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charlottecutepie · 6 months

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How about Will being sweet and rough at the same time? Like verbally being sweet, gently calling you his little bunny with his hand around your throat or just generally being rougher physically but also leaning in for forehead kisses. 🥹💜🐰

౨ৎ𓂃 ࣪˖ Jealous bunny (William Afton x fem!reader)

tags: nsfw, smut, vaginal sex, outdoor sex, car sex, jealous!reader, riding, doggy style, missionary, praise, rough sex, lot of petnames, choking, multiple orgasms, small daddy kink, fluff, creampie, soft!william, mention of william being married

author notes: heyy ty sm for this wonderful idea, i really liked it!!! tho I went further and added a lil plot here, hope you don’t mind :) lets say it’s me warming up for dubcon fic with stalker!william !!!!!!

It's pretty late, William is driving slowly and carefully, which even surprises you. He usually always drives casually, but apparently the day at work turned out to be quite difficult, his face also shows that. He stares wearily at the empty road through glasses, his facial muscles relaxed as he blinks tiredly. You rest your chin on your hand and turn your head to look into the car's window. Beautiful moonlight falls on the green meadows, giving a magical shine to the emerald grass. The stars sparkle in the night sky, some white and others bluish. It's really beautiful, breathtaking even, you actually forget you're with William until his voice reaches you.

“I keep forgetting to ask,” he begins, adjusting his glasses, the hand that holds the steering wheel relaxed. “How's Elizabeth's success at school?”

You know what to answer him. You turn your head to William and your gaze immediately falls on his hand, or rather on the finger on which the wedding ring shines hideously. Why hasn't he taken it off yet? Him and his wife decided to divorce a couple of months ago.

“I try to motivate her to study, but—”

“Buut she's pretty stubborn, right?” he interrupts you with a smile.

“Yeah,” you nod. “she's rude to me sometimes, and she doesn't want to do her homework. Today she. . . actually, she threw a tantrum because she didn't like the breakfast I made her.” you sigh never taking your eyes off William's ring.

He chuckles softly. “Her mom did a great job raising Elizabeth as a spoiled girl, i can say.”

“Well, that's the thing.” you sound displeased, not hiding the resentment in your voice. “it's difficult with her.”

“I know, darling, i know.” his hand lays on your thigh and strokes it, as if soothing you. “but believe me, this is how Elizabeth expresses her love. If she's throwing a tantrum and doesn't obey, it means she loves you.” you even seem to relax until you hear his next words. “kind of reminds me of her mom.”

Your face drops and you slap his hand away. “Don't wanna hear bout her.” you mumble as you narrow your eyes.

William looks at you. “Sorry, baby, i won't mention her.”

Silence filled the car again, only the chirping of crickets and the engine of the car are the only sounds. You're really offended that he started talking about his wife again, even though he always spoke neutrally about her, they just didn't suit each other. Their marriage was bursting at the seams and the only thing that kept them together were their kids.

“Why you're still wearing this ring?” you question him while continuing to look into the window, but your eyes aren't focused on the beauty of nature at all.

“I put it on especially for work,” he answers calmly. “It minimizes unnecessary questions and gossip about my personal life. You know i don't like sharing my things with people.” you glance at him briefly, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay.” you pout, that's when you feel his hand on your leg again, this time squeezing softly.

“I don't care about her anymore, princess.” you barely keep yourself from pushing him back, jealousy swallows you whole.

“You still love her. . . ” you say quietly. And even though you realize you're doing the wrong thing, because there really is nothing between them anymore, it's like they've become strangers again, you still can't contain your emotions and jealousy.

“Love her? Darling, I left all feelings related to her behind a long time ago.” he raises his eyebrows and gives you a surprised face, the car is going slower by the minute because William is clearly not interested in driving now. He didn't expect his girl to let herself think that he loves someone else. You're quiet, your face darkened and corners of your mouth downturned. “You're beautiful you know?” William's deep voice asks, his hand caresses your skin, slowly moving closer to your core.

“Don't say that.” you snap at him, trying to hold yourself from arguing with him. William chuckles, oh babygirl, it's no use fighting with me.

“Why i can't? If i love my bunny, why can't i say that?” this time you let him touch you, but you still don't look at him, trying your best to pretend that you don't care about what's happening right now. Except William has touched and fucked you so many times that he knows exactly when his little doll is lying. Of course, when you cross your legs and your body tenses, William knows what that means. He smiles and rolls off the road. “You're really stunning, these little shorts fit you so well.” he cooes.

“Don't.” you hiss at him.

“Or what, bunny?” you don't answer his question. “c'mon.” he reaches over and pulls your chin up until you're forced to look at him. Afton smiles, the corners of his lips tugging up, he stares into your eyes.

“You love her.”

“I don't.”

“You do—” William doesn't wait for you to deny it anymore; his mouth slams down onto yours in a searing kiss.

“I do love you, doll.” he pulls away only to whisper raggedly against these words into your lips before kissing you again. He claims your lips once more, caressing every inch of skin exposed by your t-shirt with one hand while the other slowly trails up towards your breast. You whimper into his mouth when he squeezes softly through the delicate fabric.

“If you'd love me, you'd—” you try to speak when he breaks the kiss, but your voice breaks when he plants tender kisses along the side of your jawline lowering to your neck. William murmurs another “i love only you” and when he reaches for your t-shirt, he slides his hand underneath the fabric to gently cup your breast; suckling on your skin while running his thumb over your sensitive nipple in an intimate circle.

“Is that enough prove, darling?” William pulls away from your neck, his breath warm against your lips as he looks into your eyes, he's watching your face, studying your reaction. But you're fucking silent, even though you know it's damn more than enough, you're still quiet. Your chest rising up and down from his passionate kisses and touches, your mouth opened, but no words come out.

Since his girl is silent, William decides to take matters into his own hands, he reaches down and rubs your pussy through your shorts. He grabs your hips while thrusting up against you; making it apparent just how hard he's gotten for you. “Mmmhm, my pretty bunny” he nuzzles your neck, breathing in deeply; you're sweet and hot all at once — like heaven on earth to him. He leans back slightly against the driver's seat, guiding you over his erect length which presses excitedly against your pussy through his pants. “Let me love you.” he takes yours chin again forcing it up for a hungry kiss while simultaneously grinding you against him.

“Right here?” you ask him in between kisses, trying your fucking best to make your voice sound neutral or careless even, but you fuck up as he grinds against you, his bulge pokes your clothed cunt and you feel your panties wetter. “N-no, i don't want, let me go.”

“Right here.” William looks at you, never believing your words, the signs are unmistakable: flushed cheeks, heavy breathing and soaked panties. You're horny, it's written all over your needy face. “Just let me love you darling.”

“You love your wife, you still wear that. . .” you gasp when William roughly bounces you on his erection. “damn ring.”

Not wasting any time, he removes the wedding ring carelessly from his finger and throws it aside before grabbing your hips, pulling you onto himself with force and kissing you again. A lot of kisses, you can tell that, your lips already swollen from that. “I love you, i need only you, only my little princess, mine.” William pulls back slightly, tugging your shorts and panties off in one swift move, revealing your glistening pussy. He watches hungrily as you bite your lip but don't stop him. He fumbles with the button and zipper on his pants before pushing them down along with his underwear to reveal a fully erect dick just waiting to thrust into you. “Gonna fuck that jealousy out of you.” he growls.

Panting heavily, William lines up his hard cock with your wet hole and then plunges inside you roughly, causing a sharp gasp to escape from both of you. He lets you adjust to his length, holding you in his big hands, making you feel small and safe with him, he groans and begins pounding into you hard, filling you just perfect, moaning as he praises his little princess. “Perfect, you're perfect. . .” his hips drive deeper every second until his balls slap loudly against your ass.

“Nghah— Ahh, William!” you feel so stretched open by the force of each thrust and yet it doesn't hurt. You grip onto his shoulders tightly for support but that doesn't slow him down in the least.

“Told you I'd make your pussy mine, bunny.” William huskily mutter in your ear before claiming your mouth with another fierce kiss as his cock reaches deeper in you at rough pace. He can feel you getting closer by how nice your pussy clamps around him and it's all he needs: feel your little cunt clench on his cock, be inside you while you cum. “Ughh, love the way this little cunt sucks me in.” he runs his hand down your body and finds your clit.

“I'm—” your voice weak from sudden stimulation, you shake as his fingers fastly caress your little sensitive bundle. “Fuck, gonna cum!” you whine, closing your eyes tight as you try to bounce on William, but you don't even realize he's doing all work here, having a firm grip on you and moving you up and down on his cock like a ragdoll.

Hearing your moan makes William's heart race faster, spurring him on to fuck you even harder. “C’mon, doll, let me hear you say it.” he continues slamming into your pussy, enjoying how wet and tight you're getting from his relentless thrusts. You barely hear what he tells you as your moans and slapping sounds filling the car.

“Daddy, please-please,” you cry out and in next second your ears catch satisfied laugh from him. “let me cum, please!!” your begs sound way too good and pretty for him, so he leans closer to you and gives you a tender kiss on the forehead.

“Such a good girl— yeahhh, go ahead, cum on my cock.” you let out a moan and shake as waves of pleasure crash over you. “fuck. . .” William's pace slows down to smooth and gentle, he kisses your breasts through your t-shirt, your nipples hard from chilly summer night and how horny you are. William licks your pretty nubs through clothes and you loose your head from such intimacy. Your fingers dig into his shoulders even harder now as he buries himself deeper inside until it seems impossible to go any further, reaching your cervix. Your orgasm sweeps over you and William feels it, hearing your rapid breaths turn into loud moans. His cock pulsating inside you and you cream around him as he finishes inside you, letting himself moan from how desperately your cunt tries to milk every last drop from him. “Hhmm, princess, my girl.” he hides his face in your chest, never wanting to let his little girl go.

He pulls away from you slowly, taking a moment to catch his breath. Looking up at your flushed cheeks, and into your eyes. “Was it enough to prove that I love only you?” he's still inside you and you shiver a little in aftershocks of your intense orgasm. “C'mon, tell me, doll.” his voice is soft, but there's an insistent undertone to it making you realize he wants an answer more than anything right then.

You look into his eyes and although inside you realize that what he did was more than enough, you do your best not to smile. And you're good at it, your face still looks like it did at the beginning of your talk, offended and completely provoking him to further actions. William reads everything in your eyes, which sparkle with devilish excitement.

So, William continues proving you, fucking you from behind in the passenger seat of his car, the cool leather brushes against your hot skin. With him inside you so deep and stretching your pussy it seems impossible not to let a loud moan escape your lips. His strong arms grip around your waist tightly as he picks up speed, watching how your ass jiggle whenever he thrusts. “Can’t believe you think i love someone other than you.”

“Oh fuck— Hahh, mmm. . . H-harder!” you moan and he drives into you harder, his breathing ragged and heavy.

“How could you even think that?” he growls in your ear. The more William talks to you the hornier you get as your whole body trembling and quivering. The need for him is intense inside you, every thrust pushing you towards another orgasm; making you claws dig deeper into leather seats. “My good little girl, my princess. Daddy gonna make sure to prove he loves only you.”

The contrast of his sweet words and rough fucking makes you cry, eyes watery as tears appears in corner of your eyes. The sounds and begs of yours make him fuck you harder, just as you asked to, William manhandles you by grabbing your hair, your roots hurts as he yanks your head to him.

“I belong to you, bunny,” he grunts, enjoying your glassy eyes full of sweet pretty tears as you drool silly. “and you belong to me. As it should be, right?” your heart trying to escape your chest as he pounds into you.

“Right there, fuck! Fuck—fuck—fuckkk!” you shake under him, you'll surely be sore after that, not only your body, but your throat because of how loud you're screaming. You're clearly ignoring his question.

“Answer me, bunny.” William tugs on your hair, making you gasp from unexpected pain. Your pussy gripping on him so fucking tight that he feels he gonna cum in any second again. “C'mon,” he thrusts. “answer” another thrust. “me.” you know you're acting bitchy right now, it's totally wrong, but you love this kind of William, who's trying to prove all his feelings, who cares about your state, who's ready to fuck all these insecurities out of you, so rude and aggressive, hair pulling and animalistic pace, but so gentle and soft, praising you and trying to make you believe.

You don't give him the answer he waited, instead just bucking your hips to his thrusts, wanting nothing more but to cum on his cock again.

“Fine, doll.” you hear William's voice behind you, but this time it's different, tone intimidating, more serious, his grip on your hair weakens and he lets you go.

You don't get time to process why he pulls out, leaving you feeling horribly empty as he changes position, manhandling you again, laying you on your back, his hands spread your legs wider and he plunges inside you again. This time you arch your back and your cunt throbbing, your hand grip onto the edge of the passenger seat as you cum hard, trembling and breathless. William watches, enjoying the view where you two connect and groaning with satisfaction when you pull yourself closer to him begging for more. “Cum for daddy, that's a good girl.” he moves, feeling how your walls clench around his shaft while he rubs your swollen bud in soft circles.

He leans over you, his mouth capturing your lips in a messy kiss, stealing the air from your lungs. William groans against your lips, perfectly feeling how tight you just got from cumming. Your hips lift off the seat involuntarily, inviting him deeper into you; wanting all of him inside you as he fills you up completely until his balls slap against your skin. He never stops moving, instead changing from thrusting to completely pulling out of you, leaving your hole clenching around nothing only to slam back in with wet sound, abusing your cunt. Mad pleasure coursing through your veins, your juices making a beautiful mess all over the car seats.

“I must fuck this cunt properly, yeah? To make my little girl believe me,” he bruises your cervix, maintaining eye contact with you. You look into his face, but even through your blurry vision you see how handsome he is, especially now, hair messy as ever, face flushed and pupils dilated, sweaty forehead and all of this is yours, only yours, this man belongs to you. You take him like a good girl you are, your dripping pussy that wet he easily and deliciously slides in and out, creating sloppy sounds. “i'll make you understand.”

His strong arms wrap around your neck and your eyes widen, in both fear and excitement, this is something new. William presses down on your throat, earning from you a muffled wheeze and then pulls out, depriving your pussy of warmth. You grip his wrists, watching William's frowned face, but his eyes betray him, so loving and caring, filled with nothing, but pure love for his angel. Weird feelings overwhelming you and you really get lost, he chokes you, his brows furrowed as he's concentrated, his tip slides over your slit, but never entering and you ready to burst in hysteric from wanting him inside again.

“No, please, fuck me, please!” you cry, trying to move, but your voice is so fucked up, William adores that emotion written on your confused face. “William. . .”

“Now you understand, babygirl? Answer me.” William stares deeply into your eyes, his grip tightening on your neck; enough to remind you who's in control. You're struggling for breath with tears running down your face. “Fucking answer me.” he repeats again.

“Ye-yeah! You love me, William. . . No one else.” you try to nod, your voice hoarse.

“Oh my god,” he sighs deeply, his leaking cock twitching from your beautiful sounds. “yes, that's right, baby, that's it, such a good girl.” he releases his hold on your throat and runs a finger over your cheek, wiping away your tears. He leans for a deep kiss while pushing inside you and you wrap your legs around his waist, gladly welcoming him inside again.

“Mhm— Mhnng!—” your muffled moans. “love you so muuuch!” you cry into his mouth and the whole car staggers like an earthquake from his quick, sharp and rough thursts.

“Me too, bunny, me too.” he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours, voice hushed, full of adoration and affection for you. “Pussy so fuckin tight—” beautiful groans leave him. “Gonna cum— ughhh inside you again, claim you. Mine, all mine.”

“Please,” you manage to beg through whines. “dont stop, ahhh!”

”Never gonna stop loving you, doll,” he pants heavily as he starts to slow down his thrusts. His eyes fixed on your beautiful face as he continues kissing your hot tears away. His cock hits all your sensitive spots, making you loose your mind, you grip onto him desperately. “My pretty angel, you're everything to me— Mmhmm—”

What a wonderful babbling mess you are, your jealousy has evaporated and you're not even sure if you even remember his wife's name anymore. You're reaching for another kiss, too hungry for William's attention and he gladly gives it to you.

His hand yanks your t-shirt up to reveal your cute breasts bouncing from the intense pace, his runs his finger all over your nipple and pinches it, what makes you gasp. William leans down to capture your other nipple into his mouth and you shudder from his beard brushing against your sensitive skin, only to hear soft laugh “so sensitive for me.” from Afton. He sucks on your lil bud and bites it, leaving painful red mark from his teeth and all this time never stopping thrusting in and out of your squelching cunt.

He straightens his back, removes annoying strands from his forehead and then your mouth falls open when his thumb lays on your little clit, rubbing it in fast but sensual circles. William hums, watching you cumming for him again, your cunt unbelievably tight around him as you gush on him, his tip rubbing against your sweet spot. William moans loudly from that crazy tightness, warmness and wetness of yours, and he cums too, again inside of you. He slows down, but continues to spill his seed inside of you, however you're that full it starts to leak out of you, mixing with your juices and creating a mess in his car.

“Nhaah, daddy—” you purr, watching his beautiful face confronted in pleasure, little smile appears on your face. Afton glances at you and pulls out, resting his tip on your clit, still feeling the hotness of your pussy. “that felt so good.”

He's fighting fatigue so he doesn't fall on you, a warm smile also appears on his face when he notices your satisfied pretty face, your body still trembling, his cum still oozes out of your pulsating hole and William groans at such view.

“So,” his fingers tilts your chin again. “not so jealous anymore?”

#william afton smut #fnaf x reader #william afton x reader #steve raglan x reader #fnaf smut #fnaf william afton #william afton #steve raglan smut #dilf william #fnaf x y/n #fnaf x you #william afton imagines #i need him #my husband matthew lillard #matthew lillard

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bluebeary-jay · 1 year

Text

Halcyon days

Based on this ask (i was stupid and started writing all this as a new post and not an answer im sorryyy)

Tags: fluff. INSANE amount of tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship, takes place after the events of season 1

Warnings: none? there is swearing and suggestive humor tho ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Word count: ~3K

A/N: My sweet anon I'm sorry that I didn't write the 'looking for a place to sleep' bit but I got carried away with your lovely request and it was already longer than I expected lol. I really hope you like it!! 💕 and thank you for being my first request! 😊

You shielded your eyes from the sun and shook your hand again, signaling for Joel to take it.

“Come on, you always whine about your back pains. It’ll do you good.”

“You think lyin’ on the cold hard ground will help me with that?” he asked with tongue in cheek.

“It's actually really soft. Come on, give it a try.” You patted the spot next to you, but the man still didn't move, scouting the area around you instead. You sighed heavily. “Alright, if it's too hard for your back I'll let you lay on me. Happy?”

Joel gave you a sultry look and finally intertwined his fingers with yours.

“I can already tell the ground will be really uncomfortable,” he said teasingly in this sexy drawl of his and you squinted at him.

“Sure you can.”

Joel craned his neck before he let himself get pulled down, and cupped his free hand around his mouth.

“Hey, kiddo!” he yelled to Ellie who was squatting near a small creek down the hill you were lying on. “You alright there?!”

“Yeah, yeah!” the girl shouted back, waving to you both. “Don't come down here, yet!”

“Okay! We’ll be right here if you need anything.”

“Sure thing! Just don't start shagging.”

You choked on air and looked in disbelief in the direction of Ellie’s voice, though you couldn't see the teen from where you were lying, as the view was obscured by high grass.

“Christ, this kid is impossible,” you mumbled as Joel sat down next to you with a loud grunt.

“Tell me somethin’ I don’t know. You didn’t hear her giving me so-called ‘relationship advices’ yesterday. And no,” he added when you opened your mouth, “m’not gonna repeat them to you. It was painful enough to have to endure it alone.”

“You know what they say,” you quirked your lips and he sent you a glare.

“I swear to god, if you quote that dumb comic again…”

You snorted, knowing he was saying it with fondness, judging by his tone and a tug of the corners of his lips. Joel shook his head and laid down slowly on the grass, closing his eyes. You cosied up next to him on your stomach and propped your chin on your hands.

For a couple of seconds you just admired his features and slow rise and falls of his chest, enjoying the quiet atmosphere around you and listening to the crickets chirping and birds singing in the tree crowns.

But of course he didn’t let you indulge yourself, because before long he cracked one eye open and sent you a suspicious glance.

“Why’re you staring?”

“You’ve got something on your cheek,” you answered without missing a beat. Joel wiped his face with an irritated look while you tried your hardest not to laugh out loud.

“Is it still there?” he asked, but you winced and tilted your head discontentedly.

“You just smudged it more. Hold on a second.”

He sighed tiredly and closed his eyes again when you shuffled closer, partially draping yourself over his torso. One of his arms automatically encircled your waist to cuddle you up while he kept the other one under his head. You smirked to yourself and took his face between your hands, pretending to hum in focus. After a couple of seconds Joel cracked his eye open and glanced up at you.

“Jesus, I can feel you burning a hole in my skull. Is my head covered in fungi, or something?”

“Not yet,” you joked. “Keep your eyes closed.”

He exhaled heavily again and relaxed under you, totally oblivious to the mischievous smirk on your face. You faked scraping something off his cheek and when you were pretty sure he lowered his guard, you surged forward and quickly gave the bridge of his nose a small peck.

Joel’s eyes immediately snapped open and a surprised – and then delighted – smile spread across his face.

“What are you doin’?”

“Nothing at all,” you answered innocently, but this time you couldn’t hide a sly grin threatening to split your face in half. “I told you you have something on your cheek.”

Joel made a sound of fake acknowledgment and took his other hand from under his head to pull you even closer and on top of himself. You giggled when he nudged your nose with his, trailing his fingers up and down the back of your neck.

“On my cheek, you say?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t think you got it, then. You aimed at my nose,” he mused cheekily, making you laugh again.

“Oh, you’re right! Silly me.” You leaned in and kissed his jaw this time, smiling against his facial hair. “Let me…” another kiss, this time on his forehead, “...try again, then…” another, next to his eye, “...just to be sure.”

It wasn’t often that Joel let you (and himself) be so affectionate when you weren’t alone, but you guessed Ellie was far enough that he didn’t worry about it now. Or maybe he was just in a good mood – it happened a lot more often lately.

After everything that transpired in the hospital, you were worried Ellie wasn’t going to believe his version of events and shut herself off, but whether the teen still doubted your and Joel’s words or not, she didn’t seem eager to distance herself from you two.

Which was a damn big relief for you, and even a greater one for Joel – not that he’d ever admit it.

Anyone who would bother to look could see that the man was a lot happier lately. He found his brother, he had you, and he didn’t lose Ellie like you knew he feared. The three of you still went on trips outside of Jackson – or like Ellie liked to call them, ‘spontaneous adventures’ – and this was one of the places you personally liked the most. A secluded meadow with a hill overgrown with flowers and leading down to a small torrent at the base of it. Noone has ever ventured so far beyond the especially-hard-to-cross portion of the river, but the place was worth the effort as it was so beautiful, it looked like it was pulled out of a fairy tale.

Speaking of beautiful, Joel cupped your cheeks and let his warm gaze rove over your face as if he wanted to commit it to memory. You were just about to ask if you had something on your face as well, when he spoke up quietly.

“Do you have any idea how goddamn gorgeous you are?” he asked, brushing the strands of your hair out of your face.

“Stop it,” you snapped back, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, but Joel tsked, guiding your chin to look at you again.

“You are,” he said, sounding almost surprised at how bashful you got, before his lips stretched into a smirk. “Are you just fishin’ for compliments, darlin’? Denyin’ it so that I can praise you more?”

“I’m not!” You laughed at the sheer thought of that and Joel took that opportunity to plant a kiss above your mouth. “If anything, you’re just trying to rile me up and get me to compliment you.”

“Don’t even try,” he warned you seriously, but you just shrugged with a playful expression.

“Well, I have to remind you sometimes how good-looking you are,” you whispered against his lips, smiling brightly when you felt his breathless chuckle.

“Shut up.”

“Not until–”

He cut you off by sliding his hand to the back of your neck and pulling you up carefully so he could kiss you deeply. You smiled into the kiss, knowing very well what he’s doing, but not minding it in the slightest.

“You’re trying to distract me,” you accused him when the two of you parted, but he shook his head and tutted. His thumb was brushing your cheek slowly and your body burned in all places he was touching you. You reminded yourself about Ellie’s words and tried to calm down.

“Nah. You had somethin’ on your face, too, and I wanted to return the favor.”

He was so silly sometimes, you almost couldn’t believe that those hands were capable of anything else than caressing your skin so lovingly.

“Liar,” you whispered, earning yourself a low chuckle.

“I could say the same about you.”

You couldn’t help the squeal that escaped you when he turned you over in a swift motion so that now you were lying on your back with the man hovering above you. Whatever protests you might’ve had, they were swallowed down by Joel’s lips on yours, and you hummed happily at the feeling of his touch.

The two of you took several minutes to enjoy each other’s company to the fullest, planting lazy kisses on your faces and whispering silly words of affection. At one point Joel sighed contently, peppering the edge of your jaw and neck with soft kisses, and then laid his head on your chest. One of his arms snaked around your waist to hug you tighter and he closed his eyes.

You pressed your lips together not to giggle, and started to slowly run your fingers through his hair. He groaned and you felt his muscles relaxing under your touch.

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna fall asleep,” he murmured and you kissed the crown of his head softly.

“Maybe that’s exactly my plan. You don’t get enough rest.”

“Stop,” he said again, though he didn't make any attempt to pull away or stop you himself. “Someone's gotta keep an eye on everything.”

“I’ll make sure we’re safe,” you shushed him, gently scratching the spot behind his ear, to which he made a sound not unlike purring. You suppressed a smile. “Besides, I’ve never seen an infected around here. The chances of something stumbling upon us…”

“...are much higher if we let our guard down,” he finished, his hand going to the gun lying on the grass on his other side to make sure he could reach it quickly. “I don’t want something to happen to you or Ellie.”

“I know, love,” you whispered, kissing his forehead again, trying to make some of those worry wrinkles disappear. “Just close your eyes for a moment. I’ll make sure nothing happens during this time.”

He sighed again and nuzzled his head more into your chest. “You’re a treasure, darlin’.”

“Obviously,” you murmured in response and felt his chest rumble with quiet laughter. “I love you, you know?”

“Love you, too.” He shook his head lightly, but the smile didn’t fade from his face. “Even though you’re a menace.”

“Shut up and relax already. I’ll stand guard.”

He just grumbled again. You took a deep breath of summer air and looked up to the sky.

*****

You didn’t plan on falling asleep.

Even before you opened your eyes, having registered a tip of a shoe nudging your arm and rousing you from your nap, you felt this terrible, gnawing feeling of guilt and panic. Joel would kill you if…

But no, he was still asleep with his head lying heavily on your chest. You sighed with relief and opened your eyes, squinting at Ellie standing above you.

“Finally! How loud do I have to ‘psst!’ for you to wake up? Jesus, I started to think you both are dead.”

You grumbled and rubbed your eyes. You felt dizzy, but that was always the case when you fell asleep in the middle of the day. It was an hour or so before sunset now, and the field you rested on was bathed in a warm, orange glow.

“Not dead,” you yawned drowsily and nodded at the teen. “What’s up?”

Ellie pointed at Joel. “Wake up the old man.”

You furrowed your brows. “What? Why?”

“Because I want to push you both down the hill,” she whispered in a mocking tone and rolled her eyes when you lifted your eyebrows. “I have something to show you, if you really need to know.”

She did have one of her hands hidden behind her back, so it wasn’t completely unlikely. Still, something about it smelled fishy.

“Why didn’t you wake him up yourself?” you asked in a whisper, too, honestly surprised that you both still had to keep your voices down. Usually the slightest sound woke Joel up, but now he didn’t even stir. Ellie groaned and pointed her hand at you both, like it was obvious.

“Because last time he gave me a bunch of shit about it! And he won’t be mad at you if you do this.”

She had a point, if you wanted to be honest with yourself. Normally you would tease her for it, but lately Ellie rarely acted so secretive and excited, so you decided to humor her this time.

“I’ll blame it on you if he gets angry at me.”

“I’ll really push you down the hill if you do.”

You stick your tongue out at her, which Ellie mirrored, before rolling your eyes and shifting your attention to the man still lying motionlessly on top of you.

“Joel…” you mumbled into his skin, brushing your fingers through his hair lightly. A low grumble issued from his chest and you chuckled despite yourself, leaning down to kiss his forehead softly. You pretended not to hear Ellie gagging in the background. “Come on, I know you’re not asleep.”

He sighed heavily and finally opened his eye, but then he shifted his gaze to Ellie’s form, and let his eyelid drop again.

“Get rid of the kid,” he murmured, snuggling back into your chest.

His head started to shake from the laughter reverberating inside your chest and Ellie gasped indignantly, now having no reservations about going around you and kicking Joel’s leg.

“Fuck off and get your lazy ass up!”

Joel sighed martyrly, as if that was the greatest sacrifice somebody could demand from him, but finally got up, freeing you from under his weight but also depriving you of his safe embrace. He looked at Ellie and lifted his eyebrows, waiting.

The girl in question grinned and pulled a bunch of flowers from behind her back.

Before you realized that it actually wasn’t a bouquet, but several flower crowns, Joel was already shaking his head and actually backing away. “No. No way.”

“Oh my gosh, they’re beautiful, Ellie!” you admired her work, not paying attention to the man behind you, and shifted closer to get a better look. “Where did you learn that?”

“One of those books Tommy gave me had a guide how to do it,” Ellie explained with a wide smile. It surprised you a little that she’d be so enthusiastic about a skill like that, but then she turned back to Joel and her eyes glinted with mischief. “C’mon, try it on.”

“No.”

“Can I pick one?” you asked, once again ignoring your partner. Ellie shook her head, now not even trying to hide a proud, mocking grin that widened when she saw how reluctant Joel was.

“No. Yours is the one with those small yellow shits.” You snorted at the name Ellie gave tiny, round flowers, but put it on immediately. The girl held the crown made out of blue and purple flowers on her lap, and stuck out the last one with small pink and white flowers in Joel’s direction. “And that’s all yours.”

“No,” he repeated. You sat next to Ellie and turned to him with a fake pout on your face.

“Joel, we don't turn down gifts. It's not polite.” He glared at you as you leaned on Ellie’s shoulder. “Ellie has worked on it for so long, think how exhausting it must've been!”

“Look at my poor, tired hands,” Ellie sighed dramatically, lifting her hands and wiggling her fingers, and you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you.

Joel looked from her to you with a grimace. You mouthed ‘please?’ to him and he groaned, running his hands down his face.

And then – making Ellie snort and you jump excitedly in place – he took the flower crown from the girl and all but dropped it onto his head.

“Joke’s on you, because I know for a fact pink looks great on me.”

“Glad you think so, because…” Ellie trailed off with a shit-eating grin and threw her backpack on the ground, quickly rummaging through it. You grabbed onto Joel’s arm before he had a chance to escape when she pulled out one of those old cameras with a flip screen, making him sigh even louder. “Now move your ass.”

While Ellie was positioning herself between the two of you and turning on the device, you quickly lifted Joel’s hand to your lips behind her back, kissing his fingers with a grateful smile. He seemed to have given in to his fate, not making any attempt to move away or talk his way out of it, just rubbing his brow with a tired expression. The smallest of smiles found its way onto his face when he felt your lips on his skin and he glanced up at you with fondness.

“You two will be the death of me,” he muttered, and Ellie poked him in the ribs with her elbow.

“Shut up and smile. We don’t have much sunlight left.”

You scooted over closer to Ellie to fit in the frame, squinting a little from the reddish-orange sun blinding you from behind a cloud above the horizon. The girl snapped one photo and made a different face, and in that split second your eyes darted to Joel’s in the small screen of the camera.

He still looked very reluctant to be in a photo, but you could see he was trying to hold back a smile.

He did look good in pink. And you meant the flowers as well as the small blush adoring his cheeks.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #the last of us #joel miller #ellie williams #because i cant write a fic without her in it #joel miller x y/n #joel tlou #pedro pascal #beary writes

1K notes · View notes

undercovercameron · 2 years

Text

only you

summary: a midnight meeting is never off the table for him.

notes: i cranked this one out like two two weeks ago but i didnt get around to editing it... apologies! this is a continuation of my same person, same mistakes fic, as it concerns rafe with a gf and the reader being highschool fwb with him. features a masturbation kink, dirty talk, and a whole lot of nostalgia! enjoy my darlings, and dont forget to watch the fuck out of obx 3 (i finished it an hour ago and its 2:00 am my time and im not sure). feel free to talk to me about it ;)

tags: rafe cameron x fem!reader

word count: 2213

It’s nearly 3 am when he shows up at your house, mind all over the place, and parks in your driveway. He knows your parents won’t be mad seeing his truck— they can’t help but love him. He slams the driver’s door shut and jogs around to the backyard, breathless in the cooler night air. The grassy shore two hundred or so yards from your house ripples with the harsh wind of early summer storms, and he wipes a hand at his forehead. It’s still hot.

Rounding the corner, he sees the metal basin that curves around one of your basement bedroom windows, and drops down onto the gravel that lies at the bottom.

You barely register the sound, fast asleep in your bed when he glances in at the dark room.

He digs around for a second in the gravel and finds the familiar curve of the window key and quickly unlocks the latch. Throwing it back down, he uses his arms to push up on the handle and slide it far enough so that he can crawl in.

You turn onto your back in your bed, and he nearly smiles at how you look. So calm, yet so stressed with your eyebrows drawn. But Rafe just hops into your air conditioned room clumsily, shoes quiet on the carpet, and nearly tips over into your desk. He turns to the window and closes it quietly.

He takes a moment to listen for any movement in the house. He knows your parents go to bed before midnight, so they’re sound asleep—he’s mainly worried about your brother. He was such a cock block in highschool.

You move in the sheets again and his attention is drawn back to you. You’re so peaceful. Oh, well.

“Y/N,” he whispers, and reaches to shake your leg. You lick your lips and burrow deeper into your pillow. “Y/N!” He raises his voice, glancing at your locked door.

“Hm,” is all that comes from your mouth, and your eyelids twitch.

“Fuck,” he curses to himself. Fine. Grabbing one of your ankles, he drags you to the foot of the bed.

“Hey!” You croak, startled awake, and blink furiously around. “Oh.” You clear your throat and wipe your eyes. There’s a handsome man at the foot of your bed.

“Hey,” he says, looking down at you, and his hand finds your shoulder. You’re dressed in soft shorts and a skimpy tank top in an effort to remain cool in this summer heat—it makes his heart thump against the wall of his chest.

“Why’re you here?” You ask, voice still groggy, and your skin erupts in goosebumps where his fingers move.

“I told you I’d come today.”

“Yeah, during the daytime.” Your eyebrows draw together and you push up onto a hand. “Not in the middle of the night.”

“Do you want me to leave?” His eyes stare down at yours. You look over him, liking the way those jeans and flannel shirt look on him. The crickets chirp outside, and you hear a branch moved by wind brush the side of your house. His hand migrates and a thumb rubs at the skin of your stomach, nudging the hem of your tank top up.

“No,” you finally settle on, and he steps closer to the bed.

“Okay,” he murmurs, and dips. Your lips connect, soft against soft, and you shiver. He smells like the sun and that car freshener he keeps in the glove compartment. His hands find your hair, cradling your head, and your body prickles at the touch. It’s so late, and he’s so warm— you just melt into him. You grip at the sides of his shirt and fall back onto your bed, taking him with you.

He grunts, pulling away from your mouth for a second, and follows you up the bed as you move closer to the headboard. He looks huge like this.

Your legs come together.

He bites his lip and with a hand on your knee moves them back apart. You settle with your shoulders against your pillow, and he leans down, between your legs once more, and kisses you.

“Rafe,” you mutter into his mouth, and he hums wordlessly in response. Your body is so soft and nice when you arch up into him that he forgets about anything besides you. You grab at his hand at your waist and drag it up your body, and when his thumb brushes your hardening nipple the crotch of his pants tightens. Fuck.

He pushes his knees into your bed, keeping your legs spread for him, and straightens. His large hands fumble with the buttons of his shirt, and he shrugs it off. The material of the shirt underneath nearly rips with how quick he takes it off. His skin is shiny and strong in the moonlight, and it takes all of your mental strength to not lean up and kiss all over his chest. That would mean you’re desperate to feel and touch him— and you’re definitely not. Between your legs definitely doesn’t ache terribly when he unbuttons his jeans.

“Please.” You lean up to him, sliding a warm hand around his shoulders, and bring him back down with you. He makes a noise when he feels your fingernails scrape his skin, but your mouth is back on his, so what reason is there to complain? His nose brushes your cheek when he pulls away to tug the tank top strap off of your shoulder, and you shudder in the cold air.

His thumb nudges your nipple back and forth, making your blood rush in your ears as your chest heaves, and he bows to catch it in his mouth. Rafe sucks, pink lips perfect just for this, and you arch up into him. The scent of body soap washes over him, and he just breathes you in. So sweet. He curls an arm around your waist, forcing your skin up against him, and you make a noise of contentment.

He mouths at your breast until he has you panting up into the night air, eyes closed, and then moves to the other. Your eyes open briefly and you slide a hand across his head, feeling his warm scalp and soft hair under your fingers.

He hums into your skin, nipple caught between his teeth, and you nearly cry out. But you hold back, wanting to save it. He pulls at it again, wanting to hear that pained noise you know he loves, and your heart skips a beat. You suck in a breath.

“So responsive,” he murmurs into you, and his gaze briefly moves to your face—his dick hardens even more.

“I’m impatient, Rafe,” you huff, petting his hair, and squeeze your thighs around him. “Please.”

“Needy,” he says more to himself than you, but pulls away to get a hand at the waistband of your shorts and move out of the way so he can rid you of them and get to what he’s actually been thinking about all day. He throws them over the edge of your bed and crowds you against the headboard again, mouth insistent upon yours as his fingers find your slick. Your thigh jerks when his pointer finger draws a line up your folds, and he just hums into your mouth. His thumb pushes into your clit, demanding, and his middle finger slides easily in. You clench around him, head thrown back into the pillow, and your eyes squeeze shut.

“Fucking wet,” he grits out through his teeth, digging his face into your neck. Your skin ripples with goosebumps at his hot breath on your throat, and he slides another finger in.

You’re so warm, so tight, so wet around him— it makes his heart smash into the cage of his ribs. It’s just like high school. You, sweet and perfect for him, and him, brooding and in the palm of your hand. He tried to not let you know that too much, though. Can’t let people around him know that he cares.

“So perfect.” His teeth nip the soft skin on your neck, and you grab a hand at his forearm, guiding him faster. He accedes, knowing what you want, and slips another finger in. You tingle and curve up into him, unused to the stretch, and the breath is stolen right from your throat.

His thumb slides off of your clit when you push it away. Your fingers replace his thumb, and he just tries to breathe. You know every fucking avenue to getting him to cum in his pants, and he’s really trying to avoid that outcome.

Your noises become higher in your throat, whinier, and he feels you start to pulse around him. His fingers push even deeper, going the perfect speed, and then you’re shaking and trying to both get away from and get closer to his hand.

He grabs at your hip and keeps you in one place, hand continuing, and you grab at him frantically.

“Too much, Rafe,” you cry, neck cramping at the angle you’d stretched it to for the longest time, but he continues on. Your blood is pumping so fast, so hard in your body, and the rush of orgasm fades into numb pleasure that makes you pulse around him.

“Come on, baby, I know you can.”

Your mind calls memories to the surface— memories of him pushing you past your limit, making you scream, cry. You loved it, and he only continued when you were nodding and shaking for him. Any inkling that you weren’t into it he was off of you. He was no stranger to felonies, such as drug distribution or grand theft auto, but he didn’t dare do anything that was a question of consent. Off the table.

“Your fingers are so—so big.” You ramble on, talking of good things only like the size of him and how he feels and tastes and smells, and his hips twitch where they're pressed to you. Fuck.

“So close, Y/N,” he pants into your ear, hips rolling steadily into your thigh and pelvis, and you feel his dick jump against you. “You’re so close.”

Your torso shakes with the effort and tension in your muscles, and he bites into your pillow.

“I fucking—,” you start, but you fling your head back into the pillow before you can finish. He really wishes he knew what you were going to say. “Yes, yes, yes—fuck!” You chant, and your hips twitch where they meet his hammering hand as you cum onto his fingers. He continues on for a little bit, loving the feel of you, but pulls his fingers out. They immediately push into his mouth and you take the moment to pull yourself together.

Sweat sticks the sheets to your back, beading at your forehead too, and you’re sure your face is flushed red. The room is undeniably hot, filled with the hot breath and energy palpable in the air. You’re sure it smells like sex, too.

Rafe catches your jaw in his hand and tilts you up for a kiss, lips hot and smooth against yours. As he settles into you again, your hand finds the crotch of his pants. He breaks away immediately, cursing and looking down at your fingers.

“Touch it,” you breathe, eyes locked on his. His wide, clear, blue eyes. “For me.”

Rafe’s large fingers push yours away and dig into his underwear, and his eyes close when his palm circles the tip of him. You look up at him, hands coming to your chest, and you cup your breasts. His eyes follow your fingers as they pinch your nipples. You back arches, and his hand around his dick pumps faster.

“You’re so good for me,” you say, as breathless as you can manage without sounding like a corny phone-sex operator, and his head cants back at your voice.

“Shit,” he gasps, mouth hanging open when he looks down. “O-Only you.” It’s more to himself, but your chest swells.

“Yeah?” You ask, and sit up. Your hands find his waist and his torso, and you lean up so his mouth is inches from yours. “Not your girlfriend?”

“Fuck,” he exhales, cheeks pink, and his eyes close when you trace his chest with a finger. “No. Not her. Never.”

You just hum, pleased, and curl a hand around his own to slow his hand. His hips twitch, fucking himself between your two hands, and his mouth opens in a “fuck” before he’s cumming right into your bare chest.

“Christ, Y/N,” he says, panting, and covers the upper half of his face with his forearm. His knees ache.

You rise clumsily from the bed and stumble into your bathroom, returning with the hand towel. You wipe at your chest and throw it back into the bathroom, careless.

“Are you staying?” You ask, nearing him, and lean one knee on the bed. He curls an arm around your waist and tugs you closer in the darkness, lips pressed to your temple.

“I don’t think you could get me to leave your bed right now, sweetheart.” He smells like sweat and the remnants of cologne, and you breathe him in.

“I’m counting on it,” you whisper, and kiss him square on the mouth.

#obx #obx 3 #obx smut #obx x you #obx x reader #obx fanfic #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron imagine #rafe obx #rafe cameron fanficton #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron oneshot

1K notes · View notes

tin-wufborf · 3 months

Text

Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics (Part 5)

Hi everyone! I am back from brink of death to bring you yet another platter of fic recs. Thank you all so much for you patience and for the continued love you all have shown these posts. I truly appreciate you all.

Also, just in case this has been bothering anyone: you will definitely see more author-diversity and newer fics as I work my way though my bookmarks. I'm working chronologically through my Sterek bookmarks from the oldest to the newest, so that means we're all currently reliving the early Sterek scene together while also getting to experience the moments where I would discover an author whose writing-style I particularly liked and then binged their entire body of work all at once before going back to the main tag's offerings (hence the large number of works by specific authors going on right now). Not sure if that bothered anyone, particularly the point about there being multiple fics from the same authors--people care about odd things sometimes, but I've seen discourse around this specific thing and would like to head it off at the pass--but I thought I'd make a statement about it because I was noticing it and was like "I wonder if this is bothering people...lemme speak on it". And now here we are!

Okay, enough yappin' from me. Let's do this!

List and links to previous/next part(s) below the cut.

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DISCLAIMER: This is me warning you all that some of the fics I've included in this list may cover explicit, dark, and/or "taboo" subject matters. I cannot express enough how little I care what anyone thinks about any of that; all I want is for you to use caution when reading anything I've listed here and to please review and heed whatever tags the authors have provided in order to keep yourselves safe. Your experience from this point on is your own responsibility, not mine and not the authors'.

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i'm just the same as i was (now don't you understand?) by paradis (T | 1/1 | 2,738)

"You're a virgin," Jackson says. "Everyone says you're a virgin." "Everyone but me," Stiles points out. More silence. Stiles thinks he can hear crickets chirping. "I'm kinda cold," he complains. "Well when were you not a virgin anymore?" Isaac asks, perplexed.

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by nightlights the children pray by hoars (T | 1/1 | 2,745)

Scott leaves for ten years and comes back.

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Nothing is as Bad as it Seems by paradis (T | 1/1 | 3,636)

“I know, it’s a shock,” he says. “But there’s more. Your friends– they’re werewolves. And that’s dangerous, Stiles. But I can keep them away!”

“I know they’re werewolves, you idiot!” Stiles shouts

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Stiles Stilinski's Knitting School for the Were, Other-Worldly and Supernaturally-Inclined by TypewriterLove (G | 1/1 | 3,789)

He'd trawled through online pattern directories, before finding something called Ravelry. Drumming his fingers against the desk, he'd hit the "register now!" button.

ScarletNerded's first action on their new account is to look up patterns with "wolf" keywords.

(In which Stiles ends up teaching the entire pack how to knit- which results in werewolves making socks. Alternatively named "Beacon Hills Stitch & Bitch")

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different definitions of good by preromantics (G | 1/1 | 4,259)

The one where Stiles has a fishy sort of excuse for not getting in a boat on the ocean. "Maybe I'm not really into the idea of getting caught by the coast guard on a stolen boat," Stiles says. Which, while not the reason Stiles definitely needs to stay behind, is also a pretty valid reason.

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No Destination by scottmcniceass (T | 1/1 | 5,043)

It's not like they're going anywhere in particular. They're just driving, getting away for a bit. Escaping everything. Together.

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Well Tempered by jsea (T | 1/1 | 5,290)

His fingers start moving almost of their own accord, and it feels easier suddenly. His fingers feel less clumsy, and the music that flows forth isn’t quite so somber anymore. It’s not the happy airy sound he wants so desperately to give to Stiles, but this feels right in its own way. More him. More them.

Or, the fic where Derek used to play piano, and he does again. But only for Stiles.

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we are tangled by drunktuesdays (T | 1/1 | 5,716)

"Derek was at your house?" "For like ten seconds," Stiles said. "I'd say it was weird, but is anything about Derek ever not weird?"

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can't be hateful, gotta be grateful by HalfFizzbin (T | 1/1 | 6,260)

"Be cool, Dad, we've decided to con Grandma."

(Or, the one where the Stilinski men drag Derek to Thanksgiving dinner at Grandma's and she gets the right wrong idea.)

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Flint and Tinder by rufflefeather (T | 1/1 | 6,781)

"Hi," a voice comes through and Derek really wishes it’d take more than that to know who it is.

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The Alpha to My Alpha by CupcakeGirlA (T | 1/1 | 10,717)

“Derek will kill you. He’ll tear you limb from limb!” Stiles says, scrambling away from him. The Alpha ambles closer.

“No, I don’t think he will,” the Alpha says. “I mean aside from killing a couple of hikers in his territory and doing him this favor, I haven’t really done anything to Hale. Once I’m gone he’ll probably be happy with the gift I’ve left for him.”

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Derelictions of Duty by Regann (T | 1/1 | 10,846)

No one wants to be the bearer of bad news to someone as nice as Sheriff Stilinski -- especially when he's your boss. That's why none of his employees want to be the first one to tell him about the scandalous goings-on between his only son and the former murder suspect Derek Hale. For all of their sakes, hopefully the Sheriff will find out all on his own...

(Or, 5 times a Beacon County Sheriff's Office employee witnesses the unique relationship between Stiles and Derek but neglects to tell the Sheriff and 1 time he witnesses it for himself.)

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Going, Going, Gone by paradis (M | 3/3 | 12,296)

The Sheriff comes up to him after the services. "I don't believe he's dead," he tells Derek.

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Promises aren't Meant to be Broken by paradis (T | 1/1 | 12,463)

“Thanks for saving me,” Stiles blurts out, staring up at Laura, wide eyed.

Laura grins. “I like you,” she says, “we’ll be friends.”

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powerful in-scent-ive by kellifer_fic (T | 1/1 | 14,533)

Stiles holds up a hand, because he really can't listen to the bites-are-all-right speech that Derek has given Scott dozens of times. "Dude, don't."

"Look-" Derek tries again, oddly persistent.

"Derek, man, my worst nightmare is not me getting bitten, it's him. It's always been him."

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Strangeness and Charm series by hoars (4 works | NR-M | 14,744)

The Gypsy AU

1. for the way this animal love, lurches monstrous up my chest (M | 1/1 | 2,481) “Strangeness follows the Romani, what is a little more?” Elder Travj asked. That was the night Derek’s pack began to follow the caravan; a night marked by fire and loss. 2. wanting to make you happy and warm and unafraid and free (M | 1/1 | 4,022) "Laura called you a thief." Derek breathes into his neck. "And what did the she-wolf call you?" Stiles asks. "She called me a gypsy." And Derek does not sound wronged. He sounds insecure and of longing. "Then perhaps she finally speaks truths." Stiles says. "I am a thief and you like me, a Roma." 3. these places will have to substitute (NR | 1/1 | 2,229) (Interlude) “The chovihano is harmless to Derek.” Mother says. “I assure you, Miss Laura, Stiles would not hurt Derek.” The shaman says. “Stiles cares greatly for your brother.” But still. Something in her is screaming, howling and growling. 4. for the grunts and the screams we extract from each other (NR | 1/1 | 6,012) It doesn't make sense for the lunatic to be eating people but biting others. All evidence but for the mass grave indicated the lunatic had been recruiting, building a pack, not finding a meat source. Werewolves, even lunatics, weren't prone to cannibalism. “It's a true sign of madness.” Derek says, as if repeating something he’s heard a dozen times since he was a child. "The mark of the beast."

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You Make Me See How Much I Have by paradis (T | 1/1 | 16,943)

“You’re lucky you got here now,” he says, “Ten minutes – maybe you could get your –” there’s a crash before he can say get your daughter, and Stiles resists the urge to either slap his hand against his face, or slap Derek, because no one ever understands how difficult it is to have a kid in the store by themselves unless they’re also parents.

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Past Imperfect, Future Conditional series by elisera (3 works | T-E | 17,311)

1. Necessitate by (E | 1/1 | 3,888) Derek’s juggling the kids -- Noah hanging off his back, Ella standing on his foot while holding onto his jeans with a death grip and both of them still talking up a storm about their day at kindergarten -- and two bags of groceries in his arms that evening when the sight of Stiles standing in the backyard makes him weak in the knees. Stiles is in profile, ranting on his phone to Scott about the contract negotiations for the new construction on the Peterson property, and there’s a flush on his face, his ears pink and his mouth red from where he keeps biting it but the worst thing, the absolute worst thing is the round curve of his stomach, straining against the tank top he liberated earlier in the week from Derek when the heat wave hit and none of his own fit him anymore. It’s going to be stretched to hell by the time the kid is born but right now Derek can’t find it in himself to care. 2. The Weapon You Choose (E | 1/1 | 12,029) When Noah trudges down the backstairs that morning, he finds Dad sitting on a step halfway down and chewing on his knuckles, watching Papa making coffee like it’s a special on the discovery channel and not an almost daily ritual. Anyway, Noah needs the car on Friday; he might as well make nice so he sits down next to Dad, jostling his shoulder with his own in greeting. Dad raises an eyebrow, mirth in his eyes and his mouth curving around the knuckle stuck in it. Papa grunts just then, still trying and failing to open the tin with the ground coffee in it and Dad head snaps around, once again riveted. Noah rolls his eyes hard but he guesses people who’ve been together since the dawn of time need to get their fun wherever they can find it. 3. Pancake Wolves (T | 1/1 | 1,394) Stiles is on his third cup of coffee when Derek tromps down the stairs. He looks at him over his shoulder, taking in his barely open eyes and the pillow creases on his face, unable to keep from smiling at him. Derek yawns widely and just keeps going until he can wrap his arms tightly around Stiles’ waist and lean against his back, letting Stiles take his weight.

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Jurisdiction series by elisera (3 works | T-E | 19,897)

1. Jurisdiction (M | 1/1 | 7,025) John is a pretty level-headed guy. He wasn’t always, back during his own Sturm und Drang period, but he married a firecracker of a woman and got a kid with an affinity for trouble like he got payed for ending up in it, so someone had to level out or they would’ve ended up living in a treehouse or Lapland doing god knows what. Anyway, getting a hold of his temper is one of John’s better life achievements. It makes him a good sheriff and it kept him from blowing his lid too badly those last two years when Stiles started acting out in a way that John had never seen before. But the temper is still there. He’s reminded of it when he comes home on a random Saturday in March after spilling his milkshake all over his uniform shirt only to notice he didn’t have a spare in the station and finds Stiles bend over the kitchen sink with hunched shoulders. 2. Life With Werewolves: A Beginner's Class (T | 1/1 | 2,836) Five times Sheriff Stilinski was really through with werewolves and one time he wasn’t. 3. Life With Humans: The Stilinski Edition (E | 1/1 | 10,036) “You still smell weird,” Derek says, pressing his nose against Stiles’ armpit, trying to figure out what about Stiles’ scent still bothers him so much. Stiles slaps his head and Derek nips the soft skin of his inner bicep in retaliation. “I,” Stiles says, still panting and shivering from his orgasm, “do not smell weird, you weirdo. Maybe you should take your nose in for a checkup, it’s clearly out of whack.”

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red series by hoars (3 works | NR-E | 32,156)

1. Festival of Red (E | 1/1 | 11,592) “See? I need my daisy crown or I won’t get Chased.” Stiles frowned. “And then I’ll have to do it again next year. I really don’t want to do it twice.” The good and the bad of getting Caught this year included not having to do it again and the bad was he’d have a werewolf mate for the rest of his life. Stiles is seventeen. He has a lot of life to live. Unless his wolfy mate has no sense of humor or a temper. Those with no sense of humor and tempers tended to hate Stiles the most and wouldn’t that suck? Being tied to someone for the rest of his life who hates him. That actually sounds like his type of luck. “You’ll be fine.” Allison beams because she’s a sweet person and can obviously read Stiles like a picture book aimed at toddlers. 2. Navigating our Marriage (NR | 1/1 | 8,316) The squeal to the bride-hunting fic that involves moving, emancipation, a family feud, a baby shower, a list of reasons and a magic cat lady. 3. Families: Eternally Messy (NR | 1/1 | 12,248) The third installment to the bride hunting fic that now involves pregnancy then babies, adult looking responsibilities, epic fails and proof no one picks their family.

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#teen wolf #sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek fic rec list #sterek fic rec #fic rec list #rec list #fic rec #tin's rec lists

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cactus-cuddler · 1 month

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Chapter 5: 𝐈𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬

Series' masterlist | previous chapter | epilogue

Word count: 1,7 k

Summary: last chapter, no spoiler!

Warnings: no one

Tag list: @mcira @robynanthonystark @sofiaavarga13 @julvrs @fanfictionreaderfan

You hold onto your cardigan while your other hand grips your phone, with Google Maps guiding you to Bucky's house. The cold air pinches your nose, and darkness has already settled in. You hear dogs barking in the distance, crickets chirping, and your heart pounding. The navigator shows that Bucky's house is about twenty minutes away. He used to walk those twenty minutes every day just to take you home, walking by your side as you exchanged a few words. You can't help but feel grateful to him for everything he does for you, so you feel the need to reciprocate what he's done for you.

A few meters away, you spot a shop that's still open—it's ten in the evening, so it’s a bit of a surprise. You decide to go in and buy something. This time, before leaving, you remembered to grab your handbag with your wallet inside! You know that showing up at his place in pajamas, with a cardigan and a handbag on top, isn't exactly a style statement, but who do you expect to see you? You admit that you regretted your outfit choice a little, but at that moment, you didn’t feel like changing, and the desire to see Bucky was stronger.

You buy one of the sandwiches you enjoyed earlier that afternoon, along with some drinks—you can’t show up at someone’s house empty-handed! You don’t know exactly what Bucky likes, as he’s never told you, so you decide to grab some chocolate and savory snacks to increase the chances of getting something he likes. Happy with your purchases, you leave the supermarket and head towards what should be Bucky's apartment. It’s an apartment building with many small studios. You look for his name on the intercom, and as soon as you see "James Buchanan Barnes," you can't help but stifle a laugh. He had never told you his full name, and discovering it like this probably wouldn’t please him.

The first time you ring, no one answers. The second time, you start to worry. The third time, you feel tears prickling your eyes, and by the fourth time, you’re about to cry when the door finally opens. Luckily for you, there’s an elevator inside the building, so you don't have to walk up four flights of stairs to get to his apartment.

You knock carefully on his door, number 546.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, opening the door just enough to not reveal the mess behind it. He's nervous, and you smell the alcohol on him. The scent hits your nostrils with force.

“To see you,” you reply in a whisper, noticing that he can barely stand. "I brought food," you add, trying to persuade him by showing him the shopping bag you brought.

“You’re too pretty," he whispers before letting you in. The living room is full of empty bottles of alcohol, and everything is out of place. Walking without tripping is a challenge. You notice that the clothes he wore on your last date are strewn across the sofa. I forgot to mention—he’s only wearing sweatpants. And that’s it. Needless to say, you’re transfixed by his muscular chest.

“Sorry about the mess,” he mumbles, trying to clear the couch for you to sit down. You place the shopping bag on the coffee table in the middle of the living room and then take off your cardigan before sitting down. He looks at you for a moment and notices you’re in your pajamas. A small smile tugs at his lips.

"At least I'm not shirtless!" you scold, pointing at his bare chest after noticing his reaction.

"I wouldn’t have minded," he chuckles, and you blush. Little by little, he’s regaining his usual way of approaching you, making his coldness melt away. He looks at you, waiting for you to say something. He thinks you’re there to tell him something. But as always, it’s him who breaks the silence.

“Sorry for leaving,” he says, looking away from your face to focus on his hands, which he now sees as stained with the blood of innocents. "But what that man said is true. I am the Winter Soldier," he admits in a small voice. You see his hands trembling, just like his voice.

“You were never him, you’re just Bucky,” you assure him, taking his hands firmly.

He wanted to cut ties with you. He didn’t want you to hang around a monster, nor did he want to involve you in moments like the one at the festival. He wanted to see you happy, and he didn’t believe that he could be the source of that happiness. He softly strokes the back of your hand, and your eyes lock. In his now-clear eyes, you see a person suffering from the pain others have inflicted on him.

“You don’t know how hard it is for me, Y/N, but I can’t condemn you to be with me,” he tells you. His voice is hoarse, tinged with suffering.

“It’s not a condemnation,” you tell him, taking his hands and looking him straight in the eyes.

“You don’t know what a monster I am,” he whispers. You place a hand on his cheek and gently caress it.

“There’s no monster inside you, Buck,” you reassure him, your hands warm against his skin. You reach for his metal hand and squeeze it gently. “There’s a beautiful person inside you,” you add. For a moment, you almost manage to convince him, but the memories of the Winter Soldier resurface in his mind. He shakes his head.

“I wish you were right, but there are things about me that you don’t know.”

"Tell me everything," you ask him, as if Megan hadn’t already told you the same story less than an hour ago. But hearing it from his lips might help him feel better. He starts by telling you about when he joined the Army during World War II. He tells you about being captured and the experiments they conducted on his body, and how he was supposed to die but woke up as the Winter Soldier. He recounts all the heinous things HYDRA made him do, and all the while, his voice trembles. The memory of his victims is still vivid in his mind.

“After all that, do you still believe I’m not a monster?" he asks. To answer him, you kiss his soft lips, placing your hands in his hair to pull him closer to you. "Is that enough of an answer for you?" you ask, leaning your forehead against his. This time, he takes the initiative and presses his lips to yours, making you sit on top of him to feel you closer. But even if you weren’t touching, your bodies would still be united by your hearts.

“You’re not a monster, Bucky. Okay? The Winter Soldier isn’t you, it’s HYDRA,” you console him, stroking his soft hair. He nods. Those were just the words he needed, and salty tears begin to fall from his cheeks.

"You're amazing," he says, his breath warm against your lips.

At a certain moment, Bucky gets up and makes you sit in his place. If standing, he is taller than you, now with him standing and you sitting, he feels like a giant before you.

“I want to show you that I am no longer capable of harm,” he tells you, and you smile at him.

“It’s not necessary,” you assure him, but he replies, "I have to prove it to myself too," so you let him proceed.

He caresses your face with his cold, metallic hand. You shiver at the touch on your warm cheeks. You close your eyes and surrender yourself completely to him and his hands. You feel his hand gently caress your chin, then move to your cheek where he traces small circles with his fingers, making you giggle. Then he touches the tip of your nose, making a soft "boop" sound with his lips. You open your eyes with a smile and see his eyes penetrating your soul. His clear eyes are locked on yours.

Thanks to his vibranium hand, he can’t feel your warmth; otherwise, he would sense just how much his cold touch heats you up. He smiles sweetly at you, but you’re still petrified by his touch. Your stomach instantly fills with butterflies. He then offers you his hand, which you take, and he helps you stand up. He places his hands on your hips, and you rest yours on his powerful chest. You gaze into each other’s eyes again, lost in them. You feel an irrepressible desire to kiss his perfect pink lips.

"I love you, pretty girl," he says, and then you kiss, standing there in his little living room. You kiss him with a primal desire you didn’t know you had. Your lips continue to meet, your tongues dance together, and your hands delicately explore each other’s bodies. You’re afraid of hurting one another, but the desire burning inside you is even stronger. You never thought you’d confess your feelings for Bucky in a room full of alcohol bottles—you were hoping for something more romantic, like under the moon or amidst fireworks—but this is probably even better. You met among the bottles, and having your first kiss among them makes it perfect. He is perfect.

“I love you too, Buck.” you could swear you've never seen a more beautiful smile than his right now.

“Can I ask you on another date?" he asks, breaking away from the kiss.

“Only if you don’t run away like Cinderella,” you reply, chuckling. He stares into your eyes for endless seconds, and you smile back at him. Then you remember what you had to say to get his address, and you blush with embarrassment.

'How am I going to go back to work knowing that my boss thinks I’m pregnant by his bodyguard?' you think. Bucky notices the terror in your eyes and starts looking at you with concern.

"What’s going on?" he asks softly, stroking your cheek.

“Anyway… so, to get your address, I had to tell our employer that I’m pregnant with your baby," you whisper against his lips, and he starts coughing loudly. You burst out laughing at his reaction.

Here is finally the last chapter! I hope you enjoyed the series and let me know what you think! Soon I will also publish the epilogue with the real ending.

Series' masterlist | previous chapter | epilogue

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thoughtsfromlayla · 1 month

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Chapter Five - Ostensible

Summary: Truth comes to light between the hushed whispers of destined lovers. Friends emerge in the oddest of places and flowers bloom in place of words.

Notes: ~9k words, holy fuck. Sorry this took so long, I realized that it's been literal months since I updated this story.

Warnings/Tags: Gault's funeral, Reader is slapping bitches as they should.

Tag list is open, just let me know :)

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Previous | Next

Ostensible (adj.) - stated or appearing to be true, but not necessarily so

Morpheus brings you to his chest as your scream turns into buzzing breaths and you’re trying to gulp down your unrelenting fear. You push against his hold weakly, the fabric of his jacket seemingly too rough against your inflamed skin.

“How—how could you do—do that?” You scream at him through hiccups. You feel your eyes start to sting as the prickling tears start to emerge from your eyes. “I trusted you… I trusted you!”

“I fought justice with justice,” your husband answers simply.

His response angers you in return. What is his definition of justice if he killed a person without reason? Without fair trial? You look at him with a hardening frown.

“No, kings fight with honor and that was not honorable. You answered justice with injustice,” you accuse, hands on his chest to give yourself more room. The tears have caked themselves on your cheeks, drying and pinching the skin beneath.

“It is as I make of it, I will not hear it!” Morpheus growls down at you, his hands gripping harder around your arms, squeezing as he screams his excuse.

Smack!

The stinging of your fingers meets the night air, the imprint of your hand swelling on Morpheus’ left cheek. His eyes are wide as it takes him a moment to realize you have struck him. When his eyes finally meet yours, he finds not the eyes of the woman he knew.

Morpheus sees anger, resentment, and hatred in your eyes. Your lips downturned with no regret of the action you just did. His jaw hangs open, the hit stunning him.

Matthew winces at the slap, having before been on the receiving end of it⎼even if it was under different circumstances. He and Jessamy turn around to give the two—should he call them lovers?—some privacy. The young knight follows Jessamy’s new fascination with toeing the loose garden path. This path sure is made out of path tonight… Matthew thinks to himself as he draws a pattern.

“Do not dare to touch me. Not now, not ever.” Your glare only softens when Morpheus lets you go, his fingers seemingly snapping open after realizing his grip on you.

“Forgive me,” Morpheus whispers, his head dipping in embarrassment.

A similar apology sits heavy on your tongue for striking him, but flashbacks of how you got into this situation play in your mind. Your teeth clamp over your tongue until you taste the iron of blood.

With a deep breath, you ask a question you’re not sure you’ll get an answer to. “Why are you so angry?”

The question shakes through his core, the words ringing in unfamiliar territory.

“I… I don’t know,” Morpheus answers slowly after a few quiet moments.

The crickets chirping fill in the growing silence as you take in his answer. With a sigh, you leave against the betterment of your judgment towards the scene of the crime.

You don’t have to look to know that Morpheus was trailing behind you. The ever-familiar sound of armor from Matthew and Jessamy follows as well.

You stop early, seeing the laying stump that is the recently passed Rodrick Burgess. In all of his past glory, real or not, here he laid for his crimes.

Morpheus follows your eye line, squinting in the dim light of the eclipse until they widen in realization. He jogs over, and this time you’re following him with heavy and dragging footsteps. Your heart rate picks up once more and though you know he is dead for good, a primal part of you still fears he may come back to life.

You can still feel Burgess’ scrutinizing gaze upon you and how his hands so easily wrapped themselves around your neck. The lack of power you had in the situation as your breath was taken from you, as your nails did nothing against his armor. Your hand reaches towards where he laid his hands on you and you wince as you touch the blooming bruise.

Morpheus crouches down to the body, placing the back of his hand to Burgess’ nose, and only stands back up when he concludes that he isn’t breathing anymore. He turns to you with a forlorn look on his face and his mouth agape with words that he tries to push out.

“Forgive me, for doubting you,” Morpheus manages to squeeze out eventually.

You turn your head away from him, staring off into the distance as his apology only skims across your ears. Morpheus’ eyes drift down towards your neck, guilt eating him alive as he sees the distinct bruise that encircled you like a noose.

A straying hiccup is fighting its way past your throat as you hear him coming closer to you. The air is thick with tension and a wedge grows between you like the weeds that sprout between the cracks of your garden path. Even if you try to stamp them out, they will grow back because both of you are too prideful to work together.

Your eyes retrace the dead body once again, the low light doing well to hide most of the gruesome aftereffect of Gaunt’s actions. But the smell, it permeates through the night wind and reaches your nostrils, making you sick to your stomach.

You’ve never even stepped in the kitchen when your father brought in fresh geese from his hunting trips; how do you deal with a person? The smell of death is so distinct. You turn away, the nauseating feeling of acid once again building up in your throat.

“Please,” Morpheus calls out to you, grabbing onto the fluff of your dress.

You turn quickly, feeling the seams ripping at the force of it. Your eyes widen as you see the great King Morpheus on his knees before you. His lithe fingers still grip your dress, the blood that had besmirched his hands transferring onto the silk and tulle.

“Gods, what are you doing!” You curse, dropping to your knees with him.

The grass pricks at your skin but you pay it no mind, grabbing onto Morpheus’ elbows to bring him up. He doesn’t go easy, because when has he ever? He’s just as stubborn as you are.

“I am sorry, please, I am sorry,” He apologizes into your gown, head low and almost bowing on his knees.

“Please, get up, Morpheus,” You whisper, grabbing at his elbows again and lifting him to stand with you.

His nose and eyes are blushed red as he holds back tears and he dips his head into your neck to hide himself. He hovers just above your neck, not quite touching your skin but you can feel his shaky breath along the curve of your neck. His hands are fisted at his side as he punishes himself mentally for what he has done to you.

Despite everything, despite your pride, despite your differences, your hands wrap themselves around his head, shielding him as he trembles like a lost boy in your arms. You feel no tears hit your shoulders and it’s a sad realization indeed when you’ve concluded that, even now, Morpheus won’t let his image crack in front of others.

Under judgment of the Celestial Lovers, the two of you remain like that for a few minutes. Silence, for once, was welcomed between the two of you. Morpheus’ breath slows down to match your speed and calms himself.

He is the first to pull away and he doesn’t look in your eyes after. It is a subtle action that you did notice and should you not have such a caring heart as you do, one you would’ve ignored. But, you can’t and so your heart lurches out to comfort him even when your mind is pulling you in the opposite direction.

“Where did we go wrong, Y/N?” Morpheus sighs defeatedly.

“We never ‘went wrong’, Morpheus,” you say after a few seconds with a sigh of your own. You think back to the first day you met him, the day of your wedding, to the whispered confessions he proclaimed to someone else. “We were doomed from the start…”

“Will you let us try?”

After all of this time? After months of neglect and loneliness? How could you possibly believe that Morpheus wants to start a relationship with you now? All of his past actions have contradicted everything that has led up to this moment. His question strikes a chord with you, and yet—

“Tell me, my lord.” You swallow your fear, gripping onto the dark cape Morpheus had draped over you previously. “Tell me of the conversation you shared with your beloved Calliope tonight and I will think about it.”

A small frown etches on Morpheus’ face. “Calliope is not my beloved,” he says first and foremost. “But, I told her that she was right after all, that we were simply not meant to be. That I do love you, it just took me a while to realize the feeling.”

“Why do I not believe you, Morpheus?” The confession was sweet, but he has yet to do anything to prove his words. “Words are not actions, and I cannot in good faith believe a single thing you have said to me tonight.”

This time, it is you who looks away. You must steel your heart away, you cannot let it get hurt again. Even now as it beats erratically in your chest, it feels like his fingers are gripping themselves around the muscle. Your fingers tremble as they continue to grip onto the cape.

“Jessamy, let us depart.” Morpheus finally says, clearing his throat and walking away, his footsteps silent compared to your beating heart.

Morpheus plays with his bracelet, pulling at it as it grows tauter against his wrist in retaliation. It sears into his skin, leaving a new reddening bruise. Your own mimics its partner, twisting and tightening in on itself, but you had long gotten used to the pain.

“Take me back to my room, Matthew,” you eventually say when Morpheus’ figure is no longer seen.

You lead the way, having long since memorized the outline of the castle gardens. Your company is that of night critters as they also enjoy the early night. Fireflies dance in the air in pairs as they celebrate the yearly union. The further you walk, the more dilute the smell of death becomes. Soon you are back to smelling the subtle hints of jasmines and evening primroses as they blossom in the night.

Blind by thoughts, you walk straight into another body, a small grunt leaving your lips. Matthew is there by your side to steady you before you even recognize what is happening.

“Forgive me, Your Grace.” Calliope’s infamous voice comes through the night.

“All is well,” you say, too tired to bring out the other negative emotions that usually show with her mention: jealousy, rage, resentment… No matter, not tonight. You grip onto Morpheus’ cape tighter as you make your way past her.

“Wait,” Calliope calls out. In a moment without thought, her hands reach out for yours, gently grabbing themselves over your cold digits.

“Hands off the Queen!” Matthew announces loudly in your ear. His nerves are on edge from all of the events that have occurred so far tonight.

“No, Matthew, it is quite all right.” You push the knight away with the back of your hand and a ringing of his voice in your ears.

“I simply want to say that I wish you the best of luck. Morpheus is very, shall we say… shy, about his actions. If he has not told you, we are not lovers. I stopped seeing him the day before your wedding. I just want you to know,” she rambles and you could never see it in her to do so. Yet, here she is, rambling, afraid that you would go back on your word and never speak to her again.

“I know, Calliope,” you sigh, holding her hand in your own. “I was angry and in denial with myself when I heard those words he whispered to you on that balcony.”

“You heard that?” Calliope gasps with wide eyes. She pulls herself closer to you and her presence feels like an old friend. “I am so—”

“I do not need any more apologies tonight, though I am thankful for your honesty. It is time to look toward the future on a more positive note. I would be honored to call you a friend, if you can forgive my own actions against you.”

“I never held that against you, Your Majesty. Being friends, it would be a dream come true.” Her hands squeeze yours like a small hug.

“You are too kind, my lady,” you say with a smile—a real, genuine smile.

A new flower blooms that night in your garden. From the blood of your spilled enemy and the promise of your first friend within castle walls, a hybrid between forget-me-nots and lilies emerges from the late summer grass.

Agnes greets you as soon as you step into your door. Her worry and fussing as she scans your tired face and bloody ripped dress is a contrast to her normally calm facade. She’s dragging you on your tired feet and undressing you head to toe before shoving you into an already prepared bathtub.

“Honestly, do people have no sense of decency anymore!” She mutters to herself as she frolics throughout the bathroom grabbing at this and that.

Agnes began throwing different creams and petals into the water, you might as well have been stew she was cooking. The water turns milky and orange like the summer firefruits the servants used to freeze for you to eat.

You stay quiet as she begins to scrub your body down with a new sponge, the familiar roughness of it calming in an odd way. Agnes is still muttering to herself as she does so, making sure to get through every nook and cranny she can.

The water is almost boiling hot, something that you would normally condemn but tonight you welcome it. It burns and washes away the sins and tragedies of tonight.

You’re nothing but a lump of flesh at her mercy as she suds your hair, her nails breaking apart dry blood and turning the soap brown. Her face is still tense, eyebrows furrowing as she washes away the sins of the past.

Iron permeates the air and the nauseating smell of death comes back like a disease on the horizon.

“Agnes, what is your opinion on the King?” You ask, half to distract yourself and half to learn more about him.

Would it be too late to learn more about your husband? Perhaps, it has been several months since you've sworn to each other for eternity. But, tonight an abundant amount of new information has come forth. Some were just speculation and some were outright facts.

“King Morpheus has always done right by us, Your Majesty,” Agnes states honestly.

“Us?” You probe.

“Yes, my late husband left us out to dry and I don’t make near enough for our son. King Morpheus is paying for his education and lets me sleep in the palace as long as I work under him. And to keep you safe of course, Your Majesty,” Agnes further explains.

She globs on a different type of cream into your hair and the air starts to smell like fresh fruit instead of dried blood. The image of Morpheus starts to shift as you imagine him through Agnes’ eyes. What was once dark turns lighter in your mind.

You suppose he isn’t a terrible husband, just a neglectful one. He lets you do as you please: tearing away at his gardens for your own sanctuary, permitting you into the royal library, and letting you paint uninterrupted in the studio.

Was everything he confessed tonight true then? That his feelings for you have changed from resentment of forced marriage into love? It is hard to believe, there is no way a person’s feelings could change so fast.

For all of the good that he’s done, there is also the bad. Neglecting you is the most obvious answer, but he also failed to listen to your pleas for mercy and rejected you from his inner royal court. He has refused to let you serve your kingdom and share the burden of ruling as a monarch. And though you resolved the issue of his former love for Calliope yourself, would it have wounded him to tell you himself? Why? Why?

The never ending torment that is your own thoughts has you sulking deeper into the bathtub until the only thing above the water are your eyes and nose. Agnes dumps water over your head and your breath creates bubbles in the water.

You wish to stay in the warm waters for the rest of your life, like returning to the safe womb from which you were born. At least there, you wouldn’t have to deal with… well whatever this is.

“I am sure that His Majesty never meant to harm you,” Agnes starts again, taking your forlorn expression.

Too many times has she seen a lonely wife on this side of the universe. Though poorer herself, she is blessed to have been married for love and not arrangement. A lonely wife is always the first ingredient for disaster, followed closely by an angry wife.

“The King is one of few words, but his actions proceed him. He thought he was doing right by you, Your Grace.” She quickly continues.

You don’t bother with a response. Perhaps he did think he was doing the right thing. You can imagine what it must have looked like to him in the dim light. A weapon in the hands of an unknown soldier, kneeling over you while your face was still panic-stricken.

It, however, doesn’t ignore the fact that he proceeded to ignore your pleas, too focus on bringing you his version of “justice.”

You don’t see Morpheus for another week, the tension between the two of you has died down to a low simmer instead of the raging boil you left at. In your time, you’ve started to enjoy Calliope’s company more and more.

Oftentimes, the two of you share conversation within one of the several drawing rooms in the palace. Calliope brings lemons from her home kingdom of Boeotica that are hardly grown in the seaside soils of the Dreaming. And with lemons comes to fruition your new favorite dessert of tiny lemon cakes.

Calliope often thinks that you seek out her company each day of the week just so you have an excuse to eat the pastries and drink tea, though you would deny it. You do genuinely enjoy her company. Had you never overcome your diversities with each other, you would have never known how kind, witty, and graceful she is.

She never minds it. Calliope has missed her sisters dearly, and your company ebbs away at the homesick feeling she’s had since coming here as emissary. And between laughs and hushed whispers of shared stories does she come to find a sister in you as well.

Other times, you find that Calliope loves to take morning strolls through the open grounds within the castle. She loves the way the sun feels against her skin, warming her up in the mornings like the soil beneath her feet. Matthew accompanies the two of you while she listens to your rambles, your mind having far too many topics of conversation given your lack of friends within palace walls.

“How did you come into Morpheus’ care?” You ask one day on a familiar stroll in the palace gardens.

Calliope hums as she acknowledges your question. She thinks for a moment amidst the sound of mourning doves and fountains trickling. You wait with bated breath. Your jealousy of Calliope has long dissipated, but a part of you wishes to know how she managed to become so amicable with your husband.

“Morpheus and I grew up in the same circle, being royalty and all. It is not uncommon to say that we had our fair share of encounters while we were children. Did you know that he was quite the rambunctious one while he was young? He, Hob, and Lucienne were oftentimes found chasing each other through the halls with wooden swords and empty threats.

Morpheus got into a lot of trouble, he often came back to his nanny covered in bruises or dirt. His mother never appreciated it, thinking it was unsightly for a prince to look and act as he did. I first met him when my parents were visiting as guests and I had holed myself up in some library. He comes bargaining in to hide from Hob and Lucienne from some game they’ve made up.

We became friends through our love of literature and when Hob and Lucienne eventually found him, they nicknamed him the Prince of Stories. He hated it, of course, saying something about how it was not regal enough for him.

Eventually, he had to step into the throne. As you may know, his brother was in contact with the divine and thus became divine—and had to step down as the next king of the Dreaming. His eldest sister left to travel, though for reasons unknown to anyone outside of the royal family.” Calliopes goes on.

Her voice is light and smooth, perfect for reminiscing and storytelling. You find yourself smiling at this new found information about Morpheus. His more solemn and distinguished attitude is a stark contrast to his childhood.

“Do you still love him?” You ask hesitantly, finding distraction in the morning bees that collected the last few drops of autumn nectar.

“Yes,” Calliope replies honestly. “But as friends.” She nudges you with a knowing smile as she sees you deflate slightly.

“I see.”

“You need not worry. I believe our relationship was due to his wish for simpler times. Everyone had grown up, Lucienne filled in her role quite well as the royal advisor, her studies proven well. Hob married and inherited his father’s fortune and lands. And Morpheus took to the throne, you must imagine how that is for a boy who was never meant to take to it?” Calliope stops just before the colonnades that reentered the palace as she asks you the question.

“How do you feel, Calliope? Now that he has listened to you and stopped the relationship?” You inquire, a curious frown etched upon your face.

“As if he’s finally grown to be the man he is meant to be,” she answers with a soft smile.

With that answer, she leaves you, having other responsibilities to tend to. The fall chill comes down, kissing across your exposed shoulders and caressing through the loose strands of your hair. Your mind is muddled with thoughts as you watch Calliope’s figure recede.

On the seventh day, Calliope is nowhere to be seen and instead, you find Morpheus standing in the middle of the drawing room. You had just finished a new book that you wished to share with Calliope, but instead, you’re greeted with bouquet after bouquet of different flowers.

“Oh!” You exclaim, confused.

You tilt your body outside for a moment to make sure that you stepped into the correct room. Jessemy’s body seems to materialize out of thin air, and her quiet demeanor makes her a lot more difficult to sense. You even look to Matthew just to make sure, but he meets you with a shrug.

“Good morning,” Morpheus coughs out when you turn your attention back to him.

Matthew lets out an aggressive sneeze as the sickly sweet smell from the abundance of flowers reaches his nostrils. The armor-clad knight sneezes again and practically shoves you into the room so that he can close the door behind him.

“I’m so sorry, Your Majesty,” he apologizes. Matthew’s muffled sneezes can still be heard on the other side.

A few seconds pass too fast, the atmosphere fills with awkward tension. You could hear the ringing in your ears and wish to crumble and hide within yourself.

“This is… a lot of flowers,” You state the obvious, scanning over the different colors and shapes.

“Yes,” Morpheus agrees, perhaps a little too quickly. “Lucienne said you might like a gesture, and I do not know what your favorite flowers are. I find that I do not know about you, at all.”

Morpheus watches closely as you trace the delicate petals of a yet to bloom dahlia with a soft smile. Dahlias are an incredibly romantic flower with the message being “forever thine” and he wonders if you knew that when selecting the flowers.

“I do like flowers,” you admit absentmindedly. “These are dahlias, an incredibly romantic flower, but not many know that they can be toxic, too. And these,” you practically skip over to another bouquet, “these chrysanthemums mean joy and optimism, and they can even make a soothing tea.”

Your eyes light up as you scan the room, taking in the different species and colors as you start to ramble about each one you like, naming their meanings and purposes. Morpheus listens intently, learning and smiling at the way you flitter around the room like an untamed pixie.

Your smile grows with each new flower you name and you turn to see him smiling back at you. The moment is lost, however, when you realize what he is trying to do.

“Wait,” you pause, leaving the flowers behind. “You thought that you would be forgiven after everything with just a few flowers?”

“I would not call this a few…” Morpheus laughs slightly and gestures towards the wall of flowers. “I want to get to know you.”

“That would have been a more appropriate conversation you should have shared with your wife on our wedding day,” you grit out.

The flowers are just a distraction. Morpheus may be a man of a few words, as Agnes has said, and you can see that he is trying in his own weird way. But it will take a lot more than some pretty flowers to gain your favor again.

“We are gathered here today to honor the recently passed Ser Gault, a noble soldier of the Dreaming whose bravery saved none other than the Queen’s life. As per King Morpheus, Ser Gault will be buried with the highest honor given within the kingdom.” The Reverend Destiny reads off of his old, leathered book.

You stand amongst the crowd of gathered attendees, the late autumn sun is just about to clip below the horizon. Through your black veil, you garner a small peek at your husband. Morpheus stands next to you, perfectly straight-postured as always and you’re having a hard time trying to read his emotions. Your eyes return to the wooden casket in the ground.

Six feet under, lies Gault. The very reason you are standing here today, alive and breathing, and yet she wasn’t. It’s been a couple of months since her death, the funeral had taken that long to carefully prepare.

Perhaps it is the black dress you wore or the cold and dry weather, but with every passing moment Destiny draws on, the harder it is to breathe. You feel as if your living body is going to freeze on the spot.

No one else spoke, you’re not even sure what the relationships between the attendees and Gault were. You did know that you felt out of place. Funerals should be surrounded by loved ones and you barely knew her past her name.

Even when everyone else leaves, having already given their prayers and flowers, you stay, feeling as if it was the best way to pay your respects. With each new layer of dirt the grave digger throws on top, you bury the guilt that weighed down your heart.

It could’ve been you.

It could have been you.

…

Should it have been you?

Morpheus’ presence brings you out of your thoughts and you find yourself blinking back tears. He’s twirling a singular white tulip between his fingers, contemplating something before he gives the flower to you. No words are exchanged as you hesitantly take the flower, but you understand him.

“Please forgive me,” He asks through the flower.

You take the flower from his hands, your fingers grazing his for a moment. The warmth is ever fleeting, and it’s missed as soon as you pull away. The tulip is light and delicate in your fingers, a simple push of your nail could snap the stem in half.

“I am still angry at you, Morpheus, and you are still not forgiven…. but this is a good start. You have always acted before you thought, and I’m not so sure anymore if it is a blessing or a curse,” You whisper to him.

The funeral staff have left, and the mound of dirt now rests, ready to be compacted down through time. You place the white tulip on the mound and walk away, giving Gault her first and last gift from you. The autumn chill creeps up quicker now that the sun has set and you briskly make your way back to the comforts of your suite.

Morpheus lets out a deep sigh, watching your receding figure merge with Matthew’s the further you walk away from him. His shoulder relaxes as he repeats your words on his lips.

“A good start…”

He returns with haste to the royal library and begins digging around the archives. He searches in candlelight desperately for a specific book he hasn’t read in a long, long, time.

“Looking for something in particular, my lord?” Lucienne’s voice calls out to him.

Morpheus looks down briefly from the ladder he clung to, the wrong book in his hands. He sighs as he slides the book back into its place, pushing on the old spine. The higher he went on the prongs, the stronger the books began to smell like his oldest brother.

“Language of flowers,” He admits defeatedly to his most trusted advisor.

“What ever do you need that for?” Lucienne asks, shocked to say the least.

“It seems to be the only way I can communicate with my wife.”

Lucienne raises a quizzical brow, probing him for further information without saying another word. Morpheus climbs back down the wooden ladder, candelabra in hand as he makes his way to her.

“Every time I try to explain myself, I simply make matters worse. Y/N has a kind love for flowers and seems to understand what I said during the funeral,” Morpheus explains.

Lucienne’s mouth opens in a silent “ah.” She knows exactly what he means, though she keeps the thoughts to herself. Looking past the already difficult past the two of you shared, Morpheus was hard to understand at his core.

He always came to conclusions within his own mind, only speaking the final verdict without letting anyone else in on his thoughts. At least with flowers, he can communicate in a way that you would understand.

Without another word, Lucienne disappears into the darkness of the library, knowing her way around the aisles as if it were the grooves in her own pointed ears. She comes back not a few moments later with the correct book in her arms, handing it over to her King.

Though, in the darkness of the night and the shadows cast by candlelight, Morpheus is basked in a type of vulnerability she hasn’t seen since they were children.

“For the Prince of Stories,” she jokes, a crooked smile dashing across her lips as she recalls the old joke.

Morpheus casts her a playful glare, thinking it had been too long for anyone to remember that nickname. But, he thanks her nonetheless and sits by a large window to catch up on some reading.

The moon rises higher in the sky, casting a blue hue over the worn and inked pages. His fingers trace across the drawings of different flowers and herbs alike as he pages through the book.

Jessamy remains by his side still as he makes his way to the palace gardens, muttering to himself as he tries to find the specific flowers he finds agreeable. By the time the moon reaches Her peak, Morpheus smells like fresh dirt and he interlaces the stems together into something more presentable, tying off the bouquet in some twine he found lying in a greenhouse.

He presents the finished bouquet to the only person around, who happens to be Jessamy. Ever silent, Jessamy only shrugs, her armored shoulder pads falling as soon as they rise.

Not exactly the greatest boost of confidence, but it was better than Jessamy ripping it to shreds, he supposed. He leaves the bouquet in the servant’s quarters with a specific note that Agnes is to send the flowers to you.

You wake up to a very excited Agnes shoving flowers ino your face. Sleep still clings to your eyelashes like glue and your frown only deepens when someone opens the heavy curtains of the room.

“What is going on,” you say sitting up, eyes blinking open.

Agnes shoves the bouquet of flowers into your hands, which you poorly grab at.

“It’s from King Morpheus,” Agnes explains as she begins to prepare you for your day.

A brush runs through your hair as you push your sleep aside. You stare at the flowers, a bouquet made of blue salvias, hawthorns, myrtles, hyacinths, and marguerite daisies.

“The more I look at it… the bouquet is kinda ugly,” Agnes mutters from behind you, her brush stopping mid-stroke.

You don’t respond to Agnes but silently agree. Morpheus didn’t seem like the type of person to send something half-done and you rack your brain as you start to name off the meanings behind each flower he sent you.

Blue salvias… meaning “I think of you,” hawthorns which represents the term “I am hoping,” while myrtles means “love in a marriage.” Your cheeks flush as you decipher the hidden message in the flowers. The remaining two flowers, hyacinths and marguerite daisies, decipher “to play” and “I await you.”

“I’m thinking of you. I am hoping for love in our marriage. Come play with me, I await you.” The message reads.

Morpheus waits for you? Figuratively or literally? If it was literally, where in the vast palace grounds would he wait for you? You ponder over the message across breakfast with Calliope, her voice muffled as you silently chew on your fruit, debating if you should even accept the invitation.

At least he isn’t forcing your hand, it will be your decision whether or not you should meet with him. At first, you considered not going at all, but that darn bracelet from the Sister Fates kept twisting and tightening around your wrist until you couldn’t take the subtle pain anymore.

You spend the rest of your afternoon hunting him down. If he couldn’t specify where he would like to meet, then you would just have to revisit all of the locations in which you have interacted with him. That was the best you could come up with at the time.

The drawing room was the closest to you at the time, the flowers Morpheus had gotten you were disposed of and the room returned to its original cleanliness. It still smelled of flowers, but the scent was less intruding this time around. Still, your husband was nowhere to be found.

You head to the ballroom next. With the lack of whimsical effects from the eclipse, the ballroom was just like any other space within the castle. Though the open ceiling was still a beautiful touch, casting everything in natural sunlight. You spot Lucienne near the unmoving decorative thrones at the very front and you make your way to her.

“Lucienne,” you call out to her, quickening your step to catch up to her.

“My lady,” she greets, clasping her hands over the heavy book she was holding.

“Have you seen Morpheus?” You ask outright.

“No, Your Majesty. King Morpheus has cleared his entire schedule today, therefore I haven’t a clue to his whereabouts.”

“Hm, interesting,” you think aloud. Lucienne was your first and only hope of easily finding him.

“Forgive me for not being of much help,” the royal advisor apologizes, pushing her round glasses back into place.

“Do not fret. Thank you, Lucienne.” You acknowledge this before letting her continue with her daily responsibilities.

Next, you make your way to the royal library, where you find Mervyn dusting the table lights with a grumble. The brighter blue of his new denim overalls makes him stick out like a sore thumb amongst the brown books. The pumpkin-head man doesn’t bother to answer your question, shooing you away with a dirty glove as if your very presence was enough to annoy him.

You leave, tail tucked between your legs and a little offended as you make it to Hob’s studio. Opening the door greeted you with past emotions you’re not sure if you’ve processed. You haven’t been back in the studio since that eventful evening and no one has been in since, either.

Dry paint was still splattered across the walls and floors, broken canvases were strewn across the room. Dust sprites have made themselves a small home, covering every inch of the place in a fine layer of dust. Upon seeing your face, they get shy and fly out past your head, leaving you sneezing and still unable to find your husband.

“Wait out here, Matthew,” you instruct as you slowly make your way into the studio.

You run a finger across a shelf, collecting the dust on your finger and rolling the lint into a small tube. The brushes have dried, paint caked onto them as if frozen in time with the promise of something new. But you know, you know the brushes are destroyed—that no matter how much water and oil you soak them in can you return them to the state they were before.

Evening came quicker now that it was autumn, beginning to cast the studio in a warm yellow light and illuminating the dust. You let out another sigh, relaxing your posture in the solitude of the broken room. To think that it was autumn already…

The window unlocks with a click and you open the glass panes to let the dust fly out. You enjoy the chill that ran down your shoulders as you lean out the window to escape the stuffiness of the room. The blissful solace was interrupted by a rustling below you.

In the colorful flowers of the gardens below you, you see Morpheus and Jessamy, their black colors displaced amongst the lively backdrop. Morpheus paces back and forth along the cobblestone path, looking towards the entrance below you before returning to his pacing.

Had he been there this whole time? You step away from the window, wishing to keep yourself hidden as you too begin to pace back and forth. This whole day was spent looking for him but now that you found him, you’re not sure if you want to see him.

Yes, you should see him, give him a piece of your mind.

No, you shouldn’t see him, let him suffer in his silence.

Yes, you should go to him, you can see his efforts in trying to reprimand his mistakes!

No, did you forget he refuses to let you do anything in the castle?

He lets you do a lot, all things considered.

“Oh, be quiet,” You scold yourself as your mind races.

Your feet move you out of the studio and out of the royal library all the while your mind still plays tug of war between yes’s and no’s. Soon you’re flying down the winding stairs that lead down to the gardens, your heart pounding and your breath shaky.

No, what if he hurts you again? And your hand pauses on the door handle.

But what if… Oh, gods above! Shut up!

You push the door open, the sun blinding and the air fresh against your flushed face. It’s too late to turn back now. Morpheus’ head snaps up at the sound of the door banging open, standing to his feet even though he had just sat back down. He stares, wide-eyed and unblinking at you. As if afraid that if he does, it would have all been a figment of his imagination and you were nothing but an illusion of his wishes.

A beat of silence passes between you, even leaves don’t dare fall as if trying to avoid the tense atmosphere. It’s you who breaks it first for if it continued any longer, you would run back up those stairs again.

“Hello, Morpheus,” you greet and raise your hand in a wave and inwardly cringe at how horrible this is and you should just turn around and hide in your room.

“Y/N,” Morpheus breathes out your name like a song.

“How long have you been waiting?” You ask, noting the amount of pacing he had been doing.

“Since dawn,” He responds honestly, his cheeks and nose flushed from the cold air.

“Forgive me for keeping you, the flowers… they did not specify where,” you apologize quickly. He nods in understanding, there isn’t exactly a flower that means “meet me at the garden under the marble statue of the naked woman fountain.”

“No, I would’ve waited the night if necessary,” Morpheus assures and another beat of silence follows at his confession. “Would you like to promenade with me?”

You nod once, enough for Morpheus to close the gap between you and offer his arm. You hesitate for a moment but swallow it down as you wrap your fingers around his limb.

“Just this once,” you agree. The two of you begin to stroll through the expansive gardens, enjoying the weather and last of the sun’s rays.

“I would like to get to know you, if it pleases my wife,” he says suddenly amongst the sound of trickling water and birds chirping.

“What do you wish to know?” You respond. Morpheus pauses for a moment, not particularly expecting to have come this far in conversation—if he was going to be honest with himself.

“What is your most favorable season?” He asks.

“Spring,” you answer easily. “Though I keep that information close to my chest.”

Morpheus smiles at your little jab. Spring would explain your love of flowers, when they are most beautiful.

“Why do you enjoy dancing?” He inquires next.

“It is a physical form of music and music is beautiful but intangible,” you explain as best as you could, but the feeling is hard to put to words. “I’ve always danced when I’m happy and therefore have become happy when I dance.”

“Do you miss your family?”

“Not as much as I miss my harpsichord,” you joke, having gotten used to the freedom away from the scrutinizing gaze of your father and the constant lessons from your mother. “Tell me about your family.”

“What is there to learn? All events have been written on paper and bound in leather.” He lets out a deep chuckle at his own joke before pretending to clear his throat when you don’t laugh with him.

“Tell me about your sister, Teleute. Why is she not here?” You ask instead.

The night that Rodrick Burgess burst into the ballroom is still fresh in your mind. Something made him believe that Morpheus’ sister could bring back his dead son and Calliope mentioned something happened to Teleute but it is a heavily guarded secret.

“A royal family secret,” Morpheus confirms your suspicions. “Teleute almost died giving birth to her first child. Since that tragedy, she has been an oracle and foreseer of death itself, though we know not the reason why. Our parents sent her away in fear of their own deaths coming sooner.”

So, it was simply misinformation that Rodrick Burgess was fed. She could only predict when and how someone died, not bring them back from the dead. You suppose any loving parent would want to bring their child back, and even go to extreme lengths to achieve it.

“A cruel thing for parents to do to their daughter.” You frown as you realize that the former king and queen had banned her from her own home.

“Yes, but the last I’ve known of her, she is happier out there and not in here.”

“What of the rest of your siblings?”

“I have six in total.” Morpheus continues to indulge your curiosity. “You know of Reverend Destiny, I have a wild card of a brother who left the royal family and his titles for no known reasons, but I don’t blame him. There are the twins, who disagreed with my ascension to the throne and have declared themselves enemies of the Dreaming, but that is a discussion for another day.”

“That is only five siblings, what of the sixth?” You question as you mentally tallied up the number.

“My youngest sister passed in her sleep whilst fighting a fever dawning on her third birthday,” Morpheus reveals quietly, briefly reliving the past.

“My condolences, my lord.” You apologize quickly after for probing too far.

“Thank you, but it has been many years and the ache is healed.”

The two of you fall into another silence, following the cobblestone path beneath us. Mervyn had been doing a wonderful job in keeping the path clean, not a single blade was out of place and no insufferable weeds popped up.

Arm in hand, you and Morpheus descend further into the gardens where the bushes are overgrown and the flowers grow wildly over forgotten statues. A gazebo stood strong despite the strong cracks in its foundation and columns. A lone stone table with a game of black and white sits beneath its roof.

“Do you know how to play?” He asks as you two stop before the table.

“Chess?” You confirm his question, to which he nods. “Yes, I would dare say I am quite proficient.”

“I shall take that as a challenge, for I have never lost a game.” Morpheus grins as walks up the small steps of the marble gazebo.

“Consider your challenge accepted,” You say with a prideful glint, raising your chin high. “Which side do you prefer?”

“Ladies first, I insist.” Morpheus offers the side to the white side with his hand before taking a seat opposite of you.

The stone seat is cool beneath your legs, a calming temperature as the air crackles with both of your egos on the line. You watch as Morpheus realigns his pieces so they all face the same way. You wonder whether or not he was giving you the upper hand by giving you the side which will move first, but the more you think about it, the more you realize it is so he could see how you think.

White always moves first, it usually attacks and black defends—but chess is not just about capturing and winning, it is a game of logic and strategy. Both opponents show their skills in how they maneuver their pieces while manipulating their opponents. Your eyes meet his once again and all playful banter the two of you shared is gone.

The man in front of you now is no longer your husband. No, this is King Morpheus: calculating, patient, and intelligent.

As per the rules of the game, you move first and Morpheus watches intently. He sets his next piece out and the two of you play back and forth as the game slowly progresses. You watch Morpheus hover his fingers over his bishop in thought, his mind whirling with different scenarios.

“Do you play chess often?” Your voice cuts through his thoughts like a sword freshly sharpened off the whetstone.

“When I have the time,” He answers soon after.

“I see,” you hum in response and the silence continues.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Your voice cuts through the quiet of the game once again.

“Yes…” Morpheus draws out and you see his jaw tick in annoyance. Your soft smile and voice is starting to distract him and any plan he tries to come up with. He lets go of the knight, forgetting if that was really what he wanted to do or not.

“Very well,” you feign a sigh, a hint of mischief hidden in the message.

The quietness continues as the only sounds that accompany the game are the sounds of your laughter as you capture any of Morpheus pieces and the rising crickets.

Soon enough, the pieces are scattered across the black and white board as you enter the end game. Morpheus has a great deal of your pieces captured and you the same on your side. The game slows as both of you try to figure out the best course of action and reaction from each other.

You try your luck at distracting him again, though this time you ask a question that has been left unanswered for months.

“Have you ever thought back to my question from that night?” You ask even though it was your turn.

“Which one?”

“Why are you so angry, Morpheus?” You ask again, this time expecting an answer.

“Do you really think me so?” Morpheus retorts as the game turns over to him.

“Angry? No, not anymore. I think you are lonely,” you conclude as you watch his piece move across the chessboard.

The sun is beginning to set, much like the end of the game. Its final rays are casting everything in a deep orange and the night critters begin to warm their voices to sing.

“I am not lonely,” Morpheus scoffs at you. “I am constantly surrounded by people and even childhood friends.”

“And yet, you still lie.” You frown at his evasive answer. “I, too, am surrounded by friends and servants but at least I knew I was lonely.”

“It is my fault you had to feel such a way,” he apologizes again.

You shrug him off, the sound of his apologies now familiar in your ears and you no longer wish to hear them. You wish to hear the truth.

“For me, people held me at a distance because by law I am their queen and they cannot look past the title. Through time, I no longer blamed them for doing so. For you, however, why do you distance yourself from those around you emotionally?” You ask, wanting to dig deeper into his thoughts.

Morpheus seemed stunned at your new question, one that penetrated his very soul and held it out for him to see and reflect upon. When he thinks about how he has treated those around him, the answer comes out slowly but truthfully.

“I have built myself onto a pedestal of regality and control that no one can reach. But I realized that it was not constructed of marble but that of mud and sand from which if a single grain falls, I shall lose everything. I cannot be weak, I cannot let my subjects suffer as such.” Morpheus finally confesses.

He’s not sure who needed to hear it more, you or himself. Morpheus thinks himself as the only one with responsibility. And while it is true his are more grand and important than most, he believes it to be his and his alone. To push them onto others is a burden. Should he seek others for help, he cannot control the outcome no matter how satisfied or failed it may be.

“Only a weak king would deny their weakness and faults. You are good, Morpheus. Fall if you so shall decide to, and you will find that I will be there to catch you. You are not alone anymore.” You smile at him, one he wishes to see for the rest of his life.

Your smile only widens as you move your queen and it’s soon realized to both of you that you had finally cornered his king.

Checkmate.

His king has nowhere else to run and your standing, victorious queen blocks his path. Morpheus frowns as he tries to find a way to continue playing, but no matter what he plans, nothing comes to fruition.

“I surrender,” He sighs as he goes to knock his piece over. He had fully fallen to your distractions and whims.

The ceramic piece topples over and bounces against the marble game board, rolling around slowly as it accepts its defeat. You glance from your seat across from him and notice the tick of his jaw as he loses his first game of chess.

“Perhaps ‘I surrender’ is not the correct course of action here,” You say after a deep breath.

You reach for the small black chess piece and examine it closely between pinched fingers. The detailing is well done, and the craftsmanship comes from the hands of an expert. You place the ebony piece next to your queen of ivory, the two pieces standing together amidst a gameboard of fallen pawns, knights, and bishops.

“Marriage is a partnership. I do not want you to surrender to me and in return neither will I to you. I simply ask for us to be equals.” You stare at Morpheus with a hopeful look.

Morpheus glaces between you and the chess pieces and finally gives you a small smile. You are too good for him and he promises himself that he will spend the rest of his life making sure he is the husband you deserve.

“As you wish, my queen.”

Dusk settles and takes your combined sorrows with it. Tomorrow a new dawn will rise with the promise of hope.

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God, finally they made up. Only took them fucking what? 35k words? Medium slow burn fr

♡ Yours, Layla

Tags: @dnarez @arunawayheart @acdassenza @ella33 @karma-is-a-god @bluespecs14 @boo8008 @dragon-kazansky @i-voluntears @dennixlovezelda @commanderfreethatdust @herfantasyworldd

#the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus x reader #morpheus #the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #the sandman x reader #sandman x reader #destined dreams of love #dream the endless x reader #the sandman dream #dream the endless #x reader #morpheus x reader smut

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f1bordeaux · 1 year

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If You Cared (part 2) | mv1

It's been years since you've indulged in a vacation. What better time is there than summer? Your family, the beach house in Italy-it seems perfect. But, for things to be just like good old times, your family needs to invite his. So of course you are having mixed feelings as the boy who broke your heart re-enters your life like nothing happened. Warnings: None Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader Word count: 2.2+k Poetry style | Story style A/n: Here is part 2! The angst literally hasn't began yet there is so much more to come you might hate me by the end of this lol srry ;) Also! If you want to be tagged in future parts, let me know! Part One|Part Two|Part Three|Part Four|Part Five

“How are you feeling?”

You don’t turn around, already aware of who is speaking to you. Instead, you remain sat on the edge of the pool, feet lightly swinging through the water. There is a lot of noise coming from the house, people talking, laughing, sharing a drink or two. Outside, however, it is quiet. The comotion becomes a background noise that is masked by the chirping of crickets and the ocean waves only a few kilometers away. It is calm, it is dark, it is peaceful.

Mia sat down next to you, keeping her knees tucked into her chest. “I’m fine.” You say.

“Dinner was-”

“Tense.” You answer for her. And it was. Dinner was a never ending slew of compliments to Max, your family praising him and his family bragging about him. Did he deserve the comments made towards him? Absolutely. He was a phenomenal driver, something you couldn’t even deny. Max knew what he was doing on the track like it was second nature. Maybe it was second nature to him. But, all you could think about was the boy who left you. The boy who turned his back so quickly that he couldn’t even hear you cry. The boy who took everything from you just to disappear a few years later.

“Yeah.” Mia said. “Tense.”

Silence came quickly after that, the two of you just taking in the atmosphere around you. The sun had long set, the heat had long gone. The pool lights casted a turquoise glow over the backyard. It was beautiful. You remembered running across the tiles as a kid, jumping into the pool at late hours of the night. Max and you would be playing together and Mia and Victoria would be on their own. Life was good then. Life was simple.

The patio door slid open, unbeknown to you. Mia turned to look, however, eyes going wide when she saw who it was. With her lips flattened to a line, she rested a hand on your shoulder before standing up. “Try not to ruin your own summer, y/n.”

With that she was gone, her body being replaced by another. “Care if I sit with you?”

Again, you knew the voice before you saw the face. Max lowered himself to the ground, sticking his feet in the water right next to you. He was so close that if you moved over, just an inch, your thigh would be flush against his. You wonder if he’s just as warm as he used to be. You wonder if his skin feels just as soft as it once had. You think of a lot of things as Max kicks his feet through the water.

“We haven't had a chance to talk-”

“Since you left?”

He sniffles, leaning back on his palms. “I was going to say since I got here.”

“That works too.” You say. There are two ways to proceed. You can either cause a huge comotion, letting him know that-hey, maybe you were not over him. Maybe you still envied him for making you fall in love with him and then disappearing off the face of the earth. Maybe you guys could have made it work but he didn’t even bother trying. Or, you could do as you told yourself a week ago and move on. Let yourself have a good summer. Let the hurt come in waves but dont show it. Maybe you can outgrow it this year. “How was your flight?”

He looks at you, almost confused-like. It wasn’t what he was expecting you to say. “Uh, good. The Florence airport was packed but once we got over here everything was fine.”

You nod, looking down at the water. “Good, good.”

“How’s work been? I hear you work at a museum in New York.”

“Yeah, the Metropolitan Museum of Art.”

“Wow,” He shakes his head in approval. You don't need his approval, but you wonder what he really thinks of your job. Does he think you wasted your life? Does he think that your job is cool? At least you didn’t work at a McDonalds, right? “That sounds fancy. I can’t say I’ve been.”

“Have you ever been to New York in general?”

“No.”

You chuckle. It feels wrong to do so, but you can't help the small laugh that brushes past your lips. His dry humor is still intact you notice. What else is still the same about him? You haven’t heard him laugh yet, so you wonder if it sounds the same as before-boyish and cute. Does he still play FIFA like no tomorrow? Is his favorite color still blue?

“Do you remember jumping into the pool at like midnight as kids?” His hoarse voice cuts your train of thought in two. “Your mom would yell at us because she wanted to go to bed but now she had to make sure we showered.”

“I was just thinking about that earlier.” You want to slap yourself across the face as you say that sentence. You were thinking about him? There goes your ‘I dont give a fuck about him anymore’ deminer.

But he smiles, exhaling through his nose as he turns to look at you. “Where’d the time go?”

“I wish I knew, Max.” You say, pulling your legs from the pool. Slowly, you walk to the back door, the orange glow from the inside light painting your skin shades of golds and browns. You look almost like an angel, like a God. Max notices it. Max notices a lot of things. “Goodnight.”

He sighs from behind you. “Goodnight, y/n.”

That night after a long, cold shower, you sit at the desk in your room, looking over the backyard and pool you had just conversed at. Your palm rests on a handle to one of the top drawers, and you fight yourself on whether or not to open it. You know what's in there. You know what you’re getting yourself into. But you don’t know if you want that pain or not. It was like Pandora’s box. If you got sucked in-which you knew was about to happen-there would be no escape. You would be heartbroken all over again.

Fuck it.

You pulled the drawer open, the contents shifting forward. There were photos-hundreds of photos-and two letters. There were two pens, a pink one and a blue one, there was a small fabric square, and there were a pair of glasses. Everything, save the photos, belonged to Max. The letters, you knew, would tear you apart to read. So, you pushed those aside, opting to pick up a small stack of photos. On the back in Sharpie ink they said, 2008. You and him were 10. Your birthday wasn’t until winter-his in fall only two months apart from yours.

Pulling the rubberband away, you studied the photos. You, Mia, Luca and Victoria in the pool. You, Max, Luca and Mia eating dinner at some restaurant. Max and Luca on bicycles. Victoria and you hugging on the beach. The sunset over the backyard. Max and you, lying together on the couch tucked underneath six or so blankets, fast asleep. His arm was around you, your cheeks pressed against one another. You smiled to yourself as you felt your throat closing up. “This sucks.” You whispered.

It did suck. You just simply couldn’t understand why Max didn’t want to try. It’s not like you guys were neighbors at the time. You only saw one another during the summer, but you were still friends during the rest of the year. Why would any of that change just because he was getting popular in driving? The only obvious reason was because he didn’t want you around. He didn’t want you. It could have worked if he would have tried. But he didn’t, so why should you spend your summer trying to mend the bridge he burned?

You threw all the photos back into the drawer, slamming it shut. You turned off the lamp desk and walked to your bed in the pitch black. Whatever was meant to happen, would happen. With or without Max.

“You’re sure you don't want to come?” Mia asks through your cracked open door. “Max-”

“She said no.” Luca pushes her aside, sticking his head in your room. Your attention was buried in your phone, mindlessly scrolling through some form of social media. You couldn’t see Luca’s childish grin or Mia’s worrying features. “I’ll bring you back some waffles or something, y/n.”

“Whatever, Luca.” You responded. He stuck his tongue out, making a spitting noise before slamming your door shut so hard you were afraid it would fall off the hinges. “Luca!”

It was far too early in the morning to be dealing with your little brother. Actually, it was never a good time to be dealing with your little brother. He’d woken you up, close to four am, to ask if you wanted to go grab breakfast and watch the sunset. You declined his offer, opting to stay in bed just a little longer. Plus, if everyone was going, Max was going. The last thing you wanted was to watch the sunrise with Max. So, you hid under the covers for a little longer, feeling the ceiling fan drag cold air on your exposed skin.

You heard the front door close from downstairs, a signal that you were finally alone. Slowly, you rose from your bed, taking long strides across the room. Just because you didn’t want to watch the sunset with everyone didn’t mean you wanted to miss out on it. There would be a perfect view from the backyard or from the beach only a quick walk away. You sombered through the house, a soft, chilling blue being cast through the windows. You loved this time of day, before the sun was up, before the heat settled into the ground, before the world was really active. It was so serene.

“Good morning.”

You paused at your spot on the base of the steps. Max stood in the kitchen, a glass of water in his hand. “You didn’t-why didn’t you-”

He shrugged as you struggled to speak. “I thought you were going. I didn’t want to bother.”

Guilt trip me, perfect. “Max, you shouldn’t base your itinerary on what I’m doing.” You said.

“So then why didn’t you go?”

“Fair point.”

He laughed, bringing his water to his lips. Yeah, you thought. He still has the same boyish laugh. “Come,” He said, holding his hand across the kitchen island. You stepped closer, although hesitantly. “Let's watch the sunrise and hash out whatever this is.”

Face your fears? Speak to Max about the problem at hand? Explain to him that you aren't over the loss of his presence in your life? Your stomach churned at the idea. Your stomach churned even more when you realized that you were only wearing a large tshirt and some underwear that was barely covered by the hem of the shirt. Instantly, your cheeks heated up, the back of your hand going to cool one side down. God you should have gone to breakfast.

Max raised his eyebrows, closing his hand before reopening it. “Well?”

“Right, yeah, sorry.” You said, grabbing a blanket before grabbing his hand. He knew you looked good-effortlessly good. You had just gotten out of bed and still you looked perfect. Your lips were plump, your eyelashes were so long and dark, your skin was glowing. He thought you looked better now than any dolled-up girl he’d met in Monaco. You looked so good just existing, but he didn’t think he’d be able to say that to your face.

The two of you walked outside, sitting in the patio chairs facing the ocean. He cleared his throat, turning to look at you as you draped the blanket over your legs. “I’m sorry.”

“Max-”

“You deserved better. I had no right to make you fall in love with me and then just go. I knew I’d leave so I should have never ruined what special bond you and I had. I’m so sorry, y/n.”

Your jaw was practically on the floor as he spoke. Where was this coming from? What prompted him to say this? “I-I’m speechless.”

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, but can we have a few weeks that are similar to our childhood? Just me and you doing dumb stuff that we shouldn’t be doing? Making memories that we’ll tell people for decades?” He looks right into your eyes as he speaks, something he never really does. There is this soft sparkle in his eyes, this soft dazzling glow. He looks amazed, he looks taken aback. He looks so-pretty? God, the way his voice was dancing through your ears, the way his hair looked-still messy from getting out of bed-the way his hands fidgeted with one another, the way a faint blush dusted his cheeks-Max looked so desirable right now. You wanted to reach over and kiss him, to feel his warm, plush lips on your own.

You forced yourself to look away, afraid of what would pursue if you didn't. The sun had partly peaked over the oceanline. Give him a chance, you told yourself. What's the worst that could happen? He knows he fucked up and wont make that mistake again. Neither will you. “Yeah,” You finally say. He provides a relieved smile. “Yeah, let’s have a good summer, Max.”

Continuation tags:@hanversace

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alemonyoyo · 9 months

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Chapter 2 of my North Star x Reader is OUT!

Please go give a kudos or leave a comment! I'd love to know what you're thinking! Or read it below <3 <3

Missed chapter 1? Be sure to check it out!

Words: 1229

Tags: GN Reader, No use of YN, Slight Enemies to Lovers, Misunderstanding.

Summary: You wake up in a hospital bed, head sore and weapon gone. There's only one way to leave, and the Sheriff is the only one who can let you out. Perhaps it's time to make a deal?

Chapter 2 - The Deal: BGM Undertale Yellow OST: 059 - The House + Undertale Yellow OST: 066 The Train Problem

You awoke to the quiet sound of crickets, chirping in what seemed to be the evening breeze. Rising from your slumber, your head ached. Trying to sit up and situate yourself, you looked around. You were in what looked to be a dingy hospital bed, with two others lined up to your left.

You could faintly hear chatter, and saw light slip through the open doorway of what you had assumed to be the Wild East’s hospital. How unsafe…

You could remember everything perfectly. The gunshot, your attempted escape. That monster- grabbing you. Hitting the floor then, dark.

You felt around your head, it hurt, but there were no cuts. You felt sluggish. Maybe they had given you medication. Or maybe you were in need of some sleep- Having been travelling for who knows how long without any rest.

Slowly, you untucked yourself from under the sheets, stumbling your way to the door. From the patio of the hospital you could see the Saloon, the source of the chatter and light, next to it the familiar sight of the jail, and what looked to be a barn.

The only exit was blocked, your only way forward would be to ask the Sheriff, North Star, to unlock it for you. But he was out to capture you! Clearly- The light in his eyes when he realised you were human. It could only be that of bloodlust.

You felt for your gun, only to realise it was gone. Along with your other items, and some of your gold.

“Shit, shit-” You whispered under your breath. Mentally beating yourself up. Those bastards had taken your stuff! Some Sheriff North Star was. Stealing from others.

There was only one way forward; and that way was paved with conflict. You needed your stuff, your gold, your *gun*. Otherwise you might as well just die right here. Let this posse take you to the King. Or have them slaughter you themselves!

“No- No that can’t happen.” You thought to yourself. You might not have a weapon, but you’re damn fucking resourceful!

You tiptoed out of the hospital, picking up a large stick that laid just around the patio. You headed back inside the hospital, finding a dinky surgeon's scalpel that was clearly seldom used. It’ll have to do-

You grabbed some bandages and fastened the scalpel to the end of your large stick; a makeshift spear!

You walked back out to the patio, eyeing the bustling saloon. Your heart beated. This was the only way. Just go! Just do it!

You walked across the square, walking up the steps of the saloon, careful not to make a ruckus. Though, you doubt any sound you made could be heard over the sounds of the townsfolk.

You stood right behind the swinging doors of the saloon, breath shallow against the carved wood. This was your only chance. Another run in with this crowd and they’ll have you locked up in that jail, with the royal guard on your tail!

You readied your spear, and your soul, before stepping through the wooden barrier…

“Give me my shit back or else I’ll drive this spear through your pointy fucking head!”

He stood right across the bar, mid conversation with a monster you hadn’t seen earlier. The chatter of the saloon quickly turned quiet, the air thick with tension.

“I have pretty decent aim. So give me back the stuff you stole from me, or else.” At first he looked shocked, the whites of his eyes turned wide under the brim of his hat. But soon after, North Star regained his composure, a smirk reframing his visage.

“Stealing? You think a Sheriff of my ranks would *steal*?” His voice rang out through the bar. As he spoke, some of his lackeys rushed the other citizens out of the bar into safety. Seems your threats had worked on everyone but him-

“Well my gun, my food, my money, they’re all gone. I can’t think of anyone else daring enough to take that. Nor anyone else with such an opportunity to do so!” The bar had completely emptied out beside the tall, animal-like monster who was talking with Star prior to your attack. They seemed rather unphased by the situation.

“I took your gun for everyone else’s safety.” He slowly made his way around the squared area of the bar, “Seems I didn’t ‘ave to do that. You seem to be pretty… crafty. Dontcha darlin’?” You felt your face grow hot, though you blamed the fervent heat and the tension of the moment, rather than any other brewing emotions-

By now he had made it all the way to your side of the bar, and had poised himself right in front of your makeshift spear; “What is this-'' He took hold of the end of the spear, “A scalpel? Seems you’ve stolen more than I ‘ave!” He smirked. Your hands stayed on the spear, gripped firmly.

“Star- please. Don’t do this.” The animal-looking monster had finally spoken up. Her voice was far deeper than you imagined. By the looks of things, they knew each other quite well.

Star ignored the monsters pleas;

“I’ll cut you a deal, missy.” He leant back against the bars counter, the scalpel of your spear still aimed for his head, “If you can beat me in a duel, I’ll give you your gun back. Heck, I’ll even help you travel throughout the rest of this place, seeing as you’re on the run?” He held up a wanted poster with a shoddily drawn image of yourself. Seems word was spreading of your arrival-

“What about the rest of my stuff?” You questioned, walking closer to him.

“I didn’t take that, but I ‘ave a sneakin’ suspicion as to where it may be.” He pondered, before looking up at you with a more genuine smile, “So, whad’ya say?”

You thought to yourself for a moment. This could very well be a trap. A trap to waste your time and keep you confined here in the Wild East until reinforcements came. Though surely they’d have come hours ago when you were knocked out- Either way, playing North Star’s game was the only way out of this. You lowered your spear, taking one step closer to him. By this point he was sitting completely back on the bar's counter, and you looked down at him.

“Deal.” You held out your hand, to which he took it in his own; gloved in a fine leather. You shook hands, before you stepped away, giving him ample space to leave.

He stood up before you, reaffirming his height-

“Sounds like a plan darling.” There it was again! “I’ll go make some preparations with the others, we’ll start training tomorrow!” And then he was off, out the door of the saloon without another word.

“Training..?”

***

“You there. Human.”

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“I’m glad someone’s asking… Let’s go with sure.”

“Well.. alright then. I apologise for Star’s antics.”

“It’s fine. I’ve been through worse down here.”

“He’s really into human culture and whatnot. You show up here and he flips out.”

“Seems everyone flips out when I show up.”

“I mean, it is quite unbelievable. A few humans have wandered into the Underground before but… They never set foot on these sands.”

...

“All that to say, I’m glad you did. And I’m sure Star is too.”

#Undertale Yellow #UTY #North Star #Starlo #Fanfiction #starlo uty #undertale yellow starlo #uty north star #uty starlo #north star uty #north star undertale yellow #north star x reader #starlo x reader #north star uty x reader #starlo uty x reader #no country for young humans

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purrgilpawkins · 10 months

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Needle + Thread

Summary: Mac needs his wounds stitched up. Unfortunately for him, he and the team are in the middle of nowhere without painkillers. (Also available on AO3)

Pairings: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver, Riley Davis & Angus MacGyver

Part of the Comfortember 2020 series Prompt: Campfire

Warnings: non detailed wound stitching

Notable tags: H/C, stab wound, field medicine, hurt Mac, caring Jack, caring Riley, Mac whump

The sound of the crackling fire was the only thing heard amongst the chirping crickets, the chattering of Riley’s teeth, and Mac’s ragged breathing. At least, it was all Jack could hear, which was a good thing for the most part.

They had to set up camp in the woods to lay low and wait for exfil. Unfortunately none of them were wearing appropriate attire to be camping during November, which left them all a little on the chilly side. Jack and Riley could handle it but they were both worried about Mac, who was currently bleeding out thanks to a gash on his belly when he decided it’d be a good idea to get into a knife fight with someone.

They’d started on building a small fire immediately and Jack was on a constant lookout in case anyone decided to bother checking out the smoke. Riley was doing her best to make sure Mac was warm and comfortable.

After doing another sweep of their makeshift campsite, Jack walked over to them and sat on the other side of Mac, “How you holdin’ up?”

Mac lifted his bloody hand from his wound and shook it, giving Jack a glare.

“Right. I guess you’re doin’ a little bad.”

Mac replaced his hand and groaned, “Understatement.”

“Well, good news,” Jack rummaged around in his jacket pocket, “I have a needle and thread here, so we could stitch you up real quick, if you want.”

“Why’d you pick up a needle and thread?” Riley piped up.

“You never know what weird shit Mac’s plans may call for. Good thing those terrorists were hiding out in an abandoned crafting supply store, huh?”

Mac groaned as he sat up to inspect the needle, “Yeah, I think I can do without the tetanus. Or the pain that comes with sewing up a wound with cotton.”

“Oh, I know not to use cotton, hoss. That’s why this thread is actually silk.” Jack showed Mac the end of the thread, a sticker that was labeled 99¢ with “SILK” just under the price.

“Whatever. Don’t want to do it.”

Jack frowned and turned to Riley, “What’s the ETA on exfil, Riles?”

Riley grabbed Jack’s wrist to look at his watch, “Two, maybe three hours.”

“Alright so it’s either extinguishing or risking tetanus and I’d rather take a risk than watch you bleed to death, hoss.”

“Okay, first,” Mac grunted, “it’s ‘exsanguination’, second, tetanus could just as easily kill me.”

“Yeah, but by the time you get it we’ll be back home and not in the middle of nowhere.”

“And that’s still if you get it,” Riley added.

Mac let out a long and pitiful groan, “Fine.”

“Besides, you’re more likely to get an infection.”

“Riley,” Jack whispered harshly, “why would say that after he just agreed to gettin’ patched up?”

“Come on, Jack, he already knows the dangers this might bring, right Mac?”

“Yep.”

“See.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jack started to stick the thread through the needle while Riley helped Mac lay back down. After much trial and error, Riley eventually took the needle from Jack and stuck the thread in the first try.

“Need to bring your reading glasses next time?”

Jack fake laughed and took the needle back from her. He moved to Mac and started to lift up his shirt, “Now, you know this is gonna hurt like hell.”

Mac gave Jack a pleading look, “Let’s just get this over with.”

Jack sighed, having zero desire to hurt his kid, but knowing this’ll help in the long run, “Okay.” He positioned the needle under the gash and Mac squeezed his eyes shut before Jack pulled back, “Wait, hang on a sec. Hold this.” Jack handed the needle to Riley and started to unbuckle his pants.

“Um.”

“Don’t make it weird, dude. It’s just something for you to put in your mouth.” Jack stopped, Riley groaned, and Mac face-palmed.

“Way to make it weird, Jack.”

“Shut up! You know what I’m talkin’ about!” Jack angrily wrangled with his belt then handed it to Mac. He waited for Mac to fit it in his mouth and got the needle back in position when Mac gave him a thumbs up.

The needle pierced Mac’s skin and he inhaled sharply. Were the needle bigger than a sewing needle, the pain likely would’ve been worse. He briefly thought that this was nothing, it was something he could handle, but it pierced again and he couldn’t deny that it hurt.

He flinched at the next poke and Jack brought his free hand up to rest on the blond’s stomach. The delta gently brushed his thumb on Mac’s skin, hoping that his touch offered some kind of comfort when Mac flinched again. Riley took Mac’s hand in hers and didn’t protest when he squeezed it a little roughly. They both do their best to help Mac ride out the pain as Jack finished stitching him up.

The second Jack said “done”, Mac spat out the belt and goes to sit up but the hand still on his stomach prevented him from doing so.

“Whoa, hey, slow down there, hoss. This thread was designed to keep clothes together, not human skin.”

“As opposed to other kinds of skin?” Riley said. Jack gave her a look and she raised her hands in a shrug as Mac let out a quiet laugh.

“What I’m saying is, take it slow cause it’ll probably come apart real easy.” Jack removed his hand but Mac remained flat on his back.

“In that case,” Mac huffed, “I think I’m gonna sit here for a while.”

“Hey, you do what you gotta do, man. We gotcha.”

Riley moved to lay down beside Mac, hand still in his and Jack started to take off his jacket. The oldest agent placed it on the youngest, despite his protests, and laid down on the other side of him. “Don’t want you catchin’ a cold to go along with that possible infection.”

“It’s not even that cold.”

“Then why’re you shaking, Mac?” Riley asked.

Mac sighed and accepted his fate before leaning into Jack’s warmth and squeezing Riley’s hand.

The three basked in the comfort of each other’s presence as the fire continues to snap and pop. The woods are cold and uncomfortable and the youngest of them is suffering through a stinging pain in his side but there was no place he’d rather be than next to his family.

#luke writes #1k words #macgyver #macgyver 2016 #gen #mac & jack #mac & riley #angus macgyver #jack dalton #riley davis #hurt/comfort #stab wound #field medicine #hurt mac #caring jack #caring riley #mac whump #comfortember 2020

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quietwings-fics · 3 months

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never the same river twice

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Supernatural Ship: Gen (Castiel & Lucifer) Additional Tags: Wing Grooming, Baptism, Drowning, Falling Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Fallen Angel Lucifer (Supernatural), Season/Series 05, Blanket Permission, Loss, Lucifer Week 2023 (Supernatural), non-sexual nudity Wordcount: 3414 Summary:

As Castiel's grace begins to fail, Lucifer finds him. Despite Castiel's reservations, he's only here to help.

Castiel crash-lands in the middle of Washington.

He knows it’s going to happen eventually. He is Falling. His grace grows weaker with every passing day, and his search only grows colder. A possibility crossed his mind a week ago, that God could have left Earth and gone wherever He wished in the cosmos, and Castiel dismissed it quickly, not because he knows his Father wouldn’t but because Castiel can’t follow Him if He did. Not anymore. Castiel is as bound to this rock as he is the flesh that holds him, and lifting himself even into the atmosphere gets harder and harder every time he lands.

He sits in the mud and tries to reorient himself. He’s breathing. It’s an unconscious rhythm. It scares him that he’s not sure if he can make it stop anymore, so he doesn't try. The exposed skin of his hands and face prickles uncomfortably. He’s grateful for his coat to keep the rest of him warm, tugging it closer around himself. Dean’s amulet sits heavy and inert in his right pocket. It used to be that he would reach down to touch it for comfort whenever he was led astray in his search. He doesn’t bother to now.

He can see his own breath when he opens his mouth to exhale. White fog leaks out of him, the tiny water droplets condensing in the air like the molecules are taunting him, calling to mind a demon’s smoke as it escapes its host. Castiel tries to breathe through his nose. It’s harder. His lungs ache for oxygen.

He can hear footsteps approach him. That wouldn’t bother him. Some hapless camper coming to check on him out of concern might be nice, a reminder of why this rebellion matters beyond the tiny world the Winchesters sequester themselves in. What makes Castiel freeze up like a rabbit in the sights of a hawk is the power that rolls through the grass up to him in greeting, that coils tight around his falling grace to hold him still, that fails to fit all of itself inside a vessel that is not built to contain it. Castiel doesn’t turn his head or look up, but he can see the shape of Lucifer’s boots out of the corner of his eye when he stands beside Castiel.

The crickets chirp on, hapless of their company.

“Hello, brother,” Lucifer says. His voice is warmer than it should be. “Castiel. That’s your name.” He says it wrong, or at least, he says it differently than the Winchesters do. Neither variation is right, not really. He wonders why Lucifer doesn’t greet him in Enochian like any other angel would. “You made an impression.”

”I think I’d rather be forgettable,” Castiel says. Lucifer chuckles. It sounds tired.

”Too late for that,” he says, quietly, “far too late.”

Lucifer steps away from him. For a moment, Castiel thinks he’s about to leave. No such luck. Lucifer lowers himself to sit on the grass beside him. He’s inches away but his shoulder doesn’t so much as brush Castiel’s. Castiel risks a glance at him. He catches Lucifer’s profile in the dark, the burns that have only grown worse since they last spoke in Carthage. His eyes are closed, his head tilted back like he wants to soak up the light of the full moon before the sun rises.

“Why are you here?” Castiel asks, looking away. He pulls his trenchcoat tighter. It doesn’t help much.

“You never warded yourself against me,” Lucifer answers, simply, “like I’m assuming you did for Sam. And Michael’s vessel.” Dean is tacked on as an afterthought. Before Carthage, his choice felt strategic. Castiel’s power was already failing when he warded the brothers and choosing to conserve his strength rather than do the same to Jimmy’s ribs had seemed right, but now Castiel has neither the power to protect himself nor the anonymity of a foot soldier.

”I already told you I would never take your side.” Lucifer hums. He sounds disappointed but not surprised.

”I know what it’s like to be alone.”

”I’m not alone,” Castiel snaps. He shouldn’t. Lucifer is calm now, but that makes him no less dangerous.

“Poor choice of words,” Lucifer agrees. “I meant, I know how it feels to be cut off.” Castiel’s eyes flick skyward without meaning to.

“To Fall.”

“I don’t have to beat around the bush with you, do I?” The phrase conjures up strange images in Castiel’s mind, none of which help to explain what Lucifer means. “Yes, we’re both Fallen. Two of a kind.”

Three, Castiel thinks, unbidden, and the memory of Anna, of how she was still being punished because of Castiel, if she was not killed, makes him bold enough to lash out again. He has to draw a line in the sand between them, who had just been doing what they had to to protect the world they loved, and Lucifer, who Fell because he was selfish and corrupted. “You are Fallen. I’m not.”

”Not yet.”

Castiel says nothing. He wants this conversation to be over.

Lucifer sighs. “I didn’t come here to upset you. I came to offer a helping hand.” Castiel glares at him. It’s undercut by a full-body shiver. “Do they use me as a cautionary tale for all the good little angels?”

“Something like that.” Lucifer’s name was rarely spoken within the walls of Heaven, but the scars of his sin were obvious. They all pay the price.

A phantom pain arcs through Castiel’s temple. By the time he reacts to it with a wince, it’s gone.

”I know what they don’t warn you about,” Lucifer continues. “The silence.”

The crickets around them are chirping as loud as they can, as though to get in one last symphony before the sky grows light. Already, the black is changing to deep purple. Castiel knows exactly what Lucifer is talking about. Here, sitting in the grass, he feels more alone than ever. For a while after he rebelled, he could still hear his siblings, though he never dared to speak back. One by one, each voice dimmed until he was straining to hear their whispers, and then, there was no more.

Castiel is doing everything in his power to keep Lucifer’s grace from entangling with his. He can hear his brother's siren song outside the door to his mind.

“Let me in, Castiel,” he says, gently, and Castiel stiffens and shuts himself down more. “I want to help.”

”You want to know where Sam and Dean are,” Castiel says.

“If I did, there are easier ways to find out.”

Lucifer waits. Castiel keeps himself locked inside.

The sky grows lighter. The stars begin to disappear from view. Whole constellations gather together and leave at once. The very brightest linger on.

Lucifer pushes himself to his feet. He offers Castiel a hand. Castiel doesn't take it.

"Come with me," Lucifer says, shaking his hand once and keeping it held out for Castiel.

Castiel stands without Lucifer's help. Lucifer drops his hand. He tips his head in a motion for Castiel to follow before he heads off in the direction the sun will rise. The first birds they hear are mourning doves, cooing back and forth as they wake up. Castiel hears mated pairs and mother's calls and siblings teasing each other across the branches. One flies past Lucifer's head, so comfortable in the presence of angels that it doesn't imagine for a moment that he or Castiel could pluck it from the sky if it got too close. It isn't long before the soil beneath their feet begins to change to rock, unstable footing for Castiel to trudge over to catch up to Lucifer. By now, he sees the lake.

The gravel shore leads into dark waters. In the far distance, Castiel sees enough lights that he thinks it might be a town on the far shore, but they're lined up too neatly to be the insides of homes. Lucifer stops to turn his head up to the sky and catch the last of the starry tapestry as it fades away. When Castiel reaches his side, he says, "You know what they call this?" He smiles. "Diablo Lake." Castiel allows him one huff of laughter. The devil wants nothing more than to wipe humanity from the face of the planet, and what do they do but pin his name over half their maps? "And it isn't even a lake. It's a reservoir. Look"—he points at the lights—"that's the dam." The water laps back and forth over the rocks a few feet from their shoes.

"Did you bring me here for a reason?" Lucifer turns back to him.

"The other thing they wouldn't warn you about. Something I already saw happening when you were trapped in the holy oil. Your wings, Castiel." Castiel frowns at him. "They're a mess."

"They're functional." Lucifer shakes his head.

"You won't have any of our other siblings racing to help you. There's only me. They hurt, don't they." Castiel doesn't have to answer. "Let me preen them."

"At what cost?"

"Letting me pretend I have one brother who still tolerates me." He steps forward. "That's all I want: company."

He's right. Castiel's feathers are dirty and dry, itching so badly he daydreams about pulling some of them. He can't fly correctly anymore, and he'll only get worse as time goes on.

(If, a voice, sounding uncannily like Uriel, makes sure to remind him, he even has wings to worry about in the future. How much faster does he have to Fall before they begin to burn up?)

Lucifer pulls his jacket off and tosses it to the ground. His shirt follows. It's only when he's undoing his belt that Castiel realizes what he's doing. His shoes, socks, pants, and underwear join the pile. He steps into the water, to where it rolls up shallowly enough to touch the soles of his feet, and then further, until his ankles have sunk below the surface. "Are you coming?" he calls back, and then, in a voice that's so light, Castiel thinks Lucifer might be teasing him, "or are you so used to being inside human skin that you learned how to be ashamed of it?" Castiel doesn't want to take off his coat. The weight of it is comforting. He also doesn't want to get it wet or damage it, and so, he rolls it off his shoulders and lays it on the shore. The rest of his clothes follow. He's colder like this, and he won't tell Lucifer that for a brief moment, he feels the need to retreat and cover himself again before someone sees him. It's probably a remnant instinct of his vessel's, that's all. The water is no warmer than the night air, but it welcomes Castiel in. Lucifer is wading deeper, the water rising to cover his legs, his torso.

Castiel closes his eyes to focus. It takes a lot of his energy to carefully drag his wings out onto the physical plane. He hears them displace the water around him with a splash and is hit with a chill a second later as the water soaks into his feathers. Lucifer looks over his wings. When he comes closer, Castiel doesn't draw back or flinch, at least not until his hands graze Castiel's right wing and that is more a reaction to not having been touched in so long than anything else. Lucifer's hands are gentle as they open Castiel's wing further to inspect the inner feathers. His grace is still humming around Castiel's, offering communion if he wants it. It's getting harder to ignore.

Lucifer pushes his wing into the water. Castiel gasps. The way Lucifer grooms his wings is very different than the fellow members of his garrison did. Their grooming sessions were often rushed but filled with casual affection. Lucifer doesn't give him that, or doesn't know how to, but his attention is very thorough.

And Castiel does laugh at that, because under Lucifer's hands is the first time in ages that he's felt remotely holy.

"What's so funny?" Lucifer asks, so close that he barely needs to raise his voice above a whisper. He's only competing with the murmur of the water around them and the birdcalls from the shore.

"I'm not a very good angel," Castiel says, "and I'm not sure I'll make a better human." No, not if he's trying to meet Dean's standards, definitely. Castiel is too alien, too incomprehensible. Even if tomorrow he bled the same way they did, he would still sit as an outsider with them. Lucifer's fingers trail through his feathers.

"For what it's worth, I hate to see you become something you aren't." He fixes Castiel's wing. "You belong to the stars, little brother, not to the mud."

That does not make Castiel feel better.

Lucifer works in silence a while longer. Though the sun is rising, Castiel can't see it. The mountains around them rise high enough to block their view, but in a few minutes more, after the yellows and pinks that paint their way across the sky now have faded, it'll show itself. The waters around them are taking on a vibrant turquoise hue as more light hits the lake.

"I'm done," Lucifer says. It feels like it's too soon. Castiel draws his wings close to himself and folds them back down into his vessel where they belong.

He debates saying it, but Lucifer did help him. "Thank you." Lucifer hums, touching Castiel's shoulder.

"Come out further with me?" he asks. Castiel is free to return to the shore, dress himself, fly far away and never tell the Winchesters about consorting with the devil. Lucifer goes out until the water rises above his elbows and he can no longer wade. Castiel goes with him. He's never swam before, but Jimmy had, and there's no real difference between borrowing his muscle memory to walk or speak than to use it to figure out how he's supposed to keep himself afloat. The motions are soothing, cutting through the water gracefully. Castiel stops to turn onto his back, to peer up at the sky as it turns a lighter blue, the water rising and falling around his ears.

They were... strongly discouraged from taking vessels and walking the Earth. Castiel understands why now.

Lucifer could love the world enough to burn it, but not enough to spare it. He's a very good angel in that way. Nothing like Castiel.

He turns again until he's upright. Lucifer comes close, and by now, Castiel is used to him. He doesn't question when Lucifer takes his hand or puts his other on Castiel's upper arm, holding tight. He doesn't think there's anything amiss at all until Lucifer tangles their legs together. Without being able to kick and locked together, they sink. The water closes over Castiel's head, and he squeezes his eyes shut automatically. He holds his breath. They sink faster than they should, and Castiel's not sure which of them is dragging the other down quicker. When he chances opening his eyes, they sting for a moment and adjust. His vision under the water is blurrier, indistinct shapes and colors that he knows would sharpen into the features of Lucifer's vessel. Lucifer moves his legs, and Castiel doesn't kick, and they reach the very bottom of the lake.

They didn't swim out far enough for it to be very deep, but when Castiel looks up, it feels like the world above them is miles away.

It is perfectly silent down here. There is only him and Lucifer, two graces singing besides each other. By proximity alone, they harmonize. Castiel has been resisting for so long, but there is no one here to judge him. Slowly, he lets Lucifer in. Lucifer takes his face in his hands and bumps their foreheads together. Castiel's vessel tries to remind him it needs air, and he ignores it.

If Lucifer is crying, Castiel can't tell. There's too much water for a few tears to stand out. His grace darts through Castiel's like a starved animal.

Fair is fair. Show me your wings, Castiel sings to him.

Lucifer responds, questioning note after questioning note, do you? are you sure? is that what you want?

Light is beginning to scatter under the surface of the water. Rays shine through the gently rippling surface, an ever-shifting game of reflections that dapple across the skin of Lucifer's vessel. Castiel's lungs burn, his chest jumping as he struggles to keep his control. It becomes harder to see Lucifer's face with the sun rising behind him, far above where they have hidden, two angels communicating in the vast silence of the lake. Castiel holds on to Lucifer, though he no longer feels like he might float back up. His knees have sunk into the mud. Lucifer's wings rise, dark at first, so dark that Castiel almost mistakes them for some other creature in the lake swimming overhead. They stretch wide, and the darkness comes off of them in clumps, dirt and blood and ash, choking the water around them. The clean feathers begin to shine, taking the dawn's light and amplifying it brighter and brighter through the water, shining even through the dirty clouds, until Castiel can look around and see the bottom of the lakebed as easily as if it were a field at midday.

Castiel's vessel rebels and inhales. Water rushes down his throat. Castiel chokes as Lucifer watches. His lungs begin to fill with cold water. It isn't right. He shouldn't need to breathe. He wants to stay down here with Lucifer. He sucks in more water. Lucifer holds him as he drowns. He strokes Castiel's hair as his vision starts to go. It's almost nice. The water around them is so bright, cutting through the dark spots covering Castiel's eyes.

It reminds Castiel of Heaven. He panics, struggles, and only when he starts to fight to get away (too late to save himself, he can feel his consciousness fading, but he tries anyway) does Lucifer grab hold of him. Both of them are flung up as though the water has no weight to it at all. Castiel breaks the surface, water dripping down his face. Lucifer's wings are gone, and the sun is the only light warming Castiel's face as he coughs up water and tries to inhale all at once, making it worse.

Lucifer lays a hand on his chest. The horrible heaviness within them disappears. Castiel breathes.

They tread water. Castiel's heart races. His lungs ache. His legs are tired from keeping him afloat already.

He feels painfully human.

"Why do you still get to be an angel?" he manages. If it sounds to Lucifer like an accusation, then good. It is. Lucifer's legs brush his in the water.

"I don't know," he answers. It's almost an apology. As if Lucifer would give anything to not see Castiel's grace weakening. He's a liar, but a comforting one, and Castiel has sorely needed comfort this past year. Lucifer's hand folds over the back of his neck, thumb brushing the space between Castiel's ear and jaw. "Maybe I'm still our Father's favorite son, and he wants me to put on a good show."

"God doesn't want the Apocalypse," Castiel says. "He brought me back." It's weak reasoning, but what else is faith meant to be based on?

"If He wanted to be found, He wouldn't let you fade. It's a lost cause. Why do you keep fighting?"

Aren't you tired, Castiel nearly asks, don't you want it to be over? The words have been turning over in his mind for months. He knows how he would answer, but he also knows that it doesn't matter. He will keep going anyway.

Castiel stops treading water and swims away from Lucifer.

Part of him expects to hear Lucifer following him. By the time he gets to the shore, Lucifer's clothes are gone. He's nowhere to be seen.

Castiel dresses himself again. The trenchcoat is a familiar and grounding weight on his vessel. On him.

There are more places to search. He reaches into the pocket of his coat. He stops before his fingers brush the amulet and takes his hand away. With a deep breath to prepare himself, Castiel spreads his newly groomed wings and flies away.

There are still doves cooing when he leaves. The sun continues to rise.

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#spn lucifer week 2023 #fanfiction #1001-5000 #teen and up audiences #spn #genfic #castiel & lucifer #castiel spn #lucifer spn #winged!castiel #winged!lucifer #drowning

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