#maybe my brain will shut up about it once everything is posted!!!

[mosaickiwi]

Fall Unto Me (part three)

Part one, part two

I said I was on break but then a lot of things immediately fell out of my brain cause of stress so now I feel silly... sowweeeeee 🤡 Part four WILL be the last part I swear. If you see more Angel!Angel and Demon!Ren from me after that (and da infodump if i get to it) genuinely tell me to shut the FUCK up!!!

yes i am probably writing the NSFW version it'll be in my compendium post if it happens

cw// religious themes

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

Your resolve was getting harder to hold on to, but you kept it. This would be the last time. You couldn't part from heaven again after returning. Atonement was waiting for you, eternal devotion to your duty right after.

Another few weeks went by as you stayed with Ren a little longer, the sea of flowers outside your bedroom window changing little by little each day. So many of them were already fully blooming, most of their petals stretched open to show off a myriad of colors while others curled inwards to hide from you. Practically a taunting mockery with how they took their time. As if insulted you would dare leave once they painted the horizon with their beauty.

It made it all the more painful that you'd never see them again. Or the companion that now felt like a piece you'd been missing.

Something about that encroaching deadline had affected the devil, too. Ren was calmer in some ways. They still brought you gifts and knowledge like usual, but he seemed to be taking his time just like the flowers. Simple answers to your curiosities became thorough while he held you close and urged you to ask more questions about whichever object took interest. 

He'd offered to revisit trinkets you loved as well. Until you were as familiar with using them as he was. You couldn't understand it. 

Your time together was draining away by the second. Didn't they want to make exciting memories? No matter how much you enjoyed it, mastery over human instruments or crafts served no purpose. Heaven wouldn't let you bring those things home, nor could you ask a higher power to recreate them for leisure.

Maybe your love was in denial of your departure. Or maybe spending little mundane, quiet days and nights together like this was their way of coming to terms with it.

Today, you chose to fiddle with one of the oldest gifts while chatting with him. The sun was just beginning to set, casting the room in the faded, flaming gold hue you'd only now gotten used to. 

“—Love?” He was calling you, the end of his tail swaying gently in front of your face to get your attention. You’d missed a few words.

“Hm?”

“You've gotten much better at this,” the pink haired devil hummed above you. His chin was resting atop your head as they cradled you in their lap on a frayed rug, his back against the bottom of the couch.

You looked over your work. The woven red string wrapped around and through your fingers took the shape of a pointed star. You knew real stars looked differently, but the human interpretation was interesting.

“Truly, it’s better than before,” you said with wholehearted agreement. The first time you'd tried—only on the third day of your visit to earth—had simply tangled the string to a knotted mess stuck upon your fingers for Ren to deal with while you apologized, embarrassed beyond belief. 

The patterns they taught you were almost easy thanks to your afternoon of trying. You unwound the string and painstakingly wound it again into one that often graced your practice: an angel. He'd been particularly smug about teaching you the motions of that one.

“An impressive self portrait,” Ren joked and squeezed you tighter in their embrace. “Although it'll take more than some thread to capture your divine beauty.”

Naturally, you rolled your eyes even though the soul it was meant for couldn't see it. A mortal gesture you'd gotten the hang of quicker than anything, as he so favored innocent teasing before expressing his deepest sincerities.

You untangled the string and tossed it to the side, then turned in their lap to make a face this time for their benefit. “I’ll do a painting, then. I’ve had enough of this toy.”

He relaxed his hold long enough for you to wander across the room in search of new distractions, but innocently called after you, “We’ll have to light quite a few candles for you to see well. Unless you plan to have me mix paints for you in the dark.” A second passed before he spoke again. “It’d be a pleasant surprise, I’m sure.” 

“Something else?” you replied, making a swift turn towards the bookshelves. You came back with a couple of novels and sat beside them with your treasure. “Is this really all you want to do? You’ve read every book here before.” 

Even the books he’d bought with strange, flimsy paper currency for you, Ren had said so casually, were already familiar territory. Tedium hardly described how boring you thought these weeks must be for him. But he never objected to anything you chose, as long as you both stayed close to home during the day. 

And you always kept your wings hidden in case a human roamed nearby. You'd never seen one come close to the cabin, or even the field of flowers, but he insisted your safety—and proximity to them—was of utmost priority. It was hard to remember the last time you let loose your wings at all after walking on the beach with him. They interrupted your thoughts once more.

“My sweet, delicate angel, I’ve had all the time in the world to do anything I want.” Their blue eyes narrowed with a smile as they spoke and you knew more teasing was coming. “We could even sit here in silence all night, if you asked me nicely.”

“How kind of you, my darling demon,” you teased them back. 

Another jesting response in his gaze faded to something different as you pulled him down for a kiss, gently at first. The books you’d brought over lay forgotten, soon shoved under the couch in favor of your new activity.

Kissing the demon you called yours felt like second nature now. There was no sting that ever came, no homesick aching in your back anymore. Only the flood of tender emotions he gave you, tainted by your own guilt and fears of parting from him.

You needed more. A stronger distraction. Your hand on his shirt tightened, determined to keep him. To stay in this moment as long as possible.

Ren exhaled, a muttering of blasphemous praise you dare not repeat whispered from his lips to yours, along with one word. A word that sounded odd to your ears. 

You'd heard it countless times over the months, but it didn't feel strange until after the first kiss you shared. He must have said it earlier, too, when you were occupied with that damned little red string. Demonic language was much different, it certainly wasn’t that at all. And the sounds of the word did feel similar to mortal languages, but nothing came to mind. So naturally, you could only assume it to be another of their pet names, but…

The thought fell to the side as you focused on him. He was all that needed to matter right now.

Their comforting warmth that called of your sacred home, your nails curling into the bottom of his shirt just to fall lower, an iron, almost nectar-like taste that flowered on your tongue—did you bite him this time? It felt good. 

Desperately, you brushed your hand over his thigh, getting dangerously close to where you knew things risked going further. You caught yourself and froze. You wanted him, you’d known since that day in the rain. In every way a being could yearn for another’s love. And of course he felt the same. But could you really go home if it happened? 

“Before I…” The words hung in the air and what remained weighed in your throat. Before I leave. Departure was looming on the horizon, sure as the sun would rise tomorrow. You dare not mention it to the one you loved again. You opened your eyes to meet theirs, cautiously as you wondered, “Is this alright?”

“Yes,” they answered, longing clear as the evening sky in his voice. “I couldn’t bear—or ever want—to deny you. Little angel, all you desire of me is yours to take.”

Without another word you did just that. You thought nothing of the faint, staggered line you felt under your fingertips that seemed to start somewhere along his shoulder blade as you lifted the shirt away and pushed him to lay on the rug. Your hands pressed their ink-stained arms flat next to the disheveled mess of pink hair and horns. Ren grinned at your audacity to pin him, but held still for your much needed exploration. 

Eyes half lidded with patient lust, mouth parted to show off pointed fangs, the devil looked to be the very picture of your sinful desires.

To be one with them, even just once, was a memory worth making. No matter what punishment waited for you at heaven’s boundary. You skimmed your fingers from the base of his collarbone, down over their stomach, and began to undo the buttons that concealed what you’d been waiting for.

[searidings]

What season was current when you started watching SG?

i was waaaaay late to this clown convention bro 5a was airing as i was catching up on five years of lesbians!!!

[fangirl-dot-com]

☀️Sons, Sons, and More Sons

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader Genre: Fluff/SMAU Summary: Ollie, Leo, Liam, who's next Oscar? Oh.

inspired by @pucksandpower 😊

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

“CHARLES!”

The said Monegasque, who had been “innocently” snuggling his four-legged son, winced at the force and volume of your voice. 

He was currently going through everything that might have upset you in the past 20 minutes from when he got home to you just now getting out of the shower. Did he leave the toilet seat up again? Or did he forget to sort the laundry? Or maybe he didn’t clean up Leo’s toys from the bedroom? 

“Why is my Twitter blowing up?” 

Oh. That’s why. 

He whispered to Leo, “I’m in for it now.” 

And then in a louder voice he yelled, “Yes mon amour?” 

You rounded the corner of the hallway and stopped in the opening to the living room, crossing your arms. “Care to tell me why I’m getting tagged in almost every Twitter post about you adopting Oscar?” 

You wanted to break at the puppy eyes that your boyfriend was currently giving you, but you needed to stay strong. You needed to show that a man could not sway your feelings. Too bad that man was Charles Leclerc, the one that men and women alike fell to worship the ground beneath his feet. 

You couldn’t break. 

Charles brought his hand up to ruffle his hair, something he did to express some nervousness. 

“Cheri, it was just a joke. Oscar somehow finds heritage in a lot of countries. He just wanted to keep the joke going.” 

“So you decided to ‘adopt’ him so he can have another home race?” 

“Maybe?” 

“Don’t you already have enough sons anyway? I think four is too many or our house is going to overflow on family night.” 

Charles’s eyebrows pinched in confusion. “Four?” 

Now it was your turn to smirk. “Yes, four. Or are you too busy having fun with Leo to be a present father to your other two?” 

Charles tried to wrack his brain about who could be the other two. 

“Ollie?” 

“Bingo.” 

He leaned back into the couch, hands still gently petting Leo who had decided to fall asleep in the middle of his parent’s squabbles. The golden puppy was content on his dad’s warm chest, the rise and fall rocking him to sleep. 

The Ferrari driver sighed. “I don’t even know.” 

You waved your phone at him. “Twitter might be able to help you. I need to get dressed since I was rudely interrupted. I hope you find out before they get here for dinner.” 

Charles shot up making Leo yelp away from his nap. Now that he was really looking at you, he realized that you were just in a towel. A blush formed on his face, still having those boyish thoughts that he believed he was better than that. 

You walked over and bent down, face getting closer to his. 

Ah. You were going to forgive him and all would be right in the world once your lips met his. You wanted to laugh as you saw his eyes flutter shut, lips slightly puckering. 

Charles was wondering what was taking you so long when your finger touched his lips. His eyes shot open and he definitely did not whimper. You looked down at your fur-baby and gently picked him up, bringing Leo to your chest. 

“Twitter. Figure it out Leclerc.” 

Now a bit sullen, he watched you walk away. 

“Je t’aime!” 

He was responded to with a middle finger and the bedroom door slamming. A chuckle made its way from his chest as he brought his phone out. If there was one thing that you two did well, it was dramatics. 

Twitter was immediately opened once he got his phone out. He scrolled through all the tags before giving up and opening your profile. He winced at the sight of the white background, cursing his phone for updating and not keeping the dark profile. 

However, he couldn’t contain his laugh as he saw your new updated tweet. He leaned his head back, still giggling to himself. 

Charles knew that you two wanted kids at some point. But between his Formula 1 career and your business on the uprise, children really wouldn’t work well now. But deep down, he liked the idea of having a few grid kids. 

He took a minute to stop giggling before he continued his search. His eyes widened as he stopped on one of the family trees that some fan made. 

There was Leo, adopted by you and him. 

Then Ollie, who fans say that Charles conceived himself somehow. 

Oscar was newer, but still had the adopted dotted line. 

And then . . . 

Ooohhhhhhh, so that’s who he was missing. 

You took that moment to come out of the bedroom, hair now dry and fluffy from your Dyson. Leo was still in your arms, looking more awake than he had when he was with Charles. You sat down next to him, Charles taking the opportunity to put an arm around you, bringing you in closer. 

“You smell good amour.” 

You turned and smiled, leaning in to finally give him a kiss after a long day. 

“Thank you. It’s the lotion that you bought me.” 

He let out a low hum and just kept you in his arms. Leo was squirming a bit before he finally flopped over and settled in between your two bodies. 

“I figured out who our other son is.” 

Your head now rested in the crook of his neck. “Did you now.” 

“Yes. I am a stepfather to Liam?” 

Your shoulders shook with giggles. “Not the stepfather, but the father who stepped up.” 

“You spend way too much on Twitter.” 

You looked up at him, and Charles turned to look down at you. You leaned in closer to rub your noses together, giving him eskimo kisses. The Ferrari driver just closed his eyes and basked in the moment between you. 

There weren’t many times that he got something like this. So quiet and peaceful. His world was filled with so much noise. But here, he could melt into the quiet. 

“We should have dinner here with the boys after the Grand Prix on Sunday.” 

“That sounds nice. I can make the food.” 

You sat up slightly, elbow bent on the back of the couch and head resting on your hand. 

“You want to show off your cooking skills to your sons to prove that you can cook.”

Charles huffed. “I am the provider chéri.” 

You cocked your head at the Monegasque. “Whose name is on the lease mon bebe?” 

A huff was the answer, which made you cuddle Charles closer still being aware of the little baby between you. A small nip to your fingertip made you pick Leo up, now holding him close to your face. 

“Were you getting a bit jealous of papa ma petit amour?” you asked the blonde dachshund in a baby voice. If Charles wasn’t already fully in love with you, his love would have been solidified in this moment. 

While watching, he suddenly remembered something. “Oscar wanted to meet Leo in McLaren hospitality this weekend.” 

You turned with a raised eyebrow. “Why not Ferrari?” 

“Eh.” 

It was as if you had a lightbulb moment. “Ohhhhhhh, right. That makes sense. I can stop by and let you know when I get there.” 

What you hadn’t expected was to pick up Liam and Ollie on your way to the now green outside of the McLaren hospitality. Leo was still curled up in your arms, eyes blinking every so often. You knew that if it wasn’t so busy, the little puppy would be sound asleep. 

“He’s so cute,” Oscar said, walking forward and hands outstretched. You gently gave him over to the “older brother” of the three. 

Ollie laughed. “I know right. He’s so cuddly.” 

Liam joined in, “I don’t think I put him down the entire time I got to meet him.” 

Oscar stared at you three for a moment. “Yeah, you aren’t getting him back.” 

You shook your head. “Speak to your father first, Oscar.” 

Chuckles erupted from all around, making you laugh as well. You took your phone out and took a quick picture of Oscar holding Leo to post later. 

“Is dad on his way?” Ollie asked after sipping on his water bottle. 

You rolled your eyes. “Should be. Ah, there he is.” 

Charles stepped foot into the room and immediately found you surrounded by his “kids.” His heart may have melted seeing Leo flopped in Oscar’s arms. He gave you a kiss on your cheeks before he greeted the three. 

“This is hilarious,” he said, making everyone laugh yet again. 

You rested a hand on your forehead. “We’re just missing Liam’s dad, and then we’ll be one big happy family.” 

The Kiwi crossed his arms, but a giant smile was on his face. “So much for having a present father in my life. I’m jealous.” 

Charles gripped your waist and puffed his chest. “I’m not the stepfather, but the father that stepped up.” 

“Charles, no you aren’t. Can’t even handle three kids.” 

You and Charles turned around to see Max now stepping through the door. The Monegasque raised his eyebrow. 

“And you can?” 

You raised a hand. “That’s my que to leave. I will not be in the middle of a Lestappen-father showdown. Boys, you can follow me.” 

“Yes mum.”

“Lead the way.” 

“Can I still keep Leo?” 

Charles and Max gawked as the three older boys followed you like ducks in a row. After he got over the shock, the Ferrari driver was left with a love-sick smile on his face. 

“Yeah. I’m marrying her.” 

“Gross.” 

“Max. Shut up.” 

y/n_l/n has posted

liked by y/nismother, charles_leclerc, liamlawson, and 1,304,295 others y/n_l/n look at my sons . . . pride is not the word I'm looking for

see all comments

y/nismother the mother is mothering

charliexy/n honestly, they all take after him so much. I need to go to twitter

olliebearman then what is the word you're looking for mom 🤨

liamlawson30 I knew she wasn't proud of us

oscarpiastri this is why dad is better

y/n_l/n I'm taking away all of your sims and ps5's

olliebearman I take it back, mom is the best

oscarpiastri81 this is the best thing to happen this weekend

charles_leclerc my family 🫶

maxverstappen1 you stole my son from me.

liamlawson30 they had free ice cream 🤷

y/n_l/n 😊

maxverstappen1 I'm taking pole then

charles_leclerc ☹️

lestappenlove I love the entire family your honor

leclerc16charles does Leo need another sibling? cause I can bark

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[devildom-moss]

The demon brothers reacting to an MC who hides their burn marks headcanon

The demon brothers version of a previous request for the dateables + Luke reacting to an MC who has burn marks all over their arms/legs and avoids wearing revealing clothes because they're self conscious about it. I hope this one is okay. Please ignore how much my tenses shift - hopefully it reads fine. Also why is it that usually when I do another version of a previous post, it gets longer. Why am I like this?

requested by: @justalurkerheretolurk

(slightly suggestive for some of the brothers)

Word Count: +2,400

Lucifer

For once, his approach is that it’s none of his business. He doesn’t wear revealing clothes himself, so it takes him forever to notice that you have self-esteem reasons for hiding your body.

He might sense some of your discomfort when someone suggests that you should wear more revealing clothing (Asmo), but he doesn’t make much of it. If you don’t want to talk to him about it, he won’t question you (unless you seem really upset).

Lucifer doesn’t find out unless your sleeve accidentally slips too far up your arms or until one of those shared outdoor bath/hot spring trips. He’ll get suspicious if you aren’t willing to join him in the baths despite his efforts to tempt you. Basically, he’s not going to question you trying to keep covered until he’s trying to get in your pants.

The second he finds out, he’ll be speechless for a moment – to the point that it worries you. Is it really so bad that he can’t say anything?  

Side headcanon: I think he gets it. He’s probably scarred up from the Celestial War. There are parts of his body that scratch away at his pride sometimes. He wants to ask about it, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

It’s not disgust or shock that shuts him up, it’s shame – and under that, affection. He’s ashamed that you didn’t feel you could show him until now, ashamed that he never questioned you before or didn’t notice, and ashamed that he let someone he cherishes so dearly feel self-conscious without him knowing. He wants to choose his words carefully – lace together something that would make you feel better – but all he can do is take hold of your arm and ask you if you had been hiding those marks the entire time.

He’ll almost sound scary, but his eyes will look so desperate. Lucifer will beg you not to hide your body – not from him. (He’ll even say please.) You don’t have to show anyone else (in fact, he’d prefer if he was the only one), but you have nothing to be embarrassed about around him. He wants to see everything.

He’ll pull out the bedroom eyes and tell you, “I mean it. Let me prove it.”

Mammon

He probably sees your marks because he walks in on you changing. Man does not believe in knocking. You should be grateful to get a visit from the Great Mammon.

He’s almost too embarrassed to notice the burns at first. His brain lags, and then it hits him like – well, like Lucifer when Mammon’s racked up a huge debt on his card again. His eyes widen, and he shuts the door behind him.

“What happened to ya?” he asks frantically, running up to you. However, his tone doesn’t match the gentle touch he has when his hand slides over your marks. Even if you’ve already covered up, he’ll caress you over your clothes. The location of your scars is burned into his mind. The next words leave him in a softer, somber tone, like some wounded child, “when’d ya get hurt?”

In Mammon’s mind, if he can figure out why, how, and when, maybe he can do something to help you. Whether you feel comfortable enough to tell him or not, he won’t press you too much.

He’s hurt that you didn’t let him know sooner – that he only found out now. He’s always clinging to you, so how is that even possible?

“Hey. Is that why yer always covered up?” He noticed that you avoided revealing clothes, but he thought maybe you were like Lucifer. Mammon didn’t want to make you self-conscious about it, so he never brought it up before. When you agree, he feels as if his chest has been stabbed by dozens of long upholstery needles.

With the softest, saddest smile, he tells you, “ya don’t have to hide nothin’ from me, y’know?”

He’d pull you into a hug, and even though he was too shy to manage more than a whisper, he’d say, “listen close. The Great Mammon ain’t a fan of repeatin’ himself, but I think ya look fine. I mean, ya shine more beautifully than any precious metal, my treasure.”

Mammon will probably ask you to show him more of your body when you’re alone. Of course he wants to see more, he’s the avatar of greed, after all.

Leviathan

You can’t convince me that this man won’t try to get you to wear revealing cosplay at some point. Levi’s too embarrassed to ask you to wear something skimpy himself, but if it’s for cosplay, maybe you’d go along with it.

He doesn’t even warn you that it’s revealing as he hands it to you, practically begging you to try it on for him. If you refuse, he won’t hesitate to drop to his knees and grovel. “Please? It’ll be so moe. Please? Pleeeaassse?”

There’s instant regret when he finds out why you were so reluctant – whether you decide to just tell him or change into the clothes and show him. His stomach will drop, and his eyes will widen. He feels terrible for making you reveal that information, possibly far sooner than you wanted to.

His mind will flood with self-criticism, but he knows that this moment isn’t about him, so he pushes his own shame back down. Levi knows what it’s like to feel self-conscious, and he wants to help, but he doesn’t know where to start.

“I know it doesn’t mean much coming from me, but I like how you look. You’re my IRL fav.”

If you let him, he’ll pull you into his tub while in his demon form, wrap his tail around you, and hold you. You can game or watch anime – anything to help you feel better.

Levi doesn’t know how to go about comforting you, and it’s embarrassing for him to tell you how gorgeous he thinks you are, but he’ll try, and he’ll keep asking you to cosplay for him (especially the revealing stuff). If you just want to hang out in his room while wearing revealing clothing, he’s happy with that – even if he gets so horny shy that he feels like he’s going to die.

He’s another one who would prefer it if you only wore revealing clothes around him. If anyone else got to see that much of you, he’d be jealous. A more selfish part of him would also prefer it if he was the only one who knew about your marks. You’re his Henry. You’re his best friend. You don’t need to be that vulnerable with anyone else as long as you have him.

Satan

Satan is likely to find out on accident: a sleeve falling down too far or something kind of ridiculous like getting caught in a downpour while wearing a white shirt.

The rage boils up in the pit of his stomach when he sees your marks, but he isn’t sure who to be mad at because he doesn’t have any of the information. Maybe he’s just mad at the world for having hurt you.

When Satan notices your embarrassment at being caught, he calms himself. He’ll ask if it ever hurts you, and then he’ll ask to touch you. If you agree, his touch will be delicate – as if he expects you to break.

Without much warning, though, he’ll wrap his arms around you. He’ll tell you that it’s okay to be self-conscious. If you’re comfortable, you can show as much or as little skin as you want. He’ll love you all the same. You could swear that you felt a teardrop hit your shoulder as he hugged you, but when he finally pulled away, his eyes were clear.

Satan brings up that he’s heard that cats’ purring could be healing. Maybe you could get a cat to sit on you and purr? In part, he’s using this as an excuse to invite you on a cat café date.

He encourages you to try more revealing clothes around him. When you’re alone, he’ll get clingier. He strikes me as a kiss-the-scars kind of guy.

Asmodeus

Asmo loves to treat you like his little dress-up doll. He’s not blind, and he’s noticed how often you’re covering yourself up. Usually, when he dresses you up, he tries to keep your comfort levels in mind, giving you clothes that would flatter you while still covering parts of your body that you may be trying to hide – whether or not he understands why.

But eventually, Asmo is going to want to push you out of that comfort zone. While you’re out shopping one day, he’ll grab something a bit more revealing (probably a sheer-sleeve shirt) and put it into the pile. You might not even notice until you’re in the changing room.

You’d put off trying it on, modeling every other shirt in the bunch for Asmo. Maybe he would forget the revealing one, but he didn’t. After an approving nod from him on the second-to-last option, Asmo would knowingly add, “one more, gorgeous.”

“Asmo, I can’t wear this,” you’d tell him as you buttoned the shirt up. It was just as you feared: your scars were visible. Asmo sighed; he figured you might be hesitant. “Can I at least come in and see? Pretty please?”

It’s hard to say no to Asmo; you could imagine the pout on his lips. When you unlocked the door, he quickly snuck in. He noticed immediately as he appraised you. A soft, solemn “oh” left his lips. It all made sense now.

The insecurity started to build, but Asmo was quick to squash it. He took your face in his hands and reassured you. “Darling, you look absolutely beautiful.”

Asmo will constantly tell you how lovely, pretty, and cute you are. Yes, that absolutely includes the marks. They don’t take a single bit of beauty away from you. He’s the most gorgeous creature in the Devildom, after all, so he would know.

Asmo is delicate with his approach to encouraging you to wear more revealing clothes, suggesting outfits that show just a bit more and staying aware of your comfort levels. He’ll never push you to wear anything revealing in front of anyone except him if you aren’t comfortable, but he can be a bit pushy about letting him see more of you. He won’t judge, so just trust yourself with him.

He doesn’t really think about how it happened; all he knows is that it makes you feel self-conscious now, and that’s something he can try to do something about.

Will probably try to flirt and tell you that if you ever want to show him everything, he’ll make sure you don’t regret it.

Beelzebub

Beel notices something is off when you show up in sweats to work out with him and never take them off. It’s hot. He’s five seconds away from taking off his shirt. How are you even alive?

“Seriously, you need to change. You’re going to pass out.”

“I’m fine,” you insist. Worried, Beel will insist that you call it a day. He’ll offer to take you out for food once you’re both washed up and changed.

The next time he gets you alone in his room or yours, he brings it up again. He’s nervous and worried, with his hands clasped awkwardly in front of his heart, as he asks why you don’t wear shorts or tank tops – even when you’d probably be more comfortable.

When you tell him (or even show him), Beel’s shoulders slump. It makes sense now. He feels bad – because you were hurt, because he feels like he pressured you to tell him, because you’ve been hiding it the whole time, because you feel bad about your marks.

He doesn’t know what to say. Instead, Beel engulfs you in his arms. His grip is gentle, barely touching you as he asks you if the burn scars hurt. If you’re not in pain, he’ll hold you tighter. He wants to comfort you, but nothing feels like it’ll be enough, so he just holds you quietly for a long time.

Eventually, the only words that hold any weight in his mind escape him in a low tone.

“I love you. I think you’re beautiful.”

After he finds out, Beel goes out of his way to tell you how handsome and beautiful you are more often. He assumed you knew how he felt before, but he doesn’t want to leave any room for doubt now.

Belphegor

I feel like Belphie is the one person who is more likely to discover your marks through touch. He’s very clingy and touchy and a bit of a perv, so I could see him just noticing something about the texture of your skin through your clothes. He’s so used to pressing himself firmly against you, and if you are prone to pain or irritation from that, he’ll notice your reactions, too.

He also strikes me as someone who slips his cold hands into your clothes. Especially if your shirt is tucked in, he has no problem just slipping his hands up your sleeves.

Unfortunately, he won’t consider that he may be bringing up a sensitive topic for you when he almost immediately questions you. (If he’s exhausted, he may wait until after a nap to ask you.) On the bright side, because the others usually bug him about cuddling you, your chances of it happening when you’re alone are pretty high.

Belphie feels bad when you tell him that he touched your scars/burn marks and that you had been trying to keep them covered up because it’s embarrassing – especially if you tell him that you’re worried about how other people look at you. Your shame ignites a fire in him, and he launches into an irritated rant.

“Who gives a fuck about what other people think about how you look? There’s nothing inherently wrong with it, really. Maybe it’s fucked up how it happened. I don’t know, and you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but they’re just marks now. It’s just a part of your body. And I like your body. I liked it before I knew they were there, and my feelings haven’t changed now that I know. You’re still my favorite cuddle buddy.”

He’ll pull you against him and stroke your hair with an indignant blush staining his cheeks.

“If anyone ever makes you feel bad, tell me. You’ll never hear another cruel word from them after that. No one hurts my precious human pillow.” Except for him that one time.

(the dateables + Luke version)

A/N: Hopefully these came out alright. I'm such a sucker for comfort stuff, which is why I took this request even though my requests aren't technically open right now. Can y'all tell who I loved writing for on this prompt the most?

Also, I'm over here wishing September had another day so I could finish the September poll story without rushing it. If it's a day late, I'm sorry! I'll be preoccupied for most of tomorrow, and I have to drive a lot so I can't skip out on sleep tonight. Putting the pro in procrastination. I don't even know what to put on the poll for October, either. My brain is just soup right now. screaming Anyway, I do have something planned for October that hopefully you'll all find enjoyable. Okay, I'm going to shut up now.

[koiiiiijiii]

Could you do some windbreaker characters with a fem gyaru s/o? I would specifically like Vinny you can chose any other character if you want :)

author note : OMG!! I searched some photos in pinterest, like inspiration for gyaru, and wooow!! i will definitely take some details into my style bc its sooo beautiful… i genuinely thought (idk why honestly) that gyaru is more like pink barbie in 80-90s style but it looks so cool i can’t!! sorry for such long reply, and we r mutuals so i feel even more ashamed :(( i tried with more characters but give up and done just these two!! hope you will like it💋🎗️

warning : pure fluff, vinny being softie and shelly cutie as always

vinny - he definitely have 0 idea about all fashion trends, styles and different subcultures aside from street racing… so he genuinely don’t give a fuck about your style, he crushing into person, not a pieces of clothes you wear, but once your dialogue went in all different direction, you explain him what your style specifically is and what inspired you to join this subculture, he take note in his head that as soon as he will earn more money he will buy you as many new clothes and other items as you wish.

it was one of your first dates, you were sitting together in some random cafe that you found on the way from the second-hand store to which you dragged Vinny to find new elements for your outfits.

“so… was it really necessary to spend solid 2 hours in that shop to find just few pair of shorts, skirts and belts?…” he began hesitantly, doubting whether it was worth bringing up the subject. do girls get angry if you ask them why spend so much time in the shops? should he change the subject of conversation? or maybe you want to discuss this trip to the store? it seemed that now Vinny’s brains would just explode, before you he had not had to communicate so long and closely with girls. when you looked up at him, it seemed to him that his heart skipped a couple of beats - your eyes literally sparkled with joy and fun.

"of course it was!! if you want to find really unique things, then there is no place better than a second-hand store! of course, you need to try to find something really worthwhile, but when you find that very thing.." you clenched your fists and squeezed your eyes shut, smiling so sweetly and swaying back and forth with impatience

"...oh right, let's go at my place today!!! i'll show you why we spent so much time there, these shorts and skirts will just go perfectly..." Vinny continued to listen as you happily chirped about your ideas of what to wear new things with, and it seems you also mentioned new places where you wanted to take photos together with him, and much more. at that moment, Vinny didn’t cared about anything as much as your smile. you were so sincere with him, you smiled so brightly, just like a little star in his hands, and he suddenly remembered that pleasant, soft and warm sensation in his chest, just like in rare moments from childhood. your touch pulled him out of his own thoughts as you gently shook his hand, looking questioningly into his eyes.

"didn't you listen to what i was saying?" you squinted suspiciously. "wh... what?.. no, i heard everything.."

laughing in response, you pulled him towards the exit of the cafe, in direction to your house. at that moment, it seemed to Vinny that there were no problems around, and he was finally felt like ordinary schoolboy. yes, you were the one who helped him still stay sane. you were his own little star.

shelly - 100% fashion intusiast so she highlighted your style immediately, and liked it!! as i mentioned before, she definitely would post tiktoks/insta stories with you, admiring how cool and beautiful her girlfriend is.

“hey, let’s go shopping together after school? how about finding some new stuff?” shelly said excitedly, coming up from behind and hugging you. it was the last day before weekends starts, so after school you could relax and go shopping in search of new things, maybe you will be lucky enough today and you will find some cool archive things from 2000s.

"oh my god, look at this!!" Shelly squealed in delight as she ran up to you. in her hands was Vivienne Westwood's archive white handbag, with silver chains as handles and with a distinctive badge. it needed a little repair, but for the price that was offered for this handbag, it was worth it!!

"Shelly is so cute, how did you find it?!" you exclaimed joyfully, picking up the bag from her hands and examining it from all sides. today it was a really cool piece, and after picking up a pair of pumpons and key chains for a bag, you headed to Shelly's house, deciding to celebrate this purchase with a sleepover at her house, her grandfather wasn’t at home, and he anyway liked when you two hang out together.

"what do you think about ordering something to eat and putting on makeup together? we can shoot something in tiktok! oh! or let's film unpacking for this baby, what do you say?" you asked her excitedly, as you remembered that Shelly always wanted to try your makeup style and clothes you usually wear. and she was so pleased that you remembered such little things that she mentioned once quite a long time ago, and they were deposited in your head. hugging you tightly around the neck and whispering a quiet thank you, Shelly took you by the arm and headed for her home, excitedly offering you ideas for posing and which sound you should choose for your tiktoks.

[n3ptoonz]

Could you please write the reader waking up from a wet dream with Smoke? reader mumbles his name during it so it isn't that hard to tell what's happening and helps when you wake up after maybe... 😵‍💫 established relationship. I LOVE your stuff so much by the way every time you post it's Christmas for me.

christmas 😭😭😭 i love that analogy TYSM anon❤️💚

now...this is what i'm talkin about 😈😈 let's get it DONEE

'Love On The Brain'

Pairing: Royal Guard!Smoke/Reader

Fandom: Mortal Kombat 1 (2023)

Warnings/tags: Smut, Explicit, service top!smoke, switch! smoke, gn reader, reader is a switch, wet dream, established/secret relationship, creampie, m!nipple play, cowgirl, prone, missionary, handjob, sphinx likes when men beg, dacryphilia, reader is like the heir in a primarily female tribe (very outworld-esque)(idk i just wanted to sound cool), barely proofread apologies for typos

Word count: 1.9k

Explicit content under the cut

To be the heir in a tribe that was ran by mostly powerful women, it was naturally a blessing to be in your position. Because here, gender didn't matter. First born = next in line for leading. Period.

However, your mother was no stranger to keeping men in their place. Most of the guards that did nothing but protect and serve were in fact men, especially ones that were chosen from clans with high status.

Your quarters, like your other siblings, were a bit far from the main part of the land, but that meant you had your own guard all to yourself--like everyone else. One man that was capable of just about anything, if not everything.

His name was foreign; that of a whole different region outside of your knowledge. What was it again? Ah, it was-

-

"Tomas-!" you choked out a whine as your eyes shut tightly. Tomas held one of your hands while the other was gripping your other hip, watching the stomach bulge appear with stars in his eyes as he had no shame going at a relentless pace.

This was the third time you came in one round. Whatever he was doing, he was doing it right. Who knows how long you've been going at it by now? Honestly, who cares. To basically have the shape of him molded inside you, time was the least of your concerns.

You were signaling that you were about to cum again by the slight grip you had on his hand while the other flew over your mouth. He suddenly stopped his movements and leaned forward to kiss the back of that same hand.

"I want to hear you. Can you do that for me?" he whispered. He said your name over and over in a sweet, gentle manner, as if he was trying to get your attention. What was once a hazy and muffled voice was becoming clearer every time he said your name. And as you opened your eyes-

-

You shot up in your bed and panted, shielding your eyes from the sun rays that assaulted your vision. Your breath stilled you turned to look to your side; Tomas was standing at the foot of your bed in position but a concerned look on his face--he was typically bad at hiding his emotions, it's an ongoing joke between you two.

"I heard you calling my name, are you alright?" he asked, a faint tint of blush betraying him. You were about to get up off the bed when you felt a sort of...sticky substance in your underwear. You froze in your spot before sheepishly looking up at him.

"I am, thank you...Could you, um..." you trailed off.

With these three words he has heard before, he's assuming you're about to ask him to leave so you can have your privacy. Being in a secret relationship with your own guard wasn't exactly all fun and games, he still took his job very seriously, but boy did he enjoy the thrill alone.

He had already made a move to leave the room when you hopped out of bed, remembering that feeling between your thighs as soon as you took a step. If there wasn't a bloom of even more concern on his face before, it's there now. He takes one look at how you were standing, and one look at your bed. Upon seeing a bit of a stain where you were just laying, he was no fool. He knew it exactly what that meant. From you repeatedly whispering his name in your sleep, to the slight jolts every few seconds...

"Did you...uh-"

"Tomas," you said as now stood in front of him with no intention to break eye contact. You looped your index finger around a piece of his armored chest plate and pulled him in for a short, but meaningful kiss. Eventually going back in for even shorter seconds and thirds. You felt like a starved bear woken up from hibernation, and you needed your fill.

"You are going to fuck me. And you will do it how I tell you to. Is that understood?" you whispered. The color red almost completely took over his entire face upon seeing this newly discovered hunger in your eyes, but he was more than happy to oblige by your commands. He did serve you, after all. Why not put it to good use?

The only sounds that could be heard was the bed shaking, skin slapping together, and your cries muffled by your pillow. The swiftness in which Tomas put you in the prone position and pinned you down with his body, he didn't even really need to use his hands for anything besides holding himself up.

"Look at you loosening up for me. Is this how the heir behaves?" he taunted. You gave him free rein to speak how ever he pleased. Your nails drug against the sheets and you panted as the room grew hotter and your skin felt prickly from the cold sweat.

The pure bliss of his long, thick dick dragging in and out of you and the contrast to what was once cold metal armor to his sweaty, warm muscular chest atop your back made you see stars. This was a thousand times better than your dream, honestly.

"Nothing to say?" he asked, slowly yet agonizingly pushing himself into you and bringing his movements to a halt. He was holding your hips down at the same time until a good amount of his weight engulfed you. The angle he was laying at had him brushing right against your g spot, but not enough to get you to cum in an instant.

"Tomas--!" you cried out, squirming and groaning underneath him. You couldn't see it, but Tomas himself had to pause before responding because he was getting overwhelmed. You felt so good around him, he almost moaned your name back.

"You feel...so fucking good wrapped around me..." he whispered. He didn't expect himself to say it out loud, but the cat's out the bag! He slowly shakily pulled out and flipped you onto your back, the sight of your slick mixed with his pre-cum leaking out of you made him dizzy.

Your face was flushed, eyes glossy, and chest heaving; he looked the same. Without second thought you pulled him close for a deep and passionate kiss, reaching your other hand between your legs to grab and pump him. He nearly got choked up mid-kiss. You smiled and chuckled against him as you could feel his hands grabbing for the sheets next to your head. His body was trembling with love and lust.

You continued to stroke him and made sure it was known he wasn't allowed to be inside you again...yet. And this? This...newfound dynamic of power, he loves it. He instinctively started thrusting his hips into your palm and wishing it was you.

He broke the kiss and started nipping at your neck, his shallow breaths and breathy whimpers all too familiar right in your ear. He knew it wouldn't be possible to mark you up the way he wants to, but that didn't really matter. Only he gets to be this close to you and he relished in that alone.

His breaths picking up meant he was close, but you weren't having that. Him coming before you? Especially if you haven't yet? Madness. Though, you knew he wasn't about that either.

You quickly angled him in front of your hole and pulled away right as he thrusted forward. The both of you groaned in pleasure at the sudden contract on both ends and a cold shiver washed over your bodies.

He couldn't help but cum instantly, but he was no punk. He just kept going at the same time you were being filled to the brim. The room couldn't be louder with his determined grunting and the sound of squelching coming from between your legs.

You came shortly after and dragged your nails down his biceps since he had you caged in. He had your back arched, seeing stars, and out of breath.

There must've been something about this morning air because neither of you felt like this was over. Or maybe you didn't want it to be...

You smiled as he rested his forehead against yours, giving him a quick kiss on the nose before pushing him off of you and crawling on top of him. You watched his gray eyes practically twinkle at the sight of you--spent but willing. But also the rays from the sun shining through your window.

One of your hands carefully wrapped around his neck while the other simply put his length back inside. Being on top of him now, you could feel his quick breaths and the slight bucking of his hips.

"No touching while I ride you. Understand?" you said, tone just above a whisper when you leaned in closer to him. He gulped and shyly nodded. He was determined to try his best not to, because he knew you'd be even more willing to punish him for it.

There was no more starting slow. You both wanted and needed to chase this high as fast as possible especially under these circumstances. You took turns having control, and you were going to make the most of it. You were already pumped full of his seed so who needs slow and sensual now?

Your body was kicked into overdrive as you took all of him again. You tried to keep a not so expressive attitude, but damn that was growing harder by the second. No pun intended.

Since there was a free hand that wasn't on his neck, you decided to try something new. You gently rubbed his nipple to see if he'd have a reaction. And boy DID he have a reaction.

"Fuck-" he cursed multiple times. His face contorting and hips bucking harder was all you needed to see. "Ah, don't stop, please." he whispered.

He had to keep balling his hands into fists so he wouldn't just grab your hips and fuck you til you cried again. "By the gods, I'm so close. Don't stop-" his own words interrupted by a combination of a gasp and a moan. You've never seen this side of him before. Even if you did have sex the amount of times that could be counted on one hand, you didn't expect he'd act like this. Of course, he's a sensitive and sentimental guy at heart even if he doesn't show it much outside of being alone with you.

Good thing you were also about to blow too. Would you believe me if I told you he was about to cry? Well, you should. Because he's doing so right now.

"Can I- Agh- Can I please touch you? I can't go on like this-" he begged. You denied him just to watch him cry some more. And as the tears poured from his eyes, you both came together. He wasn't sad or upset. Quite the opposite actually. Little did you know it was so fucking hot to him that you wouldn't give him what he wants right after he just had you pinned to the mattress and filled with his cum.

After you calmed yourselves down, cleaned up, and changed the sheets, you convinced him to take a bath with you and cuddled close to him. You didn't want him to go back to his post yet. It had been some time since either of you had gotten the time to yourselves to do something like this, clearly. You innocently sat in his lap while you two cleaned each other off--including the dried tears under his eyes.

And then you woke up.

Kidding! After your nice, hot bath, you pulled him close as you plopped down onto the fresh sheets just to hold him for longer...Thank the gods today was your off day.

a/n: HI...! XDXDXD COLLEGE WAS WHOOPING MY ASS, my bad y'all! i hope yall fw this bc deadass this person asked for this in fuckin january, i feel like a shitty author rn😭😭but we got it done 🙏🏾 idk when imma be able to focus on tumblr fics again, but hopefully it won't take as long like this did!

[last-starry-sky]

pt 2 of innocent!reader x graves because @shotmrmiller's prompt continues to rot my brain

also: pov change? pov change. 

NSFW - MDNI - MIND THE WARNINGS: (graves pov, big ol’ legal age gap, MANIPULATIVE bad man graves, i gave him a made up middle initial lol, corruption kink, dubcon(kissing and touching while reader is drunk, no sex in this part))

pt 1

There’s a silver cross hanging temptingly above your breasts when he picks you up. 

You look so cute standing there on your porch, fiddling with your hair and dress, dropping your keys into your little matching purse. A sweet little peach that his mouth waters to bite into. Not yet though, he thinks as he turns off his truck. He opens the door, slamming it shut behind him. He knows that’ll catch your attention. As he rounds the hood he sees you staring at him, still wide eyed (excited, not nervous anymore) after all this time. 

Not yet, he thinks walking through the fresh-mowed grass of your front lawn. He’s patient. He can wait; wait for you to want him as much as he wants you. Hell, maybe you’ll even ask for it, beg for it. He bites his lip thinking about what a pretty sight that would be. He smothers the thought as he nears the front porch. 

“Waitin’ outside for me all alone, darlin’?” he says, watching you mess with your hair again. He’s trying not to let the lewd thoughts creep in, but you aren’t making it easy.

“Um, yeah,” you say softly, “Didn’t want to forget to lock the door.”

He quirks an eyebrow and leans against one of the posts that flanks the porch steps. So cool. Such a good actor. 

“Doesn’t your dad usually-” 

“He’s gone,” you ramble out, “Both of them. My parents. They, ah, went up to the lake for the weekend.” 

You toy with the hem of your skirt again, not making eye contact. The old wood under your heels creaks as you rock back and forth. He cocks his head to the side, giving a gentle hum of acknowledgement. Nothing too eager or expecting, but enough to let you know he’s heard you.

He already knew where your parents were, of course. It was nothing anyone couldn’t gather from a little social media stalking, and he has plenty of time. Didn’t help that your mother posted just about everything on there. With pictures too. That’s how he knew that they had left mid-day, got there two hours later, and that now your mother was three margaritas deep and your father was working his way through a thirty pack with his fishing buddies in the middle of the lake. 

“Hope y’all weren’t waiting for long,” he said with a smile, finally holding out his arm in expectation of a hug. 

You smiled as you bounced into his arms. You melted into him, all stiffness and anxiety leaving once you were safe in his arms. You liked it when he greeted you like this. The tiny bit of chaste intimacy of it. He loved feeling you wrap your arms around him, bury your face in his chest and not-so-discreetly smell his cologne. It wasn’t all one sided, of course. He loved sliding his hand across your back, pulling you close enough to let him press his face into your hair. 

Usually the moment only lasts a second, with one of your parents stepping outside to break the spell, telling you (him) to not stay out too late (like it mattered, they would be dead asleep long before you returned anyway), before he was chastely taking your hand or, more recently, leading you away with a hand on the small of your back.  

Tonight’s hug was different. You pressed your whole body into him. He could have groaned at it; the feel your breasts and stomach squishing against his chest, your hips slotting against his. Fuck, you could be such a tease sometimes and you didn’t even know it. It was enough to take down a lesser man, but Commander Phillip A. Graves wasn’t some horny teenager that’s going to pop a boner the second a pretty girl touches him. Not that you made it easy. Lord, the depraved things he thought of doing with you when he was alone. 

You leaned back in his arms, looking up at him so open and sweet with that pleased smile on your face. He can’t help but return with one of his own. You’re just too much sometimes. It takes a lot to not stare down your dress at your tits. Instead, he looks at your necklace. The delicate, silver thing dances in the porch light. He ran his fingers along the chain, stroking at your neck as he did, the roughness making you blush.

“Haven’t seen this before,” he said slyly, tugging at the chain. “New?”

You shook your head, bottom lip caught in your teeth. “My mom’s. Family heirloom,” you said softly.

“Looks pretty on ya, sweets,” he said letting it fall back into the crease of your neck. 

Your skin is dewy, glistening with sweat. You have to move the chain back into place from where it sticks. Funny that. It’s not even that hot today. 

He pulls away, hand still on your lower back. “Should get on our way, then,” he says with a shake of his head back toward the truck. “Reservation’s in half n’ hour. Can’t be late for our anniversary dinner now.”   

-

The whole of your anniversary date plans were a closely held secret. He’d told you the date but hadn't let you pry a single detail out of him. He’d planned everything out the night he saw your mom RSVP to the weekend at the lake. Found a romantic little restaurant, scheduled a reservation to fit with a showtime to that movie you’ve been talking about, even bought that cute little dress for you.

It was all worth it to see you now, after enduring your sad, silent pouts. Your eyes were as big as saucers from the second you walked in. This was clearly the most expensive restaurant you’ve ever been in, if he could read how hard you clung to his arm, nails digging through his suit jacket, as the hostess seated you. You trembled as you waited for him to pull out your chair in the dark alcove he’d asked for. After the hostess had left you with the menus you looked at him nervously.

“Som’ wrong, sweets?” 

“Just . . .” you whispered, looking around nervously. The candlelight illuminated the underside of your face, highlighting your concern. “I hope I’m dressed nice enough. Didn’t know this place would be so fancy.” 

It actually hurts him how much you doubt yourself. As if anyone could (or even would with him by your side) take issue with you. No one can compare to you. Not in his eyes. Your fresh face and simple beauty blew everyone else in the room out of the water. 

“Prettiest one here. Besides, only the best for my girl.”

The waitress returned shortly after, taking your drink order. He surprised you again by ordering a whole bottle of champagne. For the table, he explained; for the both of you, for your anniversary.

“But . . . I don’t drink, Phil,” you whispered across the table once the waitress had left, the cork popped and two glasses already poured.

Good lord, he thought, doesn’t even drink. What part of heaven did you fall from?

“Take a sip,” he urged, “If y’ don’t like it I’ll finish yer glass.”

You slid the flute slowly toward yourself, the pale yellow liquid fizzing streams of large bubbles up the sides. You were about to take a sip, when he interrupted you by reaching across the table with his own glass. You blushed again as you clinked your glass with his.

“To . . . our future,” he said after a moment's thought.

“To our future,” you repeated softly, that small smile returning to your face.

He kept his eyes on you as you delicately sipped the smallest bit of champagne. It took a lot to not drain his own flute. It was damn good, lightly sweet and pleasantly bubbly. Not his usual but worth it to get you to loosen up. For how expensive it was, it had better be amazing. Your eyes met his after you set your glass on the table, imprint of your lipstick marring the rim.

“What’d y’ think?”

“I like it. ‘s sweet,” you said sliding the glass back toward you, dabbing your spot of missing lipstick. 

He couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. One sip and you were already hooked. 

“Lemme know when an’ I’ll refill y’ glass,” he said scanning over the menu, trying to seem disinterested. 

He watched you out of the corner of his eye take another small sip. Then another, and another and another until it was half gone. He had fun making small talk about your family and plans for college in the fall in between your sips. You had just started to broach into his plans: when he would be away for work and where he would be, when the waitress returned to take your dinner order. You sheepishly pushed your empty flute toward him. 

He gave his order but once the waitress turned to you, you had to admit that you hadn’t even looked at the menu.

“Well . . .” the waitress said, pencil to her lip, thinking of something to suggest.

“What do you recommend with the champagne?” he interjected, handing over his menu. “She really likes it.”

“Do you like fish?” she said taking the menu out of his hand then turning back to you. You nodded. “We have a white wine and rosemary poached cod filet with a spring salad on the menu tonight.”

“Sounds delicious. I’ll do that. Thank you,” you said handing over your menu.

Three glasses later, your meals arrived. You were more open and flirty now, and hungry. You did well holding yourself back from plowing straight through your fish. He fed you bits of his steak in between your own food to take the edge off your drunken appetite. Not that it helped much. Once you’d cleared your own plate he started giving your every other piece off his plate. You held up well until he’d reached the middle of his steak. You grimaced with the next bite, washing the pink beef down with another long drink from your glass. 

“W’as wrong? Don’t like it?” he questioned.

You shook your head. “It’s raw. Not used to how . . .” you stopped to swallow, “. . . spongy it is?”

He chuckled, cutting another slice of meat, enjoying watching the red juices spill out over the white plate. Old habits, he thought. 

“Can’t waste a good piece’a beef now by cookin’ all the flavor out,” he said with a laugh as he bit the chunk of meat off of his fork, teeth bared in a true, wolfish grin. And oh, did he feel like a wolf tonight. 

“Sorry,” you apologized, flustered, followed by another sip. As if you were in danger of wounding his pride. “I’m just used to how my parents cook. They like everything well-done.”

The waitress appeared again before he could respond. 

“Have you two thought about any dessert for tonight?”

He watched you look excitedly back and forth from him to the waitress, almost vibrating in your chair. He took a wild guess that, yes, you did want dessert.

“Depends,” he said sitting back cooly, grin still not faded from his face, “What cha’ got?”

“We have cheesecake: either plain or strawberry, and a triple chocolate cake.”

You let a soft “oh” fall out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. You clasped your hands over your mouth when you realized. Both he and the waitress had a short laugh at your expense.

“Chocolate lover?” she questioned. You nodded eagerly, the bottom of your face still hidden in your hands. “Then you’ll love it.” she said to you before turning to him. “Let me guess: one piece two forks?”

“Sounds perfect.”

He promised to “help” you with the cake once all three towering layers of it arrived, but he mostly busied himself with slowly sorting out the bill. He was content to let you enjoy your treat on your own, but you insisted on repaying his earlier kindness by feeding him a forkful across the table. He gave you credit where it was due, you made it almost all the way on your own. He only had to grab your hand to correct your aim in the last couple inches. He didn’t let you break eye contact then, either. He let you pull away, back to your chair, to blush as he chewed the little bite, wiping a smear of chocolate sauce from the corner of his mouth.

He was clean when the waitress came back with the receipt.

-

Like a true gentleman, he pulled out your chair for you when it was time to leave. He watched you stand up slowly, swaying slightly on your heels as you adjusted your purse and smoothed the back of your dress. That might be a problem. He didn’t need you falling on your face because he got you too drunk on your first nice date. He smoothly threaded his arm around your waist after you’d ambled around your chair. You looked up at him with surprise as he gave your hip a squeeze.

“Doin’ okay, darlin’?” he asked as he slowly lead you toward the door.

You nodded up at him, eyes still wide and almost teary. “Yeah just a little . . . dizzy.” 

“Lean on me if y’ need,” he told you softly as he pushed open the restaurant’s front door for you. 

It had rained while you were inside. The storm had passed, thankfully, but it left the sidewalk wet and the night sky covered in dark clouds. Not a single star peaked through. He felt you wrap your arm around his waist, a shiver racking your frame as you huddled against him.

“Cold?”

You nodded pathetically into his side. He pulled out of your grasp for a moment to shrug off his jacket. It wasn’t much, but it would cover you better than your little dress. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you shivered harder, all alone and cold in the night air. A sick part of him almost liked how weak you looked now. Almost. 

“Here,” he said throwing it over your shoulders. “Better?”

You didn’t answer, only nodded again. You reached out the front to hold his hands as he closed the lapels around you. You breathed out a cloud of warm air as you stepped up to him. He swore that moment spun by for an age, your every action taking longer than the next. Maybe he just wanted to sear your every move into his memory. The way you pressed your hands to his ribs, feeling the small stutter in his usually tempered breaths. How he loosely held your arms, strong fingers urging you to draw further and further forward. You reached up and grabbed his tie, tugging his face gently down. 

He knew what you wanted, but he was going to play gentle until you either begged for it or he broke. Whichever came first. He stopped his face a teasing inch away from yours. You breathed another hot, champagne-sweet breath across his lips. He closed his arms around you, caging you in, running his hands down your spine to the small of your back. Your lips were so glossy in the streetlight, begging to be-

“Phil,” you whined, interrupting his thought, “kiss me, please.”

Well shit, he thought, if you were going to be so polite.

It wasn’t much of kiss, if he was being honest. He let you lead, only leaning down that last, lonely inch, so that you could press a peck to his lips. You pulled away right after, shy and surprised. You just stood there in his arms, waiting for him to do something, assuming the worst. 

“Phil?” you asked nervously, trying to step away. “Did I do something wrong? . . . I’m sorry-”

Wrong? Oh honey. You’d done nothing wrong. Opened the gates and let the predator in, yes, but you know what you’ve done, right? You’ve been walking this path since that night at the bonfire. His sweet little thing, caught in his snare. 

He smirked. All he had wanted was for you to kiss him first. To initiate. To remember everything this way, even in your hazy, drunk memories. It would be easier this way. You were always such a good girl, doing what he needed you to do with just a bit of a push.

He pulled you back into him and slotted his lips over yours before you could react. He squeezed your hip, earning him a gasp, as he worked a line of kisses over your bottom lip. The heavy, oily taste of your lipstick filled his mouth. You groaned into his lips when he caressed your cheek with his other hand. 

“Shit, yeah, baby. I’ll kiss ya,” he groaned, pulling apart just enough to speak before diving forward again.

You were melting against his hands, letting him kiss you as much as he wanted in the middle of downtown. It was a good thing that the rain had driven most of the usual crowd indoors. He thinks you would have rather died than face people on the street after they’d heard your audible whine as he tested your top lip with his teeth a bit too hard. He let you step out of his embrace after that, laughing it off. You were so cute when you were embarrassed; cheeks flushing pink and eyes glassy, lips kiss-bitten. He could just eat you up. 

He pulled you close to him again by your shoulder as he urged you to continue your walk down the sidewalk. You acquiesced, leaning into the side of his chest with a sigh as you fell in stride with him.

“Only a little farther walk t’ the truck,” he said rubbing your shoulder to try and keep you warm. “Then we gotta hurry up to the movie.”

“Okay,” you said quietly, falling into your usual mode of silence and thought for the rest of the walk.

-

Your feet were sore by the time you got to the truck, so he lifted you up into your seat before climbing into his place on the drivers side. It had started raining again, too. He turned on the truck to get the heat rolling. He was buckled in and ready to pull out when he turned to you. He noticed you hadn’t buckled yourself in or turned the vents to face you like you usually did. You just sat, engulfed almost entirely in your seat, quietly twirling your necklace and watching rain hit the windshield.

“Darlin’?” he asked, flipping the middle console back so he could lean over to squeeze your knee.

That broke you out of your spell. You looked at him across the cab with those big eyes, tears about ready to spill over. The necklace sparkled in the overhead light once before you dropped it against your chest. With a wave and a soft “Come ‘ere,” you launch yourself against his side. Once you were back in his arms he petted down your back and held you as close as he could manage with your limbs awkwardly crumpled as they were.

“What’s wrong, sweetpea? Tell me what’s wrong. I’ll fix it. I promise,” he whispered honey-sweet into your hair as you sighed and shook against him. He managed to pull your legs over his lap so that your knees weren’t digging into his kidney and your heels into his leather seats. 

“Won’t be mad?” you piped, almost inaudible from how much you were pushed into his shirt.

“‘course I won’t.” What could he have to be mad about?

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You sighed a long sigh, pulling yourself out of his dress shirt enough to look up at his gentle, smirking face. He followed your eyes when you looked down. Oh. His hand has been stroking from your knee to thigh, stopping at the hem of your dress. He was just trying to calm you. Honestly. He assumed his handsy behavior was bothering you. He was about to pull his hand away when you placed your hand on his.

Oh.

You pulled his hand down your leg until it was at the edge of your dress. The farthest he had ever touched you. 

“Don't wanna go to the movie, Phil,” you whined, running your thumb over his knuckles as his fingers broke under the hem. 

He pinched at the new, sensitive skin you’d allowed him access to. It didn’t stop you. Hell, you continued to push his hand farther under your skirt until, fuck, his hand stroked at what could only be the edge of your panties. You leaned against him and moaned. You were so sensitive it was boiling his brain. 

“Phil, take me home. Please.”

“Sure you don’t want to go?” he joked, having to cover his ragged breathing with a laugh. It didn’t help that he chose to interpret your twisting grip on his forearm as your desire for him to move his fingers that little bit more to the right, barely touching your pussy through your underwear. “Been talking about it all-”

“Yes!” you keened, spine arching and hands balling into his shirt. “Yes, please. Just take me . . .”

“Where?” he asked sternly sliding his hand up the front of your panties, earning a shuddering moan, as he pulled away. He didn’t need to look at his fingers as they took hold of the steering wheel to know you were wet. He kept his eyes on you as he threw the truck in reverse, already rolling back. “Can’t do this here. My house or yours?”

You looked at him silently until a horn honk made the both of you jump. He slammed on the brakes and grabbed the rear view mirror to get a clear look at what was behind them. The little  white truck he had almost backed into screeched out of the parking lot. He chuckled as he tipped the mirror back into position. Too bad for them they had a very noticeable vanity license plate. He would have to make a call about that later.

“Asshole,” he said with a smirk, holding you close as he carefully backed out; pulling onto the dark, wet street. 

[korizzybee]

Hii i have a request for Grover underwood (he is my fav) and the request is basically him with a daughter of apollo. And they are sucha sunshine couple but the reader is definitely dramatic and after years of liking eachother they start to dance and yk kiss and confession. (Also maybe percabeth literally loosing their shit bc they already act like an couple bit they. are. not and mayyybeeeee the reader is mean to everyone but him?) oh and female reader please 😊😊 thank you so much i hope you have a great day❤️❤️❤️

“Ugh, Finally!”

Pairing: Grover Underwood x Black!fem!reader

Synopsis: after years of dancing around each other, they both finally gain the confidence to confess.

Warnings: none, y/n is daughter of Apollo, implied bisexual y/n, this takes place post-HoO

You have been at Camp Half-Blood for seven years now, but never in those seven years have you once gained the confidence to confess your feelings to your long-term crush, Grover Underwood.

It’s been a year since Gaea was defeated and summer was coming to an end. You’d be leaving for college in New Rome with Annabeth and Percy. You’d said your goodbyes to your siblings, a ton of them were crying and begging for you to stay just a while longer.

Will had to scold them for you, making you chuckle. Though, before you leave, Chiron decided to host a party in honor of the first demigods at Camp Half-Blood to be going to college in New Rome.

You were dressed in a long and elegant golden satin, your h/c curls pulled into a tight bun. Will was currently doing your make up, his focused face was just the most adorable thing to you. (Not that you’d ever admit it to him). “And done.” He said, putting everything away in your small make up bag.

“You look so beautiful, Y/N.” Annabeth said, she was getting herself ready in the Apollo Cabin. She wore a long dark red glittery dress and her black hair was done in goddess braids. “Thanks, Annabeth.” You said to your best friend. “Trying to look good for Grover I see.” She teased, making you roll your eyes at the girl.

“Whatever, shut up, I didn’t get all dressed up for him.” You said to her. Though, the thought of him seeing you in something like this made your heart race. “What about you getting all dressed up for Fish-for-Brains?” You teased, you watched her face flush slightly. You laughed at her reaction, shaking your head slightly.

The party was held by the lake, as you and Annabeth arrived there, the scenery left both of you breathless. The nymphs had done an amazing job at decorating and cooking. There were streamers and fairy lights shining soft colors hanging from around the nearby trees, a group of water nymphs were in charge of the music. And you saw Juniper handing out drinks to people.

You saw Percy talking with Connor Stoll. “Look,” you tapped Annabeth on her shoulder. “There’s Percy, let’s go over to him.” You said to the slightly shorter girl, pulling her softly by her arm. Connor noticed the two of you walking over and tapped Percy. As he turned around, the boy’s face went as red as Annabeth’s dress.

You gave Annabeth a smirk, even though they’d been dating for years, Percy still acted like a giddy middle schooler when it came to her. “Annabeth, hey, you uh- you look amazing.” Percy said, trying to find the words that best complimented the girl’s attire. “Thanks Percy, you look nice too.”

You went and stood beside Connor Stoll who gave you an amused smile. “You picked that dress out for her, didn’t you?” He asked you. “I did, Annabeth was never really the type of girl to be into all that glitz and glam. So, when she came to me asking for help, I decided to give it to her. Only, under the condition she’d help me with my senior portfolio.”

You said to the younger boy with a smile, crossing your arms over your chest. He let out a chuckle, “yep, that sounds like something you would do. Anyways, you have a good eye for fashion, you look nice.” He said to you. “Thanks, you do too, I suppose.” You said to him. “You wouldn’t have seen Grover around, have you?” You asked him.

Connor smirked at your question, which made you sigh in annoyance. “Don’t look at me like that, because I know exactly what you’re thinking.” You said to him. “Out of all the people here at camp, I never expected you to fall for someone like Grover. Not judging, but I always imagined you with someone like Clarisse or any Ares kid. Your personalities just match more.”

You pretended to gag. “Ew, what? Clarisse La Rue? There’s no way in hell I’d be caught dating that crazy girl. She’s too obsessed with pleasing her dad and being the best fighter at camp to understand how to love someone. Don’t get me wrong, she’s very attractive and I would date her, just under different circumstances.”

“When you say ‘different circumstances’ do you mean if you weren’t practically in love with Grover?” He asked you with teasing smile, nudging your arm slightly. You rolled your eyes at the shorter boy. “This right here is why you don’t have a girlfriend.” You said to him. “I’ll go find Grover on my own.” You said, walking away. “It’s not like you have a boyfriend or girlfriend either!” Conner Stoll yelled out to you as you widened the distance between you two.

You’d been searching for Grover for an hour now, and no one had seen him around. Sure, parties were never really his thing, but you thought if he wasn’t coming to see you, he’d at least come to see his best friends, Percy and Annabeth. You were starting to give up hope on seeing him at all tonight.

You walked through a secluded part of the forest, softly humming to yourself, now holding your heels in your hands. You’d never been a nature person until Grover, at first you only pretended to be interested in it to have something in common with him. Over time though, you started to genuinely enjoy it yourself, often walking through this part of camp to clear your mind when stressed.

You caught a soft light in the corner of your eyes and decided to walk towards it. Your footsteps quiet as you went to inspect whatever it was. Your eyes widened as you saw Grover sitting on a log, a small lamp beside him. You forgot satyrs tended to have great hearing as Grover turned around to face you. “Y/N?” He said.

“Grover…hey.” You said quietly, walking over and sitting next to him. “Hey.” He said back. He was wearing a dark green suit, his brown skin and dark curly hair glowed softly in the light. ‘So he was at the party, I must’ve just not noticed him then.’ You thought to yourself. “Why are you out here by yourself?” You asked the boy. He smiled at you.

“You know parties have never really been my thing, I mainly came because Percy asked me to.” He said truthfully. “Oh.” You said, a slight pang in your chest. ‘So he didn’t come to see me.’ “I also came to see you too.” He said, looking at you with his usual smile. “Oh.” You said once more, your cheeks slightly burning.

“Sorry, I had too overwhelmed with the setting before I could actually see you, so I came out here to calm down.” He said apologetically. “It’s okay, Grover, I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable there waiting on me anyways.” You told him. “Thanks.” He said. There were a couple beats of silence before Grover broke it.

“Sooo..college huh? And in New Rome as well.” Grover said, a bit awkwardly. “Yep, I’m also going to help Reyna find a new augur for Camp Jupiter since Octavian’s gone now.” You said, playing with your hands in your lap. “I guess while I’m gone, you’ll be bringing more kids into camp, right?” You asked, even though you already knew the answer.

He nodded. “Yea, I wish I could come with you, Percy, and Annabeth though.” You smiled and looked down at your hands. “I wish you could too. I mean, we’ve always just been a little group, the four of us. So now it feels weird not having you there with us.” You told him. “Yea, I feel the same way, it’s going to be weird not stopping you and Percy’s arguments anymore.”

“Y/N/Grover I-“ you both spoke at the same time, turning towards each other. “You can go first.” You both said in unison again. You then sighed in annoyance. “How about I go first?” You offered. Grover nodded in agreement. “We leave tomorrow morning and..I didn’t want to leave without telling you how I feel about you, Grover.” You said softly.

“Grover, I love you, I’ve liked you ever since you helped me with my chores in the strawberry fields. You’re also kindhearted and easy to talk to, I feel like I don’t have to have a constant wall up around you, guarding my feelings.” You told him. You felt his hand touch yours.

“I like you too, Y/N, ever since I saw you stand up to Ares alongside Percy.” He said with a smile. “You’re so much more different than me, yet it feels so right to be with you. Your fiery personality and your passion for being a great fighter are what makes you, you, and I love it. I’m glad to have been by your side these past seven years.” He told you. “I’m sorry I wasn’t with you during the party.”

You turned your head towards the lights in the distance, you still hear the faint music from it. You stood up and brushed off your dress, holding your hand out for him. “Well, we don’t need to be at a big celebration party with all the other campers. We can have one right here, just you and me.” You said as he grabbed your hand and you helped him up.

Grover placed his hands on your waist and you wrapped your arms around his neck. You both swayed slowly to the faint music in the background. “Does this make us boyfriend and girlfriend now?” He asked you. You laughed softly as his question and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Yes, Grover, yes it does.”

Your moment was cut short by a certain black haired girl and blonde boy standing by the trees. “Ugh, finally!” Annabeth said as Percy chuckled at her side, a hand on her shoulder. “Go away you guys!” You yelled at them, Grover laughed, feeling slightly embarrassed.

[olisephart]

Short ezkayn comic loosely inspired by the song "Figure you out" by VOÍLA. God they live rent free in my brain.

Details on the backstory and the comic under the cut <3

Starting pre-relationship, heartsteel is established. Ezreal and Kayn have been heavily flirting (maybe even friends w benefits) for months already, but always danced around actually saying anything. Both are too prideful to make the first step, because it's one thing to flirt or (want to) hook up and a whole other thing to admit you have actual romantic feelings for your friend/band member/prank partner.

After an Incident (whatever it was) that made Ezreal uncomfortably aware that he's In Love, he tries to distance himself from their usual flirtatious banter and starts publicly dating/fooling around with another guy; to distract himself from Kayn, to prove to himself he doesn't need Kayn, and though he wouldn't admit it, to make Kayn jealous.

Predictably, Kayn does get jealous but holds his tongue for a surprisingly long time, since voicing his jealousy risks showing his feelings go deeper than physical. Still, he can only take so many obviously staged pictures of Ezreal Definitely being Super Happy and Not At All Faking it with another guy before he confronts him. He swallows his pride and corners Ez, which is where the comic starts.

I didn't feel like writing dialogue, so here's the gist of what I was envisioning. Kayn confronts Ezreal, telling him to drop the sharade with the other guy. It's Obvious he's not genuine with it, the guy bought him (insert thing that Kayn Knows Ez doesn't like as much as another thing; ice cream flavour, flowers, what have you) which Ez would usually scoff at. Because it's Kayn, he can't help but tease with smth like "Just admit you like me and spare us this performance".

Ezreal, defensive, starts denying everything Kayn said, insisting he's dating the guy for real and bc he likes him, and Kayn's ego is just too big etc etc. Unfortunately for him tho, he's been missing Kayn a whole lot, so having grabbed Kayn's wrist, he can't help himself but caress it with his thumb. He stops himself the moment the realized, but Kayn noticed as well and takes that as the sign he needs that Ez is full of shit.

He pins Ezreal's hand above his head and starts teasing him in earnest. Listing all the little tics he noticed about Ezreal, embarrassing things he likes that no one outside of Heartsteel (or maybe even just Kayn, since he's paying extra close attention to Ezreal) ever gets to see, how easy it is to get him hot and bothered and how cute he is when he's flustered like this. He keeps going until Ezreal, overwhelmed with this barrage of confusing emotions (Kayn is paying attention to him, he remembers what he likes and dislikes, he just confirmed all his teasing are On Purpose to fluster him-), decides to bring it back to familiar ground. He grabs his jacket, pulls him close and tells him to shut up.

If they have hooked up before, Kayn knows what comes after he says "make me" - the kiss is expected but simultaneously way more emotionally charged than ever before, because they have essentially both admitted their feelings. Post comic, they make out/hook up and then confirm it in actual words. They like each other, theyre going to be exclusive (bc I love them being possesive over each other) 

If they haven't hooked up before: Ezreal would usually find a comical way to shut Kayn up once he says "make me" - be that smothering him with a nearby couch pillow, pulling the leash on his stage outfit, etc. Kayn feels the electricity between them but this hasn't happened before. He leans in and says "make me", but he leaves the ball in Ez's court. Once Ez grabs the back of his head to pull him closer, Kayn shifts his other hand to hold onto his waist in turn.

[huramuna]

wine red, tears gold - chapter 5.

king aegon II x baratheon ofc

previous chapter | next

dropping this early cus its my b-day and this is how i celebrated: writing this. so sorry in advance! there is about a 5ish month timeskip in this chapter, so keep that in mind.

word count: 2.2k

please follow & turn on notifs for @huramuna-fics for my fic postings

content: smut, canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn, infidelity, child loss, vomiting

blue - marina & the diamonds • gold - marina and the diamonds

warnings: rough sex w/ biting, hairpulling (non descript), miscarriage / loss of a child, vomiting, suicidal ideation

Warmth. She had been so snugly pressed to Aegon, her body riddled in hickies and bites, just reveling in his warmth. He smelled so nice, too— mayhaps it was just her cloudy, lust-dumb mind, but she felt so… at peace. As if this was where she was meant to be for once. Lyanna, for the first time, didn’t doubt that maybe Aegon did want her, in some proximity or fashion. 

But then it was cold. She was asleep when he left, but her body noticed the change right away. Curling into herself autonomously, she clutched a pillow in the empty space where her husband had left. 

She deluded herself into thinking that this was some sort of turning point, right? He hadn’t gone out to the Silk Street since their first encounter upon her wardrobe seat, had he? Then with their multiple, raucous sessions the night before— 

When she awoke, he was gone. Lyanna tried to convince herself that he rose early. A quick query to one of the keep’s servants quickly brought the truth to fruition; Aegon had left the Keep late at night, towards his places of habit. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

There was a sting of hurt in the pit of her belly— but surely, he could’ve been going to other places. There are many more night activities in King’s Landing than just whoring, right? 

She found her answer later in the day as she was returning to her solar from a luncheon with some courtiers. Aegon was passing her in the corridor— his eyes were red rimmed, hair a mess. He didn’t smell pleasant like the night before, but of cheap booze and even cheaper, strong scented perfumes. He didn’t even go to the effort to hide the prominent bite marks upon his neck. 

Lyanna hadn’t bitten him the night before. 

As they passed in the hall, their eyes connected. Lyanna had gone her entire day giving him the benefit of the doubt, as she imagined that people were too quick to write off Aegon, too quick to judge. The passion and fervor of him the previous night— surely it wasn’t faked? He… he seemed quite impassioned about it all, just as she— she didn’t misremember the look of warmth in his eyes, unless she was blinded at the time with sheer joy, her brain shutting out the things that might’ve seemed wrong.

The look of pure shame and self-loathing in Aegon’s eyes told her everything she needed to know. 

They didn’t say anything to each other and Lyanna nor Aegon stopped their walk, merely slowed down their gaits to observe. The entire moment felt surreal for the Queen as she took in every minute detail, every piece of evidence from his night out. 

Aegon, in turn, zeroed in on her eyes. The darkest of browns, almost black in their hue— it was so easy to get lost in them, like two huge pools of thick, voided ichor. But they weren’t so all encompassingly dark now, as there was a sheen of wetness upon them like a film. Tears rimmed her lash line, threatening to spill over. 

The times that Aegon has made her cry was certainly outweighing the times he’s made her laugh. 

How very typical of him. Just another thing to add to the list of fuck ups in his life, he thought. He couldn’t even bring himself to apologize. He just kept up his pace, even quickening it. 

Off to ruminate in his agony of his own creation. 

— 

Lyanna was stuck in her melancholies— feeling sickly all the while. And still, something within her, brought to life by their one night of passion, wanted Aegon’s attention. She craved it, no less, like a warrior craves the swing of a blade or a whore craves the tinkling of coin. 

So for the next few moons, she scratched the itch within her, bringing Aegon to her bed by any means necessary. More times than not, it was by igniting his blood with jealousy. Other times, it was by intercepting his nightly traipsing and having him come back to her chambers with a few well placed, and vulgar, words. 

What had started as gentle, soft moments between them spiraled into borderline violent grappling, hair pulling and biting from both sides. Aegon would call her horrible names, enunciating each syllable with a smack to her bottom. Lyanna would bite, scratch and mark every part of him, as a way to tell whatever whores he still entertained himself with to back off. She felt like an animal, pronouncing her territory to other predators. 

She knows it isnt healthy for either of them, bordering on self-destructive, but its best to be empty and fucked than empty and alone, right?

One eve, after they had a particularly tumultuous session. Lyanna’s dress was shredded on the ground, along with her small clothes. Her hair was a mess, strewn at angles unnatural from where Aegon had pulled at it by the fistfuls, skin marred. Aegon, on the other hand, was bleeding from his shoulder lightly where he had insisted that Lyanna bite him with all of the force she could muster. She was still hesitant to outright hurt him, even at his request— but she wished to please him.

Lyanna, nude as the day she was born, crawled into bed— she had pushed him off before he started bleeding onto the sheets— and settled under her heavy blanket. She watched as Aegon, nude in turn, muttered to himself and dabbed at his shoulder with a piece of her shredded clothing. Something inside of her felt hollow, looking upon the scene, the massacre they had made of themselves, of their marriage. It made her want to vomit. 

Feeling bile rise in her throat, she streaked from the covers to an empty chamberpot, throwing up the contents of her stomach. It hurt, her whole body convulsing as the very essence of her was ripped from her in an acidic, foul tasting mess. Tears fell down her cheeks from her exertions— and her emotional turmoil.

Aegon, all the while, was unphased. He peered at her momentarily before uncorking a new bottle of wine and proceeding to take a healthy swig from it. “Are you quite done?” he asked, breaking the silence. 

“… I… think so,” she murmured in return, wiping away the snot, tears and saliva from her face. Her body instantly ached, aided by Aegon’s heavy hand upon her bottom just twenty minutes before. “I need… water.” 

“No water. We only have wine— unless you’d like to have a maid come to tend to you? I’m sure she would appreciate the mess you’ve made here.” 

“The mess I’ve made?” she coughed, her eyes widened with disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“You’re the one who begged me to fuck you instead of going to the whorehouse, wasn’t it?” he bit back, his voice laced with a venom. 

“You make me feel like a whore— no, less than a whore. You would fuck a whore without being spurred.” Lyanna squabbled back, her stomach doing flips again. She sank to the floor against one of the walls, her back creaking down against it. Holding the chamberpot against her, she stared up at Aegon. “What… What is so wrong with me, Aegon? What is so wrong with me that I have to beg you to fuck me? Why… why?” she was murmuring frantically now, shaking her head. “Am I that ugly?”

The king turned to her, tugging on a silken robe that he had left there the night before. “You… just aren’t my type, Lyanna.” he whispered in return, looking down into the now half empty wine bottle. “No amount of jealousy, nor filthy things you say to me will change it. I don’t find you attractive, nor do you pull at my heartstrings in any particular way,” he paused, swirling the bottle. His brow creased, as if it pained him to continue to speak. “I’m merely fulfilling my duty.” 

Duty. Duty. Those words stung, sending a wave of pure pain and shame through Lyanna, as if a dozen bees were making their home within her bones. They vibrated against the marrow, calling more bile from her stomach into the chamberpot. Gods, it fucking hurt. She knew what they were doing wasn’t healthy, but it had started somewhere soft, didn’t it? That was all… duty to him. 

She felt increasingly faint, feeling too much all at once. Her breaths were thready, not coming out right and she couldn’t see through the mist of tears blinding her. Somehow, she was able to speak. “So… when you go to the Silk Street…” she sobbed, “What type of woman do you fuck? What is it that I am not?” her voice was tinged with a concoction of despair and poison, her now bloodshot eyes half-lidded. 

Aegon was silent for a while— Lyanna had almost thought that he left— before he let out a sigh, downing the last of the wine. He hissed as the alcohol burned his throat, as if feeling some semblance of the bile that had scalded his wife’s throat in turn. “What type of women?” he echoed, chuckling lowly. “Any woman that isn’t you, Lyanna. It doesn’t matter, they don’t have to beg me, unlike you,” he had a wicked smile on his face and he didn’t look like himself— no, he looked like a caricature, violet eyes wide and wild. “How would the court react if they knew? If they knew that their lovely rabbit queen had to beg her husband, a known whoremonger, for sex? It would have to be the most hilarious thing they’d ever heard, mayhaps I’ll tell it to my next woman at the brothel.” 

She felt numb. A prickling numbness spread through her extremities as she stared down into the bucket of her spew.

It was pathetic, wasn’t it?

She wasn’t exactly sure how long she’d been sitting there for, staring. It felt like she wasn’t really in her own body, as if her life had spiraled into some dark dream.

It must’ve been hours, as when she snapped from her fugue state— Aegon was gone. And she was sitting in a small pool of her own blood, leaking from between her legs. 

—

The look of Lyanna’s face when he had said those terrible things— Aegon would likely never forget. 

It was reminiscent of Helaena’s pale visage for weeks after Jahaerys was slain. Like a white, shrouded specter, flitting through the walls without any sense of purpose or drive. A ghost stuck inside their own body. 

He laid on the pile of pillows in the brothel, some whore latched to his cock, and two more on either side of him. He was nursing his second bottle of wine of the night, the ladies urging him to drink more and more so that he could pass out and they’d go through his pockets. 

Aegon’s addiction to the darker sides of life started as an outlet for pleasure. More wine made his stomach warm, made him jovial. More women than he could count had been on his cock, milking him for all he was worth. Gods, it felt good— to just be an epicenter of hedonism, an apex of debauchery and sin just for the pure thrill and act of it all. 

Things changed, of course. After the war. The things that gave him pleasure before now felt like too much— to a point where it pained him. But he relished the pain in a way to where it became punishment. 

Punishment for everything he’d done, everything he hadn’t done— when he drank, he saw their faces. 

Helaena, Aemond, Daeron, Jaehaerys, Maelor, Rhaenyra, Daemon, Jaecerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Rhaenys, Criston— 

They stared at him blankly, as if expecting something from him, when he had nothing to give. He’s never had anything to give. He was stuck in a living hell— if not for Jaehaera and mayhaps his mother, he would’ve thrown himself from the ramparts like Helaena did. This was his punishment, for all their deaths. 

He couldn’t allow himself to have anything good. And Lyanna… she was good. Good and pure and he was fucking tainting her, pulling her down to his level of disgusting, animalistic debauchery. He had to push her away somehow before it was too late, before she became soulless and as empty as him.

His head was foggy as he pushed the girls off of him. “Get off of me, fuckin’ whores,” he slurred, getting up with wobbly legs, hand planted flat on the wall. He heard a commotion slither through the brothel, until the door flew open. 

‘Twas his grandsire and his loyal Kingsguard hound. Aegon narrowed his gaze. “The fuck do you want?” he spat, leaned against the wall with his softening cock in his hand— the whore had smeared her rouge lipstick all over it. 

“By the Seven,” Otto muttered. “Where is your shame, boy?” 

“It died with the rest of my family, grandsire. I suppose I have you to thank for it.” 

“Me? I can’t— no. There are more pressing matters than your filthy self-loathing.”

“And what could be so pressing? I am quite busy, you know— I’m due for another whore in just five minutes.” 

Otto’s brow furrowed, his face softened. The look on his grandsire’s face scared the hell out of him— he never looked so sorrowful, not since… 

“Jaehaera? Mother? Are they alright?” 

“Yes. They’re alright,” Otto paused. “Your wife. Lyanna. She’s… had a miscarriage. They aren’t sure if she will survive.” 

“My… wife?” 

“They say she was five moons along— the baby came out with wings and scales. ‘Twas a son,” Otto said, “Lyanna… said his name was Aeron. For Aemond and Daeron."

A son?

[eddiessluttywaist]

desiderium

an eddie munson series

AGELESS/BLANK/UNDER 18 BLOGS ARE NOT WELCOME TO INTERACT. PLEASE RESPECT MY RULES AND BOUNDARIES.

summary: eddie’s odd, forgotten childhood friend seeks him out when he needs her more than he realizes.

pairing: bsf!mechanic!bartender!eddie x eccentric!bsf!fem!reader

word count: 7,488 words

content/warnings: eventual smut so MDNI, fluff, swearing, blood (accidental cut), mentions of bullying, low self esteem, anxiety, mentions of embarrassment and shame, mentions of a history of bad relationships, smoking, car trouble (sorry if any of the car stuff isn’t accurate lmao). i think that’s it!

a/n: sorry for taking so long to update! i've been very busy. i hope you enjoy the new chapter! creds to whoever owns and posted those ^ photos! they’re not mine, i just made the collage!

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5

*

“You what?” The man on the other line cackled in Eddie’s ear. “Ro- Robin! No, you gotta come here! Eddie called some chick a ‘good girl’. He totally scared her off, it’s hilarious.”

“Thank you, Harrington, you’re really helping me in my time of need,” Eddie seethed as he laid in bed. He heard some shuffling and then a familiar feminine voice sounded from the telephone.

“‘Good girl’? What is she? A dog?”

Eddie ran his hands over his face, jostling his bangs away from his forehead before suddenly jerking them away in gestures they couldn’t even see as he let out a bitter laugh.

“Why did I even call you two? I’m regretting so many choices today.”

“So, she didn’t like it?” Steve asked as Robin complained about him crowding the phone.

“Go use the one in the living room— no— stop-”

“This is my room. You go use the living room phone.”

“Ugh, you’re breathing on me, dingus!”

Eddie rolled his eyes over the typical bickering, choosing to focus on the question that actually had to do with their conversation.

“Uh — well — she got all freaked out and everything was awkward. When she was leaving, I was going to open the door for her and she thought I was going to hug her— I-I, ugh, it was horrible. So uhh… yeah, I’d say no. She didn’t like it… at… all.”

“You have zero game, man,” Steve chided after a beat of silence that had forced Eddie to sit with his shame.

“And neither do you.” Robin argued, finally waving him out of his own room. “Don’t listen to him, Eddie, he’s an idiot.”

“Thanks, Robin…,” he muttered even if it didn’t make him feel much better.

“You’re an idiot too, just so we’re clear,” she added, and he nodded despite the fact that — once again — she couldn’t even see him. “I can’t believe you called her a good girl.”

“Okay, how many times are we going to repeat it before I blow my brains out?” Eddie deflated with a distressed laugh, clasping his hands together. He heard another line pick up.

“What’d I miss?”

“Eddie wants to die.”

“I do not blame you, man. You know it’s never too late to come here in Indianapolis. Maybe even change your identity,” Steve suggested as he leaned up against the wall by his other phone, which he had nestled between his ear and his shoulder just like Eddie did.

“Yeah, cause I could afford living in the city,” he snickered mostly to himself before sighing as he ran his hands over his face again.

“Who is she anyway?” Robin wondered.

“She’s his weird, secret friend he’s kept from us,” Steve replied in a mutter.

“No, I- she’s not a secret and she’s not weird,” Eddie huffs. “She’s just… she hasn’t been around in a while. She’s a friend from before I moved in with Wayne.”

“Oh… oh,” Robin’s interest piqued again. “So, she’s like… a best-best friend?”

“He totally wants to nail her,” Steve tacked on, and Eddie found himself groaning as he sunk further into his bed, wishing it would swallow him whole.

“I don’t wan — will you quit it? Yes, we were very close.”

“And she just happened to show up out of nowhere. I’m telling you, Ed, she wants you. You should go for it. You haven’t been laid since Chrissy…,” Steve muttered that last comment, and Robin squeezed her eyes shut as she facepalmed.

“Or she could just need a friend…?” Robin countered, her voice weakly lilting upwards as she corrected him. She just hoped the Chrissy comment wouldn’t be enough to make Eddie draw back into himself.

“She knew you when you were kids. I’m sure you were just as weird as a little child Eddie, so I doubt she was all that fazed by you calling her uh… the thing you called her.”

“Maybe…,” Eddie muttered, picking at his nails and biting at them.

He was tired. That tea really did help, even if his exhaustion was put on hold by an absurd amount of embarrassment and anxiety. He could feel himself settling again, his eyelids getting heavier.

“I should go.”

Robin squeezed her eyes shut again and mentally chastised Steve for bringing up Chrissy so carelessly.

“Call us again. Okay, weirdo? To update us?” Robin urged, feeling a surge of protective instinct.

He was never around anymore, never called; and there was always this anxiety in the back of her mind that he wasn’t letting them know if things were getting too hard for him. Neither Steve nor she could figure out when they could check in on him because he never bothered to share his schedule with them. And when they did call it was incredibly rare for him to pick up. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to shut everyone out, but it only made her worry about what was going on with him.

“I don’t wanna bother you guys. I know you’re busy with city life,” Eddie teased with a playful theatricality to his tone, but his voice was soft with that creeping exhaustion.

“Nah, you know you can call whenever,” Steve replied, taking a break from his incessant joking to let some of his sincerity come through. “Plus, I gotta hear more about this secret girl.”

“Not a secret,” Eddie corrected, his eyes closing to soothe his urge to drift off, one brow raising lazily with his words.

“Just call, okay? Or we’ll keep bugging you until you update us,” Robin urged, a sing-song tone coming to her voice.

“Fine,” Eddie snickered, and this time he was actually able to get a goodbye in and sloppily slam his phone back down before knocking out.

There was only crackling now on the line between the two roommates.

“I worry about him,” Robin spoke up suddenly, just loud enough for Steve to catch her concerned voice.

“I know,” Steve sighed, placing the phone back onto the wall. “I do too.”

*

You had no intentions of ignoring Eddie after that night in his trailer, not explicitly anyways. You were still thinking about him constantly, but any pleasant thoughts were immediately invaded by embarrassment. It felt like you were experiencing it all over again and the accompanying swirl to your gut was overwhelming.

The reality of the next couple of Eddie-less days was that you were too engrossed in the aftereffects of that awkward exchange to reach out first, not to mention most of your attention going to your first job here in Hawkins. Despite your nerves, you did surprisingly well on Thursday and Friday night. Enough to get a small smile to bristle Ron’s bearded face and a mutter about maybe needing to get a new name tag ready. You were unbelievably cheery over the praise and acceptance, but you still had one more test to pass: weekend shifts. Those were their busiest, especially Saturday nights. If you make it from 4 o’clock to midnight with no major screw ups then you had the job. He promised.

So yes, you were actively avoiding being the first one to call, but to be fair you were also trying to attend to other aspects of your new life in Hawkins. Your focus was being diverted to getting this job, and spending time with Martha. You were distracted by moments of promising renewal in anticipation of the growing presence of Autumn — despite the crushing embarrassment of the other night.

That didn’t mean you weren’t thinking of him, though. If you weren’t shaking off the recent memory of Wednesday night, then you were indulging in the recent memory of Wednesday night. Him having you over; you making him tea; feeling close to him again as you exchanged stories — laughing together and smiling so hard the muscles in your cheeks hurt a little. The kind of pure smile you only got when you were with Eddie.

You thought about him as you styled your hair in a manner that helped to boost your confidence but wouldn’t get in your way during your shift. You couldn’t believe he had his own place, no matter how “shitty” he said it was. You couldn’t believe he was a tattooed mechanic and had hair. That was the real kicker for you. He didn’t have it shaved so close that he felt like a peach when you patted at the top of his head just to get on his nerves.

He had those long spirals that you wanted to reach across his small kitchen counter and swirl around your finger. Those curls inspired a habit of tilting his head to let his big brown eyes hide under his messy bangs; or sometimes he toyed with his curls to pull a chunk of it in front of his face. It was fascinating to see the way his features and behaviors have adapted to adulthood. Back home he was harassed daily for his “feminine” features, so the fluttery lashes and full lips were nothing new. But now he had grown into his generous mouth and his doe eyes, and so much of his youthful softness had made way for sharp definition — particularly in his jawline and cheekbones. He’s actually grown into the kind of person that intimidated you even if he was just Eddie. He made your palms sweat and had you thinking over every little thing you said. Y’know, things like Loo-ddie. You tried to reassure yourself that you only had nerves because you wanted to have him as a best friend again so badly, but some self-aware part of you knew the signs of an impending crush. Why couldn’t you have some self-control? Why did you have to gush over just about every man who showed you an ounce of kindness?

You wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but you even had brief heart eyes for Ron after seeing how sweet he was with Sandy. It made you yearn for what they had, and you recognized it was more about wanting such a wholesome relationship of your own than wanting someone twice your age, but you still felt ashamed about it. What’s wrong with you? You needed to let bosses stay bosses, and you needed to let best friends stay best friends. You needed Eddie to be a friend, you needed to keep those boundaries in place so you couldn’t ruin everything like always. He’s special, and you can’t just throw yourself at him and offer to give him whatever he wants just so you could feel like his everything — even if it’s only for a few minutes.

You glance at your hands now and fight the urge to chip away at your freshly painted nails to appease your low spirits. You sit with these thoughts for a moment, swallowing moisture back into your throat that felt too tight; then you forced yourself away from the cramped motel bathroom to finish getting ready for your shift. You couldn’t let yourself slip up and distract yourself with your own misery — it was Saturday, and this was your final step towards success. A measly success of a server job at a small-town bar, but you had to put a positive spin on it.

You couldn’t focus on self-loathing, and you couldn’t focus on Eddie.

*

“A new girl?” Eddie groaned as he rolled his sleeves up to the bends of his elbows. “The last time we had a new person I had to watch him every fucking second cause he had no clue what he was doing — shit, he even stole from you, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Ron muttered bitterly, never happy about the reminder that someone had been sneaking cash out from under his nose. “She’s pretty good though. Real sweet and does her job.”

“I dunno… do we really need the help?”

“Kevin is back at school. We really need the help,” Ron chuckled, but felt a pang of sadness right to his chest knowing his youngest was back at college — or even in college in the first place — all the same. “Don’t be so sour. She’s a good kid.”

Eddie grumbled irritably but didn’t pester him any further. It was no use anyways. If Ron set his mind on something, then he wasn’t letting up. Sure, it made sense considering it’s his business, but he’s also stubborn as a bull and that quality had a history of surpassing logic sometimes.

About a quarter to four, Eddie was in the back when the bell rang.

“Well look at you, all nice and early again. You suckin’ up?” he heard Ron asking playfully, and Eddie rolled his eyes.

Great. A suck-up.

Just what he needed. Some goody two-shoes setting a new standard that he wouldn’t meet. He was lucky if he was on time in the first place with how much he slept in on the weekends, but Ron was always cutting him slack. Jus’ a small-town bar he’d say whenever Eddie scrambled into the building with an apology already slipping out at an incoherent pace.

He couldn’t hear the new girl’s reply, assuming it had been a nonverbal one rather than one so delicate and quiet that even Ron barely heard it before the novice made her way to the back.

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve worked together yet and I just… wanted… to… Loogie…?”

At the sound of your voice, Eddie was already turning around from where he was opening the recent delivery. His perception of the moment seemed to have been placed in slow motion and suddenly he was heating up with flashbacks of Wednesday night. Called her a good girl, no joke, called her a good girl his mind droned on repeat just to torture him.

“Wha — hey,” he laughed casually and thankfully avoided choking on his own spit. He swallowed thickly and his brow furrowed as his voice came out painfully hoarse. “You’re the new girl?”

“Guess so. If I do well tonight,” you murmured with a small smile, toying with your hands.

You had painted your fingernails a rich burgundy, and his eyes zeroed in on the small strokes of color before looking up at you again.

“I’m sure you’ll be okay, Ron seems really impressed with you…” Eddie offered with a light laugh after clearing his throat, suddenly feeling sheepish around you again.

“Don’t go tellin’ her that! I don’t want her thinking she doesn’t have to work hard tonight!” Ron shouted from the front, pulling a snicker out of you.

You swiftly place your purse on a hook before continuing the conversation. Even if it wasn’t the end of the world if Ron heard your conversation, you took a few steps closer to Eddie and lowered your voice a touch.

“So… did the tea help at all…?” you ask, risking a mention of Wednesday night. You lifted one sneakered foot up onto your toes and shifted nervously before settling it back down as you waited on his reply.

Eddie’s lips pushed out in thought as he brought his attention back to the delivery of nuts and pretzels (really, he was looking for an excuse to not have to look at you as he thought of that night).

“Oh, uh, yeah. Thanks — really helped,” he offered a partial smile as his eyes flitted over to you before turning down again just a fast.

You press your lips together in a weak smile of your own and nod but fall silent. Instead of giving into your urge to pick at your polish, you run the pads of your fingers over the smooth surface of your nails instead.

“‘m sorry for that hug,” you finally blurt out with an uneasy laugh. “I just- I really thought that was why you were reaching over, and I didn’t want to be rude so-”

Eddie’s eyes widened and finally removed himself from his suddenly oh-so-interesting task.

“No no no, you don’t have to apologize,” he promised as he stretched back to his full height. “I should’ve been offering anyw- ah, shit.”

Eddie hissed as he glanced down at his hand. While replying with a fervent need to reassure you, he had thoughtlessly grabbed at the wrong end of the box cutter and sliced the pad of his thumb.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” you rush over to him, instinctively cradling his hand with your own.

“Just a surface cut. Really.” Eddie chuckled. He really needed to go run it under cool water and bandage it, but he wasn’t ready to separate from you.

“What’s going on back there?” Ron questioned from the bar.

“Eddie cut his finger!” you replied as Eddie insisted “Nothing!” simultaneously.

Ron grumbled on his way to his back room that he had turned into a part kitchen, part break room, part delivery storage room. Surely there was some kind of code being broken there, but who cared? Clearly no one around Hawkins.

He eyed the way you two were situated but didn’t think much of it since you were probably just having a natural reaction to someone getting hurt.

“I swear…” he grumbled under his breath on his way over.

“You need to pay attention before you really hurt yourself one of these days,” Ron muttered, and grabbed Eddie’s wrist far harsher than when you reached out for him. “Aren’t you a mechanic? Don’t you know to watch where your hands are, kid?”

You cringed when he wiped at the spot with a rough napkin that sounded like it might as well have been sandpaper against the cut, then grunted.

“It’s fine. Just a bleeder,” he states with all the confidence of a certified physician and ruggedness of an old trucker before tugging up his jeans further into his partial beer gut and walking back out. “You know where the first aid kit is!”

“More than anyone,” Eddie added with a half grin to compliment his self-deprecation as he tilted his head, breathing out a soft laugh.

“Still accident prone, huh?” you ask with a slight scrunch to your nose and a lift to the corners of your lips, watching him head farther back in the multi-faceted room to the employee bathroom.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” He tilted back out of the room to offer you a cheeky grin, his hair jostling with the motion and then again when he flicked his head to get it out of his face.

“Oh, I dunno… Coulda learned your lesson after face planting into gravel,” you offer with an innocent tone, taking a moment to clock in before sauntering over.

“Well considering that happened several times, you should know better than to assume I’d ever learn,” he whispered playfully, grinning over at you.

“Guess so,” you snort, leaning into the doorframe.

“Had to rough this face up, y’know? Really dedicate myself to becoming a man,” Eddie used a deeper, rougher tone of voice and puffed his chest out as he held a paper towel to his thumb.

“It’s a shame it didn’t work,” you pouted before laughing at the hurt look he donned.

“You wound me, truly,” he moved his good hand to his chest.

“Not as often as you do, apparently,”

“Touché, touché,” he sighed, unclasping the first aid kit and flipping it open. “You’re still a lil shit, y’know that?”

“Can’t help it. Haven’t had anyone to banter with in years,” your head settled against the wood of the doorframe and his own tilted to the side as he regarded you. That smirk of his toyed on his lips as he considered your words.

He’s about to reply — surely with some cheeky remark about you needing him — but Ron was calling before he got the chance.

*

“Make sure you’re wearing gloves today,” Ron muttered to Eddie without lifting his attention from whatever he was writing down.

“You never wear gloves,” Eddie countered with a childish huff. “Only rich-ass bars in the city give a shit about that crap.”

“Yeah, well I ain’t a health hazard,” he snickered, finally raising his gaze to point his pencil at Eddie’s bandaged finger. “Gloves. Now.”

Eddie rolled his eyes but pulled gloves from the box under the countertop anyways. You’re on the other side of the bar, sitting on a stool and a smile pulling at your lips. Elbows on the countertop and chin balancing on your fists, you watch him intently with little giggles sneaking out.

“Don’t encourage him,” Ron pleads gruffly at the sound of you laughing over Eddie making a big show of pulling out the gloves and slipping them onto his hands.

Once he let each glove snap into place at his wrists, Eddie outstretched his arms and displayed his new accessory.

“Eh? Nice, right? Definitely won’t make everything I touch taste like latex,” Eddie nudged his boss who gave him a less than pleased look, but you were sure he was muffling his own amusement.

“Wanna learn how to bartend?” Ron asks you now. “I think there’ll be an opening soon.”

At that, Eddie leans back with a belly laugh, his dimples sinking into his cheeks.

*

You had unfortunately started your shift with the assumption that they had been messing with you when Ron and Sandy warned you about Saturday nights. When you arrived just before 4 o’clock there was nearly no one there besides the occasional regular; then twenty minutes past 5 o’clock came along and you were blasted back to Sunday mornings at the diner. The place was packed full of people all chummy with one another, which was charming until they were several drinks in and decided they knew you just as well.

Not all of them, but enough of them were flirting with you at every opportunity; and you were forced to use your customer service manners to deal with them. So many fake smiles were starting to make your cheeks ache.

Returning to the back with an empty tray, you rub at the muscles in one cheek with your free hand. You almost forgot how much service work meant forcing a pleasant attitude and dealing with aching feet. God, that was killing you more than anything. When you were leaving the motel, your trusty sneakers were like walking on clouds. Now, you were certain you had been stomping around on needles.

The music didn’t exactly help with your shift either while trying to hear requests and reply, especially since you weren’t one to use a loud tone. Ron insisted on live music whenever he could get it and you understood the appeal, but the band playing tonight apparently didn’t know how to have a respectable volume set for performing indoors.

You could handle it and you knew you’d form a routine with the locals that rushed in on the weekends and you’d learn how to cope with deafening musicians — you just needed to adjust to your new job.

What you couldn’t handle, as you were quickly learning, was seeing Eddie bartend. It was such a simple act, and yet it left you slack jawed while trying to stay focused on dishing out the drinks he prepared to the right people.

Something about the gloved hands and the rolled-up sleeves as he moved around the bar with such ease left you in the shadow of a crush looming overhead again. His chain bracelet and that familiar beaded bracelet were stacked on one wrist; he even had a few faded tattoos you caught glimpses of in the dim lighting. Not to mention the moving musculature in his strong forearms as he poured and served and wiped with a sort of sloppy expertise. You noticed there wasn’t a lot of mixing around here just like back home. Just a whole lot of small-town people looking for simple alcohol. The older ones seemed partial to a basic glass of whiskey or beer; and the younger ones all hopped up on the fact that they could finally drink legally were requesting shots.

Eddie had tied his hair back in a low bun with the occasional curl rebelling and framing his face that seemed to only be smiling or thinly veiling irritation whenever a mean drunk bitched about him not pouring enough. Either way it truly was something to behold.

As much as his looks should’ve been a passing thought, considering your place as an old friend, they insisted on lingering. You were still adjusting to knowing him this way and the odd disposition between knowing him like no one else and not knowing him at all continued to present a disorienting mix of feelings. The possibility of such complications never occurred to you when you became dead set on coming here, and you hated that you didn’t see it coming or brace yourself for it. Now you were stumbling through moving here for a childhood best friend and winding up finding a man in his place.

Then, of course, your thoughts circled back to your history with men. Don’t go there, don’t go there.

You let out a small sigh and checked the clock. 11:11. So close. So, so close. Before you knew it, it would be time to leave. Glancing at your notepad, you go over what that guy in the sweat stained sports tee asked for his cheap nachos. Extra jalapeños. He insisted on extra jalapeños and went into way too much detail of how “he’d be paying for it in the morning, but they’re just so damn good.”

“Having fun?” Eddie asked after his plodding jog to the back.

“Oh, you bet. An absolute blast,” you laughed, pouring the molten cheese over the thin tortilla chips. “Whatcha doing here?”

“Break,” Eddie answered simply as he flopped down in a chair in the small corner of the space dedicated to the employees. “Ron and Sandy got the bar for now.”

“Ahh,” you hum, spooning the jalapeños on top of the mountain of ingredients.

“Y’know, you’re pretty good at the whole bartending thing. It’s actually kinda cool,” you admitted, glancing over your shoulder to smile over at him.

“I just pour alcohol for the local drunks, but thanks,” Eddie laughed diffidently over the compliment, sliding his metal lunch box closer to get to his baggie of pretzels.

“Is that your dinner?” You ask now, fighting to keep the conversation alive. You’d take talking about pretzels over a lull in conversation.

“Oh uh--” he glanced down at the bag. “I might make something when I get home if I have enough energy.”

“You better. Or I’ll be forced to come over again. Pretzels aren’t dinner.”

“Oh, I see,” Eddie grinned. “Then you can come over and I can make a fool of myself again.”

“It’s okay, I’ll do it too. It’ll balance everything out,” you offered, placing the hot plate on your tray.

“Oh, well there we go. Long as we’re both fools, then it should be okay,” he agreed with feigned seriousness to your proposal then let his smile curl up his lips again.

“Of course,” you matched his endearing expression. “We’re always fools.”

“Always fools…” he tested aloud while leaning back to teeter the metal foldout chair back and forth.

“I concur, Critter.”

*

“They’re awfully chummy, hm?” Sandy whispered to Ron as she watched you two interact while cleaning up for the night.

“Yeah. I hate it,” Ron grumbled out, scrubbing at a stain. “He better not scare her off. She’s a good waitress.”

“Don’t be like that,” Sandy sighed, nudging her hip into his. “I think it’s sweet. And he’s a good kid, I don’t see him hurting her — let alone enough to cost us an employee.”

“So, we’re definitely keeping her ‘round?”

“Yes, we settled on that this morning — would you quit avoiding the topic?” She urged and Ron groaned as he stretched his back.

“It’s alright, I guess. Jus’ don’t want any drama around here. Too old for it.”

*

“So, I didn’t scare you off?” Eddie asked as you cleaned off tables together.

“Scare me off?” you repeated, glancing over at him. “Why’d you say that?”

Eddie eyed you through his lashes then looked back down at the same spot he’s wiped down probably six times now.

“Well, you brought up coming over again,” he let out a soft chuckle. “So, I’m guessing I wasn’t that much of an idiot on Wednesday?”

“Oh psh — please,” you laughed it off, standing up straighter after swiping the rag over the tabletop one more time. “If anything, I was being stupid.”

“Oh, I wasn’t saying you weren’t being stupid,” Eddie joked with that obnoxiously gorgeous grin, finally separating from that same table he kept cleaning. He sauntered over to you, his amusement and proximity warming you as he looked down at you. “Just that I was also stupid.”

“I’d say you were especially stupid, but I was trying to be nice,” you shot back in a dulcet tone, grinning up at him.

“Be nice?” Eddie repeated with a huff of disbelief, grinning when that earned him a jab to his side. “Gone soft on me, Critter? Not the same girl that’ll throw a remote at my head?”

“I only did that if you were particularly annoying while I was trying to watch TV,” you laughed, nudging his chest to just barely make him stumble back. Not that it discouraged that man who only smiled brighter.

“Well then, I guess I have an excuse for being such an idiot all the time. You really knocked something loose all those times you hit me with that remote.”

“Sure, it was me that knocked something loose,” you teased in a giggle, making your way over to the last couple of tables. Your laughter only builds up at the face he gives you — both playfully hurt and encouraged to get you back.

Within seconds you noticed the way he started to twist up his rag, and you were squealing and rushing away from him. Eddie chased after you and whipped at you with the towel whenever he got the chance, occasionally jamming his hip into a table or a chair with a breathy “Oof.” Amongst your squeaks of empty fear, you were still cackling and tried to get him back with your own towel.

“Children!” Ron suddenly announced, and you two slowed down to a stop — still breathless and giggly. “I’m old and would like to go to sleep. Maybe finish cleaning before flirting?”

Sandy gave him a look that could kill for that, then followed Eddie’s example and whipped at his behind with a rag.

Both of your faces flushed at the accusation, but thankfully weren’t forced to sit with the embarrassment of being called out by Ron. Instead, all your attention went to cackling over Ron’s tired reaction to his wife snapping a towel at his ass.

He looked genuinely angry for a moment, and then he was clearing his throat and wiping the bar cleaner off his hands and twisting up his own towel.

“Nope — no — Ron,” Sandy started with a warning tone, but she was already laughing, slowly backing away.

“Gotta play fair,” Ron pointed out and whipped at her thigh. That was enough to send Sandy squealing and Ron chased after her to the back room while the two of you leaned into your laughter.

You’d do anything for a love like that.

*

“Still not a fan of pretzels for dinner?” Eddie chanced a glance over at you with a lazy, half grin as he toyed with his keys and walked you over to your car.

“Definitely not a fan of pretzels for dinner,” you answered, laughing under your breath and nudging his hip with your own.

“It’s a shame cause y’know,” Eddie yawned dramatically as he stretched out his arms and then flopped into the side of your car. “I’m real tired. If someone doesn’t follow through with their offer, that’s for sure all I’ll be having.”

You tilted your head, feeling that post-customer service ache to your cheeks as you fought the urge to smile at this absolute idiot leaning against your car. His elbow was propped up on the roof, his fist supporting his head and squishing his cheek.

“I don’t know if I have the energy to cook right now,” you sighed, doing your best to match his drama. “But you know what?”

“What, Critter?” He hummed, shoving himself away from the car to move a few stray hairs from your face and in that moment, you might as well have melted into the cracked and sun-bleached pavement. “I’m invested. Do go on.”

“I can buy us fast food,” you whispered to provide a surreptitious air to burgers and fries. Screw it. You’ve been good about eating real food. Maybe it was time to associate these meals with something positive for once. Whatever excused your addiction to excessive oil and salt.

“Ah, much better than pretzels,” he laughed, shoving one of his hands into his jacket pocket. “I’d be honored.”

“Just like old times,” him being closer to you to move some hair out of your face encouraged you to toy with one of the pins on his coat. A soft breeze swirled through the parking lot, and you were both reminded of how stuffy and smoke-filled work had been as you breathed the fresh air in. You caught the scent of a distant bonfire, but it was nothing like the cloud of tobacco back in The Hideout. The chill of the air combined with the musk of a faraway fire spoke of Fall, sweetening your already pleasant mood.

“Remember that time we got large pizzas for both of us on movie night?”

“Yeah,” Eddie let out a soft laugh. “You threw up on the carpet.”

“Yeah, and you got in trouble for using your dad’s credit card,” you add a small giggle of your own, just for your heart to sink at the shift in his expression. You shuffled in your spot.

“Sorry… I probably shouldn’t… I shouldn’t keep bringing him up,” you muttered, dropping your hand away from his W.A.S.P. pin.

“No — no, no it’s okay really,” Eddie was quick to reassure you, but your mood was still steadily spoiling and dragging the pit of your stomach down with it at even a glimpse of him being bothered by you. Upset, angry, annoyed, fed up — whatever it was. You were certainly paying the cost of your penchant for nostalgia, and even the aroma of an early October night couldn’t save you.

“I like talking about when we were kids,” he added in a hushed tone that eased your spiral a touch. You glanced up at him through your lashes. “Really. I do. Makes me feel… ah, I don’t know.”

He admitted that last comment with a huff. It was filtered through amusement over his inability to speak before he rolled his lower lip inward in thought. Both of his hands were shoved in his pockets now and he swayed in his spot while kicking a piece of gravel forward. He finally released his lower lip again which was left with a slight sheen to it now, and he settled on a shrug of defeat. He couldn’t think of what he wanted to say.

You stared at him, this impromptu moment of softness burning through you in a way you weren’t expecting. Just as he couldn’t understand exactly why he enjoyed discussing his childhood as long as it was with you — you couldn’t understand the sudden pang of nausea that came from hanging onto his words and just to drop down over a noncommittal shrug. Your anxiety barreled into you in a sudden flash, leaving you somewhere in between the pain and the comfort of clinging to the past with him.

“Makes me feel cared about, I guess. Especially since we haven’t been friends in a while,” he finally concluded. “You don’t have to remember any of that stuff, but you do… it’s nice.”

“We’re always friends,” you insisted with a small smile, doing your best to not let everything fall apart over that once brief change of expression especially since things were looking up again.

“Yeahhh, you’re alright…,” Eddie murmured. “I guess I’ll keep you.”

“Oh, how generous of you,” you snort, attempting to move him to the side so you can get to your car, just for him to reach out a hand to settle on your upper arm. He gently urged you to turn around as he pushed himself off your car again.

“C’mon, I’ll drive. I don’t trust that thing,” Eddie insisted as he kept a careful hold on your elbow while guiding you towards his van.

“What?” you question, looking back at your lonely car. “I’ve had her forever, she’s perfectly safe… I can’t just leave her here.”

“Your brake pads are shit.”

“What?” you ask again with a slight pout and furrowed brows.

“When you visited me the other day,” he started with a light laugh to buffer his confession. “Your car sounded like it was screaming when you were parking.”

You reached his van that had aged gracefully over the years with a mechanic at its beck and call. Eddie unlocked the passenger side door and held it open for you, but you couldn’t stop looking at your car.

“She’s just tired s’all,” you frown, feeling guilty over abandoning an inanimate object no matter how silly it felt.

“She’s just gonna kill you if you don’t replace your brake pads s’all,” Eddie leaned into you with his mocking whisper. Your sad glance up at him is enough to make his playful expression falter. His heavy and dramatic exhale already pulls a smile back onto your face, knowing he was caving in some way or another.

“I’ll bring ‘er to Thach’s and replace them for you,”

“Thank you, Loogie,” you swooned, and he rolled his eyes over your excessively cooing tone.

You were lucky to have favoritism on your side.

*

“Give it to me straight, doc. Will she make it?”

Eddie glanced over at you with a faux glare.

“How many times are you going to ask me that?”

“I dunno, how many times are you going to squint at me instead of answering?”

“You know I’m doing this for free right? After hours? After already working my second job all night?”

“Ooo, you sound like such an adult,” you squeeze your shoulders up to your ears with a grin, a brown bag stocked with artery-clogging goodness on your lap. He shook his head at you, looking away again to hide his poorly masked amusement. He could say all he wanted about doing this for free, but you could still give him a hard time. He was getting paid whether he wanted it or not. Even if he didn't accept it from you personally, you'd at least leave cash at the front desk and ask the nice receptionist to give it to him.

“Alright, c’mere,” he waved you over eventually. You perked up, moving out of the hard plastic chair in the garage where you left the fast food in your place. “And can you bring that display over? On the table?”

Nodding, you snatched it on your way over to Eddie and kneel beside him.

“Okay so,” he started off with a sigh. Not a great sign.

“Best case scenario, your brake pads look like this,” a greasy index finger points to one of the pads on display before moving to the one next to it. “This is how they’d look with a more moderate amount of wear to them – not great and you'll want to replace them, and then this is how they look when you need to get them replaced ASAP.”

“And this is your brain on drugs,” you chimed in with the theme, before shrinking under the look he gave you.

“Sorry,” you murmured, even though he broke and smiled over your bad joke.

You returned to observing the gradual decline in buffers on the display and shrug a bit.

“Okay, so what about Sherry?”

Eddie groaned as he leaned back to grab the discarded piece of metal and held it up to show you. It looked like a flat, grimy cracker in comparison to the examples on the display.

“They’re practically just the backing plates at this point, I don’t know how you’re not dead,” the piece clinked against the cement floor when he dropped it back down. “How long have they been squealing?”

Eddie’s brow furrowed and he became visibly pained by the way you had to think about it. It wasn’t coming from a patronizing, “how can you be so dumb” kind of place, but rather it stemmed from the anxiety of knowing you were driving around like this.

“I dunno… I noticed a while ago, so I just played my music louder,” you shrugged, and Eddie snorted amidst his distress. He sat up more to lean his back on Sherry. “But then I had to start stomping on the brakes way before I usually would to stop in time.”

“Yeah, that’s generally not a great sign,” he snickered as you started to.

“I’m so sorry, Sherry…” you frowned despite your previous giggling, raising a hand to caress one of her doors. Eddie lifted himself up off the ground with a grunt, heading over to a sink to wash his hands. You crane your neck to follow him, dropping your hand down from your car and start playing with the creeper, rolling it back and forth.

“So, she’ll get some new brake pads and she’ll be as good as new?”

“Well, I don’t want to just replace those, I’ll check out the whole braking system,” Eddie turned to face you completely, wiping the remaining water and suds off his hands. He grabbed the bag you left on the seat and made his way back to you.

“How’d you learn all this stuff?” you asked, thanking him as he handed you your burger before taking a monstrous bite out of his own.

“Uh, my uncle taught me,” he said around his food, sucking a bit of ketchup off the side of his thumb. You noticed the sad glance down to the floor, so you backed off. You didn’t need another moment like earlier when you brought up his dad again.

“I just can’t get over the fact that you’re a grown up…” you murmured to yourself, looking down at your meal. Eddie eyed you as he kept chomping away at his food. The horrid sound that you’ve always despised motivated you to look up at him again, and laughter bloomed from your chest at the sight of the mess around his mouth. His chewing slowed as he blinked his big eyes at you. Gulp.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“You still eat like an obnoxious kid,” you teased, kicking a foot out to nudge him and pull multiple napkins out of the bag for him.

He simply shrugged in response with a cheeky grin, accepting the napkins that he unceremoniously smeared over his lips.

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to be here,” he raised his hands up in defense now, chuckling to himself.

“Yeah, I am…” you murmured, leaning your head back against Sherry as a fond smile formed on your lips while you watched him start to dig through the bag for any stray fries to add to his container. He shoved most of them right into his mouth before glancing at you again.

“What?”

“Nothing… just happy to have my best friend back,” you murmured, and he silently melted at the sincerity. God, did he feel lucky for once.

You take a beat before outstretching your arm to present him with your downturned hand with just your pinky out. Eddie recognized the old gesture and wiped his hand on his pants, despite the napkins at his disposal, before reaching his own hand out. Interlocking pinkies was of course typical of some childish pact which the two of you did plenty of times as kids, but sometimes you sought this out simply for a moment of comfort. It made you feel held and even as kids, Eddie had the emotional maturity to understand how lonely you felt because of your family. So, when you needed someone to hold your pinky, he was there. The only difference was now his pinky was closer to the width of your thumb and nearly swallowed your pinky whole when he wrapped it around yours. Just another adjustment to Eddie being an adult, which left an unlaughed snicker in your chest at the realization, but it comforted you all the same.

And this night in a dingy old garage after a long shift was easily the best night you’d had in years.

*

taglist: @mystars123 @h-ness1944 @ohmeg @milkymil-k @eddiesprincess86 @stopbeingcurious @corrodedcoffincumslut @sidthedollface2 @spoonflix @madaboutjoe @fckyeahlames @corrcdedcoffin @damon-loves-pie @bebe07011 @eponaartemisa @aysheashea

[lemonxdaisybby]

holding hands with ichihan, Zhao, and joongi for the first time?

Hello! This is just the cutest request and I had to drop everything to work on it immediately because my heart needs some fluff 💕

Also I promise I’m gonna post some NSFW requests soon I see you lemon requesters in my inbox, making me feel all old with your fancy lemon emojis 🍋

Ichiban:

Honestly, you would likely have to make the first move and initiate the hand-holding, as this man is a flustered, inexperienced, and nervous wreck when first dating you. Any form of physical touch, and his face is on fire. He would over-plan and overthink everything.

It would maybe occur after a couple of dates. Of course, the two of you wouldn’t have even had your first kiss yet either. Ichi can’t even bring himself to hold your hand, never mind kiss you. It would be a nice, lighthearted date, and maybe you’d just click on that if you want things to get more physical, you might have to be the one to take the first step. Cue you placing your hand in his, and linking your fingers together.

Ichi would try to keep it together, he really would. But his brain is just gonna stutter and momentarily shut down, and once he does sort of pull it together slightly, he would find himself stuttering and stumbling over his words, and he might have to pull his hand away a few times to sneakily wipe it on his trousers, worried that his palms are sweaty.

He’d grow used to it after a while, and the warm feeling of your hand in his would make him feel so soft and fuzzy. He’d definitely be brave enough to initiate hand-holding going forward, now that you’ve made the first step.

Joon-Gi:

Another one where you would likely have to initiate holding hands with him for the first time. Not because he’s shy (although he is a bit), but more so because he’s oblivious, and just wouldn’t think to hold your hand. He finds that he likes it very much though, once you do make the first move.

He’s apparently a big movie buff, so on one of your first few dates, he would decide that a nice date at the cinema would be fun. Due to lack of experience with dating, he likely hadn’t kissed you at that point, or initiated much physical touch at all. It’s not that he’s never done things before, he’s just never properly dated before, so has no idea of what’s expected of him, or how fast or slow he should be moving.

And so, it is now up to you to begin initiating physical touches of affection, starting off with some nice, innocent hand-holding, by reaching over mid-movie and clasping his hand gently in yours.

Honestly, Joon-Gi wouldn’t have that much of a visible reaction, but he will get the feeling of butterflies in his stomach, and in the harsh glow of the cinema screen, you might be able to spot the faintest of blushes on his cheeks, which he would subtly try to hide by angling his face away from yours.

He probably wouldn’t ever really initiate holding your hand going forward, but he’s more than happy for you to latch on to his if you want. He’s not big on PDA, nor is he very romantic or physically affectionate, but a little hand-holding is something he can appreciate.

Zhao:

He would definitely be the one to initiate it, although he really wouldn’t see it as a big deal, and it would happen quite naturally. It would still be sweet, of course, but he wouldn’t feel the need to put much thought in to it, or even think about it at all.

It would probably occur as the two of you are walking down a busy street, or maybe even crossing a road. Zhao would automatically just take hold of your hand, to ensure that you’re safely at his side, and that would be that. He wouldn’t let go, and would just continue to wander round with you, hand-in-hand.

He might joke with you a little, pointing out how small your hand is compared to his own, and he’d have a cheerful little smile on his face. But nothing more would be said. It might take you a while to get used to the feeling of his hand holding your own though, due to the clunkiness of his rings.

He likes to look out for others, and probably does have a bit of a protective streak over you at times, so he would lowkey adore holding hands with you. It would just feel right, and also it would just appease that protective spark in him, knowing that you’re safely at his side with your hand tucked in to his own.

[shadowqueenjude]

I am writing Feytamsand, so I thought I’d post this snippet for @polyacotarweek ! This is a continuation of my AU where when Rhysand dies in ACOWAR, the High Lord magic transfers to Nesta, and Rhysand has to contend with being powerless and titleless. Thanks to @achaotichuman who helped me with ideas for this part <3 (this is for day 1)

Needless to say, Rhysand was still in shock hours later.

Hybern was split into seven pieces. Each court in Prythian would help govern a section of Hybern and ensure everything returned to normal. Rhysand’s face burned with humiliation as Nesta swept past him, majestic in a silver gown, not even a glance at him. Once the center of attention, he now garnered as many looks as a servant. He clenched his fists and resisted the urge to bellow in frustration.

He had lost everything- everything- to that snake, who saw through all his bullshit somehow where even Feyre did not. Then again, Nesta and Elain were the educated ones, weren’t they? It made sense that Nesta would be the cunning one, not Feyre.

How could he endure? How could he live in the Night Court, knowing what he had lost, and to whom? Audacious, vicious Nesta, who Rhysand despised with all his heart and yet couldn’t help but dream of day in and day out. Along with a certain blonde back in Spring. He shut that out. You would think having a mate who had accepted the bond would stop these intrusive thoughts, but no. If anything, they only haunted him further.

It seemed he could never escape him. Even his mate was once his bride.

And his mate was also Nesta’s sister. God, he needed to stop thinking about her. How he wished to punish her for stealing his court. How he wished she’d destroy him instead.

God he wished his brain would shut the fuck up. “It’s not a big deal,” Feyre muttered. His mate-his fierce, beautiful mate- who knew nothing of the monster he was, who he’s somehow convinced to love him as he was, wretched and all. Because she didn’t know him. How evil he was. He’d used her like a toy, then manipulated her into believing it was for her own good. Nesta’s every glare was a reminder of how terrible he was. She made him think. She made him remember.

She drove him crazy.

Feyre, Mor, and Azriel surrounded him, assuring him they loved him no matter what, that he was their High Lord always, blah blah blah.

“Stop lying to me,” Rhysand bellowed. “You do not serve me anymore. I am nothing. You shall serve the new High Lady, should she deem it. I am powerless.”

“But you should-“ Azriel began.

Rhysand snarled at him. “You’re the one she’s least likely to keep around. You’re completely fucking useless.” Azriel rarely showed emotion, but Rhysand could’ve sworn his shadows swirled around him agitatedly. Rhysand didn’t give a shit.

He had just lost everything. He had the right to be angry. His whole life, he had been preparing for this. His whole life, he had been doing this. Maybe he wasn’t the best at his job, but it was all he knew. Now, he was useless in his own court. A waste of space.

Waste. Waste. Waste.

Rhysand shut out the voice. “Let’s see what our new ruler shall do,” he said bitterly.

Nesta walked out of the High Lord meeting some time later, looking radiant and queenly and everything Feyre never was and never would be. And Rhys felt like shit for even thinking it.

Elain and Lucien walked beside her, looking remarkably cozy despite Nesta’s vehement objections.

“Let’s go home,” Nesta said. She didn’t seem as smug as Rhysand had expected. He wished she was, so that he could sneer at her. Don’t act like you’re superior, he wanted to scream. You’re just as bad as me.

Nesta continued to ignore them, staring at Cassian instead. Rhysand tried not to be hurt at Cassian blatantly ignoring him and choosing to beam at Nesta instead. Cassian was his first. And now Nesta was taking him away from him. By the Cauldron, did he hate her.

Returning home was awkward, to say the least. Out of instinct, Rhysand walked towards the throne when Nesta gave him a look promising death, and Rhysand backed off. Right. An ordinary citizen. Rhysand burned with humiliation again. Nesta reclined onto the throne, crossing one leg over the other. She looked like she was born to sit there. Perhaps she was. Perhaps the Mother was just biding her time, letting him rule until Night’s true leader was born and ready to rule.

The thought didn’t sit well with him. Especially since Nesta was the first High Lady chosen in centuries.

“First order of business,” Nesta drawled, surveying the former Inner Circle. “Mor, pack your bags and get out of here. I have no use of you.” Mor glowered at Nesta and stomped out of the room.

“Azriel too. You’re the worst spy I’ve ever seen. Didn’t anyone tell you spies aren’t supposed to be well-known everywhere?” Azriel genuinely looked like he might cry, and Rhysand didn’t know whether to be amused or horrified that a 23 year old formerly human woman was the one reducing him to tears.

“Amren, you have no powers anymore, but because I like you, you can stick around.” Amren grinned and saluted her. “Rhysand, as much as I’d like to chuck you into the Court of Nightmares, you’re my sister’s husband, so I am offering the House of Wind to you and my sister. However, you shall have no place in my court.”

Rhysand grit his teeth. It was charity. Nesta clearly wanted to be around him as little as he wanted to be around her, yet she offered this for her sister’s sake. Might as well spare them both.

“I want nothing from you, and you want nothing from me. I think I shall save both of us some time and say that I’m determined to leave the Night Court.”

Feyre’s head whipped around to his. “Excuse me?” “You’re welcome to stay here, Feyre, if you want to dump your loser husband to whatever court he slithers off to.”

Feyre shook her head. “No…no of course I will go. I suppose he is right, we have no place here anymore.”

Nesta shook her head. “You will always have a place here, sister.”

“Wait. What about me?” Cassian asked, spreading his hands. Nesta surveyed him coolly, and Cassian audibly gulped at her unrelenting focus. “You can stay, I suppose. Make yourself useful as a bodyguard, or… what was your job?”

Cassian cleared his throat. “Commander of the Illyrian army.”

“Yes yes, you can keep doing that. Now, to get a new spymaster…”

Elain delicately cleared her throat. “Yes, you’re right Elain, we’ll talk about that later.”

“That’s not what I meant. I was just…what about Lucien?”

Lucien had been standing there, uncharacteristically silent, but now everyone turned to him. “What? I know Nesta’s keeping me around,” Lucien said. “Oh?” Azriel snapped, whirling back into the room, shadows swirling like a dark tornado. “What makes you so sure?”

Lucien smirked. “I’m indispensable. No one else here has any decent connections with any of the other courts. Yet here I am, with great connections to all.”

“Yes, Azriel, I’m keeping Lucien. Now quit whining and leave quietly, please,” Nesta said tiredly. Azriel angrily wiped away a tear as he walked out.

“Come on, Feyre, let’s get out of here,” Rhysand murmured to Feyre. She nodded, and together they strode out of the courtroom, watching as the Inner Circle that had stood for centuries shattered into pieces.

“Might I ask where you intend on taking us?” Feyre demanded, hands on her hips as she sent a simmering glare his way. When she did that, she looked so much like Nesta. Rhysand shut that out.

“I thought it was obvious. This is one place we are unneeded, but there’s another place where we are. Needed, that is.”

Feyre blinked. “You can’t be talking about-“

“What? His last words to you were, ‘be happy.’ I doubt he’s going to be an ass if you go over there now.”

Feyre shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re actually suggesting this.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Yeah! Stay here!” Feyre threw up her hands. “You’re ridiculous.” She practically ran out of the room.

Rhysand slumped onto his bed. This was really happening. He knew he should just be happy he was alive, but he’d almost rather be dead. The humiliation he had suffered at the hands of the High Lords, especially Beron, was something he wouldn’t soon forget. And his life, his purpose, was gone. Reduced to little more than a commoner. He couldn’t even shapeshift his wings anymore; they were gone. Just another boring High Fae.

The tears came before he could stop them. He was glad Feyre wasn’t here to see. Glad Feyre hadn’t gone into his mind and seen how he wished he hadn’t been brought back. As much as he appreciated Feyre somehow convincing all the other High Lords to bring him back…he had been brought back to nothing.

Nesta came to wish Feyre a good journey. “You will be ok?” Feyre asked her. Nesta rolled her shoulders. Nerves. Rhysand had been so busy feeling sorry for himself that he didn’t even stop to think about how much pressure was on Nesta’s shoulders. “I think so. I have Lucien and Elain to help me. Will need to recruit a few others; your crew was rather incompetent. Sorry,” she added when Feyre winced. “But it’s true. Especially that Mor.” Nesta made a face of disgust. “Entitled blonde bimbo.”

When Nesta left, Feyre turned to Rhysand. “Are you ready for this?” she enquired, tilting her head curiously. “I should be asking you that question,” Rhysand muttered, shame flooding his veins. Nesta’s presence had again brought it up. Feyre snorted. “I’ve made my peace with him. You’re the one who still has a problem with him.”

A sign that in spite of Feyre’s physical transformation, she was still human. Subject to growth and change. Not like the Fae, who could hold grudges for centuries. Not at all like himself, in fact.

He could never forget Tamlin tearing his father to shreds in front of his eyes. Even if he had despised his father. Tamlin’s skin had glowed with a green aura of power, his claws so long and sharp he probably could’ve gutted Rhys with one swipe. Tamlin’s presence was so powerful that Rhysand had frozen in terror. He didn’t even notice the violet aura around himself.

“Leave,” he’d growled. His voice was lower and raspier than it had been before. “Before I kill you too.”

Rhysand had never understood how you could be so terrified yet so drawn to someone at the same time until that moment. He wanted to stare into Tamlin’s eyes forever, burning like freshly forged emeralds as they were. But Rhysand’s magic reacted where his body could not and winnowed him away from that place.

Clearly visceral magic had consequences, because Rhysand landed on the snowy, windy peak of an Illyrian mountain. He grunted as he fought against the wind resistance to pull out the clump of ice that had lodged itself into his hair. He spat out the half melted slushy water that had gone into his mouth when he fell face-flat onto the snow. Yet the cold of the physical atmosphere couldn’t compare to the cold of his heart.

Centuries onward, and Rhysand still didn’t know how to act around Tamlin. They had never gone beyond friendship; yet, Tamlin had once kissed him when he was drunk off faerie wine, which had led to a lot more. The next day, Tamlin had written it off as mild lapse of judgement. That’s what Rhys was to him; a fucking lapse of judgement.

It was why he had used Feyre under the mountain. He knew Tamlin cared for her. He wanted to piss him off, make him jealous. He wanted to remind him of what they could’ve had.

Perhaps they should stay here in Night, after all. Perhaps they-

But no. Rhysand had no use here. Nesta had made it perfectly clear she had no intention of allowing him to make any decisions in this court. And how long would it be until all the faeries who had despised him when he ruled came to kill him? He had no powers to protect himself now. Feyre was strong, but she could not hold off a riot should it come to their door.

No, they were better off in Spring. No riots coming his way there, at least.

Feyre said nothing to him as they entered Spring Court grounds. In better times, wards would keep out any High Lords from other courts from entering without express permission from the High Lord himself. But, he was no High Lord anymore, and Feyre with her magic of all seven courts, could enter any place.

Rhysand stared at the Spring Court manor, which had definitely seen better days. Sighing, he knocked on the door. A servant with bubblegum pink hair with skin resembling chlorophyll opened the door, gasping when she saw who it was.

“High Lord!” she called. “It is the High Lo-er, former High Lord of Night and the Cursebreaker.”

“Leave them to me, Amelia,” a calm voice said. The servant quickly scurried away. A huge hulking figure stood before them not a moment later.

Rhysand was accustomed to Cassian’s enormous body, so Tamlin’s size did not intimidate him…although he wished that simmering glare was aimed at someone else. “Rhysand. Feyre. What are you doing here?”

“We were kicked out of Night,” Rhysand said smoothly. Feyre sent him a look. “Ignore him, Tamlin. Actually, Rhysand decided to reject my sister’s offer of a beautiful home and go for a change in scenery.”

Tamlin snorted. “Of course he did. Ego can’t handle being bested by a human woman, Rhys?” Rhys. A nickname saved for those close to him. Rhysand ignored the pang of his heart. “I know the people will be coming after me now that I am no longer in power, plus I have no use there anymore. It has nothing to do with her.”

“Sure.” Tamlin grabbed Rhysand’s hand and dragged him inside. Feyre yelped in protest. “What are you doing, Tamlin? Leave him alone!” Tamlin ignored her, dragging him by the heels of his shoes. “TAMLIN! I SAID LET HIM GO!” Feyre’s skin lit up as she utilized Beron’s drop of fire, her eyes a stunning azure flame, and Rhysand stared at his mate in awe. “Wow,” he breathed. “No,” was Tamlin’s only response as he flung open the door to a room that showed evidence of once being an art gallery and shoved Rhysand against the walls. Rhysand reigned in his wince at the claws Tamlin pressed against his jugular.

“TAMLIN! I SAID LET. HIM. GO!” Feyre shrieked, stomping up to him. “You burn me, and he dies,” Tamlin said simply. Then he turned to Rhysand and snarled, “What the fuck are you doing here, really? Haven’t you ruined my life enough? I told Feyre to be happy, not that I want her anywhere near me. Especially not when she comes with you.”

Rhysand chuckled as well as he could while Tamlin’s claws still pressed into his throat, his other hand keeping him pinned to the wall. “This position seems awfully familiar,” Rhysand managed to sneer, in spite of the fear thrumming through his body. “It’s like nothing changed, hmm, Tamlin?”

“What do you mean, nothing has changed?” Feyre demanded. “You mean when you used to spar?”

It was Tamlin’s turn to smile. “You never told her?” Rhysand felt his skin go cold. Shit shit shit shit shit-

“Of course not. What a hit to your ego that would’ve been. That I rejected you, yet I fully intended on marrying a human girl, and humans are so far beneath you, right? Funny how you only took an interest in her after you realized I had interest in her. Jealous much, Rhysand?”

His skin burned with humiliation. “Please,” he croaked.

Tamlin’s smile turned cruel, animalistic. “Please what?” he said in a deceptively gentle voice.

“Please don’t make me go back to Night. The people despise me, they’ll kill me within the week.”

“And why not? Since I’m such a monster, and you’ve intruded on my territory, I should deal with you as a High Lord deals with all invaders.”

Those claws still brushed against his skin, threatening to torment him. Rhysand found his breaths evaded him. “Please,” he choked out.

Abruptly, those claws withdrew from him as well as the hand pinning him to the wall, and Rhysand’s knees nearly buckled. Tamlin’s grin widened. “Beg, and I’ll consider not sending you back to Night.” Oh this bastard was throwing his words right back in his face. But he had no choice. Slowly, Rhysand dropped to his knees. Utter humiliation-almost as bad as what he had suffered when Nesta had become High Lady. “Lower,” Tamlin crooned, pointing a finger at the ground. Rhysand’s mind screamed, but he bowed, his hair brushing the floor. “Lower.” Rhysand pressed his forehead to the floor, suddenly thinking death at the hands of the Night Court faeries would be better than this. At least that would be a swift end.

Perhaps Tamlin sensed the despair in his thoughts, for he pulled Rhysand up by his collar and patted his shoulder. “I would never turn away those in need of refuge,” Tamlin said somberly, and he walked away, leaving Feyre and Rhysand alone.

[moongurl95]

7 Times the Charm

GN!MC / May or may not be an alternate version of a long fic I'm working on, but I've hit a writing rut and this prompt by @serpensortiamaxima (this is dedicated to you too OP!) got me churning out this piece until 4AM (now i can sleep with my brain empty! XD) also divider credits here

Summary: It was no secret that the Three Broomsticks can also be considered a social gathering for the latest news, and Sirona Ryan, the owner was at the neck of it. Or, a glimpse of a blooming relationship she'd observed since that Troll Attack in Hogsmeade. (One-shot also posted on AO3)

“Oh, there’s a face I haven’t seen before.” This may be the first time Sirona Ryan’s memory seemed to have failed her as she was confident in remembering her clientele.

“It’s my first time here.” The student had replied almost sheepishly, which explained everything to the bar owner. Of course, she’d heard about the latest talk in the streets of a Hogwarts student having been caught in a dragon attack.

“Welcome! Butterbeers on me.” Sirona assumed that the student was a transferee, after all, she’d never heard of a student starting this late in their Hogwarts education. “Glad to see you two escape injury.” She glanced between the two students with growing worry, having planned to check on the other shopkeepers and residents once the crowd had buzzed down from the recent Troll Attack in Hogsmeade.

“Thanks to this one. Single-handedly took down a Troll!”

“Is that right? Well done.” Of course Sirona couldn’t take the Sallow boy’s claim seriously, not when she was sure of the way the boy had looked admiringly at his new classmate. Before she could decide to play matchmaker however, they were interrupted by some brutes’ arrival.

The second time Sirona next saw the pair was on a relatively calm day in the Three Broomsticks, she considered herself not eavesdropping at all while the two students had quite the passionate discussion over a round of Butterbeer.

“Honestly! Why do you have to trouble yourself on a trip to get something for my sister? Anne wrote she’d be delighted by your very presence alone.”

“Because Sebastian, it’s common courtesy to bring a gift when visiting your friend’s family.”

Now this seemed to be a development. Sirona had to keep herself looking busy as she wiped away at the mugs on the counter, casting a knowing glance by the corner table to quickly spy the flustered look on the Sallow boy’s face.

Sirona could only hope to Merlin that his ‘friend’ fancied him the way he seemed to.

In exchange for asking her assistance on where to find her friend, Lodgok, Sirona in turn thought to request the new student’s help in retrieving her box of letters. Though she never would have predicted they’d also come as a pair this third time around.

“I’m not letting you go alone. And for Merlin’s sake, why a mine of all places? Do you happen to know what sort of creatures could possibly live there??”

Sirona could only watch in amusement as the Sallow boy was being pushed out by his classmate in an attempt to shush him, “Alright, alright – I’ll tell you all about it on the way. Just get going so we can at least finish this while there’s still sun out.”

The door to the Three Broomsticks had shut after their departure so Sirona could only guess how the rest of their day would go. One thing was for sure though, if she’d initially thought the Sallow boy only fancied his new friend before, then now Sirona was absolutely certain the boy was now smitten.

Maybe there was good reason to owl Mirabel after all, nothing better than an entertaining chat about young love over tea.

The next time Sirona served Butterbeer to the new student at the counter, she was half expecting them to be with a familiar face. Instead, they sat alone, looking quite under the weather as they seemed to stare unseeing into the tankard, Sirona was just about ready to lend a listening ear after she’d served all the other customers’ orders when the student had stood up just as a familiar Slytherin entered the premises.

Sirona was quick to notice the two of them weren’t on speaking terms as they passed by each other – the Sallow boy taking the stool beside where his friend just left. She chose to quietly serve him his share of Butterbeer before she continued to keep busy.

“Sirona, would you apologize if you said something… true but ended up sounding… mean?”

So that was how it was… “Well dear, first of all, it’s not what you said, but how you made them feel. So yes, an apology should be expected.”

“But… how?”

Sirona raised an eyebrow at him as if to say the answer should be obvious enough, but ended up sighing in exasperation as the boy looked pitifully at a lost, “If you aren’t ready to tell them personally, then a letter might suffice, and don’t make it just a simple apology either – at least, offer to take them somewhere you’d think would be meaningful to them.”

“A letter! That’s just it, of course!” Sirona watched as the boy waved his hand in thanks as he rushed out the doors, she hoped everything would turn up for the better the next time she saw those two together.

It didn’t however, for just days before the 5th, Sirona herself had received an unmarked letter notifying her of Lodgok’s passing – his gentle soul did not deserve the fate he was dealt with by his brother’s hands. Yet also here in her supposedly lively pub, sat another lost soul who she dearly tried to keep from straying to the Hog’s Head by keeping the Sallow boy’s tankard refilled with Butterbeer.

She’d heard he just lost his uncle and that the Sallow girl also informed him late, the poor twins were now left all alone.

And just when Sirona felt the boy slipping away, from the doors came in a face who she hoped would be successful in reeling Sallow from his darkest thoughts.

“Sebastian!”

Sirona was glad to see the boy encased in a hug, he dearly looked like he needed one…

“You’re safe now. I promise, I wouldn’t let them take you away.”

It may have well been a secret language only the two students shared with each other, but Sirona was nonetheless relieved to see the boy’s shoulders relax, the undeniable soft sob that escaped him was a sound that would forever tug at her heart.

And it seemed that heart wrenching sob echoed around the wooden panels of her establishment as the once lively pub was filled with students of varying years, all of which ranged from sniffling for their parents to a quiet uncertainty that loomed over the older ones.

Hogwarts was under attack, and despite how Sirona herself could not believe such a situation would even come about, the evacuated students who took shelter in the Three Broomsticks were enough to leave her unsettled for what was to come.

“Sirona! Are they here? Did they at least stop by here?” She could only shake her head in response, clearly seeing the Sallow boy was distraught.

“Sebastian! We have to settle ourselves and wait for Black’s announcement –“

“They could still be there, Ominis!” His next words were barely audible but somehow Sirona managed to catch a hint of it, “What if they’re fighting for their lives – alone? Against a Goblin Rebellion!”

“Attention, students!” Black did make an announcement right after that, clearing his throat as if today was a normal occurrence, “I am proud to announce that my esteemed faculty has handled the – uhm… rebellion. Yes, the Goblin rebellion – wait, what was that?”

Everyone seemed to hold their breath as a House Elf seemed to whisper the latest news to his master, who gasped out as if he was scandalized, “A casualty you say???”

Sirona felt her heart drop at the sudden news, she could only watch as Sebastian Sallow all but rushed out of the doors, fearing for the worst.

Fear melted like snow from a season past, and while Spring came a bit too late for those who grieved, the flowers still bloomed.

The Three Broomsticks was once again abuzz with an energy of celebration and nostalgia – students crowded with relief at having survived their O.W.L.s and others were busy planning their summer ahead – two of which Sirona couldn’t help but approach, “Butterbeers on me, to the Hero of Hogwarts.” She’d winked before leaving the pair in their usual spot by the counter, not really meaning to overhear…

“So… I heard Fig left you a place in his will, back to London it is for you then?”

“Yes… and Feldcroft?”

“Can’t say I relish the thought of spending summer by myself, but I have a way to keep busy by doing some odd errands here and there, I suppose.”

“What would you say to a ticket to London?”

“What..?”

“I was only really planning to spend a few weeks there, fix some things that need to be done and well… spend some time in Feldcroft with you… if you’ll have me?”

“Of course! I – but why even take me to London – not that I’m complaining but –“

“Because I care, Sebastian. I – care about you… very much.”

Sirona couldn’t keep herself from spying a glance then, very happy to see the pair both sporting flustered faces. It may have taken a while, but there wasn’t a perfect time than any to start anew.

[vagabond-umlaut]

i wish, i wish, i so fkn wish: the walls were deaf

Chapter 3 of functio laesa Gojo x Fem!Reader; Geto & Reader [platonic]; Canon Divergent AU; Isekai. Fluff & Angst & Drama & Humor; Reincarnation; Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies; Incredibly Self-Indulgent; Eventual Happy Ending; Eventual Friendships & Romance.

This was supposed to be the first part of a much longer chapter, but eh. Blame my exams and my impatience, but please not me, for the early post. ^_^

Chapter warnings: None!

Of the many things to call your new life, you never once thought you might call it boring.

Yet here you are. Three weeks since you were released from the hospital. Following a maid down an annoyingly long corridor. Trying, but not really, to stifle the noisy yawns leaving you at regular intervals. Terribly weary and sleepy like the one currently threatening to erupt from your mouth; except it never does, courtesy of the sudden stop the woman reaches outside a room, eyes darting from the closed fusuma doors to you before dropping to her feet. Appearing so very timid and uneasy.

You wonder if you must roll your eyes in exasperation or simply offer her a kind smile... You decide to do neither. Sliding the doors open, you walk in. Sighing only when they are shut quietly behind. Geto lifts a brow, evidently curious. "You're thirty minutes late. Everything's fine, I hope?"

Does he really hope so?

Maybe. Maybe not. But you choose not to comment on it.

The lavishly furnished living quarters, the banquet-esque meals and snacks, the freedom to move as you please within the mansion, the strained yet incredibly polite behaviour from everyone in his 'family'— you know the man cares for you enough to keep his word and ensure your well-being and dignity in this foreign place. Yet, yet, yet... you know this man to be no one but Geto Suguru, so... Yeah. You don't think you can ever be too sure about him.

"Miss?" Geto calls, pushing your speeding thoughts into a still, none too gently as he presses, "Did something happen?"

"No, not really," You reply quickly, hurried if not by the gravity in his words then certainly by that on his features, "It is just that one maid and her stupid fear of me is all. I wish I could somehow make myself look less scary to her, but more often than not, I just end up getting irritated and dismiss her before saying or doing anything."

Sighing once more, you move from near the door to sit on the zabuton. And frown at the smiling man across. Trying your best to shove a rapidly increasing annoyance behind a mask of confusion. "Did I unknowingly crack a joke, Geto-san?"

"Ah, no, you didn't," He answers, shaking his head. The smile on his face grows into a grin, though. "I was just wondering if the maid ever listened in on any of our little discussions... That might explain her strange fear of you, you never quite know."

This reply mustn't tick you off, no. It's possible, you never quite knowing. No one ever quite knows everything. And that's perfectly okay... Still, you find yourself narrowing your eyes slightly and letting go of the lightest hint of a scoff. "Yeah, sure, you might be right," You shoot back the next instant, resting an elbow on the chabudai and assuming a casual smile, "But I don't think anyone would be scared that stiff by overhearing those BORING ASS discussions– no, interviews you took of me," You correct, letting your smile grow a cheeky sting, "Regarding what not: my personal life, my family and friends, my school, my college, my hunt for part-time work–"

"Besides the fact of you being from a world where we're nothing more than fictional characters, yes?"

You fall silent. First by the way Geto interrupts you, yet again, with his smooth friendly smile. Then by the words he utters, taking a beat to register themselves in your brain— then two more to open the gates for panic to rush into that poor overworked organ of yours. You open and close your mouth once, then twice, before eventually sputtering, "But, but, I never meant to spill that fact! And that was the only thing I spoilt! Accidentally, that too!! It was an honest mistake, plus I was slightly tipsy from the sake, and, and–"

"I did not say that to blame you," The man says, no wonder in an effort to look kind, folding the newspaper neatly and placing it on the table. "I merely stated it as a possibility. One which might have been the reality, given the way you were declaring it for everyone in a ten-mile radius to hear," He finishes with a laugh, probably intended to cheer you up but producing the exact opposite results...

Something claws at the back of your eyes.

Rubbing them roughly, you mumble, "But it was an honest mistake, I swear. And, and–" You drag your eyes upwards from the floor to find his gaze trained on you, carrying a sliver of worry. The clawing sensation worsens behind your eyes, travelling to your throat now. You clench your fists to hide the waver in your voice.

"In case she did hear it, it would mean I'm in danger, right? 'Cause that's some pretty weird and sensitive info. And if people happen to get wind of it... Is my safety compromised here, Geto-san?" You finally give voice to the query tormenting your mind, squeezing every drop of solemnity you have into it and your expression. Totally refusing to reveal the shakiness you're feeling in every molecule of your body right now.

Geto watches you for some time, quiet and thinking... then suddenly stands up. And says, face set in a genial smile, "You wouldn't be too opposed to a bit of training, would you?"

For the first time in forever, you don't feel the need to analyse the words spoken to you. Nor the need to rehearse your words before speaking them out loud. Rising from the floor as well, you send the man a small, but genuine grin.

"Finally, you're talking business, Geto-san."

The maid never heard anything from their conversations. She is simply scared of the Reader's resting bitch face. [Reader doesn't know she has an RBF, though. To her, her resting face looks pretty cute (and sort of indifferent).]

Divider by @benkeibear. Header from Pinterest. I don't own the characters used here.

[master-sass-blast]

Resurgence.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five: Chapter One, Part Five: Chapter Two, Part Five: Chapter Three, Part Six: Chapter One, Part Six: Chapter Two, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen

Summary: You grin when you step off the elevator and see Lin waiting down the hall, in the doorway of her apartment.

She smirks when she sees you, then smiles faintly when you jog down the hall to greet her. “Someone’s eager.”

“What, you didn’t miss me?”

She hums into your kiss, one strong arm banding around your waist. “Well,” she murmurs against your lips, “maybe just a little.”

You giggle, then let her usher you inside as she kicks the door shut behind you both.

-

AKA you and Lin meet up for an evening to blow off steam. Unfortunately, things don't go as planned.

Pairing(s): Lin Beifong x Reader.

Rating: M for sexual content, panic attacks, PTSD symptomatology, vomiting, and arguing.

Word count: 5.9k.

Author's Note: Me? Posting more than once a year? Surely not.

In other news, my CFS/other body and brain shit is still overwhelming. It basically took dragging myself through editing to be able to post this latest round of fics (for those of you who don't check out my other works, no worries, but I like to post in little caches so that everything is updated mostly together). I'm not trying to vie for pity; I'm really fucking proud of myself for pushing through and being able to post. I had an unofficial goal of wanting to post more fics before April was over (because April is my birth month), and I did it! I am that bitch!

Thank you all for your patience -and all the comments! They really kept me going when the grind of editing was starting to wear me down.

Happy Reading!

P.S. Shout out to the commenter who pointed out how guilty Lin must feel for not saying anything about the locks. I hadn't even thought of that.

Wake up. Stretch. Get ready for work. Catch the 8:30 morning tram.

Get to work. Clock in. Review client roster for the day. Confer with reception Start off with your first patient for the day.

Clock out for lunch. Eat lunch. Talk to coworkers. Take a short walk during break.

Clock back in for the afternoon. Work with more patients. Confer with an assistant on upcoming scheduled appointments. Take your afternoon break. Drink some tea.

Wrap up your last scheduled appointment. Update client progress charts. Tidy work space. Clock out.

Catch 5:45 evening tram. Stop by the market to pick up food for dinner. Go back home. Make dinner. Do chores and general “life maintenance.” Try to relax. Get ready for bed. Go to sleep.

And on, and on, and on, and on…

You like your job. You love the field of work you’ve picked. Carrying on your grandmother’s legacy –the tradition of the Northern Water Tribe’s healing work–gives you reason to hold your head high each morning.

You have purpose. Passion. You help people.

Maybe you’re a workaholic in denial. Or maybe it’s the fault of your mad idea to also work at Yue General as a trauma recovery specialist and on-call surgical assistant. Whatever the case, at least once a year, you hit a point where the daily grind of your life starts drilling through your head and draining your will to live.

In years past, you’d usually take a few days off, after about the fifth week of dragging yourself through the motions. You’d promise to “refresh” your life –clean up your apartment, take care of responsibilities left to the side in the wake of your waning motivation–then spend your time off eating your weight in take out and napping on your couch.

Well. It works. Each year, you’re able to return to work after a few days living as a shut-in hedonist with renewed joy and drive.

This year, however…

You grin when you step off the elevator and see Lin waiting down the hall, in the doorway of her apartment.

She smirks when she sees you, then smiles faintly when you jog down the hall to greet her. “Someone’s eager.”

“What,” you say, somewhat winded, as you slow to a stop in front of her. You wind your arms around her neck and curl your fingers into her curly, short hair. “You didn’t miss me?”

She hums into your kiss, one strong arm banding around your waist. “Well,” she murmurs against your lips, “maybe just a little.”

You giggle, then let her usher you inside as she kicks the door shut behind you both.

…

The second the deadbolt slides into place, the weight of your daily grind melts away.

Technically, the second you got a phone call from your darling girlfriend, and thus received the invitation to come over for an evening, a lot of the drudgery bearing down on you had abated. But you’d still waited, balancing electric anticipation, looming over your head as you counted down the days, then the hours, then the minutes…

You moan into Lin’s mouth as she grabs your ass with both hands.

Bliss.

You’ve always hated waiting for what you want –for anything, really.

Lin shoves you against the nearest wall. She growls when you squeeze her ass harder than necessary, then grabs your hands. “Behave.”

“No.” You take the opportunity to nip at her lower lip –which makes her gasp gloriously–then utilize her shock to fight her grip. “I–”

Lin all but slams your hands against the wall, over your head. She brushes her lips along your jawline –which makes you tremble–then murmurs huskily in your ear. “Enough. Be patient.”

“Patient?” you sputter. “I’ve been patient the whole damn week–”

“I called you only three days ago.”

“It felt like a week!” You whimper when Lin nips at the side of your neck. Feigning submission, you tip your head back and melt against her –until she loosens her grip on your wrists.

“You little–” Lin catches your hand halfway on its journey up her shirt with one hand, then grabs your face with the other. She forces you to look her in the eye and glowers down at you. “What did I just tell you?”

“You called me three days ago.” A cheeky, self-satisfied grin stretches across your face when she growls at you. You smile up at her, the picture of innocence, then use her moment of distraction to jam your thigh between her legs.

Lin lets out a choked gasp of your name and stumbles against you.

“Aw, baby, did you miss me?” you purr. “You could’ve called me so –FUCK!”

In one fluid motion, Lin tosses you over her shoulder and marches down the hall, towards her bedroom.

A short grunt escapes you when she tosses you on her bed, and then you squeal when she yanks you over her lap. In short order, your pants are yanked down around your knees. You mock-glare at her over your shoulder when she pulls roughly on your underwear. “Don’t rip these! I like them!”

Lin grabs a fistful of your hair and pushes your head back down against the bed. “Shut up.”

Blissful pain shoots across your scalp. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you moan into her bedspread.

(Regardless, she heeds your demand and doesn’t ruin your underwear.)

Your underwear follow the trajectory of your pants in short order. Anticipation and arousal pulse through your cunt, prompting you to squirm atop Lin’s lap.

She pins you down by barring one strong, unyielding arm across the small of your back. Her free hand gently smooths over the swell of your bare ass –almost worshipful, in contrast to her ire with your bratting. “Last chance. Behave.”

You can’t resist. “Or what?”

Her hand cracks down against your skin.

You yelp –then whimper when she kneads your asscheek, drawing out the underlying ache. “Lin–”

“Be. Good.” She leans over your back to growl in your ear. “Or I won’t let you cum tonight.”

…Come on. She practically set that up on a silver platter for you.

“What makes you think you can make me cum to begin with?”

SMACK!

A delighted sob rips out of your throat. You writhe –well, as much as you can, anyway, since Lin’s always bound to win any contest of strength between the two of you–then moan when she spanks you one, two, three more times. Stars burst behind your eyelids, dazzling and transcendent as all coherent thought leaks out your brain through your dripping cunt. “Fucking spirits–” You groan, low and ragged, when Lin’s hand cracks down against your ass for a fourth time. “Oh shit!”

She keeps spanking you in irregular intervals, until your ass feels hot and you’re a whimpering, slick mess. Lin brushes her fingers against your labia, then pulls away when your hips push against her fingertips. “What? Nothing smart to say now?”

And you don’t. The ability to speak has since left your brain, drowned out by arousal, and endorphins, and the feeling of your girlfriend’s hand against your throbbing skin. So, in lieu of saying what’s on your mind, you opt for a physical demonstration.

“You little fucking brat–”

Or, well, you try to.

You manage to twist your arm and get half a hand on Lin’s chest –her beautiful, soft chest that you would never take your hands off, if you had things your way–before the bottom drawer of her nightstand flies open and a familiar glint of silver whizzes past your head.

Your stomach lurches, akin to airsickness, when the first metal cuff closes around your wrist.

“You never listen, never learn–”

It’s like you’ve toppled into the Northern Ocean in the midst of winter. Every muscle in your body seizes, practically frozen solid. You’re sinking, slipping beneath the surface as La drags you into their depths, theirs forevermore.

“–okay? Talk to me–”

You can’t breathe right. There’s a burlap bag over your head. You’re tied to a chair in a dank basement, there’s a bag over your head, and you’re going to die–

“Breathe.” Lin undoes the cuffs with her metalbending, then tosses them aside. She lifts you into her arms, turning you so that you’re sitting in her lap. “What’s wrong? Did I–”

“Don’t leave me again!” A broken sob tears from your throat. You throw your arms around her, clutching her close as you bury your face into her neck. Shudders wrack your body as you cry louder. “Don’t –don’t leave me–”

“Okay! Okay.” Lin cups the back of your head with one hand. “I won’t leave you. Just breathe for me, alright?”

You’re trying. But it’s like you’ve been punched in the gut. You can’t catch your breath, can’t get your diaphragm to open up properly.

“What does she taste like?”

The back of your throat burns. Your mouth tastes like acrid metal.

“I want you to tell me. What does she taste like when you use your tongue on her?”

Clammy sweat beads along your forehead.

“I guess I’ll have to find out for myself.”

You shove yourself to your feet, then clap one hand over your mouth when you retch.

Lin’s reflexes succeed where yours fail. When you double over, she grabs you by the shoulders and rushes you to the bathroom.

The first heave makes your eyes water and burn. You cough, stomach roiling as your whole body rolls. Putrid bile spews into the toilet basin on the second heave, burning your throat on the way out. You sob when you can breathe again, falling to your knees on the hard, cold tiles of Lin’s bathroom floor.

Lin’s hand is strong, yet gentle on your hair. She quickly tucks a few stray strands away from your face. “Easy. Just let it happen.”

Like I have any control here. Panting, you clutch the rim of the toilet bowl. “I–” You retch, then curl over the toilet again.

…

Things go fuzzy. Once your stomach is empty, you collapse against the side of Lin’s bathtub. You’re gasping, clammy and trembling as you try to suck down enough air to stop the feeling of drowning.

A cool glass of water is pressed into your hands. You take a small sip, rinse your mouth, then spit into the toilet bowl before slumping down again.

At some point, you wind up in Lin’s bed, tucked carefully under the covers. Your knees and hips ache from the harsh, unforgiving tile floor. Still shaking, you wince as you curl up on your side. Short, shallow breaths puff past your lips. I’m okay. It’s okay. Everything is okay. You’re safe, Lin’s here–

Except she’s not.

You bolt upright, terror coursing through your veins. The bathroom’s empty, there’s no light peeking out beneath the door to her home office, and the kitchen is silent. Your stomach drops into your feet, and you lunge out of bed. “Lin?”

“What’s wrong?” Her feet hit the floor in her living room, and then she appears at the end of the hallway, expression pinched from concern. “Are you–” She stumbles back a few steps when you careen into her. “What the –hey!”

You lock your arms around her waist and bury your face in her neck. Your pulse pounds in your ears, racing and erratic. “You left me again!”

“I–” Lin’s hands grip your shoulders tightly. “I stayed with you while–”

“Not then! Earlier! You left me!”

Lin tightens her hold on your shoulders, then forces you back so she can see your face. “I don’t know what we’re talking about!”

You lock your jaw to keep yourself from rambling and gibbering like an unhinged loon. Throat tight with fear and anguish, you force yourself to breathe as deeply as you can. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Bile roils in your empty stomach; you swallow hard, then pull away from her. “You left me. After the warehouse. After Kim.”

Lin goes perfectly still. Her wide, green eyes lock onto your face, then quickly focus on the floor instead, before finally drifting to the empty kitchen. Her scarred cheek twitches minutely. “I don’t understand what that has to do with right now.”

“I’m trying,” you spit out between clenched teeth. Frustrated –with her, with the situation, with yourself–you close your eyes and scrub at your face with your hands. “I’m not –you aren’t –I don’t want to–”

“Breathe.”

You do as Lin says, relaxing minutely when her hand brushes against your upper arm. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Use the diaphragm and abdominal muscles to control things. Deep inhale, even slower exhale.

Once you’re visibly calmer, Lin speaks again. “Why did you panic when I cuffed you?”

“I…” You swallow hard, then shrug small and sad. “I flashed back to –to the warehouse fight.” A pang of anxiety makes your voice crack. “When Kim had me tied to a chair in the basement.”

“Shit.” Lin rakes one hand through her short, wavy gray hair. “I’m sorry, I should have thought–”

“Of nothing,” you cut her off, suddenly weary.

“I should have checked in before restraining you–”

“And I would have said ‘go for it.’” You level her with a firm stare. “I didn’t know it was going to happen, either. It just… came out of nowhere.” The anxiousness crests higher, and you compensate by stepping into Lin’s space and wrapping your arms around her waist. You bury your face into the crook of her neck. “Thanks for helping me when I freaked out.”

“Of course,” Lin says as she wraps both arms around your shoulders. “What, like I was going to leave you like that?”

“I know, I know,” you reply automatically.

She left you after the warehouse.

It’s a poisonous, traitorous thought. Cold, nauseating ire roils in your gut. It turns hot as it swirls up your spine, until it breaks over your head in a tidal wave of rage and indignance.

It’s not fair. You and Lin have talked about the whole Kim aftermath fiasco. It’s been put to bed.

Has it? You chew on your lower lip as your mind turns the issue over. If you’re still upset about it, has it really been laid to rest?

How many times have you lectured your patients, after all? Some small injuries or aches, if left unattended, can morph into much bigger problems.

The tell-tale sensation snaps back –almost like vertigo, your head spins as the room suddenly feels miniscule around you. You can feel the walls of Lin’s apartment closing in around you, feel your scalp pressing against the plastered ceiling, even though your girlfriend is still holding you and your head is still comfortably pillowed against her chest. The urge to curl in on yourself, to find somewhere dark and small to hide claws up your legs and back, snarling and demanding your immediate submission. Breathe. Your eyes slip shut, and you press your forehead against your girlfriend’s shoulder. I deserve to exist. My feelings deserve to exist. Teeth clenched against a fresh wave of nausea, you breathe through anger and frustration and pain. Ask, don’t accuse. You swallow around the lump in your throat. “Why –why did you leave me after I got kidnapped?”

Unsurprisingly, Lin freezes again.

You can hear her swallow nervously. When she doesn’t speak, you decide to keep talking. “I needed you. I–I was so fucking scared, and hurt–” Your voice cracks as hot, stinging tears well up behind your closed eyelids. You press the heels of your hands against your eyes, trembling all over as you try to compose yourself. “Sorry. Just –give me a second.”

Lin says nothing, simply waiting in patient silence.

Outside, down in the street below, a Satomobile door thumps shut. The engine revs, then settles into a steady purr before fading away. The familiar rattle of the city tram breaks through the autumnal winds that rip off the harbor. The sound of the tram’s bell soars higher, sailing into the night air like asclepias puffs in the wind.

You flex your feet against the hardwood floors of Lin’s apartment. Pretty grain pattern, part of your brain notes inanely. Must’ve been expensive to refine and install. “Why did you leave me?” you whisper hoarsely, once you finally manage to scrape yourself together. You swipe at your face with the cuff of your sleeve; you hadn’t even managed to get undressed before everything went to shit. You clear your throat. “I… I don’t understand.”

For several long, tense moments, you think she might not answer at all. Then, Lin sighs. “I… I panicked.”

You watch Lin sharply, trying to read her often inscrutable expression and posture.

She walks away from you, over to the window in the living area that overlooks Republic City. She stares out at the night skyline –despite the sun having already set, the city glows from all the electric lights. She braces her hands against the white windowsill; she almost looks like a pensive, noir-style detective from the murder mystery radio shows you like so much.

You tuck your tongue in your cheek to keep from giggling hysterically.

“It was my fault.” She doesn’t look at you. “The nature of my job creates enemies.” She steps back from the windowsill; her hands curl into fists at her sides. “I should’ve known better. I do know better. And despite that, I didn’t keep you safe.”

“It’s not–” With a long, heavy sigh, you shake your head. “You can’t possibly predict every–”

“I did.” When you sputter disbelievingly, she faces you –but her gaze doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “The security on your building is shit. And you’d be a lot better off with platinum locks.”

After a moment of your best river carp impression, you manage to close your mouth and shake your head. “Lin…” You hold up one finger when she opens her mouth to argue. “That’s not the same thing as knowing that Kim was going to kidnap me.” When Lin’s unconvinced, pinched expression doesn’t lift, you sputter, flabbergasted. “Okay, look –Lin. Baby. If I don’t expect you to make sure every aspect of my life is safe, what good does it do to hold yourself to that kind of standard?”

“I still–”

“‘Still’ nothing, Lin! You’re not a fucking god! Okay, so you thought about my locks; that –that doesn’t obligate you to do anything,” you insist. Sweat beads along your back, soaking into your shirt. You sigh, then sweep your hair off the back of your neck to try and cool off. “As it so happens, I’m an adult; I’m ultimately responsible for myself, and that includes my own safety. Besides, it’s a nice enough neighborhood!”

Lin stares at you, flat and unimpressed. “Bad things happen anywhere.” Her jaw tightens. “You would know.”

You sputter, caught flat-footed by her audacity to use your own assault against you. “I –how fucking dare you!” You clench your hands into fists at your side, fingernails biting into the meat of your palm. “I am not –I cannot believe–” Sense takes hold before you cavalier too far down the road of rage and indignance; as angry as you are, you don’t want to spew vitriol all over Lin. Even if she’s kind of earned it. You glare at her, jaw locked tight. “Even if you have a logical point,” you spit out through clenched teeth, “the woman who skipped out on me after I was assaulted does not get to use that trauma against me in an argument!”

Lin’s lips press into a thin line. She looks at the floor, expression somewhat chastened. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

“Yes, yes it was. And thank you.” In a testament to your self-control –which, normally, you’d pass off as lacking at best–you inhale deeply and try to yank your temper back into some semblance of calm. Your head is starting to throb dully. So much for a relaxing night off. You rub your temples as you struggle to process and respond to Lin’s adamant self-blame. “I don’t –I don’t walk around with this notion that being your girlfriend comes with some sort of pass to perfect protection! I don’t expect you to package me up all nice and safe so nothing bad ever happens to me!” 

“I know–”

“Then what, in Yue’s name, is the fucking problem!” You fling your arms wide, voice rising as your frustration mounts again. “There are associated risks with living in the real fucking world, and I have never asked, or intoned, or suggested that you safeguard me from every bad thing that could ever happen! Why…” When your mind finally runs blank, anger petering out, you throw up your arms before letting them fall back to your sides. Your palms hit your thighs with a light slap. “What’s the point? What’s the point of putting yourself through all that, Lin?”

Lin scowls. She turns partly away and rakes one hand through her thick, curly hair. “It’s still my job.” She sighs harshly. “I know you don’t expect me to protect you.” She looks back over you, expression solemn. “I know. But it’s still my job. I don’t–” She presses her lips into a thin line, frustrated, then crosses her arms over her chest. “I believe in police work. I believe that doing my job keeps people safe. Even when I’m ‘off the clock,’ my duties to the people I care about don’t stop, and that includes keeping them safe.”

“Okay.” You nod along, choking back retort after retort through sheer force of will. It matters to her. It matters to her. It matters to her. “Okay.”

Lin fully turns away from you –but even without seeing her face, you can still tell she’s on edge. The line of her body is rigid as she stares out the window of her living room. She takes a deep, audible breath, shoulders rising and falling as she does. She clasps her hands behind her back and bows her head; for a moment, she looks exactly like the countless press release pictures of the indomitable Chief Beifong (which you may or may not have clipped out of the newspaper and tucked away for your own edification, you’ll claim the fifth if asked to testify, presumed innocent until proven guilty). “I didn’t know if we were going to be serious or not. It was more comfortable, for me, to keep you at arm’s length. And that included not making an issue of your building’s security problems.”

It stings, you can’t lie. Her confessed, deliberate indifference to your safety –when it’s apparently a big deal to her–hurts. You swallow hard, then tuck the inside of your cheek between your teeth to keep from firing back before she’s done talking. 

“It was my fault,” Lin states, voice flat and final. “After Kim… I couldn’t deal with it.” Finally, she turns and looks you in the eye. Her expression flickers for a moment, nearly giving way to anguish, before locking down to something more neutral with what you know to be an insurmountable, bone-deep reserve of will. “I’m sorry.” She stiffens, then frowns slowly when you start shaking your head. “What? What is it?”

“I–” Hot, stinging tears trace down your cheeks. Your palms are clammy, and your back is drenched in sweat. “That –thank you. Thank you for being honest. But–” You draw in a shaky breath as you try to school your thoughts into something more coherent. “I don’t –the locks wouldn’t have changed anything, Lin. They –no.” You hold up one finger and glare harshly at her when she opens her mouth to argue. “No. We both know that Kim had a very particular goal in mind. Better locks wouldn’t have stopped him. He would’ve had his goons just, I don’t know, kick in my door, or some shit.” You shrug, defeated, then rub your hands over your face. “I –I don’t care about the stupid locks. I get that it’s important to you, and that’s fine, but the locks don’t make a difference to me.” 

The locks wouldn’t have held your hand in the hospital, after all. The locks wouldn’t have talked to you on the phone after you woke up from yet another nightmare. The locks wouldn’t have rubbed salve into the rope burn on your wrists from where you’d chafed your skin trying to wriggle free. The locks–

Your face crumples, but you manage to keep going as you start crying. “I needed you.” Your whole body shudders as you draw in a shaky, broken breath. “I was so fucking scared, and hurt, and I didn’t know what was going to happen to me–”

Lin presses her lips together in a tight line, then holds her arms out to you.

You choke on a sob, then rush into her embrace. “I was so fucking scared!” You bury your face into her shirt, trembling as you weep. “I felt so lost, and small, and you just left me–”

Lin tucks your head beneath her chin. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“It was cruel,” you insist, voice pitiful to your own ears. “And selfish.”

Lin draws in a shaky breath. “It was,” she agrees, her own voice wavering. She hugs you close, as though she can squeeze the pain and suffering right out of you. “I was wrong –and cruel, and selfish. I’m so, so sorry.”

Something inside you releases, like a locked muscle finally relaxing after a good, thorough healing session. You melt against her, hurt yielding to assurance and peace. A shaky exhale floats past your lips. “Thank you.”

…

Once you stop crying and settle into the post-panic attack-argument-meltdown, Lin disentangles from you and sequesters herself in the bathroom.

You can hear the sink tap running; if you felt up to it, you could probably extend your bending and feel the water swirling down the drain.

Exhaustion has you feeling hollowed out. You peel your shirt away from your skin with a grimace. The stress of the evening made you sweat. You try to adjust your underwear under your skirt. All of your clothes, frankly, feel uncomfortably, grossly stuck to your skin. This is not how I wanted to get wet tonight.

You drop down onto Lin’s couch gracelessly. You slump into the dark green cushions and close your eyes.

Your whole body feels raw. Your skin almost feels like you’ve been scraped along the pavement outside. Throbbing and tender, you shift restlessly, trying to find some position that will agree with you.

Outside, a Satomobile honks loudly, which is quickly followed by the sound of tires screeching.

Flinching, you curl forward and comb your fingers through your hair. Fuck me. Quickly, you flip on Lin’s radio, then let out a sigh when instrumental music starts droning through the speakers. You turn up the volume dial, just until the crushing feeling of overstimulation starts to abate. That’s better.

Eventually, Lin emerges from the bathroom. (It’s probably not very long, but your poor, fatigued brain has settled into the muddy state where time starts moving like molasses.) She heads straight for the kitchen and starts quietly puttering about; a few cabinet doors open and close, the tap for the sink runs briefly, and the range hisses as Lin lights it with match.

You borderline drowse as you half-watch her work, half-melt away into the syrupy ooze of reality.

Hours, maybe minutes later, Lin joins you at the couch. She sets down a tray with a fresh pot of tea and two cups onto the coffee table, then reaches over and turns the radio down. “Here.”

You force yourself into a more upright position and accept the cup of steaming, fragrant tea she holds out to you. “Thanks.”

Lin sets down next to you, and makes no protest when you immediately invade her space and curl up against her. She wraps one arm around your shoulders, then picks up her cup of tea with her free hand.

The tea is nice –no doubt some very expensive, well grown blend. You wish you could do more than sip tiredly at it, but your head feels heavy (probably from the swelling in your sinuses, on account of all the crying).

Distantly, the healer part of your brain starts noting all the facets of recovery after crying. Parasympathetic nervous system takes over. Brain releases endorphins. Muscles release tension from build up of stress. Autonomic nervous system reins in heart rate, respiration rate, and blood pressure.

“You alright?” Lin murmurs when you let out a shaky breath..

Nodding, you hum, then tip your head back and kiss her softly. Even though you’re tired, your head feels clearer. The consuming static of terror and rage have finally been swept out, leaving subdued peace and clarity.

Speaking of…

“Hey.” You crane your head back so you can see her face better. “If… if something happens to me again–” You pause when Lin grimaces and looks away. After waiting a moment, you press your fingers against her jaw and gently guide her head until she’s looking at you again. “If something happens to me again,” you repeat, “don’t… don’t push me away.” A lump rises in your throat, but you push past it. “I won’t ever be angry at you if something bad happens to me, okay? And it’s –it’s so much worse–” Your voice breaks; you have to take a moment to pull yourself together before you try speaking again. “It’s so much worse with you not around.”

Blinking rapidly, Lin nods. “Alright.” She looks away for a bit, gaze distant. She swallows hard, jaw rolling as she lets out a sigh, then asks, “Would you consider getting platinum locks?”

“They’re expensive.”

“Victim’s Assistance fund should pay for them, considering your apartment was broken into during the course of an abduction,” Lin fires back, almost like she’s reading the fine print straight from the page. “All you’d have to do is submit a request form and a copy of the police report to their office. And if they don’t pay for platinum locks, I will.”

Part of you wants to protest the notion of her paying for any of it. It’s your apartment and your responsibility. Feasibly, you could scope out some options, compare prices, and then allot the necessary savings into your monthly budget.

A quiet, wiser voice in your head whispers, ‘It’s okay to let her help you.’ “Would you feel better if I had platinum locks?”

Lin’s reply comes without hesitation. “Yes.”

You sweep your tongue along the back of your teeth; part of you chafes at the thought of acquiescing. You can take care of yourself, after all. You moved here on your own, put yourself through university and therapeutic certifications, built yourself up as a reputable and capable physical therapist and surgical assistant. While Lin’s compensated you for ruined clothes and the odd day when she’s worked you over enough that you needed to take a day or two off work, you’ve never needed –or expected–her to bankroll your life.

If the Victim’s Assistance Fund comes through, she won’t have to pay, you remind yourself. And it’s just one set of locks, and she’ll feel better knowing you’re safer.

That’s the clincher, in the end. Stubborn pride isn’t worth your girlfriend’s peace of mind –especially over something as non-invasive as a good set of locks.

You nestle back against the warmth and comfort of Lin’s embrace. “Alright. I’ll start figuring out the Victim’s Assistance fund stuff tomorrow.”

“I can give you the number for one of the department heads.”

“Okay,” you murmur, cheek squished against her shoulder. Part of you thinks it’s a little ridiculous –there’s no reason you can’t go through the same process as everyone else–but you’re too tired to argue (and, honestly, bypassing some of the formalities and traditional run-around will be nice). You sigh, then nuzzle against her and close your eyes. “I’m sorry for freaking out at you earlier. I know –I know you were just taking a moment to breathe, and you weren’t actually leaving me; I just –I was still so out of my head from the cuffs, and the panic attack, and I–”

“It’s okay.” Lin wraps one strong arm around your shoulders. “You were scared; it’s okay.” She kisses the top of your head, then squeezes you a little closer. “Stay here tonight. I’d rather you go home once you’ve had a chance to rest.”

You sniff, then nod. “Okay.” Melting into her embrace, you tuck your head into the crook of her neck. “That sounds nice. Thanks.”

“Of course.”

The radio croons on; the singer –a woman with a smooth, low voice–drawls on about the ocean and the land meeting as lovers. Down the hall, the gentle, intermittent rumble of the elevator interjects between the radio and the sounds of the city at no particular rhythm. Outside, the distant, waning sounds of Republic City’s nightlife echo into the air.

The two of you lapse back into comforting silence.

…

Once the two of you finish your tea, Lin tidies up before shepherding you to bed. 

You rinse off in the shower first. You worry about washing your hair, or anything too involved, but getting the sweat off your skin is essential if you don’t want to wake up irritable and itchy. 

Your stomach still feels shaky –no doubt from all the mucus and drainage from crying. You turn down the water to a comfortably cool temperature (helps with the inflammation), then mechanically work through the steps of washing up as quickly as you can.

You borrow Lin’s toothbrush (and, fine, it’s really not the grossest thing, especially since you’ve made a point of burying your face between her legs whenever she lets you), and she lends you another baggy, Republic City Police Academy shirt to sleep in.

The gray shirt feels exquisitely soft between your fingertips, against your skin. You tuck away the notion of “borrowing” it for future you to ponder.

It’s nice, slipping beneath the covers on Lin’s bed. Her sheets are luxuriously soft –no doubt a vastly higher thread count than what you can afford.

You stretch your legs like a polar bear pup. Something pops in your lower back, and you groan. “Ugh, finally.”

“You okay?”

“Cracked my back.” You wait for her to turn off the lamp, then cross the space between you and curl up against her side.

Lin obliges you by slipping her arm beneath your neck and winding it around your shoulders. Her fingertips slip beneath the collar of your shirt and stroke along the base of your neck. 

The familiar sounds of the city dwindle as the night drags on. The surrounding apartments are equally still. Here, in Lin’s bed, in her arms, you’re enveloped by safety. By warmth. Every breath you take is filled with the familiar scent of Lin –traces of the cologne she favors, the fresh mint of her toothpaste, even the fragrant tea you both had earlier. The blankets are cozy, exquisitely soft, and the perfect weight to help lull your frazzled mind and body into slumber.

Just for a moment, right before you drop off into sleep, your body relaxes into a state of perfect contentment. It’s almost like you’re floating, perfectly supported and enveloped, much like floating in a pool for a moment of rest before swimming again. Tranquility seeps through your veins, washing away any remaining tension and panic from earlier in the evening.

You fall asleep to the gentle thumping of Lin’s heart and her steady, deep breathing.