#that singular strand of hair falling out of place???

[luveline]

hi lovely!! you mentioned bombshell!reader holding spencer's hand the whole time after the whole tobias incident and i wanted to request a more in-depth continuation of that, if it's alright? maybe with reader helping spence with his addiction afterwards too bc i just hate how the team didn't support him properly during that time 😭

There's something cold touching his hand. Actually, there's lots of things happening to his hand. 

Spencer fights to open heavy lashes, closes them again when the white hospital wall bathed in early morning sun burns his retinas. Alert, he realises that the hand in his is sweetly soft, with gentle fingertips holding his marriage finger up higher than the rest. You're playing with his hands while he sleeps.

Spencer opens his eyes again. There's no machine taking his observations, no beeping or whistling or medical ringing to be heard, just the soft huff and puff of your breathing and the sound of your heel tapping the floor. 

There had been more noise last time he woke, but the same amount of you. 

“Spencer?” 

He looks up from your hands holding his to your face. It's not fair, he thinks, how pretty you are, how pretty you continue to be, with your hair, your smile, your ever-smirking lips. You're doing it now, the sight of your painted smile squeezing his heart into a frenzied beating. If they were still taking his observations, he'd die from embarrassment. 

“Hey,” you say, still smiling, hands more insistent on his. 

“Hey. What are you doing here?” 

“What does it look like I'm doing, handsome?” you ask. 

“Did you go home?” 

“Of course I did.” You don't sound truthful. “Want a drink?” 

You pull a bottle of water from your handbag and pass it to him. He has to take his hand from yours to open it, and he wishes he'd said no. Spencer would happily go thirsty to prolong your touch and the security it brings with it. He's antsy as he swallows, a foreign-body feeling pervasive as he caps the drink, puts the bottle aside, and rubs the crust from his eyes. Lank hair falls into his face. 

“You okay?” you ask gently. 

“When can I leave?” 

“Tonight… They want to make sure you're, you know… properly weaned.” Your voice comes out quieter than he's ever heard it before. 

It's as forward as anyone's bothered being about the drugs. The drug, singular. 

Dilaudid is eight times stronger than morphine. Spencer was injected multiple times. His body won't be totally addicted, but he craves the numbness of it already. Whatever he's on isn't cutting through the pain in his legs and feet, nor the memories of being tied up, and all alone. 

“I think I'm gonna be sick,” he says. 

You grab for a blanket off of the edge of the bed to cover his lap as he hangs his head, sure he's going to throw up, but he doesn't so much as heave. The nausea remains anyhow, and worsens as you sit beside his legs. Your hand once again takes his, fingers slotting together as though they were made for this one purpose, your voice a clean, cleaving thing, “Hey, it's alright. It's fine, Spence, you're okay. This is expected.” He curls in on himself. You tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear, tugging his hand closer to you in tandem. “You're gonna feel awful for a few days, but I'm right here.” 

“Why are you here?” he asks, confused. 

“Spence.” 

He looks up from under his lashes. 

Your semi-permanent smile seems to have gotten lost somewhere. “Spencer,” you say, attempting to say something without really saying it, eyes glued to his, “where else would I be?” 

He rubs the place between his brows with the heel of his palm. You keep his hand and wrap him in a careful hug. Either you don't notice how desperately he needs a hot shower or you don't care, gracing his cheek with a friendly (and unmissably loving) kiss. It's hard not to cry after that. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you say. You weren't even on the case, but you'd showed up just as soon as you knew he'd been taken, and you haven't left his side since they found him in the cemetery. You don't have a thing in the world to be sorry for. “I'm so sorry. It'll be okay now.” Your voice ripples with surety. 

“Thanks for staying,” he says. 

“You did all the hard work by yourself.” You squeeze his fingers. “I can do the rest, babe.” 

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

[lesbian-for-arthur-morgan]

do you have any headcanons for arguing and making up? i’m a slut for angst with comfort 🙈

Making Up After a Fight

Gender Neutral Language!

Genre: slight angst, fluff Featuring: Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch Van Der Linde, Javier Escuella, Charles Smith, and Sean MacGuire Warnings: Dutch is kind of toxic | Not edited

AN: Sorry it took me so long to get these written! I went through some nasty writer's block and decided to play the game a little to help out but all that did was distract me for a week. This is definitely pretty roughly written - I'm also a huge slut for angst with comfort, though, so I hope you like these! <3 ---> Requests are open! Check out guidelines if you have any questions

<><><><>

Arthur Morgan:

Arthur gets frustrated easily when he feels like he’s not being listened to or understood. It’s not really anyone’s fault, but his emotions can get the better of him and he’ll say something that he doesn’t mean.

“You got bait for brains or are you just being an idiot for fun?” (or something like that)

You know in the back of your head that he doesn’t mean it, and he regrets it the second the syllables bounce off his lips. Your brain can know something but your heart will still hurt all the same.

Usually when Arthur is getting too big for his britches with you, you can shut him down and put him in his place. It’s something he highly respects about you - not putting up with his bullshit when he gets like that. Sometimes, though, your eyes will start to water and you can’t say anything without feeling a lump in your throat constricting your vocal chords.

You have to turn and walk away or else you’ll cry in front of him. That would just make everything worse.

Seeing your form retreating, knowing that you’re running off because you’re hurt rather than angry, made Arthur’s chest grow heavy with guilt. His first instinct is to follow after you and hold you until you’re feeling better.

But since he’s the one who hurt you, he just lets you walk away and he goes to pout since he thinks he deserves to be outcast for a little while.

He’ll give you as much space as he can bear, avoid you for an hour maybe two, but he comes crawling back with those puppy dog eyes and a singular wild flower in his fist.

He’ll go to his cot where you’re sitting with his hat in your lap. You stopped being upset five or ten minutes after the argument. Once you took a few deep breaths you understand, but you also had to understand that Arthur would come back to you after he was done punishing himself.

So you waited.

When you saw him approach with that sheepish expression and slouched posture your heart bled for him. He was a brute and an ass at times, but he meant well.

“’M’sorry, Darlin’,” He’d mumble and get on his knees in front of you. “I didn’t mean it, I never mean it.”

He places the flower in your lap by his hat and gazes up at you. His hair is long and falling in front of his eyes a little, so you brush the strands away from his forehead to get a better look at him.

His blue eyes are a little red and there’s a deep crease in his forehead from an hour or so of constant worrying.

“You can be so mean sometimes, Arthur Morgan,” You scold him lightly and he sighs, nodding.

“I know.”

He spends the rest of the week making it up to you. Truly it doesn’t matter exactly what was said or what the argument was about, when you are truly hurt by his words/actions it kills him. He’ll punish himself for a bit then come back ready to spoil you with words, presents, kisses, and anything else you could possibly ask for.

John Marston:

He’s constantly arguing with you about something. A lot of the time he just picks at you to get a rise out of you - he thinks it’s funny.

Things can get out of hand quickly with him if he grates on a nerve of yours and you bite back though. His first instinct is to give a smartass retort and it just spirals into a full-blown fight from there.

“John Marston you are a pig!”

You storm off and hide in your tent for a while. He’s just standing there dumbfounded. He starts asking himself why he let it get to that point, why did he have to open his big ol’ mouth and antagonize you?

He tries to get you to talk to him, he’ll pace in front of the tent and start calling your name nicely. He won’t ever open the flap though, he doesn’t want to invade your space and risk riling you up anymore.

When you ignore him he’ll eventually get the hint and wander off.

He tries to figure out something to do while he thinks about how to make it up to you. He offers to help Arthur out with any bounty hunts or little jobs, he’ll offer to take Bill or Lenny into town, or he’ll just pick up extra shifts of being on lookout for the camp.

When you finally come out he has to restrain the urge to run to you and scoop you up, demanding that you forgive him so that he can stop pouting.

He does drop whatever it is he’s doing to approach you and makes small talk to test the waters.

“How are you?”

“Fine, John.”

“That’s good… You still mad at me?”

You roll your eyes and try to walk away, but he shoots out and grabs your hand before you can get too far. He doesn’t hold you tightly; his fingers gently encase your own, if you wanted to leave you could easily. But, you falter with your back turned to him and wait for him to speak.

“I’m sorry, really. You know I’m an idiot.” He’s practically whining as he says it, begging for you to look at him.

You turn your head slightly to give him a side glare. At first, the sight makes his heart drop into his feet and he thinks he really screwed up this time, but when a small smirk starts to quirk the corner of your mouth upwards he lets out a low sigh.

“You are cruel,” He chuckles and tightens his grip as he pulls you into his arms and wraps you up in a bear hug.

Your laughs are loud and genuine as he twirls you around, pressing chaste kisses to your cheeks as he does so. Your voices echo throughout the camp once again.

Everyone in camp knows what’s going on with you and John whether you’re fighting or making up, your business is everyone else’s.

Dutch Van Der Linde:

I want to start out by saying Dutch never actually apologizes when you two fight. He’ll buy gifts, say pretty words, whisper sweet nothings, and all the like, but the words “I’m sorry” have never left that man’s lips in his entire life. He will not start now.

Dutch’s obsession with the O’Driscoll’s can cloud his judgment on many things, it makes him blind to reason. Further than that, it makes him hateful and sometimes just plain mean.

He trusts you, he loves you. So, you’re stuck listening to his plans and his grievances with the gang, the law, the O’Driscoll’s, and any other misfortune he has had to endure in his life.

He’ll go on and on, plotting, groaning, whining. One night, after being sat on his cot for hours, you’ve had enough. You beg him to do anything but complain and come up with a half-brained plan to get rich quick.

It hits a nerve and he blows a fuse.

“You don’t understand what’s at stake, do you?” He’s practically yelling. “It’s so easy for you - I spoil you!”

You’re stunned into silence as he shouts at you. You didn’t expect him to blow up.

“Get out of my tent, get out of my sight!” He sends you away. In a daze you stumble out of the tent and into the dark camp.

There’s a few people still up wandering around. Mary-Beth is singing by the fire and Kieran is trying to sing with her, but doesn’t really know the words. Your feet start moving on their own and you take a seat across from the two at the fire.

“What’s going on, gunslinger?” Karen shuffles to a seat beside you and settles down. Mary-Beth’s singing falters for a minute but she continues on, just quieter.

“Dutch is pissed.” You mumble, staring into the flames.

“When is he not? Have a drink,” Karen shoves a bottle of beer into your hand and watches as you take a long swig. She continues, “Have some fun without him for once.”

The night takes a turn from there. You sing and dance and laugh. A few more people join in until it’s gone from moping around the fire to a proper party around it. Javier even brings out the guitar. The noise is enough to draw Dutch from the dark hole in his tent to see what’s going on.

When he sees you, the tears on your cheeks have dried and your face is flushed from the drinks, he can’t help but feel a little guilty. To him, afterall, you were just naive. You didn’t understand what was truly going on in the camp, didn’t understand his plans.

He creeps out of the tent and sneaks up behind you as you’re dancing along to Javier and Mary-Beth. When a pair of arms wraps around your waist, you let out a little squeal.

Dutch spins you around so that you’re facing him, your bodies pressed flush together causing a heat to flare in your stomach.

“My beautiful dancer,” Dutch mumbles and presses a soft kiss to your lips. You don’t fight, don’t ask any questions. You’re just happy that he seems to be sorry for what he did. He’s holding you after all of that, kissing you. He must be sorry, and so are you.

When he pulls back you gaze at him with half-lidded eyes. “I’m sorry, Dutch.” You whisper.

“Hush now,” He starts swaying as he holds you, leading you into a dance.

Your fight is practically forgotten by the end of the night. In the early hours of the morning, everyone is stumbling back to their respective beds. Stomachs are full and heads will be aching come noon, but to you it was all worth it. So long as you and Dutch aren’t fighting anymore.

Javier Escuella:

He hates fighting. I mean not in general, but just with you.

He won’t allow himself to be taken advantage of or walked all over, but if there’s some stupid argument that’s making you mad he will roll over and apologize. Just to keep the peace.

He loves you more than he loves being right, and if it makes you happy to just admit that then so be it.

When y’all do fight, though, it’s over something big. Stupid quarrels are so rare that the first time anyone catches wind that the two of you had a falling out it shocks half the camp to the core.

Javier would only truly get upset with you in a life or death situation. Like when you decided to not tell anyone you were heading into town really quick and met a few O’Driscoll’s in the general store.

When you saw them you recognized them as few that had gotten into a fight with Javier in town a few weeks ago. Javier let them walk away to save face, there was a large group of witnesses that would have pretty much guaranteed him an execution if he had taken their lives.

Your heart skipped a beat as one of them turned to look at you, but they left shortly after you entered the store and you prayed that would be the end of it.

After you finished at the store, though, you walked through the door to find the three men standing in the road before you. Their arms were folded across their chests and their legs spread in a dominant stance.

You clutched the items you bought to your chest and tried walking away from the trio, but one of them called out and made you stop in your tracks.

“You’re one of Dutch’s people ain’t you?” The tallest one said. It wasn’t really a question, he knew who you were.

“And what’s it to you, mister?” You shot back, reaching for the dagger in your belt.

“I’ve got a few questions for you about your boss.” The three of them started moving towards you. They surrounded you and backed you to the wall of the general store. You whipped out your dagger to tell them to back off, but it wouldn’t do much against three of them - you knew that and so did they.

The only reason you had made it out of that situation without even a scratch was because Arthur happened to be riding through town on his way back to camp and noticed the commotion.

He brought you back to camp, and that’s where you saw Javier standing at your cot with this arms crossed and a scowl darkening his features.

“What the hell were you thinking?” He practically shouts at you.

You didn’t mean to, you held them back as long as you could, but tears start flowing freely down your face in large, hot drops.

Javier’s scowl disappears almost immediately. He didn’t expect you to cry. Maybe yell back or explain yourself, but not cry. He drops his arms and grabs both of your hands in his.

“Are you okay?” His voice is low and laced with worry. Arthur got to him first and told him what happened briefly, so he knew you weren’t physically hurt, but other than that he didn’t know what happened.

“They surrounded me. I was - I was so scared, Javier.” Your throat was thick and it was hard to speak. Javier embraced you, rubbing your back and holding the back of your head as you cried harder into his shoulder.

“You’re safe now,” He assures you and presses soft kisses into your hair.

He spends the next few days feeling guilty for being mad at first.

You tell him you understand his reaction and that you were sorry,but he just says sorry back to you and claims he shouldn’t have been angry when you were scared.

You’re both equally sorry, I guess.

After that, though, Javier refuses to let you go anywhere alone. You don’t have to go with him but you have to have a traveling buddy in case anything like that happens again.

Charles Smith:

Doesn’t fight with anyone, really.

Sure, you can get mad at him and yell and hold a grudge, but he just lets you figure your emotions out from afar if that’s what you need. He gives you space when you need it, attention when you want it, and does anything that he can for you.

He loves you more than anything in the world, so when you’re mad at him it eats away at his insides until you make up. He’s literally the consent king, though, and will wait for you to come to him before he initiates anything.

It feels like he doesn’t care sometimes. It drives you crazy that he doesn’t chase after you and try to make up with you then and there or rectify the situation immediately, which turns into another argument.

“Do you even give a shit what I feel?” You frown at him one morning after a small argument that he just brushed off from the night before. He assumed since you slept with him in his bedroll, that meant you were over it.

“I love you! What are you talking about?” He rubs at the little stubble on his chin in exasperation.

“You never listen you just say ‘okay’ and move on. You don’t learn that way, Charles. You roll over and the same thing will keep happening because you aren’t listening.” You try to explain yourself. Charles nods but you can’t tell if he actually gets what you’re trying to convey since he never acknowledges it more than that.

You sigh and get up.

“I need a minute, come talk to me when you can.” You walk away from him and towards Miss Grimshaw doing the laundry.

Charles just stays where he is and lets out a long deep sigh. He thought it would be better for him to just agree with you, it would make you happy to be agreed with rather than continuing to fight over something so trivial.

He hasn’t been with the group for a super long time, but he’s created a strong bond with Arthur. So, that’s who he goes to to ask for advice on the whole situation.

Charles relays as much as he can back to Arthur and the cowboy just starts to chuckle at the absurdity of the conversation. He’s used to people coming to him for advice (he doesn’t really get why), but the situation with you and Charles came out of nowhere for him. He didn’t realize you two fought ever.

“No relationship is perfect, Charles.” Arthur suggests.

That’s literally no help to him so Charles walks off and tries thinking what to do. He comes up with nothing, though. Which makes him frustrated.

He starts walking towards you. You look up and see his determined face and scrunched brow and excuse yourself to meet him halfway.

“We need to talk.” He says, his words are intense but his gaze is still soft. You aren’t scared of him anyways.

“I think we do.” You reply and follow him to a private area right outside of camp.

The whole time he goes off about how he doesn’t get what you want from him. What you expect him to do or say when you get mad or annoyed.

“I just want to know you care about me and my emotions.”

“Dear, I care about you more than anything in the world. More than life itself, why do you question it?” He’s basically pleading with you to understand him, to finally see that just because he isn’t as forward with every single thought (good or bad) on his mind doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you or your emotions.

It takes little to no time for you to throw your arms around him in an embrace and mumble an apology into his hair.

Even your big fights aren’t really fights.

Sean MacGuire:

Sean does stupid stuff all the time. Literally he does stupid stuff more often than he does anything smart.

Especially when he’s drunk.

One night a small group of some of the gang decided to head into the saloon in town for a drinks for the night. You and Sean were always up for a good time and tagged along - obviously.

It presented opportunity for a little pickpocketing as well (if you didn’t get too drunk and sloppy to do it).

Everything went well for the first hour. Drinks were shared among the group and laughs were bellowing through the air with a contagious warmth. Better yet, no one seemed to be testing the waters and starting a bar fight.

Sean had his arm around you the entire night. He claimed it was to let all the scoundrels at the bar know that you were his and no one should even try to stake a claim to you.

You rolled your eyes but stayed nestled in the spot.

That is, until you were pulled away by your bladder. All the drinks were catching up to you and you slipped from under him to run to the restroom really quick.

When you came back, though, a working woman had taken advantage of your absence to catch Sean’s attention.

In his drunken state, Sean couldn’t even realize that the weight of the woman beside him wasn’t the same as when you were sitting there before. He didn’t say a thing as her arms wrapped around his torso or when she ran her fingers through his longish hair.

Tears fill your eyes almost instantly. You try to blink them away and get a better look at the scene in front of you, but it doesn’t change. It only gets worse as her lips start leaving rougey red stains on his neck.

“Sean!” You shove at his shoulder. When he sees you in front of him, his bleary red eyes turn to the woman beside him. His brain takes a minute to put two and two together, but by the time he has figured the situation out you are pushing through saloon patrons to get out into the night air.

Sean sobers up immediately. He pries himself out of the grasp of the other woman and follows your trail out the door.

He calls your name over and over again until he finally finds you sitting on the street corner crying into your knees.

“Please, Love!” He approaches you and your head whips up at the sound of his voice.

“You stay away from me you dog.” You snap and get up. You’re still pretty drunk as well however and you wobble and nearly fall over at the sudden movement.

Luckily Sean catches you by the arm before you can tumble into the dirt.

“I didn’t know she was there, honest. Thought you was there beside me.” He lifts a hand to your cheek, ready to brush away some of your tears, but you turn your cheek and shrug him off.

“Sure.” You say and try to walk away. He catches your arm again and turns you towards him once more.

“Honest, Love. Why would I pay for sex anyways - I’ve not a penny to me name and you give it to me for free.”

The sentiment was there, but definitely not the right thing to say.

You have to physically restrain yourself from hitting him upside the head at his words.

He sees the struggle on your face as soon as he says it and clamps a hand over his mouth.

“Sean MacGuire you bastard!” You shout at him, but can’t help a weak laugh from erupting from your throat at the end.

“I didn’t mean that, oh lord I didn’t.” The terror in his face only causes you to laugh harder.

The laughter surprises him and even yourself, so much so that the both of you are laughing. Though you don’t really understand why.

“If you ever-“ You say with a mocking glare, “Ever do something like that or say something like that again, I am leaving you Sean MacGuire.”

“I wouldn’t blame you one bit,” He says somberly, still with a small smile.

<><><><>

I didn't write for Sadie because I genuinely could not think of a situation for her or how she would be, my brain died halfway through writing Sean's. I'll just have to write some Sadie focused hc's next time teehee~

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 arthur #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption #john marston #john marston x reader #dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #javier escuella #javier escuella x reader #charles smith #charles smith x reader #sean macguire #sean macguire x reader #rdr2 headcanon #rdr2 headcanons

[blueariel3-blog]

Cookies

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: You attempt to make a welcome home gift for your mate, but it doesn't go as planned.

A/N: This is my first time writing something for ACOTAR, let me know if you like it! Just something sweet and short. I could definitely use this right now :)

Azriel had been gone on a mission for several days across the sea and you were missing him terribly. Every time you caught his faint scent, found a clothing item of his stuffed in the bottom of the laundry basket, or spotted his favorite book lying on the coffee table, your heart ached a little bit more for him. It was hard to be away from your mate but you knew his job was important to keeping your court and family safe. 

You glanced at the clock again, noting that it was still relatively early in the night and he wasn't due home until tomorrow afternoon. Needing something to occupy your time, you decided to try some baking. Elain had bought you a cookbook for your birthday a few months prior after you admitted that you didn't have a knack for cooking and struggled to come up with recipes. 

You pulled the book from the top shelf of your pantry, lightly dusting it off and laying it on the smooth countertops. You thumbed through the soft pages and noted the little details Elain had written in and smiled at her thoughtfulness. Little notes like "Try this one!" and "Make on a cold winter night!" were scattered throughout the book. She even went as far as starring her favorite recipes. 

You found a recipe towards the back of the book for chocolate chip cookies. Despite being a very fit Illyrian male, Azriel had the biggest sweet tooth. He was always eating something sweet or drinking something sugary; you're honestly not sure how his teeth didn't rot out. You smiled to yourself, already feeling how happy he would be to come home to one of his favorite treats. 

An hour later, flour littered the countertops along with several different types of sugars, chocolate chips, salts, flour, and butter. The first batch you made was still raw on the inside so you quickly threw them out. The second bath had cooked too long (you were afraid of another raw middle) and were so hard, they didn't even budge as you banged them against the countertops. 

The third batch had too much flour and immediately crumbled when you picked it up. After each failed attempt, your irritation grew until you had finally had enough and sent the pan of unedible cookies flying off the counter and towards the front door. It happened to be at that moment that your mate walked through the door. 

His brows furrowed as something hit his leg and then crumbled into a heap by his feet, the smell of something burning filling his nostrils. He raised a singular eyebrow as he looked towards you in the kitchen, only to find tears welling up in your eyes that you were desperately trying to keep from falling. 

He was quick to drop his weapons and reach for you. His scarred hands were gentle as they grabbed your waist and he slowly pulled your body towards his. He noted the baking ingredients on the counter, the dirty apron covering the front of one of his t-shirts you wore, and the sweat coating your brow and came to one conclusion: you were trying to bake. He fought back a smile as he slowly tucked you into his arms, your forehead resting against his chest. 

You breathed in his scent and instantly relaxed. His arms tightened their hold on you and you relaxed further, slinging your arms around his waist and peeking up at him. His nose brushed across your cheek and then across your nose as he rested his brow against yours. 

"Hi," you whispered to him. Your cheeks were slightly tinted pink as you rested your chin on his chest to stare into his eyes. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ears and his eyes seemed to melt as he took in the sight of his mate. 

"Hi," he whispered back. Your soft giggle warmed his heart and he couldn't stop placing a sweet peck on your lips. "What's going on in here?" His tone was light and playful, afraid of sending you into another meltdown. 

You sighed heavily, pulling away to look at all the failed attempts at a welcome home gift scattered throughout the kitchen. 

"I was going to make you some cookies to come home to but I couldn't get the recipe right. The first ones were still raw, the next ones were too burnt, and the ones that I accidentally flung at you had crumbled because they had too much flower." 

As you recounted the day's activities to Azriel, his smile only grew out of the love he had for you. You felt the warmth through the bond and melted further into his chest. He placed another kiss on your brow before pulling back and going to retrieve the cookie sheet from the doorway. 

"Well, let's bake them together." He gave you a soft smile as he dumped your cookies into the trashcan. 

"Okay," you smiled as he organized the ingredients on the counter. He carefully read the directions and his shadows would bring you the ingredients one at a time as needed. They tickled your arms and legs as you two stood side by side and you giggled, brushing against them lovingly. 

When the batter was done, Azriel helped you carefully scoop each cookie out and place it on the tray. You placed them on the rack in the oven, dusting flour from your fingers as they set to bake for 15 minutes. 

Azriel pulled the apron off of you and chucked it behind him as he reached down and scooped you into his arms. You yelped as his hands found your bottom and squeezed playfully. 

"What are you doing?" You laughed as he walked further into your house. 

"Spending time with my mate," he replied as he settled you both on the couch. He was lying on his back, holding you tightly to his chest. You felt something soft against your skin and looked back to see the shadows placing a blanket on top of you before darting off to the kitchen. 

You folded your hands across his chest and then placed your head on top so you could see him properly. He gave you his best grin, the one you only ever got to see. It was reserved just for you. 

"Sorry I didn't have them ready before you got home. I thought you wouldn't be home until tomorrow." He brushed the hair away from your face as he flooded the bond with warmth once again. 

"It's quite alright. It was the thought that counts. Besides, I like baking with you." 

"Oh, do you now?" You grinned and tilted your head, watching as a smirk pulled at his lips. "And why's that?" 

He quickly leaned up to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. 

"Because that means I get 15 minutes with you, uninterrupted, while we wait for them to bake." 

He wiggled his eyebrows and you burst out laughing. He gently gripped your arms and flipped you so he was hovering above you. He placed a kiss on your cheek, then your other one, then your forehead, nose, chin, neck, and finally on your lips. 

You sighed as you melted into him, arms coming to wrap around his neck. You had been thinking about doing this since he left for his mission last week. His hair was soft as you carded your fingers through it, lips firm and accepting as he poured his love into you. 

Azriel laid his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat as you softly brushed through his hair. His shadows whispered that there were only a few more minutes until the cookies were done, but there was enough dough for at least 4 more batches. 

He smiled and sent them back to watch the cookies. His hands squeezed your sides lovingly as he closed his eyes and basked in the feeling of finally being able to return home. 

#azriel #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fluff #azriel acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar imagine #azriel imagine

[sashimiyas]

cw: there’s a wedding. it’s aran’s. you’re a bridesmaid entertaining the idea of getting married. and to suna of all people

“I’m gonna throw up.”

The man beside you laughs, genial and kind.

“Yum.”

His response elicits a downturn of your lips and you tilt you body to fully face him. As if instinctively, his elbow hooks tighter where your hand is placed. It tightens even further when he sees proof of your misery across your expression. Though you falter, he does not, the tilted smirk of his so golden that even the perfect sunset scenery would most likely be jealous of it.

“Oh, you’re serious.”

You pull down on your dress. The next set of bridesmaid and groomsman begin walking forward. “Of course I’m serious.”

“That’s what the dress rehearsal was for.”

Dress rehearsal had consisted of you meeting one of your best friend’s husband’s best friends and creating a pact that he’ll fall first before you do. Aran actually has a large arsenal of good looking friends, blessed with handsome looks himself. But Suna, he’s… different.

Suna’s confidence eases you and your addled mind decides to let him know regardless of it being a thoughtless comment.

“Thank you.”

His smile forces your embarrassment to falter. You feel important under his eye, that rather the bride and groom be the people of the day, it’s you. It’s your needs, your comforts, before anyone else’s.

He may be your partner only for the day, but you take the offer anyways.

“But—”

“No buts,” he cuts you off. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Anything, could actually happen. A bird could fly down as you walk down the aisle and grab any one of the sparkling berets that bedazzle your hair. Your heels could get stuck in a crack. You could trip and—

“The officiant mistakes us for the bride and groom and we’re the ones that accidentally get married?”

Your voice cracks in your throat out of shock. Suna’s words shouldn’t affect you so, but for some stupid, ridiculous, absolutely insane reason, the idea is appealing. There’s no sense to the notion. Suna is a stranger!

But—

It’s your turn to begin walking. There’s no room to think. No buts.

There’s cameras pointed at you that you’re diligently aware of. Suna’s dismissive. He does not hesitate under their focus, though why would he? Talented and good looking as he.

You, on the other hand, duck your head to avoid everyone’s eye. Suddenly your dress feels heavy and your brain is now acutely aware of how much these shoes actually make your feet hurt.

As if sensing your discomfort, Suna discretely tucks you closer to his side, pulling you in with his elbow.

He leans his head down a bit. You can feel the singular stray strand of hair tickle across your forehead, softer than the bouquet you hold in your hands.

“Told you you wouldn’t fall. You’re doing amazing.” His whisper is lush.

Your heart beats frantically though maybe nervousness no longer has anything to do with it.

If last night was dress rehearsal, why does this day still feel like practice?

“There’s still a long way to go,” you say as you count the number of rows you still have to pass to the altar.

Suna takes two more steps before he responds with a hum, “Atsumu fell on live television once. If you fall, I’ll play the footage during my speech and everyone’ll forget about it.”

Suddenly, you’re laughing. The anecdote is ridiculous, but to hear the ends he’d go through simply to make you happy, your body cannot contain its joy. When you look up at him, he’s already smiling down at you.

“Atsumu fell on TV? How did that happen?”

“It’s a long story,” Suna dismisses as the two of you finally reach the altar. His elbow loosens so that you may remove your hand but as you do, his arm stretches out to catch a final glimpse of your touch before you go your separate ways.

“I’ll tell you later when we have all the time in the world.”

#reina.writeshaikyuu!! #snkskwnndkebjf #and what if i said this was based on real life #well just one line of it #still on my wedding shit #pspspsps spoiler: suna did Fall First

[hyuckwrlds]

>> time stops

wc: 670 first love

“i have a question.”

jaemin hums. lolling his head to the side, he looks to where you lay on the left side of his chest, just a few centimeters away from his heart. “shoot.”

“okay,” you begin. in a sudden burst of energy you flip yourself over to press your chin against his torso, eyes wide and gleaming with excitement. “let’s say, hypothetically, you’re hiking in the woods and come across a bear—”

“what kind of bear?” he says, cutting you off prematurely. “like an actual bear or a haechan?”

you raise a brow but answer him nonetheless. “i dunno, a polar bear.”

“there’s no polar bears in the woods,” he remarks.

your face immediately falls, frowning up at him. in retaliation, you pinch his side and he lets out a yelp, reaching down to pry your hand away from his skin.

“okay, okay, sorry,” he snickers. “i just wanted to get all the details down first. continue with your story.”

“fine, you come across a black bear then,” you huff, shifting in bed. “anyway. you’re in the woods with this bear but there’s a hunter hiding in the trees who’s also trying to kill the bear. they go to shoot the bear with a bow and arrow but end up shooting you instead.”

his brows raise. “oh shit—”

“so you get rushed to the hospital but the doctors tell you that things don’t look too good for you. who’s the one person you’d want to see the most before you die?”

“i—” jaemin exhales a long breath to think. “i feel like this is a very loaded question to be asking at 10 in the morning.”

“who is it?”

he places a hand on top of your head, humming to himself as he smooths down the strands that had gone awry after the night’s sleep. unknowingly, you lean into his touch and the corners of his lips twitch upward.

he muses. “can it be anyone?”

“yeah,” you shrug, tilting to fully rest the side of your head on him now. “whoever comes to mind.”

he wraps a lock of your hair around his finger. for some reason his shampoo had always smelled better when you use it and he’s not quite sure how that works. after a moment he clears his throat, shifting to sit higher against the headboard of his bed.

“i feel like that story was a really roundabout way to ask a singular question.”

there’s a roll of your eyes. “what’s your answer?”

jaemin looks at you. his heart is racing impossibly in his chest and he starts to wonder if you could hear the quickening rhythm beneath you. surely the answer is obvious. 

“i dunno, maybe jeno,” he replies, teasing.

“jeno? really?”

“maybe,” he shrugs, pulling on that lazy grin of his. “would you be upset if it was?”

“maybe,” you mirror him. “but i wouldn’t be opposed to seeing him too.”

jaemin gives you a flick to the forehead. “hey.”

“i’m kidding.”

“who would you want to see?”

there’s a pause as your eyes fall somewhere off to the side. he watches the flutter of your eyelashes, the way the morning sunlight seems to catch onto them delicately.

“well…” you mumble, suddenly shy. “i’d want to see you.”

“really?”

“yes, idiot,” you huff, flipping back around to where he’s stuck staring at the crown of your head again. “of course it’d be you. and i can’t believe you said you’d want to see jeno.”

jaemin can’t fight the grin on his face as he laces his fingers with yours, pulling you closer to tuck your head beneath his chin. the weight of you on his shoulder brings him comfort, your warmth spreading through his skin and reminding him of what home feels like. gently, he presses a kiss to your temple, squeezing you tighter.

“you know i’m kidding,” he says. “i love you too, angel. obviously it’d be you.”

“i’d take on any amount of polar bears just to see you.”

#watch first love on netflix #also hi first post #na jaemin #jaemin #nct dream #jaemin fluff #nct fluff #jaemin imagines #nct drabbles #nct dream scenarios #nct soft scenarios #jaemin scenarios #jaemin x y/n #jaemin soft hours #hyuckwrlds

[starhvney]

hello! :D

could you write for sasha and reader hanging out and sasha reads her palm or gives her a tea reading? something fluffy please! it's okay if you don't want to, thank you for reading my request anyway! <3 your writing is literally so amazing :D

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐓

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: mystreet platonic sasha & fem!reader, also ft. gene and zenix

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: feeling bored and crowded at a party, you and sasha escape to the back porch

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: fluff, sasha being cool asf, you two are the cool main character besties in an indie film with two stupid boy roommates, it’s great

𝐂𝐖: use of alcohol, you two are at a house party

𝐀/𝐍: i know i added a party subplot here but once i started writing i just went for it lol. hopefully you still like the scenario! i also know nothing about palm reading or anything like that so sorry for any inaccuracies^^;

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

the sound of talking and loud music muffles as you and sasha step out on the back porch, breathing in the fresh, cool night air. the dim lighting through the windows and the singular light over the door cast a warm glow on the two of you. sasha stretches and takes another drink out of her solo cup, before hoisting herself to sit up on the thick wooden railing. 

“the people here are kind of lame, i thought zenix said this was gonna be fun.” she says in her monotonous voice, the sound of her deeper voice a calm relief from all of the shouts inside.

you join her and perch yourself next to her, taking a swig of your own drink and wrinkling your nose at the sting of the alcohol. sasha scoffs out an amused laugh at your reaction, a fond look on her face.

“yeah,” you strain out, before clearing your throat. “there’s a lack of uh… depth in personality around here.”

she nods, a knowing sparkle in her eyes. for a moment you two enjoy the distant noise of crickets and the occasional car passing, before sasha turns her attention back to you. she reaches out a pale, black polished hand in your direction.

“let me see your hand.” she says, lightly wiggling her fingers out for you to take.

as you place your hand over hers, she turns it palm up and leans forward, her fingers lightly tracing along the creases in your hand. her rings shine against the porch light, drawing your attention to the different designs. some had cool-toned gems embedded into the metal, while a few were shaped into skeleton hands or spiders. your eyes drift back up, noticing the long wispy white strands of hair falling in front of her face. dark eyeshadow sparkles and frames her deep violet eyes that squint and focus down at your hand.

“i learned how to palm read for fun in high school,” she explains, sensing your curiosity as her thin eyebrows pinch together in concentration. “but… it’s been a while since i’ve done it and i'm a bit tipsy, so let’s see how this goes.”

you laugh lightly at her explanation, patiently waiting as she trails a fingernail along your palm.

“this is your lifeline… it goes down and splits off here… if i remember correctly that means you’ll be busy with your career in the future… but it’s also faint so you know how to preserve your energy.” she observes slowly, humming in thought. "that's good."

“hm… this one across your hand is… there’s a slight wave to it, which means you have an open-minded and different approach to life and issues than others.”

you hum and nod along, taking another sip of your drink and tilting your head as you listen.

“you have a super deep heart line, which means you will have long-lasting relationships. and this line right here is far and parallel to this line, meaning—i think…—that you’re more independent and don’t rely on outside influences.”

piercing loud laughter hits your ears abruptly, making the two of you flinch as four obnoxious partygoers stumble into your peaceful space. they glance at the two of you with confused and annoyed looks, as if they were offended by your presence. they stumble down into the backyard, one of them falling face-first into the weedy grass below. you glance back at sasha, who is already looking at you with a deadpan expression. 

“wanna find gene and zenix?” she asks, before hopping off the railing and leaning in to whisper to you. “let’s take some alcohol and get out of here.”

you nod in response, to which she keeps her hold on your hand to guide you back into the loud house. bodies bump into you, and sasha tugs you closer to her as she walks. you see a familiar head of black hair sticking higher in the crowd. sasha pulls him along with you, dragging both of you to a less crowded space.

“the fu-? oh hey, ladies.” gene stumbles along beside you, clearly a bit more intoxicated than the two of you.

sasha stops out of a pathway, hunching the three of you together. “we were gonna get some alcohol and take off, you coming?”

gene raises his eyebrow, looking around before nodding with a smirk. “yeah, i figured you two wouldn’t care much for this either. only reason i’m tolerating these people is because i’m three double shots in.”

sasha raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “we’ve been here an hour and you’re three double shots in?”

“hell yeah, tequila.” he nods, his eyes drooping in satisfaction.

“whatever, why don’t you grab a bottle and we’ll find zenix.”

“what about me?” a familiar voice cuts over your meeting, as the last piece to your quartet little friend group.

“these people are boring, let’s go, man.” gene throws his arm over zenix’s shoulder, causing the curly-headed brunette to pout, his piercing tugging on his lip.

“yeah i know, i thought cooler people would show up.”

“it’s fine, you can make it up to us by grabbing us some drinks to go and meeting us out front.” sasha smirks, tugging you along by your arm out the front door.

you can hear zenix scoff before he’s drowned out by the noise, but you’re positive he’s already making his way to the kitchen with gene.

the moon bounces off sasha’s hair, the soft layers reflecting back into your eyes. she turns, looking satisfied that she was able to round up your other two friends so quickly.

“that might be a new record of finding the two of them and getting them to agree.” you note, earning a rare laugh from the girl.

“i know, what was that, like two minutes?”

you two walk further into the empty street, the buzzing of the alcohol slightly beginning to wear off as you realize you hadn’t taken a sip in a while. you look down at your empty hands with a frown.

“i left my drink.”

“here,” she hands you hers. “we’re about to get some more anyways.”

“thanks,” you swig the rest of it down, drinking from the other side of sasha’s dark lipstick stains on the cup.“i didn’t know you knew how to palm read, though.”

she kicks a pebble down the road, a content look in her eyes as she sways in place next to you. one arm of her arms laces around your waist as the two of you mindlessly walk and spin under a lone buzzing street light.

“yeah… i also learned a bit about tea reading, i can show you sometime back at the house.”

“ooh, yeah, if you wanna.”

“duh.” she says with a humored smile in her tone. ”hanging out with you is way cooler than any of those dorks inside.”

“even zenix and gene?” you laugh.

“oh yeah, we’re the coolest.”

“package secured! let’s go!” zenix and gene walk out of the house, pulling out not one but two bottles from their t-shirts.

“i kinda wanna go to our spot in the park,” zenix leads the way, walking down the street with bottle in hand. “from back then.”

“alright, it’s not far.” gene lazily agrees, taking a sip and passing the bottle to sasha.

you and sasha keep your arms linked around the other, walking along after them while squinting up to see if you could find any constellations.

“shadow knights reunion?”

“zenix, we are not the shadow knights anymore.”

“ugh, whatever!”

©starhvney, 2024. please do not steal or repost my works as your own.

#aphmau #aphmau mystreet #mystreet x reader #x reader #mystreet #aphmau sasha #mystreet sasha #aphmau gene #mystreet gene #aphmau zenix #mystreet zenix

[marvelmusing]

A New Start

Pairing: Morpheus x GN!Reader

Summary: An AU in which Alex Burgess takes after his father, keeping Dream’s tools locked away, and seeking a means to bind the Endless being to his glass cage for all eternity - a means he thinks he will achieve with you.

Warnings: minor injury and blood

A/N: this is solely based on the Netflix series The Sandman, and in this oneshot I’ve made up a lot of things about magic (this also ended up so much longer than I planned so sorry in advance)

“I don’t appreciate being lied to, Mr Burgess.” You state calmly, setting your teacup down on the small table beside the blue, cushioned armchair you had settled in. Watching his expression carefully, you see his lips part as his facade of confidence falters.

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

“You told me your father had imprisoned a demon in your basement.” He doesn’t respond, but you see the questions lingering in the old man’s eyes. “But there’s no demon in this house.” You state, shaking your head minutely. “There’s something much more powerful here, isn’t there?”

He nods, something breaking in his expression as he pleads,

“Please. I just want to get rid of it.”

“Then set it free. Remove whatever bindings your father put in place, and allow the being to move on.” He shakes his head frantically and his voice shakes,

“I can’t. It will kill us.” You raise a brow at him, turning your teacup with a single finger, nudging the handle delicately.

“It?” His expression crumples even further as he makes an admission he is likely never to repeat.

“Dream of The Endless.” Your careful motions come to a halt, and your eyes snap up to fix on his face. The silence hangs heavy between you both. You had no problem with dealing with demons or spirits, or any manner of supernatural being for that matter.

But this was something different.

“You have an Endless in your basement?”

His knuckles turn white as he grips onto his own teacup, wrinkled fingers curled tightly around the porcelain.

“Please help me.”

“Take me to him.” You demand.

Alex Burgess sets his cup down with a careless thud, and stands on legs made uncertain with old age and well deserved fear. It seems to take forever, as you follow the elderly figure making his way out of the drawing room. The old house is large and cold - two features that become more prominent as you continue to walk behind him into the basement.

A shudder runs through the entirety of your body, as Burgess nears set of dark iron bars. The metal screeches horrendously as he opens the final door, and you wonder how long it’s been since someone has been down here.

One, singular beam of cold sunlight falls down to meet the centre of the basement, reflecting on the smooth glass that imprisons a being of the Endless. The light runs over pale skin, shimmering with the faint glow of otherworldly power - a power that has been contained for nearly a century. A crown of mismatched strands of dark hair curl around his head, almost hiding the glittering eyes of Lord Morpheus.

Burgess steps to one side, leaning heavily on his stick and regarding the trapped being with contempt. But you hardly notice him.

Instead you step forwards.

Part of you is entranced. There is no way you could have ever studied the perfection of his face if he were to have appeared before you in all his godly glory. With all his power, his tools of creation and control, you would never dare to meet his eyes.

What beautiful eyes he has. Deep stormy blue, like the deepest depths of the ocean, or the glimpse of a sapphire buried beneath the earth. Dangerous, but precious all the same.

Once your eyes lock, your fascination withers, and hard, painful anger replaces it.

Lord Morpheus’ face barely changes. There’s a somewhat neutral resignation hidden in the firm line of his lips. It’s unlikely that the Burgess family have shared this secret with many people - only those they wish to abet them in holding the King of Dreams as their prisoner.

His eyes don’t stray from you, watching as your attention drifts. Your gaze is clouded by thoughts, but your eyes remain staring at the light reflecting against the glass as you speak.

“How old were you when your father attempted to summon Death?”

“I was eleven years old.”

“Then you are old enough to remember what it was like to dream.”

It’s been centuries since you had last visited the Dreaming - a place of wonder and beauty that you have never felt you deserved to witness. Due to your absence from the realm of dreams, you hadn’t noticed that no mortal could dream.

Yes, you had noticed the sleeping sickness that had torn through humanity, and the increase in nightmares preying upon the Waking world. But you never could have imagined that these events were caused by a mortal’s actions - that Dream of the Endless had been imprisoned.

Stepping closer, you press your palm against the cold glass. Your eyes flutter closed as you push against the dome with your power, wincing when the binding used to contain Lord Morpheus stings your hand.

“Well?” Burgess says sharply. You turn to him, raising a brow in questioning. “Can you do it? Can you ensure this thing never escapes?”

“You want me to bind him here? For eternity?” You repeat incredulously. When his expression doesn’t change, a startled laugh escapes you and you shake your head. “I don’t have the power to bind an Endless.”

Burgess’ face darkens.

“Then what you use are you to me?”

You are suddenly aware of the danger you are in. Burgess has just shown you his greatest secret. There is no way he will ever let you leave if you don’t offer him something.

But you have one advantage. Alex Burgess is not the Magus. He doesn’t understand magic, a statement you wholeheartedly believe since he has kept Lord Morpheus imprisoned with no knowledge of the damage done to both the Dreaming and the Waking world.

You glance down, studying the runes written in gold which snake around the boundary of the glass. And you make a decision.

“This binding circle is too small. Eventually it will collapse in on itself, I’ll need to expand it.” A lie.

“You want to give it more room?”

“If he’s going to be here for eternity, I think he deserves to stretch his legs a little, don’t you?” You reason, a half-smile curling at the corner of your mouth in an attempt to soften the old man. It doesn’t work, and your smile drops. “It’s the only way to strengthen the binding.”

Another lie.

You don’t look at the King of Dreams, worried about what you would find if you met his eyes. Approval? Hope? Or suspicion? You’re not certain which you would prefer. You’re not certain that you’re capable of pulling this off. But you’re going to try.

“Did he have any belongings when your father caught him?” Burgess stares hard at you.

“Why?”

“They might contain some of his power, which I’ll need to ensure the binding will last as long as he will.”

“He was wearing a cloak, though that’s gone now.” There’s a hardened, distant look in his eyes before he shakes himself and continues, “There was also a leather pouch, a large helmet, and a ruby.”

A thrill of excitement runs through you. Dream’s fabled tools, with the power to manipulate the Dreaming and to create the most beautiful dreams, and blood curdling nightmares.

“Do you still have them?”

He nods, and a heavy pause hangs between you both, before you decide to add,

“May I use them?”

You don’t plan on using them, the power of an Endless would be too much for you to use, but you need to ensure that they are kept safe until you can free their owner. Burgess nods again, and retreats to the entrance of the basement.

You hesitate for a moment, fingers trailing against the glass, power pushing desperately against the binding in one final attempt despite the stinging pain it brings you. You know you need to follow Burgess, and secure Dream’s tools, but you’re afraid that once you leave this basement you will never be allowed to return.

Lord Morpheus’ eyes meet yours, and you will him to see it in your gaze: I will come back.

Straightening yourself, you stroll across the hard floor of the basement and pass through the iron gates. They shut with a juddering clatter, and you don’t look back.

Burgess leaves you to rummage through his late father’s study. It doesn’t take you long to locate Dream’s tools. Their aura is frighteningly similar to that of their creator, despite only being in his company for several minutes you would recognise his presence anywhere.

Once you have secured his tools in a chest to carry down to the basement, you begin your research. You read paper after paper, trying to discover how exactly the man had managed to contain a being higher than a god.

It’s late into the evening when you return to the basement, dragging the chest full of dangerous magical items behind you. The chest thuds with each step, and you nearly slip once you reach the bottom. You pause at the locked iron gate, tilting your head to listen for any sound of movement from upstairs. The house above you remains quiet.

The lock is old, and it doesn’t take long for you to break it open. You freeze when the gate swings open, praying to whatever deity might be listening that no one heard the gate being opened.

The binding circle surrounding the glass that encases Lord Morpheus is complex. There’s several layers of incantation and you’re certain the glass itself has been reinforced by a spell.

You discard the chest nearby, and pull out several books from the study of Roderick Burgess.

Slowly but surely, you begin to disentangle the circle. Breaking a binding circle has never been such a difficult task for you. One of the main reasons for your struggle is that Roderick Burgess was very much an amateur. A number of runes have been used incorrectly, meaning that once you have dissolved them there is a number of other issues that need to be resolved before you can continue to remove the binding. If you don’t ensure that the runes are correct, the spell will be altered and who knows what this horrific combination of magic will create. Perhaps a large explosion that will kill you all. Or doom you to an eternity of madness. You might even accidentally bind Lord Morpheus to this basement. 

Running a hand over your face, you sigh and lean forward to correct another rune. You dip your fingers into the pot of ink you’ve enchanted to overrule the golden markings laid down by Roderick Burgess. You move to change a containment rune when a voice stops you,

“Wait.” 

You jump, thoroughly startled by the break in the silence that you had grown comfortable with. Lord Morpheus has been watching you for the entire time you’ve been down in the basement, and you had soon learned to not think too hard about what he must think of you.

Your eyes widen once they meet his, wondering why he had now chosen to speak. Burgess had told you that he had never spoken to anyone - not once in nearly a hundred years. 

“My lord?” You say quietly, hardly daring to believe what is happening. Something peculiar sparkles in his eyes, only for a brief moment, but you catch it. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, and you freeze with a frown. Your head tilts aside as you try to understand what he means. Surely he knows that you’re not actually going to bind him here for eternity - you wouldn’t even if you had the power to do so. Then you follow his gaze as it settles onto your ink stained fingers, and the runes you’ve altered. 

“I’m going to change that containment rune into a release rune.” 

“Don’t.” His voice is deep and commanding. Even bound by humans, its clear that this is still a being of unfathomable power, and the King of a realm as old as existence itself.  

“Why not?” 

His eyes move to the side of where you’re sitting cross legged on the floor, you look down and realise why. You’ve already painted an exit rune, meaning that any containment or entrapment runes already in the circle will have been rendered useless. You sigh, pressing your palms to your weary eyes. Once you find the strength to look up from your hands, you find Lord Morpheus’ eyes staring down at you. The two of you stay like that for a moment, regarding one another. 

Then you tear your eyes away, to search for a book, ink smeared fingers stained their worn and dusty covers. Once you’ve found the right one, you scan through the pages as quickly as you can, devouring every word you can find. You’ve removed the binding, and the protection spell preventing the glass from being broken. All that remains is the lingering power of the initial summoning spell. You read hurriedly through the process that allowed a mere mortal to summon an Endless. A frown creases at your brows as you find your solution. Blood magic. 

Roderick Burgess had used his own blood to summon Dream. Whilst he had limited knowledge of magic, Burgess’ blood must have had enough magic in it to pull the King of Dreams from his own realm into the Waking world. You can only hope that your blood has enough power to free him. 

Pulling your bag towards you, you begin to search through the contents, looking for your pin. Carefully you retrieve it from your bag, and admire the craftsmanship for a moment. It’s an extremely thin blade, easily disguised as a hairpin. 

The floor is rough against your knees as you move closer to the glass, towards the centre of the circle, towards Lord Morpheus. Extending one of your hands, you slide the end of your fingertip. Amateur magic users always take a more drastic and dangerous route when practicing blood magic. With your experience, you know that only one drop will be enough. The blade still stings, and you wince as your blood drips down to the hard, cold floor of the basement. Blood magic always extracts a price. You can only hope that this will not cost you too dearly. 

Your gaze lifts from your hands, covered in ink, dust, and blood, to meet Lord Morpheus’ eyes. The sun must be beginning to rise, as the pale pink glows down from the singular window that lies above your head, casting a soft glow over his smooth skin. Something shifts in his expression, a hunger filling his dark eyes. A hunger for freedom that he has not allowed himself to dream of over the near century. You lift a shaking hand to the glass, your power rising up to meet it. 

The glass groans, and splitters. The two of you stare at the crack marring the once perfect surface. You breathe out a tiny sigh, the corners of your mouth curling in delighted triumph. You push harder, both with your bleeding hand and your power. The glass shatters, and you fall forwards.

The world spins, growing darker, as a set of cool fingers curl around your wrist. The darkness expands, and you lose yourself to it. 

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

The sand is soft against your back, and the sky is your favourite shade of sunset, when the sky is still full of light, a warm buttery yellow that softens into pale orange and blue while the shadows begin to lengthen. You let your eyes flutter closed, savouring the peace you’ve been granted. It won’t last. 

You hear voices approaching. One unfamiliar, and the other is both a mystery and a comfort to you. You know that voice, but where from? 

Then he appears in your line of sight, blocking half of the sky with his body. He’s wearing a long black coat, and already looks so much better with his freedom intact. A soft smile tugs at your lips, as the memory of your success plays over your mind.

“I’m dead aren’t I?” You say, trying to accept your fate. “That was the price for setting you free.” 

“You are in the Dreaming.” His voice is even more alluring now that he is back in his own realm. You pause for a moment as you consider his words.

“You mean I’m actually lying unconscious in the Burgess’ basement.” He holds his hand out to you, and you accept it. Cool fingers curling around yours, just like when he had pulled you towards him when he had been freed. He feels so solid, so real. 

“No.” Puzzlement fills your features. “I brought you here, to my domain.”

“Why?”

“All magic demands a price, this you know. Freeing me from my imprisonment cost you your place in your own realm.” 

“I can’t go back?” You whisper, your voice failing you. 

“No.” You swallow hard, turning away from him. 

Drawing in a shaky breath, you attempt to run through your options, but everything feels far too bleak. You had survived for centuries in the Waking world, you weren’t unused to drastic changes. But this felt like far too much. It takes you several seconds to realise that Lord Morpheus has begun to speak again,

“You have done me a great service. Due to you, I have returned to my realm with my tools and can begin to repair the damage done by my absence. I thank you for that”

A tiny smile flickers over your lips.

“You’re welcome.” There’s a small pause as he regards you, his emotions continue to remain a mystery to you.

“Stay.” He says.

“What?”

“Stay here in the Dreaming. You have a talent for magic, and a gift for weaving stories.” The corner of his mouth lifts, and you realise he is referring to the lies you had told Alex Burgess. “I believe you would be at home in the Dreaming.” 

Your long life, and the difficult decisions you had made along the way, have always made you feel as though you do not deserve the joys of the Dreaming. Your power has often been viewed as a curse, a dark gift that will ruin everything you touch.

Yet here is a being, the King of Dreams and Nightmares, Lord of Sleep, Dream of the Endless who wants you for yourself - dark gift and all. A genuine smile pulls at your lips, and you nod.

“I’ll stay.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

#morpheus x reader #dream x reader #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman x reader #the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #the sandman fanfic #the sandman netflix

[autumn816]

Cherie asked when does Lewis find out George and Daniel broke up and when does he know it was because of him so here you go. This is how I imagined it to be. Hope you like it :)

George closes his eyes. The light wind strokes his hair. He pushes the strands away from his forehead. Club music pulses through the air. He can recognise Drake anywhere, anytime.

“Hey.”

George’s feet almost slip. He grips the railing with his hands.

“Shit!” Lewis chuckles. “You okay?”

“Blimey!” He glares at Lewis, stepping down from the little platform. It would be embarrassing to fall on his arse in front of his ex-teammate. “You scared me. Don’t do that.”

Lewis stalks towards him, extending one of the two beer bottles as a peace offering. “How was I supposed to know you’d almost fall?”

George miscalculates where to grab the bottle from. Their fingers brush together, a jolt travelling up his arm. He hastily draws the bottle away. “Mate, what person wouldn’t startle if you creeped up on them like that?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be leaning on the fence in the first place.”

“Fuck off.” George takes a sip of the chilled beer.

“What are you doing out here?”

“I just needed fresh air. What are you doing out here?”

It’s a deja vu from that night. Same club, even the same fucking area.

“I wanted to check up on you.”

Lewis’ eyes bore into George’s. George grips the bottle tighter. He breaks their eye contact and looks at the sky instead.

“Well, I’m fine. You can go back.” His tone is not exactly harsh but it isn’t polite either.

“What’s going on, man? You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t.” It’s a lie. George has gone out of his way to avoid Lewis since he and Daniel broke up.

“You’re lying.”

George takes another sip of the beer, a long one, to buy himself time. He can see Lewis losing his patience through his peripheral vision.

“Any day now, George.”

Before he knows it, the bottle empties. Well, fuck.

Lewis snatches away the bottle and puts it on the ground alongside his own. “Nothing to avoid me with anymore. So, tell me. What’s going on?”

“Let it go, Lewis.”

Lewis sighs. “Are you okay? You haven’t seemed well for the past month. I am just worried.”

These, George wants to scream, these little things you do are the reason I fell for you in the first place. Please, stop.

He can’t say that so he says the next thing that comes to mind. “Daniel and I broke up.” Shit. He didn’t want to say that either.

“Oh.”

There’s no shock or surprise, as if Lewis already knew they had broken up. George wouldn’t put it past him.

“Why?”

George looks at Lewis. His heart thrums in his ears, adrenaline rushing through his body the way it does at the beginning of a race. “You,” he whispers. The breeze carries the word over to Lewis. “We broke up because of you.”

Lewis looks back at George, a soft breath escaping through his parted mouth. The wind ruffles George’s hair, bringing it in front of his eyes. Lewis runs his hand over George’s hair, pushing it back. A singular curl stays plastered on George’s forehead. Lewis tucks the curl behind George’s ear, trailing his finger down, and presses his thumb on his pulse point.

George gasps. “Lewis.”

Lewis exhales, inching closer to him. “Because of me?”

George stumbles forward. Lewis wraps an arm around his waist, steadying him. The older man nuzzles his nose into George’s jaw, his lips featherlight on his throat. George closes his eyes, clutching Lewis’s forearm with one hand and cupping his cheek with the other.

“Sweetheart?”

George tilts his head, their noses brush together. Their breaths mix together in the pleasant air. Lewis tips his chin, his lips featherlight on the younger man’s. George shivers. Their chests rise and fall in sync.

Clack.

George snaps out. His hand springs up to Lewis’ chest, stopping him.

Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god. He almost kissed Lewis. The same man he broke up with his boyfriend over. He might be the most horrible man.

George lowers his hand to Lewis’ abdomen and pushes himself away from his ex-teammate.

“George.”

“Don’t. Don’t. Oh, god. I just—we just…” He almost trips over the rolled beer bottle near his feet. Lewis reaches out for him. George side steps.

Lewis drops his arm to his side. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have. You’re in a vulnerable place right now and I shouldn’t have done that. I should have been more in control of myself. Fuck, I am so sorry. I am so fucking sorry, George.”

“We can’t. I can’t. It’s—”

too soon. It’s too soon. The wound is still there. I just broke up with Daniel a month ago. I can’t do this right now.

“I know,” Lewis says. “I know. Take your time. Whenever you’re ready.”

There’s a surety in his voice that shakes George to his core. Lewis is sure he is willing to wait however long George needs him to.

The sinking feeling in his stomach worsens. Not just because of Daniel, his mind betrays. But also because he knows that they’ll get together. It’s inevitable. They will happen. The selfish part of him refuses to be with Lewis when he is bleeding remorse more than blood. He doesn’t want to love Lewis with guilt. He wants to love Lewis wholly and sincerely.

George clears his throat. “I’m gonna go. I should get back home. It’s late.”

Lewis stares at him before replying, “right. Yes, of course.”

George picks up the abandoned bottles and starts to head back inside, already planning to snag Alex and take him home with him. He wants his best mate now more than ever. He needs some Alex cuddles.

“George.”

George pauses and turns to look back at the older Brit.

“I am sorry about your break-up,” Lewis says.

“No, you are not.”

“I am sorry that you are hurting, and I am sorry that Daniel is too.”

George inhales. He always knew of Lewis to be the honest kind so he isn’t surprised by how open Lewis is regarding his feelings about George and Daniel’s break-up.

“Good night, Lewis.”

“Good night, George.”

#fic: ‘cause it seems to me this thing is breaking down #gewis #san’s fic extra scenes #outside night talks are a recurring theme in my gewis fics #I was aiming for 500 words #Ended up with 1K

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

Dark!Aegon x Twin sister imagine him finding out she has a relationship with her sworn guard and he gets possessive threatening to tell the king

BTW - I ABSOLUTELY LOVE YOUR WORK <3

A/N: I hope you like it! Thank you so much! That makes me very happy! ❤️

pairing: Dark!Aegon Targaryen xSister!Reader

summary: Aegon finding out she has a relationship with her sworn guard and he gets possessive threatening to tell the king

Word count: 1,1K

Warnings: Angst, manipulation

"Orwen" You giggled trying to push your sworn sword away. He chuckled still littering kisses up and down your neck tickling you. His hands rested on your waist holding you in place so you would not run away and pushed you against the wall in your room just beside your bed.

"I won't stop until you let me hear you, princess" Orwen teased. You giggled wrapping your arms around his neck holding him close to you. You gazed upon each other lovingly, like you owned the world in each other's arms.

"I love you" You grinned up at him. Orwen's eyes brightened at the words coming out of your mouth.

"No, not like that" Orwen shook his head from side to side. His long black hair although tied back let a strand fall over his eyes. You reached up pushing it back behind his ear to look him straight in the eyes and with no shame there.

"Avy jorrāelan" I love you. You said in High Valyrian, in a perfect accent and not a singular letter pronounced wrong. Orwen rested his forehead on yours as you spoke, chest almost heaving with love for you.

"Is that so, sister?" You both jumped away from each other looking at the source of the words with wide eyes. Orwen's hand had flown to the handle of his sword but seeing as it was your older brother he dropped his hand by his side again. Aegon was staring at the both of you with a smirk.

"Aegon I-" You began to explain but he held up his hand making you stop. Aegon stalked over to the both of you slowly as if he was a predator and you the prey.

"Leave us" Aegon ordered Orwen, a man twice his size and almost a head and a half taller than him. Orwen gulped nonetheless and bowed his head before leaving the room. He threw you one last look by the door before leaving completely.

"Aegon please-" You tried again. His head snapped from watching the door snap shut to look at you with a deadly glare on his face.

"Shame on you" He hissed stepping closer to you. You pushed yourself even more into the wall trying to put distance between yourself and your brother.

"Letting some sword trick you and defile you" He slammed a head by your head. You flinched with a small cry at the sudden aggressive more.

"He did not trick me or defile me- Ah" You began defending but in seconds one of Aegon's hands was wrapped around your throat. He pressed against your throat enough to make you lose your voice and your breathe but keep you from choking.

"Do not lie to me! I saw you" Aegon yelled. He pulled your head closer to himself before slamming it back against the wall harshly. You yelped clawing at his wrist trying to get him to let you go.

"Aegon-" Your face was turning red from the lack of air. Your veins were pushing away against the skin of your forehead. Aegon finally let you go moving a step back. You coughed and wheezed holding on to your neck as your legs gave up on you forcing you to slid down the wall.

"Nothing happened Aegon" You looked up at him tears streaming down your amethyst eyes, ones that matched your own eyes. Aegon crouched down to your height so he could look you in eyes. You whimpered afraid of your brother and pulled your knees to your chest.

"I should tell father about this, I should tell him that his daughter had turned into a whore giving her virtue to some sworn sword unworthy of her and make him execute Ser Orwen" Aegon taunted tilting his head to the side. You shook your head from side to side shivering like a leaf in autumn air.

"That did not happen" You whimpered. Your hands let go of your throat and surged forward to grab his collar pulling him closer to your wet face, wet with tears and snot from crying.

"That did not happen, Aegon, Please" You begged. Aegon smirked wickedly at you. One of his hands reached up to grab your own pulling it away from his tunic and to his face, he placed a small kiss to your knuckles closing his eyes to enjoy the skin to skin moment you had. You gulped finally opening your eyes to his behaviour, the longing stares or the lingering touches. The way he used to make you sit beside him during lessons and place his hands on your thighs or the way he would make you sit on his lap to read to him, you merely thought it was brotherly love and comfort but you were Targaryens, that did not exist in your lives.

"Who do you think father would believe? Me or you? His son or his daughter?" He asked tauntingly. His fingers let go of your wrist after he had rested your palm on his shoulder. His fingers trailed up your arm resting on your elbow leaning to place a kiss on your forearm, which made you shiver. He turned to look at you again with a shimmer in his eyes.

"Do you think he will believe a desperate whore who let just any man touch her or his son who had witnessed the interaction?" His fingers resumed their way up you arm to rest on your shoulder. His lips twisted into a disgusting smirk.

"Orwen did not touch me or take my virtue" You whispered. You were desperate to be heard and believed.

"Oh but sweet sister I shall go to father and say "Father, my King, I saw Ser Orwen Staelle defile my sister, I saw his cock going inside of her naive little cunt" do you reckon he'll believe you after that?" Aegon's hand moved to the back of your head pulling you closer. You sobbed shaking your head in fear.

"Aegon please, do not do this" You begged crying even harder. Aegon shushed you pulling you closer so your knees were on the floor again and your head rested on his shoulder.

"Shh sweet sister, I will not speak a word unless-" He paused pulling away to look at your innocent wet eyes.

"Unless?" You asked confused. He raised his other hand that was not entangled in your hair to wipe your tears away. His smirk on grew showing how evil he was, how he was a monster from the very beginning and you had just not noticed.

"Unless you give me what I want" He answered. You sobbed shaking even more when realisation dawned down onto you.

#aegon the usurper #aegon the second #hotd aegon #aegon ii #aegon x you #aegon ii targaryen #aegon imagine #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x oc #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #hotd imagine #hotd #hotd angst #house of the dragon imagine #house targaryen #house of the dragon #request #requests

[love-kurdt]

Anywhere I Want, Just Not Home (byler)

this is a continuation of my fic this is me trying! there are some details in this story that make more sense in the context of the previous plot, but it can do well as a stand-alone too!

word count: 2,693

warnings: negative aftermath of coming out, major depression and self-deprecating behavior/ thoughts, underage drinking

ficlet ao3 link

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I whispered, gazing at the garage door in front of me. Even when parked, my hands gripped the steering wheel of my 1988 Honda Accord until my knuckles turned practically translucent, which was not a surprise, considering how pale I was to begin with. My stomach churned with anxiety, something I hadn’t been able to shut off since coming back to Hawkins for the holidays. Everything felt… wrong. My heartbeat began to race, and my breathing started to hitch, but then, a strong, calloused hand met the back of mine and pried it off the wheel, and I turned to Will, who was in the passenger seat.

“Mike, this is my parents we’re talking about,” he reassured me, flipping my large palm over and pushing his thumbs into the muscles in my hand, making me go limp at Will’s touch. It was absolutely insane how Will always knew what to do. “It’s going to be fine.”

“But look at my parents!” I countered, lifting my free hand off the wheel and up into the air before planting it in between the strands of my long hair. Which was a mistake, as I’d tied it back an hour prior. Fuck it. I reached back and pulled the elastic out and shoved it around my wrist, shaking my head as if I were Simba in The Lion King. My hair was a lost cause. “Like, I knew my dad was ignorant, but—”

“Yeah, that was awful,” Will muttered in agreement. His eyes were slightly glazed over, likely at the memory of a few nights prior. Neither of us would look back fondly at the events of that night; Christmas at the Wheelers’ 1990™ would need to be fully processed at some point.

“Beyond awful, Will,” I lamented, turning in my seat fully and lifting one of my legs up in a ninety degree angle in order to sit more comfortably in my already-small car. I leaned my head against the headrest, my bangs falling into my eyes. “That was probably the worst coming out I could have ever predicted!”

“Which is why we’re going to ease into it this time around, right?” Will reminded me, and I rolled my eyes. “And remember, I’m already out to my mom and dad, and they’re fine with me,” Will continued, lifting my hand to his mouth to kiss my knuckles. “And they already love you.”

Goddamn Will and his knuckle kissing. “Yeah,” I surrendered, “I guess.” We sat there for a few seconds, and I savored this moment, this singular moment where it was just us, just me and Will, sitting in the car, holding hands, against the world, forever. I glanced up at the man in front of me, who broke the silence, much to my disappointment.

“We can’t sit in the driveway forever, we’ve gotta get out of the car at some point,” Will told me, and I frowned.

“Yeah, I know, just…” I trailed off, lowering my gaze down to Will’s lips. “Can I kiss you?”

“You know you never have to ask,” Will smiled, and I dove in immediately, capturing Will’s lips between my own. I lifted a hand up to Will’s face, and Will held my hand in place as we kissed. I hummed at the sensation of Will’s tongue, and Will broke into a toothy grin, effectively breaking the kiss. “Okay, we’re stalling. Let’s go.”

I opened the driver’s side door to the harsh December winds, teeth automatically chattering. Being skinny during the winter season was never a good time. I shuffled to the front of the car to meet Will, who pulled me by my hand down the front pathway and up to the door. Before Will could even knock, the door was opening, and Joyce was ripping Will out of my grasp.

“Will! Gosh, honey, I’ve missed you!” Joyce exclaimed, and wrapped her arms around her youngest son as if she hadn’t seen him in a million years. And I knew, for a fact, that Joyce had just been up to Chicago in November, over the weekend of the Upside Down Anniversary Effect. Her eyes, which had been shut tightly while embracing Will, snapped open and landed right on me. I gulped.

“Mike! What a lovely surprise!” Joyce cried out, and Will brought a hand up to cover his ear in pain as she released him from her vice-like grip. I raised my hand up in an awkward wave, but Joyce wasn't having any of that, as she pulled me down into one of those hugs where we’d sway side to side. Will watched in adoration, and I gave him the finger. She pulled back, eyes narrowing as I straightened my posture. “Have you gotten even taller since I last saw you?”

“Maybe,” I chuckled, rubbing the base of my neck nervously. “I’ve lost track of my height at this point.”

“Well, don’t just stand there and let the cold air in, come on in!” Joyce stepped aside, and I followed Will into the living room. “Jackets and shoes off, stay a while! Can I get you two anything? Hot cocoa, maybe?”

“Oh, no thank you,” I began, but Will cut me off.

“Yes please, we’d love some. That sounds amazing. Thanks, mom.” I had forgotten how Joyce wouldn’t leave us alone until she’d Smothered™ at least a little bit. I smiled to myself for a few seconds until Will vigorously tugged me over to the couch and shoved me down onto it, landing next to me not soon after. Will’s strength was something I had yet to get used to.

“What the fuck was that for?” I whispered. Even then, I couldn’t help but admire how beautiful Will’s lips were.

“Well,” Will whispered back sassily, “it just occurred to me that we never formulated a plan to tell them about—”

“Tell them about what?” a voice above them asked, and my focus raised from Will’s lips to the girl who stood behind the couch.

“Hey, you! I didn’t know you were back yet!” Will turned around on his knees on the couch, pulling his sister into a hug. El reciprocated the action, glancing over to me with a knowing smirk on her face.

“Hey, Mike.”

“Hey, El,” I replied, and shifted closer to Will so El could sit next to me on my other side. Her long hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, over her fluorescent purple sweater, and into her lap. She probably hadn’t cut it since… back then.

“How are you? You seem better,” El noted, and I shrugged.

“As well as I can be. I’m starting a new book called The Dropout Chronicles of Mike Wheeler. Heading to your local Books-a-Million this January.”

“Oh, you were serious!” El gasped, and I nodded gravely. I didn’t want to elaborate upon my series of horrible decisions that led up to my sudden, life-altering downfall, so I went the vague route.

“Yeah. My… circumstances weren’t so great,” I told her, and she nodded in understanding. She brought one of her arms up and around my shoulders, shifting her body to face the fireplace in front of us.

“Well, I’m glad something good came out of all this,” she smiled. “You finally got your heads out of your asses,” she whispered the last part.

“That we did,” I chuckled, watching with El as the fire danced amongst the layered blocks of freshly chopped wood.

“Wheeler,” a gruff voice sent a chill up my spine. On instinct, I stood up and turned towards Hopper, who stood there in an unfamiliar getup of jeans and a reindeer sweater.

“Chief,” I stated, and held out my hand to shake, but Hopper ignored my hand in turn for a friendly clap on the shoulder. “How are you, son?”

I felt myself freeze, at a loss for words. Hopper had just called me “son.” My own father couldn’t even bring himself to look at me, but the fucking Hawkins Chief of Police could refer to me as… but at the same time, Hopper still had no idea that I was gay. So, in Hopper’s eyes, I was still normal. And yes, Hopper knew Will was gay, but I felt my vision go blurry at the mere thought of Hopper’s face when he figured out I was also gay, and just so happened to be dating his son. What then?

“I—” I forced out, but before I could begin to stutter out something embarrassing, Joyce came to the rescue with two gigantic mugs in her hands.

“Here’s your cocoa, boys,” she smiled, carefully setting the mugs down on coasters on the coffee table. “And I gave you extra marshmallows, Mike, just like you used to ask for when you were kids. Anyway, we were thinking about having a family movie night, what do you think?”

God. Family movie night. I felt my breathing constrict. I wrapped my arms around my chest and fought the tears that brimmed in my eyes, but I couldn’t stop them. Hopper had just called me “son.” Joyce just used the phrase “family movie night,” so fucking casually, referring to the “we” in the situation as everyone in the room, and by extension, me. And I’d never have that. Not from my biological family, at least. I hated the feeling of being unwanted, and by my own parents, no less.

“Mike, sweetie, are you okay?” I snapped out of my thoughts, feeling Joyce’s hand on my arm. I looked around, noticing that all eyes were on me. Leave it to Mike fucking Wheeler to cause a scene. Fantastic. Just what I needed.

“No, no it’s not you, Ms. Byers, I promise,” I shook my head quickly, and wrapped my arms around myself a bit tighter before continuing. “I, uh… something happened. On Christmas. And…” I couldn’t talk anymore. It was like my voice gave out, or my brain simply stopped working, but Will was quick to help me out, wrapping an arm around my waist as I spoke. I would have said something about being subtle, but everything was going to shit, anyway. So he might as well. I looked at the ground in shame.

“Let’s just say Mike’s not really welcome at home anymore,” Will told his family. There were a few gasps, followed by a beat of silence. I stood there, trying to ground myself, trying to absorb whatever comfort Will was conveying through his fingertips. 

My eyes remained trained on the floor, but watched as a pair of very large reindeer slippers moved until they stood right in front of me. I lifted my head to see Hopper, staring at me. The man didn’t say a single word. Instead, he opened his arms, and pulled me into him by the back of my head. I took this strange embrace in, unsure of how this was going to go, but from the second my face met Hopper’s shoulder and I felt the fatherly embrace I craved but knew I’d never have from my own father, I broke down sobbing. Hopper’s other arm wrapped around my back as he continued cradling my head.

“I’ve got you, kid. I’ve got you. It’s gonna be okay,” he murmured, and I cried even harder. I couldn’t believe the turn of events this night was taking. Not even an hour before this, I had been freaking the fuck out about how Will’s parents would react to my identity. I gripped onto Hopper’s reindeer sweater tightly at the thought. I could barely fathom the fact that I’d ever compared Hopper to… Ted. They could not be more different. 

“Even though you’re dating yet another one of my children, which we will have to talk about,” Hopper continued, and I could only let out a wet laugh at that, because it was true. “But it’s gonna be okay, kid. I promise.”

“Were we that obvious?” I heard from behind me, and I pulled away from Hopper so he could address Will directly.

“William. Let’s be real here,” he deadpanned, and I turned to see Will going a little pale. “I could sense your bubbly, lovesick giddiness from a mile away. You’ve been pining over Mike for, what, a decade?”

“Dad!” Will shrieked, and El started giggling.

“Plus, you two haven’t spoken in a year, and now all of a sudden you’re getting all cuddly on the couch. I put two and two together, sue me,” Hopper lifted his hands up, backing away and heading into the kitchen.

“Jesus, okay,” Will called after him, “I didn’t know you were keeping such tight tabs on my love life.”

Hopper laughed from the kitchen before coming back into the living room with a handful of VHS tapes.

“So does this mean we have to sleep in separate rooms…?” I hesitated, but Hopper waved his hand at us, the sheer shock nearly knocking me to the ground.

“Just keep the door open three inches and we won’t have any issues. That’s assuming Mike can actually follow directions this time around.”

“Yes, sir.” I replied, earning a light smack in the arm from Will, who pulled me down to kiss me on the cheek before we sat back down on the couch. Hopper knelt down to the VHS player as everyone else got situated around the living room. I laced my fingers with Will’s. I could get used to this.

“Alright. So I’ve got a few choices from Family Video: Captain America, GoodFellas, and It.”

“Two minutes till the countdown!” I heard Joyce announced to everyone over the music. “Where is everybody?! I want a good picture this year!” Jonathan finished setting up his camera on his tripod, turning back to Joyce with furrowed eyebrows.

“Wait, where’s Mike?”

“I’ll get him,” Will said, leaving the group for a moment and straying into the hallway to see me slumped against the wall. I lowered my red solo cup from my lips, grimacing as I crushed the now-empty cup in my hand.

“That was alcohol, wasn’t it?” Will asked, an concerned tone in his voice.

“Yeah,” I stated, plain and simple. There was no use in lying.

“We’re still nineteen, Mike,” Will pressed, and I rolled my eyes. That never stopped me from drinking before.

“And? It’s New Years, don’t be a killjoy.” I looked down at Will, who was glaring at me. Fuck. I didn’t mean that. I was drunk though, so I was allowed. But was I really?

“We’ll revisit this,” Will told me, pulling me by my free hand over to the kitchen, where I basketball-tossed the cup through the air and into the trash. I was surprised my aim was still intact. “Mom wants a photo.”

“I’ll take the photo if you need me to” I began, but Will turned around, stopping me in my tracks. 

“Babe, come on. You’re family. Plus, Jonathan just got a new camera with a self-timer.” I blinked down at Will with hooded eyes.

“Fancy shmancy,” I giggled to myself, and Will sighed as he pulled me closer into his side, making sure I didn’t stumble, as we posed for the photo.

“Alright, I’m about to set it, everyone ready?” Jonathan called back, and retreated to his spot as the camera’s flash blinked. “One, two, three!”

“Ten seconds to midnight!” El whooped, and everyone hurried to gather around the TV for the countdown. I side-eyed Will who smirked back at me, our respective holds on each other tightening as we shifted to face each other.

The clock struck twelve, and everyone was celebrating around them, but to me and Will, everything else around us melted away. It had always been like that with them; Will was my entire world, and I was Will’s.

“Happy New Year, baby,” I told my boyfriend, who grinned back up at me with nothing but love reflected in his eyes.

“Happy New Year, Mike. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

As I leaned down to kiss Will, I felt optimistic for the first time in a long time. Maybe Hopper was right. Maybe everything would be okay.

#byler #byler fic #byler fanfic #byler ficlet #byler tumblr #will byers #mike wheeler #will x mike #stranger things #stranger things fic #mike wheeler is 6’3 and i will die on this hill #new year #not so new mike #don’t blame me updates

[sweetblossomsss]

Middle of the Night || K.YS

Summary: Every single night, without fail Yeosang would visit you. Finally one night, you decided you wanted him forever and always.

Warnings: Angst if you squint, fluff.

Author’s Note: I’m a sucker for vampire Yeosang. Maybe just yeosang in general. Enjoy!

——————

The bells chimed throughout the castle, signaling that it is midnight. The strong vibration had awoken you up from your slumber, making you gasp at the sudden sensation. You blink repeatedly, trying to accustom your eye sight to the darkness of the room. “Oh no,” you said looking around, eyes landing on the window with the moonlight shining in. “I must’ve overslept.”

Sighing, you stood up as you ran a hand through your hair, trying to make it somewhat decent. You walked to the window as you gazed at the night time sky, moon shining so brightly surrounded by the starry lights. You lead against the wall as your eyes fell down to the sight of the garden.

Rose bushes surrounding the beautiful fountain statue of a man and a woman sharing a passionate kiss. You had always loved the sight of the garden, it always made you like you couldn’t wait to be the arms of your lover. And ever since you had met Yeosang, it’s like you’re getting your dreams coming true.

Suddenly it hits you, “Yeosang!” You said, as you rushed out the room. Grabbing your dress by the sides, lifting them so you don’t trip over them, you tan as fast as you could through the castle. You cursed at yourself for forgetting.

How could you? You both met up every single night at the garden, without a doubt. You blame your exhaustion. You see, Yeosang isn’t an ordinary human. He’s a vampire and night time is when he is able to come out and spend all the time he can with you until the sun rises.

You rushed down the stairs, one hand holding onto the handles for support while the other still grubbing onto your dress. You pushed the doors open and ran to the garden. Breathlessly you whispered his name. “Yeosang?” You looked to your sides, searching for his figure. Walking down the dirt path to the gazebo where you both always go to sit and talk for hours on hours, you still call out for him.

Once you arrived, you realize he is nowhere to be found. You bit the inside of your cheek, looking down feeling disappointed in yourself for not being here on time. You sighed in defeat as you entered the gazebo, sitting down with a huff. You told yourself a five minute nap, but it resulted in a five hour one and now look at what happened.

You turn to the side, reached out to pluck a rose that it’s stems had grown wrapping around the pole of the gazebo. Getting ready to pluck the petals off you heard a voice, “My love,” he said. You looked up with your eyes widen. “Why the sad face on such a beauty?” He asked with a smile.

You rush to him, skipping the two steps, falling into his arms. “Yeosang,” you take in his scent, then faced him. “I thought I missed your visit. I was so upset, I thought you had left, I had overslept and I-“

“My love, my love,” he laughs as he cuts off your rambling. “As if I would ever leave before seeing you. .” He puts a finger under your chin to tilt your lips to his. He reaches down to your hand, grabbing the rose. As he separates from your lips, he puts a strand of hair behind your ear, placing the rose there.

He puts his hand on your cheek, feeling the cold sensation you lean onto his touch. You don’t mind for it, you have grown accustomed to it. “You look so beautiful, have I told you lately?” He smirks. His dark red eyes have a singular sparkle in each, the moonlight shining on his skin. He looked so perfect.

You smile as you look around, “Oh, just about every time you see me.” You blush at his comment. “Mmm, not enough times.” He said laughing. You take his hand as you lead him back into the gazebo to lay down. He lays on his back as you lay on your side with your hand propped up, holding your head. Both of you stare at each other, taking in the moment.

As you stare at him, you envision a future with him. It’s all so joyous and beautiful until one of you gets old while the other lives for eternity and then it comes to an end. You can’t help but feel so sad and nervous. He catches your expression change and asked, “My love, whats the matter?”

“Yeo,” you say, playing with a thread on his shirt. You know that this conversation was going to happen eventually, it’s just you never know when or how it was going to go. “We need to talk.”

Yeosang shifted to copy your position so he can have a better look at you as you spoke. He nodded his head to urge you to continue. You took in a deep breath, “I want to be with you, forever. The thought of me dying and never being able to see you again hurts me. Yeosang, you make me feel thing I never knew was possible. I’m so certain about this love I have with you. You clear all the doubts I have. I’m asking for you to turn me so we can be together.”

He pursed his lips, “My love, you know I can’t do this to you.” He sighed as he sat up. “You know how hard it is to live the way I do? Y/N people who find out who I am want to kill me. I can’t come out during the day. It’s as if I’m stuck in loop. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I gave you this prisoned life.”

“With you in my life, I could never feel prisoned. So what if we only come out during the night, it’s with you. So what if we have to run away? It’s with you. Do you understand that no matter what it is, it’s you who I want by my side through the good, the bad, and the ugly?” You sat up next to him, grabbing his cheek, turning his face to you.

He reaches up to your hand and holds onto it. “I would die if anything were to happen to you. I don’t know if I am capable of doing this. You are my heart, my soul, my reason to live. I’m scared. If I lost you-“ you leaned your forehead with his, “Hey, hey,” you cut him off, “Trust me, nothing bad will happen. Trust me that I am capable of this. I know what I’m doing.”

You grabbed his hand and put it on your heart. “This is how you make me feel. This feeling I want to feel it forever with you. Please, Yeosang.”

He stands up, pulling you up with him. “I love you so much Y/N,” he pulls you closer, you both passionately kiss, savoring in this moment. ”I promise to love you forever and always.” He said as he starts to pepper kisses from your ear to your neck. “This might hurt a little bit.”

_________

Present Day

You looked outside the window, watching the cars and buildings light up the dark night. Suddenly a pair of arms distract you from your sightseeing. You looked down and saw Yeosang’s arms wrapped around your waist. Before turning around you smiled at the matching rings you both had to help you walk out in the daylight and as a wedding ring. “Hello beautiful,” Yeosang said as he kissed your neck, kissing over the bite marks. “What are you doing?”

You turned around as your hung your arms over his shoulders, him pulling you closer to his body. “Thinking,” you smiled. He smirked, “Oh yeah? What about?” Rubbing his hands up and down your back. “About how lucky I am to have you.”

He pecks your lips. “I think I am the lucky one to have you,” he smiled. Staring into your eyes, he asked, “Have I told you how beautiful you are lately?” You kiss him again before giggle, “Oh, just about every time you see me.” You grabbed his hand leading him to the bedroom.

“I don’t think that’s enough.” He said as he closed the bedroom door with his leg.

You were right, he had nothing to fear. This love is a forever and always.

#ateez #yeosang #ateez reactions #yeosang x reader #kang yeosang #ateez yeosang #yeosang scenarios #yeosang ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #vampire yeosang #yeosang vampire

[rriavian]

Hello! I saw your December prompts post, so may I suggest "reunions" for Corinthiel? Would love to see more of them in your style <3

Thank you! I'm glad you enjoy how I write them because they are still a very new pairing for me so I'm slightly nervous. Sorry this took a while - I had an idea for what I wanted to write but it only really came together today, so I frantically wrote this on my lunch break haha. Please enjoy! <3

-

A first kiss; yet not that at all, not even close, novelty and familiarity combining sweet and decadent. The dessert one serves to a god, a full flavoured taste Daniel doesn’t need to chase to find.

He still does.

Daniel still licks greedily at his Corinthian’s mouth—will chase what is abundant, will hunt what isn’t rare—still takes and takes and takes.

There are golden white strands soft under his hands, fingers running through the Corinthian’s hair on a loop. It is something of a compulsion, though there is no accident in Daniel’s surrendering to it, no trap here but his own.

The Corinthian surrenders too.

He is a smirking, sauntering thing; laughing into Daniel’s mouth, pushing back with the same claim he’s held with, hands clamping down tightly on slim hips. The wish to bruise is the Corinthian’s own trap; to anchor, to tie them tightly together past the ability of a vow made only with words. No air moves between their skin, even if his fingers could speak the Corinthian doesn’t allow the distance that’s needed to make a sound. They both know drawing back to say sweet words is still withdrawing, is still a parting, time spent separate before reuniting still an unacceptable goodbye.

This is a greeting, a joining, the Corinthian keeps Daniel like this to make it last. He’s slipped his hands beneath the clothes to lay fingerprints on Daniel’s skin, to show the place his hands should always be. Indents to make him incomplete unless he’s being touched.

Daniel very much approves of that.

Hello, he thinks, hello my protector, my guardian, my Corinthian.

It seems they both know how to hunger like a human, have taken that for their own, a concept that serves their own ends. A human appetite compliments an endless one. The greed of wanting every moment—of knowing you will have it—is such to devour infinity while leaving room to spare, but the greed for just one moment makes the now its own banquet. A singular event no crumb. He’d always been so unhurried, is still that same thing making a marathon out of eternity, but occasionally there is an urge to sprint that Daniel doesn’t hesitate to indulge.

The sea may repeat a pattern but that doesn’t mean it’s steady.

The tide can rush in too, frenzied within the structure of its own pattern, can crash wild against a shore lined with cliffs. Even Dream of the Endless can run; wind whipping through his hair, pounding heart and burning lungs, chest rising and falling with rapid, heaving breaths.

This is one second that will never be had again. And that means it must be taken now, must be claimed because it will pass and never ever come back.

It will be lost.

The thought strikes. Daniel curls fingers in the Corinthian’s shirt collar, bites, remembers—aspects always interlocking, he is what he was, and now Morpheus chuckles, murmurs, has waited until desperation hit its height and oh that is so very Dream—aha, it can be kept. Sand can only fall through Daniel's fingers if he lets it go. This can come again; it will, it's already been promised, and oh Daniel can relive whatever he wants within a dream.

He will have this moment a thousand times again. 

Daniel tastes blood from that sharp bite, soothes with a greedy suck at the Corinthian’s lower lip, swallows the moan like taking a breath. It’s a sound made without the sacrifice of distance, another thing to remember, the truth of how that’s a possibility another thing that calms. Yes. Daniel has this. An eternity just like it; his mouth on the Corinthian’s until the world ends, Daniel has the greed to ignore it all as it burns, can spend forever touching him and having him.

He smiles because he knows he will.

A balm for all that distance, all those centuries apart, all those moments where role and duty lies between a kiss. There is space for this instead, no crumb in a moment—

A dream where every second they reunite.

#corinthiel #Daniel Hall #Dream of the Endless #the corinthian #sandman spoilers #winter prompts

[imnameimswrld]

004 ━━ 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐥 ,,

"How do I look ?" I ask, spinning away from the mirror to face Ren.

Renèe looks up from her phone, and an almost cat-like grin spreads along her lips. "Like you're gonna attract a lot of d."

Humming in agreement, I smooth the non-existent wrinkles from my leather jacket and make towards the front door, Ren following right behind.

It's been just over a month since my breakup with Micah, and although I hadn't fallen into a post-relationship depression, I had become awfully drained in other areas of my life. Renée being the flawless best friend she is, has decided to treat me, and since we're both on our break, she decided to suprise me with a vacation to the beautiful Seoul City of South Korea.

We slip our shoes on by the hotel door, and soon we're out and meeting our uber out front. I have zero knowledge of the Korean language except for the essentials, so, Ren being the multilingual boss that she is, directs the driver to an apparent famous place.

Hongdae.

"Gamsahabnida !" Ren thanks the driver before shutting the door, and I run a hand through my fresh haircut as I stare up at the neon sign blinking brightly back at me.

"Woah," I say under my breath, noting the long line trialing down the street, a huge ass bouncer checking their id's. What I notice however, is that he ends up sending every couple of people away, and they have no choice but to walk off with a scowl.

"Ren, what kind of club is this exactly ?"

Standing next to me, hands in her jacket pockets, she smirks at the entrance. "The kind where you won't have fans coming up to you every five minutes for a picture."

I raise a singular brow up at her as I follow behind her stride toward the bouncer, earning a few glares from the long line of people beside me. Ren doesn't do much except for flash a little black card, and with just a single glance at it the bouncer is stepping aside with a nod. I raise my brows in interest, but question nothing as I let the bouncer hold the door open for me and walk inside.

I'm immediately handed a drink from a female waitress, who serves me a side of a flirty smile before striding off in her knee high heels.

It is raging, some Korean rap blasting through the speakers as a dj mixes on the stage. My eyes glance over the crowd before roaming upwards to the second floor, where I spot a another bar and a few more people, but they're more scouting the dance floor than anything else.

It's only when I look back down, do I realise I've lost Ren.

Slight panic sets in, only because I'm in a foreign country, surrounded by party goers that most probably do not speak a language I know. Fitting through the cracks people offer me, I search for the mega-star, occasionally apologizing when I step on a foot or two. I breath a sigh of relief when I spot her ahead at the bar, but I end up stopping in my tracks when I see an unfamiliar red-head next to her.

The lights bounce off her wine-coloured hair, offering it a pretty kind of shine. Ren seems to be flirting, because this girl's cheeks are painted pink, perfectly manicured hand brushing her hair back in what I assume to be a nervous habit, because she does it a lot in between her smiles and laughter. I smile, deciding to let my best friend be and not interrupt, I'll find her later – maybe.

Deciding to head upwards, I trail up the steel staircase to the upstairs bar, plop myself down on a wooden stool, and silently thank Dior the bartender speaks English.

"Your drink, sir."

I make to pull my card out to pay, but the bartender ends up stopping me with a raise of his hands and a shake of his head. I furrow my brows questioningly, and in response, he gestures towards the end of the bar.

Following his gaze, I turn my head to find a pair of dark brown eyes staring back at me. His dyed blonde hair long, falling down to frame his round face perfectly, and his plump pink lips are pulled up into a smile. He tucks a few strands behind his ear, raising a brow at me, as if in question.

Who am I to deny such a beautiful man my attention ?

Grabbing my drink, I stand to walk over, and I relish in the feeling of his eyes roaming down my form slowly, with purpose, before reconnecting with my eyes as I sit beside him.

"와, 가까이서 보니 더 멋있네." he let's out a soft laugh, and I raise a brow, biting my lip nervously.

"I said, you're even more gorgeous up close."

My brows shoot up, my lips curling into a smile unintentionally at his accent. It's cute, yet his deep tone contrasts immensely with his angelic look.

"Why, thank you," I turn my body towards his, and hold a hand out towards him. "Nio."

He seems to realise that wasn't my actual name, but instead of questioning, he smirks and takes my much larger hand into his soft one. His warm palm sends a pleasant feeling through me, and it doesn't take long for that familiar feeling of desire to set in.

His eyes alone have me clenching... my jaw.

"Parker."

I nod, shaking his and holding onto his hand a lot longer than normal. He doesn't seem to mind though, and even takes the initiative to intertwine our fingers tightly, and proceeds to place our clasped hands on his thigh.

"Thank you for the drink, Parker."

His tongue laps over his lips, breaking his gaze away almost shyly. Jesus, his lips are seriously gorgeous. I refuse to leave without devouring them.

"Anything for you, Nio."

His voice, so sultry and deep, with eyes as dark as shadows, Parker has every intention and desire written all over his masterpiece of a face.

Guess Ren isn't the only lucky one tonight.

#f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fanfic #jacob elordi #own character #original character #shin ryujin #itzy ryujin #park jimin #bts jimin

[pliablehead]

Super self-indulgent little piece of writing I did laying out the guys from EE as a dungeons & dragons-style adventuring party, which I have just mailed to @heyjudelaw but figured I’d also share here if anyone cared hehehe

Central among them stands a dark-clad man who draws the eye almost instantly with his towering, statuesque height, and then keeps it, quite striking in appearance and countenance. His dark hair rakes back from a noble brow in an elegant widow’s peak, and with it, two smooth, sweeping devil’s horns, darker still–a tiefling, then, from some high elven stock but some of something else, deeper, infernal. The rake of his horns only serves to make him look even taller. He wears a long, crisp travellers’ coat, its shining buttons left undone along his front; it is perhaps black, perhaps only nearly black, effecting something more subtle and expensive than a stark blotch of pure pitch might in the dappled soft-focus light of the wood. Beneath it he sports no armor, merely a simple knit sweater with a high turtleneck, obscuring nearly all of his tanned skin. It is clear he does not need it: here in what should be at least three days’ rough travel from the edge of the wood, his clothes and slim boots show not a speck of dirt nor wear, and not a single strand of his smoothly coiffed hair falls out of place. Some sort of power beyond the material realm of the forest auras him–the only thing about him that is difficult to look at. Though his eyes are also dark, theirs is a warm, liquid darkness, speaking of more brightness and kindness than the rest of his striking presence might command.

At his side, another—perhaps maybe even tall as the tiefling man, but comporting himself such that he appears smaller, somehow stooped without stooping, his shoulders in an altogether different set. He is unmistakably elvish, though in a rare way of no clear high elf or wood elf bearing, his fine features and complexion betraying neither, his eyes clear but hooded and narrow, as though constantly peering into spaces deeper and further than the planes around him. The singular visage of an arcanist. This elven man is clad in soft cloaks of greys and tans, much more of a place in the wood than his tiefling companion seems to be; and belted around his waist and shoulders are a number of small, esoteric devices that he seems to touch and catalogue with a practiced, almost uncanny ease, finding one and implementing it immediately in almost the same deft, fluid motion. The casual movement of his dexterous hands belies the deep arcane complexity of the challenges they perform, mastered only after years or even decades of study—despite his unassuming appearance, his reputation has come to precede him. Surely this is the wizard Kaines.

Smallest among their number, but by no means slight, stands a man of a much more human bearing, though there lingers just enough in his bone structure and the cool piercing blue of his eyes to indicate some elven heritage within him as well, perhaps several generations back. Compared to his companions he seems almost nondescript by choice, with dark, close-cropped hair and a matching stubbled jaw flecked through with grey, and a posture of almost deliberate, calculated looseness, an alert mind and a keen gaze. He wears light and almost airy raiments, a diffuse shade of blue, as though of a white fabric dyed by hand to perfectly match his eyes, and their monotone palette seems—symbolic, representative of something, perhaps some order he has sworn himself to, or some other alliance beyond his traveling party. Despite the shaded cool of the forest, the shirtsleeves of this raiment are short, as though to give him the broadest and easiest range of motion. Mounted at his waist are a few small instruments of combat, blades and cudgels clearly designed for nimble swiftness rather than overpowering might, though his bared arms are corded with lithe muscle, that same loose but wary carriage.

At the front of the party—stepping forward—

Not the first of them to stand out and command attention, but the one who does so now with the greatest strength and tenacity, good gods, impossible to look away. Like his companion in blue, he appears mostly of human heritage, but whatever other ancestry lies in his blood is not that of his half-elven cohorts, but some more fey or bestial nature, some kobold or gnoll of some deep underforest, gleaming feral about his wild blue eyes, the unsettling too-clean sharpness of his teeth. His brows and the shadow of his jaw are dark, but his head of hair is bleached to blond by some caustic process or by some other clime’s blazing sun, a strange clash, at home in his strange whole. His broad body is clad in textured, dark black underleathers, a wicked pitch-black breastplate and greaves, all underneath some sweeping sleeveless cloak or priory tabard—mist-grey and somber, at its surface, but seeming to ripple with a frisson of hellfire orange and magenta when the woodland breeze catches it, there one moment and vanished the next, preternatural and alarming as the rest of the man himself. Whatever vestments these are that he wears, nothing of the divine realms has lain touch to them. His power, compelling and captivating as has ever graced this wood, stems from something oppressive, ancient, and fathomlessly dark, till it nearly clouds the air around him. Against its weight he seems almost illumined by compare.

And so bidden, you approach the crossroad…

#everything everything #fanfic #(sort of. tagging it that for my own archival purposes anyway lol) #for anyone who cares their classes/subclasses are: #jeremy: divine soul sorcerer + college of eloquence bard #alex: archivist artificer + college of lore bard #mike: college of valor bard + way of the kensei monk #jon: college of whispers bard + order domain cleric #ADAM (all drummers are monks) #this has been a post #happy valentines #no regrets ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #e e

[beewolfwrites]

The Oar in the Sand - Chapter Twenty: Negotiation

Girlboss! Girlboss! Girlboss! 

Hope you all enjoy it :) 

As always, the AO3 link is here for anyone who wants it. 

_______________________________________________

The darkness settled like a thick fog, comforting yet suffocating. Aside from the faint scuffles and voices from back in the guardroom, the cell was silent. As my eyes adjusted to the thin beams of light filtering through the mesh window, I began to make out the outline of the sink and the toilet. 

How did I end up here, in this cell? In this prison? 

In this world? 

Perhaps I had done something wrong in my previous life, committed such irreparable damage that even God wanted to sentence me. And now here I was, emerged in this darkness. Emerged in my own failure. It was all too much. These games, seeing death at every turn and constantly wondering whether it would be my turn next. The confidence I had felt after arriving here and winning my first few games had burned away with the Beach, long since ashes by now. All I had left was this darkness. And a failing relationship with a man who couldn’t even understand the concept of love. 

My fingers found my right hand, craving comfort from the ring that I always wore, only to discover that it was gone. 

What? My ring! 

I patted down my pockets, scrabbling to find the only thing I had left in this world. And then I remembered. I had taken it off right after my argument with Chishiya back in the furniture store. It felt like such a long time ago. That day I had been so angry with him, and I placed it on the bedside table so that I didn’t lose it. The next morning, when I had found him missing from our bed, I was so scared he had joined a Diamonds game that I rushed out without a second thought to find him. 

I never put it back on. 

How had I not realised until now? Chishiya surely had. Nothing escaped him. He must have thought I was a terrible person, forgetting the one gift he gave to me. Cold tears rolled down my cheeks, dripping into my lap. 

Nothing I did was right. I had never been more wrong. 

‘What’s happening to me?’ I tried to hold back the sobs, but it was impossible. ‘I can’t do this anymore.’ 

My face sank into my palms, and I only wished I could hide from my own mistakes. But I only thought of this game, how I had been left alone, surrounded by betrayal. I no longer cared if the others could hear me weeping loudly. Why should it matter when I would be dead within the hour? Time had become lost in this cell, and my life was careening towards death with every second that pass—

A drip landed on the back of my neck. 

The wetness pooled, trickling down my shoulder blade. And then there was another drip, this time sticky against my skin. I lifted my head slowly towards the ceiling. A dark, oozing liquid dribbled over my chin and neck, and although I could taste a metallic tang on my lips, I was unable to tear my eyes away. 

The teenage girl. Suspended from the ceiling, her hair fanned around her face like a willow, each strand stringy with crusted blood. Her jaw had dropped in an O of terror, fresh blood dripping from the cavern of her mouth. And her eyes, bloodshot and weeping, had one singular focus. 

Me. 

A scream erupted from my throat as I stared, stared, stared, unable to shake the weight of her gaze. Then she dropped, her body limp and falling down ever closer towards me. I drew my knees to my chest, hiding my face and clamping my jittering hands over my ears. 

Stop! Leave me alone! 

My fingers twisted in my hair, pulling at the roots. I focused only on the pain. 

It’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real…

And then silence. 

She was silenced. I had silenced her. After a few beats of quiet, I finally raised my head. The ceiling was a dark plane of bare concrete. She was gone. My heart shuddered, my breath shallow as I tried to shake away the ghost of my crimes. I coughed and wiped the tears from my face with the back of my palms. 

She’s gone. Don’t keep looking. 

I stood and felt around for the sink, using the bowl to pull myself upright. Splashing cool water on my face helped a little, washing away the reality of it even if I could still feel that drip, drip, drip. My shaking fingers clutched the bowl as I plugged the drain and let it fill up. I stared into the water at the black outline of my reflection. It couldn’t have been real. This was no different to what had happened in the bathroom at the furniture store. It was a mirror of my own guilt. I murmured the same thoughts over and over like a mantra, lulling myself into a steady calm. 

I need to think clearly. 

That girl’s death wasn’t for nothing. It was for my own survival, and even if my heart was still in shock and my body was close to giving up, the least I could do was make sure her death wasn’t in vain. 

I need to do this. I need to survive, for her sake and mine. 

Clearly, I couldn’t depend on Chishiya to deliver. Nor did I want to. No, this time I had to come up with my own solution. But what?

The water in the sink glistened in the dim light from the mesh window. Perhaps I could harness it and create a pinhole camera? I looked between the light and the water, and my heart sank. Of course it wouldn’t be possible; the angles just weren’t right for a pinhole camera. 

So what else do I have?

I looked up, noticing the glint of the blown lightbulb. If I were to smash it, take a shard and angle it right over the sink, there was a chance I could see the suit in the water. However…

‘PROHIBITED ACTIVITIES - USING REFLECTIVE OBJECTS TO SEE YOUR SUIT.’

Any hope I had vanished a little. The rules had been crystal clear, meaning using the lightbulb to reflect my suit was totally out of the picture. Despite the lack of light, the water created ripples on the ceiling. Maybe if I leant backwards slightly over the sink, I could… 

No. I would just block out the light. 

But there had to be something. I couldn’t just give up and wait for death to take me. 

I thought back over the game, the setting, the rules, each of the players. Right from the start, everything had fallen into place for the Jack; the group had broken down, pairs had turned against one another, and right before I was forced in this cell, I had noticed that Urumi and the old man had disappeared too. They must have been eliminated in the previous round. That narrowed down the suspects nicely. And what else had happened so far? I was in a partnership with Banda and Enji, and Chishiya had communicated with me through cookies…

Cookies.  

Cookies!

All at once, it hit me. The one detail I had missed, and it had been right under my nose this entire time. Even the way my partners suddenly turned on me, the timing of their routines… It was all so clear now, so obvious. I couldn’t help but laugh, wondering why I hadn’t noticed it sooner. 

This information… I would have to use it to my advantage if I wanted to get out of this place alive and breathing. In my head, I ran through everything I knew so far, deciding how best to use this knowledge. I wouldn’t have much time left, after all. If my hunch was right, he would be coming to visit me soon. All I had to do was wait. 

So, I waited. Sitting in the darkness of my cell, I mentally rehearsed my Japanese, working out several scripted sentences to ensure I didn’t mess up. I stared up at the tiny window of the door, waiting and waiting, knowing for certain that he would appear eventually. 

He has to. 

And sure enough, it must have been fifteen - no, twenty - minutes later when footsteps sounded down the cell block, growing louder and louder. I stood up, waiting by the door until a familiar face appeared through the small window. He spied me immediately. 

‘Banda.’ 

His eyes never failed to make me shiver. ‘You were expecting me.’  

I didn’t feel confident in my Japanese whatsoever, but even if I messed up some of my tenses, the meaning would come across. So long as I stuck to small sentences, I would be okay. 

‘I had a feeling you would visit me before the end of the round,’ I said.  

After a few moments silence, he mused, ‘It’s funny, the others were all so focused on you, they never questioned the fact that we lied to you about your suit. Fear truly has the power to blind people. You must think I’m the Jack.’ 

His words were chilling. And how he spoke in that low, steady tone, as if he thrived on the panic and pandemonium of this game… I had to swallow my fear. 

‘I know you’re not the Jack, even if you did lie to me.’ 

‘What makes you say that?’ 

‘Because for some reason,’ I said, ‘you want me alive. I’m not sure why, but we both know it’s true.’ 

‘I see.’ For the first time, his eyes glinted with a cold amusement. ‘But even if you’re telling the truth and you’re not the Jack, who’s to say you’re not one of these citizens? You’re the only one in this game who doesn’t quite fit in with the others, and not just because you’re a foreigner. Perhaps I want you alive because it could be fun to extract information about this world.’ 

I tried keep a poker face. It wasn’t difficult to read between the lines. If the deadness of his expression was anything to go by, he probably relished the thought of torture. Steeling myself, I replied, ‘It’s an interesting idea, but I’m not a citizen.’ 

‘So then,’ he said. ‘If you’re not a citizen, and you’re not the Jack, then why should I bother keeping you alive?’ 

And here it was, my final solution. My bargain. 

‘Because I know who the Jack is.’ 

Something shifted in his demeanour. It was so brief, I could have easily missed it. But it meant that I had caught him off guard. In other words, Banda had not yet worked out the Jack’s identity. The advantage was mine. 

‘That’s not all,’ I continued. ‘I know about your secret partnership with Yaba-san.’ 

Banda smirked softly. ‘I don’t have a secret partnership with Yaba.’ 

‘Yes, you do.’ I stepped closer to the window until I was eye to eye with Banda. ‘And you should know, the Jack is targeting him.’ 

He was silent for several long seconds. I could see him thinking this over, trying to work out whether I was telling the truth or lying to his face. However, he didn’t have a choice but to listen to me. Yaba was his failsafe, his backup plan just in case Enji lied to him. And without me there as a partner, he couldn’t lose Yaba. If he allowed me to die, the Jack would target Yaba and Banda would be left without a failsafe. Likewise, if he walked away now and allowed the Jack to kill Yaba, he would have to keep me alive as his backup partner. 

‘How did you find out that we were partners?’ Banda asked quietly.

I shook my head. I needed something tangible in return. ‘Give me my suit first.’ 

‘No.’ 

‘Give me my suit first,’ I insisted firmly, ‘and then I’ll tell you.’ 

He huffed lightly, a slight smile creeping over his lips. ‘You’re a difficult woman,’ he said. ‘Turn around.’ 

Yes!

I turned on my heel and pulled my hair back, showing him my collar. 

‘Spade.’ 

Shifting my hair back into place and facing him once more, I finally answered his question, speaking slowly to avoid stumbling over the tricky pronunciations and unpracticed words. 

‘I noticed it right from the start,’ I said. ‘Every time you went to the bathroom, I ran into Kotoko alone. If she was alone, that meant Yaba must have been in the bathroom too. He never leaves her side, and I’m pretty sure she’s not allowed to talk with anybody else.’ 

Banda nodded slowly. ‘That’s fascinating. But you still haven’t told me who the Jack is, or how exactly they’re targeting Yaba.’ 

I shook my head once more. ‘I’ll tell you. Just not right now.’ 

Banda stepped even closer to the window and his dark eyes bored into mine, searching for something. I held my gaze, unwilling to back down. I wouldn’t let him control this bargain. I wouldn’t let him control me. 

‘THE HOUR IS ALMOST OVER. PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE CELLS.’

Banda ignored the announcement, holding steady. It seemed as though we were at a stalemate, until he finally sighed softly. 

‘You will tell me in the next round,’ he said. Then backing away from the door, he left. 

I released a long breath. Although he wasn’t a gangster, or even brawny like Aguni was, Banda was intimidating in his own right. God only knew what he wanted with me, but that didn’t matter right now. So long as he needed me alive, I could use this to my advantage. 

As I paced back and forth in my cell, attempting to shake off this nervous energy, a new shadow suddenly blocked the light from the window. 

‘Is it true that you might be the Jack?’ 

The familiar husk stirred something within me, but after everything that had happened in this game, I felt nothing but animosity. I turned, seeing Chishiya’s sly smirk and wishing I could slap it right off his face. It took all my strength and inner peace not to scream at him right here and now. It wouldn’t do me any favours.  

‘I’m not the Jack,’ I said, playing my role perfectly, just as Headband and Glasses ushered by the cell, glancing nervously between Chishiya and me. 

‘Hmm.’ He tilted his head with that same knowing expression. ‘If you’re not the Jack of Hearts, then you must be one of the other citizens. The Jack of Spades, perhaps?’ 

Although it was useful having Chishiya around to confirm my suit, I really, really didn’t want his input.

‘Whatever,’ I muttered. ‘Just leave me alone.’ 

‘IT IS TIME TO MAKE YOUR GUESS. EVERYONE, PLEASE ENTER A CELL. ONE PERSON PER CELL, PLEASE.’

Chishiya gave me a pointed look. There was no need. His secret message was already well-received, and I didn’t need him looking down on me like this. It only hurt more. 

All I could bring myself to say to him was, ‘Please look after Ippei. Don’t sacrifice him.’ 

Chishiya looked vaguely amused by the notion. And without even humouring me with a reply, he left to find an empty cell. 

It was one thing stabbing me in the back, but Ippei didn’t deserve to be used that way. Even though I had only met him briefly, I had already seen the pure goodness in him. He deserved to win, to go home and enjoy the freedom of the city and the sun on his face.

I leaned against the sink, waiting patiently. 

‘PLEASE MAKE YOUR GUESS.’

It was a comfort, knowing that I was going to survive at least this round. 

‘スペード,’ I said. Spade. 

Waiting in the dark was so much more surreal, but sure enough, the buzzer sounded before long. The lock made a grating noise, revealing that something was blocking it from the outside. Just to make sure, I tested the door handle. As expected, it was still locked. However, I heard the creaks of other cells and whispers as the other players stepped out and examined their surroundings. Peering though the window in the door, I could see Yaba, Kotoko, Banda, Enji, Chishiya and Ippei. 

So Glasses and Headband?

They must have lied to one another. Now that they were out of the picture, it wouldn’t be long until the Jack made a move. Eventually, once the game had whittled down to just a few strong partnerships, he would have to go on the offensive in order to end the game. 

But there was nothing I could do right now. All I could do was wait until Banda’s return. Time had no place in this dark cell, but I was already running out of it. 

#alice in borderland #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #aib #Imawa no Kuni no Arisu #Chishiya x reader #chishiya x oc

[c-rose2081]

—

Rockfall (Toro & Chatelaine)

—

Toro dug. He dug until his fingernails chipped and bled the color of roses. He shifted mounds of dirt and rocks until his knees ached with the effort, and the place between his shoulder-blades seared. Where everyone else had stopped, given up or forced to rest, Toro refused to relent. Because, as the son of a general, he knew time was not something they had. The rockfall was immense, jagged and dusty and trailing the length of the quarry. It felt impossible, trying to find a singular body in the chaos. But Toro didn’t give up. He continued to dig and dig and dig until his palms split and his eyes boiled over with hot tears. She couldn’t be gone. She had to be here somewhere. Toro Valistar was blind, perhaps bewitched even, refusing to stop when he knew it was all for naught.

Except it wasn’t. For his efforts and dedication, the universe rewarded him. With another shift of pebbly debris, his eyes found something unnaturally blue. A lone piece of sapphire fabric, sitting twisted in a debris pile. His heart leapt. Struggling towards it, he began his efforts anew, clawing his way down, down, down until a small pocket of air collapsed in on itself. A pale hand appeared as though reaching for him.

“Chatelaine!” His voice echoed like a whip crack in the quarry. Heads turned and people gathered. Yet no one else existed as Toro grabbed onto the girl he loved, heaving her from where she had nearly been crushed. Something, fate or otherwise, had saved her. But she wasn’t unscathed. Toro shuttered a breath, pulling her into his lap and cradling her tenderly. It was unnerving, seeing her so disheveled. Lainey was put together; elegant and formidable and beautiful in every sense. But now, in the dust and stone, she was entirely broken. Blood seeped from a painful wound at her hairline and dribbled out her nose, perhaps from being struck by a falling rock. Her cape was missing, torn away in the collapse. Her undershirt was shredded, revealing long bleeding scratches up and down the length of her ribs and back. Toro leaned in to listen for her heartbeat, the sound sluggish and ragged.

“I’m so sorry,” he rasped, using a thumb to smear dirt from Chatelaine’s cheeks and around her eyes. Eyes that remained shut, despite his desperate need to see those tricky, thundercloud irises again. “Chatelaine I’m so sorry.”

He’d promised to be there for her. He’d promised to protect her. Now she was dying in his arms, perhaps not even knowing how desperately he wanted her to love him back. “I love you, Lainey,” he whispered, pushing matted strands of pomegranate pink hair back behind her ears, water cutting through the dust on his own cheeks as he rested his forehead against hers. “I’ve failed you.”

#tw blood #tw injury #digital art #concept art #character art #original story #original character #illustration #character design #art #ficlit #hurt/comfort #angst #my writing