#what is oxygen concentrator

[minimumlie]

Being in a nursing home is wild sometimes.

Whenever I can’t hear what the resident is saying, I have the Wonderful! Fantastic! Genius! solution to just turn off their oxygen concentrator so I can hear them better :|

#nursing student #cna #cna things #nurse things #nurse #nurse memes #nursing homes #intrusive thoughts #auditory processing disorder #help I just want to hear what they want to drink #they got two TVs on #they got oxygen concentrators on #the noise pollution in a nursing home is insane #wish I could hear better

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook can’t sleep, and he can’t stop kissing you either.

> fluff, suggestive / word count: 2.6k

> content/warnings: alexa play seven by jungkook! mentions of s^x, lots and lots of cutie kisses :( they’re in that afterglow <3 oc’s chest is his pillow :(

> in which masterlist!

note: hi hi. here’s ur slice of pure self indulgent fluff 🍰 i just had to write abt this jk :P there’s a reference to in which you always get what you want and jungkook is dying to kiss you 🥹 reblogs & feedback are vv appreciated. i’d love to hear ur thoughts so feel free to scream or laugh or cry <3

—

a fleeting white light passes through your closed eyelids, nearly blinding, as you hear the familiar shutter of your boyfriend’s polaroid camera.

“jungkook,” you whimper weakly due to the sudden disturbance, burying your face on the soft pillows while pushing the camera away.

“shit, shit- sorry, baby-” he winces, guilty of disrupting your journey to slumber, as he scrambles to fix his mistake. “forgot to turn off the flash.”

he places the polaroid face down on the space behind him to give it the time to develop the photo he had taken. much to your relief, the bedroom falls silent once more except for the quiet humming and breathing of the airconditioner. you return to properly laying your head on the pillow, taking a small gasp of oxygen, and jungkook smiles because of how adorable you are for still refusing to open your eyes.

“can i take more pictures?”

“did you turn it off?” you whisper as you stretch your legs to find a more comfortable position, unwittingly pulling down the comforter and exposing your nakedness to the cool air. this gives rise to goosebumps on your skin, causing you to shiver, but your boyfriend is quick to your rescue. he catches the hem before it could slide past your skimpy shorts.

“i did.”

a chaste kiss is planted on your shoulder before it is returned underneath the warmth of soft layers of cotton and fabric.

you sigh, melting back into relaxation. “okay.”

he re-anchors his elbow into the mattress, resting his head on his palm to admire the majestic view of you. jungkook likes this a lot, he lives for it— lying on the bed face-to-face with his sated lover, spending the rest of the night feeling like his heart is not a big enough vessel to hold all the love he has for you. the lights he is yet to turn off have splashed the dark room with a red glow that engulfs your figure as well, escalating his heartbeat, so hypnotic and tantalizing, he finds himself breathing heavier and heavier behind the viewfinder, or maybe he has stopped breathing at all. the shutter briefly fills the silence.

this is… the arch of your back is burned in his mind and he swears he still tastes you on his tongue, but seeing you like this feels so different.

he was consumed by his pleasure and yours just half an hour ago, admittedly almost blinded by his own sweat dripping from his forehead because he simply couldn’t stop wanting more of you, giving himself to you. you weren’t exactly innocent either, with your provocative touches and coquettish smiles, whispering lewd words that was gasoline to the lust flaring up inside of him. he revels in seeing that you’re just as desperate for it as he is, if not more, purely from the way you beseech him with your eyes mirroring stained glass windows. he knows you love it when he fucks you so good it brings you to tears, welcoming the delightful intensity of his nature, and that you were also trying to tire him out so he’d finally feel sleepy, but holy shit, looking at you right now, he wants nothing more but to hold you with utmost gentleness.

wildly concentrated with his bottom lip tucked in between his teeth, he brushes away the hair that fell on your face before capturing another exquisite memory to be burned into film.

jungkook is greedy when it comes to you.

a disgruntled whine slips from your mouth when the pillow underneath your head is replaced by his thick arm, which is then rudely cut off by his lips crashing on yours.

clearly, you’ve grown too comfortable in this relationship.

“i love you.” he drunkenly mutters, instantly going for another kiss and barely finishing his another- “i love you.” before he’s kissing you again.

“babe-” you chuckle then gasp, holding on to his wrist as his tattooed hand loosely wraps around your neck.

“i love you. i love you, i love y- i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you.” he repeats himself over and over, the volume of his voice gradually getting quieter as he runs out of breath, until his tongue becomes tied. grounded by the feeling of your steady pulse beneath his thumb, he silences himself by tenderly kissing you, soft lips molding with yours for a wordless declaration of devotion this time around.

pure static— there are no thoughts running in your head. your limbs feel numb but tingly. you feel like you’re floating- no, you’re falling. the bed has turned into an abyss and you’re falling endlessly and jungkook holding you close is the only thing that makes sense. you might have to consider this true heaven, nothingness with your everything, when the whole world is lights-out and quiet that it feels like time has been suspended, and the only way to keep track of it is through each pump of your heart.

at last, your eyelids slowly flutter open as he pulls away, and he greets you with that boyish grin. “pretty.”

his hand on your neck moves to stroke your face lovingly, eyes glimmering with various emotions as they wander your features.

“____ is so, so pretty.”

“hm, really?” you hum sleepily, leaning closer to his touch. “thanks to you.”

“me?” his doe eyes widen in confusion.

“you know, for the afterglow. i feel nice.” you giggle brightly at your own half-joke, positively out of your goddamn mind as you hide your warm face on his shoulder.

“ahhh- ah!”

enlightenment then dawns on your boyfriend.

his giggles blend in with yours for a harmony that strikes the same joy as the sound of wind chimes on a windy day.

jungkook tries not to appear too cocky about the compliment, but consequences be damned, he would die satisfying his lover.

“oh yeah, baby? do you now?” there’s a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face when you take a peek at him, which then morphs into a grin when your eyes meet. “i feel nice, too.”

“nice?” your voice comes out delicate, droopy eyes asking him for confirmation.

“nice.”

he feels a tug at his heartstrings.

“you know what? fucking great… i could never have enough of you.”

it becomes silent for a while. his tattooed hand slides under the comforter, letting his fingers skim across the side of your waist, feather-light touches on your bare skin before he’s pulling you closer to his body.

“i… i don’t doubt that feelings like this can only grow as time goes on but… it’s still amazing that when i think about it, even until now, all the time, i want to be with you.”

he involuntarily breathes out a shaky sigh, ears going red as they do when he’s expressing sincerity from the deepest parts of his soul.

“really, how do you do this…? what is this magic? why- why do i like you so much? i mean, i know why! of course! but, wow!” he squeezes his eyes shut to express his disbelief, clicking his head to the side. “it’s possible for it to be this much? do you get what i’m saying? i just have thoughts like that— love is so fascinating.”

you barely process his words with your brain still in a haze of bliss, but it’s funny, hearing these questions from the same man who has the entire world madly obsessed with him.

oh, this actually sounds familiar. he’s getting all sentimental and philosophical. again. and he’s not drunk. were you that good tonight?

“i won’t give away my secrets just like that. what if you use them on someone else?” you tease him, rubbing your tired eyes and shaking your head as you giggle.

you receive a dirty look from him, clearly offended and uninterested in the thought of putting in the hard effort to impress someone that isn’t you.

“aish, stop talking! i don’t like hearing you talk in that way.”

“then what else am i supposed to do? you’re the one who woke me up.” you retort in annoyance.

but you honestly don’t think there’s any secret to tell. jungkook is in love with you. plain and simple.

“you’re right, i’m sorry. go back to sleep if you want to.”

he dips down to plant gentle pecks on your shoulder, going down on a trail to your neck, and you unconsciously tilt your head to his convenience because he’s bringing the butterflies in your stomach back to life. it feels good, everything he does always feels good.

“you’re seriously not done?” you mumble against his lips, unfaltering with the kisses as if he would run out of them any minute now.

he stubbornly answers with a “no!” as his lips ghost over your cheek.

if only bam was here, jungkook would eventually leave you alone to rest. he would pester him with his late-night burst of affection instead while talking shit about you to your child because you dodged his kiss in your sleep.

“babe, you’re supposed to sleep. you have work later.”

“no, i don’t want to sleep. i… i want to kiss you- baby.” he protests as he continues to pepper your face with kisses, giving your body a particularly tight squeeze when he searches for your lips again.

you blink at him in confusion when he suddenly sends you a look of irritation, eyebrows furrowed and eyes glaring.

“you haven’t even said ‘i love you’ back yet.”

“oh, i haven’t?” you wince innocently. “sorry. i love you.”

but he should be the one apologizing to you, since it’s his fault that you still can’t think straight, or walk for that matter.

you pat around the mattress behind his back until you stumble upon the camera, and it’s jungkook’s turn to be your beloved muse. you scoot away until the lens manage to capture him down to his shirtless abdomen. you watch him in complete awe behind the viewfinder. he squints at you, raising his eyebrows flirtatiously, and he smirks when you chuckle in amusement.

“ah wait- take this! take this! you have to take a good one, got it? i worked so hard on them yesterday!” he eagerly voices out a special demand.

he shuffles to flex his arm infront of the camera, showing off his well-defined triceps and biceps while releasing rich, throaty grunts. totally unnecessary, but so achingly jungkook.

your boyfriend is outrageously, ridiculously sexy— he’s still wearing that stupid black headband he hastily put on in the middle of sex because he got pissed off at his hair and he needed it out of the way so he could ‘properly see his love’s beautiful body.’

you roll your eyes inside your head.

what a fucking tease.

nonetheless, you acquiesce.

the flash goes off.

and another polaroid is crafted into existence that you selfishly want to keep for your eyes only.

“baby, let me see.”

“it’s mine!” you scrunch your nose with a childlike charm, hiding the polaroid behind your back.

he chuckles, hopelessly endeared by you.

“yes, i’m yours.” he coos in response.

and your unguarded heart is once again swept away by the taste of his tongue. the camera becomes an abandoned item. your fingers daintily pushes off his headband in favor of freely tangling them with his silky hair, and it also ends up getting lost somewhere in the sheets as his sweet kisses lull you in a false sense of security… because out of nowhere, that same blazing light burns through your closed eyes for the second time tonight.

jungkook playfully waves the polaroid infront of your face, and his toothy grin is met by your unimpressed expression.

“this is mine!”

he has been waiting to jump into this type of opportunity, to orchestrate a romantic moment to be stolen in film— you can tell by the sparkles in his eyes. reminiscent of that one late night in a tiny photobooth where your younger and clueless selves were cramped in, this is what you and his hyungs often talk about, how much you share the same fondness for the fact that jungkook hasn’t changed at all.

“just how many pictures of you kissing me do you need?” you ask him lightheartedly.

he juts out his bottom lip sullenly, and a few beats pass before he forms an answer. “i always need more for when i miss you.”

you copy his frown. “then what about me when i’m missing you too?”

“hmmm… i want you to always remember me like this, baby.” he melodramatically declares as he picks up the one and only polaroid you’ve taken of him tonight. “can you see my abs too…? oh- it’s not showing yet.”

he looks back at you shyly with a laugh, and he places it back down to let it continue developing.

“i’ll look later. i can’t even keep my eyes open anymore. ‘m so tired.” you sadly sniffle to gain his pity, fluttering your damp eyelashes at him. “let’s go to sleep, please?”

jungkook doesn’t find it in himself to articulate a consolation or protest, not when you’re tugging him down to coax him into laying his head on your chest.

“heaven.” he moans, overcome by contentment.

he adjusts himself a bit to be more comfortable before dragging the comforter further upwards to provide warmth for the two of you, all the while refusing to remove his face nuzzled up against you.

“why are you always like this? can you even breathe?” you chuckle with your eyes closed.

“i love your boobs.” his honest reply comes out muffled, cute for some reason, along with his satisfied hums prompted by your nails lightly scratching his scalp.

“i know.”

he turns his head to the side to look up at you, and he carries on to speak with his cheek squished against you. “i really, really mean it.”

“yes, baby. i believe you.”

a minute of silence passes. the ecstasy still flooding your veins becomes a stepping stone in the pond towards your dreamland, where all is either fantastically perfect or horrifically fucked up.

but then you feel sloppy kisses being deliberately scattered in the middle of your chest, leading down to your stomach, and you get rudely knocked over into the cold, clear waters.

yes, plea- oh no, no, no, no.

“jungkook, baby, stop. i can’t go another round.” you whine pathetically, being driven closer to the urge to burst into tears.

“AH! o-ow- ouch- baby, wha- i swear, i wasn’t even planning on it!” he loudly exclaims in surprise when you harshly pull him away by his hair.

“still…” your voice cracks. “you know i’ll get turned on!”

his chuckles are infuriatingly raspy and of no help at all, ego inflating upon hearing your response and the frustration obviously laced with it.

“okay, okay! i’m sorry! i’ll behave now!”

thank god.

he assumes his previous position, the place that he deems to be the warmest and the coziest. as he wraps his arms around your waist, your fist relaxes into an open palm that cradles the back of his head.

“____?” he mumbles, finally feeling the tiredness seep into his sore muscles now that he’s lying motionless.

“hmm?”

“let’s eat dinner outside after work.”

“…meat?”

“and beer!” he adds, brimming with excitement, and he salivates as he can almost taste them in his mouth already. they are his favorite, after all.

“i’ll come pick you up then.” you drop a kiss on his forehead, and he sighs happily. “but go to sleep or else i’ll kick you out of the bedroom again.”

his sweet embrace becomes an iron grip.

cold and alone, he swears those were some of the worst three hours of his life.

he squeaks in defeat. “goodnight, baby.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you

[beenbaanbuun]

first kiss with ateez

park seonghwa

i’m of the belief that seonghwa is a gentleman through and through

unfortunately that means no kiss until at least the third date, and even then your lips would have to look particularly plush and tempting for him to even dare

a bit of pink lip gloss does the trick, drawing his gaze to your lips more than once during the restaurant date that you find yourself on

he studies them when you talk about what’s going on in your life, watching your pretty teeth peeking out from beneath them

in fact, the more you talk, the harder it gets to pull his gaze away to look you in the eyes

how can he when your lips look so, what’s the word, kissable…

and before he can even stop himself, he’s leaning across the table and is oh-so-gently holding your face in place with a hand on your cheek

your words stop in your throat as he breathes against your lips and perhaps you can’t help but find his lips a little tempting too

you close the gap, pushing your lips against his own soft pair and holding yourself in place for just a moment or two

neither of you forget that you’re in the centre of a restaurant so you pull away, sharing a silent promise that it would be the first of many

kim hongjoong

hongjoong didn’t quite know why he felt so compelled to show you his studio so early in the relationship

it was his safe space away from the rest of the world, and yet there you were, stood right in the centre of it looking like you belonged there

and he believed that you did because why else would you look so pretty under the dim lights that shone from the ceiling?

why else would he be so tempted to pull you over to his desk chair and have a long, passionate make out session with you?

he tries to shake the dirty thoughts away, but a few linger on for longer than he’d like

and as you look around the space, he can’t quite help but imagine what it would feel like to hold his lips to yours

feeling braver than usual, he struts up to you and leans into your personal space, mouth barely an inch from your own

“can i?” he whispers, eyes flickering down to watch your lips part and your tongue dart out to wet them, “want to feel your pretty mouth on mine…”

you nod and before you know it, he has a hand on your shoulder, pulling you close and his lips on yours, drinking you in

he doesn’t pull away until you’re both dizzy from a lack of oxygen, but before you can even fully catch your breath, he’s delving in for more

jeong yunho

another gentleman except he is more than happy to kiss you on the first date as long as you’re as willing as he is

because he never really believed in love as first sight, but when he sees you for the first time, kissing you is all he can thing about

spends half of his time staring at your lips, and half of his time staring at your eyes wondering how pretty it would be to watch them flicker closed as he kisses you

tries his hardest to listen to you as you talk but how is he supposed to concentrate when all he wants to do is lean in and press his own lips against yours

ends up asking you to repeat yourself pretty much every sentence but you don’t really mind because you like the way he pouts when he asks…

both of you so desperately want to kiss the other and yet neither of you say anything, until…

“is that lipstick on your teeth?” yunho asks. you try to rub it off but you’re rubbing at the wrong tooth and yunho is just giggling to himself

you ask him to get it for you, and he freezes up because he’s unsure as to whether you’re genuinely asking him or whether it’s some sort of weird way of you asking for a kiss

he plays dumb and hopes it’s the latter, leaning in a little and extending the invitation for you to close the gap, which of course, you do

you giggle against his lips as he pushes the tip of his tongue into your mouth to wipe away the lipstick

kang yeosang

you’ve been dating for a while and you both desperately want to kiss the other but you’re shy and yeosang is clueless

the two of you are trapped in a weird sort of tango where one of you will get just about brave enough to lean in for a kiss before uncertainty kicks in and you take it back

your friends can’t be around you two anymore because it’s genuinely annoying to watch you two perform this weird ritual

they’re all silently begging for the two of you to just quit the bullshit and make out (preferably not in front of them)

but even with the hints the guys drop to yeosang, he still doesn’t seem to understand that of course you want to kiss him as badly as he wants to kiss you

until one night, you’re at his dorm for a movie night that yunho invited you over for

eventually, though, he gets fed up of watching you two love sick idiots watch one another instead of the movie and he stands up with his popcorn bowl and his blanket

“i’m going to bed,” he grumbles, shooting the two of you a frustrated look, “you two need to get a grip and make out already…”

it’s the most direct hint any of the members have given to yeosang, and finally it sinks in that holy shit! maybe you want to kiss him too???

your lips are already on his the second yunho is out of the room and he can’t help but squeak in surprise before fully leaning into the kiss

it’s unsure to start with, but the two of you soon find your feet and as per yunho’s instructions, you do in fact ‘get a grip and make out’

choi san

another gentleman but only in the sense that he likes to get verbal consent before kissing you

and he’s been waiting so patiently to ask you all night but he can’t quite bring himself to interrupt you as you very cutely ramble on about some random topic

but as much as he could sit and listen to you talk about anything with your angelic voice, he just wants to lean over to where you’re sat on his bed and kiss you

you notice him zoning out after a while and your sentences trail off

“sorry, was i rambling?” you ask, growing shy

“huh?” he shakes himself out of his trance and pouts at you, “aw, you could never ramble, babe…”

while you’re grateful that he’s so quick to squash any insecurities you might have about talking too much, you can’t help but wonder what had him so deep in thought

but before you can ask, san gets there first

“can i kiss you?” you nod, but san doesn’t do anything until you actually say it

when you finally get the word out, he smiles and lunges forwards to let his lips crash against yours

it’s not a gentle kiss, but it’s not an aggressive one either

it’s more like a long awaited one, switching from slow and sensual to desperate and depraved, before going back to the former in mere seconds!

song mingi

this man can and will kiss you whenever he feels like it

don’t get me wrong, he gets so incredibly shy around you, but he is also so incredibly impulsive that the moment he gets the idea to kiss you in his head, he can’t shake it out until he’s done it

it’s only your second date, but the two of you click so well that mingi thinks he might already be in love with you

and then he says something jokingly mean, purposefully to make you pout, and he just freezes

have your lips always looked that kissable? because right now, that’s the only thing he can think about

they look so soft and pliant and pink and before he knows it, mingi is leaning down to your height, his own lips just a breath away from yours

“do you want to kiss me?” he asks with a dopey smile, “i want to kiss you…”

you nod with a dazed expression and he closes the gap, wasting no time in deepening the kiss

he puts his huge hands on your waist and holds you flush against him as he explores your mouth

after what feels like a blissful eternity, he pulls away, panting deeply as he licks at his own lips that are covered in your spit

jung wooyoung

this little shit wants to kiss you soooo bad and unfortunately for you, he can tell that you want to kiss him too

with anyone else, that wouldn’t be a problem, but wooyoung is evil and is absolutely determined to make sure the only thing you can think of all day is his lips

he spends all day biting at his lips and flicking his pretty pink tongue over them the make them glisten in the sun light

acts extra pouty just in case he didn’t already have your full attention on his lips

he can tell by the way you zone out mid sentence to stare at his mouth that he does in fact have your full attention but that doesn’t stop him

oh no, it only drives him to be oven more of a little demon

he decides he wants to get ice cream with you despite it being the middle of winter, and for some reason you agree

he eats it in such a way that gets it smothered on his lips, but with the smirk on his face you can tell it’s intentional

you try and dab it away with a napkin but he just pouts and leans in close

with a sigh and a roll of your eyes, you take the hint and press your barely concealed smile to his own lips

he transfers the ice cream to your own lips before letting his tongue dart out to lick it up

you pull away with a grossed out whine, but he pulls you back in immediately for more

choi jongho

for jongho, the urge to kiss you built up over time

like sure, on the first date he notices how pretty your lips look but all of you is pretty and that doesn’t necessarily mean he wants to kiss you

but then on the second date, he can’t help but notice that you like to chew on your lips and somewhere in the back of his mind is a thought that has him shocked at himself

like, he’s known you for a little over a week, why is he daydreaming about tugging your bottom lip between his teeth before diving in for a kiss

and then suddenly, it’s the fifth date and you’re sat on his sofa curled into his side and he just can’t stop staring as you nibble on your bottom lip

there’s a deep internal conflict about what he should do because he just can’t sit and watch you unintentionally tease him anymore!

decides to be a little bold and takes a deep breath before using his thumb to tug your bottom lip free of your teeth

you look at him in surprise, but you have barely enough time to be shocked before his lips are descending on your own and you’re leaning into the best kiss of your life

it’s slow and passionate and jongho is holding onto you like your made of glass with his hands splayed across your lower back

you pull away before delving back for more immediately, gasping when you’d feel jongho’s teeth scrape against your bottom lip…

#ateez headcanons #ateez reactions #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #atz reactions #atz x reader #atz fanfic #atz fluff #atz scenarios #atz drabbles #ateez drabbles

[mellowsaturns]

starry nights

JOEL MILLER X READER

summary: late at night in the middle of nowhere, you and joel talk about the past… and the future

warnings: soft!joel my beloved, fluff, tiny bit of angst, heart to heart talk, idiots in love, mutual pining, friends to lovers, slight mentions of violence and loss 

wc: 1.3k

— — —

It’s Joel’s turn to keep watch when a low gentle voice brings him out of his concentration.

“Joel,” it whispers ever so softly. “Joel. Joooel.”

Turning his head, he meets your eyes from below.

“Why are you still up?” he gruffs.

You shrug your shoulders. “Can’t sleep.”

He pokes at the dwindling fire. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

“I know,” you sigh. Snuggling out of your sleeping bag, you pivot your way over and sit next to him. “I think I’m just excited that we’re almost at our destination,” you say as you lean your back against the rockbed. The past three months have been rough—so much loss that you didn’t know how much more you could take.

Closing your eyes and tilting your head back, you take a deep breath in to savour the moment of peace and quiet before opening it back up again. “Hey,” you whisper while nudging Joel's arm. “Look at that.”

He follows your trail of sight and when his eyes adjust to the light, he couldn’t help but exhale in incredulity.

Because deep in the mountains, miles away from the nearest human civilization, a cluster of stars are shimmering above the two of you against the night sky.

The both of you admire it for a moment before you speak. “When was the last time you ever saw something so beautiful?” you ask breathlessly, turning your head over to him.

Joel doesn’t answer, just simply looks at you and you see that glint in his eyes again—a look you can’t decipher but never ask him about.

Ignoring it, you continue, “You know, this is actually kind of romantic.”

Joel’s forever thankful you don’t have some kind of super sonic hearing. Because the rate at which his heart’s beating was truly embarrassing.

Clearing his throat, he asks, “You ever been stargazing before? Like… on a date?”

You laugh, “God, no. No one ever did anything that romantic for me. How about you? I bet you were a real ladies man.”

He lets out a low chuckle thinking about the old days. “I was not.”

You snort. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Well, that’s the honest truth. Never really paid attention to them.”

“Oh, so you were the hard-to-get type, huh?” you tease.

From the small ember of light, you see a flush of pink creeping over his cheeks and you smile in triumph. It’s hard to get Joel flustered and you take in the moment to revel in that small victory.

Maybe it was the serene surroundings and the rare moment of safety but there’s a calm and comfortableness between the two of you—almost like the world wasn’t in ruins and you were on some camping trip pre-outbreak having a chat hours before dawn.

“I’m just teasing,” you say. “But do you think I would’ve had a chance?”

He perks up at your comment. “What?”

You can’t deny the fact that you had a crush on him. Have carried this feeling ever since Tommy first introduced you to the group. And that feeling has only gotten stronger ever since you embarked on this journey with him.

You bite your bottom lip nervously. “I mean…” you gulp, “If we met before the outbreak… Do you think you would have looked my way?”

Joel freezes. Completely freezes in his spot.

Reading his expression your heart races in panic. “I—I don’t know why I asked you that,” you stammer. “Jesus—I must be out of my goddamn mind,” you mumble, looking down in embarrassment. “It’s probably the lack of oxygen up here. My brain isn’t working. I’m sorr—”

“Yes,” he blurts out.

You snap your head up. “What?”

Swallowing a nervous breath, he admits, “I… We… Of course I would’ve.” A pause. Then, “I already do.”

“Really?” you whisper with that same glint in your eyes.

After spending years working together, he’s surprised you haven’t caught on yet. He’s not the best at expressing his feelings and tries to lock it up, but it slips sometimes—more times than he liked, because in spite of everything, his heart’s defenceless with you.

He had so many things he wanted to say. Like if he had met you then, he would’ve been the happiest guy on fucking earth. That he’d bring you your favourite flowers and take you out on unprompted dates—like seeing the stars in the back of his pickup truck. Afterwards, he’d take you home and shower you with his love—if you’d let him.

And Sarah would have loved you too.

It sort of pains his heart to think about the Joel from another lifetime ago. But if the conditions were a little better and the two of you weren’t trekking in the wilderness day and night, he’d still want to do the same, if you’d give him the chance too.

But he’s unable to get the right words out. After years of rough survival, he isn’t exactly the best at this romance thing anymore.

So he just nods slowly, hoping you’ll understand what he’s trying to say.

Your attempt at stifling your grin fails. Even though Joel never elaborates on his comment—borderline confession—you wrap it around your heart because nothing more needs to be said.

Something shifts in the cold mountain air and your heart beats with joy.

But at the same time, your heart aches at the memories of the past.

“Do you think the world could ever go back to how it was before?” you wonder.

The question falls silent between the two of you.

In truth, Joel doesn’t know if the world was ever going to get better.

But in that moment, for the first time in many years, it’s different from all the other times you asked. Because for a split second, there’s a lingering feeling of hope between the two of you—at Ellie who’s sleeping a few feet away, whom the both of you care for greatly, more than the two of you would like to admit.

Once everything goes according to plan, maybe he’d actually be able to do all the things he wanted to do with you. He’d have to make up for all the years missed, but it would be easy, Joel thinks, because there wouldn’t be a need to constantly look over his shoulders anymore.

“It could,” he says curtly.

You smile at him. At his optimism. So different from the Joel you met years ago. He was always hard-headed. Always a pragmatist. But ever since the three of you left Boston, his heart’s gotten softer and you see flashes of the version of Joel that Tommy always talks about. It doesn't help your heart at all.

“The first thing I’d do is retire,” you announce, stretching your legs dramatically. You were sick of being a smuggler.

Joel lets out a tired laugh, no doubt thinking the same thing. “... I’d want an old farmhouse, some land… a ranch. I would raise sheep.”

You chuckle at his words. “Ah. Like a true Texan.”

Maybe there was something waiting for you in Wyoming. Maybe the two, perhaps three, of you could live that sought after idyllic life together.

That dream was still days away but you don’t deny the good feeling brewing in your chest. All that loss and violence must have been for something, right?

“You should get some sleep,” Joel says, pulling you out of your little reverie.

“Already told you, I’m not tired,” you reply, but minutes later, you’re fast asleep on Joel’s shoulder.

He looks at you fondly, then back up at the flickering sky and wonders if a shooting star had passed by earlier unbeknownst to him and heard all his desires.

Pressing a gentle kiss on top of your head, he goes back to guard duty, a little more Joel Miller than before.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #joel miller fanfiction

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty Four-Info:you and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

Tags: 18+, Dirty Talk, ANGST ANGST ANGST, Kissing, Childhood Trauma, Slight!GunPlay(very slight), More Angst, Sadism, Slight Emotional Manipulation.

Find the rest of the chapters HERE.

Your fingers glided gently across the pages of your open book, tracing the lines of text as if seeking to absorb the knowledge directly into your skin. The ambient hush of the library enveloped you, punctuated only by the soft rustle of pages turning and the occasional murmur of voices in the distance. It was a haven of tranquility, a sanctuary where you could finally turn your thoughts off and allow yourself to get lost within the words of the text.

In this cocoon of silence, you immersed yourself, your eyes traversing the lines on the page with a voracious hunger for understanding. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of old parchment and the subtle aroma of polished wood, creating a sensory symphony that enhanced your focus. But amidst this serenity, an abrupt disruption shattered your concentration. The creak of a chair being pulled out and the faint sound of footsteps approached, heralding an unexpected presence.

Startled, your eyes lifted from the text to find Mattheo seated across from you--his dark, penetrating gaze drilled into yours, his eyes narrowed with a glaring suspicion as he analyzed your features, slowly and cautiously--not daring to speak. The sudden intrusion in such a public setting caught you off guard; a mix of surprise and unease filling your lungs as you blinked, glancing around the room to ensure no attention had been drawn.

It had been two days since the events in the bathroom, two whole days where the conversations were as bland as a piece of raw fucking chicken, and yet, here he was. Without warning. You had no fucking clue what he was doing here, but the look in his eyes told you it wasn't for any particularly pleasant reason.

"When were you planning on informing me about your little friend's new companion, hm?" His voice sliced through the air like a blade, his eyes narrowing with sadism. "I mean...I just happened to stumble upon her leaving my brother's dorm, and I'd highly fucking doubt she was there for a casual browse through his book collection, wouldn't you agree?"

Your eyes widened in shock, nerves flooding through you like an icy tide, freezing your words in your throat. You had been meaning to tell him, but since the two of you had hardly been speaking, it seemingly slipped your mind.

You glanced around the room, as if searching for an escape from the intensity of his gaze, before finally managing to whisper, "Are you fucking serious right now? Why is that any bloody concern of yours?"

"I just find it utterly fascinating," he sneered, his voice dripping with dangerous intent as he leaned over the table, scuffing his chair toward you. "...the intricate web of secrets you weave, Raven...not very Ravenclaw of you, now is it?"

"How is that a secret?" you hissed, your voice laced with both irritation and trepidation. "And why would I care about Emily getting with Tom? I never had any feelings for-"

"Not talking about that," he interrupted, his tone sharp as he cut through your words. "I'm talking about everything, in a far more broad context...all of the willing little lies and deceit...all the ways you've used me, just as much, if not more, than I've used you...you even managed to outwit Tom, which is one hell of an impressive accomplishment all on its own, I'll give you that."

The oxygen in the room vanished, leaving you nearly gasping for breath. "I...outwit Tom?"

"Well, it was only thanks to his blaring review that you landed this mentorship, was it fucking not?..." he scanned your features, his brows pinching in focus. "Every calculated step you've taken, every deceptive move you've made, all orchestrated to extract what you wanted for your bloody career...it truly makes a man wonder..."

His words struck like a cold breeze, sending a chill down your spine as you struggled to process the weight of his insinuations--you were beyond startled by the pace of this conversation, each syllable from his lips landing like a punch to the gut, rendering your mouth mute.

"I..." his words had you reeling, your voice catching in your throat, your confidence shattered by his unsettling revelation. "What the hell are you implying, Mattheo?"

Your throat tightened as you struggled to maintain composure. Swallowing hard, you tried to play it off, squinting at him in an attempt to mask your anxiety. But his penetrating gaze saw through your facades, leaving you defenseless against his piercing scrutiny. Mattheo's movements were deliberate, each shift in his chair calculated to exude an air of intimidation and control. His eyes, sharp and predatory, followed your every reaction as if he were studying his prey before a calculated strike.

"I did some digging on you last night...on your background...what your parents do...since, you know, you clearly had no interest in telling me yourself..." a sinister smile played on his lips, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic satisfaction. His voice lowered to a barely audible murmur, laced with a sense of superiority. "After the night at the lake, after that little spat we had...I just...I just couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to you than met the eye...and boy was I ever fucking right.”

Letting his words sink in, he leaned back in his chair, that sickening grin still plastered across his face. As the realization of his words settled like a heavy stone in your chest, you grew increasingly uncomfortable, acutely aware of the other students nearby. Their presence, though not directly involved, added a layer of unease to the situation.

Leaning across the table, you whispered urgently, "Do you have to do this here?" The words escaped your lips in a hushed plea, your voice strained with the need for privacy and a shred of dignity. "Like at least-"

Mattheo's response was chillingly calm, his grin widening with malicious delight.

"Oh, princess, come on," he purred, his tone a twisted mockery of sweetness. "Why continue to hide the truth? Let them hear what kind of person you really are..."

Your anger surged, the intensity of your emotions making your fingers grip the book tightly as you leaned in closer to him.

"You're a despicable asshole, you know that?" you spat out, your voice edged with pure disdain. "What's your bloody angle here?"

"Never claimed otherwise, did I?" His tone was flat, devoid of any remorse; meeting your words with an infuriating calmness. "Unlike you, I don't pretend to be something I'm not."

Your eyes rolled so forcefully it felt like you were glimpsing the inside of your skull, a groan of frustration clawing at your throat. Of course, he chose this moment--a place where you had to hold back your torrent of emotions, where you couldn't unleash the full force of your anger upon him. He knew exactly what he was bloody doing here, and it was fucking infuriating.

"Enough with the games, Riddle," you snapped, the words escaping through clenched teeth, your patience stretched to its limit. "Stop being a bloody arse and spit it out already."

"Your family history," he said, leaning in so close that your eyes locked in a battle of wills, each glance a dagger threatening to pierce the other's resolve. "It isn't as pristine as one might think...in fact, I'd almost be inclined to say it's the complete fucking opposite."

Your entire body tensed, coiling like a tightly wound spring. There was a pause as you studied his face, trying to decipher exactly what he knew before responding.

"Careful, Mattheo," you retorted, your voice laced with a sharp edge. "Just because you've unearthed a few skeletons doesn't mean you've cleared the whole closet."

"Honestly, Raven, I'm just curious," his grin stretched wider, the atmosphere around him growing denser with an almost palpable tension. "How did you manage to play the part for so long? You certainly had me fooled...even managed to trick the sorting hat into believing your little fucking charade...it's quite impressive, truthfully..."

A knot tightened in the pit of your stomach, every nerve inside you screaming in turmoil. "I...I don't know what you're talking about-"

"Don't even bother," Mattheo's words cut through your feeble denial, and he tilted his head, his intensity thickening the air around you. "I see right fucking through you, now, princess...that innocent act won't work on me anymore..."

His eyes, like burning coals, seared into your skin as if trying to uncover hidden truths. The room seemed to close in around you, amplifying the weight of his accusation.

"Generation after generation of Pureblood fucking Slytherins..." he continued, his voice low and laced with feign exasperation. "And yet, here you are...apparently as Ravenclaw as they come...you've managed to make yourself so damn-near invisible that no one even fucking noticed..."

Your breath hitched, caught in the vice grip of his merciless scrutiny. The truth of his words hung heavily in the air, a damning revelation that sent a shiver down your spine. Your carefully constructed facade, your shield against the world, was crumbling, and Mattheo had managed to find the cracks, leaving you exposed and vulnerable in his piercing gaze.

"I'll admit, I feel rather idiotic for not piecing it together sooner..." he sneered, his tone cutting through the tension like a knife, hands curling into fists atop of the desk. "I guess I was too entranced by your starry-eyed facade to see the cunning Slytherin hiding beneath, even though it was right in front of my face this whole time...your biting sarcasm, your unrelenting ambition, and your overly-eager knack for deceit--classic fucking Slytherin traits, aren't they, Raven?"

Your entire being blazed with a searing heat, a tempest of conflicting emotions threatening to consume you. The urge to throttle him until he fell silent warred with a fierce desire to pull him close and lose yourself in a breathless kiss. How infuriating it was to witness his sharp wit, a talent he wielded effortlessly, yet one he seemed unwilling to apply to his fucking studies.

At your silence, he huffed, glimpsing your lips again. "Not even the stars can change the essence of who you are, princess." He whispered, a hint of mockery in his tone. "Maybe it's about time you were honest with yourself."

Your anger surged like a tidal wave, crashing against the shores of your restraint. In that charged moment, you leaned in closer, as close as you possibly could, your body practically vibrating with intensity. How dare he sit there, smug and superior, acting like he had unraveled the very fabric of your being just because he had dug up a few skeletons from your family's closet?

Sure, your parents weren't paragons of virtue, but their actions don't define you--and that was the very the essence of all this. Every choice you've made, every hardship you've endured, has been a deliberate effort to distance yourself from their toxic legacy. His derisive remarks only fueled the fire, and you practically hurled the words at him, your voice laden with disdain.

"You don't know a single fucking thing about me," you seethed, "all you fucking know is what the inside of my body feels like...don't you dare sit there and act like you've got me all figured out."

Your steps were purposeful as you pushed up and away from the table, leaving him sitting there, his words lingering in the air like a bitter aftertaste. You moved back into the library, the familiar scent of old books surrounding you like a protective barrier, but you knew it wouldn't shield you from the storm that was Mattheo bloody Riddle for long. No, that would be far too fucking easy.

And nothing about your situation with that boy was easy.

As you put your book back on the shelf, you felt his presence behind you, a suffocating weight pressing down on your shoulders as you reluctantly spun back around to face him.

"Why'd you do it, huh?" Mattheo's voice cut through the air like a razor, his narrowed eyes fixed on you as he backed you up against the shelf, his presence overwhelming. "Are you truly that ashamed of who you fucking are?"

"Mattheo," you spat, your fists clenching at your sides, the frustration boiling inside you. "Please, don't push it...if I wanted to tell you about that, I would have..."

"Yeah, you're ashamed," he sneered, dismissing your words with a cynical laugh, confirming his original point. "You're ashamed of where you come from...fuck, I always knew we were alike, but I never knew it'd be this much-"

"What the fuck is this? Some type of elaborate power-play move? Some type of big intimidation act to get me to tell you about my life?..." you snapped, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and pain. "If you wanted to know, why didn't you just ask me? Instead of fucking me every chance you got why didn't you try having a real conversation with me? Try actually opening up to me for once?"

"Even if I did..." he said, dropping his tone into a low whisper. "Would you have told me? You said it yourself that you don't fucking trust me..."

"What do you want to know, Riddle? Huh? You want me to tell you how I grew up in a mansion full of emptiness? How my parents were never around and I was left with my cold, reserved grandmother, who cared more about her fucking butler than me?...or maybe you want to know about how I was raised in a world of expectations, forced to be perfect in every way imaginable, while my parents only bothered to acknowledge my existence when it served their social ambitions..."

You paused, frowning at him, your features a near scowl. "You're sure quick to call me a rich little princess...and sure, maybe you're right, maybe I had all the material things one could ever desire...but it was never enough, could never be enough. Something was always missing, like a void inside me that nothing would ever fucking fill."

Your eyes burned with unshed tears as you continued, the weight of your past bearing down on you. "When my grandmother got sick, it was the only time she actually fucking spoke to me. She told me to be different, to break free from the mold that had plagued my family for decades. I was there with her in her final moments, the first and only fucking time she ever said she loved me. And where were my parents? Absent, as always. They didn't even show up until days after her death, showering me with gifts, as if their mere presence could make up for years of neglect..."

In an unrelenting torrent, words cascaded from your lips, each syllable carrying the burden of years' worth of pent-up emotions. Mattheo's unwavering gaze never strayed, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts, absorbing every uttered syllable as though he never anticipated such revelations.

"Sure, maybe I was handed whatever I wanted on a silver fucking platter--but I was always alone, and truthfully, that's how I fucking preferred it. I never believed in destiny, Mattheo...the stars never whispered my name, my future...I had to shape my own path, I had to become something of my own...once my grandma passed, I was left with the butler. My parents didn't care about what I did as long as my grades were to their standards. They had no idea I wasn't in Slytherin until my third fucking year..."

You paused, your eyes catching Mattheo's parted lips, a reflection of sheer astonishment. Despite fighting to maintain composure, your voice softened with each breath, your heart pounding in your throat.

"I had to grab my own fate with two hungry hands, pulling and pushing and molding my life into something I could be fucking proud of...and then you came along, with your smart mouth and your fucking effortless charm...and you just...you forced your way right into my bloody heart, tore down my walls like you fucking belonged there." The bitterness in your voice hung in the air, the pain of your past etched into every word, your chest heaving with emotion as Mattheo stood in front of you, speechless. "Yes, I've made mistakes, but they belong entirely to me...and thats precisely what sets us apart, you went through some shit and let it possess you...I chose to fight back."

Trembling fingers betrayed the turmoil within, your entire body quivering in the aftermath of the verbal storm you'd just unleashed upon Mattheo. Only when the deafening silence enveloped you did the weight of your words become palpable.

Unable to endure the silence any longer, you broke eye contact, running a trembling hand through your hair. "I'm so sorry...I didn't mean to trauma dump on you like that, I just-"

"No," he declared, "don't you dare apologize to me...I should be the one apologizing to you."

Mattheo's interruption sliced through the charged air, his voice emerging rasped and strained, as though he had withheld words for years. Swallowing, you met his intense gaze, attempting to decipher the kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within his eyes.

"Don't pity me, Mattheo...I'm well past needing that," you whispered, your figure leaning subtly against the bookshelf, a tangible weariness emanating from your being. "Everything you've ever said was right...two sides of the same coin, the masks, the fact that we're each haunted by our own ghosts. You've always been fucking right. The only misstep was when you claimed you'd be my ruin."

Mattheo arched an eyebrow, bridging the distance between you with a measured step. "And why is that?"

"Because, little did you know, I was already in ruins," you murmured, reaching out to loop your fingers around his belt, pulling him closer. "If anything, you've been my bloody salvation...you did something I wasn't sure I was capable of anymore--you made me feel."

A tangible tension hung in the air as Mattheo's hands gripped your hips with a silent urgency, a fervent plea for your presence.

"As if you're going to fucking say that," he countered, his grip conveying unspoken desires. "As if that's not precisely what you did to me."

"Yeah?" you smirked, your voice a sultry whisper. "And what do I make you feel?"

"Everything, Raven," he cooed, lips grazing sensually over your jawline. "Hate, desire, anger, lust...among other things."

Your breath hitched, suspended in the charged exchange. "Among other--"

Before you could finish, Mattheo cut you off, his lips crashing onto yours in a searing kiss, a palpable surge of desire that eclipsed the need for spoken words. He pressed you against the bookshelf, the wooden solidity of the shelves meeting your back. His hands, with a journey of their own, glided up your sides, their warmth leaving a trail of anticipation. They found their destination on your face, gently cupping it with a possessiveness that made your heart flutter, and you sighed into his mouth, letting your hands rest at his sides.

"Everything about you is so fucking addictive..." Mattheo's confession hung in the air, a declaration punctuated by the heat of his lips tracing a fervent path along your jaw. His hand, a serpentine caress, slithered down your arm, leaving a tingling trail of warmth in its wake. "You are both hellfire and holy water...soft yet strong...and every bloody time I touch you I feel a little less war-torn, like your chaos balances out mine...I just...I have no idea what peace feels like Raven, but I have to imagine it feels a lot like you..."

"Mm...fuck, I've missed you..." a soft sigh escaped your lips as his kisses descended, exploring the landscape of your neck. Your fingers instinctively tightened their grip on his shirt. "Whatever happened to that break you said you wanted..."

"Fuck the break," he growled, desire lacing his voice. His hand ventured boldly behind your head, the other finding a home on your hip, possessive and hungry. "I want you so fucking bad...I want to fuck you right here...right against this fucking shelf...cover your filthy little mouth so no one can hear you fucking moaning for me..."

"Shit..." you mewled, gasping slightly as his hand slid around to grip your ass. "Maybe...if two people can't seem to stay the fuck away from eachother, they aren't meant to be apart, hm?"

"Maybe you're right..." Mattheo purred, nipping at your earlobe as he pressed you back against the shelf. "I've always been a strong man, Raven...but you break me without effort...you are my weakness, the chink in my fucking armour..."

"Your undoing?" you murmured, your fingers tracing over his belt.

He hummed. "Precisely."

"When are you going to open up to me, Mattheo?" You whispered, your voice a fragile murmur as though you were afraid of the answer, slipping your fingers under his belt now, gliding along its path. "Tell me all the bad things you've done...tell me what made you into the weapon you are...you don't need to be afraid...I saw your darkness from the very beginning and I'm still fucking here, aren't I?..."

"Why?" His grip tightened, breath hitching. "Why didn't you run?"

Your lids fluttered, slowly losing yourself in the warmth of his breath against your neck. His scent enveloped you; a familiar, soothing balm to the ache he'd caused with his recent request for a break. The answer formed easily in your heart, though voicing it required vulnerability, more than you'd ever expected to give.

"Because...it was a reflection of mine."

Mattheo's only response was a deep growl that rumbled through the charged space, a primal sound that resonated with desire. Without hesitation, he pulled you back into a hungry kiss, his body pulsating with pent-up energy seeking release. The intensity of the kiss mirrored the raw hunger between you, a magnetic force that defied all notions of any further separation.

As your fingers continued their exploration along his belt, tracing the contours with a teasing caress, you encountered an unexpected sensation--cold, unyielding metal tucked between the leather and his abdomen, its texture rough, and harsh. A chill ran down your spine as confusion slowly crept over you, your eyes fluttering open in slow, tentative blinks, fingers seemingly frozen in place.

Mattheo, lost in the heat of the moment, seemed oblivious to your sudden unease. The kiss deepened, his hunger transferring into the fervency of the embrace. But your focus had shifted, and your trembling fingers tentatively confirmed the nature of the cold object--something metallic, something that should not be there. You gently pulled away from the kiss, your eyes wide with realization, fixated on the metal object now halfway exposed. Dread tightened your chest as your brows pinched, flicking back up to meet his eyes.

"Mattheo," you whispered, the name carrying a weight of urgency, "what is this?"

Mattheo's swallow echoed in the charged silence, his gaze dropping to your hand, his chest still heaving from the passionate kiss. His eyes widened as the weight of your question settled in, a realization dawning on him, as if he had momentarily forgotten about the object concealed within his belt.

"Raven, I-"

He began, but you interrupted, yanking your hand back. "No-what the fuck-"

"Stop," Mattheo commanded, his tone abruptly taking on a harsh edge. With deliberate movements, he pulled up his shirt slightly, revealing more of the mysterious object nestled between his belt. The revelation hung in the air, and Mattheo, eyes now serious, asked a question that carried the weight of the moment: "Do you trust me, Raven?"

Your eyes squinted as a realization crashed over you, the rhythm of your heart shifting into a turbulent drumbeat within your chest. There was absolutely no denying it--that sleek, ominous silhouette spoke volumes. That was a fucking gun.

Frozen in a surreal disbelief, your ability to think, blink, or move was momentarily hijacked. Mattheo's hand surged upward with a suddenness that matched the shock in your eyes, seizing your jaw with a commanding force. His fingers, both firm and urgent, redirected your gaze, forcing you back to the depth of his eyes, which were now darker than the midnight sky.

"Answer me," he demanded, the intensity of his words amplified by the gravity of the situation. "Do you fucking trust me?"

The weight of the question echoed in the charged air. Your mind spun, grappling with the incredulity of the scene unfolding before you. Firearms had been a distant memory, relegated to hunting trips with a Muggle friend back in middle school. Yet, the stark reality of Mattheo possessing a fucking handgun in the heart of Hogwarts shattered any remnants of normalcy, the shockwaves reverberating through your very core.

"I-I-" you stammered.

Mattheo jostled your head in his grip, pulling you closer. "Yes or no question, Raven."

Blinking, you found yourself caught in a tempest of conflicting emotions. The tendrils of trust warred with the unsettling presence of the gun, a contradiction that defied all reason. In the throbbing silence, Mattheo's growl of frustration pierced the air. Relinquishing his grip on your jaw, he seized your wrist, directing it back toward the ominous weapon.

"Take it out," he commanded, his eyes fixed on yours. "Right now, Raven. Take it."

A whimper escaped you, your fingers trembling as they tentatively wrapped around the cold metal. With visible reluctance, you extended it out, pointing the gun down at the floor. Mattheo's grip on your wrist persisted, unyielding, anchoring you in the unsettling reality of the moment.

"I'll ask you one more fucking time," he whispered harshly, the words slicing through the charged air like a razor. His breath, warm against your face, carried an unsettling contrast to the gravity of his demand. "Do you trust me?"

Another desperate whimper slipped past your lips, the nodding of your head an almost frantic plea. "Yes! Please, I trust you. Just take it back-"

Mattheo's reply erupted as a snarl, a guttural growl that echoed with a feral intensity. His features, twisted by a crazed possession, accentuated the mad determination in his eyes as he tightened his grip on your wrist. With an unhinged sense of purpose, he directed it upward, the cold barrel now pressing menacingly against his own temple.

"Pull it," he said stoically, the eerie calmness chilling against the tension. "Pull the trigger."

Your jaw dropped, the brimming tears reflecting the disbelief that swirled in your eyes. "No! What the fu-"

"Do it," he repeated, the calmness persisting. "Go on, baby, pull it."

Sickened and paralyzed by the surreal horror of the moment, you hesitated, the sheer shock of what Mattheo was asking you to do anchoring you in a moment of profound disbelief. Your mind swarmed with recollections of the crazy things you'd done for him before, but this--this was unlike anything you had ever fucking imagined. The weight of the gun in your hand, the gravity of the situation, left your brain reeling as the stark realization of the moment seized hold of your senses.

His frustration, palpable and charged, manifested in another growl. With a menacing determination, he shifted his hand to envelop yours, forcing your finger down, the pressure on the trigger unrelenting.

You heard the click, you felt the click--and yet, nothing happened.

"Fuck..." you choked out, a turbulent blend of relief and confusion seizing your senses in a tumultuous embrace. "What the fuck..."

He blinked, his dark eyes tracing over your lips as he clicked it again. And again. The ensuing silence, pregnant with the surreal gravity of the situation, echoed through the seemingly empty library. Each breath you exhaled became a struggle, the air tinged with the weight of the inexplicable moment, your senses teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

Then, like a tidal wave crashing over you, the realization struck with breathtaking force. "It's enchanted..."

"About fucking time you caught on." Mattheo nodded, his acknowledgement cutting through the charged air with terse confirmation. He released the hold on your hand, pulling the gun away and casually slipping it back under his belt. "This gun only serves one purpose Raven, and it's never to kill, only to protect..."

Your heart leapt. "Protect what?"

"Doesn't matter," he said, a gentle hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from your eyes. “You can trust me, Raven…you can always fucking trust me…”

You exhaled, a long, exasperated breath. “I know, Mattheo…”

“Good girl,” he cooed, a smirk playing on his lips as he stoically reached into his back pocket, as if on a quest for something. "Has Nott popped the question yet?"

Your cheeks flushed. "Yes.."

"Good," he replied, his other hand securing your wrist before he withdrew his busy one, placing a handful of Galleons in your outstretched palm. "Go treat yourself to a dress. Something red, something tight."

As he withdrew his hand, he leaned in, placing a hot, wet kiss on your cheek, smirking from ear to ear as he said. "I've got something I have to do tonight, so I can't stay...but I look forward to respectfully ripping off whichever lovely dress you decide on."

"Respectfully?" you quipped, a playful glint in your eyes. "I'll make sure to pick a dress that demands nothing less than the most dignified removal, then."

"Oh, Raven...I can promise you it'll be the furthest thing from dignified." He snickered, wetting his lips as he took a few steps back, slowly beginning to make his retreat. "See you then."

As he spun around, making his exit, your mind followed suit, a whirlwind of emotions from this entire encounter. Only Mattheo Riddle could master the art of rendering you utterly anxious, furious, emotional, aroused, terrified, and, finally, relieved--all within the span of under an hour. You'd never encountered a man who expertly navigated every one of your buttons and boundaries like he did, yet you couldn't deny the potent influence he held over you.

You couldn't deny that as soon as he left, an insatiable longing for his presence consumed you, an undeniable yearning for his return.

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Chapter 25->

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[lauralot89]

You know what it's time for?

WEIRD SHARKS THAT'S WHAT IT'S TIME FOR

(IDs are in the image descriptions)

Pocket Shark

Pocket sharks are named for two small pocket glands appearing behind their pectoral fins. These glands are theorized to be luminous. Pocket sharks look like tiny, tiny sperm whales.

Angular Roughshark

Also called the pig-faced shark or the pig fish, angular roughsharks grow to be about 3 feet 4 in long on average. I personally think they're more bat-faced.

Goblin Shark

Found in the deep sea, goblin sharks are known for being able to extend their jaws like a grabber tool made of teeth. Wikipedia says that these sharks' "flabby bodies" suggest that they are sluggish in nature.

Cookiecutter Shark

The cookiecutter shark only grows to about 20 inches in length, but that doesn't stop it from biting into orcas, great whites, or humans. It suctions onto its meal with its lips and then goes to town. It removes perfect circles of flesh, hence its name.

Wobeggong Shark

Wobeggong refers to twelve species of carpet shark, so-named for their resemblance to a shag rug. They dwell on the bottom of the sea floor and wait for smaller fish to swim nearby.

Swell Shark

Swell sharks like to hide in crevices of algae-covered rocks, waiting for prey to swim by. They are so named not because they're really swell (though they are) but because as a defense mechanism, they can swell up to double their size by swallowing sea water.

Greenland Shark

The Greenland shark has high concentrations of urea in its body. It is theorized to have a lifespan of 250 to 500 years, and it can grow up to 23 feet long. Greenland sharks have been found with moose and reindeer in their stomachs. Because of the shark's toxic levels of urea, its flesh must be fermented or otherwise treated before consumption.

Viper Dogfish

Like the goblin shark, the viper dogfish's jaws can protude from the rest of its head, though its coloring means the viper dogfish looks significantly more Xenomorphish when doing so. This small shark is a member of the lanternshark family, and its underside glows.

Pointy-Nosed Blue Chimaera

Also know as the abyssal ghostshark, this deep sea shark has a venomous spine on its dorsal fin used for defense.

Genie's Dogfish Shark

Genie's dogfish shark is a small species found in the gulf of Mexico and the west Atlantic Ocean. It has real life anime eyes.

Ninja Lanternshark

The ninja lanternshark is a small bioluminescent shark. It is all black except for white markings around its eyes and mouth. It reaches about a foot and a half in length.

Frilled Shark

The frilled shark is sometimes called a living fossil, as it is basically unchanged in the past 80 million years. They are named for their teeth, which each have three points.

Epaulette Shark

Epaulette sharks are named for the large spots behind their pectoral fins. These sharks frequently visit tidal pools and have adapted to long periods of oxygen deprivation by shutting down non-essential neural functions. Epaulette sharks often "walk" with their fins on the sea floor rather than swim.

Horn Shark

Similar to the epaulette sharks, horn sharks like to walk on the sea floor with their fins. However, these sharks have sharp spines to deter predators.

This Ridiculousness

A prehistoric shark, helicoprion lived 20 million years ago and was apparently part buzzsaw. A fossil unearthed in Idaho in 2014 showed that these sharks had no teeth in their upper jaw, and a whorl of teeth in their lower jaw. It's a shame Junji Ito wasn't introduced to this shark during the writing of Uzumaki.

#sharks #long post #weird sharks #shark

[torialefay]

smut requests

i was wondering if you could do number 11 with innie or number 13 with han jisung? (it's alright if you cant btw) i love your writing and remember to take care of yourself! <3

Praise for the Princess 🎀

han jisung x praisekink!reader smut

✨ synopsis: hannie loves to tell his princess just how well she's doing.

✨ wc: ~800

✨ warnings: sloppy head, praise kink, minors DNI!!!

• "oh fuck... yes baby, just like that," jisung coached you. "keep going. yesss, just like that."

• jisung had you on your knees, your mouth open with his cock resting all the way to the back of your throat.

• sucking in tightly, tongue flat around him, drool spilling from your mouth is exactly how he wanted it.

• you bobbed your head at just the same pace as you kept your hands steady on jisung's thighs. his hands were busy keeping your hair pulled up and out of your face.

• with each stroke of your mouth, jisung bucked up a bit, making sure he hit your throat every time. you couldn't help but to gag and choke a bit, but that's just what he wanted.

• "eyes up here, princess," he said, pulling down on your hair to tilt your head up for him.

• as you looked up, you saw jisung looking down at you with pure lust, biting down on his lip hard at the sight of you.

• tears started to well up in your eyes from the lack of oxygen. you tried your best to keep up the steady pace as jisung began to move your head up and down on him more rapidly. but you could only take so much.

• after a few seconds, with a multitude of tears streaming down your face, you pulled off, gasping for air loudly and coughing up excess saliva.

• "awhhh good girl," jisung said, smiling now as he watched you pant underneath him.

• "go again, princess. you can do it," he said before gripping your hair tighter and heading your head back to his cock.

• you willingly opened your mouth back up for him, letting him push himself in. he made a few gentle strokes, coating himself in your saliva before starting to pick up the pace.

• "get those pretty lips tighter on me baby," he instructed, holding your head down on him.

• you did as you were told, looking up to gage his reaction.

• "ah fuckkkk" you heard his voice tremble the smallest bit.

• "perfect... fuck," he smiled, letting his head fall back for a few seconds. "my perfect girl. gonna make me cum already."

• you hummed along his cock, sending new waves through him. you continued to look up at him with big eyes, tears now freely streaming down as you let him use your face however he wanted.

• suddenly, he pulled your hair, pulling your entire head back and off of him.

• "breathe. this is your last chance," he demanded.

• he only let you get a few short breaths in before moving both hands to the sides of your face and ramming his cock back into your mouth.

• you tried your best to follow as he had instucted you before, but he was now going so quickly, you couldn't bare to look up, just shutting your eyes and concentrating.

• "ahhh," you heard him moan, biting his lip afterwards. you felt him twitch inside of you, letting you know he was close. you took it as the opportunity to give him the slightest bit more pressure, angling the tip of your tongue up to hit his head even more roughly.

• "ughhhhh fuckkkkk," he moaned out.

• "look at me, princess," he all but yelled. you did as he demanded, turning your head to see him about to absolutely unravel.

• "so fucking beautiful. you're gonna be a good girl for me and let me cum in that pretty mouth aren't you?" he said, knowing you couldn't respond back.

• all you could do was moan while gagging and choking around him.

• you watched as his eyes rolled back, all but violently throwing your head down onto him.

• "i'm gonna cum... oh fuck i'm gonna cum. oh fuck. fuck. get ready to swallow, princess." you saw him contort his mouth before gasping. he jolted inside of you, his legs giving in slightly as he cursed loudly.

• "fuckkkkkkk," he moaned as he continued fucking into you. you felt his warm cum as it hit the back of your throat and slowly roll down.

• you remained silent as jisung finished out his high, his strokes into your mouth getting slower and slower until he came to a complete stop. finally, he pulled your mouth off of him with a satisfying *pop.

• "ugh," he groaned before smiling.

• he leaned himself down until his head was hovering just over yours.

• "you did so perfect," he whispered, planting a soft kiss to your forehead.

• as you smiled up at him, he reached his hand out. an offering to help you stand back up off your knees.

• as you stood, he lightly placed one hand on your waist and the other onto your hip before gripping down and holding you steadily in place.

• "you go rest, princess. let me know what you want as your reward."

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

✨ if you enjoyed, please consider liking, commenting, and/or re-blogging <3

✨ check out my masterlist for more

#skz imagines #skz x reader #stray kids smut #skz smut #jisung smut #han smut #han jisung #han jisung smut #jisung x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #han jisung skz

[angelshimaa]

━━ 𝐅𝐎𝐂𝐔𝐒 ;; 𝐈𝐈𝐃𝐀 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐘𝐀

✧ cw :: gn!reader, fluff, this was an excuse to write being kissed by iida 😔 iida calls reader ‘darling’ and reader calls him ‘baby’ once

✧ a/n :: he is. so very underrated. dear god iida sir please ONE CHANCE— thank you to the dearest @softiefeli who let me talk abt him endlessly

“tenya, are you working?”

you don't look up from the assignment you're busy with, lips curving into a knowing grin when you see his posture straighten out of the corner of your eye. iida’s eyes had lingered on you for a while now— for once, you weren't the one losing focus.

“i— uh— yes, i just got distracted is all.” he clears his throat, fingers picking up his pen to resume with his work; work that just didn't seem as interesting as you seated on a cushion right next to him.

it was almost routine for you and iida to co-exist while working; it helps you keep on track with work and it helps iida spend time with you without losing productivity. more often than not, you were the one derailing at times; how could you not when he looked so cute all concentrated?

“hm, by what?” you turn to look at him directly, smugness still playing on your lips. “little ol' me?”

oh, if only you knew the extent of it.

iida finally understood what you meant when you said concentration looked good on him, because he swears it looks even better when you wear it, fitting you seamlessly like custom made clothing. there's something about the calm on your face, your lips so soft looking that has him wanting to slide the concentration off and kiss you so very badly.

“i...” he pauses. “do you mind if i...” slowly, iida makes his way even closer to you than he already is, hand reaching out to tilt your face towards him by your chin. his thumb grazes over your bottom lip as his eyes hold contact with yours. impulsivity swims in the muted blue of his irises, and needless to say you're a little surprised at his actions.

“tenya baby, what are you doing?” your giggle is light and as breathless as the words you utter. colour stains his cheeks at the softness of your voice and at how you look at him.

“i’m admiring you, darling. your lips are... very soft-looking.” he feels it sounds awkward, but he can't care when he's so close to heaven.

“if you want to kiss me, tenya, just say so.” it's a small challenge of sorts and you hope he takes the hint you practically hurl at him. your smile is dizzying and iida feels as though he's about to go dumb with need.

“well then, i want to kiss you.” pretty eyes framed by his glasses dip down to your lips— the colour in his cheeks looks so pretty on him. “may i?”

you barely get your 'yes' out before iida’s lips make contact with yours and it feels as though he's been wanting to have his lips on yours for a while now. it's slow and bursting with passion that has you forgetting how to think right. perhaps that's a blessing— there isn't much to think of besides him and how right he feels against you.

when iida pulls away, it's only because he needs oxygen to survive. if he could, he would make you his oxygen— he needs you and your lips right now in the same manner. your foreheads rest against against one another as you steady your breathing, and god does he make you so breathless, so dizzy with infatuation.

“tenya...” you say his name like it's sacred and he hums, the blue of his eyes so gorgeous so up close. “please, kiss me again.”

iida slides his glasses off, setting them on the table before he obeys, lips brushing against yours before he fully commits again, and the small sound coming from the back of his throat tells you just how into it he is.

for once, as your hand cups the side of his face while he leans further into you, iida’s sure that work can wait a little while longer.

✧ — thank you for reading !! rbs and feedback are greatly appreciated <3

taglist (fill in this form to join!) :: @maeby-cursed @katsukismrs @himikoslove @pasteldaze @afairywithacrown

#— signed ⋆·ʚ⁺ #iida x reader #tenya iida x reader #iida x y/n #iida x you #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha x you #mha x y/n #tenya x y/n #tenya x reader #iida fluff #mha fluff #mha iida

[lawqual1ty]

Heart drawings (Trafalgar Law x GN!Reader)

Pov: After finishing your duties you end up hanging out with Law during his work but end up getting bored which results in you adding a little something to your captain's skin.

Warning: too much fluff (go get some insulin), reader has (implied) ADHD symptoms

You had never been known to be a person that could sit still for long, whether it was moving your leg around or playing with something in your hand you had to always be doing something or else your brain would go insane, which got you to offer your helping hand in a lot of situations once you joined the Heart pirates.

However there would always be days, like today, that there was not much you could do even if you asked to, so you had to stick to reading or studying for the most part after you finished your daily duties.

You were in your room reading a few of the medicine books that your Captain , Trafalgar Law, had generously lent you for your free time, however well... You were struggling... And a lot.

"Wait... What was I reading...?" You grunted, this was the third time in a row you had read the words on the book only to forget seconds later what exactly you had read with great speed. You were getting irritated. You wanted to learn more about how to create different types of medicine so that you could help your crew but your brain was having a hard time concentrating, you rubbed the bridge of your nose with annoyance.

"I need a break..." You muttered as you softly closed the book, a light tap from the cover giving you the signal that you could head off.

You wandered around for a while looking for something to do, many of your crewmates were already hanging out with each other, chatting, drinking and some even helping out to clean the medical bay, you wanted to offer a helping hand in hopes of entertaining your inevitable boredom.

"hey, what are you guys doing?" You asked softly approaching Sachi and Bepo who were cleaning a few medical supplements, the latter turning to look at you.

"Oh, we were just cleaning and sharpening some of our usual tools in case we get an emergency" Bepo tilted his head slightly "Did you need anything Y/N?"

You smiled at the sweet gesture of Bepo, shaking your head slightly at his question "Nope, I was just wondering if you guys needed any help"

Bepo looked over at the different tools placed in display, seeming to think about your question a bit too much before turning to look at you with an apologetic look on his face "Not really... I'm so sorry"

He apologized as usual, his tone shifting to a more melancholic one making you chuckle nervously, you never enjoyed seeing him like this but he was just so sweet that you understood where this attitude of his came from, you shook your hands in front of you in a way of excusing yourself, almost as if the one that had to be apologizing should be you "No no it's okay, no need to apologize Bepo..." His eyes lit up with relief as you didn't seem mad at him for rejecting your help, it made you feel relieved yourself.

You sighed deeply with a soft smile "Anyway, good luck you too" Sachi smiled at you warmly as well as Bepo

"Thank you! We'll make sure that everything is right! Oh..." You were about to leave when Sachi's words seemed to try and stop you in your tracks "If you go see the captain tell him we are lacking some oxygen tanks".

Your eyes widened at his words, why did he think you were going to see the captain? Out of shock you just nodded with a soft but shy smile "Sure thing, I'll make sure to inform him once I see him" with those last words you waved at the duo and walked away.

A sigh escaped your lips as you kept walking, you didn't originally intend to see your Captain but now thanks to Sachi and Bepo you sort of had an excuse... Right? You made your way through the cold but oddly comforting halls of the Polar Tang, you had not been here for long but these halls had definitely grown on you... Maybe they weren't the best looking but the people around them made it feel like a home to you.

You finally arrived at the office door of your captain, you were a tad bit nervous to interrupt him but... You had a job to do so you might as well shake that nervousness off and knock, which you did.

"Come in..." A light husky voice invited you inside, you breathed softly.

"Please excuse me..." You muttered before placing your hand in the door handle and opened it, a light creak welcoming you inside to the sight of your captain with big eyebags under his eyes as he drowned in paperwork, he didn't even raise his eyesight to acknowledge you "Yes? What is it Y/N-ya?".

You took a deep breath before speaking.

"Sachi informed me that we are short of oxygen tanks"

"Oh right... Write it down on the paper list and we'll get some more on the next island..."

He didn't even budge, and honestly neither did you... You knew that after this interaction you wouldn't have much to do later which made you a bit sad... So you just stood there, staring at your captain for a bit. He seemed to notice it, after all an exasperated sigh escaped his lips, his grey eyes slowly rising to look at you with a piercing cold gaze "Anything else?" He spoke, cold and firmly, questioning why you were still there in the first place... That should have been the end of your interaction, informing him was the only reason you came in there after all, right? Then why didn't you respond...? Your mind started racing...

"Captain..." Before you were fully aware of your actions you took a step forward and spoke "Do you... Mind if I stay for a bit?"

You caught a glimpse of surprise in your Captain's eyes, those grey spheres seeming to warm up for a moment at your offer. But just as quickly as it appeared it went away only for his attention to shift back to his paperwork.

"I... I'm sorry..." You were quick to apologize, your voice wavering ever so slightly

"I didn't mean to--"

"Go on."

You froze "What...?"

"I said you can stay..."

His words snapped you back to reality, he was... Allowing you to stay, you had no space for words, you just nodded and moved a chair over next to his desk taking a seat politely next to him as he kept on working.

He didn't budge at all, if anything it seemed like his concentration increased thanks to your presence, the mere idea made you happy as you sat there next to him.

Unfortunately you started getting bored once more, as thrilling as it was watching your captain work through his paperwork with graze, not budging at all, it had gotten boring after a few minutes.

You started looking around finding yourself with a pen, you softly took it into your hands and started fiddling with it... Suddenly, an idea sparked in your brain. You took the cap off it and started scribbling in your hand, trying to see if the pen was smooth enough to draw on your soft skin, you smiled brightly once you confirmed your suspicions: it was a good pen and it drew a perfect black ray on your skin with ease.

Once you discovered this you started drawing on your hands, starting off with a skeletal hand to practice the location of different bones in the hand to less professional stuff like hearts and small animals. You were entertained by your own scribbles when all of a sudden you were interrupted by Law grunting and leaning backwards on his chair.

He had his left arm laid across the chair, his tattooed hand dangling in the air, while his right arm stroked his face with obvious frustration. You stared at him then back at the pen you were holding, slowly but steadily a smirk formed on your lips.

Without a warning you scooted closer to your Captain, he didn't even realize you were closer to him until he felt your hands take a hold of his left arm, he flinched but didn't move his arm at all... They say curiosity killed the cat ... And curiosity had definitely gotten to him as he looked at you take his arm with your hand and start passing the pen around his skin in delicate but firm traces.

"What are you doing?" He questioned with a furrowed expression

"Drawing" you spoke bluntly as you focused on the piece of art that you were doing in his arm "I got bored..."

Your response caught him off guard, his eyes wide as he stared at you for a bit. A small smile formed on his lips "I need to check your medical record..."

His soft tone was like a way of signaling you something...of what he really meant: he didn't mind you drawing on him... You looked over at him for a moment only to smile and return to your drawing, you didn't know much what you were doing you just followed your heart as you scribbled. Slowly but steadily the drawing took form into a star surrounded by wavy lines that formed what almost looked like a tattoo design, you even went out of your way to draw small hearts, a secret confession of your feelings to your Captain (not that he would notice... Right?) You leaned back with a satisfied smile as you looked at your work, you looked over at Law who seemed entranced into one of his books, he hadn't budged during your whole art process. Once you leaned back he hummed softly, his eyes never leaving his book at all "You done?" He asked politely, you nodded.

"Yeah I did!"

"Good... My arm was starting to fall asleep..."

You couldn't help but laugh at his snarky comment "At least you now got another cool tattoo"

He huffed with a slight smirk "Doubt it..." You acted offended at his words giving him a light push on his shoulder winning a soft laugh from him.

"You haven't even seen it!"

"I don't need to..."

"Oh come on... You have seen my drawings!"

A soft chuckle was the only response you got, it made you smile, although he acted as if he probably didn't like it you knew that he did... Or that's what you'd like to believe...

And trust me he did...

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

A few days after the drawing incident you were wandering around the Polar Tang heading to the kitchen to get something to eat as you were pretty hungry.

You waltzed around when a characteristic husky voice caught your attention in an instant, it came from the kitchen. Following the voice you peaked through the door finding your captain talking with Penguin about something you didn't quite catch, all you knew was that it was something serious judging by Law's and Penguin's expression.

You stood there for a bit waiting for the right moment to enter when all of a sudden you noticed a small detail on your Captain's left arm, your eyes widened and your cheeks flushed a light pink...

What did you see?

Well, you saw your drawing tattooed onto his arm... That was the only reasonable explanation as to why it still looked so bright and vivid, after all a few days had passed since you did it and unless Law had taken extreme care of it it should have already been at least a little bit vanished, just like the drawings you did on your own skin from that same day.

Penguin was walking away once he had finished speaking to Law, which was your signal to pounce.

You slowly made your way towards Law catching his attention once you were hovering behind him, he glanced at him over his shoulder "Y/N-ya...?"

His question was left in the air once you took his left arm rising it to your face, much to his surprise, you scanned the drawing carefully confirming your suspicions: he had indeed tattooed it onto his skin. You turned to look to a flustered Law with a bright smile.

"You actually tattooed my drawing?!" You asked in both surprise and excitement, Law covered his face with his hand, a blush creeping its way to his cheeks in an instant

"Shut up..."

You laughed.

Maybe you should draw on him more often when you get bored...

#trafalgar law #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar one piece #one piece fic #trafalgar law x reader #one piece fluff #one piece scenario #oneshot #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar d law x reader

[abbyromanoff]

If possible could you do a enemies to lovers for G!P Kate Bishop x Tracksuit Mafia Fem Reader where reader and Kate are having a fist fight that turns into a sex session that ends with reader becoming pregnant with Kate's baby

They Can’t Know

Pairings: Kate Bishop x reader

Word count: 2028

Warnings: violence, fighting, mafia’s, Kate has a dick, blowjobs, breeding kink, tummy bulges, daddy kink, praise kink, pregnancy, nicknames, flirty!Kate, small angst

No one is permitted to steal, copy, or reblog my work as their own!!

“Stop fighting me!” The girl, who you found out was named Kate, yelled. She had you pinned down below her, your knees being freed as you took it as your shot to knee her in the stomach. She groaned, the small moment of weakness allowing you to take her arm and pin her down to be in your previous position. You quickly grabbed the knife from your pocket, placing it against her neck as you watched her struggle to escape.

“Please, I won’t hurt you, just let me go.”

“And who said I don’t want to hurt you?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I can tell, Y/N.” Your eyes widened briefly before you relaxed, trying your best to hide any emotions she could use against you. You had never told her your name, but you guessed she had done some research on you beforehand. Smart move.

“I won’t let you kill her. Even if I have to take her spot, I will die protecting her.” She furrowed her eyebrows as the oxygen started lowering in her body. If she didn’t stop you soon, she knew this would be close to her last breath.

“Who is ‘she’ meant to be?”

“Maya Lopez. I’m not letting you near her.” That only confused her more. She wasn’t here for Maya, she was here for someone else. She had yet to know his name, only knowing he lacked a great amount of hair and was on the larger side. He had conversations with her mother, conversations she later learned led to her father's death when she was little.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She struggled to get the words out. You noticed her breath shortening even more and removed your arm from her neck in fear.

“What do you mean you don’t know? Of course, you know! You’re here to kill her.” Kate coughed multiple times and rolled over on the floor, trying her best to gain the little strength she had left in her.

“I’m not here to kill her, I’m here for him.” She grabbed a photo of the man she was after, watching as the gears turned in your head. You let out an embarrassed sigh and stood up, walking over to her and awkwardly offering your hand to help her stand. You could see the red marks staining her neck, the guilt building up even more.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I-I thought-”

“You don’t need to explain yourself, I understand.” There was a small silence filling the area before she released a chuckle. You looked back at her, silently urging her to speak, anything to fill this unpleasant quiet nature.

“These marks definitely won’t be going away for a while.” She noticed your guilt-ridden face and shook her head.

“Don’t feel bad, sweetheart, they’re not that bad.” She said, “If anything, they’re kinda hot.” You laughed at her words, slowly trailing over to her and motioning for her to look up. She did as you asked. You examined her red skin while her eyes couldn’t leave you. She watched the concentration on your face with a smirk, the woman you just beat up was being cared for by you so gently, it was almost as if you hadn’t just choked her out. You finally caught on to her glances and nervously looked back down.

“Don’t look away, sweetheart. You’re beautiful.” She snapped her fingers in front of your face to get your attention back on her.

“Are you seriously trying to fuck me after I just tried to kill you?” You crossed your arms against your chest as she stared at your breasts, they were practically calling her name. She licked her lips and moved her eyesight back to be inline yours.

“Hm?”

“Did you even hear what I said?” She nodded, clearly lying her way out of it.

“Okay,” You started, “Then tell me what I said.” She closed the small space between you two, imagining your plump lips on hers. Your fit body beneath hers once more, but this time, it won’t be due to a fight. Her hand made contact with your cheek, cupping your soft face and pulling you closer until you could feel her breath against yours.

“I think you were saying something about how badly you wanted me to kiss you right now.” She trailed on, not being able to waste another second and connecting her lips with yours in a hurry. Her hands found place on your lower back near your butt as your placed themselves on her chest, slowly going down as the kiss progressed. You could feel her hardened length pressing against your core, begging for any sort of touch.

When it got difficult to breathe you finally released her lips, your eyes widening as you backed away from her lust-filled self.

“Kate, we can’t do this.”

“Why not?” You had just kissed her, practically made out with her and now you were denying it?

“If my boss finds out-”

“Don’t worry about her right now, baby, just think about this.” She could see you debating with yourself on what you wanted to do. You wanted more than anything for her to fuck you, have you make a mess all over her until you couldn’t take it anymore. But you knew the consequences as well. If Maya found out you had slept with someone she had been looking for for nearly 3 years, she’d kill you.

“Tell me you don’t want this.” Your lack of response caused her to continue. “Tell me you don’t want me to fuck you. I bet you’re such a hard little worker, willing to ruin your wants for Maya’s needs. Are you my good girl, baby?” You nodded breathlessly.

“Yeah, you are. Now why don’t you get on your knees for me, love.” Your knees hit the ground with a small force, your hands trailing to her pants. You cupped her covered length and smiled as you could hear her breath hitch. She smiled and fluttered her eyes shut, your fingers slowly unzipping her jeans until she was left in just her boxers.

“Stop being such a tease and just-”

“Just what, Katey?” Her cheeks reddened at the nickname, you took notice.

“C’mon, Kate, tell me what you want me to do.” You mimicked her words from earlier, chuckling to yourself as she groaned in frustration.

“Just- fuck me already!”

“Now, now, baby, didn’t your mother ever teach you some manners?” She was nearly fed up with you, it wasn’t the time to tease, she was desperate. Her cock was dripping in pre cum as you slowly trailed her boxers down her legs.

“Please, Y/N. Please fuck me.”

“That’s more like it.” Your hands went up and down her hips for a split second before finding their way to her leaking cock. You wrapped it around her length and kissed the head, smiling as you caught the small taste of her.

You made her feel things no woman had ever made her feel. She was in need of more, your mouth wasn’t enough. And when she fucked your face with little to no mercy, she could only imagine how your pussy must’ve felt. Your walls gripping her with dear life as she filled you up until you were dripping.

“Lay down, baby, I need to fuck this sweet cunt.”

“Fucking on a rooftop, real romantic, don’t you think?” Her cock prodded at your hole, her fingers finding their way to your pulsing clit. Her lips attacked yours in a frenzied haze. She couldn’t get enough of you, of your body, of the way you fit so well in her arms.

“My perfect little girl, so pretty you are.” Her free hand went to your nipples under your shirt, pinching and tweaking them until you were squirming beneath her.

“Shh, it’s alright, my love. I’m gonna take care of you, I promise.” You nodded, the words trying to escape only failing as the pleasure became unbearable.

“Kate-” You gasped out. “I need you. I need you inside of me.” You cupped her cheeks and made her stare directly into your eyes, her pupils being dilated and blown out. You were just the same, staring at her with a certain want in your eyes.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you your manners, hm?” She mocked, listening to your whines with a grin. You could feel her slowly filling you up, your mouth letting out a gasp before dropping open as moans tumbled out of you. She kissed your forehead, letting her lips linger for a moment too long.

“Tell me when I can move, okay?” She waited patiently as you adjusted to the stretch. You had never felt so full. You knew it was wrong, yet, it felt so sinfully sweet. You prayed nobody would ever find out about this, but you didn’t want to stop. You didn’t want to consider the consequences, you just wanted her.

“You can move, Kate.” You mumbled out, your hand interlocking with hers as she started a slow yet harsh pace. You bit your lip as the fiery pain slowly faded into one of pleasure.

“Oh, daddy.” You moaned quietly, feeling Kate stop as she rendered what you had just said.

“What did you just call me?” Before you could apologize she continued, “Say it again.” Hearing those words leave your lips was like heaven. She couldn’t help the way she thrusted into you with such force, you drove her insane.

“Please, daddy, please fuck me harder!” Her hand snaked up to your neck, your breath being cut short as she choked you harshly. It was enough to leave a mark to tend to tomorrow, you assumed it was payback to the ones you left on her.

“That’s it, moan for daddy, baby. Be the perfect little slut I know you are.” The coil in her stomach tightened as you clenched around her.

“Fuck! Daddy’s gonna make you a mommy, baby. You want that? You want daddy to fuck you full of my cum?”

“Yes, daddy! Please fill me up, I need it so bad!” She tried her best to warn you, but she failed. Her release shot deep inside of you, filling your tight hole as she stilled. You snapped, the two of you finishing in sync. You scratched down her back leaving red marks behind. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, Kate’s hand resting on your stomach as she felt a small bulge. She grasped your hand into her own and placed it on your stomach once more.

“You feel that? You feel how deep I am inside of you?” The euphoric feeling was a long-awaited one. It had been months, almost years since you had felt that good. You didn’t want it to end, but you knew Kate couldn’t be seen near you. So, you soaked in the little time you both had left, holding her against you tightly and not letting go until she had to say goodbye once and for all. Just to be safe, she gave you her number, telling you not to call on your phone but a burner phone in case Maya tracked who you called.

It had been close to a month since that day and it had never left your mind. You’d lay in bed, all alone as you slowly fingered yourself, trying anything to get that same feeling you had with Kate. But as of late, you’d been beyond sick. You had a feeling you knew what it could be, Kate hadn’t worn a condom and while you were on birth control, it didn’t always work. You had called in sick, lucky enough to be granted the day off as you were closer to the boss and she knew how hard you’d been working. The timer went off, and you turned the test over and prepared yourself for the worst.

“Shit.” Two lines. Positive. You were pregnant. And it was Kate’s baby. The woman your boss had been after for years was going to be the mother to your child. What had you gotten yourself into?

#kate angst #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop #kate bishop x reader smut #kate bishop angst #kate bishop smut #kate bishop fluff #kate bishop x y/n #kate bishop x you #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop x gender neutral reader #kate x y/n #hawkeye x y/n #hawkeye #hawkeye x reader #hawkeye x you #kate bishop x fem!reader

[draxua]

Yandere!Zenitsu is a freak, he's such a fucking loser.

He wants nothing more then for you to touch him. Do whatever you like with him just use him as a toy made only for your pleasure, please ruin him.

Hurt him, praise him, choke him, degrade him he'll let you do anything to him Claim him as yours, give him bruises and hickies all over his body. His body is your canvas, use your pretty nails to make scratches all over his body he wants to be covered in your art.

He's like an untamed dog, always wanting your attention, grinding himself on your thigh begging for you to touch him. He'll grind himself on your shoe any day. Panting like a dog with his tounge sticking out so happy his master granted him such a reward.

He comes so quickly on your shoe, coming undone before you, after just a few minutes of grinding against you.

Tears brim his eyes as he whines like a baby begging you for a sweet release. How pathetic.

Don't even get me started when you fuck him with your strap. He's so squirmish, he can never keep still always grabbing your thigh, even when you clearly told him he's not allowed to touch you. Slapping him, when he disobeys you making his pale cheek turn red, fucking him harder and more roughly then before whilst you pinch his nipples.

He whines so loudly when you play with his nipples, it always sends him over the edge making his mind get so foggy. He always cries when you slap him, his wet shiny lips pouting at the harsh contact. The pouting doesn't last for long when you're fucking him so sweetly.

His mouth opens so widely, drool sliding down the corner of his mouth as his eyes roll back blabbing absolute nonsense with whines and moans.

"U-uh huh huh ha ha hnnh h-ha"

And.

"Ffuck fuuuhck please please please please... oh fucckk.."

He's like a broken record, your name falling out of his mouth he can't concentrate on anything but the pleasure you're giving him. He's so so grateful a goddess like you would ever even look at an weirdo like him.

He wants to serve you at all times, he wants nothing more but to be a toy for you.Buy, him a nice collar with his name on it and he'll wear it with such pride. He'll be so happy you thought about him and spent money on such a gift for him.

Drag him around from his collar with your finger, he'll go absolutely insane. Put a leash on it and pull on it when you fuck him from behind, choke him, make him grab the collar desperately trying to cough the words up that it's too much. He loves it though, the lack of oxygen makes his head spin, panic rushing through his body making the pleasure intensify.

His shaking orgasm hits him like a wave. His cute plush thighs wobble so much he can't hold his body up anymore. His body goes limp, only the leash you're still tightly holding keeping up.

He whines so loudly when you continue to fuck him, let go of the leash and let his body fall on the bedsheets as you continue to harshly fuck him. Making his voice break and go higher with every thrust, till nothing comes out of that pretty mouth of his but sobs as you overestimulate him.

Yandere!Zenitsu will let you do anything to him, it's so fucking pathetic. What a loser.

𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐁𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 <3

#✮⋆˙Willow writes #Zenitsu thirst #zenitsu smut #Dom reader #Kny dom reader #Anime dom reader #Dom reader x sub character #zenitsu kimetsu no yaiba #Kimetsu no yaiba #Kny #kny smut #Kny fanfic #yandere #yandere zenitsu #Yandere kny #sub yandere #Zenitsu #cw: yandere

[nonranghaes]

heads up! dad!jeonghan au (w/ step-parent reader).

ha-eun stands in front of you, tiny mouth pressed into a thin line as she's in deep concentration. she's listening to your heart through her fake-stethoscope, and you think you've never seen her this serious before. doesn't the thing have a button that plays a fake heartbeat...? you think it does. but she's far more concentrated on whatever pretend story she's coming up with now.

"well, doctor...?" you prod a little, and she pulls the stethoscope so it hangs around her neck. she's already given you three fake injections and smoothed colorful bandages over your arm (all while holding your hand and telling you 'it's okay, it's okay, it only hurts for a moment, you're so brave' in the cutest little imitation of jeonghan).

"i'm afraid," she says in a far-too-serious-for-a-tiny-child voice, "it's fatal."

you mock surprise. "what?"

she shakes her head in this woefully dramatic way. she's already tearing up, her own imagination moving her to tears. she seems unsure of what to do, and turns, calling out a loud "papa!" that seems to echo down the hallway.

jeonghan's in the room within seconds, panic evident on his face, fully awake now despite sleeping after his shift. "are you hurt?!"

ha-eun shakes her head vigorously, running over to him, already explaining the story. the tiny doctor yoon gets scooped up into her dad's arms, and she grabs at his shirt. "they're--" she hiccups, having fully worked herself up, "they're gonna DIE--"

(you and jeonghan decide to monitor what she's watching a little closer. she's too dramatic for her own good.)

"oh no!" he says, clearly holding back laughter. "what are we going to do, doctor yoon?"

ha-eun looks at you for the longest time, lips pressed together as she hums in thought. "i... i dunno..." she frowns.

jeonghan hums in false thought as well. you decide to take the chance to dramatically wilt toward the floor more and more, and ha-eun gasps, scrambling over to you.

"they're losing oxygen!" (again, you have no idea where she's getting any of this from.) "papa, you gotta kiss them!" she pushes on your chest, and it takes everything within you to not burst into laughter. "true love's kiss! i pres--" she stumbles over the word, "prescibe them true love's kiss!"

"prescribe," jeonghan corrects gently as he comes over. "will that save them, doctor yoon?"

she's already nodding. "you gotta, papa! you gotta save them!"

"are you sure they don't need another shot--"

"no!" her little voice squeaks. "true love's kiss! like--like sleeping beauty!"

jeonghan pulls you into his arms all too easily, and plants a fat kiss against your cheek. with a gasp, you come back to life, and ha-eun's eyes are sparkling with joy at her correct diagnosis (of... you dying?) and needing true love's kiss to cure you. jeonghan pulls her closer, and the three of you are a mess of giggles as you graciously thank the little doctor yoon ha-eun for her miraculous work.

it's the little things like this, you think, that make life even sweeter.

#nonranghaes.thoughts #seventeen x reader #nonranghaes.svt #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen x you #svt imagine #svt x you #jeonghan x y/n #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan x you #yoon jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan x you #this is kinda long but i dont wanna rewrite it for the other blog rn sdkfhsdf im sleepy

[slaybestieslay946]

Dream Girl

Summary: Paul has dreamt of a girl all his life, and when he reaches Arrakis, he finally discovers her to be the assistant to Dr Liet Kynes.

Pairing: Paul Atreides x Fremen!OC

Word count: 2500

Warnings: Slight mentions of violence, pretentious writing style.

A/N: just need to get this out because im so obsessed with him its becoming unhealthy. hope anyone reading enjoys and has a nice day! You never know i might add chapters if i feel like it lmao.

Paul had seen her in his dreams many times over the years. She had been with him throughout it all, from the cradle until now, as he began to bloom into adulthood. 

He’d never thought he’d really see her in front of his eyes. Over the years he’d dismissed her as a mere fantasy; the leftovers of a child’s overactive imagination. Blue eyes that couldn’t quite be real, and a beauty that only existed in daydreams. 

Yet, here she was, standing stoic beside the ‘judge of the change’, surveying the approaching group with those piercing blue eyes. Paul had to remind himself to breathe before he collapsed from lack of oxygen. 

“My Lord Duke.” The older woman greeted his father, bowing her head, and so did the dream-girl, except the fire in her eyes never faded. 

“Dr Kynes. Thank you for agreeing to take us out.” 

“The pleasure is all mine, sire. This is my apprentice and pilot, Nami.” 

Duke Leto acknowledged the dream-girl, no, Nami, with a quick nod. She responded in kind.

“Now,” Kynes began, “We must check your stillsuits-” The two women stepped forward in sync to aid the group, but were stopped by Gurney’s blades at their necks. 

Paul couldn’t help but admire the way she didn’t flinch as a blade was held to her throat, merely raising her chin in defiance. Few would have the gall to glare at the soldier in such a way. 

“Gurney, no need. Let them work.” The Duke asserted, and Gurney lowered his sword, albeit rather begrudgingly. 

They then approached the group of outworlders to adjust their suits. Paul had to force himself to breathe normally as Nami approached him and the two locked eyes. He quickly tore his gaze away from hers, as she began to check his suit was on correctly. 

All the while, Kynes was going on a long and probably very interesting spiel about stillsuits and their benefits, but he found it very hard to concentrate when he was face to face with the girl he had been dreaming about all his life. 

“You’ve worn a stillsuit before?” Nami suddenly asked, inspecting some of the straps on the front. 

“No, this is my first time.” 

“Hm,” She cocked her head in confusion, “Your boots are fashioned slip-fast at the ankles. Who taught you to do that?” 

“Just seemed like the right way.” He said, trying to work out what was going on inside her head. 

Their exchange had now caught the attention of the rest of the group, and Nami turned to Kynes, muttering a few words in a different language, shaking her head slightly. 

It took Paul a few moments to realise that they were speaking in the language of the fremen. 

“You’re fremen.” He said plainly, like it had been obvious the whole time. 

“We are accepted in both sietch and village, yes.” Nami said, nodding. 

Before he could ask anymore questions, Kynes began to lead them to the aircraft, explaining that they would be travelling to the nearest harvesting field north of Arrakeen. 

The group all entered one of the small aircraft, and Paul watched as Nami began to sit in the pilot's chair, but was stopped by his father. 

“If you don’t mind, Nami, I’d like to pilot.” He said, with an almost childlike smile upon his face. Paul remembered his fathers admission that he had once wished to be a pilot himself. 

“Of course, my lord.” She bowed her head, and shuffled over to the co-pilot’s seat. 

The group all strapped themselves into their seats, grabbing a headset and preparing for take off. 

Duke Leto soon began to press several buttons, and Paul’s dream-girl followed suit, adjusting switches here and there. The Duke soon pulled up off the ground and turned in a near-perfect manoeuvre that left his co-pilot impressed. 

“You’re a pilot?” She asked. 

“Yes I was, in my youth. It has been many years though.” He smiled, regarding the desert beneath him in what looked like wonder. 

“You are very talented.” Nami complimented simply, and Paul watched as a newfound respect bled into her eyes, and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of yearning for her to look at him in the same way. With respect earned by his own deeds, rather than the kind that stemmed from a generations old name. 

Kynes then began her narration as they moved over dunes, towards the spice fields. Paul chipped in here and there with a question or two for her. 

“Why don’t they just shield the crawlers?” He asked, looking down at the desert below, where one of the crawlers was moving. Was this the desert power his father had been talking about?

“Shields are a death sentence in the desert.” Nami chipped in, turning her head momentarily to look at Paul, who tore his face away in embarrassment when he felt a slight heat rise to his cheeks. 

“Yes,” Kynes continued for her apprentice, “It attracts the worms and drives them into a killing frenzy.” 

“Is that one of the worms?” His father asked, pointing at a vague cloud of dust on the horizon. 

Kynes picked up a pair of binoculars from her lap and peered into them for a moment, before answering, “That’s a worm alright. And a big one. Nami, call it in for me?” 

“On it.” She replied, and began speaking into the headset in various codes, asking for any carriers in the area. 

It didn’t take long for one to appear, and it began making its way to the crawler below. Paul watched in awe as it made its descent. He knew spice harvesting was dangerous, and of course accommodations had to be made, but the technology used was truly fascinating. How was that tiny carrier going to lift that enormous crawler?

He would, unfortunately, never find out. Because as the carrier attempted to attach itself, one of the arms snapped. Suddenly an influx of frenzied shouts came over the radio in confusion, as Kynes chipped in to explain the situation. 

The Duke then snapped into action. 

“How many men on that crawler?” 

“A crew of 21.” Kynes replied. 

“Our ships can only take 6 each. That leaves 3 men.” Paul added. 

“We’ll find a way.” His father responded, flicking a switch before dropping into a nosedive, the other two ships following suit behind him. 

Soon, they were landing just beside the crawlers, and unbuckling themselves from their seats inside the aircraft. Paul was the first up and moving. 

“The shield generators should weigh about the same as a few men.” Paul said, waiting for Gurney to finish undoing his seatbelt. 

“Good idea,” Gurney said, “I’ll toss them out, go instruct the men.” He said, patting the younger boy on the shoulder as he moved to get rid of the shields, Paul slipping past him and onto the sand below. 

As he dropped onto the sand of the desert for the first time, he couldn’t help but pause. Something about his boots on the ground felt natural, and as he looked down at the swathe of gold, he had never felt more at home. 

What snapped him into action again was the thud of a shield generator falling from the aircraft, and then Paul was moving, running towards the groups of men coming out of the crawler. 

“7 over there, 7 over there, move!!” He shouted, pointing to the various aircraft waiting for them and waving them over.

And then a cloud of sand engulfed him. 

Paul quickly brought his mask to his face and shut his eyes, trying to ignore the stinging pain of millions of grains of sand hitting him. And then suddenly everything around him seemed to still, and he brought his mask down away from his face, opening his eyes. 

He was surrounded by a cloud of dust, and he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. 

Paul took a deep breath in, feeling the way his nostrils tingled as he inhaled, and noticing the sparkle of the dust around him. 

He wasn’t standing in dust, but spice. 

 Before his eyes the real world melted away, and he was overtaken by visions. Visions of violence, death, the dunes of Arrakis, a blade, and finally Nami’s face, blue-blue eyes staring into his own. 

Then she began to cry, tears streaming down her face. The face that had seemed so stoic in the real world was not so in his vision. 

Then his vision began to return, and through the haze of spice he heard something familiar, before realising what it was. 

“I recognise your footsteps old man…” Paul whispered, jolting awake as Gurney clapped him on the shoulder, hauling him to his feet. 

“C’mon!” He shouted, glancing to the side. Paul followed his gaze, and was immediately spurred into action as he saw the fast approaching sandworm. 

Immediately he was sprinting towards the aircraft, locking eyes with his father through the windshield as he began to take off, spinning so the open door was facing them. 

And there she was. 

Gurney was the first to reach her, and she quickly hauled him up into the aircraft, pushing him in while not taking her eyes off Paul. 

“Atreides!” She shouted, holding out her hand for him to take, evident concern in her eyes. 

He pumped his legs faster than he thought possible, catching up with the aircraft and grabbing her hand, watching as the sandworm emerged from the very place he had been kneeling, overtaken by visions. 

Eventually he pulled himself away from the sight of the desert, clambering up the ramp towards Nami, who quickly shut the door behind him. 

“Thank you.” Paul said to her, still slightly breathless. 

“No problem.” She replied, dusting a few grains off his shoulder before returning to her seat beside the Duke, slipping on her headset and reporting their re-entry into general airspace. 

Paul moved back to his seat just behind her, trying to ignore his fathers angry gaze, as well as quell the aggressive beating of his heart. Their trip had been more eventful than he thought. 

Soon the aircraft was landing, and Paul stood to get up, wanting to get away from one of his fathers lectures, but not before saying goodbye to Nami. 

“Thank you, again.” He said, quickly.

She smiled this time, her face softening ever so slightly, “Take care, Paul Atreides. I pray we meet again.” 

He nodded, unable to form words in response as his tongue had grown heavy in his mouth. And then he ran away, jumping out of the aircraft as quickly as he could before he blurted out anything stupid.  

*

Paul whipped around taking in the sudden appearance of so many Fremen around him and his mother. They must have seen them running from the sandworm. 

“Do not run. You will only waste precious water.” A man said from above him. He seemed to be a leader. Upon closer inspection, Paul realised it was Stilgar, the man who his father had received. 

“Stilgar? Do you remember me? You came before my fathers council.”

“Ah, yes. The Atreides boy.” 

“Stop wasting time, we need their water!” A cry came from above, and as Paul looked up, he saw a man, and beside him, his dream-girl. 

“Quiet Jamis. You know we cannot harm him. He is Atreides. Besides,” Nami jumped down from one of the ledges to stand beside Stilgar, “I will vouch for him.”

Objections erupted from the rest of the Fremen, but her eyes remained locked with Paul’s. Stilgar quickly jumped in to quiet them. 

“That is fine. The boy is young, he can still learn our ways. However, the woman cannot.” He declared, and Paul looked to Stilgar in horror, moving backwards to stand in front of his mother protectively. Although, it was mostly meaningless, as he knew his mother could protect herself perfectly well. 

“She’s too old to learn?” He asked, his voice harsh. 

“Atreides…” Nami said softly, almost like a warning not to push further. 

But he didn’t have to, as the Fremen were already drawing their knives, and Stilgar was removing the outer layer of cloth he was wearing. And then, his mother was leaping out from behind him, and she and Stilgar became locked in battle. 

Paul took the opportunity to gain the upperhand, climbing up to a higher ledge and stealing a maula pistol from one of the Fremen warriors, but not before shooting Nami an apologetic glance. 

As he looked back down, he saw that his mother had made quick work of the Fremen leader, holding his own blade to his throat. Nevertheless, he activated the pistol and kept it pointed at one of the nearby Fremen.

“Peace, woman. You did not tell me you were a weirding woman and a fighter.” He sighed. 

“Our conversation ran short.” She snapped, not letting go of him. 

“Peace. I judged you too hastily.” 

Jessica then released Stilgar, handing him back his blade, meanwhile Paul lowered his pistol.

“The woman is under my charge until we reach sietch Tabr. Nami, are you still willing to vouch for the boy?”

“Yes.” She said firmly, and the rest of the Fremen sighed, making a cutting notion on the top of their wrists with their blades, before sheathing them. 

Once that was done, Stilgar began climbing up the ledge to approach Paul, holding out a hand for the maula pistol. 

“Come now. You will get your own when you have earned it.” He said, and the younger man sighed, returning the weapon to him, albeit begrudgingly. 

That was when ‘Jamis’ decided to chip into the proceedings once more. 

“I will not have them.”

“Jamis, I have spoken,” Stilgar said, “Be still.”

“You talk like a leader, but the strongest leads. She bested you. I invoke the Amtal.” 

Paul’s mother stiffened beside him, and although he did not yet know what that meant, he knew it did not bode well. 

“Jamis, you may not challenge her-”

“Then who will fight in her place?”

“Jamis,” Nami piped up, “Do not do this, the night is fading.”

“Then the sun will witness this death, Nami. Where is her champion?” 

Paul now understood what was going on, and if anyone was going to fight for his mother it would be him. 

He stepped out from behind Stilgar, and walked towards Jamis in the way he had been taught to as a Duke’s son, back straight, head held high.

“I accept her champion.”

Stilgar sighed as Jamis brushed past them, but soon followed suit. As did the rest of the Fremen, his mother included, until it was only him and Nami left. 

“So, we meet again, Atreides.” She smiled, her voice slightly teasing. 

“Mhm. I see you’ve been praying.” Paul smirked, hoping to get the upper hand over her.

“Have you not?” She asked in faux shock, and it sent Paul spinning, because although he had not been praying, he had dreamt of her every night since he last saw her. 

“Besides,” Nami continued, not noticing his sudden flush, “I am beginning to regret my prayers. You are causing trouble already.” 

“It’s in my nature.”

“Evidently. Now, come along, you have a duel to prepare for. Jamis is a good fighter, if you try hard you may just die with honour.” She declared, a wry smile on her face as she turned on her heel and led him further into the rocks of the desert. 

#x reader #paul atredies x reader #paul atreides x you #dune part two #paul atreides #dune movie #dune #dune part 2 #fanfic #writing

[pandoraslxna]

Sweet like Cherry – Chapter 3

Miles Quaritch x female human reader

Words: 5.1k

Summary: Miles has a secret admirer and apparently, she has a thing for photography.

Warnings: explicit smut, conflicted emotions, mentions of murder, dirty talk, praise & degradation, vaginal fingering, clit slapping, begging, virgin reader, obsession, authority kink, power play

Notes: if this reads like a I’m a villain fucker it’s because I am

Miles Quaritch is everything your mother had conditioned you to hate in a person.

He's rude, you’re reminded every time he throws out insults and sarcastic comments like they're candy at a parade. He's disrespectful, you think, when he never has a good word to say about anyone who’s not an authority figure. And he‘s a narcissistic prick, you realize his high sense of own importance whenever he strolls through hallways and enters a room like he owns the place, not caring about anything or anyone that isn’t himself.

No, he certainly isn’t a good man. He's probably killed way more people than you could even count on both hands. But he did it for his country and mankind and all that stuff, and apparently that kind of murder is considered honorable. Still, there's no way Quaritch is anywhere close to being good.

At first, you liked to imagine he is; that he's got an actual heart where his badge of honor was. But if you've been hired by the government to do shady shit on another planet, killed by blue aliens and then somehow reincarnated, trapped in a body that looked like said enemy, odds are that you're probably just comfortable with bloodshed.

And while he's definitely no boy scout, he still seems far removed from that cold-hearted, disgruntled soldier that didn’t gave two shits about this moon and everyone who wasn’t considered human, the one you’ve heard so many stories about, that you have a hard time accepting that both versions of him are just past and present forms of the same person.

But no matter how you might want to put it, in the end, Miles Quaritch just wasn’t a good man.

And you hate it.

You hate the fact you don’t hate him at all.

Is this how it’s supposed to feel, you ask yourself. Are you supposed to feel the way you do as you wake up in the morning, sleep deprived and yearning for the man that had left you, abandoned like a toy he didn’t want to play with anymore?

Maybe you’re just so starved for touch that you don’t hate him at all, not even after what had happened. It's not heartbroken, or remotely close to the feeling of being sad. You hadn’t shed a single tear like you thought you would. You just felt confused and empty. Empty, more in a physical type of way than metaphorically, if you were being honest.

Quaritch had left you when you were still floating in the afterglow of the most intense orgasm you’ve ever managed to coax out of yourself, yet he hadn’t even bothered to touch you.

If anything, you just felt frustrated. So, so frustrated and embarrassed, like you’ve never been before.

If there was something you proved to be good at in these past couple of days, it was running on caffeine, carbs, and minimal sleep. You hunched over your equipment at the laboratory, carefully abstracting the fluid of a tsyorina'wll- a flour seed plant, before inspecting it under a microscope. You observed the reaction the plants fluid had when coming in contact with oxygen from Earth and then documented it.

Your breathing was at a steady pace, and your brows were furrowed in a tight knot, wrinkling your forehead above your eyebrows in concentration.

Despite the silence in the room, a headache was slowly spreading from your temples over your forehead, pounding loud enough that it almost completely drowned out every thought in your head. If only it was strong enough to stop yourself from overthinking…

You were working in a cleared space in the laboratory, a quiet corner you had mostly to yourself, which made the whole situation so much worse.

You had been personally situated by Dr. Garvin, who had sat you by the big floor-to-ceiling window, giving you access to your own computer and a rather big desk with all necessities you would need for your studies. You weren’t quite close to the big examination table, giving Garvin, who frequently worked there when he wasn’t away for outpost explorations, plenty of space for only God-knows-what. You got used to all the little yellow post-it notes littered across his desk, labeling basically anything as "do not touch!!!" (yes, even his favorite pen) pretty quickly.

Initially, Ian had been quite annoyed when Ardmore suggested letting you use up some more space. Impressed with your accomplishments and scientific studies, she had promoted you to the higher department on your very first week. But for two whole years, that had been his private space to fuck around and work, and he didn't like the idea of having to share it with somebody he didn't know. Yet that tension was quickly eased with how considerate, thankful, and downright nice you were to him.

Oh and there was also Laura. A kind, middle aged woman and fellow scientist that worked on a thesis about pandoras flora that was very similar to yours. If you were to ask Laura, she would probably describe you as neat, always cleaning up properly and not talking too much. But when you did, it was a nice, pleasant conversation that would elicit a few chuckles, even from Garvin himself.

Laura was kind, too. She probably wasn't even assigned to do this, but somehow she ended up becoming a mentor for you, showing you around and introducing you to everyone in the first couple of weeks after your arrival.

She was cute, small and very extroverted, which was funny considering that she had been sharing the same work place with the most introverted person you’ve ever met for the past two years. And she also had a notably adorable focused look on her face while she worked, with her glasses sitting entirely on the tip of her nose.

But unfortunately, Laura wasn’t here today. She had called in sick a couple of days ago, with what sounded like either a stomach flue or the symptoms of having caught a pandorian bug after her little field trip last week. You made a mental note on bringing her some soup from the cafeteria later that day.

The other scientists, like Maggie, who were closer around your age and could probably help distract you from the mess of thoughts running laps in your brain, were spread out on the other floors and different laboratories, which left you to work all on your own today and most likely the rest of the week too.

Normally, you were glad for all of this alone time.

Being alone usually meant, you could zone out of the window and if you were lucky enough, you could catch a glimpse of Colonel hot-as-fuck, before he went on another mission into the depths of pandoras jungle. Or you could gawk at him during lunch break, stroll up and down the hallways more times than actually necessary just to maybe walk past him and get a whiff of his cologne.

Usually, you were more than just glad to be alone, because the thought of being caught gawking at him by a coworker and having to explain why you were eye-fucking the recom squads leader would be kind of degrading.

But right now, you absolutely hated being on your own, left alone with thoughts that dared to consume you whole if you wouldn’t find a way to distract yourself within the next hour or so.

This whole week had felt like you were stuck in a loop.

Almost two weeks had passed since your little encounter with the Colonel. And it suddenly felt like the days went by quicker than you could even blink. You had spend most of your time cramped inside the laboratory, only ever coming out to take a shower and sleep for a couple of hours, maybe even get something to eat, if entering the cafeteria felt safe enough, before you went back to work.

Before Pandora, before Quaritch, there was never really a face to the man in your dreams, your dirty little fantasies; only the blur of a body, hands touching you, feeling you up and down. But now there was a face. And there were eyes now, too. Watching you, always just watching. To the point you got anxious walking through hallways and entering the cafeteria to get yourself something to eat, because what if you accidentally stumbled upon him, what if those eyes were also there, watching you like they had been watching you from across the bed.

Okay, scratch that. Anxious was maybe the wrong word to describe what you’ve been feeling lately. You were embarrassed. Embarrassed because you spend day and night overthinking all the possibilities that lead him to just get up and leave like a coward.

You spend a lot of time after that wondering just how the fuck Quaritch of all people came to be the one you just couldn't categorize. None of the many little boxes in your head that stored people you‘ve got all figured out ever seemed like quite the right fit for him.

Why did he leave? Why?

Did he not like what he saw? Did he not like you?

He had proven to be harder to read than most people, you came to realize, and you didn’t like that one bit. It had your mind spiraling, running wild with the absurdest thoughts and theories.

Of course a man like Quaritch, who had about four decades worth of sexual experience, wasn’t fond of the idea of fucking a dumb little virgin that probably had no idea what she was even doing. God, you definitely made the biggest fool out of yourself, you thought. Vivid images of Quaritch, passing around all your polaroids to a snickering recom squad, began to visualize themselves in your head. All laughing over the naïve scientist that thought she could get into the Colonels pants just like that. Like she was someone.

It was pretty much self explanatory why you had stopped sending him polaroids after that day. Obviously you wouldn’t continue to act as a dumb little plaything for him and his squad to make fun of. You were just glad that the ones he already had of you didn’t show your face, so if he ever decided to make them public, you at least had the chance to deny that the woman on these photos was you. And it wasn’t like the whole of bridgehead knows about your little cherry tattoo, basically the only indication that it was, in fact, you on them. Hopefully that meant you could keep your job, if any of your supervisors was ever to see these damn Polaroids.

The hard-to-ignore fact that Quaritch also hadn’t bothered to reach out to you since then only adds further to the horrible images in your mind, until you actually felt yourself starting to believe that this was clearly a one time thing and that he only wanted to see what he would get himself into, before deciding that he would never want to see or talk to you again.

Besides craving the numbing of whatever you currently didn’t want to feel, you also began to crave the lunch that you completely missed to get about three hours ago. The loud grumbling of your stomach informs you so. Unfortunately the decision to get up from the chair you had seemingly been glued on for most of the day came to you when the cafeteria was already closed, which left you with no choice but to take the elevator, travel two floors down and get some unhealthy snacks out of the vending machine. But it’s whatever. Not like you had to look good in a bikini any time soon or would put on another show, as naked as the day you were born, in the next couple of days– or ever again.

Rounding the corner after exiting the elevator, you don’t even wait until you reach the laboratory again, already fiddling with a bag of chips that somehow, even on Pandora, ended up being filled with eighty percent of air. Pushing the labs door open with your hip, your whole focus was on opening the damn bag of chips and greedily reaching for the first one, before stuffing it into your mouth.

Finally glancing back up to look over at your workplace, all blood in your body seems to run cold at once.

There he is, Colonel fuckin' America, leaning against your desk with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at you like you had the audacity to keep him waiting. Like nothing has ever happened. Like this is so natural for him, to be here in your space.

The sight of him practically sitting on your desk, unbeknownst to him crumbling several important documents under him, had you stopping dead in your tracks. Confused didn’t come nearly close to the word that could describe your facial expression when you looked at him, the bag of chips almost slipping from your grasp as you wondered just how the fuck he even knew where exactly you worked?

"Colonel", you simply say, itching to face palm yourself because you might as well salute him too now.

"It’s Miles", he responds, the corner of his mouth curving up in what could be a grin as he pushes himself off the desk and slowly walks over to you. When he begins to circle you, the by now familiar feeling of being his prey returns to you.

The clinically white lab coat you were wearing always helped you feel grounded, like a talisman that reminded you of your true nature, your worth, and it also gave you something to fiddle with to ease your nerves. You wringe the fabric of your sleeve between your fingers, pulling and pinching it in an attempt to keep your hands busy so they wouldn’t start shaking.

With your nerves on high alert and more adrenaline pumping through your veins by the second, your legs decide to move without your brain’s consent, walking over to your desk to place the bag of chips on the smooth, white surface, before you awkwardly begin to sort every document that Quaritch was so kind to make a mess with, as he sat down on them.

"What are you doing here, sir?", you ask to try and end this nerve wrecking tension. That elicits a low chuckle out of him. You force yourself not to look up at him, but you hear him follow you, stepping closer, until you feel his warm breath fan over the top of your head.

"It seems you’ve stopped sending me your little polaroids, cherry", he hums, tilting his head so his lips were closer to your ear. "How come?"

"I- I- I‘m, I didn’t know if you would still…", there’s a pause and you take a deep breath, your voice growing quieter with every word, "if you were still interested in them."

Behind your back, Quaritch’s ears twitch. Damn Na’vi and their distinctive hearing, you curse them. You see the dancing shadow of his tail, curling and swaying as he processes what you had just told him.

"And what made you think that?", he then asks, and your heart skips a beat at his voice, giving you false hope with the sound of being genuinely interested.

"I don’t know, I– I just-“, you struggle to find the right words and sigh. "I thought you weren’t interested in me." It’s a honest confession. You squeeze your eyes shut, pinching the bridge of your nose in embarrassment as you keep letting the words flow out. There was no going back anyways now. "You didn’t even… touch me or anything so I thought you wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me. Especially after finding out that– that I’ve never…"

You don’t finish the sentence. Partly because you can’t bring yourself to speak it out, name the obvious, and partly because he didn’t let you.

"Is that what you want?", Quaritch cuts in and you whip your head around just in time to see his lips part into a toothy grin, his sharp canine poking out from under his lip. He cocks his head to the other side, "You want me to touch you, huh?"

There was something to be said about power and pleasure. Any moron could inflict pain, for all the power it gave to them and certainly pain could be a useful tool, especially to someone like him. But it surely wasn't pain that gave him the feeling of power when it came to you. Quaritch stroked a finger over the back of your neck, carefully flicking your hair over your shoulder.

"Alright, I‘ll touch you, cherry", he hums, "But only if you promise to keep these pretty pictures coming, yes?"

Humans were never designed to fight what felt good to them, you knew that. Pleasure had someone who was expecting a fight as disorientated as a baby bird that just hit glass. The power of making someone melt in your hands, it must be intoxicating. You couldn’t just see it in his eyes, you also felt it in the way his hands wandered from your neck to the collar of your lab coat, gently pulling it down over your shoulders.

You never wished to be better at controlling your expressions as in this moment. You could feel the blush growing on your cheeks, giving away what you were feeling too easily. And it only encouraged Quaritch further. You let him pull the coat off of you completely, and look away briefly as he tosses it over your chair. A moment passes, his hands just lingering but not entirely touching you, until you cast your gaze back at him.

"Okay", you breathe out, nodding slightly, and that’s all the confirmation he needed.

Quaritch lets his hands fall lower, to snake down your thigh, fingers skimming over the fabric of your skirt. His big hands almost entirely curl around your leg, fingertips pressing into what he already seems know is one of your favourite places to be touched: your inner thigh, where it tickles and arouses you in equal measure, but he doesn’t linger there. His hands wander past the vulnerable flesh, further up where he then hoists your skirt up to expose your panties.

A sound between a low hum and a content purr comes from deep within his chest, as he cups your clothed cunt with his warm balm, slowly running the tips of his fingers against the soft fabric between your thighs. Your breath hitches when he finds the outline of your clit, nudging it gently. He drags his knuckles across the fabric of your panties, a barely-there touch, but you’re so sensitive already that your hips twitch at the contact and you bite your lip to keep from moaning. And that ultimately makes you come back to your senses.

"W-Wait, you– here?", you whisper. Your eyes slide to the door, made out of milky glass, closed but unlocked. It’s late and you’re almost sure everyone else that worked on this floor has already went home, but still. Anyone could just walk in here at any second.

You take a quick look at Quaritch over your shoulder, brows furrowed, a worried almost pleading look on your face.

"Yes, here", he confirms.

"You- you can’t be serious." You’re blushing more deeply now. The colour blossoms over your cheeks, the tip of your ears and even creeps down your neck, disappearing beneath that neatly ironed blouse you picked out this morning.

The Colonel chuckles, "You want me to touch you, don’t you? So that’s what i‘m going to do, cherry."

"I didn’t mean right here!"

"But I did. C’mon now, take these off for me", he says, hooking a finger under the waistband of your panties to pull and let them snap back against your skin, causing you to flinch slightly. You hesitantly reach for them, pulling the soft fabric down ever so slowly, like you were still debating if you were loosing your mind and with it, any sense of caution.

All it would need was for one oblivious person to enter your lab and catch you with a ten feet tall recom, messing around in a workspace area that’s supposed to be clean and free of any contamination, and you would most likely loose your job and get sent back to earth within the next twenty-four hours.

But do you really want him to stop though? His velvety voice washes over you, ensnaring you in warmth, his desire, and anticipation.

You don’t want him to stop. It would kill you if he did.

Once you slipped out of your panties, Quaritch places a heavy hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you down until your chest lays flat against your desk.

"Spread yourself for me." It’s an order to be obeyed directly, so you reach behind yourself, one hand on each side as you pull your cheeks apart. Your glad for the rather cold surface of the table when you rest your burning face against it, unable to hold yourself up any longer.

Behind you, Quaritch groans at the sight.

"What a cute little pussy, all pretty and pink."

You feel his eyes rake over your body, burning across your skin, drinking in the sight of you bent over for him oh so nicely and willing, entirely at his mercy. You hear him give a satisfied exhale and your flush deepens.

"Poor thing really missed me, huh? Dripping already and I haven’t even started", he laughs.

Your breath catches in your throat. You’re warm all over, particularly between your thighs, where you feel more wetness pool. It amazed you that he had this much control over you with just a few touches and some pretty woven words. His voice, his touch, the power he exudes in the air around you… it all targets you.

Ever so slowly, he then slides his middle finger between your folds, coating it in your arousal. You whimper softly, once he comes in contact with your clit. It’s a teasing touch at first, but he soon puts more pressure into it as he expertly begins to draw small circles over the little nub.

Your breath comes in quick gasps, the more Quaritch plays with your clit, and you can already feel your legs begin to tremble. Your abdomen clenches with your exasperated breathing and the throbbing between your thighs, but it’s not enough. Another whine leaves you and he chuckles deviously directly into your ear.

"So needy…", Quaritch hums, his breath hot against your skin. To your surprise, his warm, wet tongue then licks the curve of your ear, before he bites down playfully. You gasp sharply, and at the same time his middle finger moves to tease your entrance. "…and so wet for me.”

You should feel shame, you think, as you arch into the broad stroke of his palm.

"Please", you can’t even muster your own voice to have any strength to it, "please, sir. I- I need more."

And then, a single finger slides into you, answering your prayers.

Despite the ridiculous amount of slick seeping out of you, it’s a tight fit. Quaritch pushes inside with some effort, slowly sinking into your tight, wet tunnel, spreading you wide around his thick digit. It’s twice the size of a human finger, in girth and length, and you bite your lip, whimpering softly while he enters you, hands digging into your own flesh as you continue to spread yourself.

Another finger moves to roll over your clit, while he pushes inside you to the last knuckle.

"That’s it, cherry. Just like that. Look at you swallowing my finger like a good girl", Quaritch huffs out a breath, "Goddamn, your fuckin' tight."

He gives you a few second to collect yourself, let your body adjust to the unfamiliar stretch before he starts moving. Your velvety walls clamp down on his finger as he sets his pace, moving it in and out, curling it up and dragging it along your insides.

You work to steady your breathing, reveling in his touch, but the feeling of his finger moving inside you while another runs over your clit is something else. Your toes curl into your soles and you can’t hold back the moans spilling from your parted lips.

Your mind felt fuzzy, clouded with the squelching sounds he expertly worked out of your pussy and the delicious stretch that his rough finger bought you.

"There you go, there you fuckin' go", Quaritch groans. His fingers work relentlessly on you, somehow finding the exact spot where you craved him most. And as if the floodgates finally broke, a stream of incoherently words and syllables came out, babbling and begging as his thrusts became more rapid, the palm of his hand smacking against your folds with the sheer intensity he was suddenly finger-fucking you in.

"Oh f– please. Fucking– please", you gasp, squirming underneath the large palm that kept you pinned against the desk with enough pressure that you started to feel a little lightheaded.

"What was that?", the Colonel raised his brows, snickering at your already fucked-out state.

"I need you–", you manage to force out between wanton moans, but then you take a big, heaving breath, and your next words come out in almost a sob, "I need you to fuck me!"

There comes no response. His movement doesn’t falter either, he doesn’t slow down for even a second and you feel that familiar coil in your core tighten more and more.

"Miles–", you try to straighten up, but he pushes down on your back again. You let him push you flat against the table without putting up any sort of fight, safe for the begging of course. "Miles, please." You try to reach him by calling his name, pleading, but it’s no use.

Taking matters in your own hands, you push back against his palm, trying to roll your ass directly onto his crotch behind you. The hand that had been laying on your back moves down to your hip and tightens there, fingertips digging into your flesh hard enough to bruise. His sharp intake of air, followed by a low growl leave you momentarily satisfied, thinking you might actually get what you were begging for this whole time.

"You really are desperate.", Miles growls. Then, he pulls his finger out of your sopping hole, until only his fingertip rests inside you. It makes all hair on your body stand up straight as you wait in anticipation. But instead of drawing away entirely to replace his hand with his cock, you feel a second finger nudge past your tight entrance. You inhale sharply, feeling yourself get stretched to the absolute max as both of his thick digits enter you slowly. You nearly sob, once both of them are halfway stuffed into you, all the way in to your own physical limit.

"I thought I’d fucked an onslaught of people who topped the list of desperation, but cherry, sweet thing, I have to say–", his other hand reaches around your middle and gives your clit a light slap to emphasise his point, pushing his fingers just barely an inch further in and you whine in response, “Nobody was ever quite as pathetic or as needy as you are."

It felt like your brain was overheating, daring to melt out of your ears the moment he curled both of his digits inside you like he was beckoning to you, and then started to thrust them at a fast but steady pace.

His palm smacked against your wet folds, fingers creating loud squelching noises as he fucked you with them. The feeling of your juices running down his wrist actually had him grinning behind your back like the smug bastard that he was.

“Oh my god, don’t– don’t stop", you moan, cursing under your breath, and thank fuck he doesn’t. He fingers you in the same way you imagined he would fuck you. Hard and fast and deep enough to feel so incredibly full of him, but it only reminded you of much you actually wanted this to happen. "Yes, yes please. Please I need it, need you to fuck me, please, sir!” You cry out, cutting yourself off with a moan of his name, "Miles, Miles, please–”

You nearly scream when he pushes his digits in to the last knuckle, feeling his fingertips prod at your cervix in a means to shut you up.

"That’s not gonna happen, cherry", he forces out through gritted teeth, leaning over your much smaller frame before his tongue once again curved over the shell of your ear.

A shudder runs up the curve of your spine and you whine softly, "Wha– Why?"

"You really think you can take me? Look at you", he chuckles lowly into your ear, causing goosebumps to raise all over your body, "You’re already sobbing and I’m barely two fingers in. You couldn’t take my cock even if you weren’t a goddamn virgin."

You shook your head frantically, denying his doubt of your physical abilities. But with the way he was plunging his fingers in and out of you, the obscene sounds of slick smearing between his palm and all over your pussy, it was hard to talk back to him. Instead, you were chanting his name under your breath and it became louder and higher in pitch the closer you got to your release.

Your brain had completely checked out sometime around when your felt yourself squeeze his digits so painfully tight, it didn’t even left room for some of your slickness, so it started leaking out, running down the inside of your thighs and dribbling on the tiled floor.

Your breathing has turned rapid, struggling to keep steady as he was driving you over the edge faster than you could probably even process it. With a downright embarrassing, needy voice, you began to brabble whatever nonsense came to your fucked out mind, your need for release so shamefully on display that it made him scoff.

Even though your eyes were squeezed shut, you were fighting the urge to lose consciousness. You never welcomed the cool surface of your desk against your cheek as much as right now. Your whole body felt hot, sticky with sweat and other body fluids as you went slack, only held upright by the table you were half laying on and the force of his hands on you.

"Don’t pass out on me", you distantly hear him laugh, before he delivers another slap to your clit, causing you to jolt. "You cock hungry little slut."

The heat that pooled in your stomach felt as if it would overflow soon, as if the knot that had tighten would snap any second, harder than you ever thought was possible. And then, showing more mercy to you than he probably ever had to anyone, Quaritch curls his fingers against your g-spot just right and growls,

"Come for me. Now."

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[ddarker-dreams]

Nexus II.

Yandere Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Descriptions of Blade's body regeneration ability, Blade is just kinda weird idk, some spoilers for his backstory. Word count: 6k.

Nexus index.

The LOTUS-EATER’s maximum capacity tops out at 124. This number takes current fire codes and oxygen generator parameters into account. There are eight Arbiters — including yourself — and fifteen other employees who work The Club floor on rotation. Additionally, some automatons assist with carrying refreshments to clients. Lucky for you, those fellas aren’t on the payroll. 

The other twenty-two are, though. 

Nona swings her legs back and forth while sitting on the main bar’s countertop, humming a song from an underground band she likes. She’s sent you a link to their discography enough times that you recognize the URL immediately and know not to tap on it. 

“Hey, mom, dad, we’re on the news. ‘IPC Places Eris Under Temporary Travel Ban While Investigating Claims of Fraud’. Why didn’t anyone tell me we were doing fraud? Was I not invited to the group chat?” Nona hums. 

You glance up from your account book, sigh, then glance back down.

Meanwhile, Lear carries a hefty wooden crate from the back and places it on the floor. The sound of muffled glass clinking together can be heard, along with liquid sloshing.

“You shouldn’t make jokes like that,” he frowns. He shoos her off the counter with a wet rag, to which she takes refuge behind you. He rolls his eyes at her shenanigans, ties up his sandy hair, then gets to cleaning. “People could get the wrong idea. It’d tarnish [First]’s reputation.” 

Snickering, she replies, “And casually referring to Our-Lord-And-Savior-The-Exalted-One by her first name wouldn’t?” 

He bristles. “You…!” 

On instinct, he winds up his arm, wielding the now dirty rag as his ammunition. He pauses when Nona points at you. Seeing that there’s no way to hit his target without you joining the casualties, he huffs, and returns to shining glasses, using excessive force this time. 

Nona sticks her tongue out at him. After celebrating her victory, she situates herself on a nearby barstool, stretching her arms out beside your workspace like a content cat preparing to nap. 

“You’ve been staring at that silly book forever,” she notes, exasperation coloring her tone. “I know you aren’t reading it, either. Your eyes give you away. So, what’s up?” 

You shuffle in your seat. This line of questioning was inevitable as the four moons that hang everlasting in the sky, taking in everything as impartial observers. During instances like this, you envy the marvelous masses, how they can exist peacefully without living. No one asks the moon troubling questions. Or, if they do, they have more pressing issues at hand than their spoken query. 

“It’s nothing,” you dismiss. 

She blows a tuft of hair from her face. “Hey, Lear.”

“Mm?”

“Did you hear that?”

“Well, yes, I’m only standing a few feet away.” 

“Right, right. Let me ask a trickier question then, since that one was obviously way too easy for someone of your intellect. Do you believe her?”

“I…” he swallows thickly. “... Yes?”

Nona throws her arms up. “Gah! I’m surrounded by liars who can’t lie. That’s almost worse than liars who can lie— blegh, hey, did you actually throw a rag at me?” 

The rag in question slides down the side of her head and hits the ground with a sad squelch. 

“I’ll do it again too. You shouldn’t bother [First]—” Lear abruptly cuts himself off at the last syllable of your name, “The exalted one when she’s trying to concentrate.” 

You raise your head and frown. “Lear, I told you. Call me by my name when it’s just us. It feels wrong if you don’t.” 

“Seriously? That’s what gets your attention?” Nona laments. 

You both elect to ignore her. 

“I know, I know. It’s just… what if he comes back?” 

Silence descends and clings to the three of you like the suffocating scent of smoke. It’s there again, the uncomfortable, skin-prickling sensation of eyes sticking to you. Amber and sapphire coalesce into one, unspoken plea, forming a disconcerting shade. Nona’s visage betrays nothing, whereas Lear’s concern would be obvious from galaxies away. 

You square your shoulders and try to make yourself appear as decisive as you need to sound. “I’ll know when he’s back. He’ll text so I can let him in.” 

The two exchange knowing looks. It’s Nona who tries her luck. 

“That’s reassuring and all, but, I think the question Lear wanted to ask is why that man’s here in the first place.” 

Magenta eyes, rosy iris’, words that drip like venom-coated honey. 

When you asked how you should explain Blade’s presence to your staff, she told you she’d hate to abuse her authority, and that you’re free to decide those specifics yourself. You would’ve preferred some guidance or hint at her expectations in such a pivotal situation. It’s easier to avoid a landmine if you know how to best watch your step. The uncharacteristic lack of instructions goes on to birth unease. 

“My answer hasn’t changed. He’s here to act as my bodyguard until some concerns are settled.” 

Nona’s lips twist to the side. “You never wanted a bodyguard before.” 

“I never needed one before.” 

A glass shatters violently. 

You and Nona snap your head toward the noise’s origin, finding Lear’s face wound tight in pain. You both jump the counter. The remains of crystal shards are strewn across the floor, catching and refracting light. Watching your step, you make your way over to Lear, who is muttering expletives under his breath. 

No, that isn’t right, you realize. His lips aren’t moving. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he tries waving off Nona, who is inspecting the hand that held the glass, “Just an accident, s’all.” 

The private tumult boiling in his head threatens to overflow, stating loud and clear thoughts no one other than himself should be privy to. You grimace and focus on blocking the intrusive voice out. It’s so resounding, so sharp, that snippets penetrate through and spill their scathing secrets.  

‘My fault — should’ve killed — now she’s — because of me…!’ 

Block it out, block it out, block it out, you chant the mantra incessantly. 

Lear’s psyche wishes to illuminate itself to you in its entirety. The spotlights turn on one by one, focusing intently on the visible portion of the stage that any audience member can see. The overlapping beams penetrate the stage’s back curtain, revealing the silhouettes of the backstage crew. 

You don’t want to witness these delicate inner workings. It isn’t for your eyes, his thoughts aren’t for your ears. Sins committed in days past grant you a front-row seat and sew your eyes wide open. You haven’t attended this theater in some time, so it brought the show to you. 

It requires great effort to struggle against the needle and thread that wants to practice its stitches on you. This pain that feels like your skull is being crushed beneath an anchor could ease away if you were a good audience member who sat still and mute. You resist subservience at the cost of yourself. Eventually, the lights dim. The stage’s back curtain turns opaque. The actors shift their shouts into a normal speaking volume, a whisper, then finally, stop orating altogether. 

Your mind’s dictation is decided by you — the ink of Lear’s thoughts expunged. 

You’re aware of your physical surroundings again. 

Presently, you’re crouching down on the floor. You move your foot back to maintain balance, and there’s a crunch, warning you to tread carefully. You inhale and exhale shakily. At this sign of lucidity, Nona and Lear crowd over you, repeating your name on a loop. You check twice to ensure their mouths are indeed moving and you aren’t hearing what you shouldn’t. Once you dispel your fears, relief embraces you. 

This paroxysm has run its course.

Nona’s shoulders slump. “It’s okay, it’s over. She fixed it.” 

They both hold their breath until you nod in agreement. 

Lear extends his hand to help stand you up, to which Nona swats at it. 

“No touching,” she reminds. Sternness doesn’t sound right in her cadence. He considers arguing, only to decide against it. His fingers twitch, go still, then recede. 

You have to stand on your own strength. 

Neither of them knows what to say in the immediate aftermath — it’s been so long that they’re out of practice. While they think over the best-sounding platitudes, you spare your phone a glance. Several messages mar the screen from an unknown sender. The most recent is time-stamped at five minutes ago. 

You grumble a few choice words. 

“Mr. Personality is back?” Nona asks. 

“Yeah, I’ll handle it,” you close your account book and fold it under your arm. “You both should head home, it’s late. Just let Loopy take care of the glass shards.” 

Nona gives a mock salute. After a moment’s consideration, Lear nods. 

And so the three of you part ways. 

Your fingers blindly grope at the expanse beneath your desk. Finally, you come in contact with a protrusion, then press it. Electricity thrums then turns hushes. For peace of mind, you glide your hand through the air. A holographic keyboard flickers into existence and responds to your vigorous keystrokes. The monitor reads that your noise-canceling software is up to date. It prevents sound waves from escaping a perimeter you’ve set. It’s installed in every room on the second floor, which includes the private rooms in The Lounge, your office, and the bedroom attached to said office. 

Ever since Kafka started slinking around, the software’s uptime has increased exponentially. 

Unlike Kafka, Blade doesn’t sit across from you or relax on the couch against the silver-colored wall. He stands by the door that leads to the hallway like a statue. He hasn’t so much as uttered a word to you since you let him in, not that you put in much effort to rouse conversation. It isn’t as childish as him ignoring you, either, you swear his eyes haven’t left you for a millisecond. 

The keyboard and monitor dissipate at the flick of your wrist. 

“I know I said I didn’t have anything major scheduled this week, but the IPC’s new policy changes things,” you start. Still no reaction. Frowning, you continue, “I’ll have to break the house arrest you’ve imposed.” 

He doesn’t so much as blink. You thought a little provocation might earn you some material to work with, but you thought wrong. 

“Who will be there?” Blade asks. 

Instead of experiencing relief that he’s broken his vow of silence, tension coils its barbed limbs around you. It refuses to squeeze or apply any pressure. No, it intentionally denies you that, for it knows pain precedes understanding. A motive, an intention. Any degree of emotion is better than an unknowable void. Frustration, you can soothe, doubt, you can dispel, but total apathy? That’s a nightmare crossed into reality. 

“The other two leaders of the quadrants and myself.” 

At long last, there's a sign he is indeed a sentient lifeform and not the latest android model. A flash passes over his eyes. Suspicion or disbelief, perhaps. 

“Shouldn’t there be four leaders, if the city’s divided into quadrants?” 

“That’s a fair assumption. As far back as our records date, the southwestmost quadrant, Arc, has rejected the idea of having any fixed governance. They act however they see fit. It’s where that man who attacked me a few cycles back was sent to, since we look down on involuntary confinement.” 

“The prison planet without prisons,” Blade’s wry wording belies his flat tone. 

It’s always been a divisive topic, earning scorn and acclaim alike. You’ve had the misfortune of listening to clients regurgitate talking points that were made digestible by popular media, who started the cycle by devouring journal articles they read one paragraph of. They repeat what’s been said thousands of times with the bravado of the original theorist. Normally, you’d consider it more agreeable to bash your head against a wall than speak on the exhausted topic. 

So why is it a kindling of intrigue burns by a Stellaron Hunter’s offhand comment? 

“What’s this? The wanted criminal isn’t a proponent of prison abolition?” 

“Every decision comes at a price,” he says. “Sins should be punished.” 

You blink. Sins? Punishment? Is this a textbook case of cognitive dissonance, or another beast entirely? 

“What do you consider a sin?” 

“Anything that defies the natural order.” 

“Such as…?” 

The maelstrom that envelops him is potent enough for you to feel it breathing down your neck. Your body prickles all over. 

“Defying death.” 

“Not inflicting it?” 

“No,” Blade’s response is immediate, straight from the heart. “Taking life is permissible. It’s accelerating the inevitable.” 

This callous sentiment should chill you — maybe it would, if you heeded the alarm bells ringing in your mind — but fascination triumphs over any deterrent. This isn’t a creed one stumbles into by happenstance, it’s a burden made to order. His preoccupation with death is personal. A necessity. 

“Show me what it’s like to die.”

Is this request self-flagellation or redemption? 

If you’re ever to fulfill the Synalink you promised, you’ll need to dig deeper. 

“There are ‘sins’ committed with altruistic intentions, though.” 

“Hah,” he barks out a bitter laugh. “Those… those are the worst kind.” 

This is a personal slight he’s grappling with. The shards scattered around him like stardust condense, though the sight they create remains out of focus. It doesn’t have to be a sharp picture for you to discern its immense stature. 

Each person’s psyche is distinct in its manifestation. This image is a culmination of everything that defines them. Their core values, history, relationships, culture, ambitions both met and not fully realized; these colors leave an indelible imprint. In truth, this detailed representation is but a single dot amidst an ocean of stars. The mind of a sentient being must be vast if it is capable of ascending to an Aeon’s status. Still, you need something to work with, even if it doesn’t encompass the full scope. A pianist cannot play their instrument if there are no keys. 

This scale, this sheer magnitude that towers higher the more you crane your neck up, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever encountered. 

“... You’re going to give me a run for my money, Mr. 8.13 billion,” you murmur. “Your head looks like a warzone.” 

He leans against the wall with a hmph.

“With all your impending problems, that’s what you choose to focus on?” 

“I can multitask.” 

“Can you?” He challenges. Sensing your confusion, he elaborates. “You look awful.” 

Blade must be irresistible across all genders with that nuanced level of word crafting. 

“I appreciate your candidness,” you deadpan. 

He shakes his head at your sarcasm. “Don’t act obtuse. Your complexion’s off, your eyes are bloodshot… everything was fine when I left. Must have something to do with your earlier delay, I take it?” 

You underestimated his acumen. This would explain why he’s been sizing you up since you opened the door. His sword proficiency isn’t the only threat you should be wary of. You know to be mindful of your presentation when Kafka’s skulking about, you didn’t think he’d need to be treated with a similar caution.

“It’s nothing serious, just your typical mental overexertion. There’s a lot on my plate, you said so yourself.” 

“Hm.” 

Whether he believes you or not, the conversation is left at that. 

Transportation on Eris functions differently than what’s commonly found in other worlds. 

Traditional gas-based motors aren’t favored due to the frigid climate. Instead, a gemstone mined in the Nectary by vetted groups is the preferred resource. It contains special thermodynamic properties that can emit immense power under the correct conditions. The gemstones have been altered and assembled in such a way that they function as a railroad for insulated cabins to travel from one station to another. These paths were nicknamed 'nectar guides’ or ’guides’ by the first engineers to embed them in the ground. This is in reference to how the eight main paths lead to Perianth II’s center, built above the Nectary. 

The design serves a dual purpose — it optimizes travel and the heat radiating from the ground produces light. The accommodations have outworlders in mind. Your species, the Nymphalians, have long undergone enough natural selection to survive the hostile conditions fine enough. Your species’ eyesight excels in the dark and your physiology resists the cold. Aside from that, your body functions identical to any other humanoid species. The lone visible difference is a thin white ring around most Nymphalians’ iris’. You and Lear display this quality, Nona does not. 

The cabin you sit in has a quaint design. There are plush, brown loveseats lining the wall, glowing orange lights in the arched ceiling, and light refreshments atop wooden table stands. It’s split into a common area and a bedroom suite. More enchanting than any ornate embellishment are the expansive windows. You only get to see your quadrant in person during these trips to Perianth II’s center and back. 

“You warm enough?” You call over to Blade, who is bundled in extra layers of clothes and wearing an especially dour expression. 

He doesn’t dignify your quip with a verbal reply. 

This brief jaunt has earned his ire. For someone who’d likely prefer to be anywhere else, he’s taking this guard assignment quite seriously. He explained that taking this straightforward travel route begs for people with nefarious intent to come slithering out. You could see his point, but the matter isn’t up for dispute. Recent cyberattacks have called electronic communication into question. What you’ll be discussing with the others — Chrysus of Ade and Caicias of Mele — is highly sensitive information. The IPC catching any sliver of it could prove disastrous. 

“You shouldn’t be by the windows,” Blade eventually says.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a major buzzkill?” 

Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t respond. 

With some reluctance, you pry yourself away from the glass granting access to the outside world. 

“... Just a bit longer?” You try plucking a sympathetic cord he distinctly lacks. 

“If you like it so much, why not experience it in the safety of your room where your head is a less visible target?”  

“It isn’t possible to perform a Synalink on yourself.” 

“Have an underling do it.” 

The presumptions air to this suggestion eliminates any grace you may have extended.

“The only other Arbiter capable of performing Synalinks on me was my mother,” you say. “Note the past tense.” 

You experience a phantasmal ripple with him as the epicenter. It’s the weakest emotion you’ve inadvertently picked up from him, so you assume it’s nothing of consequence. 

“Passing blurs aren’t worth risking your life over.” 

You rise to your feet. 

“How do you know that?” You challenge, heat rushing to your cheeks. “These homes, these buildings, these streets… they’re either data on my screen or conveyed to me through someone who acts like they’re listing parts in a machine. I have to see it. I have to commit each ‘passing blur’ to memory. Otherwise…” 

What have I sacrificed my freedom for? 

Blade’s eyebrows furrow. 

“Otherwise…” you shake your head. “Forget it.” 

During the ensuing silence, your phone buzzes. 

You had set it on do not disturb for the upcoming meeting. A few contacts were granted an exception, meaning that this message must be urgent if it went through. You swallow the lump growing in your throat. An exhausted part of yourself reasons that it can wait until the meeting’s conclusion. It wouldn’t do you any good to get worked up beforehand, would it? The message will still be there when it’s finished. Then you’ll be able to commit all your bandwidth to its contents. This reasoning is a tempting mistress cooing at you to come join her in bed. The momentary relief will be as sweet as the aftertaste is bitter. 

Responsibility triumphs in the end. After inputting the necessary passcodes, a message four words long scrawls across your screen.

The product is ready. 

A simple code had been devised between you and the alchemist entrusted with testing Kafka’s synthetic tonic. The product isn’t ready yet would mean the sly woman bluffed, or at the very least, exaggerated her 70% comparison claim. You’d gladly take either. She’s sewn deceit before, she’d have no trouble doing it again. In case the alternative was true, you prepared another code; the code you just received. 

You reread it once. Twice, then thrice. You check if the message came from the right number. It did. You check again. 

This frantic fixation consumes you to such a degree, you don’t register the cabin jerking aside. The delay from your reflexes throws your equilibrium off. Squeezing your eyes shut, you brace yourself for an unceremonious rendezvous with the floor. Your right side does come into contact with a hard surface, except it’s sooner than you anticipated. Warmer, too. 

This heat is different from what’s produced inside the Nectary’s gemstones. It’s personal, containing the distinct thrum of life. There’s also an aroma. Slightly floral, mostly spices you don’t recognize. Then there’s this steady sound — consistent enough to put a metronome to shame. A slow thump, thump, thump. 

“How have you survived this long, clumsy as you are?” 

Blade isn’t speaking any louder than he normally would, but you can hear him better. 

“Hey, I’m… not… clumsy…?” 

It’s only when you open your eyes that you’re able to piece together your current predicament. 

Blade’s steadying you by your shoulders and your cheek is pressing against his chest. You always knew he was tall, but having him tower over you this close gives you a new perspective. As does the fact he doesn’t immediately shove you off after breaking your fall. Your body goes stiff enough to rival rigor mortis.

“Accident prone, then.”  

This swipe has you desperate to reaffirm your authority. “You should’ve just… let me fall then! Maybe I wanted to, what do you know!” 

(It sounded better in your head). 

“Are you positive you’re over a century old?” 

An equally snarky rebuttal blooms on your tongue, only to immediately wither, turning to ash that coats the ground. 

There’s the sound of a dying star, a dirge announcing the end. 

What one hears before their name is reduced to an epitaph or an alphabetized list neatly organizing the recently deceased. It’s loud, then it isn’t. Hideous, then hypnotizing. Yellows and oranges and reds swirling in a serpentine motion that mocks you for thinking you ever conquered it. Civilizations can temporarily subdue it, bend it to their will, but it’s not ever truly theirs. The sovereignty of flame is a dynasty everlasting. It may rise, it may fall, but it can’t ever be truly extinguished. 

You’re sent flying back with enough power that the air is forced from your lungs. It’s as if an Aeon’s hand had pushed your body aside, dragging you to the edge of the universe. You’re released from the scorching maw and into an icy nothingness. 

The planet itself is frozen for a time. 

There’s no strength in your body. Your system has been injected with pure, raw adrenaline, causing your limbs to shake and ignore your commands. Your ears are ringing and your eyesight is blurry. Tears cleanse the pollutants from your eyes. A dark swath covers your body, its weight hindering your feeble attempts to move. Determination alone wills you to emerge from this shadowy cocoon. 

The ringing fades and all is quiet, save for the crackling of fire. 

Then the screaming begins. 

You try identifying the source. You think you may have found it, then it starts elsewhere, a different pitch, a different soul lot in lament. Bloodcurdling shrieks rise alongside the thick smoke. You’re being a stretch of buildings that loom imposingly, obsidian spires reaching up to the night sky. The masonry required to maintain their reign basks in the flames. The unusual surplus of light unveils its secrets, from the cracks in the stone to the faded graffiti bored kids left behind. 

The ground is uneven, unlike the glossy pavement found in the entertainment district. This dull, grayish-blue soil with the consistency of fine powder exhibits the true nature of Eris’ untreated exterior. It’s cool to the touch and takes pleasure at the chance to stain your fine clothes. 

Your wandering mind is brought back upon hearing a sputter nearby. You’re not sure where you are, what you’re doing, or why you’re doing it; but you remember you weren’t alone. 

“Blade…” The name comes out as a croak. “Where…?” 

You can’t call out to him, it’s like cotton has been stuffed down your esophagus. 

There’s movement in the corner of your eye. 

You make the mistake of trying to stand. Your arms might’ve begun to heed your commands, but your legs do not. The worst insurrectionists are your ankles. The instant you try putting any weight on them, they collapse as if you were a newborn doe. Recognizing this strategy’s incompetence, you drag yourself over to where you saw movement instead. The coarse ground rubs at and scratches your skin. 

Upon closer inspection, your heart stops. 

The dark swath — that’s Blade. 

He’s in a far worse state than you. His entire backside has been scorched, displaying angry red blisters and split skin just barely hanging on. His right arm is bent in an awkward position, most certainly broken. Then there’s his left arm, or lack of it. Clumps of limp sinew hang where his arm should be joined to his shoulder joint. The force of the impact must’ve blown it off or eviscerated it entirely. 

He’s lying on his side, facing away from you. A pool of blood forms beneath him, mixing with the soil. The coupling results in a sickly mauve that creeps and seeps inch by inch. 

The fire… it’s coming from the guides, you realize. The cabin has been torn to pieces!

This begs the question: how are you alive? 

You should be covered in burns at the very least. Some of your clothes got charred, you think a rib or two might be broken, but you’re living and breathing. There’s a gap in your memory where the previous events should be. You try recalling whatever you can, no matter how seemingly insignificant. You were moved aside as the roaring got louder, and then there was the sound of glass shattering, heat to cold… 

Blade must have intervened. Did he use the few seconds before the fire caught up to break the window and toss you out? That can’t be right; you’d have glass entrenched in your skin and burns on whichever side faced the explosion. Surely, with his inhuman reflexes, he could’ve come out relatively unscathed. 

Unless he chose to shield you. 

You don’t think, you just act. First, by tearing the hem of your long skirt, then second, pressing it against the gaping wound where his shoulder abruptly ends. Gushes of crimson spill through your first makeshift bandage. You throw it aside, rip at your garments again, repeating the process in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. A Stellaron Hunter must have a robust constitution, right? He was able to act faster than you could think. He can survive this — you just need to stop the bleeding until you can get help. Kafka has to have connections with advanced medical factions. 

Tears stream down your face and you sniffle relentlessly. Your hands are caked in soot and blood, the scent of burnt skin and metal clings to your nostrils. Is he going to die? Is he already dead? You can’t bring yourself to check his pulse. How could he be willing to die for you in the short period of time you’ve known one another? He could’ve concocted any excuse for why he failed Kafka’s assignment, you’re certain he’s more indispensable to their cause than you are. 

Blade stirs. 

You think that it’s your imagination playing tricks on you. A cruel joke to remind you that you make your living off shaping reality for others, temporarily giving them what they want at the price of never truly having it. 

Or so is your conviction until he moves again. 

You’ve heard of muscles twitching after death to give the false impression of life. However, you’ve never witnessed the phenomenon yourself. Is this how it works? It isn’t sporadic, his right arm is sweeping over the ground, fingers flexing. Much to your astonishment, he pushes himself up with the arm that was contorted into a horrible shape a minute ago. The pain he’s experiencing must be excruciating and yet he merely grunts as he shifts into a sitting position. 

“Stop moving,” you rasp out. With your most recent bandage in hand, you go to apply pressure to the left arm socket. 

He responds to your fervent desperation in a low, gravelly voice. 

“Don’t bother.” 

Don’t bother? Is he in a coherent state of mind? If you don’t attend to his gushing wound, he’s at risk of bleeding out. You prepare to ignore his utterance when a strange sight freezes you in place. 

A white structure emerges from his raw, mangled arm socket, descending like water pouring from a pitcher. It solidifies and takes the shape of a humerus. Once finished, it goes on to create the radius and ulna. Next are the carpals, metacarpals, then phalanges. Tendons join them together, fibrous muscles envelop the bones. Finally, in the blink of an eye, fresh layers of skin build atop one another in sheets. He clenches and unclenches his newly formed hand. 

If defying death is a sin, he is laden in iniquity.

“What hurts?” Blade asks. 

You’re too aghast to respond. His body just stitched itself back together without any medical treatment or esoteric healing techniques. Is it possible you’re hallucinating? Can a visual hallucination be this vivid? 

He reaches out. Seconds prior to his hand coming into contact with your bare skin, you furiously shake your head, flailing backward and narrowingly avoiding him. His eyes bore down on you like molten magma. He retracts his hand after a drawn-out pause. 

“If you can’t speak, point instead.” 

Dazedly, you follow his instructions, focusing primarily on your ankles. They’ve swollen since you last checked. The flesh is tender and puffy. 

“I’ll carry you,” he says. “Stay still.”

“Wait,” you manage to wheeze out. “This area… residential… have to help…!”

A coughing spell cuts your hoarse plea short. 

“That explosion was meant for you. Whoever set it off will want to ensure their job’s success.”

Blade reaches out for you again. You duck to avoid his grasp, despite the pain throbbing in your chest cavity from the hasty movement. The adrenaline must be fading if your brain is doing inventory on the damage you’ve sustained, rather than focusing on survival. Hot waves test your resolution. You grit your teeth. If you make a show of your pain, he’s not going to change his decision. 

He speaks your name in a low, warning tone. 

Adamant in your refusal, you point to where the cries for help are the loudest. 

“It’s not my priority,” he says. 

He easily grabs you on his third try and you yelp. The sluggishness of his previous attempts must've been out of consideration for you. His right arm interlocks behind your knees while the left supports your back. You thrash to no avail, his grip remains ironclad. Your struggles amount to nothing but perspiration clinging to your skin and more aches. 

The nearest medical unit to this street is at least thirty minutes away, now that the guides are out of order, you think. That isn’t fast enough…! Every second counts!

In your panic, a sacred vow made decades ago is desecrated. 

You cup Blade’s face in your shaky hands and stare him straight in the eye. 

The previously formed shards come into focus.

It’s monumental, this psyche you’ve barged into without permission. A violation of another’s autonomy. You know this, you condemn yourself for it, yet you press on nevertheless. The previously unknowable architecture that hulks over you is of Xianzhou design. It’s pieced together by bricks as infinite as the stars in the universe, though there is no magnificent shine, only matte stonework. 

This structure… is it a garrison? You wonder. Was Blade a member of the… what’s the name of their military again… Cloud Knights? 

You’ve had Cloud Knight clients before. Their psyches take the likeness of their favorite, scenic expanse on the Hexafleet, the area that they cared for enough to risk their life. The skies would be blue, clouds fluffy and prolific. A sense of duty and patriotism felt palpable. Occasionally, you’d be made privy to grief’s scent carried on a breeze, perhaps from a loved one’s passing or comrade’s untimely death in battle. 

This is a riddle you need to solve swiftly. With a little tampering, you can form a link. It’s immoral, a blight to your personal code, but you’ll leverage enough influence for Blade to stay and help any survivors until help arrives. Whatever consequences arise can be dealt with later. 

Even with the heightened mental sensitivity from making direct physical contact, this is proving a challenge. You can see his psyche but you can’t interact with it. It’s like running your hands through vapor. For you to successfully exert enough influence to change a decision he’s dead set on, you’ll need to go deeper. Inside this fortress sits the recesses of his mind, the bottom of an ocean you’re merely skimming the surface of. The intrusion’s necessity twists your gut as if your intenses were being kneaded. 

Your incorporeal form flutters to the gates, standing solitary against a leaden backdrop. 

The closer you get, you become increasingly aware of a malicious entity permeating behind the doors which strain to contain it. This is the same harrowing presence you felt when he protected you from Alister. Now that you’ve spent more time with Blade, you can discern its essence is different from his, although they’re forcibly intertwined like a rope. Blade emanates this unremittingly morose energy. It’s bleak, unconcentrated. 

This substance oozes a need to satiate bottomless bloodlust. It wants to sink its teeth into flesh, lacerate muscles, and slice through bone. Mayhem and viscera are its highest raison d'être. There’s no sensibility, no reasoning with it, it acts in one way then shifts on a whim; chaos inside a splintering bottle. 

How is Blade capable of functioning with this slumbering beast ready to wreak havoc at any second? 

Steeling your resolve, you prepare to enter.

A seal halts your progress. 

Impatience urges you to dispel it. Blade’s psyche is rejecting you, any further delays will give it ample opportunity to flush you out. 

The kaleidoscopic seal thrums and wards off your efforts. 

Someone put this here, you discern. It’s deliberate. 

What perplexes you is that the seal prohibits entry yet does nothing to contain the miasma writhing behind it. Wouldn’t whoever created it intend to keep that salivating beast at bay? It’s well-crafted too, denying your every attempt to eliminate it. Kafka dabbles in mind-altering. Could she have left this here? You know what her aura feels like — calm, confident, cunning — this seal radiates none of her trademarks. 

An invisible force hauls you back. 

You took too long — Blade’s psyche is expelling the foreign invader. 

You blink and you’re back in reality. 

Blade is grimacing, the lines on his face highlighted by flickering flame. There’s a pallor to his complexion brought on by the aggressive expulsion his mind pulled off. An act such as that leeches off of one’s vitality. He takes a moment to recompose himself, as do you. Any subsequent attempts to form a link are going to be wrung from a desiccated source. You don’t know how many attempts you have left in you, 

“A first offense, I could pardon,” Blade pants out, blood-red hues shining, “A recidivist like yourself, though… can’t go undisciplined.” 

Your eyes widen. How did he know your intentions so quickly? You hadn’t so much as moved yet! 

There’s a dull discomfort blooming from your nape. 

Your eyelids feel heavy and your breathing slows. Black spots float around in your vision. They start small, appearing as if they were polka dots, then grow to be the size of black holes. Your muscles won’t move. The unconscious realm beckons. Its gravitational pull is irresistible, a tide you can’t swim against. 

What is this? Your neck… did he strike a nerve…? 

“You’ll be fine,” a distant, sonorous voice promises. “Just sleep.” 

The sentence has been delivered. 

You’re made prisoner to a dreamless slumber. 

#blade x reader #yandere blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #yandere hsr x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #nexus #my stuff

[afledglings-guideto-witchcraft]

Updated Post. Imma be real for a sec, some of the new information that was brought to my attention is amazing and, in fact, very helpful, so I'm making an updated post to this one here.

A Beginners Guide to Crystals.

How to spot fakes (typically glass) and dyed crystals, Crystal Shapes, and Crystal Color Associations are the topics in this post.

How to spot glass, resin, and other types of fake crystals. (You can still 100% use them in witchcraft, but if you want genuine crystals, then this guide may help you do just that!)

If you think that your crystals are fake, here are some things you can look and do to tell.

Rubbing your crystal with a finger should reveal tiny pores on the surface of the crystal. If it does not have any pores and is instead completely smooth, then it's possible that it's glass or resin.

While some crystals can have naturally formed air bubbles in them, it is rare and may just be glass that was shaped into the crystal.

You can easily search up "fake crystal name" vs. "real crystal name" and compare the two pictures.

You can also look up "dyed crystals" vs. "undyed crystals" to see what a natural coloring of crystals should look like.

If you're worried that your turquoise is fake, then you can take the tip of a hot pin and press it into the crystal, if it burns then it's real, however if it starts to melt its a fake.

Opalite and Goldstone are glass crystals, man made.

9/10 times if your Crystal looks very brightly colored it could have been dyed.

I'll put in some pictures of glass/resin crystals next to the real crystals to show the difference.

Natural coloring of crystals occurs because of the different metals and other minerals that are absorbed during the creation of the crystal. Quartz is just silica and oxygen, so it's appears colorless, but when iron is absorbed, it creates purple or yellow, depending on how oxidized the iron was in the creation of the crystal.

Natural citrine does form, but it's not going to look burned or splochty.

Splotchy color in crystals usually means that it's been dyed, as you can see in the first two images. Dyed crystals also very obviously look dyed because of how brightly they are colored.

Even in Malachite, the green in the fake malachite is brighter than the genuine malachite. You can also look at the unnatural banding on the fake and compare it to real malachite.

Real opal is not see-through like Opalite is. Real opal is more clouded with spots of color, while opalite will have streaks of color or look like the see-through ones above.

Real turquoise is going to have brown or black webbings and cracks or chips, while dyed howlite is going to be smooth with brown or black inclusions. You can take a swab of acetone and rub it across the crystal to see if any coloring comes off. If the color does come off or the crystal looks lighter in the spot, then it's more than likely dyed howlite. You can also do that hot pin trick mentioned above.

The picture on the left is dyed howlite, while on the right is the natural turquoise. You can see that the natural crystal has deep webbing into the stone, very obvious cracks while the holite doesn't have cracks, only webbing that looks like it but it's going to be smooth along those lines.

Crystal Shapes in witchcraft

Double pointed- absorbs and emits energy.

Cluster- Radiates energy.

One point- concentrates and directs energy.

Raw- Strong open energy.

If the crystal is more round then the energy is going to be calmer

If the crystal has multiple points, then the energy is directed off of each point.

The size of the crystal doesn't dictate the amount of energy it gives off.

Different crystals have different energies that they give off. The ones most commonly used in witchcraft and their properties are listed below.

Clear quartz- Clarity

Amethyst- Grounding

Citrine- Happiness

Rose quartz- love

Black Tourmaline- Protection

Obsidian- also protection

Aventurine- luck

Tigers eye- money

Labradorite- aura healing and protection

There are many other crystals that give off similar energies that can be used. As stated, these are just some of the more commonly seen ones.

Now, different crystals can give off different energies depending on the person using them. Some people may see use amethyst as protection rather than obsidian or black tourmaline. Some may use aventurine for money spells over tigers eye. That's 100% okay.

Crystal Color Associations.

Color associations can depend on how the witch feels about a color. This is the general association plus how I use colors in my path.

Red- Anger/passion

Orange- Courage (or in my case repulsion)

Yellow- Happiness

Green- Luck and money

Blue- Calming or sadness (depending on the mood)

Purple- Spirituality

Brown- grounding

Pink- self love

Grey- solemn, seriousness.

With some crystals, the color is also associated with the things listed above. However, again, not all witches will use the color associations of crystals this way, and that's 100% okay. Each witch has a different path and different associations when it comes to the tools they use in their path.

If you're interested in learning about what energies different crystals give off, often just googling "what is crystal name used for in healing" and you will receive an answer.

Though with any type of research, please look at 3-5 other sources that say the same or similar thing. Though it may take more digging to come to a conclusion.

Thank you for reading the updated post, and let me know if I missed anything or if you'd like to add anything. A big thanks to everyone who has corrected the previous post on this subject and any posts that may have contained misinformation in them.

#witchcraft #fledglings guide to witchcraft #witch community #witchblr #witch topic #crystals #color association