#to be in a body not your own with limbs you do not recognise and a world that wants to eat you

[salparadiselost]

I am currently resisting the urge to write another animal transformation fic.

#animal transformation my beloved #it’s one of my favourite tropes #but i really only like when it’s treated more like horror than humour #like it’s a horrifying situation #to be in a body not your own with limbs you do not recognise and a world that wants to eat you #like sure #sometimes it’s fun for it to be lighter #and like ‘oh Im a pet >_<‘ And grumpy about it #but really truly #i want terror #depression #them realising that they may never be right again #so yeah #resisting the urge to do horror animal transformation #it would be dick and Jason #mostly because I love my Dickie boy and have feels

[tarjapearce]

Ok, ok, ok, hear me out….

Tarzan Miguel…

Ahh, nonny. Casually just saw this scrumptious fanart of him as Tarzan by @Miuworm in X 🫠. And yeah. (Kinda amazed at how you guys manifest these things 🤭)

Like Me

Tarzan! Miguel O'Hara x Reader.

WARNINGS: nothing too bad. Depictions of violence, a bit of implicit gore and animal death. No proofread.

Summary: Your savior from a certain death is quite touchy-feely.

Another for Miguelverse ❤️✨

The furious waves of the sea clashed over your body, submerging it in the freezing and alive water.

Arms moved, swimming your way back up, gasping for a much needed gulp of air as soon as you reached the surface.

Peeking around you, trying to find something to get a hold of or climb on, exhaustion was crawling up to your limbs, like hypothermia.

Fuck

Mind cursed with every foul word you could've imagine. How did trip ended up like this? In what moment the clouds turned so grey they darkened the sky, announcing a downpour with a loud rumble? It all took minutes to go sour and south.

You were there to do a land recognition, and see if you could get home some new species. Sergei Kravinoff, or Kraven The Hunter, was the lead of your expedition, all financed by a man named Kingpin.

Your name was called, echoed in the distance.

"Over here!!" You flailed your arms in an attempt of being seen, and hopefully the debris wouldn't blear their sight to find you.

You swam in the direction of the voice, teeth clattered, tool belt heavy on your hips, but you knew if you lost them, any possible chance of getting another were impossible. Plus, Kraven hated it when you lost your equipment as they weren't cheap.

Every paddle of your arms felt heavier, like if your wrists had been tied up with iron pounds, dragging you down. Lips turned blue and trembled. Salty and cold water doused you, but you weren't to give up.

You had fought your way to get a spot in this expedition and a pathetic ending like drowning wasn't an option. You spotted a wooden board floating nearby.

C'mon!

Your hands stretched towards it anf finally managed to keep yourself afloat. Panting, groaning and shivering, letting the cold to finally sink in. Feet had started to numb out, ragged breaths turned laborious.

Once more someone called you, this time you recognised the voice. Peter, the other nerd according to Kraven. You two were the ones selected to be the scientist that would lead Kraven to a certain victory in Nueva York.

Ever since Norman Osborn and Otto Octavius had discovered new species of spiders and reptiles, everyone proclaimed them geniuses ahead of their time, leaving the hunting behind.

Kraven was set into getting either a new species or something alike to regain his forlorn glory. He refused to be forgotten.

But everything pointed that the island you were now had a mind of its own. As if preventing anyone to delve in further into it's secrets.

You were pulled out from the board by Peter that immediately covered you up in a raggedy blanket. Despite the fabric being old, it gave you enough warmth to avoid death taking a hold on you.

Kraven cursed in russian, but was hopeful y'all be found soon. The ship's black box was ruined, your luggage at least was minimal, and it was enough to be saved by ether Peter or anyone kind enough.

A powerful and enormous wave had turned the boat upside-down. Knocking everything loose out of the board. The guns and other tools were the only things that survived.

But, you hoped, the whole fiasco was just temporary. Fisk wasn't a careless man, he'd probably send help soon. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting your bones to freeze.

----

You woke up nearby the makeshift fireplace, relishing the heat your body had lacked. Clothes were humid, but no longer soaked and freezing.

Sighing, you stirred awake, letting the tension leave your body with a groan.

"Hey, wake up." Peter approached, concern etched into his features as he helped you on your feet.

"Where's everyone?"

"I... We uh, got lost. One moment Kraven is here and the other he's not. Left us behind. Or, he also got lost."

"Kraven? Lost?" Peter could sense the deadpan in your voice and he sighed, exasperated.

"I'm just trying to light up the mood. He was pissed. So I assume that he just thought he'd do it himself." He shrugged and you sighed, rubbing your neck.

"Great! now we're lost, my luggage is nowhere to be found but at least we have tools, right?"

The faltering in Peter's face made yours to fall as he shook his head.

"God, I swear... Fuck him. If I'm discovering something, Ain't sharing with him!"

"Let's focus on surviving first. The soil is rich, meaning the jungle is nearby."

"And so is the wild life." You sighed and Peter groaned.

"Look, thinking negatively won't take us anywhere. I'm not saying either let's throw a party for being stuck in an unknown place. But we gotta move. It's about to get dark."

"Right... You're right" You rubbed your face, exhausted, at least you weren't freezing anymore. But being at Nature's mercy wasn't pretty either, yet again. You were selected by none other than Sergei. If he trusted your judgement to be valuable enough, why couldn't you?

With a new resolution in mind, you took the raggedy blanket and other little tools Peter managed to salvage and soon ventured yourselves in the thickness of the jungle.

-----

Sun had long disappeared in the sky leaving a faint trail of golden and orange in the clouds, and you were certain that it had been hours since you walked in the jungle. No signs of Kraven or the caravan of people.

No signs of society or at least his stupid russian jokes that you were sure people laughed at by sheer convenience.

The only advantage Kraven possessed in his favor, was him being an avid hunter. You only studied species, animals and flowers to be more precise, and had a little knowledge of mechanics. Enough to fix your own machines and trinkets. Peter was an expert in mechanics and soil. You followed him.

"I think I've seen that rock before" Peter sighed as he slouched against a tree.

"Don't say that, Parker." You wheezed as you followed him, resting your aching back against him. "I'm definitely finding some poison and put it on Kraven's drink."

"Relax. Without us he's going into unknown territory."

"In case you haven't noticed, he's a professional hunter. And I hate with passion skirts."

The distant rumble of a storm approaching echoed through the sky.

"A hunter, not a geologist. He acts like an animal to get animal bodies."

"Still, he knows his way around these places, Pete."

"Shooting things till they're dead isn't knowing about things"

Peter stood and offered his hand.

"Uh-uh I just sat down."

"We gotta at least go upwards. This area is prone to flooding."

With a vexed groan you took Peter's hand and he pulled you up. You were tired of walking, but if he said you needed to advance, you obeyed.

"Fuck..."

----

Despite the soaking rain pouring around you, Peter had found an amalgamation of trees and branches supported by a hollow tree.

Birds chirped and cawed, bugs joined the concert once the rain subsided, the distant flapping of the birds and the rustle of leafs prevented you from lowering your guard. The only comforting thing besides Peter's company was the petrichor smell, pungent in the air.

You'd spend hours inhaling the gift of nature, if it wasn't for your belly grumbling, and Peter had ran out of cashews.

Even crickets sounded tempting to eat. With the right spices, they tasted crunchy. But all you could do was to imagine their taste as it was time to move again.

"Knowing Kraven, he'd go up to the mountains, probably they've sent a camp nearby a river. So let's look for one."

"Yeah, even better so I can drown that fucker in. He better pay us good for this stupid prank."

Peter chuckled and looked around for a minute, his blue eyes narrowed upon setting his sight in a tree trunk. Broken in half, but what truly made his... whatever this unpleasant feeling to rise within was the vicious marks indented on the tree bark.

Powerful scratches filled with bloody chum and crimson liquid, paw like marks painted in the trunk. The source of such gruesome spectacle laid in whatever pieces was left a couple of inches away.  He could make out a tail, and small hind legs. A baby monkey, or rather half of it.

"Uh... We better hurry."

Peter swallowed, and the urgency in his tone only made your worry to shoot heavenwards.

You both walked, speeding up the step. Unaware of the keen eyes, hidden in the bushes that followed your every moves like a hawk. A low growl filled in the space he occupied.

---

You were certainly to die.

Undeniably, and it didn't matter how fast you managed to run, the jaguar quick paced trotting had you pushing your limits. Tears blurred your sight, as a garbled sob escaped your lips.

Scratches adorned your arms, decorating your flesh with fresh oozing wounds, dirt and leafs stuck to your marred flesh.

Chest heaved with deep and ragged pants, wobbly legs menaced to give in under the pressure at any second

You were going to die.

Even though life had been incredibly dull and the only comfort was your investigation, you didn't want it to end so soon. Not whenyou were about to accomplish a promise to yourself.

Peter had gone lost and separated once the chase began. One minute he was before you, and the other, your friend was gone, out of sight and reach. But the relentless giant feline behind you preferred you. An easy prey.

Your wails and cries for help fell upon deaf ears, who would listen to you in the middle of the jungle? For once you wished to have Kraven's gun expertise.

You didn't care if hypocrite defined you right now. You took a thick branch, swinging it with difficulty and pain at the euphoric beast, like a demotivated baseball player. But the jaguar's claws swatted the useless weapon away from your hands, and making you stumble on the ground.

This was it.

Oh God, oh my god, no, no no

The animal pounced and by instinct, you shielded your body with your shaky limbs. But no harm came.

You could feel the beast's warm and bloodthirsty breath on your head, snapping it's maws at you, desperately trying to reach for a bite of your supple flesh.

Eyes wide in horror, and disbelief. The jaguar was held by his tail, earning whoever that was holding it back from devouring you a couple of swings with it's sharp claws. But the animal was set into getting to you. It pounced on your boots, claws sinking on the back of hour ankles, earning a sobbing and painful wail.

A gruesome crack and a roar echoed behind you, and only then you were able to see your savior.

The tallest man you've ever seen, even taller than Kraven, strong and well built physique, a rich tanned skin full of scratches and long healed wounds. Hair long, reaching a bit past his shoulders, muscles that heaved and rippled in every breathing you did. Body hair etched beautifully in his skin.

Covered in nothing but a loincloth.

If it wasn't for you being at the death's gates, you'd take your time to study him.

You gasped as he held the oversized cat with his hands and slammed it on the ground. They circled eachother, shifting between the roles of hunter and prey.

The feline hissed, and the man returned the threat, a cold sweat ran down your spine upon watching two overgrown canines, on his mouth. Fangs. He had fangs. Brown eyes stared at the four legged monster, defying it.

And soon the jaguar took his invitation. The two majestic creatures fought, enraged, proving their prowess to eachother, disputing the role of Alpha within the jungle's hierarchy. They rolled on the ground, biting and clawing at eachother.

With a lurid snap the man cracked the beast's neck, earning an agonizing wail from the mean cat. He staggered before slamming his fist on the animal, forcing the last breaths out of the beast.

His nose flared, proudly, while his hands slammed his chest.

Terror was still taking a hold of you, and there was nothing you could use as a weapon. Your hands braced your shoulder as you tried to carefully stand, but your clumsy feet stepped in a branch, snapping it in half, like the jaguar's neck. Brown eyes were immediately on you.

You swallowed hard.

He approached, hunched and prowling over, his knuckles and toes supported his hulking frame.

"S-Stop!"

He quirked an eyebrow, curious and within seconds he was before you.

Breath hitched on your throat, face so close to yours, he could feel your breath blowing on his chin.

You hissed as he took a hold of your arm, examining the damage. There wasn't rage in his features but nothing more than untampered curiosity.

His hands reached for your hair, sniffing the strands, you couldn't help but giggle when his nose hovered over your head, sniffing you, a bad moment to be ticklish, really.

Breath caught again as his nose nuzzled your neck.

"W-Wai-" His fingers prodded at your lips, rubbing the calloused thumbs on your soft mouth. A satisfied grunt rumbled in his firm and hairy chest

He toyed with your face, examining it with child like wonder. He turned, prodded and licked your cheeks, reminiscing in your taste with a confused look.

"U-uh, sir-"

What is he doing? oh god.

He hunched even closer to rest his ear on your chest. Heart pumping violently inside your ribcage, eyes darted towards the covered mounds, he sank his face in between them, taking a deep inhale. A low growl came from within and your cheeks flared in a deep flush.

Oh shit, shit

His hands cupped your mounds, sending a shiver through your body, but you slapped his hand away. He looked taken aback before baring his teeth to you.

"No!" You covered your chest and backed away, but his nose flared to then grab your head and placed it on his chest a tad forcefully. Warm and plush skin met yours. You gulped again.

Powerful echoes boomed through his chest.

The natural musk of him tickled your senses, his hands roamed your lower back and your alarms flared.

"H-hey, hey!"

He pulled your feet up, sending you tumbling backward, skirt rolling down your thighs, exposing your legs to him.

You tried to cover your skin by gathering your skirt up. His nose again sniffled as your wriggled underneath him. Hands prodding and picking at your toes, earning a clumsy giggle

His touch was like molten lava, it sent a shudder down your spine.

His fingers were having a good feel of your flesh, as if confirming you were real.

With each discovery his interest only grew. He then cupped your face again, smooshing your cheeks together, giving a deliberate lick on your lips.

"T-The polite thing to do is to take me out before that happens!" You mumbled nervously while trying to get yourself free.

His eyes narrowed once more as he lifted up your skirt completely, revealing your panties.

It gave you little to no time to prepare you for his next move. He sunk his face in between your thighs taking a good whiff of your scent, another pleasant growl came from him, by reflex, your hand slapped him. And this made him look at you, confused but clearly upset while holding his cheek.

"No! Stop it!" You warned while gathering your skirt underneath your knees and pointing at him. Cheeks impossibly red

He seemed to understand as he crouched before you. Muscular thighs flexing as he sat, mimicking your actions.

"Uh, uh. No. Don't do that"

"Uh Uh, No. Don't do that"

He repeated with the same authoritarian tone. Voice surprisingly rich and alluring. Your eyes went wide.

"You can speak!"

He repeated like a parrot.

"Can... Can you understand me?"

His brows furrowed then quirked. He was about to come up with a reply when the rustling and your name being called echoed behind the foliage.

"Over here!!!" You shouted, this alarmed the man as he stood, backing up from you with a mistrustful glare.

"Wait! No no! Don't go!" Your hands wriggled, but it was futile.

He left before anyone could see him. Climbing the trees like it was another playground game, until he disappeared out of sight.

None other than Kraven showed up, machete on hand, swinging it the weeds and plants that dared to cross his way.

A shit eating smirk plastered on his face.

"See? I told you, she'd be fine." Kraven patted Peter's shoulder as they kept moving to find a perfect spot for the camp.

Kraven crouched to where the jaguar's body laid and looked at you.

"What happened?"

"I... don't know. I-I panicked. Was running from a snake and I found that there."

Sergei just hummed, as he watched the body, eyes raking the feline's carcass before beckoning two of his men closer.

"Skin him. Don't have this type yet."

Kraven took a deep inhale. Death's stench sparking alive the hunter in him.

"Whatever killed it, needs to be in my personal collection of trophies."

Peter in the meantime cleansed your wounds with water, to then apply some clean bandages on them.

The whole group moved, upwards to the mountains.

"What the heck happened!?" he whispered aggressively

You made sure for Kraven to be within a reasonable distance to speak again.

"You won't believe me if I'd tell you."

Cause in truth, how would you explain a man, taller than Sergei, killed with his bare hands a wild animal and got way too touchy with you but is able to speak?

The road was long. You had time

Peter sensed your discomfort and pressed no further. However, the feeling of being watched never waned. It was the group, against the jungle's secrets.

----

Taglist:

@fayeofthenightingale

#t writes✨ #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #Miguelverse #miguel o'hara #miguel x y/n

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 6)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 5, Part 7

summary: Everything unravels. You teach Miguel a lesson.

warnings: soooo much smut. mutual masturbation, grinding, slight femdom, Miguel is a submissive switch cuz I said so, m! masturbation. very very 18+ Minors DNI (ageless blogs will be blocked, thanks!)

a/n: yeah...so. ya.

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

in your half-hearted hubris,

Miguel is not a jealous man. Jealousy implies something he thought was shed long ago: a second skin of something green-eyed and crooked. 

One minute, he's watching you kiss someone else. And when you sigh into it; imperceptibly, but he notices because he always sees these things about you; he's biting the inside of his cheek and drawing blood. The guy you danced with, and now your lips are on his. Is… Is that your type? Jun is slender and charming; a pretty boy, through and through . There's a hand on your thigh, he notices, milky white and willowy. It has Miguel looking at his own, rough and tan, the ghost of soft skin and pillowy thighs on his fingertips. The illicit foray of one night, one night with you , and he's second guessing himself. 

Insecure. 

His hands are rough and calloused. He picks at hangnails, the skin is raw from rubber gloves and mystery chemicals, and knuckles creaky because he cracks them too often. Is that what you like? The kind of thing you touch yourself to; his hands, pawing at flesh. Jun cups your chin, slender fingers pulling you closer, and your own come up to wrap around them. You seem desperate for it, panting and pretty lashes fluttering when you separate. 

And you look at Jun like… like he wants you to look at him. 

There's blood in his mouth when you finally do. He looks away, quick and furtive, like you've caught him doing something wrong. It's not right or wrong, he supposes, just tripping over a muddle of thoughts – still stuck on the image of your hand on Jun's.  

He was a late bloomer, awkwardly proportioned and too tall for his limbs. Clumsy, if you can believe it. He's always been a bit of a bull in a China shop; bulldozing and brutish and still growing into a body that pools at his ankles and is tight around his wrists. Like an ill-fitting suit; the kind he wore to Fernanda's quince, skirting the rental hall with a bottle of j2o. In and out of conversations, tripping and stuttering over words in stiff dress shoes and a waistcoat . Gabi took a lot of photos: peace signs and pointer finger looped into coat pockets.

Point is; he's not felt this way in years . Tongue-tied, hot and cold, heart-pounding. Jun decidedly isn't; able to talk to you like a normal person, making you smile and laugh. Curling fingers into the crest of a wide palm, he digs his nails into the flesh: producing a sting that makes it crystal clear. Oh. Oh. 

Fuck.  

One minute, he's nursing a warm beer and trying not to take a chunk out the inside of his mouth. The next, he's on the floor of Lyla's living room, blinking up at bright lights. 

There's soft hands all over him. Holding his own, cupping his cheek, moving his head this way and that as he tries to focus. He's looking at your pretty lips, pert and pressed into the lean line of a frown. There are… people talking over the other; strained and hushed in a quiet corner. 

He recognises Lyla's voice, distinctive despite the ringing in his ears. 

"A-All over a drink…. pushing past 'em, Jess…. he threw the first punch…"

~~~

The drive home is terse, air thick with something. Stewing, you've got your arms crossed and head turned to the windows. You're watching the streaky lights of the city zip past, lips pursed. Head on the glass, you're making a point not to turn back or utter a word to Miguel. 

"You picked a fight." You swipe a finger on the condensation, finally ready to talk. 

He shrugs limply. A beat passes. 

"....this is the part where you explain what happened, Miguel."

"I picked a fight."

"...that's it?" Your brows shoot up. "You just… there was no build up? Why? "

"Wanted to give 'em something to bond over in the morning." He deadpans, glancing over to the passenger seat. "Matching black eyes."

You shake your head slightly. "Don't believe you." 

You see something flash in his gaze, and then it's gone. He smooths over features, and that Miguel is back: lifeless and blank. Steadfast, he doesn't turn to look at you. 

"Okay." He says simply. 

"All that Ophelia shit from a couple of weeks ago, and you still won't –" It's under your breath as you clamp down anger. If Miguel hears, he doesn't indicate. "I just want to understand."

He purses his lips. "Nothing to understand. I'm an insecure piece of shit, and I picked a fight. I ruined Jess' birthday, and fucked it up for everyone else. I know. Can we… Can we speed this bit up? I'm exhausted. "

"No-one… I didn't say that." Your voice is hoarse. He's being mean. He's never been all that nice; sarcastic and smug, for sure, but never cruel. It feels spiteful. You're blinking away a hot tear before you can stop it. And then they become angry tears, ones that sting your cheeks on the way down. 

You're not good with fights. Never have been. And it's not even the confrontation that scares you, it's the apathy. Sifting through your guts and begging someone to care, when they don't. It's like screaming at a brick wall and expecting the mortar to shift; a pointless exercise in delusion. You'd grown sick of it with Jamie; the hand-waving and the what do you want me to do about it of it all. It's the one thing you've grown to like about Miguel, about all your little fights. He's rarely the bigger person, petty, and able to get down in the shit and stink with you; because, on some small level at least, he gives a fuck. He cares . 

You're embarrassed that you even thought he would be any different. Disappointed, but not with him: with yourself for getting caught up in all of this. 

You're sniffling, wiping up and flattening out of sheer spite; refusing to let him see how a stupid thing like this affects you. The tears well up in your eyes, hot and blurry and you're focusing on holding yourself together by the seams before you get home. 

You don't notice him pull into a side road and park the car. It rolls to a stop, and he's reaching over to the backseat; and pulling out a box of tissues. The box is floral and tissues scented; rosy and sweet in a way you wouldn't expect from him. 

When he nudges you with the box, apologetic, you're still not looking at him; not even flicking over to give him a dirty look. 

"Chula. " It rolls off his tongue so softly, but you jut your chin in the air. "Please. I'm sorry." 

You purse your lips. 

"I'm a dick."

"Yep." You manage. 

"I picked a fight. I'm an insecure piece of shit–" 

"No, no." You're turning back, quickly. "Stop saying that. Why are you saying that?" 

He shrugs again, and you flop into your seat. You notice, he's gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are white. 

"Relax , Miguel." You wrap a hand around his, and watch him visibly melt. His gaze softens. "M'not trying to push, I'm sorry."

You take his hand off the wheel, inspecting the purple and blue that spreads across taught skin. His palm is rough, knuckles bony and bruised. 

"When we get home–" Home. You sigh, bringing it up to the little car lights. "I've got a first aid kit, somewhere. We need to clean this up, or it might get infec–" 

Looking up, you catch Miguel staring , stars in his eyes, and it… it knocks the breath out of your lungs. All of a sudden, you're flustered and letting go of his hand in a hurry. 

All he does is nod, starting the car. He runs a hand through his hair, pulling away with a palm on the flat of the wheel. In the light of street lamps, shadow cutting his cheekbones just so. He's beat up, he's tired, but even then; Miguel is so, so pretty. 

~~~

You end up in the bathroom, first aid kit splayed on the countertop. He insists on standing, despite a slight limp he tries to downplay, and so you're sitting on the faux marble with Miguel between your legs. Your dress rides up but you're too tired to care, ripping open gauze and tapping disinfectant on a little pad. At least he has the decency to be still and quiet, with his palms on the counter top and kissing bare thigh. 

Miguel is tall, still having to bend over when you pat the peak of a split lip; hand on his chin ever so gently. 

"Where'd you get all of this from?" He asks because your first aid kit is comprehensive : micropore, gauze and antiseptic with a name that sounds like sleeping pills. 

You're swatting him gently, trying to keep his jaw still. "My ex was a med student."

He smothers a smile, like he's trying not to laugh. 

"...what?"

"...is he the one that couldn't make you cum?"

You stop tending to his wounds, hand on his shoulder to steady yourself. Never have I ever faked an orgasm – the words start ringing in your head. You're not a blushing virgin, but his crass word choice makes you flush. 

"None of your business." 

He smirks. "So that's a yes. "

"I faked it once or twice , sue me. But… I mean, the sex wasn't bad. It was even good, sometimes."

"Sure." He cringes, and you bat his shoulder. 

"Don't want to hear it."

He hums, pressing a little closer to your front. 

"What was he like, then?" He seems nonchalant; but his tone is unusual, sending shivers down your spine. 

"He was… nice."

"Nice?"

"Yep." Four years, and that's the best you can come up with. It's all you can verbalise, at least. How does one describe the feeling of getting hit by a metaphorical train? One that leaves you on the tracks, thinking of picnic dates and IOUs and diner coffee? They'd describe it as poorly as you do, most likely. A moment passes. "I loved him, I think." 

You don't know why you said that, but the melancholy of the night starts to sink in. 

"Then why'd you break up?" 

You shrug. "Wasn't enough." 

He looks surprised, eyebrows drawn up momentarily, as if that's the last thing he thought you'd say. You strike him as a romantic; ditzy and dopey when you have feelings for someone, a love conquers all type of person. 

The mood sours, air heaving in that little bathroom. You finish up in silence, applying strips to a gash above his brow. It takes some time for him to speak, as if he's been building up the confidence. 

"Is that your type?" He asks, finally puncturing that pressure. 

You shake your head, a little confused. 

"Nice? Like that guy you were talking to."

"...Jun?" You hesitate, sensing something else behind his words. "I mean… I just wanted to get laid."

He doesn't really react, thumb grazing the silk of your slip dress. The skin his hand brushes past feels a little hotter. 

"He's pretty, though." You're careful not to make eye contact, getting to work cleaning the cuts on his knuckles. You smile to yourself. "And yeah, he's nice. More than nice, actually. "

Jun works with computers. Jun is good with his hands. And you really were going to fuck him. Until… until… 

…until Miguel got into a fight. After watching you kiss someone else. The gears turn in your head, creaky and lumbering because you haven't had to navigate a shitty pseudo-situationship in forever. You're wrapping up his hand with gauze, mouth moving quicker than you can think. 

"Are you jealous?" 

He splutters, flashing pearly whites in indignation. 

"No… No . You can fuck whoever you want." He says it too quickly. "I don't care."

He looks a mess; a gash above one eye, a nasty cut glancing the side of his lip, and knuckles bruised. Suspecting more hiding beneath his shirt, you look at him, gaze heavy. You're worried, even when you shouldn't be, even when he doesn't deserve it. 

"Oh my God." You're connecting dots, and your stomach churns with the realisation. "What the fuck ?" 

" M-not -" 

"Just because you don't want to fuck me– " 

"I never said I didn't want to–" 

"You didn't have to, you just refused to acknowledge how we almost did for two weeks. "

"Neither did you!" 

"I wanted to… after. And you said we couldn't, because I had a lecture." 

"You did have a lecture, and you were high! That doesn't mean anything… I need you to mean it when you say it."

"So you resort to sabotage? I was gonna get laid, you fucking asshole."

"You kissed him."

" So? "

"You didn't kiss me."

That one takes the wind out of your sails, and you're stammering with the amount of brainpower it takes to wrap your head around it. You slip off the counter, putting some space between you both. 

"...I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm not saying you can't kiss him… o-or you're not allowed to, or some crap. I just don't get it. I don't understand."

He's holding your hands in his,

"You just met the guy, and you kiss him on a stupid dare–"

" –he kissed me." You correct him, voice hoarse. 

"He kissed you . Cool. Whatever. You kissed him back.  But when I tried to kiss you, after… " He trails off. 

"I dodged one kiss . Maybe I wasn't feeling it."

"And that's fine. I respect that, and I respect you. But it wasn't just one kiss. It's all the time , around here. I say something, then you say something, and then… we have a moment. Time just stops. Can't you feel it? I-I feel like I'm going crazy."

You keep quiet, only the sound of your heart racing to punctuate thoughts. 

"Miguel… "

He gets even closer, pressing you against the counter, his bandaged hand migrating to your waist, and then the small of your back. Your knees are weak as you swallow roughly, with Miguel; strong, annoyingly handsome, perceptive Miguel; resting his forehead on yours. You come together, intimate, even allowing your eyes to flutter shut, waiting for the press of lips on yours. 

It never comes. Wrenching yourself away at the last minute, you're standing in the doorway; arms folded, because you don't know what to do with your limbs anymore. 

He doesn't look disappointed. Just deflated. 

"Do you want to fuck me?" He asks. Yes , you answer, but he can't hear it. 

"Do you want to kiss me?" Do you want me? Do you want me in a way no-one else can have me? 

This feels different. Not as simple as a yes or no.

Your face must say it all for you, because he sighs. "I just want to know why."

His behaviour has been erratic, to say the least. You've spent a good month and a half terrorising each other, before coming to an uneasy truce – and he fucked it up. All that talk like he knows you, that he sees you, and it all feels for naught. 

"After all the shit you've pulled… what gives you the right? I was so worried about you–" Your voice is barely above a whisper. " Fuck this. M'going to bed."

Slipping into the gloom of the hallway, and then into your room, leaving Miguel there. 

It's different, why can't he see that it's different? A one night stand, with Jun, with someone else; kissing a guy in a dare doesn't have consequences. You get off, you go home. Simple, clinical, no need for niceties. With Miguel, as you've come to realise, there are other things to navigate. Even when high, you knew ; with someone like him, it's too intimate – the possible consequences too dire. He's your roommate, for God's sake. 

You can hear him now, turning off the bathrooms lights and padding into his room. For once, there's nothing to be heard from behind the wall. The dim light spills in, warm yellow pooling around the door. Your window is open, moonlight and the city below to keep you company. 

And you want him to stew in that room, to punish him for all the shit he's put you through in the past week; hell, the past few months you've been here. But you can't. If you're sick of the mind games, you can't keep this game of chicken going – you're both careening towards the edge faster than you can say the words: Yes, Miguel; I want to sit on your face. If you could get rid of the attitude, that would be great, too .

So you're knocking on his door, still in your dress, tugging down its hem when he opens. He's in that shirt and slacks, bloodied front and all.

Deep breath. You straighten your back, and make sure you're heard, loud and clear. 

"I don't like it when you bring over girls to fuck them in your room. The walls are too thin, and I can't sleep because I hear everything. Everything, Miggy."

He's stony-faced, unreadable as ever. Still, you continue. 

"I don't like it when you look at me… like that, and then pretend it never happened. You're inconsistent, sarcastic, you freak out whenever there's a sock out of place and it drives me fucking crazy–" 

" I don't –"

"I'm not finished. You're a prick. You don't tell people you love them enough, when… when you do. You so clearly do. Lyla was worried when you took so long to get to Jess' – just give her a call, sometimes. Let people know what's going on."

His face is stuck somewhere between abject horror and plain old shock. For Miguel, that means his eyebrow is raised a half-inch higher than usual. 

"...you finished?" He strains. 

"One more.. ." Another breath. "...your poker face needs work. Because you look like you need a shit half the time."

His jaw shifts. You maintain eye contact; despite everything screaming that you should run with your tail between your legs. 

"I fucking hate you , Miguel."

"I know." He softens, running a hand through his hair. Leaning against the frame, he steps a little closer; and imperceptibly, you're both pulled by the gravity of the other. All of a sudden, your head is on his chest, blood-spattered cotton that smells like him, arms wrapped around his middle. Hesitant, he pulls you even closer, slotting into the crook of your neck as best he can. 

Wordlessly, you separate. You knit your eyebrows together, looking up at him. With your hand on his cheek, he leans into your touch. You graze a thumb on his lips, eyes fluttering at the broken skin: plump and messy and pretty. 

"Sit down." You say it so softly, he convinces himself he didn't hear it. 

You go again. "Sit down."

Your tone makes him flush, and then he's sitting on the edge of the bed. He leans back, you step forward; legs brushing his knees splayed atop the sheets. 

"Do you want me?"

He's nodding before he even hears the end of the sentence, eyes locked onto yours. 

You shrug. 

"Prove it. "

And it goes straight to his cock: the way you say it, blasé and casual, like you haven't put words to the way he's been feeling for weeks. Usually, he'd start to spiral, endlessly loop around what you mean. Want , strong and heady; and to him that means a hungering that leaves his throat dry and innards bare. 

Do you want me? Do you want me in a way no-one else can have me? 

And yet, he doesn't quite know the answer. Instead, he shows you; hoping and praying  he hasn't read this wrong. 

Barely breathing, studying your every move, he takes your other hand. You hinge slightly at the hip, coming closer, eyes still locked onto his and he places your little palm onto his crotch. It spans his whole length, quickly hardening. When you don't react, he panics, trying to move your hand away… 

…and then you squeeze . 

Miguel keens, bucking into the pressure you apply with the heel of your palm. He starts a slow roll of hips, other hand wrapped around yours on his cheek; melting into it, in a way that brings heat to that sweet spot between your legs. And then he stutters to a stop, lips parted and panting. 

"Why'd you stop?" 

"G-Got carried away. Sorry ." 

His brows are knitted, shoulders hunched, and when you slide your hand down to the corded muscles of his neck, he tenses. He always seems so stressed, but you've never seen him like this: desperate and falling apart at the seams. 

"You're okay, Miguel. Relax. " 

You shift your wrist, rolling around that growing tent in your palm. He hisses, palms flat by his side and head thrown back. With a little smile, you watch his shoulders melt, satisfied. 

"Does it feel good?" 

"Y-Yes." He groans. Despite your quickening pace, he seems to clamp down instinct; biting his cheek to muffle wanton moans. 

"How about you get more comfortable for me?" 

At first he doesn't understand, grumbling when you take your hand away from his clothed cock. Pulling him upwards, you make a start with his buttons, helping slide the fabric off of his shoulders. He slips his slacks off, and then he's left in black boxers; it's band hanging dangerously low. 

They're tented, sporting a wet patch of precum around the fat tip of his dick. And he is large, its outline clear under the thin fabric. 

You wrap a hand around his waist, other hand tracing up to his chest. 

"What about you, chula? " 

You look up. Miguel looks down at you, eyes low, large hand splayed between your shoulder blades. 

"You don't like what I'm wearing?" Doe eyed, you don't really expect him to take you seriously. 

"N-No, no. " He's stuttering, now. "You look beautiful. Always do. I just… I want to see more ."

You click your tongue with faux disapproval. "Don't be selfish, baby. You wanted my attention, right?" 

He nods, with the self-awareness to be  hesitant at your tone. 

"Then," You start, slipping a hand into his boxers. You wrap a dainty hand around his length; thick and slanted and weeping at the tip. "Learn to be grateful."

"Ayy-" He wraps around you, head bowed to dip into your shoulder. 

You pump his cock, other hand around his neck; eyes sparkling as you force him to look to his side, at you. 

"F-Fuck–" He's breathing heavily, mouth open into a pretty little O , and you clamp a hand down to his jaw. 

"What do you want?" 

"R-Rapido, mas rapido por favor -" 

[Faster, faster, please-] 

Surprisingly vocal, he loses it as you press your thumb onto his slit; flushed and pouring with precum. You rub his wetness along the length of his shaft, squeezing and turning your wrist as you get to his tip. He likes that; hips bucking to fuck into the ring you make with your hand. 

You want to savour this moment: Miguel stripped down to his boxers, beautifully tanned skin pressed up against yours. And of course, that look on his face; a lusty haze, even stronger than the one you were under when high, all those nights ago. 

His lashes flutter, and you watch as his core tenses; watching and waiting for just the right moment to… stop. 

You pull away, and he chases it, bucking into thin air. You're pushing him back onto the bed, with a hand to his chest. Eyes blown , he leans back onto his forearms; unable to tear himself away. There's a certain glow about you, a glint in your eye, one that takes his breath away. Something smug , a little smile as you drag a black thong down your pretty thighs. It's long forgotten when you chuck it onto the bed; Miguel still can't get over the sight of legs and a flash of your cunt, committing it to memory. 

Sidling up to his chest, you kick a leg over and seat yourself onto his lap. Flush against the fabric, you settle onto your knees. The look in Miguel's eyes almost bowls you over; stunning and windswept, as he runs a hand over your thigh. Eyes wide at the way the fabric pools around your body: the swell of tits cupped by silk, how good it looks against your skin. 

He's staring at where you meet, that spot between your thighs when it happens; when you guide his hand to the apex of your pussy. His thumb slots against your clit like it belongs there, rough pads applying just the right amount of pressure.

"Oh f-fuuuck," You sigh into it, pressing your tits to his chest in a way that makes him hump into the pocket left by your body and the smooth fabric of your dress. 

Even in his haze, Miguel is hyperfocused on your pleasure, obsessed with the noises he can pull from you. With a big hand on your waist, he pulls you closer to slot you against his front. It's your turn to moan, the prettiest thing he thinks he's ever heard, slipping his cock between your lower lips with a swirling intensity. 

You're drunk with the pleasure, hands on his shoulders to angle him towards your clit. He thinks you look like an angel, head tilted back to expose the expanse of your neck. Bringing his teeth to that slight vein, he's a killer; sucking rough hickeys to the skin. 

"M'close, fuck –" 

"Damelo, hermosa, " He places two palms at the globes of your ass, squeezing and pressing into you even closer. 

[Give it to me, beautiful.]

"Miguel…shit–b-baby, think I'm–" 

You cum, gushing and clamping down around nothing. Miguel is more interested in the way you transform ; fine lines and deep furrows of your face softening, the pure bliss written into the gentle arch of your body. He did that. It makes his chest warm, it makes his cock swell; and with the feeling of slipping through your pretty folds, he gets so, so close to that biting edge. 

You stop, slipping off of his lap and he whines at the loss of you. Tugging down your dress, you make your way out of the room and he's reeling , clutching at your arm so you don't leave. 

"Chula ," He's babbling, tucked back into his boxers, but on his knees for you. "I'm sorry, please. Do you want me to beg? Because I will , baby, I w–" 

Helping him up, you give him a little smile that he's too pussy-drunk to realise its true nature. Dangerous, you cup his face with both hands, brows pressed together and large, sparkling eyes. Not quite sympathy, but it's enough to make him think you'll wrap a hand around his cock out of pity, press those pretty tits against him and–

On your tiptoes, you give him a chaste kiss between his brows. You flash him a stunning smile, bottom lip hooked under your teeth. 

"Goodnight , Miguel." 

And then you're out the door, down the little hallway and into your bedroom. Miguel runs a shaky hand through his hair, unsure whether to laugh or cry. And he knows, still rock hard, body burning with the memory of you: he's fucked. 

~~~

When morning comes, Miguel wrenches open his eyes, bloodshot and sore. He feels like shit , barely able to sit up without feeling like his chest will collapse. 

It feels like he was ran over in a headfirst collision; and he was, essentially, wincing at the memory of that fight. He can feel strike one and two; between his ribs, to the side of his navel; but the real knockout punch was you – a deadly, calculated assault that he almost hates you for. 

Almost. 

He came harder than he has in months last night; bent over his cock, pumping shakily. It had only taken a couple of rough tugs until he spilled all over himself; embarrassingly quick. He lasted longer the second time, unable to help himself.

In his defence, the black thong you had slipped off was right there ; rumpled amongst the sheets. He had pressed it to his nose and then wrapped them around his shaft; eyes closed as he imagined being buried in your plush pussy. All his fantasies; quickies in the shower spent jerking off to the thought of you, where he'd hold onto the feeling of brushing past you in the kitchen, or little touches on the couch. You've surpassed them, well and truly. 

Now, he stumbles into the shower, stripping on the tiles. Inspecting himself in the mirror, he pokes at flesh; purple bruises stretching over brown and tan muscle. Turning around and craning his head, he follows them all the way to his back and then… oh. He can see them: scratchy-sharp lines, spanning the width of his shoulder blades. You did that, he thinks. 

Fuck . He's hard again, sighing heavily as he clambers into the shower. It sputters to life, ice cold, but he grits his teeth and takes it , trying to free his mind of cotton and cobwebs. As the water warms up, he presses both hands flat on the tile, head down and eyes closed. The water washes over him, down his back, and like a flash of lightning he's imagining you pressed up against him, bent in half over his cock. He'd press a thumb to your clit, slamming into your ass; fucking you hard, like you deserve. You'd like that , he thinks, from what he's heard of you in your room, the filth that spills from your mouth and to his side of the wall. 

"Miguel?" It's a little muffled over the shower, but you get closer to the door. 

"Yes?" He shouts over the rush of water. He shouldn't . He really shouldn't. 

"You've got a call!" 

He hums. With the way you say his name he caves, making a tight ring around his length. 

"It's Lyla, and-" Something clatters. " Fuck , sorry."

Your voice is breathy, little groans as you pick up whatever's dropped to the floor. Miguel feels like a perv, turning the water pressure down to listen to your voice properly. All the while, he keeps a steady pace on his cock. 

"Should I just let it ring? Keep it going?" 

Keep going is what he hears, and then he  speeds up, wondering what it would be like to have your thighs shake underneath him. What would it would it take to have you babbling and begging for more? How would he break you? Maybe on his cock, where he'd watch you squirm as you take his length.

"Miguel?" 

Or maybe you'd be on your knees, choking around him and licking up his cum. Or, God , thighs wrapped around his head, riding out your high with his mouth sealed on your clit, crying for him slow down, for him to-

H-Harder, please–

That's how you would ask him, clawing at his back, and he'd capture those pleas in a searing kiss.

"–Miguel!" 

He releases, sudden and intense, spilling white ropes onto the tiles. He fucks his fist through it, overstimulated from the way you say his name. It feels like the only way it should be said; spilling from your mouth, haphazard and desperate. Like honey, like treacle; sweet things he didn't know he had the capacity for. He lets that feeling wash over him, panting, bringing his forehead to rest on cool tile. 

"Just take a message," He strains, panting as you say something in response. He doesn't quite catch it, of course, too busy reeling from the aftershock. 

The shower croaks and gurgles, spluttering to a stop. He listens as your footsteps recede beyond the door, moving away. 

Shit. It's going to be a long day. 

~~~

You sleep like a baby. Lulled into blissful sleep, after practically floating into bed. That orgasm does wonders; and you sleep better than you have in months. You dream of cotton candy clouds, flowing green grass, and tanned, muscled men on their knees; in the kind of sleep that wraps around you like a blanket. 

Surprisingly fresh in the morning, you wake up before Miguel does. You're milling about the hallway when he barrels into the bathroom, and on the couch when he leaves. 

"Mig?" You poke your head towards the door, and he almost jumps half a foot into the air. 

Eyes wide, and he can barely manage a weak smile. 

"Lyla called."

"Yeah, you…" He sighs, clutching the towel slung around his waist a little tighter. "You mentioned it."

In the light of the morning, you're able to assess him a lot better. To put it plainly, he looks rough ; blinking at you oddly, shifting when you come closer. You don't touch him, Miguel seems much too antsy for that, but you get closer to inspect the bruises that bloom across his side. It looks even worse than yesterday, purple and blue across taut muscle. You reach for it and he flinches, so you pull away. 

"...you okay?" 

" Yep. " He grits it through a plasticky smile; and the fact that it reaches his eyes is a red flag in of itself for the usual grump. 

The side-eye you respond with isn't quite enough to chip at it, so he continues.

"M'just fine."

" O–kay . Lyla said something about a debrief , earlier." 

"At the usual place?" 

"...uhhh. She said at HQ? In about an hour."

"Okay… okay. Nonono, that's fine… okay." He's muttering to himself and about to turn around when something catches his eye. Your lips; pretty gloss and freshly done. In fact, you're fully dressed to go out; in a display that has him confused. 

You answer the question he posits with a slightly raised eyebrow. 

"She invited me, Mig." 

His eyebrows shoot up. "Of c.. of course she did." 

Distracted and haphazard, Miguel gets dressed; squeezing into the car with a flask of coffee to-go. It scares you; the way he barely flinches while taking sips of the bitter liquid you know must be piping hot. He's acting weird, even weirder than usual; but you let it wash over you and move on. 

Eventually, you pull up to HQ ; a shitty dive bar that is inexplicably serving breakfast and other miscellaneous items at 12pm. At least, that's what it looks like, arriving to see one overcrowded table and a sea of pancakes and coffee. Jess sports a croissant and orange juice, whilst Peter scoffs down a burger almost as big as his face.

"Miguel!" He says it with a mouthful of pickles, beef and patty, slapping the man in question heartily on the back. 

He winces, batting Peter away before sliding into the seat next to you. For barely a second, your legs brush together and he's shifting away. Okay. That's… odd. 

You're sifting through menus when you glance over to the counter and you see her : a pretty woman of about 25, tucking red hair away behind her ear. Your heart stops, and then you're tapping Miguel. 

" Look, " You hiss quietly, nodding towards the counter. " Isn't that…? " 

June McGinnity, the premier main character in the hit tv soap, And Everyday Before The Last; The Final Season. It's the very same show you've been bingeing for the past 6 months. 18 seasons, 3 spinoffs, and a revival currently in the works; you're obsessed with the show that's gotten you through your last breakup – and the one before that, and a couple of rocky moments with your parents. 

She's been a staple for the last couple of seasons, quickly skyrocketing to popularity in her minor role, and now , in The Final Season, she's got her well-deserved spot as a season regular. June is tenacious, smart, absolutely hilarious, and–

" –she's coming over here . Shit, Miggy, she's coming over," You whisper to him and for the first time this morning; he smiles, wide and genuine. It takes you back; not just because he looks so pretty when he smiles, but because you have no idea what's so funny. 

June slips into the seat besides Peter, and your eyes almost fall out of their sockets. She gives him a kiss on the cheek , as Peter brushes away blunt bangs. Frantic, you turn to Miguel, who's trying not to piss himself laughing. 

He's borderline howling, and you put a hand around his arm to get him to keep quiet – to stop embarrassing you in front of June – but he's too busy wiping away tears. 

Peter turns to the scene, clearly confused. He says something to June, and then he's turning to you, saying your name. 

"Hey, I don't think I've introduced you to– Miguel, please shut the fuck up– this is–" 

"MJ." She smiles, brilliant and sparkling, with her hand outstretched and you think you might pass out. 

"I'm–" You're stumbling over your words, grasping her hand before you can overthink it. Maybe it comes off as overzealous, but you're desperately trying to shut out Miguel's laughing. "I'm a massive fan, you're so incredibly talented ; as June – I always cry at that one scene when you meet your long-lost sister... a-and when you find out that Jackie is actually your Mom, I swear, I get chills–" 

The man besides you splutters, hunched over and gripping onto the table for support. It's getting egregious, now, and you make it known as best you can with a dirty look. 

"I'm, oh fuck, no… I'm done, I promise." He clamps down a smile, hands up in surrender. 

"Was that… too much?" You gain some semblance of perspective, and then you're falling over yourself to apologise. " Shit , I'm really, really sor–" 

" – No, no. You're good, it's nice to get recognised for that show! Most of the demographic is old people and pensioners, honestly. Not a lot of IRL interaction with fans, if you know what I mean." She flashes you that smile, again, and you melt. She turns to the man beside you. "Don't be a dick, Miguel." 

"Yeah, Miguel." Peter continues to inhale what you think is his second burger, wagging a sauce covered finger. "What she said."

Miguel rolls his eyes so hard you think they might rattle about in his skull, and you give him a rough shove for good measure. Down the other side of the table, you spot Lyla; downing a brightly coloured drink and massaging her temples. 

"Shit , Lyla. You want to slow it down?" Jess says, and then her eyes are flicking over to yours. She does a double take, giving you a wide smile. " Hey , y'all! When did you get here?" 

"Not long!" You call back, and she gives you a thumbs up in response. Lyla coughs beside her, sporting a nasty grimace; and then she's up and looking around the table, as if taking a headcount. At least, you think she does, as it's hard to see her eyes between pink tinted shades. They slip down her nose and she brings a fork to the empty glass; silencing the rabble. 

"M-Morning…" She stills, hand on her chest like she's got heartburn; throat bobbing as she gags slightly. "Morning, everyone. First off, hope you all feel as shitty as I do." 

And then there's cheers and good-natured elbowing, especially towards Ben and Miguel. Apparently , if you're to believe the whispers and rumour mill; Ben took to bar-hopping across town, ending the night without a shoe and someone else's shirt. He gives a rueful smile, holding up a mug to scattered laughter. And Miguel… well, he's Miguel , sitting back in his seat with folded arms. 

"Second," She pauses, for dramatic effect. "Someone's volunteered to pay for the next round of food to apologise for last night… everyone say Thank you, Miguel."

She starts a limp round of applause with a flourish, and sits down. There's only about a dozen people there: most you recognise, and some you don't. There was no attempt to explain what exactly a debrief was; so you're left disorientated in the mash of voices. Miguel picks at waffles besides you, in his own world. Without a word, you get up, making your way towards neon bathroom signs in the corner. 

It's some peace and quiet, a moment to think as you look at your reflection in the mirror. You look lighter , as if a weight was lifted off of your shoulders last night. Your skin looks a little brighter, eyes sharper and even your hair falls differently, today. You feel good, and it seems to translate to the person looking back it you. Wow. You're practically–

" -glowing. Shit , you look good." Lyla calls out from behind you, entering the little bathroom with Jess. 

Jess gives you a warm hug, and Lyla follows before pushing up heart shaped glasses. 

" Damn, girl." Jess gives a low whistle, hands on her shoulders to turn you this way and that. 

They make you giggle, with a warmth that blooms at your chest. 

"Was it that cute guy from last night?" 

Lyla interrupts. " Jun! Did he send you a little something after you got home?" 

"Did you ditch Miguel to get some?" 

"God, did you invite Jun over? " 

Jess gasps, before quickly adding. "No judgement, of course. Once upon a time, we probably would've done the same thing." 

It's a back and forth that gives you whiplash, dodging fastballs that get hit into the tiles. Not trusting yourself to speak, you shake your head, demurely. 

"...are you telling us you didn't have sex last night? Because that glow says something different."

You clamp down any words that might give you away, but Jess' sharp eyes latch onto the cracks: a little smile tugging at the sides of your lips. 

"So not Jun … but someone else? Last night…? " 

The penny drops and then she's grabbing at you and Lyla. When realisation hits the mousy brunette to your side, she's flinging off pink shades to look you in the eye. 

"You fucked Miguel?" 

"No!" You're hissing, trying to calm raucous behaviour. "Technically, not… yet."

"Not yet? " Lyla repeats, astonished. "I mean, I thought you two were already–" 

"It makes sense! Could've sworn I saw his knees shakin' today…"

"Okay, okay…" You're laughing, finally understanding the magnitude of the grenade you've just lobbed at them. "It wasn't like that . It's not a thing."

"...do you want it to be a thing?" 

You tilt your head, pretending to think on it. Yes , you want to ride him till something breaks; but Miguel is a walking red flag. You know, deep down, nothing good can come out of it. 

"Don't… don't say it like that."

"Look, Ly, she wants it to be a thing. "

" Definitely. It's basically already a thing ." Lyla concurs, nodding firmly. 

"Fuck you guys." It's not said with spite, leaving your mouth with a smile. 

"Oh, no. You like 'em tall, and tan, and a little grumpy. You mean: Fuck me, Miguel. "

You're swatting her away, whilst Jess is doubled over in laughter; hand on the ceramic to steady herself. They're good fun; raucous and boisterous and making you feel welcome, when you know they really don't have to. 

The laughter dies down, and they're leading you out of the bathroom to their side of the table, chattering away. Jess digs into another pancake, rock hard, and all of a sudden you're telling her about the waffles at Pam's Diner, and all the interesting characters you've met there. Lyla nurses another sweet cocktail, chattering on about a pre-game she's got in a couple of hours; and then you're exchanging stories about hangovers and missed lectures. 

From their conversation, you slowly learn what a debrief entails: the remnants of a tradition they'd started when 19 and spotty. All of them, friends of friends, roommates, classmates; growing to know each other in the dinky bar across the street from their dorms. Tending to hangovers in the morning from an all night rager, or pre-gaming before the biggest events of the year: it's something that trickled down to every so often later in their adulthoods. It's something else Miguel started, surprising you yet again. 

So absorbed in their heart-to-heart, time flies by; and late breakfast turns to brunch. You're exchanging phone numbers, and left smiling from lots of little tete-a-tetes, before Miguel tries to drag you to the car. One last goodbye had turned into two, which had turned into four; and then he's grumbling alone in the car for a dire couple of minutes. 

You open the door, glowing. Your mood dampens immediately as you sit down; soured by Miguel's own swirling dark cloud. He seems worse than before, somehow. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, the air thick with something. Where you would've bit your tongue before, pushed down difficult-to-say words, now, you find a surge of confidence. 

"Miguel," You start, and he turns; key still in the ignition. 

You look around at the parking lot, mostly empty, except for you two. 

"Can we talk?" 

"...sure." His tone seems anything but sure; which feels like a first, for him. 

"About last night."

"Oh." And then he's gone again, eyes flicking around the cab of the car. All of a sudden the mirror needs fixing, and he's fiddling with some buttons on the dash. 

You place a hand on his to still him. He doesn't flinch. 

"Are you okay?" 

"Yeah." He shrugs. You don't believe him. 

"Did you like it?" 

He pauses, chewing his lip. " Yes ."

You believe that . 

"Good." You hum. "I liked it. But you made me feel like shit, too."

He softens. "I did?"

"You did. You only wanted me after you saw me with someone else. After I kissed Jun."

You wait to see if he admits it, and his hand curls into a fist, tight. His grip relaxes, and then his voice comes out in a whisper. 

"Y-Yeah… I was jealous." He seems remorseful, at least. 

You sigh. "I don't want a relationship with you, or anything. But it made me feel like… an object. A conquest, another notch on your belt because you only want me when you can't have me. It made me feel shitty, Miguel."

"I fucked up," He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Wasn't really thinking, chula. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Miguel. I like fucking around with you." You say it with a small smile. "I want… more ."

"Me too." He's smiling back, shy, brushing against you with fingers stretched out.  

"That's fine, more than fine. We can do this because I make you feel good, and you make me feel good, and somehow… this works . But we need to keep this," Gently, you push away his hand, gesturing between you both. "...and us separate. My heart can't take the possibility of this blowing up. And… And it's probably going to be me; 'cuz I seem to like getting my heart broken."

You give a watery laugh, but he doesn't laugh with you; instead, boring into your soul with red-brown eyes. 

"If we're going to do this, it means I can't kiss you, properly ; it means no cuddling after sex, or staying the night in your bed." It's why you couldn't kiss him before, and you hope he understands. "You can say no… you probably should say no. But that's what I want, right now. And those are my terms."

It takes a moment before he respond, mulling it over, and you barely breath in the interim. 

"I want you ." He nods slowly, and then more firmly as he turns the key in the ignition. The engine rumbles to life, as Miguel turns to you with as best a smile he can manage. Lip cut, hair smattered across his forehead, and thick brows softening; he says, firmly, " Yeah, I'd like that."

_

_

_

Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns

@ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings @aiyaaayei @hyp-oh-critical @tea-earl-grey-thot @sunset-euphoria @moonsio @akiras-key@szaplsdropthealbum@levanneisdumb @naiya-patel17 @Serostapesweat @strawberrymiguel @yumeeesss @errorundyne-exe @spear-bitch @redsoleily @marsissoswag @slezhara @ye4gerzz @adlct515 @nanam1 @indigocookie @cincocosas-blog @starguiders @path0logicalpeoplepleaser@funkyfishy@whoreloll@eugeab@tarjapearce@maddielikesmoths@egotaestical

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #rigor mortis 😼 #kat_writes😼 #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara smut

[theemporium]

Ahhh🧸🧸🧸 lando with his teen daughter who got drink for the first time? Maybe she snuck out when she wasn’t meant to but instead of being mad he’s just sweet and taking care of her and glad nothing happened to her🥹 maybe a lil snarky bc he’s lando

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

“And where have you been all night, missy?”

Lando pressed his lips together when he watched his daughter freeze at the bottom of the steps and despite her back being to him, he could envision the look on her face so clearly. He knew exactly where she was. He knew exactly what she had done. But it was still sweet that she thought she was being subtle with the whole thing.

He knew the second you said no to your daughter about a party she wanted to attend, that she was going to disobey anyways. He saw the glint in her eyes, the same glint of mischief he recognised on his own. He knew she would be sneaking out. And maybe he should have prevented it, but he would’ve rather his daughter rebel when he was aware rather than do something worse when he wasn’t around.

He stayed awake, keeping an eye on her location (which she had stupidly forgotten to turn off) and made sure he was prepared to jump in the car if something happened. Eva was a daddy’s girl through and through, and he knew he would be the first person she would call if something happened.

Thankfully, nothing had happened except for the door she accidentally slammed on her way into the house.

“Uh,” Eva cleared her throat, gripping onto the bannister as she started to sway. “Midnight walk?”

“At four in the morning?” Lando countered.

“Midnight walks are about the vibe, not the time,” Eva said, her back still to Lando.

“And did you happen to encounter any alcohol on this walk?” Lando asked, watching the way her whole body tensed before she turned around, an innocent smile on her face.

“Don’t be silly, dad,” she scoffed, only to let out a little hiccup before she could finish her sentence. 

He gave her a soft smile. “C’mon, champ, let’s get you sobered up and in bed before you throw up on the carpet. Your mum will kick off if she wakes up to vomit stains, trust me.”

Eva opened her mouth to disagree, to wave her father off and insist she wasn’t drunk and that she was perfectly fine. But then she was stumbling and Lando was rushing towards her, and her limbs just felt so heavy from the walk between the taxi and the front door and she couldn’t be bothered hiding it anymore. 

“M’sorry,” she muttered, the words muffled as she rested her head on her father’s chest.

“It’s fine, honey,” Lando assured her as he wound one arm around her back and the other behind her knees, swooping her up in his arms as he began to head upstairs. “You’re a teenager. It’s what you crazy kids do.”

“Are you mad?” Her voice was so small, so scared. He hated it.

“Never, Eva-Bunny,” he murmured as he pressed a kiss to her hairline. “Just wanna know you’re safe. That’s all me and your mother want.”

“I know,” she sighed, nuzzling her face against the soft fabric of the hoodie he was wearing. “M’sorry for lying.”

“It’s not me you have to apologise to,” he said as he gently pushed her bedroom door open with his foot. “You’re gonna have a killer headache as your punishment in the morning.”

Eva let out a whine. “I don’t want it.”

Lando snorted. “You don’t get a choice, honey.” He placed her down on the bed, lying her head on the pillow before he moved to grab some clothes she could change into while he went down to get her some water and painkillers. “If you’re lucky, your mum will make her infamous hangover cure. Use the puppy dog eyes, she could never say no to those.”

Eva gave him a sleepy smile. “Think you can do something to piss her off so she isn’t too mad at me in the morning?” 

“And put myself in the line of fire?” Lando retorted before giving her a matching smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, dad.”

“Anytime, Eva-Bunny.”

.

#cece's slumblurb party #lando norris #formula one #f1 #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fic #lando norris one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

I Won't Lose You

I've been told by all my friends who have played bg3 that durge runs should not be the first run of the game but here I am, doing just that. In my defense, I want to go around as a fictional dragonborn trying to kill most things and save scumming on dialogue choices for approval ratings.

Summary: The dark urge takes over when Astarion gets injured in battle. In the aftermath, you flee, afraid of what the others think of you now but Astarion goes after you to bring you back to camp and reassure you that nothing has changed.

When the arrow pierces through his shoulder, all you can see is red. Blood roars in your ears, a scream tears itself from your throat and you change. You become a different person, your legs move of their own accord, the dagger in your hand twirls and you stab downwards. Over and over again you stab, blood splattering all over you but you don’t care. You’re not thinking, everything is a blur except the one word that rings in your head.

Kill.

And so you kill, your dagger tearing into flesh and drawing blood with each sickening squelch. The metallic taste floods your tongue and you grin. You feel alive, powerful, invincible. No one can stop you, no one can take anything away from you ever again. Laughter bubbles within your chest, bursting forth as you stand there, head thrown back. Blood drips from your clothes onto the floor but you barely notice it. Euphoria thrums through your veins, you’ve killed the being who tried to take the only thing you have left from you. It feels wonderful.

You feel as though a weight has been lifted from your shoulders and raise your arms towards the sky, laughing all the while.

“Try it! Try and take him away from me!” You yell. “I’ll kill you all!”

Adrenaline rushes through your veins as the goblins flee in terror from the figure covered in blood. Your legs begin to move, feet pushing off the floor as you hunt them down, a wild gleeful look in your eyes. Your dagger slices through their skin, ripping open arteries, tearing off limbs and you only laugh harder at their screams of pain.

You slam your dagger into the neck of the goblin leader, crouching on its back as the body falls to the floor with a loud thud.

“No one can take him away from me,” you growl. “Not even the gods.”

You look up to see your companions’ various reactions, but the only one you really care about is Astarion’s. As you take a step towards him, reaching out with a bloody hand, he takes a step back, ruby eyes wide with horror. For a moment, all he can see is Cazador, drenched in blood with a grin so wide it stretches his face, and then he blinks and you’re standing in front of him, a look of hurt in your eyes.

Before your name can fall from his lips, you’re gone, running into the nearby forest. Everyone turns to look at him, the same question in their minds: what did he do?

Back in camp, Astarion tries to ignore the gnawing feeling in his chest as Shadowheart heals his injury. He can’t shake the look you gave him before running away, the fear that filled your gaze. He recognised the look, after all, it was the same as the one he wore as Cazador’s spawn – the look of despair.

“I’m going out for a walk,” he says and leaves the camp before anyone can say anything. In all honesty, he has no idea how to find you, all he knows is that he has to. He can’t leave you alone to fend for yourself, especially not in that condition of yours. Letting out a sigh, he makes his way back to the battle site. He can try starting from there, track the scent of your blood and hopefully find you before anything else does.

When he reaches the site, he notices a lone figure sitting by the bloodstained rubble, their knees hugged against their chest.

“Y/N,” he calls out. You look up, and then quickly look back down, curled even more into yourself. Astarion feels his undead heart ache at the sight of your current state. You’ve always been the life of the party – cheerful, upbeat, optimistic. He’s the one who is broody, sitting in the corner and staring at everyone else and yet here you are, sitting all alone in the cold night with no fire to keep you warm.

“May I inquire as to why you have stolen my role as the broody rogue?” He seats himself next to you whilst maintaining some distance. You keep silent, staring into the distance.

“Come now, darling. Let’s head back to camp, the others miss you dearly, not as much as they miss me of course but –”

“Leave.” Your voice wavers. When he doesn’t move, you repeat your words a little louder. “I said leave.”

“But why, darling? You’re clearly cold and hungry, the camp has both fire and food. Don’t tell me you plan on freezing to death while starving? It’s not a very comfortable way to go,” he tuts. “You should choose a better way of dying.”

“I deserve it,” you mutter. “After what I did.”

“After what you did? You killed the goblins and protected the weak, I don’t believe any of that is deserving of such a slow death.” Astarion attempts to lighten the mood but your face remains sullen.

“You know what I’m talking about. I saw it, the way you looked at me. You don’t want me anymore, you shouldn’t. I’m a monster.” Your voice cracks, tears sliding down your cheeks.

“That’s not the worst thing I’ve seen,” his voice drops to a whisper. “And my feelings for you haven’t changed in the slightest. I still want whatever it is that we have, this weird relationship of ours. Nothing will ever change my mind about it. Your appearance simply…reminded me of something I’d rather forget in that moment, but the situations couldn’t be more vastly different.”

Astarion reaches out with a hand, simply holding an upturned palm towards you. A simple gesture, but one filled with so much meaning between the two of you. You stare at it, a hand slowly reaching out before pulling back again when you see how bloodstained your hand is.

Seeing as you are still in no mood to talk, he continues. “Whenever Cazador was covered in blood, it tended to be my blood. Usually it was after he had finished torturing me for whatever sick reason he had and he would smile at me, asking if I would be his good pet. You were covered in goblin blood, vowing to kill anyone even the gods if they tried to harm me. You were protecting me, not harming me, and I am forever grateful for that.”

Astarion takes your bloodstained hand and presses it against his cheek, leaning into the warm feeling, “I need you, Y/N.”

You feel a fresh wave of tears prick at the corners of your eyes, biting your bottom lip to stop the cascade. He shifts closer to you and leans in, ready to pull away should you flinch but you remain still, looking him in the eye and so he wraps himself around you, holding you tightly.

The dam bursts open and you weep, clutching at his tunic. Ugly tears dampen his sleeve, ruining his perfect appearance but Astarion doesn’t care. He’d do anything for you, just like how you’d do anything for him. The vampire spawn rests a reassuring hand on the back of your head while the other rubs circles on your back as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. Right now, only you matter, and if you needed a shoulder to cry on, he would be that shoulder.

“I can’t lose you,” you sob through the tears. “I’ve lost everything else already, I can’t lose you too. WIthout you, I…I don’t know what to do. You’re the only one who keeps me going.”

Astarion presses his lips to your head, closing his eyes as he takes in your sweet scent, “I can’t lose you either, Y/N, and I promise, we will remain by each other’s side forever.”

His words make you cry harder and you bury yourself into his chest, crying until you have nothing left to give and lie there panting, cries reduced to sniffles. Astarion kisses away the tears that remain on your cheek, lips lingering longer than necessary with each kiss before pressing his forehead against yours.

“All these years, I’ve always wondered if anyone would ever care about me to the point where they would do anything to protect me, and now I’ve found my answer in you,” he murmurs. “I couldn’t be happier knowing that you would choose me over everything else.”

“I love you too,” you whisper back. “Thank you, for accepting me after seeing what I really am.”

“Any time, dearest.” He continues to cradle you in his arms, gently swaying from side to side. As your eyelids begin to flutter shut, he decides that tonight, it can’t just be you who is vulnerable. You trust him enough to drop your guard to this extent around him, he wants to repay the favour.

“I had a nightmare about you, just the other night.” He gently pushes your hair out of your face, tracing your jawline. He’s been wanting to keep this a secret, afraid of scaring you but since you had challenged the gods themselves, perhaps a vampire wasn’t that scary in comparison.

“Did I look hot in it?”

Astarion blinks in surprise. Maybe he was rubbing off on you too much. Amusement colours his face as he gives your cheek a poke and pouts. “First you steal my role as the broody rogue in the party and now you try to take my place as the residential flirt?”

“It’s all your fault,” you huff good naturedly, folding your arms across your chest. “You’ve been a terrible influence on me.”

He smiles softly, giving you a peck on the lips, “I suppose I have. Although I must say, you have a long way to go before you can ever reach my level.”

“I can’t possibly put you out of a job, can I? Whatever will I do to keep my vampire lover around then?”

“You simply need to exist, darling. That is all.”

Your gaze softens and you press your lips against his, kissing him deeply.

“Do you want to talk about your nightmare?” You ask once you reluctantly break away from the kiss to breathe. He nods, swallowing hard.

“Cazador had you. He threatened to kill you unless I returned to him, threatened to turn you into one of his spawn just like me and make you suffer for an eternity while I watched. You swore and cursed at me, saying all this was my fault, that it was all because of me that you were now on the cusp of being turned into a vampire spawn, and I –” His fingers tremble. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Star –”

“I hesitated! I thought about putting myself before you, and I –”

“I want you to do that.”

His eyes widen, “darling, you can’t possibly –”

“Star, you’ve spent far too long putting everyone before yourself. You need to start putting yourself before others from time to time, to stand up for yourself. I want you to live your own life, not someone else’s. And if Cazador ever comes for us, well I won’t let him separate us. We’ll have each other’s backs as we always do, and he won’t stand a chance.”

You say it with such certainty that Astarion almost believes you, but a nagging voice in the back of his head reminds him of how strong Cazador is. Yet, looking deep into your eyes and seeing your resolve, a small part of him dares to hope again. Maybe, he really could stand up against his master with you by his side. Maybe one day, he really could be free, but for now, he’s more than content to simply hold you in his arms, feeling your warm embrace and his undead heart soaring.

#astarion bg3 #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion x you #astarion #astarion angst #astarion romance

[hyuckmov]

haechan — settle down pt.3 (rockstar hyuck) | preview

wc: 904 words genre: angst, suggestive? | read part 1, part 2 a/n: life is crazy and scary, but this fic and interacting with u guys about it has been a constant and i'm so grateful for that :) motivating myself to keep going by posting this here, this is the opening to part 3 - the final part! let me know what u think!!! thank u for all the love <3

there was something wrong with haechan.

something's different. that's what jeno had said earlier, after the show. exhausted from sleepless nights, screaming fans making him feel nauseous, haechan barely paid attention to anything during his performances except for his own guitar. he hardly looked at the crowd, didn't acknowledge their pleas of his name, as if it wasn't one he recognised at all. 

he'd started missing parties, and was barely there even if he showed — ignoring the way girls swarmed around him, wondering if he was playing a new game, one where they had to work harder to earn his attention, one that they never could seem to win.

but out of all of haechan's bad habits, this might be the worst of them – sitting in the living room past midnight, sipping down to the last dregs of his alcohol, waiting for the knock on his door. 

it was late now — so late that the hours had bled into the next day. he hadn't seen you at the concert, not at the party, and despite telling himself not to dream, not to hope, he still carried enough desperation in him to stay up again. 

he's relieved he did. 

his hands shake as he opens the door. his hands falling to his sides as he drinks in the sight of you, letting you in. 

"hi," you breathe, and you don't ask before you lean into him, soft lips brushing his plush ones. 

he's at a loss for words, his tongue numb in his mouth, limbs still heavy from how tired he'd been all day. he lets you guide him to the couch, into the cushions. lets you straddle his hips, holding your body close to his with careful arms, as he meets your kisses gently.

something's different, but haechan's not the only one who's changed. on nights like these, it feels like all you do is take and take and take. 

"i haven't seen you in a while," he murmurs. quietly, softly, the words almost getting lost in between kisses. immediately after he says the words, he slots his lips with yours firmly, as if afraid of what you would say if he let the space between you and him grow, his tongue stroking over yours. 

"i've been busy." at the crestfallen look on his face, a small smile tugs at your lips, and you lean in to brush your lips with his. "why? did you miss me?" 

"i did," he says, almost timid. "i missed you."

at this, you raise your eyebrows. "you could have had anyone else." 

but he shakes his head. "i missed you," he repeats, hands mapping your skin, as if checking if you were really here, seeking the familiar way you fit into his palms, your slopes and your edges. 

"i missed you too," you say, meaningfully, letting him pull you in. but when you push against him, body rocking into his and mouth open and wanting, the glow in your eyes tells him you're talking about something else entirely. 

his mind races. the feeling of you against him wakes him up like nothing else, the way you touch him, your smell and your taste setting fire to all his senses. there's something sweet about your lips tonight, something he wants to savor on his tongue and drown in all at once. 

he doesn't want to waste any of this, because this was the only thing you ever wanted to see him for, now — and that's what he reminds himself as he pulls you into his body, because finally, finally, your attention is all on him, an electric heat simmering over each fibre of his being, the feeling of your body too good to be true.

but it's been one too many nights he's waited, a weight on his chest and a drowsiness he can't shake overcoming him like a cloyingly sweet poison. 

"i–" he's cut off by a shuddering inhale as your lips travel down to his neck, your hips grinding against him just right. "baby, i'm sorry," he tries again, his hands now gripping onto your waist, trying to steady you, even as he gives up. "i don't think i can take care of you tonight." 

you still. 

"don't go, please," he begs. "i'm sorry, it's been…it's been a long day and i…" he breaks off. the performance. the fight with the band. the fact that he'd been drinking for hours, the starless sky inky black outside his window, his fingers still stinging from plucking at guitar strings all night. "just give me a second," he stammers, burying his face in his hands, tugging at his features, before looking up at you with tired eyes. "i'll be fine in a minute, then we'll go to the bedroom, i just —" 

your hands slide down the slope of his shoulders. 

"don't go," he repeats, hands fumbling for yours as he brings them up to his lips, like a prayer. "i can take care of you, i promise. just…" 

"donghyuck," you say, softly. again you smile, cupping his face in your palms. his round cheeks, plush lips, the slight flare of his nose. he almost goes cross-eyed staring at you, as you lean in close and kiss him again – this one different than the rest, close-lipped and chaste. 

"hyuck, let me take care of you tonight, okay?" 

caught in a riptide of his own longing, he lets go.

#haechan angst #fic: rockstar haechan #haechan smut #haechan x reader #haechan au #nct dream angst #nct dream smut #nct angst

[fanaticsnail]

I just binged a bunch of your fics and I have a tiny request for you! Could you do headcanons for Zoro and/or Sanji with a selkie reader (together or separately)? Please and thank you!!

Masterlist here.

Word Count: Background Drabble, 700+. Per gentleman, 600+.

Hello dear anon! Thank you for challenging me with a mythical fic! I enjoyed my time crafting it for you. I hope you don't mind, I wrote them as more mini-fics/drabbles rather than HCs. I also snuck in an extra character because apparently the heart wants what it wants today, and I can't deny the words from wording.

Selkies are an aquatic race of fey native to the cold, wet northern coastlines. They live in villages on the shore, and occasionally mingle with outsiders. They have a particular wariness of humans, due to their tendency to steal their seal skins, but Selkie are otherwise very sociable creatures that love exploring the shores and the oceans beyond (Fact link, 5e Race)

@writingmysanity @gingernut1314

There was a battle above the surface, that was one thing you were certain of. Cannonfire, ricocheting iron balls and splintering of the wooden masts above the waves. You had never seen such violence, such hatred between two peoples. Recognising the marine lettering was no difficulty for you; their kind gracing your shores with regularity. 

It was the other vessel that drew you in. You heard laughter ringing down below the ocean surface, halting you in your retreat as you sought out its source with your blackened eyes. Your sisters had long since fled from the display of violence, opting to hide away and wait for the fighting to stop. But you remained behind, desperately seeking out the conclusion to the battle above. 

Suddenly, the marine ship began to flee from the engagement, but not before a figure was cast into the water and began rapidly sinking to the oceanic floor. Your eyes widened, your tail-flipper carrying you with haste to bring yourself over to the figure without a second thought. 

His hair was dark, his eyes were tightly shut, and his limbs refused to move in a way to propel him away from his approaching death within the salt water. A devil-fruit user, you thought, bringing your curious eyes over to his and seeking them out beneath his closed eyelids. The small scar below his left eye had your head cocking to the side in curiosity. 

“Luffy!” you heard several voices cry from above the surface of the water, the man’s eyes immediately opening to meet your own. His shock was written all over his face, his breath releasing in a bubbled huff that had his arms attempting to raise upwards to collect his breath to no avail. 

“Luffy,” you called in your oceanic language, smiling your feral face into his; revealing rows of sharpened teeth in a wide smile. His panic continued to rise, his lungs screaming for air as you took your time studying him. You drew your face impossibly close to his, unblinking eyes studying him as he struggles against the water. “Luffy,” you again called to him, your eyes and face beginning to relay a humanoid likeness, “Let me help you.” 

You ushered your body beneath his, chaperoning him to the surface of the water and drawing his body up to the surface of the water. He immediately sucked in a large ballooned breath of air, his neck snapping towards his ship to seek out the concerned and panicked faces of the members of his crew. After he made eye contact and flashed them a winning grin, he turned back to face your animalistic and beastly face, and upturned his eyes in gratitude. 

“You think you could take me to the ship?” He asked, a mischievous twinkle now reflected in his eyes as he checked over you. You nodded, beginning to ride the propelling waves over to the vessel. The figurehead of a ram was carved intricately against the ship’s stern, a beauty to behold as you danced your flipper and easily propelled you both to the splintered and fractured wood. 

He wrapped his arms around your upper flippers, nuzzling into the back of your neck and uttering his gratitude against your skin. Your voice harshly barked a cracked laugh at the gesture, enjoying his playfulness and kindness as he continued to tell you what a good seal you were. 

“Luffy, what are you doing?!” A woman with orange hair called out to him, eyes wide and panicked. 

“This seal saved me from drowning!” he called in return, with his broad smile pleasantly cracking his face, “Gotta rub its belly and thank it with a big scratch and a cuddle!” As Luffy drew himself over to the ship, he jumped from your back and took hold of the rigging above and began his slow climb to the top of the water. 

Your instincts screamed at you to return to your sisters, to withdraw away from these sailors; but as soon as your eyes sprung over to meet your eyes with theirs. Why, you were completely hypnotized.

Hoisting your body upwards, your beastly form shedding from your human form and shrouding yourself in a cloak of blubber and fur. You climbed in your nudity to the decks above, hoisting your legs over the side of the ship and revealing yourself to the entirety of the crew in front of you.

“Luffy,” the woman whispered, her shock written all over her face, “That is no mere seal.” Luffy cocked his head over, shock now written on his face at noticing your beauty in your human form.

“That is a selkie.”

Zoro

The swordsman had never seen such beauty in his life. Although immediately drawn in by your otherworldly radiance, as the loyal first mate aboard the Going Merry: he stepped in and ushered the captain behind him and took a protective stance. A darkness was within your eyes, rotating your shoulders as you squared up to face this mysterious man. 

You knew from your place within the water below that when your eyes met his, he was a marvel to behold. But now with your close proximity to him, his valiance and loyalty to his captain had you immediately smitten. Widening your lips in a broad grin, you elevated your hands in front of yourself defensively and bowed your head low to him. 

“I mean neither you nor your crew harm, Protector,” your honeyed voice sweetly called to him. He was taken aback with your voice, stumbling in his step forward as he continued to shield his captain away from you.

“I’ll be the judge o’ that, Ningyo,” he uttered with a smirk;his eyes displaying a similar ferocity to yours in your bestial form. 

And that is when you decided you were going to court him. Your soul cried out to join with his; immediately smitten with the swordsman. You stayed with the crew for months, subtle touches over his shoulders, leaving a fresh kill at his feet first, before Sanji took it to the kitchen to properly prepare it. Everything you did, you did to please the swordsman. Every fiber of your being called to him and courted him. 

You began leaving your furred skin around in places for him to find, only for him to return it to you with a deep scowl and a verbal reprimand of: “Can ya stop leaving this around the place? It’s really annoying.” 

It was only when Usopp and Nami physically sat him down and spelt out the courting practices of Selkie folk that had his face burning with a bright vibrance and his eyes widened. His lips downturned in a deep frown as his blush rose, his shock at your shameless audacity of courting him so publicly without any context of his lacking comprehension.

He decided a full frontal confrontation was what was needed to tackle this, no room for any other mistaken intentions and misdirection for his lack of direction sense.

“You been leaving your blubber ‘round for me to find, Ningyo?” he yelled at you, heads snapping up from the crew around as they witnessed this verbal spat. 

“Yes,” you confirmed, laying back and basking in the sun atop the wooden deck.

“Why?” His pointed hazelnut gaze held the intensity of a man staring down his enemy. You refused to shy away; instead rising to your feet and squaring up to him.

“Because I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine,” your lip curled at the corner, your sharpened canines baring out in your brilliant smile. He reached down, claiming your biceps within his wide fingers and palm.

“Why me?” He growled, his tone low enough for only you to hear. You reached up your hand, softening your smile and cradling his angry face beneath your palm.

“Because I love you, Zoro,” you cooed up at his face, eyes half-lidded and full of nothing short of full adoration. His breath hitched in his throat, his mind not keeping up with the words you were relaying to him. 

“This why you kept bringin’ me fish?” He asked you, his nose crinkling up as his smile broke through onto his lips. You nodded, leaning into his face. You gently brushed your nose with his, closing your eyes as you breathed him in. 

Breaking from the gentle touch, you withdrew your nose from its contact and quickly bore your teeth at him, biting his chin in a gentle nip. He flinched at the contact, eyes widening at your expression.

“Next time I leave it out for you,” you growled at him, “Don’t bring it back to me, Protector.”

“I won’t, Ningyo.”

Sanji

Sanji’s breath was sucked from his lungs, his eyes wide and wild at seeing a creature of myth and legend aboard the deck of the ship. He watched as your eyes slowly assessed the crew, your gaze lingering on Luffy before your gaze snapped and met with his. Your lips parted, your heart rose into your throat as your eyes began to widen at him.

From your position below the waves, shepherding the member of the pirate crew back above deck, you drew your attention to the blond member of the crew and were immediately intrigued. As your eyes met with his rounded, gray orbs; you knew for certain: 

This man was the most beautiful sight you had ever laid your eyes on. And looking at him, you knew he was immediately taken with you too. 

But you refused to give into your emotions that easily. 

For the next few months, you found yourself constantly nearby the ship known as the Going Merry. You constantly checked up on their non-swimming captain to ensure his safety traveling the seas, but your eyes always fell over the form of the chef amongst them. Each time you would leave, you always looked over your shoulder to notice the way his eyes would linger on you - always holding hope that you would turn back around and remain with him. 

Before you really knew what you were doing, you began ushering grandiose feasts of fish and crustaceans towards the Merry, always ensuring your blond was well supplied with a variety of ingredients from within the depths of the ocean. 

Kelp, seaweed and shells of vast variety began to find themselves on the windowsill of the kitchen; just as flowers, beads and brightly coloured stones were left out for you to find as you placed the gifts there. Each present had your heart swelling, but continuing to remain strong in not giving into your human emotions. He was human, and you were not. 

As the ship pulled into a far off dock, Sanji’s eyes met yours as you attempted to remain coy to his attention. You were bathing in the ocean; your lengthy hair covering the linen against your chest and over your hips, pelvis and glutes. Your eyes were shut, raking a sharpened, toothed stone through your hair to detangle it of its strands - your fur and blubber skin cast aside atop a rock behind you. 

Sanji was no fool. As soon as he began harboring affection for you, he asked Nami and Usopp for a variety of literature pertaining to aquatic mythos. He knew that if he were to claim your fur for himself, you would have no choice but to be with him. 

He bid a hasty farewell to his crew for the evening, gesturing with his chin over to your position to alert Nami to his intentions. She pursed her lips, attempting to hold back her smile as Sanji drew himself closer to you. 

As he drew his shaky hands over the skin laying so innocently against the moss-covered gray rocks, he stilled his descent and retracted his hand. Sensing his hesitation, you looked over your shoulder at him but chose not to address him. Your body and mind screamed at him to take it, to claim it for himself and, in turn, claim you. But as the seconds drew into minutes, minutes turning into several cold and unbroken moments - you finally turned to make eye contact with the chef behind you. 

He was sat directly beside your fur, a cigarette beginning to relinquish its flames down to the filter as he took in the nicotine-laced smoke. His expression was unreadable, stoic and still: something you had not seen reflected on his eyes in all the months you had known him.

“Sanji?” you asked, your brows furrowing in question. He shook his head, inhaling a final breath of his cigarette before stifling the tip and stuffing the butt into his pouch for later disposal. “Sanji, why won’t you claim me?” He again shook his head, closing his eyes and turning himself away from you. 

“I wanted to, mon cœur, believe me,” he confessed, nodding his head but holding his eyes closed. 

“Then why didn’t you?” you rose to your human feet and began stalking over to him. As you drew yourself over to his seated form, you knelt low before him, falling to your knees in front of him. 

“I would never force you to be with me, mon trésor. No matter how much I want you, I would never want you to be mine without knowing it’s truly what you want,” he confessed, opening his eyes to meet his eyes with yours once more. His eyes were pools of true adoration and love, swimming amongst the sunset reflected off the horizon. 

You sighed, reaching down and collecting your fur from its place beside Sanji and bundling it within your arms. Holding it tightly and firmly within your arms, you firmly squeezed it against your chest to hold it one last time before gently bowing your head and presenting it out to him. 

“This belongs to you, Sanji,” you whispered, stretching out your arms further in front of you, “Like my heart: it will always belong to you.” You heard his breath hitch in his throat, immediately falling to his knees in front of you and drawing you in for an embrace. He was quick to cradle you against his torso, smoothing his hands over your slightly damp hair and placing a sweet amount of quick kisses against your temple and hairline. 

You pulled away from his embrace, looking steadily into his eyes at first before propelling your face into his to claim his lips beneath your own. Your movements were slow, dancing with skill and passion as you took his bottom lip between your sharpened teeth. He groaned against your lips, whimpering as you dropped your fur and entangled your arms around him in a strong embrace. You clawed at his back in an attempt to hold him closer to you, your nails tearing small holes into the back of his jacket and finding residence in his muscular flesh beneath the material. 

“I will return it to you when you desire to go home to your sisters, mon cherie,” Sanji whispered, his heart swelling at your confession, “I know you will always belong to the wilds, and I refuse to selfishly keep you with me when humanity becomes all too much for you.” 

Hearing a small winced whimper, you broke away from his lips and gazed into his eyes. He looked at you with nothing but true adoration and love, his eyes softening as he pressed his forehead against yours. 

“I love you, Sanji,” you confessed, your voice low and as sweet as honey-wine. Sanji’s smile continued to shine against his cheeks, his eyes dancing lights behind the irises at such an impossible notion. To harbor the adoration of a mythical creature of great renown and legend, that was no easy feat. 

“I love you too,” he confessed, brushing the tip of his nose against yours, “And I hope to continue to be worthy of such affection from someone as amazing as you.”

Luffy

“A selkie, hey?” He exclaimed with glee, immediately bringing himself before you, “Does that mean I can’t give you belly rubs, a scratch and a cuddle?” At that small question, your heart immediately swelled with the fierce desire to travel with this devil-fruit user. 

“I do not think a belly rub or a scratch would be appropriate in this form, no,” your melodious and sweetened giggle sprung gleefully into the air. Luffy huffed out his own laughter, immediately wrapping his arms around your shoulders and drawing you close to him.

“Thank you for saving me, seal,” he cooed in your ear, squeezing you impossibly tight within his arms. After breaking his face away from your shoulder, he continued to hold you within his circular grip as he gazed into your eyes. You danced your gaze between his two caramel orbs, staring up at him through your eyelashes as his warm smile became contagious. 

“I am not a seal, Luffy,” you purred, baring your sharpened canine teeth at him as your smile broadened. 

Luffy couldn’t explain this emotion he felt, but he knew he wanted you to travel with him. Always with him. Never far from sight, not even when in your seal form and dancing in the waves below. He would patiently wait for you to crawl up the hull of the ship and meet your eyes with his; relishing in the ways your smile crept atop your lips as you savoured the mirrored reflection he met you with. 

He wanted to keep you. He needed to keep you. 

And you felt exactly the same. This sailor, this captain among the straw-hat pirates with the dream of becoming king of them. You wanted him as much as he wanted you. And so, you made it apparent. 

Swimming below the depths and finding the most beautiful pearl within the heart of several clams; you presented him with your treasures. You brought him the flesh of your fresh kills, presenting him with the raw, sweeter, meats and watched him enthusiastically dine on the creatures - before becoming violently ill most times.

Sanji managed to sit you down in the kitchen, reprimanding you firstly before directing you to bring them to him for him to make the meat safe for human consumption. You did not take well to this notion, wanting him to see how hard you worked to provide for your beloved captain. 

It was one night where you physically bore yourself before him, your body only clad in sheer linen as you presented your furred flesh to him with a warm flush littering your cheeks. Unaware of its significance, he immediately placed it over his body, removing his straw hat and placing your otherworldly head atop his own. It swelled your heart to witness him take to your gift with such enthusiasm, truly allowing yourself to humble before this pirate and allow him to claim you as his own. 

“Thank you, seal,” he smiled at you, wrapping the skin around himself as one would a plush duvet to shield themselves from the cold, “why are you giving me your skin? I don’t understand.”

You sighed out an exasperated breath, your shoulders slouching and brows upturning in sorrow. He immediately snapped upright and rigid, removing his hands from beneath the flesh and collecting your shoulders beneath his palms. 

“What does this mean, seal?” he asked you, his eyes displaying concern as he held you firm, “You’re not gonna leave, are you? I don’t want you to go. I want you always with me-.”

“-This means I am yours,” you confessed, your eyes refusing to meet his, “And by you accepting it; it means you are mine.” He sucked in a hasty and large breath through his nose, his eyes widening as his lungs swelled. He closed his eyes as he moved his hands over your shoulders. 

“You won’t leave? You won’t go back to your family?” He sought out your eyes with his own, angling his head down to collect your gaze, “You’ll stay with me?” 

“You’re my dream, Luffy,” you smiled, your eyes finally meeting his caramel orbs, “And I want to always be with you.”

#one piece #opla #x reader #opla fic #one piece live action #zoro #sanji #luffy #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #luffy x reader #zoro drabble #sanji drable #luffy drabble #sanji x selkie!reader #zoro x selkie!reader #luffy x selkie!reader #monkey d luffy #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #roronoa zoro

[syrupgirl]

The stars from two points of view -Neteyam

The gentle rippling on small waves echoed below Neteyam’s head. All he could think about was how the sound of the ocean was so different from the sea. Well, duh he thought.

He groaned and rolled onto his side, looking out onto the waters. As beautiful as these islands were, the humidity could be stifling. Just another thing he had to get used to.

It wasn’t a bad change, the circumstances, yes, but this land, these waters they now called home were so boundless. Filled with new, interesting people and more opportunity for adventure.

If he looked hard enough, Neteyam could see young ilu playing in the water out front. He smiled, his days were filled with swimming through those same channels. Probably what he would be doing tomorrow as well.

“Neteyam? Are you awake?” The oldest Sully child shot up from his lying position, looking around like a madman.

“Be still, it is only me!” Oh, he could recognise the voice now. He could also pick out the pair of blue-green eyes that met his from over the edge of the netting that surrounded his families home. Neteyam smiled as you pressed a finger to your lips before dipping below the walkway.

The young man glanced behind him. His mother and father tucked into each other with little Tuk nestled between them. Lo’ak was sprawled out and snoring, while Kiri lay with her back to him. All seemed to be sleeping deeply. Perfect.

Neteyam felt like a little kid as he snuck out. Back in the forest, he had gotten into his fair share of trouble with his father because he snuck out, but that was always with Lo’ak, or Kiri, or Spider, or even Tuk. But now, here, he felt like he could finally breath a little, be his own person, and not the golden child he felt reduced to.

Neteyam peered over the edge, expecting to see you floating down there, maybe smiling at him if he dared to dream, but all he saw was a few small fish milling around in the water below.

Confused, he looked to the sides of him, behind him, even above him (for whatever reason).

“Psst! Are you coming or not?” You laughed at him. Suddenly, Neteyam felt something small and sharp poke him in the ass. He jumped again, looking around and holding his now sore behind. He could hear you laughing, but the magic he once held was quickly being replaced by frustration that he still couldn’t locate you.

“Under here, idiot.”

Finally! He could pinpoint your voice, you were probbaly swimming in the shallows beneath his feet, though he couldn’t see you through the thick woven fibers.

He walked back over to the edge and got on his hands and knees. Ducking, he looked directly underneath the pathways and yelped when he became almost nose to nose with your grinning face.

You grabbed his hand from where it was gripping the edge and went to pull him under with you.

“Hey, hey, hey! We have to be quite! I’ll make a splas-!” Was all he got out before he was plunged into the water below.

His limbs flailed for a second and he opened his eyes. The water surrounding him lit up beautiful shades of blues and greens, and he could see the luminescence lighting up your body as well.

He had a small smile to himself before he headed to the surface to tell you off some more.

-

“-oh and Lo’ak needs to work on his subtlety. Even a blind man could see how he makes eyes at Tsireya.” Neteyam snorted, splashing his hands in the water.

“It is not for nothing, you know. Tsireya keeps to herself, but she admires Lo’ak. In her own way.” You sighed as you floated on your back next to him.

You had decided against bring the Ilu out, worrying it would bring too much attention to you, options just to float on your backs and look into the sky.

The sky was so clear out here, no trees to obscure his view, no Ikran flying across the way, just and endless sea is stars, not unlike the one he was currently wading in. They were probably not unlike each other, the sea and the sky.

“-eyam? Neteyam, are you still with me?” It was like your voice slowly faded back into focus and he glanced over to you.

“Yes, yeah, I’m sorry. I was just…admiring the stars. They are so clear here. Breathtaking.”

You hummed and paddled closer to him, as if to see things more from his point of view.

“You speak like you’ve never seen the stars before, can you not see them from the forest?”

“No, we can see them, there are often things that obscure them, that’s all.”

You didn’t make any noise but he knew you heard him. The ripples of the small waves creating a calm ambiance that fuzzed up his brain.

“You know, when I was small, my mother and father would bundle up my siblings and I and tell us stories of the stars.” Neteyam spoke fondly of his memories, you could hear it in his voice, but there was a sadness to it, a longing.

“I would like to see it one day, the forest. The way you and your family speak of it, it sounds beautiful.” You set your sights on the bot next to you, his beautiful hair rippling around his head like a crown. “I would also like to see the stars from where you watched them with your family. I want to see them from your point of view.”

I want to be the one to take you there he thought. I want to be the one to tell you the stories I was told.

Neteyam turned his head to you. To him, it’s as if you had placed those very same stars in the sky, the same one he could spend endless nights admiring. If he appraised the stars so, where does that put the one who painted them there?

“What?” you smiled, looking into his eyes, seeing those same stars in his eyes.

“It’s nothing, you have nothing to worry about, we have nothing to worry about.”

a/n: I purposefully wrote the dialogue to sound a little formal btw, since that’s kind of how they spoke in the movie. And also, i feel like i need to clarify since Neteyam is fifteen years old that I am his age, and the reader that I write in these fics is also his age, or very close to it.

#i need to work on my dialogue #i’m a minor writing about a minor mkay #not beta read #neteyam x reader #neteyam #avatar #avatar way of water #avatar fanfiction #Jake Sully #lo’ak #neteyam imagine #metkayina!reader #poc!reader #neteyam x metkayina!reader

[https-furina]

“your order is complete!” this order is for @jingyuansbird:

“heyo heyo ✌🏾 congrats on 500! so, for my order, it'll be for alhaitham, size medium, with a cappuccino, soy milk, and foam please, and thank you!!!”

alhaitham x gn!reader | fluff, college!au + established relationship | 1.1k words notes. thank you so much !! i hope you enjoy your order (it should be mentioned that alhaitham despite being a previous main of mine is not one of my strong suits so i apologise if it's bad...) <3

thirsty? see our café menu before you order! | order receipts

with finals week drawing ever closer, it can sometimes feel like you're going insane with the repetitive revision and those god awful prep talks from your professors but adding onto that to make things worse, the most (seemingly) sane person in your circle really doesn't help the looming feeling of insanity. he seems to have no qualms with the endless academic revision thrown onto you for the sake of grades, his head always buried deep in a textbook that keeps him occupied whilst your friend circle do what they're best at… procrastinating.

"i'm really starting to think college isn't worth it," you mumble, highlighting another line in your notes - you're hoping the pretty colours will attract your attention more, "when am i ever going to use this in the 'real' world?"

your boyfriend makes an evidently amused noise from where he sits opposite you, his slim fingers working diligently at typing on his laptop; the one that you had snuck a cat meme sticker onto, much to his dismay but he is still yet to remove it. it is silent for a few moments save for the exceptionally fast clicking of laptop keys before your boyfriend presses the enter key, his turquoise eyes flickering up to meet your already staring gaze. you smile sheepishly and he rolls his eyes, a crack of a smile on the corners of his lips.

"we're almost finished and you're giving up now?" he mumbles back into the quiet of the library, almost filled to the brink with students and their numerous cups of coffee. you recognise that alhaitham has a point but all of this seems excessive when you glance around at all the dark circles under people's eyes, hair tied up in messy buns and stomachs full of leftover food because they're lacking time to cook. a frown adorns your face and alhaitham is quick to pick up on it, clearing his throat as he fixes his posture, sitting straight.

"it's all we've done for weeks now, haitham," you pout, jutting your lower lip out. without realising, you'd just made your boyfriend keen in a matter of seconds, his eyes quick to look away before he's caught slacking, "can we go for a walk? anywhere but… here."

alhaitham can't deny that the pair of you had locked yourselves away in the library for far too long to the point where his limbs have gone stiff and he's sure his knees might sound like he's aged beyond his years when he stands up. this means - much to his disliking - that he also cannot deny you, his darling partner, this walk you're requesting.

"alright, fine," he groans, slamming his laptop shut before he turns his body to slip the piece of technology into his worn leather satchel. he doesn't miss the way your face he adores so much lights up almost instantly, your eyes twinkling and wide, "but you have to promise to finish this chapter tonight."

you don't even reply to him under the premise that it'd be unwise for you to make a promise you may not be able to keep, not that it would be your fault. your friend group had tendencies to rope you into unwise things, to say the least. it could be any of them; kaveh, nilou, cyno, dehya… you have the inability to say no unless alhaitham is there to beat you to it. you're thankful for his input when it keeps you on the right track throughout college.

with your fingers laced with alhaitham's own, the two of you begin to make your way out of the jail that is the campus library. the spring sun beams down a hug of warmth on sumeru during these months, slightly sticky with humidity. alhaitham is always less than pleased about the heat, more so when he has tasks to do that require him leaving his accommodation. to quote your boyfriend, this weather in his eyes is good for nothing at all but here you was, removing him from the safe confides of an air conditioned building that was nonetheless silent - that's his idea of perfection! he bites back saying his complaints out loud, only because it's you.

"do we have a destination to this walk?" alhaitham breaks the silence first, slightly out of character for your boyfriend and it shows when you glance over at him in mild surprise, your eyebrows raised. he scoffs, looking away. you take this moment to trail your eyes over the beloved features of your partner from his silver locks and the pair of white bluetooth headphones that hang around his neck at all times. he never parted from them, almost like how he never parted from you.

you shake your head when you realise you never answered him, clicking your tongue to your teeth as you admire the bustle of the college campus - usually a little too crowded for your own liking but today it seemed to be just perfect, at least it lacked to feel like a sweaty tin of sardines, "nowhere in particular."

alhaitham appears to nod out of the corner of your eyes, his own gaze falling to a patch of empty grass on the green in the middle of campus. he squeezes your hand to catch your attention, beginning to lead you silently as you weave through the aforementioned crowds you'd been mindlessly watching prior. you didn't question his sudden change in directions, knowing alhaitham there was always a possibility the man had gotten overwhelmed in the current situation. he settles onto the lush grass first, pulling you down at his side due to your joined hands which only earns him a yelp of shock and a glare.

"that was unnecessary." you comment stubbornly and a small noise comes from your boyfriend as he watches you finally settle down, resting your head on his shoulder with a sigh.

"this walk was unnecessary." he retorts, earning him a slap on his leg that curls his lips as he looks away, squinting to watch other students.

"it's good to get outside and feel the fresh air, haitham," you muse as your eyelashes flutter shut, relaxing as you feel alhaitham's thumb brushing over your knuckles subconsciously - this is just one of his many habits he does without realising but you most definitely notice every single one, "y'know… photosynthesis."

alhaitham scoffs, suddenly turning his attention back to you as he glances over your face while your eyes are shut. he takes in the way you styled your hair today and the minor details of your face you think nobody notices. seconds pass with no more words said before alhaitham leans to press his lips to you, catching you off guard as your eyes widen. pleased with your reaction, he pulls away with the faintest of a smug expression on his face as he dares to utter a response to your earlier comment, "love, we're not plants."

© https-furina 2023 | please do not copy, re-upload or translate my works on any form of media. heart banner by @/cafekitsune.

#⌞a café on the sea front !!⌝ #( sealed letters ) #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗ #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham fluff #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin impact #https-furina

[sidthedollface2]

A Crown fit for a God (Part 4)

Part 3

Pairing: Azriel x Fem Reader

Ch Summary: A glimpse into how you stumbled upon The Autumn Court, your relationship with Eris and how you fell into Luciens bed.

And/or

Azriel’s jealousy might destroy any chances he has in getting close to you.

word count: 7.4k

Series warnings: 18+ MDNI, SMUT, angst, hurt/comfort, war, including injuries, fighting, no use of y/n, nicknames, magic, greek mythology, pining, jealousy, soft Az with a little temper, azriel with other women (sorry), reader with another man (get it friend ; )

A/n: this ch is heavy on the Vanssera brothers but Az does help you towards the end. I'm a daydreamer not a writer so if you see any mistakes that's how I dreamt it. Lol

It was dark when you arrived in the Autumn Court, a blazing phoenix from the sky. Your limbs felt foreign, heavy and unstable like a newborn fawn. Rustling of leaves echoed in your new ears, startling you briefly. Your skin felt unbelievably warm despite the wind chapping your flushed cheeks. This new place had a smell of sulfur and wood. Burning wood. No. Burning flesh. A cough erupted from you as you risked breathing in the air. Your lungs expand with every inhale, followed by another violent cough.

A feminine voice called out to you ‘child open your eyes.’ The darkness soon vanished as shades of orange and amber filled your vision. You sat in the middle of scorched grounds, a ring of fire surrounding you with flames too high to jump over. Your arms and legs blackened from ash and dirt. The ends of your hair burned from the impact along with the threads covering your small frame. A lovely woman stood on the other side of the ring of fire. Panic and wonder in her green eyes, you assume directed at you. She's speaking to you in a language you recognise, but unable to voice your response.

With a wave of her hand she motions you to follow her. Standing on wobbly legs, weak and malnourished from your journey, you stumble towards her. Through the high flame you emerge, unburnt and to her surprise uninjured. “Come inside child. Let's get you bathed and safe,” she insists, wrapping you in her warm words and caring eyes. She introduces herself as Marrian, The Lady of Autumn, wife to Lord Beron of the Autumn Court. You told her your name as well but she quickly decided to keep your true identity a secret and gave you an alias instead. She explains that this cabin is a refuge for her and her eldest son Eris, though his visits have become scarce. After you've bathed and your body temperature has returned to normal, neither hot nor cold, she offers you a warm meal and insists you stay the night.

Throughout the years living in the small cabin became your home. Lady Autumn treated you like the daughter she never had. She taught you how to wield your fire magic and it was through that training that you both discovered you possessed more than just fire. You were omnipotent. Unlimited power surged through your veins just as it had before you fell into these lands. She had warned you, begged you to never show your true powers.

Males of this world were ruthless, lords and kings would take and take till you were nothing but ash beneath their boots. You found out how evil lords could be when Lady Autumn returned to the cabin. Her pale skin littered with purple and blue bruises. Dried blood caked her knees and elbows. Her oldest son Eris carried her to bed, teary eyed and blood stained as well. “I promise I'll kill them all.” Eris' voice cracked as he said those words, his mothers broken body haunting him, leaving a bitter taste of his family in his mouth. He’d do anything for her, even killing his own father for her safety. It wouldn’t be easy killing his father or his brothers. The high lord had an army at his disposal and if any of his brothers suspected Eris was the reason for their fathers untimely death, he’d be killed. And by default his mother as well. “I promise I’ll help you,” you added with fire in your eyes and revenge in your blood. “ A bargain then,” he confirmed. Death was coming for them. Death was here.

Many moons ago

You had met all of Lady Autumn's sons but only one really stood out to you. At least only one you wanted to know on a deeper level. Lucien. He had a way with words that was kind yet sarcastic and witty. His humor being the reason your cheeks always tinted the deepest red. He was incredibly handsome, tall and lean and to your surprise so much warmer than the other brothers. It was warm out when Mirrian requested for her carriage to be well equipped for her outing to the farmlands, where she’d try her way to ease the stressed farmers. This brought you to the outer stables, where the horses were being prepped for their journey. Immediately you took sight of Lucien, a worried look on his brow as he paced back and forth, biting his lips raw. “Lucien? Is everything alright?” you questioned, concern in your tone as you approached him.

Lucien immediately straightened, “Oh it’s nothing to worry yourself over, just…..I promised a friend one of Mist’s foals and it seems neither will make it.” Mist was the mare to Eris' Stallion, Blue. They had bred them as both were of a champion line, hoping to strengthen the lineage. Just as you were going to reply a young stable boy rushed towards Lucien, breathless with how quick he was running, “She’s passed Lord, the foal too I’m afraid.” Lucien sighed as he looked to the ground, a look of sadness on his face. “Perhaps I could help?” Both Lucien and the young boy looked at you with bewilderment. “Don’t be silly, the boys are more than strong enough to dig-”

“I don’t mean to bury them, Lucien.” You looked to the boy then, “take me to them please.” The young boy looked to Lucien for approval and with a nod you both followed. Lucien trailed behind you, letting his eyes admire you without your knowledge. At one point his step fell in sync with yours. His arms swung with each step, often grazing his hand with yours. Each touch earns a flush to your cheeks paired with a shy smile. Lucien takes notice and in an act of courage takes your small hand within his, lacing your fingers together.

The stable is set up in rows, where each stall is supplied with straw bedding for comfort, fresh clean water and auto feeders. Lucien placed his hand at the small of your back, gently guiding you to Mists’ stall. Her and the foal were laying still among the straw bedding, their eyes closed like if they were just sleeping. Kneeling beside Mist, you began to pet her silky golden mane.

Since arriving in Autumn you hadn’t used this particular power, its presence slowly dissipating. You often wondered if you still had it. You gave her a gentle kiss along her muzzle, the first step to bringing her back. Lucien and the boy stared in awe, not quite sure what to make of your actions. You then brought your hands to cup over your nose and mouth, breathing into them the air from your lungs. The same air that you hope would work its way into Mist. With your breath trapped between your palms you began pumping your palms together like the thump thump of a beating heart. For each 3 pumps you’d rub your hands together, creating a spark of blue dazzling light.

Lucien gasped as he witnessed the light orb grow bigger and bigger until it was the size of Mists heart. He wondered what words you spoke into the orb as it grew and grew, he’d have many questions for you after this. Questions he’s not sure he was ready to hear. Once the ancient words were spoken into the orb you held it gently in your hands, its glow reflecting off your galaxy eye.

Lucien took notice that throughout this whole experience both your eyes had changed to the colors of the night sky, shades of blue and violet mixed with sparkling starlight. Perhaps your pale eye had other uses as well. With one hand you carried the orb towards Mists’ chest, right where her heart lay still. And the other hovering over her head. You looked to Lucien and the young boy, “no sudden movements, and please cover your ears.”

Lucien's brows furrowed in question, but he did as you requested. So did the boy.

Once you saw that their ears were covered you spoke the following words and hoped that your primordial power was still alive.

“I am Khaos, creator of the abyss and all that the sun touches. Death has taken your hand but I hold onto the other, for your journey has not ended. Hold onto me like the night holds the moon, and I’ll light your way.”

The orb held in your hand suddenly let out a flash of light so bright it could illuminate up the night sky. The light flickered after that intune to the rhythm of a beating heart. Lucien's eyes almost fell from their sockets as he saw what looked like electrical current coming from your fingertips, sending a signal to Mists head, to her brain. Lucien hesitantly looked away from your magical hands and his gaze landed on your beautiful face. Your brows were furrowed in deep concentration, sweat began to trail along your hairline. Your eyes remained open, the galaxy within them orbiting like the earth revolves around the sun. He could tell something was amiss because your jaw was clenched tight and the force you were using to push the light inside her heart was visible in the tremble of your arms.

Dark heavy clouds had covered the blue sky, bringing a violent wind to blow across the Court. Its roar slammed into the high trees and rattled everything in its wake. You had tried with all your might to push the light orb into the horse's chest to revive her heart, but Death was fighting back. You were fighting back. A battle between life and death when you possessed the power of both. Your Life power was taking the backseat as Death became the forefront. Suppress. You needed to suppress that deathly power. A deafening clap of thunder boomed through the stable; blanketing your scream that ripped from your throat as you forcefully shoved the glowing ball of light into Mists’ chest.

Lucien cradled your weak body as you collapsed from the energy you had expelled. “Mother above!” the boy gasped, “she did it Lord. Her chest rises.” Lucien stared at Mist’s chest as she inhaled and exhaled. “Listen to me boy,” Lucien spoke sternly, “you will not speak of what you saw here or I’ll turn you to ash. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand. Not a word.”

“I’ll reward you for your silence, now go.” Lucien tilted his head towards the wide doors, signaling for the boy to leave.

His gaze traveled back to you, pulling your body closer as if you’d suddenly disappear. He studied the features of your beautiful face in awe. With a feather light touch he traced over your eyebrow, down the apple of your soft cheek, and over the cute slope of your nose. His thumb gently pulled at your bottom lip, and he wondered how soft your lips would feel against his. It had been easy to fall for you, your heart too pure and kind. Tending to his mothers wounds and encouraging Eris to be better. A better male compared to Beron and his cruel brothers.

Lucien leaned in, his breath fanning over your lips, inching closer. The tickle of his breathing caressed your eyes open, taking in the handsome man holding you, his warm hand cradling the side of your face. “You're incredible,” he whispered, nothing but wonder in the way he was looking at you. Your lips parted in a wide smile as you bathed in his praise. He was the most beautiful male in all of Autumn, and you wanted him, needed him in ways that made you blush. Lucien noted your longing and decided now more than ever that he wanted you too. Without another thought he crashed his lips to yours, groaning into your mouth as you swiped your tongue along his bottom lip. He kissed with the hunger of a thousand wolves, nipping and grabbing at exposed flesh. He wouldn't have you in the stable, where anyone could watch. “I need you now sweetheart,” he growled, as he lifted your body in his arms, whisking you away to his bed chambers in a smoke cloud of orange and gold. It was true what you had heard.

The males of Autumn did have fire in their blood, at least Lucien did. When you told him you had never laid in another males bed before, he slowed down his hunger to devour you. He took things slow at first, stretching you open with his fingers as he peppered kisses and lapped at your clit till you were a withering mess beneath him. When he finally sheathed himself inside you, his length stretching you deliciously- Lucien knew this wouldn't be a one time thing, couldn't be.

What was once friendly chatter and shy glances quickly turned into a romantic whirlwind of horse rides and stolen kisses. Giggles under his sheets as he blew raspberries on your soft stomach. ‘I love you’ whispered in heavy breaths every time he felt you flutter around his cock. Lucien was adamant in keeping the relationship a secret, afraid of what his brothers or Beron would subject you to if they knew. It didn't matter in the long run, all it took was one dinner for the fairytale to come crumbling down.

~~~~~~~

You were allowed in the forest house as Lady Autumn’s ‘Lady in waiting.’ your role was to accompany her wherever she went, and assist her in daily activities. She had introduced you as “Khaos” which quickly turned to “Aos” over time. An orphan to a High Lord from across the continent she claimed. It was all lies.

This role gave you the chance to map out all entries and exits of the forest house, familiarize yourself with all the guards and what times their rotation were to occur and even where Lord Berons bed chambers were. You noted his schedule from early morning till late evenings. Eyes aware of his house guests and sometimes the topic of conversations. No other guest shocked you as much as when the entire Autumn line found themselves seated next to the King of Hybern. You sat between Eris and Lady Autumn, a rare occurrence to be invited to sit with the family. Lucien decided to sit across from you, to not strain his neck while he admired your beauty in comfort, his other brothers followed suit. At the head of the table, Lord Beron and the King of Hybern sat at opposite ends, showcasing their importance and power even at dinner.

Beef ragout and cheese souffle were passed around in the finest flatware. The flame from the candlesticks placed in the center of the table gave off a warm light, casting Lucien in a God-like glow. For a moment you imagined it was just the two of you, enjoying a night out for the world to see. “Try the grey stuff” Eris spoke from your left, spooning into the pudding like substance. Surely he wouldn't attempt to feed…

Lucien's eyes widened slightly as Eris brought the spoon to your lips. There were too many eyes for him or you to make a scene, so instead he looked away as you parted your lips for the delicious treat. It was an honest mistake humming around the spoon as the flavor melted in your mouth, a sweet sound noticed by Eris as he gently thumbed at the corner of your mouth. Wiping away the frosting that was never there to begin with. Lucien had been looking down and didn’t notice the intent behind the action but apparently Lord Beron did.

“Seems like you’ve caught my son's eye, little one. I wouldn't object to a courtship.” Your gaze quickly went to Lucien, had they known of your relationship? Was that why you were invited to dinner, to finally let the secret be known? You were about to respond when Beron addressed his son, “Eris do you find this female attractive enough to bed?”

“Father!” It was Lucien who interrupted, “surely this conversation isn't appropriate for the dinner table?” Lucien attempted to steer away from the current conversation, anger slowly bubbling to the surface. You remained planted in your seat as everything unfolded before you. Being a female in Autumn where even if you voiced your choice in Lucien, you had no right to even speak on the matter. The females were to marry, obey their male partner and breed an army of children if her husband wished. Since the High Lord mentioned it, then his word was law. You’d be tortured if you went against his wishes, Lucien would be beaten for even suggesting the lack of appropriateness of the conversation. Your gaze landed on Lady Autumn, a silent plea for help in your eyes. She merely smiled, squeezing your hand in comfort. You realize there was nothing she could do, as her makeup barely covered a fading bruise beneath her eye. It wasn’t that Eris had been terrible to you, quite the opposite. He just wasn’t the male you had fallen in love with.

“I do find her desirable, and I would be honored to court her.” Eris’s amber eyes met yours, a look that meant he was sorry for the circumstance the both of you were in. “A toast then,” the King of Hybern stood, “ to the happy couple.” He cheered, raising his glass in the air before he threw his head back, downing the flute of wine.

The High Lord followed as well as Eris and his brothers, leaving you, Lady Autumn and Lucien to stare at each other in trepidation. Lucien was going to be sick, his skin had paled at the thought of you producing an heir for his brother. Eris hands all over your soft skin, how dare he desire what belonged to him. Lucien's jaw was clenched so tight he was going to crack a molar. Unable to voice his anger or pull you away to keep you safe, he stood, shooting daggers dipped in faebane at everyone but you. You stared at your lover as he drank from the flute in one fluid motion.

Blinking back the tears as he threw his head back. His eyes met yours once again, red rimmed pools of honey ready to overflow from heartbreak. You were unable to mask the pain you were in as easily as Lucien. It occurred to you that perhaps he meant more to you than you did to him. With a heavy heart you brought your flute up to your lips, and a lonely tear tracked down your cheek. You didn’t want this life. You didn’t want to be a Death God. You didn’t want to marry Eris. You didn’t want other people making decisions for you. You didn’t want to be forced. Yet you agreed, there was no other way.

“Tears of happiness no doubt,” Eris cooed, gently wiping at the tears that followed after the first. Lucien had never looked at his brother with such raging hatred as he did now. Eris wrapped his arm around your waist, settling his hand on your hip as he tugged you close enough to kiss your temple. His gaze trained on Lucien for a hint of a reaction. Lucien swore he saw Eris smirk.

You didn’t stay long enough for dessert, opting to be alone with your thoughts. Walking aimlessly through the halls of the forest house, you didn't attempt to wipe your tears. There was no point in hiding how hurt you were, no reason to put on a brave face. You passed through a stone archway that led to a balcony, overlooking the canopy of trees that fill the forest floor. Autumn was beautiful, but not as beautiful as the stars that littered the night sky. The stars didn’t shine as bright in Autumn, they looked dull and sparse. Not at all what they looked like from home. You missed home, the space beyond the stars.

Hushed whispers floated to your ears and you quickly hid behind the stone railing that curved the space of the balcony. “- we were able to modify vegetables and fruit with faebane. The results were successful in potency and effectiveness. We can use these samples in farmlands for mass production, and give high doses of faebane through modes of consumption without the individual's knowledge.” You could recognize Lord Berons voice even though he whispered. “Once we remove the Night Court's High Lord the rest will fall.”

You attempted to peek over the railing, needing to know who he was speaking to, who else you needed to kill. “You’ll become High King of Prythian and keep your title as King of Hybern.” It couldn't be, you felt panic rising up your throat. The King of Hybern and Lord Beron in an alliance? You needed to tell Eris. Your bargain to assist Eris in killing Autumn's High Lord just became more difficult.

Quickly trekking back through the halls you found yourself in front of Eris bed chambers. You knocked softly at his door, hoping he’d still be awake at this time of night. Shuffling on the other side. you heard him near. Opening the door with a soft click, “what do I owe the pleasure?” he purred as he stared down at you. His chest was completely exposed, toned with a light dusting of freckles, similar to Lucien. Your eyes traced down his carved abs, noticing his narrow hips and how dangerously low his night pants hung. You averted your eyes, focusing on the slight curve of his mouth instead. “I have something to tell you..In private, please.” You don’t know why you were suddenly nervous in front of the princeling. “Is everything alright?” he asked with softness in his tone as his back pressed against the door frame, leaving just enough space for you to squeeze by. Still facing the future Heir you walked over the threshold, your chest grazing his warm body as you slid into his room. Eris' head thumped against the frame, ‘control yourself’ he thought, as the brush of your breasts along his chest had left him breathless.

Explaining in full detail what you heard between The King and Lord Beron took longer than anticipated. Eris took every bit of information and wrote down possible outcomes and strategies to counter the mass production of faebane. On top of killing his father another player had entered the game and now Eris' work to bring down his father had doubled to now needing to bring The King of Hybern down as well.

Eris didn’t know how long he stayed hovered over his desk, but when he finally turned towards his bed and noticed your sleeping form, dawn was fast approaching. He didn’t have the heart to wake you, opting to cover your body with his warm sheets. He had no problem sleeping on the couch, respecting you enough to not join you in bed. He’d fallen asleep at the sound of your soft breathing, the sweetest lullaby to grace his ears.

It had been mid day when you both greeted the high sun, bashful in the position you were in. You apologized profusely for falling asleep in the Heirs bed. But he simply waved you off, “nonsense Fawn, what kind of male would I be to rush you off in the middle of the night?” Your cheeks flushed at the pet name as Eris opened the door to his bedroom, letting you pass by easily. You turned to thank him, missing the male that stepped back into the corner of the hall, hiding himself from view. But it was Eris who spoke first, “thank You, for last night. I’d like to see you again.. soon. to talk about,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m really sorry about all this,” he gestured at the air around him. “It's not your fault. We’ll figure it out,” you said through a sigh.

Eris wondered if you would ever forgive him for the way things were turning out, he didn’t want to force your hand. Hadn’t even thought about it, but as he pulled you in and wrapped his arms around you in a warm embrace, and inhaling the scent of your hair he was right where he wanted to be. Even though nothing intimate transpired that night, Lucien's imagination planted a rotten seed as he witnessed you leaving Eris bedroom. Eris' hold on you lasted too long to be a friendly hug and the flush on his brother's bare chest told a different story. Lucien decided then that he no longer wanted to be in Autumn, he’d branch out to other courts, and take you with him. But first he needed to speak with Eris.

Present

The rays of the morning sun cracked through the window, and once again you found your side of the bed empty. Loneliness has been a better lover to you than the future Heir. Before you had left to seek out the other Dead Gods; Eris only visited the cottage to see his mother and make love to you.

You hoped things would be different once you returned, but he hardly stayed the night and he was usually gone by morning. You’d never admit his absence made you feel used, causing more pain than you wanted.

After Lucien you vowed to never care for another male again. Never give your heart out willingly. From your experience everything they touched seemed to break, crumble, and wither. They hurt the women they claimed to love and protect, only for them to be beaten and assaulted. Traded to the Highest Lord in exchange for an alliance or merely because the female had the hips and cunt to breed powerful heirs, and that wouldn't happen to you. You wouldn't be touched with careless hands when you so beautifully crafted the very soil they walked on and the fresh air they breathed.

After your morning shower you find yourself searching the cupboards for your contraceptive tea. Placed high above the eyeline, away from Eris and Marrian. You had taken the tea without Eris’ knowledge. He wanted you to carry his child; it would be under your terms and only when you wanted. The decision to bear children would be out of love and with someone whom you formed a relationship organically, not like it had been with Eris.

You found no tea in the cottage. Not even healing salves for your wounded wing from your attack days ago, another injury unnoticed by Eris. You didn’t have the necessary ingredients for either so you traveled through the forest searching for the particular herbs. You could have gone to a healer for your wounds but not for the tea. Loyal to the court, merchants would talk and the last thing you needed was Lord Beron finding out and throwing you in a cell for insubordination. Contraception was hard to come by in Autumn, another rule placed by controlling males.

You were in deep concentration, biting at your fingernails trying to think of the last ingredient for the tea. When a sneaky shadow wrapped itself around your waist, squeezing you tightly just as one would for a hug. You stumbled back at the force in which the shadow had rushed to you. But you were met with a hard muscular surface and gentle hands that held onto your hips for stability. You then felt the cool caress of Azriel's breath across your neck, “You haven't healed your wing yet, any reason why?” He asked. Still in his hold, you quickly turned to face him, a little shocked to see him still in The Autumn Court so close to your cottage. “What are you doing here? How did you find me? Oh my Gods you're going to get killed.” You fire off question after question, glancing behind him and all around in a frenzy of panic and caution. Azriel follows your hurried gaze from left to right, amused in your nervousness.

“Answer my question first and I'll answer yours, deal?” Azriel suggests with a smirk.

“Ughh, fine. Not here though, come on.”

Azriel stifles a laugh as you pull him by the hand, a large overgrown bat following a pretty girl like a lost puppy. You lead him to a giant hollowed out tree trunk, the inside large enough for you both to sit without being seen. Azriel sits on a thick twisted root that's sprouted from the ground, his knees touching yours as you sit opposite of him.

“So what are you doing here?” You begin.

Azriel chuckles, “nope, you answer me first.”

You sigh and roll your eyes, “I’ve forgotten how to heal,” you mumble softly. Azriel scratches at his temple, brows furrowed in clear confusion, “I'm sorry, did you say you've forgotten how to heal?”

“Yes, I have forgotten how to heal, now answer my questions.” you crossed your arms over your chest, adamant in knowing what the hell Azriel was doing in your neck of the woods.

“But how did you forget? People forget names and faces, not how to use their power, “ he prods, striking an exposed nerve that puts you on edge.

“ You know what, forget it. I’m in a hurry, I don't have time to play games with you. I already told-”

“Alight, alright. I’m sorry. Will you at least let me help you?”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious of his intentions. “Why?”

This was going to be harder than Azriel thought, “I just….I’d like to repay the favor to someone who did a good thing.”

You scoff with a shake of your head. He was unbelievable, but you allowed him to help. It would be a stretch to reach your wing let alone change the bandage. You handed Azriel your satchel with all the supplies you had gathered. He took each item out and laid them out, recognizing each leaf and its purpose.

Azriel immediately notices the list of ingredients scribbled on a note paper in your bag. At the top of the list are the three herbs needed for the contraceptive tea. His eyes widen as they shoot to your pretty face and down to your womb. Nightshade, only found in The Night Court was missing from your bag. One of the many herbs imported to the other courts for distribution. You wouldn't find it in Autumn’s forest.

His jealousy flared slightly as he couldn't imagine another male touching you, seeing your naked figure bare for someone else. He shouldn't be jealous, you don't belong to him, but every ounce of his body is screaming for your attention. Any ounce of affection you're willing to give, Azriel would gladly accept.

Azriel doesn't notice when you remove your top. Keeping your breasts covered with your arms wrapped around your chest, you nestle between his spread legs, wings displayed beautifully like angels from the heavens. His breath hitches as your backside grazes against his crotch, the close proximity doing nothing to settle his nerves. Your skin looks soft and delicate, he almost doesn't want to taint you with his scarred hands.

But the urge to touch you overpowers his negative thoughts and he takes the first steps in removing your bandage. He’s about to caress your wing when he suddenly remembers the sensitivity of his own, “Illyrian wings are very sensitive in this area, I’m about to remove the bandage, I just want to make sure you're comfortable.” You peek over your shoulder giving him a shy smile at his thoughtfulness, “they’re sensitive too, based on the type of touch and pressure. But it’s the only way.” He nods in understanding, and the first glide of his fingers against your skin startles you. “Sorry,” he winces, quickly removing his hands. “It’s Ok, I just wasn't expecting..” You weren't expecting his tortured hands to carry such a tender touch. You couldn’t tell him that, not sure what he would think, “you can continue, please.”

Azriel resumes his attempt at removing the bandage, gently pulling back the adhesive holding against your skin. It was a sick kind of torture having this handsome male care for you in a way that no one ever has, his careful touch is delicate and soft despite his rough exterior. Each brush against your skin felt like a sweet kiss between lovers, healing not only your skin but the broken pieces of your soul. You let yourself relax under his touch, memorize the feel of careful hands nurturing you. Making you whole not only physically but mentally. In your blissful state a soft moan slips past your lips when his fingers glide over the space between your wings. Azriel smiles at the sound, wishing to be the reason for every sinful noise out of your mouth.

Azriel fills the silence in hopes to hush any more sweet sounds that may arouse him.“To answer your question, my shadows seem to be very fond of you. And they’ve been able to track you easily. I’m not really sure why or how but they pick up on your scent, and I just… from the last time we…” Azriels cheeks flush as he remembers your last encounter, “Why aren't you happy?” He’d thought about your previous conversation and how you mentioned you weren’t happy. The admission plagued his mind, wondering what weighed so heavy on your heart that happiness was no longer on the table. And the way you said it so casually made it seem you haven't been happy for a long long time.

You’re about to dismiss his question, your life is none of his business but something in the way he's touching you allows you to be vulnerable.

“I’m unhappy because I’ve lost my way home. Each time I die and resurrect, I come back forgetting a piece of myself, powers I once had are temporarily gone, or I don’t recognize the people around me. I’m just trying to find my way back, but I can’t seem to remember. Nothing is keeping me here but my mission to bring Death to this realm, and the many bargains Ive made in search of home. I have no family to keep me here. No worthy lovers. I feel stuck in a place that only sees me as a tool for their personal gain, And I’m tired of the confinement.”

Your voice wobbles, as you explain the depth of your pain. He knows too well the feeling of not belonging, the loneliness weighing heavy on one's shoulders. Your memory loss after each death explains his earlier question; the reason you don’t remember him and the reason you couldn't heal yourself.

He can’t see your face, but he notices your hand coming up to wipe away your fallen tears. Selfishly he doesn't want you to part from his world. His feelings for you are already so strong, he couldn't bear a life knowing you weren't in it. The Mother was cruel in her ways, he had just found you after 500 yrs only to reach you on your way out. But he’d choose your happiness over his every time.

He listens intently as you reminisce about your home. How large the moon looks from your humble throne, its proximity so close you can fly to its surface. The brilliant stars that shine brighter year after year, their vibrancy thawing the coldest of hearts. Sapphire and violet swirls of the milky way, a visual so stunning it leaves you breathless. A longing sigh passes between your lips, shoulders deflate slightly. “I’m sorry for unloading all that on you,” you shake your head, info dumping was never your intention. “Can you tell me what your home is like? I really liked the stars in The Night Court. It’s one of the reasons I stayed longer than I should have.”

“You don’t ever have to apologize for how you feel,” he says, as he continues to apply the healing salve, its cooling properties taming the angry laceration. “The Night Court is very similar to how you describe your home.” A slight blush travels up his neck, “I’d like to show you where I live, See how you like it there. I think you’d find it more home like than any other Court,” Azriel flusters as he mumbles the words out.

“I’m not sure how that would work out. I seem to have angered your High Lord.” You lift a shoulder in a shrug, “but thank you for the offer.” Azriel hadn’t thought how Rhys would behave if he knew you were a guest in the very city you threatened. How the Inner Circle would perceive you. What kind of High Lord would that make him if he did allow you to visit Velaris. Rhys head wasn’t shoved that far up his ass, was it?

“Will you allow me to help you find happiness then?”

His question has you shocked. He feels it in the way your wings have straightened and slightly flared. No one has bothered to ask if you were happy, let alone help you seek said happiness, certainly not someone you barely knew. Something about this male was different. Special, even. In a world where death and violence was in every court, usually brought on by males. This one had a thoughtful heart. Where men took from you, Azriel had given. He’d offered his services to kill for you. Offer his body to worship you. He offered his scarred masculine hands and willed them to be delicate and soft if only to heal the damaged pieces of a goddess. And now he knocked at the gates of your guarded heart willing to weather the storm in pursuit of your happiness for nothing in return. Those wrought iron gates flashed gold with every rap, Its faint pulse crashes against your heart like a violent wave, pummeling jagged rocks along the coast.

Azriel was everything you had ever wanted in a male and it scared you more than anything.

Then you remembered the words spoken by The Suriel, ‘An invisible thread that weaves and winds, binding hearts two of a kind.’

No. You wouldn’t allow your emotions to get the best of you, so you shut them down.

Azriel stilled. His deep heavy breathing suddenly the only sound that could be heard. His hands trembled in his lap. He felt it, the golden pull towards you. It was as if he was watching himself from above, gripping those iron bars so tightly his knuckles turned white, gold spreading beneath his palms coating the iron, bar by bar. But then you pushed. And he watched as your heart frosted over in stone and cold Ice, protecting itself from breaking. The iron gates doubled down, forging a firewall of blue and orange flame. He would need to jump through fire and ice to even get to you.

“There's a book, well two books I’ve been looking for. They contain the spell I need to remember my past and to go home. Book of The Minds Eye and The Book of Breathings.” It was dangerous telling Azriel, but you had exhausted every option. Bryaxis would look In Velaris Library for The Minds Eye, and if he found it he’d give it to you when you both met in the coming war and his bargain would be done. But the book of breathings was impossible to find. If he knew where to look, then it was worth telling him.

Azriel blinked back to reality confused. Did you not feel the undeniable pull? or maybe you did but you closed off, blocked it. Wait. Was that…Azriel slammed his eyes shut, willing to go back to that place, wherever it was, drag his body across glass and gravel, he didn't care. Hell he’d jump through hoops of fire if it meant you got to be his. All he saw was vast emptiness.

“Did you feel that tug?” Azriel longed for that connection, and had been looking for it his entire life. At one point he felt unworthy of such deep love. Jealousy gripped him so hard he began to resent his brothers for finding their mate. But as he saw how happy and whole they were, their joy had bounced off and with time he welcomed their delight. The Mother it seems skipped him or she didn’t deem him worthy. Perhaps it was the manner of work he was in, who would love such a soul who tortured people. Would his chosen one stomach his work and still desire to be in his presence? He had a feeling you were his chosen one, you had to be with how much he thought of you. Even after all these years searching it had to mean something in the end right? There had to be a reason he couldn't get you out of his head.

“I didn’t feel anything at all. I can tell you’ve tended to many injuries, your hands are very gentle.”

“Oh,” Azriel glanced at your fresh bandage, “your wound. Right. It's cleaned and I applied the salve and new bandage.” he couldn't help the sadness in his tone. He was wrong. Of course he was wrong, you were a Death God and what would a God want with him? You kindly asked him to turn around so you could pull your top back on, “good as new I’d say.” You shot him with a wide smile, flexing your wings, showcasing their movement despite the taut feeling of the bandage.

He nodded in agreement, “you were saying something about a book?”

Azriel caught some of the information as you retold what you were looking for, his mind weaving in and out. Thoughts between this book you were in search of and that lingering feeling deep within his chest. He was startled to hear Rhys' voice in his mind suddenly, ‘We’ve been invited to the Day Court In celebration of Helion’s Birthing Day. Wrap up your findings and report at once. With or without the girl, Mor’s returned with her findings.’

Azriel followed you out of the hollowed tree, pacing back and forth anxiously, “There's this celebration in another court. I was hoping you’d attend. With.. with me? They have multiple libraries and Helion he’s a spell cleaver, I’m sure he’d allow you to visit the-”

You cut off his rambling, a clear attempt at convincing you to the Day Court. “Are you asking me on a date shadowsinger?”

The flush across his cheeks was adorable for an illyrian his size, “ Yes!” he confirmed, “I’d be honored to have you on my arm.”

Gods you wanted to accept and forget about your duties even for a night. You’d be working for Lady Autumn, ensuring her safety in secret as well as attending to her needs. “I’ll be in attendance. But I'm afraid I’ll be on someone else’s arm.”

“Someone else? Who?” He asked, trying to calm his racing heart from its imminent break.

“Eris Vanserra.”

He should have stopped and stayed silent as his eyes darted to your bag. But his thoughts came spewing out of his mouth in anger, and once again he’d let his jealousy take over. “You’re fucking him! That's why you’re looking for contraceptive tea, I saw it in your bag.” Not a question but a statement.

“Who I fuck is none of your business!” You spat with equal rage, power surging through your veins clouding the once bright sky in gloom.

Azriel scoffs, and with a nasty bitter tone he landed a blow so low even his shadows recoiled, “how could you say you loved lucien and then fuck his brother? No wonder he left you!”

Immediate.

Regret.

Your face crumbles in pain as his words form a dagger and slice at your beating heart. As if sensing your sorrow, a roar of thunder echoed nearby, threatening to unleash its ferocity.

“Shit! I’m sorry. Please… I didn’t” Azriel inches forward. You step back, eyeing him slowly from head to toe and back up again, nothing but loathing and hurt in your cold stare. You remained silent but all Azriel heard through the agony in your beautiful face was ‘you aren't worth my time.’

“I don't expect you to understand the sacrifices one has to make when you're in love, when no one has ever loved you! And the next time you decide to disrespect me, I'll be sure to remind you how vile a Death God can be.”

You didn’t bother to look back at him as you walked away.

Part 5

A/N: Thanks for taking the time to read, I really appreciate it. :)

taglist: @blackgirlmagicforever @going-through-shit @dr4g0ngirl @mybestfriendmademe @isa1b2h3 @julesofvolterra @scooobies @thisblogisaboutabook @lilah-asteria

#azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel x fem!reader #azriel x y/n #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfic #azriel angst #azriel #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #acotar #azriel x oc #eris vanserra #lucien vanserra

[kindfrog]

Altruist AU

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Premise: adam succeeds in killing Alastor, and dying altruistically for his friends is enough to get him into heaven, to his ever lasting horror.

Adams attack is as bright as the sun, and crashed over him with the force of a tidal wave. “What just happened?” Blinded and disorientated, it took Alastor a moment to process the attack was over. “Ffff-uck.” Feeling the uneven weight of his staff in his hands, he had only a split second to understand that his staff was split clean in two, before Adam came crashing into him from above.

The weight of the first man bore down on him, and the sharp edge of his guitar axe pressed deeply into Alastors chest. The force of the attack sent him flying across the roof, back slamming harshly into the stone. Stuttering for breath that wouldn’t come, Alastor gritted his teeth to smother the scream that desperately wanted to escape. The brief moment of shock that numbed the initial pain drained away, and the sharp agony across his chest left him choking.

He could taste blood in his mouth, could feel it warm and gushing from his side. Flickering his eyes to an approaching Adam, Alastor tried to summon his powers to portal him away. It was with horror he realised they were unresponsive, leaving him at the mercy of Adam.

“Tch- not so smug now are ya bitch? Still got that rotten fucking smile stitched on though huh? I wonder what it takes to for you to finally drop it, or do I have to peel the fucking skin from your face?”

“Ha ha! what a delightful theory! I’m afraid it’s not a matter of skin and bone though.”

“The fuck? stop speaking in riddles. You’d think dying would have you considering your last words more carefully! Not that it matters! I’m the only one who’ll hear them, and you can bet I’m going to forget them within the hour.”

At this point Alastors vision was beginning to fade in black around the edges, and he desperately tried once more to portal away. Adam lifted his blood stained guitar once more, and without further talk, swung it down heavy back onto Alastors chest. And again. And again. And again. Until finally Adam huffed a breath, gazed down at Alastors still and smiling face for a second, and lifted his guitar from the mutilated corpse with a disturbing squelch.

————

“…ow”

Alastor woke slowly with the phantom echos of his second death racking his body. He coughed and was surprised to no longer taste any blood, and slowly dared to open his eyes to take in the change in surroundings.

He was sprawled on his back in an undignified and uncomfortable manner across a cold white tile floor. Cautiously lifting himself on his elbows, he was surprised to note his chest was distinctly whole and non-disfigured given his last memories.

A quiet gasp broke the stillness of the air, and with a crack he twisted his neck to face towards the origin of the sound. A young female Angel sat at a table gazing back at him with wide eyes. Next to her a larger Angel sat, and despite their similar colourations, they could not seem more different in that moment.

Scrambling ungainly to his feet, feeling simultaneously the best he’s ever felt and like he just went though a meat grinder, Alastor let slip a abrupt curse. His limbs felt like jelly and to his horror he realised the weight on his back was two massive wings that fluttered and twitched seemingly with a mind of their own.

The larger Angel had a distinctly horrified expression on their face, in contrast to the smaller Angel who looked delighted at Alastors sudden appearance. Well, that made one of them. Alastor was quickly coming to recognise what the appearance of this clean white room and two Angels likely meant for him, and he was decidedly not feeling happy about it. Well, when in doubt, one can always fall back on manners.

Taking stock of his undamaged torso and carefully bringing his limbs in from his previous position, Alastor stood at full height and wished he had his staff to have something to do with his hands.

“Alastor! A pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure! Say this wouldn’t happen to be heaven now would it? Only, I was just in hell, and I rather hate to think I’ve just left in the middle of the grand finale!”

“…no. No. Absolutely not.” the larger Angel deadpanned.

“Sera! Be nice! Hi Alastor! I’m Emily! I’m so excited that you’re here! Do you know Charlie? Is she okay? Did you get killed in the extermination? What did you do to redeem yourself? How did-“ the smaller Angel, Emily, let out a stream of questions that Alastor decided to interrupt before she could go any further.

“Ha ha! Quite the introduction my dear! I’m afraid I don’t have the answer to all of your questions! Why I have no idea why I would be in heaven! Last I checked redemption wasn’t a card on the table so to speak, and if it were, why I doubt having your chest caved in by the first man would win you anything! Ha ha!”

“Wait what..? Adam killed you?” Emily’s eyes had slowly widened as he spoke, filling with confusion and despair in equal measure. Beside her Sera looked contemplative, gaze narrowing at the mention of Adam.

Disregarding her question with a face splitting grin, Alastor finally spoke the thought he’d been thinking since he realised he was in heaven, “Now, so sorry to disappoint, but I’d truly rather rip out my eyeballs and eat them than stay another second staring at these white walls! Do tell, how does one go about making their way back down to hell?”

#hazbin hotel #Alastor #altruist au #angel alastor au #hazbin hotel sera #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel emily #fanart #fanfic #one shot #my art and writing #I’ve never actually written fic before so this is a first

[koshkamartell]

No One But Me

previous chapter

masterlist

*chapter warnings* - character has a panic attack, death of a side character, manipulative Joel, mention of pregnancy

When Joel had returned to Jackson and trudged through the door of his house for the first time in weeks, he immediately smelt the sticky sweet scent of honey in the air. Ellie had made him shut his eyes as she tugged him through to the kitchen by the cuff of his sleeve, demanding he not peek or else he would ruin the surprise. And although Joel grumbled about hating surprises and just wanting a hot shower and some rest, he was holding back a smile. He had missed Ellie so much that he would do just about anything if she asked him to.

Then Ellie instructed him to open his eyes, trilling a theatrical "Tada!" She lifted the tea towel that lay on the kitchen counter to unveil the cake she had made with you. "Welcome home!"

Straight away Joel knew that you were involved in the creation of this surprise. Ellie could not have done this alone and you were the only person Ellie would have felt comfortable enough to ask for help with learning to bake something. He also recognised that it looked exactly like one of your honey cakes - his absolute favourite.

Joel felt a twinge inside his chest cavaity upon seeing the pretty cake perched on top of his kitchen counter. It was an overwhelming mix of emotion that he couldn't quite identify; something akin to gratitude and love and pride. All because his adopted daughter cared enough to make him a damn cake to welcome him home. Because it was you who helped teach her.

Joel swallowed the lump in his throat and gave a short laugh of astonishment before gathering Ellie into an embrace.

"Thanks, kid," he whispered into the crown of her head. "Looks good. And ya didn't burn the kitchen down."

"Yeah, ha ha, so funny," Ellie rolled her eyes. "Your lady friend supervised me so I didn't forget to turn off the oven or some bullshit. Which, by the way, happened to Mrs. Myer last year and almost torched her whole house."

Joel and Ellie cut two slices of cake and ate them standing in the kitchen, Ellie rambling about the random mundane happenings that had occurred in Joel's absence. He looked at Ellie as he slowly chewed bites of the delicious spongey cake, only half listening to her. Although Ellie could be exasperating at times, Joel enjoyed seeing her like this - garbling about Maria's houserules around a mouth full of sticky cake, animated facial expressions embellishing her story.

When they finished eating, Joel went upstairs to shower before going to sleep. He stood infront of the mirror to undress, his limbs feeling progressively more leaden with each passing minute. Despite his body aching with fatigue, his mind was overrun with ceaseless ruminating.

With sadness in his heart, Joel thought about how quickly Ellie was growing up, how time was slipping through his fingers and stealing away more moments of their life lived together. Ellie was still the same sarcastic, witty girl she had always been, but living in a safe and equitable community had given her the opportunity to grow and thrive in ways that would have never been possible in the QZ. She had blossomed into an optimistic and confident young woman with goals and aspirations, a daughter Joel was incredibly proud of.

But with Ellie's advancement in age and maturity came fear and dread that seeped into the marrow of his bones.

The fear of his own ageing, of his own inevitable demise slowly approaching. Joel was acutely aware of his age and the increasing limitations that it came with. His joints and muscles ached from a lot less physical strain these days. He was self conscious of the hearing loss in his right ear and worried that it would worsen. Joel dreaded becoming an old man without family surrounding him, with nothing to live for. He dreaded the possibility of experiencing the devastating agony of loss again.

Sarah. Tess.

He couldn't handle losing Ellie, too.

She was already exercising her independence and slowly detaching from the exclusive life they led together - and it fucking hurt him so bad. She was even spending more and more time out with her friends and at sleepovers, leavong Joel alone at home most of the time.

But Joel still felt guilty for lying to Ellie about what happened at the hospital with the Fireflies; so there was no way he could deny her the right to the pursuit of happiness in Jackson however she saw fit, including distancing herself from him. However, the gradual distancing still felt heartbreaking.

The notion of Ellie not being in his life made Joel's brain buzz with panic. A tightness seized his chest suddenly and seemed to squeeze the air from his lungs. He had to grip the edge of the bathroom sink with both hands in order to steady himself.

Fuck, no, not again.

Joel bowed his head and screwed his eyes shut in an effort to concentrate on keeping his knees from buckling underneath him. He gulped in breaths of air and expelled them in shuddering puffs while swirls of dread surged through his mind and body.

It's okay everything is alright Ellie is still here safe just keep breathing---

The internal monologue blurred into one continuous train of thought and quickly became a comforting sort of mantra to Joel. He remained still with his large hands wrapped around the porcelain of the sink while the dialogue rushed through his brain. He stayed like that for several minutes, until the tense coil inside his body slowly lessened and the panic eventually drained from his mind.

When Joel opened his eyes and his vision settled into focus he was confronted with the haggered image of his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The bags under his eyes were more prominent than usual and his lips were chapped from the cold wind. His crown of curls were tousled and smudges of dirt marked the tan skin of his face. He looked wrecked. Like an old man.

It was at times like this that Joel wished he could swallow a cocktail of pills and chase them down with whatever liquor he could get his hands on. Anything to knock him out for a few hours, just like he did at the QZ. Joel hadn't experienced a panic attack for quite some time - infact the previous one, precipitated by you trying to leave, had been the first one in more than a year. 

Joel would never admit it, but he had spent a great deal of time thinking about you while he was away from Jackson. It was always in the quiet hours of the night, after the patrolmen had settled somewhere to sleep until daybreak. He struggled to fall asleep in the open wilderness, both his body and mind too wired with adrenaline to ease into a state of slumber, and so he spent alot of time reflecting.

Joel dreamed of your pretty face, the sensual curves of your body, the sound of your breathy voice saying his name when he fucked you. Fuck, he couldn't wait to get back to you and kiss you all over and fuck you again. He imagined slamming into you over and over until you screamed and begged him to stop.

Joel recalled how needy and anxious you had been the night he left, how perfect you looked crying when you heard he had to go. He knew you loved him still, even after hurting you with the belt, sweet little thing you were. Yes, you had tried to leave. But you were his and you belonged with him. He had managed to make you stay and you still loved him. And he loved you, truly, in the deep rooted core of his splintered heart. Even if he thought he could never confess it to you in this lifetime.

The elation you felt when Joel returned to Jackson was short lived. It was eclipsed by the passing of Maude, the librarian and your friend, just four days after the team had concluded their mission. She was found laying in her bed by her housemate, having died peacefully in her sleep at the age of 73. Her death was unexpected but not altogether surprising, given her age and the ailments she dealt with each passing year.

Maria had knocked on your door that morning to deliver the sad news. She sat with you on your sofa as you cried, encircling you in her arms as the waves of anguish hit you. You had known Maude since you had first arrived in Jackson as a young teenager and her enduring presence in the periphery of your life gave you a sort of comfort that you never consciously acknowledged. She had come to symbolise consistency and normalcy just by being visible in everyday life; like the baker who you saw display buns and loaves of bread each morning, or the man who sat outside the barbershop and whittled wood each day.

To you, Maude's death signified more than just the loss of her as an individual. It was also a harsh reminder that the shadowy hand of death could come to claim anyone you cared about at any time. Just like it had stolen your parents away from you, leaving you orphaned and all alone in the cataclysmic nightmare of the apocalypse, so distressed that you wonder how you hadn't died of a broken heart.

You never allowed yourself to ruminate too much on this truth, though. The pain was far too complex for you to willingly analyse. Instead, you simply cried for Maude and the fact that you'd miss her.

Maria held you silently, patient and gentle, until your cries eventually died down to shuddering sniffles. She asked if you would prefer to stay home from library duty for the day, in order to give yourself space to grieve. You shook your head stubbornly.

"I'll be okay," you assured Maria as you wiped your nose with a tissue. "I need to keep busy and the library will help."

So will seeing Oscar, your mind randomly chimed. You hadn't seen him for the last few days and you missed him. The soft cadance when he spoke, the crinkles around his eyes when he laughed, his stories and jokes. You needed Oscar right now, positive that he could lighten the weight on your heart with nothing but his mischievous grin.

When you pushed through the library door later that morning, Oscar was standing infront of the counter with his arms crossed, his mouth downturned with melancholy. He was already looking at you when you finished kicking off your boots and you glanced up at him. The sorrow reflected in his brown orbs was so raw that you couldn't suppress the sob clawing up your throat, or the impulse to rush over to him.

Oscar spoke your name softly and opened his arms open to catch you. You crashed into his chest and wrapped your arms around his waist. Oscar enveloped you against his body and squeezed your frame. You wept into his shirt while he cradled the back of your head tenderly.

"I know," Oscar whispered into your ear as you cried. "I know."

You stayed like that for what seemed like forever, basking in the warmth of his embrace as your tears poured relentlessly from the cracks of your heart. Oscar held you tightly, seeming to absorb every single drop of sorrow you expelled without complaint. It felt comfortable, so natural.

But Oscar knew your cries weren't just for Maude. Without you admitting so, he knew that there was a torrent of emotion inside you that had been desperate to break free for so long. He could identify it in the way you hesitated before revealing something about yourself, regardless of how trivial it was. He saw how quiet you became after the mention of certain subjects, eyes glazing over as you fell into contemplative silence, the gears in your brain working tirelessly. Grief plagued your soul, just like it did with all survivors, just as it did with himself. Oscar wished he could express that he understood, that he wanted you to share your secrets and fears with him and he would keep them safe, tucked securely inside his own wounded heart, just to give you some kind of solace.

Oscar knew but he did not speak, not except for the occasional whisper of comfort, hoping to God you couldn't hear the pounding of his heart in your ear. Your tears eventually subsided and you composed yourself enough to detach from his body, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. When his eyes met your beautiful watery orbs, he was sure he felt a zap of electricity between you. But then you went rigid and your eyes widened, almost like you were panicked. Oscar wondered if you were embarrassed, either by your display of emotion or the realisation of your physical proximity, or perhaps both.

"I better get to work," you quickly mumbled, averting your gaze.

Oscar smoothed his warm hands over your shoulders, willing you to look at him. He said your name and when his voice escaped his lips it sounded like a plea. But you pulled away from him wordlessly and disappeared into the solitary space of the storeroom to resume the job you had been working on lately. Oscar sighed and scratched the side of his cheek, his fingernails rasping over his beard.

He didn't want to pressure you or push you in any way, but he wanted you to share your feelings with him. He wanted to hear about your worries and fears and sadness. But maybe it was time for him to share himself with you as well.

Oscar kept his distance from you for the next few hours, letting you have some space to relax until you felt ready to talk. At around 12.30pm Oscar went to the mess hall for and returned with a small sack filled with sandwiches and fruit. He gave a small knock against the doorframe of the store room as not to startle you. You were knelt on the floor with some books and cleaning rags scattered around you.

"Got us some lunch," Oscar said tentatively, leaning his head against the doorframe. "Ready to come eat?"

"Thanks," you said without looking up. "But I'm not really hungry."

You hadn't said that for months, not since that first time working together when you insisted you weren't hungry but he served you food anyway - food that you ended up devouring with gusto. Lunch time then became something you both looked forward to on your subsequent shifts, a designated time when you could take it easy for a while and enjoy the companionship you built. While your resfual to eat concerned Oscar, he did not want to overstep any boundaries.

"Would you like to be left alone today?" He asked gently. "I have some odd jobs to do, so if you wanna have some peace and quiet I can work in the corner of the library."

You sighed and shook your head slowly before looking up at him. "Oh Oscar, you're so lovely. I'm sorry, I'm just...really sad."

"I understand, you don't need apologise." Oscar offered you a little smile.

"But I'd like you to stay close by, if that is okay?"

Oscar tried not to show just how relieved he felt to hear your request. Ofcourse he could stay close to you. He would happily remain by your side for as long as you wanted. But he just nodded and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Of course."

"Thank you," you whispered, looking down at your hands in your lap. "I haven't....lost someone, for so long. It brings up a lot of memories."

Oscar slipped into the storeroom and lowered himself to the ground to sit a few feet away from you, directly opposite the spot where you were kneeling. He hummed to convey that he was listening, to encourage you to keep speaking. You had never spoken about these things to anyone before - death, mortality, your parents, your own grief - but now it seemed like the words and emotions wanted to tumble from your mouth on their own accord.

"Maude...." you began, voice wavering, your gaze focused on your fidgeting fingers. "I knew her since I came to Jackson...everything always seemed so safe here. I guess I just never really...thought about someone dying inside the gates."

Oscar watched you silently with his chin resting in the palm of one hand. He waited for you to continue.

"And it makes me think of my life. Like what if I end up alone? What if I die without starting my own family?" Rivulets of tears were beginning to stream down your face and you speak so softly that Oscar has to lean forward and strain his hearing.

"J-just like my m-mother and father, how they didn't escape...but I did," you wept, gently shaking your head. "I survived but I didn't want to without them. I survived but I'm so scared."

Oscar's soulful brown eyes watched you intently as the raw emotion poured from you. He longed to cradle you in his arms but he knew you needed this, this cathartic like confession without any disruption.

"I shouldn't have." You croaked, covering your eyes with your hands like you were hiding from the truth of your own words.

"Shouldn't have, what?" Oscar reached over and gently touched your forearm.

"I-I shouldn't have lived," your throat was thick with your tears. "I don't deserve to. I should've d-d-died."

Oscar whispered your name and fell forward on his knees to crawl close to you. "Hey, listen to me. Don't ever say that, okay?"

He enveloped you into his arms gingerly and cradled the back of your head with his palm. "You do deserve to live. You deserve to live here, safe and happy. You were meant to survive. And your parents would be so happy that you made it here. They would be so happy and proud of the woman you are today."

You continued to sob and sniffle miserably but you allowed Oscar to hold you. The vague scent of cinnamon filled your nose when he pressed you closer to him. You both stayed like that for a long time, until your cries died down and became tiny sniffs and sighs. Oscar remained still as he embraced you. It was only when he was sure that you were somewhat tranquil that Oscar chose to speak.

"I survived, too," Oscar whispered. "And I spent so many years hating myself for it."

You pulled away from his arms just enough to peer at his face. His mouth was down turned in that pensive frown from earlier and his eyes, usually so warm and twinkling, were now downcast and full of woe.

"She...my wife..." Oscar's voice choked. "She was bitten before I could stop it, before I could protect her. I should've been right by her side but I wasn't." He swallowed thickly.

Without thinking you instinctively raised your hand up to Oscar's face and gently cupped his cheek. His eyes fluttered shut at the contact and a single tear slipped out from under his thick eyelashes.

"Oh, Oscar..." You whispered, staring at him closely.

He shook his head ever so gently and sniffed, then brought his own hand up to enclose over yours. He opened his eyes and met your gaze.

"But I came to learn that hating yourself for surviving isn't the right way to live." Oscar stated solemnly. "There's no point in living if it is in misery. It kills your heart and your peace, slowly."

Oscar slowly removes your hand from his scruffy cheek and lowers it to his chest, where he cradles it reverently with his own, still looking directly at you.

"We owe it them to continue living. To live as best as we can, to allow ourselves happiness and love - because that is what they would want, and because it honours their memory. And those feelings we have...that hate for ourselves...that guilt...it does nothing to help us. It may never really go away, but holding onto it so tightly...it makes life impossible to live."

You nod ever so slightly, totally enrapt in the truth of Oscar's words and the conviction in his tone. You've never heard someone speak in such a way that penetrates your heart like this, never identified with someone else's insight so deeply before.

"If we let the hate and hurt eat us alive, then we won't ever be able to remember the good memories. I will never forget my wife, I promised myself a long time ago that I would keep her memories close to my heart. Her smile...her laugh..."

Another tear rolled down Oscar's cheek but he did nothing to wipe it away. Your eyes were still locked on each others.

"And they remind me that life can be worth living, that she would want me to keep going. I bet your parents would, too. And so would Maude."

You can't stifle the sob that escapes your lips and you find yourself lunging into Oscar's body to hug him once again. He hugs you back, sure that you can both hear each other's heartbeats.

That night you sat crossed legged on Joel's bed cocooned in his blanket. Just as he had requested (or rather, ordered) the previous night, Joel wanted you waiting at his house for when he finished his patrol shift. As he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots, you told him the news about Maude's death.

"She lived til an old age," he said brusquely, letting his boots drop to the floor with a clunk. "Longer than alotta people. Ain't not use mournin' someone whose time is up."

You knew he was right; Maude had lived a long life by apocalypse standards, and many of them had been spent within the comfortable confines of Jackson,

but the coldness in his words still stung. Joel's pragmatic nature was clearly vastly different from your more emotional disposition, but he also had more life experience than you, you reminded yourself. Maybe it was better to be a bit more like Joel for the sake of self preservation.

You sighed and hummed a halfhearted agreement.

The mattress creaked as Joel stood to undress. You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders and watched Joel wordlessly as he removed his jacket and flannel shirt. Your eyes wandered over the expanse of his thick shoulders and broad back - you could see the light scratches on his flank from where you'd dug your fingernails into last night when he'd pounded into you. You smiled softly to yourself.

You loved to watch him in various stages of undress; whether it was after a long day at work or right before he fucked you, the display of his bare body evoked a hunger inside your lower belly that made you ache for his cock. Even with the litany of scars covering his skin, nothing could detract from how sexy he was.

Joel pulled off his t shirt and tossed it and the flannel onto the floor by his dresser. He glanced at you and caught you shamelessly gawking at his half naked body. He smirked ever so slightly.

"What're you starin' at, little girl?" Joel teased.

You blushed and hid your shy smile behind the tips of your fingers. "Just you, how sexy you are.

Joel chuckled under his breath padded over to the closet to hang up his jacket. When he returned from the closet and slowly paced toward the bed, your heart skipped a beat to see that he's cradling the Polaroid camera in his hands. It's the same one from the shoe box that was hidden in his closet. The one you snooped in.

Shit, you hope he hasn't found out that you went looking through his stuff. You were sure you had returned it to the correct spot, had it angled in the same position you'd found it in on the shelf.

You swallow thickly and watch Joel's face cautiously. He is quiet and concentrated as he rubs the pads of his thumbs over the plastic black exterior of the camera, examining it as if he has never used it before, as if he's not entirely sure if it even works. It is worn but in good condition; a relic from the past, now a rare tool that was used to capture and eternalise scenes and faces before the end of the world. You briefly wonder who it belonged to once upon a time.

You chew your bottom lip as you watch him come to stand a few feet away from the bed. He looks up at you and holds the Polaroid up in his hand.

"Know what this is?" Joel asks.

You nod, and even though you do know what it is, you still sound slightly dubious when you respond."It's a camera, right?"

"'Thats right." He nods and turns it around to study the front of the lens. "Found it a while ago on a mission. Was gonna give it to Ellie but seems she's...more interested in her comics, or somethin'."

His voice trails off into a mutter at the end. He almost sounds sad, or disappointed. You feel bad for him, knowing he would be struggling to accept Ellie wanting to move out of home.

"It's a very thoughtful gift to give someone." You smile at Joel, trying to appear upbeat. "I think it is really cool. Have you taken any pictures with it?"

Joel shakes his head. "Nah, ain't tried it out yet." His eyes flicker up to you and he tilts his head, regarding you with a kind of curious contemplation. You raise an eyebrow at back at him.

"What?"

Joel's lips quirk into a sly little smile. "Wanna give it a go, see it in action?"

You can't hide your intrigue as you sit up straighter. The blanket slips off your shoulders. "What do you mean? Do I wanna take a picture?"

"I mean, how 'bout I take your picture?" Joel explains. The tone of his suggestion sounds more decisive and less of a request. He sees the uncertainty on your face and quickly clarifies his words. "A picture of you for me to remember you by. For when I'm at work, or you ain't here."

The sentiment behind his idea makes your cheeks warm. The idea is sweet, romantic. Perhaps Joel is more sentimental than he appears, you think. Your eyes light up and you smile eagerly.

"Okay!" You giggle. "Lemme stand up and get dressed."

"Nah," Joel shakes his head. "Just stay like that. Don't need to wear anythin'."

Your brow creases with confusion and you gesture to your body, still clad only in your bra and panties. "But Joel, I'm almost naked."

Joel sighs - a small sound that borders on mild exasperation. He looks at you with an expression of reproach that makes you feel small and a bit foolish, like you can't quite comprehend something and it frustrates him. You expect him to reprimand you or revert to being curt, like how he spoke about Maude just a few minutes earlier. However, when goes to speak next his voice comes out gentle.

"'S just me, darlin'," Joel assures you smoothly. "Ain't no one gonna see these pictures except me. And I think you look perfect just as you are right now."

Your lips curl into a tiny smile at his praise but you cannot disguise the indecision in your eyes. It isn't that you're ashamed of your body - it is the idea of being half naked and captured, eternalised in a physical medium like a photograph, that makes you slightly uneasy. It almost seems obsence and lewd, as if you're giving a sacred piece of yourself away permanently.

Joel can see your hesitation as clear as day. He narrows his eyes at you and speaks in that rich Texan drawl that sounds so sweetly coaxing, firm yet loving. "Babydoll, you got no reason to be shy. I just wanna have a picture of my pretty girl to look at whenever I want, that's all."

He smirks and gives you a cocky wink. It sends a hot rush of desire to your pussy and you giggle shyly. That's all it takes to win you over.

"Okay, okay, hold on." You clear your throat and wiggle a little to get comfortably posed, back straight and shoulders relaxed, fingers toying nervously with the blanket that covers your legs. Joel watches you, still smirking.

"Good girl. Now show me that sweet smile."

You look directly at Joel and manage a coy smile. He holds the camera up to his eye level and presses the little button to take the picture.  The camera flashes for a second and makes a short whirring sound. You're momentarily stunned but laugh. A square strip of white film slides out of the camera and Joel pulls it out.

"That's it? It's all done?"

"Takes a minute to show up," he explains. He sets it on the window sill to develop. You grin and lean back on your palms.

"I hope I look okay."

Joel turns back to you and there is now a hungry, dark look in his eyes. One of his hands still hold the camera while his other hand hangs by his side, flexing slowly. He stares at you silently for a few beats and his jaw ticks.

"How about we try somethin' a little different," Joel murmurs. You recognise that sultry lilt in his voice, the silky drawl that you know means he is thinking of something dirty. "Somethin' a bit more...private, just for me."

You chew your bottom lip, not really sure where his train of thought is leading to. Joel swaggers the few paces over to the bed. You watch the softness of his tummy as he moves, the growing bulge at the crotch of his jeans. You can feel yourself starting to get wet.

Joel stands before you and tilts his head down at you. His hand reaches down and he drags his thumb over your shoulder in soft circles, his eyes roving from your face down to yours breasts, then back up again.

"Uhm, what do you mean?" You ask hesitantly. You're not quite sure what he's alluding to.

Joel smirks. "Well, when I don't got you around, I get a little lonely. I start missin' what we do together...start missin' more than just that pretty face."

You tilt your head to the side so your hair hangs over your shoulder and you grin playfully at him. "Ooooh," you giggle, "what else do you miss?"

"Well, I miss those perfect tits." Joel purrs, his fingers toying with the strap of your bra. "I think about how they feel in my hands, how gorgeous they look bouncin' around when I'm fuckin' you."

His hand shifts down and cups your breast in his palm, his thumb brushing over your nipple underneath the material of your bra. A shiver skates over your body and you moan softly.

"Let me see 'em, baby," Joel commands, slightly breathless. "Take it off and show me."

Joel seems to possess you in these moments, robbing you of rationality and lucidity, consuming and devouring your body until all that is left is a soulless vessel completely fucked out and used. You reach your hands behind your back and unclip your bra. You slide it off your shoulders and discard it on the side of the mattress. Joel inhales audibly and groans lowly at the sight of your bare breasts.

"So gorgeous, sugar." He ghosts the pad of his calloused thumb over one of your nipples, making it pebble. "And all for me, ain't that right?"

"Mm-hm," you nod. Joel gives your nipple a light pinch and you moan again. Your cunt throbs with rapidly growing desire.

Joel takes a step back and nods to the camera. "Gonna take a picture of these pretty titties, baby girl. Play with 'em, want you to feel good while I'm doin' it."

You obey and bring your fingers to tease your nipples, staring up at Joel with your eyes glazed with lust. Joel's own pupils are blown wide as he watches you intently. He grips the hard outline of his cock straining in his jeans.

"Fuck yeah, thats it."

Your heart swells to witness Joel in this moment. It is because of you, because of your body and actions, that Joel looks how he does right now. Hungry, feral, undeniably aroused. The knowledge of this makes you feel powerful and sexy and wanted. It also deepens your own desire for him.

"Take the picture," you purr seductively to Joel.

A growl rumbles in his throat and he holds the camera up once again and directs it at you, then clicks the button. It flashes again and deposits another white square of film out for Joel to accept. This time he holds the picture and watches as the image slowly develops on the page. A wicked grin eventually spreads over his face and he licks his bottom lip.

"Hot little slut for me," Joel rasps. His eyes lift from the photograph back to you. "You like makin' me happy, don't you, babydoll?"

You nod eagerly and squeeze your tits in the palms of your hands. "Yes, daddy, I do."

"Look how pretty you are." Joel holds the picture out towards you and you sit up on your knees to reach over and accept it from him.

You gasp when you see it. You are instantly shocked. But God, you're also so turned on. The photograph shows you sat on the bed but only from the waist up, omiting the blanket covering your lower half so it appears you're completely naked. Your eyes twinkle and your mouth is parted slightly, somehow exuding wanton sensuality and natural sweetness all at once. Your breasts look round and soft while your fingers play with your nipples. It's fucking hot.

"I look good," you whisper incredulously.

"Told ya, baby." Joel chuckles. "Don't stop now. Gonna prove how fuckin' sexy you are, how crazy you make me."

You would have never dreamed of doing such a thing before. It is debauched and so exciting, like a dirty secret, and you feel emboldened by the boost of dopamine. You toss the picture on the bed and flip your hair over your shoulder.

"Show me, daddy. What do you want me to do now?"

Joel does not reply. Instead, he strides to the bed and swiftly grabs a hold of the back of your head to pull you into a passionate kiss. It takes you by surprise but when he pushes his tongue into your mouth with desperation, you moan with pleasure and wrap your arms tightly around his neck. Joel's tongue laps at yours in thick strokes, moaning low and growly as he savours your taste. You crumble against him, surrending once more to his will.

He is more than happy to show you, to prove to you how much he desires you. How you will always belong to only him.

In the couple of days following his return, Joel noticed subtle differences about you that had developed during his time away. He noted the tint of colour on the apples of your cheeks. He could feel the slightest bit of extra softness to your flesh, as if you'd been eating a little more lately. You were smiling more often, too.

If Joel didn't know you, he would've guessed you had been fucked really good and had some kind of post orgasm euphoria. But he did know you, and he knew that wasn't a possiblity. You were his good girl.

You couldn't be pregnant, either. Joel loosely tracked your cycles along with you so he knew when you were ovulating and when he would have to settle for a blowjob instead of risking impregnating you. He knew the changes in you weren't due to any kind of pregnancy glow.

So just why you were more spirited than you had ever been before, he wasn't sure. Maybe it was because that stupid wedding you were so excited about was happening soon. Or maybe it was because Christmas was approaching. Joel remembered how much you liked baking during the festive season, how much you relished gifting your friends homemade treats like gingerbread men. Whatever the reason, it didn't really matter. Pretty soon, Joel was going to make sure you wouldn't be preoccupied with anything else except pleasing him.

taglist - @sofiparallel @harriedandharassed @kewwrites @romanarose @fan-fiction-floozy @anoverwhelmingdin @unknownsuser101

#joel miller dark #joel miller x reader #joel miller #dark! joel miller #joel miller dark fic #joelmiller #oscar isaac

[sp4cepunisher]

anti-hero [ e. williams ]

summary ; ellie can’t even love herself, so what ever made her think that she could possibly love you?

warnings ; 18+ themes, mdni ! bone-crippling angst, strong language, a couple of mentions of / allusions to sexual intercourse. basically just ellie being a cold, stubborn bitch + reader not really understanding why. 

author’s note ; *puffs out cheeks* ….heeey! sooo, it’s definitely been a while! but, here i am, hands cupped and arms outstretched to you with a brand new angsty ellie fic. hopefully this one doesn’t get lost within the depths of the tags because it appears that tumblr just hates me and never promotes my stuff! either way, i hope this makes up for my disappearance + i actually feel really good about getting back into writing! *fingers crossed* plus, the minute i heard ‘anti-hero’ i thought of ellie not allowing herself to really feel anything because she believes that she is the last person on earth who deserves love and being the cruelest, meanest bitch as her only coping mechanism when she cuts people off…. *shrugs* let’s just hope this doesn’t absolutely suck! okay love u bye!! <3

. . .

ellie knew she never should have done it; knew she should never let herself do it again. she actually thought that she had more control over herself, that perhaps she had learnt from her previous mistakes and knew her boundaries well enough now, from those countless nights spent staring at her concrete ceiling, blankets strewn across the mattress, far away from her body and her brain whirring and spinning like a microwave. she had actually tricked herself into thinking that she could recite those boundaries on her own stage like a kind of grand monologue the next time she was given the chance, but had instead found that the stage fright flooded her throat before the spotlight had even warmed her face, time and time again. still she continued to make the same mistake that had tarnished her conscience time and time again, but this time the guilt was hitting the pit of her stomach like a ten tonne weight; this time ellie had allowed herself to let you believe that she was capable of loving you, and now she had to try and make up for it.

the problem didn’t lie in ellie’s incapacity to recognise when she had done something wrong. ellie had regretted it the moment it began; the moment her fingertips started dancing over her remorse as she felt the gentle impact of her couch cushions hit your back, and had allowed herself to climb your body like a child in a tree; allowed herself to wrap your every limb in ribbons cast out from her lips like your body was a birthday present that she was in the process of wrapping meticulously. instead, the problem was deep-rooted in the girl’s idea that an admission— a dive into the pit of her entire self in search of a meaning hidden behind that stubbornness— would make her appear weak. or, even worse, allowing someone else into her own little world for any considerable length of time. she believed that letting foreign hands open up those shutters on her window to the world would achieve exactly the same end result, and she couldn’t deal with that. but on top of everything else, ellie couldn’t face falling in love. she couldn’t– wouldn’t allow herself the pleasure of giving in. not to anybody.

you, on the other hand, had been blissfully unaware of ellie’s state of mind for the entirety of the time you had spent apart from her. you hadn’t seen her since a week prior, when the two of you had spent the night together, but yours had been the only body remaining in the bed when the sun spied through the curtains the next morning. the two of you had made a habit of smoking any of the weed that either of you had happened to stumble upon on runs; you didn’t make it a priority, obviously, but made more of an effort in remembering to flatten your hands out slightly more when reaching into the back of a bedside table drawer, or remembering to be slightly more thorough when rifling through boxes underneath a bed. you both enjoyed the sensation of being blazed senseless, having philosophical conversations one minute and then, after one of you would pull something out of the depths of your ass, both ending up squirming around like idiots from laughing, the next. that was your favourite thing about the friendship that the two of you had; it didn’t really matter what kind of occasion it turned out to be, you always found a way to have fun, despite not having been friends for that long. and, granted, (and especially in this case) sometimes that happened to be too much fun. you hadn’t ever really experienced being with someone the way you had been with ellie; where things just kind of… happened. no theatrics, no kind of irritating build-up, no stolen glances across a crowded room. just the two of you enjoying each other’s company, and then enjoying the sensation of gasps being swallowed into each other’s mouths, smiles pressed against lips between kisses, and the couch jolting in time with rhythmic movement. that kind of effortlessness was precisely the reason why you were so excited to see her again that night, eagerness evident in the speed at which your knuckles knocked on the wood of her front door.

it took a minute or two for the door to be pulled back to reveal ellie standing in her oversized grey hoodie and black jeans, a cocktail of both confusion and disinterest washing her face like a watercolour painting. this had become both of your routines for the past month where, every weekend, the two of you would hang out in her dingy little garage, with your only goal being to get so high that you barely even remembered your own names, which is why you couldn’t wrap your head around the blank expression that had met you on the other side of the door, as if you had gotten the wrong day, or she had just forgotten who you were, altogether.

“hey,” your breath was visible before your face, dancing in the cold air that stood between the two of you. “you good?”

“uh, yeah, i…” ellie finally spoke, licking over her lips. “what are you doing here?”

you weren’t sure whether she was just messing around, eyes flicking between both of hers in an attempt to figure her out. “…well, it’s saturday night?” you tucked your hand into your back pocket, fishing around for the small bag of weed which inhabited it before pulling it out and dangling it between your index finger and thumb. “we’re gonna smoke. are you… stoned already, or something?” not even the sight of pot was enough to tear off the stony mask which remained upon the girl’s features, and a kind of dull ache was beginning to situate itself within your stomach at the realisation that something was off. the girl who, on any other saturday night, would practically drag inside after a long day at merely the mention of the word ‘smoke’; the girl who, just seven days before, had leaned in, totally disregarding the mess of drug paraphernalia between the two of you on the couch, and kissed you, rendering you totally breathless and giving you just a glimpse into the rest of the night’s activities.

ellie sighed, teeth pulling at the inside of her cheek as her eyes flicked between yours and the bag of weed which was now beginning to appear pretty pathetic. “no, i… i’m not in the mood tonight.” she knew that the last thing she should have been doing was attempting to cut you off with no real, solid reason, but she was just too fucking stubborn- way too comfortable in her routine of futile hookups and easy goodbyes- to treat you any differently. “just go home, (y/n).”

“are you… i can’t figure out whether you’re fucking around? are you joking-”

“fuck, (y/n),” her voice shifted then, impatience present in her words as she spoke, her tone a little harsher now. “what are you not getting?”

your breath hitched in your throat at her cutting inflection, a cold rush shrouding you like a raincloud over a field of sunflowers. “what?” you questioned, stuffing the little bag back into your pocket, partially out of embarrassment but also out of frustration at the girl’s sudden, unkind nature. “i don’t know, ellie. maybe i’m just not getting the fact that this is what we do every weekend; i come here, we hang out and we get high, but now you’re acting like you’ve never seen me before in your life? like i’ve done something to piss you off?”

“i told you, i’m just not in the mood tonight.”

“you’re always in the mood to smoke, ellie. so, what’s the real reason?” you let your teeth dig into the inside of your lip as hard as you could manage without drawing blood, feeling your eyes begin to sting with the prick of tears, which you refused to let spill, no matter how hard they threatened to. your eyes wandered over the brunette’s face, determined to seek a hint of how she was feeling, of what was going on behind her empty gaze. the difference between the way she was looking at you now, versus the way she had been looking at you the last time you saw her was frightening, and then it hit you. you swallowed. “is it because of what happened?” you watched her then, for any kind of reaction to what you had just said. your heart was beating ten to the dozen inside your chest, blood whooshing in your ears as your eyes flicked desperately between both of hers, which had seemingly lost their piercing greenness in the timeframe in which the two of you had been talking.

ellie pressed her lips together into a thin line, her shoulders lifting and then dropping in a shrug, which to her was just a kind of nervous break from the conversation, but to you, appeared rich with disinterest and arrogance. ellie knew that she had disappointed you, watching as your sunny disposition didn’t take long in setting behind her belligerent hills as soon as she had greeted you. you had appeared so happy to see her after the night that the two of you shared; the way she had behaved, she knew, was different to how she had behaved with any of her other one-night stands before. the pureness in her intent to make you feel good, from the bottom of your body, right to the top; how she had pulled you from her couch to her bed, being careful not to push you down too roughly and ensuring that you didn’t hit your head on the wall behind you; the way she had remained awake long after you had fallen asleep once the two of you were finished, watching as your body swelled with breath, how your eyebrows would furrow ever-so-slightly as you dreamed; the way she had cursed herself in that moment, condemning her own actions and vowing to never do it again. because, after all, and no matter how hard she tried, how could she ever even begin to love you when she couldn’t even manage to love herself?

“that’s a really shitty thing to do,” you whispered, eyes noticeably shining. “especially to me. pretending to care about me for a night, just because you knew i would let you, because we were both stoned, and then just… just pretending i don’t exist. as if we weren’t ever going to see each other again.” you wondered whether your words would evoke an explanation. perhaps an apology, anything. the way in which the girl before you was looking at you, almost as if she was looking through you, caused both your eyes to sting, and your blood to boil. “and then not even having the balls to give me a real reason as to why you’re acting like such a bitch.”

“go home, (y/n).” ellie was adamant, hand still gripping the handle of the door as if she had been wanting nothing more than to simply cut the interaction short and shut the door in your face without saying another word, this entire time. “i don’t want to smoke with you, i don’t want to talk to you, i don’t want to be around you. so, just… just go home.” it took only a few seconds before you turned around without another word and made your way back down ellie’s driveway, fingers running through your hair and pushing it away from your face as you passed beneath the streetlights and then finally disappeared out of view. with a push, ellie replaced the wooden partition that had previously stood between the two of you and rested her back against it, exhaling heavily and finding herself alone again, exactly as she had wished to be in the first place.

she knew that she had just thrown everything away that the two of you once had; your strength in friendship, in intimacy, in security. she had once thought that letting someone in would surely ruin her; strip her of her armour and render her powerless, even if that someone had been you. but, as she closed her eyes and remembered that look on your face as your brain had processed her words; as cold as ice, a pristine blade which had cut down your keenness before it had even been given time to become fruitful, she began to wonder why she had allowed you to root for her for so long, in the first place.

#ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams fanfic #ellie x reader #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #the last of us 2 fanfic #tlou 2 fanfic #tlou 2 #ellie williams #ellie tlou 2 #ellie williams angst #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wasted 4

Warnings: drug dealing/use, violence, noncon, and the usual. Proceed with caution.

Feedback is always welcome. Love you and thanks for the wonderful responses so far.♥♥♥♥

Part of The Club AU

You babble mindlessly as your head lolls against the man's shoulder. Your limbs are heavy and light at the same time, your eyelids flutter and droop, the alleyway skewing with your vision. He forces you closer to the wall, nudging you away from him so you fall into it.

You grasp at the brick, tongue sticky but dry, moving as if you're wading through water. You can barely keep your feet flat as your head spins.

His snicker rolls around the alley and reverberates in your ears. Your eyes close as you hear a rustle and the harsh scrape of his sole. You shake your head but it only makes it worse.

You slip down to your knees, crawling as you search for a semblance of steadiness. Everything is limned in shadows, there are no solid lines, and your hands smear into the tarmac. You feel a hard boot on your ass and fly forward, sprawling on your chest.

He steps over you, a foot one either side, and bends.

"I coulda been nice," he slithers as he snatches up the back of your skirt. He spanks your ass, exposed around the thin string of your thong. "Looks like you weren't looking to be nice, huh?"

He drops to his knees, straddling you. You squirm and reach out, gravel jabbing into your palms. You hear voices and the dull drone of music.

Silhouettes approach the mouth of the alley and you cry out. Your pathetic slurring is smothered in his rough palm. He leans over you and shushes against your crown.

"Faye!" You recognise Heidi’s voice, "where're you going? We have to find her."

"You know how she is," Faye retorts, "always fucking off when it fits her."

"S'not fair. You do it too."

"And you," Faye accuses the whine, "fine, we'll look again, ugh."

They clomp away on their heels as you writhe and whimper against the man's grasp. He looms over you, laughing quietly as he keeps your mouth clamped beneath his hand. He pets your head as your fingers scratch futilely on the pavement.

"Seems like your friends are missing you," he taunts, "better make this fast."

He slides his hand between your bodies, angling himself lower as the rough denim of his jeans chafes on your skin. He shifts and tilts his hips, bringing out his hard tip and crushing it against your ass. He guides his dick between your thighs, keeping them apart with his wide hand.

He turns his wrist, framing your cunt with his thick fingers. He pulls your thong to the side and it catches in the crease of your leg. He prods you bluntly, rocking as he tries to dip inside. 

He grunts as your body resists. You squeeze your eyes shut at the pressure. You puff out through your nose as he enters you, his dry intrusion hot and painful. You kick your legs, toes bouncing off the ground. 

The agony swirls in your skull. You lean your head against your hand, the strength draining from you slowly. You can feel the world fading, little by little. Edges soften, colour wash out, and your body feels less and less like your own.

He thrusts, rousing you slightly. Your head snaps up at the torturous tide. He does it again, harder, chuckling as he feels the tension constricts through you. He rocks his hips, short strokes, each time dropping his pelvis as hard as he can.

Your eyes prick, further obscuring the dwindling scene before you. The alley stretches ahead of you, a club full of people right through the brick wall beside you, so close, yet so far. You hear the front door open and shadows cast over you as a group passes by the opening of the alley. They don’t and can’t know what’s happening to you. Right there.

He ruts into you, his breath tinging the back of your ear, scalding you as it clouds around you. You pant into his palm, head hanging lower and lower. He slams into you again, over and over, your walls clenching with each intrusion.

“Don’t fall asleep on me yet, hottie,” he teases, “I’m not even close to done.”

You moan and snake your hand back to grab at him blindly. You clutch a fistful of his jacket, begging silently for it to end. The gravel mulches against your thighs, stabbing your tender skin, sticking to it as he fucks you into the pavement.

You give in to the hollowness of your body. Your head droops against his grasp and your eyes wander to the stinking dumpster only a foot away. That’s exactly what you are. Trash. He’ll use you and toss you away. Just like that.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #drabble #au #series #wasted #mcu #marvel #avengers #winter soldier

[emeritusemeritus]

Vulnera Sanentur [Weasley Twins x Reader]

Part 4

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Title: Vulnera Sanentur

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley {established relationship}

Timeline: DH1&2- Initially set during the battle of the seven potters. Canon and certain plot points have been altered for the needs of the story.

Summary: The battle of the seven Potters throws your world into chaos when one of your boyfriend’s is cursed. As Snape’s ex-potions assistant and previous protégée, you recognise the inflicted curse immediately and demand answers from your mentor.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of war and Voldy, descriptions of injury and blood, descriptive smut, p in v sex, shower sex, tension. Outside sex. Semi public sex. Blowjobs. Role play. Nurse role play. None sexual nudity. Crying. Snape has a soft spot for reader. Arguments. Probably some cursing. Mentions of nightmares. Reader is part of the Order of the Phoenix. Mentions of death (Dumbledore). Mentions of Tonks’ pregnancy. Oh it got angsty. So much angst I can’t tag it all. Not spellchecked nor beta read, we die like Madeye.

This took on a life of its own, we’re rolling with it 🖤

You wake slowly, squinting at the sunlight bursting through the thin curtains in the twins' room, forcing you to shut you eyes again as you squirm away from the brightness. You could almost feel the weight of your exhaustion in your limbs and cursed yourself for not going to sleep earlier. You could faintly hear pots and pans banging around a few floors down in the kitchen and repressed a groan that threatened to spill out of you as you realised that you couldn't just roll over and go back to sleep. You reluctantly considered getting up briefly before pressing your face further into your pillow to snuggle down, not expecting the surface to be as unyielding as it was. It took a few moments before you notice why, realising that you weren't resting on a pillow at all but rather the soft but solid chest of someone.

You slowly shifted and raised your head to see the distinctively curved nose and side profile of George who was looking down at you with a soft smile on his face. You sent a sleepy smile back up to him though you couldn't help but frown when you saw the white bandage wrapped around his head.

"How are you feeling Georgie?" You asked quietly, snuggling deeper into his chest as his right hand wraps around you, slowly stroking your back.

"Been better, been worse," he says with a gentle shrug, the soft smile never leaving his lips as he looks down at you. You twist your head and press a kiss to his chest, resting your head as your tired eyes close against the comfort of your boyfriend.

"Are you okay? Fred said you left last night," he asks gently. At the mention of your other boyfriend, you raise your head and attempt to look around for him but George soothes you and tells you that he's downstairs.

"Just worried about you," you say honestly, the events of last night and this morning replaying in your head at the mention of you leaving. You felt awful that you'd lied to Fred last night and now George but you reasoned that there was no reason to pack on more worry to them then they were already dealing with. "Do you need any pain relief?"

"No Angel I'm okay," he says, shifting his body a little which makes you immediately pull away, concerned that you were putting too much weight on him. His arm presses into your back and forces you gently back down onto him, wordlessly telling you not to move away.  "We should probably go downstairs, mum'll be waiting for us."

You groan into his chest and like a petulant child, whinge as you smush your face further into his toned chest, hopelessly burrowing as if you could hide there. You can feel George's chest vibrate as he chuckles and the movement causes your head to wobble a little, making a smile come to your face as it breaks the slight mood you found yourself in.

"Five more minutes," you grumble into his chest, still holding onto him like a baby.

"Five more minutes," he agrees, sinking down slightly on the bed so that he's lay flatter, still keeping you encased in his arms. You raise your head a moment later, feeling yourself slip into a level of comfort that would no doubt lead to you falling back asleep. When you look up, George's eyes are closed but the little smirk tugging at his lips is evidence enough that he's not asleep.

"What?" You whisper quietly, picking up on the amusement in his face. He opens his eyes and peers down at you, his lips pouting gently as his smile widens.

"I get my ear cursed off, lose pints of blood only hours ago and as soon as you cuddle into me I'm hard as a rock... glad to see all is normal," he says with a chuckle. You gasp quietly, suddenly realising he was right, feeling the telltale sign of arousal against your hip that you'd previously missed, much too concerned with trying to hide in bed and maybe sneak a little nap.

"Well I'm very pleased to hear it," you say with a smirk. Just as it had been with Fred only hours earlier, it was like a switch had been flipped and suddenly the mention of his arousal made you want to press your thighs together. Perhaps it was an emotion need, a need to connect on a primitive level, to know that he was safe and well, that you all were.

"You know, maybe I could play nurse one more time?" You asked seductively, the tone of your voice softening to an alluring purr as your lips began pressing kisses against his chest again, getting closer to his sensitive neck with each press. You felt him take in a deep breath as he quietly cursed, sensing the change in you. "You do need taking care of after all Mr Weasley."

"My life is in your hands nurse," he says with a smirk, recovering from his wide eyed gawping only moments later as he stared at you in arousal. You'd felt his cock twitch beneath you as you purred at him, committing to your role as you continued to kiss his neck seductively. "Whatever you think is best."

Your eyes flashed up to him and you couldn't help but smirk back as you began to shift on the bed so that you were no longer baring weight on him and instead shifted to crouch over his body, eye level with his crotch as you rubbed over his pelvis.

"I'll take care of you Mr Weasley."

You kissed along the waistband of his pyjamas and continued pressing kisses as you hooked your fingers into the waistband and slowly began to pull them down, agonisingly slowly. George lifted his lips slightly to help you, never taking his eyes off you as his aroused cock sprang free, landing with a gentle thud onto his lower abdomen. You kissed along his length from the very bottom, kissing and licking along the gentle upwards curve until you took his sensitive tip into your mouth and gave it a little teasing suck. He instinctively let out a breathy gasp at the sensation before releasing a deep moan as you began gently bobbing on his length with increasing pressure. In the back of your mind you considered using a silencing spell but your wand was all the way on the dresser and your current situation was much too enticing to move away from.

He let out a staggered, breathy moan as you took him deeper and deeper, running your tongue over the vein along the underside of him as your hand came up to cup and tease his balls. You tried to relax your throat to take him in deeper and deeper, rewarding you with desperate whines and a gentle hand on your head. George's long fingers wrapped in your hair, not putting any pressure on but instead holding back your hair to keep it out of your face as he watched you with eager attention. It didn't take long before you recognised the signs that he was approaching his end, his breathing laboured, his head falling back onto the pillow and his hips chasing your mouth each time you pulled off even slightly.

"Angel, Angel," he pants, alternating between watching you and squeezing his eyes shut as you suck harder and deeper, rolling his sensitive balls in your hand, moving to gently press a finger against his most sensitive spot just below his sack. It's the last straw for George and his hips begin to stutter as he bucks up into your eager mouth, his cock tensing and throbbing as he releases himself onto your tongue, filling your mouth with his warm and salty cum. You continue to suck him through his orgasm, getting more and more gentle as he starts to come down, his body un-tensing as his eyes open to watch you as you lick up the last of his release.

When his eyes meet yours, you can't help but smile as he looks up at you with love and adoration. Only then when you have his rapt attention do you open your mouth, showing him your tongue which it still painted with his cum, having not swallowed it yet. He groans and throws his head back as his cock twitches right in front of your face. You cringe when you hear him wince, apparently catching his wound on the pillow but after only a second he announces he's alright before reaching out for you again, rubbing his thumb against your cheek.

"I'd say I'm much better now nurse," he says cheekily, raising his left arm and bending it behind his head to lean on, looking the epitome of relaxed.

"I should be a healer," you say sarcastically as you help him pull up his pyjamas, giving one last gentle and loving kiss to his softening cock before covering him.

"Not if that's your healing method you aren't," he says defensively, reaching out to pull you back up towards him, "those methods are reserved for me and Fred."

"Of course darling," you say with a smile, sitting beside him once again. He pulls you in for a sweet kiss, not even slightly bothered by where your lips had just been and you melt into the kiss, no longer feeling tired.

"Do you need help getting up?" You ask as you pull away, reaching for your clothes on the dresser.

You pull off your the T-shirt your borrowed from Fred last night to sleep in, leaving you completely naked and begin to reach for your bra when the door suddenly opens, making you squeal and try and shield yourself with the old T-shirt. You look up to see Fred slip into the room with a smirk on his face, clearly enjoying the scene before him.

"Don't stop on my account princess," he says with a giant smirk and a wiggle of his eyebrows, hopping onto his bed which you now noticed was not his at all. Come to think of it, you hadn't really thought about how or why you'd woken up with George when you'd fallen asleep beside Fred in his bed but you suppose George had switched beds at some point this morning.

You shoot Fred a little look before rolling your eyes at him before turning your back to him and slipping on your bra.

"Well that's not fair," Fred says from behind you and you can almost hear the pout in his voice. Once the bra is clasped, who turn to face him again, raising an eyebrow as if to question if he was happy and in return you receive a sarcastic smile.

"Not like you've never seen them," you mumble, reaching for a new T-shirt from your belongings and slipping it over your head, followed by a thin jumper.

"Princess, if it was up to me you'd never wear clothes again," he says, the bed creaking as he shifts on it, turning to George, "how the bloody hell do you sleep on this?"

George shrugs, ignoring his brother completely by turning his attention back to you. You grab a pair of panties and slip them on, realising that you have a captive audience behind you, before reaching for your jeans and throwing them on, along with a thick woollen pair of socks from their underwear drawer. The socks were huge on you, made for the twins' massive feet but you simply tugged them over your jeans and pulled them up so that they were cozy on your toes.

You both helped George down the stairs, noticing that his sense of equilibrium had improved dramatically from last night but was still a little affected. Molly rushed over as soon as his foot touched the last step and she fussed over him as he took his seat at the table, throwing a greeting behind her towards you, leaving you and Fred to walk behind them, Fred's hand entwining with yours as he leads you over to the table .

You greeted everyone that had stayed over last night and took your place beside Fred, trying to suppress a yawn as you sat down, the tiredness seeming to hit you once again, a brief longing to climb back into bed and snuggle under the covers for a few more hours, preferably with your two boyfriends either side of you in your big, comfy bed at home.

Molly had put on a feast for breakfast and you couldn't deny that you felt a pang of guilt at not helping as you looked out at the rather miraculous spread.

"Oh y/n dear, how did that potion come along? Fred said you'd been up half the night brewing, you do look tired dearie," Molly says, shuffling around the table to lay down heaps of buttered toast that is eagerly passed around and distributed.

"Oh, had to scrap it," you said, trying to think on the spot, "I'll try again later now I've rested."

"Considering what you accomplished last night, I'd say you deserved a good rest," Remus says, reaching for his glass of juice, winking at you over the top of the glass as he took a drink. You smiled kindly, a little embarrassed by the praise but you appreciated in nevertheless.

"Yes it was rather spectacular," Arthur adds with a tone of wonderment, raising his glass to you. Again you smile appreciatively as you try not to sink lower in your seat.

"How did you know how to counter the curse?" Kingsley asks curiously, using his knife to cut up the well done sausages on his plate with an elegance that few of the other guests, nor family had.

You felt Harry's eyes on you, causing you to glance back at him, the secret of that night in the bathroom shared between you, each of your eyes meeting one another with a silent decree. You wished you could communicate with him mentally at that moment, trying to compromise on what you could tell them, knowing that they didn't and wouldn't know about that night with Draco.

"The curse was Snape's invention," you explained, sharply averting your eyes back to Kingsley as to not arouse suspicion between you and Harry. "I recognised it from one on his old notebooks I transcribed. He'd briefly wrote the cause of the curse beside it, luckily the counter curse was noted beneath it."

You hated how frequently you seemed to be lying to the order and how effortless it had become to lie to those closest to you, but they couldn't know what had really happened, both last night and before. Kingsley nodded before looking towards Remus who seemed to be thinking the very same thing.

"If the deatheaters are creating spells, well that is another level of danger we hadn't predicted," Remus says solemnly, each order member hanging onto his words and no doubt feeling the same unease.

"Were there more?" Kingsley asks you, but you shake your head without looking at Harry this time.

"None that I remember," you replied, shaking your head slightly. Kingsley nods again and sighs before placing down his cutlery, turning once again to Lupin as they begin conversing between themselves.

Fred had grabbed you two slices of toast as it made its rounds and had placed them onto your plate but you could barely stomach anything, opting instead to grab a cup of tea and sit observing everyone.

You saw Tonks reach for some more toast a few minutes later before frowning upon realising the plate was empty. Remembering her news from yesterday, you immediately lifted and offered her your toast, shooting her a wink when she looked at you questioningly. She accepted the toast with a grateful smile and did a little happy jig as she munched on the buttery carbs.

You turned your attention back to George who seemed to be wincing as he chewed and you immediately felt bad, not considering that eating would cause him discomfort as it moved his jaw and his wound. You leaned closer to him to whisper in his good ear, so no one else would be able to hear your words, feeling Fred's eyes on you clearly having noticed that you'd pulled away from his side.

"Do you want something easier to eat? I can get you some porridge?" You asked George delicately, hoping you wouldn't offend or upset him. Instead, he turned slightly towards you and nodded very gently with an appreciative look in his eye, realising that it was probably for the best. You then turned to Fred and subtly whispered in his ear for him to pass you a bowl of porridge from the larger serving bowl that was closer to him. He did a few scoops into the bowl before handing it over to you, receiving a kiss on his cheek for his unusual helpfulness and you placed the bowl in front of George. You heaped a little jam from the pot in the middle of the table and put it in the middle, pausing once you'd already done it to send him a sheepish smile. You hadn't done it because he was injured and couldn't, it was just a force of habit from doing it so often for him to ensure he ate before he went to work. He understood and gave you a smile as he accepted the bowl, seeming to find it much easier to eat than the more structured food.

Midway through the meal, Bill and Ron entered through the sidedoor and everyone turned in anticipation before their faces fell downcast once more at seeing their grave expression and slight shake of Bill's head. You hadn't been aware of their quest this morning but from their solemn expression and their task last night, it was clear that they were hunting for Madeye's body once again.

"So Snape's going to be the new headmaster now?" Hermione says sounding utterly outraged, her voice ascending up an octave and raising a decibel in sound. Images of Dumbledore's office and Snape sat at the desk flashed in your mind, his office now.

"It seems that way," Lupin says with a sigh, folding up the daily prophet.

"That's just weird," Ron says with a grimace.

"And scary," Harry adds.

"Yeah, it's Ear-ie," George says, sat with a smug smirk pulling at his lips, proud of himself for his little pun. Everyone shoots a mixture of looks at him and you couldn't help but smile, glad that he was feeling well enough to joke. He and Fred share a mischievous look around you and though it's brief and fleeting, you see an emotional weight lifting from Fred's shoulders as he looks at his slightly younger twin, finally believing that he really is going to be okay.

"George, I'm sorry to ask but can you remember anything from the attack?" Kingsley says, taking a sip of steaming hot coffee, trying to piece together a relative timeline with Remus, scraping together any intel they could.

"Not really, we flew in formation and then they were right upon us, we dove and ducked, managed to hit one or two midair but then they seemed to pull away, just for a minute. I remember seeing a death eater from behind you, aiming at your back," he says, directing his answer towards Lupin, "but then all I could feel was this soaring pain and everything began to get foggy. I heard your voice but it was like I was underwater, my head was hot and the movement of the broom felt like my head was going to explode. Then all I remember is lying down and my girl being there."

He grabs your hand and under any normal circumstances you'd be flattered and touched that he'd mentioned you, and called you 'his girl' which always elicited the most intense feeling in you, being once of your favourite terms of endearment. But all you could think of was how scared he must have been and the pain he must have felt. From everything Severus had said, you knew what actually happened, his story falling completely in like with George's. You knew now that Severus hadn't meant to hurt George but it still hurt to hear his account of the incident.

"Are you sure?" Arthur asks, imploring his son to think of anything he might have missed, ensuring he was certain in his answer.

"I'm deaf-inite," George replied, turning to wink at you for his wit, whilst Fred chuckles on the other side of you.

When everyone had finished their breakfast and the conversation had come to an end, you stood and offered to help Molly clear up but she waved you away playfully, saying she had it all under control.

"Come on Weasley, time to change your dressings," you said, offering your hand out to George. He opens his mouth, eyes glinting in delight, which was his usual sign that something had amused him, usually the idea of a brilliant prank or a snarky comment. It takes one look shared between you both to realise exactly what he'd thought of, your little role play earlier in which he was the willing patient and you the kind and gentle nurse only too willing to help her sick patient.

"Ear goes nothing," he says in pure delight, earning another chuckle from Fred. You roll your eyes playfully at him as you help him up and though he'd a little unsteady, he manages to walk up to his room. You kiss Fred on the head on the way, your hand lingering on his shoulders as you sweep past, his own hand reaching for yours as you leave.

You remove the bandage once you get to his room and locate your kit, trying your hardest not to hurt him as the bandage catches on a little patch of dried fluid that had leaked from the healing wound. George is sat at the little wooden desk chair facing to the side so that you could work on his ear easier.

Once the bandage is removed you can now get a good look at the wound in the daylight, ensuring you keep your reactions to yourself as to not upset George, knowing that it could be an immediate insecurity for him.

Seeing it in the clear light, you felt your heart drop low for George, seeing that the ear was nearly completely gone. Sure you'd seen it last night but with the haze of adrenaline running through you and the bandage covering it overnight, you'd forgotten exactly how it looked. The saves were nearly healed and looked to be fading, thanks to the application of essence of dittany but the faint lines looked like lightening had struck him. There was an open hole where the inner cartilage of the ear used to be and the outer shell of his ear was completely missing. The redness had gone now significantly, as had the swelling and you were pleased with your work, though you couldn't help the niggling pain and guilt at seeing him so disfigured.

"How bad is it?" He asks quietly, his voice soft and nervous, no doubt reading too much into your silent observation.

"It looks good Georgie," you said in reply, trying to calm any of his fears or building insecurity. "I'm just thinking of ways to heal it further. Do you want some pain relief?"

"Please," he said in a small voice, the tone breaking your heart as he admitted to his pain. You took out your wand and cast a strong numbing spell at the area, hoping it would take away ever but of his discomfort.

"Is that any better?" You asked, allowing the spell to take hold.

"Much," he says, already sounding a little stronger.

You cast one more spell that would prevent the wound from leaking any blood or discharge and re-wrapped his head using a fresh bandage, keeping some pressure around the outer wound.

"All sorted," you say, moving around to face him again. You climb onto his lap, legs astride his own as his big hands rest on both of your thighs, holding you securely on him as your arms rest around his neck. "Gorgeous again."

He lets out a little self deprecating snort, looking away but you reach out and grab his chin, gently but forcibly making him look at you.

"I need to say something," you say, looking deeply into his eyes, ensuring that he really listens to what you're about to say.

"I'm all ear," he jokes, making you tap his shoulder at the deflecting humour.

"You are so handsome, with or without your second ear. You're still absolutely gorgeous to me, nothing has changed even slightly. You'll be healed soon and I need you to remember that," you say, though you can see in his eyes that he doesn't truly believe you, not anymore.

Next

#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #harry potter #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley masterlist #george weasley #george weasley x you #weasley twins x reader #george weasley x reader x fred weasley #george weasley smut #george weasley x reader #weasley twins masterlist

[sarahscribbles]

por qué no los dos...soft morning sex with Loki ft. interlocking hands. i have been here rotating this idea in my mind for like, the last day.

Anything for you, my love

In the Quiet of the Morning

Summary: Soft morning sex with Loki

Pairing: Loki x f!reader

Genre: Fluff, smut

Word count: 3.1k

Loki Masterlist

Crimson petals as vibrant as freshly spilled blood brushed relentlessly along your left shoulder and the expanse of your upper back. The flower - one of Frigga’s enchanted tulips if you were correct - was ceaseless in caressing you with its velvet touch, bowing forward on its sturdy stalk, again and again, no matter how many times you attempted to shake it away. The kiss of its petals along your sensitive skin was maddening, refusing to let you slip back into the most relaxing sleep you had ever had. No sooner would your tired eyes drift closed against the bright morning sun than its stalk would bend soundlessly forward to graze your shoulder again, pulling you to the surface of wakefulness before you could fully drown in sleep.

This time, you raised a frustrated hand to firmly bat it away, your fingertips only succeeding in catching its curled edges before it bounced out of reach. This time, the soft spring grass of the meadow beneath you also shook.

That was unusual. 

Asgard wasn’t known for its earthquakes; you were next to positive no seismic events had occurred since the reign of Borr, so to feel the soft grass shake beneath your tired limbs was alarming in the least. Though, after the initial tremor, the ground fell still around you, the quiet fluttering of the grass in the breeze making you question if it had only been a figment of your imagination. 

What wasn’t, though, was the incessant graze of the damn tulip. 

Again, its delicate petals brushed over your shoulder, this time with added force, and a peeved hand quickly swept through the air to bat it aside. 

The ground beneath you shook again, though you noticed it wasn’t the tumultuous rumble of plates scraping against each other, but more akin to a steady, broken pulse of the ground as though it possessed a heartbeat of its own. It quickly went still again beneath you and you closed your eyes once more, hoping the last remnants of sleep would pull you back under like a buoy under the surf. 

What felt like a return to peaceful sleep in the spring meadow nestled in the Asgard mountains quickly began to melt to black. You could no longer feel the soft coolness of the grass beneath your bare arm or feel the gentle heat of the morning sun beating down on your legs. Instead, as your consciousness waded through the last dregs of sleep, you felt the warm tangle of sheets encasing your body. 

You weren’t lying in a spring meadow somewhere in the mountains of Asgard, you were in your chamber in the palace cocooned in green silk. When your tired eyes settled you could see the skyline of Asgard through the sandstone arches to the balcony, the light dusting of pink still scattered across the high peaks of the mountains telling you it was still early morning, much earlier than you usually rose, so what had caused you to…?

Ah. 

That damn tulip. 

The damn tulip had, in reality, been Loki’s lips pressing to the bare skin of your shoulder, each gentle kiss as soft as the beat of a butterfly’s wings and causing a pleasant tickle beneath your skin. You would recognise his touch anywhere, would know blind every groove and contour of his lips. He was as familiar to you as the steady beat of your heart.

One strong arm, heavy and secure, was curled around your waist, pressing your back to his chest and flexing gently with each kiss to your shoulder. The temptation to let your fingers find his forearm and drift along his slender muscles until they interlocked with his own curled against your stomach was nearly overpowering, but you were loathe to break the spell that had been cast over your chambers in the early morning light. 

Through the wide, open arches of the chamber balcony, the rising sun had painted the room in hues of orange and yellow, as though a golden sphere of magic encased the east wing of the palace to seal you in this moment with Loki. The light danced off your hanging glass ornaments to paint a medley of rainbows on each chamber wall, each of them jumping slightly with the gentle morning breeze that brought with it the sounds of the Allmother’s garden birds below. 

Surely this was Valhalla?

The unbroken pleasant melody of birdsong floated around the chamber, mixing with the soft sound of Loki’s lips leaving your shoulder. Each kiss he placed upon you was as chaste as freshly fallen snow, but each one still had warmth blossom pleasantly beneath your bare skin. A quiet sigh of utter contentment floated from your lips before you could stop it, and you could practically hear Loki smile when he nuzzled his face into your neck. 

“I know you’re awake, dove,” he murmured quietly, sinking his teeth gently into the skin just behind your ear and sending a shiver wracking your spine. 

Smooth, silk sheets became a cocoon around your sleep-warm body when you rolled onto your back, now looking up at the man you loved as he hovered over you, the beginning of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“Not by own choice,” you said, attempting to sound stern and displeased, though you were forced to bite the inside of your cheek to prevent a smile. 

Loki’s jaw dropped until his mouth formed a small, perfect “o” of feigned shock. “You would choose sleep over spending time with your devoted husband? You wound me, my darling.” 

“Sleep does not demand my attention so tirelessly,” you teased him, finally allowing a smile to break across your face. 

Gazing up at him in the delicate golden tinge of the morning, you were struck once again by the fact that he was yours. Set against the early morning sun bouncing off the sandstone walls of the chamber he looked ethereal, like what the Midgardians might call an angel. Even with his sleep-knotted curls and the last vestiges of sleep colouring his pale cheeks pink, he looked every inch the god and prince that he was. 

And he was yours. 

The look in his eyes, the softening of emerald green irises, was one reserved solely for you. “Ah, but with a wife as enchanting as mine, who can blame me?” he asked, cupping your cheek with one cool hand and letting the silken pad of his thumb caress your heated skin.

You rolled your eyes fondly and allowed him to lean in and kiss you. It was soft and wonderfully slow and sent a glowing warmth rushing all the way to your toes. Even after centuries together his kiss still elicited the same reaction in you as the first one at fourteen, the one you could still conjure clear as the brightest summer day in your memory. 

The day you had realised that you would burn Asgard to cinders for him. 

It was a depth of love for him that you fought to convey in every touch, every kiss, and this morning was no different. The kiss you returned was equally as chaste, but twice as firm, and when you felt him begin to pull back, your hands skated swiftly from where they had rested against his bare chest to his shoulders in a wordless plea. 

Not yet.

You weren’t yet ready to give up the warmth of his lips. 

He smiled against your mouth, his appreciative hum tingling against your lips and causing your heart to leap for him. The single small sound, as quiet as an afternoon breeze whispering through the grass, was all it took to have you melt back into the scattering of silk covered pillows, opening yourself to him completely. 

He could shatter you to pieces in his elegant hands but you trusted him entirely. Your heart and soul were his, would remain his until your hourglasses ran out of sand, and even then. Your soul would follow his to the halls of Valhalla or the glorious meadow of Fólkvanger. Even death would not make you part from him. 

Even with having him so present, so solid beneath your fingertips, your heart still cried out for him, for more of him. Eager arms snaked across the soft, pale skin of his back, gently coaxing him closer even though you were practically skin on skin. Wordlessly, he followed, settling easily between your spread legs while keeping his lips sealed to yours, refusing to be apart from you for even the breath of a second. One hand rested by your side against the mattress, while the other drifted to the outside of your right thigh, toying with the intricate lace at the bottom of your nightgown. 

You sucked in a breath when you felt his fingers slip beneath the soft satin, tracing nonsensical patterns along your heated skin until they reached the curve of your hip. It was a silent question, a wordless “may I?” despite his having your consent as long as there was breath in your lungs. Unable to swallow the laughter that bubbled in your throat, you begrudgingly broke his kiss to see the quiet request burning in his green eyes.

“Already?” you teased him, though you burned for him just as hard. 

His smile was soft and heartwarmingly lopsided as he gazed at you. “My darling love, you know I can never get enough of you.” 

The obvious sincerity of his words coupled with the sheer intensity swirling in his eyes had a burning flame flicker beneath your cheeks. Several centuries of life behind you both and yet a few well chosen words had the power to make you as giddy as when the flame of your love had only just been lit.

“There’s no need to butter me up, my prince. I’m already yours.” You removed your left hand from where it had settled on his back, wiggling your wedding ring in front of him and watching it glitter in the weak morning sun. 

Loki slid his right hand out from under your nightgown, catching your hand easily in his own to press a kiss over the yellow gold adorning your finger. “Mine or not, you still deserve to hear how fiercely I burn for you morning, noon and night.”

Something deep in your stomach twisted with need for him, a thousand tiny butterflies taking flight within you, and your heart cried out for the feel of his beating alongside it. Not willing to wait or tease him any longer, you pulled your hand from his grip, folding it over the other and automatically placing both over your head, waiting to feel the gentle tingle of his magic. 

Instead, his kiss swollen lips parted in a small smile and his eyes softened to resemble an early spring meadow. “Not this time, my love,” he said gently, reaching to take your wrists in one hand to coax them back around his broad shoulders. “This morning I only wish to love you.” 

The fingers of one hand curled into the skin at the bottom of his neck, lightly scratching him the way you knew he enjoyed. As expected, you felt him shiver beneath your touch. “Then love me. Please,” you said, voice barely more than a whisper. 

He answered without words - there was no need for them - and instead sealed his lips over yours again. In the blissful quiet of your chambers, you bared yourself to him fully. While his hands worked easily to rid you of pale lilac satin, yours twisted into his hair, relishing the soft feel of his curls against your fingertips.

In the ever changing world outside your chamber - falling kingdoms and wars between the realms - Loki remained your constant, the rock that kept you anchored firmly to the ground. In this world or in the one that followed, he would be everything you ever needed to feel complete. 

“I love you,” you said easily once he freed your lips and turned his attention to the sensitive skin of your neck. The fingers of one hand remained tangled in his hair, moving with him with every nip and kiss along your skin; the other was looped around his bare waist, holding him as close to you as was possible and delighting in the soft scratch of the smattering of hair at the bottom of his stomach. 

He turned his head to place a wet kiss on the edge of your jaw, the action making stray black curls fall to lightly tickle the dip between your neck and shoulder. “I love you,” he replied, almost before the last syllable had left your lips. 

One large hand, firm and protective, settled in the curve of your waist, the pad of his thumb tracing light little circles over your skin for only a moment before his fingers drifted down between your legs, grazing oh so lightly against where you ached for him. 

There was no real need, though; you were already dripping for him. 

Your hand slid from his waist around his stomach, brushing over the coarse hair at the base of his cock to wrap firmly around him. A quiet grunt of pleasure escaped him, making something flutter like a startled bird in your stomach. He was hard and already weeping when you ran your hand in three slow strokes along the length of him. 

“Please, Loki,” you begged him quietly. “I’m ready. Please.” 

His eyes sparkled at you, love shining from them as clear as day. As gently as though you were a fawn he feared startling, he removed your hand from his hair to place a kiss against your closed fist, warm lips lingering against your skin. “You need not beg, my darling. My love is always yours.” 

With love spilling from your heart, you watched him manipulate your closed fist until his cool fingers interlocked with yours. Your joined hands fell to rest against the mattress, Loki giving yours the barest hint of pressure as, with the early morning sun casting you both in an iridescent glow, he eased himself slowly inside you. You kept your eyes on his while he filled you inch by beautiful inch, the first gasp of pleasure that fell from your parted lips making him squeeze your hand again. You hoped you were making him feel as good as he was making you. 

“Perfect, my darling. Always so perfect,” he murmured, leaning in to place a haphazard pattern of kisses along your collarbone. 

You were certain the intensity of the love you were feeling for him would spill from your every pore. There was nothing you would not do for him, nowhere you would not go for him. He was the moon that cast light on your darkest night and the stars that painted your sky. He was the other half of your soul. 

“I love you…so much,” you said again, unable to verbalise just how deep your love for him ran, how it could likely power Asgard and the eight realms outside it. It was the fire that kept you warm on the coldest winter nights and grounded you when you felt as though you were twenty feet above the ground. 

You loved him.

When he was fully seated inside you, his head fell forward, forehead resting against yours. “There’s no need to butter me up, my darling. I’m already yours,” he echoed. He captured your lips in another swift kiss and began rolling his hips, his cock moving in long, slow strokes in and out of you. 

Loving you. 

You locked your arms around him like a vice, giving yourself leverage to meet every roll of his hips with your own, the desperate need for him almost sending you dizzy.

“Beautiful thing,” he murmured against the flushed skin of your collarbone. “Enchanting woman,” he continued, the praise and adoration falling from his lips like honey and fanning the fire already burning ceaselessly in your heart for him.

It was something you were only too glad to reciprocate. Sweet words of your own weaved easily with his until his practiced fingers dipped between your legs to your clit and brought them to a stuttering stop. Your praise quickly melted into sharp cries of pleasure that rose to fill the high vaulted ceilings of the chamber, each slow stroke of Loki’s cock and masterful circle of his fingers sending you closer and closer to the teetering edge. 

All the while, his hand continued clutching yours like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world. 

With the pressure of his touch and the firm, slowness of his thrusts, it was only a matter of minutes before you were dangling off the delicious edge, braced and ready to freefall into your release. “Loki…I’m gonna come,” you warned him, flexing your fingers around his. 

“Wait,” he said swiftly, voice rough and breathing hard. “Wait for me.” It was a plea rather than an order, and you nodded mutely. With your praise in his ear and your hand cupping his cheek, he reached you mere moments later. “Now. Come with me, darling.” 

Your release was instant and blinding, making a kaleidoscope of brilliant white stars dance behind your eyes. Loki’s hand squeezed yours and you returned it with twice the force, his name spilling from your lips like it was the only word you cared to know, like it was the only word you needed to know. He rode out his high alongside you, repeating your name like it was his saving grace and the one thing that could grant him salvation. 

You clutched him like a lifeline, feeling how your knees, still locked around his waist, turned to jelly with the force of your orgasm. He spilled inside you, spreading warmth to your very core and claiming you once again as his. You continued to hold him as he rode out the aftershocks of his pleasure, turning blissfully boneless beneath him in the wake of your release and feeling the frantic beat of his heart alongside yours. 

You wished you could freeze time to remain frozen in this moment forever; thoroughly loved and held securely in your husband’s embrace. 

His head eventually fell to rest in the crook of your neck, hand still clinging to yours while he pressed a trail of lazy kisses to your damp skin. Your free hand stroked his hair, being mindful of the snags and knots that still remained from the night. He hummed contentedly against your neck. 

“That…that was a nice way to wake up,” you spoke softly into his curls, still breathless from his love. 

You felt his warm breath fan against your neck as he laughed. “You still seem drowsy to me, darling,” he said, propping himself up to meet your gaze with mischief swirling plainly in his eyes. “Perhaps you should cancel your morning plans today. I fear you won’t be properly awake until at least noon.” He claimed your lips in another blistering kiss and you allowed him to press you back against the pillows. 

Today could wait.

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