#a gentle soul to hold the lamp

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍

pairing: lighthouse keeper!joel miller x mermaid!reader

genre: mermaid AU, explicit, fluff, comfort, romance, minors dni

word count: 8.5k

summary: As the man responsible for operating the lighthouse, Joel lives a solitary life on the isolated coast. He has no complaints, enjoying the hauntingly beautiful songs that echo from the sea at night. One stormy night, he rescues a mysterious mermaid tangled in a fishing net. As you recover in the lighthouse, the two form an unlikely bond and find comfort in each other's company.

warnings: mention of joel from time to time visiting a brothel, loneliness, mermaid anatomy things, oral (fem receiving), piv, touch starved!joel and reader, mild breeding kink, squirting

a/n: full disclaimer I made up the mermaid lore, facts and anatomy, the only mermaid romance book I read was goddess of the sea by P.C. Cast and I read that all the way back in high school so I remember very little of it (I think I remember some of the steamy stuff but honestly it's all very vague so if there are any similarities that's why) 🧜‍♀️🌊

**stunning gif made by fanna aka @pedrorascal 💙

When in darkness look for the light. 

Joel heard this at different points in his life. His father, bless his soul, adamant about reminding him that there was always good to be found, even when it didn’t seem like it. When his father passed, Joel thought of the words endlessly. The more he thought about them, the more it made less and less sense to him. What was one supposed to do when the light that was sought didn’t exist? It would’ve made more sense to him if the message was about creating your own light, not depending on another. He would make sure to remember that if he ever had kids. 

The lantern in his hand groaned upon placing it on the nearby windowsill. It was a small window, the glass coated in thick dust. He smelled the sea. The salt of it burned his nostrils, the taste lingered on his tongue.

With a practiced hand, Joel reached for the oil lamp, its polished brass surface gleamed in the fading light. He carefully opened the reservoir cap and began pouring the clear, fragrant oil. The room filled with a faint scent. He listened to the waves as he lit the lantern, creating the sole light that guided him up the lighthouse. Joel imagined the violent waters hitting the bedrock. With time, they would all turn into sand. He looked up. The stairs were endless, going round and round. He spotted seaweed and mold in the same places, observed the humidity that darkened the underside of the stairs that barely hung onto the walls.

The small flame on the wick grew, casting an amber light that illuminated the inside. Joel's eyes focused on the growing flame, his gaze steady as he watched the light take hold.

“I’m home,” he said freely, his voice echoing. On the contrary belief, Joel actually had a regular home. He had a stove, a fridge, a bed. But this... this always felt like his true home. The smells, the sounds, the atmosphere, all of it was familiar, hugging him tight as soon as he stepped inside.

He climbed the stairs, his knees starting to ache when he was halfway to the light room. He didn’t stop, only slowed his steps. The air was fresher at the top. More breathable compared to where he was not moments ago.

He reached the top of the staircase, his breaths coming in steady rhythm as he pushed through the burn in his knees. The narrow corridor opened up into the lantern room, and he stepped into the circular chamber.

Joel reached for the mechanism that controlled the rotation. He gave it a gentle turn, feeling the gears engage beneath his touch. The light began to move, its beam sweeping across the darkening sea. The room filled with the rhythmic cadence of the light's rotation. 

But that wasn’t the only thing that reached his ears. 

A melody that flowed like the ebb and flow of the tides called out to him, guiding him to the clear, towering windows of the lighthouse. Every night he heard it, yet never managed to see the person—or thing—responsible for it. For years it had accompanied him. Another friend that the sea had gifted him to fight the loneliness he felt from time to time. His nose nearly brushed the glass, a chill settling in his bones. Sometimes he thought he heard lyrics as painful as the song itself. 

Joel’s brows furrowed when he noticed the thick fog settling above the water. No matter the light he put out into the world, it would be a hard night for captains and crew. 

The cadence still heavy in his ear, Joel stepped away from the panes. He picked up his log book and took a seat. He grimaced when the chair groaned under his weight. Joel had placed his desk so he would still have a view of the sea. The brine-laden air filled his lungs as he ruffled through the pages. 

Picking up his pen, Joel began to write. 

Lighthouse Keeper's Log: Joel M.  Date: October 22, 18XX Weather: Heavy fog blanketing the coastline, strong easterly wind, temperature 58°F. Lighting Operations:  Lit the lamp at 18:30 hours. Due to thick fog, visibility greatly reduced; light rotation pattern altered to emit one long white flash every 20 seconds. Despite challenging conditions, light remains steadfast in its duty. Vessel Sightings: Limited visibility makes it impossible to spot distant vessels. Unusually rough seas observed, even in the absence of a clear storm. Large waves breaking against the shore; powerful surges felt within the lighthouse. Remaining emergency supplies: Blankets, dry rations, and signal flares. Remarks and Notes: The fog is a thick shroud, obscuring the sea beyond the immediate coastline. The normally serene cove now a theater of restless energy, waves crashing against the rocks with an almost primal force. An eerie beauty to the fog and the untamed sea—a reminder of nature's might and mystery. Life at the Lighthouse: Dinner of canned beans and bread awaits. Appetite normal. 

Joel chewed the inside of his cheek. He tapped his pen against the worn paper before resuming taking his notes. 

Heard the song again. It always sounds like it’s in longing for something more. I’m starting to think I’m making it up from my own loneliness. But I can’t really complain much I picked this life. 

He let out a groan. There was some comfort in knowing no one would read these but he didn’t want to sound like a crazy person if someone did end up stumbling across the notes. 

Joel leaned back in his chair, extending his legs. His muscles hummed happily at the stretch. He still had to check and make sure what supplies he had left to put in the log, he also needed to make sure no additional repairs were needed. He dragged a heavy palm down his face. Why the hell didn’t he check when he entered the base? Now he had to go down all those stairs again. He loved the lighthouse but hell, he could do with less workout. 

With a sigh, he got up and left the room. He descended the narrow spiral staircase that wound its way down into the base of the lighthouse. He carried a lantern to light his way, its feeble glow dancing against the walls. The sound of the crashing waves outside gradually faded into a distant rumble. His unease grew as the melody disappeared completely. 

Joel knew the lighthouse like he did the back of his hand. But that didn’t mean the structure even spooked him from time to time. It wasn’t easy being alone in the dark, watching the endless horizon just wondering about life. Hearing the aria subdued those thoughts— the thoughts that made a convincing point that he’s lived an empty life.  

Reaching the bottom, Joel stepped into the dimly lit chamber that housed the mechanical workings of the lighthouse. Gears and mechanisms stood in silent vigil, their intricate interplay hidden beneath layers of metal and shadow. The steady tick-tock of the clockwork echoed softly in the confined space.

Setting the lantern on a nearby table, Joel approached the massive gear assembly responsible for the light's rotation. He ran his fingers along the metal surfaces, feeling the vibrations as the gears turned in precise harmony. His trained touch could detect even the slightest irregularity.

A toolbox lay open on the table, its contents glinting in the lantern light. Joel selected a wrench and began to carefully tighten bolts and adjust connections. He moved with the grace of a musician tuning an instrument.

As he worked, his thoughts shifted to his guitar at home. He wanted to play again. Perhaps accompany the song he heard every night. His fingers weren’t as they used to be. It took time to remember how to move them over the strings, the cords, it frustrated him, making it easier to give up as soon as he touched the instrument. 

The lantern's glow flickered as Joel adjusted the final cog, ensuring that the gears meshed flawlessly. Satisfied with his work, he stood back and observed the assembly for a moment, watching as the clockwork continued its patient dance.

Then. . . a sound. 

An unfamiliar sound. It was followed by a frustrated shout and some wild splashing. Joel stood still, his spine stiff as they came. He thought the sea was playing tricks on him, which was why he remained there. Listening. The sound repeated itself, some colorful curses flying out of the mouth of whoever lingered outside of the lighthouse’s walls. 

Joel promptly headed for the door. Whoever it was, it sounded like they needed help. His mind raced. It could’ve been a multitude of things; a shipwreck that led hald conscience crew to the shores, a kid playing past their curfew, a—

. . . a woman entangled in a net.

What?  

He stilled, eyes wide with shock. All air was expelled from his lungs, mouth incredibly dry despite the chill that quickly settled in his bones. He blinked over and over, his mind trying to comprehend the sight before him. Waves crashed around her, framing her while she fought against the stubborn net. It’d been a while since Joel was in close proximity to a woman. He wasn’t a hermit, but most of the time he kept to himself, and when he needed a release provided from something other than his hand. . . he earned enough a month to spend on certain services. 

She was beautiful. Her back bare and her front hidden, looking like a starfish washed a shore. She struggled again and with a snarl, she flipped over. 

Joel’s cheeks warmed, the night chill that settled in his bones quickly dissipated thanks to the sight before him. As if to accommodate the moment, a particularly large wave washed over her, drops of salty water wetting the cuffs of his pants. She only wore a bra—at least that was what Joel assumed it was. It was the same color of a brewing storm, silver that gradually softened as it disappeared into her skin. Stunning. 

He swallowed. Temptation fogged his mind, his cock becoming stiff under the thick fabric. He was only a man after all. Joel knew little that could resist someone like her, she was hypnotic. With another swallow, his gaze moved lower. He wondered if the rest of her was just as revealing. 

But the rest of her was hidden by the vastness of the sea. 

For the better, he thought, cock straining against the zipper. He wouldn’t have touched her, of course, but it would’ve made it harder to think. 

And to help her. 

Joel's gaze finally met her face, which was equally as beautiful as the rest of her, despite being the target of her unwavering glare.

“Ahoy,” he said, voice thick. His greeting did little in wiping away her untrusting stare. “Uh. . .seems like you’ve gotten yourself in a. . . bind.” 

“Funny,” she answered, her voice the complete opposite of the statement. Wrestling against the net, a hiss escaped her lips the moment she tried. “Are you going to help or just make puns, human?” 

Human? 

Joel raised an eyebrow, being caught in a net would be annoying for sure but it shouldn’t be hurting her. He tilted his head and came closer. She regarded him like a wild animal, her need to flee evident in her eyes. He sighed. “Don’t give me the coyote look, I’m not a canine.” 

“I’ll look at you however I want to.” 

She moved and when the net brushed against her skin, she winced in pain. Pulling her arms close to her chest, she made an effort to keep from touching it. This time the pain was evident over the contours of her face, prompting worry to cross over his. 

“Stop movin’,” he ignored her sharp tongue and knelt next to her. “Is that a barbed net? Shit. We need to cut you out.” 

Another wave. A scream. 

Panic flared under his skin, without telling her to wait, he jolted inside of the lighthouse. He rummaged through his toolbox and when he came back, Joel noticed the trickle of blood going down her cheek. “Don’t worry,” he said quickly, his body collapsed onto his throbbing knees. “I’ll get you out.” 

Her stare grew gentle as he meticulously severed the ropes. Joel's attention was drawn to the cuts and bruises that marred her. He didn’t even know her name but he knew that he hated seeing her like that. So hurt and vulnerable. Another wave washed over them. Joel snarled at the sea, his annoyance growing at the wickedness of his greatest love. 

“The name’s Joel,” he grunted and moved down her body, freeing her inch by inch. Her spine turned as rigid as a plank. “Am I hurtin’ you?” he asked, stopping momentarily. He looked up but she wasn’t facing him. 

“I-It’s not that,” she said. All of her bite from before had dissolved like foams upon the sea. “My. . .lower half got caught up badly when I tried to break free. It—It might be too gruesome to see, so just give me the cutters and  you can go.” 

Joel scoffed. As if he would let her do this by herself. “If you’re hurt that bad all the more reason to stay and help you, honey. Just stay still.” 

“But—” 

“Stay still,” he ordered. Joel spread his finger across her lower back. He was surprised to find her skin so cold. He needed to free her and wrap a blanket around her ASAP. 

One by one, he cut through the net, more of her exposed to him. It almost felt like he shouldn’t be seeing such a sight. It didn’t matter though, he’d help her no matter what— he’d decided on that the first moment he laid his eyes on her. His hand moved downward, pinning her to the spot, maintaining her still. She let out a gasp, one laced with fear. Joel didn’t understand why. 

He shook his head and pressed on. 

Only when he lowered his gaze back down did he feel it. The smooth, leathery texture of her skin. It was slippery, soft. . . scaled. It took his eyes a moment to process. Subtle around her waist, the color became more pronounced as it extended downward. Scales. Beautiful scales that shined under the moonlight. It was the same color as her bra, gray that cheated its way to a light shade of blue. Joel swore he saw some gold scattered in there as well. 

He stopped moving—hell, he stopped breathing. 

“You noticed,” she said simply. Joel’s head snapped towards the voice, the tips of his ears red. 

“What—” he shook his head. “Are you a fuckin’ mermaid?” 

Silence. 

“. . . maybe.” 

“Don’t pull my leg, girl,” he warned. The words didn’t match his tone. Joel was simply in awe, his mind more of a mess. “I can see your damn scales as clear as day.” 

“Then why are you asking?” she snapped. “Could you please just help me out? It hurts.” 

“I was just curious,” Joel grunted, voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t say anything else and continued in silence. When she was free, he threw the net toward the lighthouse. He would discard it later. “Now what?” 

“Now,” she answered, the first smile gracing her lips. “I leave. Thank you.” 

Joel couldn’t deny the selfish throb of his heart. He had so many questions he wanted to ask. He wanted her to stay—wanted her to want to stay. With him. Why was that he didn’t know. A cold gust of wind blew while he watched. The mermaid turned to swim away, and as she did Joel didn’t miss the small tell tales of pain. 

He saw blood. It turned the sea into a nasty color. The words clawed up to his throat, he pushed them back as much as he could. 

Stay. 

He wanted to shout but couldn’t. It wasn’t his place. 

Luckily, fate was on his side tonight. 

She couldn’t move her tail, every movement like knives into her meaty flesh. The waves slowly brought her back to shore, like a gift. 

Her, however, didn’t share his enthusiasm. Tears built in her eyes, again, Joel could swear he saw golden specks in them. 

“I have a place,” he said. “A secret place you can stay until you heal. I have supplies.” when she didn’t seem convinced, he added. “Let me take care of you. Please.” 

A male. A human male. 

A man. 

The notion still escaped you, his hands one of a gentle giant’s as he carried you down the treacherous steps. He didn’t attempt to steal your gaze no matter how long you stared at him. And no matter the pain, you couldn’t stop. There was a roughness to his features, his appearance rugged with lines deepened by time drawn over his face. You observed the grays in his hair, in his beard. Witnessed the divot in the middle of his bottom lip, so full for a man seemingly unbothered by what you were. 

No matter how strong or wise, to see a creature that was believed to be none other than myth must’ve come as a shock. 

But you remained silent. 

So did he. 

You settled on observing your surroundings. Nestled beneath the weathered stone foundation of the lighthouse, smooth walls resided, etched over centuries by the relentless caress of the sea, glistened as if adorned by a myriad of precious gems. The low ceiling, curved and worn, hinted at the gentle erosion that had sculpted this intimate haven.

The passage meandered downward, its narrowness opening into a grand expanse that drew a gasp from your numb lips. The chamber widened into an awe-inspiring grotto. Stalactites and stalagmites formed natural columns that reached toward each other as if yearning for an embrace. The rhythmic lullaby of waves filtered through unseen crevices.

At the heart of the chamber, a crystalline pool shimmered in shades of sapphire and emerald. Slender rays of moonlight, filtered through a labyrinth of underwater tunnels. An intricately woven nest of dried seaweed laid upon the surface, the smell of it reminiscent of home. 

However, you weren’t one to lower your guard so easily. No matter how pretty the prison was. 

Still in his arms, you shoot him a look of untrust. The fingers that gingerly held you tensed, blunt nails slightly digging into your wounded flesh. “Don’t give me that look,” he grumbled, averting his gaze. “It’s connected to the sea, you can leave whenever you want. . . or escape, if you would prefer to put it that way,” he walked to where the sea connected to the earth. “It’s completely closed off to the outside. If someone wants to find this place they’ll have to go into the lighthouse first and well,” he turned sheepish, red coloring his cheeks. “No one does.” 

“That’s kinda sad,” you remarked. You didn’t ignore the twinge of sadness coiling your heart. “You don’t have a family?” 

“No,” he answered. You didn’t expect to hear the rasp of his voice, the same tone when you dragged your finger through the rough gravel of the shores. He still refused to meet your gaze. “So. . . you’ll be safe. You don’t need to worry.” 

Joel gently lowered you into the sea, his legs half-submerged in the water. As salt touched the wounds, an incoming hiss grated against your throat, and pain bloomed, spreading through your tail.

You discerned the sound of his pulse racing beneath the cloak of his human flesh and bone. When you turned to look, you found him both mesmerized and distressed. 

“Can I bring you medicine?” he frowned when your gaze turned into one of amusement. “What? Don’t mermaids need medicine?” 

“Not for something like this,” you grinned. You thread your fingers in the water, careful not to move your tail as much as you moved to lay face first on the shore. “The sea will heal me. It hurts, but the wounds aren’t big enough that it would require external help.” 

Defeated, he shook his head, “If you say so, sweetheart.” 

You watched as he balled his hands into fists and released them. He repeated the motion over and over until he prepared to leave. Your eyebrows raised. He wanted to take care of you, ached for the companionship the close proximity would force upon them. Surprisingly, you felt bad. You’ve seen this lighthouse a million times, never once you thought such a sad man would be on the other side of cold walls. You sucked a sharp breath and decided to throw him a bone. 

“I will need food,” you called out, stopping him in his tracks. His shoulders raised, you swore if he were a dog his ears would be standing with attention. You swiped a tongue over your bottom lip, a bit of life in them now that you were in the water, he had a strong back, wide shoulders that any creature would admire. 

“What d’you eat?” 

You smiled, “Anything really. I’m not picky.” 

He turned then, he seemed so large in front of the narrow path that would lead up to the lighthouse. “What about fish?” 

“Unlike what your fairytales might entail, we do eat fish,” you answered with a burst of laughter. 

You laughed again when the crease between his brows deepened. He wrinkled his nose, “Feels wrong.” 

Despite his words, he looked lightened by your laughter, something like adoration swimming in his eyes. 

You shrugged and shuffled further into the water. It signaled the end of the conversation, prompting Joel to disappear back into the depressing labyrinth of the lighthouse. With a sigh, you turned your back, staring at the ceiling. You wondered how long you’d have to stay here. You had wrinkled your nose at the medicine that was offered, yet you knew it wouldn’t be a speedy recovery.  

You sighed again, disappearing into the water. You watched as the last of your oxygen formed bubbles that head to the surface, your gills starting to expand. The image of the stalactites became distorted, the moonlight that touched the soft waves bouncing around in the water. 

You really shouldn’t be complaining. At least the human who found you seemed to be a good one unlike the many you’ve seen during the centuries you lived. 

The ache in your tail growing tender, you closed your eyes. 

Joel, despite his imposing ruggedness, was quite nurturing. As the day passed, you noticed that he began to regard you with a sense of purpose. He went back home during the days, only to come back with heaping amounts of food and water. 

He never did bring you fish though, which made you giggle whenever you thought of it. 

“You don’t drink water.” Joel had said it as a statement rather than a question. You nodded and pushed a plump grape between your lips. The salt from your skin coated the fruit, highlighting the flavor. 

“I don’t.” 

“Is there somethin’ else that you drink? I can try to find it for you,” he said thoughtfully. His eyes met yours, your grin making him short of breath. He looked away, something that he commonly did whenever he was frustrated. And you noticed how easy it was to rile him up whenever you stretched, the sheer scales that covered your breasts almost sheer. You thoroughly enjoyed his gaping mouth and lustful gaze. You wondered when was the last time this man was touched. 

"Drinking water, as you know it on land, is quite different for me beneath the waves," you explained with a playful glint in your eyes. "You see, our world is a delicate balance of salt and currents, and our bodies have adapted to it."

You gestured gracefully to the shimmering water around you, your tail swaying gently with the motion of the still water. "When I need water, I don't sip from a cup or a stream. Instead, I have a connection with the sea itself. Just as your body knows how to breathe without thinking, my tail and skin allow water to flow through."

"Imagine this," you continued. "In the embrace of the ocean, my body senses the ebb and flow of the tides, the salt and minerals suspended in every drop. When I need hydration, my skin and scales absorb the sea's essence, drawing it into my very being."

You leaned closer, lips an inch away from his, your voice a mesmerizing cadence. Joel’s breath hitched, his chest expanding with each word whispered. He licked his lips, your eyes dropping to observe the movement. You imagined that same tongue sinking into your mouth, licking the salt. A shudder crawled up your spine, your breasts feeling tender and heavy. "So, you see, I drink in a way that's in tune with the rhythm of the sea, a silent conversation with the waves themselves. It's a connection, a dance of existence that ties me to the world I call home."

“Do you miss it?” 

The question took you by surprise and you blinked rapidly, “What?” 

“Your home?” 

“I—” Such a perceptive man. It surprised you. “The sea is my home. I’m never apart from it,” you said, shaking your head. A soft smile touched your lips. 

“What about where you were born?” he pressed. “Your family? Friends?” 

“So many questions,” you hummed. And, with a burst of confidence, you touched his cheek. Him leaning into the touch was something you hadn’t expected. “I’m not to go back.” 

“You were banished?” 

“I left.” it looked like he was about to ask more. Before he could, you pressed your thumb against his lips, feeling his warmth, his whole body grew rigid but didn’t pull away. “Too many rules,” you explained. “Not a very fun place to live.” 

With a graceful flick of your tail, you returned to the water, leaving a glistening trail of droplets in your wake. You vanished beneath the surface, you waited a moment and look up. There he was, leaning further into the water. Trying to capture a glimpse of the mythical creature he was nursing to health—

Propelling yourself with a force gentle enough that wouldn’t re-open the wounds, you broke through the surface and wrapped your arms around his neck. He let out a yelp as you pulled him under, bubbles caressing your bodies, rushing to escape the sea. Joel’s eyes went wide, panic lingering in the depths. You met his gaze and smiled, his heartbeat was muffled yet loud under the water. In order to calm him, you placed an open palm right above that frantically beating heart, closing your eyes, you willed your emotions over him. Calmness. Serenity. 

You’re safe with me, Joel. The only one of your kind that can say that.

He heard you. You watched the panic melt away from his gaze, replacing it with shock. Normally, if he was a merman himself, he’d be able to answer. Something tugged at your heartstrings, your gaze falling to the depths of the water.   

You felt his hands cup your waist, instinctively pulling you closer to him. He was firm, warm against your chest. To be touched. . . you missed it. Like he did when you cupped his cheek, you nuzzled closer to him. Your breasts flushed over the planes of his body, your nipples tight as they grazed against the fabric of his shirt. 

Warmth. 

You chased it. Ached for it. He seemed to be the same. His fingers denting your flesh, his arousal hard over your stomach. You would’ve allowed him anything in that moment. For him to kiss you, hold you, fuck you— you’d grant him anything, like a genie in a bottle. 

But, nonetheless, he was human. And humans needed air no matter how strongly they fought against it. 

His eyes became apologetic, brows furrowing. He gestured up and you shook your head, prompting confusion to cross his face. 

Mermaids were known to take human lovers. They would usually transform once a month to head for the shores. No one wanted to share more of themselves than they had to. Their world was a secret to be kept, an unspoken rule they all knew since birth. Looking at him, you knew he was at his last drops of oxygen. His cheeks were puffed up, eyes questioning your motives. 

Evolution had granted your kind one more gift—the gift of life. 

Your hands slid up his chest, your fingers bunched the collar of his shirt, you tugged the fabric. The sound of the currents flooded your ears. You felt your gills expand. Joel was unaware, he brushed your lips together, eyes coming to a close. 

A kiss. A simple kiss. 

His lips parted alongside yours, his tongue curious. You met him halfway and slanted your mouth over his, closing the gap entirely. 

You breathed air into him. Filling his lungs with oxygen. Your gills quivered at how much was needed for him to make this moment last. His chest dilated and Joel finally opened his eyes. With a smile, you pulled back, dragging your lips down to his neck instead. Slightly embarrassed of what he might think of it.   

His fingers curled under your chin, pulling you back up so you’d face him. You laughed when Joel attempted to ask his questions with nothing other than his eyes. 

You didn’t answer this time, only shrugged. His lips broke into an exasperated smile and despite the lack of it, you felt the air around you crackling, arousal pouring between your legs and mixing with the sea.  

Joel pulled you towards his lips once more. Eager for another taste. 

She was sleeping. 

Joel’s steps were feather-light as he approached her, his guitar in hand. He’d foolishly mentioned how he was trying to remember and her eyes had gone wide with excitement, asking him to bring it over. But since she was sleeping, he decided not to bother her with it and gently placed the instrument aside. 

He asked about it once, how her kind slept, apparently, they would drift to sleep underwater most of the time. That’s where they felt safest. He didn’t pry on the matter but could hear a hint of hurt lingering under her words. 

So, when he first saw her sleeping, his heart had warmed at the sight. 

Right now was no different. His gut felt oddly warm, his heart swelling in his chest, everything feeling a bit too tight. 

They hadn’t talked about the kiss—or the touches for that matter. 

Again, he hadn’t pressed for answers. He wasn’t sure what good they would do anyway. They were a part of different worlds, different species, how would it work? 

Joel tilted his head to the side. 

Seriously how would it work? She didn’t have. . . well. . . a vagina. At least not one he could see. 

Did she lay eggs? 

Joel blanked at the thought. They drank like fish so who was to say that they didn’t procreate like them too? 

He violently shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about that, it was none of his goddamn business. With his mind feeling clearer, his eyes roamed over her sleeping figure. She was a silent sleeper. Her hands were tucked under her head, most of her tail submerged beneath the water, flowing freely with the soft ripples of water. All he wanted to do was to kneel beside her and stroke her hair, her body that seemed soft and supple. 

Joel managed to do half of what he wanted. He took a seat near her, the gravel crunching under his weight, her breathing more audible now that he was close. 

It’d been almost a month since he found her entangled within the nasty fisher’s net. He didn’t know how long it took mermaids to heal but he had a sneaking suspicion that she had. His mouth dried, a sudden uncomfort riling his stomach. He was afraid she was staying here for his sake. To spare his feelings. That notion just didn’t sit right with him. It was unfair to her, and, in some ways, it was unfair to him. He didn’t believe a creature like her would want to stay with an old man like him. He had nothing to offer. No land, no money, no nothing. 

Only the lighthouse. 

The kiss had been one of convenience, he told himself almost every night, stroking himself while replaying the moment over and over. He hadn’t visited the brothel since. None of them could compare to how she made him feel, and he doubt he’d go even after she left. 

“You’re thinking loud,” a murmur came from next to him. She stirred and flipped to her back, eyes finding his a second later. Joel could see her dreams still glimmering in her eyes, adding a shine. Her brows furrowed when his gaze lingered longer than it should have. “What?” 

“Nothin’,” he answered. “I brought the guitar.” 

“Really?” she was suddenly wide away, her upper hand lifting and tail splashing as she came to a sitting position. “Will you play for me?” 

Despite himself, he grinned, “That’s why I brought it, sweetheart.” 

He reached out and picked it up. When he returned, he caught her eyes on the exposed skin of his stomach, her lips parted. Briefly, her gaze found his. 

“I—um—” she looked away, bottom lip sucked between her teeth. “I know some songs so maybe I can join your playing.” 

Something flickered inside of him—a familiarity he couldn’t quite place. 

“That sounds lovely,” he balanced the guitar over his lap and strummed a couple of strings, their sound filling the cave. His gaze expectant as he looked back at her. “Go on now, don’t be shy.” 

She puffed her cheeks, huffing with annoyance, “That’s not fair, I said I would join you, not the other way around.” 

“You’re breakin’ my heart,” with a fixed gaze, his eyes grew soft and he smiled. “Please?” 

With a sigh she shifted closer, her tail swaying with an elegant fluidity. Her voice, when it finally graced the air, was hauntingly beautiful—a melody that seemed to bridge the gap between the human world and the mysteries of the sea. The lyrics spoke of lost homes and forgotten dreams, of endless depths and aching hearts. It was a song of longing and solitude, a mournful tale that seemed to capture the very essence of her existence.

As she sang, Joel's fingers moved deftly across the strings of his guitar, weaving his own notes into the fabric of her song. The cave's quiet embrace amplified the sound of his guitar, each note resonating against the walls. The music swirled around them, an unspoken conversation between two souls who had found an unexpected connection.

He watched her, the soft glow of the cave reflecting in her eyes as she sang. Her voice carried a weight that tugged at his heart, stirring emotions he had long kept buried. 

Without thinking, Joel's voice joined hers, his rough yet tender tones intertwining with her song. As their voices merged, the cave seemed to come alive, the walls reverberating with the bittersweet harmony of their duet.

In the midst of the music, a memory began to surface—the melody she sang felt achingly familiar. He strummed the guitar with increasing fervor, his fingers dancing across the strings as he tried to match the rhythm of her song.

And then it hit him—the realization that sent a shiver down his spine.

It was her. 

The sound that accompanied him every night. 

The sound that kept him sane. 

The sound that made him feel less alone. Less broken.

The sound of an old friend. 

It was her. It had always been her. 

Joel suddenly stopped, his eyes wide and lips agape as he just. . .stared at her. She was lost in her song, only noticing the loss of the soulful sound of the guitar moments later. Joel watched her blink with confusion, on edge, thanks to his gaze. “It’s you,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “You’re the song.” 

“I’m. . .what?” 

Wanting her to understand as soon as possible, Joel began humming the melody every part of him had grown accustomed to. He went on until her features shifted from confusion to recognition, a hand coming to cover her mouth. 

“You heard me?” she whispered. 

“I did,” he swallowed. “Every night.” 

Joel didn’t waste any more time. He held her gently by the neck, feeling her pulse as he crashed their lips together. He licked himself deep into her mouth and tasted the sea on her tongue. Her hands limply pawed his chest, bunching his shirt between delicate fingers. 

Her moans were even more beautiful than her song. 

He couldn’t get enough of it. His mouth devoured her, eating her alive with every fat swipe of his tongue. Her moans were swallowed by him. She was pliant, body trembling against his, desperate in the way she allowed herself to be consumed. Her breath stuttered as he cupped her breasts, the scale that covered them slowly sinking into her skin, leaving her bare to his tongue. 

Joel wanted no time in lowering himself, sucking the pebbled flesh between his lips. He swirled his tongue and nipped her with sharp teeth. She thread her fingers through his hair, pulled him closer. Joel looked at her between heavy lashes. Her breathing was frantic, her heart like a hummingbird’s in her chest. He pushed her tits together, dragged his tongue quickly from one swollen nipple to the other, she threw her head back with a wanton moan, the sound bouncing off of the walls. 

He felt the sting of her nails on his shoulders. Her trails thrashed against the calm waters and his one hand slid down to where the scales began. Joel never felt them properly before. He cupped the area where her ass would be if she were human, the pads of his finger digging into her flesh. She seemed to enjoy that. Her body shuddered, her scales growing wetter by the second. 

Joel parted from her chest with a pop, his lips were damp and a string of saliva followed him. “How does this work?” he asked, voice nothing but gravel. 

Still in a haze, she blinked. Confused. A smug smile tugged at his lips, pride, and cock swelling simultaneously. Finally, when she understood, she took his hand and led it down to her front. Joel didn’t look. He wanted to memorize her face instead, engraving every part of her into memory. As he was preoccupied, he felt it, an opening similar to a human woman’s. She still held her wrist while he explored. He traced the lips, the wetness between them. 

Her eyes rolled back when he brushed against the crown of her cunt, a throbbing pearl hidden. “Joel,” she breathed. “Again, please.” 

He nuzzled her neck and laid a kiss. “You’re not that different from your human counterpart it seems,” he murmured, goosebumps rising where his lips touched. “I want to eat this pretty cunt out, sweetheart. Let me taste you.” 

She nodded hazily, eyes clouded by lust. Joel splayed her over the shore, the bottom half of her tail still lazily moving under the water. He didn’t care about getting wet. Moving down, he straddled her and looked down. 

The breath got knocked out of him. 

Her hands were on each side of her head above the gravel, her chest raising up and down heavily as she looked up at him, gaze half-lidded. Joel’s gaze traveled lower. Just like he imagined, there was an opening a bit lower from where her tail started. The gaps between the scales had become almost non-existing, accommodating the perfect cunt that’d blossomed for him. It was wet. Glistening. He went down on his elbows, his mouth watering at the sight of it trembling. 

“So pretty,” he rasped. “Gonna fuckin’ devour you, honey.” 

He pressed his lips hungrily, tongue delving between her folds and tasting her from within. He didn’t separate as he moved his jaw. Her cunt fluttered and squeezed his tongue, begging him for more. Joel obliged, dragging his mouth up and down and purposefully bumping her clit with the curve of his nose. 

She was so darn wet. Soaked. He heard whimpers of his name but he was too far gone to grace the pleas with a response. Joel closed his lips around her clit and sucked, applying pressure with a pointed tongue. His fingers joined in on the fun, he pushed them in knuckle deep, scissoring them as he drew circles over the throbbing bundle of nerves. 

“That’s it,” he hummed, his breath warm against her core. “Fall apart for me, sweet temptress.” 

It was too much, too fast. 

His tongue was merciless, his words like a honeyed poison. Your mind was nothing but a haze. The world around you is left spinning. You didn’t remember the last time someone had you like this, so hungry and desperate. All you could do was beg for more. His fingers were thick and long inside of you, pressing harder and harder until he reached the spot that made you see stars. 

It didn’t take you long after that. His tongue flat over your clit, you felt your muscles begin to tighten, your scales practically vibrating in answer to the strokes of his mouth. 

His hand moved to the side of your face as he increased the pressure with his tongue, making you moan and thrust your hips against him. Your body was his to control and it responded eagerly to each touch, kiss, and lick. As his lips pressed harder and deeper, his mouth moving sloppily, your breathing began to quicken, your heart pounding in your ears amidst the sound of the waves lapping against your tail. 

He moaned into your pussy, your ears narrowed on the sound, forgetting all else. Feeling your slick becoming heavy on his tongue, he repeated the sound and your chest heaved, beasts tingling. You could feel your entire body tensing up, your fingers gripping his wet hair for leverage as you shuddered and exploded in his arms.  Your muscles tightened and quaked against him as his jaw and tongue continued their wicked work until finally, mercifully, you were released and slipped off the edge into the depths of rapturous bliss. A squirt of wetness soaked them both, filling his mouth and making a mess of his plump lips. 

Your world stilled and your eyes rolled back in your head as you lay there in his arms, savoring every second of nirvana that his tongue had so generously gifted to you. He didn’t stop until you were tugging at his hair. Joel did so with a soft growl, his gaze dark as he faced you, a wicked hunger still clouding his eyes. His hair still tight between your fingers, he parted his lips, and a string of saliva fell in a vicious drip from his tongue. You shuddered. Never breaking his gaze, he delved his fingers between the delicate folds and spread the mess he made. Debouched, was the only this you were able to think about. 

This man was every bit of hungry as you were. 

“Joel,” you whined upon feeling your arousal rapidly building between your legs once more. “I want to feel you.” you swallowed. “Want your cock.”  

“Say that again, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Convince me how bad you want it.” 

You weren't sure what to do, but you humored him anyway. Crunching up, you met him halfway in a wet kiss. “I want you to split me into two, Joel,” you whispered into his lips. “Want to feel the stretch of your cock. Want to feel that it’s real. I want you to fuck me so good that you’ll be spilling out of me as you take me again,” you dragged your lips down his throat. He was shaking. “Again,” a kiss. “And again. . .” 

“Fuck,” he moaned. “So filthy for such a pretty thing.” 

“Joel,” you whispered, ignoring him. You cupped his cock through his jeans and began to stroke him. His forehead fell to your shoulder, hips canting shallowly into your wanting palm. “Prove to me that humans can fuck just as well.” 

You’re not sure what it was—Jealousy? Pride? Whatever you said that got under his skin, you were glad. 

Joel pinned you to the gravel, his rough hands sliding from your shoulders to your waist. He stroked where the scales began, sending tremors and tingles up your body. He freed himself of his belt with one skilled hand and pulled out his cock. The tip glistened, precome still oozing from the tip. Your mouth watered. For a human, he was rather blessed. He eagerly stroked himself over you, his cock jutting from his fist. You warmed at the sight, slick wetting the inside of your thighs and adding to the mess. You couldn’t help it. There was just something so incredibly erotic about a man fucking his fist. It felt so primal. So instinctive about it.  

He pushed into you with a clipped groan, the movement almost punishing. Your insides clenched and all the air in your lungs seemed to desert you by the force of the thrust. Looking down at you, Joel smiled. The curl of his lips menacing and taunting. He pulled back agonizingly slow before he was rutting back into your spasming hole. You let out a sound between a hiss and a moan. His glee only seemed to heighten when you held on to his biceps, grounding yourself against the rock of his hips. 

“What’d you say, sweetheart?” he said, tone laced with venom. You were in a thick haze of lust, your mind finding trouble understanding his words. When you couldn’t answer, he slammed harder into the tight fist of your cunt. Your body drooled all over him and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. “Can humans fuck?” he said cruelly. 

Your mind was scattered. Especially when he sucked a nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh. His fingers began to move down your tail where the scales were most sensitive. Joel didn’t know this. As he skimmed a line back up with blunt nails, he was taken aback to feel you gripping him tight, slickness flowing from you like a broken fountain.

Your lungs burned. Your body nothing for of aflame. A strangled moan left him, the tightness of your cunt forcing him to slow. “Holy shit,” he moaned, jaw slack. “What the fuck—” His eyes went to meet yours only to find you hidden under your hands. An adorning smile grazed his face. “Hey, look at me,” he said and rolled his hips as an incentive. A short breath parted your lips. You lowered your hands, eyes tearing as you met his gaze. “Why so embarrassed darlin’? That was fuckin’ hot.” 

You didn’t answer. Not enjoying your silence, Joel again grazed your scales with his nails. He nearly came when you squeezed around him again, forcing the hitch of his breath. “You like when I do that?” he murmured. 

“Y-Yeah,” you answered. “They become sensitive during intercourse.” 

“Interestin’,” he hummed, looking down to where his cock was still buried deep. Keeping your hips pinned, he pulled out and grinded his cock over your tail instead. Your eyes grew wide from where it was glued. He made a delicious mess of the scales, slick and precome staining the vibrant blue and gray. Pleasure rippled across your tail and your brows furrowed, your expression melting in bliss. 

“I could stare at your face forever,” he muttered. “I don’t think I ever seen such a fucked out expression.” 

Heat gathered under your cheeks but honestly, you couldn’t really focus on it. Joel slipped back inside of you, despite how wet you were, you could still feel him stretching you wide. And with every wild thrust, he managed to get deeper and deeper. His cock pulsed, fingers now a constant pressure on your sensitive tail, “Gonna come,” he moaned, eyelids fluttering. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close until you felt the entirety of the man’s weight. 

You wanted to feel him dripping out of you and you made your message clear by holding him in place. He was vocal where his face was buried in your neck. Tongue and teeth abusing the skin. His movements were rapid, the sound of skin against skin echoed, cock pressing hard into your heat. He fucked you until he stole his third orgasm from you, it felt like a jolt of electricity, your slick coating his length and dripping down. It was so overwhelming that you bit where his neck met his shoulder. You ignored the fact that this marked him as yours, and that the mark of a mermaid would last for weeks. 

Joel didn’t mind the pain. In fact, it spurred him on. He whined into your skin, hammering until he spilled into you, filling you until it was spilling from where he was stretching you. The way you fluttered and clenched was too much for him, he fucked his come back into you, hearing it make those sloppy wet gushing noises against his hips. He drove his hips forward until there was nothing left of him. His moans bounced off of clenched teeth. 

And when your arms fell back to the gravel, limp with pleasure, he stopped. 

You sighed happily at the touch of his lips over your heated skin. He kissed a trail down to your breasts, kissing each one, his softening cock slipped out of you and he went lower. Kisses and licks on your stomach and lastly one placed on your trembling mound. 

Your hands hastily pulled him back up for a long, lazy kiss. It was full of emotion, each swipe of your tongue conveying something else. Gratitude, pleasure, love. 

“You’re healed aren’t you?” he murmured against your lips. 

“Yes.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Now what?” 

“Now,” you sigh. “I leave.” A humorless, bitter chuckle left your lips. “But I really don’t want to.” 

He answered almost immediately, “Then don’t.” 

Joel pulled back to look at you, his gaze warm like the sun dancing above waves. You let out a sigh. Just like the sun, the look was also blinding. “I can’t live in this cave forever.” 

His brows drew together with confusion and you worried that perhaps you accidentally said something else. He shook his head, “Who said anythin’ about livin’ in this cave?” Joel’s lips curled in amusement in answer to your shocked expression. “You were already livin’ close to the lighthouse, weren’t you? You can come and visit. And I can visit the shores more often, As long as you’re not on the other side of the sea, we can be together.” 

He looked at you expectantly, and when your silence grew, so did his doubts. “Right?” he asked. 

“Right,” you repeated. You giggled at his relieved expression and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “I don’t know why I just assumed I’d have to live here. Like some sort of weird prison.” 

“Hmmm,” Joel smiled dragging his nose down from your temple to your cheek. He pulled you close and you laid your head over the expanse of his chest. “I guess I just fucked you that good.” 

“Don’t get so full of yourself. I was just taken by surprise.” 

“Sure, honey,” he answered, smile widening into a grin. “Whatever you say so.” 

(i made this moodboard before fanna's stunning bday gift to me which is the gif above but I adore this mood board so I decided to put it here thank you for reading xx)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x mermaid!reader #mermaid!reader #mermaid au #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller x fem!reader

[fire-lizard-ro]

Ohoho Sunday thoughts you say? >:D this is loosely based on the prior ask? But I was just thinking how Sunday would probably try (keyword try) to remain pure and abstain from s*x before marriage, yknow? But when he finally does have you as his own, all bets are off. Angel boi is horny and wants you :( in his mind: it’s pure and simple yet beautiful lovemaking between two souls :( and in my love deprived ass I would melt because I know he’d be big on giving and receiving praise fjgjgjgj even would enjoy the idea of extending the Family if you were down for it (whether or not you could, he enjoys the idea of it) ((also he likes control so))

And don’t get me staarttteddd on his sweet aftercare and pillow talk D: oml you’d quite literally be on cloud nine!! He is too tho :) and he cannot help himself from just being so sweet and genuine orz

ohhHHHHH- Y e s I like this quite a bit. Need this to take a break from the angst I’ve been cookin up with a certain someone (you know who you are OTL).

Fair warning y’all are gonna end up seeing me write a fic about him that is blatantly blasphemous with religious themes (pretends like I’m not already working on one like that with Argenti).

Anyways- Back to this.

Thank you so much for the ask~ I love Sunday so much. <333333

CW: possessive behavior, cumming inside, fluff!!! (crazy I know how very almost off brand of me-), maybe some blasphemous thoughts? (idk that they count with aeons but hey-), marking, breeding kink (he’s saying it regardless of whether you are able to have children or not bc regardless it’s h o t -), praise

Reader gender: gender neutral (I tried not to say anything that would be too telling about what sex the reader is so please read it as such! I don’t think I said anything that was like that-)

So going off the last ask, we’re going to assume that he likes you enough to feel great affection for you. Enough to want you. To feel his own carnal desires rear their head even before you’ve married. It manifests in his seemingly innocent yet wandering hands. A hand on your waist as he passes by you. His hands drifting dangerously low when you hug. Leaning in close to talk to you. Lips making their way down from your forehead to your cheek to the corner of your lips. The placement of his kiss making its way to your lips slowly with every goodbye kiss.

But at some point, he can’t really stop himself from at least using those pretty hands of his on you- Along with that silver tongue and sinful mouth. He’ll make you feel so incredibly good, plunging his long fingers into you and taking you into his mouth. He’s lick and suck at you and even slide his tongue inside you. Perhaps the taste of you would be enough to tide him over until you were properly his- Married to him. It would have to be enough because you deserved to have a perfect wedding and perfect wedding night.

But aeons that doesn’t stop him from pleasuring you with what he can before then in order to hopefully keep himself in line. Even as his cock aches with the need to have you, he’ll just hold you down and whisper sweet promises in your ear. Even if you beg him, he won’t. Just wait for him baby just a little longer-

But after the ceremony is over and the afterparty is done and the guests all leave-

Oh dear. You’re finally left alone with your hungry fian- husband. You’re finally left alone with your absolutely famished husband. And you’re on the menu.

It begins like how many of your other encounters of sexual nature begin.

Sweet kisses that make it seem like he wants to swallow you whole.  Gentle hands taking in the feel of you in his arms. Trailing kisses down your throat, eyes closed in ecstasy because you were finally his now. He can have you with no regrets. All that waiting was for this moment. When he could finally have you wholly. And that makes this moment in the warm light of the bedside lamp and the cooler shades of the moon all the sweeter.

Wetted fingers stretching you in preparation for something larger, taking their time in their task despite knowing you well by then. Because even if this was to get you ready to become one with him- He’s wants to draw as much pleasure from you as possible. This is a special night for the two of you. One he will cherish completely and one he wants to make perfect for you. His arm would be holding him up, cradled behind your head for you to lean on while he molds himself to your side. Even as you whine and roll your hips into the curl of his fingers inside you, pressing on that special spot inside you, he kisses your cheeks gently with soothing words. “Good… very good, my love. Just a little more- I want you to finish on my fingers first. Can you do that for me, my sweet? I know you can-”

Just as he gives you your first orgasm of the night, he takes your lips once more while gently coaxing your through the waves of pleasure. He’s so soft, guiding you through the dance even while your mind goes blank for a bit as he watches your expression. “That’s it. I’ve got you.”

It’s then that he kisses you almost chastely before beginning his journey down your body to have his prize. The prize being whatever he’s managed to pull from you. He’d lick it from your body in broad strokes as though he were tasting honey dribbled over your form, caressing your every curve as he went.

Sunday would dribble lube over himself, a hand slathering the viscous substance over his cock in pumping motions. It was almost erotic watching him. The way he'd squeeze just a little at the top and you would watch his hardness twitch and drool between his fingers. But when you look up, the angelic man would only be looking at you. Gazing lovingly- longingly at you.

That's how it always was. Ever since meeting, he couldn't seem to take his eyes off you. You were simply radiant to him. Unlike anything or anyone else he'd ever seen.

Leaning over you to settle himself between your legs, Sunday would give you another kiss before asking if you were ready. While waiting for your answer, he'd go back to nip and lick at your neck. He wanted to mark you for all to see- You were his. His lover, his spouse, his soulmate. His. No one else's. He would love and care for you in every way, he'd think to himself.

And no- Don't just nod at him. "I need to hear you say it, dove. Please? For me, my dear?" Once you'd given him your clear consent, he'd bring you into a deep kiss while lining himself up with your stretched out, wet entrance. He can't even bring himself to tease you a little. Though the thought crossed his mind, he knew he'd been waiting far too long for this.

Once he was in the proper place, he'd rest his forehead against yours, the two of you breathing in each other's air while he looks down at where the two of you would be connected, fingers drifting to fondle you in order to distract from any possible pain you may feel with a gentle hum.

As Sunday would finally push in, cockhead popping inside, he'd gasp against your lips with twitching hips he had to force still. "Are you alright, love?" Taking a moment for himself to regain his composure and steel himself, he'd hide away in the crook of your neck to breathe in your scent and feel your pulse beneath his soft lips. Once you were ready it would be but a slow rock of his hips, moving gently inside you, to eventually sheath himself completely inside. As he worked himself into your tightness, Sunday would whisper sweet words into your ears in a whisper, as though the words were only for the two of you despite no one else being around- The words would come in between kisses while he rubbed a hand up and down your side to comfort you, the hand occasionally straying to rub your sex or pluck at your nipples to distract you from the strain of this part of the night.

Once bottomed out, your ass resting in the cradle of his hips with his body covering yours, he would ask you if you're alright and give you time to adjust. It's all praises here, the man telling you just how good you are for him and saying that you're doing wonderfully. After some time passes and you rock your hips against his to test your comfort, a small moan would be startled out of him before it devolves into a chuckle. "Are you ready, my love?"

It'd start with hip just grinding into you, firm but slow and accompanied by a pleasured sigh from him. He'd hold back none of his sounds because he wanted you to know how good you made him feel. Then he'd pull out only just a bit before thrusting himself back in. At some point he had begun to properly fuck you, the push and pull like the rocking of a boat on a gentle sea. This was making love. And after angling his hips, he found your sweet spot he'd only ever touched with those pretty fingers of his.

It'd be a struggle to not lose himself in you. In your all-consuming presence and the pleasure you gave him- In the love you showed him as you reached up to bring him close with a whimper of his name. It was like hearing the gospel fall from your lips. And they might as well have been. For now you were his everything. His god, his true Harmony. Were you to say it, it would be so. And right now, you were telling him that it felt good and asking him to keep going. So, he would.

With teeth gently marking all the places he'd been, his darkened eyes would watch the way you arch your back and moan to the heavens (they were yours anyways). Sunday is something that knows how to hide its teeth and disguise itself in the form of a man. He was careful to dull his claws so he would not hurt you when he held you close. Careful to veil the violence that was part of him, showing in his eyes, when he was with you. But he was a beast who knew the taste of blood. And yet you, his pure and lovely dove, loved him and accepted him. You said he was a good man and that you loved him. You were his truth. So, it must be so.

He wanted to claim you so wholly that none could ever deny that you both belonged to one another. That none could mistake that you were his deity and him your humble and devout servant who worshiped you here in the temple of your bed, giving you his offerings in pleasure, loyalty, and love. That brought another idea to mind of just how he could claim you and show you his deepest love.

"I want to breed you, my love. To carry on the family and mark you inside with my cum. Would that be alright? Do you want that as well, dove?"

He would speed up now, thinking about how he could have a family with you. How lovely you would look with a child tottering around behind you. He would make it happen no matter what so long as you wanted it as well. When you agree, he'd smile so wide his face hurt and shower you with kisses. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, my love my heart my everything-"

He can hardly fathom how he'd lived without you before.

Touching and kissing you all over he drove the two of you to your peak, the both of you moaning and whining against each other's lips as you kissed through the high. His hips continued to rock into yours to prolong the waves of pleasure that washed over you before slowing to a stop when you both became overstimulated.

"Thank you, love. You did so well- So very good for me. I love you so much," he'd praise and declare between kisses that he planted all over- Everywhere he could reach while wrapped up in your arms and holding you so close you wondered if the two of you could fuse together. "I love you, too," you'd mumble against his lips as he came back to them for a proper kiss. The chaste peck turning into a sensuous slide of lips, unhurried and full of undeniable love.

Even when he withdrew from your now cum-filled hole and began to clean you up, he would praise you and ask you how you felt while pressing kisses every place he touched. Once everything was done and he'd had you drink water, he'd lay down and pull you to lay on his chest. While stroking your back and pressing a kiss to your hair, he'd bid you goodnight and say yet another "I love you" before quietly humming to help you drift asleep.

Hopefully that was to your liking~ I had fun writing it! Thank you for the idea and for letting me write more about Sunday! <333

Feel free to send in another request if you want, hehe.

#Roro writes #gn reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x gn reader #honkai star rail x gn reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #hsr sunday x reader #sunday x reader #sunday smut #hsr sunday smut #bottom reader #top character #asks answered

[llokii]

I have Frank brain rot and it’s all Taylor Swifts fault:

(‼️ very brief and mild mentions of smut ‼️)

• Secretly living with Frank and being in soft domestic bliss (when he’s not out beating people up)

• Finally telling someone you’re his girl just for them to shake their head in disappointment.

• “I can’t believe you’re with someone like Frank” and “you’re too good for a criminal like him” are just a couple of the nicer things people have said about you and your love

• Staying confidently by his side despite the whispers and slander from ignorant bystanders sitting high on their barstools

• They could never understand. You can handle him. Yes, he’s dangerous. He could kill everybody in this bar if he wanted to but he wouldn’t put you in a situation like that.

• You know the power he holds and you love him for it. He’s your protector, your lover, your beautiful gorgeous man. All yours.

• The contrast between his large, calloused hands and your soft gentle ones being too much for others to comprehend

• How could you be so gentle with such a monster?

• More importantly, how could Frank Castle, The Punisher, the person who’s managed to strike fear into the souls of anyone who’s met him, become so soft for you?

• Everything about him is rough and rugged. Dirty and aggressive. And yet, there’s something about him when he’s with you. Is it a glimmer in his eyes? A shift in his tone of voice? The way he gently leads you to your seat with his hand on your lower back?

• He has a habit of calmly whispering tender secrets and the occasional snide joke about the rare passerby.

• Laughing and sharing drinks with you for hours on end. Surprising everyone around with how loose and alive he seems when he normally appears to be so emotionless and empty.

• You go home together and he gives you a look you’ve come to love. You’ll never get sick of this look. The one that means “I want you” and “you’re so gorgeous” and “I love you” and “please, please kiss me” all at once.

• When you’re alone together like this, between cotton sheets in the soft glow of a bedside lamp, he’s so beautiful and raw. So so unabashedly…. Frank.

• He is surprisingly submissive at times. Being so gentle with you and occasionally even begging “please touch me” or “oh god, please kiss me” and it’s impossible to deny these requests.

• You try not to think about how nobody approves of your love. In the end, their opinions don’t matter anyways. You know you love him and he lets you know time and time again that he loves you the same.

• But when you do think of these judgmental people, you’re often overcome with thoughts of lashing out. How dare they try to tell you who you can and can’t love?

• You would burn the whole world to the ground before giving in to their ignorance.

• You know this is the man you’ll marry some day. He’s ruined you for anybody else. There’s nobody else who could love you like he does, and there’s nobody else who could love Frank like you.

#Frank castle #Frank castle Drabble #frank castle fic #frank castle x reader #frank castle fluff #Frank castle smut #the punisher #Frankcastle #mcu #marvel #the defenders #defenders #llokii brainrot

[astroboots]

Can we just think about somno/cock warming with Steven for a quick sec? Like imagine getting sweet doe eyed Steven semi hard to sink down onto him just to sleep. Waking up to the poor man whimpering and begging for you. Lord take my soul now.

Summary: Steven is preoccupied by a research task for Marc that keeps him away from bed with you. You decide to keep him warm until he's done in the most distracting way possible.

Word Count: 2,850

Content: somnophilia, cockwarming, overstimulation.

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

It's dark in his flat, the only light is coming from the small desk lamp in the corner and the blue aquarium lighting from the fish tank that bathes everything in a shade of pale neon blue.

The rain is pitter-pattering against the large windows. There is a faint scraping sound of pages being turned every so often.

You're lying in bed, head propped up against your pillow, as you try to keep your eyes open and observe Steven where he's hunched over his desk that's filled with piles and piles of books that he's completely consumed by. He's drowning in the books. Face practically pressing up against the ink that you're convinced will leave smudges on his soft cheeks. His outdated librarian glasses are slipping down the arch of his nose.

"Steven," you murmur sleepily, asking him for the third (or is it the fourth time tonight?) to come join you in bed.

But you get the same reply you got last time. A gentle hum, followed by, "in just a minute, almost finished love."

You give it another minute, then two-- until a good half hour must have passed before you call out for him again.

"Steven."

The only response you get from his is a distracted hum. He doesn't look up.

"Come to bed," you try again, but it's a lost cause.

Ordinarily, you barely have to finish the second syllable of his name before Steven's head pops up like a meerkat, with his alert and undivided attention focused all on you.

In the rare times he didn't, you'd certainly get his attention by the time you finished the first repetition of his name.

Tonight though?

This is probably the fourth or fifth time for the evening you've asked for him.

You're… annoyed to say the least.

With a heavy sigh, you raise yourself into a sitting position in the bed.

"What is so important it can't wait until morning?"

It comes out just a tad sharper than you had meant it to.

That seems to finally snap Steven out of his trance.

He looks up from his book, turning in your direction as his eyes flicker over to you with a wide-eyed expression of surprise. Like someone's just stirred him from a spell.

"Oh! Sorry sorry," he closes the book in front of him and holds it up to you.

"Marc needed me to decode the location of some ancient map, and it's a bit more complicated than we thought. It's a bit like a treasure hunt, quite fun actually. We're trying to retrace the steps of Hargrave Marks, he's an archaeologist from the 60s, who had this detailed journal of his treks. But I also have to cross-reference it with several history books cause the accounts aren't exactly contemporaneous or accurate even for the time it was written. Hargrave had a tendency to opt for good storytelling instead of accuracy and--"

His excited ramble pewters out as you cross your arms across your chest. It's rather hostile, you realise when you see him bite his lip in worry at the sight and follow up with a much quieter: "Sorry, love.. am I being too loud? Am I keeping you up?"

There's an apologetic smile on his lip, and normally that would be enough to make any traces of irritation thaw and melt into dew. You're soft for Steven that way.

But this time, his cluelessness at the source of your irritation only serves to make you more irritated.

"No, that's hardly the issue. I want you to come to bed with me."

You can admit that you're acting spoiled.

Because you are spoiled. Used to being spoiled rotten by Steven's profuse adoration. The way he constantly showers you with his affection and full attention at all times. It's probably why it feels like something that is rightfully yours (him) has now been unfairly ripped from you by someone else (Marc), and you're not happy about it, childish and unreasonable as it may be.

And poor Steven, he looks genuinely torn, eyes flittering between you and the book pages. Hesitation etched over the line between his brows, his eyes lingering at the reflection of the TV screen for a few conspicuous seconds too long (Marc).

Whatever Marc is saying to Steven, has him sheepishly ducking his head back down towards the books.

"It might take a while longer," he murmurs, eyes not meeting yours. "Maybe half an hour? Or an hour? If you're sleepy you shouldn't stay awake for me. I'll make it up to you tomorrow. I promise."

You lie back down on the mattress with a huff as you turn away from him. Trying to shut out the white noise of his pen scribbling away as the pages continue to turn.

Mad as you may be. It's cosy and warm underneath the sheets. And you had a long day at work. It doesn't take you long to fall asleep. The odds were against you. You don't know how long you are out for, but you wake to the weight of the bed shifting.

Blinking your bleary eyes open, you see Steven with one knee clambering into bed, books strewn all across the mattress, and another half dozen huddled up in his arms, and a pen tucked behind each ear.

"I'm sorry, love. This was taking longer than I thought, and I hate being away from you. I didn't mean to wake you up."

God, this sweet adorable man. All at once, guilt washes over you for having been so harsh to him earlier.

Stretching out your arms, you wrap them around his back and curl one hand around the back of his neck as you pull him down to you, relishing the small "oof" sound he makes as he plops down on top of you with a soft thud against the mattress, books landing somewhere besides you both.

"You finished?" you ask.

He shakes his head, apologetically. "Not quite yet, sorry. But I thought I could maybe do the rest in bed? That way I can at least be close to you. If you don't mind? I'll try to be very quiet."

You hum, pressing your face into the warm crook of his neck. He's so soft and warm. Comforting and steady. You draw in your breath and you're not sure if you're imagining it, but he has that familiarly pleasant smell that reminds you of a bookshop. Notes of coffee and a freshly turned page. Drawing up your lips, you mouth a small path along the line of his neck, and relish the keen little sound that he makes. A quiet little whine as his hips hitch up and press up against your legs.

"Lo-love that's-- oh god that feels--wait, I still--" he's babbling, the way he always does when your lips are on him.

You nip at the soft skin with your teeth, not enough to hurt, just with enough strength that you know will have his toes tingling as he tries to curl them against the sheets for reprieve.

"Wait," he murmurs, even though he's the one who's bearing down his weight down against you, the outline of his cock pressed up against the softness of your stomach, separated only by the comforter. "I--I need," he licks his lips, trying to find his words. Eyes glazed in a way that tells you the blood in his head has travelled south, and his capacity for speech is quickly going with it.

You hum softly, one hand travelling between your torsos as he hisses sharply at the touch of your hand when it brushes up against his clothes then underneath, your knuckles dragging against the bare skin of his soft belly. "Hmm? Need what Steven?"

Reaching for his waistband, you slip your hand into his boxers. He's already half-hard, and still rising as if to meet your fingers as you wrap them around the girth of his cock, and he gasps brokenly with a half-strangled noise.

"Tell me what you need," you remind him.

His pupils are blown wide as he swallows, Adam's apple constricting against that graceful throat. He's trying to find his words again.

"I need to finish my reading. I promised Marc."

"So finish, I'm not going to stop you."

Steven's gaze darts downwards between your body, to where your hand is still wrapped around him under his sleeping pants, with a pointed look in an unspoken accusation that you are in fact: stopping him.

His cock twitches in your grip. You can feel the slick wetness of precum leaking down from the blunt tip, trickling down your knuckles even as Steven is trying very hard not to react.

You can't help the smile that spreads on your lips as you tilt your head up, until they're brushing against his sensitive ear, letting your breath fan against the shell of it as you speak.

"Don't let me distract you, keep going, keep reading. Finish your work." You're still holding him in one hand, as the other moves to the waistband clinging to his backside and drag it down.

You let your nails gently graze along his spine, round hips and thick thighs as you do, enjoying the way he shivers defenselessly under your touch.

"Uhm, love-- you're--"

It doesn't take much encouragement or strength on your part. You grab hold of his hips as you roll him onto his back, and he lets you. No resistance on his part, as you straddle his hips, palms braced on his chest to steady yourself.

"I'm what Steven?"

The tip of his tongue, pink and glistening darts out in a nervous habit against his lower lip.

"No-nothing, nothing..." he manages. Words slurred and clumsy in his mouth as his hands grip onto your thigh as if he never wants to let you go.

It's all you can do, not to laugh. Whatever promises he had made Marc, it seems to have flown out of the cuckoo's nest.

You really should let him finish his work for Marc though, it won't do to make Mr. Grouchy even grouchier. Problem is you're not quite ready to let go of Steven or to relinquish his attention that you've finally earned from him this evening.

Dragging your hand, you let it caress the soft cotton of his shirt from his chest to his stomach then further down as you grip his cock again.

"Don't worry, let's make a compromise" you say as you stroke his cock up and down the fully hardened length as it twitches and jumps in your grip.

Steven is already nodding forcefully before he's even heard what he's agreeing to. You grip his cock angling it between your thighs and you can hear the soft gasp erupting from his mouth as the tip catches against your slick entrance.

"Keep reading, and when you finish--" you tilt your hips, sliding down in a slow and steady pace. The pleasure is sweet and heady as it skitters through your spine.

Steven's fingers grip the flesh of your thighs, trying to drag you down deeper onto his cock. But you refuse to let yourself be rushed, taking your time to prolong the sweet stretch of the thickness of his cock splitting you open as you sink down on him inch by slow, gorgeous inch, until he's buried to the hilt of you.

His eyes are on you, wild and frenzied, like you're the only thing he can see, his whole world: sky, ocean, and every atom in between are composed of you.

Leaning down, you lie flush down on his firm torso, until your breast are pressed up against his chest, you tilt your head up just enough to press a much too chaste kiss on his lips.

"Keep reading" you tell him again and he whines.

"Love, I can't--"

"Finish the work" you interrupt. "You've promised Marc and I'm not going to move an inch until you finish."

His eyes widen impossibly large at your words, as he starts to realize what he's signed himself up for. Then his bottom lip pushes forward. He's actually sulking, and god, he has no right to make pouty look so gorgeous.

Without any words, his right arm reaches out along the mattress, patting it down until he finds one of the books and brings it to his chest. He lets out a slight testy murmur, in a grouchy tone that is much more characteristic of Marc than it ever would be for Steven.

Once the book is settled in his hand and he starts to read, you nestle your face into his chest. It's the best solution to prevent yourself from bursting out into laughter when you hear Steven mumble discontentedly about how: he's never going to do Marc any more favours again.

He still smells of books and coffee, of warmth and happiness that makes you feel weightless against him. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he reads, hypnotic, like being rocked to sleep, and before you know it you drift to sleep.

You wake to pitch blackness. A sweet syrupy pleasure that flutters somewhere deep in you, but you can't tell where it comes from, and you can't grasp it in your hold. It skitters to your stomach and down to your thighs, warm and soft that makes you clench down to chase the sensation.

A keen gasp fills the room. Too low to be your own voice.

You blink your eyes against the darkness, mind still fussy and drunk with sleep, as you shift your body and are rewarded with that sweet-honeyed pleasure swirling through your stomach, except brighter this time, sharper, and you can't help but clench down again, hoping you can catch it this time and make it stay.

The sound comes again, a sweet gorgeous gasp, except this time, it breaks off in the middle with a quiet whimper.

"Love, please..." the voice pleads with you.

It's such a pretty voice, soft-spoken and gentle, but it sounds almost pained.

Steven...

You dart up, elbow anchored against his firm and solid chest as you look down on him, the small patch of drool on his white shirt, shit...

Trying to raise yourself further, the warm pleasure drags against your insides, and you can't help the moan slipping past your lips. Thick and heavy, his cock is still inside of you jerking from the movement in protest.

You fell asleep on him.

"I finished all my work now." He says it like an announcement.

You look down until your eyes meet. They're sharp. Mouth in a firm line of concentration. Then his hands grip down on the outside of your thighs, hard enough that you think he might leave permanent dents.

Patient, sweet, polite Steven is at the end of his ropes it seems. He pushes you down flush against him until you're pressed down as far as you can take him. It's white and electric, no longer the slow and lazied pleasure you've dreamt of in your half-awake state.

"Been having a nice restful nap, you have," he says, and you don't miss the sarcastic tone in his voice even as he groans, low in his throat, while he continues to reprimand you.

"Did you know that you've been shifting and squeezing down on my cock the whole time? No, I don't imagine you did, love."

The firm weight underneath you shifts, and you barely have a second to breathe and regain your composure before Steven raises his hips, thrusting up and into you as far as he goes.

"Felt like I was going mad."

He lifts you up, hands beneath the underside of your thighs, as he drags his cock alongside you, slowly. Maddening.

It feels like payback. The sweetest lesson you've ever earned.

"Said you weren't going to move until I've finished," Steven reminds you, as he holds you still. "But I've been done for quite a while, and you've been moving quite a lot before then actually. Writhing, hot and wet around me. I can actually feel it dripping out of you."

He pulls out of you until only the fat tip is resting inside you, his hips flush back down against the mattress. One hand draws down between your legs, his thumb sliding wetly against your folds, infuriatingly slow, until he's reached your clit but doesn't press down. He holds it there, without any pressure as if he's waiting for something.

"You ready love?" he asks, holding you poised against him, his hips canting up in preparation

Steven searches for your eyes, and the look in his eyes, focused and honed, has your heart beat fast and excitedly with no logical rhythm against your ribs.

"Yes, Steven."

It's all he needs, he thrusts up as his hands pull you down on him in a devastating stroke that incinerates the air in your lungs.

You're in for a long night, and whatever shortlived sleep you managed to catch earlier won't be enough for what Steven has in mind for you two. Not when you've gotten him riled up like this.

But that's alright.

You look down at Steven, eyes glassy with a feverish sheen. All of his attention pinned on you.

It's not so bad is it? To get to have all of Steven's devoted attention for yourself like this.

Dedication: To @thirstworldproblemss who was indispensable as always, for the brainstorming, the coming up with the hottest Steven dialogue (jesus fucking christ her lines are fucking fire) and for the beta-ing and putting up with my atrocious run-on sentence, tenuous grasp of grammar and wilful typos. I love you.

Also to the secret nonny. You don't know what your ask did to me (and TWP) we went into a horny frenzy and I couldn't sleep haunted by the horny images that were flashing behind my eyes because of your ask. I adore you! thank you for sending this in.

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

#oscar isaac #moon knight #marvel #mcu #marvel mcu #steven grant #steven grant x you #steven grant x reader #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fic #moon knight x you #moon knight x reader #💌 asks

[aestheticanimegirl15]

Paring: Simon “Ghost” Riley + Wife! Reader 

Summary: Simon comes home late and finds you already asleep and in trying to crawl in bed next to you wakes you up, fluffy moments ensure 

Warnings: Fluff, slight self-doubt? 

Song suggestion to read this to: Work song by Hozier

I’M BACK FROM THE DEAD!!!! I just got sucked into a fandom I know hardly anything about and it's about a game I don't even play but there is something about these masked men that get me every time. Anyway sorry for the long hiatus of me not posting I hope you enjoy this and remember to stay safe, beautiful, and remember to drink your water 🌸✌🏽🦋

______________________________________________________________________________

 Ghost knew it was late when he arrived home from his latest deployment and all he wanted to do was crawl into bed with you and sleep in until late in the afternoon the next day. Quietly he unlocked and opened the door to your shared house and stepped inside leaving his shoes and bags in the hallway as he walked to the bedroom. He noticed a light coming from the slight crack in the door and he silently opened the door to see your sleeping form curled underneath the covers. 

 It was apparent you had tried to stay awake till he got home but lost the battle to sleep and had left the bedside lamp on. Ghost lingered in the doorway letting his thoughts take over as he watched your sleeping form, what did he do right in his life to deserve you? He had so much blood on his hands and demons constantly crawling in his mind but you didn’t seem to care. You would hold him gently late at night when his mind would play tricks on him and chase his demons away with whispered words of comfort followed by gentle touches. 

  Ghost knew he didn’t deserve a gentle soul like you to come home to but Simon was glad that he never had to go home to an empty and cold house like he had to many times before. Shaking his head he walked over to switch off the light and bent down beside the bed once you started to stir and wake up. He tried to get you to settle down and go back to sleep but failed once he saw your eyes open.

“Baby is that you?” You said groggily as you turned on the lamp he had just turned off. You lay back down as you looked at your husband happy that he was finally home, a smile blooming across your face. It faded slightly though once you saw he was still wearing the mask. Gently you reached out and placed your hands at the end of the cover causing his hand to reach up and gently grab your wrist. Stoping your movements you looked into his eyes “I’m not going to hurt you, is it ok if I take this off? I would like to see my husband.” You gently whispered. 

Ghost’s eyes flickered up to yours taking in your features for a moment before moving his hand away from your wrist. Smiling gently you gently and slowly start to take the mask off giving him every opportunity to stop you if he wanted to. Once you got the mask off you set it on the nightstand before looking at the uncovered face of your husband. Reaching out you gently place your hand on his cheek 

“ There he is.” You say as you run your thumb across his cheek making him close his eyes and lean into your hand. No other words were said as you scooted over letting him crawl into the bed next to you before turning off the lamp. You let him cuddle into your chest as his arms wrapped around you holding you close to his body. It often went like this when he came back home and you never questioned it knowing that he just needed to remind himself that he was home again as he grounded himself into realizing that you were actually in his arms and not just a figment of his imagination. You carded your fingers through his sandy blonde hair as you slowly started to fall asleep again content in knowing that your husband was home, he was here in your arms again. Faintly as your eyes started to close you caught a glimpse of your wedding ring glinting in the moonlight that has filtered in through the curtains and a soft smile grazed your lips before sleep took over your body. 

Simon stayed awake a little while longer listening to your heartbeat and soft snores as you peacefully slept in his arms. At that moment he knew what he knew from when he first decided to marry you in that small church up on the hill in the British countryside. No grave would be able to hold his body down, he would always crawl home to you. 

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold dark earth

No grave could hold my body down

I’ll crawl home to her. – Hozier “Work song”

#cod mw2 #ghost fanfiction #cod x reader #cod mwii #fandom #fanfic #fanfiction #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #ghost is babygirl

[princess-ibri]

Darkside Disney Princesses: Jasmine

This story features another twist in the tale with a loved one lost to the snow, this time Aladdin, who is unable to make it back to Agrabah from the frozen ends of the earth. Leaving Jasmine, the Sultan, and the people of Agrabah to the torments of Jafar.

Jafar discovers soon enough that the Genie can’t force anyone to fall in love, and Jasmine is more then willing to claw his eyes out if he tries anything.

But Jafar, more interested in seeing her humiliated, then actually possessing her in such a way, knows that while Jasmine might not be willing to be his ‘Queen’, he can still bring her low in other equally cruel ways.

He also knows she’s definitely going to be plotting to get the lamp away from him as soon as she possibly can, and wishing away all his ill gained power.

So he takes her voice.

“I’ve always thought it best that a woman should be seen and not heard, wouldn’t you agree?”

Jasmine is kept as an ornament, adorned with jewels, in mockery of her status, and kept chained to Jafar’s throne; a pretty face to be shown off to those who come to try and treat with Jafar, a warning of what could happen to their own wives and daughters should they not comply. Just as the puppet Sultan serves to show their potential fate.

And trapped by chains of steel and scilence, Jasmine seethes. Every day she stands, forced to hold Jafar’s food and wine and watch as he plays with people’s lives like toys, and every night she dreams her dreams of vengeance, of all the things she would do to him if she was free.

A possiblity that seems farther and farther away as Jafar extends his reach out into the rest of the Seven Deserts. He is the most powerful sorcerer in the world after all, why not rule it then?

There are those who fight back of course. Both mortal and magic users alike. Jafar might be the most powerful but he is far from the only one. Their magic might not be enough to overcome him, but working together they can at least hold him back for a time.

But there are also many who choose to fall in with the sorcerer king, either to try and escape his wrath, gain some of his power, or both.

Tribute pours in, gold and jewels, slaves and sacrifices. All to try and appease Jafar, to keep his capricious temper in check. Jafar of course has never been one to excercise moderation, and demands more and more. The palace is awash with treasure from across the Seven Deserts and even beyond.

And this is what eventually turns the tables.

For one day, Jafar, glutted on drink and reveling in the newest swathes of tribute, slips a ruby ring onto Jasmine’s ring finger, another mocking ‘gift’ to remind her of her fallen state.

Had he been less drunk on fine wine and stolen power, he might have noticed the tinge of magic on the ring. But he is the most powerful sorcerer in the world after all, who holds one of the cosmically powerful genies at heel, magic flows through the palace like water,who would notice a drop in an ocean?

As it happens, it is not until nightfall, when Jafar has left Jasmine alone in the darkened throne room to once more dream her dark vengeance, that the ring’s power is discovered.

Jasmine had thought herself long since grown used to Jafar’s cruelty. But today he has been particularly vile, plotting new tourtures for a city he has managed to subdue. Jasmine feels a tear course down her cheek at the memory of it, and quickly brushes it away, for she has long since learned that tears avail nothing.

But in doing so, she rubs the ring, infusing in with the tears of her sorrow.

And the ring awakens

What pours out of it, wreathed in crimson smoke, is another genie, yet one as unlike the poor gentle souled slave of Jafar’s as can be. Eyes like burning coals, licks of fire dance across its skin, two long spiraling horns bursting from a head of flaming hair.

The genie turns it’s fiery gaze on Jasmine, taking in her shackles, both the physical ones around her wrists and ankles, and the magical one that binds her tongue.

“Oh princessss, I sssee we have both been bound by the magicsss of men. This sssorcerer has bound you, as accurssed Sssolomon sought to bind all jinn across time and ssspaccce.”

The genie’s voice is like the hissing of steam, and the crackling of flame.

“You cannot sssspeak, and ssso you cannot wisssh for your voice, your freedom, your vengeance, just as I cannot be freed from my chainsss, cannot kill—Unlesss…”

The genie reaches out to Jasmine, tracing the track of the tear that freed it from it’s ring, and steam rises up from its touch.

“There isss one thing we could do, to gain freedom for us both.”

“ Grant me the ussse of your body, your bonesss and blood and breath. And I will grant you in turn my ssstrength, my ssskill, my voiccce. I ssshall make it ssso that none can ever ssscilence you ever again. Do you accept thisss exchange, thisss bargain? You need only nod to accept…”

Jasmine stares up at the fiery being before her, at this one chance in a thousand for freedom that has come to her, through chance or destiny, she knows not what, nor does she care. For she knows that if she does not take this chance now, another may never come.

She nods.

Flames and smoke swirl around her, a whirlwind of fire, with her directly in the eye of the storm. The fire rises up and up, and then comes pouring down, a burning wave, down into her throat, scorching her from the inside as the genie burns itself into her bone marrow and blood, sinking into every space within her.

Jasmine spasms, choking, shaking, falling to the floor. For a moment she lies still as death

And then she rises, takes a breath, and rips the manacles from her wrists as if they were made from paper.

The ring on her finger glows in unison with the fire that now glows behind her eyes.

As she stalks through the palace, her steps are so silent they don’t even raise an echo—and yet she leaves the floor beneath her shattered with each step.

Jafar has long since thought himself secure within the chambers of his stolen palace, protected by the wards he’s set that should imolate any mortal who attempts to break them. Wards that the princess now walks through as though they were nothing more than spider webs.

For Jafar’s power was granted by a genie, and one greater than that being now stands above his sleeping form, one that has no fear of fire.

She reaches out with one hand towards his slumbering parrot familiar, and with the other for the lamp that sits on his bedside.

Jafar wakes to the sound of a crunch, but has less than a moment to wonder at the cause before one of the jeweled swords that he’d hung in his chambers is sinking into his heart down to the hilt.

The spells he set crumble and fall within an instant. All those ensorcelled by the mad vizier return to their original forms; the people who are brave enough rush to the palace to see who it is who has freed them; the Sultan freed from his puppet strings races to find his daughter, to see if she too is now freed from their horrid imprisonment.

He finds her sitting upon his throne, the lamp resting in her lap as she cleans a long knife, a strange ring casting a red glow upon her face as she looks up to see him.

“Father”, the princess says calmly, her voice echoing strangely around the room. “We sssee you are well. We do hope you weren’t looking too forward to taking this throne back. After all, it was you who let Jafar in at the door. And We really can’t have anything like that happening again. Rivalsss for power make things ssso complicated after all.”

She strokes the lamp as she speaks, and the blue genie pours out, looking down at the princess with utter horror, more than he’d even shown to Jafar. The princess just smiles up at him.

“Dear cousin, We hope you know this is nothing personal. It’s sssimply good business sssense. Neither of us wish to be bound again ssshould your lamp fall into the wrong hands. And ssso for our first, and final wish, We wish that you, would no longer exist.”

Reality itself seems to bend together for a moment, as the lamp in the princess’s hands crumbles into itself before crumbling into dust, the genie tied to it fading away like mist beneath the morning sun.

“And now,” the princess says, with a wide, gleaming smile “We can truly start to get to work…”

#my art #Darkside Disney Princesses #Darkside Disney Princess #dark Jasmine #cw murder #cw possession #disney #princess jasmine #disney aladdin #Aladdin #Jasmine Aladdin #disney princesses #spooky season #halloween #jafar #disney jafar #jafar aladdin #disney villains #genie aladdin #ifrit #genies #Arabic mythology #arabian nights #genie of the ring #genie of the lamp #and now ‘Speechless’ gets to be a villain song xD #darkside disney

[cupidsdescendant]

"Under My Umbrella" Sebastian X Y/N (AFAB)

hey yall so this is out of the ordinary (sorry tf2 fans) but I wanted to write a little fic for my beloved cousin @nerdiifan ! I love her very much and this is a tribute to her (and mine) fav stardew character <33 I would really love to branch out and create more fics about other fandoms so pls tell me if you'd love more.

Around 9:30 in the evening, the rain stopped pouring down from the sky. As a result, Y/N's crops were left covered in a layer of dew, and the soil was left damp. Slowly opening the door, she couldn't resist the urge to gaze outside and appreciate the stunning beauty of the moon. Its bright and radiant light illuminated the surroundings, creating a peaceful ambiance that was soothing to the soul. It was a moment worth cherishing. With each step she took, the floorboards creaked. She stepped her foot onto the dirt, her shoes sinking in slightly. As Y/N strolled through the town, the gentle hum of the street lamp and the rhythmic "sploosh" of her feet splashing through puddles provided an audible company to her walk. She soon found herself walking over to the dock, Y/N had always loved it for the peaceful sounds of the waves, she knew it was the best way to experience a full moon. Walking into the entrance of the beach she smelled something, the scent of nicotine. "Someone else is out here at this time...?" pondering to herself for a moment.

As she strolled along the sandy shore, her attention was abruptly drawn to a distant figure. Her eyes adjusted to find a familiar man smoking, his face being shown by the glow of his cigarette.

Sebastian.

Her heart fluttered, her stomach was in knots and nervousness took hold of her. Y/N had always prayed for this day to come but she never thought her prayers would be answered. Anxiety struck caused by thoughts of embarrassing herself or being obnoxious.

"This is your chance, Y/N! You've been waiting for this day ever since he introduced himself. You can't back out now, you just can't!" She felt sick. "You can do this, Y/N! Don't be afraid to take a chance!" "He probably won't mind either way." "It's not a big deal, just go for it!" As she approached him, her mind stated a firm rule. "Don't. Screw. It. Up."

Y/N was behind Sebastian's shoulder "H-Hi Sebastian." With her face turning red, she asked, "Why are you out here so late?" Sebastian remained silent for a few seconds before asking, "Why are you out so late?" puffing the smoke from his cigarette and looking over at her. Y/N was taken aback. "W-well. Uhm...I always enjoyed this type of weather and the moon is full. I wanted to enjoy it before I couldn't." Sebastian's face broke into a small grin, the kind that appears when you're appreciating something.

"Nice." Y/N broke into a smile. They both faced the sky and listened to the waves crash against the dock.

"But you didn't answer my question," Y/N said. "Why are you here?" Sebastian maintained his silence, taking the final draw from his cigarette before putting it out and crushing it beneath his foot on the ground. "Smoke break." He said softly. "Mom doesn't like the smell and she doesn't want it in the house." "But why so late?"

"I like the weather. Makes everyone disappear." Y/N stayed quiet. Although he provided an answer, she remained dissatisfied and longed for deeper engagement with him. She had an intense craving to genuinely understand him. "Disappear? So you're..more reserved to yourself?" "You can say that, I guess. I just don't like the engagement." Before Y/N could respond he continued his rant "Needless conversations, repetitive talk it's all numbing.. that's why I spend most of my time with only Sam and Abigail. Everyone can just be so..overwhelming." She faced Sebastian "I understand that. That's why I spend so much time alone on my farm." Sebastian's demeanor warmed up as he felt a connection with Y/N. His facial expression softened and his eyes looked at her empathetically. "We must have a lot in common."

Y/N felt accomplished. Finally, the conversation is moved beyond just small talk. "Well..I would love to know more sometime. If that's okay..you know with the 'Don't like engagement' thing." As Sebastian gazed at her, he let out a gentle chuckle. "there can be exceptions."

As Y/N opened her mouth to speak, a drop of water rolled down her cheek followed by several others, dripping onto her hair. She gazed up at the dark, thundering clouds above. As the rain began to pour heavily, Y/N couldn't help but feel anxious. "Oh no," she uttered, placing her hands on her head. "It's probably best that I head back home."

And then...It stopped. Although the rain didn't continue to pour onto her she still heard it surround her. She opened her eyes and looked back at Sebastian who was holding an umbrella over the both of them. His smile was sweet and his eyes reassured comfort and safety. The way he looked at her was comforting, like a cozy blanket shielding her from the cold.

"I can walk you back."

#stardew valley #stardew valley sebastian #sebastian x reader #sebastian x mc #stardew valley headcanons #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley x reader #stardew valley sebastian x reader #sdv sebastian

[joshlmbrt]

jpm angst where he loves the reader but reader doesnt love him back, i love ur writing btw!!

thank you so much for this request and ur kind words! sorry for the long wait, love! i love writing for james, but im so nervous that i wont deliver correctly, so i hope i do this justice! an; 18+ mentions of murder, drugging, murder-suicide (it’s literally james) - pls don’t read if you don’t like dark themes please! r doesn’t love james but uses him

it’s whispered among others, the glaringly obvious truth that james patrick march loves you - absolutely adores you and your entire being.

every little thing you do, say, and act, makes james swoon, heart skipping a beat. a man reduced into a pile of mush.

yet, you, someone who knew their worth, had high authority with just a simple walk, despised the man. you had him wrapped around your finger with a simple red lipped smile, all sharp and conniving, in a single night.

the man falls hard, and fast, so it was nothing.

and putting up the act as if you loved him was easy. he had the looks, money, business.

extravagant clothing was bought and hung inside your closet every week. the most expensive red wine and some chocolate that were imported were placed on your bed.

too bad he wouldn’t be around long enough before you had to move onto another one.

yet, james had a plan. a plan that would intertwine your souls together forever - a plan that would make him happy for the rest of his life.

dinner was the most extraordinary, your favorite wine, and dessert.

“how did you like your dessert, dear?” his accent makes your skin crawl, fingernails dragging along the side of the glass as you nod.

you head felt heavy and you blinked slowly. “uhm,” you clear your throat, shifting in your seat. “it was tasty, love.”

there’s a sudden heat that surges through your body that has you shifting in your seat again from the sudden pricks that felt like needles in your skin.

“you look a bit pecked, dear. is everything alright?”

you hum, words feeling delayed as they leave your mouth. “i…i’m not feeling too well,” you breath out. “i think i… i think i might go rest.” you place the cloth that rested on your lap on the table.

you slowly stand, fingertips dragging along the table. your knees suddenly buckle, but before you fall, james is catching you. arms wrapped around your waist, he holds you up against his chest.

rough fingertips grip at the softness of your jaw, holding your limp head.

“i got you…” it’s whispered but it sounds as if it was underwater. “forever, love.” his thumb traces up and down your side, his lips pressing against your cheekbone with the utmost warmth.

when you fully come to, you realize that you can’t move your hands and your fingers are fuzzy. it’s cold and smells weird wherever you are and there’s a heavy lamp that was shining over your body.

it causes you to sweat from the heat radiating off from the bulbs. your head snaps over towards the door that opens, someone stepping inside.

that someone being james.

“what are you doing?” you seethe, teeth clenched and arms yanking at the restraints on your wrists.

“oh, my darling,” he steps closer. his hand, gentle with touch, drags across your throat. he hums at the feel of your pulse quickening by his touch.

which is what he thinks.

your actually afraid for the first time.

it was nothing like the first time you saw someone murder another human - your mother being sick and tired of your father, and all the mental abuse and exhaustion that had come from the man, sound of gurgling come from his throat made your fingers grip at the door as you watched from the study.

and you felt excited then, a weird feeling, but a man who deserved it? it made you want to carry out what she had started.

now you’re pulse quickens for a different reason. and that’s not from the excitement of giving a sick man what he deserves.

“we are going to be together. forever and ever,” he leans down, breath hitting your cheek. he watches as your chest quickens, eyes cutting over to him. “i’m never going to let you go.” he whispers.

it happens too quickly, the feeling of a blade slicing across your throat, a gasp leaving your lips as you try to wriggle from the restraints.

blood stains his shirt from you.

the last thing you see is the door opening and blood spraying from james’ neck as he falls forward.

#cherry writes ✿ #james patrick march x fem!reader #james patrick march x reader #james patrick march x you #evan peters x fem!reader #evan peters x reader #evan peters x you

[threadbaresweater]

midnight | geto suguru

It's not love, but its more than just a casual thing. Being stuck somewhere in the middle is harder than both of you are willing to admit, so you'll stay in a codependent limbo for just a little while longer. Cw; reader has self-esteem issues (obviously), Suguru is manipulative. Dubcon (just in case. It's not explicit, but there is an implication). Codependent relationship dynamic. Reader gender isn't specified, but it's written with a female in mind. 1.1k words

He only comes to you at night, long after the sun has tucked its light beneath the horizon and the melancholy blue of moonlight casts an ethereal glow over the city. It's when you're the most vulnerable, the most receptive to his advances, and he knows this as well as you.

There's still plenty of noise, but it's less intrusive now– muffled sounds of car doors and muted conversations and the electric buzz of a street lamp trickle in through your open window on the third floor, and you're quietly thankful that you decided to stay in tonight. The week has not been kind, and the more your friends try to coax you out of your ruined mood, the less you respond to their tactics. After a few hours of bickering, they leave you to your own devices with the promise that they'll check on you in the morning. You agree with a simple "ok" and take a long, hot shower before climbing into bed. The cool, soft cotton of your sheets feels like heaven, and you succumb quickly to the relief that sleep brings.

He's careful to close the door quietly, the subtle click of the lock still echoing a bit louder than he intended. Dark brows pinch together as he toes off his shoes in the entryway, and he pads toward your bedroom only to find this door slightly ajar, as if you were waiting for him. You'd never admit it, of course, but there's a small part of you that hopes he'll show up. He does, eventually, but it's always long after you've given up hope. Days and weeks go by without a word, and just when you think he's forgotten you, he's on your doorstep again as if no time had passed between you.

Maybe it's some kind of game he plays, or maybe it's his way of staying just out of reach so you don't get too attached to him. Maybe he's trying to deny the way you've bled into his soul, because the more he sees you the more he wants to, and he's much too stoic to admit that he needs you the way that you need him. Regardless, his head feels like static when he sees you sleeping, one leg free from the confines of your blanket, a table fan whirring nearby. He doesn't approach at first; he leans against the doorframe, a fond, small smile lifting the corner of his mouth. As much as he doesn't want to disturb you, there's another part of him that craves your embrace, the way your gentle hands seem to smooth out every ounce of tension from his body. His chest aches; with a sigh, he pushes away from the door and crosses the room.

Perched on the edge of your bed, he's able to study the way your face looks free of all worry and stress. Your breath is steady and even, lips slightly parted, lashes fluttering every so often. He wonders what you see in your dreams, wonders if he's part of the world that lives behind your eyes. He touches your lashes with a delicate tenderness, sweeping his thumb across your cheek. Your next breath is a bit longer and more deliberate, but you make no indication otherwise that you're aware of his presence. Gingerly, he moves to lie beside you and drapes an arm over the swell of your hip. This close, he smells the floral undertones of your shampoo and can't resist bending closer to press his nose against your hairline, lips brushing against your ear. He wants to melt into you, to wrap himself around you and allow you to fix all of his broken pieces, to make a home inside your chest and hide there in your protection for the rest of his days.

The thought scares him, and when he holds his breath, his body grows rigid and his fingers press firm against your hip. When he pulls his face away from yours, you wake. Through narrow eyes you perceive him, but for a moment you feel like you might still be dreaming. You blink and open your eyes a little wider; he huffs a quiet laugh when he sees the furrow in your brow, the sleepy confusion written in the way your mouth works but no words are spoken. You're cute when you're sleepy.

"Suguru…?" You say his name as if you still aren't convinced he's real. You touch his upper lip with fingers that tremor ever so slightly, feel the curve of his smile when he takes hold of your wrist and moves your hand to his cheek. "What, I– what time is it?"

"Late. After midnight," he says, his eyes never leaving your face. Every second that passes makes you more and more aware that no, you're not dreaming. He's here, in the flesh. Your heart does a funny little dance and a lump forms in your throat, fingertips pulsing against his cheek.

"You–" You clear your throat and wrinkle your nose, feeling the prickle of tears as your lip twists to stave them off. There are a hundred things you wish you could say to him, but all that comes out is, "Missed you."

His reply is a kiss; it's tender and delicate and practiced. He knows how you like to be kissed, and he'd never want to disappoint you. Soft lips move against yours, a curious tongue licks into your mouth, a broad hand cups your cheek. Long fingers lace behind your ear to draw your nearer to him, to bring you into his presence where you're overwhelmed and overcome.

You hate that you love him. You hate that you spend your days pining for a man who you're certain views you only as some sort of safety net, a steadfast presence in his unpredictable life that he can always come home to when it all gets to be too much.

You hate how you let him work his hands under your shirt, how you spread your legs and allow him access to your most intimate areas, how he draws pleasure from you in ways you've yet to experience with anyone else.

And you hate how he lingers in your bed, his nakedness pressed against your own, face buried in your shoulder.

You hate that it can never be anything more than this. But in his arms, you're content for a little while longer. Each time he returns, your heart feels light and the world seems a little brighter. And each time he leaves, he takes another part of you with him. Soon there won't be enough left for him to come back to, but you'll keep giving anyway. You give and you give and you give, all in the name of love, and in the hopes that one day, he'll love you, too.

#jjk x reader #geto suguru x reader

[tartigglez]

If your event is still going on, can I have 💙 with Kazuha?

"ten-twenty"

・❥・TIME FOR MORE SHENANIGOOGLES HELLO ALL WELCOME TO "CAEL WRITES FOR CANADIAN JEAN" (i'm excited about posting)

・❥・kazuha x gn!reader

・❥・0.9k

・❥・(trauma) nightmares, tomo (kazuha's friend), grief, loss, crying, reverse comfort, physical contact, clingy kazu, lil l-bomb, just very soft but a little dramatic

・❥・i am sorry but i spent like,, way more than twenty minutes writing this bc i really liked the plan that i came up with and wanted to execute it in a way i liked xoxo, also this feels reminiscent of this

kazuha x 💙

your sleeping form was completely still as he shook, arm draped across his waist, fingers as still and steady as the gentle breaths which escaped your nose. quietly, almost unnoticeably, your hand began to shake, almost akin to the movements of a branch in a thunderstorm, which was what you were seeing in your own dream. mumbles of a voice were making their way through the wind, quiet drones… “please, don’t leave me… not again”, “don’t go like this, please…” however the one which would cut short the scene of the rain and the wind battering the leaf would be the shout, loud tenor piercing through your hearing…

“NO” 

the drawn out yell opened your eyes to the pitch black of your bedroom, in which the only thing you could feel was your love next to you, shaking and mumbling in his sleep. it was his voice which had weaved its way into your dream. of course, this was not the first time it had happened. 

kazuha often had dreams about his friend, killed by the musou no hitotachi all those years ago. it remains true that kazuha has been haunted by the wound left on his soul by the raiden shogun for all this time, and may always continue to be. 

you flicked on the bedside lamp, warm light filling the room, the shadows of kazuhas sleeping body -as well as your own sitting one- projected themselves on to the wall at the far side of the bed. just at this observation, his eyes opened, his breathing beginning to slow down.

next followed one of  the most painful sights anyone could imagine seeing, the love of their life crying at the thought of loss. the tears did not come slowly, nor calmly. he was obviously disoriented, eyes not meeting yours, not registering your presence. instead, his head was buried in his knees, which were now pulled against his stomach as he sat up. 

“hey,” you opened softly, “kazu?” 

you figured it was best not to touch him, he was clearly in shock, and although this dream happened often, it was never normally this bad. he turned to you, red eyes and puffed cheeks greeting you as his expression dropped, and he —within a split second— wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him. 

“you’re here,” he whispered, tears starting once again “you’re real” he spoke, shaking body gripping you like a stray kitten. 

“of course i’m here, darling” you said softly against his ear, “tomo again?” you asked, a hand slowly rubbing his back.

he shook his head against your body, burying it into the crevasse of your neck, seemingly inhaling your scent. “you” he spoke quietly. 

“me?” you questioned, still holding on to him tightly, grabbing the duvet to wrap it around the two of you, hoping it would slow his shaking.

“are you really here? please tell me this is not a dream…” he spoke, hoping and praying and wishing that you were not another figment of his dream, a symptom of his nightmare. 

“it’s not a dream, i’m right here, i've always been right here” you spoke into his hair, before gently kissing his forehead. this however, seemed to provoke an even tighter grip from him, an almost bone-crushing hug. you of course, reciprocated this squeeze for a moment before slackening again. Thankfully, he followed suit, mirroring you.

“please stay” he spoke against your skin, “don’t go anywhere.”

you giggled a little at that. kazuha wasn’t normally this outward with how he asked for commitment. generally speaking, he was poetic in all aspects of life, including his relationship with you. 

“i’m not going anywhere, don’t worry” you responded, pressing a kiss against his temple, then proceeding to move once again on to your back, head hitting the pillows with a gush of air escaping the fibres inside. you reached your arms out to him, gesturing for him to lay down on your chest. 

“may i?” he said softly, requesting permission despite the fact you told him it was fine on numerous occasions. you nodded gently, watching as he laid down slowly on top of you, the crown of his head placed just below your chin, his legs making their way to entangle with yours. 

there was a momentary silence between the two of you, which was not uncomfortable, nor awkward, it simply was. until he spoke once again.

“i’m scared,” he whispered, watching as your fingers tangled themselves into his silvery hair, calmly running through it, massaging his scalp.

“scared? you wanna talk about it?” you asked, careful with your tone, his head rising and falling slightly with each breath you took. 

“what if i fall asleep and it happens again? what if when i wake up, you’re not here?” he said sleepily, anxious voice still a little shaky. 

“if it happens again, i’ll be here to protect you. i promise that. i’ll be here when you wake up, and i’l-” you stopped mid-sentence, a gentle chuckle coming from you, realising he had fallen asleep. 

“i love you,” you whispered into his hair, turning off the lamp and closing your eyes, “forever.” 

sfw masterlist

taglist: @lioria @celestetalkstoomuch

© tartigglez, 2023. do not copy, translate or repost

#tartigglez 100 follower event #genshin impact #genshin x reader #kazuha x reader #kazuha fluff #kaedahara kazuha #kazuha x you #genshin fluff

[oleander-nin]

There’s this song that has a tight grip on my soul that I definitely recommend titled ceilings by Lizzy McAlpine, but it lead me to getting a request idea if you’re taking any!

I don’t see a lot of rottmnt!raph x reader’s often so I’d figure I’d request one where reader is staring at the ceiling, daydreaming about something when raph shows up outside the reader’s home while it’s pouring to confess because he was too anxious when he had the opportunity prior that week and they hadn’t talked since. I just really enjoy angst/comfort, haha!

A/N, not important: I'm releasing you from the dungeon/j. On a side note, I am so sorry this took me so long to get to. It's a wonderful idea, and I truly hope I did it some justice(I didn't). I'm so sorry for the wait. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

Tw: My writing, confessions, daydreaming, reminiscing on reader's regret, rainy night, sneaking around while parents are sleeping, feelings of love

Words: 1891

Summary: Raph appears at your window late at night, even the pouring rain unable to keep him from confessing.

The fan buzzed overhead, adding a comforting background noise to my foggy brain. The rain pattered against my window, hitting the roof with the familiar rhythmic drops that made me feel safe. A roll of thunder sounded in the distance, the boom muffled from the walls of my room. I  laid on my side, cuddled up in the plethora of blankets piled on top of me, my mind racing despite the calming atmosphere.

The single lamp I kept on my desk was my only source of light, its warm glow made the entire room feel that much more welcoming, a proper hiding place for a lonely mind. Gosh, why didn’t I just tell him. It would’ve been so easy, and I genuinely think he would’ve said yes. He was so caring while he helped me learn how to knit, showing me the proper way to tension the yarn and move the needles. His presence was kind and warm, and I swear I could’ve just died happy right there and then. I wished more than everything I could’ve told him, told him how happy just being near him made me, told him how his smile lit up the room, or told him how I never wanted to see him cry.

But I didn’t. Instead, I just sat there, listening to his gentle words as he corrected the way I held the needles, or how I twisted the yarn. I was a coward. I pull one of my plushies to my chest for comfort, the bear with the red bandana and pirate attire being my victim. I let out a small laugh, nuzzling my face into the soft material of the plushie. Raph had gotten it for me after I had first seen his favorite Jupiter Jim movie, ‘Jupiter Jim Sails The Seven Galaxies’. It was a sweet gesture that made me fall even more in love with the giant snapper mutant. I couldn’t help but feel a pang in my heart from the fact that I could’ve been cuddling Raph instead of a plushie if I had just told him while we were hanging out last week. It hurt me to know since we hadn’t talked since. I couldn’t help but be mad at myself, knowing it was my fault. I knew I should reach out, but my heart hurt too much to do so.

I wanted Raph to be the one holding me, his arms wrapped around me as we watch a movie, or his comforting presence helping me when he is able to convince me to do reps with him. I wanted to go on a date with him to Hueso’s, or to walk around the Hidden City, arm in arm. I wanted to be with him, to be the one he goes to when he’s upset, or wants to talk about his goals in life. I wanted to be there for him in every way I could, more so than I already was. I wanted to kiss him, to hold him, to love him. I just wanted him to love me too. I didn’t want to mess up if I saw him again, to tell him too early, or not at the right time.

I squeeze the pirate teddy tighter, my lips gently kissing its bandana covered head, pretending it was Raph. Oh how I wished it was. I knew it was stupid, being almost 18 and still pretending my stuffed animals were my crush, pouting over being too scared to face my crush and not reaching out for a week. I knew if anyone saw me right now, I’d never live it down. Not that I couldn’t lie my way out of it though. It was easy enough to just say I really liked this teddy bear. Even if it was mostly because Raph gave it to me.

Tap

I look up towards my window through my dimly lit room, my eyebrows furrowing slightly. That was too loud of a sound to be a raindrop. Was it hailing? I shifted on my bed, fishing around for my phone on my bedside table. I sit up, my legs folded under me as I rest on my knees. I open my phone, pulling up the weather app. Scanning through the temperature and the humidity levels, I saw no mention of a prediction or confirmation of hail. Only the current rain and thunder were being spoken of. 

Tap tap tap

My head turns towards the window as I slide off my bed, slowly inching towards. A couple more taps sound from the window, too precise to be anything but a person. I pull back my curtain slightly, my eyes scanning for whoever was causing the tapping. I prayed it wasn’t some murderer, trying to confirm my presence so they could jump out and kill me.

My eyes widen as a soaked Raph greets me, balancing on the small ledge as he waves. I make quick work of unlocking my window and pushing it open, waving Raph inside. The large turtle mutant fumbles in, trying his best not to scratch the window or the walls with his spiky shell. A small puddle starts to gather at his feet from the water dipping off of him, Raph lifting up a foot like he was surprised. Raph winces apologetically, his hands wiping at his wet shorts to try and dry them off. I shut the window once Raph was inside, keeping the rain from coming into my room anymore than it already had.

“I’ll go get you a towel.” I say quickly, rushing to the bathroom down the hall while Raph stood in my room, trying his best not to get water everywhere. I rustle through the bathroom cabinet, pulling out two towels, one for the floor and one for Raph. I make it back to the room, handing a large beach towel to Raph while I soak up the puddle that was forming under him with the other.

“Sorry ‘bout the water.” Raph mumbles apologetically, carefully drying himself off as to not rip the towel on his spikes. I shake my head, smiling as I finish drying off the puddle before taking the wet towel back to the bathroom. When I return, I’m holding an extra pair of Raph’s signature red shorts, a pair he’s forgotten from previous visits. 

“I meant to bring these over earlier after you left them last time you came over to go swimming in the pool up top. Good thing I forgot.” I say with a small grin, handing the spare clothes to Raph. “Go change into the dry shorts in the bathroom. But try to be quiet, my parents are asleep.” I put my finger over my lips as I tell him to be quiet, and Raph nods, keeping his voice low as he thanks me.

I sit on my bed again, swinging my legs back and forth while waiting for Raph to return. The large turtle makes his way back to my room, now dry and without the towel or his wet shorts. He joins me on my bed, sitting carefully so his shell wouldn’t get caught on the mattress. We both sit in awkward silence for a moment, neither of us sure what to do or say.

Raph ends up breaking the silence first, his voice gentle as he rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry for not reaching out at all recently.” Raph looked genuinely apologetic, as if he had committed some cardinal sin for not texting me during the week, as if I hadn’t done the same thing.

I shake my head, sending Raph a crooked smile. “Nah, it’s all good. I didn’t exactly try either.”

Raph lets out a small huff, laughing softly. “Well, I’m still sorry. So there.” Raph grins, seemingly pleased with himself for apologizing. He pulls me into a side hug, ruffling my hair. “You make any progress on the scar you was makin’?”

I push his hand off my hair, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, it looks like a tangled mess though.” The scarf in question was currently hidden under my bed, too ugly to be seen. Once I was better though, I’d make Raph something. I just needed to practice a bit.

Raph lets out another laugh, his eyes shining brightly. “Oh please, it can’t be that bed. You were doing fine last I saw.”

I shake my head, a bright smile on my face. “You have way too much faith in me, my friend.” I pretend calling him ‘my friend’ didn’t hurt the way it did, pretending it didn't make my heart squeeze painfully. I pretended not to notice the way Raph’s smile faltered at the wording either, neither of us seeming to be able to stand being ‘just friends’. 

I pat my thighs awkwardly, the silence in the room settling like a thick blanket. I clear my throat, moving past the previous statement. “So, what has you here at 2:37 am? I can’t believe Splinter let you out this late.”

Raph seems to sink a little, seeming guilty. My eyes widen as I realize what he did, a snort escaping me. “Raph, you didn’t. I can’t believe you snuck out!”

Raph huffs a bit, a small blush on his cheeks as he tries to defend himself. “It’s not like I’m in any danger! We used to leave the lair all the time this late. I just… Needed to see you.” He admits, fiddling with his fingers while avoiding eye contact.

I look at Raph curiously, my heart beating faster at his words. “What did you need to see me for, Raph?” I ask, trying to stay calm. My brain started racing, millions of reasons coming to my head. 

Raph clears his throat, finally making eye contact with me again. He takes my hands in his, trying his best to stop the twitching in his fingers. I look into his eyes, my heart beating fast as my ears rang slightly. Was this it?

“I wanted to thank you, first of all. I really appreciate you being there for me and my brothers. It’s been… Really nice knowing you were there for me, and that I had someone to turn to. I would also like to apologize again, for not reaching out. I meant to tell you something last week, but chickened out at the last moment. I’m sorry. So, I decided, I need to tell you now.” Raph smiles gently, squeezing my hands lightly. “I like you, (Y/n). More than a friend. I know I’m a giant snapping turtle mutant, but please… Give me a chance. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

I look at Raph with a dopey smile, my heart beating a mile a minute as my brain tries to catch up. I dumbly nod, all the words I wanted to say stuck in my throat. Raph beams at this, seeminging happy with my non-verbal answer. Raph pulls me into a tight hug, nuzzling his snout into the top of my head. I let out a bubbling laugh, hugging him back while I feel like I’m on cloud nine. Everything was perfect in this moment, and I was convinced nothing could bring me down from this high.

We both froze when we heard the door to my parent’s room click open.

#tmnt raphael #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #raph #raphael #raph tmnt #rottmnt raph x reader #rottmnt raph #rise raph #raph x reader #raph hamato #rise raph x reader #rapheal #rapheal x reader #tmnt rise #tmnt x reader #rottmnt x reader #raph x reader rottmnt

[autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze]

The Reaper and The Devil - Part 2

Hello! I'm slightly overwhelmed by all of the interaction on part 1, thank you so much!! I would, once again, like to thank my darling friend @weemssapphic for the beta <3

Warnings: Death, I think that's it... :/

Taglist: @weemssapphic @crow-raven-crow

The street was dark and empty, only the light of the street lamp to accompany the soft pattering of rain on the pavement. The chill autumn air ran up your spine like spiders crawling up a wall and you shivered, making Lucifer chuckle beside you. 

“You should be used to the chill air, Little Lamb, Hell is hardly hot.” Lucifer wrapped a wing around your shoulders and suddenly you felt warmer. They were right, of course, Hell is surprisingly cold unless you’re on fire. 

“The Earth’s cool is different from the chill of Hell.” You smirked. “It’s like the difference between the cold air of England and the cold air of Texas. The temperature might be the same but the climate is very different.” 

Lucifer raised a brow at you, looking into your eyes with amusement. A light flickered on in the house in front of you, illuminating the front kitchen window. You both turned toward the light and your body felt heavy again. An elderly woman appeared on the other side of the glass, yawning and filling the kettle with water. 

“Humans are so peculiar.” Lucifer hummed. “Getting up to make tea at 2:37 in the morning.”

You breathed out a laugh and turned your gaze to Lucifer, their face almost glowing with the light of the street lamp and the warm glow from the window. “They’re creatures of comfort.”

Lucifer looked down into your eyes and smiled softly before placing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “We wouldn’t know about that.”

You smiled softly at their touch before turning back to look at the house. You looked up at the top front window and sighed as you felt yourself being drawn towards it. 

“She’s in there.” Your voice came out barely above a whisper and Lucifer noticed how you tensed beneath their wing. Without another word, you took a step forward and walked into the house. The woman in the kitchen was blissfully unaware of you and the lightbringer, she continued pattering around with sugar and milk as she hummed to herself. You stopped and looked at her for a moment, Lucifer standing behind you, shrouded by the darkness of the hallway. 

“She’ll be fine, Lamb.” Lucifer whispered. You turned towards them with a sad, quizzical smile. 

“How do you know?” Your voice wobbled slightly. One thing your sibling, Death, was very good at was not worrying about the living souls that surrounded the soul they were guiding. Death had once told you that while they may be sad and afraid for a while, when they finally get to meet us themselves, they’re comforted in the fact their loved one was not truly alone when they passed. And neither will they be. Still, it’s a hard thing to remember at times like this. 

Lucifer stepped forward and gently rested their hands on your shoulders, turning you back to face the woman in the kitchen again. “Her name is Elsie Priors. She’s 76 years old, grandmother of 7, mother of 3. Her husband, Benny Priors, passed away 2 years ago. He had treated her well. She enjoys knitting and baking. And making cups of tea.” The last part elicited a small giggle from you, a sad one as tears began filling your eyes against your will. Lucifer continued speaking in a hushed tone, “She is a good woman. She loves deeply. She is kind, gracious and humble. She’ll be ok.” 

You watched for a moment longer as Elsie stood on her tiptoes, struggling to reach a jar of ginger biscuits in the top cabinet. 

“For goodness sake, Maeve.” Elsie muttered under her breath. She stepped back and stood with her hands on her hips, laughing quietly to herself. “One day I will put her eyeliner where she can’t reach it, she won’t be laughing then.” 

Elsie turns and stops for a moment, looking directly at you and Lucifer. You hold your breath for a moment, watching as Elsie takes a step forward seemingly looking straight at you. She then claps her hands together before she walks out of the kitchen muttering something about the stepping stool under the stairs. The breath leaves your lungs as Elsie walks right past you, not even noticing as her arm brushes against your own. 

As Elsie disappears further down the hallway you turn to Lucifer and smile sadly, wiping a single tear that had escaped onto your cheek. Lucifer looks down at you and kisses the crown of your head before stepping aside and allowing you to lead the way up the stairs. There is an open door in front of you and as you approach the top you can see it’s Elsie’s room. The next two doors are closed and you pass by them to get to the door at the end of the hallway. A small clatter from downstairs makes you look over the bannister and see Elsie as she looks up and over the bannister from the hallway. You giggle to yourself as Elsie makes an ‘oops’ face before pottering back into the kitchen again. 

You hear laughing coming from the room in front of you and turn to Lucifer who smiles softly and nods in reassurance. With a deep breath you turn and slowly push the door open. The room inside is bigger than you expected. It’s dimly lit with a green LED light on the wall reading ‘kindly, fuck off’. You read it and smile as you take in the rest of the room. Clothes are scattered across the floor, there are several glasses and a bowl on the desk and some books stacked on the bedside table. The bed is under the window and, as you approach, you can see a young girl, around 17, laughing in her sleep. You move to sit at the end of the bed and Lucifer stands behind you, in between the foot of the bed and a built-in wardrobe. 

You rest your hand on the girl’s leg over the duvet and gently draw soothing circles with your thumb. Her laughing subsides and she slowly opens her eyes and looks at you. She startles and sits up, pulling her legs towards her chest with a panicked look in her eye. 

“Hello, Maeve.” You keep your voice calm and steady as you return both of your hands to your lap. Maeve’s features soften and she allows her body to relax.

“Hello, Somnus.” Maeve smiles softly and takes a deep breath as she looks at you. “Wow… What a way to go.” 

You laugh lightly and nod. “Dying from laughing in your sleep is… unique.” 

“I think it’s the coolest thing I’ve ever done.” Maeve smiles, genuine and comfortable, as her eyes travel to Lucifer behind you. 

“I’m sorry, I feel like I should know your name but…” Maeve trails off as Lucifer smiles softly at her, her next word coming out as a barely audible whisper. “Morningstar.” 

You look up at Lucifer as they nod their head gently. 

“Well, I have to admit I didn’t believe in Heaven and Hell but of the two I didn’t think I’d end up in the latter.” Maeve’s shoulders slump as she speaks, disappointment evident in her voice. 

Lucifer chuckles lightly. “I’m not here to bring you to Hell, Sweet Child. I am merely keeping Somnus company as they work.”

Maeve’s face relaxes slightly and she moves to stand at the side of her bed, turning to look at her body still comfortable under the covers. “I never thought I would see myself sleeping. Nanna was right, I do look peaceful.” She turns to look at you and Lucifer once again as a smash is heard from the kitchen. Maeve runs from the room and you quickly stand and follow after her. 

You stop at Maeve’s side at the door into the kitchen. Elsie is cursing under her breath while sweeping up shards of a now broken biscuit jar with a dustpan and brush. 

Maeve looks at you with sadness in her eyes. “Can I help her? One last time?” 

You smile softly and nod before Maeve steps into the kitchen and gently takes the dustpan and brush from her grandmother. 

“Nanna, what are you like?” Maeve chuckles as she finishes sweeping up the glass on the floor. 

“Oh, Darling, I’m sorry I woke you.” Elsie stands and watches as Maeve puts the glass in the bin and returns the dustpan and brush to the cupboard under the sink. 

“You didn’t wake me, it’s ok.” Maeve pulls Elsie in for a tight hug and Elsie melts into her touch. “I love you, Nanna.” Maeve whispers, her voice calm but trembling slightly as a tear falls down her cheek. 

“My Darling girl, I love you too.” Elsie kisses Maeve on the cheek and steps back, looking Maeve up and down. She turns to you and her smile falters as you step into the kitchen. 

“Somnus. Is that you?” Elsie looks you up and down bewildered. 

“Hello, Elsie. It’s been a while.” You smile warmly. 

Lucifer, who is hiding in the shadows, watches on confused as you take another step towards a now grinning Elsie. 

“Well, Dear, what are you here for? I’m wide awake.” Elsie laughs as she looks between You and Maeve. 

“I’m afraid I’m not here for you, Old Friend.” You gently take Maeve’s hand and Elsie’s features slowly fall. She gives a small nod of understanding before stepping forward and kissing Maeve on the forehead. 

“You’re in good hands, Darling. Sleep well.” Elsie’s eyes are dancing with a mixture of sadness and content as she wipes a tear from Maeve’s cheek. “I’ll see you soon.” 

Maeve nods and kisses Elsie on the cheek. “See you soon, Nanna.” 

With that, you lead Maeve out of the house and into the street, Lucifer standing beside you both under the streetlight as Elsie watches on from the front door step. 

“Lucifer.” Elsie quietly shouts into the street. “Take care of them both.”

Lucifer nods as you look up at them, now it’s your turn to be confused. 

“They’re safe with me, El.” Lucifer smiles softly and the three of you disappear, leaving Elsie waving at nothing from her front door.

#gwendoline christie #lucifer x reader #the sandman lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer fanfiction #the sandman #the reaper and the devil #the sandman fanfic

[writing-for-me-at-this-point]

Heyoooo! I was wondering if the Iseo that you posted about Soap and reader drifting apart after they decided to have a 3some wit ghost was a 1 part thing? If not can their be another extremely angsty part 2?

Cheers, To Us | John "Soap" MacTavish | COD: Modern Warefare II

[ Original ANGST Post, Part One ]

Warnings. mentions of cheating/growing distant, unfulfilled relationships, lowkey toxic relationships

Reader. Fem!reader, female reader, reader has braids, reader is American (American coded? Can't fuckin remember lmao)

AN. I wrote this within the span of one hour and nearly 25 hours with no sleep. Pls enjoy

Tags: @rey26 @trash-important @l1anaisasasama @thatanonymouschocolate (I saw you were looking for part one so here's part two lol) @bbaengtan @corvusmorte @uwu-i-purple-you (saw you guys asking fkr the first one in comments and decided yall might want one AND two lol)

Rain falls, heavy and unforgiving, and your mood seems to dampen along with the ground. Curled into the window seat, the lamp light leaves a warm, dim, tone to wash over you, and a book in hand as your head rests against the lush pillows and curtains. You tried your best to move on, to find peace, and maybe allow yourself to find it as well. God knows you tried.

“Beba, you really gonna sit there and mope, or actually read the book?” Your friend calls out, breaking you from the beginning of a spiral into another descent of depression and anxiety, and a sigh leaves you as the book is shut and tossed to the nearest coffee table.

“Neither.” You groan, meeting her in the kitchen as groceries and necessities are unpacked and put away in the correct areas, allowing you to move and sit at the bar and watch quietly. The silence is comfortable, and your mind settles, something that gratefulness cannot even begin to touch as a description.

“So, you going back? Saw some emails from old friends��” She starts, deep brown eyes staring deeply into yours, before yours find the back of your head, and she only laughs at your antics. She's finished placing things away, and opens the cabinet, the clanking of glass makes you wince just a bit.

“Maybe, not too sure yet.” You start, before a glass comes to your countertop, a vodka bottle soon filling it before filling the cup further from you.

“But?”

“But, Laswell has a place for me through some connections. Intell is always needed, and some guy… eh what's his name?” You wonder aloud, moving to take a sip of the hard liquor, pursing your lips together as you get more… acquired with the taste once again.

“D-Day! That's his name… Wayne “D-Day” Davis” You’re proud of remembering the name.

“That's… a name. A real American, huh?” Your friend snorts, turning away quickly before coming back, leaning against the countertop and nearly finishing her drink there.

“Take it easy, girlie. You’re not the uprooted one here.” You laugh, and she continues on, shaking her head.

“Uprooted. How is that, by the way? Enjoying being back home, rather than Scotland?” It’s genuine, and your eyes still water at the name of your old… home. An old life. One broken away from, because of a stupid decision, one you hate, but had to move on from.

It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. 

“Come on, Hen. Talk to me, please.” His hands move to your hips, desperately trying to grab at you, gentle enough to let you leave, but firm enough to let you know he wants you in his hold. 

Stay. Please. He begs in his mind.

“Get away from me, John. I can’t do this right now.” You move from his hands, going to change out of your pajamas into clothing, ready to get things ready for the day. You’re exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally. You wanted to be free of this. Of him. Even if it’s killing you, and your soul would damn you for leaving a love like this behind, but the pain was too much- and you didn’t want this anymore.

It’s not like he’d care.

He has different… priorities.

“Well, when can ya? Ya never seem to have the time for me. Or us.” He’s choked up, and you can imagine the tears welling up in his eyes, but you didn’t find your heart weeping for him like it would have months ago.

You stop moving, tense, dead silent. John can only regret his words and actions so much, but when you’ve been acting like this, he feels more justified in his feelings for Ghost.

But he wanted you too, he wanted you back and normal again. Happy to see him, in love, always talking his ear off and eating the food he’d make for you. The happiness in the air whenever he came home from being gone for months on end at times.

Months… with Ghost. As much as he missed you, he was never as lonely as you were, huh? Never as loyal.

Maybe he should have expected this.

“Well you seem to have the time for Ghost. Why don’t you go to him? It’s what you’ve been doing anyways.” You grit through your teeth, moving across the room to finally change, deciding on what you needed to do first. From the embassy to the lawyer, your mind is running wild and John begging at your hip like a lost puppy isn't helping.

“That’s not fair, Hen…” He whispers, standing in the same place, watching you throw on your clothing and tuck your braids into your hood, desperate to keep warm from the chill. Lord knows “Johnny” wasn’t going to warm you anytime.

“It isn’t fair I lost my husband to a Ghost. Looks like nothings fair nowadays.” You go on, pushing past John to grab your phone and wallet from the nightstand, not responding to his small “goodbye” as you leave the room, and the house soon after.

Yeah, nothing seemed to be fair. Not for him. And especially not for you.

“I’ll be fine. Probably gonna focus on work… friends… family.” You mumble into your drink, deciding to mimic your friend's earlier actions and take a large swing of the liquor, needing to numb your mind for a quick second.

“But not yourself?” She mused, tilting her head, a sad smile gracing her face.

“You would know how to do that best, I’m guessing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Focusing on yourself, and only yourself, after a break up,” She rolled her eyes at you, finding irony in your words, before moving to grab the bottle of vodka and refill your cups of uncertainty and sorrow.

“Valeria.” You finished, and she perks up at her name, clicking her tongue against her teeth before continuing her questioning of you. There's a cheerful sway in her movements and it leaves worrying thoughts only to fester.

“Oh, I know very well. But, that's why you're here, no? To focus on you, and your own needs.” A sigh leaves you once again, and at least you know your lungs are working, while your brain short circuits in reasoning and logic.

“Yeah. My needs, a place to hide, a place that they’ll never find me. Until I go back, that is, a girl needs to work, needs her money.” You finish another glass, and your mind spins, Valeria finds glee in seeing your tongue loosen and speak your mind.

“Two birds with one stone. You get your privacy until you decide on what to do, and I have a piece to use against Los Vaqueros and their friends, a win-win.” Her smile is wide and your heart stutters.

“A piece against them? Or him?”

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not.”

Your glasses are filled once again, and clink to a toast, a promise is made and leaves you both satisfied after this night.

You both will get what you want and need, soon enough.

#cod x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #female reader #reader insert #x reader #queen.writing #fem reader #angst

[rottendollface]

The Horror of Our Love. Chapter 1.

Co-author: @bigtimesalt8196

Character: Childe Tartaglia | Ajax.

Image: Picsart AI.

Warnings: NSFW; Ajax is older than in canon; broken time line and age line for the sake of plot; female virgin reader, incestuous relationships, family abuse, misogyny, mentions of rape, unprotected sex, black magic, blood and flesh magic, body horror, sacrilegious, Foul Legacy Childe, breeding kink, miscarriage, marriage, grooming, pregnancy, erotic lactation, murdering, abyssal soulmates, serfdom system in Snezhnaya; all the characters are adults; 18+.

Childe remembered his childhood with sadness: the world around him was silent and colorless; his soul, timid and gentle, couldn't find needed endorsement, as no one seemed to care about him and his role in this doomed world either. He was dreaming about adult life: the life where he would be significant and needed like all the adults around him, the life where people would listen to his words and would be interested in his opinion. 

Father held the Bible in his right hand, and all of his kids, except Ajax, who preferred to hold it in his left hand, did the same. Father told that sin couldn't come into their house, and everyone believed it, and routine in Ajax's house was calm and silent under the strict oversight of ikons of Tsaritsa in a shy light of lamp. 

Childe grew up in the village among the boundless sea of snow and sharp icicles, which were hanging from the roofs and trees like lethiferous rocks that were covering the underwater ground. Rural life was simple and boring: the biggest part of the year people were waiting for the short summer to come to get the previous harvest and sow a new one. In Snezhnaya everything did its best to adapt to the hard climate, and Childe still saved in memory how he was helping father in haymaking time, reeking with sweat and feeling how his skin was burning from unusually hot and mighty Sun. After haymaking Ajax's hair became dull and bright, and his body remained tanned until winter came to cover everything with a solicitous blanket of snow, and nature was resting until new summer – again and again in a sacred circle, despite all the worries and tragedies of human life.  

Ajax was too young to experience death: one of newborn brothers died on a second day of his small life – Ajax remembered a dark bundle and a little coffin that looked like a toy boat that he used to play with when he was little; for him it was confusing and seemed like a game: Ajax couldn't understand why the cheerful face of mother became dark, and her eyes seemed to be blind to her other kids. She remained silent for a couple of days, but she didn't stop working – she tried to distract herself from grief with hard work, and her portly strong body was unusually strange for Ajax. The older brothers told him: it wasn't the first time someone of her kids had died, but mother was a very sensitive person. Tears of pity to his mother still were bursting from Ajax's eyes every time he recalled this memory. 

Ajax had to grow up when you were born: all the elder brothers had already left, and he was the next one to take responsibility for his family on his fragile shoulders. He didn't like that his family had to work for some noble: parents worked for days and nights for someone who didn't care to raise salary, and the same faith was waiting for everyone in his family, as all of their breed were peasants. Mother told Ajax to be grateful: the landowner they worked for was a good man who visited the village rarely and stayed at the capital. Their duties weren't hard – he just needed to work and be happy for surviving another day. Ajax liked to take care of cattle and horses, and chop firewoods; his favorite were fishing and salting the part of catch which his family was allowed to keep for themselves – but the fact that some man, who was lucky enough to be born in a different social class, was owning Ajax's whole family made him feel sick. They didn't have to worry about the earth, and nobles were obligated to take care of their peasants, but the law was on noble's side: nobles were allowed to deprive their peasants of property and send them out of the village, nobles could punish their peasants as much as they wanted. There was a way to get out of life like this – and Ajax was determined to end it.

Ajax was confused when father yelled at him and punched him at the back of his head: he told Ajax that it was just a whim, just an eagerness of youthful maximalism and inexperience in life. While father was worried about the money and all the taxes he would have to pay from leaving their master, Ajax was thinking about human dignity and the value of his sisters and brothers as a person, not forced labor. Ajax missed the moment when the relationship between father and him started to worsen, but the awe and respect he once had to his father now were gone, and irritation took their place. 

'Old man knows nothing about life,' Ajax used to tell his older brothers, who lived in the two nearest houses in the same yard. 'Times have changed, but he is too stubborn and stupid to understand this.'

Older brothers, Timofey and Gleb, weren't good people. When the veil of childhood fell off Ajax's eyes he realized the bitter truth: Timofey and Gleb were thinking about heritage only and were splitting the house, cattle, horses and everything that belonged to their parents already without thinking about younger siblings. Timofey wanted to own all the horses and the workshop in which father was making leather. Gleb didn't care about horses; he wanted only the workshop as the most successful business of their family. Both Timofey and Gleb were apprentices, but the father promised to bequeath the workshop to one of them.

They turned out to be ungrateful vultures who were arguing about the heritage almost every dinner with their alive and healthy father sitting right next to them. It was useless to foster them now, so father only looked at both of them with a heavy gaze and kept silent. When the argument turned into a fight, he usually just punched the dinner table, and they calmed down immediately, changing the topic to bring father's wrath on someone else – Ajax was the favorite victim before your birth. Father had a heavy hand and rather rancorous mind. He punished his kids physically in a nasty, painful manner. He remembered all the misbehavior of his kids and waited until the end of the week: on Sunday, right after weekly visit to the local church, he called the names of a guilty one and brought a rod that was moistening in saline for a couple of days. The execution was simple: the guilty sat (or layed – everything for the comfort of his children) on the bench, while father was whipping them mercilessly. For crying and screaming, he added whips; for keeping silent, too. It was impossible to seek leniency and the total amount of whips dependent on father's mood. Once, he was so mad at Ajax, so he broke three rods on his back – and the scars still didn't heal. That's why father was respected in the village, and no one could say a word against his: Ajax's family was the example of perfection, a beautiful wife, and obedient kids who treated elders with honor – the dream of every snezhnayan man and the indicator of a mighty husband.

Everything went wrong when you were born. You brought your mother difficult childbirth and painful labor, an eclipse closed the Moon and put the earth into the darkness the moment after all the households heard your first cry. Mumbling of the old midwife; exhausted, thick body of mother and bowls with reddish water because of bloody towels that were thrown into it offhandedly: the atmosphere of your first birthday was torturing. 

'What are you doing here, huh? Stop hanging around and get lost! Walking here like flies to manure...' Midwife pushed Ajax with her shoulder, walking through the door with one of the basins in her flabby old hands. 'Not a year without your mother bringing another unlucky soul in this world.' 

She gave an unfriendly laugh, and Ajax remembered her cracking dry voice. Ajax heeded and heard the old midwife mumbling to herself. 'I've never seen such an ugly birthmark on a newborn girl before.'

Father was absent; even mother took you in her hands reluctantly, more from obligation than from sincere desire. 

You were growing up just like Ajax – forsaken by everyone and regularly scolded by father. But there was one thing different from his childhood: you weren't allowed to leave the house no matter what. Your parents didn't care about giving you education or socialization, seeing it as an unnecessary option, harmful even. You were naturally talkative and curious, and it was a big problem of yours. Adults were waving you away as you irritated them with endless questions; no one wanted to spare a moment for you, so you played alone with old broken toys that you got from Ajax. 

Ajax's heart ached badly every time he found you alone in the back room of the house (which was used as a storage for newspapers and books), or saw you waving your tiny hand to him through the window when he was working outside. You had nothing else to do but to watch your relatives working in the yard through the frosted window, or sit in the back room and imagine your toy soldier (a poor soldier who lost his hand when he belonged to Ajax, and who's uniform became dull and dirty long ago) reaching the highest peaks of the book mountains to save his princess from a terrible villain. There wasn't enough money in the family to buy you new toys, so Ajax carved out a wooden kitten and gifted it to you. You didn't get presents very often, so you were very happy to get such an ineptly made toy. All the cuts and wounds from thorns healed immediately after Ajax had seen a smile blooming on your face and felt you hugging him. He was the only one who cared about you, and Ajax could tell that he raised you and replaced you both parents. 

You loved him more than any other relatives and had a natural girlish desire to marry your older brother after growing up. It didn't trouble Ajax at all – he played your silly game gladly, never seeing a problem in it. He knew it would end soon, but for now, he kept entertaining you by telling you stories about beautiful brides and true love they had for their grooms.

Ajax felt strange by the fact that he was treated like a beloved son by mother, but you were a stranger to your own family. Maybe because of this you looked different from everyone, and the difference in your appearance was showing clearly with every year: your exceptionally noble features and inborn elegance and grace of moves didn't match the family's dense bodies with broad shoulders and strong limbs. You were such an angelic, precious little creature that Ajax couldn't even imagine you drawing water on your scrawny shoulders or damaging your subtle palms with cleaning and sewing. With every year of your life, you became more dreamy and quiet; youthful charm was slowly taking over children's carelessness. But the one special thing about your behavior had never changed: you had always run to hug Ajax every time he went home.

You didn't attend school, so Ajax taught you to read and count, he gave you his textbooks, and tried to explain everything he had known – he wasn't a disciplined student and his knowledge was rather average, as he was oriented on providing for his family and working as a horseman at noble's lands. Ajax did his best to teach you important moral things: piety, love for your homeland, and many others — but for a rowdy teenager like him, it was an unbearable responsibility. For your own good, you were a fast learner, and soon enough, you had the same level of knowledge as Ajax and didn't need his moral guidance. The back room became your favorite place, and you spent hours here, searching for an interesting book or a newspaper with a catchy title to read and learn something new. 

Your family was shorthanded, and your parents had to let you leave the house to shovel snow, clean up the kennels, and help Ajax on the stable. Guests almost never visited your parents. If they did, they had to notify them and receive permission – and during friendly gatherings you were hiding in your room by order of father. You didn't question such a strange behavior of your parents: you thought it was normal and everyone lived like this.

You had domestic duties like cooking or mopping floors mostly, but sometimes Ajax taught you how to take care of horses. He made you friends with the calmest and the most sociable one – you were afraid of it at first but the way the old horse ate treats from your palm, tickling your skin with its lips, helped you to forget all your fears. The horse's name was Iskorka, and it gladly took you on its back, admitting you as its equestrian. Iskorka and many other horses liked Ajax, as he was a good ostler. They had always had enough hay and treats, and Ajax bathed them carefully, brushed their manes, cleaned and trimmed their hooves regularly. Their stalls had always been cleaned, and not a mess could be found on the stable – that's why horses from your family were popular between villagers and people bought them gladly. It was a strong, hardy, and sociable breed, so they were used both in field work and riding. A true pride of the family. 

Ajax's favorite routine was breaking wild horses: he adored the adrenaline and sense of danger that made his body cover with shivers. Ajax got hurt a lot of times during the process and wasn't afraid of wounds or any critical situation that could happen. Sometimes you were lucky enough to see him in these moments: it was surprising for you to watch your gentle and kind brother acting so powerful and aggressive as the thrill blurred his mind. The act of dominance Ajax was showing against a wild animal didn't match the way he behaved with you, and you didn't want to see him like this. For your childish mind, Ajax was the epitome of a good person, so you refused to see him doing such cruel things because you considered them bad. He explained to you why he had to do this and how much it meant for family's sake, but you didn't understand it – you were overexcited from the new horizons of your existence and your infant senses couldn't focus on such complicated things like family's sake and need.

You were lucky enough not to face your father's punishments: you learned from the experience of others, and during interactions with him, you didn't make any mistakes. Any request of his you completed as best as you could and right in time – it was enough to satisfy him and make him leave you just with a couple of insults (a "wuss" was his favorite one towards you). All your childhood (the biggest part of which you forgot by the time you reached your teenage years) and adolescence you spend as a ghost of your own house: your father remembered about you rarely but when he did, he was watching after you with a heavy pensive gaze that made you walk on your tiptoes and forced you to live somewhere on the background not to burden him. You had never stayed in his presence for too long: it hurt you to realize that he was irritated by you, but you had seen a lot of times how Ajax was punished for no reason, so you preferred to run away while it was safe. Every time you heard the nasty whipping sound of a rod striking the skin and your brother's muffled grunt, you cried silently and waited until the end of the execution to run to your brother's room and help him treat his wounds. 

Mother had never visited Ajax after punishments: she was busy calming Teucer, Anthon, and Tonia from crying, as all three of them were afraid to take Ajax's place. It was strange for you to understand that Ajax and you weren't kids anymore. Your childhood passed by like a disturbing dream: it was fast and unstoppable, and all the warm memories about it were related to Ajax only. He was your knight from fairytales; you trusted him with all your secrets and thoughts. Ajax helped you endure not only confrontations with your family but the feminine hardships of growing up too: when your first menstruation started, your mother had just thrown clean clothes at you and shamed you for being disgusting. She left you crying with no pity, shook your hand off of her dress roughly as you caught her by its hem to stop her and ask for forgiveness – you didn't want to be disgusting and make her angry because of this. Ajax had to explain to you what was happening to your body. Without confusion, with a stern, dry voice, he just stated the fact – now you were a maiden, and soon you would reach marriage age. 

It was hard not to notice that from this moment Ajax stopped treating you like a child. For him you were an adult now – and he took you with respect and counted on you to gain wisdom on how to be a homemaker. Now, it was your turn to prepare food for the family, babysit younger siblings, and provide them with parental care. Ajax didn't accept your help on the stable anymore and didn't let you do man's work that required physical strength. Ajax gave you the warmest clothes and blankets, appealed to you to watch after your health. 

Ajax had taught you that he would always be on your side. He taught you to trust him and never rebel against him – your older brother had known what was best for you, and you agreed with him: he was responsible for you, in Snezhnaya it was an unspoken rule which came from one generation to another without doubts. You asked him for advice numerous times, and he was always right. He was the only man who could touch you, the only one to solve your every problem, the only one to teach you how to be a good woman and wife. He was your support, and he had never demanded a reward from you but you gave him all your love and adoration because he deserved it, you believed. No one could ever compare to him: your older sisters ignored you, Gleb and Timofey hated you. What about Tonia, Teucer and Anthon, for you they were just young cuckoos who pushed Ajax and you out of the nest. You were jealous of them receiving love from mother: your heart ached every time you saw her giving them kisses on their chubby cheeks. Your stomach twisted painfully every time you caught her nursing Teucer or Anthon, and a yearn for mother's warm hands was taking over you. The only feelings you knew for younger siblings were envy and irritation.

They didn't love you back, as everyone else in the house: they got fussy in your presence, every time you tried to calm them down someone of them started crying and calling for mother's attention. It hurt you even more if Ajax came to help you: they enjoyed his presence; especially Teucer, who was Ajax's new favorite youngest sibling. Every time after another failed attempt to babysit Anthon, Teucer and Tonya you got a nice punch at the back of your head from father and plenty of insults as well. A sad sack, idiot, nitwit and many other offenses were spoken out loud by him so everyone could hear your disgrace. Public humiliation of yours was normalized in the family, so everyone could say anything to you without fear of revenge. 

You couldn't fight back. Words were stuck in your throat and you just kept silent every time your family acted unfairly with you. Whenever you started crying from such a rough treatment, you were shamed by mother for overreacting and being dramatic. You craved for her attention, as every child you wanted to be noticed and communicated with, but the forming sense of human dignity didn't let you humiliate yourself by acting needy. You dreamed of her soft hands hugging you gently and pressing you to her thick figure, that smelled like bakery and freshness. But instead, you found yourself in the dusty backrooms of the house, hugged by Ajax, roughly and clumsily: never taught how to properly comfort someone, he was pressing you to his chest as hard as he could, so you could feel how sorry for you he was. His calloused, coarse hands were patting you on your head and wiping tears off of your face. Unlike your mother, Ajax smelled strongly with sweat and his hands had a subtle stench of fish that he was gutting for dinner.

Ajax tried his best to cheer on you. Deep inside his soul he saved the childish sentimentality, so he felt extremely guilty for you and wanted to make up for his siblings' behavior. Ajax promised you that he would take you out of this hell: he wanted to live in the city and vowed to you the sweetest life with happiness and joy. He knew that all his promises were impossible to complete and was left helpless, as he had nothing else to offer you instead. Ajax lost his ardor long ago when he got a taste of an adult life. He realized quickly that he would never make enough money to buy his family out, and humbled himself into being a good peasant, but still he was dreaming of being free, and gave your mind the sweet drug of dreams that would never come true. Ajax wished he wasn't so timid. He wanted life to give him an opportunity to become stronger and braver – and despite all his current beliefs, he felt that something was waiting for him in the future, something hopeful and great…

#genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin fic #genshin impact smut #childe x you #childe smut #childe x fem!reader #childe x reader smut #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader

[starbellbunny]

I am in LOVE with your fiction about the cop Sans! The poor reader has no idea what storm is coming for her, but gosh I can’t wait! I have a question, what if the MC woken up and seen Horror in her apartment? What on earth would she and Horror do? Thank you for your hard work! 💕

:-( THANK YOU !! I've been struggling for motivation to write anything for a while, I'm glad to hear you like it hehe 💕 I’m trying very hard to make a comeback on this account, as well as on Ao3, I know I've neglected it for a while!

Heres horror getting caught ;p

Now, it was time to see his shortcake. He came out of the kitchen, and rounded the sofa.

…Oh my god.

You were sleeping soundly on the sofa, with your hands cushioning your head. You lay on your side with your legs brought up to a 90° angle. He didn’t even have it in him to be upset that the reason you didn’t mind him being here was because you were sleeping, because you were so fucking cute.

He was grinning like a maniac, as he pulled his phone out his pocket and snapped a picture- or, like, 50- of your sleeping form. He immediately set it as his lock screen picture.

He could already feel the ache in his chest dissolving, at this distance, and you visibly relaxed when he stepped so he could see you.

…He wanted to get closer.

He took a step towards the sofa, and knelt down. He brought a knuckle up to your face, and stroked your cheek. You were so soft- softer then any monster he’d ever touched. He brought his hand down, and thumbed your bottom lip. It looked plump- soft, and kissable. He wanted to kiss you.

He got up from his kneeling position, and climbed carefully onto the sofa over you. He was straddling your hip now, and he took another couple of pictures. Could you blame him, really? That was his soulmate. The vouch groaned under his weight, unhappy to be holding a monster of his size.

He couldn't help but stare at you. He has never been so... Entranced with a single being- let alone a human.

He brought his hand up, ever so gently cupping the left side of your face, as he brought his skull down to press his teeth to your right cheek.

He felt ecstatic. His sockets fluttered shut, absolutely reveling in the moment.

He pulled away- short, but sweet.

He opened his sockets again slowly, to appreciate your form once again, soft, flushed cheeks, gentle snoring, a head of cute, messy hair...

What he didn't expect, however, was for you to be staring directly back at him. That caught him off guard.

All he could do was stare back hopelessly. What was he meant to do in this situation? His face felt very hot.

"What the fuck," you said eventually. His soul, once again, was thrumming in his chest.

You put your hands on either side of his shoulders, as well as your right foot on his chest, pushing him away... He allowed it, sitting on his knees, his hands hanging dumbly at his sides. He wasn't supposed to be caught.

"What the fuck," you repeated. As much as it ashamed him, the only thing he could think of at the moment was how small you seemed. How small your hands were, when you placed them on his shoulders.. How cute that was. How- no matter how fierce you tried to sound, small your voice sounded.

He didn't like how scared you sounded, under the anger that you projected.

You scooted away from him, and he wanted nothing more to pull you back to him. Your legs were angled up, as if you were ready to kick the shit out of him if he were to move even an inch closer to you. Your skin looked increasingly clammy as the moments went by. You were terrified.

Did you recognise him? You continued ti stare at him. He could only imagine how scary this was first you… Poor, little lamb.

He could see you glance around the room, quickly, rapidly, trying to see if anything would help you...

Horror took this as an out.

He shortcutted out of the room, stumbling into Paps' bedroom. It was late, he was already tucked up in his bed reading a book silently, with the bedside lamp on, casting a warm light across the room. He looked up from his book, and shut it quickly.

"Brother? Is Everything Okay?" he asked., his voice cracking in odd places.

Horror couldn't reply.

Fuck.

You looked so scared.

Fuck!

This certainly fucked up his plans a little..

He took the steps towards his brothers bed, sitting on it with a huff. His elbows were planted in his knees, and he rubbed a palm over his face.

No matter, he'd make it work. This was his soulmate, after all.

Yes, you couldn't be that scared of him. Something primal, deep within your soul knew that you were destine to be together, he deluded told himself.

It'd work out. It would.

He always, always had his brother to help, anyways.

He'd do whatever it takes.

#sans #sans au #sans the skeleton #fanfic #undertale fanfiction #bun answers #undertale #sans/reader #horrortale sans #horror sans #raccooons like bones #rlb ask #rlb #im doing this!!! #im BACK #sorry for being gone #trying to be better #hell yeah #stickorstones #scenarios

[shibaraki]

tags: AFAB reader (referred to as mama), mention of pregnancy + childbirth, biological baby, established relationship, ushijima is a certified girldad, fluffy fluff I wrote this drabble for my wife (bea)

Soft and warm, the flesh giving under the soft pressure like mochi. Ushijima’s thumb idles over the swell of her cheek, finding he is unable to part with her just yet, and the two watch each other with a similar tilt of curiosity. His little girl, barely a month old. Open mouthed, she turns her head into his touch with a quiet gurgle, instinctively searching for her mothers breast.

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” he murmurs, as she sounds out her immediate displeasure. A gentle smile pulls at the corner of his mouth when her tightly closed fist begins to wave in the air.

The growth undergone in just four short weeks has been incredible — and deeply emotional. Your midwife had informed him that not only would the newborn soon recognise familiar voices and start to talk more, but her eyes would begin to focus and wander.

“People tell me I’m not very adept at conversation,” he says, speaking with a soothing cadence, not wanting to startle her. “But I suppose you don’t mind, do you?”

She blinks up at him from the changing table, legs bending until her tiny body has curled into itself. And then, like a spring, she kicks him in the sternum.

He wraps his hand around her leg, lightly squeezing the chub around her thigh. She had been born a small baby, and still he has moments of hesitation while handling her. Before you, Ushijima knew intimately the importance of precision, but had not known much about delicacy. Not with himself, the ball in his palm, nor the people around him.

Now it is the back of his daughter's head that rests there. Ushijima Wakatoshi’s canon-powered striking hand, retired to an infant's cradle. The fulfillment is still there — his soul is full in a way he has never experienced. Beside the all encompassing love bloating in his chest, there is a flickering bulb of wonderment. An urge to call his own father and ask, “Did you feel this too, whenever you looked at me?”

“Shall we get you dressed?” he asks, bending to softly rub his nose to her temple. The delighted coo is all the answer he needs.

During your pregnancy, Ushijima spent most of his free time reading. You would sit beside him in bed, the room lit by the warm toned glow of his bedside lamp, and he would read the pages aloud while you lathered your growing stomach in cream.

Childbirth, child development, child rearing. All that knowledge was understood and absorbed, yet none of it could have prepared him for the emotion that came with parenthood. The birth of not only a new baby, but an entirely new world.

A world in which he apparently enjoyed picking out baby clothes. It quickly became his favourite part of the morning. While one hand rubs over her round belly, the other rummages through the dresser drawer until he finds what he is looking for — the mint floral romper.

Dotted across the fabric are mini prints of daisies and smiling bumble bees. The straps have pretty white buttons, as does the bottom to make for easy changing. Rubbing the fabric between his thumb and forefinger, Ushijima thinks it’s perfect.

He holds it up, flat to his chest and displaying it to his daughter. “What do you think?” and he smiles, tucking his chin to hold it in place as he reaches back for another clothing item. She squirms as he brings a white cotton shirt into view; the sleeves are long, with sweet little shoulder ruffles.

“Isn’t it pretty?” he continued, overlaying the two together into a cohesive outfit. Her happy babbling encourages him further, faintly giddy as he recalls the matching bow.

He starts with the shirt, widening the neck and gathering the fabric to slowly slip the back around her head, bringing the front down gently over her face. “There you are,” he says, brushing across her forehead. “Now let’s do the sleeves”.

Careful not to permanently stretch the fabric, Ushijima reaches into the sleeve to ease her little hands through. Next comes the romper. Brow pinched in concentration, he undoes each snap button at the bottom and lifts his daughters hips from the changing mat, sliding it down both legs as they kick, and then over her torso.

One by one, he pops the buttons back together and slips the romper straps over her arms and rests them behind the shoulder frills. “As I thought, it is much prettier on you,” he comments, rubbing along her tummy. “I wonder what mama will think”.

Spoken beneath the doorway, “Think about what?”

The sound of your voice warms him from the inside out, and he looks to find you leant against the doorframe, gaze tired and soft. Your daughter reacts similarly, her eyes immediately wandering in search of you.

“Look,” Ushijima moves to support the baby’s head, then cradling her to his chest. He turns, showing you the outfit. “Do you like it?”

You squint as you step forward, a knowing smile playing at the corner of your lips. He leans into your affections when you close the distance, and feels as you thumb over the bumblebee embroidered onto the breast pocket of his own t-shirt.

“Yes,” you breathe, placing a kiss to the crown of your daughter's crown before tilting your chin, asking for another. Ushijima gives, and between tender kisses you tell him, “I love it”.

#hq x reader #ushijima x reader #m.ushijima #q’d #cw babies #cw pregnancy