but you were still in his life. She was just trying to get in your head right?

“Sorry I'm late, got a little held up in class," He put his stuff down next to him and grabbed some food from the lunch you packed for the two of you. Cooking had become a stress habit for you, so nightly you sneak into the kitchens and prepare something for the next day.

“What kept you?" You put your stuff in your bag and grabbed a snack from the pile.

"Class, I said that didn't I?" He talked through a mouthful of food.

“Yeah but, what kept you? The teacher? Extra work?” you tried to press while eating your half of the lunch.

“Uh, just some extra credit work, wanna bring my grade up you know?” His answer was strained, and his eyes looked anywhere but at yours. So you followed his gaze, to Wednesday.

“Yeah, for sure,” You mumbled and went back to eating. Even if you wanted to escape him for another hour, to try and calm the thoughts in your head, you couldn’t. You two had the same class next period and you always walked together.

——————————————————————————

The day felt strained, any conversation with Xavier fell off track and eventually died out too soon. It’d been too long since this pattern started. Ever since she came to Nevermore, things slowly got worse between you two. You weren’t as close as before and it killed you.

So like every night, afraid to break habit, you snuck out of Xavier’s dorm to hang out. Right before you were going to knock on the door you heard two hushed voices in the room.

“You can’t keep doing this Xavier, you’re hurting her.” a voice pressed him for answers, sounding upset.

“We’re fine, Ajax.” Xavier fought back, offended anyone would accuse him of doing anything to hurt you.

“How dense are you that everyone can see it, but you?” Ajax stressed the end of his sentence still trying to be quiet.

“See what!” Xavier was getting increasingly agitated.

Your grip on the handle faltered and it wiggled just loud enough for both boys to notice it. Suddenly the door was opening and you smiled sheepishly at Xavier, “Hi.”

“I’m gonna leave,” Ajax looked between the both of you and you moved out of the way for him to exit. He sent one last glance Xavier’s way before he closed the door and went back to his dorm.

“Sorry, did i interrupt anything?” You apologized, still feeling the tense air.

“No,” He ran a hand through his hair in the same manor that always drove you crazy. “Nothing important.”

And just as quick as your conversation, Xavier went to sketching as you made yourself comfortable in his bed with your book. How quickly he could make your heart speed up and then break it felt like a world record now.

——————————————————————————

It’s been two weeks now since you accidentally overheard Xavier’s conversation with Ajax that night. Things hadn’t changed between you two, and you can’t figure out if that’s a good thing or not yet. Val had been pushing you to just confront him about your feelings. She knew letting them simmer inside was doing no one any good.

So on a night similar to that one fateful evening, you mustered up the courage to finally ask him what you meant to each other.

“Hey Xavi,” you asked, leaning slightly to the side now as he turned around from the mural he was painting on his wall to look at you. “What do I mean to you?”

He seemed to freeze, face tinting slightly rosier, whether it was blush or anger you didn’t know yet.

“What do you mean?” He dipped his brush in the cup he used to clean them, going right back to his art. It made you study his face, his posture, before continuing your question.

“I mean, I know what you mean to me. I know what i feel for you,” you felt emboldened by seeing him try and play off his nervousness watching him tense and straighten his back. “But I don’t know what I am to you.”

He paused and blinked, it looked like he was going to say something but he made no move to speak. After two minuets he finally opened his mouth, “Where is this coming from? You’re my best friend, you’re.. I..” He trailed off.

“But it’s more than that. More than friends,” he flushed pink, taking in a large gulp. “But less than lovers.” His grip turned white on the brush as he slumped slightly. Still he made no move to speak, so you turned away and went to collect your things. Nothing was said between you two as you packed up what you brought and slung your bag over your shoulder.

As you slipped out the door and into the shadows, mimicking a poltergeist you had once seen and turning yourself almost completely invisible. No one could even hear you breath and you floated through the halls back your dorm.

And in the faint night hair, before you left the wing his dorm was in, you could’ve sworn you heard him call your name and try to get your attention. But it was futile as you just sped up and got back to your dorm quicker.

Val said nothing as you slumped into your bed, rolling your stuff off the side and curling up with a blanket in your arms. She must’ve been able to infer what happened, and she climbed in next to you to hold you as you silently wept. Not even a shake ran through you as the tears fell. No one could hear the sound of your heart shattering that night.

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part nine

summary: may the odds be ever in your favour.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.6k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: this is the teaaaa guys,, also should i post the playlist tn?? i feel like its almost ready 0.0

series masterlist // playlist

"You should go home. You can't save her by just hoping she comes out of her little tunnels again..." Coryo turns his head at the Dean's voice on his left. "She could be dead in there. You wouldn't know."

Your friend sighs, rolling his eyes and redirecting them to the screen ahead. Just in case.

"What are you reading?" He points to the open book on Coryo's desk in front of him as the boy quickly closes it, pulling it down onto his lap.

"Just a book." He mumbles.

The Dean gets closer, leaning over to read the cover as Coryo flips it over. "Just a book?" He probes it more, raising an eyebrow at him. "The very same one your poet was reading in all the live feeds of the zoo over the last few days. That's sweet."

"It's interesting. That's all. She asked for it, I wanted to know why." Coryo brushes it off, holding the paper tighter in his grip.

"What do you want from that girl?" He asks, leaning against the empty desk next to him.

"Nothing." Coryo insists. "I want her to live."

Dean Highbottom hums, giving a slight nod. "And the Plinth Prize would be a happy coincidence, I suppose."

Coriolanus smiles bitterly, thinking over what his best response would be. "I believe I'd be entitled to it."

"Of course you do." The Dean nods, flashing him a fake smile of encouragement. "Of course you do. The prize, the girl. Hm. How convenient you don't have to choose between them."

Coryo tucks the book under his leg at the statement, choosing not to grace his superior with any kind of response.

"Who do you think makes that final decision for the prize you so covet, Mister Snow? Wake up. Even if she somehow wins it all, I will do everything in my power to ensure that you don't see a dime." Dean Highbottom spits, looking up at the screen as well as Coryo slowly looks over at him. "So, ask yourself, how much do you care if she wins now?"

Coryo listens to the man's footsteps as he walks away, pretending to focus on the screen again. If he truly had no shot at the prize, would it be best for him to go home now and sleep like many of his classmates already had? Should he even bother to watch the cameras hoping that you'll reappear in the dark arena at some point tonight? Should he even come back? Of course he would. He couldn't live with the idea of you coming out, in desperate need of something only he could give you, food or water, and knowing that at some point you would realize he had lied to you. That he wasn't with you anymore. He would have to watch your heartbreak in holiday reruns for the rest of his life. Even if you died in that arena all alone, would you realize that he didn't care about you at the end? He couldn't take the idea of it.

As he returns to the book that he's pulled back onto his lap, he hopes you still remember.

It's another slow hour before you show your face again, slowly, carefully opening the vent across the arena as the motion cameras pick up on it, allowing Coryo to watch the closest one to you. It's a moment before he looks up, entranced in your book when he sees the movement in his peripheral vision. He was the only one there, now, and he knew it likely wasn't you that the cameras picked up so it took him a moment to even tear his eyes away from the desk, slotting the dried-up flower between the pages. When he does see it's you, he sits up quickly. Watching, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it didn't come, there was no one else. It's just you.

Your eyes scan the arena in search of the nearest camera after seeing that there are no other tributes out in the clearing besides Lamina, where you left her on the beam. You crawl out, leaving the vent open behind you for a quick retreat. You find the camera, looking into it. You were covered in dirt head to toe, but even through that Coryo could see it when you tried to communicate with your gaze. With him.

You give a small wave to the camera, eyes flitting up with the sound of birds in the crumbled rafters above you.

He wasn't sure what you wanted, but he was grateful you listened. Tapping through his communicuff, he quickly finds water and hits send. Hopefully, it makes it to you instead of breaking like Lamina's did.

You stand up in front of the vent, stretching out your limbs from being curled up and crawling around in the vent system for so long. You wanted to explore as much of it as you could, but it was hot in there, and you desperately needed water so you could clear out the dust in your throat.

A smile falls onto your face briefly as you see the drone come in, carrying your water bottle. Coryo. He is watching. You hold your hand out, prepared to try and catch it before it crashes loudly into the stands just behind you. From watching what happened with Lamina's, you know you have to be careful. The blades aren't well covered, and they come flying in fast. Straight toward you. When it gets too close you bail, ducking down as the fast-moving drone flies straight past you and into the vent. You cringe at the loud banging that follows, echoing throughout the arena due to your beloved vent system. You stay hidden for a moment, making sure no one is coming after you before standing up and looking around. Satisfied that no one was coming besides Lamina who just stirred on her beam, you held your finger up toward the camera, signaling for Coryo to wait as you crawled back in.

He chews on the inside of his cheek as he waits, relieved when you emerge a minute or so later with an unbroken bottle in your hand as you kneel on the ground in front of the opening. You hold it up, shooting the camera a small smile before opening it and taking a sip. Or, you intended to, but you were so thirsty you downed almost the whole thing in one go.

You wipe your chin, take a deep breath, and close your eyes. It felt so good. Coryo is watching you intently. You don't look cold, which is good. Maybe even a little sweaty, if the hair that's clinging to your forehead is proof of that. You're probably hungry. And with that, he's sending you an apple. If you weren't hungry, it wasn't a lot to eat, but if you were, he would be able to tell by how you ate it.

You hear the distant whir of another drone, quickly standing up and stepping away from the vent. You want to avoid that loud echoing as much as you can. You brace yourself and duck beneath the seat in front of you, hiding behind the railing so it wouldn't hit you.

It crashes into the front of the stands, and you can hear it falling down onto the floor. You stand up slowly, looking over the edge. You were so hungry, now that you saw the apple there, that you hopped down over the side and walked along the edge of the railing before sliding down where it was safest. You watch your steps as you make your way over to the broken drone and the battered apple that was attached to it.

You scan the ground, looking for that delicious flash of red which you pick out quickly. You pick it up and wipe it off on your dress, taking a bite before you're even fully stood up again. You could moan just at the taste of it. You had missed fruit so much- occasionally Coryo and Sejanus had brought you some in the zoo, but now it was something else entirely. Every bite could be your last, and you try to enjoy it as best you can.

You track the arena again from the floor, looking around again for the nearest camera. You turn when you see it's pretty much directly above your head. You wave again, giving Coryo a grateful smile, weakened by the stress of the day's events, and by your inevitable death. Nevertheless, you tried to keep on a brave face; you didn't want him to view you as careless or ungrateful. "Thank you." You say, unsure if there is even a microphone.

You tilt your head at the camera, confusing him as you squint. "Can you hear me?" You ask and he nods, alone in the large room.

"I can hear you." He whispers back to the open air, watching as you swiftly turn around, facing away from the camera.

"If you can hear me, send..." You think about it. What is something they would definitely have available but obscure enough that you would know he heard you? "Send in something odd. Something you're surprised is even an option."

He flicks through the pages and pages of options, unsure what to pick. Bread was too basic, no apples, water, no. Milk? That's weird, and gross. It's perfect. He hits send and watches as you eat your apple, looking up at the opening at the top waiting for something else to come.

You smile as you see it coming in, looking back at the camera briefly before bracing yourself to dodge the flying gift. You wait until the last second, jumping out of the way as it smashes into the wall behind you, the bottle shattering and spraying the surface in milk. Coryo cringes just at the sight of it as you turn and look.

You scrunch up your nose and get closer, running your finger through the dripping liquid to try and identify it. "Milk?" You ask, looking up at the camera.

He smiles to match yours as it grows on your face and you start to laugh quietly. "That is odd, indeed." You giggle, shaking your head. "Well, thank you, dear Coryo. At least I shall have someone to talk to." You take another bite out of the apple in your hand.

"I hope you had a good day." You hum, covering your mouth as you chew. "But you should be getting home soon. I think it is late."

It's so you to be so caring, even finding yourself within the games you're still worried about him. He smiles to himself, shaking his head. He continues to click through the communicuff in the silence that follows, just to get a better idea of all your options, when he finds something better.

Finally, the keyboard makes sense. He quickly types the note out to you and hits send. It's pricey to send a note, putting a dent in your donations, but you had so many it wasn't really a concern at this point. After all, he was your mentor. It only made sense that he would kind of be able to communicate with you.

You perk your head up at the sound of another drone, ready to play this game again. You dodge it more smoothly this time, with a spin that puts a smile on your mentor's face before picking up the small container clipped on the bottom of the drone and prying it open.

You smile when you see it's just a piece of paper. "I'm not leaving. -C"  You read, looking up at the camera.

"Well then," You grin. "Let's talk! It is not day."

He remembers that one. You've said that one to him before- you said it was Romeo and Juliet. He's actually sure he just read it. If the book belonged to him, he would be highlighting and annotating every line you have recited to him over the last couple weeks just like he does in his textbooks.

"That's Romeo and Juliet, if you remember." You remind him, assuming that he wouldn't know it yet. Even if he had started reading it, which he shouldn't have considering you know he's been busy, it was unlikely he'd get that far in under a day. You didn't know that he was inhaling every word on the page in the moments you were off-screen, devouring every blank verse as if it were sacred. To you, and now to him, it almost was. 

You look around as you chew on your apple, stopping when you look at Marcus again. You sigh, sadly, seeing the birds now crowding his body as you quickly begin to make your way over. Lamina sits up as you approach, looking over the edge of the beam. "Just me." You whisper, reassuring her before you shoo the birds away as she lays back down.

You crouch down next to the boy, gently rolling him onto his back. You hadn't the chance earlier, too rushed by the daylight to get back into hiding, but now was as good a time as any. You gently cross his arms over his chest and close his eyes.

You sit back, carefully adjusting his clothes before getting up, as satisfied as you could be with the makeshift burial.

You take a few steps back, retreating quietly to the edge of the arena to get back to your vent. You climb up into the stands just as you hear another drone coming, quickly climbing the stairs so it doesn't fall back down into the ring. You grab it when it's settled, smiling to yourself when you see it's another note.

"No cameras in the vents. Only come out if you need anything. -C"

"Thank you, Coryo." You whisper, looking up at the camera and nodding before retreating inside, closing the fan quietly behind you.

You curl up just past the entrance to the vent, hoping to get some sleep near the fresh air. The exhaustion kicks in quickly after you eat the entire core of the apple, knocking you out in the darkness of the tunnel.

When you wake, it's still dark. You sit up quickly, realizing where you are. Rubbing your eyes, you look out of the vent to see the source of the sound that woke you. You quickly spot a figure kneeling over Marcus's body, blinking to try and see who it is through the sleep still in your eyes.

You should stay hidden, you know that, but from behind at least, it doesn't look like another tribute.

"Sejanus?" You whisper, the vast space carrying your voice to his ears and he quickly turns. You were lucky it was him, but you were able to make a quick escape if it turned out to be someone else. "Sejanus, it's just me." You continue, and as you ease yourself down the debris piled up against the wall he just turns back to Marcus.

You take careful, nearly silent steps as you walk up behind him. "Sejanus?" You say again, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He shakes his head slightly, looking up at you. Tears filled his eyes and stained his cheeks, and you very quickly felt the tears building up in your own eyes as well. "Oh..." You quickly kneel down next to him, pulling him into a hug which he gratefully accepts. "Oh, Sejanus I'm so sorry... I wanted to save him, I did..." You choke on every word as you apologize.

"It's not fair." He sniffs, shaking his head gently under your grip as you soothingly rub the back of his head.

"I know... He didn't deserve that." You agree, ignoring the tears dripping down to your jaw and tickling your skin. "But I want you to know I told him how loved he is, and how sorry we all are. He knew. In his final moments, he knew..."

He tenses under your hold. "It... it was you?" He mutters, pulling away.

"No! No, I-" You quickly defend yourself, head shaking as your arms drop from around him and he looks over at you, understated anger beginning to shine through. "Sejanus, I didn't..."

Any trust he had in you was seemingly gone at that moment. You were worried you flipped a switch you couldn't unturn, that any relationship you had built with the boy had died and been replaced with the thought that maybe you were no better than the game makers themselves. Marcus was defenseless, and it felt like Sejanus thought you took advantage of that.

Your thought process proved to be correct. "He was defenseless! Innocent!" You could tell he would shout if you weren't both so worried about staying quiet. His anger quickly reverted back to hurt. "How could you?"

"I promise, it's not what it sounds like-" You try to correct him, to get him to forgive you as your chest constricts around your lungs. One of the two friends you made in your final days; gone. Just like that.

"Hey!" Another voice startles the both of you, already just a few feet away. You didn't realize how vulnerable you were while you were fighting to prove yourself. You scramble to get up, standing just in front of Sejanus as he knelt on the ground, making no attempts to move. "Y/N. Get out of here." Coryo instructs you, still in his academy uniform.

"Coryo, I-"

"Go hide. Now. It's not safe for you out here." He insists, eyes cold and serious.

"No, not until-"

"I said go. I can't be talking to you, we'll both be punished. Go."

God, he wanted to talk to you. He wanted to do more than talk to you. He wanted to hug you for the first time unimpeded, to grab your hand and pull you outside to where you would be safe, but he knew that neither was an option. You're safer in the vent than you would be in the hands of Dr. Gaul after he was seen talking to you, that's for sure.

He has to bite his tongue to keep from asking you to stay while you scurry off to do as he said and climb back into the vent, his mother's scarf still tied securely around your waist. He hated that this could possibly be the last time you saw him, but he had no choice.

"Sejanus, let's go." He whispers to his friend, once he is satisfied that you are really going.

"She killed him..." He mumbles in response.

"She didn't kill him." Coryo quickly corrects him.

"She said-"

"He begged for their help, and she held his hand while she," He points up the beam where a now sleeping Lamina lay quietly, "did it. Now let's get out of here."

He urges him on and Sejanus looks up at him. "He asked them to." Coryo hisses to iterate his point. "Y/N couldn't do it even then."

Sejanus looks up to the vent just as the door creaks closed behind you. "I just wanted to help..." He says softly, eyes watering.

"If you want to help, the best thing you can do is come with me."

"No, I had to be where the cameras are, I need to show them-"

"Do you think anyone is watching this?" Coryo asks as his friend finally stands up. He was making progress, but slowly. This needed to move faster. "Gaul cut the feed. Come with me now, or-"

"But you said-"

"You can't help them if you die in here and become another body in Gaul's war." Coryo cuts him off. There was very little time for arguments, and that timer was rapidly ticking down. "Go home, spend your father's money, do some real good. And don't blame her. She's just as innocent as Marcus was and you know that. Who do you think shut his eyes? Posed him like that? She sobbed for an entire hour after holding his hand while he died!"

Sejanus is speechless, staring down at his tribute's body.

"I watched it all! She's alone in here. She has no one!" He whispers in his ear. "We are all she has. Me and you on the outside, and if you want to help that girl and all the tributes after her, we have to go right now or neither of us will see the light of day again and she will starve and die truly alone. Please, Sejanus. You're her friend... My friend. Come with me."

Sejanus looks at him, the two boys just inches apart as he nods with a resigning sigh. "Okay." He whispers.

Coryo sighs in relief. "Thank you, come-" He starts to turn back when they both are scared by the sound of footsteps sprinting toward them. "Come on!" He shouts, grabbing his classmate's sleeve and dragging him behind as they make for the red lighting of the exit.

You watch from the slits in the fan, hands perched on the blade as you lean against it to get a better view. Your heart is racing as you watch Coryo and Sejanus book it for the exit. God, you hope they make it.

They almost do.

Until Sejanus trips over the turnstile you know and hate, crying out in pain upon hitting the ground. Immediately, you're pushing the door open loudly and running along the railing, hoping to get closer to the exit without running the risk of cutting through the middle of the arena. "Coryo! Run!" You yell helplessly, careless of whether or not you'll be heard or seen by others. All you wanted was to create a distraction. To save him.

But he doesn't run, even as you see him stumble back in the red lighting of the tunnel, hissing when Bobbin's blade strikes him somewhere. "Coryo!" You cry out again, more out of fear. Was it serious? Was he already in the process of bleeding out?

You quickly hop the railing abandoning your safety, sliding down the concrete and stumbling upon hitting the ground. "I don't want to hurt you!" You hear his voice again as you run into full view of the tunnel, still about twenty feet away.

Just in time to see Bobbin fall back between the metal gate, landing a good ways away.

"Enjoy the show!"

You flinch when your friend steps out after him, chest rising and falling heavily as he stares down at the boy's body. Silent, unmoving, dead.

Then he brings the club down on him again.

[ohmyamor]

Convenience Store Chances | J.YH

Pairing: ExBoyfriend!Yunho x reader (fem implied but not explicit)

Summary: It’s the typical story of right person, wrong time. But maybe an unfortunate situation might turn the wrong time into the right time.

w.c. 2.5k

Warnings: creepy man, cursing, being followed, comfort, fluff

a/n: good ole’ mutual pining and second chance trope. also, this picture of Yunho is too good, I had to use it. 

It was close to one in the morning when your stomach’s hunger pains rudely wake you up from your sleep. Rubbing your hand over your eyes, you tried to remember what was the last thing you ate, and when. 

Oh, that’s right, you think to yourself. You knocked out around six in the evening without having eaten anything after finally submitting a 20 page paper that your professor had so rudely assigned. Then again, maybe it wouldn’t have been that bad if you had started it when she first assigned the paper rather than leaving it for the last minute, as usual. 

Nonetheless, you were now wide awake and hungry. Making your way to your humble kitchen, you opened the fridge to find a very sad sight. Staring back at you almost mockingly was a half empty milk carton, two energy drinks you’re surprised weren’t finished, and a bottle of ketchup. 

You sigh, Maybe I can just get some cereal. 

Which wouldn’t have been a bad idea, had there actually been any cereal in your cabinet. 

Groaning, you rub your hands over your face. “7/11 run it is”, you mutter out loud, grabbing your wallet and keys from the dining table before heading out. 

-

You realize quite quickly that walking out of your apartment on a late night ramen adventure is not such great idea when it’s so cold you feel like your hands might actually freeze off and you have nothing protecting you, save for a thin zip-up sweater your friend left at your place. 

You cross your arms tightly over your front, hiding your hands in your armpits in the hopes that they won’t actually freeze off. 

Luckily, the 7/11 close to your apartment is only a few blocks away, and considering you’ve already walked two blocks, you know the store will be coming up shortly. The perks of living in a city with a lot of students- everything is within walking distance, for the most part.

Looking up, you admire the way the full moon shines down brightly. You’ve been cooped up in your apartment for far too long, drowning in assignments and only ever leaving the building when you needed to go to work. Still, your past few weeks have been filled with nothing but early mornings and late nights in an attempt to juggle everything the universe was throwing your way, leaving little to no time to enjoy some down time. 

Lost in your thoughts, you almost fail to notice the sound of footsteps behind you had it not been for the loud cracking of a branch. Tensing, you feel a shiver run up your spine, but this time, it’s not from the cold.

Straining your ears, you’re able to confirm that there are in fact footsteps not too far behind you. 

It’s okay, you think. Maybe someone else is just doing a late night ramen run as well. 

But the heavy feeling in your gut tells you that this is not the case. 

Picking up your pace a little bit and hearing the person behind you speed up as well, you take the opportunity to use the reflective windows of the building you’re passing to catch a glimpse of the person following you. 

Your heart drops when you see that it’s a man wearing dark clothes, hood thrown over his face and hands hidden in his pockets. 

Carefully fishing out your phone from your pocket, you immediately open your contacts to see if there’s anyone you can call for help. In your other hand, you grip your keys incredibly tight, desperate to cling onto any possible weapon you might have. 

Your finger scrolls fast through your contacts, everyone you find living way too far to come to your rescue or even reach you in time. Your hands begin to get clammy, the sinking realization that you might actually be alone tonight weighing down on you. 

Suddenly, a familiar name pops up. 

Yunho

You hesitate, finger hovering over his contact. In the distance, you can see the bright lights of the convenience store lighting up the street, but you still have a block to go. 

Even if you call him, he might not even pick up, your brain argues. He probably deleted your number and moved on like any other good ex would do. It’s been six months.

Six months. 

It had been six months since your and Yunho’s breakup. It was not messy by any means, the two of you coming to the mutual agreement that it would be best to go your separate ways. Between your classes and work schedule, and Yunho’s own work trying to get his dance studio up and running, you guys only saw each other once, maybe twice during a good week. It was just better for the both of you to separate and focus on your own responsibilities. 

A heartbreaking case of right person, wrong time. 

Even though it had been half a year since you two separated, you couldn’t bring yourself to delete his contact. Yunho had been the best boyfriend you could have ever asked for, even despite the limited relationship experience you had. He was funny, kind, understanding beyond belief, and he believed in you when even you didn’t have faith in yourself. 

Staring at his name, you eventually decide fuck it. He’s the only person you think might even have a small chance of helping you out. 

Pressing the dial button, you bring the phone up to your ear and rush the last few steps it takes to stand in front of the 7/11. Practically throwing yourself through the doors, you make a straight line to the very back of the store where you hope you can hide from the man long enough for either Yunho to answer, or the man to leave. 

Crouching slightly and hiding yourself behind the shelves, you chew your lip nervously. 

Ring 

Ring

The bell above the front door rings, making your stomach twist anxiously because you know the man is in the store now. 

Ri-

“Hello?” a deep voice answers. It seems Yunho was asleep and you’ve woke him up.

“Yunho?” you reply, voice shaky but relieved. 

“What? (Y/n)?” he replies, sounding confused and slightly disoriented. “Is everything okay? Why are you calling me at-” he cuts himself off before speaking once again. “One in the morning?”. 

“Yunho,” you start, glancing nervously at the man who is making his way up and down the aisles. “I came to the 7/11 by my place because I wanted ramen and there’s a man following me. He’s been following me for the past couple of blocks and now he’s in the store with me.” 

“I’m scared and I didn’t know who to call,” you admit into the phone. 

You hear rustling on the other end. 

“Stay right there,” Yunho demands. “You said the 7/11 by your apartment right? I’m on my way right now, stay inside and stay as far away from the man as possible.” 

You make a noise of confirmation, shakily grabbing some snacks to make yourself seem less suspicious. 

“Stay on the phone with me,” he continues. “Tell me about your day. Why are you going to the convenience store alone at one in the morning anyways?”

You let out a small laugh. Yunho always did know how to distract you from your thoughts when they became too much to handle. 

“I finally submitted a long ass paper that my history professor assigned yesterday around 6 and then I knocked out without eating,” you recount. “I woke up because my stomach was really angry with me, but I didn’t have anything to eat and I wanted ramen.”

Yunho tuts. 

“What did I tell you about remembering to eat? You always get too lost in your assignments. You need to take better care of yourself.”

Your cheeks redden slightly. Not only did you call your ex to come save you from a random man, but now he’s also lecturing you on your work habits. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know-” you cut yourself off when you notice that the man is now in the same aisle as you, angling his body to face you. 

“What? What happened?” Yunho questions. “(Y/n)?”

“The guy is in the same aisle as me now,” you whisper, moving slowly to the edge of the section. 

“Fuck,” Yunho curses. You vaguely register the rustling noises coming from his end of the call, too focused on keeping an eye on the man who is slowly but surely making his way closer to you. 

The hands carrying your ramen and other snacks shake, tears slowly forming in your eyes, making your vision become blurry. 

“I’m almost there,” Yunho is panting into the phone now, but you barely register his words. “I’m almost there baby, I’m almost-”

His voice cuts off when you hear the front doors of the store slam open, the little bell above it ringing loudly. You see Yunho standing there, one hand gripping his phone while his eyes scan the store. The two of you make eye contact before his eyes are moving to something behind you, his jaw clenching when he notices how close the hooded man has managed to get. 

Taking long strides, Yunho reaches you quickly, moving to your side and placing his body in front of yours so that the man can no longer see you. He wraps an arm around your waist and gently takes the food out of your hands. 

“Sorry babe,” he starts talking loudly. “I didn’t realize I was going to get out so late.” 

You nod your head, unable to get any words out, and allow Yunho to begin guiding you towards the register. 

Placing your snacks on the counter, the young boy at the register begins ringing you up and you feel Yunho stand behind you protectively. You don’t see it, but you can hear when the bell from the door rings again and assume from the way Yunho sighs in relief that the man has left. Taking a step back, Yunho now stands next to you rather than behind.

The young boy tells you your total, but before you can hand over your card, Yunho’s card is sliding towards the boy. You shoot him a look, but he just shakes his head. Grabbing the bag before you can, the two of you bid the boy at the counter goodnight before stepping outside. 

“Thank you,” you sigh, closing your eyes and feeling the tension leave your body. The stress and anxiety had you wound up so tight that your shoulders physically feel relieved when you finally allow them to relax. 

You miss the way Yunho’s eyes lovingly scan over you. 

“Of course,” he replies. “I’m glad you called me,” his eyebrows furrow and he shoots you a pointed look. “I know you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, but you really shouldn’t be doing late night solo trips just for some ramen.” 

You sigh, rubbing your hands together. 

“I know.” 

It’s silent for a moment before Yunho breaks the silence. 

“C’mon,” he motions his head to the side. “I’ll walk you home so I can beat up anyone else that tries to mess with you.” 

Yunho can’t help but smile at the small giggle you let out. 

“Yeah, well I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t even have to do anything. Your height alone can be pretty scary.”

He pouts. 

“I’m not that scary.” 

You let out an even bigger laugh, patting his arm softly. 

“Don’t worry, anyone who really knows you knows that you’re just a big softie.” 

Yunho can’t stop the way his heart beats a little faster at the way you refer to yourself as someone who still knows him well. 

-

After the short walk home, you manage to convince Yunho to let you make him some ramen as a thanks. He shook his head, trying to say that he would do it for you anytime, but was quickly cut off by his stomach rumbling loudly. 

Now, he sits at your counter watching as you pour the noodles into the boiling water. 

“So,” you start, back facing Yunho. “I noticed you dyed your hair.” 

Yunho reaches a hand up to touch the now blonde locks on his head. 

“Oh yeah,” he chuckles. “I kinda forgot I did that.” 

You let out a small laugh as well. 

“Well, it looks great on you. Then again, I honestly think you could pull off any color you wanted.” 

“Even if I decided to go bald?” Yunho jokes, trying to distract you (and himself) from the way his ears have slowly begun to turn red at your compliment. 

You turn to face him, making a disgusted face. 

“I mean, I’m not into bald guys, but sure, I guess.” 

You startle when you realize the words that have just left your mouth. 

Idiot!! You guys aren’t even together anymore, why would you say that? You mentally berate yourself. 

“Anyways,” you clear your throat, trying desperately to ignore the heat rushing to your face. “How did you even get to me so fast? You don’t even have a car.”

Yunho’s face turns slightly pink and he looks elsewhere in your kitchen. 

You frown. “Wait. Did you run all the way from your place to the 7/11?”

Yunho raises his hands in defense. 

“Hey, transportation wasn’t really the first thing on my mind when you called me saying some guy was following you. I just tried getting there as fast as possible.” 

You feel your face warm once again and you try to distract yourself by placing the noodles into two separate bowls. 

Sliding his bowl over to him, you pause when you feel Yunho’s hand slightly touch yours. 

“Hey.” 

You look at him. 

“I’m really glad you called me,” Yunho admits. His eyes are soft, showing nothing but sincerity. “I don’t know what I would’ve done with myself if I knew you were in danger or hurt and I could’ve done something to help you.” 

You feel your eyes get a little misty and look down at the way his hand still covers yours. 

“I was really scared,” you admit. “When I saw your contact I almost didn’t call you because I didn’t even know if you were going to answer, let alone have my number saved.” 

Yunho smiles. 

“Of course I still have your number saved. I’ve kinda been hoping you would text me one day,” he admits, eyes darting down to the counter. 

“I’ve missed you,” Yunho whispers. 

You feel your breath hitch. 

It’s quiet in your kitchen for a moment before you break the silence. 

“I’ve missed you too.”

Yunho looks up at you and you send him a small smile, rubbing your fingers across his knuckles. 

“Do you-” he clears his throat. “Do you want to try this again? Us, I mean?” 

A wide smile spreads across your face. 

“I would like that very much.” 

A bright grin breaks out on Yunho’s face and he holds your hands a little bit tighter. 

Together, in the kitchen of your apartment, you feel like a missing puzzle piece has finally clicked back into place. 

                                        ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[scekrex]

Cute idea!

Adam who's a very crafty guy, like a headcannon that I told you about where he was the one who created blue prints for the Exterminators' masks and his own, and his axe/guitar. Reader just going out for an outing with friends and comes back to find Adam just tinkering with his mask and creating blue prints for a few other things he'd like to have and he doesn't hear reader coming in, so he gets spooked when reader just wraps his arms around him and asks him what he's doing since he never really told him about his creative side.

Love you ❤️

Babes I adore you for your prompts like dzzcdhcz this is so lovely and tbh I kinda got carried away and we get some soft Adam w this one - maybe a little ooc but I feel like it fit the vibe. I love you too <3

Let the sun set on your life and I'll make, oh I'll make you mine

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

You were quite surprised when you came home and the apartment was quiet, no Adam jumping up from the couch to greet you like an eager golden retriever, no complaining on why you got home so late. The only noise that was heard was the rustling of paper and you believed the sound of sanding something down.

When you entered the living room you understood why. Adam was sitting at the desk you two had placed in the corner of the room - the first man had said he needed it in case Sera wanted any work done. The desk itself was covered in blueprints you had never seen before, blueprints of countless exterminator masks - had Adam made them himself? Probably.

The brunette was so focused on his doing that he didn't even notice you, he was clearly very concentrated on his task - a thing Adam did rarely, it was cute to see him like that. Yet you wondered why Adam had never told you about his creative side when it seemed to play such a big part in his life. With slow, quiet steps you walked up on him, wrapped your arms around his hips and rested your chin on his shoulder as you watched him tinkering - well that had been the plan at least. Adam not only flinched at the sudden contact, he straight up screeched, dropping the sandpaper and the horn he had been working on.

“The fuck babes,” he complained as he turned his head slightly in your direction, “You can't fucking sneak up on a guy like that.” You just grinned at him, amused by his reaction you placed a soft kiss on the tip of his nose, “Yet I just fucking did.” Adam grumbled something as he tried to hide his project as best as he could, Adam's best wasn't good enough for you though, your eyes caught onto it pretty quickly. “That’s my exterminator mask,” you spoke with pure amazement and pointed to an older looking blueprint, the brunette simply nodded. “And this is yours,” that earned you another nod. “You made these things from scratch?” and for a third time Adam did nothing but nod at your words. You pulled back a little, one arm remained wrapped around his hips as you came up next to him to get a closer look. It amazed you that Adam made all of this - yeah he was a creative guy, he was a musician after all, but this? You didn't know your boyfriend was a crafty guy. Your eyes lightened up as you spotted the blueprint for his guitar, “You made your guitar yourself?” The leader of the exorcists grinned down at you, “Yeah, y'know back in Eden I had a guitar, had made that baby myself. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever made. So when I got to heaven I wasn't allowed to bring my girl with me, so I made a new one.”

You grabbed the blueprint that featured the battle ax version of his guitar, looking over it only to realize how many details Adam had included. Your eyes were roaming over the sheet of paper in awe, you knew he loved his guitar, he made that quite obvious, but you didn't know he loved it that much. The first man shot you a proud smile as he he'd a certain blueprint in one of a certain mask. “And what are you currently working on?” you reached for the mask that was laying on the desk but Adam slapped your hand away, “It’s not fucking finished yet.” That was all you got before he began to neatly sort the blueprints and put them back in the drawer, the mask remained on the desk, mainly because it was too big for the drawer.

“Besides what the fuck took you so long? You've kept me waiting for fucking forever,” ah there was your bitchy boyfriend you loved so much. “Oh y'know, just out with the bros, we kinda lost track of time.” Adam huffed as he got up from the chair he had been sitting on and wrapped his hands around your body, pulling you in, “That fucking so? Sounds like someone should make it fucking up to me for forgetting about me.” You grinned up at him wickedly as you slowly dropped to your knees, “Mhm, maybe I should.”

-

“Where the fuck are we going,” you complained as you playfully hit Adam's head. A good hour ago the first man had blindfolded you - with consent of course - had lifted you up so that you were sitting on his shoulder and had left the apartment like that. “Just shut the fuck up and wait, it'll be fucking worth it.” You weren't doubting that at all, you trusted the brunette with your life, but you were also painfully impatient. You just wanted to ask again as he stopped. He carefully lifted you off his shoulder. Then he lifted the blindfold from your eyes.

You were on top of the highest building in heaven - the spot of your first date with Adam. And you had arrived just in time to watch the sun set, covering heaven in the most perfect looking golden glow. Your eyes flickered to him as you noticed movements in the corner of your eyes and you stopped breathing for a moment as you watched him getting down on one knee. He wouldn't- no, he wouldn't. Adam had told you countless times that he would never get married again, not after Eden. And yet he kneeled there, right in front of you.

“Babes, we both know I suck at this entire ‘communicating my feelings’ shit,” he began and you grabbed his sleeve to pull him back on his feet again - it didn't work, he continued to kneel there. “Fuck, I have never enjoyed someone's company as much as yours okay? I fucking love you, enough to rot out all of hell just for you if you'd ask. And I don't wanna fucking lose you again,” he pulled one hand from behind his back, revealing a exterminator mask - the one he had been working on yesterday. But it was finished now, it looked like the perfect combination between your own mask and Adam's mask. “I want you to become the fucking second commander of the exorcists,” he explained the meaning behind the new designed mask. And suddenly it made an awful lot of sense. Why it looked like both of your masks combined, why he had been working on this thing for only God knows how long. You wanted to reach for the mask and accept but Adam pulled it from your fingers and slapped your hands away, “Be fucking patient, I'm not done yet.” You chuckled a little but did as you were told. Adam inhaled sharply, he was visibly struggling to get the following words out, but eventually his eyes met yours and he spoke, “I don't just want you to be that though - fucking second commander. Nah babes. I want you to be my husband,” there was a pause, a glimpse of fear was visible in his eyes and gleamed at you.

He was scared you'd reject him.

Of course he was after everything he had been through and yet he had enough courage to ask you to marry him. He had healed enough to ask you to be his husband, knowing quite well how his last two marriages had ended. But the first man trusted you with his life. And you thanked him for that in silence as you dropped to your knees. You took the mask from his shaking hands and placed it gently in your lap as you pulled him in for a kiss. The brunette's beautiful golden wings were shaking and you just noticed that it wasn't just his wings, it was his entire body. The wings covered in golden feathers spread and wrapped around you, pulled you in a little closer as Adam worshiped your lips with his own.

“Fucking yes, Adam. I'd be an idiot to say no to marrying you,” the smile your words caused was indescribably beautiful, it was full of confidence - not the confidence Adam put up for heaven, to mask his scars and bury his true emotions deep, but real confidence. The brunette's forehead rested against yours and you placed a soft kiss on top of the tip of his nose. “I love you too Adam,” you hummed in a soft, calming tone and you noticed how your words and actions alone were able to make the fear in his eyes disappear.

Adam wasn't able to remember the last time he had been this happy. Maybe when he had met you for the first time? Or when he had officially got the privilege to brag about you being his boyfriend? No. None of these events compared to what he was feeling then and there. It was special, unique, just like you were. And he was happy you wanted him for all eternity.

[bookshelf-dust]

the hurt is good

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

billy hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 4,994

warnings: swearing, smoking, loneliness, anxiety, specific descriptions of billy’s abuse/fighting/trauma, (if this is triggering, please skip out <3), neil

a/n: hi my loves!! here we are. i really tried to put my back into this one. lots happens and i really hope you enjoy it. thank you for all the positive feedback you’ve given me with this series. i’ve enjoyed writing it. the next part, part five, may be the last one. we’ll see how it goes once i get to writing it, but that might be it. a part six is possible, but i’m not sure yet! i love you all. also, i’m tagging @writethrough because she’s given me a plethora of sweet ideas for this and done nothing but motivate me. i appreciate it more than anything. happy reading!! <333

before you read, listen to: eyes without a face by billy idol and/or love of my life by queen

————

“Billy.” He’s warm. He’s so warm. And his arm is heavy where he’s thrown it over your back, hooked his fingers under your side.

“No.”

“Billy, please.” You’re pleading with him. He’s practically on top of you, tucked into your side like this, the both on your stomachs.

“No,” he says into your shoulder.

“Billy, I have to pee.”

He groans. “Whatever.”

He rolls off of you onto his back, and watches as you pull yourself up and out of bed, leaving to use the bathroom.

While you’re gone, Billy thinks about how he’s never slept in someone else’s bed. Every girl he’s ever been with has been in his bed, when he knew no one else was home (for the most part). He never wanted to chance the interaction with someone else’s family.

But you feel safe. Your home feels safe. And you’re not just some chick he’s invited over for a little temporary stress relief.

Billy also thinks about how he’s never had a sleepover. He never had friends to do that with when he was younger—Neil would’ve thought it was inappropriate even if he had.

Billy stretches, sliding further into the bed and off the pillows, arms over his head. He then relaxes his arms, one flopping over the spot you’d been in. His hand bumps into something soft, and he runs his fingers over the sheets, searching for it. He knows what it is before he sees it.

It’s a teddy bear. His heart clenches. He hadn’t even realized you’d been cuddled up with that thing all night, and thinking about you like that makes him feel all soft and gooey.

For a second he feels a pang in his chest, like he shouldn’t be letting you turn him into a pussy. But those aren’t his words. He knows it.

Billy thinks about his mother for a moment. How she’d love you. He was so shy as a kid. She always had a soft spot for the shy ones.

He fidgets with one of your bear’s ears, remembering the one he’d had as a kid. His mom had given it to him. It was this pale blue color, and though small, but it always felt just right to hold. He’s pretty sure it’s in a box somewhere now.

Your footsteps snap him out of his reverie. You return with a little yellow paper between your fingers.

Billy Hargrove splayed out in your bed is something you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to. He looks like a dream. His curls are frizzy from sleep, the cutoff tank top he’s wearing twisted around his torso, one thigh sticking out from under the covers.

“Mom’s not here,” you start. “Left a note saying Wendy called and they’re having brunch. Apparently she didn’t want to wake us.”

You set the paper down on your nightstand and plop on the bed beside him, sitting up on your knees.

“You look so pretty,” you tell him.

Billy starts laughing. You swat at his side, but he grabs your hand and pulls it to his mouth, pressing a warm and slightly chapped kiss to your skin.

“So do you,” he says, squeezing at your hand. You almost argue with him, but the look in his eye tells you he really thinks so, and you decide against deprecating yourself.

You run your fingers over his hair. “You should let me braid it today.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “Only if you tell me who this is.” He grabs for your bear, shaking it around before sitting it up on his stomach.

You gasp dramatically, bringing a hand to your chest. “That’s Teddy.”

“Teddy? How original.”

“Fuck you, Hargrove. Teddy is a gentleman.”

“A gentleman who sleeps in your bed every night,” he argues.

“He’s comforting. I’m lonely.” That hits a nerve, and you watch Billy’s expression change.

“Can I ask you something?” he says.

You take your bear, standing him up on Billy’s stomach. He puts his arms under his head, watching you. “You can ask me anything, Billy.” He tugs on your bears arm absentmindedly, nodding.

“Are still lonely even with me around?”

You stop, put Teddy down. You think about what to say for a moment, and your silence freaks Billy out.

“Because if you are, tell me what to do.” He sits up, and you watch as he adjusts his shirt and shakes out his hair.

Your heart starts to pound and your mind is abuzz with emotion. All of it for him.

“Sometimes I am. When you’re not with me.”His shoulders relax a little, though he hates knowing you feel alone at all.

“But it doesn’t really ache anymore. I don’t really have this longing for someone to care about me. And I know I’ve had my mom, but that’s not enough, you know? Even if I feel selfish saying that.”

“But now I have you. And I’m pretty sure you care about me.”

I more than care about you, Billy thinks.

Billy puts a hand against your cheek, and you lean into his touch. His lips quirk up at the gesture.

“It’s not selfish to want to be cared for,” Billy tells you. “You’ve taught me that, you know.”

“Really?”

He nods. “And I know what you mean about the ache. Sometimes you just want someone in the room with you, and that’d be enough. But, Y/N, I really do care about you. Even if I don’t say it enough. You’re my best friend.”

Both of Billy’s hands are on your face now, and his tone is nothing but sincere.

“You’re my best friend too. I care about you loads, Billy.”

“Really?”

“Yes. More than anything.”

You lean up, and kiss him on the forehead. It’s lingering and soft. Billy feels like he could scream or maybe cry.

You’re letting him in. He wants to stay.

————

“You’re sure you’re not hungry?”

“I’m sure, babydoll.”

Your breath catches at that name.

Billy’s never been much of a breakfast person. He always preferred to wait until lunchtime. But nevertheless, he appreciates your offer to fix him something. He also knows he should probably leave soon. Max wants to go to the arcade today.

You grab hold of the edge of the kitchen counter, backing up a little ways and stretching yourself out, head bent to face the floor.

“Billy?”

“Hm?” He leans against the cabinets next to you. He’s gotten dressed, though you’re still in your pajamas. You hate that he’s going to go soon.

You straighten, looking at him. There’s been something on your mind. “Why don’t you ever change your ring or your necklace? I only ask because you change earrings, but those stay the same.”

Billy smiles at you. “You spend a lot of time looking at what I wear?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure.” He winks at you. You ignore it.

“You don’t have to tell me,” you say.

He pinches your side. “It’s fine. The ring is just my favorite. That’s all. And it gives me something to mess with when I’m anxious.”

“So all the time?”

“Shut up.”

You laugh.

“The necklace…it was my mom’s.”

Your breath catches a little, and you lead Billy back to your room where he can sit. He settles on the end of your bed. He hasn’t told you much about her, other than that she left. That his parent’s relationship wasn’t a good one.

But you can tell he loved her. That he misses her.

“She, um, she left my dad and me when I was a kid. She’d had enough of his shit, you know? He was a fucking horrific husband. Not that he’s any better now, by any means.”

“But there was one night a while before shit really hit the fan that he’d screamed at me. My baseball team lost and he said it was all my fault because I was too afraid of getting hurt. She sat me down and told me not to listen to him, that if I didn’t want to play anymore I didn’t have to.”

“And then she was taking her necklace off and putting it around my neck. She said it was so I’d always remember to be myself. To be a kid. Guess that didn’t really work out though.”

“So I wear it because even if I’m mad at her, I still miss her. She was the only one who ever treated me like I was perfect the way I was. Until you.” Billy looks down.

You’re quiet for a minute. He fusses with your bedding.

“Billy, you know I’m not going to leave you right?”

The words are out before you can stop them, but you feel like he needs to know. Billy has made it clear that he feels a lot for you, and it’s important you do the same.

His eyes meet yours.

“I’m not going to leave you,” you say again. “I just want to make sure you know that.”

Billy stands. “Hug?” he asks.

You nod and he’s wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck like he could stay there forever.

————

Billy picks Max up from the arcade later that day, fingers anxiously tapping the steering wheel.

Is he really about to talk to a fourteen-year-old about love? Yeah, he is.

“Maxine,” he says. She whips her head towards him, raises a brow.

“William.”

“Can we have a conversation? About serious shit?”

“I don’t know, can we?” She quips.

“Max—”

“Yes, we can, Billy. What’s so wrong that you need to talk to me?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says. “And I’m trying to be a better brother, okay? Let me have this.”

“Okay.”

“Do you love Lucas?” He asks.

Max contemplates the question. Lucas has understood her in ways no one else has. He puts up with her and wants her back each time she dumps him. He was welcoming from the moment she stepped into Hawkins.

“Yeah, I think so. I think I do.” She pauses for a moment before continuing. “Are you in love with Y/N? Is that what this is about?”

“Yeah. I am,” he tells her.

“Wow,” she says.

“What?”

“Nothing. Billy Hargrove wanting to be a better brother and he’s fallen in love? Crazy shit.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass, you know that?”

They’re both quiet for a moment, the only sounds being the roar of the engine and the wind.

“I’m sorry, you know,” Max says. “I know I’m not that great of a sister either. I don’t exactly do anything to make your life easier.”

“That’s not your job. I’m the one that’s supposed to look out for you, Max.”

“That’s the thing though, Billy. You’re really not. It’s supposed to be my mom. You’re a kid too. And I could be better. Maybe Neil wouldn’t get so mad at you if I didn’t do things to piss you off so often.”

“Max, that’s not your fault,” he tells her. “My dad is an asshole.”

“I know, I know. I’m just saying. I’ll try to be better.”

“Why don’t we both give that a shot, huh? Try not to treat each other like shit. And for the record, I’m sorry too. I’m a dick to you all the time.”

Max nods and smiles at him.

They’re both trying. And that’s a start.

————

“How do you feel about Billy?”

Your mother is making brownies, with you sat at the counter. She only makes them when she wants to talk or when she’s worried about you.

“He’s my best friend.”

Nicky smiles to herself over the bowl of batter. “That’s all?” she asks.

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do know. I think you’re afraid to say it because of how all of your previous friendships have gone. You’re afraid,” she pauses, stirring aggressively for a moment, “that you’re going to lose your best friend again.”

Nicky looks up. “Aren’t you?”

You stare at her, and then relent, nodding.

“So how do you really feel about Billy, Y/N?”

You think for a second, tracing your index finger over the lines in the countertop.

It’s like Billy is learning you. He knows now what makes you anxious. What makes you uncomfortable. And he’s trying. Trying to be there for you and be available, which you know isn’t easy for him.

But you want to be there for him just as much as he is for you.

That’s the thing. You’re both trying.

You can tell when he’s had a bad night. He’s extra quiet before school starts, his hands never leave his pockets, or a cigarette never leaves his mouth. Sometimes it’s like he just needs you to sit there with him. Like he did with you at lunch that first day. He needs to know there’s someone on his side.

There are these times where he’s able to be himself. He calls you after you’ve leant him a book, and he’s pissed about something or other.

Why the fuck would you let me read this?

He head-bangs in the car with you, taps his hands in time with the song. Something he only ever did in the safety of his room. Maybe even sings a little before he catches himself and hope you didn’t hear. You always do.

And when he lets himself laugh it’s like you could fucking die. He’s so gorgeous it hurts.

You don’t know if you can tell her.

“Mom, I—” You cut yourself off and sink in on yourself.

She’s quiet.

“It’s okay to say it, honeybee. You’re safe to tell me, you know. And if it helps, I really don’t think he’s going to hurt you.”

You stand up, walk over to where she’s pouring the mix into a pan. She slides it into the oven, sets a timer.

Nicky waits. She knows you can do it.

“Mom.”

“Yeah?”

“Mom, I love him.”

She holds out her arms and you hug her. She smells like cinnamon and chocolate and this vanilla shampoo she’s used since forever because she swears nothing else is as good for her hair.

“I’m scared,” you tell her. “I’ve never felt like this before. But he makes me feel so safe.”

Nicky is so proud of you. Of your opening up to her and yourself. Letting yourself feel.

She pulls you back, places both of her hands on your cheeks. “It’s okay to be scared. All of these feelings can be scary. But I want you to know how important and wonderful it is that you’ve found someone who makes you feel safe and comfortable. He makes you feel that way, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And that’s so good. You’re going to figure it out. I know you are. I’m so proud of you, honeybee.”

You nod again and again, your nose stinging with tears that you will away.

The timer goes off, its shrill ring ruining the heartfelt moment. Nicky’s laugh is sticky sweet. She lets you go, shutting the thing up with a turn of its dial.

“You gonna want frosting or no?”

“Maybe a little,” you say.

You walk to the living room, catching the start of Jeopardy! and leaving your mother in the kitchen, in her zone. It’ll take a while for the brownies to cool anyways.

You’re slumping against the couch when you hear tires screeching, the roar of an engine a little ways down the street. You know it’s Billy. The car door slams.

You think something might be wrong.

————

Billy’s hands are shaking. He watches Max go inside, but stays leaning against the Camaro, lighting a cigarette. She goes up the stairs, shoots him a look as she throws the back door open.

Max was late leaving Dustin’s place. They’ve been trying to teach her to play D&D, and she got lost in it today, the one time Will’s monsters hadn’t completely faked her out.

Billy lay on the horn three separate times before he finally went inside, telling her it was time to go. She really, really hadn’t meant to be late.

Billy didn’t say a word during the drive home. He knew it was going to be bad. He just knew it. They were forty five minutes late from the time Neil had said he wanted them back.

So now, Billy stood outside, trying to toughen up before facing what he knew was waiting for him.

He stomps his cigarette out, locks the car. He makes his way inside and gets through the dining room where he sees Neil sitting at the table, but he keeps walking. He makes it through the kitchen. He passes the living room, where Susan is reading a book, though she’s not really reading.

The electricity that runs through the house is tangible. Max sits on the edge of her bed, knee bouncing up a storm. She waits for it to start.

Billy doesn’t make it any further. Neil’s footsteps are heavy on the hardwoods as he walks down the hall.

“You’re late.”

Billy closes his eyes before turning around. He knows better than to not face his father when he’s speaking. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“What was that?” Neil’s hands are on his hips now.

Billy’s heart is pounding. “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again. Max was just spending time with her friends.”

Neil ignores Billy’s explanation. “Responsibility. We’ve talked about this, again and again, isn’t that right, Billy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t care if your sister is having the best time of her life. I tell you to be home at a certain time, then that’s when you’re home. It is your responsibility to get her back here and to respect my rules, is that clear?”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

Billy thinks for a second that it’s over. In the other room, Max hopes it is too. She’s chewed off all her nails listening to them talk.

Neil drops his hands, drags one over his mustache and sighs. Billy starts to walk away.

“You know what, Billy? You’ve been late an awful lot lately. It’s because you’ve been hanging out with that slut from down the road isn’t it?”

Billy freezes. Usually, he just lets it go. Locks himself in his room, cries it out. Smokes it out.

But he just made this about you.

Billy turns around. “What did you just say?”

Neil stalks closer to his son, raises his voice.“You got your own whore now, huh? You’re just like your mother.”

Billy’s brow furrows, and feels like he’s burning. Max doesn’t know what to do. She’s never heard Neil say something like that before.

Billy gets just as close to Neil as he is to Billy. “Fuck you.”

Neil laughs. It’s heartless. He cocks his head. “I’m sorry?”

“I said. Fuck. You.”

Neil puffs out his chest and straightens his back. Billy knows he shouldn’t have said that. He doesn’t really care.

Neil is looking at Billy like he’s prey. And then Neil hits him. Max can hear the sound Neil’s fist makes as it cracks against her brother’s jaw. He’s got Billy by the collar and up on the wall before the boy can even struggle to move away.

“Get off me,” Billy yells.

“Who do you think you are, huh? Talking to me like that. I am your father, and you are to give me nothing but your respect.”

Billy shoves his father as hard as he can, hooks his hands under Neil’s elbows, pushing him off.

“I said, get off me.”

Billy turns and makes for the door. Max rushes to try and catch him. She knows it’s her fault. She wants to fix things.

“Billy—” she starts, but he cuts her off.

“Stay out of this. And stay here, Max.” He’s angry, but his tone softens just for a moment when he speaks to her.

Billy is outside before anyone can do anything about it. He’s got his keys, but he doesn’t trust himself to drive. He’s never fought back before. That was a completely different thing in there.

Billy walks to the other side of the road, starts on the shitty sidewalk. He feels like he can’t breathe. His entire body is shaking. He finds that stupid ass brick wall that you’d once visited him at, and he sits, holding onto it before he collapses.

His heart is beating so fast it hurts. He hasn’t had one of these in so long. He’s clutching the brick so hard he thinks he might have scrapes on his fingertips.

He starts to breathe in, and then he counts. He breathes out.

He keeps going until he doesn’t feel like he’s going to die anymore. When it’s over, he’s just as angry.

————

You’re standing in the kitchen, shoving your face with a brownie when you look up, and Billy is walking around outside. He looks upset. You don’t know if you should go out or not. You should, shouldn’t you?

Your mom left to pick up a couple movies for the both of you to watch tonight. Some of the few you didn’t have copies of.

You walk to the front door and pull it open.

“Billy?”

You’re stood on the stoop when he catches your eye. He’d been contemplating whether or not to go to you for the past ten minutes.

“Do you want to come in?”

He does. He doesn’t think he should, but he does. He walks toward you anyways.

You offer him half of your brownie. He takes it only so that he doesn’t have to talk yet.

You both stand in your entryway, silently eating your brownies before you look at him.

You swallow, wipe your hands on your pants. “Billy, your cheek is red.”

“No shit, really?” His tone that would usually be teasing isn’t. It’s just snarky. It’s almost mean.

And he regrets it immediately. You have no idea what just happened.

You raise your eyebrows at the way he just spoke to you.

He’s upset, clearly, and you think you know why, but you’re not going to push it out if he’s not ready. You’re not going to let him be a dick to you though either.

“Watch the attitude, Hargrove.”

“Or what, huh? You gonna tell me what a piece of shit I am too?”

“Billy, stop.”

He’s hurting. You can feel it.

“You gonna put everything on me? Treat me like I’m just this fucking burden? Huh, Y/N?”

“Billy, enough.” You’re dead serious. You mean it when you say that. You look him in the eye, and he stops.

“I can tell something’s wrong, but you don’t have to come over here and yell at me about it. If you want to talk, we can talk. That’s what I’m here for. Just stop, okay?”

“Fine.”

“What happened?” You ask.

Billy tells you everything. He lets it all out, and it’s like he’s showing you his hand. He’s being vulnerable and he hates it. But he knows you don’t care. You want him to be vulnerable with you.

“And you’ve never done that before?”

“No.”

“But you did tonight.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Y/N, I just told you.”

“Say it again.”

“Because of you,” Billy starts. “Because he brought you into it and I wasn’t going to let him talk about you like that.”

“Billy. I’m not worth you getting hit over.”

“Baby, please don’t say that. Shit, why would you say that? You’re worth everything.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.”

You grin, and he smiles at you. He looks so pretty.

“You think it’ll bruise?”

“I hope not. Guess we’ll find out though,” he says.

You lean in, and kiss Billy’s cheek. It’s so soft that he might not even know you’d done it if he couldn’t see you.

“Come on, you’re not gonna hurt me. You can do better than that.”

“Greedy.”

“‘S your fault,” he argues.

You kiss him on the forehead a little more firmly. Then on his nose.

You pause, running a finger over said nose until he wrinkles it at you. “I love your nose.” He just watches you. You’ve practically got sparkles in your eyes. You graze your thumb over his freckles.

“Anything else you love?”

He’s giving you an opening. You decide to take it. What’s the point in keeping it from him?

“You.”

He wasn’t expecting you to have taken it.

“What?”

“You asked if there was anything else I loved. I said you.” Your voice is soft. Kind.

“Y/N.”

“Billy.”

“You love me?” he asks, unsure.

“I do. Told my mom about it and everything.”

His head falls against your shoulder.

“Wanna know something?” he mumbles against you before raising his head again.

“‘Course I do.”

“I love you too. Told Max about it and everything.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, baby,” Billy says. “I love you.”

You take his face in your hands, looking at him, taking him in. Your eyes linger on his lips before moving up to lock with his, blue orbs burning into your soul.

“Yes or no?” you ask.

“Yes.”

You press your lips against his, softly at first, but then a little harder when you find your rhythm. Billy smiles into it, and when you pull away, he’s quick to kiss you again and again.

————

Nicky gets home and unlocks the door, pushing it open.

“Honeybee, I’m home. Wanna come look at these?”

You look at Billy where he lays on your chest. He groans. “Okay, let me get up, Billy. I’ll be right back.”

He sits up, but he’s not happy about it. He has quite literally never looked grumpier.

You make your way down the hall where you heard your mother wander off. “Mom?” you ask.

“In here.” She’s taking her shoes off.

“Billy’s here,” you blurt out. “He had a bad day and came over, and then we started talked and I told him.” You stop, realizing that was one long ramble and she’d just gotten home.

She kicks off her shoes and stands, smiling brilliantly at you.

“You told him what, exactly?” She wants to hear you say it.

You roll your eyes. “That I love him.”

She claps her hands, rings clinking together. She kisses your forehead, and it makes an audible mwah sound.

“I’m so happy for you, honeybee.” Her expression changes quickly, though, a look of concern crossing her face. “He said it back, right? He loves you too?”

You nod, and she visibly calms down. “Yeah. He loves me too.”

“Good. Shit, that’s so reassuring. I’m gonna change. Is he staying for movies?”

You grin, happy she’s happy. “I’ll go ask.”

You venture back to the living room, where Billy sits on the couch, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’ll be right back my ass,” he says, looking up at you with a pout on his face.

You sit down beside him, grab his arms and pull them apart. “Sorry, sorry.” You rub the callouses on the palms of his hands with your thumbs. “You wanna stay for movies?”

Billy thinks for a second. He doesn’t want to go home. “Is that okay?”

“Duh.”

“You’re such a little shit.” You stick your tongue out at him. “Case in point,” he says.

You go to roll your eyes and he stops you. “Don’t even think about it.” You roll them anyways.

He almost makes some other quip, but a thought crosses his mind. Max. He doesn’t want to leave her in that house all night with his father. He’s always scared maybe if he’s not there she’ll be next. It’s almost been Susan before.

“Do you think Max could join us?”

“Sure she could.” You don’t even think about it, and Billy’s insides turn to mush.

So he calls her, and when she picks up, the first thing she does is ask where Billy is. He tells her. Max says Neil left with Susan. Didn’t say where they were going.

“Would you want to come over to Y/N’s and watch a movie? Or I can just take you to El’s or Lucas’s,” he says to her.

Maybe it sounds stupid, Max thinks, but she wants to spend time with Billy. You’ve been good for him. And clearly he’s in love with you and shit.

So Billy ends up walking down the street to get Max, who he then walks right back down to your house.

“I told her,” he says.

“That you’re stupidly in love with her?” she inquires.

“Watch it.” Max raises her hands in mock surrender. “But yeah.”

Max smiles at him. “Stop that,” he says.

————

“You like brownies, Max?” Nicky asks her.

“I do.”

“Good thing I have some then, huh? Here.” She hands her an enormous chunk of brownie, frosting sloppily slathered over the top of it. Max looks giddy at the sight of it in her hands.

The four of you sit in the living room, and your mother turns on Footloose. Billy promises not to complain. Max doesn’t buy it.

Nicky sets up shop in her oversized chair, while you sit in between Max and Billy on the couch. You lean over, lowering your voice to speak to the redhead. She leans towards you in response.

“What are your thoughts on Kevin Bacon?”

“He’s cute. Looks good in those jeans.”

You hold up your hand for a high five, which she gives you. “I’m glad we agree.”

Billy looks over at you, feigning betrayal. You shrug your shoulders, and he snatches the rest of your brownie from you. You gasp and go to pinch his thigh, but he takes your hand, holding it to his chest. He settles further into the couch, throwing his leg over yours.

Max would probably fake gag or something, but Kevin Bacon is much too entertaining.

Nicky, on the other hand, looks at you and Billy fondly. You look content. That’s all she’s ever wanted for you. That and someone willing to watch Footloose with you.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

[astermath]

my muse.

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: a short oneshot of steve's girlfriend painting him, and him being able to see his own beauty through your eyes.

word count: 1.1K

notes: got this cute idea out of nowhere, thought maybe steve would like to know how beautiful others think he is.

let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for further steve harrington related content!

“Is it done yet?”

Steve sits on a stool in front of the window in your atelier. The slowly dimming light of the sun setting illuminates him from the back, the lamp you have set up besides you letting you see him from the front.

“Almost Stevie, be patient.”

He’s been sitting perfectly still for over an hour. An admirable feat, to be honest. He’s not usually one for sitting idly at all, always fidgeting one way or another or wanting to move about.

But he’s been doing quite well. He wants to do well. For you. So you can do your thing.

He’s been secretly wanting to do this ever since he’s seen your paintings. You’re incredibly talented, something between a Monet and a Renoir. An incredible eye for colour and composition, but most of all, you like to paint people.

You do a hell of a job at capturing someone’s likeness, even through the lens of an impressionistic art style. Steve is sure you’ll make it big with your art one day. You told him most painters only get famous after they die, and that didn’t exactly sit well with him. He'd rather have you alive and famous, but mostly the first part.

You’d been going through a bit of an art block, and so you’ve went through your old sketchbooks. You realised there is a surprising, almost embarrassing, amount of drawings of your boyfriend in there. Like… Pages, upon pages. You’ve always thought he has this effortless, beautiful air about him that just made every pose look like it should be captured onto paper forever.

When you asked him if he wanted to model for your next painting, Steve's heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He's always adored your art, supporting you and your passion every step of the way, so to be immortalised on one of your canvases is a huge honour to him.

He was a bit nervous though. He knows you think he's the prettiest boy alive, and though he does think he's serviceable, he's not sure if he's painting worthy.

Still, who is he to deny his sweet girl of using him as a reference?

At first, it was hard. How in god's name do you capture someone as beautiful and complex as Steve Harrington onto something as simple as a blank canvas? You want it to be perfect. You want it to reflect the type of person he is. You want the adoring glint in those gorgeous brown eyes to come through, the dimple in his cheek when he smiles, the constellations of freckles and moles gracing his skin. In a sense, it has to be your best piece yet.

"Alright," you lean back for what feels like the hundredth time already, getting a good look at your work. You take a moment, deciding not to let your nerves get the best of you and not overthink it. The urge is there, but you'd feel awful about letting your boyfriend sit there for yet another hour.

"I think... I think I'm done." you put down your brush, clasping your paint clad hands together in your lap.

Steve perks up in that adorable way he tends to do when he's curious. "Really? Can I come see?"

You bite your lip, unsure once again if the painting truly reflects the beauty of its subject. You sigh, knowing nothing probably ever will. You nod, lifting your hand so you can beckon him over.

He can barely contain his excitement, breaking into a little jog as he makes his way over to you. His arm drapes over your shoulders as he positions himself besides you.

"Woah..." His eyes widen as he takes it all in. The entire artwork exudes warmth. A mix of yellows, oranges and pinks surround him in the way a beautiful sunset would, and his smile looks as if it could cure anything. The brush strokes are a bit experimental, but not messy. Nothing is accidental, every placement and detail has a reason. A purpose.

You nibble on the back of your finger, anxiously awaiting his approval. You find that the longer you look at your art, the more flaws you notice. Now you're conflicted. You just want to do Steve's pretty face justice.

"D'you like it?" You look at him, all nervous.

But Steve looks like he has stars in his eyes. And tears. Yeah, he's definitely about to cry.

"Stevie? You okay?"

He blinks a few times, a stray tear rolling over his cheek as he clears his throat. "Yeah, I, uhm-- wow, it's-- it's beautiful." He looks at you, those pretty eyes he loves, all confused at him.

"Are you sure?" you smile a little sheepishly.

"Peach..." He leans in and presses a kiss to your head. "I love it. It's beautiful. It's just, I... I'm amazed you think I'm so beautiful too."

"I just painted what I saw. 'N what you make me feel."

Steve feels like he's going to melt, your words fulfilling every bit of his loving fantasies. You don't even mean to, and yet you know exactly what to say to pull on his heartstrings.

"Makes me feel so appreciated. Thank you baby, I love it." He grins, all boyish excitement.

"Yeah, I love it too... I think this one's my favourite, actually." You look up and capture Steve's lips in yours in a chaste kiss. "Might have to frame it, hm?"

"I have a better idea."

"I'm listenin'."

"Could you paint the two of us? Like on that polaroid in my wallet?"

He's referring to the polaroid you took when you first met. It was a party, and you were both fairly inebriated. Somehow, you'd started talking, and you hadn't left each other's side all night, leaving the dancing to the others and instead opting to entertain each other. Robin captured the moment the two of you were stuck in a laughing fit together, and Steve has kept it in his wallet ever since. It warms your heart to know he's kept you with him even far before you two got together.

"Yeah, I can do that. What do I get in return?" You smile, faces so close your noses are still rubbing together.

"One million kisses."

"Hmm..."

"Two million kisses."

"You drive a hard bargain, Harrington."

"Three?"

"Sold."

"Sold."

"Good." you peck his lips, "better start that down payment now."

tag list ₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚

@inkluvs @palmtreesx3

[oddballwriter]

Unexpected Addition: And then There were Four

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Part One

Summary: After getting used to Steven and seeing Jake again it turns out your surprise team mission becomes a true mission that is assigned to both of you by your Gods. A hooray for you, Steven, and Jake! A boohoo for Marc. 

Warnings: Marc is still not too fond of reader. Steven's still a simp. Mentions of theft and grave robbing. There's a reference to violence with reader joking that they and Jake can "make someone talk". Reference to Layla and things that happened in show cannon.

Author’s Snip: Wow! A part 2? My first ever part 2? Look at him! He's a ✨writer✨ now! Honestly I can't wait to see where exactly this will go.

Notes: I have no idea what I'm doing I've never made a series before lol. I am both the writer and the audience. 

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Steven was already so lovely to meet and be around, but nothing beat Jake, your actual boyfriend. Since you and Steven had just met, you weren't on a physical contact level yet. But Jake and you were for sure beyond that as a three years strong couple.

As soon as you opened the door of your place it was clear from the paper boy hat on his head, smirk-like smile, and affectionate gaze that it was Jake at your door. Your face twisted into a smile immediately and embraced him in a hug in the same immediacy, getting a good smell of his muskier cologne as you breathed. Jake didn't waste a second to embrace you in a hug as well.

"Hola, beba." Jake greets as he puts his face in your hair and gives you little kisses on your head. He pulls away when you do and you notice the bouquet of your favorite flowers that he's been holding the whole time. "Para ti." Jake says as he hands them to you. "To make up for surprising you with Marc and Steven instead." he jokes as you take them into your hold.

You walk back into your apartment to find a place to put your new gift, letting Jake in. You move about for a bit, getting a vase and filling it with water, placing it down on the coffee table, arranging the flowers so that they look nice in their new home. It's while you're rearranging them that Jake comes up behind you and snakes his arms around your torso and holds you again.

"I missed you." Jake mutters into your shoulder. "I missed you too, Jake." you respond as you turn your head to kiss whatever part of his head you manage to reach.

Jake raises his head from its spot, showing his usually stoic face displaying more softer emotions and feelings. "I'm sorry about Marc. I know you told Steven that it was okay and that you were expecting it. But I know he scared you a bit." Jake explained. "Maybe he did, a little." you admit. "But he's allowed to feel that way. He's still got things he needs to figure out and get used to. I'm just another thing that got thrown in." you consider to Jake.

"You're not that shocking. He's just got his panties on a twist because you and I became a thing while he and Layla were still technically married. Even though he's the one who sent the divorce papers-" Jake rants before you gently put a hand up to stop him.

"Well, he did that on his own will. Marc's been the one who calls the shots for most of his independent life. He kept tabs on Steven and fought while Steven was put out. Marc's been the one in charge of everything." you mention. "Maybe he's upset because you're someone who he can't really keep under control and does their own thing." you theorize.

"So he's a control freak?" Jake laughs. "I didn't say that" you comment, "I'm trying to say that I'm foreign to him because he didn't get to have a choice and he's used to being the one making the choice." you correct.

"Well, he's going to have to get over that because you're-" Jake says as he suddenly holds onto you tighter and picks you up, "-sticking with around as long as I'm around." he settles himself and you on the couch, continuing to hold you.

"He's outvoted anyways. Steven likes you." Jake remarks.

And Steven liked you, indeed.

Although Steven would deny it because he didn't know how to go about it considering you belonged to Jake. And the last time he went about courting a member of the system's woman, he got punched in the face.

But Steven understood why Jake was in love with you. You were a good fighter and weren't afraid to get your hands dirty with both grime and blood either. You did good at your tasks as an avatar, like Jake, and technically the rest of the system. You were also fun, and charming, and kind, and pretty, and smart, and you smelled nice. So yeah, Steven had feelings or at least an attraction towards you as well.

Marc felt slightly pissed about this since he seemed to be the only one not running head on and blindly into you. He knew you weren't a threat, you were a fellow avatar and there didn't seem to be any issues with both of your bosses. If anything Khonshu and Sekhmet didn't really seem to care as long as you did the jobs they set you out on. And maybe Marc was a little mad at Khonshu for not saying anything about you and Jake when he literally threatened to make Layla his new avatar as a means to get him in line.

But it felt like maybe the damn bird was still messing with him with what he's just demanded.

_____________

"I do not understand how you could be confused, Marc. This is another pursuit of punishing those who are meddling with power beyond themselves." Khonshu remarked.

"No. I get that. But why does she's have to come along?" Marc asked, referring to you.

"You and Sekhmet's avatar came across the first piece of this together. I see no reason in not including the other half of this." the god explains.

"I understand you are not exactly fond of her avatar. But I have seen her work on some occasions and she is skillful in both calculating plans and combat. It will aid you in your mission." Khonshu explains, "It will also help you get out of your head. The three of you in that body can't always rely on each other." is also added.

Marc sighed in defeat.

Marc knew that Khonshu couldn't care less for what Marc wanted as long as he and the system did the job and didn't make an even bigger mess, and Marc was also sure that it was the same for Sekhmet and you. So he didn't have much of a choice other than bite his tongue and go along with it like he always does. And of course the other two are all on board with spending time with you.

So he let Jake and Steven handle all the tracking and research with you. But it turns out that not even that can be spared from being an unofficial date.

"Okay." you say as you throw the manila folder onto the table, and gently setting down a cup of coffee, for you, and tea, for Steven. "I pulled an all nighter last night in order to understand what's going on and what our plan is." you say, "So forgive me if I'm not made up." you joke as you sit down and open up the folder. "Oh, don't say that. You always look nice." Steven gently laughs earning a little smile from you.

"Anyways," you say as you pull out some papers. The first couple are what look like clippings from news articles talking about some desecrated places and stolen objects. "So these places have had some run ins with people stealing their stuff. Right?" you explain before looking up at Steven. He just nods and follows your hands as they move around. "These seem like random places maybe having some disrespectful tourists until," you build up in your voice before pointing at specific parts of the clippings, the dates, "These all happened within a few months! And they all have the same MO!" you exclaim. Steven, again just nods. " "So what?" You might be thinking," you say as you glance at Steven before looking back to the papers.

"That's what I want to know." Marc sarcastically says to himself.

You take out a map with different points highlighted and some crawled words next to them.

You send time explaining the cases for each of the highlighted countries. A piece of the Stonehenges was broken off in the night and no one can find it. Some of the skulls in the French Catacombs are missing. Ivan the Terrible's grave was dug up and his coffin and body were stolen and so is Vlad the Impaler's. Mapping out that a group of weirdos have been going in a clockwise direction in a stealing spree of weird occult and dark history. "For what reason, I don't know." is the words you said when Steven asked why with a sheepish hand raise, like he was a student in a class.

Either way, it was something about them having a path but now they've stopped after you and the boys stopped them mid heist. And that they're most likely trying to figure out a course of action.

"So now what?" Steven asks as he digests everything you've told him. "We wait." you say plainly, "We wait until they either hit their next target or there's a place that gets stolen from and see if it has the same MO." you explain. "Shouldn't be hard. Not many people want spooky paranormal objects." you add.

"And what about the stuff they already stole?" Steven questions. "Well, we can follow them around, snag one of them, and have them spill the beans. We can make them talk." you answer, most likely talking about you and Jake being the one's to handle that.

"But that's for when they start moving again." you clarify. "For now it's just the four of us." You smile as you lean in and boop Steven on the nose.

Steven blushes and looks stunned at the action, making you worry that you've crossed a line and violated his personal space.

"I am so sorry. That was from habit. I do that to Jake sometimes." you apologize before Steven smiles back and laughs showing that he didn't mind one bit.

Great... you're spending more time with them than just having to run a quick errand for your god bosses.

[fieldofdaisiies]

azriel x eris | 3,1k words | warnings: none | masterlist

The moon casts a gentle glow upon his bedroom, its light filtering through the frost-covered windows, bathing the room in a soft glow, shadows dancing upon the brown, velvety walls adorned with several golden ornaments. A lone wolf cries out somewhere in the distance of the Autumn Court, its howl reverberating within the walls of the Autumn Court heir’s room. 

Eris‘ head lolls to the side, eyelids fluttering, his breathing turning a little ragged. A cool breeze from the half open window brushes his exposed thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake, the same moment a groan parts his lips. Cerberus stirs awake, worried about his owner, and shifts closer to the heir of the Autumn Court. He rests his head atop Eris leg, exhaling loudly.  

But Eris doesn’t notice. He doesn’t wake either. The Autumn Court prince only fists the sheets, knuckles turning white from how tightly he is holding onto them, his pale forehead lying in furrows, his expression pained. A sheen of cold sweat covers his skin and a yet unbeknownst emotion twists his gut, his leg jerking before relaxing again.

"You are still here." Not a question. A statement. An observation.

The shadowy male is still in the armchair he had been in for hours, hunched over papers - reports or similar. His broad shoulders are on display for Eris. So are the large wings, their membrane leathery and so inviting to touch. 

Azriel doesn’t deign the heir a glance, nor an answer, his shoulders merely rising with a barely-there shrug.

"Azriel." Eris doesn’t really recognise his own voice. It sounds softer, lighter, a little hushed. 

"Since when do you call me, Azriel?" Finally, he turns to the heir and Eris is once again struck by the ethereal beauty of the spymaster of the Night Court. He shouldn’t think like that.

"Don‘t you like it when I call you Azriel?"

Slowly, the Illyrian rises, nothing but grace in his walk as he nears Eris and bends at the waist, getting on eye level with the male formerly having been asleep on the plush sofa in the library of the Moonstone Palace.

"I like it a little too much." Azriel holds his gaze. Eris‘ brows crunch. 

"Is this real?" he asks and once again his voice is foreign. "Or is this a dream?"

"Can’t it be both?" Azriel crouches down in front of him, his wings tucked in, shadows dancing on his shoulders. Eris fights the urge to reach out and brush his fingers against them. Wanting to see if they are truly there. Or are they just his imagination?

"It feels unreal." Eris tries to hold the spymaster‘s gaze, his heart beating a fraction too fast for his liking. An emotion he can’t quite place passes across Azriel’s face, but it vanishes in an instant, the indifferent, unreadable mask once again falling in to place. The male tries to compose his demeanour, not letting Eris see beneath his indifferent exterior. 

"Why are you still here, Azriel?"

"To watch you." 

"To watch me?"

Nothing. Absolutely nothing shows on Azriel’s face. No hint of amusement. Of sincerity. Nothing. His face is almost like a blank canvas. Every emotion hidden behind his mask.

"To make sure you don’t plan anything."

"What should I plan?"

"I am sure you and Bryallin had a lot of time to talk." The barely-there rise of his eyebrow, tells Eris that Azriel might be curious, but he can’t tell him anything. Because he doesn’t know himself. He doesn’t remember. He has no idea what exactly they talked about - if they ever truly talked. The mask. The crown. But………

"I don’t remember anything. Nothing…" he admits honestly, voice too breathy, not strong enough.

Azriel is silent. He says nothing. Only looks at him. For a long moment. 

"Nothing, you say?" Azriel asks. 

Eris‘ gaze drops. Azriel’s hand, adorned with both scars and veins, is braced on the sofa, mere inches from his own. "Nothing." 

He can hear how Azriel sighs, but his eyes stay trained on the hand in front of him. "It is like the memory of those days, that time, is wiped from my brain."

"I came for you." This makes the heir lift his gaze. "To save you."

"You didn’t do it for my sake,” Eris bristles. 

"What if I did?"

"Why would you?"

The question renders Azriel speechless. He tries to hold Eris’ gaze, but eventually looks away. 

"No answer now?" A slight hint of taunting lace Eris‘ words, his brows arched in an almost arrogant way. "Did I—"

He had not expected that. Out of every possible option of what could -would- happen, this would have been the last one.

Azriel’s lips are soft. Like the brush of a feather when they meet his own. His kiss is gentle, not like he expected Azriel to kiss (not that he has thought about the way Azriel would kiss…) and suddenly he feels the rough calluses of Azriel’s palm scrape over his cheek. Eris‘ eyes close, wanting to revel in the moment. It feels surreal, and so does the sound of Azriel’s groan, purely male. It makes the heir’s hair stand on end and his skin feel taut all of a sudden. 

Would he really elicit such noises from the shadowsinger? He doesn’t allow himself to imagine other times where Azriel would make such noises - different circumstances that could lead to them. 

Their lips part, a faint, hardly visible smile, graces Azriel‘s face. But Eris can’t watch it for too long. His eyes dip anew. He looks at Azriel’s hand again, the one  braced on the sofa, the other one still on his cheek.

He looks at the marred skin of his fingers. Thumb, forefinger , middle finger. One…two…one…

"This is not real," Eris breathes and shakes his head.

"What do you mean?" Azriel demands, some bitterness having filled his voice all of a sudden. When Eris lifts his eyes to look into Azriel’s, the former softness and desire have faded, leaving behind nothing but empty pits of hatred and disdain. Azriel’s shadows have formed a fuzzy nest around their owner‘s shoulders, no longer gently gliding around his body.

"That I am dreaming." Eris grabs Azriel’s hand and shoves the male away. Into the sudden darkness of the room, the swirling pit of shadows. "That this is a fucking nightmare!"

His skin is clammy, his sleeping pants and the duvet are drenched in sweat when he stirs awake, abruptly sitting up in bed. His back aches, so does his neck, now stiff and he can barely turn his head. His throat feels dry, too damn dry, his eyes burning.

Eris folds his hands over his face, his heart hammering so fiercely within his chest that it almost hurts and he can feel it in his throat. He finds it hard to catch his breath, his head dizzy, a haze of confusion and irritation making blood rush in his ears. His vision is blurry, as if a fog rises in his room, hovering above the floor.  

Why did he dream about him? Again.

Why is he on his mind? Always.

Eris sucks in a sharp breath, the cold air burning when he glides down his throat, his hand of its own accord gliding into the soft fur of his hound curled up next to him, its head resting atop Eris‘ thigh. He finds comfort in the touch. His hound soothing his tension. 

"I didn’t mean to wake you." Eris whispers his silent apology. The hound remains calm.

The Vanserra male tips his head back, eyes trained upon the ceiling with the intricate carvings. Many nights, even when he was a youngling, he studied those carvings, never making sense of them. But by how many sleepless nights he has already had, he can almost memorise them by heart. 

Eris exhales a long breath, his chest feeling heavy, the temperature in his bedroom so low, he can see the tendrils of his breath curl in front of his face. 

"I'll be right back," he tells the hound in his bed and carefully removes the damp bedsheet, shoving it down his long legs until it pools at the bottom of the bed. 

The old mahogany bed creaks when Eris pushes himself up, the first steps he takes hollowing through the large expanse of his room. He walks a little unsteadily, not only his back but also his legs hurting, as if an external force is making them heavier. As if an external force is pressing down on him. 

He brings a hand up, brushes back a few loose strands of red hair and walks into the adjacent bathroom, not turning on any light. He likes to stick to the darkness, finds comfort in it. Because when he is in the dark, the scars upon his bare skin are visible. He can feel them, but he can’t see them. 

His mouth feels dry. So does his throat. Er turns on the water. It is ice cold, but nevertheless, he drinks it, then washes his face.

Droplets of cold water cascade down his pale cheeks when Eris meets his empty eyes in the mirror - nothing but endless pits of darkness, and loneliness looking back at him. The void that has been growing inside of him since the day he was born, is now also visible on the outside. Like a mirror of his soul. 

An icy shiver curls around his spine. He can barely feel his toes from the cold seeping into his feet from beneath. The luxurious stone floor is not warm. Is never warm. Has never been warm. Just like the feeling, the atmosphere, within the Forest House. There has never been warmth in this house. At least not since the day Lucien has left. 

But the cold of the Forest House mirrors the one inside of him, a perfect portrayal of it.

Just like him - the perfect portrayal of the Autumn Court prince. Heir to the Autumn Court. Cruel. Powerful. Merciless. Mean. Arrogant. Ruthless.

And Eris likes to wear this mask. Likes to put it on and become someone else. Outside the confines of his room. Let everyone see what they want to see. Let them all believe what they want to believe.

That he is cruel. That he left Morrigan to die. That he—

A howl from his bedroom makes him look over his shoulder, eyes narrowed, gaze focused on the dimly lit interior. 

An intruder? He doubts it. 

He knows it.

Trotting reaches his ears, and just a moment later Odin –good old Odin-- pokes his head through the door, head heavy, expression just as sad as his owners, but at least in the hound‘s eyes, there is light. Hope. Love. 

The corner of Eris‘ mouth tips upwards, which gives Odin the cue to come inside, rubbing his damp snout against his owner’s hand. Eris‘ heart starts to warm, only a fraction, but enough to make him feel better. Lighter. Calmer. 

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Hair tied at the nape of his neck, dressed finery, his hands in the pockets of his breeches, Eris struts down the corridor to Beron‘s office. His gaze is trained in the floor, his lids a little heavy from the restless night. 

Eris tugs on his tailored coat, the Autumn Court crest gleaming in the morning light. It makes him grimace. Beron‘s crest, his emblem, adorns every corner of the Forest House and Eris can‘t wait to get rid of each one of them. For good. 

With each step down the house‘s corridors, his strides grow more languid, more tentative. 

Approaching his father's office, he comes to a sudden halt. 

“Yes, Lucien.” Beron’s snarl reaches Eris’ ears although his father is trying his best to keep his voice low, hushed. 

Eris’ heart slams to a halt before picking up in pace and pounding against his rib cage. He holds his breath, as unease coils in his gut. 

Why would his father mention Lucien? Why is his little brother the topic of Beron‘s discussion with whoever is with him? Probably one of his lords. Or a spy.

The polished oak door stands ajar, a faint murmur of voices seeping through the opening. Eris draws closer, but only an inch, his steps treading lightly on the floor.

His heartbeat quickens.

And when words more agitating than he expected to be hearing that when getting up this morning reach his ears, cold sweat breaks out on the back of his neck.

"That means the bastard must die." Beron’s voice is nothing more than a rasp, dripping with spite and venom.

A mix of worry and intrigue fuels him to linger, his shoulder pressed against the cold stone wall. 

His head starts to spin a little and Eris reaches out a hand. His fingers brush against the ornate handle, wanting to intervene, to ask about what is going on. Why are they discussing Lucien?

But he remains silent. Behind the door. He needs to listen. To gather information. 

Lucien’s name once again rolls over Beron‘s lips and Eris inches closer, his ear trying to catch the whispered discussions within. He needs to hear the rest of the conversation.

Spying on his own father. What a great son he is, Eris thinks. But Beron is far from being a good father, so what he is doing doesn’t seem too devious.

“He is his son. You know what that makes him.”

The next High Lord of Day, Eris thinks. Learning that Lucien is only his half-brother has been a slight shock, but not a real surprise. Lucien has always been…a little different and Eris has always somehow expected it. Not that he is Helion’s son, but someone else’s son. 

Eris doesn’t care about Helion, High Lord of Day. Not one bit actually, but the prosperity of ruling over a court while his little brother rules over another court seems – in all honesty– wonderful. It is a thought Eris likes, loves to fantasise about.

The distant echo of footsteps startles him. Panic flashes across his face, and in a swift motion, he steps away from the door, turning to face the corridor just as a sentry rounds the corner. Dimmed sunlight seeps in through the curtain-framed window and bathes the corridor in a soft yellow-ish light that almost makes the Forest House seem a little warm. 

But the sentry’s expression is everything but warm. It is cold. Scared. Apprehensive. 

“Good morning,” Eris greets, his voice a little raspy, but loud. 

The sentry curtsies and quickly rushes past the heir, not saying a word in answer. Eris turns back to the door.

Now, that his father knows of his presence in front of the office, there is no more need for hiding. Eris knocks. The sound bouncing off the stone walls and hollowing through the corridors. 

“Enter.” There is nothing warm, and much less fatherly in Beron’s snarl. But Eris ignores it.

He allows his father’s advisor, the male‘s head bowed, to leave the office before he steps inside. He lets his gaze run over the advisor. Lord Kargan. He has been his father’s advisor for ages. As long as Eris can remember. 

“Father.” Eris clears his throat. He saunters up to his father’s desk, halting mere inches from it. Beron tips his head back, disdain etched upon his features when his gaze runs over his oldest. 

“You are late, Eris,” he eventually says.

The Autumn Court heir keeps his voice level, his breathing steady. “You were having a meeting, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

It could be trepidation that flashes in the High Lord‘s eyes, his fingers curling so tightly around his pen, his knuckles turn white. 

“Were you eavesdropping? What did you hear?”

His brows bunch, and although he exactly knows he wasn’t supposed to witness the former conversation, Eris asks his father, “Are there things I am not supposed to know?”

“I‘ve told you before that you are not the one to be asking the questions, son. So spare me with them.”

Beron tilts his chin at him, in dismissal, but then lifts his hand. His expression reveals nothing, and still the room cools, a shudder coursing through it when his eyes focus on his son. It is suddenly quite, so quite, the deafening silence reaches every corner of the Forest House. Every nook.

“We are raising the tithe again.”

Eris bristles and shakes his head. “What? Why is that necessary?”

“I’ve just told you that you are not the one to ask the questions.” Disdain passes over the High Lord’s face. “But I am generous today. It is necessary indeed.”

The High Lord writes something down. “Because we can’t trust Summer any more. Tarquin is allying with Night, I know it. We need more border patrol to his court. We need more forces to be ready. More people who will be trained and who can fight. More weapons.”

Beron’s own son is allying with Night, Eris thinks. He veils his face in nonchalance, holding his father’s gaze.

Beron is slowly going insane with about the whole of Prythian wanting to get rid of him. He is not completely wrong though.

But Eris knows, he isn't in his right mind anymore and fear makes people do insane things.

“How do you know Tarquin—”

Beron stops him with his hand, a muscle in his jaw feathering, then he drags his tongue over his teeth and leans back in his old oak chair that groans beneath him. “So many questions today, son, when I explicitly told you to stop asking them!” He shouts the last part, and a cool shiver curls around Eris‘ spine. His breath catches and yet his face reveals nothing.

He knows what his father is capable of, has oftentimes become subject to his punishment. So, he takes a step back and bows his head.

“I won’t bother you again, father.”

“Good,” the High Lord snarls. His gaze moves to the window, slides down windows, obscuring the view but one can make out the leaves, slick with rain, twitching as drops land upon them.

“And suspicions. I have my suspicions.” Beron‘s head whips back into his son‘s direction, gaze sharp, cold. “Don‘t you have things to do?”

Eris does. Indeed, he has a lot of things to do and so with saying another word, he leaves his father’s office, only one target on his mind. He needs to inform the Night Court about discussions about Lucien. His little brother is most likely in danger and Eris won’t sit here and do nothing. He has failed Lucien once already. He won’t make the same mistake twice.

tag list for ACOCD @hnyclover @a-frog-with-a-laptop @queercontrarian @fandomsmultiverse @acourtofbatboydreams @chunkypossum @baileybird71 @beckkthewreck @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @owllover123 @acotarobsessed @goldenmagnolias @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @v3lv3tf0x @talibunny30 @allyhill @going-through-shit

general Azris tag list: @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ofduskanddreams

[juminies]

in order to get to the heart

marriage of convenience, on occasion, is not so convenient.

♡ — jumin x original female character. small amounts of canon compliant jumin x reader, but mostly canon divergent (jumin is unhappily married prior to the start of the game). 1600 words. title from heartlines by florence + the machine.

They just say anything to each other these days.

“This façade drains me beyond comprehension,” Jumin confesses the minute he walks through the door. His fingers loop into the knot of his tie and pull it looser around his neck.

“So you say,” murmured half into a cushion tucked up to a woman’s chest as she types on her phone. “It’s not for our benefit though, is it?”

On some level, this is always how it was going to be for Jumin, he thinks. In a marriage stripped to its fragile bones. A sacrificial lamb for the sake of the corporation, for mutual social and financial gain.

He leans down to untie his shoes.

It would be untrue to say there weren’t veiled attempts, in the beginning, to love. When that didn’t work there were attempts to like. None successful, of course. Lately it’s becoming more difficult to believe this arrangement is better than any alternative. Between the two of them there is a lot of nothing.

The woman remains quiet—focused—but nods easily against the woven fabric she’s leaning into when Jumin asks, “Do you not get tired of coming home from work to find me occupying your space?”

He knows that in public they look good together. He knows that their careers slot together effortlessly. Despite what the media may suggest, however, they are human. Jumin included. The way he feels nothing for her does not match the way she feels nothing for him. The way she yells that he is robotic does not match the way he stoically calls her irresponsible.

They do not sleep together, or eat together, or do any of the romantic things Jumin wishes he hadn’t let himself privately indulge in the idea of. And it’s not that she’s not nice—she’s intelligent and beautiful and kind, when it suits her. Perfect on paper until she wasn’t. When she laughs with her chest Jumin can almost imagine a world where she smiles at him like she does others and it makes his heart weak. Part of him wishes, truly, that that was the case. In reality it feels like nothing.

It could be worse, he tells himself—repeats it like a mantra.

Concealed beneath it is fear. You could be like him. You could repeat his mistakes.

She throws her phone haphazardly onto the sofa beside her and looks up to where Jumin is standing in the doorway. He’s mostly backlit from the light in the hall, the lamp beside his wife barely grazing his features but lighting up hers in all the wrong ways. The orange glow casts unpleasant shadows over places she’s usually pretty. He should have the bulb changed to something less harsh.

“Not much we can do if you don’t want the press to kick up a huge fuss, sweetie,” she says.

The pet names are a jest he has learned to tune out.

“Will they not make a fuss over our divorce in three years’ time nonetheless?” Jumin asks. It’s hypothetical, of course. They will.

“Maybe we’ll have grown on each other by then.” Her tone is disinterested; feels almost mocking. Her phone chimes to let her know her driver is outside. “I’m going out. Shall I take my card or yours?”

“It makes little difference to me.” Jumin looks at his watch. It’s almost 10pm but he doesn’t ask where she’s going. A bar, perhaps.

“Could you adjust my necklace?”

She holds her hair up messily, and he does.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he tells her, then briefly wonders if she’ll meet someone tonight and sleep with them. He pictures her naked beneath a stranger. It feels like nothing.

She takes her own card and squeezes his bicep softly as she walks by him on the way out. She shuts the door more forcefully than is ever really necessary.

At some point Jumin suggests she move out of their—his—apartment and into the one directly below; just recently made vacant. He probably would have suggested it earlier had the apartment been available earlier, but their district of Seoul tends to be under high demand.

“I thought we agreed it was a bad idea to live separately,” she says. It’s a statement, not a question. They had done exactly that.

Jumin hums, tired. Tired from his trip and tired from trying and at some point, it seems, he has lost an indistinguishable part of himself to her for good.

“We did. Although I would say that that was long enough ago now for us both to have become quite aware that we do not do particularly well sharing the same space for considerable periods of time.”

“You’re gone a lot anyway. The place is big enough for us to avoid each other if needed, and I like it here.”

She exhales sharply; amused.

Jumin has no idea why until she adds, “More so when you’re not around, to be fair.” And that explains it, just about.

“Stay here when I am travelling if you must,” he tells her. Somewhere along the way his suggestion has morphed into more of an instruction.

“Fine. Don’t tell your father, though. Or mine.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

They buy it outright in her name, the cost split fifty-fifty. Jumin tells her to keep it all when she sells it later. She tells him she won’t.

They argue tonight, as usual, about who will be chauffeuring them to a company gala. They had agreed that Jumin’s driver would take them only for her to assert for the hundredth time at the last minute that she doesn’t trust him, though she has not legitimately spoken to him more than once and he has been working for Jumin’s family longer than she has been alive.

It’ll cause a stir if the two of them show up separately so they end up in her car, as usual. Jumin apologises to Driver Kim via text for requesting him when he wasn’t needed on the way there, and they arrive late.

The venue reminds Jumin of the last RFA party. His wife had not attended despite her invitation, so it is not proper grounds for conversation. However, when they are out like this they are a happy couple like the legal drabble says, so he says it anyway—if just to appear interested in her.

“I’m sure this is nicer than your friends’ charity get togethers,” she replies lightheartedly, and they are called over by her father before Jumin can retaliate.

The façade stays firm for the remainder of the event. Jumin can easily distinguish her fake laugh from her real one, and he can tell when she forgets who he is for a moment and touches him a little more tenderly than either of them really mean.

They are silent on the drive home. They are silent in the elevator, until it stops one floor below Jumin’s penthouse. “Goodnight,” he says. “Sleep well.”

“You don’t have to say that, you know,” she counters, and smiles softly as the doors slide shut between them. “Not when it’s just me.”

Elizabeth the 3rd is snoring softly when he unlocks his door, and it is the only sound he can hear. He basks in the bliss of having nobody around when he is already so mentally exhausted, and takes out his phone to see it’s just after midnight and Yoosung has opened a chat room.

He enters it, multitasking as he changes his clothes and brushes his teeth. His cat patters into the room and jumps up beside him when he perches on the edge of his bed. She smells frustratingly like perfume and something oddly like guilt threatens Jumin with a dull blade.

Wait!! says Luciel. Think someone entered the chat room.

Jumin checks. There is a name on his screen he doesn’t recognise.

Odd.

Who are you? Identify yourself.

“Jumin. It’s me,” your voice is soft and bubbly; maybe a little nervous but still pleasant on his ears. An intriguing introduction. He almost finds himself chuckling.

Jumin moves the phone from his ear and glances down at your name again, just to be certain he’s not imagining things, then focuses in on the plainness of the wall in front of him.

“I hope you realise blurting out ‘It’s me’ is not a proper way to identify yourself to the person on the other end of the line.”

He had hesitated briefly before telling you he is married. Now he has known you for five days and whatever he’s feeling is somehow, ridiculously, already far greater than any emotion he has ever felt towards his wife.

He invites her out for dinner at their usual restaurant the following evening, and she tells him if he has something to discuss with her she would rather keep it simple. As an alternative he invites her to the penthouse and opens a bottle of wine he knows she likes. When she arrives her hair is tied up experimentally and she is wearing a new shade of lipstick. She surprises him when she actually accepts his offer to pour her a glass.

“I am going to talk with my father,” Jumin says, and she knows what he means. It’s only later that he will find out she had already brought it up with hers. “For what it’s worth, however, I apologise that it ended up like this.”

“Me too,” she agrees. Jumin notices the light catch a glassiness in her eyes as she continues, “If I could have loved you, I would have.”

She stays for a few hours and it is the most sincere time they have spent together in three years.

That night, Zen has a dream.

[tbyfandoms]

In Sickness and in Health | Austin Butler x Reader

Pairing: austin butler x f!reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: when y/n wakes up sick in the middle of the night, austin does everything he can to make sure she feels better

Warnings: depictions of nausea and vomiting

Masterlist/Request Form | Ask/Tell/Request

A/N: I was literally so sick just like this the other night and struggled to go back to sleep. in my nauseous state I of course resorted to living in my daydreams of how I wished one of my celeb/fictional boyfriends would comfort me LMAO. so here is the result of that. I honestly don’t think i’ve ever written anything faster. if you’ve been feeling ill hopefully you too can find comfort in this. love ya’ll and make sure to look after yourselves <3

It feels like your stomach is twisting in on itself as you roll over onto your side. Barely able to open your eyes due to the pain, you try to breathe through it. As you go to breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth (a practice you know to have helped settle this feeling before) you realize it does everything but make the pain go away.

A rush of distress courses through you as a familiar feeling starts to make its way up from your stomach and in your throat. You’re not quite throwing up yet, but you know instantly that it’s coming.

Careful not to wake your sleeping boyfriend, you rip off the blankets holding you down and quickly make your way to the bathroom. As you near the door you feel as if you might fall over. The room suddenly feels like it’s spinning and as you grasp onto the door handle you almost knock your head right into it as you tilt forward.

Grabbing onto the counter in the bathroom you flip the light switch on and groan as the fluorescent lights nearly blind you. Taking careful but hurried steps, you make your way over to the toilet and kneel down on the soft rug in front of it. Your whole body feels like it’s pulsating as you lift up the lids and prepare for what’s to come.

When it does happen, instead of feeling a million times better like you figured you would, you still feel that lightheadedness and your stomach still feels like it’s in knots. Part of you assumes you’re gonna get sick again, but as you stay kneeling on the floor, grabbing at some toilet paper to wipe your mouth, you don’t think it’ll happen anytime soon.

Slowly standing back up, you reach over and flush the toilet, looking away as the little bit of bile that did come up gets flushed away. You walk over to the sink and place your palms on the counter, using it as leverage to hold yourself up as you try to steady your breathing.

Although you have no idea if you’ll just get sick again anyways, you open the drawer that has your toothbrush in it and begin to brush your teeth. You can’t stand the way your mouth feels and tastes after you throw up, so it’s urgent that you get rid of the feeling as soon as possible. As you begin to brush you take in the fact your throat is sore from the coughing and stings a little over the acid that remains. The whole situation makes you wince.

Once you finish, you take a step back from the sink and try to stand on your own, seeing if you can sense any feeling that you’re gonna get sick again as soon as you walk out the bathroom door. You feel fine-ish.

Ugh.

Looking in the mirror you take in your appearance. You look sick and the added bedhead from what little sleep you got doesn’t help. You honestly just want to go lay back down but you’re scared you’ll just have to get right back up again if you do.

You feel as if you should’ve seen this coming. When you had dinner earlier, there was just something about it that wasn’t settling right with you. The meal was something you’ve had plenty of times before, but it was off this time. As soon as you were done eating you felt like everything was just sitting there in your stomach and the leftover taste that hung around in your mouth did nothing but make it worse.

After a while you felt like you were fine, you figured maybe you just ate too fast or too much, but there was this tiny thought in the back of your mind that suggested it wasn’t either of those at all. You should’ve figured it would come back to haunt you. Oh how you wish you would’ve been wrong.

Deciding you’ll deal with getting sick again if and when it happens, you move to head back to bed. Making sure to turn the light off before opening the door, so not to wake up Austin, you pull on the handle and welcome the cool air that hits you as you walk out of the bathroom. The room feels less like it’s spinning now, but just to be on the safe side you shuffle slowly to your side of the mattress.

As you carefully sink yourself down under the covers, not wanting to make any sudden movements that could make you sick again, you try to get comfortable. Letting out some shaky breaths, you lay flat on your back thinking it’ll somehow settle everything going on in your body. Who knows if it’ll work but it’s better than laying with your neck bent and making your head hurt more.

Staring up at the ceiling, you place one of your hands on your lower abdomen, hoping the heat and small pressure of it will relieve the pain. It’s barely any use though, maybe if you can steady yourself enough to get the heating pad-

“Baby?” A groggy voice says from beside you. Turning your head to the side, you watch as the blankets slip down Austin’s bare chest as he sits up and rubs at his eyes. “What’s goin’ on? Are you okay?”

Even though you didn’t want to disturb the blonde while he was sleeping, there’s a part of you that’s glad he woke up. God knows he’s one of the only people that’s always able to make you feel at least a little bit better. Barely above a whisper you say, “I-I threw up.”

It’s as if the mere mention of you being sick sets off alarm bells in Austin’s head. In an instant he looks wide awake and moves closer to you so he can assess the severity of everything. “What? Are you alright? Want me to turn on the light?”

Your boyfriend moves to turn on the bedside lamp but you quickly reach out and grab his arm, the movement causing your stomach to lurch. With a newfound queasiness you say, “No! Please keep it off, my head is throbbing. The bathroom lights were enough for me.”

Austin nods his head and moves back towards you. Even with just the little light coming in through the windows from outside you can tell he’s concerned about you. “Was it dinner? I know you said you were feelin’ a little queasy earlier.”

“Yeah, I think so. I thought I was fine when we went to bed, but I woke up and my stomach was in knots, still kinda is honestly.” You grasp at your stomach and twist your body a bit as a wave of cramps goes through you. That feeling of something working it’s way up returns but thankfully it passes after you take a deep breath.

“D’you want me to make you some tea? I just got this new box of chamomile from the store. I bet it’d help.” Austin grabs at the blankets still laying over his waist, ready to jump out of bed at your request, but you just shake your head. You doubt you could even handle a simple tea right now.

“That’s okay, thank you though. I’m just really tired and want to try and get through this.” You meet Austin’s gaze as best you can in the dark and try to get it across to him that you really will be fine. You know this is nothing to worry about and all you really need is some rest and to have him by your side.

“Alright, sweetheart. If you need anything, though, don’t hesitate to ask.” The blonde leans over and delicately moves some of your hair away from your face before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I don’t wanna suffocate you so I’ll just stay over here on my side, but just know I’m right here for you.”

You give him a small smile before repositioning yourself as the cramps in your stomach pass. You can feel Austin staring at you and it warms your heart to know how worried he is for you. He’s truly the best and you’re so grateful for him every day.

A thought crosses your mind as you go to place your hand on your lower stomach again. You may not be able to wrap yourself in Austin’s arms for fear of getting overheated, but you can think of something else he can do to help and allow you to feel close to him.

“Hey, Aus?” you whisper, turning your head to the side once more.

“Yeah, baby?” His deep voice rumbles through your body and the sound alone has you feeling more at ease.

“Can I see your hand?” Your boyfriend’s expression turns to one of confusion but he doesn’t question it as he holds out one of his hands. You grab on to it, lead it under the covers, and place it gently over the area of your stomach that aches the most. Looking back over at him you say sheepishly, “Human heating pad?”

Austin throws his head back and you smile as you watch his adam’s apple bob up and down as he lets out that honey laugh you love so much. “For you? Anytime.”

The two of you get situated for good this time and as Austin lays his head down on his pillow, he’s careful to not jostle his one hand around too much, wanting you to be as comfortable as possible.

As you settle in and continue to steadily breathe in and out, you reach down and lightly hold on to Austin’s hand, wanting to still be touching a part of him as you try to stabilize yourself from this apparent food poisoning.

Your eyelids begin to feel heavy as your stomach pains slowly dissipate due to the soothing feeling of Austin’s warm hand. Just as you start to drift off you hear your boyfriend utter one final term of endearment.

“Sleep well, sweetheart.”

*****

When you wake up in the morning, from the brightness of the sun alone you can tell you slept in.

Rolling onto your side you brace for the inevitable drop of your stomach and buzzing in your head, but you’re shocked when it doesn’t happen.

Slowly easing yourself up to a sitting position in bed, you pinch the bridge of your nose as a tiny wave of nausea sweeps through you, but after a few seconds of stillness it fades. Your stomach feels much better, there’s a bit of an ache but it’s nothing compared to how it was last night.

“Hey, you’re up.” Looking over you watch as Austin comes into your shared room holding a glass of water and some medicine. “I brought these for when you wake up so perfect timing.”

Reaching out, you grab the glass and medicine and as Austin makes his way around to his side you down the pills, feeling grateful for the fresh water and hoping the medicine will take away the rest of your stomach ache. “Thanks, Aus. Hey, what time is it?”

You’d look on your phone but you don’t want to risk triggering your headache again by staring at a screen just yet. You wanna savor this moment of headache free living just incase you turn out to be more sick than you thought. “Just after ten, I wanted to let you sleep in later than usual. You need all the rest you can get. How are you feelin’? Any better than last night?”

The blonde inches closer to you on the bed, looking for any signs of further illness. It was hard for him to see you clearly last night in the dark, but from what he can tell you definitely don’t look too bad. “I feel better than last night for sure. There’s a tiny bit of nausea still but honestly I’ll take it over whatever was goin’ on last night. That was awful.”

You frown at the memory but it doesn’t last long as Austin leans over and plants a soft kiss on your cheek, leaving a warm feeling behind. “My poor girl. M’glad you’re feelin’ a little better, though. Today I want you to just relax and try to get some more rest. I know you think it was probably just the food we had but just incase. I don’t want you gettin’ any worse.”

You smile at the man, feeling so appreciative for his attentiveness and care. “Will do, Doc.” He smirks at you and rolls his eyes before helping you get readjusted in bed.

“Just like I said last night, if you need anythin’ just ask. I’ll be here ready and waitin’ for as long as I can be.”

As your boyfriend begins to readjust his own pillows, clearly set on staying in bed with you, you feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude and happiness. No one’s ever cared for you the way Austin has and no matter how much time passes from when you first started dating, he still treats you like the most important person in the world.

You know that he probably didn’t get much sleep after he woke up last night, no doubt wanting to stay alert incase you needed him. It’s just the type of person he is and it melts your heart. You do feel bad about it all, though because you know he has things to do this evening and losing hours of needed sleep is no doubt going to make it hard for him to stay focused later.

“Thank you for taking care of me, especially last night. I didn’t mean to wake you up or worry you. I know you have a bunch of meetings later and you needed your sleep I just-“

Austin holds up a hand and from the look on his face you can tell he’s having none of this. “Don’t feel bad. You had no control over gettin’ sick and I would never hold that against you. Even if I had to be up at five in the mornin’ I still would’ve stayed up all night with you if you wanted. You’re my girl and I’m here for you no matter what.”

You don’t know if it’s your illness that’s making you emotional but suddenly you find your eyes filling with tears and the biggest smile spreading across your face. “I love you so much, Austin Butler, you know that?”

“You might’ve told me once or twice.” Laughing, you lightly hit Austin’s arm in mock-hurt before making your way into his embrace. As you nuzzle into his side you listen in as he goes to say something else. “It’s you and me, in sickness and in health, remember?”

Tilting your head up to look at your boyfriend you say, “Baby, that’s for people who are married! We aren’t married.” Giggling, you place your head back down on his chest, finding comfort in the sound of his steady heartbeat.

“Okay, true, but one day I am gonna marry you and then that saying will be for us.” Austin grabs your left hand and you watch as he begins to fiddle with your ring finger. You can just imagine the ring he’ll get you, can see him standing at the end of the aisle watching as you walk down it towards him. It’s a dream, one you have no doubt will come true someday.

So as you picture this, your nausea no longer taking up the forefront of your thoughts, you say breathlessly, “I can’t wait.”

[gabessquishytum]

(Very inspired from a fic from a different fandom that I can definitely see fitting here)

College student Dream is utterly obsessed with his professor Gadling, who is so handsome and warm and engaging, and was so supportive of Dream when he came out as trans, and who (Dream’s fairly sure) has such a soft spot for him already that surely it wouldn’t take much to woo him, if it weren’t for their age difference and status as teacher and student. He’s willing to do anything to claim him, even if it’s underhanded. So he hatches a plan: if Dream can not only trip Hob into bed with him, but also have Hob get him pregnant, then surely the conscientious professor would take responsibility. Once Hob is successfully baby-trapped, then Dream can get to work on making him fall in love (speed run straight to married honestly if he can manage it).

Besides, once Dream pictured Hob as a dad, Hob caring for their children, Hob impregnating him, breeding him, his fate was sealed. Hob just has to belong to him and give him all the babies.

Dream downloads a fertility-tracking app, takes all the supplements, and bides his time for the perfect moment. He also starts dressing a little more sexily in Hob’s class, invading his personal space a little more when they talk, nothing incredibly overt, but just enough to plant the idea in the professor’s mind that Dream is both desirable and interested (part of him hopes that Hob might catch on and pounce on him about it, but he’s not too disappointed when this doesn’t happen as the main point is to lay the groundwork so that phase 2 doesn’t appear to come out of left field for Hob).

The night Dream sees that he’s at his peak fertile, that he’s at his most likely to become pregnant that he’ll ever be, he goes to the White Horse Tavern, the pub he knows Hob lives above and frequently spends his evenings at, and “happens” to bump into Hob there. They share a few drinks, and Dream pretends to be more affected by the alcohol than he actually is, faking some wooziness and a need to lie down for a bit. Hob is concerned and tipsy, so he thinks nothing of it to offer up his flat upstairs.

Hob Gadling has been guiltily but helplessly drawn to his student Dream from the beginning, and his defenses are even further down that night thanks to the drinks. So when he helps a “drunk” Dream up to his flat and onto his bed (clearly because it’s darker and quieter than the couch, obviously), and Dream tearily begs him to stay with him he agrees without hesitation. And when Dream suddenly climbs into his lap whining how much he needs Hob, he folds like wet paper.

-🪽anon

Oh I dooooo love a sneaky sneaky Dream!!

Dream doesn't have a lot of positive role models in his life so it's probably no surprise that he gets attached to Hob. Hob is kind and hot (and queer) and Dream is absolutely smitten. Honestly if he could just bide his time a little, Hob would probably actually make a move on him eventually (after Dream has graduated), but Dream can't wait that long and he can't risk Hob finding someone else in the meantime, so he has to get his man!

Thus he pulls off his grand plan: he comes off his birth control in advance, he tracks his cycle, and he makes his move on his man. Hob is just drunk enough to make some slightly risky moves but sober enough to know what he's doing. He feels very protective over Dream already, so he's got no reason to hesitate in taking him upstairs to recover from his dizzy spell. He wouldn't want some creepy guy picking Dream up in his vulnerable state...

Dream’s heart is racing so much as he slides into Hob’s lap. He can't believe he's actually got this far, and that Hob is letting him do this. Meanwhile Hob is desperately trying to persuade Dream to slow down without rejecting him outright. He just likes Dream too much to actually say no. For all his moral standards, he can't help but slide his hands around Dream’s waist and hold him there. Dream is an adult, right? He can make adult choices if he wants to?

Admittedly Hob might not be morally perfect, but he certainly knows how to fuck. He bounces Dream in his lap like he weighs next to nothing, and he's the first person in the whole world actually make Dream cum. He takes this as a good sign for the future. That, and the fact that Hob seemed to completely forget about using a condom.

Dream feels so loved and affirmed in his own body when Hob calls him a good lad, tells him he's got the sweetest, most lovely boypussy. He can't wait for Hob’s seed to take inside him. Hob is going to be the most wonderful daddy to their baby, Dream just knows it <333