#“I want to know what the sky tastes like. but If I fly on a ship that's close enough” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

strawberrystepmom · 4 months

Text

pairing: Kenjaku x F!Reader, past Geto Suguru x F!Reader

word count: 3.6k

about: you become kenjaku's captive to ensure that he will not miss his opportunity to fight the strongest after his return from the prison realm. the temptation of being this close to the last remaining earthly fragment of the man you once loved, suguru, proves too much to resist and you give into your desires despite the hole they're bound to leave.

contents: NSFW - MINORS DNI. DARK CONTENT WARNING, MAJOR MANGA SPOILERS FOR CH 236 AND BEYOND | dubcon, manipulation, violence against reader, asphyxiation, kidnapping | reader is a sorcerer and went to school with geto and they had mutual feelings for one another, mentions of religion and references to god, kenjaku retained some of geto's memories and knows reader through them, reader has breasts and descriptions of vaginal anatomy are given, rough piv sex with little prep, reader is referred to as "girl", major character death (off screen).

notes: i've uh....been going through some things lately LMAO tbh i started this awhile back before thanksgiving but have felt weird about posting it and it very nearly stayed in the "between me and god" folder so i held back but today i said fuck it. if you read, thanks and i hope you enjoy!!!

header art is by jenny holzer and divider is by @/cafekitsune ♡

“The old occupant of this vessel was very fond of you, you know?”

How dare Kenjaku mention Suguru so casually, as if he were a tenant to his own flesh and bone instead of its rightful owner?

“You know nothing about him,” The words are full of venom, flying from your mouth not unlike the way you spat at the curse user’s face two days prior to now. He chuckled when the fluid hit his cheek, wiping it off without a second thought. “Or me.”

You felt so guilty for spitting at his face, the face of a man you once believed that you loved, that you wept until you began to dry heave atop the futon mattress in the room that has been designated as yours. It’s the same bed you rest on now, duvet over your knees that are hiked to your chest. It’s a means to protect yourself from any vulnerability but it’s truly no use. If Kenjaku wants to harm you, he will.

He has insisted your accommodations be comfortable since arriving three days ago given you are collateral and not a captive, his own clever wording for the situation, but you’re more than aware that if you were to attempt to escape from the cage that you’d hit the window just as all birds hungry for a taste of freedom do. There are no cuffs, chains, or bars but your freedom is no longer yours. It is a prize to be won pending the defeat of the man standing across from you in the doorway, shoji door open beside him, flowing hair as dark as the midnight sky brushing the backs of his elbows.

For years you wondered what you’d do if faced with Suguru again. Would you strike him, insisting he deserved it for all the hurt left in his wake? Ask him why in a scream so powerful your shoulders would shake with the weight of your fury? Perhaps you’d forgive him, as you’d been taught and encouraged to do your entire life, and those mumbled prayers cast to the God you believe in above you would be true for the first time since they’ve left your treacherous lips.

“I forgive him, I hope you can, too.” You have begged God aloud and silently since sixteen years old. You have always been devout in your faith despite abandoning most of the tenets that make someone a believer, your lack of devotion not enough to deter you from selfishly asking for absolution for a man who you know deserves none.

God’s answer is clear when faced with the fact that this is not Geto standing in front of you. There is no less mercy a person can be shown than their body being used as a sick prop after their death.

The space where his thoughts and dreams and hopes used to lie is occupied by something far worse than just visions of a world purified through means of violence, a place where people like you could live without the threat of death and sacrifice to keep others safe. Granted, that wasn’t exactly a noble purpose either, but at least it didn’t threaten your life the way that whatever lives inside of his skull does now.

“I know more about both of you than you think.”

Kenjaku’s words drip with smugness and your stomach flips. The natural responses of your body to a man who looks and sounds just like Suguru make you sick but you cannot focus on fighting them off and keeping yourself protected at the same time, you have to simply make peace with the butterflies in your stomach that feels like something is punching you in the gut over and over again. He dares enter the room and you scoot further up the futon, hitting the wall behind you and leveling a glare in his direction.

Suguru’s body reacts to you, as well, something that Kenjaku planned long ago to use to his advantage. It started with hazy dreams, a face he recognized as yours drifting through them, your thighs and your lips and your skirt. It’s a version of you a little younger, a little warmer - less edgy than you are now. You are sharp and finely tuned to harm while the version of you that lived in Geto’s mind will forever stay soft, a freshly unfurled rose.

“All you’ve done is vandalize him,” you accuse and he shrugs, dressed in a cotton yukata rather than the robes he stole in addition to the body they dressed. It’s easy to imagine another life where this is Suguru and you are you and he’s coming to your shared bedside, kneeling on the ground the same way Kenjaku is now while he invites himself to the only space you currently have as your own.

“You’re a smart girl, don’t play dumb.” Your glance moves from the doorway to him, disgusted by how brave he is getting this close to you. “Perhaps I’m simply using the power this body holds in the way he was too cowardly to attempt.”

Despite your current state of sitting in nothing but a yukata yourself, you are physically strong from spending the last decade of your life as nothing more than a glorified weapon to use in the fight against evil. Even if your Cursed Technique would be unlikely to have any effect on the man, you could be a difficult problem for him if you wanted to be, yet you sit and do nothing but wait and refuse to respond to his words. He chuckles at your stubbornness and reaches across the bed and your body to grab your chin between his thumb and index finger. He shifts your head until you’re staring directly at him and a smile crosses his lips.

You do not fight him off.

“Tell me, sorcerer,” he starts and you swallow, bottom lip quivering. You want to reach out and slap him away, to scream and kick but your body stays still, the only place blood is pooling between your legs and in the heat of your face. “Where are those teeth and claws you were so eager to show me on your first night here?”

He reaches his thumb upward and presses it against your mouth, stopping the shake with a single touch - your body’s natural reaction to a man you are now certain you loved, given it’s the only explanation for your behavior. It’s a form of trust, the muscle memory of a kiss he gave you in your dorm room at the school you once shared. The first night you were spitting and hissing, now you’re so placid.

“Nothing to say for yourself?”

Stubbornly, you shake your head and Kenjaku chuckles again, pulling his thumb away from your lip but maintaining the grip on your chin. You know this is not Suguru, it’s as clear as the stitches across the forehead of the practically empty vessel that further closes in on you. He moves silently until he’s mere inches away from you, his head hovering over your knees that are still pulled against your chest. You watch him with narrowed eyes, tucking against yourself tighter than you ever have as a means of comfort, but it does nothing to stop him from lingering.

“I could just make you speak if I wanted to,” he warns. The power in this situation belongs to him.

“What’s the point of fighting you? You’re going to do whatever you want with me anyway.” You admit, defeated. Whatever fight you had left in you was smothered weeks ago during the attack on Shibuya. Even the release of Gojo is not enough to fill you with hope for the future. It’s pointless to keep fighting when the only outcome is going to be loss.

The shaky sound of your voice makes the curse user move closer to you and you shut your eyes tightly, refusing to look at him lest your body continue with these inexplicable natural responses. Heart pounding against your chest, it’s inexplicably frustrating that it cannot seem to separate what your brain knows is true from what your body wants to believe.

It isn’t him, you scream within the confines of your own mind but it does not prevent your palms from feeling clammy and the squeeze of your inner thighs against each other to provide some relief against the heat in your core.

It isn’t him. It isn’t him. It isn’t him…

Chanting the words internally, you open your eyes and are met with a pair of golden ones staring directly at you. They’re the same that stared at you in a dorm room a decade ago although they’re missing the warmth they had back then, dripping honey sweetness hidden in the irises turned to tar.

“You’re right, I can.” He nods and dark hair falls over his eyes, catching your eye. Your stomach turns when you spot the stitches across his forehead but your gaze returns to his so quickly you can hardly think about it. “But will it be what I want or is it what this body desires, I wonder?”

This piques your interest and Kenjaku tilts his head to the side inquisitively, dark hair sweeping over your knees and around your body. It feels like a curtain, a veil like the ones you are so used to using to keep people safe and ignorant and outside of your world of sorcery.

“What do you mean?”

A smirk is the response you are granted and he moves closer to you, one of his hands reaching for the duvet you’re using to cover you. Pulling it back gently, your robe covered body coming into view and once again, you make no effort to fight. With this barrier removed, he runs his palm over the outside of your thigh. Muffling your whimper at the touch, you attempt to hide your face in your shoulder but he stops you, still grasping onto your chin and still holding your gaze.

“Interesting.”

His hand travels from the outside of your thigh to the insides and you gently spread them to allow him access before realizing what he’s searching for. Attempting to cut off his access by closing your legs, he holds your thigh in place and lets his fingers dip lower along the soft skin. You quiver and shake beneath him like a leaf clinging to the branches of a tree in winter, desperate for somewhere to remain, and those fingers inch closer and closer to your core. He stops when he feels the coarse hair covering your mound and dares to dip a single fingertip between your folds, raising his eyebrows when he feels the arousal seeping from you.

“I knew it,” he whispers so low you wonder if you were even meant to hear it but the way he gazes at you, like that of a man starved, tells you that the words were meant for no one but you.

Your hand shakes as much as the rest of you when you finally lift it from your side, reaching out to him and taking a strand of hair between your fingers. It feels just as you imagined it would, silk between your digits, and a breathy sigh leaves you before you begin to cry. Dropping the small strand, you choose to reach out toward his forehead and use your hand to block the stitches covering it.

“Suguru.”

You babble the name like it is precious, your lip quivering just as it did before, and the evil man shakes his head, capturing your wrist with the hand he just removed from your chin. He lowers your hand enough that you can see the stitches unobscured.

“Kenjaku, actually.”

He lowers your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles, amused when you squirm where you sit, practically delirious with lust and confusion. You do not want this, at least that’s what you tell yourself while parting your legs further and panting, chest heaving with every breath.

Wordlessly, he uses his free hand to untie your robe and it falls off of your shoulders, exposing you to him fully before he can blink. This is something he remembers seeing in one of those dreams but you look different than whatever the imagination of a man who was infatuated with you was able to come up with during his loneliest hours. It amuses Kenjaku that he is the one to see you like this, bare and willing.

Tracing down your belly and lower, he stops between your legs which makes you whimper. You’re so desperate to be touched, to pretend he is someone you’ll never have the opportunity to love as properly as you could have if you’d both lived a different life, that your hips actually arch off of the bed eagerly. It should embarrass you but you are past the point of humiliation, willing to be fucked by evil incarnate just for the sake of a taste of Suguru Geto.

“Pathetic little thing,” he coos and you say nothing in return. You’re well aware of your failings as a sorcerer and a human being as his fingers spread your labia to get a glance at what you have to offer. For a moment, you consider praying for Suguru again; to selfishly beg God to make sense of your own actions but you know that he no longer has mercy for an ill behaved member of his flock. You will simply accept the consequences, whatever they will be.

His thumb brushes your clit and you moan, tipping your head back and toward the ceiling. You wait for the sensation of pleasure to climb through you again but it doesn’t come until you look downward again, eyes fluttering open.

“Eyes on me or you get nothing.”

Too afraid to look away lest it keep you from the only good thing you’ve felt in who knows how long, you keep your eyes glued to Kenjaku’s face while his hand works between your legs, spreading the slick from your cunt toward your clit and back down. If you could just shut your eyes, you could pretend, but they’re open and glued between your legs, watching every feathery stroke of his fingers through your folds.

Kenjaku’s cock hardens against your thigh and for a moment you dare to feel powerful knowing you aren’t the only one surrendering to the most base of your needs. He drops your hand and reaches for the tie of his robe, opening it and giving you the only look you’ve ever been lucky enough to get of Suguru’s bare body.

Scarred, honed, a tool - just like yours. If you weren’t so lost in the moment, the lifetimes you have imagined for years would be playing through your mind.

You gasp and knit your brows together, bucking against the increasing pressure of Kenjaku’s fingers while he brings you back to him and out of your head. Whatever you’re thinking about doesn’t matter when he inserts a finger inside of you, only testing how wet you are with no intention of preparing you for his cock.

When he’s satisfied with how wet you are, he withdraws his finger and you whine. The sound is the most he has heard from you since the first night and it makes his eyes widen in interest. He shifts until he is standing between your spread knees and the realization that this is really happening hits you at once, your face flaming with desire.

“You’re so impatient.”

The curse user tuts at you with a roll of his eyes and spreads your legs as wide as they can go to accommodate the width of his body. He’s broad in shoulder and hip and you bite your lower lip when he runs the head of his cock through your folds, following the same pattern of his fingers. You expect the teasing to last longer but it stops abruptly. Before you can take a breath to prepare yourself, his cock is buried to the hilt inside of you, and you gasp with wide eyes, shocked.

“As good as you imagined?”

Words come to your mind but do not form enough to leave your mouth while he thrusts roughly, your body jerking violently against his. It’s painful, the size of him with little prep in conjunction with how he uses your body as nothing more than a glorified place to take his aggression out, but all of the numbness within you thaws and for the first time since you realized Geto was no longer Geto in Shibuya, you feel.

It’s hard to name all the emotions you are experiencing because they blur into something barely comprehensible. Pleasure and pain and bone chilling sorrow, the kind that makes tears silently drip down your face while he takes what he wants from you. He doesn’t bother to play with your clit and there is no need to, the joy you’re taking simply from being used by Suguru’s body enough that the knot inside of you is slowly beginning to unravel.

Skin on skin punctuated by his low grunts and your whines fill the small room and you are so lost, you lift yourself halfway up to meet Kenjaku and consider kissing him. Would it be close enough to kissing Suguru that you could eventually justify it or would it just sully the one good memory you have of him?

You don’t have long to think about it before you are pushed back down to the bed, one of his hands caging your throat and keeping you pinned to the bed below. A reminder that this is for his pleasure and not yours although you feel yourself coming closer to the edge than you were just moments prior, shutting your eyes tightly. All of the motion inside of you stops, the hard thrusts of his cock ending, and your eyes shoot open.

“Remember what I said. Eyes on me or you get nothing.”

Nodding, you keep them open and he begins again, pace rougher than before. You can do nothing but grunt and struggle to breathe, his cock carving out space inside of you that didn’t exist until he entered you. Every kiss of his tip against your insides knocks the breath out of you and finally you cum in a strangled moan, walls quivering around his length.

His hand inches further up your throat and squeezes experimentally. As expected, you do not fight back and he takes his indulgence with a grin, choking you with varying degrees of pressure and feeling your cunt spasm around him when he surprises you by tightening his grip.

You like this. You want this.

He leans forward and shifts his weight to his arm and hand, finally spilling inside of you with a deep moan. Warmth fills every inch of you and you wish that you felt as full in your heart as you do in your cunt but a void remains.

Kenjaku’s other hand slides up your body and wraps around your neck, both of his palms resting on either side of your neck and fingers splaying over your throat. It’s dangerous to let him have this much access to any part of you that he could possibly crush but you do not move, tearfully looking up at him and sniffling. He increases his pressure, not enough to harm you, but enough to make you work hard and you realize how easily he could just…end this.

“Please kill me,” you beg while struggling to breathe, realizing what you’ve done now that the afterglow of orgasm can no longer protect you from the cold hard truth.

You are a betrayer. You slept with the enemy to sate your own selfish desires and death seems almost too kind to beg for, yet you do.

“Kill me.”

Your face turns in shade and your vision is dotted with darkness, a miserable end to a miserable life you consider, but at least it will be over. The pressure of Kenjaku’s hands around your neck continues to increase until you are certain you are taking your last breath, lungs aching until he abruptly stops. He glances down from where he rests above you, half swollen cock softening and letting his cum leak out around the tip of it that is still inside of you and onto the sheets below.

“I will not give you the satisfaction of death until you give me the satisfaction of watching you fight for it.”

Removing his hands from around your throat completely, he glances down at the pressure indentions of his fingers with a smile. Your eyes flutter shut, you’ve passed out from lack of air, and he admires the heap he has left you in, reaching for your robe and wiping the remnants of his release and yours on the corner of it.

Nobody is coming to save you, a secret Kenjaku knows that you are not yet aware of. Satoru Gojo is dead, defeated at the hands of Sukuna. The news broke this morning and he was preparing to come to your room to let you know until this little distraction occurred. He had an inkling you were susceptible to Suguru Geto’s charms even from beyond the grave but he had no idea it would be this easy, your slumped form resting on the futon beside him. He pats your head as one would a treasured dog, long and loving strokes that do not stir you, your bare breasts swaying slightly with every breath you take.

The new world is on the horizon and he may keep you around as a plaything for a little longer than he originally intended.

#kenjaku x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #kendall writes

536 notes · View notes

sugurufic · 3 months

Text

The Girl at the Cafe

Fushiguro Megumi x F!Reader

(megumi is such a babygirl and i love the violin scene so here it is)

Word Count: almost 1k

Content Warnings: none, just fluff

masterlist

Megumi has been seeing this girl daily now, sitting in the corner with a tea in her hands, looking out the window. Megumi sees you daily, and you see him too, but he has never had the courage to ask your name. He thinks you look beautiful, and now he has been looking forward to seeing you in your spot rather than his black coffee.

Today is no different, he enters the cafe and sits down in his unassigned-assigned place and turns to catch a glimpse of you. But today, you aren't there. He checks the time on his phone, he is there at the usual time. Maybe you were running late, a hopeful part of him thinks. Maybe you have already left, the pessimist in him thinks.

He orders his usual coffee and a pastry to pass the time, but it's been over half an hour and there is still no sign of you. After an hour, he leaves the coffee not tasting the same without having you to steal glances at.

Right as he steps out, he spots Yuji and turns away, not wanting him to see his usually antsy face upset over nothing.

He is glad he does, because he bumps into you - well you run into him - but he is delighted to see you though his face still has the signature frown.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” you say, and Megumi is mesmerised by your voice, already feeling it seeping into his dreams.

“It's alright,” He says, hands involuntarily reaching out to steady you.

“Isn't it later than your usual time?” You ask. He can see the curiosity in your eyes and he is delighted that you recognize him - else he'd be making a complete fool of himself.

“Yeah, school,” He says with a sad sigh. “You're late too, what a coincidence.” Megumi opens the door for you, letting you pass before entering again.

“Fushiguro, Megumi,” He says when you give him your name. He tries saying it out once, loving the way it rolls off his tongue.

Megumi takes another pastry and his black coffee, not worrying about the sleep it is going to steal from him. It's not like he could sleep tonight either. The barista gives a knowing smile but she doesn't say anything.

Conversation flows easily between you two, and you are quickly done with your beverages and pastries. Like a true gentleman, he opens the door again as you exit a shy smile on your face.

He's asking how you are going to go just as two pairs of arms are swung around him, embarrassment filling his whole body.

“Fushiguro-kyun!” Yuji and Nobora smother him with embarrassing questions about things that never happened, about the nights they shared together about the nice things he has said to them. He wishes the earth would split open and swallow him, he's sure he's red in the face and cannot bear to look you in the eyes. What kind of man would you take him for, after these idiots? He's fuming and ready to lash out at his friends only to be beaten to it again. By Gojo Sensei, of all people.

“Could you not touch him so casually, please?” Gojo says in a soft voice, before yelling, “You homewreckers!”

“Ah, well,” Megumi accepts his fate, ready to never show up in this cafe again, ready to disappear out of your sight and never seek anyone else out.

Gojo is standing elegantly, his blindfold gone and sunglasses in their place - his glowing blue eye teasing from under a lens. “Megumi-chan has violin practice with me now.” He says with all the dramatic flair he is known for. “Let’s go home, Megumi-chan. Today I will have you master Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”

He is ready to split the sky and fly away, but then you start giggling at their theatrics. He thinks it is the prettiest sight he has ever seen, seeing you giggle like that, he wants to make that sound come from you all the time. It's a strange feeling, for he has never had the urge to make people laugh.

“You've got wonderful friends, Fushiguro.” You say, sounding out of breath. Your eyes twinkle with laughter and he knows he will never forget it.

An embarrassed smile makes its way to his face, and Yuji, Nobora and Gojo all step back, staring at him in horror.

“Megumi?” They whisper under their breath, eyes dancing between the two of you.

“Same time, tomorrow?” You ask, holding your hand out. Megumi is a little confused, but Gojo says, “Phone number, Megumi-chan,”

“Oh, right!” Megumi takes your phone and dials his number, a shy smile on his face. “Same place?”

“Do you have any better suggestions?” You ask, eyes sparkling. He cannot bring himself to look away, wanting to drink in each second he has with you.

Megumi watches you walk away, he thinks you have an amazing walk - taking the runway straight to his heart. He's so blissed he's even forgotten his embarrassing friends, who had been suspiciously quiet all this time. The satisfied smile on his face quickly turns to a scowl as he turns, Yuji, Nobora and Gojo all with wide grins on their faces. And suddenly he can feel all his fury returning.

“What the hell was all of that?” He demands, not quite loud, but still sounding outraged. And he's surprisingly vocal about it too. “Gojo-Sensei, violin? Really? Do you even play violin?”

“Fushiguro's got a girlfriend!” Yuji ignores all of that, right back to his bubbly self. Megumi hates Yuji so much at the moment, and his resting face reflects that, but he also thinks, if you two were to date - you’d better get used to his friends' antics.

#megumi fushiguro #fushiguro megumi #megumi x reader #megumi fluff #fushiguro megumi x reader

302 notes · View notes

meidnightrain · 22 days

Text

SUNSHINE AFTER THE STORM❞ - aventurine

summary: he isn’t a big fan of the rain but this time, it washes every doubt in his body away until he’s left feeling clean

warnings: reader is gn, fluff, slight spoilers for 2.1 penacony quest

notes: i tried to write fluff for today, but i’m not too sure if i managed to hit the mark. oh to dance in the rain with aventurine.

taglist(open): @akutasoda , @ryuryuryuyurboat , @toorurs , @yvnaology , @tragedy-of-commons , @staarri , @rainswept

AVENTURINE wasn’t a big fan of rain; it was scarce where he grew up. everytime it rained, it reminded him of this blessing of a curse that had been bestowed upon him as a child. the rain had washed away every part of him that he held onto—his family, his home, his childhood.

this planet that you both had been assigned to for this task had torrential downpours that just wouldn’t let up no matter what, much to his dismay. perhaps what even elevated his immense discomfort was the way you were so awestruck by just mere water falling from the sky.

“come on, it’s just a bit of rain.” you urged pleadingly, tugging on his hand from where you both were in the shade, his grip firm on yours. you’re not sure what’s gotten into him. he looked distant as he gazed at the raindrops colliding with the pavement.

he does not need to be alone to find his faults, to rethink every bad decision in his life, and to hate himself over and over again when other people do it for you. but something is different this time when he looks at you; it’s like unlocking a secret door to his heart he didn’t know of.

you’re soaked from head to toe, your hair drenched, and your clothes practically see-through, plastered through your skin in all the wrong places. but you’re smiling even though there’s water in your shoes, rain falling down from the sky in a light shower.

“my outfit is too expensive to get wet,” is his remark, quick and off-putting enough that it puts a frown on your face that he can’t bear to see. the last time AVENTURINE felt the rain, it left a salty taste in his mouth mixed with tears as he fled for his life. he was lucky that it never rained in penacony, not that he hated it. it was funny; he had always prayed for rain as a child, when now all he ever wanted was to never feel it touch his skin again.

“come on, you can always wash it out!” you bounded over to him, sending splashes of water flying in his direction as you stomped in every puddle in your way. he skidded back, nearly dodging water thrown his way.

your hand is outstretched, and he stared at your dripping, wet palm with a thin smile, hesitating to take it. but he relented anyway; he could never say not to you, even if it meant that he’d get drenched in the process.

and when the water meets his skin, he drowns. but your grip on his hand is all he needs to navigate the flood of memories, so warm and grounding that it guides him through the dark waters he’s submerged in. his eyes flew open to see you, and you grinned at him with the widest beam he’s ever seen. and you’re more beautiful than you’ve ever been before. you always were, but this time it’s different, and he can’t help but return a smile back at you.

“not so bad, isn’t it?” you asked playfully, stomping in a puddle and splashing with water. his shoes and the tip of his pants are now dirty; his shoes squeak with every move, and it’s so uncomfortable and unnerving when he feels mud on every inch of his body. but there’s a sort of comfort in your company that AVENTURINE can’t help but forget about all that at the moment and think of only you.

“every waking moment with you could never be bad.” he grinned impishly, gathering water from the rain and pouring it over your head. you screeched in surprise before you retaliate, the both of you running around in the storm like teenagers in love.

when he kissed you, you were both damp and dirty; there’s mud on your cheeks and grass stains on his gloves that you weren’t sure how it even got there. he doesn’t care, though; his is warm against your mouth, and you feel dry all of a sudden. your child’s play turns into a dance, and your laughter somehow blends in with the rumbling sound of thunder and rain in a way that makes him feel like he’s in a dream. and he can’t help but be swept away by the flood as well.

he would always run to your embrace and seek shelter from you, for you would be the umbrella shielding him from the storm. but maybe, what if all he needed was someone who would see the light play in the rain with him? his money could never buy your happiness or your smile; it could never make up for your company or your love. you’re the dawn he’s waited for all his life, the sunshine after the storm. and AVENTURINE wouldn’t mind ruining every outfit of his to make you smile.

#🗞️ - honkai star rail fics #—stellaronhvnters.#・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #hsr aventurine #honkai star rail #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff

329 notes · View notes

sweet-s0rr0w · 6 months

Text

Vintage Drarry Fics

Thought I'd put together a list of some of the old Drarry 'classics' of my teenage years, for anyone interested. All posted between 2001-2006, compiled using my (bad) memory, a lot of googling, fanlore.org and numerous different LJ rec accounts (including the incredible @capiturecs). I checked as best I could, but if anyone knows of any fics that their author doesn't want to be shared, please let me know and I will of course remove.

Please also note that these fics are of their era, when attitudes may have been different, and they may not all be grammatically perfect. I haven't reread all, as my own tastes have changed, but most importantly do note that they may not be tagged - don't blame me when, for example, Harry dies tragically on a rooftop at sunrise...

Hogwarts Era (mostly 5th-7th year)

A Thousand Beautiful Things by Duinn Fionn/geoviki (M, 105k)

Draco Malfoy struggles with changed fortunes, shifted alliances, an ugly war, and an unusual spell, with the help of a concerned professor, an insightful house-elf, and an unexpected Gryffindor friend.

All Bets Are Off by Allegra (R, 53k)

I am SICK of Good-little-innocent!Harry...Enter Playboy!Harry and his Overinflated Ego, a challenge, a bet, a couple of Really Cunning Plans - and there you have it, "Forty days and forty nights", Hogwarts style. Mayhem ensues!

Angels and Devils by beren (E, 52k)

Harry defeated Voldemort and his act of heroism is famous throughout the wizarding world. He's trying to finish his final year at Hogwarts in peace, but, thanks to the method he chose to destroy The Dark Lord, something peculiar is happening to him, something he never would have expected. It's all rather embarrassing and making his life very complicated.

Artful Facade by Sky Sorceress (T, 66k)

Sometimes you fly too close to the sun and lose your wings. With sixth year approaching, the danger Harry seeks can be found only in the form of Draco Malfoy. What follows is a twist in the line between hatred, love, and need.

Beautiful World by Cinnamon/Lissadiane (M, 70k)

Harry finds out he's going to die on his 16th birthday. He embarks on a journey of self-destructive behaviour and drags Draco along for the ride.

Beneath You by Cinnamon/Lissadiane (M, 113k)

Draco had no idea that the repercussions of stealing Potter's journal and shoving it down the back of his trousers would be so extreme.

Bond by AnnaFugazzi (M, 173k)

It seems 95% of H/D writers feel compelled to write a "Harry And Draco Are Forced To Be Together By Something Beyond Their Control And Then Unlikely Stuff Happens That Leads To Twoo Wuv" story. Count me among the 95% ;)

Checkmate by Naadi Moonfeather (T, 245k)

Draco has the perfect plan to get Harry Potter and challenges him to a game of Dare Chess. But is it love, or betrayal, he has in mind?

The Cicatrix Cycle by Ivy Blossom (NC-17, long!)

Three parts: Origins, Haven, Belong

Draco In Darkness by Plumeria (T, 41k)

Following an accident in his seventh year, Draco loses his eyesight. After Harry elbows his way into Draco's dark world, both boys find themselves in a strange new friendship, and they each learn new ways to see each other … and themselves.

Eclipse by PhoenixSong/Mijan (T, 287k)

"You're dead, Potter... I'm going to make you pay..." Draco swore his revenge on Harry for Lucius's imprisonment, and Harry all but laughed at him. But Draco is planning more than schoolyard pranks this time. The old rivalry turns deadly when Draco abducts Harry for Voldemort. It's the perfect plan, guaranteeing revenge, power, and prestige, all in one blow. But, when Draco's world turns upside down, the fight to save himself and Harry begins, and the battle will take them both through hell and back. If they come back.

Friend Like Me by Lady Vader (M, 11k)

Draco's rendition of the love story that never was.

How Harry Potter Got His Groove Back by Durendal/Eleveninches (R, 12k)

Snape tries to hang himself, Draco enters an alternate reality, and Harry Gets a Clue. Humor, SLASH, naughty language, and other Evil Things. Harry/Draco, Snape/James/Lucius.

Irresistible Poison by Rhysenn (PG-13, 124k)

Under the influence of a love potion, Draco learns that poison doesn't always bring death -- there are other ways to suffer and live. Chemical emotion runs feverish as Harry and Draco discover the intoxication of love.

Lettered by pir8fancier (M, 7.8k)

Harry has a secret penpal, whose identity is as plain as the nose on his face. Except he's not wearing his glasses.

Love Under Will by Aja (R, 116k)

In their 5th year, Harry and Draco choose to be with one another; but the story--and the battle-- is just beginning...

playing the game, living the lie by Abaddon (R, 159k)

Set in Sixth Year, both the wizarding and Muggle worlds are threatened as Voldemort plans a final revenge. Past, present and future collide as all must consider where their loyalties lie; who they are, and who they want to be. Amidst it all, Harry and Draco begin a dangerous journey of understanding. Is it possible to leave everything you thought you were behind?

Resolution by Frances Potter (R, 322k)

When you've spent six years fighting evil, all you really want is a quiet time. But when your name is Harry Potter the chances of that are very slim. A series of vignettes chronicling Harry's final six months at Hogwarts. Exams, friends, lovers, Quidditch, the war and Draco all conspire to make the year end seem a very long way away.

Seamus is Seamus and You are Yourself by Ari Munami (PG-13, 31k)

Harry goes through some er... changes in his Sixth Year and everyone, including Draco Malfoy, sits up and takes notice.

Snakes and Lions by GatewayGirl (M, 139k)

When Ron and Hermione get together, they notice only each other. A nightmare prompts Harry to return alone to the empty Chamber of Secrets, and leads to a new look at an old enemy. Harry enjoys the company, but with Bellatrix Lestrange actively hunting him, how far can he trust a Death Eater's son?

Something Impossible by epicylical/Cassandra Claire (PG, 6.4k)

As punishment for an act of vandalism, Draco is forced to perform three tasks to win Harry's forgiveness - only they don't turn out to be exactly the kind of tasks he'd been expecting. With wet shirtless Draco, paint-covered Harry, and Proust-reading Goyle.

Transformation by amalin (E, 98k)

In Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts, he must face the consequences of the attack on the Department of Mysteries and the effects of Voldemort's return. And in doing so, he finds that even your enemies can teach you valuable lessons—about the world, and about yourself.

Walking the Line by SilentAuror (E, 179k)

Sixth year is over and Draco Malfoy is on the run. The war is on and an unwanted assignment is forced upon him by the only people he trusts - and a one-time arch-enemy just may be out to kill him.

Post-Hogwarts

Adagio in G Minor by furiosity (NC-17, 18k)

Seven years after Hogwarts and the war, life continues in the wizarding world. Draco Malfoy is rich, bored, and slightly jaded. Harry Potter is famous, busy, and somewhat disillusioned. They've not seen each other since school ended. What would happen if they were to cross paths again? What if it involved music?

Big Dick, Come Quick [PDF] by Calanthe (NC-17, 204k)

Draco’s got a theory. About sex. And after much searching for the right candidate, it appears that only Harry Potter, his life long enemy, can help him test it out.

Draco's Escort Service by Cheryl Dyson/dysonrules (15, 12k)

Draco's job is to escort travelers through the dangerous, war-torn countryside. Harry Potter is forced to hire him, but his destination isn't quite what Draco expected.

Left My Heart by Emma Grant (E, 85k)

Auror Draco Malfoy has disappeared, and Harry Potter has been sent to San Francisco to find him.

Malfoy, P.I. by Nancy (R, 60k)

"I'm Draco Malfoy, private investigator. I've seen a lot--I mean a lot, and I'm like sweet seventeen a lot. I thought I'd seen it all, until a pair of green eyes stepped into my office." A noir AU set in L.A. where passion and magic collide. Slashy and sexy.

Queen of Hearts by scoradh (E, 65k)

A spectre is haunting Harry - the responsibility of his destiny. It looms over his future and, more importantly, over the future of his friends. Harry is determined to exorcise this spectre for the greater good, but on the way, he enters into a few unholy alliances.

Tissue of Silver by fearlessdiva (R, 76k)

A love story concerning possessed furniture, black silk pyjamas, courtroom drama, premonitions of doom, assassination attempts, Death Eater yoga, absinthe, bare feet and a sensible werewolf.

Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by November Snowflake (M, 58k)

When the long-missing Draco Malfoy turns up at a Ministry field hospital with amnesia, bitter Auror Harry Potter must confront the shadows of their shared past to shed light on a potentially deadly mystery.

Transfigurations by Resonant (E, 71k)

Five years after Voldemort's defeat, Harry returns to England to help re-open Hogwarts.

#drarry #fic recs #vintage drarry fics #loved putting this together #blast from the past

509 notes · View notes

actual-changeling · 7 months

Text

they meet up alone for the first time since- since. a roof top, to escape the bustling street below because the bookshop is full of broken dreams and bittersweet memories.

aziraphale is late, quietly showing up behind him before hesitantly walking and stopping on his left. for a moment, the air tastes like the first approaching thunderstorm and desert sand, like blooming plants and fresh apples.

for a moment, they're back on the walls of eden and familiar strangers.

"well, that could have gone better," aziraphale eventually mumbles, and crowley has to suppress the urge to throw him a glance and sigh.

"we saved the world, didn't we?"

his response is dry, tense with the weight of unspoken and spoken confessions, crackling like static between them and raising goosebumps on their skin.

"we did," he stops, clearly holding back more, and crowley's pulse quickens under the tenderness of his gaze, unseen but felt all the same. "crowley, there's something i want to say, and i- can you look at me? please?"

there was a time when he never stopped looking at him, following him with his eyes whenever he could see him and with his heart when he couldn't, yet when he takes his shades off now, turning to face him, crowley almost walks away.

sparkling hyacinth blue eyes, grey as storm clouds when they need to be, bright as a midday summer sky when he laughs, and so, so, so familiar.

so, so loved.

he expects stuttered words and apologies, expects anger, maybe, and stoic heartbreak. what he doesn't expect is for aziraphale's pupils to swallow his irises whole as his hands fly up to grasp his shirt and pull him into a kiss.

even caught off-guard, crowley melts into it immediately, reaching for soft cheeks and the nape of his neck, and this- this is coming home. not earth, not the bookshop, not the bentley, nothing except for the happy little sigh he can taste on his tongue and the heat of aziraphale's skin against his.

compared to their first kiss, it's impossible tender, still desperate but for entirely different reasons, a hello instead of a good-bye.

they pull back just enough to lean their foreheads together, breathing each other in, and crowley cannot help himself.

"i thought you wanted to tell me something?" he quips, his voice trembling and sounding adoring rather than teasing, but aziraphale lets out a tiny chuckle regardless.

"i did, but then i looked at you and just couldn't help myself. still, i'm sorry. i'm so sorry for hurting you. i'm angry you hurt me, but i-"

crowley tenses, muscles tight in an instead, but aziraphale stops himself in time.

"ah, i suppose i should find a better phrase, huh?"

"i'm sorry, too, aziraphale. angel." the smile tugging on aziraphale's lips encourages his to do the same with ease, and although a part of him is terrified down to his very essence, he inhales shakily and adds, "my angel."

no sudden rain appears, and isn't needed, not this time. nothing is perfect or easy, the opposite, really, and they both know it; there are dozens of lifetimes worth of pain to heal.

but when aziraphale kisses the happiness off his face and leaves his own behind, humanity below them, around them, crowley thinks of a garden, an apple, and knows that he was right.

if it led them to this, to each other, he did the good thing, after all.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #me? writing something HAPPY??????#yes. i need to stop listening to this song. im dying

436 notes · View notes

exhaslo · 1 month

Text

Corruption Ch12

(Villain!Miguel x F!Hero!Reader)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, Ch5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8, Ch9, Ch10, Ch11

Warning: Minors DNI, mentions of sex, violence, blood, murder, twisted thoughts, experimentation, language, wannabe fluff, established friendship/relationship?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

One Months, Twenty-Four Days until D-Day

An ominous wind blew against the city of Nueva York. It was a forearming for change. A change that many might not agree too. A change that you were slowly submitting too.

You sat at the edge of the Chrysler Building, staring down at the city below. Lately, you felt like your life was in a spiral of ups and downs. You were englufed in your love life with Miguel, but at the cost of your super hero duties. The people of Nueva York had started to hate you.

To abandon you.

It hurt, since you started this hero buisness to want to help them...You just wanted to help. It wasn't your fault that they kept asking and needing saving. It was as Miguel said, they just wanted more. You didn't have to risk your life for every little inconvience. You were doing your best.

But it still wasn't enough.

Miguel still had not had sex with you yet. You were being such a good girl for him, but it still wasn't enough. You were at wits end. What did you need to do to earn more of Miguel's love? What were you willing to do for him?

"KYAAAAAA!"

Slowly snapping out of your dazed state, you focused on where the scream came from. Swinging down towards the city, you scanned the area for anyone in distress. Upon hearing another scream, you stopped on top of a building.

Below you was your Green Goblin causing havoc. His laughter echoing as he threw some bombs.

"As far as I know, the next holiday for fireworks is in a month!" You called out, webbing one of his bombs to his glidar.

"You!? Go away! No one asked for you to intervene!"

"I'm sure the average citizen will disagree!"

You swing towards Goblin, giving him a swift kick in the gut. Green Goblin cussed and threw more of his bombs towards the crowd. You gasped and webbed each bomb, tossing them towards the sky. As you were distracted, Goblin fired more bombs towards you.

"You should have stayed in hiding!"

--------

Miguel sat in his living room, reviewing his notes from your blood. Now that he had everything he needed, Miguel just needed to start his testing. Taking a sip of his whiskey, Miguel hummed to the taste as he reviewed your file.

"Hm, soon....Soon, we'll be able to create the perfect offspring, (Y/N)." Miguel chuckled lowly.

"Miguel, there seems to be an altercation in Little Italy with (Y/N) and the Green Goblin."

"Que?! (What?!) Is she okay?!" Miguel spat, slamming his glass down.

"(Y/N) has taken some damage, but Goblin keeps trying to shake her off in fear of you." Lyla explained.

"He will have more to fear once I become more powerful." Miguel hissed, grabbing his jacket. "Lyla, I want Goblin to go flying. There should be a supermarket near where they are. Blow it up."

"Yes, sir."

Miguel's glare was prominent as he made his way outside. Of course he had to watch you even on your days off. Miguel needed to keep you on a tighter lease. And you were doing such a good job as his little pet.

"You better not have a single scratch on you, (Y/N)."

-------

You groaned lowly as you forced yourself up from a pile of rubble. Goblin was trying to run away. He seemed more frighten by something else rather than you. Not that you should be scary to anyone, but it made you concerned.

"Shit," You groaned, wavering in place.

It had been a while since you got into a good fight. Your body was aching all over the place. What you would give to go home and lay down. Hearing cries for help, you groaned as you went to aid them. You had to ignore your pain and be a hero.

-------

Miguel was disgruntled as he spotted you in the distance. He had parked his car in the middle of the destroyed street and made his way towards you. Why couldn't you listen to him? Why did your good natured heart have to play the hero?

"I might have to chain her up at this rate," He muttered to himself.

Miguel was not amused as he watched you whimper and struggle to help able people out of the rubble. Hearing a soft cry from under him, Miguel slammed his foot on the rock, silencing the voice. This was beneath you. This was not worth your time.

"W...Wait...I'm c-coming," You stuttered, missing a step and falling on your knees.

"Spider-Woman." Miguel called out, his arms crossed, "It seems as if you had forgotten about what we spoke about."

"Miguel?" You muttered, wavering in place, "I didn't...Goblin-"

"Look at yourself," Miguel sighed as he bend down to your level, "You are hurt. Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?"

"Four?"

Miguel sighed heavily, holding two fingers up. This was disappointing. Despite your advance genes, you were still too weak to fight on your own. You weren't a fighter. This was just a cute little hobby you wanted to pick up.

"I'm taking you home, (Y/N)."

"N....o....the people...I'm not-" You fumbled your words as Miguel caught you, "Mig...uel."

"Shh, behave."

Miguel huffed as he carried you in his arms, returning to his car. He ignored the cries for help. They could save themselves if they truly wished it. They did not need you. You had done enough for them already.

Placing you in his backseat, Miguel glanced at your pained expression. He was going to have to teach you again. Put you back in your place.

"Remember, (Y/N), you agreed to do whatever I say."

--------

Everything hurt. Everything felt fuzzy. Slowly coming back to your senses, you let out a low rumbling groan. Your body was crying out in pain as you tried to move even an inch. That fight sure did a number on you.

Recalling what happened before you blacked out, you sighed. This super hero life was hard. It was definitely not for someone who wasn't trained like you. Remembering Miguel, you opened your eyes slowly, hoping that he was just a figment of your imagination.

"Mhmm, Miguel?" You whispered, staring at the ceiling above you.

"I'm right here,"

Turning your head, you spotted Miguel sitting by his desk. He was working on his laptop while you laid down. You wanted to believe that everything was a dream, but then you wouldn't be hurting as much. So Miguel did come to your rescue...but that would mean-

"You...knew?"

"For a short while," Miguel hummed, scooting his chair towards you, "It wasn't hard to figure out."

"Sorry...for not...listening," You whimpered, tears threatening to spill.

Miguel knew your secret identity. He knew and didn't say anything nor did he experiment on you. This had to be a sign. He was changing for the better. Miguel cared about you enough to leave you be. He just wanted to protect you.

"Shh, don't cry." Miguel wiped your tears away, "You're still very injured from your last fight. I need you to conserve your energy."

"Mig-"

"What did I just say?"

"Mhm,"

You kept quiet, listening to Miguel's firm words. He meant well. Watching him return to his desk, you closed your eyes to get some more rest.

After sleeping for another few hours, you came too again. Your body still felt like a train wreck, but you could at least sit up. This time, you took a good look around where you were. To your surprise, you were not at your home, nor any of the Alchemax labs. Instead, this looked a lot like Miguel's place.

"Surprised?" Miguel questioned as he returned with a small meal, "I won't experiment on what's mine." He hummed, pecking your lips.

"Ah! Well...um, sorry." You muttered, trying to find an excuse. Miguel scoffed softly,

"Although, I should punish you for disobeying me, (Y/N). You were supposed to do as I say and not get hurt. Yet here we are."

"I couldn't leave those people to suffer, Miguel."

"Yet they left you too." He stated, feeding you, "They care not for you as you for them. Remember (Y/N), I'm the only one here for you."

"Mhm," You nodded, swallowing your food.

"I'm the only one who came to help you. You need to just rely on me and no one else."

"Yes, Miguel," You muttered.

"I won't punish you since you're already hurt. But, you will have to follow some new rules for me." Miguel demanded, giving you another spoonful, "First, you are to stay by my side at all times unless I say otherwise. Second, you are no longer allowed to enjoy this hobby of yours unless running by me first-"

"Mhmh!"

"Shhh," Miguel grabbed your cheeks, "Look at the state you're in. You really think you should be arguing? If you won't listen, I'll give you a reason to stay home."

Your eyes widen as your cheeks turned bright red. Miguel returned to feeding you as he gave a few more small rules. None of them were really any different than before, you just had to go through Miguel before doing anything.

Miguel was just looking out for you.

Miguel was just trying to protect you.

Everything Miguel was doing was for you.

It was romantic.

"Do you understand, (Y/N)?" Miguel asked, setting the empty plate aside. You nodded, swallowing your water,

"Yes, Miguel. I'm sorry."

Miguel glanced at you and smiled. You felt your heart skip a beat as he leaned down to kiss you.

"Stop apologizing. Just remember that you are mine."

You leaned towards his touch as Miguel stroked your cheek. He told you to rest before leaving the room. Groaning softly as you laid down, you felt a sudden wave of exhaustion wash over you. Laying down, you couldn't stay awake much longer before knocking out.

--------

Miguel waited a few minutes before entering the room again. He fixed the hair out of your face before setting up an IV. He grabbed a bag and tied your arm up before taking some more blood from you. This was all for you.

For the sake of humanity's future.

"Lyla, where are Goblin's whereabouts?" Miguel asked quietly.

"He is in hiding. I shall track him down."

"Since he wants to play games, I shall bring one to him." Miguel chuckled, watching your blood drop into the bag. "It's never too early to start decorating for Halloween."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next Chapter

@tojishugetiddies @miguelsfavwife @foulsharkheart @club-danger-zone @ivkygirly @jollystrawberrycycle @amber-content @weirdothatwritess @smartyren @mangoslushcrush @nyxzoldyck6 @migueloharastruelove @chaoticlovingdreamer @sukioyakio @killjoy-nightshadow @heyohalie @the-pan-liquid @bokutosprettylittlebimbo @kpopscoups17130000 @pochapo @killerwendigo @barbiecrocs @miss-galaxy-turtle @oscarissac2099 @lazy-idate @lauraolar14 @safixiovi

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara smut #across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel x reader

233 notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 8 months

Text

Gilded Cage

Charles Leclerc x heiress!Reader

Summary: when a girl who craves for freedom meets a boy who knows what it feels like to race at the speed of light

Warnings: overprotective (but loving) father

The first time you tried to escape, you were seven.

“Y/N, let go of the bird!” The nanny’s frantic voice echoed as your small fingers clutched the delicate cage, trying to unlatch it.

“I just want to see it fly!” You cried, tears streaming down your face, looking at the trapped canary. Its golden feathers seemed dulled, its tiny beak opened in a silent plea for freedom.

The cage slipped from your grasp, crashing onto the pristine marble floors. The sound was deafening in the otherwise quiet mansion. Your nanny rushed forward but not before the canary took off, its wings catching the sun, radiating a blinding brightness.

You watched, mesmerized, as the bird soared above, circling once before disappearing into the vast blue sky.

“It’s gone …” your nanny muttered, distraught at the loss of such a valuable creature.

But you, young and innocent, whispered with a smile of pure joy, “It’s free.”

From that day on, you knew one thing for certain: no amount of gold or jewels could substitute for the glitter of freedom.

***

“Again!”

The shout echoes through the cavernous halls of your palatial home. Somewhere outside, the splashing of the water from the elaborate marble fountain merges with the faint humming of gardeners trimming the intricate mazes. The walls, lined with gold-trimmed tapestries and priceless paintings, feel more like prison bars than luxuries.

"Again!"

Your fingers, stiff and aching, try to mimic the piano instructor’s exact movements. Every wrong note feels like a physical blow, another reminder that you are trapped in a world of perfection and expectations.

“I don’t want to play anymore,” you whisper but it came out stronger, more defiant than you intended.

Madame Lucille, your instructor, raises an eyebrow, unaccustomed to your resistance. “Your father wishes you to be well-versed in the classics,” she reminds you with a patronizing tone.

A voice, deep and commanding, interrupts the tension, “Let her be, Lucille.”

Your father stands at the doorway, his expensive suit impeccably tailored, matching the stern look on his face.

“But Sir, she—”

“I said, let her be.”

Madame Lucille gives you one last disapproving glare before hurriedly packing her things. Your father watches her go then turnes to you with softer eyes. “I just want the best for you,” he murmurs, walking over to sit beside you on the grand piano bench.

You take a deep breath, “I know, Papa. But I want to breathe, to live. Not just exist inside these walls.”

He sighs, looking tired. “The world out there isn’t a nice one. There are those who would want to harm you, to use you.”

“I would risk it,” you admit quietly, “For a taste of real life. For a moment outside this golden cage.”

He takes your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re my everything. I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

The weight of his love and the prison of his protection bears down on you. “One day, whether you like it or not, I’ll have to face the world. And when that day comes, I want to be ready.”

He leans back, looking up at the ornate chandelier. “What if that day was sooner than you thought?”

Confusion marrs your features. “What do you mean?”

He smiles cryptically, “There’s a Formula 1 race across the country next week. I sponsor Ferrari. Thought you might like to come with me, see something different for a change.”

You blink, taking a moment to process. “A ... race?”

He nods, “Yes. It’s not freedom but it’s a start.”

You look into his eyes, seeing a glimmer of understanding. “Okay,” you whisper, “Let’s start there.”

***

“The roar of the engines, the energy of the crowd ... there’s quite nothing like it,” your father begins, his usually stern voice tinted with boyish enthusiasm. You find yourself watching him, intrigued by this rare display of passion.

Sitting across the opulent dining table, which was rarely used to host anyone but the two of you, you play with your food, pushing it around the plate. “Cars going in circles? I don’t see the appeal.”

He chuckles, taking a sip of his vintage wine. “Oh, it’s much more than that. The strategy, the risk, the sheer speed ... it’s ballet at 300 kilometers per hour.”

You raise an eyebrow, interest piqued despite yourself. “Ballet? Really?”

He nods with a smirk. “Don’t tell me you’re not curious now?”

You hesitate. “I mean, maybe a little? But why the sudden interest in taking me? I’ve never even seen you watch a race.”

He leans forward, his gaze intense, searching yours. “I sponsor Ferrari and have an open invite to every race. Now that one will be hosted nearby, I thought maybe it’s time you see a bit more of the world. Not just through the glass windows.”

You blink in surprise. This was unexpected. “A public event? With crowds and other people?”

He nods slowly. “With crowds and other people.”

You weigh the options in your mind, the yearning for freedom battling with the anxiety of exposure. “And you think I’m ready for this?”

He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing yours. “I think we’re ready for this. It will be an unforgettable experience, I promise.”

You look into his eyes and realize that this is as much a leap for him as it is for you. Taking a deep breath, you reply, “Alright, Papa. Let’s go watch some ballet.”

***

“The red ... it’s everywhere.” You can’t help but blurt out, momentarily overwhelmed.

Your father chuckles beside you. “Well, it is Ferrari. Red is their signature.”

You gaze down, the red soles of your Louboutins now seem almost camouflaged against the vibrant Ferrari decor. “Feels like I’m stepping into another world.”

“Just stay close,” your father advises, his protective instincts rearing up again.

Promising him with a nod, you’re soon lost in the kaleidoscope of sounds and colors. The hustle of engineers, the chatter of excited fans, the roar of engines being worked on.

Suddenly, a man clad in a racing suit accidentally bumps into you, causing your drink to splatter.

“Mon dieu! I am so sorry!” He exclaims, eyes wide.

You find yourself staring not at the stained dress but into the most expressive eyes you’ve ever seen. “It’s ... it’s okay,” you stutter, taken aback by the unexpected jolt of electricity at the brief contact.

He looks genuinely apologetic. “Let me make it up to you? Another drink, perhaps?”

You laugh, “Only if you promise not to spill it.”

He grins, the smile reaching his eyes. “Deal. I’m Charles, by the way.”

Hesitating for a split second, you reply, “Y/N.”

He raises an eyebrow, “No last name?”

You smirk, “Not today.”

Charles chuckles, intrigued. “Alright, Y/N-with-no-last-name, let’s get you that drink.”

You follow him, weaving through the crowd. Every now and then, someone stops Charles to shake his hand or pat him on the back, throwing in a “Good luck, Charles!” or “Can’t wait to see you on the track!” He greets everyone with a genuine smile and a word of thanks. It’s clear just how loved he is here.

However, you remain a mystery to him. He sneaks curious glances your way, the playful teasing evident in his eyes. “So are you a big Ferrari fan or just here because you look particularly fetching in red?”

You laugh, the sound more carefree than you’ve felt in ages. “Let’s just say I’m here to explore something ... different.”

Charles nods, handing you a fresh glass from the bar. The bubbling champagne mirrors the effervescence you feel inside. “Different can be good,” he muses, taking a sip from his own plastic water bottle. “Sometimes it’s the unexpected moments that change everything.”

The weight of his gaze, the intensity of the moment, makes your heart race. “Tell me, Charles,” you begin, leaning in slightly, “What was the unexpected moment that changed everything for you?”

He looks taken aback, clearly not expecting such a question. He takes a thoughtful pause, “Every time I get behind the wheel. Each race is a new story, an unexpected twist waiting to happen.”

You nod, appreciating his sincerity. “It’s brave, you know. Facing the unexpected at such high speeds.”

He smiles warmly. “It’s not bravery, it’s passion. When you love something deeply, risks become challenges instead of threats.”

Your fingers toy with the stem of your glass, his words resonating with your own yearning for freedom. “I envy that,” you admit softly.

Charles tilts his head, studying you. “Why?”

You search for the right words. “I’ve lived in a world of certainty for so long. Every step planned, every move calculated. It’s ... suffocating.”

Charles reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “Then maybe it’s time to take a risk, Y/N-with-no-last-name. Even just a small one.”

You smile, the promise of the unknown beckoning. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time.”

***

“Do you trust me?” Charles’ eyes search yours, intense under the paddock lights.

You blink, taken aback by the sudden question. “We just met.”

He grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “That’s not an answer.”

Drawing in a deep breath, you reply, “I might. What are you proposing?”

His gaze drifts momentarily to the track. “After qualifying … how about a drive? Not here,” he adds, seeing your hesitation, “Away from all this. The city at night, the open road. Just two people and the world.”

You tilt your head, contemplating the offer. A spark of excitement ignites within you. “A midnight drive with a stranger? Sounds reckless.”

He chuckles, leaning in closer. The scent of leather and adrenaline wraps around you. “Life’s best moments usually are.”

As his name is called by his press officer, Charles straightens up. “I have to go. But think about it, Y/N-with-no-last-name. The invitation stands.”

Before you can respond, he jots down something on a piece of paper and hands it to you. An address. “Meet me here if you’re in. Midnight.”

You watch him stride confidently towards his garage, the weight of the decision pressing on you. Risk, freedom, the open road — its all you’ve always yearned for.

Hours later, as Charles places his car on pole, you find yourself gripping that piece of paper. The thought of the city lights and the wind through your hair is too alluring to resist.

You whisper to yourself, “Midnight it is.”

***

The ornate curtains rustle as you inch your way onto the balcony of your suite. The sheer drop below sends a thrilling chill down your spine. You’ve never snuck out before but the thought of the night ahead and Charles’ invitation propels you forward. You hitch up your dress, carefully lowering yourself onto the ledge below. The soft grass cushions your landing and you take a moment to steady your racing heart.

“You’re even crazier than I am,” a familiar voice observes from the shadows.

You whirl around, finding Charles leaning against his car, an impressed grin on his face. “I had to make a discreet exit,” you explain, cheeks warming.

He chuckles, pushing away from the car and walking over to you. “Glad you made it. Ready for our adventure?”

You nod, the proximity of him, the thrill of the night, everything heightening your senses. “More than ever.”

The car roars to life as you both settle in. The city lights blur past, the nocturnal beauty of the world unfolding around you. The road beckons, the possibilities endless.

Charles casts a sidelong glance at you, a playful smirk on his lips. “Ever driven with no speed limit?”

You laugh, “Not in my daily commute.”

He grins, “There’s a first time for everything.”

The car accelerates, the wind whipping through your hair, the night alive with potential. The city skyline fades, replaced by an open stretch of road, illuminated only by the car’s headlights and the soft glow of the moon.

Charles’ voice breaks the comfortable silence. “There’s something freeing about the night. The world sleeps, and for a few hours, you can pretend you’re the only ones alive.”

You glance over, sensing the depth of emotion behind his words. “Is this why you race? For that freedom?”

He nods, his profile bathed in moonlight. “And more. Every time I’m behind the wheel, it’s a battle against my doubts, the world, and myself.”

You understand, the weight of your own gilded cage pressing on you. “I’ve been trapped for so long. But tonight, with you, I feel … alive.”

He reaches over, entwining his fingers with yours. “Then let’s live. For tonight, let’s forget the world.”

***

“Why are those men watching us?” Charles’ voice is low, almost a whisper, as he subtly gestures towards two figures in dark suits, positioned at opposite sides of the bar you found yourselves at.

You follow his gaze discreetly, feeling a familiar dread settling in. Security. Your father’s men. “They’re ... they’re just protective, that’s all.”

Charles narrows his eyes, piecing things together. “Protective? Y/N, who are you really?”

A pang of guilt washes over you. You had hoped for more time before this moment, more stolen moments under the veil of anonymity. “It’s complicated,” you admit, hesitating.

He leans forward, his intense eyes searching yours. “Try me.”

You take a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. “My life ... it’s not what it seems. I live in a gilded cage. A cage built by my father’s wealth and influence. A beautiful cage, yes, but a cage nonetheless.”

He processes this, watching as one of the security approaches your table, handing you a phone. “Your father wishes to speak with you,” the man says tersely.

Charles’ gaze sharpens, suspicion evident. “Your father?”

You nod, taking the phone with a sigh. “Hello, Papa.”

“Y/N,” your father’s voice is a mix of relief and sternness, “I’ve been so worried. You just disappeared.”

“I needed some time,” you explain, glancing apologetically at Charles who is watching the exchange closely.

“You should come back now.”

“I’m not a child anymore,” you argue gently, “I need to live my life.”

A heavy silence follows. “Just ... be safe,” he finally murmurs.

Hanging up, you face Charles, the weight of the world pressing on you. “I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner.”

Charles leans back, his expression unreadable. “So, the mysterious Y/N-with-no-last-name turns out to be the daughter of …?”

You sigh, “A very wealthy and overprotective man.”

He processes this, the playful teasing from before replaced by deep contemplation. “You know, secrets have a way of catching up with us. But,” he adds with a hint of a smile, “I’m interested in who you are, not your family name.”

You smile, relief washing over you. “Then let’s leave the secrets for another day.”

***

The morning sun paints the Ferrari garage in a wash of golden hues, every glinting reflection a dance of radiant red. Charles stands out despite wearing the same color as he eagerly waves you over to show off the helmet in his hands.

“It’s beautiful.” Your fingers trace the lines of the design, the light catching on its glossy finish.

Charles spins the helmet so you can see every detail. “Not just the design. It’s the weight, the feel. When I put this on, I’m stepping into another world. Everything else fades away. Just the track, the car, and me.”

You smile, fascinated by his passion. But as your gaze slides over the helmet, you freeze. There, emblazoned on the side, is the unmistakable logo of Y/L/N Industries. You try to hide your surprise but Charles catches your reaction. “You recognize the logo?”

Swallowing hard, you nod. “It’s … everywhere, isn’t it?”

Charles, not picking up on your unease, grins. “Oh yes. They’re our main sponsors this season. Y/L/N Industries is massive.”

Your heart thuds. Every mention, every hint, makes the looming truth harder to avoid. “They seem ... impressive.”

You avoid his gaze, watching the mechanics prepare the cars for the race. Each Ferrari, shining in the morning sun, proudly displays the same Y/L/N Industries logo. There’s no escaping it.

Noticing your distraction, Charles follows your gaze. “I’ve always found it fascinating. How brands link up with teams. How they can become synonymous with each other over the years. Like what we had with Marlboro and now Y/L/N Industries. It’s ... an alliance.”

You chuckle, trying to deflect. “An expensive alliance.”

He laughs, “Very true. But Y/L/N Industries is more than just a name on our cars. I met the owner once, at a sponsorship event. Very ... protective of his interests.”

You gulp, feeling cornered. “Is that so?”

Charles nods, oblivious to your discomfort. “Yes. Has a daughter too, I’ve heard. But she’s kept away from the limelight. Must be hard, living under such a powerful shadow.”

Your voice is barely a whisper, “You have no idea.”

He looks at you, sensing the weight behind your words. “Y/N?”

Taking a deep breath, you finally admit, “My last name ... it’s Y/L/N.”

He stares, processing the revelation. The playful driver you spent the past days with is replaced by someone more cautious, more guarded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You look down, fighting back tears. “I wanted to be just Y/N, not a Y/L/N. I wanted freedom, even if just for a few days.”

Charles reaches out, lifting your chin gently. “You're still Y/N to me. But secrets ... they complicate things.”

You nod, regret clear in your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He smiles, though it’s not quite as bright as usual. “Let’s focus on today. The race. We’ll figure the rest out later.”

***

You’re startled from your thoughts when the doors to your room burst open, the journal in which you’ve been scribbling memories of your secret meetings with Charles slipping from your fingers.

Your father stands there, a mixture of anger and desperation etching his features. In his hand, he holds a photograph — one of you and Charles lost in conversation in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant.

“Explain this,” he demands, voice shaking.

You swallow hard, the weight of your secret outings pressing down on you. “Papa, I—”

He cuts you off, waving the photograph. “Weeks, Y/N! Weeks you’ve been sneaking around, meeting him. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Your voice trembles, “I just want something for myself, something real.”

He looks torn, battling between his desire to protect you and understanding your need for freedom. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” you hesitate, taking a deep breath, “I want to be just Y/N for once, not Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Don’t you see? That’s exactly why I protect you! The world will never see just Y/N. They will always see a Y/L/N and they will always want something from you.”

“You can’t keep doing this!” The words burst out of you before you can stop them, the pent-up frustration, fear, and yearning for freedom all culminating in this very moment.

Your father stands at the opposite end of the lavish living room, the city skyline a muted backdrop behind him. His eyes, usually so authoritative, are wide with surprise and concern. “I am only looking out for you.”

You shake your head, your voice trembling. “Looking out for me or controlling me?”

He flinches as if you physically struck him. “I want to keep you safe.”

Safe. The word hangs heavily between you, a reminder of the invisible chains binding you. “At what cost, Papa? My happiness? My freedom?”

He sighs, running a hand through his graying hair. “It’s not that simple.”

You pace the room, your emotions spilling over. “Do you even realize? Every choice, every decision has been made for me. Who I meet, where I go, even what I feel. I am suffocating!”

He looks pained. “I never meant to—”

“But you did!” You interject, tears streaming down your face. “Every time you made a choice for me, you took away a piece of my life.”

A heavy silence settles between you two, the unspoken words and regrets creating an impenetrable barrier.

Finally, your father speaks, his voice soft and filled with sorrow. “I lost your mother. I can’t bear the thought of losing you too.”

Your heart aches, understanding and resentment warring within. “I’m not Mama. I need to live, make mistakes, find love. I need to be free.”

He closes his eyes tightly, the weight of your words pressing down on him. “I just ... I love you so much.”

You walk over, taking his hands in yours, feeling the roughness of age and experience. “And I love you. But love isn’t about possession. It’s about understanding, trust, and letting go.”

Tears brim his eyes, the facade of the powerful businessman crumbling. “You will always be my little girl. I would give up every dollar — everything — if it meant keeping you safe. I’m scared that one day I won’t be able to protect you.”

You squeeze his hands. “We have to face our fears. Together.”

***

“He knows. Papa knows about us.” Your voice wavers as you meet in your secret hideaway, a small bakery tucked away from prying eyes.

Charles’ face pales, his fingers gripping the table edge. “How did he react?”

You draw in a shuddering breath, recalling the confrontation. “Not well. He feels... betrayed. I think I got through to him eventually but you never know with him. One second he’s smiling at a business rival and the next he’s snatching away their company in a hostile takeover.”

Charles’ eyes darken with concern. “I don’t want you caught in the crossfire between me and Y/L/N Industries.”

You shake your head, reaching out to touch his hand. “This isn’t about sponsorships or racing. This is about us. He’s just overprotective.”

He sighs, rubbing his temples. “This complicates things. Your father’s influence runs deep, even in the racing world.”

Tears sting your eyes. “So what? Are you saying we should …?”

“No,” Charles interjects firmly, squeezing your hand. “I’m saying we need to be careful. I won’t let anything harm you.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “My father would never hurt me … at least not physically. It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s you.”

He smirks, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, I do have a penchant for driving really fast cars. Comes with a touch of danger.”

You’re not amused. “This is serious. Papa can be ... vindictive.”

Charles looks deep into your eyes. “Then we face this together. Secrets have kept us apart but now, truth will keep us together.”

You lean in, your foreheads touching. “Promise?”

He smiles, capturing your lips in a kiss. “Promise.”

***

A reporter leans forward, her voice crackling with excitement. “Charles, you just secured a stunning victory for Ferrari in a race that almost everyone thought was Red Bull’s to lose. How does it feel to come out on top?”

Charles grins, his eyes alive with a fire that burns brighter than ever. “Honestly, it’s hard to describe. We’ve been pushing ourselves, refining the car, and today, everything just clicked. The team’s effort, the car’s performance, it all paid off.”

The crowd cheers, their elation echoing through the broadcast. The reporter presses on, “You dedicated this win to someone special. Care to tell us who?”

Charles’ gaze softens, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. “There’s someone who has shown me a world beyond the track. Someone who made me realize that the freedom I feel whenever I get behind the wheel is even more precious than I always thought. This win is for her.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd, the identity of this mysterious someone a topic of speculation. The reporter smiles, clearly eager for more details. “And can you give us a hint? Is she here today?”

Charles chuckles, his dimples popping through. “Let’s just say she’s closer than you might think.”

Later, as the celebrations continue, you find yourself in a secluded corner of the motorhome, away from the clamor of the team and fans. Charles walks over, that same victorious smile on his lips. “Did you hear?”

You nod, heart still racing. “You dedicated the win to me.”

He steps closer, his hand cupping your cheek. “Of course. You’ve given me one more reason to keep pushing, keep racing. It’s not just about the cars. It’s about the freedom, the moments we steal away from the world.”

Tears well up in your eyes and you kiss him passionately, pouring all your emotions into that single moment. The crowd may not know the truth behind his dedication yet but you do. And that’s all that matters.

***

“Charles seems ... different than the others,” your father begins, his gaze distant as he looks out from the penthouse balcony.

You step closer, the night air cool against your skin. “Different how?”

He sighs, turning to face you, vulnerability evident in his eyes. “He looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. He looks at you how I used to look at your mother.”

You smile, “I never expected you to notice.”

He chuckles softly. “Just because I’m protective doesn’t mean I’m blind. I’ve watched people all my life. It’s how I built everything,” he gestures towards the sprawling city below, the twinkling lights of his corporate empire.

The weight of the moment settles between you, the years of misunderstandings and unspoken words pressing down. “Papa, I know you’re scared. Scared of the world out there, of what it might do. But I can’t be trapped forever.”

His expression softens, pain evident. “I have seen so much, faced so many betrayals. The world is rarely kind.”

You reach out, touching his arm gently. “I understand. But holding on too tight will only push me away.”

He closes his eyes, taking a shaky breath. “It’s just ... hard. Watching you grow, wanting to spread your wings. I wish I could shield you from everything.”

You smile gently. “But then I wouldn’t truly be living. Charles, he’s shown me a world beyond these walls. A world that’s unpredictable, thrilling, and real.”

Your father nods slowly. “I saw that. The way he stood by you, the way he spoke of you. He … he loves you.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, the night’s chill deepening. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Someone who sees me, not my last name, not a walking dollar sign.”

He steps closer, pulling you into a comforting embrace. “I’m trying. It’s not easy, letting go. But I trust you. I just need time.”

You nod, resting your head against his chest. “I know. Just promise me one thing.”

He tilts your chin up, looking into your eyes. “Anything.”

You smile, a weight lifting off your shoulders. “Trust him too. Give Charles a chance.”

He sighs, the walls he built over the years slowly crumbling. “For you, I’ll try.”

***

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” your father says, breaking the tense silence that envelops the extravagant dining room.

Charles, sitting straight-backed and visibly anxious, clears his throat. “Sir, I assure you, my intentions with Y/N are—”

Genuine laughter interrupts him. You glance in shock at your father, who chuckles, “Relax, Charles. I’ve watched you on the track. You face challenges head-on. That’s a quality I admire.”

Charles exhales a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir. Y/N means the world to me.”

Your father studies Charles, his gaze thoughtful. “I can see that. And I have seen the change in Y/N since she met you.”

You bite your lip, waiting for what he might say next. “Papa, I—”

He raises a hand, silencing you. “I’ve spent my life building walls around you, trying to protect you from the world. But maybe ... maybe it’s time to let you fly.”

Your heart leaps in your chest. “Papa …”

He smiles at you, warmth shining in his eyes. “You’re my daughter. All I’ve ever wanted is your happiness. If Charles is the one who brings that joy, then I give you both my blessing.”

Tears glisten in your eyes as you stand, moving to embrace your father. “Thank you.”

Charles stands too, extending a hand towards your father. “Thank you, sir. I promise to take cherish and take care of her.”

Your father grasps Charles’ hand for a moment longer than expected, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Charles,” he begins, a twinkle of mischief evident, “just remember … if you ever hurt my daughter, they will never find your body.”

Charles gulps, eyes widening, then realizes the playful tone your father has adopted. He chuckles, nodding, “Duly noted, sir.”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Papa, you are impossible.”

Your father grins, the atmosphere significantly lighter. “Just making sure he understands.”

Charles playfully raises his hands in surrender. “Message received loud and clear.”

***

The pitter-patter of little feet echoes through the grand halls, accompanied by peals of laughter. The once silent mansion is now alive with the exuberance of youth. Every corner and every room tells tales of play and joy, of childhood memories being crafted.

“Slow down, my darlings!” You call out in amusement as you chase the energetic duo.

Charles laughs as one of your kids hides behind him, tiny hands clutching his leg. “You can’t hide here forever!” He teases.

From the doorway, your father watches, his eyes glassy. The stoic businessman, the guardian of a vast empire, is rendered soft and vulnerable by the presence of his grandchildren.

“Grandpa!” The children cheer, running to him, their arms outstretched.

He bends down, scooping them into a gentle embrace. ��I have a surprise for you,” he whispers, producing a small cage with a golden canary inside from behind his back. Its wings barely beat, eyes darting around to mirror its trapped spirit.

The children’s eyes widen in wonder. “Why is it in a cage, Grandpa?”

Your father looks up, meeting your gaze, the weight of the past reflected in his eyes. “It looked sad at the market, just like someone I once knew. But we’re going to set it free.”

Together, the family moves to the balcony. Your father opens the cage door, and the canary, after a hesitant moment, takes flight, its song a melody of freedom and hope.

As you watch the bird disappear into the horizon, your father breaks the silence. “Sometimes, we cage the things we love, thinking it’s for the best. But true love is about letting go, letting them spread their wings.”

You lean into Charles, his arm wrapping around you, the children nestled between you both. “Thank you, Papa,” you whisper. “For letting us learn the true meaning of freedom.”

Your father smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “It took me a while but I finally understand. Love, life, freedom — they’re all interconnected. We just have to find our sky.”

1K notes · View notes

bellaxisworld · 18 days

Text

april 12, @jegulus-microfic prompt: amortentia. word count: 682.

The iridescent sheen of the potion enchants Regulus; he could stare at the lovely pinkish-pearled swirls for hours, dazed and happy to be smelling the things he loves the most. He smiles down at the cauldron, reminded of his happiest memories, reminded of every good thing that makes life worth living.

He leans forward to inhale, eyes blissfully falling shut. Today is one of his favorite Potions days—they finally brewed Amortentia. He’s an excellent potioneer, and he’s waited years for the day they brew it in class. Regulus sighs, content, and catalogs each distinct smell and their origin.

(1) He smells lavender and roses. This one isn’t hard to decode—Pandora smells like lavender, and she leaves pink rose petals in his bags and pockets when she senses he needs good luck.

(2) The next smell is far more sugary and rather… artificial in nature. Peach candies, he realizes. His chest warms, reminded of summersweet memories with Sirius, sneaking to Hogsmeade to steal candies together and scurrying home, tripping over gangly feet and laughing too loudly for the still night. Midnights spent huddled together under too-hot covers, quiet giggles and sticky hands grabbing for the pile of sweets between them. Peach candies were always Sirius’ favorite.

(3) Next he smells grass and wind, which he is not surprised to find, and likely derives from his love for Quidditch. No, his love for flying. Regulus feels most at peace when flying, whipping around the air with precision and skill. He feels free, when flying.

This next part is where he gets confused.

Regulus Black finds himself squinting at the cauldron, begging it to tell him its secrets. It’s rather mysterious, he thinks, a potion that can tell you everything you love. He folds his arms over his chest, huffing quietly.

(4) Regulus smells apples.

He smells… apples? He’s not familiar with apples, you see, so he cannot distinguish what kind of apple he smells. But there is a distinct apple smell wafting from his cauldron, and he leans back, blinking down in concern.

An important thing to note—Regulus Black hates apples.

At least, he hates eating apples. He won’t eat apple pie, or apple sauce, or apple juice or artificial apple flavors—he dislikes the taste and texture of them. The smell of apples isn’t too overpowering, so he isn’t too far bothered in that sense, but to find apples in his Amortentia perplexes him more than anything.

He thinks again, quill tapping against his notebook beside the cauldron. The Amortentia told him he loves Pandora, Sirius, flying, and… he doesn’t know what the apples could possibly signify. Apples. Apples. Apples.

The apples have stumped him.

Regulus thinks about apples for the rest of the day. He thinks about apples and fruits and any correlation, and he thinks why, why apples?

He’s walking with his friends to the dungeons later that evening when it hits him square in the face like a bag of bricks. He almost trips over his own feet, barely holding himself properly upright.

“No. No, no, no, no—it can’t possibly be. No, I refuse.” He shakes his head violently, stomach lurching and eyes watering. He sprints all the way to his dorm room bathroom, locking himself tightly within and avoiding the worried shouts of his friends.

He recalls the memory, crystal-clear now. He recalls the distinct smell of apples. He recalls the playful smiles and loud, booming laugh of the boy beside him.

He recalls the apples. The apples. The apples.

He recalls the apples, because Regulus Black was sitting under an apple tree with James Potter the first time he thought, James is the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen. That day was the first time he got butterflies, his belly in an uproar over the proximity of a boy like James, a boy with a smile brighter than every star in the sky. That day, Regulus looked at James and realized he wanted to know what it felt like to fall.

He takes out his Potions notebook, scribbling furiously:

Pandora, Sirius, flying, and… James Potter.

part of a collection of microfics on ao3(2/?): in every life, my heart finds yours.

148 notes · View notes

mitsies · 1 year

Text

FUMBLED! ; okkotsu yuuta > yuuta's never been good with words. it's no surprise that he's even worse with confessions.

okkotsu yuuta is a pacifict at heart. sure, he's committed his fair share of violent crimes, but as was the life of a jujutsu sorcerer. in practice, he was cruel. in actuality, he'd never hurt a fly.

yuuta took extra long on rainy day walks to avoid stepping on worms. he made sure to never dog-ear pages on his books, and he always set out extra meals in case his friends didn't feel like making their own dinners. okkotsu yuuta was kind as he was gentle- a peaceful spirit in totality.

things might change today, though, because he is genuinely considering strangling his friends.

well, not actually- he thinks he'd rather run away and cry than strangle anyone. running away and crying would be a lot less awkward than murder. and god knows that he couldn't handle even more tension. the air was thick with it now- a heavy sort of smoke, so present that he could taste it in the sky and it suffocated the people in its vicinity.

no one spoke for a few beats before panda laughed awkwardly: "well, i think that's our cue to leave!"

yuuta watches helplessly as panda grabs maki and toge by their collars before hauling them away, effectively leaving you and yuuta alone in the courtyard of tokyo jujutsu high.

the words from the previous conversation still hung in the air like a cloud. he could practically read them in the wind: maki's jovial teasing, toge's interesting additions, your pretty, pretty laugh- and panda dropping a bomb.

("what, do you have plans this weekend?" maki had interrogated yuuta when he declined the group's request to grab dinner in town on the upcoming weekend. he was about to reply when panda cut him off- "he's probably waiting to ask you-know-who out."

yuuta remembers freezing and hearing maki laugh, not noticing how you approached with toge by your side. "you need to do it already."

yuuta is again cut off by panda's exclamation. "i know, right! y/n's so cool, and you like them so much it's sad. plus, they won't stay single forever-"

"what did you just say?" your voice took everyone by surprise. the quiet following was hollow and still. that was what led up to this- the awkward silence. the stand-off. what very well might be the end of the world, in yuuta's eyes.)

"you like me?"

you're the first to talk again, breaking the boy out of his mind. he thinks you look so pretty, even when you're just standing there, even when you're confused, even when you might turn him down.

right now, there is no warzone more chaotic than okkotsu yuuta's mind. there is no nuclear warfare as destructive as the storm thundering through his neurons. there has never been a no man's land as deathly and ghastly as the folds of his brain are at that moment. there are a thousand thoughts buzzing around in his head- all of them say the same thing. i like you, i like you, i like you, his brain chants in a million ways.

he breathes in. and then out again. here goes nothing.

okkotsu yuuta opens his mouth and puts every ounce of trust he has into his words. 'i like you,' he repeats to himself in his head, waiting for his tongue to echo those syllables out loud.

yuuta has never been lucky. he should've expected the wires of his mind to be crossed. because of the dozens of trains of thought traveling at breakneck speeds around his head, the tracks of 'do you like me back?' and 'can i kiss you?" cross paths. he is so, so unlucky, because all he ends up saying is "do you kiss me back?"

you blink at him. he blinks at you. "do i what?"

it's then yuuta realizes his mistake. "oh. oh, oh no. wait. i meant- i didn't mean- i didn't want to say that. no, no, you don't have to kiss me- i mean, i wouldn't, like- wait, no. no. i'm sorry. i'm so- i am so sorry. oh my gosh. i didn't mean to say that."

yuuta's gaze is fixed hard on the ground, so he doesn't see you moving to close the distance between the both of you. his own mind is racing so he can barely register the feeling of your warm hands cupping his face. he's going so insane that he thinks he might be imagining how you promptly slam your lips against his with a conviction he thinks he could fall in love with.

he doesn't realize what's happening at first, but as soon as he does, he's kissing back. it's messy, and decidedly not neat- he's not sure what he's doing but it feels so right that he thinks he'll let himself fail for a little bit- but it's perfect to the both of you.

"you talk," you say when you pull away, "so much. like, a lot."

he looks at you like you hold the sun in the sky and brought fire to mankind. "you kissed me."

"i guess i did."

"so.. you do like me back?"

you purse your lips and move your arms around his neck, shifting even closer. your lips ghost his cheek and you can feel the shiver passing through him. "maybe just a little," you can't help but tease.

"i'll like you enough for the both of us, then. i kinda already do, i think."

✄ this was written for the mitsies 3k follower event with the prompts they’re nervous to confess so instead of saying ‘can i kiss you’ or ‘do you like me back’ they say “do you kiss me back?” + kissing to get them to stop talking

[⇥ 3K EVENT MASTERLIST] [⇥ 3K EVENT INFO]

#okkotsu yuuta x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #yuuta okkotsu #okkotsu yuuta #okkotsu #okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu #okkotsu yuta x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta okkotsu x reader #jjk okkotsu #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fanfic #jjk fluff #reader insert #mitsies 3k

1K notes · View notes

rizsu · 8 months

Text

a bathtub filled with water, a toddler, and an eighteen-year-old boy. these three key items have now renamed themselves as the tickets to trouble.

usually when one's left with a toddler they pay utmost care and attention. however, gojo's not like that. gojo's main idea of babysitting is to let them do as they please. saves everyone's sanity. when push comes to shove, and you're faced with an ultimate battle, as the elder you must make your dominance known.

today wasn't like any of the other days he spent the weekend over at your home. today was special — he promised to babysit the younger sibling while you do groceries with your mom. it's never been an easy road with the youngins for gojo but he must prove himself to your mother.

she thinks of him as a good boy, you think of him as an idiot, the toddler can't decide if she likes him or hates him, and he thinks of himself as the best creation. as the day progressed into the night, the little girl's bed time dawned. in order for her to get in bed she needs to take a bath first. that became the first struggle of the night.

she didn't want to shower so gojo lengthened her play time. as soon as the thirty-minute alarm rang, he distracted her by lifting her up with one hand secured under her stomach and the other parallel on her back. soaring through the corridor, he reenacted an airplane flying through the sky with her.

it's safe to say she enjoyed every moment. unfortunately for both, good moments only last seconds. soon enough the second struggle came: getting her to not run out of the bathroom. he doesn't understand — toys, bubble bath, phone locked on youtube playing kid rhymes, and her floaty. all prepared for her to enjoy the bathtub but she glares at it as if it cursed her entire bloodline.

maybe it's the water? can't be.

the toys aren't to her taste, perhaps? no. she picked those toys herself.

is it the bubble bath? negative.

so what's the issue now? he can't wrap his brilliant mind around it.

gojo looks at her and she looks at him. the two stare in silence. only time can tell where this battle will go.

"no bathe!" she speaks.

"you must!" he argues.

"why?" she questions.

"because your mother and sister will kill me if you're not showered and asleep," he explains.

"why?" she questions again.

"i just said why," he sighs.

"oh," she tilts her head, "why?"

"i'm beginning to think that's the only word you know," he brings himself to a conclusion.

"no!" she exclaims.

gojo accepts defeat. there's no winning against a toddler whose vocabulary consists of four words maximum. slapping his palms on his knees, he stands up tall and looks down at the girl. if he can't get her to shower, he'll just exhaust her so she can sleep. this action will lead to consequences and he might not have enough armour to defend himself.

"kid, do you wanna play with legos?"

her eyes brighten at gojo's suggestion. at last, they can both be on the same wavelength. he takes her reaction as confirmation, lifting her to his hip again so they can resume the previously halted play time.

#+ rizsu: jujutsu kaisen.#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru drabbles #jjk fluff

412 notes · View notes

diejager · 1 month

Note

Hello! I hope you’re doing well!! I was wondering if I can request more of percht König! If not that is totally okay!! Thank you ^^

Cw: blood, gore, injurie, inaccurate medic stuff, violent shift, tell me if I missed any.

He couldn’t remember much, after a rough and impromptu shift, his bone cracking and spine reshaping, snapping back together after his fat and muscle stretched along his back, his body rippling and shuddering, howls ripping through the stormy sky. Urgent shifts had always been painful, his body hastily and roughly shaping into the beast he was born as, leaving the ground beneath him bloody and his limbs shaking and throbbing with agony. His mind was a blur in the moment after it, every shape muddled, smell enhanced, his hearing filled with the loud beat of his heart, gurgling screams and booming shots, and his mind blurry.

The last thing he remembered seeing was the insurmountable number of enemy, a trap they’d fallen into and left surrounded and caged, only knowing that he and Ghost had fallen into a stupid trap. Like a fly stuck in a majestic spider’s web, the intricately woven lines spun and interlaced to build the trap, unsuspecting and invisible until they flew into it; buzzing and squirming against the sticky web while the spider, big and dangerous in it’s beauty slowly crawled over, long and delicate legs threatening to stab the fly. They had stupidly fallen for an embellished trap by their backstabbing ally.

And when he woke up, laying in the biggest bed in the infirmary, the thick taste of iron lingered on his tongue, the disgusting flavour of rotten human skin and fat, the muscle fibres breaking so easily under his sharp teeth and eyes heavy with a bone-deep exhaustion. He was glad the lights were dimmed, the air sterile but gentle on his sensitive nose and the sheets soft around his rough and scarred skin. He layed naked, body tense under the blanket in his private corner of the infirmary, a thick, grey curtain hiding him from wandering eyes or other patients.

He relaxed when he saw you poke your head between the wall and curtain, a mask hooked under your chin to flash him a gentle smile, slowly approaching his bedside without spooking his frantic and confused mind. He tried to smile back, but his balaclava would barely show it with how subtle the curl of his lips was, his tired eyes fleeting over the heavy bags under your eyes and the worried air that oozed off your shoulders as you sat on the chair beside his bed, a clipboard placed on your lap.

“How do you feel, König?” He loved how soft your voice was, the quiet rasp of it to not worsen his pulsing headache, but he caught the worn tone. You probably stayed up the whole night, stuck by his bedside and leaving only to shower and get another cup of coffee.

“Tired,” he sighed, closing his eyes and slumping into the comfortable mattress and sinking deeper into his assigned bed, “Everything hurts.”

He heard you nod, scratching something on your clipboard, probably writing down his symptoms and noting down what you’d plan to give him for his pains.

“Headache?”

”Ja.”

The pen scratched again.

“Muscle pain and exhaustion.”

“Ja.”

You already knew that, he hadn’t heard you write anything, only the subtle sound of a page flipping.

“Do you want coffee or lunch before I give you painkillers?”

“Coffee.”

You placed the clipboard down, your boots quietly thudding against the slick floor and the click of a door letting him know you left his side. He appreciated your care, your tender affection to provide for him when he felt sickly or worn out.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

#x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #konig x reader #konig mw2 #monster 141 #monster 141 au #monster cod au #könig x reader #konig #konig cod #konig call of duty #könig mw2 #könig cod #könig #könig x you #könig call of duty #monster!konig #monster!könig

279 notes · View notes

just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 4 months

Text

To the victor the spoils

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 19

Prompt: Enemies to lovers

Rated: T

CW: light blood and violence; steamy kissing; very light dubcon if you squint (they're actually both super into it, I promise)

Tags: Fantasy AU; Magic AU; Guard!Steve; Thief!Eddie; Sexual tension; Flirting; Fighting; First kiss

Notes: Thought that kiss was hot in writing? Wait until you see it! @house-of-the-moving-image did an entire mini comic!

In the end, it’s just the two of them again.

Steve jumps over another groaning pile of half-conscious guards and bursts out onto the roof, cold night air slapping him in the face and making the cape of his uniform whip.

“Munson!” he barks.

He is standing by the edge of the roof, a black cut-out against the starlit sky. As Steve stalks closer, he can see the smile curling at his lips, the amusement glinting in those dark eyes.

“Stevie,” he greets, like they’re two acquaintances who’ve just met on the market square - not the new Captain of the Guard and the city’s most wanted criminal. “My, don’cha look strapping in the new get-up. Congrats, I bet daddy’s mighty proud.”

“Shut it,” Steve growls, ignoring the way Eddie’s eyes linger on his golden breastplate, the way it makes a treacherous heat prickle at his neck. “Flattery will get you nowhere. Now give it back!”

He jerks his head at the necklace clutched in one black-gloved hand. Eddie pouts.

“Don’t wanna. It’s shiny.”

Steve groans. It’s like talking to a five-year-old. A five-year old clad in black armor who’s versed in combat magic.

“It is a priceless magic artifact that’s been in Lord Carver's family for generations-”

“Yeah, and what a load of good they’ve done with it,” Eddie sneers. “High time it got into the hands of someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”

“Oh, and that someone would be you?”

“Look at you,” Eddie winks. “Pretty and clever. Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta-”

“You’re not going anywhere!” Steve snaps. His sword slides out with a high, metallic sound.

Eddie raises his hands. “Woah, big boy. Careful now, you don’t wanna-”

Steve roars and lunges.

Eddie skips out of reach, but not quite fast enough. A lock of curly hair floats to the ground.

“Oh sweetheart, you're gonna regret this,” Eddie purrs.

And all hell breaks loose.

The air crackles with the taste of ozone, a blinding light erupts from the artifact, and Steve just barely manages to parry. Something whirrs through the air, glides off his blade and a sharp, hot pain explodes all over the side of his face. Something warm trickles down his cheek.

“Hell yeah,” Eddie whoops and comes flying at him, giant shards of solid magic whirling around him, eyes eerily alight with their glow. “That's what I'm talking about!”

The world blurs into a frenzy of movement and adrenaline. Attack and parry, dive for cover behind the towers and turrets and battlements of the roof, attack again. It’s almost comforting in its familiarity, this dance of theirs. Steve knows all of Eddie’s little quirks, the subtle twitches of his face that indicate his attacks before they actually come. They’ve done this so often, he can read him like an open book.

The problem is, Eddie knows him just as intimately. Steve screams with rage, forces his aching limbs to go faster, harder, but it’s no use. Every blow that he tries to land, Eddie blocks, every twist and turn he makes, Eddie’s already there, always with that infuriating, dimpled grin, that amused little quirk of his brow.

Until Steve’s foot lands on a wet patch of moss and he slips.

It all goes so fast he has no time to be terrified - just feels the horrible sense of vertigo as the world tilts and the cobbled street jumps at him. Then, before he can so much as scream, there's arms wrapping around him and he's being hauled backwards, back pressed flush against another body. His blade goes clattering into the shadows.

“Whoops,” Eddie chuckles into his ear. Steve can feel his chest rising and falling with exertion, can feel his hot breath clouding against the shell of his ear. “Thought I told you not to fall for me.”

“Shut up,” he snaps, tries to struggle free, but Eddie has one arm around his chest, the other flush against the hollow of his throat, and he can't go anywhere. “Don’t give yourself too much credit.”

“Oh, do I?" Eddie’s lips twitch into a smirk against the nape of his neck. “Then why were you holding back?”

“Fuck you!” he grits out, but all it earns him is a low tut. “Now release me.”

“What, without a reward?” Eddie’s voice tingles down his spine, sweet and potent like poisoned mead. “You know how I am about pretty things. And you wouldn't wanna deny the victor his spoils, would you?”

“Asshole!” Humiliation coils hot and heavy in Steve’s abdomen. “Stop joking and-”

Eddie snarls against his ear. “I've told you a million times, honey. I'm not joking.”

Steve’s world spins again, breath punched clean from his lungs as he is flipped around and slammed against the nearest wall. Eddie doesn’t leave him any time to recover, just surges in with a hungry growl and crashes their lips together. When Steve tries to struggle, he bites down on his bottom lip, uses the pained gasp it earns him to lick into his mouth.

Someone moans, but it takes Eddie running his tongue over the roof of his mouth and pushing a leg between his thighs before the sound tumbles out again and Steve recognizes his own voice. They only break apart when they run out of air, both flushed and struggling for breath.

And that is when the door to the roof slams open and Lord Carver and his men push through.

“He went this way! Seize him!”

Eddie lets out an annoyed huff and leans in for one last peck against Steve’s lips.

“Sorry, darling. Gotta go, y'know how it is. See you next time.”

He steps out of his space and the night air hits Steve like a bucket of ice water. Eddie winks at him and steps over the edge of the roof.

By the time Carver and his guards arrive, the night has long swallowed him.

Part 2

All my holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie holiday drabbles #steddieholidaydrabbles #hype's holiday drabbles #phantom thief au

320 notes · View notes

futureman · 11 months

Text

You take my self control

summary: your first act of brutality leaves you reeling, but you’d do it all over again if it meant saving joel’s life. in the aftermath, you realize you’ve started to crave that violence and it terrifies you. joel steps in to satisfy your craving.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, extremely graphic depictions of violence, dark themes, blood and injuries, dead clicker, angst, comfort, ptsd, reader struggles, undefined age gap, established relationship, language, smut, piv, rough sex, oral (female receiving), fingering, minor dom!joel, guided handjob, pet names

word count: 3.4k

a/n: whew, this one is a doozy. the original plan was to write something fluffy, but then i wrote this instead 🥲 based on moments from kill bill vol. 1 and sin city, and the title is from the song self control by laura branigan! please lmk if i missed anything in the warnings and i’ll add it asap. it’s a lot darker than my last fic, but i’ve always wanted to write this story, so i hope you enjoy! as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated 💕

You can’t see. You can’t hear anything at all. Numbness permeates your limbs, and your thoughts are a mishmash of gnashing teeth and nails, sharp and jagged like claws, and so, so much red.

There’s something warm and sticky on your face and hands. It’s up your nose, trickling into your open mouth, and it tastes like salt and iron. Blood…it must be blood. You hope it’s your own but, in the dark recesses of your mind, you know it’s someone else’s. It tastes all wrong, like the fact that you’re tasting it all means you’re alive and you really shouldn’t be.

He’s yelling, or at least you think it’s him. Sound returns to your ears all at once and it’s fucking loud.

Joel, stop, it hurts.

Everything hurts so much now, and you feel it everywhere—scratches down your arms and legs, your heart slamming an angry beat against your temples.

Fuck, you’re probably bit. Joel sounds frantic and terrified, but you don’t know why. There are massive gaps in your memory and you can’t remember how you got here, knees heavy on the ground, your thighs bracketing the sides of a dead clicker.

A woman—you think it used to be a woman. It’s hard to tell after the carnage. The fragments of bone and wet chunks of flesh and fungus where her head should be tell a different story now. You desperately wish your sight hadn’t returned at all, but it’s too late and you can’t unsee it. You can’t unsee her.

The muscles in your arms and hands burn something vicious, and when they give out, something hard clangs to the ground. A metal pipe.

Joel calls out to you again, and he sounds closer this time.

“...go…have to go now…can’t…here…”

Strong hands tug on your arm and pull you to your feet, and suddenly you’re running. Joel is all but dragging you out of what looks like the living room of a modern, suburban home, and you do your best not to trip on tipped-over furniture.

You look back over your shoulder and the body is still lying there, lifeless. You’re not sure why you thought it would be chasing you, hungry mouth snapping at your throat; it’s dead. Because you killed it.

You’re exhausted and your legs are sore, but when you start to slow down, Joel’s hand tightens around yours and tugs harder.

“We have to go, baby, we can’t stay here.” Ah, that’s what he was saying before. “I know it hurts, but you gotta keep goin’. Just a little longer, you gotta keep it up for a little bit longer.” He should be out of breath by now, but he’s running on fear and adrenaline, and you let it fuel you, too.

When you make it outside, the sky is a clear, cloudless blue above you and the sun is brighter than you’ve ever seen it. It makes your skin itch, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of the dirt and dried blood matting your hair and caked under your fingernails.

Instinctively, your hand rises to shield your eyes. It’s effective enough that you’re able to take in your surroundings as they fly by and, while they’re familiar, you still can’t remember what you were doing here in the first place.

“Joel, I’m…I-I’m—I can’t. I can’t run anymore, p-please—,” you whimper, chest heaving with exertion. House, driveway, lawn—they repeat over and over and over again. They’re starting to blur together, and your tunneling vision worsens until darkness consumes you. “...Joel…”

And then everything goes black.

You’re…surrounded. By something that feels soft and warm and solid against your aching skin, and it moves steadily against you, rising and falling. Your head tilts to the side and it’s Joel breathing into you, his head at home in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped loosely around you.

You nuzzle your nose into his graying hair, pressing a kiss there, and a sharp intake of breath follows as he blinks awake blearily.

“Hey, baby,” you murmur. He hums something deep and unintelligible in response, tilting his head back to mouth wetly at the base of your throat.

You let out a sigh of relief. If Joel’s in bed with you like this, it means you’re not infected. Hurt and in pain, yes, but you’re both alive and that’s all that matters. You saved his life out there and you’d do it all over again, even at the cost of your own.

Your memories are returning quickly now, like waves violently crashing to shore after a storm, and the images are gruesome. What you did to protect Joel was barbaric, but you acted on impulse, out of rage and desperation.

The clicker came out of nowhere. You were searching an abandoned house for supplies when it lunged out of a closet, tackling Joel to the ground. The metal pipe in his hand clattered to the ground at your feet and you picked it up as quickly as it fell.

Then, something inside you snapped and you reacted. It was dead after the second or third blow to the head, but you kept going anyway, angry at it for almost stealing Joel away and destabilized by the fear of losing him.

Blood sprayed from every artery you severed and after each new crack in its skull, and it showered down like rain, thick and warm against your skin. It made you feel powerful, like you were in control for the first time in your life. You enjoyed it.

Only when you realized the pipe was connecting with wet, dented pieces of floorboard instead of flesh did you finally stop.

You remember everything now.

“I’m not sorry,” you tell him, staring vacantly at the popcorn ceiling of your bedroom. He sighs, and you think he’s about to start lecturing you. You don’t want to hear it. You barely want to talk about it at all. “You could’ve died, Joel. If you think for one second I’d ever let that happen, you’re out of your mind.”

He squeezes you a little tighter, mindful of your injuries, but doesn’t respond. Silence blankets you for a moment, and then it breaks once he realizes you’re trembling and your eyes and cheeks are wet with tears.

You’re not sure when you started crying, but you can’t seem to stop, and the frustration in his eyes lessens with each soft hiccup that escapes your lips.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, thumbing away the tears as they fall. He leaves his hand there, gently cupping your cheek, and you lean into his touch. You can feel the fight leaving his body; it’s just not worth it anymore, not after everything you’ve been through. Sighing, he drops his head to rest on your collarbone. “There’s nothin’ to be sorry for. I shoulda been payin’ more attention, been more cautious. Then, you wouldn’t have had to…you wouldn’t be—” He’s fumbling his words. Joel’s never been good at conversations like these, but he’s trying. “...I’m tryna say it’s not your fault. You did what you had to.”

It’s not his fault, either. In the aftermath of everything, no one’s to blame, but it doesn’t help how much it still hurts. How broken you feel.

“Joel, I—,” the tears flow freely and you struggle to suppress a sob. “I’m a monster. You saw what I did…I just—I couldn’t stop. I know she wasn’t a person anymore, I know that, but…b-but I think I liked it. What does that say about me; what does that make me?” You’re spiraling now. He shifts up the bed to hold you properly and rocks you against his chest for a while, like he’s soothing a child.

“It makes you human,” he murmurs into your hair, running his hands up and down your sides. Your eyes flutter closed as you focus on the feeling of his warm, calloused fingers on your skin.

“I’m scared, Joel,” you whisper. “Whatever that was, it feels like it’s a part of me now—like…I’ll be fighting it forever.” His eyes darken, even as he kisses the side of your head gently once, then twice. “I close my eyes and she’s there. I can hear her, feel her. I…I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

That fucking neighborhood. Why the fuck were you even in that neighborhood? There wasn’t even anything useful in any of those houses. You try to tell yourself that all of it could’ve been avoided, if you had just decided to head straight back to Jackson, but it’s a fantasy. In this world, it was inevitable.

Joel still hasn’t answered you. Instead, he presses his lips to your throat again, this time with teeth, and sucks hard where your neck meets your shoulder. You should be wondering why he’s not responding when you’re so clearly distraught, but the only thing you can think about is the delicious pain blooming under your skin. When he finally speaks, it’s a low hum against the fresh bruise.

“I never wanted this for ya,” he nips at you sharply, his beard dragging roughly against your sensitive skin, and you gasp, burying your fingers in his hair and tugging. He groans, hips stuttering into your thigh, and the need to feel him bare and heavy on top of you is overwhelming. “I tried to protect ya—wanted to save you from this. All of it. But I failed ya.” There’s anger in his voice now, and it feels violent. He’s aggressive in the way he touches you, and though you know he’d never purposely hurt you, you think you want him to. “This world takes and takes and takes, and we’re forced to adapt,” he all but growls. “You’re no more a monster than anyone else.”

Rationally, you know it’s true. The bloodlust you feel—you’ve seen it before, in the eyes of raiders you’ve come across on the outside and in the hungry gaze of infected, all of them desperate to tear into you, to take what they want. Looking into Joel’s eyes now, you see it there, too.

The room feels hotter, somehow, like his body heat suddenly spiked, and it draws you in like a moth to a flame. You press your hand into the soft skin of his stomach and it burns like molten lava, begging you to play with fire.

He snatches your hand from where it’s splayed beneath his shirt and drags it under the waistband of his sweatpants to cup his hardening cock, and you suck in a harsh breath through your teeth. Fuuuuuck. You’re not in charge here, you realize, not now.

“Tonight, I want you to give in to me, alright? You let me take control. ‘m gonna fix it,” he grits out. “Gonna fix everythin’, just need you to trust me,” and you do. You’ll let yourself go, because even though that dark, horrible part of you doesn’t want to submit to him, your body clearly does. It’s a power struggle you hope you lose.

His hand doesn’t leave yours once it’s wrapped around him and, instead, leads your fingers to grip him tightly as he sets a strong, steady pace. You give him a rough squeeze, and he throbs, leaking a bead of precum onto your fingers that you thumb over his head, digging your nail into the slit.

Joel chokes out a moan, hand releasing yours to bury itself in your hair, and begins to fuck your fist in earnest, each thrust punctuated with a sharp exhale. It’s like gripping steel, hard and smooth and searing.

Or a metal pipe. Fucking hell, he feels so much like that fucking metal pipe and you clench down around nothing, your cunt soaked and devastatingly empty. More precum leaks from the tip, and he’s so wet now, your palm sliding easily up his cock and back down to squeeze the base.

It makes you see red—viscous, red blood coating your fingers, and you release him, pulling your hand away to suck it off each one. It’s not real. Of course, it’s not real. The creamy liquid on your fingers tastes like Joel, bitter and heady, but still, you can’t get the thought of his blood in your mouth out of your head now.

God, that’s so fucked up. You must look half crazed right now, pupils blown wide as you look up at him through your lashes, each glistening finger pulling from your mouth with a pop. But he looks angry at what he sees in your eyes, and suddenly both of his hands are on your hips and he’s slamming you onto your back, pressing you into the mattress with his entire weight. You’re not following his rules.

“Baby…baby,” he moans, finally brushing his lips against yours, soft and wet, and licking a line across the roof of your mouth as he grinds into your aching pussy. “Stop fightin’ me. Just…focus on me, right here. Lemme make you feel good.” You whine pathetically into his mouth as he runs his hands up your sides, fingers catching on your shirt and dragging up until his thumbs brush the underside of your tits.

Lifting your shirt up just enough to expose your pebbling nipples, he leans back on his heels and looks down at you hungrily, like he wants to devour you whole. And fuck, you need him to. But you also want to take and take and take, itching for the fight.

His head lolls to the side as he takes you in. “Fuck, baby…,” he mumbles, as he drops a hand to palm himself. “You’re so goddamn beautiful like this. So good for me, my—” He pauses to squeeze his cock, and groans out, “...my brave, strong girl.”

There’s a massive wet patch on the front of his sweatpants from where you soaked him through your underwear, and his eyes roll back when he feels it, warm and sticky against his fingertips. Your mouth waters and you’re starting to feel a little desperate now that he’s stopped touching you. You don’t even notice the whine that escapes your lips as he continues to jerk himself off through the fabric.

“What, brave girl?” he coos, biting back a growl at the warring emotions on your pretty features. He reaches forward to thumb a nipple, his touch rough and calloused. “I promised I’d make ya feel good, didn’t I?” He tweaks it and you keen, hips canting upward in search of friction. “Feels that good, huh?” he rasps, smug at how your body responds to him.

A strong hand forces your hips back onto the bed, trapping you against the mattress, and you feel a sudden, intense urge to slap him. Heat blooms in your lower belly and you feel yourself gush at the thought. “Joel…fuck, just fucking touch me. Please.”

The sides of his mouth quirk down and he nods, like he’s thinking it over. Asshole. You know you’re still breaking his rules but, by now, you’re too horny to care. You don’t think sex with Joel has ever been like this, nor do you think you’ve ever been this turned on in your life. Christ, if he doesn’t fuck you soon—

You lurch forward to tug at his pants in a moment of weakness, but he’s quicker than you and snatches your wrists, pinning them above your head. The scratches on your arms are still raw and angry, and the skin pulls painfully as he tightens his hold. It’s another reminder of earlier today, and you muster up all of the strength in your body to rip your arms out of his grip, but he shoves you down by your shoulders.

“If you keep that up, I’m not gonna give you this,” he warns you, flipping the waistband of his pants down just enough to free his cock, thick and leaking all over itself. Your thighs squeeze together at the sight of it, and you abruptly feel remorseful, ready to beg for it if you have to.

Fuck, he’s powerful. And fuck, his tactic is working. The power struggle you hoped you’d lose—you’re pretty sure you just lost. You can tell the moment Joel recognizes acceptance on your face and, immediately, you’re being yanked onto your hands and knees, ass in the air and face smushed on one side against the mattress. He’s rewarding you.

It’s like his hands are laser-focused and, yet, still everywhere all at once.

“Brave girl,” he murmurs, mouthing a wet trail down your spine. “That’s my girl—g-good, good girl.” He’s already starting to stutter, his voice breathless and shaky. Joel gets mouthy when he’s pussy-drunk, like he just can’t help but verbalize every filthy, incoherent thought when he’s inside you.

You clench in anticipation as he grinds his painfully hard cock into your ass, precum soaking into your underwear and mixing with your own slick. He slides the offending fabric halfway down your thighs and then stops, and you can feel his breath, hot and humid, against your cunt as he spreads your legs for better access.

He wastes no time licking a wide stripe up your sopping core before swirling his tongue against your clit and sucking hard. It punches a moan out of your chest and your mind goes blank as you grind back into his mouth. The sound of skin slapping roughly against skin reaches your ears and you realize he’s jerking himself off as he devours you, groaning raggedly as he fucks into you with his tongue.

What the fuck, you’re so fucking close already. Frantic, you reach out to Joel behind you, managing to tug a fistful of his hair. “J-Joel…ngh, fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” you whine pathetically, drooling onto the sheets. “I can’t…I— please, ‘m so empty. Don’t make me c-cum empty, Joel.”

It happens so fast. Your entire body is thrown forward with the weight of him, as he sheathes himself in your heat to the hilt in one violently powerful thrust, and oh, oh fuck, you’ll never get used to how big Joel is. The stretch is almost painful and you bear down on him, not expecting the sudden intrusion.

“Baby…girl. Squeezin’ me so tight, so f-fucking tight,” he moans helplessly, already starting to babble as he fucks into you. “Fuck, your pussy gets s-so tight when you’re…,” he reaches around to rub circles into your clit and you start to pulse around him, “about—ngh, to cum.”

With his other hand, he grips the back of your neck, squeezing just enough to remind you who’s in control; of your pleasure, of your safety. The new angle drives his cock directly into that soft, spongy spot inside you that has your jaw dropping, staccatoed moans punched out of your lungs with each thrust.

“‘m gonna cum. Fuuck, fuck, ‘m cumming…Joel, ‘m—,” your pussy convulses hard, and you soak his cock as you cum with a hoarse shout. Joel growls over your shoulder, slamming into you over and over, your pussy squelching loud and wet.

Your arms and legs give out, and Joel grips your hips with both hands, hovering above your ass as he fucks into you, thrusts harder and more frantic. He’s so close, the telltale signs obvious to you, now.

He barely has time to choke out a panicked, “where?” and hear you moan, “on my face,” before he’s thrusting once, twice, and pulling out, rolling you over and bracketing your head with his thighs. You rub your hands up and down them as he jerks himself off above you. For a moment, he gazes down at you in wonder, like maybe you’re a beautiful figment of his imagination, and then he’s cumming hard.

Joel sounds wrecked, his groan long and drawn out, as his cock spurts thick ropes across your lips and tongue, dribbling down your chin and onto your chest. Shifting down your body, he kisses you deeply, licking into your mouth and tasting himself on your tongue. He pulls away, cradling your face in his hands.

“I told you I’d fix it.”

And he did. He put your broken pieces back together and overwrote your bad memories.

Now, all you see, all you can hear is Joel. Your thoughts are a mishmash of searing hot skin, his lips, soft and wet against yours, and mind-numbing pleasure.

Your skin is still warm and sticky with his release, and it tastes so undeniably like him. Woody and salty, and right.

It’s quiet, now—peaceful—and everything doesn’t hurt so much anymore.

Strong arms pull you close and you sigh, tired and relieved, into his embrace. Joel holds you tighter as you drift off to sleep, murmuring something you don’t quite catch against your cheek, and you feel safe.

From the monsters beyond the walls and the one in the mirror.

thanks for reading! 💕

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller

804 notes · View notes