#as long as i’ve had him that he’s hoarse. i’m tired i’ve been walking for nine hundred years my feet hurt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sillysowa · 8 months

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RUNWAY MODEL

PAIRING: hobie brown x fem!reader

GENRE: suggestive, smut

WORD COUNT: 2.9k

WARNINGS: smut, vaginal fingering, choking (fem! and male receiving), vaginal sex, both hobie and reader are switches

AUTHORS NOTE: not proofread cause i’m so tired i can feel my eyes melting

SYNOPSIS: in which hobie brown is a model, and you are his favorite designer

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Hobie walked into your studio nonchalantly with no apparent purpose, like usual. The day had been long and he was tired of bending around for the photographers, wanting to visit his favorite designer. He sat his tall figure in the chair across from you, kicking his legs up on the desk because he knows it doesn’t bother you,

“Oh, Hobie…you’re still here?” You mumbled drowsily, exhaustion present in your hoarse voice. It’s late and you probably shouldn’t still be here at the studio, but you’re so caught up in your work. Hobie leans forward slightly, catching glimpse at the scribble artistic designs that he can tell after for him,

“Mhm,” Hobie hums, “You never tire of this work do you?” He chuckles, leaning back and tossing around a pen of yours, “Y’alright? Must be tired.” He asks in that deep voice of his,

You sigh, “Of course…just…gotta get this right.” You scribble around on the paper,

Hobie’s interest is piqued at this and he eyes the sketch pad, “You know I’ll wear whatever you come up with.” He leans back in the chair, still studying the work in progress, “Don’t have to do such hard work f’me.”

“I know…that’s what makes it so complex…I mean there’s so many different things I can see you in! Like…this maybe?” You ramble, flipping around your sketch pad to show him the punk rock outfit you had crafted for him. It’s skimpy to say the least, exposing his abs, most of his legs, and the pants hang low, exposing that pretty V-line of his that you’ve seen with watchful eyes as he gets his pictures taken for especially seductive shoots.

Hobie studies the artworks with squinty eyes, a smirk spreading across his face,

“I like that one…” He smiles knowingly, bringing his feet off the desk to support his head in his hands with his elbows on his knees. He glances up at the design again, and then back at you,

“You always do these designs f’me, hm? Am I your favorite model?” He teases, smirking a little like he knows a secret.

You smile and lean back, chewing the inside of your cheek for a moment in contemplation, “I mean you’re honestly probably my favorite out of all the models I’ve worked with.“ You say bluntly, wanting to only slightly allude to how deep your desire for Hobie is. Clearly, it’s written all over your face. You notice his stare as he obviously tries not to smile,

“Wanna expand on that? You look a little…flustered.” His voice drops low, his flickering down to your lips and even lower for a moment.

“I’m not. You’re a stunning model, Hobie.” You smile, continuing your work. Your face is burning hot and you can’t look at him because all you’re thinking about is how how badly you want him to bend you over the table with his long fingers around your neck. He suddenly changes the topic,

“D’you think I could do a gig solely on m’hands?” He asks like he knows the answer, “I think you’re someone who can appreciate their beauty, hm? With your drawings n’all?” He smirks teasingly and you feel your heart drop into your stomach,

“What?”

“Well you’ve drawn my hands about a hundred times…I’ve seen it. Can’t even keep your eye off of em when we talk.” He replies, leaning in and shortening the distance between the two of you between the table. Clearly, he had been through your sketchbook—your stomach churned at the thought,

“And how would you know that?” You whisper, flustered at the idea of of being caught in a sense but so fucking up for this challenge that he’s offering—there’s nothing to be ashamed of now that he obviously knows you have a severe hand kink. He keeps smiling at you as if he was entertained by all this,

“Doesn’t matter. What does the bough is that you must take a hefty liking to my fingers, right?” He says, flexing them again across the table, stretched out to their full length. You don’t even give in to your desire, eyes locked on the way his middle and ring finger press together suggestively a d make your face feel hot.

You bite your lip, tearing your eyes away as you flip the pages on your sketchbook to change the subject,

“A-Anyways, I’ve also got this design you could try…”

Hobie just smiles and leans back, deciding to let it go for now and toy with you later. He looks at the papers for a while before he speaks up,

“You’ve done a great job.” Hobie says in awe, gesturing to the designs with a nod of his head and that signiature sly smile, “I like ‘em.” Hobie’s tone switches to his playful-work-voice of his now, and he reaches his hands out, gripping the edge of the desk as he stands,

“So, Y/N,” Hobie starts looking down on you. “Got any of these ready for me to try on?” He asks, leaning down to your eye level.

You squirm a little in your seat, your thighs clenching together. He always gets you so riled up you’ve never had this kind of one on one time together. You often just catch glimpse of him during his shoots,

“Yeah…I actually have one of them here if you really want to try it out early,” You say excitedly, walking to the clothing rack and plucking it off. Its gorgeous, grungy, and incredibly revealing. The other designers love to see Hobie in multiple layers and a lot of baggy clothing, but when you got lucky enough to catch the photographers bending Hobie around in nothing but tight boxers for his Calvin Klein shoot—you nearly died, “It’s a little skimpy.”

“Oh yeah? Just f’me?” Hobie chuckles, walking up behind you in the dimly lit room and brushing his hand onto of yours to grab the clothing hanger. He looks at you with his head over your shoulder, awfully close,

“If you wanted to see me naked could’ve just asked” Hobie teases, whispering in your ear before turning away from you. To your utmost horror and delight, he starts stripping right then and there,

“Oh my god you slut, right infront of me?” You gasp, turning around letting out a quick laugh in disbelief. Your face feels hot after catching the sight of his jeans catching on his dick as he pulled them down, looking at you out of the corner of his eye,

A snicker comes from Hobie as he gets undressed in a fashion comparable to a strip-tease,

“Oh come on doll, it’s not like you haven’t seen me at work with even less on. I don’t mind you watching.” He pry’s, his voice taunting and inviting like a sweet honey. You think of your job. You think about how you thought you were alone only 10 minutes ago before Hobie strolled in. It’s beyond after hours, and it’s just the two of you—quite literally a recipe for disaster. Hobie finished getting dressed, standing up straight in the designer outfit,

“Alright, alright, it’s safe you prude. Come get a look at your creation.” Hobie holds his arms out, flipping them and getting a look at it all himself before smiling at you. You turn and look at him and instantly your eyes as they widen,

“Oh…my…god…” You gasp, “You look so good!” Excitement covers your to face as you walk up to him, inspecting how everything fits. You marvel in the way his toned chest looks on display and his nipple piercings under the sheer top. The studded jewelry and leather accessories add so much to the look but most of all…his hands in those fingerless gloves are to die for. You inspect them closely, pulling them towards you as you dreamily stare at his long fingers, toying with them in your hands,

Hobie smiles in the silence of your admiration, “Y’know it’s kinda funny...” He murmurs. His left hand gently holds onto yours, lacing your fingers with his. His other hand grazes your side,

You freeze and look up at him—instantly, your stomach drops at his gaze, “What’s funny?”

“You clearly got a hand kink or something…or is it just mine, hm? Got a thing for me, miss designer?” He teases, gently pulling you close with his knee in between your legs. Your heart beats in your chest like a drum and your toes curl in your shoes. You lick your lips, melting at the proximity,

“Well it looks like you’ve got me all figured out huh?” You whisper as your skin warms under his touch, his hands feeling like fire on your skin. You shouldn’t be doing this…but it feels too good to stop,

“Yeah?” He pulls you up in an embrace, nuzzling into the crook of your neck with his hot breath on your sensitive skin. His left hand grips your hair as he whispers into your ear,

“Say it.” Hobie enunciates every syllable, his lips hovering over the sensitive skin of your ear. You press your body against him and all logical reasoning leaves your mind,

“I want you.” You groan into his ear, balling your fists around his mesh shirt. Hobie grins, and his voice is low and husky when he whispers,

“I know you do. I want you too, dollface.” He wraps his arm around you fully, one hand still in your hair, and the other around your back. He stares straight ahead, his knee edging further up between your legs as he whispers,

“Let me show you…” He whispers into your ear, biting it gently and leaning down to kiss your neck. Your mind melts and you nearly collapse against him—it’s an all numbing feeling to have model lips like Hobie’s on your neck and his tall stature holding you so close,

You moan softly and dig your fingers into his clothes at the feeling, his lips on your neck make you feel so good inside. His large thigh slides up and now your skirt is pushing and your warm pussy is on his thigh. It’s lewd and oh so embarrassing until he groans, his voice all needy and horny, right in your ear,

“Oh, fuck…you’re already so wet? I’ve barely touched you, love.” He coo’s clicking his tongue, slipping his hands under the back of your shirt and undoing your bra in a swift, skilled motion. He toys with the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head. After getting you topless, his hands are palming your breasts wasting absolutely no time. You throw your head back and shamelessly whine at the feeling—the feeling being indescribable desire,

“God I just knew those—ah! Mmm-knew those hands would feel so good.” Your breath hitches in your throat as you mewl, his fingers pinching your nipples while you’re mid sentence. He laughs darkly at you, leaning down and taking one of your nipples into his mouth, squirming his tongue around the small bud,

“Mmm…” He hums around your skin, his eyes rolling into the back of his head for your viewing pleasure—and oh does it do things to you. Your desperate moans echo in the empty studio, the low lighting reflecting off of Hobie’s dark eyes driving you crazy,

One of his hands grabs your chin, and he stands up straight again, lifting your face up so that he could look into your eyes, “Keep making those pretty noises, gorgeous…” He murmurs, his eyes on yours flickering down to your lips.

You so badly want to kiss him that you can’t even wait for him, pulling him the collar of his shirt and meshing your lips against his in a matter of seconds, capturing his lips in a moral-melting kiss. You knew if anyone saw you two—colleagues—grinding and kissing in the studio late at night, you’d both lose your jobs on the spot; but there was no stopping now. His lips were like magic on yours. You felt your heart rate pickup the moment his hands met your thighs and he picked you up, walking you to the desk and never once breaking away from the desperate needy kiss you were sharing. When it starts to get to your head and you feel a need for air, you break away from the kiss, panting and looking into his lust blown eyes,

“Fuck me on that desk…right now.”

Hobie is shocked for a quick moment before a grin spreads across his face. He wastes no time in laying you onto the desk and kissing his way down your stomach, his fingers toying with the top of your skirt,

“What do you say I put these long fingers of mine to use, hm?” Hobie’s whispers, his voice raspy and sending need straight to your aching pussy.

“You better…” You thrust your hips up as he removes your skirt, his fingers grazing your thighs before he spits onto them, shoving two right into your tight pussy,

“Not so sure i’m the model anymore—fucking look at you…” Hobie groans, kissing your thighs as he slowly thrusts his fingers into you. His pace is agonizing, and you grab him by his wrist,

“Please…just shut up and fuck me…I’ve seen how big it is and I can’t wait any longer…” You grunt and Hobie’s eyes widen more than you’ve ever seen. It’s his turn to look flustered and the feeling of being spoken to in such a dirty manner is enough to make his dick twitch in his pants,

“How can I deny such an offer?” He laughs breathlessly, standing up and unbuckling his spikey belt, pulling everything down and letting his cock spring free. It’s long, and thick, and there’s precum leaking from his tip like the glaze on your favorite dessert. He feels his face heat up at your hungry stare, leaning down and cupping his hands in the bend of your legs, pushing them down at your sides and spreading your legs wide open for him,

“Please—“

“Yeah I know…” Hobie groans, smearing his pre-cum across your pussy and gently thrusting into you. It takes your breath away and shakes the desk, your mouth hanging open as a guttural moan tumbles out of your mouth,

Hobie groans and kisses your neck, “You’re so fucking tight.” Hobie whispers, his voice shaking. He groans and slams his hips into yours, his hands gripping your hips as he desperately fucks into you. Never in your entire life had you felt something so big inside of you—so filling and so fucking good. Of course a model as gorgeous as Hobie has such a perfect dick—but this position isn’t doing it for you.

You sit up, your hands on his chest as you push him down onto the desk and crawl on top. Hobie looks pleasantly surprised at this, his hands coming up to your hips,

“Fuck…” He whines, his head thrown back and his adams apple bobbing in his neck. You sink down on his length, grunting so loud you’d think it’s injuring you as your hand comes to Hobie’s neck. You give him a gentle squeeze and he nods at you, his eyelashes fluttering as he slaps your ass,

“C’mon.”

You ride him like your life depends on it, your hands tight around his neck and his clothes. The studio echoes with both of your moans and you feel your head spinning as his cock melts your insides, the sensation eliciting desperate moans out of you.

Hobie feels lightheaded and delirious with your hand around his neck and your pussy squeezing him so good, broken moans, grunts, and whimpers leaving his lips. The messy sounds fill the dark room and you can barely hold on any longer,

“Give it to me—please…”

You squeeze his neck just right and his hand comes up to yours as you ride him, your pussy clenching and your orgasm nearing. Now both of you are gripping each others necks, grunting and panting and falling apart so beautifully,

“I’m gonna—“ Hobie starts but he doesn’t finish…well he does. He cums deep inside you as you continue to ride him through it all, making a sloppy mess and coating his dick and thighs in cum. His head falls back against the hard wood and you ride his soul out until you cum. When you do, you’re shaking and moaning loudly, your hands moving from his neck to his shoulders to support yourself as you nearly pass out, pulling too hard on the mesh shirt and tearing it down his chest,

Hobie’s breathing is slow yet heavy as he tries to get a grip on reality now. His hands are still holding your hips and his brain still feels like jell-o, but he’s slowly coming to his senses,

“Y’look so good fucked out like this.” He mumbles, smoothing his thumbs over your bare skin,

“You think I’m the one who’s fucked out?” You giggle as you look Hobie over. His makeup is smudged, his clothes torn, and his eyebrows are as furrowed as they were when he came. He looks perfect, because how could he look anything but? He’s a model…and he’s your art no matter what,

“Wait stay right there…” You smile, walking behind him to your desk drawers and getting your camera, coming back around to his front. Hobie rolls his eyes and laughs incredulously at you, holding his pose with his elbows behind him, his lips parted and his eyebrows pinched, and his cock on full display still pumping its cum. You snap the picture and instantly swear to yourself that this would not be the last time you fuck Hobie.

—

@ohxx @luxxtuxx @fatenpara @hobesbf @defnot-bri

#across the spiderverse #hobie brown smut #hobie brown x reader #spider punk #hobie brown #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown x you #hobie spiderverse #spiderman #x reader #silly’s fics

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idksmtms · 2 months

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You Are Not One Of Us (Poseidon x Norse Goddess!reader) - Part 3

Full Request - Part 2

AN: I’m so sorry this is so late! I’ve been so busy with life and then I was so tired I kinda lost the motivation to write but I’m back now!!! Also, sorry this is so short, it's kind of a filler before all the big stuff happens!

Side note: I’m so proud of the way I choose to show their messaging systems - will continue in ending note -

Summary: Forced apart, you and Poseidon try to find ways to communicate.

Word count: 2,604

Trigger Warnings: she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, profanity, innuendo, age gap (even tho they are both thousands of years old), god racism?? Idk they act like “foreigner gods” is a bad thing, lusting, liking the fact that he looks older (is this a warning???), (please let me know if I missed any)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians characters. I do not claim to own any of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so.

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

After you were thrown from Olympus and forbidden to even be near your love, it stormed for two weeks straight. With every day of the storm, more houses were destroyed, more people hurt, with no sign of an end. The people trekked to Poseidon’s temples every day with offerings, they prayed until their voices were hoarse, but the rain didn’t cease. The people believed he had given up on them, that they had done something to anger him. They didn’t know the utter heartbreak that coursed with the ichor in his veins. They didn’t know that this was the true despair of a god, that it could destroy them all.

You had been taken back to Asgard and cared for like you were newly-made, the Aesir tip-toeing around you and hoping not to set off any catastrophes. You had become numb since you had been brought home, moving around the halls of Valhalla like a lost spirit. Odin and Frigg tried so hard to bring you back, to do something that would return you to yourself, but it was all in vain. The only thing that you could possibly want was him.

Every day you walked the fjords, standing right on the edge of a cliff, the breeze pressing on your back, hoping to push you off. You had roamed every inch of the fjords, combed every cliffedge. You waited for Pegasus to find you, to whisk you away to your love, but the winged stallion never came. You hoped for a sign, any sign that both of you weren’t lost to each other, but nothing came.

And then, when you were beginning to lose all hope, you looked down over the edge of the cliff, straight down and into the swirling waters that frothed and smashed against the sharp rocks. There was no pegasus, but a huge clump of seaweed. You had never seen the seaweed come up near the fjords before in your whole existence, not this much anyway. It was always deep under the water, or only a few specks of it floated up and washed ashore. But there was so much of it floating near the edge that it created an island on the water.

Your heart stopped in your chest as you watched it float to the cliff wall and bump against it. Again and again it floated into the cliff, as if waiting for something before it would allow itself to disperse. You clenched your hands together, breath suddenly shallow, then took a run and jumped off the cliff.

The water was icy, and your skin began to tingle as the bubbles floated up around you and to the surface. You waited until they had all disappeared then allowed yourself to push to the surface as well, treading water and staring up at the sky for a moment. It had been so long since you had gone swimming, since you had enjoyed the sea as you once had, and it felt immeasurably good to be immersed in it once more. You smiled, wider and brighter than you had ever done since being back from Olympus. You allowed yourself to drop into the water again and again, ceasing the swirling of your arms and legs to just float in it. It felt like a hug from Poseidon. Then you swam over to the island of kelp and began sifting through it.

Carefully pulling each piece away and gathering it into your other hand. If it truly was a message from him you wouldn’t let any of it go to waste. It was slippery and a little slimy but you just held on tighter as you straightened out each piece and lay it in your other hand. Right in the centre of the bundle, you found five oyster shells. They were placed in a perfectly straight row in the perfect centre of the kelp and they were… perfect. You had never seen an oyster like that, perfectly black on the outside like a mussel but still rippled so you knew it was an oyster. You reached out and gently picked one up. Your hands shook and tears filled your eyes until the oyster became blurry. You wiped at them haphazardly, blinking until you could see again and the tears had mixed into the seawater.

The oyster was just barely open, a thin crack that you tried to peek through, but you couldn’t see anything inside. You dug your nails into the opening and used whatever godly strength you possess to pry it open just enough without breaking it fully. It was a rather delicate task and you had to stop a few times for fear of cracking the shell, but when you got it open you found a beautiful pearl sitting in the centre. It wasn’t perfectly round (as you found that natural pearls rarely were) and was actually rather flat with its edges poking out here and there so it looked like a splash of water in pearl form. You picked it out of the shell, the oyster within not giving any resistance, and you held it in your palm. It seemed smooth, and glinted different colours in the grey light. You flipped it over, and you found that there were little scratches on the pearl. They were much too small for you to decipher at first, but as you brought it closer to your eye and realised that it was writing, your heart began to thunder. ‘To have and to hold’ was all it said. You stared at it, heart in your throat, and gently placed it back in the oyster, shutting it and resting it on its bed. The next was the same, except this pearl was smoother around the edges, almost like a flat oval. ‘For better or worse’ it said in the same small writing. The one after it was almost perfectly round but also flat and thin like a drachma. ‘For richer or for poorer’. The next pearl was sharp, its edges jagged and spiking out. ‘Until death do us part’. You caressed it, allowing the sharpest edge to cut into your skin and the bead of blood to stain the pearl. You whispered each word aloud as you opened the pearls, hoping that since you were in the water that he could hear it, that he would know. The final pearl was a perfect sphere and as large as the first segment of your pinky finger. The writing was inscribed around it, and you spun it over and over, reading the words until they were screaming inside your head, until you couldn’t read them anymore because your eyes were streaming with tears and you were sobbing so heavily that water splashed up and into your mouth. ‘I love you’ it read, inscribed over and over around the pearl so that it looked like it was scratched all over.

You floated there for a moment, staring at the vows, at the pearls, then let yourself sink under the water, eyes closed. You screamed the words into the water, bubbles floating around your face, voice garbled, but you screamed until you had no air left and even your body began to tire. You wanted him to hear you, needed him to know. Then you surfaced, breathing heavily and feeling lighter than you had before coming to the cliffs. You looked at each pearl again, caressed them, then gently placed them back into their shells. You wrapped the shells up in the seaweed, creating a tight parcel and tying it up with the seaweed you had stripped away before. You stayed in the water a while longer, feeling the caress of it on your skin, pretending it was his arms wrapping around you, his fingers running up and down your arms. Then, when it became close to the time of the nightly feast and knowing the others would begin to worry if you did not show up, you grabbed the parcel and made your way back to your new home, a small house built at the bottom of the hills that led to the cliff edges.

It was more of a hut, built in the viking style and furnished sparsely. You had lost all your taste for glamour in the last weeks, lost the feeling of being a goddess, and had conjured this place, quiet and secluded and right by the cliffs you had once enjoyed. You left the pile of seaweed in the hall of the house by the entrance, thinking of ways to decorate your house with it. You placed the shells in order on a shelf just above your bed. You didn’t want the pearls themselves to be exposed, just in case someone came snooping. You looked at them longingly and kissed each shell before making the journey back to Valhalla. You had to find a way to send a message in return. You had to.

Poseidon sat on the beach he had once brought you to. He stared out at the water’s edge, watching a happy couple walk along it, a woman in a beautiful dress kicking up splashes of water and the man staring down at her with such devotion in his eyes. He watched them press close to each other, walk further into the water, let it roll over them. He watched them kiss, felt it on his own lips, then a wave crashed over the shadows and they disappeared into seafoam and the sparkle of sunlight on the water.

Poseidon pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, sighing heavily and shaking his head as he muttered angrily to himself. Though he had been forced to stop the storms lest he flood all of Greece, the one in his head never ceased. You were his every thought, consuming him from the inside. He had gone to the lake on Olympus everyday for the week he had been forced to stay there after your banishment. Zeus has wanted all the gods together to feast and be merry for the return of his bolt. Poseidon had not spoken a word the entire time, glaring at his brother with such fire that even Hephaestus could not conjure a flame with such heat. The rest of the time was either spent watching Hermes, trying to figure out if all of this was really his doing, or making the trek to the lake to sit on one of the boulders, feet dipped into the water, and reminiscing on the time he had with you.

Even since had returned to his domain, nothing felt right. The usually comforting embrace of the water now felt hollow. The feeling of the sand under his feet did not mean anything now that he couldn’t share it with you. He no longer felt like the god of the seas, just a god of… nothing. Everywhere he looked he saw something that reminded him of you. He could not escape your memory even if he were trying. Even now, sitting on the beach where you had first kissed, he could only hope you had received his pearls, his vows of marriage.

A butterfly, blue and shiny, fluttered into view. He watched it flap its wings and fly in little twirls, as if looking for something. Then it began to flutter closer, circling its way to him. He watched the little creature with a sad smile, wishing you were here to see it. He knew you would love it. But the butterfly kept coming closer, flittering and fluttering until it sat itself on the tip of his nose. His eyes crossed as he tried to stare at it, eyebrows knitting in a frown, as the insect flapped its wings once, twice, then laid them out flat and stopped moving entirely. Without the strength of its little legs gripping to his nose, the butterfly fell away and into his lap, laying on his thigh as still and dead as he felt. His frown deepened, staring at the creature with its legs poking up into the air and wings perfectly flat.

The structure and pattern suggested it was a monarch butterfly, but they didn’t come in blue. It was old, at least for its species, around 6 weeks if he were to guess, right at the end of its life. With the gentlest movements, he dug his fingertips under the wings of the dead butterfly and lifted it closer to his eyes. He flipped it over and examined the backs of its wings, the beautiful blue that somehow shined even brighter now that it was dead. He stared at the black lines that swirled over the wings, creating little pockets of blue and edged with dots of white. It was in the black lines that he found writing, in the smallest letters possible. Where the lines swirled and made pockets, letters followed them. And there, on the wings of this butterfly that seemed to randomly appear on this beach and randomly choose to land on him, he found his wedding vows. Each one he had sent, returned in the beautiful writing of a goddess. And right at the bottom, in the biggest letters, ‘I love you’. He could almost hear your voice, a whisper in the wind, and he closed his eyes lest the tears fall.

Years passed without a word from neither him nor you. You had settled into your life with the Aesir again, comforted by the pearls that sat above your bed. You opened the shells every night and gazed at them, whispering the words and hoping that somewhere in the sea he felt your love. He too returned to his palace underwater, the butterfly encased in clear ice to be frozen as long as he lived, a reminder that you had said yes, that you had married him. Both of you felt safer knowing he was yours and you were his. It was not a traditional wedding by any means, but it was yours, and you would cherish it until the end of your days.

After the first three decades of peace and no sign of anyone knowing that you had sent messages to each other, you sent one more, another butterfly with a simple reminder that you loved him. In return you received a conch shell, not too large but still a hefty weight in your palm. When you lifted it to your ear, in the whisper of the ocean you could hear his voice, telling you he loved you. Every night you put it to your ear and let it lull you to sleep.

So many years passed in this way, changes coming and going, empires rising and falling. Suddenly the modem age arrived, bringing its technology and skyscrapers and all of you gods into each other’s vicinity once more. Now the Greek gods were huddled in New York, living lavishly atop the Empire State building while the halls of the Aesir occupied Boston, hiding in plain sight. The battles continued, the monsters still roared, but things had become slow, the gods became lazy. While you kept your cabin in the fjords, your connection to Poseidon and your homeland, you were forced to spend much of your time in Boston to keep yourself alive, to keep your facade with the other gods.

The clashes between the worlds of the Greek and the Norse became more frequent, though all the gods kept their promise of staying away from each other. It was not until the battle of the Draugur that this promise was broken. That after millennia you were face to face with your love once more…

A/N: I chose things from the sea as his messaging system because obvi he’s the god of the sea. But I chose butterflies for Y/n because I see her character in so many ways that I feel the butterfly embodies. I was thinking of the butterfly effect (a butterfly flaps its wings in one place and a storm starts in another) and that’s literally Y/n because she’s this small thing who’s seen as gentle and underestimated but she causes all these big things simply by existing. And then butterflies are seen as small and gentle and colourful but there’s literally a species of butterfly that drinks the tears of turtles and that felt so accurate to her character because she’s seen as small and pretty and colourful (and she is) but she can also be vicious and violent for survival. Anyway, thank you for coming to my ted talk.

Taglist: @thicficbich1, @pasta-warlord

#percy jackson show #percy jackson x reader #percy pjo #percy series #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #perseus jackson #poseidon pjo #poseidon #poseiden #poseidad #poseidón #pjo poseidon #poseidon fic update #poseidon x reader #posiedon #posideon #poseidon deity

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thecowboykatsuki-anon · 11 months

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The water running down your skin is cold.

Freezing, in fact, leaving chills in it’s wake as you watch it disappear down the drain.

It’s clear now, a stark contrast to the pink and brown from much earlier. The long, twisting cut on your leg seems to have scabbed over enough to stop bleeding, and the mud is long gone. And still, you don’t move, body too sore and mind too tired to do anything more than this.

You just watch blankly as the water swirls around the tarnished drain, absently thinking about the last time you properly cleaned. Another failure to keep up with life.

You hardly glance up when the shower curtain slides open, sparing the dark haired cowboy only a moment of your attention before it’s back to the drain.

“Holy shit, angel, it’s freezing in here,” he hisses as he steps inside, pressing against your back to reach and turn the knob to the warm side. He doesn’t leave you though, stays close as he pulls you back against him, arms wound tightly atop yours.

He’s hot in comparison to the water and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel nice when his hands rub up and down your arms, trying to chase away the cold while the water heats up.

In that moment, every mishap, every injury, every single mistake you’ve endured or made in the past year catches up to you and a choked sob wrenches it’s way out of your throat.

You can’t stop the tears, hot and stinging as they fall down your face, or the gasping as you try (and fail) to pull in enough air to ease that tight feeling in your chest.

Touya shushes you gently, rocking you as his arms tighten, lower around your waist, and he buries his face against your throat, a desperate attempt to soothe you, to shield you from everything.

It feels like another loss, crying like this in front of him.

He is your greatest failure. You just can’t seem to get it right, between the days spent fighting and the night spent apologizing and making love. There has been far too much hurt shared by the two of you for you to ever believe things will work, and yet, you can’t seem to stop reaching for one another, dragging yourself back into a new mess.

He deserves someone who’ll love him properly, patiently, without fear, and you’re not sure you’re capable of that anymore.

The thought makes you ache worse, hurts far more than the fall you sustained earlier. Your muscles groan in protest when you start to drop to your knees, unable to keep yourself up any longer. It feels like you’re being swallowed whole by everything, like you’re sinking into nothing.

But his arms are there, keeping you steady as he shifts to take your weight. He won’t let you sink. Not like this.

“I’ve got you angel,” he promises lowly, unwavering in that fact as his chest rumbles against your spine. “I’m here.”

He lets you turn in his arms, lets you cling to him as he walks you back beneath the warm spray, careful that neither of you slip. He doesn’t say anything more, his lips pressing to your forehead instead as he lets you cry, your tears mixing with the water running down his skin.

It feels like hours when the crying finally stops, your jaw aching and throat hoarse from the intensity. If you weren’t so tired, you’d be embarrassed by your outburst.

But there’s no judgement when he cups your face and tilts it up towards him, thumbs smoothing away the water that’s still falling.

He searches your gaze quietly, takes in the dark circles beneath your eyes and the way you rest most of your weight into his palms, like it’s too hard to keep your head up.

His lips are soft when they press against yours, and he tastes like the cherry coke you’d shared earlier. Shared is a loose term, you correct, considering he’d swiped it from you atop his spot perched on the fence.

It had been so annoying then, seeing him grin beneath the brim of his hat as he tipped back the can, clearly pleased to snatch something cool in the hot summer sun.

You’d give anything to go back to that exact moment now, tell him he could have the whole thing and that you loved him instead of calling him an asshole.

You don’t even get to properly enjoy his kiss, too wrapped up in your head to focus until he’s pulling away.

If he notices the guilt filling you, he ignores it, guiding you to sit on the edge of the tub. It’s cramped, but he sinks to his knees anyways, a wet washcloth appearing in his hand as he inspects your leg.

His thumb presses over the edge of the wound and you hiss, the skin still raw and angry. He doesn’t bother to glance up or apologize yet though, not until after he’s swiped the cloth over it a couple times, making sure it’s properly cleaned and free of dirt.

His ministrations have reopened it, and he dabs at the new beads of blood that appear, pressing a soft kiss to the clean skin beside it before standing once more.

He reaches for your hands, pulling you to stand as he maneuvers you how he wants in front of him. You can’t see what he’s doing, but you hear the sound of a shampoo bottle and relax, assuming he’s focused on himself again.

Until his fingers sink into your scalp, lathering the strands of your hair. He takes his time, focused on his task and gently pushing you forward to rinse while he busies himself with getting conditioner.

For the first time since he stepped in, you make an effort to look at him, taking note of the fact that it’s his soap he’s using on you, and not yours. It’s comforting, the smell of him filling the steamy bathroom, and you find yourself relaxing into him when he pulls you again, fingers diving in to massage conditioner into your hair.

He hums in approval when you tilt your head back and lean into his touch, his nails scratching lightly over your scalp. It’s much more soothing than you thought it would be, and you find your eyelids getting heavy as you struggle to keep them open.

He chuckles at that, promises of bed pressed against your skin when he pauses to kiss your cheek. He lets the conditioner sit in your hair while he washes his own, taking much less care with his dark dyed strands than he had with you.

As soon as he deems you clean and has made sure all of the soap has been rinsed, he’s stepping out to wrap a towel around his waist and hold one out for you silently.

You feel a little silly, letting him take care of you like this, and you hesitate before stepping out. He doesn’t miss a beat though, filling the space and wrapping the soft cotton around you, stealing another kiss to ease your worries.

He leaves you be then, busying himself with dressing and things around your small apartment that need to be done before bed, while it’s all you can do to brush your hair and tug one of his tshirts on over your head.

You can hear rain falling softly outside of your window, easing yourself to your feet to open it, letting the fresh air in as you inhale deeply and angle the blinds so you’ll be able to see the stormy sky from your bed.

By the time Touya returns, you’re hardly keeping yourself awake, wrapped in blankets and watching the sky outside.

He pauses at the sight, lets himself drift over and slip into bed behind you, fingers running through your damp hair.

“I love you,” he murmurs softly, leaning over you for an even softer kiss that you make sure to savor.

“I love you too,” you admit, heart fluttering when he smiles, blue eyes gazing down at you like you put the stars in his sky.

You want to say more, want to thank him for everything, to ask him if he thinks this time will be different, but sleep calls to you and you resign yourself to the knowledge that, at least for tonight, you’ll be alright.

#this is in fact not the Drabble I was writing at first #but it’s what I wanted to do tonight #dabi x reader #mha #cowboy anon writes #t writes #thecowboyanon writes #dabi #cowboy au #touya x reader #touya #cowboy! touya #cowboy! dabi #touya todoroki #touya fluff #dabi fluff

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iwritesickfic · 2 months

Note

I would love to read a story about Theo getting sick while Seamus is away for a few days, and he comes back to find Theo with a bad cough and some other symptoms. Bonus if his cough is so bad Seamus has to take him to urgent care to get a nebulizer or something!

anon i know you've been waiting MONTHS for this fic, thanks for your patience and i hope you enjoy <3

The moment Seamus walks through the front door, he hears it. Deep, crackling coughing. He sighs, putting down his suitcase.

“Theo?” He calls. Leave it to his boyfriend to contract some miserable virus in the only four days they’ve been apart in months.

“In here!” Theo’s voice calls, sounding distinctly hoarse. Seamus leaves his things in the entryway, only bringing his extra large airport coffee with him into the kitchen.

His heart clenches when he sees Theo, who’s in the middle of another violent coughing fit. He’s standing by the kettle, a cutting board with uneven lemon wedges and a ginger root that looks like it’s been peeled with a blunt butter knife in front of him. One of his hands is gripping the counter, the other catching his hacking coughs. He’s almost gasping between them, and when they finally taper off, it takes him a while to catch his breath again.

He’s pale apart from the flush on his cheeks, swimming in one of Seamus’s sweatshirts.

Seamus lays a hand on his back, and he messes with his hair self consciously.

“Hey. Welcome back. What’s up?” He croaks, and Seamus’s hand rubs his back in slow circles.

“Nothing really. What’s up with you?” He asks pointedly, and Theo sighs, half laughing. He gestures to the butchered lemon and ginger in front of him with a shaky hand.

“Can’t fucking peel to save my life is what,” he says, and Seamus can’t help but laugh too. He kisses Theo’s cheek, and it’s predictably feverish against his lips.

“Sit down, I’ll show you.”

Theo struggles up onto the counter, muffling a few coughs into his sleeve when he’s done. The cough seems desperate to get something up, but nothing is moving in his chest. Seamus catches a hint of a wheeze in his breath, but it goes away quickly enough that he turns his attention back to the ginger. A spoon is sitting alongside the paring knife, and Seamus laughs again.

“Were you using a spoon?”

Theo shrugs.

“What else am I supposed to use?”

Seamus shakes his head and takes the knife. It’s about the dullest one they have, which explains the lemon.

“A peeler. Or a knife. Sharpness is the only requirement,” he teases as he makes quick work of the root. He could do this with his eyes closed he’s done it so many times. He chops off about an inch long piece, then chops that in half, dropping one into the mug already on the counter, and grabbing another mug from the shelf. “Big ginger wants you to think you can do it with a spoon but that’s absolute bullshit.”

“Ok, well this is why you can’t leave me here all by myself,” Theo teases back, though his eyes are distinctly tired.

“Well you also caught the plague. Clearly,” he says, passing one of the steaming mugs to Theo. He cups it with both hands and sighs, though his breath is short.

“Just…a cold,” he says, voice soft.

“Sounds like more than a cold,” Seamus says, resting his hand on Theo’s knee. “I’m happy you took the day off though. And you’re not even bedridden.” Usually at 10 in the morning on a Friday Theo would be in the studio.

Theo rolls his eyes and takes a sip of the tea. He winces as he swallows.

“Max cancelled. And Elise. So…” He trails off, then quickly puts down his mug as he starts to cough again, wet and desperate. Seamus rubs his thigh, and Theo looks almost dizzy when he’s done. “I don’t know. I’ve had this fucking bitch of a cough since Wednesday and I guess they were tired of it.”

Seamus frowns.

“They probably wanted you to get some rest. And knew you wouldn’t be the one to cancel.”

Theo shrugs, eyes half lidded.

“Or they were annoyed I was messing up every take hacking into the mic.” He sniffles, and picks his tea back up with shaky hands. Seamus is puzzled by this turn in the conversation. Maybe it’s the fever making him irritable.

“You don’t think they like you? Or…would be worried about you?” Theo shrugs again, face blank. “I mean, Max, Elise…they’re your friends.”

“Now,” he says, and Seamus steps closer, so he’s between Theo’s knees. He lays his palm on Theo’s chest. He looks so exhausted, so miserable.

“C’mon,” he says, and Theo coughs again into his elbow. It leaves his breathing even tighter than before.

“Seamus, we both know when my number’s up none of these people will give a fuck about me,” he says, and his voice breaks on the words, from the tightness in his lungs or something else, Seamus can’t tell. His heart aches, and he cups Theo’s hot cheeks. He forces their eyes to meet.

“I’ll always be here,” he says, and a small smile tugs at Theo’s chapped lips. “Me and Zeke.”

“I know.”

Theo’s always had issues trusting people and their intentions, and after what happened in the wake of their breakup four years ago - blocked numbers, paparazzi leaks, closed door shit talking - it got even worse. It’d all been substantiated. All those fears and worries were proven right. So who was Seamus to tell him that wasn’t true?

Still, he doesn’t often talk about these kinds of things, and Seamus regrets bringing it up when he’s already sick as a dog.

“You’re sure it’s not the plague?” He finally asks, pressing his palm to Theo’s scalding forehead. He makes a soft sound, leaning in the touch, before it becomes another fit of coughs. The wheeze is pronounced now, his breath sounding like it’s coming through a straw.

“Could be,” he finally says, one hand on his ribs.

It only takes a ten minute video appointment with his doctor to get him a prescription for albuterol, and Seamus is thankful for the millionth time that anything and everything can be delivered in New York City.

By noon Seamus has made soup, set up camp on the couch, and prepped Theo’s nebulizer with the prescription. In only a few hours, his cough has gotten even worse. His breathing is tight and noisy, and his fever has jumped a degree and a half.

Seamus’s heart throbs again when he walks into the living room with their bowls of soup. Theo’s fumbling with the mouthpiece of the nebulizer, huddled under a blanket with his knees pulled up to his chest.

Seamus doesn’t have to say anything, just pushes his hair back off his face, and Theo hands him the small device. Almost every breath is followed by a few weak coughs, and Seamus wastes no time in handing it to him when he’s finished.

The first few inhales have him coughing, and Seamus rubs his back.

“What are you in the mood for?” he asks as he grabs the tv remote. “And don’t say bake off.”

Theo scoffs inside the rubber mask.

“I’m dying. I want bake off,” he says, voice muffled by the plastic. He coughs weakly, though it already sounds better than it did.

“Can we watch a different season at least?” Seamus already knows the answer.

“Season 5,” Theo says, leaning against Seamus’s side. His breaths are growing deeper, steadier. Seamus kisses the crown of his head, settling into the carefully arranged nest of pillows and cushions.

“Season 5 it is.”

#my writing #whump #sickfic #illness kink #oc theo #oc seamus #fever #coughing

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munsonxmayhem · 2 years

Text

Just you.

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Warnings:

- angst

- fluff

Requested by Anonymous

————————————————————————————————————————

You’d never really been one to get insecure in your relationship. Sure, you’d had the occasional thought, but that was normal. Recently, you’d been under a lot of stress because of school, you were a Med student and lately it’s been really hard; studying occupying most of your free time.

You and Joseph had been dating for a little over a year now, and after his role in Stranger Things, you’ve been seeing him a lot less. He’d offered for you to come to his most recent convention in Canada; but you needed to study for mid-terms.

Scrolling through your phone, taking a brief break from studying, you notice a bunch of fans tweeting about the ‘Eddie and Chrissy Reunion’ and you notice the pictures and videos tagged along with them. They looked so happy to be in each other’s presence, having so much fun together. You couldn’t help the ache of jealousy in your chest as you scrolled through them.

The insecurity had started before this, but only slightly, when you’d noticed all the tweets about how ‘Joseph and Grace belong together’ and all the fans that shipped them together, along with their characters. You’d rarely seen that same sort of affection towards you and Joseph as a couple.

You get it; she’s pretty, talented, smart, and famous. Basically everything you don’t really consider yourself to be. Usually you wouldn’t let this get to you, but you’re just so exhausted from the copious amounts of studying, that’s usually followed by lack of sleep. On top of the fact that you hadn’t seen your boyfriend in so long, and you miss him; achingly so.

You sigh deeply, rubbing your hands against your face. “Fuck.” you groan as you toss your phone onto the mattress. Standing up, you walk to the mirror on your vanity, inspecting every single feature of yours. Thoughts of him and Grace flow through your mind as you stare at your reflection. How you wish it was you he was having that good of a time with, how you wish you could’ve been there, how it would be easier for him to just be with someone that does what he does.

Your phone ringing catches your attention, and you walk over to it. Your phone lights up with an incoming call from Joseph, and your heart squeezes. It’s then that you feel the tear falling down your cheek. Slowly picking it up, you answer.

“Hello?” Your voice is quiet, to keep the tears at bay.

“Hi, darling! I just got done at a photo op, but I thought i’d call before my next Q and A.” His voice is loud and full of life as he speaks to you.

“That’s great, Joe. I’m glad you’re having a good time.” You try your best to be happy for him.

“I am, but I wish you were here.”

Your heart aches at his words, the flashing images of him and Grace in your mind.

“Well at least you’ve got Grace there.” You say without thinking, immediately squeezing your eyes shut.

“What do you mean, darling?” He inquires, confusion lacing his voice.

“Nothing.. just.. nothing.” You sigh. But he doesn’t buy it.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong?” His voice is soft and caring.

“Nothing, Joe. You’ve got to get to your uh.. thing, so I’ll just talk to you later, okay?”

He sighs on the other end, knowing you’re right. “Yeah, baby.. Promise, we will talk later.” He states.

You both exchange ‘i love you’s’ and ‘byes’ and end the call, you groan in frustration before throwing yourself on the bed. “What is my problem?” You whisper to yourself.

A few hours passed and you had spent that time studying as much as you could, your eyes burning with exhaustion. You hear your phone ringing from the nightstand, reaching for it you answer the call.

“Hello?” Your voice is hoarse from sleepiness.

“Hey, baby. Just got back to my hotel. You sound tired.” He comforts through the phone.

“I am, I’ve been studying like crazy.” You sigh, closing your textbook and putting it on the stand.

“I’m sorry, darling. I wish you didn’t overwork yourself like this.” He coos, voice gentle.

“I’m fine.” You state, simply.

“Alright, what’s going on? Talk to me, sweetheart.” His voice sounds genuinely worried.

Sighing, you lean your head back against the headboard. “It’s just.. I don’t know, I guess I’m a bit jealous. Or insecure. I keep seeing all these tweets about you and Grace and how happy you guys look together, and it’s not a new thing. It’s just really starting to get to me..” You trail off, eyes trained in the ceiling above.

“Oh, love.. There’s nothing to be insecure and jealous of, okay? We’re just coworkers who haven’t seen each other in a long time, that’s all. You know I love you.” He speaks softly, trying to reassure you.

“But wouldn’t be easier for you to be with her or someone like her? She has the same career as you, she’d be able to travel with you; unlike me, who’s always studying and doing school. Wouldn’t you rather be with her?” You explain, feeling awful for even being like this.

“No, don’t even think that way. I want you, I don’t care how hard it is to be away from you. Seeing you again is what gets me through it, of course I’d love for you to be here but I know you’ve got your own things, your own career you’re working on. I’d still choose you, any day. Just you.” You smile at his words, trying to bring yourself to believe them.

“I just wish it were me you were having fun with there..” You sigh into the phone.

“I know, baby. I wish you were here, too. Stop listening to what the internet has to say, my love. I know what I want, and it’s you. I’ll be home soon, okay?” You can’t help the tears that fall at his words.

“I try not to, you know that. It’s just hard sometimes. All the people telling the world that my boyfriend belongs with someone else.” You admit.

“Well that’s the thing about being able to make my own choices, because I choose you. I’ll always choose you. You mean the most to me. I love you.” You can hear his smile as he tells you.

“I love you.. please come home soon?” Your entire body yearns for him to be near you again.

“Soon, darling. I promise. Now get some sleep, okay? I know you need it.”

“Okay.. I’ll try. I love you, Joseph. Goodnight.”

“I love you. Goodnight, my angel.”

Both of you hang up and you climb under the covers, turning off the light on the stand. You slowly drift asleep to the thought of your loving boyfriend. Unbeknownst to you that he’d already booked a flight home and he’d be there the following morning, that even though he was smiling in the photos and videos; you were all that was on his mind, and he couldn’t take another day without seeing you again.

#joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x fem!reader #joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn #eddie munson

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 10 months

Text

@mayhemmanaged I really loved writing Kiss #42 for you! This one ended up being terribly angsty and really sweet at the same time! I hope you love it!

A Kiss out of Pride

You’re so tired, exhausted—every bone in your body aches. If you didn’t know any better, you would think even the tips of your hair ache. Or, well, it would if you had any hair anymore. After a long, protracted battle fighting your body, you’re not sure you have much strength left. It kills Jake to see you suffer; you know it does. But he couldn’t help your body fight an unseen, unknown enemy.

You don’t know how he did it. How could he be so strong when you crumbled? It ate you up emotionally in the same way the chemotherapy and radiation ate at your body. You can see how the strength in his eyes has faded daily. You don’t know why he’d stayed with you. You can’t ask him why, either. The one time you’d tried, he’d sobbed, clutching you to his chest.

“I promised you, baby doll. In sickness and death. In sickness and in health.”

You hadn’t brought it up again. After that low point, you focused on being better for Jake and you. With each setback and improvement, you smiled for Jake. You poured your love for Jake through each kiss and every action. Even when you could barely move, you ensured your kisses held your heart.

It’s been a year and a half since you started the toughest battle of your life. Jake’s been deployed for the past three months, and your exhaustion can’t overshadow your excitement to have Jake back. He’s coming home today, and as you step out of Jake’s truck with only the slightest bit of help from Penny, you hope he’ll be happy to see you. Your short-shorn hair is hidden under a big sun hat, and a gauzy sundress floats around your ankles with each step you take.

You’ve timed it, so the Daggers are some of the only people left on the docks. Your steps feel as shaky as a newborn fawn’s as you walk singlemindedly towards Jake’s broad back as you see it amidst the Daggers.

“J-JAKE!” Your voice is a hoarse scream as you force your battered body into a run. His face when he sees you is like sunshine after years of rain. He feels so good when you launch into his arms, your hat falling to the pavement at your feet as he peppers kisses over your face.

“You’re walking, baby doll!” He sounds so surprised to see you. You pull the papers you’ve brought from your purse and hand them to him. His smile is soft, gentle, and full of a hope you haven’t seen in a long time.

“You’re in remission, baby doll?” He kisses you so gently at your eager nod that you lose track of everything but Jake.

“I’m so proud of you, baby doll. I love you.” Your laughter as he swings you in a circle makes your heart lighter than it has been since before your diagnosis. With Jake, you can overcome it all.

Want to request a Kiss and a pair for me to write? Guidelines are here.

Want to see other Kisses I’ve written? Here’s the full Masterlist.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #kiss writing game #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader

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aanoia · 1 year

Text

All I Need is You

Daveed Diggs x reader

Summary; after a suicide attempt you're empty yet Daveed never left your side. What happens when you drag him down with you?

Warnings; suicide, self harm, bandages, sadness ig

Words; idk but it's short

Also wrote this a while ago but I kinda like it.

Requests are welcome and encouraged!

If you're struggling with self harm or suicidal thoughts please reach out! You have people in your life that care enough to stay with you the way Daveed does in this fic, you just need to give them a chance.

I'd also like to note that the way this fic plays out is not how it aways goes. Please do not just not reach out abt your mental health due to a fear of dragging people down with you.

“Hey, baby, how are you feeling?” Daveed quietly asked, sitting down on the bed and gently rubbing my arm.

I laid motionless, my mind blank.

“I’m not,” I responded. My voice was hoarse. How long has it been since I’ve said more than three words at once?

Daveed sighed and carefully helped me sit up. I rested against the headboard as he slowly unwrapped the bandages around my wrists. It was quiet as he cleaned the wounds, the only sound was our breathing. Oh how I wish I wasn’t breathing right now. He wrapped clean bandages around the cuts.

He sat, rubbing his thumb across the bandages.

“I love you so much,” He whispered and looked into my eyes. “We’ll get through this. You’ll get through this. I know you will, you’re so strong, my love,”

“Daveed,” I whispered, a happy glint filled his eyes, optimism flooded his bones.

“Yeah?” He whispered back.

“I don’t want to get through this,” I told him and laid back down, turning away from him.

He paused before getting up and leaving the room. I heard him. His sobbing. He’s breaking. Honestly, I couldn’t find it in myself to care.

The cycle repeated daily. He’d feed me, bathe me, change my bandages, then go have a breakdown outside our room when he didn’t see any improvement. Every day I’d hear him cry. Deep down my heart ached in him. He was the love of my life, of course it hurt to hear him cry. But my heart doesn’t control my body. My brain does. And my brain is dead. It doesn’t care. It doesn’t want to live. Even if it means making Daveed happy. Ain’t that selfish?

Today must’ve been particularly hard for Daveed. I could see it in his eyes when he came to give me food. He was tired. Exhausted. And when he left to cry nothing came. Until it did.

Loud crashes broke the silence. Grunts, and yells of utter pain and despair could be heard. His sobs echoed through the house louder than ever. Self-deprecating words cut through the silence. Something snapped in me.

I was letting myself die, and dragging Daveed down with me. I was not only killing myself, but killing the love of my life as well. What am I doing? Am I really so selfish that I’d ruin someone else’s life so I can be okay? No. The answer is no.

I pushed my aching bones and tired muscles. Slowly I lifted myself out of bed. A dizzy spell fell over me and I grabbed onto the wall for support. Carefully I made my way to the door and opened it. Pain coursed through my veins as I followed the sobs, but I ignored it. No more.

Daveed has helped me in ways I can’t even imagine. He’s putting his own mental health on the line for me. Me. Anyone else would’ve left me after a week of nothing but laying in bed. But he didn’t. He stuck around. And now I’ll stick around for him as well.

I entered the living room to find a hunched over Daveed. I only now noticed how his hair was a mess, he hasn’t been taking care of it. His clothes were wrinkled and in a disarray. I quietly walked over to him and knelt down behind him. His body shook as I wrapped my bulky, bandaged arms around him.

We stayed there for hours, gently rocking back and forth. We had each other. That’s all we needed.

#daveed diggs x reader #thomas jefferson x reader #thomas jeffershit #thomas jefferson #daveed diggs #hamilton #aanoia #romance

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moralesispunk · 1 year

Text

Kintsugi // Frankie Morales

Kinktober masterlist (I know it’s December but I need to finish this) / @the-purity-pen

Warnings: female reader, pegging, established relationship, praise (Frankie needs praise in his life), handjob, kissing

Word count: 1.1k

A/n: I’m back! I’ve put a longer explanation for my hiatus here but I was so excited to get back to writing and I’m so glad it was by starting with my baby boy himself

He was so pretty like this, completely bare and waiting for you on the bed. His elbows and knees were digging into the mattress, head hanging between his shoulders and his spine rolling with a shiver on every exhale.

“You’re so pretty, Frankie,” you purr and his body shivers again, his hands twirling the sheets into his fists. “You’ve been so good, so far.”

“I’m ready.” His voice is hoarse after hours of begging and being teased with your fingers, tongue and plug that you removed a few minutes ago before you stepped into the strap.

Frankie hasn’t looked at you since you slipped it on, the leather pressing into your hips and thighs with the long length that you have coated in lube.

“Look at me, baby.” You stop by the side of the bed, taking his chin between your thumb and forefingers and tilting his head up to you.

When his eyes land on you in nothing but the strap on, a pained expression flashes across his face, his back arching even more as if already seeking the pressure from you sinking into him.

“Tell me.”

“I’ve been good,” he sighs and you smile, letting your fingers trace down his jaw and spine before you climb onto the bed behind him.

“You have. And you’re going to keep being good, aren’t you? Let me fuck you with this?” He whines out a barely audible yes, his hips pushing back until the head of length is almost pressing into him and you grip his hips to stop him. “Patience, baby. Don’t want this to end up hurting you.”

He stills, his head hanging back between his shoulders as he nods ever so slightly and gives himself over to you.

This, something that Frankie never realized he would like never mind crave from you, was something he had never thought about until just under a year ago. It was slow and steady at the beginning, learning what he likes and doesn’t like until he can give you one look as he comes in from a hard day at work and you know exactly what he’s asking you.

It’s not about you being in control and him losing control, it’s not about you having the power and him not, it’s about how safe he feels with you. He feels safe when you break him apart piece by piece until he is utterly boneless on the mattress, because you’re there to put him back together. He feels safe because even while his mind ends up miles away, completely blank except for how your skin feels on his and how your name tastes on his tongue, he knows you’re right there with him.

It’s not that today had been a disaster, it had just been long and tiring and as he parked his truck in the garage and rested his head on the steering wheel, this was all he needed. You knew from the second he stepped inside the kitchen, his shoulders low and eyes wide, and you carded your fingers through his hair as he ate his dinner in the quiet contentment of your kitchen before walking him to bed with his hand in yours.

With your breathing now in time, his whole body relaxed and his breaths steady, you slowly notch the head of the cock inside.

“Breathe, baby” you remind him, your hand sliding up his back and pressing between his shoulder blades to relax his body that stiffened. Once he does, your eyes fall back to where you’re splitting him open, slowly thrusting in and out as he takes every single inch until your hips are pressed to the back of his thighs and he groans your name into the mattress. “There you go,” you coo.

You wait for him to urge you on, your hands roaming around his body across his back, hips, thighs, waiting for the way he looks over his shoulder and his dark, brown eyes stare into yours.

“Please.”

His whine makes you break, your fingers gripping the curls at the back of his head and pulling him back to meet your lips in a kiss as you fold over his body. He’s so much bigger, broader and taller, than you that it’s clumsy and you find yourself dragging your teeth across his jaw as he kisses over your face, but it’s needy and perfect and your hips continue to thrust the cock deeper and deeper inside him as broken sobs leave his throat.

He’s strong enough to hold up both your weights on his forearms as you keep one hand in his curls and move the other around him until your fingers wrap around his cock, your whole front pressed to his back and he can feel every dip and curve of you in a way that only makes him crave you more.

“Come for me, Frankie,” you mutter in his ear, your hand moving up and down his length at the same speed as your thrusts. “Let me feel you.”

He comes with a guttural groan of your name, spilling over your hand and the sheets as you continue to push him further and further past his peak until he’s whining and collapsing to the mattress.

You hush his sobs gently, pushing his hair back from his damp forehead and pressing kisses across his face as you slowly slip out of him, quickly stepping out of the strap and leaving it in the bathroom to clean later as you come back into the bedroom with a warm cloth.

His hands are already grasping for you, his body curling into your side with his face buried against your hip and hand pressed to your belly as you clean him carefully and continue to praise and hush him until you slide to lie down by his side, bringing his head onto your chest.

“Was I good?” His voice breaks at the end, tired and full of emotion, and you press your lips to the crown of his head.

“You’re always good, Frankie.”

#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales fic

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allmonstersxarehuman · 2 years

Text

Idiots

Requested?: Yes

Prompt: “It’s 3 in the morning.” “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Pairing: Han Jisung x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Mentions of possible cheating, reader starts to question her worth. I think that’s about it.

A/N: Not proof read and may suck since I am still rusty. Sorry it took so long.

You knew dating an idol would be rough, at the beginning of the relationship Jisung sat you down and told you all the things that the two of you would be put through and if it was going to be too much for you he would understand. Now the two of you were in a 3 year relationship, sharing an apartment though there were times he still stayed at the dorm with the guys especially when it came to comebacks and songwriting. But these days Jisung’s side of the bed laid vacant, nothing but cold sheets; you had known that even though they had just finished a second world tour that a new comeback was underway but you didn’t think Jisung would abandon you as much as he had been. Usually he would text or call you to let you know if he was coming home, if the two of you were meeting for dinner either at home, at the dorm or sometimes in the studio. That hadn’t been the case, you understood how busy his schedule must be but when you called Chan to check in and make sure your boyfriend was doing alright since he kept leaving you on read; (which didn’t raise flags at first because he can be horrible when it comes back to texting) only to hear Chan was under the impression that Jisung was at home with you because they had a couple days off, when you heard that you felt tears begin to form. That phone call with Chan was 10 hours ago and you still hadn’t heard anything from your boyfriend, you had even called Minho only for him to tell you the same thing that Chan did. Now your anxiety started to go through the roof, if even Minho thought that Jisung was home with you that meant something wasn't adding up.

You trusted Jisung because in the 4 years of knowing him and 3 years dating him, he never did anything to abuse that trust. You didn’t know what to think, maybe he got bored of you, 3 years was a long time to be held down; he had millions of people that wanted him and he could have anyone of them so why would he stick with you. You heard the front door unlock, the sound causing you to get out of bed and walk to the living room; that's when you came face-to-face with your boyfriends his eyes looked tired, clothes were wrinkled and out of place and hair a mess. “Y/n. Baby why are you still up? It’s 3 in the morning, I didn’t wake you up did I?” His voice sounded hoarse. You shook your head. “I haven’t been able to sleep lately, what about you? The boys said they hadn’t heard from you, nor have they seen you. They said you guys had a cleared schedule for the next couple of days, and I haven’t physically seen you in almost a week.” You said softly moving to sit on the couch a yawn escaping your lips. “Uh, yeah I’ve been kinda busy. I lost track of time, I was going to come home but something came up.” He said rubbing the back of his neck looking everywhere but at you. “Were you ever going to tell me?” You asked playing with your hand not looking up at him. He was completely confused and thrown off by your question. “Tell you? You mean telling you about the time off or?” Jisung walked closer towards you till he was sitting next to you, shocked when you moved away from him. “That you didn’t want to be with me anymore, that you were most likely seeing someone else. I mean I wouldn't blame you but a heads up would have been nice.” You said your voice sounding small as tears started to slowly fall from your eyes.

Now he wasn't just confused but devastated that you had thought he didn’t want you anymore or that he didn’t want you anymore. “Baby. That’s not it at all. I’m so sorry I made you feel that way, the reason why I’ve been a little off is because I have been trying to put something together for you. I’ve been so nervous trying to figure out how I’m going to present it to you, as for the guys I told Minho to lie for me. He’s the only one who knows what I’ve been up to, I was going to wait for a better time but I actually think this is the perfect time.” He said wiping your tears and giving you a quick kiss on your lips before standing up and grabbing his guitar from it’s stand. “You are my world Y/n I know I haven’t shown it lately and I hate that I’m away from you for so long but know that I don’t know what I would do without you. So, I did what I do best, I wrote a song for you. I’ve been trying really hard to record it in the studio but every time I did it just didn’t come out the way I wanted it to.” You didn’t know how to respond to this confession, and you felt so stupid, so incredibly embarrassed and mad at yourself, how could you think that he could do something to hurt you that way. You really didn’t deserve him, it was the fact that he wasn't even mad that you had practically accused him of cheating on you that caught you off guard and made you want to cry even more. When he started to sing more tears fell from your eyes, listening to his beautiful vocal and the relaxing tune he was playing made you melt. You felt as though you were falling in love all over again. Once he had finished playing he gave you a shy smile. “So… what do you think?” You gave him a soft smile before taking his guitar and gently placing it on the coffee table, you cupped his face in your hands and leaned your forehead against his; his repeating your gesture and wiped your tears away with his thumb. “I’m so sorry Ji, I feel like such an idiot.” You said softly. Jisung let out a breathy laugh and shook his head best he could. “You are an idiot, but you know you’re my idiot. My one and only, I apologize that you felt so neglected that you felt that way. Which makes us both idiots.” he said before giving you a kiss, causing you to smile slightly. “Now how about we talk about this more later on because I think we both need sleep and I need to hold my beautiful girlfriend.” Jisung said his eyes growing heavy. You didn’t have to be told twice, after everything you wanted nothing more than to sleep next to him.

#han jisung #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #han jisung x reader #han jisung smut #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz jisung #skz smut

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nori-writes · 5 months

Text

Home Sweet Home

Yeehan

Desc: Cole coming home from a mission late at night and just snuggling into bed with his lover, Hanzo Shimada.

W/C: 500+

A/N: Here’s the rest like a promised :)

Missions sucked, plain and simple, they always did. Sure, you were doing some good in the world and being called a hero but that didn’t change how exhausting the job was, always coming home sleep deprived, sweaty and grimey and usually at the worst hours too. Yet, they still did it.

It was about 4 AM when Cole’s dropship finally landed. Now normally this wouldn’t be such an abnormal time for him to be awake anyway but recently he had been working on making himself a healthy sleep schedule. It wasn’t helping that Jack wanted to debrief as soon as they got off the ship. Couldn’t it wait until morning?

By the time that was over it was at least 5:30 AM. He had expected the debrief to last maybe thirty minutes, nowhere near an hour and a half, but that was what happened when you were gathering intel for a week he guessed.

Finally, Cole slugged back to his room, exhausted by the last week of work. He was tired and hungry but hungry could wait until after he woke up he thought while unlocking the door to the small living space.

Opening the door he was greeted by the smell of home, home sweet home. Everything was just the way he remembered it. Or at least close to it.

Walking to the bedroom and opening up the door under the dark grey covers laid Hanzo. Cole’s heart melted at the sight. If he got to come home to this every night he’d go on every mission in the world. His hair was down and his face held an ethereal expression. The low moonlight seemed to hit his face perfectly as he slept. The way he could just sit here and stare for hours.

After what seemed like an eternity of admiring his lover finally he slipped off the clothes from the mission, changing into a grey pair of sweatpants, climbing into bed, wrapping his arms around Hanzo.

His eyes opened revealing his onyx coloured irises, slowly focusing onto Cole, “Mm,” he grumbled, closing his eyes again, “You’re back? What time is it?” His voice came out soft and hoarse.

Cole hummed, letting him know he was, “It’s me pumpkin, it’s about 5:30. Now go back to sleep.”

Hanzo had turned himself around so he could face Cole so that he could wrap his arms around him, laying his face in the nape of his neck, “You smell like shit.”

The brunette let out a quiet laugh, Hanzo could never deal with poor smells. It’s part of the reason that the house had candles everywhere and bottles of air freshener always in reach. Cole kissed the top of his head while running his fingers through his long silky raven coloured hair., “Sweetheart, I just got home like five minutes ago. I’m not gonna smell like sunshine and flowers.”

All he let out was a disapproving hum, “I want you to take a shower as soon as you get up. It’s horrid.” At least he was honest, he thought to himself.

“Can do, now get back to sleep sweetheart.” Cole continued to run his fingers through the other male’s hair, slowly drifting off himself, “Goodnight, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Thanks for reading :) if you enjoyed I’ve got a master list as my pinned if you’re up for it. 💜

#overwatch #overwatch fic #cassidy overwatch #cole cassidy #mcree overwatch #overwatch fanfiction #overwatch fluff #overwatch imagines #overwatch mccree #cole x hanzo #hanzo #ow hanzo #overwatch hanzo #hanzo shimada #yeehan #overwatch 2 #ow cassidy #ow2

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robingurlscorner · 5 days

Text

Ma Parker

I started thinking... if Robin somehow got out with a cold and a fever and Batman didn't notice.. she'd let him have it. After all, she's a mom at heart, right?

He found himself coming to at something sharp being pushed into his arm. He tried to sit up but as soon as he did he fell backwards into whatever he was laying on. He felt light headed and weak. “B-Batman?”

In his field of vision appeared an older lady, “Ah no, Boy Wonder, sorry, you are with us.”

He blinked and tried to sit up again, “Ma Parker!”

The lady laughed again but then her expressions turned into concern, “That is right, my boy, but you see you took quite the spill. I was serious when I was worried about your health and here I am correct.”

“Ma, here are the compresses you asked us to get.” Leg’s responded handing the clothes and the bowl of water to her mother. She smiled at Robin, “You sure are lucky Ma found you…you would have frozen outside..”

“B-But I-I’m …I-I …” Robin stammered confused. He leaned forward feeling dizzier than before and held his face in his gloved hands. “Where’s Batman?”

“It’s funny you should mention him, I was about to call Gordon myself, after all you poor poor boy, being forced to run around, its not good for you…here now you just lie back and rest and I will get a hold of Batman for you.”

Robin lie back still confused but felt too sick to care. He just wanted out of here and wanted his mentor. He jumped slightly as he felt one of the compresses be placed on his forehead. He looked around the room feeling the world start turning too quickly making him dizzy. He started to drift off to sleep.

*~*

“Where is he Ma Parker? If you harmed a hair on his head -!” Batman threatened as he burst through the door.

“Now Batman, I maybe a crook but I’m a mother at heart. I saved his life.” She argued leading him in, “Right this way. He’s not doing so well, his fever has risen in the past hour or so.”

The Caped Crusador followed her, his heart pounding. What had they done to Robin? He hadn’t been able to reach the boy at all on his communicator and had been actually relieved to get the phone call from Ma Parker about his wear abouts. “Fever?”

“Yes, Batman, I think he’s got a bout of the flu, the poor boy.” She opened a door one of the bedrooms and walked in. “Robin, you’ve got a visitor..”

Robin was lying on the bed surrounded by pillows and covered up by a few quilts. His face was pale, eyes closed, hair matted. He did look quite ill. “R-Robin?! C-Chum!?” Batman called walking closer and sitting on the chair by the bed. “Great scot, what happened?”

“He’s just a boy, Batman. All of that running around isn’t good for his age. Maybe it finally caught up with him?” She pondered aloud watching Batman stew it all over. “He’ll be alright, Batman.”

Batman only reached forward and placed a gloved hand on Robin’s forehead, “Chum? Can you hear me?”

Robin’s eyes opened slowly but remained heavily lidded, “B-Batman?” His voice was hoarse and tired.

“Easy, lad, I’m here. Ma Parker says you’ve fallen ill.” Batman tried to smile to reassure the young teen that everything was alright but he couldn’t completely do it. He hadn’t seen Robin this ill before and it scared him.

“Before you ask, Batman, you can take him home, the poor boy, I will let you escape without chasing after you.”

“That’s surprisingly kind of you.” Batman said dryly but stood up and gathered the small feverish body into his arms. He held Robin close as the Boy Wonder shivered from his fever and with the blankets no longer there to keep him warm.

Unseen by either of them, Ma Parker just smirked. Her plan was going better than ever. “Here take one of the quilts. It’s hand made and will keep him warm.” She offered.

Batman shook his head and pulled out a bat blanket from his utility belt wrapping it around Robin’s shaking frame, “No offense Ma Parker but I’ve got a blanket.”

She forced herself to smile kindly as she nodded, “As long as he’s warm.”

The Caped Crusader then walked past her, careful to not jolt Robin to much and made his way to the Batmobile. Something just wasn’t right with howfast Robin had fallen to this illness, it was almost as if he had been poisoned somehow…Robin moaned in his arms causing him to jolt back to the task at hand he quickened his pace getting Robin to the Batmobile and laying him down in the passenger seat. “Just rest, I’ll get you back to the batcave, I promise.”

#1966 batman #my writing #ro

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knight-engale · 11 months

Text

Achilles, Come Down

Rating: M (I think)

Word Count: 1.4k

Trigger Warnings: Parental death (referenced), suicide ideation and attempt, emotional neglect

Author's Note: Morgan lore, but not in a good way. This one has some really heavy and triggering themes, so I won't fault anyone for skipping it. I'd say "enjoy the read", but I don't think that would be the appropriate term here.

Hasani sat back in his desk chair, groaning.

He’d just finished using that enchanted mirror of Amaya’s to talk to his sister-in-law, Chiara. The decision they’d reached was gut-wrenching. Heartbreaking. However, it had to be done, for Mórnkan’s safety. He knew she wouldn’t like it, but she would understand when she was older. Amaya had always been apprehensive about sending their daughter out to sea anyway. This solution would have satisfied her fears. It was what she would have wanted.

Hasani rose, drawing in a deep breath, and straightened out his shirt. No time like the present to get this over with. He hesitated only a moment before leaving his office and wandering the cold, polished hallways to find his daughter.

There was no sound as he walked, aside from the sound of his footsteps--and even those were muffled by his house slippers. This whole building was so unwelcoming after Amaya’s death. The home he’d grown up in, the home he’d raised his daughter in…now as lifeless and cold as a grave. It made him shiver despite the air being relatively warm.

It only took a few minutes to reach Mórnkan’s room. His eyes were drawn to the paper on the door, kept in place by a knife. He could barely recognize his daughter’s handwriting; it was rushed and sloppy, the first time he’d seen it in such a state. A pit formed in his stomach as he scanned the words.

Father,

I’ve had enough. I can’t keep up with everything I’m expected to do. I miss mama. I miss Dess. I’m so tired, and the cliffs promise rest. Give my animals to Peri, and tell her I love her.

- Your little bird.

Hasani’s heart beat faster and faster with every word. This…couldn’t be what it looked like. His little girl wouldn’t do that. His perfect, sweet Mórnkan would never. But then, she hadn’t been herself in weeks. He ripped the note down, scanning it again. Where was she? The ink was still wet. She couldn’t have gone far yet.

The note fluttered to the ground as Hasani began to run. He stumbled on the stairs, flew out of the heavy front doors. They closed behind him with a resounding bang that he barely heard. The dry, knee-high grass parted for him as if he were the very wind. There was already a path, a line where the grass didn’t stand quite so tall. Not far off, he could see a figure with unmistakable hair, dangerously close to the cliffs.

Hasani tripped over a rock, cursing loudly as he fell. Mórnkan paused, then began to run. Hasani couldn’t stand fast enough. He barely noticed that his slippers had come off in the fall.

“Mórnkan!” he bellowed as his daughter drew close to the edge. Mórnkan startled, turning.

“Go away.” Her voice was weak and hoarse, like she’d been crying for a long time.

“Mórnkan, step away from the edge this second! I will not allow you to do whatever it is you intend to.”

“Don’t you have better things to do than worry about me?”

“Of course not! You’re my daughter, I won’t stand aside while you throw your life away!”

Mórnkan laughed darkly, turning to face the cliffs again. “Yes, you would. You’ve done it before. I’m sorry, father. There’s just…nothing left for me. I want my mama.”

She started walking again. Hasani moved faster, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back with more force than he intended. Mórnkan gasped and stumbled, half falling to the ground. She tried to tug her hand away, but his grip was too firm as he began to haul her back to the manor.

“What were you thinking, Mórnkan?!” He didn’t mean to shout, but how could he do anything else? “You would really rather die than…than anything else?”

“Yes! There’s nothing, I don’t, there isn’t any reason for me!” Mórnkan strained to even speak, trying to keep up with his longer, faster strides.

“Of course there’s reason for you to live! Your mother died to save your life. Dying now would be spitting in her face!”

“She made a mistake! She should have saved herself!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, any decent parent would have done the same. Why would you throw her sacrifice away?!”

“Because she made a mistake, I should have died instead!”

Hasani held her wrist more tightly. Her skin felt unnaturally warm. How strange. “That’s a ridiculous statement, and you know it. You’re better than this, Mórnkan. What will it take to snap you out of this? Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“I tried! I tried, but you, you kept ignoring me- What are you doing? That hurts, stop!” She tried harder to get her hand back, going so far as to use her free hand to attempt to pry his hand away.

“I’m not doing anything, and I’m not letting go of you until you are safely back home. You’re avoiding the question; why wouldn’t you just talk to me about this?”

“I tried to! I tried to, and every time, you told me you couldn’t talk yet!” Mórnkan’s voice was shaking, like she was crying. “You keep brushing me off! I’m done with it! You, it’s like you don’t even care-”

“Of course I care! If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t have come to get you! If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have arranged for you to stay somewhere safer! I don’t know where you get those ideas from!”

“You arranged what...?”

“You’re going to Vesuvia as soon as I can manage it.” Hasani threw the back door to the manor open and marched Mórnkan into the kitchen. He didn’t stop walking once they were inside, though, instead heading towards her bedroom upstairs.

“What?!”

“I’ve been talking to your aunt Chiara, and she agreed to take you in as a student. It’s clearly far safer for you in Vesuvia, seeing as how you nearly died when you went out to sea.”

“But I don’t, I don’t want to, I barely even know Aunt Chiara, I thought she hated you?”

“We have our differences, but protecting Amaya’s child is something we agree on.”

“You can’t send me away! You can’t, it’s not fair!” Mórnkan whimpered, trying once again to jerk her arm free. It was still far warmer than it should have been. “I’ll be alone, I don’t wanna be alone…”

“It’s for your own good, Mórnkan. You’ll understand eventually. And you won’t be alone, you’ll have your cousins. Chiara said she has an errand boy at her shop who’s about your age, too. You’ll have more kids your age to talk to than you have here.”

“That’s not what I mean. I don’t want my cousins, I don’t want other kids! I’m not a kid anyway, I’m seventeen. I want my parents!” She let out a choked sob. “It’s not fair, you can’t just send me away!”

“It’s not your decision, Mórnkan. You’re going to have to live with it.” He opened the door to her bedroom and made her sit down on her bed. “But for now, you’re going to stay right here and start packing. You need to be ready whenever I can get transportation arranged.”

“You’re not even going to sail me there yourself?” Mórnkan looked up at him with big eyes, holding her arm close to her chest.

“I never said that. I’ll go with you to drop you off if I can. If I can get enough of the crew to work some overtime, I’ll even take you there on the Lady Circe. But I can’t make any promises. I might have to send you by yourself.”

Mórnkan didn’t respond to that for a long moment. Her head lowered, her gaze turning to the arm he’d been holding. “...Okay. I…see how it is.”

“I knew you’d see reason. You’re a smart girl. Now take a minute to breathe, and start gathering your things.”

Mórnkan nodded slowly, still staring at her arm and wrist. Hasani looked at her wrist as well, wondering why she was so fixated on it. Ah. That would explain why her skin had been warm. He wasn’t sure where the burn had come from, though. Had it even been there before?

“Do you want some water for that?” His voice was more gentle now. Mórnkan shook her head quickly. “...Very well. Tell you what, you focus on healing that up. I wouldn’t want you to be injured. After that, you can rest. We’ll start the packing process tomorrow.”

“...Yes, father.”

#morgan drakos #hasani drakos #lina's writing #tw suicide #tw emotional distress #this is the ONLY time anything like this happened between them. in case you were worried #not that it makes anything better but...

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forsty · 2 years

Text

FIC: It’s Time to Let Go

ANOTHER FIC? nice

Fandom: Top Gun / Top Gun: Maverick

Rating: general audiences

Warnings: None

Words: 2298

Summary: Iceman has a chat with Rooster about Maverick related things. Or as I titled it in my google documents: "Iceman smacking Rooster at the back of the head"

Read it on Ao3!

The Top Gun breakroom was once again filled with loud and energetic fighter pilots eager to spend their short free time relaxing. Hangman and Coyote were in an intense battle over a game of foosball. Bob and Phoenix were sitting on the opposite couch, laughing and showing each other stuff on their phones. Phoenix always had a cute giggle, the way her nose scrunched up. Bob kept having to shove his glasses back into place with every laugh. Fanboy and Payback could be heard in a heated but friendly discussion to the right by the bar along with Halo and Fritz.

Rooster was sitting opposite of Bob and Phoenix, his arm leaning on the couch rest and his phone in the other hand, scrolling through news apps. Hangman had leaned over his shoulder earlier and said in his usual demeaning way,

“What’s with old people and reading the news all the time?”

Which had earned him a giggle from Coyote and an annoyed huff from Rooster. He wasn’t in the mood to come with some snarky comeback.

“Rooster.” Warlock’s voice by the door made every pilot in the room look up. Rooster turned his head to look, a question mark printed on his face. Warlock seemed uneasy with everyone’s attention on him, but the older pilot quickly re-asserted himself.

“Admiral Kazansky wishes to speak with you. In Cyclone’s office.”

All heads turned to look at Rooster and the pilot swallowed hard.

“Now?” He asked, knowing it was a stupid question.

“Yeah, Rooster. Now. You don’t keep the admiral waiting.” Warlock answered, waiting for the pilot to get off the couch.

“Right, sorry Sir.” Rooster answered and got up, walking towards Warlock and the door like he was a kid in school walking towards the principal’s office. All eyes followed him as he moved past them.

“Ooooh, someone’s in big trouble.” Hangman’s voice said, a wicked grin on his face as Rooster walked past him. Ignoring Hangman has gotten easier over the years.

The room was still silent even after Rooster and Warlock had left, everyone’s gaze still at the door. Being summoned by Admiral Tom “Iceman” Kazansky was not something Top Gun pilots took lightly.

“He must be in big trouble.” Coyote said. “Wonder what he did…”.

Bob and Phoenix shared looks. The curiosity that seeped out of her was almost visible and for a moment Bob feared his best friend might follow to eavesdrop.

“Rest in peace, Rooster… You will be missed.” Payback said somberly and most of the pilots laughed, as if being summoned by Admiral Kazanksy was a death sentence.

-------

Warlock held the door to Cyclone’s office and Rooster brushed past him, giving the Commander an awkward “thank you” nod, who returned the nod and closed the door behind him.

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky was standing by the row of windows, surveying whatever was going on outside. Ice rarely came to the base these days, if he even did at all. Rooster couldn’t remember the last time he had seen the Admiral walk those halls. They were alone in the office, Cyclone was nowhere to be seen. At Ice’s request, Rooster guessed.

“Sir, you wanted to see me?” Rooster declared and stood a bit straighter, addressing the Admiral. Ice let out a long sigh as Rooster’s voice filled the room. The older man seemed tired.

“Let’s drop the formalities, kid.” Ice said, his voice hoarse and he turned to look at Rooster.

“Right now, I’m not your admiral.” he said and pointed towards the chair that was seated beside the chair Ice was turning his attention towards. Rooster moved on instinct to support the older man, but Ice held up a hand, denying the help.

“If you’re not my admiral, then what are you?” Rooster asked as he stepped closer, hesitant to sit down. Ice stared at him and patted the seat next to him.

“What I’ve always been since you were six. Your Uncle Ice. Now sit.”

Rooster obeyed and sat down next to Ice who leaned back and let out another sigh. His ice blue eyes bored into Rooster, who had let out a small chuckle. It had been some years since Rooster had called the admiral ‘Uncle Ice.’

“We need to talk about Mav.”

Rooster immediately wrinkled his nose and his eyebrows furrowed. He twisted in his seat but sat quietly once Ice’s strong hand landed on his arm, as if to keep him from flying away.

“Ice, I’m not-”

“You will listen. You know me, I’m not like Mav. I’m not going to wrap you up in bubble wrap or treat you like you might break. I’ve always been honest and direct with you.”

Rooster felt like he was 14 years old again, standing in front of Ice who stood tall and proud with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow as the older pilot glared down at him. Rooster had picked a fight with a classmate which had resulted in a busted lip and being sent home, plus suspended for two days. Mav had been on assignment, leaving the kid to face Uncle Ice.

He loved Uncle Ice with his whole heart. He had been a welcome addition to their strange little family when Mav first brought him home when Rooster was six. They had been careful around each other at first, Rooster’s caution due to the man being a stranger, and Ice’s caution because he wasn’t used to children. If there was one thing Iceman did best, it was learning fast. It didn’t take long before the two of them were best friends.

“-and I always appreciated that.” Rooster said softly, looking at Ice. The older pilot’s eyes softened along with his grip on Rooster’s arm. It had been years since Rooster felt connected to either of his uncles, but he suddenly realized how much he burned for that connection once more.

“So, about Mav.” Ice began, and there was that tension that vibrated through Rooster's body once again. Sixteen years of anger and bitterness wouldn’t go away that easily.

Ice, sensing Rooster’s tension, fastened his grip on the younger pilot's arm.

“This has been going on for long enough, and I’m tired of it. I know Mav is and I know you are as well.” Ice said, and when Rooster was about to protest, the admiral held up his other hand in a ‘I’m speaking’- manner.

“I know, believe me, kid, I know it hurt you and I know it still does.”

Rooster was about to protest again. ‘Hurt’ was an understatement, but Ice shot him a look and the younger pilot kept his silence.

“Mav, he…. Sometimes people are met with choices. Impossible choices, but they are still choices we have to make. Mav made a choice. Whether that choice was right… I can’t say.” Ice paused and surveyed Rooster’s face. The younger pilot was tense, but he was listening.

“He loves you, and he always will.” Ice’s voice was soft and quiet, and he spoke the honest truth. Rooster finally met his uncle's eyes.

“Even after everything? The way I treated him all those years? Ignored him?” Rooster asked, his voice quiet. There had been moments in the past sixteen years where Rooster had missed his Uncle Mav to the point of contacting him. Held the phone in his hand with Mav’s number ready or typed out a text message and all he needed was to press send. There had been times Rooster had really needed his Uncle Maverick.

Ice’s face melted into a smile Rooster hadn’t seen since he was a kid.

“Even after everything. He understands your anger, Bradley. He doesn’t blame you. He just misses you and worries about you.” Ice said.

Rooster looked away from his uncle and down at his shoes. How strange for a 35 year old grown man to suddenly feel like a vulnerable teenager again.

Ice leaned back in his seat and regarded Rooster. A smile spread across his face as he watched his unofficial godson. Maverick was Rooster’s godfather, but Ice was his “unofficial godfather”.

“You know… Parents will always love their children, no matter what they do. It’s what parents do. Maverick will never stop caring for you.” Ice’s voice was soft but firm, needing to get his point across.

Rooster let out a sigh and for a moment Ice felt relieved that perhaps he had gotten through to him.

“But what he did… I don’t know how to… I don’t know how to put it behind me, Uncle Ice.” Rooster’s usual deep voice was so quiet, Ice almost didn’t hear him.

“I don’t know how, or even if I can forgive him.”

Ice’s gaze didn’t leave where it was fixated on watching Rooster’s face, whose own gaze was facing down. The admiral nodded and squeezed his grip on the pilot's arm once more.

“If not for Maverick, or for yourself….” Ice began and he leaned in closer, making sure he had Rooster’s attention,

“Do it for your father.”

Ice’s voice was strict and clear, and Rooster immediately met his uncle’s eyes, his heart skipping a beat. Had it been anyone else who had said those words, brought his father into this, he would have opted to respond with fists instead. But it was Ice who had said it, so Rooster only stared at him.

“Do it for Goose.” Ice continued, his voice softer. “He would have hated to see you two like this and you know that, Bradley.”

Ice had always been direct with him. He never sugarcoated anything or tried to shield Rooster, which the younger pilot knew and had often appreciated. He figured he shouldn’t have been surprised that Ice would pull a move like that, and besides, Ice was right. The guilt he had felt the last years towards his father, who he barely remembered, had somehow made his bitterness even worse.

Rooster’s eyes fell down to the floor again.

“That’s unfair of you, Ice.” he said quietly.

“Perhaps it is, kid.” the admiral said and leaned back in his seat, sighing.

The pair sat in silence for a few more minutes. Rooster’s gaze didn’t dare meet Ice, or else his strong composure might break under the icy eyes of his bonus uncle. Ice kept his attention out the window beside them, occasionally looking over at Rooster.

“Well, my boy. I’ve said my piece.” Ice finally spoke out and made movements to get up from his chair. Rooster was beside his uncle in a heartbeat to help the older pilot, which the admiral accepted this time. Once both pilots were standing, Ice patted Rooster’s shoulders.

“The rest is up to you, kid.” The admiral spoke and with a final affectionate pat to Rooster’s shoulder, he headed towards the door leaving him alone in Cyclone’s office.

Rooster stood there for several minutes after Ice had left, staring out the windows and lost in his own thoughts. It took Warlock three times calling his name before Rooster’s head finally turned towards him.

Warlock was standing in the door, one hand resting on the door handle and one eyebrow raised.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw, are you hearing me?” Warlock called again, his voice was stern but his eyes showed concern. Rooster nodded awkwardly and swallowed the lump in his throat that he didn’t know had formed there.

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Cyclone would like his office back, if you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. I’m sorry, sir.” Rooster said flustered and walked towards Warlock, who gave him a smile as he passed him in the door.

Once in the hallway, Rooster headed towards the Top Gun break room but stopped in his tracks after just a few steps. The hallway before him was filled with his fellow pilots, all vaguely acting aloof.

Hangman and Coyote were looking at some pictures on the wall next to them, which Rooster knew wouldn’t interest the pair under normal circumstances. Phoenix and Bob were standing by the opposite wall, Phoenix pretending to fix her hair (which didn’t even need fixing) and Bob was typing on his phone (which, by the angle he was standing, Rooster could tell wasn’t even turned on). Payback and Fanboy stood a bit further down the hall, Payback pointing at the ceiling and Fanboy nodding along as if they were inspecting something which clearly wasn’t there. Rooster furrowed his brow at the sight of them.

“Don’t tell me you were eavesdropping?” Rooster called out and everyone looked at him, Bob nearly dropping his phone in the process. Rooster sure knew how to get people’s attention.

“Of course not. Us eavesdrop on you and the admiral ? Why the heck would we do that?” Hangman said and placed a toothpick in his mouth, pointing his grin at Rooster who narrowed his eyes at the Texan. Hangman shrugged and started walking down the hallway, Coyote following in tow and then followed by Payback and Fanboy who both gave Rooster a little wave.

Rooster followed and Phoenix and Bob walked behind him. Phoenix picked up her pace and poked Rooster’s arm.

“So what did the admiral want to talk to you about? You’re not in trouble are you? That stunt you and Maverick pulled? Is that it?” She asked and eyed him suspiciously. Rooster could feel Bob stare at him too, same questions burning behind those innocent doe eyes.

Rooster sighed, but didn’t look at either of them as they walked back to the break room.

“Nothing important, maybe I’ll tell you later.” he answered, earning an unimpressed raised eyebrow from Phoenix.

He knew Phoenix was making a mental note of bugging him about it further later, he knew she didn’t give up that easily. A part of him appreciates it, knowing that people actually cared.

Knowing that Uncle Maverick still cared.

#Top gun #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw #tom iceman kazansky #fanfic #writing #forsty fic #anyway

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frozenjokes · 2 years

Text

TW: Death, violence, the works Also this is part two and you can read part one here

Blood seeped into the shallow water, parting politely around Scar’s bruised knees, but staining the rest of the bank a deep red. Satisfaction welled in the depths of Grian’s lungs, but his gaze remained cold.

“Is this supposed to be an apology?” Grian looked down on Scar from his perch on a large root that had risen from the sand. Scar’s grip on his sword did not loosen, even as Bdubs’ corpse started to fade. He could have been mistaken for a statue if he wasn’t shaking so much. “Answer me.”

Scar briefly looked up at him, but couldn’t take the intensity of his glare and crumbled inward. Grian snarled and leapt off his root in front of the other man, splashing his face with the dirty water. Scar seemed to spring back to life, sputtering and propelling himself clumsily backwards on all fours. Grian kept pace, letting his talons catch on the tips of Scar’s boots. “Explain yourself. Tell me why you did that to me after all I’ve done for you. Why did you let that happen?” Scar didn’t stop backing away, Grian didn’t stop following. “I gave my first life to you. I gave everything for you. Is this really how you repay me?” Grian flexed his wings, feeling the violence and strength of his new red life course through his veins. He could end this right now! He could kill this damned coward right now and he could win.

Grian raised his sword and slashed it ruthlessly across Scar’s stomach, drinking in his pained wail. So this was being red. This is what he was missing. Scar was so lucky to have him on his side; training with him and facilitating this feeling. Grian raked his sword against him again and again, his vision clouded by a hazy red smoke. But then, he stopped. No. This wasn’t right- Scar wasn’t even retaliating! His anger swelled, mixing with an odd panic that Scar might already be dead.

“Why aren’t you fighting back!” Silence fell, so pervasive that even the surrounding environment didn’t dare make a sound. Scar coughed, making Grian jump, and took a deep, wheezy, breath.

“I think,,” Scar’s hoarse voice trailed off, but Grian leaned forward, holding on to every word. “I think I’m just too tired. It’s okay. You win. I’m-“ another coughing fit cut him off, but he continued on. “I’m happy for you. I know this is what you wanted.” Scar managed a small smile. Grian gaped at him.

“Eat.” He spoke through gritted teeth, digging his talons into the rocky bank.

“What?”

“Eat”

“Grian- I don’t-“

“I don’t care what you want! We are going to do this properly.” How dare Scar assume he knows what he wants. How dare he just try to lay down and die after his betrayal.

“Oh..” Scar sounded distant, realization dawning in his tired eyes. “So that’s how it is then.” Grian frowned down at him. This doesn’t get to be easy. However, his intensity seemed to be enough to convince him to eat, but Scar didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry. At least he was regenerating health. However, Grian’s patience did not last, and moments later he was yanking Scar to his feet with his newfound red life strength.

Their journey back into the desert was long and silent. Grian kept his grip on Scar’s wrist tight, although this precaution wasn’t very necessary considering Scar was hardly more than a walking corpse; practically tripping over every root and vine on the forest floor. Grian wondered if this was to spite him, but it wouldn’t matter soon.

Scar sat on the sand as Grian created an arena for their final battle. Maybe this was a good thing. Maybe his story would be better for it. Placing the final cactus, he turned to face Scar.

“It’s time. Get up.” He thought for a moment that Scar might ignore him, but was pleased to see him obey.

“Hey G?” Scar looked unfocused, gaze fixed on something behind him. Grian turned. There was nothing there.

“What is it.” His tone was flat, but a flutter of uneasiness started up in his chest. Scar kept looking at the area around them. Did he plan something? Did he make a trap without Grian’s notice?

“Do you think everyone else is watching? Do you think they know what you’ve done to me?” The two men locked eyes for a long, unnerving moment.

“Of course not. They’re dead.” He forced conviction into this statement, not breaking Scar’s gaze.

“Right.. Of course..” But Scar’s eyes started to unfocus once more, and Grian stomach twisted at the thought that Scar was seeing something he couldn’t.

#hc s9 #hc9 #hermitcraft #goodtimeswithscar #grian #thirdlife fanfic #third life scar #third life #last life #double life #third life grian #fanfic #hermitcraft fanfic #bdouble0 #bdubs

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silvanils · 2 years

Text

The Roots and the Leaves

This fic can also be found on Ao3 here!

Early in the morning, Kieran slips out of his quarters wearing commoner’s clothes and a worn cloak to hide his nice satchel. He wants nothing more than to sneak out through the servant’s quarters and be gone before anyone can even miss him, with the little note he left on his bed explaining his intentions.

‘I just don’t want to be stuck in the Palace today. I hope you understand.’

But just before he left the royal wing, he hears a door creak open.

“Kieran? Is that you?” Alistair asks, his voice hoarse. “What’s going on?”

Kieran turns to face him, grimacing at just how tired the King actually looks. Had he even been asleep? Belatedly, Kieran realizes how this must look to Alistair. “I’m not running away, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he says, sighing as he grips the edge of his cloak. “I just… don’t want to stay here today. It’s too stuffy. No offense.”

Alistair huffs quietly, his lips turning up in amusement. “Understandable. It’s… quite a change, isn’t it? Being stuck here, when you’re used to wandering about wherever you please?” He shifts a little, leaning against the door’s frame as he studies Kieran. “As long as you promise to be back by nightfall, I won’t stop you from leaving.”

“Thank you,” Kieran says, giving the King a quick bow before he darts off.

As the sunlight began to turn golden in the late afternoon, and the other children dispersed to go eat dinner, Kieran and Minna wandered over to the Vhenadahl, where Zevran sat in the shade strumming a playful melody on his guitar… and something tickled at Kieran’s mind, some bit of of old knowledge he could no longer quite recall.

The roots of a tree are very different from the leaves, but they both still belong to it.

He frowns as he looks up at it, but when Zevran begins to play another verse it pulls Kieran back to where he stands, who he stands beside.

“I know this song!” Kieran says, grinning.

Zevran chuckles and sings the next line as he strums the notes. “Why change the past when you can own the day?” His fingers stumble over one of the notes, though, and he laughs. “I’ve been trying to pick this one up. Dirk is rather fond of it.”

“I like it, too,” Kieran says, leaning against the bench. “I used to go listen to Maryden sing in the Herald’s Rest all the time. Her voice was… nice. Soothing.” And one of the songs had sounded a lot like one his Papae used to sing to him, though the words had always felt off to Kieran in a way he couldn’t explain.

But as Zevran begins the verse again, Minna reaches out for Kieran’s hands and tugs him into a playful dance… and for now, at least, he decides to go with the flow. It’s rare enough for it to sweep him up like this.

She walks with him later, too, as he begins to make his way back to the Palace, his cloak drawn tight against the swift-descending chill of evening. “I hope you had fun today, Kieran,” she says, in a quiet tone. “Still boggles my mind that you’d choose to spend it with us instead of… I don’t know, having some kind of party at the palace?”

Kieran snorts. “Who would I invite to such a party?” he asks, grinning at her. “You’re my truest friend in the whole damn city. Besides, I prefer playing hoop on a stick and sparring with you over being stuck in some stuffy room with a bunch of noble brats any day, nevermind... a special one.”

Minna laughs at that, and it’s almost too dark to see but Kieran’s sure she’s blushing. “I’m just sorry I don’t have a proper gift for you just yet.”

“A gift?” Kieran asks, shocked. “Minna, I don’t need anything…!”

“I know,” Minna says, reaching out to take his hands again, and he’s surprised by how warm hers are. “But I want to give you something, anyway. You’re my truest friend, too.”

“Right,” he says, his voice barely a squeak. “As you wish, then. But only if — ”

He’s cut off when she tugs him closer and stands on her tip-toes to plant a kiss against his cheek. Her lips are soft and warm, too, and… his face is probably as rosy as her hair, now.

“Hush, you,” she whispers. “You know I meant it.”

#artober #kieran #kieran and alistair #kieran and minna #zevran #;Kieran/Minna #;knight writes #;corner of the sky #[ this one gave me a hard time LOL ]#[ I was originally going to make it more clear that it's Kieran's birthday but that gets addressed in the NEXT chapter ]

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