#well have a ficlet i guess?

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

what, like it’s hard?, pt. one

“it’s just that… if i want to win a seat in congress by the time i’m thirty, i need to find someone who’s serious about my career. not some little elementary school teacher that cares more about his students than what he’s wearing on my campaign stops,” tommy tells steve, as they’re sitting in quite possibly the fanciest restaurant steve’s ever step foot in. the menu hadn’t even included any prices.

“but… i’m seriously in love with you.” steve feels like his whole world is falling apart. just last week he’d been so sure that tommy was getting ready to propose. he’d introduced steve to his family—they’d spent a week out on martha’s vineyard for a family reunion at which steve had met tommy’s great-grandmother, hands laden with rings as she’d winked when tommy had asked for a private conversation. steve had been so sure that conversation was about the family ring.

“and i love you too, baby, but look. you don’t want to have to leave your students for half the year to come on the campaign trail with me, do you?” tommy asks, not even really looking at steve. he continues to just eat his stupid dinner as if he’s not ripping steve’s heart out at this very moment.

and steve can’t help but think how silly this all is, because it’s not like tommy’s actually running for anything right now. steve doesn’t even teach yet, beyond the two days a week he does his student teaching. they’re only 22, they haven’t even graduated northwestern with their bachelors degrees! but tommy’s saying these things as if they’re all real, right now.

“and i’m off to harvard next fall. it’s not like we’ll stay together while i’m there and you’re still here, right?”

and the thing is, steve had actually thought he’d be going with tommy to boston. they’re both set to graduate in the spring, steve with his degree in education and tommy with a dual major in pre-law and political science. they hadn’t really ever talked about it, but they’d been together since the beginning of their sophomore year. so yes, steve had thought they’d still be together when tommy started at harvard law.

but now steve’s starting to feel extra stupid.

“so… what? you’re breaking up with me?” steve starts to feel his chest tightening, like he might cry. he can’t believe that two hours ago he thought he’d been getting ready for a proposal.

“don’t think of it as a breakup, stevie… think of it as a conscious uncoupling. we’re just moving in two different directions. i’ll be at harvard law next semester and you’ll be…” tommy gives him a look of slight disdain—steve has never seen tommy look at him like that. waitstaff? sure. his driver? absolutely. but it’s never been directed at steve before. “well, you’ll be teaching snot-nosed six year olds. we’re on different paths.”

and that’s what truly makes steve’s blood boil. his passion for teaching and education is one of his greatest qualities and he’d thought that had been part of the reason tommy loved him. he didn’t realize that tommy loved him in spite of that. he’s not gonna let some asshole like tommy montgomery hagan iii tell him he’s no good.

so he doesn’t respond. he just takes the linen napkin off his lap and throws it on his half-eaten steak dinner and marches out of the restaurant.

tommy doesn’t even follow him out.

~*~

“oh steve… i’m sorry,” robin says to him about an hour later while steve lays his head in her lap on their dingy couch.

“it’s not even that he broke up with me,” he explains through tears. “it’s that he basically said i was worthless. like i couldn’t do anything better than teaching. as if teaching isn’t even an admirable profession! where would he be without his teachers, huh? isn’t this all about going to stupid harvard? what does he think the professors there actually do? knit?”

“is this a bad time to tell you that i always kind of hated him?” robin says, maybe trying to get him to laugh. but it kind of surprises steve. he sits up, knocking her hands from where they’ve been carding through his hair in the process.

“you did?! no, you didn’t.” he searches robin’s face for a moment and then sighs. “why didn’t you say anything? you could’ve saved me a whole lot of wasted time.”

“babe, you were so gooey-eyed for that guy, nothing i said was gonna change that. a crowbar couldn’t have pried you away from him. but you have to know he was an asshole.” when steve stares at her blankly, she huffs. “steve, he used to offer to cover the whole tab when we went out. how often did he ever actually pay, even for his own drinks? he made poor jonathan cry the last time we were all here for game night, just because jonathan asked for clarification on the rules for pictionary.” steve is still staring at her. “he tried to stiff argyle by offering him a flight on his dad’s private jet instead of paying for his weed and we all know he doesn’t even have access to the jet. dude was cheap as fuck and not even nice about it.”

steve thinks about it. it was kind of true. tommy was a horrible tipper—steve usually laid down a couple of twenties when they went to dinner together when tommy wasn’t looking. he can remember more than a few times where the guy had sent their food back even though it had looked perfectly wonderful to steve. so… okay, maybe robin had a point.

steve tells her as much, then adds, “but he was always nice to me.”

robin snorts. “are you kidding? he’s stood you up so many times i can’t even remember all of them. remember that time he said his first impression of you was that you weren’t as hot as your pictures? who says that to the person they’re dating?”

steve groans and lays his head back down in her lap.

“okay, so maybe you have a point about that too. but i was gonna marry him, rob. what do i do now?” he knows he’s whining, but he feels just a little bit entitled to it right now.

“i don’t know, babe. get over it, i guess. welcome to the world of us singles. it sucks out here.” steve can hear the fondness in robin’s voice as she says it, but still. it does sting just a little.

they sit there in silence for a while, with robin running her hands through his hair again. it’s so soothing that he almost jumps out of his skin when she speaks again.

“hey, you know what would be super funny?” she’s laughing a little as she says it.

“what?” steve had been dozing just a little and his voice sounds muffled by fatigue.

“if you got into harvard and just showed up on the first day. imagine the look on his face.”

steve laughs at how ridiculous that sounds. like he could get into harvard. plus, he’s got teaching to think about. he doesn’t have a place yet, but he knows he’ll get one soon.

but as he sits there with robin’s hands stroking through his hair, he begins to daydream about how shocked tommy would be. about how he’d have no choice but to eat his words when steve proves himself by getting into one of the most competitive programs in the country. about how good it would feel to prove the bastard wrong.

“robin?” she hums in response. “you’re a goddamn genius.”

~*~

“dingus, are you sure you want to do this?”

the spring semester starts in three days. it’s their last semester at northwestern and there’s nothing but great big darkness on the horizon of steve’s future. he hasn’t slept in two days, busy studying, thick workbooks piled around around him at the kitchen table. he knows what he must look like, over-caffeinated with bruises under his eyes.

“i’m sure.” steve has his lsat exam in one week. “i have to take the exam this week. apps are due by march first.”

“no, steve, i don’t mean taking the test. i mean applying at all. it’s clearly more stress than it’s worth. do you even want to go to law school?” robin sounds concerned and normally steve would think it’s very sweet, but currently it does nothing but irritate him.

“i could,” he responds grumpily.

robin sighs. “i just mean… is this worth it?”

steve looks up then and sees her biting her lip, clearly worried about him. he puts his pencil down and stops the timer on his phone, giving her his full attention.

“this isn’t just about tommy.” robin gives him a skeptical look and it’s his turn to sigh. “it’s really not. maybe it started out that way, maybe it was just a stupid joke to get revenge on the asshole, but now it’s more than that. it’s proving that i can do something unexpected of me.” he swallows. “no one even believed i would get into college. i was just some stupid jock in high school who’d never amount to anything. and then i got in to northwestern and i was so shocked and happy. but i found out that my dad had actually pulled a bunch of strings. so i hadn’t gotten in on my own merits. he didn’t think i could. but now…” he runs a hand through his hair nervously. he’s never said any of this out loud before. “he’s not around now. there’s no one to help me. no safety net. if i can do this, it’ll prove something to me. something that maybe i don’t really believe yet.”

he expects robin to say something about external validation being a corrupting force and identity built on academic achievement being solely a losing game, but she doesn’t. instead, she sits down across the table from him and picks up a workbook.

“okay,” she says. “what do we have to do?”

~*~

“mail here?” steve calls out when he hears the front door close behind robin.

there’s a moment that feels like a pause. “yeah, it’s here.”

steve practically sprints from his bedroom to his living room. robin holds a single white envelope in her hand. steve all but snatches it from her.

his fingers move to rip it open, but then he hesitates. he thrusts it back towards robin. “i can’t,” he tells her. “you do it.”

her eyebrows shoot up. “you’re sure?” steve nods. he watches her rip the envelope open, bouncing on his feet. she scans the page and then she’s smiling.

steve grabs the paper from her. “oh my god?!” he yells. “oh my god!”

robin practically jumps into his arms. “179, baby! harvard law here we come.”

~*~

even after such a successful run at the lsats, there’s still the little matter of actually getting in to the school. steve’s only experience with the academic application process was with undergrad and it appears that applying for anything beyond a bachelors degree is an entirely different ball game. he’s so out of his depth that he’s forced to turn to grad school message boards for advice and tips of how to get in. it seems like everyone else is applying to a hundred different schools while steve’s only applying to one. he learns this is a terrible strategy for planning one’s future, but that doesn’t really matter to steve. for him, it’s harvard or nothing.

there are so many different parts of the application that it makes steve’s head spin. there’s the statement of purpose and the personal statement—the difference between those two requires robin’s careful and slow explanation about three separate times. then there’s the writing sample and the application and the recommendations and the transcripts and and and

but with robin’s help, steve completes each component and successfully sends his materials by the day of the deadline.

steve’s never been a patient person. no one on earth would accuse him of that, so even he can tell that he’s getting on robin’s nerves every day as he practically pounces on her when she returns from collecting the mail.

and then one day, finally, at the end of april, she comes through the front door and clutched in her hand is a big, thick white envelope emblazoned with the words ‘harvard law’ in bold, beautiful crimson red.

~*~

“last chance to back out,” robin says smiling as she swings herself up into the passengers seat of their rented u-haul.

“nah.” steve returns her smile as he slides his sunglasses from his hair onto his face. “let’s get out of this dump.”

and with that, they leave their first apartment behind, headed to the coast.

[wanted to finish this completely before posting but my benadryls kicking in and i have no self control. eventual steddie, promise! no tag list for this one, sorry!! it’s giving me anxiety on the other one lol absolutely not edited, if u see a typo no u don’t. i wrote this on my phone in a feverish frenzy. also, i originally invented someone for the role of warner but then i was like ‘IDIOT!!!!! why would u not choose tommy?????’ so if there’s a name in here that shouldn’t be, no there isn’t.]

[theminecraftbee]

good morning. if anyone was wondering, i am still thinking about cletho, thanks for asking,

[mangofresca]

limerence

Filthy, sweaty, smeared with grease and motor oil, skin tinted dark beneath work-worn clothes, all calloused, skilled hands and soft, damp curls—he’s a gorgeous piece of shit with tight jeans and fitted Ts and arms Lovino would sink his teeth into. He wipes the sweat from his face with his wrist, stains his cheeks and forehead black. Lovino’s fingers twitch with the urge to touch.

Stop it.

Sharp grin, crooked, bright. Eyes that shine under mid-afternoon light and the sick yellow of dirtied fluorescence.

“You’re here.” Happy, he sounds so fucking happy, smile too wide and a nose that crinkles when he laughs, covered ridiculously in black freckles of oil; stupid, he’s so stupid.

Pull yourself together.

“Yeah. That okay?”

“Of course. I’m always happy to see you.”

Stupid, stupid, so fucking stupid.

A scoff, cheeks flushing pink and humiliatingly hot. Lovino blames it on the heat of sweltering midday sunlight, knows it’s a lie before the words even take form in his throat.

“Is there something you wanted?”

For you to take your shirt off.

His lips turn sweet, slow and nectar-thick, smile melting to something curious and imploring, like seeing Lovino is a fucking blessing, which is so idiotic Lovino refuses to entertain the thought.

You’re pathetic.

“No. Didn’t know I needed a reason to visit.”

He chuckles, rich and low and liquid fire in Lovino’s veins. “Don’t be like that. You know you’re always welcome.” Peridot darkens to jade beneath half-lidded eyes that flick across Lovino’s face, that trace the line of his legs and the cross of his arms. “Would you like to watch me work?”

You can work on me, instead.

“Watch you work or watch you work?”

Laughter, airy and charming, amusement that turns gem-green to grassy summer fields. Knife-sharp and cutting, his grin is lazy and heady, fabric of his sleeves tight and taut around sweat-coated biceps. Black-tipped fingers push thick curls from dark eyelashes, and Lovino knows he is so fucked.

“Whatever you want, sol.”

You’re the sun, not me.

“Hm.”

Arched back and lean muscle, smooth enough that Lovino can imagine the warmth of it beneath his hands, hotter than the burn of his cheeks, skin turned ruddy with infatuation and limerence. But they sit in the song of whistling bird calls, companionable, comfortable, carried by the melody of clinking metal and the shifting of gears.

Antonio hums when he works. Lovino listens.

[hecatesbroom]

I'm finally writing and!!! agh!! there's so much I want to include I feel overwhelmed by the possibilities lol

[ibijau]

100 Shades of xisang: 95. Sick fic

Lan Xichen filled the spoon with some soup, blowing lightly on the already lukewarm liquid so the temperature would not be a problem. The previous night Nie Huaisang had barely swallowed anything after supposedly burning his tongue. Lan Xichen was however careful not to let it cool down too much either, as that had caused Nie Huaisang to refuse to eat anything that morning, whining that when the soup was cold, it became even more bitter than usual and thus inedible.

“It’s too thick,” was Nie Huaisang’s newest excuse to avoid eating, having probably realised that temperature wouldn’t work anymore. “My throat hurts too much, I can’t swallow that. I can’t eat at all.”

Lan Xichen reminded himself that he did, in fact, love this man.

He also reminded himself that it was his own fault if Nie Huaisang was sick, since he was the one who had suggested a Night Hunt… though definitely some of the responsibility still fell on Nie Huaisang himself, who should have been more careful and avoided falling into a cursed pond which he had been repeatedly warned about.

“Er-ge, can’t I get candies instead?” Nie Huaisang begged, making Lan Xichen question his life choices.

[hirokiyuu]

i mentioned on the dys>sol/nomi i was gonna be posting more of my fic backlog on here and then Did Not Do That..... until now! have some dys>sol>cal. 'you sure write a lot of dys>sol where sol likes other people' yeah. yeah. i won't lie to you guys tho this run does eventually end w/dys/sol but. u kno. takes a bit :)

aaaaanyways please enjoy this Unrequited Teen Angst WWWWWWW set during early year 16!

is that the sun i see (or am i just being greedy); 700 words

Sol’s weirdly moody on the transport. Usually even if he’s quiet, he’ll be fiddling with his holopalm or listening to music or something, but today he’s in the very back, just staring out at the scenery, and when their eyes meet for half a second he doesn’t even smile. Sol always smiles when he sees Dys, which honestly used to kind of weird him out but these days… does not do that.

Still, as the team files out of the transport and breaks off into pairs, Dys keeps an eye on him instead of scouting ahead like normal -- which ends up being a good thing, because after about fives minutes out by themselves Sol suddenly lets out an enormous groan and slumps over, hunched in over himself. And Dys can’t feel fear but his heart’s pounding anyways as he runs over, careful to keep an eye on their surroundings as he leans over and says, urgently, “Sol, what --”

The moment his hand touches Sol’s back Sol jumps, enough to send himself falling back on his ass in the dirt, eyes wide with surprise like he hadn’t heard Dys sprinting towards him. “Dys?” he sputters, before glancing around. “I thought -- I mean, don’t you normally go on ahead…?”

He doesn't look hurt at all, though on closer inspection there’s bags under his eyes Dys’s never seen on his face before. “I mean,” says Dys, who can’t bring himself to say I was worried about you, “you were acting weird, so….”

“Oh,” says Sol, before managing a tiny grin up at him. “That’s… that’s really nice of you. Thanks.”

“Whatever.” Ugh. He can feel his stupid face going red. The worst part is that he can’t even leave, not with how Sol’s smile is still wobbling at the edges. “...Are you okay?”

“Oh, well, um… I mean, that’s….” The smile slides off Sol’s face piece by piece, until he gives up on it all at once and sighs miserably, pulling his knees in close until he’s curled up on himself in the dirt. “No.”

Dys… can’t even pretend to be surprised. Slowly he sits down next to Sol, watching as Sol leans forward to rest his chin on his arms, for once not even fidgeting. “...It’s stupid,” says Sol, finally. “It’s really stupid, and you’re gonna think it’s stupid too. But… if I tell you… can you pretend you don’t think it is? Just for like, ten minutes.”

This already sounds like it’s going to suck. “...Okay. I won’t… say anything, I guess.”

“Thanks.”

The moment drags out. Dys picks a little at a hangnail, waiting. Finally, Sol sighs again, and doesn’t quite look at Dys as he says, “Cal and Tammy are dating.”

“...Oh.”

“He told me on my birthday.” Sol tilts even further forward, until his face is buried in his arms, and with a muffled voice says, “Like, he knocked on the door and she was there and he had his hand on her back. And she’d made me a cake, which was like, nice or whatever, but it was so unbearable just seeing them together and I just -- I just had to sit there and pretend I was happy for them….

“Apparently she asked him out during Glow? Like, after the attack? And I saw them together in the lounge but I didn’t even realize….” There is, horrifyingly, a sniffing noise. “Stupid… stupid Fennec Face. She’s not… she’s not even that cute, and she’s afraid of everything, and I… I….”

Another sniff. Dys is probably the person least equipped to deal with this in the entire colony, not in the least because he heard Cal was dating someone else and his first reaction was gratitude. “...Sorry,” he offers up, finally. “That… that sucks.”

“Yeah,” says Sol, as he burrows deeper into his arms. “I… I just… I really like him. Y’know?”

Quietly, Dys answers, “I know.”

In response Sol just lets out this big shuddering sigh, somehow burrowing even deeper. “Sorry,” he says. “I know it’s stupid. I… Sorry.”

Dys can’t think of anything to say to that, can’t think of a single thing that might make Sol feel a little better. Instead of trying anyways he just sits there like an idiot, keeping half an eye on the planet around them to make sure they don’t get eaten by anything, and next to him Sol doesn’t move for a long, long time.

[skitskatdacat63]

Why do I say things like this. Like what was the need. Why do I feel the need to jinx myself. What was the reason.

[deathbounded]

unironically, raisal might also be specialized in genetics

[madbiscuitlady]

Stede scans his many shelves of books, brow furrowed in thought. "Let's see... what should I read for the crew tomorrow? I'd like to tackle The Odyssey, but it's so long and I may need to answer a lot of questions about the prose..."

Ed flops over with a groan, Stede had been at this for the past half hour and Ed was beginning to lose patience. "Just do the one about the lady with the evil step-sisters that chop off their toes to fit some glass shoes or something. Wee John likes that one."

"Ah, yes, that one gets a bit... grim." Stede casts a glance over his shoulder at Ed, noting his exaggerated sprawl, before making his way over to the chaise. "Are you really comfortable like that?"

Ed hums, his attempt to distract Stede from his walls of books evidently a success, "Don't know what you mean," he answers all innocence and nonchalance.

Stede sighs, "Alright, budge up you nut."

Mission Accomplished.

Part 1 of 2. Part 2

[firawren]

What do we think happened when Mr. and Mrs. Collins showed up at Lady Catherine's house to drink tea and explained that Elizabeth stayed at home alone with a headache?

Did Darcy excuse himself immediately? That would have looked super suspicious, at least to Charlotte. Not that I think he would have cared if anyone guessed what he was going to do, because he was certain Elizabeth would say yes, so in his mind, they're all going to know about the proposal in like an hour anyway.

Or did Darcy drink tea with the group for maybe 10 minutes, hyping himself up to go propose—now's your chance, you can do this!—and then abruptly be like "Well thanks for the tea! See ya!" and rush out of there? This would also be very confusing to his companions, though maybe not as suspicious. Is this more or less rude than excusing himself from tea right at the beginning? It seems more rude to my modern sensibilities, but who knows.

I feel another P&P missing scene ficlet coming on...

[so-much-for-the-seashells]

Sore

Logan Howlett x Reader

Minors, do NOT interact.

A/N: More of my Wolvie because my creative side rests in him atm. Based on the fact that my back literally is brokeback mountain and my legs feel like I took that cowboy up on his offer for five hours after saving his horse atm 🤣 also, domestic smut is SO underrated.

Anyway, all interaction, especially commentary is heavily appreciated! Enjoy!

Cw: Logan’s helping you feel less sore, things get steamy. Fluffy and spicy, domestic!Logan.

P.S: Want more of Logan? Check out my headcanons and/or feel free to submit an ask for a Drabble or Ficlet. :> You want daddy dom Logan? I gotchu. You want Logan to watch, idk, Cars with you?? I gotchu. Just nothing too dark or too crazy, please. Anonymous or not, feel free to drop your thoughts/thots!

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

You had flopped down on the your big ass bed the moment you’d gotten home from the gym. For whatever reason you had thought it would be a good idea to overdo it both today and yesterday, and now your legs and back were suffering the consequences.

So here you are, lying face down, starfish style. You barely remembered to kick off your nasty shoes and socks. Haven’t showered, haven’t pulled the comforter down. Just lying there in your misery as the pain in your legs chooses to linger.

You had to have been lying there for about ten minutes when you’re finally ready to get up, but then you hear the door open.

“Y/N?” Logan calls, having just got home from work apparently. It’s about eight at night, this is very early for him.

“Bedroom,” you call back weakly.

You hear his light footsteps pattering towards you. If you hadn’t been together as long as you had you wouldn’t be able to hear him because of how stealth he is.

“Aw, sweets, what’s wrong?” he asks as he walks into the bedroom.

“Sore,” you mumble, giving him another one word answer.

“Why?” he prods, in a somewhat lilting tone that implies he knows exactly why.

“Cause I overdid it,” you say begrudgingly. He was the one who warned you not to, and you could all but sense the smirk that had to be on his face right now. “If you say ‘I told you so’ I’m going to smother you,” you threaten as a follow up.

“Do it with that pretty cunt of yours and we’ll call it even.” Cheeky, as always. You groan in response, and not in a sexy way, even though his dirty words don’t fail to make your core feel a little warmer. “Alright alright. Can I try to make you feel better?”

“Please.” Your voice is slightly whiny as the ache in your legs is starting to get unbearably annoying.

“Aww, sugar,” he tuts, kissing you on the top of your head. “Just give me one second.”

He disappears momentarily, reappearing with some Advil and lemonade for you to drink it with. He sets the pair on the nightstand.

“I’m gonna sit you up, okay?”

“Wait-“ you protest, before gasping ‘ow!’ as he uses his trying arms to hold you up, resting your back against your plush pillows and headboard. He sits in front of you, draping your calves over the tops of his thighs.

“Here,” he hands you the lemonade and Advil.

“Thanks. Wait- tell me about your day,” you prod, before swallowing the pill and the drink down.

“Oh, you really are sweet on your old man, ain’tcha,” he grins, flattening out the random wisps of hair that had escaped your updo. You smile sweetly at him, before downing the rest of the glass.

“Well, I went to stop some guy from stealing an old lady’s purse, but by the time I got over there she was smacking him over the head with it.”

“What in the Tom and Jerry?” you laugh incredulously.

“I swear it! In my too-many years I’ve never seen anything like that.” God, you could never grow tired of seeing Logan like this. Giggly, tired, relaxed. It’s so nice.

“It’s the thought that counts, I guess,” I offer.

“Yeah, until Granny knocks it out of you,” he quips, and we both laugh. “So, where are you hurting?”

“My legs and my back. Shouldn’t have done the extra set of the one where you close your legs on the thing,” I tell him.

“What’re you wearing under this?” he asks, motioning to you. You’re wearing a sports tank and shorts, and underneath…

“Girl’s boxers and a sports bra.”

“Attagirl. Mind if I strip you down to those? Less layers makes it easier for me to dig into you.”

“You ask that as if you don’t fuck me almost every night,” you quip, the affirmation plain in your voice.

“And almost every morning and afternoon, but who’s counting?” he retorts with a mischievous grin. This is true- even after so many years of being together the two of you still can’t keep your hands off of each other.

“Don’t forget about evenings,” you add.

He gasps melodramatically, -“I could never.”-before tugging off your shorts. You sigh contentedly, glad to be free of your fabric confines. He then gently eases off your shirt so that, true to his word, you’re only in your undergarments.

“Can you lay on your stomach for me?” he asks.

“Mhm,” you slowly move from your spot amidst the pillows, slowly but surely. The pain doesn’t get enough time to build as much as before, and just rests at the same throbbing as before. You hear Logan rummaging in the nightstand.

“Shit, sorry, baby. I thought I had bought more of that lavender oil, but I forgot,” he says apologetically.

“Don’t worry about it, your hands are more than enough already,” you tell him.

“Oh yeah?” Logan turns any words he can into a double entendre, it’s his sense of humor.

“I’m surprised you don’t have a rabbit mutation,” you laugh, referring to his persistent and ever present horniness.

“Do I look like a rabbit to you?” he asks gruffly, still joking. You feel the bed dip from behind you under his weight.

“You are pretty cute,” you tell him.

“But a rabbit?” he asks, incredulousness in his voice.

“Mayb-ohh,” your words are broken off as his surprisingly gentle hands start kneading your calves.

“Ohh,” he imitates, pressing deeper. God it feels good- hurts on contact, but then completely alleviates the pressure.

“Shut up,” you try to say through your soft moans of pleasure.

“That’s gonna be a no, sugar,” you can hear the overconfidence in his voice, and it doesn’t even bother you because of how much better you’re feeling.

“Ow-,” you whisper as he presses on a particularly painful spot in the inside of your leg.

“That’s it, huh?”

You meekly hum in response as he takes initiative to continue pressing on it, digging into it with his thumbs.

Eventuakly he has you feeling like putty, all comfortable until…

“Oh, come on!” you say indignantly as he flips you over. You feel the dull pain in your legs ignite again, and you already know what he’s about to make you do.

“I know, but you know you need to stretch,” he chides, sitting on his knees between your thighs. He has a shit-eating grin on his face, because he knows damn well how inflexible you are, especially when you’re sore.

You stick your tongue at him to no avail. He grabs your thigh, squeezing it before beginning to push it back. The dull pain immediately intensifies.

“F-fuck you!” you squeak as he pushes your thigh back further, your knee nearing your shoulder. You clutch Pookie as tight as you can to your chest. The words are directed more to the pain than him, but he can’t help but tease you, naturally.

“Is that nice?” he chastises lightly, the smile plain on his lips as he holds you in place. You can feel your muscles screaming from the soreness, but the position does seem to be alleviating the pressure some.

“No,” you pout guiltily, not wanting to seem ungrateful to him.

“I’m kidding,” his voice softens as he presses my leg back further.

“Ow!” you whine, the additional pressure making your leg impossibly more sore.

“Easy, sweet girl,” he reassures me, massaging the back of my thigh as he holds it in place. He grabs the lone stuffed animal that rests amongst your too-many pillows and blankets. It’s an okapi, his name is Pookie. However, Logan calls him ‘Abomination,’ because the first time you showed him a picture of one that’s what he called it. You always get miffed about him calling it that, so he adamantly makes sure to do so, even though he’s the one that bought it for you on a whim. Go figure.

“How about you hold A-Bomb? Will that make you feel better?”

“It will if you call him by the right name,” you tell him, sass in your voice. He grins- for whatever reason he finds it extremely amusing to annoy you.

“But his name is Abomination,” Logan insists, momentarily distracting you from putting down your leg before picking up your more sore one.

“No it’s not,” you protest, before literally squeaking from how bad it hurts to have the other leg pushed back.

“Fine, it’s not,” he says gently, handing you the stuffed animal with his free hand as he keeps your leg pinned back. You squeeze it as he pushers further, holding it for what feels like fifteen years but in reality is probably all of fifteen seconds.

Slowly you start feeling better, that is until he drops your leg and grabs both this time.

“Logan, no, I’m already stretched out, I feel better-,” you try, but as always, he knows better. He lifts both legs up, and however much better you were feeling is immediately ruined because your lower back is being added to the equation.

“Ow!” you whine, trying to wriggle free from his grasp to no avail. Damn his super strength. Your back is all but shrieking at you now.

“I seem to recall you being able to do this,” Logan says smugly. And you immediately clench on nothing, because you know exactly what he’s referring to.

“Well you’re not exactly dicking me down right now, are you?” Usually when your legs are over his shoulders like this it’s because he’s ploughing into you like it’s your last night on earth. And the memories are vivid- he always makes damn sure of that. The sweat on his brow, his filthy vocabulary….

Okay, you’re wet now.

“Dicking you down?” he laughs. “What are you, Wade?”

“Suddenly I’m not turned on anymore,” I roll my eyes. The Merc with a Mouth may just about exclusively talk about sex, but somehow it’s never sexy. Maybe it has something to do with the fact he still has the brain of a thirteen year old. Who knows.

“Mmm, let’s see about that,” he murmurs, tossing your stuffed animal to the side and dropping your legs down, to your relief. He tugs at your boxer shorts, looking you in the eye for consent. You nod, and he takes no time at all to slide them down your pretty legs. “Looks pretty turned on to me,” he says gravelly as he looks at your cunt.

“Mhm,” you agree, your voice wanton and low.

He knows exactly what you like, and neither of you is surprised by the shiver your elicits from you as he runs a knuckle through your slick folds.

One of the things about being with Logan is anything can be sexy, and by association, turn into sex. You don’t mind at all- you match his freak, if you will- but it is easy to marvel at how random it can be.

Some days it’s just your morning chatter- you’ll be talking about who knows what, maybe a movie you’ve seen, maybe your plans for the day. And then you’ll straddle him to get him to focus on you, because he’s always sleepy and slow in the morning. Before you know it he’ll have his hands on your hips, easing you up and down on his cock.

Other times it’ll be you two silently reading on the couch, legs crossed over one another because you can’t go a second without touching. Once one of you gets bored, it’s over for the other. If it’s he who gets bored but you’re still invested in your book, he’ll have you cockwarm him and finish your book. Sometimes it’s the other way around, but because you’re so needy you’ll usually be bouncing on him before he can finish and who is he not to do as you wish?

It’s always something. And one of those somethings apparently him helping you stretch,, which is a new one because usually you pass out after he contorts you like that.

After getting you ready for him, which really doesn’t take long since you’re almost always wet for him when you’re in his vicinity, he pulls down his sweats and his own boxers just enough to expose his dick.

But, because he’s Logan, and he’s annoying, he grabs the backs of your thighs with a mischievous grin, and before you even realize what he’s doing he presses both of your legs back. It really doesn’t hurt as bad, especially when he leans down to kiss you so passionately and all-consumingly that your mind clouds over.

“You ready f’me?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know that you are.

“Yeah, baby. Yeah,” you breathe. “Just go slow, please.”

“I promise, sweet girl,” he kisses you again, aligning himself with your entrance. “God, I love you,” he whispers as he watches himself slide into you with ease.

“I love you too,” tell him through a gasp, kissing his nose. “Please don’t make me more sore.” You have to reiterate that you want him to be slow, because while Logan is the sweetest, most considerate lover you could have, sometimes he can’t help but overdo it.

He laughs, not one to deny your imploring. “I’ve got you.” He bottoms out slowly, resting inside of you before pushing just a little bit more, hitting a spot that feels so good that it brings tears to your eyes. You’re so, so full of him, you can feel every twitch. This angle, painful as it may be, lets him get so wonderfully deep inside you. It’s a wonder you hadn’t tried this sooner.

“Oh, Logan,” you breathe, leaning into his touch as he kisses over your collarbone.

“Good, huh?” he says somewhat cockily, slowly pulling out of you before bottoming back out, hitting that impossible spot again. It feels so good that you can’t even think of something to say in response. “Thought so,” he smiles, kissing you on the nose. His voice has gonna somewhat breathy, but he still continues his steady, slow pace. The sounds that fill the room are gentle, with soft sighs and grunts and the occasional moan of one or the other’s name. And it’s perfect.

It feels so good that you feel tears slipping down your cheeks, and he leans down to kiss them away. “I know, sweet girl. I know.” His tone is soft, and it prompts you to further bury yourself in your fluffy comforter and pillows as he slowly coaxes a release out of me. He kisses you, slow but passionate as his fingers start to circle your clit in the way you like. The circles are much faster than his thrusts, and the sensation of the contrast in paces is absolutely delicious.

Logan loves having you like this- soft and sweet, in no rush. Your legs strewn haphazardly over his shoulders, squeezing him every time he nudges the head of his cock that extra inch inside of you. He loves to kiss you, to talk you through it. He loves you.

“You’re taking me so well, beautiful. You always do,” he coos, adding more pressure to your sensitive bud. You only whimper in response as your orgasm starts to build. He can feel it, hell, he can smell it. That sweet smell that’s so uniquely yours, that he’s so addicted to. “You gonna cum f’me? Make a mess all over this big dick?” he asks, knowing full well how much of a mess his dirty words make of you. You nod ever so slightly, you’re entire body on fire from how good it feels.

Your legs tighten around his head as you cum, and it’s perfect. The pleasure is immense, intense enough to make you close your eyes as he keeps his same pace, drawing it out longer than ever. “Logan?” you whisper once you catch your bearings.

“Yeah?” he asks, still moving slowly and hitting that perfect spot. His voice is slightly strained, you can tell he wants to cum.

“Cum in me, please,” you ask with your best doe eyes.

“Gladly, sugar,” he kisses you again, coming with just a few more thrusts as you clench around him as tightly as you can. “Fuck,” he mumbles, biting the juncture of your neck and shoulder and darkening what may as well be a permanent mark from him. He always bites in the same spot. He lets your legs down but stays inside you, panting as he holds you close. Eventually he pulls out, and you whine from the loss of contact, feeling your mixed releases slip out of you.

“You feeling better?” he asks, laying on his side as you do the same.

“Yeah. Thank you so much,” you tell him.

“Anything for you, gorgeous. I’ve heard that a good orgasm releases tension.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yeah,” he grins.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” he hugs you close.

“Waiiiit I need to shower,” you complain, trying to push him away.

“In a minute,” he counters, nuzzling his face in your neck and squeezing you tighter.

That’s definitely the biggest lie he could have told you, because you both knew damn well it would be more than a minute. And even when you do get out of bed- sorry, Pookie!- there’s always room for showers and post-shower sex. You don’t make the rules, it just happens. And with your luck you’ll probably be sore tomorrow, and you’ll probably have asked for it.

What can you say? You’re just a girl, after all. A girl who loves her guy, whose guy loves her.

Fin! Xx.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

could be

Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

this ficlet is brought to you by @iamasaddie's writing challenge! my assigned color was "pretty clicker" (which tbh idk if we needed to include the color but I did anyway lol).

genre: pwp (I tried my best) prompt: "whoa, that's a new one."

words: 1.7k

summary: jackson is not your home. joel miller is not your boyfriend. but they could be.

warnings: pwp, oral (m&f receiving), handjob, fingering, joel and reader are astoundingly bad at emotions, a few playful spanks, tommy makes an off-screen cameo, old man joel my beloved, antics, absolutely no proofreading or beta reading whatsoever rip sorry

dividers by @saradika-graphics

“Whoa, that’s a new one,” drawls the man as he steps out of the shadow of the copse. “ If it ain’t the prettiest little clicker I’ve ever seen.” 

You scowl, tugging the hat off, boot scuffing the dirt as you grind the frustration of being caught out into the soil. It gives with some difficulty, the late autumn’s early frost already turning the ground to stone. “Shut up, Joel,” you mutter. 

“That always work for ya? How haven’t you gotten shot yet?” He says, jerking his head down at the ball cap you’ve adorned with the decapitated clicker’s face.

(Or should you say disembodied? Dessicated? Desecrated? Whatever, you cut the fucking mushrooms off a dead fucker and stuck them on a hat. The terms don’t matter.) 

“Yep. Not too many fools out here who will go looking for a clicker when they hear one.”

“It’s a good impression, darlin’, but it’s not quite enough to trick me.” He’s drawn close, maybe too close, and curls two fingers under your chin, drawing your gaze to his grizzled face. 

You roll your eyes. “You a clicker whisperer or something?” 

His lips curl. “Not quite, no.” He lets his hand fall from your chin, and you watch it go. 

When you look back up at his face, you’re caught. Trapped. His grin is solemn, as if he, too, feels the snare.

“You got somewhere to stay tonight?” he says, instead of acknowledging the way you’ve drawn a breadth closer. 

“Sure do,” you drawl. 

He chuckles. “Alright, keep your secrets. But, uh—my back ain’t what it used to be, so the forest floor ain’t gonna work for me today.”

Your lips curl. “Presumptuous, are we?”

“You’re lookin’ at me like a piece of meat, sweetheart.”

“Well, ain’tcha?”

“Guess you must be desperate, then, ‘f’you’re back for an old man like me.”

“Guess so,” you hum and give in. “How d’you always find me?”

“Hmm, don’t you worry ‘bout that, alright? All you gotta know is that I do always find you, and I’ve got some of Tommy’s peanut butter cookies in my bag for ya.”

“My hero,” you press one hand over your heart while the other makes the universal ‘gimmie’ gesture at his backpack. 

“Could be, y’know,” he mumbles. 

You both ignore the slip. He rifles around in the bag and pulls out a tin. You try to snatch it from him, but he pulls away with a wagging finger. 

“Nope, not yet,” he says with a teasing lilt, his drawl drawing out. He hands you one precious sweet and tucks the rest back into his bag. “If I give it to you now, you’ll just run off, and then what’ll I have?”

“A sense of satisfaction from being kind?”

You share a laugh at your joke as he leads you not to the safe “house” but up to the old, creepy lodge you avoid like the plague. Or. Well. Like the Infected. 

“Calm down, I already cleared it,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “It’s got a real bed, though, sweetheart, so I can take my time with ya.”

“You mean so you don’t break a knee fuckin’ me over a log?”

“It didn’t break. Jesus. How old do you take me for?”

“Old as shit,” you mutter. 

He just grins. 

“What?” 

“Nothin’. You just get brattier the longer you’re away. Ain’t got any good cock back home?”

“Shut up,” you grumble, but it’s close to the truth. There’s cock back home, sure, but then you’d have to fuck one of those losers, and you just know Joel’s ruined you. 

Ruined you with intent and precision, and now he’s taking you by the hand and leading you up into the lodge’s dusty halls and into what must have once been a nice guest room. 

You whistle. “Did you clean this just for me?” You ask, batting your lashes. 

“If I say yes, you gonna be sweet for me?”

“You wouldn’t know what to do with me if I was.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says, lying down on the bed with his hands behind his head. “So get your ass up here.”

You quickly shimmy out of your sweats and climb up to straddle him, but his grin splits wider in a lecherous stretch. 

“You think I brought you here for you to ride me? Y’can do that shit in the woods. Get up here.”

You hesitate. “I live in a fucking camp, Joel.” The “without running water” bit is obvious but unspoken.

“I do not give a shit,” he says bluntly. “Get up here.”

“Your funeral,” you say with a shrug, and let him help you settle over his face. You’re barely steady when he grabs your hips and pulls, bringing you to meet him. 

It’s been… longer than you can even remember, and oh shit. Either your memory hasn’t done this justice, or the last man to eat you out was fuckin’ terrible because this is nothing like you’ve ever known. 

But he doesn’t dive in and rush it. He doesn’t go straight to sucking on your clit; he doesn’t push three fingers into your cunt to work you open for his cock. 

Oh, no. You’ve been had, you think. This setup was an elaborate trap to wipe your mind clean and replace everything with thoughts of him. He’s brought you here to the second closest place of safety he knows so he can take his fuckin’ time with you. 

His hands are gentle on you, and he nuzzles into your mound to part your folds, his wide nose pushing between to seek out his prize. The tip of his tongue pushes out to help, tracing the tiny slit of your cunt. At the first taste of you, he groans, drawn out and filthy. 

“Shit,” he pants, hot breath scattering across the soft peaks and valleys. “It’s been too goddamn long.”  He seems to be talking to himself, which is good because you can’t wrangle more than a tangled gasping whimper in response. 

He brings his hands up underneath you to grip your inner thighs, pulling to spread you more so he can watch you start to glisten. “Atta girl,” he murmurs, nuzzling back in to lap it up. “Mmm, baby, is all this for me?”

“Shoulda known you wouldn’t shut up,” you mutter, even though you’re addicted to his filthy mouth most of the time.

“Shut me up then,” he says in a way you simply cannot refuse. 

You grind down on his face, expecting protest, but he moans in a way you can only classify as slutty. He buries his face between your thighs with a growl and gets to work. 

You can barely hold yourself up after the first orgasm he coaxes from you, all powerful tongue and gentle lips. 

“Y’ain’t quittin’ on me, are ya?” He taunts. 

“I thought you were gonna shut up.” 

He smacks your ass. “Turn around.”

When you do, he pushes you down to lay on him. “Get nice and cozy with my cock, sweetheart, ‘cause I ain’t done with you yet.”

You take the invitation but before you can pull him free from his jeans, he’s diving back into his personal all you can eat buffet and showing no sign of slowing. 

Eventually, you manage to pry his ridiculous monster cock from its denim confines and try, really try, to focus on it, but it’s so hard (you giggle as you tell him) when he keeps doing that thing with his teeth and your clit. After the third time, you find yourself just moaning and drooling around it; you give up and rest your head on his thigh, content to hold it in your hand and lick. 

He spanks you again. “Don’t be a tease.”

You try to protest, but he bests you by attempting to suck your soul out of your clit while hammering two thick fingers against your g-spot, and it’s all over for your brain. Poor thing never stood a chance against Joel anyway. 

You squirm away from the menace when he attempts to keep going and smack him in the face with a pillow when he whines. He wipes his beard on it and throws it back at you. 

You can’t hold back your questions now that you’re back up and running. “How d’you have the time for this?” 

“Hmm?” Joel grunts, a hand tugging lazily at his dick while he surreptitiously slides his hand down the length of your thigh and back up. 

You turn on your back, swatting his hand away. “You’re usually in a rush.”

He turns a little pink. “Don’t matter.”

“Uh, it clearly does. I’m asking.”

“Well, it’s nunya.”

You groan. “Think I liked it better when you were too busy eating me out to talk.”

“Now you know how I feel.”

You throw the cum-stained pillow back at him but miss by an embarrassing overshot. It arcs over him and into the floor between his side of the bed and the wall. 

You shrug. “Gone forever,” you say and throw an arm over your eyes dramatically. 

It’s a good thing, too, since the pillow hits you in the face. 

“I’m on watch here,” he says once you stop screeching indignantly. 

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job of it,” you let him know solemnly. 

“Ain’t alone. M’brother—Tommy,” he clarifies unnecessarily, “S’here too. He’s got it handled.”

“Oh my god, did you ask your brother to cover for you so you could get laid?”

He shrugs. “Why not?”

“Aw, Miller. You really know how to make a girl feel special,” you drawl. 

He plays it off with another eye roll and scoffs, but the thing is—you know. He stopped asking you to think about moving to Jackson a long time ago. But slowly, he’s been taking you closer and closer to town when you meet up. 

And you’re pretty sure he’s using Tommy’s cookies as a reward. Each time he lures you closer, he brings more treats the next time. You’d be mad at the absolute gall, but… it’s not not working, so you only have yourself to blame.

When you catch his eye again, he makes a point to hold your gaze and draw it down to his leaking cock, and you know he knows. You won’t go with him, so he’ll have you here. Jackson is not your home. But that quiet drawl in your head that sounds unnervingly similar to the man sprawled before you whispers, it could be.

[xxsycamore]

@venulus HA! YOU THOUGHT! I bet you received the previous notification and thought it was all over!!! Guess who impulsively came up with the perfect little idea for an additional ficlet and just HAD TO make it a thing >:) is this how it feels to be Clavis's accomplice? Well, you know it better than me~ Happy Birthday once again, hope you enjoy <3

[🥺] 𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐…

CLAVIS:

"Is something wrong, little bunny? You've been terribly tense all this time."

Clavis's words snap you out of your thoughts, but you don't allow yourself to relax just yet. That's precisely what he wants! To make you lower your guard so he can surprise you when you least expect it. For the longest time, or rather ever since you started dating this talented, handsome, scheming, charming, strange, beautiful creature that is your Clavis, your birthdays have been just that. One surprise after another.

And yes, this is the point, yes this is exactly what someone would want for their lover, to catch them by surprise with a loving gesture - but you can't help the side of you who craves the ultimate proof of love. Namely, knowing him well enough to predict exactly what he's got planned for you.

So every step you take, you stop in your tracks with exclamation. Aha, when you step on this tile, you'll activate some kind of mechanism that will launch a confetti attack! But it never comes.

"You're puzzling me, my darling. Let's get you to the balcony for some fresh air, shall we?"

The balcony?! Where Cyran and the others are waiting to recite an ode of love that yours truly wrote for you, finishing it off with artillery fire for maximum emotional impact?! You shake your head enthusiastically, telling him you want to eat some cake now. Clavis smiles and nods, guiding you by the shoulders to the table he decorated.

As his beautiful gloved hand removes the big cloche to uncover the cake, you've already taken a step back in caution. Who knows what will jump out from the cake - if Clavis wasn't right there where you can clearly see him, you'd think it would be him that jumps out from the cake.

It's a normal cake though. Wait, it's a normal cake??

"Believe it or not my bunny, it is I who baked you this cake. As you can see, there's nothing funny about it - not on the outside, not on the inside. It was extremely hard for me, and I must admit, I had helpers, but at last, the result is here for your eyes to see. Happy Birthday."

As your knife goes in, you're almost expecting for the cake to crumple down as a mass of purple goop oozes out of it, but it never happens. You even bring the forked bite to your mouth, chew on it, gulp it down - and the only thing out of the ordinary is just how amazing it is.

"Is it any good? It might be written all over my face now but, uh, I... I'm quite nervous, haha."

You feel like crying, so you just throw yourself on Clavis' neck, thanking him a hundred times and apologizing that you doubted him some more than that. Amidst it all, you also make sure to tell him how absolutely cute he is.

Clavis grins widely despite how obviously embarrassed your comment got him.

Little do you know, this only served to successfully lower your guard.

∎ (REQUESTS CLOSED) Steal My Heart!! - xxsycamore’s 1500 followers celebration event | 💌 event masterlist

[luveline]

Hiii!!! Love your Eddie and Roan ficlets! I was wondering if you could write one about the first days of Eddie taking care of Roan, maybe you could do like Eddie having like a flashback or something like that while he's with Roan, and he remembers the first days he had Roan with him (and Wayne) That could be super cute!!

eddie and roan — eddie remembers the early days

“She doesn't want her.”  

“What do you mean, she doesn't want her?”   

“That's all she said, Wayne. She doesn't want her. I can have her. Can I have her?” 

Eddie thinks you're sleeping until you stroke his arm gently. “What are you thinking about?” you whisper. 

Roan doesn't stir. She falls asleep in his arms less and less now, but there were days where it was the only place she'd rest. The curve of his arm is deformed, he says, fit to her body. Or, reformed. Made how it was meant to be, to hold her near.

“Nothing,” he whispers back. 

“Liar. I know you're thinking about something, Munson. Is it the campaign?” 

He shakes his head. 

Wayne just looks at him. Really looks at him, the longest they've ever been in silence with one another since Eddie's dad dumped him and left. “Kid…” Wayne shakes his head. “Eddie. This is your life.” 

“But I can't just–”

Wayne holds up his hand. Not high, but enough to make Eddie stop. “You have to live with every decision you make…” 

Eddie squirms. Doesn't know what to say, or do, all he can think about is his baby in a bassinet waiting for someone to pick her up. “She's mine, right?” he asks. 

“Are you okay?” you ask. 

Eddie shifts the weight of his girl off of his chest and offers you a smile he knows from experience will reassure you, one parts living, three parts teasing. “What're you worrying about?” 

“Yeah. She's yours.” Wayne isn't a man of many words, but he's certainly a loving one. He hasn't hid that. He probably never will. “If you want her or not, let's go get her.”

“Of course I want her.” 

“Do you?” 

“You're quiet tonight,” you say. You worry at the inside of your lip, eyebrows lifting delicately at their beginnings as you bring your hand to his cheek. Slowly, like a soft drag, you pull your knuckle down his face. “If something’s wrong, I want to know.” 

“Nothing’s wrong. M'just thinking…” 

If Eddie didn't want Roan, it didn't really matter to Wayne. As far as he was concerned, Roan was a Munson the second she was born, and if Eddie didn't want her he would've taken her himself. Too old for a baby, he would've begged to have her rather than let her fall into the system. 

But Eddie did want her. He wasn't sure of everything, didn't know if he would be a father worth having or if he were even capable of raising a baby, but he wanted her. Lonely and stupid, dumb and broke, he wanted his girl. 

“Her mother was nice.” 

You tuck his hair behind his ear. “Who's?” 

“Roan's.” Eddie doesn't remember much about her beyond that. “But she didn't want to be a mom.” 

“It's just not what I pictured, Eddie. I'm sorry. This is me leaving her on your doorstep. Take her or leave her, do what you want, but I don't want her.” 

These days, Eddie doesn't want an apology. He didn't really want one then, but he wants one for Roan. His big girl, her dark head of hair pressed to his side and her dribble wetting a patch on his shirt, Eddie thinks of all the stuff that makes her her and he can't believe anyone could walk away from that, but he supposes she didn't know a thing about Roan or what she was going to be. 

Amazing, and brilliant, and beautiful. 

How could she not know that? 

Eddie only had to see Roan through plexiglass to guess how much he was going to love her. He didn't even need to hold her, but when he did, there wasn't any doubt. Not a lick of it. This was it for them, he wanted her and he chose her, and if he needed to, he'd fight for her. Badly, with poor coordination. He'd get mean if he needed to. 

“Well… I guess it's her loss.” You speak tentatively; this is unfamiliar territory between you. “It is, I mean. Her loss. I… oh, Eddie, I'm sorry.” 

“I'm sorry,” he says, holding the tiny bundle of his brand new daughter in terrified hands. “I'm sorry, babe, I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do with you, are you hungry? God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” 

“It's alright, Eds,” Wayne says. “You got it. When you panic, she panics. So calm down.” 

Wayne explains himself better later on. It wasn't that he didn't want Eddie to take her, the opposite, he thought it was Eddie's duty as a father. As family. And Wayne would know about duty, looking after his brother's kid for no reason other than blood. He barely knew Eddie when he got ditched on his stoop, but that didn't stop him from bringing him in, getting him changed, and giving him the trailer's only bedroom. So Eddie doesn't know a thing about this baby in his arms, but she's sure as hell his to look after. A crop of dark, soft curls sprouting through the cradle cap and eyes swelled with newness, he'd joked that he can see the resemblance and Wayne tsked. He can't tell if his uncle is happy or mad lately —it's the same with the baby. Everybody's always glaring at him. 

“I'm calm.” 

“You look like you're gonna pass out.” 

“Why is she crying like she's in agony?” he asks. 

“‘Cos she knows you're worried!” Wayne laughs and slides in next to Eddie, snug in the corner of the kitchen beside a tower of formula and all the new baby bottles. What Eddie had for savings is well and truly gone. “You can do this, Eddie, I promise. Lift her head a bit and try again. She's hungry. She'll latch.” 

“I can't–” 

“Come on.” Wayne stands at his side, unflinching. “Deep breath.” 

Roan latches. (Crazy to have named her, weirder to have been allowed to bring her home, no questions asked. He showed his ID and she was his to love forever.) She stops crying, eyes barely open but watching him with the most innate kind of curiosity. 

She won't remember this moment, but Eddie will. 

“Hey,” he says quietly. “That's better. That's better, huh?” He lifts his eyes to Wayne's. “She's cute.”

“She's beautiful, Eds.” 

Eddie takes one of Roan's hands to knead her fingers. “I'm not sorry,” he confides to you. “I wish Ro could've had everything, but I think she's doing just fine now.” 

“Fine? Baby, she's had everything she ever needed right from the beginning.” You lean up to press a smacking kiss Munson style against his temple. “She's got you.” 

“I've got you,” he says, quiet and sweet as he meets her curious gaze. “Got you, sweetheart. Everything's gonna be okay.” 

He strokes a big tangle of curls away from Roan's face and smiles like he did then, as though he's seeing her properly for the first time all over again. 

[melancholiaincarnate]

hell-bent

warnings: brief descriptions of pain and injuries

note: helloo :3 this is another little ficlet to this fic . im going to make a series masterlist - eventually - but i cannot be bothered to do so right now. anyways - if u wanna see more of them lmk or send in requests hehehehehe

"oh she is the cutest!" feyre swoons, her arms extending towards the child that's hiding behind temperance.

"say hi, piper." you look down and behind your legs to where the girl is clutching onto your pant thighs. though she's got a small fear in her eyes, she still peeks out slightly, taking in the view of your family. five very intense pairs of eyes stare back at her. "it's okay, pip." you whisper, "they're my family."

"hello everyone." she says softly, her voice no higher than the squeak of a small kitchen mouse. "where's azzy?" she questions, looking up and big eyes stare at you.

rhys looks at feyre, a knowing smirk playing upon his face, and a matching one on hers. they've both got that look in their eyes that they get when they're communicating through the bond - you roll your eyes knowing that they're never going to let azriel live down the nickname.

"he'll be here soon. he's just a little busy right now." you smooth down her hair with a gentle hand and she frowns, stepping behind you more as cassian approaches, a grin on his features.

"since when do you have a kid?" he questions, crouching down to eye level with piper. he cranes his neck to attempt to see her but she tucks herself behind you even more. "ooh! lemme guess the father. lemme guess - it's az, isn't it! i always knew you two were fucking."

"she's not mine. and watch your mouth." you huff, kicking cassian lightly and he topples over. "remember the mission rhys sent me on?" cassian nods from his spot on the floor. "i found her." you wince at your choice of words - you definitely could've phrased that better. piper seems to be unaffected by your words, instead choosing to let her shadows sniff out cassian.

"what do you mean you found her? you can't just take people's kids, dude. that's super illegal." cassian scoffs, "how do you 'find' a kid and just take her? rhys, that has to be illegal-" he sits up, but his eyes furrow as he sees little tendrils of black whirling around his arms. "isn't that-"

"there's another shadowsinger in velaris." rhys muses from his spot at the table. "we thought it best for her to come here and train here with our shadowsinger."

"so you just.. took her?" cassian looks bewildered, "dude.. this high lord shit has to have some rules to it. you can't just take kids!" he stands up, stretching, before peeking around your legs to see pip staring back at him. "hi." he grins, "i'm cassian." then, he bends down to whisper, "i'm kind of the coolest one here. everyone else here sucks."

"pip, don't listen to him. he's a moron." you sigh and hear little giggles from behind you, whispers of shadows trailing up your arms. there was one shadow though, that stayed nestled in your neck. it didn't belong to the girl, no, it was one of azriel's shadows that had seemed to take a strong liking to you and preferred you over its master.

"you're very silly mr. cassian." she comments, peeking out a little more. you're grateful for cassian's resolve and the things he's seen - you don't know what you'd do if he made piper feel any worse about her current condition. you don't know what azriel would do if he found out that someone dared look at piper with disgust.

piper steps out and the inner circle holds their breaths. her left eye has a deep scratch on it that stretches from her eyebrow to right underneath her eye. it seems to be healing well, but it settles painfully in everyone's gut to see such a large scar on a pure face.

the rest of her face is filled with smaller scratches. thankfully ones that won't scar. no one's seen it yet - but if piper turned around there would be a missing pair of wings on her back.

no one comments. based on the way cassian and rhys look - they're ready to kill whoever did this to this girl, and they'd only known her for less than an hour. even nesta, normally cold-faced, looks full of anger.

piper pulls on your pant leg and points to the table. you hold her hand and her limping does not go unnoticed by your family. she's relearning to walk without the weight of her wings - and feyre's eyes widen once she realizes.

piper's movements are stiff and the table is silent. for the first time in years, the entire house is silent.

conversation starts up as you help pile food onto piper's plate. despite her condition, her eyes still sparkle with glee. as soon as she puts her first spoon in her mouth, the door to the dining room opens and piper turns quickly,.

"azzy!" everyone is blown back by how loud her shriek is. they're even more surprised at how fast she manages to sprint across the dining room and into azriel's arms, despite her condition. "you came back!"

he picks her up, balancing her on one hip with ease. "told ya i would, pip." his voice is soft as he pats the top of her head. their shadows intertwine and zip around the two of them, as if they were doing their own catching up. "did you do your training today?"

"i did!" her movements have caught up to her and she leans against his legs for support, her breathing becoming labored. he notices, and shadows come to swirl around her legs, ready to catch her if she falls. "i walked all the way down the stairs today! by myself!"

the inner circle watches in awe as the shy little girl they'd just seen exploded into personality at the sight of the quiet and stoic spymaster. rhys smiles to himself - he knew that bringing the girl here was a good idea.

"that's great progress, pip." azriel's voice is laced with exhaustion. his eyes finally catch yours - but only because he felt the pool of your emotions in his chest. he nods softly at you, once to tell you he's okay, and he watches your shoulders relax. "tomorrow we're going to go to the healer's again. she wants to -" azriel glances at the inner court, "she wants to check up on you."

"okay." she smiles, "maybe we can walk there! and i can do it by myself this time!"

"i think you can do it, pip." azriel hums, "how about we go eat? i'm starving." he looks up at you, and smiles again, "and then we can go back to your room and finish that puzzle." "yes!" piper nods quickly, "yes, please!" she holds onto azriel's hand for support, and doesn't flinch when her hands touch his marred ones.

azriel sits between you and piper, his eyes watching every single person at the table as they interact with the girl. they may be his family, but if one person - even his own brothers, made a wrong move, he'd flip the table over. his protection for the girl ran deep - so much so that it worries him.

his shadows whisper that it's alright - his protection is justified. they whisper he'll never have to act to protect her, they'll do it for him. and they whisper that if he does have to act, it'll be justified. they whisper to him that the carnage he'd bring for this girl is justified.

so azriel lets his worries go. they're right.

[absentlurker]

Have a little Ficlet!!!

~~~~~~

Wayne sighs heavily as he walks into the trailer after a long night shift. The lights were off in the living room except for a small Coca Cola night light plugged in above the kitchen counter. He locks the door before dumping his keys on the kitchen table before taking off his jacket. He kicked off his boots after hanging his jacket on the back on the table chair.

Wayne grabs his boots and placed them against the wall beside the front door before walking down the short hall to Eddie’s bedroom door.

He paused before the cracked door when he heard voices softly talking. Eddie and Steve, Wayne thought to himself and started to walk away but paused when their voices started to rise a little in the bedroom.

Nosey old man, Wayne chuckles at himself as he turns his head so he can hear better.

“I know you’re scared to get hurt again, baby,” He hears Eddie say. Wayne’s brows furrowed, “but you can’t let that stop you from letting people in, Steve.”

Wayne hears Steve huff and it’s quiet for a moment before Steve says weakly, “You don’t understand. I think about if we don’t make it and I’m just sick to my stomach.” Wayne hears some movement and Eddie’s bed squeaking as he moves.

“Honey, what’s the alternative?” Eddie questions with a hum, “are you going to let us go because of a maybe? Baby, I can’t see the future but you gotta take risks sometimes.”

Steve doesn’t say anything which worries Wayne because god, Eddie would beside himself if Steve were to break up with him. He’s so gone on that boy.

He’s surprised how calm Eddie sounds when he says, “You know, I’ve been there.”

“Huh?” Steve questions, “what do you mean ‘you’ve been there’?”

Eddie takes a deep breath and says, “When I moved in with Wayne, I had convinced myself I wasn’t gonna trust him.” Wayne stops the noise that threatens to escape at the confession. What?

“What? Wayne?” Steve asks and he hears Eddie’s voice crack as he laughs at Steve’s surprise.

“Yeah, man. I was terrified to let anyone in again. After my dad-“ Wayne’s heart aches as Eddie’s voice breaks, “Well, you know…I didn’t want to let anyone in or love anyone because what’s the point, you know? They’re just going to hurt me and they didn’t understand me anyway.” Eddie snorts softly, “Did you know I didn’t even speak to Wayne for about six months when I first showed up?”

“Really?” Steve asks softly. Wayne remembers those days. God, they were so difficult. Wayne constantly felt like he was doing everything wrong back then.

“Yeah, I honestly don’t know how he managed. I was such an asshole to him for no reason back in the beginning.”

No, Wayne thought, you were a grieving little boy who lost everything he knew.

“He didn’t give up though. God, I still remember when I came home from school when I was like eleven. I had a black eye because I got in a fight over something I don’t remember and I was just angry all the time. I refused to tell him what happened and honestly, I was trying to start a fight with him.” Eddie admitted distantly, “I guess I wanted him to yell at me and prove he was just like everyone else and you know what he did?”

“What?” Steve whispers, he sounds as invested in his story as Wayne is even though he was there.

“He grabbed me and hugged me so tight,” Eddie sounds choked up and honestly, so is Wayne. “He-he said, ‘boy, I understand you’re angry and you miss your old life but I’m going to be here even if you build concrete walls around yourself. And I’m going to love you and care for you and if you think for one second I won’t go down to that school and raise hell because of your face, you gotta thing comin’” Eddie laughs to himself, “and he did! He stomped down to that middle school and told off the principal for not expelling that boy who hit me.” Eddie snickers softly, “Jesus, that was great.” He hears Steve laughing quietly.

“I knew I loved him then,” Eddie continues, “and I wasn’t even mad about it. It was a risk because it was still in the beginning and he could still hurt me one day but you know what?” Eddie sounds content, “He hasn’t. He probably doesn’t understand everything I do and say because dude, I can be so weird sometimes,”

Steve interrupts with a laugh before saying, “True.” Wayne nods in agreement.

“Rude. But he doesn’t care and he loves me anyway.”

Wayne hears Eddie move around before he says, “Stevie, I’m asking you to take a risk with me. I know you’ve been hurt and it’s made you doubt yourself about love and relationships but the planet is going to keep spinning with or without me and don’t you wanna see where it goes?”

Steve sounds on the edge of tears when he says, “Yeah, yeah, I do.”

“Yeah?”

Steve laughs, “Yeah, you goof.” Wayne smiles to himself when he hears the obvious sound of lips smacking together.

“You won’t regret it, Stevie, I’ve got a good feeling.” Eddie tells him playfully.

Wayne turns away from Eddie’s door to walk back down the hall with a smile on his face.

Maybe he didn’t mess up that much trying to raise that little ten year old who showed up at his door all those years ago.

~~~~~~~

(inspiration for this was from the song the alternative by Lyn Lapid)