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astrophileous · 6 months

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fem!reader x derek morgan, where they're like really flirty and i mean like kissing, holding hands, reader sits on his lap.

and after a case hotch is like yelling at derek because they had a disagreement, and reader comes in and was like "stop yelling at my best friend!" and he freezes because he genuinely thought that they were dating.

and they get teased n shit, and later reader cant sleep so derek is playing with her hair and he mumbles "i love you." and she says it back, and her words are slurred because shes so tired.

ty for the request honey!! I changed a few details abt it, I hope that's okay?? The main gist is still the same tho so I hope you like this ❤️

Warning(s): fem!reader, profanities, angst a lil bit bcs Derek is having inner turmoil, mutual pining (they're both idiots)

This blurb was written as a part of the "Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K" celebration.

Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

"It wasn't his fault."

Your voice cut through the silence as an unforeseen rapier. Every pair of eyes in the station fell on you in instinct. You despised the attention with every fiber of your being, but in that moment, there was nothing you wouldn't do to save Derek from being appointed as the fall guy, including offering yourself up as a temporary human spectacle as you stepped forward to where the three men were huddled up.

"Agent (Y/L/N)," Hotch warned in his familiar commanding lull.

"Sweet girl," Derek's voice came a little quieter, "what are you doing?"

You ignored your two fellow teammates as you faced the tall man between them. "I'm sorry, Sheriff. We never intended to overstep your authority. We didn't know the witness was one of our UnSubs when we visited his house. Agent Morgan was only acting in favor of my safety, so really, if there's anyone you should be mad at, it should be me."

The sheriff assessed you with rancorous eyes before turning back towards Hotch. "Get your team under control, Agent. Remember that y'all are a guest here."

With that last message, the sheriff walked away and disappeared into his office. Hotch turned to you and Derek following the sheriff's departure. "We'll talk about this later."

Once Hotch was out of earshot, Derek pulled you towards him. The rest of the station had already returned towards their previous tasks, safe for several pairs of eyes belonging to your other team members who seemed too eager to catch a snippet of your conversation with Derek. Before you could reprimand them, Derek's voice suddenly erupted, "What the hell are you doing?"

You turned your head and frowned. "What?"

"Why did you say all of that stuff to the sheriff, sweetheart?"

"Because it's the truth? You did make that call because you were protecting me, right?"

"I did, but you still didn't need to do any of that. I can take care of it myself."

"Derek—" you sighed, plopping your hand right on top of his shoulder, "—I know you can take care of pretty much everything by yourself, but I don't want you cleaning up my mess just for the sake of our relationship. Let me handle it on my own, okay?"

A hot remark was ready on the tip of Derek's tongue, but the words were soon forgotten when he heard the single word that cut off the circulation completely from his brain. Dumbfoundedly, he stared at you as he said, "Relationship?"

"Well, yeah." You smiled, dragging your hand upward from his shoulder until you were cupping his cheek. "You're my best friend, Derek."

Just as fast as you had flown him to the clouds, you sent Derek plummeting straight towards the ground where he imploded into pieces. The man could barely register the feeling of your lips on his other cheek before he watched you stride away, leaving him standing in the middle of the station like a deer caught in headlights.

"You're my best friend, Derek," Emily teased from where she was standing a few feet away. Behind her, JJ and Spencer were laughing along. "Seriously, why don't you two just make it official already?"

Derek flipped the three of them off, earning another series of laughter from his coworkers before he walked off towards the direction of the pantry. In the back of his head, Emily's question lingered like a shallow wind.

Seriously, why don't you two just make it official already?

Maybe because Derek thought you were official.

But apparently, according to you, you weren't.

So what the hell did that kiss that the two of you shared at the end of your last movie night even mean?

For the rest of the team's stay in Pasco, Florida, the ambiguous status of your relationship became a permanent fixture in Derek's mind. It haunted him even after he boarded the BAU's jet, preparing for the flight back home towards Quantico, Virginia. He was too lost in his own world that he didn't realize you had been calling out his name until your hand touched his cheek.

"Hey, you okay?" you asked worriedly.

Derek was sitting on the long sofa at the end of the cabin; and you, as always, were lying on the same sofa with your head resting on his lap. He still remembered the first time the two of you assumed this habit on the jet, receiving cheeky glances and playful jabs from the rest of the team in the aftermath. The teasing had dwindled significantly by now. Everyone was so used to the sight that it didn't warrant a surprised reaction anymore.

Derek, on the other hand, didn't think he could get accustomed to this.

As he stared down towards your inquisitive eyes, Derek realized that the sight of your face still took his breath away as much as it did the first time he laid eyes upon you. He brought down a finger and ran them up and down your cheek, his heart inflating when you rewarded him with a gleaming smile.

"Wanna come over tonight? We didn't finish that movie last week," you offered.

At the mention of your last movie night, Derek's mind traveled back to the memory of your kiss. It was nothing grand, just a five-seconds heaven where Derek's tongue had tasted remnants of the wine you shared and a little something else that he was sure had uniquely belonged to you. He sealed it with another peck on your forehead after that, wishing you a good night rest and a fantastic dream as he left the comfort of your apartment.

Derek couldn't sleep that night. After all, that was the best kiss the man had ever had in his entire life; but it looked like you hadn't felt the same way as him about it at all.

This knowledge was a stake right through Derek's heart. Everything tasted bitter as he swallowed, and perhaps that was reason enough to why the next words tumbled out of his lips in a reply, "Sorry, sweet girl. I've got errands to run. Next time?"

Derek pretended not to see the way your face collapsed in disappointment at his answer.

Back at his own apartment, Derek proceeded to spend a whole hour flipping through TV channels until his hand was numb. Many of his nights lately were spent in your company, and as the surrounding solitude closed in on him, Derek realized that he didn't remember how to spend nights by himself anymore. He was absentmindedly changing the channel yet again when his finger suddenly stopped frozen on the remote.

Your favorite movie was showing on the TV screen.

Perhaps it was ludicrous to claim that seeing the movie he had always associated with you appear on his TV was a celestial omen, but Derek deemed it an enough sign for him to get his ass off the couch and drove all the way down to your apartment. He stood in front of your door not even twenty minutes later, having sped through traffic as if he were invincible to every threat on the roads. You opened the door for him on the third knock, your eyes blown so widely out of proportion when you spotted him standing on your doorway.

"Derek? What are you doing here?"

"Sweet girl, are you... have you been crying?"

"No."

"Don't lie to me." Derek took two steps forward, closing the front door behind him as he was finally standing inside your apartment. "What's going on, sweetheart?"

His question managed to break the last dam in your ribcage, sending you straight into another flood of uncontrollable tears. You leaped into Derek's arms out of the blue, cramming your face into his chest as your tears soaked the front part of his shirt.

"I'm sorry, Derek. I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? What are you sorry for, sweet girl?"

"T-The kiss. We shouldn't have done that. We shouldn't have k-kissed. It was a mistake."

Derek's stomach crashed squarely towards the ground. "A mistake?"

You nodded against his chest, pulling away to stare directly at Derek's face. Your eyes were red and puffy from hours of crying, and yet, Derek still thought you were the most heavenly creature he had ever seen in his entire life.

"That's w-why you've been acting strange, right? The kiss? Y-You're mad at me because of the kiss?"

"Wait. What—"

"I-I didn't... fuck—I didn't mean for everything to come to this. I never meant t-to make you run from me like this. I'm so, so sorry."

"Sweetheart—"

"I can pretend! Please, I can pretend like it never happened. T-That's what you want, r-right? I can forget about the kiss as long as—"

You didn't have the chance to finish your sentence.

Not when Derek suddenly pressed his lips against yours, seizing the words and the breath thoroughly out of your throat.

Butterflies erupted in the pit of your stomach. Nothing else mattered in the world except for Derek's hands on your skin and the way his tongue danced with yours as he deepened the kiss even further. You could've spent the rest of eternity kissing him like this if it weren't for the need to come up for air. That was the singular reason why you even agreed to pull away at last, albeit reluctantly.

"Derek?" Your voice was thin and fragile amidst the quietude of your home. "I don't understand... I thought—"

"No, sweetheart," Derek cut you off, leaving a quick peck on your lips because he couldn't help himself. "Remember in Florida when you called me your best friend? I thought that was your way of telling me you regretted the kiss."

"What? So... you weren't mad at me?"

"No, of course not." He scoffed incredulously. "How could I ever be mad at you?"

"I just thought—"

"Hey, look at me." Derek tilted your face by the chin until you were looking directly into his eyes. "I'm yours, (Y/N). Do you understand?"

"Yes," you whispered. "I'm yours, too, Derek. Forever."

Derek spent the night at your home afterward. Although it wasn't the first time he stayed over, something about it felt fresh and brand new as he lay on your bed as officially yours while you lay next to him as officially his. He nuzzled your body flush against him, entangling every inch of your limbs with his own as he listened to the steady intakes and outtakes of your breathing.

"I love you, sweetheart," Derek murmured against your hair, playing with the end of the strands as he heard you let out another tired sigh. "You know that, right?"

"Hmm? I love you, too," you mumbled blearily, burrowing yourself deeper into his warmth before sleep finally took over your whole being.

Safe to say, you had the best sleep that night than you ever did in your entire lifetime.

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an-idyllic-novelist · 5 months

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Alastor with gender-neutral!reader Christmas scenario

warnings: established relationship, mentions of violence, ooc and fluff.

Inspiration came from @lbcreations-blog's holiday fic. The link will be here. Special thanks to @vikkirosko for giving me feedback on this segment before I posted it. Merry Christmas one and all! :)

Alastor could recall very little memories of the Christmases he had spent as a mortal. Time was a funny thing; it blurred, made your brain all fuzzy until all you can ever really remember are the people you had once loved. In the Radio Demon’s case, the honor of a preserved memory belonged to his mother. Recently though, someone else had been occupying his mind and creating new memories in Hell. You. His significant other.

To celebrate the coming of the winter solstice and to bring some festive cheer to the Hazbin Hotel, Charlie thought it would be a wonderful idea to throw a little party in one of the ballrooms. Some decorations, good food and liquor, gifts. An ideal Christmas get-together, so to speak. You helped Vagatha with getting the supplies needed, and he just watched all of this chaos happen, occasionally helping when the princess absolutely insisted that he become involved.

What caused the pleasant Christmas jazz music around him to a screeching halt was the sight of a plant hanging over the archway leading to the main lobby coming from the elevators. And you were right underneath it, carrying a box of ornaments in your hands. Alastor definitely did not hang this up here, which only left two possible culprits: Charlie, or Angel Dust. Husk was busy minding the bar. Niffty is still in the kitchen preparing the food, and she knew much he despised being touched by anyone.

Especially you. He told you as much in the early beginnings of your relationship, including how he would prefer to not engage in physical intimacy beyond hand holding because he did not like it. You always gave him a wide berth, respecting his personal space and being content with how things were, though sometimes…he knew you wanted just a little more. You just would not say it because you already knew he would refuse.

In regards to this….scenario, everyone’s eyes were on him and you. Half-expecting him to give in and just give you a kiss on the cheek, or for you to take initiative and do the deed and be placed on his dinner menu. Neither of which actually happened. Alastor was fully ready to step away and forget about the entire thing until you smiled sheepishly, bowing to him and extending your hand to him.

“Care to dance?”

He felt the tension evaporate from his shoulders, replaced with a chipper tune and a round of applause from the audience. “Why, I’d be delighted, my dear!” Carefully lowering his gloved palm on top of yours, he pulled you to his body and swung you around to the trumpets of his shadows. His grin stretched as he watched you quickly catch onto the rhythm, laughing as he dipped you towards the ground, then back up and did a twirl. You spun around, breaking away from him and bowing to him with that lovely smile of yours.

Oh, how lucky he is to have you, indeed~!

Though if anyone were to try and kiss you under the mistletoe, he will remind them why he is in Hell.

Taglist:

@isuckatwritingsobenice

@thatstonedwriter

@aurora-rose-miller

@lbcreations-blog

@nunezs-stuff

@samoaz

@chroniccorvus

@myafterlifeisbetterthenyours

@crystalrose36

@nixie-writes

@doc-tooth

@angelltheninth

@violetsnowflake330

@ladykitsunesworld

@sillypenguincats

@food-theorys-blog

@theunknowntravel3r

#an idyllic novelist #gender neutral reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel 2019 #hazbin hotel 2024 #alastor x reader #fluffy #christmas fanfic #christmas

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forcebewitht · 3 months

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Ma Belle Evangeline (Malleus Draconia x Reader)

...This had been the most fun evening Malleus had in centuries. The enigmatic Fae prince was positively beaming out a warm smile, and the lovely individual by the name of Y/N currently walking beside him seemed to be enjoying themselves just as much. The two had spent the evening examining the school's various gargoyles and other stone-like structures for a bit of a relaxation period for them both. Lilia had to subdue Sebek's nerves and Silver's questioning all at once in order for the two to head off alone. The mysterious Vanrouge seemed to enjoy the smile that the prince got upon his pale features whenever he would be around their beautiful self and form- so, what kind of "father" would he be if he didn't help his little family along as best as he could, hmm~

Malleus strolled to a nearby tree, the moonlight utterly radiant against both of the figures cloaked in the night. His lips perked up into an all too soft smile as he allowed a hand to trail up within the high branches. Spring was in full swing- so the heavenly aroma of cherry blossoms drifted into the senses of the lovely person below. A perfectly pale pink bud is plucked from the tree above, the Fae turning his body. He smiles even more...Great Seven, the way their skin glistened in that moonlight made them look like an angel….

"...Here, my dear Y/N~" Given a motion, Malleus gently had them turn their head in his general direction. The flower is tucked behind their ear as the Draconia male hums at his work. "A perfectly soft flower to celebrate your eternally soft beauty…." Malleus smirked in an almost dopey way upon his own words, his heart nearly leaping from his chest when he hears the bright Child of Man giggle. Ahhh, his heart was all aflutter now~

...Soon, Malleus led them to a spot off to the side of a nearby creek. A little picnic area completely set up with a blanket, basket, a candle, and some glasses were all properly positioned for the arrival of the two. The Fae couldn't contain his smile at the sight of the individual's eyes lighting up like that. Such a joy. However, upon spotting their partially arched brow at the sight of the basket, Malleus laughed. "No, before you ask, Lilia did not prepare this for us~" That got an exhale of relief to release from the lips of Y/N. Thank goodness.

Malleus assisted the lovely person in order to sit upon the blanket spread out on the ground. Yeah- it took Malleus a second because, let's be honest- he's pretty tall! However, he soon was able to sit beside them on the ground. Fireflies immediately began to float up around the night sky as the two huddled together under the stars. The food is soon retrieved and placed out onto little plates- he had made cute little sandwiches with the crusts cut off. Maybe that's why he kept flexing his hands every now and then. How cute! A bottle of a sparkling cider is soon retrieved and poured into their glasses. Malleus drew the sweet dear to him, now smooching the top of their forehead. They then both dig in, idly chatting away here and there and laughing into the night…

….And soon, Malleus retrieved one of the various instruments he could play- a bass. He smiles, now gently cracking his knuckles. In a sudden sweet yet swift change of events, the Fae began to sing. "Look how she lights up...the sky...ma belle...Evangeline~" His deep, soothing voice dipped in and out of each note with ease, his lips perking up into a soft smile at their own shocked reaction. "So far above me...yet I...know her heart...belongs...to only me~" Malleus soon stood up, fireflies soaring over to the bass to play it for him. He had them stand up, now singing sweetly into their ear for a moment before he began to spin them around. "You're my Queen of the night...so still...so bright...if someone as beautiful as she….could love...someone...like me? Love always finds a way….it's true...and I love you...Evangeline~"

Lilia stood behind a tree, grinning. He began to softly play a trumpet along to the beat, Silver and Sebek working together to have the cherry blossom petals fall down around the pair as they waltzed. Malleus smiled at their assistance, continuing on with his little princess/prince. "Love is beautiful...love is wonderful...love is everything….do you agree?" Y/N is hauled up into the air and lightly spun around, the prince chuckling at their cute little reaction. "...Shall we see?" Guess he couldn't pronounce that French part right. That's cute. He soon brought them back down to the ground on their feet, slowly dipping them to the floor. "Look how...she lights up...the sky. I...I love you….my Y/N~" Malleus gently tilted the head of the Child Of Man a bit as they linked their arms around his neck softly. He smiled down at their form, gently kissing them into the night as Lilia's trumpet played them out.

Cherry blossom petals scattering down all around them, the prince and the princess/fellow prince held each other in their arms into the night...for they were his Evangeline.

~End~

(Hello hello, dear Readers~! Decided to edit a little writing of mine from a while back to be readable for one and all~! I'm debating creating the 18+ blog still with writings- and I am also waiting on replies from my latest poll post, so I'd appreciate feedback~! Until next time 💕✨️)

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #disney #twst #twistedwonderland #force writes #malleus x reader #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #twst malleus draconia #twst malleus #twst malleus x reader

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leclvrc · 1 year

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love you goodbye | cl x reader

summary: on the day you're supposed to marry someone else, you give in to the pull between you and charles for the last time

content: m/f s*x, r*ding, angst.. lots of it

words: 3k+

He announces himself with two sharp knocks on the door. You don't turn around but your heart squeezes painfully in your chest anyway.

Your mother greets him with a smile, old affection slow to die despite you about to marry someone other than Charles.

"Can I have a moment with the bride?" he asks, voice not betraying him. But there's pain in his light eyes. She nods, a careful expression on her face before kissing him on the cheek. She squeezes his hand before she goes. Looks like she wants to say something but doesn't.

There's too much left unsaid, but you wait for the door to fall shut to turn around. You're not in your dress yet, just a simple dressing gown as your mother and you worked on your hair. You weren't as successful as you'd thought you'd be; too distracted by everything about to happen.

"Excited?" he asks, fingers restlessly drumming against his thigh. His eyes keep flicking over to the dress. Like he can't help but punish himself by looking at it. Like he can't stop imagining it worn on a different day, for him. And you. Just how you dreamt of for all those years when you were too young still to think about stuff like marriage and starting a family despite wanting both so so badly.

Where did it all go wrong? You know the answer of course, but looking at him, in his tailored suit with his combed hair and those same eyes you used to feel grounded by, you can't quite put it into words. What made you leave.

"Yes," you say, a little too late. But honest anyway. Your stomach has been fluttering all day.

He nods, accepts it without comment. Has learnt over time to take what you say as the truth and nothing but the truth.

"Why are you here?" you ask when he doesn't say anything. You can see it in his posture, how his bruised heart is beating away in his chest. How he's trying so hard not to snap and say what he really feels.

"I just--" he stops, breathes in. Out. Once and then twice more. "I need to--"

And then his lips are on yours and shock slips away too quickly for you to do anything but kiss back. Eager. And familiar and hurting. Not as badly as Charles maybe, knowing that your whole future is going to start beyond that door. A groom and guests waiting to celebrate your union as Charles watches on, but the pain is still there. In the way your hands slip into his hair. How you pull on the strands to have him moan and hiss.

It's enough of a distraction to have his hands fall away from your face. To your chest and down. His hands shouldn't feel as good on your skin as they do. As right. But they do and a part of you takes sick fascination in it. How you are prepared to promise yourself away to someone else and still think nothing compares to Charles' hands on you.

Your lips part and then he trails his mouth down your neck. Careful and soft not to leave behind any marks. He's considerate like that. Like he knows you'll have him here, behind closed doors one last time and he has accepted it. That he has no claim on you or your body beyond what you give him.

It's easy though, to let him touch and move you. Tug you off the small seat and against the edge of the vanity. Makeup bottles rattle when you bump the edge with your ass and then you're turned around and come face to face with yourself. And Charles to your back.

You stop for one breathless minute. Take in his flushed cheeks and glistening eyes. How even now, he looks beautiful in his suit. Regal. Like he belongs in it at the end of an aisle with flowers to your feet.

It's a nice fantasy, but one you have to close your eyes against. Your head bumps against the mirror softly. Fogs up as you sigh into the clear surface as his hands slip under your robe. Where you're already a little wet. A little turned on since you first glimpsed him in his suit.

"Fuck," he whispers, lips brushing your shoulder before he pushes off. Like he needs to see for himself. Your legs part a little more as you hold onto the vanity. Try to find purchase where there is none with Charles by your back.

His hand wraps around your hip. Squeezes the flesh softly before sliding around your waist. To your stomach. Where he rubs a couple of soothing circles into the skin. Traces his fingers down. Between your legs. Around your folds. Has your hips rock forward in two seconds flat. But he doesn't give in at first. Doesn't give you the satisfaction of touching your clit more.

You roll your eyes. Too impatient to play this game. Rock your ass against Charles' trousers. Where he's straining against the fabric already, just as eager as you feel. Rub your ass against him some more, have him stutter forward. Until he pins your hips against the vanity with his.

"Charles," you say, name easily uttered in the silence. It feels right, hearing it roll off your tongue as you ache for him. "Touch me."

And he does. Like it was that easy. Like all you had to do was ask for him to break. And give in like he's been wanting to since he knocked on that door.

He has you against the vanity. Right next to where your wedding dress is hanging. Shimmery and beautiful in the low light.

His pants are down by the knees and your robe is hiked up by the thighs and there's a certain desperation you've grown to recognize in the way he grips your hips. The way he intertwines your fingers of one hand to places against the mirror, like he wants to leave a trace behind. That he was there. Making you feel good, desired, on the day you're promising yourself away to someone else.

Someone that is not Charles. Who despite you breaking and ripping his heart into a million tiny pieces, is here. A steady presence to your back. His cock hot and heavy in you. Filling you just so to have you moan and whimper his name with every deep stroke of his cock.

Your eyes meet in the reflection and it's like he can't bear it. Having your eyes on him when he makes you feel so so good. Because he knows it won't last. The same way you know it won't. It's a silent agreement, one that sits heavy between you as he snaps his hips into you. Body opening so beautifully for him despite it.

It always has. You can't imagine a time your body won't feel like a live wire when he touches you.

It's worrisome, thinking that Charles of all people will remain the sole reason your body trembles the way it does now, but at the same time it seems... right. Why lie to yourself when your body would betray you no matter what? When you wrap your free hand around his wrist on your hip and pull it around your waist? Between your legs. Where you're dripping now, stretched around his cock.

You moan, the sound hoarse as he touches your clit again. Rubs circles into the tender folds. Has you arch your back a little more.

He looks lost to the pleasure when you look back up into the mirror. Eyes almost completely closed as he looks down. To where he disappears in you. Where you're wrapped around him, tight and wet and so so close to coming on his cock. His hand falls away from around your waist. Comes to settle on the small of your back before he pushes down.

You fold easily. Feel him slip in that little bit more. Just enough to nudge your g-spot. Just enough to have you see stars where before you could see the gentle slope of his jaw. How his eyelashes fanned across his cheeks.

Pleasure zings down your back. Pulled tight like a rubberband about to snap. Has been for some time. Pretty much since Charles' thrusts have tapered off into a deep grind. One that has your toes curl against the carpet.

"Touch yourself," he says at some point. And it's like a switch has been flipped. Your fingers move with practiced ease and then Charles pushes in, pushes close. Until he can kiss the back of your neck. Nibble at your earlobe.

The sounds he makes get you there in the end. How the air seems to get punched out of his lungs every time he bottoms out. Like he's surprised by how good it feels. How good you feel around him, even after all that time.

You come with his name on your lips. Where it belongs, you think for one breathless moment, guard all the way down until your body trembles from oversensitivity.

He stops then. Still hard. Still desperate to get off.

Your eyes meet again and then he pulls out. Turns you around. Grabs you by the wrist. Fingers of that hand still glistening from where you touched yourself.

His cheeks hollow around the digits and your eyes flutter a little. Pleasure still coursing through your veins. Especially now, seeing him suck your fingers clean. He always enjoyed being on his knees for you. Said he loved your taste. The way you just couldn't help but fuck yourself on his tongue. Use him until you got off.

Your fingers slip free and then you're kissing. One hand wrapping around his cock. The first touch has him gasp against your lips, but you don't stop. Move your hand instead, slow. Flick your wrist in that way you remember him liking.

He tumbles into the bed with you on top of him.

And it's a practiced move. This dance. Falling into bed together. Him throbbing in your hand until you manage to pull your robe off. Drop it to the ground. Careless. Too focussed on feeling his tip nudge against your slit.

You don't draw it out. Slip down his dick, until he bottoms out. Until his hands fly to your waist. Like he has to restrain himself from fucking up, into you from the get go. You wouldn't mind, but this is good too. Perfect even. A little like a religious experience.

Better than one in some ways, having him looking up at you as you look down on him. Feeling the way he throbs in you. Buried from tip to base on the day you're getting married to a cheap imitation of what you and Charles have. Had.

You grind down, relish the feeling of being filled the way you are. Gasp and moan when he fucks up into you after all. Restraint only getting him so far before he snaps. You came once already after all. Charles is rarely selfish outside of the bedroom, but here, right now, he can't help it. Can't help wanting to cum in you, have you tremble on his cock.

"Not fair," you mumble, voice quiet as you look down at him. His beautiful face. Those flushed cheeks. But the kiss you draw him into contradicts anything you could have followed that up with.

It's a deep one. Filthy much like everything you've done so far and your hands are making a mess of his beautiful hair. Twisting and pulling on the strands until the product seems to melt away entirely into a sweaty mess. One you're starting to turn into as he continues to move his hips up. As you continue to stay still. Have him be the one to do the work.

His eyes never once leave your face but his hands remain restless. They come up to your tits. Trail down your waist to your ass. Have you arch into them eagerly before he gives your ass a light clap. One that stings. One that turns the skin hot beneath his hand. Where he grips you, almost owning. If it weren't for the wedding dress hanging from the vanity. If it weren't for the silver ring around your finger -- one that's not identical to the one Charles gave you back then, when you were dumb and in love and taking on the world seemed like the easiest thing to do with him by your side.

How young and naive you were back then. You're still young now, but more jaded. Changed in a way that allows you to fuck your ex on your wedding day. You'll be thinking about this later, when your groom zips down your dress. When he kisses your skin and thinks he's the only one that has touched you that day. When he thinks it's him you think of, late at night.

It's a secret you and Charles will share. One he'll leave with as he watches you walk down the aisle.

He pulls you down into his lap. Quick. A little rough as his fingers dig into your sides. Like he could tell your mind was elsewhere and he couldn't have that happen. Not when he's in you. When he's the one making pleasure slowly coil in your stomach again. It's embarrassing almost, how quick he gets you where he wants you.

But you can tell he's close too. In the way his eyes glisten. How his thrusts turn sloppy and you're the one back in charge. When he's so close to cumming.

You move your hips up and down. Smile, strained and with a moan withering behind your teeth when he thrusts up once. Twice more before his fingers dance down your stomach and to your slick folds. His thumb draws over the stretched skin of your cunt, where you're wrapped around him again.

But his eyes remain on your face. As if he has to look at you falling apart. Memorize the way you look riding him.

His fingers feel heavenly on your clit when they slip back up. Better than yours, because they're Charles'.

When he cums in you, you do so a second later. Follow him over the edge until pleasure snaps. Until it overwhelms your senses. You fall forward, spent, despite your hips twitching back and forth on his softening cock. Bury your face in his sweaty neck. The collar of his crisp shirt ruined.

Your name is whispered into the space above your head. Quiet. Unsure. Like Charles doesn't know what you just did despite his cum slowly trailing between your legs.

You pull off, but don't move away. Stay like that, wrapped up in his body for another moment. Rub your forehead against his chest. Scared what you'll find when you look up. What truth Charles will have unveiled to you with his eyes.

He's an open book to you. Or used to be, but the shuttered look on his face isn't what you expect when you roll away. Into the space next to him. Where he's one warm line against your naked body.

You feel terribly exposed suddenly. With him still in his suit for the most part. With his eyes being unreadable. Lips pinched together like he has to stop himself from saying something.

You shrug into the robe again. Try to find security in the soft way it caresses your body but all it reminds you of is how just minutes earlier Charles had touched you. How his hands had cupped your breasts and his lips sought out yours.

When you stand up, so does he. And it's quiet between you. Now that the sound of each others names have stopped slipping off the others lips. You move, try to put space between you and the bed. Almost sit back down at the vanity, where even now, a mark is left behind. The one your intertwined hands left behind.

"It's a beautiful dress," he says from behind you, voice quiet. You nod, eyes trailing over delicate lace and beautiful folds just to your side. Your husband will love it but he won't appreciate the thought put into it before pulling it off your body tonight.

"I would have loved it," he adds. Doesn't meet your eyes as he does. You don't know what he'd find there anyway. Pain, maybe? For doing this to him? To yourself? Your mind's a mess, but one you appreciate over grasping what you just did.

His hands tremble a little around the buttons of his wrinkled shirt, still made up for the most part. You sigh as you step in, a distant rehearsed memory prompting you to help him like you did so many times before. At events or before important meetings with Ferrari.

"You would," you agree, "You would have loved to see the way it shimmers in the light as we danced."

He hums, pained and then grabs your wrists. Clears his throat before dropping them again. Reminds himself that he has no right to touching you anymore. You would have let him. You would have even kissed him again. Or for the last time. Whatever version you like to tell yourself. All you really know is that you already miss it, the heat of him on your body. How he filled you.

There's evidence of him on your skin still. Between your legs. Slowly trailing down the soft skin of your inner thigh. But it's not enough to trick your brain into believing you'll ask him to stay.

You couldn't, even if you wanted to. It's too late, you tell yourself.

A part of you knows that you'll have to tell yourself that one over and over.

Later, after you've showered, after you've washed away all traces of Charles, watched what you two did swirl down the drain and your mother touched up your lipstick -- the ghost of Charles' mouth on yours still warm -- you walk down the aisle and towards a new future.

One that doesn't have Charles standing on the other side. Instead, he's sitting in the second row to your left and he admires the way your dress shimmers with every step just like you said he would.

#f1 smut #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #**mine

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someplace-darker · 8 months

Text

In The Static | Ted Lasso

Pairing: Ted Lasso x reader (no y/n) Wordcount: 2.1k Warnings: panic attack/talks of panic attacks, vague mentions of trauma. That's about it I think, it's a touch angst and hurt/comfort I suppose. Fluff. Summary: Ted thought he was past his panic attacks until he encounters another, and you follow him to make sure he's okay. A/N: "now jay" you might be saying "wasn't the last thing you posted smut almost a year ago?" and the answer is yes. But i've recently become insanely attached to Ted Lasso, and I dipped my toe into writing more than a wip. SO here's my middle aged white man of the month. Enjoy :)

“REFEREE!!!” Keeley stands with a force that causes her to latch onto your arm to keep from falling forward. It continues to astound you that for such a tiny lady, she really contains an insane amount of spunk. One of the opposing team’s men had just slid Sam’s legs out from under himself, causing him to land hard on his shoulder. The game had been a rough one so far, more aggressive and bitter than most. Richmond had been respectful at first (as per usual) but the second their opponents had started playing violent and dirty, that changed.

Roy and Beard were obviously shouting and pointing angrily, though you couldn’t make out what they were saying from your seat in the box. Ted, however, was standing stiffly with his balled fists shoved into the pockets of his Richmond zip-up. You can feel that something is off. Even if you can’t see his face, you know him well enough to read his body language. There’s mere minutes left in the game and the teams are tied.

Rebecca is already standing and gathering her belongings to head back in, gesturing for the lot of you to follow. That’s exactly what you begin to do before the crowd goes ape-shit, jumping from their seats and screaming so loud it makes your head thrum.

“ROJAS INTERCEPTS THE KICK AND PASSES TO TARTT AND JUST LIKE THAT-”

You turn just in time to watch Jamie kick the ball into the net, the stadium erupting in cheers that shake the ground.

“AFC RICHMOND TAKES ANOTHER VICTORY 2-1 IN A SHOCKING LAST SECOND SCORE”

Keeley, Higgins, and Rebecca rejoice, grabbing at each other in shock. Placing your fingers between your lips you let out a piercing whistle, jumping up and down as thousands of chants echo. You look down to your coaches, expecting to see all three soaking in the sweet relief of not gaining another loss. Instead, you see Ted darting for the locker room, head down with his phone held two inches from his face. It was obvious to you that he was trying to use it as a cover.

“I’ll meet back with you guys later, I’ve gotta check something real quick.”

They smile and wave you off, relishing in the buzzing excitement clearly felt throughout the facility. As much as you wish you could join them in celebration, you were pretty sure Ted needed you more. So you slip through the small crowds with ease, having much practice during your time with Richmond, taking the back staircase to the locker room hallway.

At first you check his office, finding only his jacket laying on the floor. The second spot you search is the right one, opening the door to darkness. You almost turn and leave but a staggered breath gives him away.

“Ted?” you whisper, stepping into the boot room and closing the door gently. He sniffles almost silently and hums in response, curling in on himself when the lights flicker on at your touch.. You’ve never seen him look so small before, his entire body condensed into half of his height in the corner of the room, the sight moving you to shut the lights back off for his sake.

“Hey,” you murmur softly, walking over to kneel in front of him. He has his head placed between his knees, hands on the back of head with his fingers intertwined tightly. As much as you know of his panic attacks, you’ve never been present for one. Something tells you he tends to keep it that way with everyone around him.

However, you’re well versed with them yourself.

“I’m gonna sit beside you, but I won’t touch you unless you say it’s okay.”

You lower yourself onto the ground, the floor cold beneath your already freezing ass. England's weather was not kind to the warm blooded. Ted doesn’t lift his head all the way, simply angles it towards you just enough for an eye to peek out from behind his arm. He looks at you with the gaze of a wounded puppy, eyes red and wet, smeared with warm tears.

The silence that follows is deafening, a faint ringing the only thing you hear. Ted looks like he wants to say something, but thinks better of it. It’s not like you can blame him. The last time he opened up to someone he considered close about his panic attacks, it ended up plastered on every magazine and tabloid across the country. Trust within himself and others had been fractured- not broken. No one could ever betray Coach Lasso enough to break that within him, it was fundamental to who he was as a person.

After a few more minutes of silence his foot slides over to yours, just barely nudging it. He lifts his head and sniffles, using his sleeve to wipe the mix of tears and snot off his face.

“I want to tell you about it, I do. I’m just… stuck. Feels like if I tell you, it’ll be too much,” he murmurs, keeping his foot pressed to yours.

“I understand, Ted,” you whisper. “I started having panic attacks before I was even a teenager. I’d been through things- rough things -and they plagued me for years.” He begins to unfurl himself, listening intently to every word you say, the blatant honesty and vulnerability easing his anxiety. “It took me a while to open up to anyone about them, let alone a therapist. I spent so long trying to hide them, that when I finally did get help I felt like a fake.”

Ted adjusts himself to sit up straighter, shimmying closer so your shoulders touch. You can tell he’s trying to be inconspicuous about it, but the man is known to be anything but subtle. Outside you can hear the boys begin filing into the hallway, headed for the locker room surely for some type of victory activity. Their shadows dance across the wall in the darkened boot room, slashed into segments by the blinds slanted slightly open. Both of you seemed to have held your breaths as they passed, because as soon as they’re gone there’s a simultaneous exhale of relief.

An amused breath comes from Ted, palm pressing from the corner of his eye to the tip of his cheekbone to wipe away the stray tears. He knocks his knee against yours and dares to glance at you, opening up enough to make eye contact. Here in this room, he looks more human than you think you’ve ever seen him. For the most part he keeps his mood insanely optimistic, tending to care more about others happiness than his own. It gave him an almost otherworldly bounce to his step and light to his eyes.

But now that he’s sat no more than two inches in front of you with puffy eyes and a chewed lip, Ted is just… a broken man.

“You’ll never be too much, Ted. It’s normal to feel stuck, and it’s okay to not be able to talk about it yet.” His eyes flick to your hand when you lift it towards him, a lifeline of trust, openness in the form of warm skin and an upward facing palm. Internal conflict tugs at his lungs, his breath hitching as he weighs his options for all of five seconds before taking your hand. You are someone Ted knows he can always find solace in.

Someone who he could spot in a crowd of thousands, someone who he will always seek out.

His other hand reaches to pat the top of yours, rubbing his thumb against your skin in soothing circles. A shuddered breath begins to pass his lips, but he smothers it to ashes with the cool press of a kiss to your wrist.

Humming amusedly at the feeling of his mustache tickling your skin, you lean your head on his shoulder, moving slightly as they lift with the intake of air into his lungs. “I suppose you’re right. I just feel bad that I haven’t spoken to you ‘bout it,” he tsk’s softly to himself, carefully navigating his brain for the right words.

“I was fine out there, y’know? I’ve been doin’ better, Sharon’s helped a lot. But it just got so loud, and everything felt out of my control- out of any of our boys’ control and I- I just couldn’t breathe. Tunnel vision, boom, just like that.”

You whisper encouragements softly under your breath, murmurs of ‘it’s okay’ and ‘you can keep going’ pushing him gently in the right direction. Voices can be heard from the locker room, loud cheering and chanting from the team acting as muffled background noise for Ted’s moment of vulnerability.

“After everything that happened with Nate, I learned to mask it a bit better I guess. That’s the fancy word Doc told me about,” the corner of his lips quirks up “I figured I’d be okay in here for a bit anyway, then you walked in.” Your brows furrow and you pull away from his shoulder, opening your mouth to apologize for intruding but he beats you to it.

“No, no, that sounded different than I meant. I am very glad that you found me here. I needed you even if I didn’t know it,” he traces the details of your face with his eyes, not stopping you when you move your head back down to his shoulder.

“I think you’ve worked on it so much quicker than you realize, Ted. It wasn’t that long ago, yeah? Healing and improving takes time, and it’s okay that it takes time. I certainly took my time,” you muse, channeling your own therapist’s word. “But I think it’s right on par with who you are, who I know you to be, that you got on it as fast as you did. Even if it was begrudgingly at first.”

“Yeah, Doc definitely had her work cut out.”

You laugh, normally at first but then Ted snorts and you both lose it, bodies bumping against each other with the shakes that come with post-meltdown laughs. Soon enough you’re both wiping away tears of a different variety, the air in the room much lighter than before. You take that moment to push yourself up and off the floor, lending a hand to Ted to pull him up.

“I am immensely proud of you, Coach Lasso. So is the team. You have a very large family backing you up, as unorthodox as said family is.” You take one step closer, hand still holding onto his, pressed between your bodies. Taking your free hand, you hold the side of his face and lean in to kiss his cheek, thumb stroking his jaw.

Ted presses into your lips, chasing your touch even when you turn to the door. Twisting the knob open you find Will standing there, boots tied by their laces hanging over his shoulder, hand outreached to grab the now absent handle.

He blinks at the two of you for a second, gaze one of vague shock, before curling his lips in an embarrassed smile and stepping out of the way.

“Not a word, Will,” you sing-song when he opens his mouth, pulling Ted down the hall to stand outside of the locker room door.

You can hear Roy in the middle of a somehow happy/angry sounding congratulation speech that only he is capable of, grinning and turning to face your Coach once more. “Now, get your butt in there and relish in the sweet taste of winning.”

“I mean, relish is pretty tasty-”

“Ted.”

“Yep,” Ted takes a deep breath and nods, squeezing your hand “you coming in with me?”

“I don’t want to intrude on your moment, Coach.”

He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly and pushes the door open, dragging you with him. The boys’ faces light up, immediately rushing to storm him, all reaching to touch him and jumping up and down. Their team song buzzing and bouncing along with them.

“WE’RE RICHMOND TILL WE DIE, WE’RE RICHMOND TILL WE DIE, WE KNOW WE ARE, WE’RE SURE WE ARE, WE’RE RICHMOND TILL WE DIE”

You slide past the group, safely reaching Roy and Beard without your feet being stomped on. The smile on your face is one of pure joy and contentment, not faltering when Beard slides to your side, bumping your elbow.

“Thanks,” he speaks, nodding towards Ted. It’s easy to know what he means immediately, always one to be of few words.

“No need to thank me,” you reply easily, watching your family bond even more “it’s what we do.”

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joels6string · 1 year

Note

dear santa,

i mean, dear kate* 🫣

can i wish a very spicy joel miller story? as if the ones you wrote weren’t spicy and perfect enough… BUT! maybe something like enemies to lovers?

i actually have no idea what i’m asking. you’re the mastermind here. anything joel related, i want it on my desk 😮‍💨🫶

Merry Angst-mas for this one. I swear the other prompts are very lighthearted and happy. Like, Joel ice skating, and modern AU snowstorm hero... don't give up on me 😂

Damned If I Do

Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You hate him, he hates you. It's as simple as that, right?

Rating: E

Word Count: 3.1k

Content: Enemies to lovers. The two main food groups: Smut and Sad. Creator has chosen to not give content warnings, read at your own risk.

“You give a shit about me, Miller?” you asked, trying to taunt but only sounding as desperate as he did. Despite his words over the months you’d known him, his actions had certainly always told a different story, one he was trying to keep from pouring free right now. “Tryin’ not to.” “Why’s that?” “Lovin’ me’s a curse.”

The mood was somber, even more so than usual. It was December, the frigid winter air whipping through the Boston quarantine zone, the dilapidated building you were currently holed up in doing little to keep you from its stinging bite.

“You gonna be a god damn liability again this time?” The voice made your skin crawl.

“Merry Christmas to you too,” you grumbled under your breath, it was no use arguing with him.

Tess had gone ahead to negotiate the terms of your impending deal, leaving you and Joel to wait for the upcoming weapons haul pickup that had been looming over your head for days. You’d chosen Christmas Eve in hopes that the military personnel surrounding every wall of the zone would be scarce, on holiday leave, doing something other than their damn worthless jobs for once. Not that there was shit to celebrate anyway.

“I asked you a question,” he barked in response to your muttering, his face severe when you dared a peek at it.

“I don’t know, Miller,” you sneered, “Just let them take me out this time and put us both out of our fucking misery, huh?”

“I’d never hear the end of it.”

Tess would give him an earful. Sometimes you thought the threat of Tess’ wrath was the only thing keeping you alive, this was doing enough to prove that to be true. When the woman in question returned to you and him on opposite sides of the room facing your respective walls, she sternly reminded you both that lives were on the line. Now wasn’t the time for bickering and your heads belonged in the game, not your asses. You both begrudgingly agreed.

When it came down to it, it was your turn to put a bullet between the eyes of someone that had Joel by the throat long enough to make his vision blacken at the fringe, the ice beneath his cheek brutal and sharp as he fell to the ground with a huff.

“You’re welcome,” you snapped, stepping over his gasping body without so much as a glance down, his furious snarl still audible over the winds.

It had been a setup, of course, hunters almost picking the three of you off when you got to the abandoned drop zone.

“Thought you negotiated this shit, Tess!?” Joel barked, throwing his bloodied baseball bat onto the ground with a heavy thud, “We come out here just for a quick shoot out and frostbite or you got somethin’ else up those sleeves of yours?”

“I thought it was sound!” she snapped back, guilt heavy in her voice as she accepted her error in ways Joel could never.

“Yeah, Merry fuckin’ Christmas–”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Joel,” you interjected, exasperated, cold, and perturbed beyond a reasonable limit, “You wouldn’t have done any fucking better–”

“I would have made damn sure I wasn’t bringin’ either of you to a god damn ambush! That’s what I woulda done!”

“Well, you were a great help tonight–”

Your words were cut short by a hand clamping over your mouth, the frozen sharp tip of a knife knicking into the soft skin of your throat. The ice scattered throughout the cracked pavement made it impossible to get your footing as you were dragged backward, your heart pounding as you watched Joel’s eyes widen in panic, his revolver drawn and aimed, his gaze begging for a clear shot. Looks like he’d get his Christmas wish after all.

There was no use in fighting it, if anything having the warmth of a body pressed behind you would have you one less step from miserable as you took your last breaths. You hoped he made it quick, you weren’t in the damn mood for games or semantics. Joel wouldn’t trade a dirty sock for your life, but that look in his eyes before you were pulled from his sight had certainly been unexpected.

He and Tess had probably run off, who knew who else was coming, this man couldn’t be alone. They were smart to do so. Ammo was running low, stamina even lower, and even at their best, they couldn’t take out another squadron of hunters. You’d made it 15 years in this God-forsaken world, it was a lot more than most could boast. Somehow dying at the filthy hands of this human felt worse than getting infected, at least those monsters didn’t know any better.

Even through the thick canvas of your jacket, you felt the burn of the pavement scraping your elbows, your hiss of discomfort pulling a sneering smile.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, and you curled your lip as your eyes rolled, Joel's voice echoing in your head, ‘Don’t gimme that sass.”

Had it been an hour? Maybe two? You couldn’t tell. The darkness was unforgiving and unwavering, the cold setting into your bones as you shivered knees to your chest in an attempt to preserve your body heat. You’d be dead by morning from hypothermia alone. Gunshots rang out, screams and cries, yelps, glass shattering. What the fuck? What kind of hell zone was this? Crawling to peer around the old metal shipping container you’d been stashed in, your curious gaze was met with the sight of Joel Miller bashing at your captor’s head with a brick, blood splattered across his face, eyes alight with rage.

“Joel…” you gasped through numbed lips, you’d never been happier to see that sour face in your life, his expression softening as the man in his grasp fell to the ground in a gory heap.

“There you are,” you sighed, “Let’s go. Can you walk?”

His heavy coat he’d slipped over your shoulders swallowed you whole as you led you through the still hunter-infested maze. Ducking behind crates and in abandoned buildings, he had the exact route mapped to have you free and clear within minutes, the walls of Boston greeting you just as the feeling had returned to the tips of your toes. He was silent on the route back, his eyes flicking over his shoulder to ensure you were safely behind him periodically, the sphere emanating from your flashlight highlighting the silver hairs streaking through the black on the back of his head.

“Stop,” he instructed, tanks driving by as a new congregation of troops gathered right outside the final building that led to safety, “Shit. This might be as far as we get til dawn.”

“Great,” you scoffed.

“Let’s go up, keep eyes on ‘em.”

With enemies so close, a fire was out of the question, your chattering teeth and tensed muscles hard to ignore as you stared at the hulking form staring out the shattered window.

“Joel…” you finally sounded, his head ticking towards you the only acknowledgment you received, “Why’d you come back?”

“If anyone’s gonna kill ya, it’s gonna be me,” he teased, a puff of breath glowing in the moonlight leaking in around him, “and now we’re even.”

“We’re even…”

Of course it was about evening the score. You’d saved his life, he’d saved yours, though you were almost positive you were still deep in his debt. It wasn’t often Joel needed a helping hand. He was as formidable as he was cold, that stony expression rarely breaking. Except it had, tonight. You hadn’t forgotten.

“Joel…” you called again, his body turning now to face you pathetically shivering in the corner. You hoped he didn’t make you ask, it was already mortifying insinuating it.

“I got you,” he cooed, leaving his post and gesturing for you to lean forward as he approached, nestling in behind you, legs on either side caging you in, his arms wrapping around your middle as you nestled back against him.

Even in nothing but a worn-out flannel, he was warm, your sigh of relief drawing a muted chuckle from his chest as you melted in his hold. Bygones could be bygones, the chill you swore would be permanent dissipating with each deep breath you were now able to take. It had been years since you’d been this close to another human in a non-threatening manner, the first time someone cradled you against them, allowing you a moment of solace and safety. You’d never expected to find that safety here, in these arms.

“You can sleep,” he permitted, your body immediately accepting the offer and drifting off, your head lolling beneath his chin as his thick beard caught on your hair.

Gray light filled the dingy room as your eyes fluttered open. You were sweating now, your neck straining beneath a heavy weight settled on your head, heavy breaths echoing in your ear. Joel. He was asleep behind you, his cheek resting on you from where you’d spent your night pressed into him, his arms still tightly wrapped around you even passed out cold. At the first twitch of your head, he was rousing, grunting as he became alert once again.

Shifting enough to peer up at him, you watched his hazel eyes wake in the eerie glow of dawn before they locked with yours, the stone chipped away just enough to reveal a glimmer of vulnerability.

“Why you lookin’ at me like that?” he asked softly, keeping the proximity you’d woken in instead of pulling away like you’d expected him to.

All you could muster was a shrug, his plush lips too close for you to concentrate.

“I can’t do this…” he whimpered, his tone stabbing you right in the chest, “Stop making me give a shit about you.”

“Tryin’ not to.”

“Why’s that?”

“Lovin’ me’s a curse.”

That didn’t matter. You’d danced with the devil already, what was one more tango? His hair was softer than you thought it would be when your fingers weaved into the strands on the back of his head, pulling his lips to yours in a daring risk of affection. You weren’t sure what shocked you more, your bravery or the fact that he greedily accepted your kiss, one large palm splaying across your stomach that was currently churning with something you hadn’t felt in over a decade.

It was all teeth and pressure, tongues wrestling as you tugged him closer by the hold on his hair, his body turning to face yours and press you down onto the cold wood of the floor, one hand cupping the back of your head to save it from the splintering surface. Your hands started on his belt first, your mouths still devouring the other as months of pent-up tension and hidden desires spilled over, your lungs selfishly inhaling his carnal groan as you gripped his cock as it sprang free and dragged your fist along his impressive length. Control was forgotten as you leaned up and captured his bottom lip again, his mind unable to focus on both your mouth and your hand as you continued to tug, his reciprocating kiss always slightly too late as his hips began to rock into your hold.

“Turn,” he commanded, his voice giving no room for objection, “S’too cold for any other way.”

As much as you wanted to argue, he was right. You obeyed, presenting yourself to him on all fours before your jeans were pulled just past the swell of your ass, his hands squeezing at your searing globes voraciously. You wished you could see his face. Slick fingers swiped over your pulsing hole, swirling spit around to ease his plunge into your waiting depths. You were quivering with anticipation, a stark contrast from last night as every inch of you burned now even in the subzero December temperatures.

Even if you wanted to stop it, you wouldn’t have been able to contain the lewd cry that erupted as you stretched around him. The feeling of his shaft slowly slipping inside of you made you realize just how soaked you were, his path unhindered on its way into the deepest parts of your body. You knew he could feel it, too, his hands shaking where they held you in place around your waist, breaths audibly ragged as he bottomed out.

“Shush now, darlin’,” he soothed, once again stroking over the plushness of your hips, “I can’t kill a man in this state.”

If that was intended to calm you down, he’d failed. Your cunt clenched around him so tightly he chuckled gruffly, pulling out and snapping his hips back against your ass just hard enough to have you jerking forward and keening, your teeth sinking into the sleeve of his jacket still loosely hanging on your much smaller frame. It didn’t take long for his pace to regulate, hard and fast just as you expected him to be, your arousal leaking down your inner thighs as he pinpointed the velvety patch decorating your inner wall, his precision just as accurate as he was with a rifle.

The limitations were agonizing. You wanted more. You wanted to marvel at the way his lips were parted and the hazel of his eyes swallowed by blackened lust, grip his chest and his neck, swallow his muted whines, and whisper how fucking good he felt into the soft, scarred skin of his neck. Pressure was building immeasurably quick, his rough fingers now rubbing circles over your clit leaving you nothing but a boneless heap in his hands. He was holding you upright now, your body limp for him to use as he saw fit, but the only thing he chased was your release.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he urged, “just let it go for me.”

Who were you to deny him anything? You clamped down around him as the elastic band in your belly finally snapped, shockwaves electrifying every nerve from the tips of your toes to the top of your skull, your eyes rolling back in your head as you chanted his name like a prayer. He followed not long after, pulling out with a roar and emptying onto an old rag he’d grabbed from the floor, his chest heaving as he moaned in relief. You wanted to scramble over to him, kiss his cheek, temple, eye, forehead, anything you could reach as he finished in the absence of your warmth, but you were too spent, too delirious, too thoroughly fucked to move quickly enough.

“Joel…” you whimpered, searching for him in the still-dim space, your hand reaching up and waiting for his fingers to intertwine with, “Joel…”

“I’m right here,” he answered as he gave you what you were searching for, his lips pressing to the back of your palm as he pulled you back into his chest, “We need to go. Tess’ll be worried.”

When you returned, you didn’t need to tell Tess what had transpired, she could tell. But even with her deduced knowledge, she kept her lips sealed. Maybe she knew Joel would tuck and run the moment he was caught, or that he’d recognize what a liability this was in a world such as this. A liability he’d come to terms with faster than he would have liked.

Two months later as February began to slide into March, a hoard of infected was an unexpected addition to your supply run. It was just you and him, it was meant to be simple, and it was, or so he thought.

“Let’s go,” he panted, “More’ll come. We can go another day without.”

“Joel…” you mewled, tears welling in your eyes as he continued to scout the area, “Joel!”

“What? Sweetheart, we gotta go.”

“You gotta go.”

“What the hell are you talk–”

Part of you wished you’d never told him. That you’d run off into the woods and let the last image you had of him be with his revolver in one hand and a machete in the other, doing what he did best with his brute strength and unmatched finesse. Because now, now you’d die with the snapshot of his horror-stricken face staring down at your outstretched palm, frozen, in denial, and forlorn.

“The hell is that?” he asked as if you’d have another explanation.

“You know what it is,” you replied, swallowing your own sorrow, he needed you to be strong now.

“No. No. No, that’s…that’s somethin’ else.”

“Stop–”

“Tell me it’s somethin’ else.”

“Joel, please!”

The way he muttered Jesus fucking Christ under his breath as he turned was the final swing on your shattering resolve, a hand dragging down his face as the other dropped to his hip, his blade plummeting to the pavement with a shrill clang as he let it fall from his grip. You stood still as a statue, watching him come to terms with those teeth marks pierced into the hand that had cupped his jaw so tenderly this morning as he’d kissed you awake.

“I warned you,” he finally said, turning to reveal his soaked cheeks and reddening eyes, “I told you I was a curse.”

“That really what you want to talk about right now?” you pressed, your chest burning as you fought the sobs clawing to get free.

“What do you want me to do?”

Your final wish. It wasn’t hard to decipher what he meant, one of you had to do it.

“I can do it,” you assured, puffing your chest out in a masquerade of bravery and strength, he could see right through it, his brow furrowing as he shook his head.

“No you can’t,” he resigned after clearing his throat and repressing the rage and grief already surging through him, pulling his pistol from the back of his waistband, “Lay down, I can’t watch you fall.”

“Joel, I can–”

“Just…do it.”

The grass was cool against your cheek, its soft caresses weren’t the worst things to feel with your final breaths. Your tears decorated the blades like the dew drops not due for another few months, your heart thudding between your chest and the ground, Joel’s footsteps somehow in tune with every slam of it against your sternum.

Where you expected the muzzle of a pistol, you felt his large palm stroking gently over the back of your head, his lips pressing to your hair one last time and lingering as the wound on your hand pulsed like a warning beacon. You knew you still had time, but the urgency had begun to eat you alive with every dragging second.

“Get on with it, Miller,” you pushed, refusing to give him your eyes, he’d hesitate. You knew that. “Waiting won’t make it any easier.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, he was crying again, “I’m sorry…” and that was the last thing you heard before the click of a trigger.

Joel Miller Masterlist

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #tlou

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notyour-valentine · 1 year

Text

Irene's Delights ~ Tommy Shelby x Reader (Fluff)

[Masterlist] [Taglist]

Summary: After Tommy disappears from a party, she goes out to find him

Note: Written for K @runnning-outof-time s floral 3K celebration! I hope you enjoy

All my writing is produced by an adult and created with an adult audience in mind (18/21+). You are responsible for your own media consumption. I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Warning: mention of war, PTSD

Wordcount: 1868 words

She was glad to leave the stuffy air and noise behind.

Not that she was a bore, but the Shelbys and their closest friends were a loud and merry bunch, quick to laugh, drink, sing, cheer, scream, shout and celebrate until there was little left of the music to hear.

Most of the Shelbys that was. But not the one she sought most.

She had thought she had seen him slip out through the terrasse door a little while ago and when he hadn’t returned since, she thought that was her safest bet.

The night air was crisp but the night starless, with only the moon standing as a proud witness high above the usually so peaceful countryside.

Even tonight the luscious plains, large trees and gentle springs swallowed all sound of the celebration with gracious ease as only a few paces further down the terrace, she could hear the stone under her heels.

She searched in the darkness for the familiar red glow of his cigarette, for the sound of footsteps, for his voice calling out to her but was disappointed on all counts.

“Tommy?”, she called as she rubbed the goosebumps on her arms. “Tommy, are you still out there?”

“Yes.”

The simple, soft spoken answer came closer than she would have thought, barely a few feet away from the edges of their garden.

Her mistake had been looking on eye-level, searching for a man standing or leaning, not laying down in the damp grass, suit, leather shoes and all.

Even now he made no attempt of getting to his feet, and so it was up to her to make her way to him.

Once she had thought that any green that belonged to a house was a garden, but that was before all this. Now they had gardens, several, and grounds, but amidst and above all that they still had a garden, their garden, where she planted and tended to some vegetables and the odd flower, although the gardeners were far more talented than she could ever hope to be.

This little speck of land couldn’t compare to the vast beauty of the rose garden, but still Tommy had chosen this of all places.

“And is there any reason why you’ve been out here all night?”, she asked, half amused, half irritated. “You’ll end up catching a cold!”

He only huffed in response, his skin turned to silver by the moon.

“What if you get sick, hm, what then?”, she asked, knowing the answer. He would refuse to admit it to himself, making any and every symptom worse in the process only for him to collapse at the foot of the mountain of his own ambition, rendering him completely bedridden for a few days, finally submitting to the doctor’s advice after refusing to even hear of it for the preceding days.

They had played that game before, and every time they repeated each move.

Best to avoid the match all together it seemed.

“I’ll be fine, love.”, Tommy promised, as he always did.

But he didn’t sound fine, not that he sounded sick either. Just…strange.

“Won’t you come back inside?”, she asked.

“No.”, he replied, his gaze firmly locked on the skies.

“Not even to have a dance with me?”, she tried to coax with a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

“Not tonight, love.”, he replied.

She sighed, glancing from him to the house where his family was still celebrating to the utmost possability.

“Well, it’s a little rude to leave your family and your guests unattended. I’m sure they’re missing you.”

After all, it was his brother’s wedding and they were hosting it at their home.

“You think?”, Tommy asked, sneering almost.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, she asked, feeling a different cold to the one of the night air.

At first his only response was a deep and long sigh and when she crouched down next to him, she could see a strange look in his eyes.

“Tommy?”, she asked, stroking his cheek.

“I’m sure they’re just fine without me there. Probably happier in my absence.”, he grumbled.

“Why would you say that?”, she asked. “Surely not because of Linda…”

She was a strange choice for Arthur, for any one of them really, and she wasn’t easy to like. For that she was too forthcoming, too smiley, just too much - too much to be believed truly genuine.

But Tommy had made every background check possible to man and found nothing, and she made Arthur happy, and better to, so this was it. As of 11:34 this morning, Linda was a Shelby, a change celebrated at their house, although not everyone had adhered to her request to have no alcohol served apart from one celebratory toast of champagne.

“It’s not Linda.”, Tommy mumbled, shaking his head just slightly. “It’s not her…”

His words ended in a long near neverending sigh.

“What is it, Tommy?”, she asked again.

“Nothing, I’m just tired.”, he groaned. “You go back inside, eh? They’ll be missing you.”

“And they won’t miss you?”, she asked.

It had been meant as a joke, with half a smile, but to Tommy that wasn’t it.

“I doubt it.”

“Why would you say that?”, she asked, a chill running down her back that had nothing to do with the way the wind made the rose bush leaves whisper.

Tommy reached up and ran the palm over his hand over his temple, clearly not wanting to answer her question, but she wasn’t about to let this go.

“Tommy, what are you talking about? They are our family, of course they want you there.”

“They’ll say that.”, he agreed, and she was surprised to see resignation and not bitterness in his eyes. “And then, when I’m around, they act differently., because it is like that when I’m around. it’s different.”

“Tommy-”

She wanted to tell him that it was not true, that it was only his imagination but she couldn’t deny that there was truth to his words.

“Don’t try.”, Tommy told her, while she was still searching for something to say, something soothing and meaningful. “You know what it was like before.”

There was only one true ‘before’ in the life of Tommy Shelby, in the life of them all, and so there was no need for further explanation.

“Of course that changed things, but it changed it for us all, and not just for you.”, she tried to soothe.

“But it is different with me.”, Tommy insisted, sitting up as if he had been bitten by a snake, his pale eyes piercing in the darkness of their little garden.

“Because I was the one who was put in charge, I was the one giving orders, me - saying who would go, and where. Not John, not Arthur. I had to make the choices and I haven’t stopped since.”

She reached for him in an attempt to soothe.

“But it’s not like that anymore. You are not their Sergeant Major anymore.”,

“Am I not?”, he asked, his voice thick with the weight of his thoughts, and the heaviness of his heart.

It was enough to shatter her own.

“Sweetheart - “, she whispered, her hand finding the side of his face.

It was cold to the touch and slightly damp from where his silver skin had been caressed by the grass.

“You are doing what you are doing to protect this family. They know that.”

He averted his eyes, no longer able to stand both her touch and her gaze.

“I am not saying your worry and concern is unwarranted.”, she began slowly, “but you cannot place all that responsibility at your feet, Tommy. We are all adults.”

He only huffed in response and so she tried once more to lighten his mood as she stroked her thumb over his cheek.

“Besides, now Arthur is officially primarily Linda’s problem.”

Tommy’s eyes fluttered shut. “He’ll always be my problem.”

“And you will always be his.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but then only sighed, dropping his head.

“Oh my love!”, she said, moving closer and thereby kneeling on the grass herself to allow herself the stability of pulling him close.

“Watch your dress!”, Tommy reminded her. “The grass will stain it.”

He had a point; she was wearing a dress, the same colour of the Irene’s Delight roses when they were in full bloom, it was a gentle pink color, a soft, almost whimsical thing, that wouldn’t stand a chance against the assault of the damp green grass.

“Then I’ll scrub it out.”

It wasn’t a reason to deter her from leaning into him.

A frown appeared on Tommy’s face as he took her hand in his.

One could have thought that years of paperwork and pen pushing would have softened, but the rope and chalk had gotten under his skin in more ways than one.

And yet that roughness was strangely comforting to her. It hadn’t come by hardship, not truly, but rather from hundreds of hours of horsemanship, and to Tommy Shelby there was no greater joy this world could provide.

He turned her hand in his and ran his thumb over her palm.

“You’re not doing any scrubbing with those hands, you hear me?”, he grumbled. “What do you think we have maids for?”

“It won’t kill me.”, she argued, pulling her hand back.

Still, Tommy’s frown only ever seemed to deepen.

“Oh Sweetheart!”, she sighed with a smile. He had so much resting on his shoulders, and always added more weight. Her dress and her hands were the last thing he ought to worry about, the last thing to warrant even a hint of concern,

And so she reached over and cupped his face, bringing his head down to rest on her lap with gentle force.

As soon as he realized her intention, he leaned into her, and when she began to run her fingers through the strands of his hair, he closed his eyes, finally relenting and melting into her touch.

With every stroke, with every caress, the frowns seemed to lessen, and with that, she hoped, his worries.

As she let her hand find a rhythm caressing his hair, she lifted her eyes, seeing the pale moonlight play tricks on the shapes of their garden.

It was a little chaotic, a little unkempt compared to the rest of this mansion of theirs, but it was theirs, and she far preferred these few square feet compared to the vast luxury of the other gardens.

As peaceful as it was, she couldn’t help but think of the war.

It had been a cut in all their lives, changing them all, no matter if they went to the front or remained at home, even if she had no scars to show for it.

So did Tommy, beyond those tattoos and the scars that marked those years away from home.

Some she could see or feel or sense but others were buried so deep within him she could only suspect their existence, and yet they shaped every day, every action, maybe even every thought.

But he was back, he was home and he was hers.

That alone made them luckier than most.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed and as always I'd love to hear your thoughts!

@runnning-outof-time congratulations once more on your incredible celebration! I hope you are having a lot of fun and of course that you enjoyed this little something I wrote for you! xx

Taglist

Overall

@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @chlorrox @watercolorskyy @books-livre @quarterpastmidnight @lilyevanswhore @polishcrazyone @zablife @just-a-harmless-patato @stevie75 @flyingjosephine-blog @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @babayaga67 @butterfly-skinnylegend @shelbydelrey @mrkdvidal1989 @raincoffeeandfandoms @midnightmagpiemama @adaydreamaway08 @trixie23

Tommy

@knowledgefulbutterfly @babayaga67 @signorellisantichrist @lespendy @geeksareunique @look-at-the-soul @lothbrokcore @rangerelik @elenavampire21 @evanore @dandelionprints

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nburkhardt · 1 year

Text

Steve has seen many weird things in his life, the last three years especially. Seven foot tall monsters, demo dogs, a girl with super powers, Russians under the mall. Traumatizing stuff, but over all weird stuff. Before all that happened, he thought the weirdest things would be little kids eating flowers or Munson climbing on tables at lunchtime.

But this? This takes the cake.

~~~~~

Vecna is defeated and done, burnt to a crisp with a shit ton of holes in his body thanks to Nancy’s sawed off shot gun. Before they leave the body, Nancy takes one last shot to his head just in case.

They’re walking back to leave when they notice all the dead demo-bats and… and a body.

Seeing Eddie dead on the ground hurts, makes their success bitter and now what do they do? All of them were supposed to make it out, defeat the evil and then celebrate all together. They can’t do that now. Whatever good feeling they had is gone, evaporated into the air with only a numbing sensation left in its place.

Getting out of the upside down with a dead body takes work but they make it happen. They refuse to leave him behind, they’ll bury him and make sure everyone knows that Eddie Munson was a good person. He helped save people, NDA be damned. Nancy is already swearing up and down that whatever cover up will include Eddie in good light.

They won but they lost and none of them know what to do now.

~ Two Weeks Later ~

Saving the world only feels good in the moment. That adrenaline rush feels incredible, but it never lasts long enough for Steve. This time especially with losing someone he thought maybe they could be friends.

It’s even worse because he has to work. He helped save the world and yet he’s back at his pointless job, putting tapes on shelves for a living and listening to mom’s complain about their kids grabbing pg13 movies without them knowing, only finding out when it’s playing and then “….skin showing! They are only twelve! I cannot believe you would let just anyone rent this, this is not responsible. You should be ashamed of yourselves!”

Steve blinks at her, bored and not ashamed at all. Since, “Ma’am, you rented this out. It says so on the computer here.”

She only scruffs at him before turning around to march back out of the store with the door slamming shut behind her. Leaving him alone, still bored out of his mind. It’s the one day where Robin isn’t working with him, leaving him to do both stocking and working the register. It’s made worse by people’s complaints, weird preverts and kids trying to rent rated r tapes.

“Save the world, still gotta work a nine to five” he mumbles to himself and dropping his head against the counter with a groan. He has another few hours of this, it’s already a long day.

“Ya know, maybe you should put that on a shirt, it’s a great conversation starter”

Steve jolts up with wide eyes because that’s a voice he hasn’t heard in two weeks, can’t hear that voice because the body it belongs to is buried six feet under ground in the goddamn cemetery. He should know because he visited the grave yesterday.

But right in front of him is clearly Eddie Munson with a smirk and still in the goddamn hellfire shirt, leather jacket with his dumb ripped jeans and bullet belt. His face is clean, no trace of bites or even blood. There is something off about him, like he’s fuzzy and not in focus. Which is weird because Steve swore he put contacts in this morning.

“What the fuck?” Is the only thing he can manage to say, he feels frozen staring at the man he grieved, “Munson, what the- you died!”

Eddie cocks his head to the side with a frown and goes to pat his body when the goddamn bell from the door rings and suddenly he just vanishes. Evaporated into thin air.

“No greeting?”

He shakes his head to clear it, maybe- maybe he’s seeing things. Maybe it’s due to only getting three hours of sleep last night, or maybe it’s from lack of water and food today. Hell, maybe it’s from the endless concussions he gets.

“Kid you good?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah- I’m,” he shook his head again before plastering his customer service smile on before looking at the guy in front of him, “I’m good, sorry. How can I help you?”

He pushes the idea of seeing Eddie out of his mind, a quick late rush of customers and one shitty sandwich for his break and he’s done with work for the day.

Not only is it the one day Robin doesn’t work, but it’s dnd night and he still drives Henderson to the Wheelers house. So, he only has time for a quick change of clothes before leaving his house to grab the kid.

Since Mrs. Wheeler insists on feeding him, he ends up sitting in the basement listening to the kids bicker over the game. It’s a nice distraction from the day.

Once he’s back at home, enjoying a hot shower. Singing ‘Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)’ to himself, taking his time washing his hair

“There's not a soul out there, No one to hear my prayer” he sings out while pushing out the soap in his hair, “gimme, gimme gimme a man after-“

“Midnight!” Another voice joins in and he screams, opening his eyes and everything is blurry since he took his contacts out and with the steam from the water. But that was definitely another voice and not just any voice, but fucking Eddie’s voice. “You got a decent voice, Harrington. Or maybe it’s just that you’re in the shower”

Sliding the shower door, he blinks hard to clear his vision and hopefully see. Then like at work, there’s a fuzzy looking Eddie wearing the same outfit he died in. He’s leaning over with a smirk, “Big Boy, indeed, Harrington”

His eyes widen and he closes the door with a slam, trying his hardest not to slip while freaking the fuck out. “You’re going crazy, that’s it. It’s gotta be, he’s dead and you’re feeling guilty. Eddie Munson is dead and buried, there is no way he’s here and fucking saw my-“

“Oh, I definitely saw you, that nickname was just to make you flush but fuck is it everything now.” Eddie’s voice interrupts him, and it seems closer now but he’s eyes are shut. He’s squeezing his eyes closed while also using one arm to cover it up too. “Aw, come on, big boy! I’ve been trying to get someone- anyone to see me!”

He hears both amusement and desperation in the voice, but he can’t move now. The water is turning cold and he can’t move because he’s going crazy. “Maybe, maybe it’s brain damage! That’s gotta be it”

“Harrington- Steve, I swear on Dustin’s mother. I’m here, like really here. Don’t- I don’t know why, or how, but I am” Eddie’s voice is just desperate now, no trace of amusement. “I’m-“

Steve shakes his head moving his arm away before taking a deep breath and opening his eyes, immediately finding a frown on Eddie’s transparent face. “There’s- there’s no way. You’re just a figment of my imagination- my brain’s way of dealing with your death. I- I wasn’t even your friend.”

He watches as Eddie frowns, nods then just…vanishes.

His sleep schedule has been fucked up since 1983, maybe even before that actually. Having parents that liked to travel and grandparents that wanted to know their only grandchild. Traveling didn’t help his sleep schedule, then 1983 when they trapped and attacked the demogorgon, it became nearly nonexistent.

Tonight is no exception. He’s been tossing and turning for two hours now, it’s nearly three in the morning.

“Okay, before you say anything-“

He bolts upright with a racing heart, looks around and again, there’s a fuzzy transparent Eddie Munson. He’s currently floating at the end of his bed and his face it looks tired. Like he’s the one who can’t sleep, too wired and worried.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you…again. But I thought maybe, maybe I could help? You seem restless… which I guess I caused it today but! I can read to you,” he looks around, makes him frown and follows him. Noticing how bare his room is right now, “okay, maybe not read. But I can come up with something! Like like, about this tough king that’s secretly a huge softie and everyone doesn’t know about this side of him. He remembers the tiny details of his friends, or makes sure those who work for him are supported and loved. Everyone in this kingdom-“

He’s slowly pulled under sleep, his eyes slipping shut and the sound of a dead man’s voice makes his racing heart calm down enough for a deep sleep.

The next morning, there’s no Eddie. He chalks up that whole day to his brain being fucked up from all the concussions. There’s absolutely no way he kept seeing and unintentionally talking to Eddie, no way Eddie of all people would talk about him like that to help him fall asleep.

It’s just not possible.

——————

Another day goes by with his fucked up brain conjuring up Eddie, then another and another.

He accepts it after a week passes with Ghost Eddie. Mostly because it’s actually quite nice, once he got used to someone suddenly appearing and vanishing at random times. It became easy enough to actually fully talk to Ghost Eddie, admitting things he wouldn’t say to anyone else. Especially to an alive Eddie Munson, but that one he can’t talk to. So, he’ll take what he can get since talking things out with Ghost Eddie makes sleepless nights nearly nonexistent.

No one knows about it, he can’t bring himself to actually tell them how fucked his brain is now. Too afraid they’ll really think he’s stupid now.

“I’m telling you, that lady is definitely cheating on her husband. I heard her!” Ghost Eddie tells him as Steve is handing over a tape to said apparent cheater.

He doesn’t bother with faking a smile. Because he’s holding back a laugh at Ghost Eddie’s gossip, “Remember to bring this back next Thursday and to have it rewound for us. Have a great day!”

Once the bell jingles, it’s just him in the store with his now ghostly partner. He turns around to face said partner, “Dude, don’t gossip in my ear about the person right in front of me!”

Ghost Eddie rolls his eyes, “Stevie, no one else can hear me. I’m safe from assholes, remember I’m a ghost”

“Ha ha, very funny Munson. But you saying that shit is going to make me laugh and look like the crazy person I already am.” He rolls his own eyes, “I mean, I’m talking to a figment of my imagination right now. Someone heard this I’d be thrown in the loony bin”

“I keep telling you, I’m not a figment of your imagination. I’m really a ghost dude, why can’t you-“

The bell from the door makes him jump, turning to find his friends standing right there.

———

This is totally inspired by a quote from Scooby Doo. Velma telling Shaggy, “there’s no such thing as ghosts” to which Shaggy says back, “well does the ghost know that?” And it made me laugh and thought what if 🤣 SO! We got Ghost!Eddie hanging around Steve.

We’re not going into specifics on how, we’re here for silliness and some angst. If anyone has suggestions on the conversion with his friends, I’m all ears 👀

@i-less-than-three-you @artiststarme

#steve harrington fic #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #stranger things fic #this is technically steddie btw #it’s just…Eddie’s a ghost 🥲#steve harrington au #steve harrington needs a hug #nburkhardt writes #aimed for silly and landed on angsty

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achaotichuman · 4 months

Text

The Mother's Least Favourite Son

Out of spite, I have written this. Hope you guys like broken mating bond Lucien angst.

@lorcanisdabest here is the Lucien angst you oh so wanted~

Trigger warning- Suicide.

Lucien stumbled through the dark. Tripping over something thrown carelessly across the cobblestone ground, an arm shot out to grab the nearest wall to stabilise himself. Skin scraping against the cold wet stone, it burned as it pulled away, blood beginning to prick the surface.

Why?

Why did it have to-

He lurched forward, and a crate at his feet caused him to fall to the ground. Dirty water splashed across his face, ruining his formerly perfect clothing. His trousers now wet and stained. His pristine Night black jacket now half covered with mud.

Fuck-

It lurched in his chest again. Screaming like a torture victim locked in a cage. Bleeding from the inside.

Golden threads that were cut and exposed like raw nerves. His heart beat faster than it ever had in his life. His hair fell around his face. Rain dripped down from above, beginning to race faster and faster to the surface of the earth, until it hurtled down upon him.

The stars were no longer visible. The alleyway, and the darkness it provided was his only comfort or protection.

A sob ripped from deep within the back of his throat. Each pitter of rain that fell upon him he felt starkly. Like needles were pouring down on him.

Why?

What did he do wrong?

Fuck-

He asked for an answer, did he not?

He wanted to know what she wanted.

Break it, or accept it.

He offered his heart on a platter.

Like his heart would ever be enough.

He fell back against the wall behind him. Eyes tilted to the sky.

What the fuck did he do to deserve this?

The sky held no answers, nothing spoke back to him. As his skin burned, flesh bubbling under the surface.

The thunderclouds rolling in the sky tormented him. Laughing as it was split with lightning. Turning the sky to flashing works of silver. Velaris was laughing around him. The Court his mate belonged to pointed and ridiculed the outcast that thought it could crawl in and find comfort.

No home Court. No mate.

The Mother’s least favourite son. The Cauldron’s hated creation.

Her eyes had held no remorse. No care. She hadn’t even put down her knife, as she cut vegetables on the wooden board. She looked up to him. Those soft brown iris had never looked harder.

“Please, just an answer.”

The Inner Circle stood around him. Feyre flanking Elain’s left, and Nesta on her right. Rhysand picked a piece of lint from his jacket, eyes laughing even as his mouth was firmly straight. Cassian however looked fully and utterly amused at the situation. Azriel stood behind Elain, eyes dead on Lucien. Waiting like a trap to be sprung.

“Then here’s your answer.” Elain whispered into the space between them.

Then it broke.

And Lucien screamed.

Cassian practically dragged him out. His legs unable to hold him up for long periods of time. They let him fall to the ground. Rain starting. There was no sympathy in his eyes, not even a hint of pity. Just laughing amusement as the door slammed shut.

Even from out there, in the cold of the night with the door separating the Fox from the inside, he could hear the cheering and the celebrations.

Chest heaving, skin too tight, fire burning and burning and burning.

Through a window he saw the form of Azriel, shadowsinger, wrap his arms around his rejected mate.

Lucien had run.

Run and fell across the floor, scraping his arms before he ran again.

Another wretched cry was torn from his throat, as he screamed to the sky, “Why? Why fucking me?”

What did I do wrong?

Hated son.

Exiled. Outcasted.

Were mates not supposed to love each other more than sun or moonlight?

Were they not supposed to rather give themselves up then each other?

Where were the stories? Where were the tales? Why did he not get that?

Fucking why?

The cold rain dripped from strands of his hair, down his face, and disappeared down his neck. His body began to shiver, wishing, begging, to draw up fire to warm himself. He let his body shudder and quake, barely feeling the cold pressing in under the weight of the bond now floating out in nothing.

Darkness edged in, spreading from some place in his chest through the rest of his body. Until he felt hollow, unseeing. Lucien could barely hear anything at all.

A sharp pain shot through his side, and he looked up to see a male with green hair and purple skin. Wide eyes, all black, glaring down at him.

“Beat it kid, no loitering around here.” He snarled.

“Sorry, I’m, I’m sorry.” Lucien said quickly, voice quivering.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” The male said, as Lucien got to his stumbling feet. As the Fox made for the mouth of the alleyway, he heard him mutter, “Stupid kids.”

Stupid kid.

Stupid kid indeed.

Lucien left the alleyway. The rain pounded down harder, the thrum resembled the beating of drums. Lightning forked, and thunder cracked the sky. A familiar song, a dance that had followed him since the day Jesminda had been slaughtered in front of him.

He had spent his days running from the song. The beating that would never cease, howling through the night, hurtling towards him.

Death did not come silently.

It came with war horns, riding into battle like screaming a cry. Music played in its wake. A tune no one had heard but everyone knew.

Lucien closed his eyes, as his heart fell into sync with the beat. His voice a gentle hum as thunder whipped again. As that song raised its tune.

He stuck his hands in his pockets. He looked ahead. And he winnowed.

The view of Velaris gave way to dark foliage. Oranges and reds covered one side of the earth, and the other was filled with spidering dark greens and untrained brambles.

The border of Spring and Autumn.

The rain had not stopped. The storm had spread through Prythian as if waiting for him.

It poured down upon him, until he was practically drowning on land. The ground of Autumn was practically unrecognisable as such, as the dried leaves were turned to muddy decay by the rain.

Lucien fell back and stared up at the sky.

A familiar tune.

It had been waiting for him.

The Mother’s least favourite son.

He closed his eyes.

He hoped he wouldn’t ever open them again.

***

Three years passed and it never got better.

It got worse.

So, so much worse.

Waking up and seeing the ceiling was agony. Most days he stopped bothering trying to get out of bed. Eating had become a rare occasion, so much so that Jurian and Vassa couldn’t hide their excitement when he took so much as a half bite out of his food.

He didn’t know if Prythian remembered him; he hadn’t set foot in any of the Courts since the day Tamlin found him at the border. That was at least what he was told when he woke up. Something about the rotting High lord bringing him to the Band of Exile’s manor before disappearing back to Spring.

Lucien didn’t care. All his thoughts were drowned out by mate, mate, mate, mate.

He couldn’t think of anyone, of anything else, other than her brown eyes, and curls, and red stained cheeks and lips.

There was nothing else to him, nothing anymore.

He stopped hoping she would return to him. As the darkness, the hollowness caved in. Pillars of marble in his mind turning to dust, whatever he used to know becoming nothing in the face of the broken bond.

The last time he spoke, he didn’t know. The last time he went outside, he didn’t know.

His skin was pasty, grey. His eyes deep with purple. Every bone on display, with his prosthetic eye sinking back into his socket, falling back from the shift in weight.

His body was decaying.

He stared at the ceiling.

It wasn’t worth it.

This would go on.

And on.

And on, and on, and on.

Prythian had forgotten him. His mate had rejected him. His last two friends, the last he could consider friends, were tied up with each other.

He wasn’t worth his mate’s love. He wasn’t worth being remembered.

“Might as well get it over with.” Lucien whispered to the ceiling, the first words he had vocalised in so long.

For the first time in what may have been a week or more, he dragged himself from the bed he had practically become attached to. Limbs heavy, eyes fluttering, pain struck him from all sides and he wanted to fall back down and rot.

But Jurian or Vassa would eventually convince him to a meal or something to keep him going if he stayed on the bed.

So he walked.

He walked to a dresser, where beside it laid a bag. It had all sort of provisions and things needed should he have been stranded somewhere in Prythian. He kept it packed ever since he was thrown out of Autumn.

Mother’s least favourite son. Cauldron’s hated creation.

Inside one of the back pockets was a long spiral of coarse rope. Rough against his weary hands as he pulled it out, a sudden disruption to the soft sheets Lucien was used to holding these days.

Mother’s least favourite son. Cauldron’s hated creation.

The curtain rod was sturdy and could hold a fair amount of weight, not that it mattered very much as he was practically just skin and bones. It took little to stand atop a chair by the window and put the rope over the rod. Part of Lucien wished Eris had never taught him to tie knots, if only so he didn’t know what to do now.

Mother’s least favourite son. Cauldron’s hated creation.

It was rough around his neck. He felt nothing. He didn’t want to feel anything.

It was sunny outside. The flowers were in bloom. He saw Elain in the sunshine. In the flowers below him. He saw home in the ground, in the trees in the distance. He remembered the feelings of Autumn leaves under his hands. And he remembered the smell of pollen from Spring. He remembered the chill of Night’s air.

He remembered her soft skin when he put his jackets over her arms after she came out of the Cauldron.

Lucien let go of all memory as he let himself swing from the curtain rod.

He hoped he wouldn’t remember in the Mother’s land of milk and honey.

Mother’s least favourite son.

Cauldron’s hated creation.

#acotar #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra deserves better #elucien #elain archeron #elriel but not graphically described #tw elriel #acotar au #acotar headcannons

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eirist · 5 months

Text

Morning After Christmas

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot.

Rating: T

Note: A ZoNa Holiday Events is up at Tumblr for the month of December. We got selected themes for each day and we’d love other ZoNa shippers to join and celebrate our favorite couple with holiday-themed fanarts and fanfics! Feel free to check it here: @zonamievents

This is one day late. Today’s theme is different but I’ll still push it.

Theme: #17 - Morning After Christmas

Summary: All that eventually led them here. The morning after Christmas—all tangled up in each other and wrapped in the coziest blankets…

Soft.

So soft.

He can hardly remember a time when he woke up nuzzled against something so soft, so comforting…

…and so warm.

Zoro doesn’t really care much about the comforts of life. He rarely lets unnecessary whims or luxuries bother him and he rarely indulges in them.

Well except of course when it’s sleep and sake. Those are the only two things he lets himself enjoy without any restrictions.

He lived simply. He survived with whatever is on hand without any complaint or fuss. As long as there is food to eat, water to drink, a shade to rest and sleep (doesn’t matter if it is inside an abandoned shelter or a tree in the midst of the forest); he is all good.

But this feeling that greeted him the moment he woke up was too pleasant to pass. It was new and not something he is used to. Zoro had woken up with a lot of the not-so-nice things greeting him—an end of a sword or knife pointed at his throat, the hard, cold ground, a growling, wild animal looking for food, a punch in head, the cold sea water, Luffy’s mouth about to take a chomp of him and his pillow while dreaming of meat (and he wasn’t the only one in the boy’s room to experience this, it’s a constant problem)…

…but never this. Never surrounded by this kind of warmth and comfort and softness he had never known before. The kind that makes you never want to pull away. Ever.

Just this once he wanted to let himself bask in it. Revel in it. The way he indulges himself with sleep and alcohol—no restrictions

He took a deep breath and buried his face closer to it. To the warmth, the softness that smelled slightly of…

Tangerines.

Like Nami’s tangerines.

With that he cracked his eye open, all his senses now wide awake.

His gaze was instantly fixed on the sight of smooth skin, tanned slightly from sailing under sun. There are wisps of curling orange hair resting against the slender curve of the neck and framing a beautiful, sleeping face.

Nami took a deep breath in her sleep, her bare shoulder slowly rising and falling at the action. Zoro watched in fascination as her lips pursed slightly, her brows furrowing before she nestled closer to him. Her chin settled against the top of his head and he realized what that softness he was feeling was.

He was actually pressed against her, his face settled comfortably against her generous breasts.

His initial reaction was to jerk back the moment it dawned unto him that he was eye level with those beautiful, naked mounds and that enticing cleavage. But stopped short when he realized that he can’t move… he and Nami were tangled up with each other. Their arms and legs entwined in a way that they slept locked in each other’s embrace.

Well… their Christmas night had been crazy fun. Why else would they end up wrapped in each other this morning?

Not that he’s complaining. They’ve been doing this exasperating back and forth with each other for so long it was bound to blow up anytime soon. Besides he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment their petty and perpetual squabbling turned into a sort of their own secret language and a way to show their affection for each other that was actually there—quietly sitting and patiently waiting to rear its head out in the least expected moment.

But he had known (and so did Nami) that there was a certain shift in their bickering which initially were tinge with insults that were meant to pull the other down a peg or two or put them in their own places. It had something in it that wasn’t there before. How every time it ended, they’d part ways just like before, huffing at each other only this time they would both desperately try to hide a smirk and a smile as they walk away.

How Zoro was now always looking forward to it and would sometimes deliberately try to rile the navigator up and how Nami did the same, purposely coming up the crow’s nest while he trains or naps to start a row with him.

It never ended with either one of them annoyed with each other. And that was new and surprising and to be honest kind of exhilirating.

He also started being more tolerant of her, not getting easily irritated with her complaints or even if she was waking him up with her fist. The same goes for her, she doesn’t make too much fuss when he gets lost or when he says or do something that she deemed stupid.

And he realized while all this is happening, they also started to move closer to each other. Literally. Like they were drawn to each other like magnets. They started sitting beside each other more often. Or standing almost near each other. But always at arm’s length… far enough yet still close enough.

Three weeks into Christmas, the distance they carefully kept between them while they try to make sense on what they should do totally disappeared.

And the touching started.

Light and fleeting at first. A tap on the shoulder, a nudge on the arm, the back of their hands brushing against each other…

Zoro stood much closer to her now, near enough to breathe in the scent of tangerines from her hair. And Nami started crowding on his personal space, leaning on to him with a cheeky smile on her face especially when she needs to pass someone something or get something from someone, almost as if she was teasing him.

On one random island where they docked for the day, she had ‘accidentally’ pulled at his fingers in an attempt to stop him from turning around a random corner and disappearing on them because he definitely will get lost the moment she lose sight of him.

And Nami never let go.

Her dainty hand was wrapped around three of his fingers as she tugged him all over the marketplace to buy some necessities for their stock. He followed her with a lot of grumbling and expletives all at the same time marvelling at the size difference of their hands.

How soft hers was. How coarse his is.

How it just feels right.

Before the sun set that day, his hand was intertwined with hers. And for reasons so much more than because he’ll wander off and will get lost.

And soon after they would find their hands interlaced together at random times of the day. Always surreptitiously, never in front of the others. Only when they are sure that they are only ones in the room.

She’d casually lean her head on his shoulder while they were up in the crow’s nest on their night shifts. His hand would rest the small of her back as they explore the island where they just docked just by themselves, far from the crew.

And when they are alone in the crow’s nest again before the change of watch, that same hand would wound itself around her waist so he can pull her closer to him for a kiss.

All that eventually led them here. The morning after Christmas—all tangled up in each other and wrapped in the coziest blankets Nami had brought last night after their Christmas celebration along with a bottle of sake to share.

“Mmmm…” Nami suddenly hummed as she started to stir awake, her body moving languidly to stretch. She opened her eyes and chocolate brown orbs peered down at him in wonder, blinking twice before a warm smile spread on her face.

“You awake already?” She murmured softly, her voice still laced with sleep. “It’s not even the break of the day.”

Zoro smirked. He rubbed a hand against her exposed arm noticing how the skin on it prickled with the cold air of dawn. Luckily they were nowhere near a winter island right now or they’d both be freezing by now from falling asleep with just the blankets on them.

“These blankets are crazy soft,” Nami was mumbling, rubbing her feet against the material. “It feels so good.”

“Yeah,” Zoro agreed, as he continued to warm her arm.

She just let out a soft purring sound of contentment at his ministration before her eyes drifted close again. “Sleep with me some more Zoro.” she requested.

The swordsman chuckled. He’d never deny her that.

He adjusted their position so Nami was now the one whose eye level with his chest, her head resting on the crook of his arm. He pulled her close and kissed her forehead as he covered them with one of the blankets so they both could drift off back to sleep.

The soft giggle she let out sent a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Zoro rarely lets himself indulge in this kind of comfort.

But maybe this morning after Christmas he might finally start to.

#zoro x nami #ZoNa #zonami #zonalove #zonaholiday2023 #zona fanfiction #zoro nami fanfiction #zona one-shot #zona holiday prompts #roronoa zoro #nami

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jerzwriter · 3 months

Text

Thank you so much to @stars-are-within-me for sending this prompt from this list for Jessica and Casey. I'm sorry it took me a while, but it sounds like the timing may have been good for you. I hope you enjoy it. Sending big hugs. 🩷🩷🩷

Book: Open Heart (Pre-Series) Pairing: Casey MacTavish (F!MC) x Jessica Phillips (F!OC) Words: 934 Rating: Teen Summary: When the couple step out to celebrate Jessica's achievement, Casey gives her a gift that money could never buy. A/N: @choicesfebruary2024 Eros/Philia

My Masterlist | Casey & Jess Masterlist | Open Heart Masterlist

The second floor laboratory of the Johson Pavillion rarely saw this type of energy. Sure, med school students were enthusiastic, but their energy could never rival that of the second graders in Jessica’s after-school program. The enrichment program began three months before; she built it from the ground up despite the naysayers who swore she never make it work. Now, not only was it working, but Thursday had become her favorite day of the week; more importantly, it was her student’s favorite day, too.

The very students who were currently creating utter chaos as they wrapped up their projects and gathered their belongings for dismissal. But Jess had it under control, standing in the center of it all with a goofy grin she couldn’t hide if she tried. She wasn’t sure if the lingering scent of chemicals, the buzz of the fluorescent lighting, or the excited chatter providing this natural high, but it felt too good to question. Perhaps this is what fulfillment felt like.

Across the room, Casey beamed with pride as she put away the last microscope, offering a little wink when she caught her girlfriend’s eye. With the last of the students headed out the door, she thought they’d finally get a moment alone when a tsunami of curls bedazzled with colorful barrettes bounced past her, and two arms wrapped her arms around Jessica’s waist in a tight embrace.

“Goodbye, Ms. Phillips!” the young girl grinned as her mother shuffled back into the lab, quickly taking her daughter by the hand.

“Now, Cassandra! You already said goodbye to Ms. Phillips! Don’t you think she might want to go home now?”

“It’s fine,” Jess grinned. “She did a great job today. I think you may have a future doctor here!”

“I’ve never seen her this excited about science,” the mom nodded. “Cassondra says the way you teach makes it fun.”

“It is,” Casey agreed. “I sure wish I had a teacher like Ms. Phillips when I was in school.”

“Well, your enthusiasm makes it easy.” After giving Cassandra a side hug and a high five, Jess returned to mindlessly wiping the tables, utterly oblivious to Casey’s adoring stare. Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink when their eyes finally met.

“What are you smiling at,” Jess blushed.

“Oh, that’s easy...” Casey said, crossing the room. “I’m smiling at you. Because I’m so proud of you!”

“Oh, stop,” Jess dismissed, but Casey wasn’t having it.

“I most certainly will not! This whole program was your idea; I know how hard you fought to see it through. Now, look at those kids! They look forward to coming here to learn more after a full day in school. Look, I was a nerd, but I’m not sure I would have even signed on for that... but you have them loving it and running back in to hug you before they leave.” She brushed a loose tendril away from Jess’s face, her eyes filled with adoration. “You are perfect.”

If Jess’s cheeks had turned pink before, they were nothing short of crimson now.

“Stop it,” she sputtered. “It’s... it’s nothing.”

With a scolding expression, Casey pulled her close. “I most certainly will not stop! You deserve all the accolades for pulling this off. Seriously, Jess...you earned this! Just pretend you have a penis for a moment.”

“Wait...What?” Jess laughed.

“I mean it... can you just imagine if you were one of the guys. Imagine Manny or Josh, or... god forbid Dirk... if any of them were in your shoes, they’d be running to the Dean’s to tell them how magnificent they are... how lucky the program is to have them... you need to start doing that. You have every right to be proud of your achievements. Don’t ever diminish them.”

Jess looked down between them, slowly raising her eyes to Casey’s again. “I... I think you’re right.”

“I know I’m right. Now, let me treat you to dinner to celebrate.”

“Casey... you don’t have to...”

“Uh-uh-uh.... PENIS! Pretend you have a penis!”

“All right,” Jess laughed heartily. “All right, you can take me out to celebrate, hon. What did you have in mind?”

“If we’re celebrating you, it’s your pick.”

“All right...sushi? I’ve been dying to go to Hayashi.”

“Sushi?” Casey teased. “I offer you a free meal of your choice... and you want raw fish and seaweed?”

“It’s delicious, you heathen!” Jess insisted. She playfully pushed Casey away to retrieve their coats from the closet. “I’ll get you to like it yet.”

“No, you won’t.”

Jess helped Casey into her coat, spinning her around to place a peck on her lips when she was done. “Oh, yes. I will!”

“Fine! Sushi it is.”

“Yey,” Jessica clapped. “And by the time we go home, you’ll like it, too!”

“I probably will,” Casey surrendered. “How do you always manage to persuade me with your charms?”

“I can’t tell you that!” Jess winked. “A girl’s gotta have some secrets. Besides, if I told you my secret was the scent of the lemon cleaning fluid and the buzz of the fluorescent lights getting you under my control, it wouldn’t sound terribly romantic, would it?”

Casey rolled her eyes with a grin. “No. And it doesn’t sound like that would work, either.”

She extended her hand, and their finger intertwined. They were about to step outside when Jess came to stop.

“Case... thank you... I.. I am proud of myself, and it means a lot to me that you’re proud of me, too.”

“Jess, I was proud of you before this... but now? I think you’re a rock star.”

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.

#choices fanfic #open heart #open heart choices #choices open heart #open heart fanfic #playchoices #playchoices fanfic

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bts-hyperfixation · 1 year

Text

Outside of the fox

Chapter 9 of ? Maybe like 30 now

Y/N longs for a new life when the one she’d been living comes to an abrupt stop. Without much thought to those she is leaving behind, the little fox packs a backpack and disappears. She stumbles across the shelter and makes an interim home for herself while she works out exactly what she wants from her second chance.

Last

You're barely through the door to the cottage by the time they call to offer you the junior receptionist position. You squeal in excitement, thrilled to have done something on your own merit.

"Good news I take it?" Namjoon peers over the back of the sofa in your direction.

Five men stare at you, waiting to hear about your triumph. Judging by how comfortable they look, it would appear they had surfaced from Jungkook's room some time ago. Even Hobi had made himself at home, it was eerie how he looked almost as if he belonged there. Yoongi and Hoseok took up the sofa closest to the kitchen, Jimin had curled himself into the armchair, and Jungkook lay spread across the other sofa his head in Namjoon's lap and his feet dangling over the arm.

"You are looking at a newly employed woman!" You exclaim, met with cheers from the men.

"That's great news Y/N, I knew you'd get it. You make a stellar first impression." Jimin comments.

"We all know that isn't true." You shake your head.

"I don't know, You made a fantastic impression on me Foxy." Hobi shrugs.

You ignore him, opting instead to kick off your shoes. There isn't anywhere left to sit so you find a place on the floor near the TV where you could still face them all. But before your bum touches the ground a strangled whine comes from Jungkook as he rushes into Namjoon's lap startling the bear. The taller man nearly drops the poor bunny completely unprepared for the movement. Everyone stares at the youngest confused.

"You shouldn't sit on the floor... it's cold." His ears pin back to his head.

It's clear this is his offer of peace, but it also seems as though he is surprised by his own decision to let you so close. However, you aren't going to turn down the chance to start making amends.

"Did I interrupt?" You gesture towards the TV, trying to get the focus away from Jungkook.

"Nah, not really, just started a movie." Yoongi answers.

"Oh right, well press play then. Then how about I order pizza to celebrate my new income!"

The men murmur in agreement and return their full attentions to the movie they had turned on.

______________________________

One movie turns into two, turns into three, turns into falling asleep one by one.

Hoseok excuses himself to go home but Yoongi won't let him leave. The jackal decides it would be unsafe for Hobi to drive home when he is this tired and offers him Jimin's room, much to the panda's annoyance until it's pointed out that he wasn't going to use it anyway.

Yoongi leaves next, carrying an already sleeping Jimin with him upstairs and into his and Namjoon's room.

Namjoon so obviously wants to retreat to a bed but Jungkook keeps him pinned in place, arms wrapped tightly around the bear. Still, his eyelids droop and his chin drops to his chest as sleep claims him.

You're moments away from waking him up to excuse yourself when you realise Jungkook isn't actually asleep. His big eyes are wide and focused intently on your face as if looking for hidden signs. Unlike the other day, he doesn't immediately look away when your gaze meets his. You take the chance to really look at the man. He has cute beauty marks dotted here and there, including one under his lip. His eyes are deeper than you would've thought possible. And he has the slightest hint of stubble playing around in patches on his chin.

"Thank you." He whispers, brow furrowed.

"For what?" You whisper back.

"For... for helping me get to the hospital."

"You don't have to thank me for that."

"But I want to... I struggle to feel safe like that..."

His hands are turning white from the grip he has on Namjoon's shirt. He looks so uncomfortable just trying to have a conversation with someone outside of his pack. It makes your heartache to see him have to try so hard for what should be an easy dialogue.

"We should go to bed." You change the subject.

You reach for the controller and see him flinch as your arm gets a little too close to him. The TV goes black and the room is plunged into darkness. Had you thought it through you might have turned on a lamp before you did that, but you can see in the dark, Jungkook evidently can not. Burnt sugar fills the room as his panic rises and Namjoon is immediately awake and alert. Jungkook buries his head into Namjoon's armpit, scrambling back from you.

"What's going on?" He asks looking at you for answers.

"I forgot to turn on the lamp before turning off the TV," you answer, rectifying the situation.

The light adds a dim glow to the room and Jungkook slightly uncurls himself

"Is that it," He mumbles rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

The adrenaline wears off quickly and the older man is already yawning again. He strokes Jungkook's back, coaxing him into a better position.

"Come on Bunny, I think it's time to get you to bed."

The smell of burnt sugar lingers in your nose as you try to fall asleep that night. It makes you toss and turn as you try to think of some way to make Jungkook more comfortable with your presence in his home. The way he reacts to people isn't okay, but it isn't your business to help. So why does your heart ache so much, and why does it make you feel so helpless?

He lifts Jungkook as he stands up, supporting the shaking boy against his chest as he makes his way to Jungkook's room.

Author note

Ok so I've been so sick this week so this is a very small chapter unfortunately. Also, having looked at the original brief I had for this when it was only like 22 chapters long. All of this stuff should have finished by chapter 5.... So I just think this is going to be longer than we originally planned.<br />

Also also this one is a little angsty not really angsty just a little angsty. But the next chapter or chapters as it may turn out to be are going to be solstice/ Christmas themed which should be less angsty and more fluffy fingers crossed

Series masterlist

Masterlist

#bts fic #bts smut #kpop smut #kpop fic #bts imagines #jungkook smut #namjoon smut #jimin smut #yoongi smut #bts hybrid #hybrid bts #taehyung smut #jin smut #hoseok smut #bts polyamory #bts poly smut #bts reader

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kotaloy · 1 year

Text

every little piece

kotaloy celebration week day one: kisses

rating: G

words: <600

(this ficlet is also on AO3)

***

Aloy has watched enough holos with her sister to know what happens next, but that doesn’t stop her heart from pounding.

Kotallo crooks a finger under her chin and tilts her head up; his intense concentration softens when she sucks in a breath.

It’s happening.

Who knew a simple request to go hunting together all those weeks ago would turn into late nights spent watching the stars, contemplating losses and the future of everything and the future of just them? Aloy’s confession that she felt safe with him had led to his arm around her shoulder, sure. She was slowly getting used to accepting casual touch from all her friends; why would Kotallo’s be any different?

But it was.

Late nights turned into early mornings, up with the dawn. Hunting in tandem, sharing the simple joy of being alive to enjoy the moment.

She has known for a long time that Kotallo is unlike anyone she has ever met. Or perhaps every piece of him resembles someone she cares or once cared about. The stoicism in the face of pain, like how Rost dealt with the loss of his place within the tribe. The passion when he fought, like Varl going all the way to Meridian and beyond to save his people and the world. Like Erend in his fierce, unwavering loyalty—to his tribe, his chief, his commander. And he even has pieces of her new friends, of her family. Zo’s level-headedness, Alva’s curiosity, Beta’s intelligence.

“Aloy,” he says into the quiet air. “What is on your mind?”

“You,” she breathes, her gaze dropping to his mouth. “I’ve never done this before.” Her heart rabbits against her ribcage as he leans closer; her eyes flutter closed as his breath ghosts over her face.

He doesn’t move, and her brow furrows just a little.

“But I want to,” she says, meeting his gaze again, and that’s when he presses his mouth to hers and—oh.

Oh.

Now she understands why people like this so much.

He’s warm and soft and so very, very present and here and this is happening. It’s happening, and she tangles her fingers into his braids, like he’ll disappear if she doesn’t, like she needs to ground herself in this moment or it isn’t real. But it is.

If Aloy was fretting before about what she needed to do, she needn’t have: Kotallo guides her as easily as he controls his own body in battle. Like it’s second nature, like they belong like this and of course he knows what to do. They were made for this.

Aloy surprises herself with a little whine as he pulls away, as his palm slides up to cradle her cheek, as his thumb strokes her flushed skin. There’s a lot of looking-into-each-other’s-eyes going on but she understands that too. She can’t get enough of him, wants to climb into his embrace and never let go.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, and leans in again to steal another kiss. Already he feels so familiar. So right. Like he belongs with her just as much as she does with him.

Some deep part of her would ruminate on two outcasts finding belonging in each other, if the higher functions in her brain hadn’t just fizzled out when his tongue slid over her bottom lip. That’s for later. For now, she learns to give and to take and to breathe.

And it’s perfect.

#kotaloy celebration week #kotaloy #fanfic #my fic #kotallo x aloy #kotallo #aloy #horizon forbidden west

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hihopelessromantics · 11 months

Text

Meliodas Never "Betrays" the Demons Au

Season 1 Pt.1

________________________________________________

Trigger Warnings: brief discussion of suicidal ideation, implied neglect, implied violence, implied annihilation of a city, dead animal, eating said dead animal, magical mind fuckery

________________________________________________

first episode and prologue to the Adventures!

---two mothers in a place that’s no place for kids —

Far, far, away in ye olde land of Britannia, there’s a fortress in the depths of a forest that serves as the last line of defense for the small, growing kingdom of Liones. The capabilities of the warriors within are unknown, but over the years, they have saved whole research centers from extermination, which, in turn, prevents the downfall of Liones - a kingdom formed in the gritty jaws of the most unexplored, wild sections of Britannia. They say the first village there persisted on nothing but hope and spite - which could be said for most villages, if you understand the ins and outs of living sustainably, but I digress - but it has a pretty good sized population now. The skilled use of the information therein and quantity of holy knights has landed Liones a reputation as one of the safest small kingdoms in the entirety of Britannia.

The leader of this fortress, Wilmot Fane, is leading a ceremony on the summer equinox: a heartfelt celebration of how far she and her team have come in the past ten years. They are now capable of defending their kingdom from “natural disasters” without having to pay for outside help. When she and her girlfriend go back to their quarters for the night, they feel a dark presence and draw their swords. Wilmot notices a winged silhouette standing on their balcony and motions for them to put their swords down. The girlfriend, seeing the stranger, doesn’t think that’s a good idea - but Wilmot awkwardly explains that she knew this person, and that she’s mentioned it before.

This is told in like ? minutes. just glimpses of memory. Like so:

druid mission, though she can’t feel the “mission”: The cold from the mountains wouldn’t be so bad if she had chosen to be here. A girl sweeping a set of steps that are grimy beyond saving with a pressure hose, and definitely not with a broom, is thinking that to herself. She slips, barely catching herself but smearing grime across her clothing as she does so. There are other kids - you hear them talking and walking through the hallways as she makes her way through the darkness of the evening, but you don’t see them. She slips into a room, bows, explains what happened while one hand cradles a bruised arm. The looks on the adults’ faces say it all. There are a lot of kids, all visible, but the girl doesn’t exist to them, nor do they to her. They are nice enough, but this isn’t where she belongs. The black-and-blue figure nestled under her bed is cold too, but only because of the weather, and because she didn’t get him that soup she promised. she says ‘Sorry...’ and he chuckles at her, saying he is lucky just to have the company while he heals. he is warm and a person and not something to be struck down with thoughtless violence. He covers her in swirls of warm, purple magic as she crawls under the bed. Magic is what she wants to see more of, and not the scriptures she sees less god in than in a crow creeping along the ground, in the wildlands crawling with life and death in equal measure while she sits here, not a part of it at all.

to prevent a civil war: Out of view people are talking in low, downfallen tones, murmuring, and a frustrated woman in a full set of armor is walking into a secured meeting hall. She leaves the room, and the closing door blots out the sunlight, leaving her in a dark hallway with the blue, orange, and red tones of sparse medieval decor fading to dull brown and grey. After walking a short distance, she sinks to her knees in defeat. She’s called to a meeting with the people she looks up to - not because of her skill and accomplishments but because everyone is dying, dying before they can come up with answers as to why. What can she, who has yet to become a full knight, do against a tragedy that almost feels... supernatural? Wait...

Should I expand more on that? Idk, let’s get back to the story

Wilmot made the acquaintance of a wounded demon as a child, saving him from her druid leaders by dragging him into the one place they’d never look: inside their own damn house. He had been shot down from the sky (where he had been minding his own business, according to her), breaking bones and almost knocking him unconscious. When she had helped nurse him back to full health with her druid magic, he thanked her and flew off again. Two months later, after going to bed in tears of frustration as she often did, she woke up in a completely different place with the demon standing over her. He said cheerfully that he had been watching over her and heard her complain about not being able to leave and fulfill her dreams of becoming a knight, and he decided to come back for her. After explaining that this was called kidnapping and please talk to the next person before you randomly take them from their bed, she thanked him. He asked her to help him choose a new home since he wanted to live with people again. After their quest was complete, and he had taught her all the survival skills he could, the demon brought her to this fortress and she began her apprenticeship.

When civil war threatened to break out due to nightly slaughterings of humans in major towns, Wilmot visited him at his new home and asked if demons could also grant blessings. She thought something like that would help resolve the situation. The investigation was going nowhere fast. All participants would eventually report feeling a magical presence and something watching them. They would be found lying outside, mauled and unrecognizable, several days later. He told her that they could grant blessings - usually for a price - but it would be easier and more entertaining to just solve the mystery himself. In exchange, she owed him a favor of his choice.

Learning that your partner owes a mystery favor to a mythological creature that isn’t supposed to exist anymore is, by rule, terrifying. The number of emotions that went through Fortune Hopton as her partner let the demon inside was not ideal for thinking on her feet, so she just stared as the firelight in the room revealed a small child holding an infant.

His golden hair was matted, his clothes stained with mud and torn in places that made the two women suspect he was injured. But the infant herself seemed to be in pristine condition and was sleeping soundly in his arms.

“I have no home again.” His voice, utterly toneless yet soft, sent shivers down her spine. “I know you would welcome me under any circumstance, even though it’s not easy to explain a stranger’s presence here. So. Hello.”

“Hello, Meliodas. I’m so sorry to hear about your home.”

“Mm. I’m grieving,” he replied. “Except for me and her -” here he indicated the baby. “- there’s no one left alive. They were slaughtered. I . . . I came here out of desperation.”

It was the same thing Wilmot had told him.

“I’m glad you thought to come here. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you like. I’ll make sure none of my friends bother you if you want some space.”

“I destroyed the ruins of the city in a fit of rage. I’ll probably be blamed for the massacre. I don’t want you - or her - to get caught up in this mess. All the other people I trust who are still alive aren’t human. So . . . I . . . I need a favor. Could you make this child yours?”

The women gaped at him. Most people would not say yes to this, demon promise or no demon promise. But these two weren’t even thinking about the promise as they responded. Most people would never consider spontaneously adopting a child. Just like most druids would not save or try to befriend a demon.

“Sir - Sir Meliodas,” Fotrune stammered, “are you serious? You want us to have this kid? I know you’ve met my partner, but you don’t know me . . . are you okay with entrusting her to us?”

“I am. If you’re willing to do this for me.” He hesitated for a moment before asking, “What do you think of all this?”

“Oh,” Wilmot said, practically glowing. “I’m thinking, demons do really give blessings after all.” She choked on her laughter. Even now she couldn’t help being a big sap. “Though, I wasn’t trying to - this is quite possibly the worst thing that could have happened to you both . . .”

He actually smiled at that. “I was hoping I’d get to see you smile before I have to go. I never seem to visit you at a good time.”

“In your defense, there are no good times. Don’t you want to sit for a moment?”

“I’d never get up.”

She didn’t press him any further. “Does the kid have a name?”

The demon looked at the child, then back at them. “You can name her whatever you like.”

“Then we’ll think about it. And, hey. I still owe you a favor after this. So don’t hesitate to come back if you ever need anything.”

“I won’t. Hesitate, I mean. I rarely do.”

“I don’t either. I’ll do right by the child. I promise you.”

“We both will.”

He breathed a sigh of weariness and relief. Then he placed the baby securely in her new mother’s arms. His arms twitched, fingers flexing when he backed away as if he didn’t know what to do with them. He must have been holding her tight like that for quite some time. Possibly since the disaster.

“I’ll be seeing you again. Don’t start thinking I’ve been killed or anything.”

“Be well, okay?”

He didn’t answer that.

After some thought, they named the girl Elizabeth. Their friends suggested it, saying the name meant, “God’s oath.” A fitting name for the most precious responsibility they’d ever taken on.

At 6, she proclaimed that she would be an adventurer. At 9, she ran away to prove she would rather stay at the fortress than move to the city and live a normal life. At 11, she had massacred ten apple pies, each baked good worse than the last. At 12, she was the best tree climber out of all the knights. At 16, she vowed she would ride a dragon one day. At 20, she had mapped out more wildlands beyond the fortress than anyone had dared to in the past ten years. Her portrait hung with the other knights’, her delighted face more innocent in her enthusiasm than as she held up the prize of her first solo mission, a relic she had recovered from the ruined city of Marakia. A carved stone of a woman’s face and stars in her hair. A part of a dangerous ancient relic, but to her, it’s just a good luck charm.

- - - Elizabeth

Here we've got an Elizabeth that's resourceful, emotionally intelligent, and selfless. She's a competent adventurer, praised and depended on, but she's soon to find out that her skills and knowledge won't be enough to save her kingdom from this mystery threat. In fact, they're woefully inadequate for the task. Which brings her to one conclusion: she's going to need help.

Can this socially naive, passionate badass save the kingdom she's sworn to protect? Can the strangers please hear her out why are they always running away from her? Will her mothers’ plan to unite the outposts against the growing threat succeed? Why is she lugging around this stone carving with her? Will she ever ride a dragon or stop having to stab monsters in the face at the last second to save her own life? Find out next time on a seven deadly sins spinoff that doesn't exist!

(pls throw your plot ideas here. I will write more you cannot stop me but if you give me a crumb of something you’d like to see well I’ll work that in. I will come back and update this I’m serious)

Ideas include:

- crashing through a bar in order to escape the holy knights

- classic overly friendly girl in a small town energy. Except slightly, slightly feral. She tries to warn everyone of danger and everyone’s like who are you what are you doing. literately what are you climbing onto the podium that’s not what it’s for. stop that.

- The fortress knights ask Elizabeth’s moms why they’re not sending a search party out for Elizabeth, who after all told no one before she left because she thought the corruption had infiltrated her home. They say that she’s a smart girl and soon she’ll realize she’s in over her head and come back home for help (or something like that). The screen cuts to Elizabeth bashing a vicious creature in the head with a battle cry.

I don’t know how exactly but she has to get knocked down (metaphorically) pretty hard. And it has to be poignant. How would a random 20-year-old who’s lived on the outskirts of society, basically cozying up to the Creatures, her whole life would really go about trying to save a kingdom that a) has no idea who she is, she’s not even in the magical identity database where everyone is, wtf, where did this girl come from? and b) is made up of mostly small towns/villages where no one in their right mind would go ‘adventuring’ into the countryside, much less get involved in some sort of unknown vague crisis problem, nope nope, move along conspiracy theory girl

episode 2!

--- fateful encounter ---

A walk through the forest. The most dangerous part of the forest where “only fools” aka people without the skills to handle it, would go. It was the last place she wanted to be when the snow was still falling over her head like an anointment of failure. At least the bruises were numb. That’s what she told herself as she trudged on. She had to go somewhere. Find some answers.

A flicker of light. She couldn’t believe what her eyes were telling her for a second. The cold and the dark went hand in hand this time of year, and she knew better than anyone that there were no bioluminescent creatures in this part of the kingdom.

Her whole body seemed to turn, seeking out the light that was, to her troubled mind, as soothing the heat of a fireplace on her back. Consumed by it, she came closer and closer until she sidestepped a hedge and parted the leaves to find the source: a large campfire, a crackling dark purple flame the likes of which she has never seen. It was warm and absolutely devoid of smoke. A smile crept across her face as she stared in wonder. There were other sounds, too, besides the fire and what she recognized as the wildlife. Crunching. Tearing. After a long moment, her eyes lifted from that frame to take in the rest of the scene. The carcass of a bear and several scattered bones. And behind that, a man, tearing the flesh with his teeth. He brought his face up from his meal to chew and Elizabeth saw his mouth and bare chest were drenched in blood. Sharp purple claws held the bear in place.

“S. . . Sorry to interrupt your meal-”

He looked up, face contorted in shock.

“-but would you happen to know where the. . . the nearest. . . ” Shoot. Deliberately not thinking meant she had no clever opening to start with. “. . . ah, actually, I do know this area, and exactly what direction and where the nearest town is. I just thought, hey, look, is that a campfire? I sure would like to see the intelligent soul who managed to start a fire in this weather. So, hello.”

The man swallowed. Blood flowed down his chin - it looked like he’d taken a mouthful of it. There was a kind of raw horror in his eyes that, coupled with the firelight dancing across his face, made her stomach twist with guilt.

“I know, right? What are the chances you’d meet another person in this neck of the woods?”

“H...heh... you’re not even screaming.” His voice was rough from lack of use and full of a kind of amazement that saddened her. She had encountered that same feeling many times in the wilderness, and the bloody scene before her felt as comfortable and intimate as her own bedroom as she drew closer to him.

“I’m not a heathen. I know people eat bears. Though, I hope whatever species of creature you are can eat raw meat. Because that’s RAW raw. Like it was still alive when you started eating it, raw.”

He blinked. Then his claws moved, bear slouching noticeably as they did so, and he patted the space next to him on the log. She sat, tucking her pack away where blood wouldn't drip on it.

“We don’t cook meat.” The note of melancholy rang in her ears. “It’s . . . delicious just the way it is.”

She took a hard look at the - uh - flesh, trying to imagine how raw meat would taste if it was any good. “Um, like a mixture of good things,” she finally said. “Like . . .” she remembered the meals in the wilderness with the knights, and the stews she loved at home, “. . . nice juice and crunchy things. I’m imagining that’s what it tastes like. Plus it always feels kind of sacred when you’re eating a meal you hunted for.”

He took a human-sized bite. Then, after a second, took another - because of course he wouldn’t have been eating like that all this time if it didn’t have some kind of benefit. She appreciated the attempt at politeness but wanted to laugh.

“Actually, I’ve eaten raw bugs before! Those tasted good. Like little hard candies. But meat.”

“... I think I’ll call you Candy. Just for that.”

As far as an alias went, it wasn’t . . . bad. But no. “Please call me Elizabeth. That’s my name and it’s quite a good one too. I’ve met six or seven Elizabeths in my life.”

“I’ve met more than that in my lifetime,” he replied, and she nodded in approval.

“We could form a cult of just Elizabeths. I wonder if anyone’s ever tried to do that. But anyway, will you tell me your name?”

“I’ll skip that question.”

“Okay.” Elizabeth reached down to pull a small piece of bread and some fresh leaves from her pack. “Want a leaf?”

“A leaf?”

“Vegetable,” she said helpfully.

A tendril of dark magic reached over and plucked the leaves out of her grasp. “Don’t eat random stuff you find in the woods.”

“Oh! Oh, well - ” Fascination from witnessing an unfamiliar magic made her forget her handpicked vegetables had just been tossed unceremoniously onto the floor. “ - you see, I’m actually a bit of an expert in that area.”

Her bread had warmed by the time she finished explaining how she was not, in fact, eating random plants, but plants she had been studying since childhood. After what she’d call a passable show of knowledge, the man seemed convinced, and gingerly and quickly handed her vegetables back to her. A quick glance assured her he had succeeded on not dripping blood onto them.

Elizabeth didn’t know if this question was appropriate, but well, what else to ask? “What brings you this far into the wildlands?”

“My pack is gone, and it’s all my fault,” he responded, muttering “again” as he took another bite. “Ohhh, that doesn’t sound good.” She searched his face for some kind of clue as to whether they were alive or dead. ”Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener.”

“Hm.” He stared into the fire. “Well. It’s because of this.” He pointed to where his forehead held a dark spiral that bled down past his eye.

“Wha- they couldn’t handle meeting someone of a different clan!?”

A strangled, shocked kind of laugh was his immediate response. Then he swiveled to look her in the eye. “There’s a whole lot of good reasons they could have been apprehensive. Even some reasons to kill me on sight.” “Don’t talk like -”

“I’m a demon. It was never going to go well but it’s just my goddamned luck that it came out at the worst time and wrecked what was left of our trust in the process.”

“. . . Ah . . .”

His pretty, raspy voice held the sharp edge of rage. “I’m supposed to be stuck in the Demon Realm right now, and trust me, I’d like nothing more. I’ve . . . I’ve tried everything.” A bitter, exhausted demon, alone in the woods.

Elizabeth frowned at him and tried to speak as gently as possible. “What happened?”

“Ah -” he choked. “I - uh - “

“Oh, you don’t have to -”

“No, just, you caring startled me. I can tell you were actually being sincere when you said that. . . and for me, that’s rare.”

“I can see how that could happen, considering no one back there in the city seemed to care about what I had to say at all. And I’m just trying to catch some murderers. I wasn’t asking for them to understand me as a person or anything, or to help me save the whole damn kingdom.”

He nodded slowly. “I . . . was sent to trial, and spared a while ago, on one condition. That I helped fulfill some ancient prophecy passed along the generations of the Liones family. I’m not opposed to making sure some idiot doesn’t make the world more of a hellhole than it already is, so of course I said yes. I can’t die by normal means anyway so it was like a gift with two parts. It would have been really awkward if they tried to stab me and I, just, didn’t die. I only just realized how convenient it was while I’ve been sitting here in this forest. I realized I . . . it kind of destroyed me, when they left . . . not just because, I thought we could really . . . be something . . . but also that it had awakened some ancient part of me that I thought I’d strangled long ago. I can’t believe it, but for a second there I really thought I could have some greater purpose. Be a part of something again. Some kind of reason to keep breathing that doesn’t die as the seasons pass.”

“I understand.” Elizabeth tried to communicate with her eyes that she truly meant it. That she had come close to feeling like just another leaf that will wither and die, the day her mothers told her they were considering moving to the city just so she could have a “the kind of peaceful, ordinary life that a kid should have.” She would never forget that scare. Her whole world almost escaped. She couldn’t imagine what he was going through when his world had actually left.

“I spent, what, ten or so years tracking down the people foretold by the prophecy. I’m appointed as their captain and we start to get to know each other. And I . . . lived. Actually lived. I didn’t know if I’d ever get that again. So three years go by and there’s all kinds of trouble between us, but I’m like, that’s to be expected. You throw seven of the most “I’ve got baggage!” people in Britannia together and of course we’re gonna clash like no tomorrow. But hey, maybe we can get through it together, right?” His mouth twitched in a tiny, tragic smile. “It could have turned out that way. That’s what hurts the most. If I weren’t such a colossal fuckup when it comes to people, I could have done better. I tried to do better. But stuff started coming out at the worst possible time, when tensions were already at a breaking point.”

He took another huge bite of bear flesh, crunching bones between his teeth. “You have to understand. Merlin’s not a bad person. She was raised like I was, a weapon with no knowledge of feelings. She’s a kid. A kid. I don’t know how long she’s been around and I don’t know how long she’s been up to that - cult god stuff - or how long that thing’s been digging inside her head. But she wasn’t a lost cause. I had to try to help. It all came out . . . like that . . . and it just . . . everything got quiet and I could feel it like a stake through the heart. Just fell apart.” He exhaled. She had no idea how he said all that in one go and still had breath left to exhale so sharply. “I couldn’t stop it.”

“Why . . . they didn’t try to talk it out? A-”

Crack. She barely registered he had moved because of the lack of change in his expression. But she didn’t miss the meaning, or how he then gestured to the broken pieces as they fell dramatically to the dirt.

“Yes, that’s how talking usually turns out in- I’ve watched arguments. I mean, afterwards, when you’ve all cooled down and . . . what?

From the look on his face, she could tell there had been no “waiting to resume the discussion until they’ve had time to ruminate on their thoughts.” No “cooling down.”

“What?” She repeated,her shock twisting her voice into a whisper before it picked up again. “Excuse me, I don’t know your circumstances, but I can’t imagine what could . . . After three years together. . .”

“They didn’t have anywhere to go when they came here. Just like me. But they couldn’t . . . couldn’t find the way to be comfortable with each other, I guess, and when push came to shove, well, they made up their minds. They decided there was nothing to fight for.”

He was staring into the fire again, the dancing flame deepening in color. Elizabeth watched his face and noticed a hint of longing there with the emptiness. “And the ones who didn’t resent me, well, they had better things to do than stick around.”

“It sounds like. . .” she murmured.

He crunched a bone.

“Is there a way I can help? I, also, have nowhere to be. Except home. I can’t do that yet though.”

“Not yet?”

That was dodging the question, but Elizabeth didn’t mind. “I have something I need to accomplish, but as it happens, I’m confident I can help you out while I’m at it. Not just saying it . . . to say it . . . like people sometimes do, for some reason.”

He hummed, staring into the fire. “Maybe. You got something that could kill a cursed demon for realsies?” She gave him a look. “Plotting your own suicide isn’t going to do anything.”

“It’ll do something, alright.”

“Bullshit.”

He choked on his food. The coughing fit sent her into a peal of laughter. She smacked him on the back until he looked like he could breathe again. He choked again, this time on some choice words, if she had to guess. She did hit a little hard. But a minute turned into two, turned into five, and she recognized with horror that he had nothing to say.

She couldn’t tease him about being awkward after he said such a mortifying thing. He couldn’t refute her, she couldn’t refute him. All that was left was the method that had failed her so badly back in the city. Could she try it again?

Elizabeth took a deep breath.

“I think you’re worth fighting for.”

He said nothing. Kept chewing his food. She kept watching the fire. It struck her with suprise when his hand came to rest on hers. It was warm, very warm, and just a little wet.

Her smile came so easily, light springing back into her voice as she spoke.

“As it happens, I’m going on a journey myself. To save the kingdom. You could come with me. It’ll definitely take your mind off all this, and even if you’re not in a saving-the-world kind of headspace, I’d still appreciate the company.”

“For you, my company would be more trouble than it’s worth. On top of it all, me and my friends are fugitives now. Yep. We’ve been exiled from Liones.”

“What a coincidence! I am also, somehow, a fugitive.”

He looked at her like she’d grown a second pair of arms.

“Yeah I know, I haven’t even been out of my homeland two weeks and now I’m in trouble with the Holy Knights for reasons I don’t understand. You should have seen some of the looks people gave me. Yikes.”

“Now that’s strange.”

“I thought so. I’m sure it’s part of the scheme. But I’m still trying to investigate what the scheme is for, so I don’t have time to worry about whatever habits city people have that I don’t.” She shifted her legs to point her feet more at the fire. The snow was soaking into her shoes again. “Yeah, I have schemes of my own to worry about. I don’t care if they think I’m some kind of lunatic. If I have to be a lunatic . . . I will.”

“Bold words.”

“Yeah, I’m good at that.”

“Sticking to them will be more difficult than you imagine.”

She scoffed. Took a deep breath. “Everything’s more difficult than I can imagine.”

Accepting that, the demon surveyed the mostly fleshless carcass one last time. He took the last bit of meat between his teeth and pried it almost gently it off the bone, swallowing the small bite like a delicacy.

“You understanding that means you have a chance at success.”

Elizabeth took a thoughtful breath, her stomach twisting as she foolishly imagined how the raw organs might have tasted to him. Blood and bits of flesh sank into the snow as he nudged the leftovers away from the fire with one foot.

Another deep breath, because the anxiety was starting to crowd her brain again. “I want to ask you something.”

He tilted his head to gaze up into the sky, but she thought his hand gripped hers a little tighter. Their interlocking fingers carried a warmth that melted the black sludge in her minds into something lighter. She could feel the same happening in her companion, and that gave her the confidence to ask this next, vital question.

“Would you still fight for them?”

A painful sounding inhale. “I would.”

“Excellent.” She stood up, legs trembling just a bit as movement shot blood through them. “Let’s search for them together.”

Elizabeth didn’t get out another word before her companion recoiled, falling backward. “Whoa!” She registered the closeness of his face before her brain caught up to what had just happened. Her knee had hit the log, though she’d managed to catch him by throwing an arm around his back. “Easy. Are you-”

“What are you saying?” It was a command, but she didn’t notice, too occupied with how those purple eyes glowed even as her shadow blocked out the firelight.

“Just what I said. Let’s find your friends so you can tell them what’s on your heart. If you would set out on a journey for them, then, you could do it. Like you said, right? Even if you don’t succeed, the fact you set out in the first place has meaning in itself. So you can have peace. I’ll do what I can to help you fix the misunderstandings.”

His eyes locked onto their still-joined hands. “You . . . fuck . . . “ That voice wavered like . . . like this was the first time he’d seen the sun in years. It clamped down on her heart like a fist.

“Hey, “ she said, feeling ridiculous as all hell now. “What do you think “I think you’re worth fighting for” means?”

The bloodstained demon’s blank expression broke into a smile, the first she’d seen on him. An incredulous one, but whatever.

“. . . It’s okay, right? For me to care. . .?”

The rigidness flowed out of his body as quickly as it came. “Yes. Thank you.” His smile was so warm. “Could you say it again? And sit with me. Please.”

“Okay.” She got back down on the log. “Stranger. Tell me your name. And come with me on a journey. Even if you’re not in a place where saving the kingdom is a thing you can do, I’d sure appreciate the company.”

“I can’t.”

“Hu-”

“I can’t tell you my name.” He pried the words out of his mind like nails out of wood. “I can’t claim it anymore. Not after what happened.” His other hand wound into his golden hair, pulling hard at the strands. “I can’t.” Hard swallow, and his voice dropped to a shaky whisper. “I can’t call myself . . . can’t be this version of me if I want to accomplish anything - which, I’m deciding I do. If I don’t go back . . . to that ruthless person I used to be . . . I can’t win. I can’t win against the gods, or the fate they damned me to. Kindness isn’t enough for that battle. I’ll be killed. No, obliterated.”

“Do not do that. That sounds like exactly what the gods want - for you to backtrack and scramble all your progress. And anyway, that won’t work. To fight injustice you need the kindness of many people. Not just one. Ruthlessness can’t replace that. I’m only failing my quest because - no, I’m NOT failing, and neither are you. We - ah, damn, it sucks, but we hit a roadblock. It has nothing to do with our ability at this point. We’re alone and we can’t accomplish goals like these by ourselves. We gotta find people who believe in us. We can work together to find them. Or, at least, I can help you. So you can’t claim your identity right now.” She searched his eyes for his reaction. “You can still come with me. We can do this. My moms and friends are more than capable of taking care of everything back at home, and as long as no one suspicious thinks I’m a threat, I’ve got lots of time before the conspiracies start turning into action. They’re still in the plotting stages, but -”

“I’m coming with you.” The demon interjected. “I can help you save the kingdom. I can’t forgive the court for not even hearing me out, or for treating my friends so harshly, but I can’t help but feel an affinity for the people.” She couldn’t comprehend the softness in his gaze - this deep compassion from a demon who was ostracized everywhere he went. “I don’t want to stop trying just because people are terrible to me.”

“I - I’m glad. Welcome aboard, my nameless new friend.”

A laugh tumbled out of him. The hand she wasn’t holding shot to his face in an attempt to muffle it. Then, failing that, grabbed at her cheek, missed, and pinched her nose instead. She loosened her grip on his hand when he drew hers up to his mouth and kissed it with fierce reverence. After seconds of holding it there, against his lips - which drew an embarrassed giggle out of her - his face melted into a genuine, peaceful smile, as freely as if he were the most familiar person in the world.

“You’re gorgeous,” she told him. “That smile, I mean.”

His breath hitched audibly. For a minute she thought he might have gotten cramps. Those purple eyes glistened, moisture sparkling in the firelight.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m not sure this is real. That my mind hasn’t just deteriorated so much that it made someone up to come and comfort me.”

She blinked, then reached over to grab his hand. Drawing it close to her, she put it on her breast and squeezed. “Hmm. Well. Supposedly, a man can always tell if this is real. According to my guy friends that is. Like, you can’t replicate it in a dream.”

He looked at her, then at his hand, then back at her, with an open mouth and awe in his eyes.

“So, can you tell?”

“. . . this is real.”

“Neat!! Glad I finally got to test that, it’s been floating around in the back of my brain for years. I’ve spent my whole life collecting weird facts but I’ve got so few about people as a whole.”

He stared at her.

“Is . . . there something wrong?”

“Nothing at all! What made you think that? My mind wandered for a second. Hey, maybe we should find somewhere better to sleep.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea. The nearest village should be a couple of hours away, calculating in our trip through this forest - we can get there by the afternoon and see if there’s anywhere to stay.”

The demon pulled her back onto the log as she went to stand up. “We’re not going anywhere tonight.” Seeing her shock, he added, “Have you noticed the weather?”

“You’re shirtless,” Elizabeth countered. “Obviously you think it’s okay to do that in this kind of weather, why not go gallivanting through the night?”

“Ha!”

“Where is your shirt, by the way? Are you just relying on this magic fire not to freeze to death?”

“My body is compensating well for this temperature. The shirt would make it worse, actually.”

“Ah, a demon biology thing?”

“Pretty much.”

“O-oh. . .”

Elizabeth tilted her head back up at the sky, flinching at the icy touch of the snowflakes. Habit had her checking the stars, but leaves and clouds blocked her view. She couldn’t remember where she had planned to go if he had agreed to get up and just start walking. Her face fell back to the warmth of the dancing fire. It crackled, laughing at her as she answered her own unspoken question. Desperation. That was what made her heart sink just now - the rush of emotions from that day realization overwhelming her. Her desperation was the most frightening. Every bit of the competent adventurer that she was despised it.

Ah . . . she couldn’t find anything else to say. Or think. So as the adrenaline and excitement of this encounter ebbed away, Elizabeth Gesmira began to cry.

Tap. tap. tap. She blinked at the demon gently tapping her chin to get her attention.

He’s -

Warmth swallowed her next thought as this stranger clutched her firmly against his chest. He was her personal pillow now and taking no arguments about it. He’s so short . . . I’m practically lying down now . . . and, she realized, the chill she felt on the surface of his skin was melted snow. Despite the cold, he’d scrubbed all the blood off his skin before hugging her. How considerate. It was so distracting, she missed the way he was smiling so genuinely. The truth was, if she was the kind of person with a hint of wariness . . . well, when she looked up and saw the light that had sprung up in those blank purple eyes, the way they glittered with the hint of their own tears and that emotion just seemed to to fuel that smile . . . she would have left that demonic campfire far behind.

Elizabeth looked down into that far-off gaze with its intense, gentle smile and sniffed, slightly comforted. “Normally I know what to do, at least, if I don’t know where to go,” she swore through the tears. “I do. I’m not as naieve as that girl at the bar said I was - ah, but you didn’t see that, I don’t actually have to mention that . . .” she sniffed again. “Look, she was a bitch. People don’t know all kinds of things. I’ve never actually . . . seen coins exchanged for goods before. So what? I live in a remote fortress on the outskirts of the kingdom, what the hell do they expect, that every single person from everywhere has the same baseline knowledge? I barter just fine.” That last part became more and more of an indignant mumble.

“Human currency is fucked,” the demon proclaimed. He gave no further explanation, and honestly, Elizabeth thought it hadn’t been that difficult to pick up on, but okay. Legit. She appreciated the solidarity.

“. . . are you . . . going to be hungry in the morning?”

“Why are you thinking that right now?”

“Because if nowhere else. . . I know a grove of trees with the most delicious winter apples.”

“Apples, huh?”

“They’re my favorite. And while we’re on our way we can check up on the druids who live nearby and - and get some more information.”

“. . . yeah. I like that plan.” He yawned, and Elizabeth yawned reflexively. “Where is this grove?”

“Ah . . . near the Forest of White Dreams? You’re not scared of urban legends, are you?”

“I am an urban legend. And I’ve actually been there before. I went traveling with a friend once, and the last item on her bucket list before she became a knight was a hike through that forest. As it happens, we found . . . apple trees . . . growing there. Just, in this clearing atop the hill. It looked like something you’d see in mythology - a place you would go to fight a dragon and acquire an ancient treasure. I’ve fought dragons before. I don’t know if they like apples. Heh, I’m rambling now . . . I can’t help it, though . . . you know I’m pretty old, right?”

Elizabeth yawned again. “Don’t demons age differently than humans? Like giants do?”

“It’s true. I mean, that’s right.”

She wrapped an arm around his waist. “Are you going to tell me why you’re nervous about that?”

“My friend’s name was Wilmot. She was born a druid. And . . . ” he looked over her like he couldn’t forsee what she would say, and that upset him. Before he could speak again, she poked his cheek. “Have you been sending letters to my home?”

“H- hm?!”

“I was given to my mother, Wilmot, by an old friend. I think he happened to be a teenaged demon just like you, right?”

“. . . I’m not a teenager anymore.”

“Well, good! Being a teenager can really suck.” She laughed gently. “Wait, you’re not thinking I’m your niece now or something? Right?”

“Should I?”

“No - goddesses - don’t!”

“I’m going out of my mind,” mumbled the demon in a resigned and sleepy tone. “Go to bed, and kill me in the morning.”

“No, I think I’ll keep throwing you for a loop until dawn. Until your whooooole mind is wiped clean like, uh, the fresh morning snow. And you -”

“That’s full of dirt.”

“I can debate that.”

Suddenly she could feel his body shaking as he cackled. “Why?”

“I don’t know, maybe we should find your friends quickly before I drive you insane.”

“You’re joking.”

“I -” yawn, “- am not . . . joking.”

“You have to be.”

“I don’t. Mm. You’re so warm, even in the snow�� how come?”

“You’re keeping me dry. Like an exotic blanket.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll believe that when you lay down.” She murmmered with her face against his chest, the words spoken almost right up against his skin. He shivered, the closeness more than welcome - as she knew. He told her he had already made himself comfortable.

“Mkay.” She rubbed the mostly dried tears off her face, blinking away what remained. Then, on the cusp of unconsciousness, she perceived his whisper like one would a disconcerting but not unpleasant dream: “I acknowledge you’re not joking. If you were aware, you’d know this casual nonsense makes me so happy I’d rather fall into unknown depths than stay away.” He sighed, that gentle smile from earlier returning. “Thank you finding me today. I guess I needed to see you again after all, huh?”

—- a girl who can be saved —-

[Merlin voiceover:] “It is not a black void. It is not made of steel, or brick, or anything else that could possibly keep me in. It is not a place where life comes to die. In fact, it is right where life begins and ends, a precarious balance between the souls wherein. But it is a prison all the same.”

A black screen fades slowly until the audience can see ins and outs of a dusty, witch’s workshop through the haze. Potions. Cauldrons. Old books. Experiments. Things that shouldn’t be in a jar, kept in a jar. Dry, crusty blood from the …incident… a few months back. And of course, the explosion that almost wasn’t contained in time created a hole with a 1-foot diameter in the floor.

There is a suave woman in an over-sexualized outfit in the middle of this room. She looks uncomfortable, almost as if she should be squirming in pain. There is something wrong about her. Like she doesn’t belong in her own skin. And the cloth does her no favors, an oddly textureless gown without shading. The whole woman looks photoshopped into this scene now that the audience is paying attention.

Sitting near the hole is a child who looks much like her, clearly around ten or so, wearing an outfit that should have been replaced years ago for all its wear and tear.

“Six hundred years have gone by, since living became an afterthought. I’ve discussed my research with countless people and calculated the current trajectory of both goddesses and demons, as well as the side projects and the favors for mankind. My word is indisputable among several important circles. So why can’t you believe me?”

There is a long pause, but the woman is patient and does not say another word. Her eyes and glare demanding a response, she walks right up to her companion.

Slowly, the girl turns, staring through empty eyes leaking black and white tears over a cracked, leaking face like a mask. There is rot somewhere deep inside that skull, something more grey than black or white, something living and dying at the same time that holds together a girl smiling a blank smile of innocence and, if you look closely enough, amusement.

[Sweet little girl:] “You can’t keep this up forever. There’s no need to say I will have you. You have always been mine, my priestess. From the second you were born, you were destined to defy fate.”

“I will defy you. I chose to defy you!”

“My child, your journey is not yet complete. You are asking for your own destruction.”

“Destroy me, then. I won’t hurt anyone else that I care about.”

“You will never see them again.”

“If you’re going to continue on like this, then I don’t plan to. You will never, ever leave this room unless you leave my body first. Like I’ve said.”

“Oh, Merlin. You couldn’t be more wrong. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. I always have. Didn’t the kingdom survive, just like I said it would?”

“Because the experiment failed. Because I realized the truth in time to -”

(with obvious affection): “No, sweet. Because I guaranteed it.”

“The only thing you can control is my mind. I know that now.” Her teeth grind as she speaks, the disgust on her face more than appropriate. “You can’t take that knowledge away from me.”

“Hmm. That’s what you think.” She smiles prettily. She cups her face with one hand, all cutesy-like. “It’s still true, you know. If not for me, you would have no hope of healing that hole you’ve got there in your heart.”

The giant hole materializes on the woman’s body. She glances down briefly, but is unfazed. If anything, she seems even more confident now.

“I don’t care anymore. I’ll do anything I have to do. Just like I swore to you all those years ago.”

(with excitement and obvious affection): “Very good. I don’t expect anything less, Merlin~”

This earns her a frown. “I can’t see how you could possibly win if you keep me as your priestess.”

“That’s because ~ you’re busy looking down!”

Merlin looks down.

Blood rains down from the ceiling into the floor, into the image of a city no one could possibly save. Broken and bloodied silhouette stare back at Merlin in terror.

“I can’t let it happen again. Why can’t you understand that?” She sounds genuinely upset. “Why can’t you understand, that I would rather die and be nothing than be the cause of it again? That I don’t claim you as mine, and never will again? You shouldn’t… you shouldn’t talk like nothing has changed…”

“But nothing’s changed! Eeeeeverything’s the same as it always was. The humans, the gods, and you and me?” Toothy smile. “There’s nothing that can separate us now, Merlin. This is the fate you’re meant to defy - the fate of a lost, broken girl with no one, who lives and dies as fleeing and ultimately meaningless as a single flower in the breeze. That stunning beauty was never yours. Yours is something that endures, and with me, enduring all it takes to get there will be effortless as breathing. Just like it was. All kids go through a rebellious phase at some point in their lives. And people abandon them when it gets to difficult. You’re not my tool, Merlin. I’m never going to replace you with anyone. Wherever I go, you are going, too. Up to heaven and right down to hell! You have to meet my other children, after all. They’re just going to love you.”

“You can only influence my mind so much!”

“I never needed all that much.”

[Merlin voiceover:] “Life itself has become my prison, more than it ever was before.”

____________________________________________________________--

Thank you for reading!!

Link to the rest of the AU:

#meliodas never betrays the demon realm au #nnt au #sds au #horror au #hihoplessromantics writes a drabble

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