#I’ve spent SO much time in the depths

[skoulsons]

minor totk spoilers

-

so. I just think it’s so funny that like… six years ago (and even up until totk was released), people were goofing off in the Faron region and elsewhere of botw and being like “whoa look at these statues and hints at an ancient civilization” and then theories every five minutes about the zonai and who they were and what they were and their whole deal and all that good stuff. and everyone was like “man I hope the sequel does something about this bc it’d be pretty cool to have this all in canon”

and not even two minutes into gameplay and Zelda is like “ZONAI ZONAI ZONAI LOOK AT ALL THIS ZONAI STUFF LINK DID YOU KNOW THE ZONAI ARE A THING AND THAT THEY MINGLED WITH THE HYLIANS TO CREATE HYRULE AND THEY LIVED IN THE SKY AND HAD POWERS”

not to also mention- hearing Zelda say “Demon King” had me doing somersaults around my room. Ganondorf my king how I’ve missed you

I guess we got what we asked for 😭

[silkjade]

alhaitham x mermaid! reader (3.5)

⤀ cw: afab!reader, first time (w. him), lots of teasing, cunnilingus, praise, fingering, unprotected sex, lil bit of size kink + overstim, creampie, fluff???, true love but they don't know it yet — mdni || ꒰ 6.2k wc ꒱ a/n: recommended to read the previous part first, but it can stand alone as well ! hope u enjoy my smut debut + reblogs & feedback are always vry much appreciated ♡ next ﾉ series masterlist ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓇼

When you had taken him up on his half conscious, pseudo challenge to visit Sumeru City, Alhaitham never imagined you’d cause him so much trouble. It’s not in the sense that you’d drawn too much unwanted attention, or that you’d spent his mora on frivolous things. No, it was your lack of understanding for the human notions of shame and intimacy. 

He’s never entirely sure of just how nuanced the unabashed things you say and do are. You’re shameless whenever you’d ask him for compliments point-blank, or when you’d waltz out of the bathroom only half-dressed in his clothes. Other times, you’d surprise him with words so naively honest, brush against him in ways that feel far too tender.

To his dismay, it’s becoming increasingly clear that your actions always come with a price—one that he pays, not with mora, but with his dignity. Much like the smooth caress of the waters you came from, it’s all seemingly harmless, but the depths of your intentions remain aggravatingly unknown. Especially when your very presence is enough to enfold all his senses in a lull of desire.

He runs a hand through his hair before turning the knob of his bedroom door, only to find you in your human form, lounging on his bed, lazily flipping through one of his books. The robe you wear is one of his; too large on your frame, with the silky material falling off your shoulders, dangerously close to revealing too much. 

Not that it isn’t a welcome sight—he is a man after all. And while he prides himself on his exceptional self control, it becomes an issue when he feels himself grow hot and the loose clothes he likes to wear at home begins to feel too tight. He can’t rub one out while you’re here, so perhaps a cold shower might ease his condition…

But you’re more perceptive than he’s given you credit for.

“It’s not as magnificent as my tail, but this body is still quite impressive isn’t it?” 

“I’ve never met anyone as shameless as you.”

…

“Well, I don’t think you’ve ever met anyone like me at all.” You flash him an amused smile, but the sultry look in your eyes relay a different message entirely. He can’t lie, it excites him.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he mumbles under his breath. To his chagrin, your curious hum cuts through the room and he hears the heavy thud of a book slammed shut.

Of course you heard him. With renewed interest, you swing your legs over the edge of his bed, sauntering over until you’re close enough that he can smell the faint scent of his mint shampoo in your hair. 

“Oh? What could I possibly be doing to you?” Your fingers walk up his body, slowly, from his toned stomach to his chiseled chest, leaving his skin hot through the fabric of his clothes, “Won’t you enlighten me?” 

You look up, that wide-eyed gaze of feigned innocence flickering into something sharp and dangerously seductive. A hand settles on his shoulder, pulling him in until you’re close enough that your lips are only a hair’s breadth away from his sensitive ears. The other reaches down and ghosts against his obviously growing bulge, before pressing down, palming him through his pants. Alhaitham bites back a groan. 

“Or rather, what would you like to do to me?” Your voice rings low and smooth as silk to his ears. It leaves a wave of desire to bubble in the pit of his stomach, one that doubles down on the dull ache at his crotch.

His mind sifts through a thousand thoughts. Lascivious thoughts, sinful, perverted thoughts that only seem to make their presence known when in your company. Just one glance down at you and he can see how ridiculously easy it would be to untie the lazy knot that’s hardly holding your—no—his robe together. 

“I…” 

It’s hard to think when you overwhelm all his senses, poking at the urges he has so carefully suppressed up until now. His robe, his scent. He’s no fool to the way Sumeru City ogles at you—the mysterious stranger who’s able to so casually hang onto the aloof scribe’s arm. It only makes him want to stake his claim across the empty canvas of your skin as well: his mermaid. Perhaps just this once, he’ll let himself indulge in his own selfish desires. 

“Come on, Scribe Alhaitham,” you emphasize,“use your words.” 

A smug smile forms on your face as you calculate the risks of your next words. 

“Although…if you’ve got nothing to say, why don’t you just show me,” you press close, voice deceptively soft. “I’m more of a hands-on learner anyway.”

For once, Alhaitham lets his body override all sense of rationality, flipping your positions, and pinning you against the wall as he captures your mouth in his. It’s uncharacteristically sloppy and haphazard, with none of the craftiness he displayed on that first and only night you kissed, but it’s intoxicating all the same.

His teeth graze against your bottom lip, demanding entrance, and you’re forced to grasp onto his toned bicep to keep yourself steady as you devour each other with the intensity of all your repressed thoughts. With every second his mouth remains slotted on yours, with every inhale and exhale of breath you exchange, you think that this time, you’re the one who might drown.

He finally tosses you a lifeline once he decides to leave the vicinity of your mouth, and begin his campaign across the rest of your body, starting with the little spot right along the underside of your jaw. Alhaitham takes his time trailing down your neck, catching you off guard when he stops to suck down, hard, on a particularly sensitive patch of skin.

An involuntary gasp escapes, and you can feel him smirk against you, though it quickly fades into a half strangled groan when your hips roll into his. He only continues downward from here, carving kisses into your body and leaving behind colorful little bruises that send liquid fire running through your veins. The further he goes, the more he must uncover, and the only thing standing in his way is the robe you’re hardly wearing.

“Can I…?” he asks in a hoarse whisper, fingers already toying with the sash. 

“Not like you haven’t seen everything already,” you mutter, pulling his face in to kiss him again. 

His free hand snakes down to squeeze your ass while the other tugs on the loose knot, the silky material now free to tumble down your body like a waterfall, hitting every curve along the way. In one fell swoop, Alhaitham takes you to his bed, picking up right where he left off: with a depraved kiss that speaks more than he ever could in relaying the underlying lust that clouds his mind.

“Beautiful.” The word slips out without a second thought. It’s the first time he's ever said it outright. Beneath the fervor, there’s a special sentiment that cushions his tone. It has you buzzing with warmth from the inside out, but whether it’s contentment or embarrassment, you don’t know. Biting your lip, you turn your head to the side, refusing to meet his gaze. 

He finds it infinitely amusing that for all your openly brazen flirtations…

“You’re not getting shy on me now, are you?” 

You respond by stubbornly grappling at the edge of his shirt, nails grazing against his muscled abdomen in the process. The startling sensation crackles through his nerves, sending his cockhead twitching in delight. 

“It’s only fair I get to see you too,” you mumble, in what little time you have between kisses. Alhaitham pulls away, a brow quirked in mild amusement. Pausing, he takes this chance to drink in the sight of your naked figure for the second time, though tonight there’s no need to look away. 

It’s exhilaratingly surreal to see your body marked by the undeniable testaments of his touch. It manifests on your skin, where you’re decorated with clusters of little bruises signed by his lips. In your chest, as it heaves for air after all the breaths he’s stolen from right out of your lungs. It persists in the way your eyes draw him in, inviting him, daring him to do more. In how your lips, though slightly swollen, wear the same coquettish grin that’s enchanted him time and again. With no other choice but to surrender to your demands, Alhaitham lifts his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side without a care.

You’ve always thought the man to be handsome, but you’re left wonderstruck as your eyes wander across his bare skin. It’s not like his usual attire leaves much to the imagination, but Alhaitham undressed, is still a sight to see. His toned chest and sculpted stomach, well defined arms… Chiseled by the gods themselves, you think as the corner of your lips quirk just the slightest bit upwards. 

“Enjoying the view?” It’s funny how much his smug smile contrasts with the mottled pink that colors his shoulders and dusts across his cheeks. His skin only flushes more when you trace a finger over the gem on his chest, tantalizingly slow as you make your way down his sternum, and only stopping to lightly flick at one of his nipples. Alhaitham’s breath hitches and you can practically see his muscles as they tense.  

 “Very much,” you answer, hands sinking lower. “So won’t you show me more?”

He catches you by your wrist when he feels you tugging at his waistband, and it takes everything for him to ignore the wanton desperation that’s quickly clouding his mind. It’s difficult, but out of sheer will, he manages to hold back, if only by a thread. 

Gently, he pulls your chin up to face him. Want hides beneath his teal gaze, but there’s a softness that truly shines through, encapsulating the delicate balance between risk and reward.

His hands shift to caress your cheek, before he moves in to steal another kiss. This time it’s sweeter, more chaste. Alhaitham kisses you slow and passionate, interwoven with a tenderness that causes your heart to swell in your chest.

“You sure you want to do this?”

Your resounding ‘yes’ breathes a renewed ardor into his actions as he lowers you onto your back. Little by little, he makes his way down your body, leaving wet kisses everywhere except where you want him most. A kiss here, a lick there—the heat that pools in your belly only grows by the second, but a harsh suck right below your hip causes your breath to hitch and your cunt to drool more in response while you whine and attempt to rub your legs together for any sort of friction.

They are, however, aptly spread back apart when he hooks his arms beneath your thighs and pulls you closer to where he kneels at the edge of the bed. 

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, “and we’ve only just begun.” Alhaitham lets out a low chuckle as he presses another kiss to your inner thigh. It’s enough to have you shivering in anticipation, the reverberating tremors of his deep voice going straight to your pulsing hole, wet with the slick of your arousal. One of his hands moves to hold you down as you jolt when his teeth graze against the delicate skin.

“Will you please just hurry up,” you’re barely able to get all your words out before your voice breaks into a breathless gasp as he takes you by surprise, dipping his head down to lick a long stripe up your glistening folds and flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue once he reaches the top. 

Talented in more ways than just words, you find out firsthand exactly how good he is with his tongue. Like a man starved, he laps up all you have to give, while your gushing hole happily churns out more slick. But it isn’t nearly enough. Especially not with the way you’re grinding into his face and singing praises to his name.  

Alhaitham doesn’t consider himself an arrogant man, but he’s never loved hearing the sound of his own name more. It falls through your lips in a trail of whimpers, your pretty little cries music to his ears, delicate and lyrical. His tongue prods at your entrance, occasionally dipping into your warmth, and as he closes in, his nose bumps against your puffy clit. It has you keening, and your hands come flying to tangle in his ashen hair as your voice splits into a sharp gasp. 

He takes a mental note of your reaction before moving to suckle on the sensitive bundle of nerves, drawing out another beautifully broken sob. With every exhale, and every swipe of his tongue, Alhaitham breathes life into your cunt—leaving it to drip with arousal and clench around nothing. Your fingers curl in his tresses and you tug hard. The low groan he emits reverberates through your body; the rumbling vibrations of his own pleasure sends you crawling to your high. 

But he soon pulls away and you’re quick to let out a pitched cry in protest. He peers up from between your parted thighs, sharp eyes hungrily taking in the sight of you squirming at the loss of contact. 

“Haitham,” you whine pitifully, hips blindly stuttering in search of his touch, “don’t stop.” 

Oh how the tables have turned. Before him, your tiny hole clamps around nothing and a sly grin creeps onto his face, devilishly handsome and glistening with your essence that so freely drips down his chin. You’ve teased him relentlessly during the span of your partnership, and as per your logic, it’s only fair he gets to do the same.

“Beg for it,” he purrs. His warm breath fans across your folds, sending you into a frenzied fluster from the bottom up, and you feel as if you’re going to melt.

“P-please…” It’s difficult to come up with any words, much less the right words, to say when the overwhelmingly wanton desire for him to just touch you again, has your brain enveloped in a thick haze. “Need you…Haitham please…”

His name, entangled within the sweet pleas that fall from your lips, has his cock twitching again, eager to be freed from the constraints of his pants. But if he can ignore the wet spot forming from his own precum, then he can do the same to the way his hips seem to move on their own, slowly rutting against the bed. He’s a patient man, he can wait. You on the other hand… 

You’re so needy for him, so lost trying to chase your own pleasure, that it doesn’t even register when he wets two fingers in his mouth, unable to process anything until you feel the faint stretch in your cunt that has you trembling in anticipation. His fingers slide easily into your creamy insides, and he only watches in amusement at the way your hips buck, silently begging him for something more than the painfully slow, lazy way he’s pumping in and out of you. 

“You’re already so tight...” He lets out a breathy chuckle as he scissors you open, resisting the way your velvety walls come down, hugging every inch of the digits inside you. “How are you even going to take me, hm?” 

You open your mouth to respond but nothing ever comes out, save for the faint breath of a moan that manages to escape. If you were in the right state of mind, you would’ve been sure to fire back something smart, however, your thoughts have been reduced to fixate on Alhaitham, who’s rather keen on keeping it that way.

He moves his wrist, twisting and turning, relentlessly searching until the pads of his fingers press against a spot just right, that it has your toes curling and back arching off the bed in a loud cry. He curls his fingers, bullying the spongy spot until echoes of your melodic mewls are undeniably present amongst the lewd squelching of your wetness. It sends him reeling and growing impossibly harder—oh how he so adores the way you unravel before him. 

Your body runs hotter than ever and you feel the coil in your belly tighten, ready to snap. You’re going to cum. You’re so close. Just a little more. It repeats like a mantra in your head, but your impending climax dissipates as he draws both fingers back out, leaving you dangling at the precipice with a distressed wail, frustration pathetically painted across your face.

Why did he just do that? Your eyes are large and laced with tears that quiver and threaten to spill down your face. Ignoring your futile attempt at garnering pity, Alhaitham only continues to taunt you.

“Will you look at that?” he says, toying with the messy slick that glosses over his middle and index fingers like webbing, stretching and breaking along to the movements of his hand. It’s such damning evidence of how much you need him, but it’s also somehow mesmerizing, so much so that you’re unable to look away. It doesn’t help that your sopping cunt only weeps more at the sight, absentmindedly fluttering around nothing.

He drags you out of your thoughts as he unexpectedly takes your clit back into his mouth. His hot tongue swirls around your bud, effectively setting your veins on fire, then takes the chance to throw your earlier words back at you. 

“Tell me what you’d like me to do,” he says, mouth never leaving the little nub.

You want him to make you cum, is what you want to say—or rather, you want him to let you cum, considering how he so cruelly ruined your earlier orgasm. But it all only translates into a litany of unintelligible whimpers, and Alhaitham smiles, the mischief twinkling in his eyes now glaringly apparent. He can’t help how endearing it is, that you, who always has so much to say, is now struggling to answer even the simplest of questions.

“Use your words. I want to hear that pretty voice of yours.”

“I want… I need…” you’re only able to make out a few words in between your ragged breaths before you’re interrupted by your own broken sob as he sucks down hard on your abused clit.

“Hm? What was that?” 

“Want to cum… ” you choke out, eyes sliding shut as you try again with your best efforts.

The latter half of your sentence warps until it rises an octave and melts into a shaky moan. Alhaitham barely gives you just enough time to finish before three lithe fingers find their way into your cunt without warning, slipping past your wet folds with ease. The dull pain of an added finger stuffed into your tiny hole, has you keening, your own knuckles turning white from your steel grip on the bed sheets. 

With a sweep of his tongue, he laves over your swollen clit again, sending shivers through to your core as you feel the tension return in your abdomen, this time wound even tighter from the way he continues to fuck your already sensitive cunt.

“ ‘m so close… please,” your breath catches in your throat as you whimper and squirm. “Please Haitham, please-” 

It’s beyond his own belief how he managed to wrangle you into his bed; the beautiful mermaid who had first tried to drown him, who was always so outspoken and bold— now reduced to a begging, whimpering mess on his sheets. For that, he mentally pats himself on the back and decides to take pity on you. 

“Come on, mermaid. Let me hear you sing.” 

Immediately, you feel his fingers curl, right up against the very spot that has you seeing stars, exactly as he had intended. He drags his teeth carefully, lightly grazing your swollen clit, effectively ripping out a loud, visceral scream as you finally tip over the edge in an earth shattering orgasm. 

Waves of pleasure continue to wash over you as Alhaitham finger fucks you through your high,  vigilantly hitting that sweet, spongy spot over and over again without mercy. You’re left quivering, fingers desperately grasping at the bed sheets, trying to find something, anything to hold on to. His hand, the one that isn’t three knuckles deep inside you, moves to hold your hips down as they twitch in the settling overstimulation. 

A satisfied hum rumbles in the back of his throat as he finishes off with an easy kiss to your inner thigh. He finally slows down his movements as you ride out your high, though the shallow, wet noises as he rocks his fingers in and out of you, seem all the more erotic against the backdrop of your dissipating cries. 

“Can’t get enough of you,” he coos. “Such a pretty thing—so gorgeous when you cum for me.” Alhaitham continues to whisper sweet flatteries that have you preening until he feels you clench weakly around his fingers once more. He raises a brow, the beginnings of a small smirk forming on his face.

“Of course you like to be praised.” Despite the lilt in his voice, he draws his soiled digits out with care, though you still shudder as he passes through your sensitive folds.

“Shut up.” 

Even as you sit up to catch your breath, your eyes wander over to the man’s bare upper body, before they drift down to the impressive tent bulging from his pants. Suddenly, you’re made painfully aware of how utterly empty you are. Arousal pulses through you, once again dripping out of your cunt at the thought of being stuffed full.  

Your obvious staring doesn’t go unnoticed; and neither does the way you shift as you’re rubbing your thighs together for more friction. Your shamelessly perverse act only reinforces the thrum in his already rock hard cock.

“Open up.” You do as you’re told, intuitively wrapping your lips around his long fingers, cheeks hollowing as you clean off the mess you had left. It spurs him on, the way you hold his gaze with those large doe eyes, blinking so lasciviously when he draws them back out, leaving behind a trail of saliva that snaps like gossamer on your lips.

“What, haven’t had enough of me yet?” He teases you, yet the slight waver in his voice as he struggles to mask just how much he’d like to cum right then and there, says otherwise. 

“Not nearly enough.” 

Your playful wit is nothing new to him. And while Alhaitham considers himself to be quite well versed in how you love to play coy, an expert in navigating around your flirtations—he’s far from immune to your coquettish displays. He’s only human after all… 

So it’s no fault of his own that you drive him absolutely insane.

Pupils blown wide and dilated with lust, he dips down until you can feel his hot breath on the shell of your ear, “I hope you don’t regret that.” His smooth baritone sends a shiver down your spine until it pools between your already sticky thighs, a vague promise of what’s to come.

Before you know it, he catches you in another eager kiss, rough and hopelessly greedy, as you fall back onto the mattress without a care. It only heightens your sense of urgency that he can’t help but grind into you.

His normal attire barely hides his bulge, but even underneath these loose clothes, the outline of his cock stands tall and unmistakably erect against the fabric—which you desperately need removed now, as you fumble with the waistband. Alhaitham chuckles lightly into the kiss before pulling away. Message received. 

He moves quickly, pants and underwear hastily thrown to the side and forgotten, because how could you possibly think of anything else when he stands before you, hands fisted around his magnificent cock, grunting at the little ounce of relief as he gives himself a few quick pumps. Precum dribbles from the flushed pink tip and your eyes follow as he spreads it along the impressive length. You can’t help but think that it’s… pretty. And oh how you adore pretty things.

He lines himself up at your entrance, cockhead just barely dipping inside as he hovers over you, and for the first time tonight, you realize just how incredibly vulnerable you are now, laid bare before him, ripe for the taking. But it’s okay if it’s him. Whether it’s the fuzziness mulling in your head, or your cunt that’s thinking for you, anything is fine as long as it’s Alhaitham.   

Above you, he swallows harshly and you can see the slow bob of his throat as he does so. “Tell me if you need to stop,” he murmurs. The rasp in his voice makes it apparent that it’s taking every ounce of fortitude not to just slam his entire length into you. 

The first hiccupped gasp that escapes your lips has him smiling smugly as he pushes in, splitting you open with ease from how wet you are. But the stretch as you struggle to accommodate his girth burns despite your previous preparation; he’s just so much bigger than his fingers. Inch by agonizing inch, he stretches you wider, whispering sweet nothings while he stuffs you full of his cock. 

“You’re doing so well,” he praises, though it’s quickly drowned out by the sound of your heart beating in your ears. Every time you think he’s done, he only continues to push further inside. Your head spins at how full you already feel, unconsciously tightening around him and drawing out a choked curse that rolls tactlessly off his tongue. There’s no helping the way his self control fades when you’re squeezing him like that, your needy cunt intent on sucking him all the way in. 

“Fuck,” he rasps. It’s foreign and depraved and so vulgar compared to his usually eloquent speech—not that it isn't also incredibly attractive hearing him lose his composure like that—but it’s even more so especially because you’re the one making him feel this good. Your heart flutters at the thought and the vibrations of another muffled grunt ripple against your skin when you reflexively bear down again.

Alhaitham bottoms out in one final push, sending you reeling at how the thickest end of his shaft forces your little hole to stretch even wider to accommodate the width. A hitched cry leaves your throat and your arms fly to wrap around his neck, pulling him close as he presses soothing kisses along your jaw, though it does little to quell the heat rapidly igniting throughout your body.

“Are you alright?” There isn’t an ounce of teasing in his tone when he pauses to glance down, giving you a moment to adjust while ensuring you’re okay. 

Your hum of approval is all he needs to start moving in languid strokes that fill you to the brim, his shallow thrusts so lewdly squelching to the tune of your wetness. Each slow drag of his cock forces you to feel very ridge and vein as he grinds back and forth, pulling soft mewls out of you until they melt into breathless whines pleading for something more.

“Faster… f-faster please.” 

Who was he to deny you, when you’ve been taking him so well? Sliding ever so slowly, Alhaitham all but pulls out, leaving only the very tip of his cock to kiss your entrance. You don’t even have time to process the jarring emptiness before he slams his entire length back in with a single thrust, powerful enough to send your entire body jostling from the impact. Your back arches in pleasure, your head thrown back in a silent scream as your mouth falls agape, the sound dying before it’s ever able to leave your throat. 

Alhaitham is relentless when he starts fucking you in earnest. The gentleness from earlier is gone, replaced by the callous way he repeatedly pounds into you, burying himself to the hilt every single time. He’s hitting depths you never thought possible, with each thrust sending shockwaves that ripple through you until it scrambles your mind, shattering that last piece of lucidity stubbornly holding you together.

“That’s it. Take it, just like that,” he coos, but you're too fogged over to comprehend his words. It’s clear your mind is currently occupied by other matters; matters such as the chant of his name atop your long string of strangled cries.

He revels at how pliant you are underneath him—so stimulated and keening out in pleasure at everything he does, greedy cunt eagerly swallowing every inch he offers, pulling him in with every snap of his hips. 

His mouth latches onto one of your nipples, sucking on the nub while he twirls the other between his fingers, groaning when your nails dig into his shoulders, imprinting crescents onto his skin. The added stimulation elicits another set of frantic whimpers, and the familiar tightness in your abdomen returns.

“Haitham I’m… I’m so…” Close, he deducts. He can tell by the way your walls close around him.

Half of him wants to watch you struggle with your words in between all your panting and moaning, wants to withhold your sweet release until you can speak properly while he continues to piston in and out of you. The other half, driven by his wanton throbbing, slides a hand over the curve of your ass, lifting your leg to angle himself just right before plunging deep inside you, hitting that same spot from before that had you seeing stars. 

Loud, broken sobs tear through the room as his tip mercilessly drills into the spongy spot with pinpoint precision. Your nails rake down his back, and a sharp hiss manages to escape from his lips. It only fuels him more, makes his movements more erratic. Over and over, hit after hit, Alhaitham delivers an exhilarating pleasure that drives you to the edge of delirium. Warmth blooms in the pit of your stomach threatening to spill over and seep into every crevice of your being. 

It’s too much. It’s so good. It’s not enough. You’re not sure how much more of this you can take. 

“I can feel you falling apart around me.” The corners of his mouth lift in a smug grin, ignoring the fact that his voice comes out in ragged huffs, uneven from his labored breathing.

There’s no use denying how much you affect him as well— not when fire licks his body, coloring his pale skin flush. Nor when his expression is clearly strained, trying so desperately to hold on to his crumbling composure. You’d notice if you still had the capacity to process anything at all, but alas…

He lowers his head into the crook of your neck, nipping lightly at the tender skin before switching to your native tongue. “C’mon my beautiful mermaid… give it to me. Cum for me.”

The white hot bliss that sweeps across your body is maddening and it leaves you absolutely shattered. The vibrato in your voice cracks as you scream and sob, body going impossibly taut. You’re desperately gasping for air, drowning in the waves of euphoria that wash over you, but it pulls you in and drags you further down into delirium. You can’t think, you can’t speak. You can’t stop the trembling in your thighs and you can’t stop your cunt from spasming as he continues to fuck into you.

His pace slows but his strokes are longer and deeper, as if he’s trying to ingrain himself permanently within your walls. Your moans rise in pitch, turning to whimpers when his thrusts continue past your orgasm and into the settling overstimulation, his cock still taking from you where there’s no more to take.

You’ve never felt more like a paradox than you do now. Your head is the clouds, while your body feels heavier than ever. You’re painfully sensitive, squirming to get away as he chases his own release, yet your cunt still pulses and begs to milk his fat cock dry.

Weak arms reach up to cup his face, pulling him in for a lasting kiss, breathing him in like the air you so desperately need in your lungs. When you pull away, your eyes are so dazed and lidded, not yet recovered from the intensity of your orgasm, but already prickling with tears from the burn of overstimulation. 

“Make me yours.”

Alhaitham buries his head in the crook of your neck; there’s no hope of keeping up his composure now. In fact, it’s a wonder he didn’t come from those words alone. You already are, he tells himself. There’s nobody else he could ever want; nobody else could ever compare to how perfect you are for him. 

With a few final thrusts, he presses his weight into you and sinks his cock as deep as he can. He lets out a tattered moan and his hips stutter as he follows you over the edge, the warmth of his hot cum spilling into your insides. 

A fleeting thought crosses your mind: Maybe you want to stay like this forever. So warm and tingly and speared open in all consuming pleasure. 

His body slumps against yours, relaxed and utterly at peace. In the numbing midst of his high, Alhaitham’s mind is for once, a couple beats slower than his palpitating heart.

“I love you.” 

He wasn’t thinking when it had slipped out of his mouth. The words came so naturally, rolled off his tongue so easily. It’s too late by the time he realizes just what he’s said; he hopes to god you didn’t hear him, but it’s the only thing you catch amongst all the white noise. He loves you. Alhaitham loves you. 

It replays on a loop inside your head but your jumbled mess of a brain can only process so much right now. “Love… you…” you barely manage to scrape out. He quiets your empty babbles with another kiss, muffling your whines as he gently—though reluctantly—pulls out of your embrace. You shudder and whine at the loss.

“Easy now,” he soothes, distracting you with praises and soft pecks to your temples. To you, the emptiness in your cunt feels all too foreign, but he can’t help but stare at the lecherous sight of your combined fluids dripping out of your hole. He can already picture it in his head; the wet noise of your slick and his cum, all shoved back into you so that not a single drop is wasted…

Alhaitham shakes the thought from his head, forcibly tearing his eyes away before his own mind can betray him. He excuses himself before soon returning with a glass of water and a warm, wet towel in hand.

Slowly but surely, your lungs steady, and the fog dissipates, and you’re finally able to anchor yourself back to reality. A reality where your throat is dry, hoarse from all the retrospectively embarrassing sounds he had dragged out of you, and your limbs feel so heavy, as if your bones have all but dissolved into jelly.

“Gonna clean you up, okay?” 

With your permission, he helps sit you up, passing you the glass of water before he begins wiping off the excess fluid between your legs. The towel is rough against the still sensitive skin of your inner thighs, making you jolt. Immediately, he utters an awkward apology, looking up to gauge your reaction. 

Water, split from the sudden movement, drips down your chin. Loose pieces of hair stick to your forehead; the thin sheen of sweat that coats your skin makes sure of that. To look so disheveled yet so gorgeous at the same time… you’re absolutely enchanting in the afterglow. A flicker of pride rushes through him—he did that. The proof was in the bites and bruises littered across your skin. He smiles, sheer adoration present in his eyes. 

Your soft giggle breaks his train of thought. “What are you—” A yawn. “What are you looking at?” The chirp in your tone peaks just the tiniest bit out of your sleep-laden voice, but you’re too worn out to wait for an answer, opting to fall back onto the mattress instead. It’s not long before you fully yield to the exhaustion.

You look so peaceful in your sleep, so human, that he almost forgets you’re not. Still, he wonders how it would feel to hold you in his arms as he sleeps. To wake up beside you and watch as the sunlight illuminates your features.

Would it be selfish of him to indulge just a little more?

Tossing the towel aside, he joins you under the safety of his covers. He wraps an arm around your frame, pulling you close, holding you right next to where his heart beats in his chest. Alhaitham presses a soft, last kiss to the top of your head before he too, drifts off to sleep. 

When morning comes and the golden sun arises, everything will return as it was. Dreams and other such wishful delights are of the moon’s sovereignty, so tonight, let him hold on to this reverie for just a little while longer.

next

a/n2: This was my very first smut piece so I hope you enjoyed :’) Since this is an extra chapter, I tried not to include any details that would drive the plot too much, but ending it with just a tiny bit of angst to transition to the next part. thank u for reading ! ♡

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[neuvistar]

aventurine x fem!reader. cw. some hsr leak spoilers? + a lil rushed | not proofread, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancies, use of nicknames (feminine terms too, wife.. etc), minors dni. ( this is another aventurine thirst.. slight spoilers(?) r in the beginning!!)

aventurine was the last of his kind, he acknowledged that often. his people, oh his people.. many of the innocent lives of his people were lost, like a baby losing its mother. he knew there was no use in trying to look if there were still survivors, it’s truly no use. he was the last of his kind. and he spent countless days, hours, weeks, months and maybe years thinking he’d die alone, with nobody by his side.. chained to the life of a loner, who is forced to live knowing he couldn’t save anyone of his kind.. chained to a life where people all around him hated his guts.

that was until he met you, his pretty little wife.

aventurine’s always wanted kids, to say the least. not only to restore his kind, but to raise children with you, take them out to parks.. realize the true importance and meaning of a love of a father.

aventurine’s heart belonged to you completely, he couldn’t remember the last time he’s been happy like this.. he loved you with all his heart and it showed. aventurine would kiss you, hug you and rub your belly.. whispering sweet nothings in your ear. “one day.. your tummy will be ready and full of my younglings, my darling wife. are you excited for that day?” you chuckled, rolling your eyes as you gave him a playful smack on the arm. “you’re getting too excited, ‘turine. i’m not even pregnant yet.”

“yet.” aventurine’s hands eagerly made their way down, tracing the shape of your body. "beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and filled with admiration. "you’re so beautiful, i can't help but touch you. my future younglings are so lucky to have such a pretty mother.” his fingers lingered on your breasts, savoring the feeling of their soft weight in his palms. aventurine's eyes flicked up to meet yours, a smoldering intensity in their depths. "i want a daughter with your eyes.. and your beauty, a son with your intelligence.. please. i need it all.” honestly, he’s probably so whiny n desperate all the time, always talking about getting you pregnant.. wanting to see you carry his offsprings, he wanted to restore his happiness and your own.

“mm, i know you don't want me to stop, don’t you?" aventurine’s voice was husky with desire. his hands slipped lower, tracing their way down to your lower abdomen, teasingly brushing against your wet panties. "i’ve been imagining this all night long.. watching you care for our baby girl or baby boy,” he reached beneath your panties, toying with your folds with the tip of his fingers while the others pinch and pull at your nipples. “.. you know i can't stand it anymore, baby. not when you know how much i want to claim you right here, right now. i want children, pretty girl. can.. we?”

“please.” you murmured. a grin emerged from his pretty face, eyes widened as he felt the warmth radiating from between your legs, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply, his mouth watering at the familiar scent. He couldn't help but lick his lips as he continued to rub his hand against your sensitive folds, his thumb brushing against your clit. leaning closer, aventurine pressed his lips against yours in a passionate kiss, his tongue slowly making its way past your parted lips, exploring your mouth hungrily. there was one thing and one thing only in his mind, he was gonna breed you full tonight. your husband’s hand moved up to cup your breast, squeezing it gently before tweaking your nipple between his thumb and index finger, causing you to moan even louder. your body arched into his touch, begging for more..

“so beautiful.. so perfect. such a pretty little thing for me,” aventurine grunted as he continued to thrust in and out of your wet cunt, his cock stretching your walls further than you have ever experienced before. the blonde wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you up slightly to better angle his thrusts. "i’ll treat you so good, dollface, our little babies are gonna have such a great father, believe me honey.” he panted, his breath hot against your neck. “fuck, ‘turine.. feels too good..” your nails dug deep into his shoulders, leaving shallow marks as you could almost see the stars, biting your lip to suppress the soft whines that threatened to leave your lips. “i know honey, i know it feels good,” aventurine knew he could feel his release building up inside of him, it’s like he buried himself within you to the absolute hilt, his cockhead rubbing against your sweetest spots. “god, i can’t wait for your pregnancy to bloom, dollface.. just like a fuckin’ flower.” his member throbbed and pulsed violently, sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing through both of you.

“can you feel it, doll? my love for you? can you feel it?” you nodded eagerly, your face pressed close against his neck with your eyes sealed shut. “i’m gonna get you pregnant, kay? ‘gonna fill you up like its no tomorrow.. make my dreams come true. ‘can't wait to see my little ones inside you, honey.. i’ll take care of you.”

well.. it’s best to say that maybe he’s finally not gonna be the last of his kind any time soon.

@ NEUVISTAR. do not plagiarize, claim my work as your own, translate or share my posts on any platform outside of tumblr.

[moneypowerglorymiddleofmiami]

Reader as Persephone's only daughter? And she doesn't get into relationships bc of her mother's past as she was kidnapped by Hades?? Like History repeats itself with Luke being so obsessed with her and the reader doesn't know that she'll just end up like her mother

hello, hello! this one is definitely long overdue. i've been very busy with uni, but this ask was very intriguing!!! thank you for sending, anon ♡ (bonus scene at the end lol)

Luke Castellan wasn’t immediately taken by her the first time she set foot on Camp Half-Blood, that much was certain. She was only a topic of interest because she was Persephone’s daughter, promised yet unexpected all the same. He was far too caught up with claiming his own hoard of kleos to entertain ideas of attraction; however, she became a friend soon enough.

“What are you growing?” He asked her during a spring afternoon years ago, so insignificant that a normal person would forget it entirely.

“I don’t know yet actually.” She responded with pursed lips. Her open palms lingered just above the brown earth, colorful beads dangled from her wrists.

Luke raised an eyebrow.

At his silence, she looked up then waved a packet in front of him. She smiled. “Secret stash from Persephone.”

“Now, I’m not really the boss or anything but I think I’ve been here long enough to know the rules.” He perched his forearm against the bark of a tree, leaning his weight against it. “I don’t think that’s allowed.”

“But you wouldn’t tell on me, would you?” She batted her eyelashes sweetly, jokingly. She turned back to her lump of land. “‘Sides, they're harmless… I think.”

He remained silent and observed as a sprout quickly rose from the depths of her plot. A number of curved leaves on top leaning stems dotted the once empty ground. She rose from her knees, dusting off pellets of grass that hitched onto her clothing.

“That's it?” He asked her, sounding very unimpressed. Was this the extent of her god-gifted abilities?

She narrowed her eyes at him as she stretched. “I don’t give a show for free, Castellan.”

“What do you want in exchange, then?” He asked curiously. He wanted to see— witness what Persephone’s little seedling was capable of flowering.

She thought for a moment then shrugged her shoulders. She walked away from him with a wave. “Grow something of your own then we negotiate the terms.”

A few weeks later, he proudly paraded a plant pot all around camp in search of her. Most of the younger kids looked at him a bit judgmentally when he held it up like he was Rafiki and the little thing was his Simba.

She emerged from the greenhouse after several vexingly loud knocks. She looked down at Luke’s outstretched arms, her lips twitching in amusement at the container filled with inch-long two-leaved sprouts.

“Strawberries?” She pursed her lips. She motioned to the fields of berries sprawling to the left of them. “A bit unoriginal considering…”

“Well, you didn’t tell me I wasn’t allowed to grow strawberries.” He reasoned.

“Touché.” She ceded. She placed a hand over the pot, the sprouts growing exponentially before she took it from Luke's hands. She spent a handful of minutes transferring them into the dirt.

Luke watched silently, interested and intrigued by the alacrity with which she moved.

“Can you look away for a sec?” She spoke suddenly. She turned towards him, all seriousness. “The glaring is pressuring them. They’re a bit self-conscious.”

“Oh.” He looked away immediately, distracting himself instead with the silvers of light that shone through the canopy of branches of a tree not far from him. He listened to her hum as she worked. He couldn't help but return his gaze to her once in a while.

“Done!” She proclaimed excitedly, pulling off her gardening gloves with a satisfied look on her face.

Three strawberry bushes stood before him, taking up residence in what was an empty patch of land mere seconds ago. His lips parted slightly in surprise— it definitely wasn’t uncommon for demi-gods to inherit some of their parents’ powers, but he was startled by how quickly it manifested, especially for botanokinesis.

“Impressed enough?” She crossed her arms with a grin.

“Just the right amount.” He responded casually, returning her smile. He bent down to pick a big ripe berry from the branches.

He bit into it, the juices trickling down his chin. “Sweet.”

He offered the other half to her. She looked down at it skeptically before Luke urged her with a slight little shake from the bundle of leaves at the fruit’s head. She took it into her own hold then lifted it up to her mouth.

𓇢𓆸𓏲𓇬𑁍

In her iteration of the story, Luke wasn’t merely a stand-in for Hades. He wasn’t simply her captor— he was also her pomegranate. His smiles, his looks, his words, his lies, his charm and his wit were all the seeds she foolishly consumed over the years. She yearned desperately for the tart sweetness he offered and unknowingly caused her own captivity.

Bound, bent and broken: this was the fate of Persephone’s only child.

In the darkness of the night, with the hum of Luke’s faint snoring keeping her senses alive despite the late hour, she wondered to herself briefly: was this how her mother felt?

She paused at the thought. Surely, it was a thousand times worse for her mother— a dread and pain so unfathomable that she couldn’t even begin to imagine it. Persephone was innocent; she was tricked and taken advantage of. She, however, was complicit: ignorant at first, but willing to succumb to Luke’s pleas and promises even if she knew the horrors of what he was attempting to do.

“Can’t sleep?” He whispered suddenly, jolting her out of her reverie. His hand moved to rest against her hip, his thumb stroking comforting circles onto her skin.

“Hm,” She hummed absent-mindedly. She turned around to face him, breathing in the scent of sea and sweat that lingered on him— a glaring reminder of what he was getting himself into.

Luke caged his arms around her then pressed a kiss against her temple. "Mine."

"Yours." She responded softly.

He returned to sleep in a matter of seconds, but he held her firmly against him. She couldn’t escape even if she wanted to. She didn’t even want to, anyway.

She closed her eyes. Luke’s presence was her prison, and she was insane enough to willingly stay shackled, albeit metaphorically, regardless of how horrific that sounded.

This was her underworld— her own dauntingly lovely elysium.

BONUS scene from my first draft that i didn't continue writing:

“Well, what’s her master plan then?” She asked. “Why kidnap me?”

“You’re Persephone’s daughter.” He shrugged his shoulders, as if that was enough explanation as to why the leader of a rebellion against the gods wanted to kidnap the spawn of the Goddess of Spring— really, what did he think she was gonna do for him? Grow daffodils and tulips to distract his enemies? It didn’t seem like horticulture proved useful on the battlefield.

“I am not going to grow potatoes and peas for her little revolt, Castellan.” She scoffed.

Of course she knew why she was being held captive. Pretending to be foolish and ignorant never hurt anybody, though. Let him think she was dumbed down enough to bend to his will.

“You’re basically Hades’ daughter.” He continued, essentially bypassing her reply. It was a bit rude, honestly, but the fact that he kidnapped her showed plenty about the state of Luke’s manners.

“Careful what you say, Lukey.” She would’ve wagged her fingers if her wrists weren’t so tightly bound together. “You might just insult another one of the gods.”

Her relationship with her stepfather was… civil yet glacial at best; definitely on brand for him, actually. On her annual winter-break visits to the Underworld, he’d just ignore her for the most part (very understandable, there wasn’t much in common between an eons-old powerful god and a nineteen year old, except the angst probably, but that was a very awkward topic to breach with a father figure). Most of the time, she assumed he just tolerated her because of her mother.

“With you on board, Hades is going to think twice before attacking,” He explained further. He began to pace in front of her. “Your presence might even dissuade him from attacking at all.”

Oh. Oh.

“Sweetheart,” She called him softly with a condescending coo in her tone. “Oh, sweetie. You’re delusional.”

[thatsdemko]

everybody’s friend - l.norris

masterlist

requested: n

pairings: some the grid x fem!reader(platonic!) and lando Norris x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw ideas mentioned(not in depth details) + has some content that is not intended for minors

summary: in which you’re everyone’s friend but you are so much more than that with lando norris.

a/n: having naughty thots… enjoy. feedback is always appreciated xx

《 the following content has ideas that are not intended for minors. 》

he’s not like the others. he proves that time and time again. working with Mercedes was a dream come true, you enjoyed Lewis, mick, and George, you were everyone’s friend on the grid, you extended hands to more than just Mercedes. it’s how you ended up in the mclaren garage more often than you should.

but lando norris doesn’t mind.

in fact, lando norris sneaks moments into the Mercedes motorhomes when he can. when no one is watching and no one suspects a thing, because what you have is careful and secretive.

but the problem is, you’re everyone’s friend and everyone loves you just like he does. but he wants you all to himself.

“y/n!” lily is nearly sprinting towards you before you enter the Mercedes hospitality with mick. her arms engulf you, pulling you closer to her body, “I’ve missed you!”

you chuckle feeling Alex’s arms wrap around you as well, “she was my friend first.” he adds, you look up to see his eyes are challenging his girlfriends, “well she said she likes me more.” she huffs out a pleased sigh, squeezing you closer to her.

“I love you guys both!”

you can hear his giggles, they perk your ears up. they make your heart skip beats, and when you feel lily and Alex’s arms loosen from around you, you move to close your gap between him.

he finds it cute, how excited you get to see him despite that you spent all morning entertaining lazy sex in your hotel room. like you didn’t spend most of the evening on your knees for him. that’s the difference in your friendship.

“hi,” you breathe out, the orange he’s wearing is blinding in the sun, it reflects against your skin. he looks handsome despite the evident tiredness you left him with.

“don’t you have people to see?” he jokes, hand squeezing your arm as he brushes past you. McLaren interns are calling his name and fans are beginning to approach him rapidly, leaving you in the distance.

you hate the way he treats you in public, like he wasn’t just in your room acting like a simp and begging for a sneak of one of your breasts. like he wasn’t just on top of you, core deep inside.

—

you watch him climb out the car after placing nineteenth on the grid for the upcoming race. you know he’s searching for you, you see those blueish green eyes searching for your presence, and when he finally finds you he doesn’t hesitate to take the steps towards you.

“you did what you could.” you offer your condolences, soft smile lifts to your eyes that he can’t help but reciprocate back despite the pang in his chest of the loss.

“you want to fuck after this—“

“y/n!”

you shake your head at his words, flashing him a wink that sends him all he needs, before you rush off to Oscar who was searching for a friend.

he hates that people steal you away from him. he hates how important you are around the grid and the paddock. you weren’t a driver, but people recognized your work and your dedication to Mercedes. fans loved you, and some of them even rooted for you and mick, but there was another man who got that passion and excitement nobody else saw. the kind that was deeper than the looks you gave mick.

he watches you slip from his fingers and run off to Oscar. you pat him on the back, smile and give him a thumbs up. he can’t make out what you’re saying, but he hates how dangerously close the Australian gets to you. he hates that everyone is your friend.

—

celebrations are in order for Fernando’s podium. the private room is packed with drivers, models, friends, girlfriends, and many others you couldn’t recognize. but there was one person you did, and he was sitting, legs far apart, waiting for you.

he’s in a white linen button down, sleeves rolled up, and top three buttons undone exposing his chain. he looks gorgeous. you dip down onto the couch and take a seat on his thigh, moving closer you brush your lips against his, “you make me think dirty about you.” you yell in his ear before attempting to pull away, he wraps his hand around the nape of your neck, pulling you in for another kiss.

“that dress does the same to me.” his hands roam up and down your curves and hips. the black tight mini dress was not something you planned to wear, but seeing his mood earlier, you figured he could use some cheering up.

you flash him a smile before rising up off his thigh, deciding to find yourself a drink. you push through the bodies of people, making your way to the bar, your hands fall on top of the shoulders of no one other than charles, “mon amour, you look stunning.” he moves you in front of him, calling the bartender over to get you a drink.

glancing over your shoulder, you see lando staring you down. his eyes are narrowed in on Charles, the man who just added your vodka Red Bull to his tab, but he’s just a friend. he’s not the one who strips you naked, takes your pictures on his camera. he’s not the one who gets to wash you clean of all your mistakes. that’s landos job.

“when are you signing that contract with Ferrari, amour? I need you in my corner.” Charles hand slips around your back, guiding you to the corner where Pierre and kika stand, cups and shot glasses scatter the silver round table.

“not in a million years, leclerc. I love my Mercedes.”

“not as much as you love the mclaren.” Pierre chuckles, you watch the man fiddle with the straw in his hands before slurping down what’s left in his plastic cup. he’s seen you many times slip into the motorhome and the countless times slip out of landos hotelroom. he’s good at keeping secrets, and you’re hoping this one gets brushed past.

“the McLaren? I’ve seen her with yuki more than I’ve seen her in orange.”

your nervous eyes connect with Kika’s, and she flashes you a wink letting you know, your secrets were safe with her. she’d never tell a soul about what she’s heard or seen. you trust the younger girl, she’s been the one to help you cover up hickeys and vice versa.

you feel a soft hand against your lower back, the fingers slip down your ass, you feel three, or four, fingers take a squeeze and it lets you know who it is.

looking up at him, he’s slipping an arm around you, “what are you drinking?” he asks, dipping his head towards your ear, lips dangerously close to your ear lobe.

“vodka Red Bull.” you offer your cup to him, he takes a small sip before handing it back to you. his hand around you tightens pulling you closer in front of him. he’s not sure why he feels this way, he doesn’t typically get jealous when others around the grid talk to you, but maybe it’s this time you’re in a tight dress and he hates the attention on you.

you’re sure Charles catches it all. the way he moves closer to Pierre, the nervous looks around the table, lando wasn’t good at keeping secrets. not when part of his little secret was making it harder for him to contain.

“do you want to get out of here?” his voice is low, but he’s so close to your ear, you can feel his hot minty breath run down your spine, fingers tightening around your hip.

“you can’t wait?” you challenge raising an eyebrow. the look on his face let’s you know he can’t wait. like the thing growing in his pants might get worse by the second if he doesn’t get in the back of an SUV and fuck you silly.

“with you? never.”

you chuckle into your drink, those fingers growing dangerously close to your ass once more, but they linger upwards teasing you. his finger tips begin to feel faint against your skin, he knows what he’s doing. you love his touch against your skin, when he pulls away you beg for more.

you reach backwards and pull his hand back against you, a low chuckle escapes his lips, he turns to speak with Charles. two having a private conversation, but you see Charles eyes widen at you, he shakes his head mouthing the word “naughty.”

you slap your hand, lightly, against landos chest. turning yourself in front of him you get on your tippy toes and whisper in his ear, “take me home.”

the words settle against his ear, fingers intertwining yours, he doesn’t even bother to say goodbye just whisks you off and out the club.

he’s thankful for the SUV that’s waiting outside, because that SUV was where your head was banged against the arm of the door, legs spread as far as you could while his cock dug deep inside you. the whimpers and panting were humiliating. he knew how to fuck you better than a friend.

thank god nobody stopped him, but the questions of your friendship are all of tomorrows talks, especially when you show up with hickeys all over your neck.

[digital-domain]

Outside

Mahito x Reader // Word Count ~6k

Synopsis: Sometimes, Mahito actually tries to make you happy. This latest attempt comes closer to the mark than any other. You missed being outside, and you feel just a little bit less trapped once you’re out beneath the night sky. For a few minutes, anyways. Before it all goes wrong. If only this stranger on the street was able to keep his mouth shut – and if only Mahito wasn’t there to hear him.

Content Warnings and Tags: Dark content. Noncon, forced relationship, kidnapped reader, extreme possessiveness, choking, hair pulling, dacryphillia, throat fucking, rough sex, discussion of drinking and depiction of drunkenness (not reader), catcalling, non-gory description of physical violence, discussion of past violence and killing, off-screen murder (also not reader but boy is it traumatizing for them). In summation: the dove is dead, do not eat it.

A/N: I - don't even know how I feel about this one. Sometimes a concept pops into your head and you just have to see it through. As always, proceed with caution <3

He wakes you up with a rough grip, shaking you until your eyes flutter open. It’s an unpleasant way to be ripped from sleep, but compared to some of the other ways he’s tried in the past weeks, it’s not so bad. His hands are on your shoulders, this time, and it’s only his hands touching you – it could be worse. Still, you feel the familiar curl of despair in your stomach, the familiar urge to turn away from the face that hovers over yours, to run away from it. But you don’t do so much as close your eyes. It’s not worth it. You know he’ll only pry them back open.

“You’re cute when you wake up.” He grins broadly, giggling at the sight of your eyes struggling to remain open. “You always look a little bit confused for a second. And your voice changes when you’re sleepy. It’s adorable.” When he leans down to kiss you, you accept it, lying still and parting your mouth to allow his tongue inside. Your eyelids feel heavy. There’s no view of the sky in this wretched sewer – you haven’t seen it since the day he dragged you down here – but you can tell that it’s still the depths of night, that you were asleep for a few hours at most. This isn’t unusual. You’ve learned that when he gets a new idea, he doesn’t like to wait.

His kiss is long, and slow. It drags the breath from your mouth until at last, after what feels like an eternity, he’s satisfied. Then, he pulls you to your feet, and holds you tight in his arms, face pressed down into your neck. “I have a surprise for you.” His voice is low, but shaking, barely containing his excitement.

You stiffen involuntarily, just enough that you’re sure he notices. You can’t help it. You think you’ve spent about three weeks here, although you can’t be entirely sure, and none of the several “surprises” he’s sprung on you in that time have been anything short of horrific.

“I’ve decided…” He pulls back, and grins into your face, still far too close for any sort of comfort, his breath falling oddly cold on your cheek. “That you deserve something extra special. You’ve been so much fun, and I want to do something nice for you. Like a reward. I thought about it for a while, and I think I came up with something good.” He tilts his head, sizing up your expression. “Ask me what it is.”

You don’t want to know. But you will, soon enough, no matter what. “What is it?”

“I’ve decided…that I’m going to let you go outside!”

Your brain churns, trying to make sense of what he’s said. “Outside?”

“Mhm! Aren’t you excited?” His smile falls as you stare blankly back at him. “You should be excited,” he says petulantly. “It’s a good surprise. Humans like a change of scenery, right? You like fresh air?”

“Yes, but”- Surely, he’s not offering you what you really want. To you, outside means freedom. And there’s nothing he wants to give you less than that.

“Oh. I get it.” He laughs, and shakes his head. “No. I’m not letting you go by yourself. I’ll be right beside you the whole time. Wouldn’t want you getting lost on your way back!”

Right. Lost. As if you wouldn’t run as fast as you could as soon as you made it to the mouth of the sewer. In any direction, to anywhere at all. If he ever gave you the chance, you would take it in an instant.

“I’ll hold your hand and everything.” As he says this, he interlocks his fingers with yours, and squeezes. “It’ll be very romantic. You’ll like it.”

His grip on your hand will be tight – even if it wasn’t, you know how quick he is, how powerful. As long as he’s beside you, you’ll never have a hope of escape. Still, as his surprises go, this is the best one so far. It’s a very low bar, to be fair, but still…

“Let’s go,” he insists, tugging at your arm.

 “Now?”

“Of course!” He laughs again, like you've said something absolutely ridiculous. “You really are cute when you wake up. You get confused…”

You pause for a beat, trying to smooth out the consternation on your face. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Mhm. And it’s nice out! Very quiet. The streets are almost all empty...no one around to get in the way of the view.”

“The streets are empty because it’s the middle of the night.”

“Yes.”

You look down at your clothes. They’re an odd ensemble, a blue, mid-thigh pleated skirt and a large black t-shirt he brought back yesterday from who-knows-where. Only the third change of clothes he’s given you in the weeks since he found you. Certainly a step up from the tattered, indecent remains of the dress you’d had on that first night, and even from the other ensembles he’s collected in the intervening time – but still not anything you’d choose to wear in public. It’s a small detail to get hung up on, but you’ve found yourself latching onto small details quite often in the past few weeks. If you think about the big picture for too long, you start to feel like your brain is going to break.

“You should be excited,” he says stubbornly. “But if you really don’t want to… I can find something else for us to do. I’ve got other ideas!”

There’s nothing threatening about the way he says it. It’s matter of fact, almost genial. But that doesn’t matter. You know that you don’t want to experience any of his backup plans – your imagination is already going into overdrive, picturing what he might have in store if you refuse his offer. “No. I…I want to go outside.” You realize, as you say it, that it’s true, and not only because your fear the alternatives. Still, your voice comes out small, and it shrinks even more as you force out your final sentence. “Thank you.”

“Aw. You’re very welcome.” He kisses you on the forehead, and starts leading you away. As you follow, slightly behind him, you rediscover another one of those small details you latch onto when everything is too much: the sewer itself is oddly warm, but the floor is always cold on your bare feet. It doesn’t make sense. Sometimes, such minute observations are comforting distractions, but right now, this particular one is only adding to your unease.

After a few begrudging steps, you manage to spit out: “I need shoes.”

“Oh…of course! You should have said something before.” He releases your hand and darts away, faster than humanly possible, returning to your side moments later with a pair of black high heels you recognize as your own. “You were wearing these with your dress the night I found you, remember? I decided to keep them.”

Of course you remember. You’d kicked them off inside your apartment, minutes before he’d shown up. Had he really stopped to pick them up when he’d carried you away? The details of that night are…well. Most of them are hazy. A few are painfully clear.

“I kept the dress, too,” he sighs, as he places the shoes in front of you. “It’s too bad you can’t wear it anymore. I still have it, just in case you change your mind.”

You step into the heels, and reluctantly take his hand, wobbling slightly as you follow him through the tunnel. “I was wearing it for days,” you say timidly. “It smells.”

“It smells like you.” In the periphery of your vision, you can see his head turn in your direction. You keep your eyes glued to the floor. “The longer you wore it, the more like you it smelled. It got stronger.” His nails scratch at the back of your hand, long and harsh against your dry skin. “I guess human scents linger for a while, because it still smells like you.”

You stay quiet, as you usually do. How are you supposed to respond to something like that? There was a time when you thought he said things like this to upset you. Now, though, you think he’s just frightfully honest. He doesn’t say things to provoke you – he says things because they appear in his head, and he has no qualms about letting you hear them. Does he know that they make you uncomfortable? He must – but clearly, he doesn’t mind.

For several minutes, you walk through twisted passages. Although you can still feel his eyes lapping at your face, at your body, at the hem of your skirt, he’s silent for once, giving you the gift of uninterrupted time in your own head. You wonder how long it’ll be before he feels inclined to get you a new bundle of clothes. A set of underwear, at least, would be nice. Maybe if you ask, he’ll do it. He does seem to like providing for you, even to take pride in it, although he certainly doesn’t know how to do it properly. When he presented your most recent outfit to you, he stared at you like he was expecting something more than numb acceptance. Like he was expecting you to jump for joy, or to thank him for giving you the dignity of wearing clothes that didn’t stink. These little moments – where he seems to truly believe he's being kind to you - have been happening frequently in the past week or so, and you’re not sure how you feel about it. On the one hand, it probably means that he’s getting even more attached to you. That doesn’t bode well for your future. Then again, your future was more or less wiped away the moment he discovered your existence. You might as well appreciate the little comforts you’re provided.

“Do you feel the air yet?” He smiles, much more gently than you’re accustomed to – inviting, rather than forcing you, to smile in return. “It’s changing.”

As soon as he points it out, you feel it. It’s the light at the end of the tunnel – a stir in the dense, cloying air that gives you a faint sense of comfort. As you move forward, that light becomes physical – he leads you up a ladder, briefly letting go of your hand to allow you to climb. You scrabble up towards the light, almost losing your shoes in the process. As you poke your head over the street line, you can’t help but feel free, just for a moment. When you look up, you can see the stars above you. There aren’t as many as you’d like – the city lights render all but the brightest invisible – but it’s something. Despite everything, you’re grateful for it.

“You like it! I can tell…I knew you would.” He smiles broadly, and grasps your wrist, pulling you onto the street above the sewer. The assistance is unnecessary – but under the circumstances, you don’t mind. You don’t flinch, as you usually do at his touch. He grabs your hand, and you walk along the street together in strange silence. He’s watching you intently, as always, but he’s not talking, and that’s enough. If you didn’t look, you could almost pretend that you were alone, staring out at the open city streets and up at the sky above. What time is it, exactly? 3? 4? One of those times where no one is awake except for you. When you were alone in your home - your real home - you used to cherish being awake at such times, cherish the strange, powerful sense of isolation. Even now, stumbling along the sidewalk with this demon at your side, you can’t help but cherish it again. At least you’re outside. At least you have the stars to keep you company, and not just him.

“Thank you.” When you say it this time, you mean it, although it’s not really directed at him. He’s barely there, in your mind. You’re thanking the night air, and the sky, and the empty, open streets for the strange comfort they provide. Only now do you realize how claustrophobic you’ve been for all this time. The dim light of the sewer, the imposing walls trapping you inside – those little oppressive details have been adding to your misery. Now that they’re gone…you still hate everything about your situation, but it’s easier for you to ignore it. Easier for you to pretend, for a moment, that everything is going to be okay.

“I knew you’d like it,” he repeats. You’re sure his eyes are glowing, that he’s got some version of his crazed smile splattered across his face, but you don’t have to look. There are so many better things to look at right now.

Just as you have this thought, a shadow emerges from the intersection in front of you, perhaps twenty paces away. Under the streetlights, the shadow takes the form of a man. He’s tall, maybe twenty years older than you, dressed simply in jeans and a grey t-shirt. And, as he gets closer, you see that he’s stumbling. He pauses to lean against a battered storefront, right beside the mouth of a shadowy alley. He’s swaying slightly, and you think you see his mouth moving, as if he’s muttering something under his breath.

“I’ve seen ones like him before!” Mahito’s hand tightens over yours, voice full of excitement, as he pulls you to a halt. “It’s almost always at night…and their breath always smells the same way.” His free hand comes out of nowhere to turn your face toward him. His eyes fix intently on yours, and his finger strokes gently over your mouth. “Your breath smelled a little like that, the night I found you, but it wasn’t nearly as strong as theirs. And you weren’t walking so strangely, either.”

You don’t ask why he was close enough to smell their breath. You already know. The horrors you’ve witnessed in the past weeks have been enough to bring you to tears – both out of pity for the bodies beneath him, and fear for your own.

“The things you humans do to yourselves…” He tugs your forward by your hand, and kisses you on the forehead, his fingers slipping into your hair. Even when he pulls back, he doesn’t let go. “You’re lucky you’re done with all that now. You can’t do anything to yourself…and no other humans can do anything to you, either. The only one who can do anything is me!”

Desperate to shake his gaze away, you cast your eyes upwards, but the expanse of the sky does nothing to dispel the claustrophobic dread churning in your stomach. Perhaps it was never about the sewer itself, after all.

He releases your hair and grips your hand tightly. “You can keep walking now. I want to get a closer look.”

You walk slightly behind him this time, your other hand clenched at your side. Usually, you’d worry about how strange you might look to passersby, holding onto what seems to be empty air, stumbling awkwardly as if pulled by some invisible force. But you doubt that the man before you will notice. You can see Mahito’s neck crane as the pair of you approach. As you draw even with the man you think he’s about to let go of your hand, and run up close for a better view.

But before that can happen, the man grins at you, his burnt-out eyes suddenly finding their focus. He doesn’t meet your gaze. In fact, he seems to look everywhere but your face, in the space of a few seconds. His mouth falls open. And the inevitable words tumble from his mouth, their edges blurred. “Hey…sweetheart. Whatcha doin all alone?”

Your stomach churns. If you were truly alone, at this time of night, this would be more than enough to set off every alarm in your head, to send you rushing down the street. But right now – right now, the fingernails tightening against the back of your hand are screaming for all of your attention.

“I didn’t like that.” You turn, giving into the sudden sense of dread that commands you to look. Mahito has never sounded like this before. He’s never looked like this either. There’s no hint of a smile, no glow in his eyes. “I didn’t like that.” You quickly realize what’s wrong with the picture: he’s serious. Not the inquisitive kind of serious – the deathly kind. He’s squeezing your hand tight enough to leave crescent moons in your skin. His eyes latch onto yours, clinging so tightly that you can’t bear to look away. You gasp as, in two places, the skin on the back of your hand gives way, sliced open by his viselike grip. To your surprise, he lets go at the sound of your voice. He holds his hand up to the side of your face, only glancing at the smudge of blood on his nails before capturing your gaze once more. “You’re…you’re not his sweetheart. You’re mine. He doesn’t get to say that. He can’t…” In the periphery of your vision, his hand is shaking.

You stumble as he turns you aside, nearly crashing onto the sidewalk beneath your feet, scrabbling for purchase on his arm. For once, he doesn’t try to catch you – he barely seems aware of your grasp on him at all. The man against the wall is staring blearily, deeply confused, no doubt, by the nothing that appears to be tossing you around.

Mahito’s hand finds the back of your shirt and drags you across the sidewalk, practically hurling you deep into the mouth of the alley beside the storefront. He disappears for a moment – not nearly long enough for you to process your new surroundings, never mind attempt to escape them. In the split-second it takes for your eyes to adjust to the looming walls on either side of you, the dustbins gathered in shadowed clumps along the alleyway, and the crumbled brick inexplicably lying at the edges, your view is interrupted by a flash of movement, unintelligible, faster even than the one that carried you here, followed by the sharp thud of a body on pavement And beneath that, a sickening sort of crack. You think you heard a similar sound or two in the moment before this violent flurry, but you're too frightened to process it entirely. Mahito stands before you, facing the dark, indistinct end of the passageway. Several yards in front of him lies a huddled mass, flung across the alley and into the pavement beneath with a force magnitudes greater than the one that carried you into these shadows. It whimpers in pain, face down, seemingly unable to move.

Your mouth falls open – but even if you could speak, what would you say? Would you tell him to stop? From the half of his face that you can see, you know this would be a futile effort.

When he hears the rasp of your breath, Mahito turns, slowly. One of his hands is in a fist at his side, the other still raised in the aftermath of a brutal throw. This hand slowly falls.

You’ve seen him kill before. Three times, in real life, and several times in the nightmares that have haunted you nearly every night since. What disturbed you most was the way he reveled in it, the grin that spread wider across his face with every movement, with every pitiful sound that echoed into the night, with every deafening spatter of indistinct human mass that forced you to your knees in terror. And his laughter – that was the most hideous sound of all. That’s the one you always hear in your dreams, the one that still echoes in your ears when you wake up.

But somehow, seeing him without that smile, standing in complete silence, is a thousand times more terrifying. You blink rapidly, trying to fend off the wave of tears you can feel building behind your eyes.

He takes a step towards you. Another. One more. It’s a narrow alley – three steps is all it takes to pin you against the brick wall that stretches up to the sky behind you. His hand rises to stroke along the side of your face, to brush over your trembling lips. “You shouldn’t be crying.” He’s far too calm, the pitch of his voice lower than what you’ve grown to expect. “You can’t cry. Not for him.” Here, his voices quivers, enough to remind you that under this strangely cold exterior, he’s just as volatile as ever.

To your horror, a stray tear escapes from between your lashes. As soon as he sees it, he swipes it away, the ragged edge of his nail dragging threateningly along your cheek. “Don’t.”

You would choke out an apology, if you thought you could speak without releasing the rest of the flood. Instead, you find yourself staring silently, helplessly, as his hand closes around your throat. “You’re the most pretty when you cry,” he sighs, soft voice contrasting horribly with the roughness of his grip. His face falls into your hair, and he inhales deeply, fingers tightening against the sides of your neck. “And you’re mine. When you’re this pretty – it has to be for me. Not for anyone else.”

How lovely it would be to look up and see the stars just one more time. To pretend that you were alone for one more moment. You’re suffocating, in all senses of the word, the combination of a lack of oxygen and pure terror sending a violent, vision-blurring rush to your head. The kind of rush that makes you feel like your mind is being violently expelled through the top of your skull, forced to watch helplessly as it floats over the hollow body it’s left behind.

He kisses you slowly, almost tenderly, staring desperately into your deadened eyes all the while. Starving for some response, even as he drains the air from your lungs. When it ends what seems like eons later, he at last drops his hand, and the pressure on your neck disappears. You gulp at the night air, eyelids flickering with the exhaustion and relief of your sudden release. You tilt your head back for another mighty inhale, but it’s cut short by cold hands sliding down your neck, onto your shoulders, guiding you gently but firmly to the ground.

For a moment, the only thing you let yourself process is the rough scrape of pavement on your knees. It’s not smooth. It’s not comfortable. But you can make it slightly better, because there’s a bit of rubble beneath your left knee, or perhaps a small stone - with all too much effort, you manage to shift the weight of your body, to move your hand and swipe the pebble away. The motion leaves you staring at the ground, eyes sweeping desperately for some other small bit of something to latch onto. You don’t want to look up, because you’re all too aware of what lies between you and the sky. It’s been watching you adjust your posture. Watching you make your futile attempts to stave it off.

Mahito slides two fingers just beneath the line of your jaw, and digs in until you have no choice but to raise your face. “You’re doing better. You’re doing good…I didn’t see any more tears. And when they do come back…they’ll be all for me. Soon. I'll know...I'll know that they're mine.”

You think you hear a sound from back in the alley, where his victim still lies alive, and motionless. But when you turn instinctively, he catches you, pressing his thumb firmly into the skin over your molars and scrapping you hard with nails beneath your jaw. “Don’t!” He practically yelps, and the high-pitched sound yanks your eyes all the way up to his face. “He – he wanted to take you.”

You took me. The thought comes to your mind, unbidden, not for the first time. It will never leave your mouth.

His eyes are wild, and his chest heaves, his face an overflowing blend of overwrought emotion, anger and confusion and urgency. “You’re mine. Mine.” He shoves his fingers into your hair, and grips hard, nails scratching mindlessly at your scalp. “No one else can have you. Ever.”

From your mouth comes a terrified whimper, not unlike the sound you heard from the shadows moments before. You follow it with words, and they come out nearly inaudible, caked in the phlegm of tears soon to come. “I want to go back.”

“We can’t.” For a tense, still-aired moment, his eyes fall closed. Without their vengeful glow, he looks more dejected than anything else. He takes a slow breath. You’ve never known whether he needed to breathe, or whether he did it for some sort of effect, but in the moment, it’s serving him, somehow. The hand loose at his side closes into a fist as he exhales, and when his eyes snap open, they’re brighter than ever. The confusion is gone, and the anger has retreated to the background – only a hauntingly familiar hunger remains. “We can’t go back. I'm not done yet.” His voice steadies, and he stares mercilessly, ravenously, into your captive gaze. “I need to - make it better. Make it right."

He yanks you forward. The tension on your scalp becomes painful as you fall gracelessly into his thigh, but he rights you, pulling you into his crotch and holding you steady. The fist at his side unclenches, and falls heavily, almost clumsily onto the back of your head, pressing you firmly into the outline of his cock.

He’s already hard. You’re hit with a nauseating wave of revulsion as you feel the stiffness beneath the cloth against your face, as he drags your lips over the length of his shaft. He holds you there, drawing out the moment, as if daring you to pull away. When you look up, there’s the ghost of a familiar smile on his face – enough to send your gaze plummeting down. His hands drop from your hair, and stretch, in their distorted, unnatural fashion, all the down way to your wrists, dragging them up his thighs before placing them on the waistband of his trousers.

There’s a moment where you do nothing, holding your hands utterly still, inches from his cock. As if your inaction might be enough for him to change his mind. He’s used these moments to toy with you before, letting you draw out your resistance, enjoying the anticipation, enjoying the anger and despair in your eyes. But he has no patience tonight. His hands fold over yours, pressing them down into his waistband, and a third arm juts out from his stomach, rending through the cloth of his shirt to grasp your face, squeezing your cheeks and prodding harshly at your jaw until your mouth is forced open.

His cock springs free, and you let out a choked sob. He’s experimented with many shapes and sizes, and tonight, it’s clearly designed to make you struggle. His third hand retracts back from whence it came, leaving nothing between you and your fate.

Both remaining hands depart from your wrists and land firmly on the back of your head. He tugs you forward, forcing the tip of his cock into your still-open mouth.

You make the mistake of allowing your eyes to flick upwards. And, for the first time since that fateful moment minutes ago, you see his grin spread over his face. “All mine,” he sighs, hands relaxing where they rest upon your scalp. “All mine.” He presses forward slowly, but firmly, easing himself into your mouth, savoring each scrape against your tongue, each time you’re forced to breathe through your nose. He doesn’t stop at the limit of your comfort – he never does. He presses past the edge of your throat, lodging himself inside you, until he’s nearly cut off your breath for the second time tonight. Your eyelids feel heavy, and your eyes themselves water uncontrollably, threatening to spill over at any moment.

Just when you think he’s too much for you to take, he pulls back. But he lets you enjoy your freedom for just a moment before thrusting deep into your throat, pressing his palms so roughly against your head that you know you have no chance of escape. You sputter uncontrollably, and narrow trails of drool escape from the sides of your mouth. Your entire body shudders, gasping for breath, for a break, for a way out. But your suffering, as usual, does nothing to slow him down. If anything, it spurs him on. He thrusts into you again, and again, gradually working himself up, speed increasing with every indecent noise that manages to escape from around his cock. Your survival instincts take over, and you desperately try to pull away, desperate for a single deep, clean breath; he pushes you down, his hands a hundred times stronger than the force your body can muster.

“So pretty.” He sighs – not with pleasure, but with relief. Like doing this to you has finally set his mind at ease. “You can cry now.”

You couldn't stop yourself if you wanted to - tears drip down your cheek as he pulls you in close. So close that you choke disgustingly loudly – so close that even if you dared to look up, you wouldn’t get a clear picture of his face. So close that you feel the bile churning in your stomach, threatening to give way. For several seconds, he keeps you here, staring down at you, crushing your every attempt to struggle.

There’s another whimper from the recesses of the alley – louder, this time - but your empathy seems to have disappeared. You only wish you had enough freedom of body and mind to make such a sound.

He thrusts once more, revels in the way you gag and balk at his size. When he frees you, several seconds later, yanking you back by the base of your hair, you feel no relief. You barely have time to take that one deep breath you’ve been craving before a sharp shove to your shoulders sends you crashing onto your back, knocking the air from your lungs. He drops to the ground and crawls on top of you, pinning you to the ground as his swelling cock drags up your thigh.

”You’re too pretty for humans…and feel too good...” The tip of his cock presses hard at the lips of your cunt, and you use the strength you have to squirm away – until your shoulders hit the wall behind you. “They don’t deserve to have you.” He drags you towards him, and you don’t resist, if only because you don’t want to know how it feels to have your skull slam against solid brick. Your lips, recently sealed shut, part once again as his cock forces you open. For as long as you can, you keep quiet, trying to deny him the satisfaction of hearing the reaction he can already see. But you can only hold out for so long. In real time – the earthly time separate from the years that pass in your mind – it’s barely seconds. He’s molded himself to stretch you open, to stretch you beyond your limits. And he knows those limits well enough not to fail.

His entire body seems to shudder with anticipation. "Come on. I know you can sound pretty, too. Don't hold it back."

You obey, a fresh thrust of his cock forcing a sob from your mouth. His growing smile warps into a full, overbearing grin, a grin that you don’t dare shut out by closing your eyes.

He fucks into you recklessly, sloppily, again and again, and his hand falls upon your neck once more, threatening to tighten to the point of no return. “See? It’s – it’s so nice when you cry for me.” He squeezes – whether it’s intentional or a sign of his failing control, you truly don’t know. “Isn’t it? Isn’t it nice?”

“Yes.” It’s a rasp, hissing out between sobs, and it’s the most painful lie you’ve ever told – but between his hand at your throat and his cock buried deep inside you, what choice do you have? Your mind floats fuzzily above your head once more, abandoning your body to hang on for dear life.

“Good.” He exhales blissfully, innocently, his pure, all-consuming pleasure at odds with the cries of pain and despair you hear emanate from your mouth. “I knew it…still like to hear you say it…”

He’s babbling – and, you realize, with a fresh wave of despair, so are you. “I can’t…please…”

“Soon.” His hand inexplicably releases your throat, and furls into the shadows, arm extending far longer than it should, to the point where you wouldn’t be able to see the tips of his fingers, even if you dared to look away from his face to watch them. “Almost…”

When you finally allow your eyes to close, he doesn’t notice – his head is already thrown back, and somewhere in the alley, yards away, his fist tightens. Hard.

The bile rises in your stomach all over again. For just a moment, you’re lucid enough to realize what he’s doing. And you can’t stop him.

He falls over you and gasps heavily in your ear. His cock pulses, and your eyes snap open against your will, mouth parting instinctually as you feel the all-too familiar shock of his release.

It aligns cleanly with a sickening splatter, exactly where his hand fell into the shadows.

“There.” He buries his face in your neck, and his arm retracts back into view. His hand, oddly slick, brushes up your forehead and through your hair. “All done. All better.” He doesn’t seem to notice the dry heaving of your breath, the uncontrollable shaking of your arms and legs. Or perhaps he does. Perhaps he’s enjoying it. Perhaps he thinks it’s a good thing. “A happy ending…you humans love those, don’t you?”

You’re beyond words. Lacking the strength to speak, the will to move. The only thing that’s working is your mind, and you wish it wasn’t. You wish it would abandon you again, instead of shoving its way back into your head. You don’t dare look back into the depths of the alley, but you know what you’d see if you did. Something transfigured, ruined, mangled – dead. It’s not your fault. It’s Mahito. All him, all him, all this suffering at his hands…and yet, you’re the only one who’s falling apart. Of the three who came into this alley, he’s the only one who hasn’t been destroyed.

“Don’t worry.” He raises his face, smiling gently into the ravages of your expression, carefully wiping a tear from your cheek. “We’re never gonna do this again. We’ll never hear anyone talk like that again." He laughs - laughs. "Not him...but not anyone else, either. I’ll keep you…I’ll keep you away from it all. Keep you all to myself.”

Your back is still pressed to the ground, skull resting uncomfortably upon the hard surface below you. There are still stars in the sky – just a few bright ones, strong enough to penetrate the city lights around you, but they blur before your eyes. Far away, they fade into nothing, pinpricks compared to the blinding glow of the manic gaze bearing down upon you.

Mahito rolls you onto your side, and you stare numbly into the street as he wraps his arms tightly around your waist. Your arm is trapped beneath you, pressing harshly into the asphalt, but it doesn’t matter. You barely notice at all. All you can feel is him. All you can hear is his breath, unsettlingly even and quiet, and his occasional hums and sighs in your ear.  

You know this won’t last long. That once he decides he’s done, you’ll be dragged back to his home, perhaps never to emerge. It’s horrifying, but you’re too numb to feel that horror just yet. You can’t bring yourself to mourn for the outside, the world you’re about to be torn away from. Not yet. Not now. And perhaps not ever. Perhaps it’s best if you never see the stars again. Best for Mahito, best for you – and best for anyone who stumbles into your path.

[angelic-sturniolos111]

The Right Words 🧸

Chris begins to question his opinions on commitment and relationships after being close friends with you for months. Chris’s feelings for you have grown stronger, but he can’t quite articulate his affection for you. Instead of using his words he makes a romantic gesture to show you how he feels.

chris sturniolo x fem! reader

warnings: none, just chris being super shy and fluffy

author’s note: kinda inspired by stuff he’s said ab relationships and how “too much love” kinda scares/intimidates him

not proofread lmao

Chris’s POV:

Matt had invited Y/N to come hang at our house while we record our podcast episode for the week. It wasn’t unusual for Y/N to always be around, she was our friend, but I hadn’t opened up to my brothers about how I truly feel about her.

She moved to LA a few months back and we all met her at some influencer party, and she hit it off with us immediately. First, it started with the four of us going out to record content, going bowling, thrifting, things like that. Eventually, we all grew closer with her and she started hanging out at our house a lot more, and often sleeping over. The first time she had slept over was after Nick and Matt had already gone to bed, and since she didn’t want to wake them she slept in my room with me. After that night I guess my room became the unofficial-Y/N-sleepover room because she has always spelt in my room every time since.

I immediately found Y/N attractive when we met— she’s a very pretty girl. I’ve always had closer girl friends in my circle, and even if I think any of them are pretty, my feelings never go beyond that— it’s always platonic. I know part of that is because they just weren’t the right girl for me, but another part of me knows it’s because I don’t let myself sit in those feelings. I’m scared of commitment, relationships, things of that sort. Sure I’ve hooked up with a few girls in my day, but I’ve never had any serious romantic feelings for anyone.

Until Y/N.

That first night she slept in my room we stayed up for hours talking about everything from our favorite hockey teams to deeper emotional stuff. That became our routine when she would sleepover… always the last ones awake, and always having long in-depth conversations with one another. What started off as friendly, platonic feelings for her quickly changed after many nights spent late night talking.

As much as I loved our late night talks I honestly wanted more. I wanted early morning talks, afternoon talks, and to just be with her every second of every day. I wanted to hold her, spoil her, kiss her, and call her mine. I thought I would never feel this way about anyone before, but she makes me feel things I’ve never felt— she’s everything to me.

I recently came to the conclusion that keeping these feelings buried was starting to drive me insane, and I had to open up to someone about it.

Matt and I were currently getting in his car on the way to pick up Y/N. Before Matt put the car in drive, I spoke up;

“Hey, can I talk to you about something that’s been on my mind a lot lately? I just really need someone to talk to about it.” I say sheepishly. Matt’s eyes leave his phone to meet mine, and he instantly put his phone down giving me his full attention.

“Yeah bro of course. You can tell me anything. What’s up?” He says concerned because usually this is the other way around. Matt opening up to me about his issues. It was rare that I ever had anything on my end to discuss.

“Well it’s just,” I pause, hesitating if I should even continue. Matt puts a hand on my shoulder comforting me enough to move on.

“I have serious, and I mean serious feelings for Y/N.”

I’m not sure what I was expecting in response, but it wasn’t this…

He started laughing. LAUGHING. In my fucking face.

“Okay why are you laughing? Is something funny about any of this?” I say now a little pissed off that he wasn’t taking this seriously.

“Oh man, no no I’m sorry I’m not trying to be rude. It’s just… SO obvious.” He says and continues to laugh.

“WHAT?! IS IT REALLY?” I yell. Oh god, I hope Y/N doesn’t know and I’m not making a complete ass out of myself.

“Yes! Nick and I talk about it all the time. You may not realize it but you NEVER stop talking about her. “Y/N said this funny thing last night,” “Y/N really likes this movie,” “You know one time Y/N” Y/N Y/N Y/N. I swear every god damn sentence you utter her name leaves your mouth.” Matt mocks, but before I can interject he continues;

“Jesus not to mention the way you stare her down whenever she’s in the room. Nick and I are always laughing about it— like when he’s editing our videos and we can see that you looking at her constantly whenever she steps behind the camera? Or when we went to the beach that one time!? You saw Y/N in a bikini for the first time, and we saw you grab the towel to cover your lap because—”

“Okay OKAY! Alright, I get it! I’m not as good as hiding my feelings for her as I thought…” I cut him off before he can continue to blabber about it any more. Matt comes down from his laughing fit.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be mean. My point is is that we’ve never seen you like this with anyone before, and it’s really sweet.” Matt rests his hand on my arm reassuringly. “Well, we told her we were on our way to pick her up. If you want to I can text Nick and we can come up with some sort of excuse to leave so you guys can have some alone time together and maybe you’ll be able to talk with her about it?” He suggests.

“Yeah… it’s the talking that I’m scared of.” I look down and play with my hands in my lap. “That’s the problem. Like you said, I’ve never been like this with anyone before, and I don’t know how to put my feelings into words. If you haven’t noticed I’m not necessarily the most romantic person ever.” I say with a sigh.

Matt looks around the car seeing if anything might give him an idea. He sees the gummy worms in the center console from the last time we filmed a car video and picks them up to show me.

“Okay, candy? What about candy?” He says as if he just made some sort of scientific breakthrough.

“Kid, what the fuck are you talking about? Candy?” I laugh, completely confused.

“Yeah! We can swing by the store and you can get her her favorite candies and snacks, and you guys can watch a cute movie together or something? If you can’t tell her how you feel maybe you can show her through your actions.”

I thought about it for a second, and it honestly wasn’t a bad idea. I knew her favorite candy, snacks, movies, all that stuff. I know she loves comfy blankets for movie time. She also complains about not having a stuffed animal for her to cuddle when she sleeps over, and she usually steals one of Matt’s. All these thoughts came flooding into my head at once, and suddenly I had the best idea.

“Okay, I got it!. We’re going to need to stop at the store before we get her. You and Nick distract her when we get back to our place, and then find some excuse to leave. I have the perfect plan.” I say excitedly.

An enormous smile grows on Matt’s face. He clicks his seatbelt, and before he can back the car out of the driveway we see Nick striding out the door to the car. Matt rolls his window down.

“What the fuck are you two still doing in the driveway? I thought you were getting Y/N?” Nick says.

“Bro get in the car you’re coming with us we’ve gotta update you on Chris’s love affair!” Matt says jokingly making me laugh. Nick just rolls his eyes, and climbs in the backseat.

***

Y/N’s POV:

Chris had given me a call earlier to tell me that their manager, Laura, needed Nick and Matt for something at her house tonight so it would just be the two of us. She had apparently given them a call on their way out to pick me up so they were running late. Honestly, I was a little nervous that Chris and I would have the house to ourselves. I was always comfortable being alone with him in his room, and I’ve always hoping he’d take one of these nights to make a move. In my head I tried to convince myself he hasn’t made a move yet because his brothers were always home— worried they’d barge in and interrupt or something. I’ve had a HUGE crush on Chris, and I wasn’t super hopeful that he felt the same way because he’s never been a relationship type of guy. Plus, he always has girl friends, and I’m worried I probably just fall under the friend category in his eyes.

Finally, I see headlights shine through my front window and look to see Matt’s car in the driveway. I grab my purse and head out the door and open the car door to climb in the backseat. I was surprised to be met with Chris in the backseat, and Nick in the front with Matt.

“Fancy seeing you in the back. You’re never back here.” I say getting in my seat and clicking the seatbelt.

“Umm yeah, I— um.” Chris starts before Nick cuts him off.

“He was taking too long in the store so I hopped in the front.” I see Chris raise his eyebrows slightly at Nick, giving him a weird look.

“I didn’t know you guys went out. What were you getting?” I ask.

“Um just toiletries and stuff. Needed some, uh, shampoo.” Chris says shrugging his shoulders and breaking out eye contact. He seemed tense, but I brushed it off.

***

We pull into the driveway and I get out of the car making my way over to the trunk. The three boys get out and stand awkwardly behind the car with me.

“Did you want help bringing the stuff in?” I say and there was silence as the boys just awkwardly stared at each other, and then at me. “…From the store?” I continue.

“Oh no Chris’s got it. Matt and I wanna show you the updates we made to the podcast studio, come on!” Nick says grabbing my arm and leading me up the driveway to their front door leaving Chris behind to get stuff out of the trunk.

Matt, Nick, and I go inside and they immediately go upstairs to their studio, and I stop to hesitate at the bottom of the stairs.

“Should we wait for Chris?” I say. Matt turns around to look at me, and then shoots a glance to Nick.

“No he’s slow as fuck. Come on!” Nick yells. I laugh and make my way upstairs.

Matt and Nick start showing me decor and stuff around the studio. It honestly wasn’t anything that I haven’t already seen before, but I kept my mouth shut because it seemed very important for them to show me again. As they blabber on I see Chris run swiftly past the door, carrying a bunch of shopping bags, and going into his bedroom slamming the door. I became even more suspicious to his weird behavior.

Matt and Nick went on to me about the podcast episodes they were planning to film, but I was barely even listening since my thoughts were elsewhere. I’m snapped out of my daydreaming when Chris comes in and stands in the doorway.

“Okaaaay! You guys have to go to Laura’s, yeah?” Chris asks his brothers.

“Yes! Yes we do. Matt let’s get going!” Nick says to Matt and they eagerly start walking out of the room. Matt turns back and gives me a smile, “Have fun!” He says. Matt then gives Chris a pat on the shoulder before him and Nick make their way downstairs and out the door.

Why the hell were they all acting so weird?

I take a step towards Chris as he remains blocking the doorway.

“So, what do you wanna do?” I question, and a smirk creeps up on his face.

“I actually have a special movie night planned for us.” He says with that sweet smile of his I love so much.

“What makes it special?” I ask. He grabs my hand, making my breath hitch in my throat slightly at our touch. He leads me to his bedroom. Was this it? Was he making his move? I didn’t necessarily think he’d be so bold as to bed me right away, but I also wasn’t complaining. I thought to myself before he proves me wrong. He opens his bedroom door and leads me inside, and I smile big once I see what he’s done.

His bed is full of pillows from both his room and the spare bedroom, and they’re covered in a huge blanket. There’s another sherpa blanket on the bed with a cute teddy bear on my side where I usually sleep. On his nightstand is a bowl of popcorn, and bags of my favorite candies. He had turned his ceiling lights off and had fairy lights draped over his headboard illuminating the room. Also lighting the room was his TV which had one of my favorite Disney movies cued up ready to watch.

Chris steps back as I walk around the room taking it all on.

“Chris! This is so sweet!” I gawk as I jump into his bed and wrap myself in the softest blanket and he follows suit. We lay in his bed together in silence for a moment before he grabs the teddy bear and handing it to me with a smile. I take the bear from his hands and wrap it tight in my arms.

Chris’s POV:

“Chris, what’s all this for?” Y/N asks looking at me with her beautiful eyes.

I knew that she’d ask why I went all out. I had ran a couple scenarios of her possible questions in my head, and embarrassingly enough I may or may not have practiced what I was going to say with Nick in the car earlier…

“Well, it’s for you.” Duh? Chris I think that’s kinda obvious you dumb fuck. I don’t think any amount of practicing could’ve prepared me to face the prettiest, sweetest girl I’ve ever met in my life. I could feel my heart beating faster with each passing moment. She smiles, her eyes softening, and she scootches closer to me.

“You did all this for me? Why?” She asks sweetly. I knew she’d love the surprise, but also knew she’d be confused.

I really tried my best to prepare for this talk, but I was still so nervous. I didn’t know what to say.

I take a deep inhale before starting the conversation.

“I— I did this for you because I wanted to. Well I mean obviously I wanted to or else I wouldn’t have done this. What I mean is I want to show you what I think of you. Or, I mean, how I feel… and I— ugh.” I sigh and burry my face in my hands now completely embarrassed from my nervous rambling. “I don’t know how to use my words.” I mumble into my hands.

I feel a soft, gentle hand on mine pulling it slowly from my face, and I’m met with Y/N as her eyes lock on mine. When my hands are back down in my lap she reaches her hand up to gently cup my cheek, not breaking eye contact. Her eyes flicker from mine down to my lips, and back up to mine before speaking;

“Then don’t use your words…”

I bring my hand up to lay on top of hers cupping my cheek, and I lean in to her touch. I bring my other hand gently to the nape of her neck and pull her closer. Her face is mere inches away from mine. Our eyes breaking contact and moving to our lips. She slowly closes her eyes, and I pull her in fully and plant my lips on hers.

Her lips were soft. Sweet, even. They molded perfectly with mine as we kiss. The kiss is gentle and eager at the same time. I’ve only ever dreamed of this moment, and I can’t believe it’s finally happening.

We pull away from our kiss, our foreheads still touching. I open my eyes first to look at her, and when she opens hers a sweet smile creeps on her lips making me laugh softly.

“Hi.” I say in a whisper.

“Hi Chris.”

“I really like you, Y/N.”

“I really like you too.”

She pulls me in, this time with more force, and plants a passionate kiss on my lips.

We continue to kiss for a moment before I pull back.

“Will you be my girl?” I ask.

She smiles, nodding her head feverishly before bringing her lips back to mine and throwing her hands around my neck.

I’m in heaven.

**********

I honestly didn’t know how to end this and I’m kinda cringing but oh well.

Happy Thanksgiving y’all! 🦃

— Kay 🖤

[yuellii]

FLOWERS, ONE TO MY REMEMBRANCE.

scaramouche / gn reader, merry christmas @adiluv :)

“I’m called the Wanderer.”

He speaks these words with a lightened, innocent charm. A sparkling crinkle in his eyes so unadulterated and wholehearted. The Wanderer’s voice is like a new baby’s breath to this old, torn world.

And you—there’s electric in your heart, and a strum of curiosity stemming from your heartstrings to your brain. A smile so unknowing and hypnotic in the way it sends butterflies to his stomach in mere instances. In all the years he’s spent wandering the seven regions and the seven elements, he truly believe he has not felt love until this moment.

With your eyes so new and so kind upon him, oh, he might’ve truly found the purpose of the heavens within you.

“I’m called the Wanderer.”

He speaks these words with a curious type of stunned silence. He’s enchanted in a way, a feeling wherein he can feel his knees begin to crumble at the mere sight of the details of your face. The Wanderer feels weak, as if he’s falling in love at first sight.

“The Wanderer…” you ponder quietly.

He feels his cheeks flare up at your voice. His lips feel glued together once he hears you speak for the first time, completely taken aback from the hypnotic aura you radiate. By laws of nature, he feels like a moth to your flame in which he, as a wandering soul of old, feels he can truly find you in every universe.

“I’m called the Wanderer.”

A bitter taste resides on his tongue.

You turn to look at him, and he feels this uncanny sense of familiarity within the depths of your eyes. The soul in them: he suddenly feels as if he’s stared at it a million times before.

He’s thinking of crumbling away about now.

“The Wanderer…” The taste of his title on your tongue, the sound of your voice—all of it falls unbearably recognizable. He can feel his breath catch short within the cages of his lungs, however it is not one he desired. Somehow, he feels as if this improper breathing should’ve been soul-crushing in a way that was loving, and not the blatant fear that suddenly settles in the taut tightropes of his beating heart. “Have we…” you voice out, the sound of each word stealing more of his airflow away from his lifeline. “Have we met before?”

The rising intonation at the end of your sentence sends a shiver to his spine when he processes your words. He feels clammy, sweaty; but he’s made of wood—he shouldn’t sweat? He shouldn’t be feeling like this? But you were no evil, no… So he should not be filled with this sense of hesitant alarm.

“No…” says he, reluctantly so. “Not that I know of.” He attempts to say this gulping with confidence, however he fails in this aspect—in fact, he sounds as if he is nervous, speaking with shaky breaths. It was clear that even he himself did not believe his own words. No, not that I know of; and yet he felt like he’s known you for every previous life.

“That’s so odd,” you miss, finger quite innocently falling upon your bottom lip in ponderance. “I can swear I’ve seen you somewhere before, but I cannot currently recall…”

He coughed. “You must be mistaken.”

What originally drew him to you like a moth to a flame now killed him. And he felt near-death in this moment; a sensation in which he feels he should run far away from you, no matter how clueless you seem right now. All that mattered was that he recognized you in a way that felt dangerous, like it should not be happening.

He excuses him, and runs off at your confusion.

“I knew I’d find you here. Luckily so soon, too.”

Kunikuzushi, or Scaramouche—not that he could bother to care much right now—whipped his head around in horrific shock. The Dendro Archon stood there right at his tail, looking up at his disgruntled eyes in disappointment.

“Do you know who you are right now?” she continues, approaching so calmly. His startled fingers ball to fists in frustration, glaring at her from the side of his face with his back turned in what seemed like anger. But only Nahida knew, truly: he was more than ashamed now. “Am I speaking to the Wanderer, or who you really are?”

He scoffs. “Has anyone ever told you how annoying your questions are?” he insults, much unlike the Wanderer.

“Oh, so it sounds like you remember everything,” the Archon states. Her tone is almost one of giggling, yet she does not make much haste when approaching him. There is no ridicule or spite in her words, her voice instead much sounding like a caring older sister getting ready to scold him. “That’s good. Makes my job easier.”

“What do you want from me,” he commands from her.

She walks without a hop or skip in her step; there no playfulness in her approach, just a slow resolve. He isn’t sure how much longer he can eye her as she comes forth—his heart is racing right now, and he needs to stop it desperately so. He is but a puppet: he is not familiar nor is he fond of this suspenseful feeling.

“Well,” she started, finally standing still next to him, “we both know why you’re here, standing right in front of Irminsul.” He flinches at her words. “How many times has it been now, Wanderer? Five? Forty? Hundreds?”

“That’s none of your business,” he snarls at her, turning his face away. But still, he stands ashamed, balling his fists constantly as if he hoped his nails would break his inhuman palms until they impossibly bled. “It isn’t my fault, you know.”

She hummed. He wanted to punch her from this sound alone—she should not assume she knows his reasonings as well as he himself does. “But as a man who is a new human”—he feels himself almost hurl from the lecture—“you need to learn how to handle human issues in a human way.”

“But no matter what, I am not human,” he tells her. “This is all I know to do.”

“Erasing yourself over and over again is not the answer, I fear, Wanderer.” And this is where she almost giggles at him, and he feels more embarrassed, converted to anger. But he could not deny this. He could not deny that he was stupidly resetting the world and it’s memory of him.

Stupidity, unfortunately, was his opinionated best shot.

“Just one more.” It was like a beg. “Just one more, because I was seen.”

“I’m called the Wanderer.”

You looked at him surprised, and he hid his face under his hat in embarrassment. You immediately notice how his stance is completely changed from before, demeanor like shifted to a different person.

“Oh!” you notice surely. “You’re back—you left so abruptly earlier…”

He somehow feels more ashamed than before. This was his millionth first-meeting with you by now, and somehow the most humiliating one. There was something about meeting you like this every time—being erased of his own memories by himself, slowly remembering his own memories, and crying out because he’s entangled himself with you once more. And that’s when he breaks down, and resets the world all before the Dendro Archon catches him.

And now, here he was, standing here like a middle schooler forced by his mother to apologize to a girl he liked.

“Sorry…” he seethe through gritted teeth. He really isn’t sure how to continue this conversation with you. In his own head, he has all these memories of your first relationship, and of all these first meetings, and you… You were just meeting him like a stranger.

But when you look at him all the same, a different sense of familiarity in your eyes… He feels it may be different this time.

And, he might just allow himself to love you now.

MERRY CHRISTMAS I LOVE YEWWW

[from-the-clouds]

moonlight on the river - joel miller x reader

masterlist | song inspo

summary: Joel has been many things to you. A dealer, a mentor, a friend, a lover. Lately, it’s the latter.  Sometimes he’s none of those things, or a handful of them, or all of them at once. And it’s up to the both of you to decide in the moment which things are true. Takes place during episode one of the TV series. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 2.4k warnings: angst, fluff, good ol' fashioned hurt/comfort. depressive thoughts, reader sort of has a death wish, references to alcohol/drug abuse, death, loss of family members & loved ones. implied age gap, references to casual sex, heavy petting (no smut). a/n: it's been months since i posted a fic on here! some of my best work comes when it’s 2am, i’m emo and touch-deprived and i have an 8am appointment so i stay up until 5am to write. this was actually supposed to be fully a fluff piece but the angst queen had to strike.

You wish you could drown in the pile of blankets you’ve wrapped yourself in. Wish the couch would swallow you whole, like a whale, then drag you down to the deepest depths of the ocean and leave you there until you can’t hold your breath any longer, until the cold pricks the tips of your fingers and toes, until you succumb completely. 

But in some ways, you’re already existing like that, in the sea-level equivalent of the Marianas Trench. One of those sea creatures that look not of this Earth, features warped – adapting, evolving, surviving, despite your environment’s best efforts to eradicate. Your mother had once shown them to you in her old textbooks and shown you the photos of anglerfish, frilled sharks, phantom jellyfish. The memory of your mother makes you wince, and you try to think of something else.

How anyone else around you managed to put on a brave face and make their way through each day was beyond your comprehension, even though you do it, too. They probably all feel the same way about it as you do, but no one talks about the collective trauma you’re all slogging through. No one has anything new to add, and it’s foolish to believe that anyone’s insight could somehow take the pain away. Even if you have a chance to tell your story, there is always someone who has it worse. 

Get in line. 

Exhausted as you are, you don’t sleep much. Most of your nights are spent at the precipice of unconsciousness, and you can never quite make it over the edge, the helicopters, radios, sporadic gunfire always manages to rouse you first. When you do manage to sleep, you’re plagued with nightmares. You prefer perpetual fatigue. 

A knock at your door comes suddenly, and you start, sitting up quickly – but quietly – to not alert the unexpected guest that someone might be in the tiny studio you call home. It’s well after dark, which makes you doubt that whoever, or whatever is at the door, isn’t there for a friendly drop-in or a cup of tea, not that friendly drop-ins or cups of tea ever happened. 

But before you grow too panicked, your name is muttered, accompanied by another impatient rap of knuckles against the hollow wood. It’s a familiar rasp, even-toned and calm, and your shoulders sag in relief before you abandon your post on the couch. 

“Joel?” you ask softly, squinting in the dim light of the hallway through the crack in the door. He doesn’t look any different, though it’s been about a month since you’d last seen him. You’re not sure what to expect, but he’s the same as always, wearing a worn, tight denim shirt and fraying jeans. He looks tired, but you can’t recall a time when he doesn’t. Everyone looks tired all the time, it just only concerns you because it’s him. 

Not waiting for an invite, he steps through the small opening you allot for him and into your place, wordlessly.

“What the fuck, Joel, it’s past curfew are you trying to get yourself killed?” 

“I’ve done worse,” he says, dismissively, and yanks the door from your hand to close and lock it behind him. 

You don’t argue with him. You rarely do – which you think is partly why he likes you – but especially now, you don’t have the energy. And when you do, he’s too stubborn to listen. 

Joel has been many things to you. A dealer, a mentor, a friend, a lover. Lately, it’s the latter.  Sometimes he’s none of those things, or a handful of them, or all of them at once. And it’s up to the both of you to decide in the moment which things are true.

So when he steps forward, crowding you backwards until your rear hits your kitchen countertop and you have nowhere to go, you don’t ask questions. 

His hand cradles your chin, tilting it back to look into his sad eyes, and he kisses you. For a split second, it’s chaste, and you’re almost confused, until it’s suddenly not, and his grip on your jaw tightens, his lips parting. Joel stakes his claim, his free hand winding into your hair and pulling. You sigh, closing your eyes. 

He moves both his hands to cup your ass through the flimsy athletic shorts you’re wearing, lifting your hips up and against him, making to carry you to the bed, or maybe even take you on the countertop – it could be one of those days. Everything he’s doing would normally light you on fire, and there’s a primal instinct that’s telling you you like it, but for some reason, you hesitate.

Joel senses it right away. You’re not sure how. And you don’t want him to. You’re prepared to submit, even though you feel numb everywhere, because you hope for the chance to feel something, anything other than what you’ve felt the last few days. He pauses, too, pulls back. 

You expect to meet his eyes when you look up at him, but they are fixed on something else. Tugging on the collar of his shirt, you try to kiss him again, but he doesn’t budge, until you follow his eyes. An empty bottle of liquor sits on the bar behind you. Fuck.

“You’re drinking again.” It’s not a question.

“That was actually from yesterday,” you say, like it would make any difference. The remnants of a hangover have been tweaking your temples all day, biting the back of your eyes. It was half empty when I got it. It was just one night. I can have a couple drinks without getting out of control. Your brain cycles through several more excuses before you decide not to waste your breath. 

“What did I tell you about this?” He reached behind you and lifted the bottle, holding it in front of your face like you hadn’t been able to see it clearly enough before. 

“You should talk,” you don’t like being cruel, but you’re already desperate to end the discussion. He’s probably drunk or high right now, but it’s none of your business, and you’d given up trying to save him a long time ago. 

You shift your weight to lower yourself off the counter and move away from him and the once-inviting warmth of his embrace. Joel doesn’t let you make it far, reaching out to grip your upper arm and tugging you back to face him with little-to-no effort on his part. His strength always startled you, even though it shouldn’t, considering his size. It also should’ve scared you, but the manhandling mostly just turned you on. Not enough that you were going to keep letting him lecture you.

“It’s different. You’re still so young.”

“What does that matter?”

He doesn’t have an answer. 

You lift your chin, squaring up to him. “That’s what I thought.”

He puts his hand on hip and studies you carefully. Despite your attitude, you’ve never liked disappointing him. He’s the closest thing you have to a father, which you can recognize is an awfully fucked up way to feel about someone you regularly have sex with, but you lived in an awfully fucked up world.

There’s a wistfulness to Joel’s expression you’ve never seen before. He chooses to change the subject, and you’re thankful until what he says registers. 

“I’m leaving town tomorrow night. You might not see me again.”

It takes a moment to process, but it hits you like a blow to the gut. So hard, you’re surprised you don’t stagger backwards with the force of it. Even when it settles, you know it hasn’t even sunk in all the way.

“Well…” you take a long, thoughtful pause, and offer the only thing that your brain can come up with, “....stay safe out there, then.”

“Yeah,” he runs his tongue over his teeth and squints at you. “You want to tell me what’s going on?” 

Snorting, you know it’s important to remain as blase as possible so you don’t cry. Although, you don’t really cry anymore. Even when you want to, the tears never come. At some point, after watching every person you’ve ever cared for die in uniquely devastating ways, you must’ve reached your lifetime limit. 

“I know you. Something’s up.”

No, you don’t! You want to scream, but that would be a lie. It’s been three years since you met, maybe one since your….arrangement, or whatever you’d call it, had begun. 

How the two of you had become so close was a mystery even to you. It’s not like you were charming or charismatic, or willing to put up the innocent act. You didn’t try to inflate his ego, which most men loved. At first, you didn’t even really like him at all. That changed with time. Somewhere along the way, things just clicked.

“It’s nothing that no one has ever felt before,” you shrug. Joel has his fair….or rather unfair share of demons, and is the last person you want to complain to. Most of the time, he’s unflinchingly guarded, but he’s shared enough – secrets whispered in your ear while tangled in damp sheets, your hand on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart – to make you wonder if you have it so bad. Focusing on a fixed point, a crack in the tiled floor, you avoid his eyes.

“Hey,” his voice pulls you back. “Don’t do that.” 

“I’ll be okay,” you say. “I’m just having a d-a week.” A month, a year, a life. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze.

His face softens, his hand reaching to clasp with your own, thumb grazing across your palm. “Come here,” he murmurs. He pulls you against him tightly, tucking your head under his chin, his fingers weaving into your hair. 

“You’re going to be alright. You’re a strong girl.” He’s too smart to believe that, you think. But it doesn’t stop you from pressing your lips against his sternum. His broad chest is sturdy, firm, and you close down your eyes. 

Neither of you speak, and one of his hands begins to stroke your back in soothing circles. You stay wrapped in his arms for a long time. Long enough to think about how you might never get to do this again, and you suddenly want him in all the ways you never had him, and all the ways you had. Just one last time. 

He presses a kiss to your temple. “I can tell you’re exhausted, baby. Let’s get you to bed.”

There’s no reason to protest, he’s right, so you let him lead you to the bed. You’re already in your pajamas, and he draws back the covers and tucks you underneath them carefully. 

“You’re staying,” you say. It’s meant to be a question, but it comes out like command, and although you can’t stand the idea of pleading for it, would if you had to. You’re that desperate. 

You hear the clunk of his boots landing on the floor, feel the dip of his weight on the opposite side of the bed. 

“Of course,” he says softly, voice barely above a whisper as he slides underneath the covers. 

Joel’s arm snakes around your waist, and you’re being pulled back against his chest. You wriggle to be closer, even though it’s not possible, his nose resting on the crown of your head, stroking your hair softly. He’s being so tender, so sweet, it makes you feel sick.

“What if I don’t want you to leave?” you turn your head slightly, so you can see him out of the corner of your eye. You want to be able to remember his face, in case you never see him again. He was handsome, you’d always thought that, even despite the years between you. 

“It’s my brother. I don’t have much of a choice, baby.”

Joel had told you all about Tommy. You wished you could be resentful at his leaving to find his brother, but you knew you’d risk pretty much anything for the chance to see anyone in your family again. 

You shake your head. “This…sucks.” 

He offers a rare chuckle, one that vibrates through his chest and straight to the ache in your stomach that started when he told you he’d be leaving. “It does. I’m sorry.”

Joel sighs, his breath on the nape of your neck, and you shiver. “I’ll miss you.” It’s a simple truth you can hear in his voice without even needing to look in his eyes.

“I’ll miss you.” You reach for his hand. 

You roll over to face him, his head propped on his opposite hand, looking down at you. 

“You remember everything I taught you?” he asks. “Be smart, keep yourself safe.”

Joel had proven to be a pretty valuable resource when it came to survival skills. He’d taught you how to shoot a gun, to load and reload it, how to take it apart, clean it, and put it back together. You recalled the feeling of him leaning over your shoulder, adjusting your grip to shoot at a target. And even if most of his lessons in hand-to-hand combat resulted in him having his way with you on the kitchen floor – you didn’t mind it at all – you knew enough to defend yourself. 

“I do,” you answer. “And I will.”

You think of all the time you’ve spent with him the past few years. How it has made things bearable. It’s likely the last time you’ll ever see him, and you know what you’re supposed to say. But for the life of you, you just can’t say it.

Instead, you lean in to kiss him, lazy and lingering, both your hands on the side of his face, palms pressed against the scruff of his beard. You pull away after awhile.

“Tell me about what it was like. Before all this.” When the outbreak began, you were just a child. It felt like a dream, your memory so fuzzy it was hard to recall anything except the worst parts.

Joel does, and you listen, captivated, though it’s not the first time you’ve heard it. For such a gruff man, he paints a pretty picture.

It’s easy to imagine what your life might be like if none of this had ever happened. It would have been better, infinitely better, for yourself, for Joel, for everyone. It would be better, but if it hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t have met him. For some reason, something about that doesn’t feel right.

[the-crimson]

I’m just spinning q!bbh in my mind rn I’ve got theories and analysis and bits of it are a stretch and it is rambly and long so it’s going under a cut but here we go XD

Everything he’s done since the eggs were taken has been so incredibly deliberate and he developed this plan when he was in the depths of the greatest despair. According to what he told Baghera today, he developed this plan before the anger stream when he lava cast the presidential office as that was part of the plan to draw out the workers.

So Bad blatantly lying and gaslighting and just being incredibly suspicious to everyone today feels deliberate. It feels like he’s intentionally burning these bridges. The whole gun debacle is a great example of this. I saw a post that suspected bbh took Ron to test Baghera and her loyalty to him by doing something he knows she’d disapprove of and while I don’t think that’s why he took Ron, I defiantly think that’s part of it.

The whole gun thing I feel is Bad’s test for Forever. Bad has lied to his face and changed the story so many times that even when Bad tells him the truth Forever doesn’t care. I think Bad is intentionally pushing Forever just like he is Baghera. He’s pushing him to see what it would take for Forever to cut ties. It’s brutal and is actively hurting Forever just like how Baghera was hurt learning what Bad had done to Ron.

Bad feels no guilt for what he’s done to Ron. All he cares about is what others would think of his actions. He knows what he’s doing is “wrong” but he doesn’t care. Such black and white morality is beneath him. He’s doing what he thinks is necessary.

And that includes his own self destruction. He is testing all of these relationships knowing full well that he might destroy them. He knows Baghera is so much more moral than him and has such a higher value of life so he intentionally showed her something that would shatter her perception of him. Bad knows that trust is very important to forever so he intentionally lies and gaslights him knowing full well that Forever may never trust him again.

Bad created this plan when he was at his lowest point. On an average day, Bad’s value of his own life is nonexistent. He designed a plan to uncover how the federation spies on them knowing full well that it could turn everyone against him. That sure sounds familiar doesn’t it? Bad’s proposed this exact same plan under different circumstances(“joining” the feds to make them worse so everyone revolts against them inspired by his building inspector bit”). He doesn’t care about himself and is willing to throw himself to the wolves and make everyone hate him if it means defeating the federation and getting their children back. Previously, bad never went through with the plan because he wasn’t as desperate but now… during the depths of his grief after the kids were stolen, there was nothing holding him back from complete self annihilation.

I think Tubbo discovering/catching on to bbh’s kidnapping put a hitch in Bad’s plans because now his tests for others are being influenced by an outside variable he can’t control, that’s why he spent the whole day doing damage control. He’s trying to spin the story in such a way that he’s still somewhat in control of the situation. He knows that the cats out of the bag. Everyone is going to suspect him now so what does he do? He spends the day making himself even more suspicious. He admitted to torturing foolish in the past. He admitted to imprisoning forever during the happy pills arc. He admitted to planning on abducting a player in the future. He’s making himself look so much more guilty.

Everything he does is with intent. What could be the intent here? He’s told several people that he wants to be arrested so he has access to the federation prisons/facilities. He’s told several people that he is capable of kidnapping/torturing someone. He denies he’s guilty of Ron’s disappearance while simultaneously making himself look guilty. Is he trying to push the federation? To see if they actually will arrest him? All fingers point to bbh and the federation knows this - they basically say so in the journals Tubbo found. But they continue doing nothing. The workers are warned to stay away from him at all costs but… why wouldn’t they just arrest him? They’ve done so to others for less. That’s the question I want Tubbo to be asking. He’s smart enough to realize there’s something off here. Yes bad has a guy in his basement but why hasn’t the federation done anything about it?

Maybe that’s Bad’s test for Tubbo. Bad knows Tubbo is fiercely intelligent and that he can’t bullshit has way past him so he gave Tubbo so much. Yes there was a lot of bullshit but Bad intentionally gave Tubbo more ammunition against him. Is that Bad’s test? If Tubbo finds proof that Bad has Ron in his basement and the federation continues not to act, will that clear Tubbo of suspicion in his eyes? Tubbo knows the worker Bad is trying to find, is Bad giving Tubbo a chance to unknowingly prove himself by uncovering Bad’s secret? “Has anyone ever told you your too smart for your own good, Tubbo?” It sounded like a threat but it could have been an invitation.

Fred has become an incredibly important npc and I have a feeling he is the key to unlocking the mysteries of the eggs and the great evil. I’m pretty sure he’s the one in the radio transmission that talks about why the eggs disappeared and Ron said he overheard Fred talking about the evil. Fred knows so much more than he lets on and one way or another, the players are gonna find out.

I’m also fascinated by Bad’s conversation with Bagi about Boo. Only after Bagi confessed to telling Forever about the secret did Bad put in his clipboard that she passed the test. We’ll how did she pass the test? She told someone about his secret. We’ll, she came clean about it. She told someone she thought was Bad’s best friend then admitted it. She wasn’t trying to go behind his back and thus was trustworthy. However, as the day went on and Bagi learned about Ron, this changed. Her perception of Bad changed and Bad updated his notes about her in response. She went from trustworthy to sometimes trustworthy to be careful what you tell her. She still passed the test but the level of trust dropped dramatically - which is so fascinating.

At the end of it, I think… through all of this, Bad is gonna burn all his bridges in order to find the eggs and destroy the federation. He’s accepted that at this point. He was so dismissive of Baghera’s concerns for Ron and Bad and almost felt like he was placating her, just telling her what she wanted to hear. If Baghera interferes with Ron, I don’t think Bad will accept that and he would sacrifice their relationship to continue his plans. If anything, I could see him releasing Ron into Baghera’s hands only to capture Fred in his place - and this time he wouldn’t tell a soul.

Just the sudden switch in attitude when everyone triggered his radar was palpable. “Get out of my house or die” he was so furious that this test had been interrupted but he masked it while with baghera. When Bad went flying into the hall of grim shouting at everyone to get out and attacking them mercilessly, you could feel the rage (part of that was the lore secrets being accidentally revealed but still) the entire visit with Ron was a performance for both Ron and Baghera and I feel so bad for Baghera because she’s in an impossible position.

She wants to be there for Bad she wants to support him but this… this is so far beyond what she is willing to excuse from him. This has crossed so many lines but there isn’t any turning back. She doesn’t want to lose Bad either through breaking his trust or being taken by the federation but at the same time she can’t stand by and do nothing. She needs to help him. Unfortunately, that means it’s highly likely Bad will end up immolating their friendship if she pushes too hard.

And just the way Bad acts around Ron is so fascinating. It’s all a performance. The large furnished home. The fridge full of food. The fish. The weird attachment Bad shows - almost a reverse Stockholm syndrome - while simultaneously talking over/for Ron in such a dehumanizing way. It’s so fascinating in the moments when the mask falls away. When Bad was watching Baghera talk to Ron - idk if it was just me - but I felt like Bad was a hawk observing it’s prey. He plays up the sugary sweetness and dependence but he still feels like a tiger prowling the bars of his cage eyeing the snacks on the other side. It’s the way he moves and what he choosss to look at during these scenes idk bbh’s body language is insane and I could devote an entire essay to analyzing it

Like Bad’s stream title before he started stream, there are only two sides. Either ur with him or against him and the only thing he values is finding the eggs and tearing down the federation. He doesn’t care if everyone grows to hate him. He doesn’t care if he grows to hate himself. There are no lines he won’t cross. It’s all worth it. It’s all inevitable.

[queerfandomtrifecta]

I’ve seen a few takes on the whole “Is the writing actually bad or are you trying to order a milkshake from the hardware store?” genre expectations thing for OFMD s2 and I’m gonna add my own.

Yes, I know it’s billed as a lighthearted pirate romcom. And s1 was just that. But s1 also had some incredibly solid character arcs and thematic elements and layers and so much depth that were shaped by some more serious dramatic bits here and there.

I wasn’t expecting that going into it. In s1, I was expecting to go into the hardware store for hardware, as anyone would, because it’s advertised as a hardware store. But then I got there and discovered that this particular hardware store also happened to sell milkshakes. I didn’t expect milkshakes from a hardware store, especially not really good milkshakes since that seems like it might be a tough thing to sell together, but they were able to keep the hardware out of the milkshakes and vice versa, so it was great. You didn’t have to order a milkshake if milkshakes weren’t your thing and you never planned on ordering one since it’s ultimately a hardware store. You could just come for hardware. You could also really just come for the milkshakes if you wanted to, but it was still really clear that we were getting that milkshake from a hardware store.

And then s2 started and the hardware store spent three episodes really expanding on the milkshake sales. To the point it was like wow, if I hadn’t been told this was a hardware store, I’d almost think it was a milkshake shop. And since it was ultimately meant to be a hardware store, they clearly had to try and sell some hardware, but that seemed like it ended up being a little hard to make room for with how much of the store had been filled with milkshakes, so suddenly there are some milkshakes made with nails and screws, and there are toolboxes and lumber with milkshakes spilled on them. And idk maybe they should’ve served fewer milkshakes if they still were gonna try and sell that much hardware, because these things really don’t always mix and now we can’t really use either of them like that. But still, they just kept making more and more and more milkshakes until the blenders just exploded and there’s just this gigantic milkshake mess everywhere.

So at the onset of e4 it’s like okay, yeah, I have faith that this hardware store will definitely clean up the milkshakes because they’re clearly all over this place; it can hardly even be a hardware store til the milkshakes are cleaned up. But then besides a handful of paper towels that are used to clean up a little tiny puddle of milkshake, everyone just… resumes work selling hardware? Despite the fact that they’re still just walking around in the gigantic milkshake mess??

And that just keeps going til there’s only one episode left and it’s like geez idk why they still haven’t cleaned up the milkshakes I hope they can somehow. That seems tough with so little time left, but this place started as really great hardware store that sold quality milkshakes, so maybe they can pull it off.

But then instead, the CEO of the hardware store decides to unexpectedly murder one of the hardware store employees and says it was a kindness because said employee was just so sticky from the milkshakes that never got cleaned up. Which doesn’t seem like a valid reason AT ALL? and even in a messy, milkshake-covered hardware store, that WASN’T something anyone would typically expect to see?? Plus it still did NOTHING to clean up the milkshakes??

And a lot of us are left just asking “i don’t understand, why did no one clean up the milkshakes???” and for some reason, the response to that often seems to be “hardware stores don’t sell milkshakes”. No, they usually don’t, but this one did. None of us would have ever tried to order a milkshake if it hadn’t been established that this specific hardware store has always sold them, and we’re a little concerned that it’s still just covered in them.

It was also super confusing that the hardware store locked its doors and stuck an “out of business forever” sign up while also still planning to open again like usual but said that if they don’t, at least everyone got a happy ending.

Like… um I really don’t think they did and either way I’m a little wary about shopping at this hardware store again.

[treysimp]

"I’m not sure how better to say this... do you want to make out on my couch?"

Part 6:

GN!Reader x Heartslabyul (Ace, Trey, Riddle, Cater, Deuce)

Tags: Smooching, implied mutual pining and suggestive themes, but nothing explicit. Reader is not physically described.

Other works in this series:

Savannahclaw | Scarabia | Octinavielle | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Heartslabyul | Diasomnia

Want more TWST? Here's my Masterlist!

Before you could fully turn to see a reaction, you feel a hand roughly grab your shoulder and spin you forward, pushing you into the front door of Ramshackle with a horribly-loud creak.

Your body was enveloped in a sudden warmth while a pair of lips found yours, kissing you harshly and breathlessly, barely giving you time to gasp between desperately pressed caresses. 

They wound down, got softer and kinder, and finally  Ace  removed himself from you. His face had a pretty flush and he was gasping from the aggressive kisses he had just subjected the both of you to.

“Are you kidding me? I’ve spent hours trying to figure out how to come on to you and it's been this fucking easy the whole time?” He dove back in for more, hands grabbing at your hair, smothering you in unsaid feelings, missed opportunities, and the pure strength of his want for you.

“I can’t-” gasp, “believe-” a breath, “I didn’t-” a moan, “do this sooner.” 

Ace had pinned you to the door, his hands holding your biceps against the wooden planks. He was panting and shaking, you could see each breath puff in a cloud of condensation as it hung in the air. 

You were in shock. You liked him, obviously. You wouldn't have asked him to make out with you if you hadn't, but you had no idea that Ace felt so strongly. It thrilled you.

You hoped and prayed that you had a shot, trying to contain the jump of your heart every time he would swing his arm around your shoulders or pull your sleeve to run faster from some sort of impending trouble (that was almost certainly caused by him).

“Ace.” Your voice was much shakier than you would have liked. His red eyes snapped to you, softening by just a hair.

“Yeah?” He leaned his forehead against yours, loosening his grip on your arms and letting his palms fall to your waist. He seemed to recognize that he needed to relax for a second for you to process his sudden admission.

You took a shaky breath before you continued. 

“A-aren’t you going to come in?”

Cocking a brow and face pulling into his signature smirk, Ace took a step back from you and allowed you to finally push the door open. Putting his hands behind his head, he started innocently whistling while he walked inside the lounge.

Maybe it was just his imagination, but he swears that this was the best this shitty place had ever looked. He supposed that wasn’t really what mattered right now. 

But… the idea of you taking extra care to clean when you hoped to invite him inside stirred something deep inside of him, but he decided to push that thought down for now. He planned to spend as much time with you as you would allow, after all.

Taking a seat on the couch and beckoning you over with his hand, Ace patted his knee.

“Have a seat, Prefect. I’d love to know more about what you have planned for tonight.” He grinned.

You obliged, climbing onto his lap. Ace felt his throat dry out. 

For all the bluster and confidence he tried to exude, he felt so out of his depth looking at you. He constantly stumbled over his words when you were listening, not to mention how many school supplies he had dropped while daydreaming about you in class. 

Or the sheer number of close calls he almost had with his schoolmates seeing him doodle variations of your names mixed together. He wanted you to take Trappola, but he was willing to compromise. He wouldn’t mind taking yours either, but you would have to bring it up yourself, as he would be too embarrassed to broach the subject.

Ace was head over heels for you, and he has no idea when it started. As soon as he noticed his quickening heartbeat when you were around, he quickly admitted that he was infatuated. 

Admitting to himself that he liked you was the easy part. He had instead spent all of this time agonizing over how to tell you. 

He found ways to touch you whenever he could justify it, but even he admitted it just came off as friendly contact between friends. He tried to monopolize your time whenever he had the chance, but between classes and your demon-cat babysitting duties, there were few opportunities.  

And yet after all that, you asked him. You wanted him. He could barely contain himself. You were seated above him, moonlight caressing the planes of your face as your eyes gazed into his and he wondered for a brief second if this is what heaven felt like. 

He was going to take everything you would give him, that was a promise.

“...Prefect.”

You turned around slowly. Time to face the music. You braced yourself for rejection, tried to scramble with the best explanation for how you were ‘totally joking’ or ‘just wanted to see what you’d say’ but the excuses died out in your mouth as you saw the two hands that were pinning either side of your body to the door.

“You shouldn’t tease older guys like that, you know? You might get into trouble.” Said  Trey,  looking like he could eat you alive at this very moment. 

His eyebrow was cocked in derision, his lip curled into a smile that spelled trouble, but you couldn’t help the quiver of your lower lip at his sudden closeness. He had to know what he was doing to you, right?

Trey grew ever closer, it felt like his golden eyes were calculating every movement you made and each rise and fall of your chest. You wondered if he could hear your heart beating, as it certainly was ringing in your ears. 

Taking one hand to your chin to tilt your face towards his, he smiled. 

“I’m not going to be here on campus for you next year, you know? I don’t know when I’d be able to see you.”

It was a warning, clearly. Kind as ever, he was trying to protect your feelings and maybe also his own. He hasn’t said no to you yet though. 

“I also… I also don’t know how long I’ll be here.” You began, willing yourself to make eye contact with him. You took a deep breath and willed yourself to continue.

“That’s why… that’s why I want you now. Because I don’t… I don’t know what day will be my last one here.” You finished, voice shaking. It felt so vulnerable, that you wondered if stripping right here in front of him wordlessly might have been easier than this conversation.

This was a very difficult admission from you, but it was the conclusion you had come to. You had spent so much time watching him, seeing his care and kindness for everyone around him, and decided that if you didn’t tell him that you wanted him, you would regret it forever. 

Today being the day that you admitted your bottled-up feelings to Trey was an impulsive fluke on your part, but your mind was already made up. If he wanted you, you were all his.

Trey’s eyes widened momentarily and then softened into a sweet smile. 

“Well, if you’ve already made up your mind, who am I to stop you?” He mused, closing his eyes in a satisfied smile as he tilted his head to get a better look at your flustered face.

Slowly, gently, Trey guided your chin to him as he leaned forward to place a soft kiss on your lips. 

It felt like fireworks went off behind your eyelids. You pressed yourself forward, grabbing Trey by the lapels to pull him closer to you. You could feel the smile on his lips as he returned your clumsily aggressive kisses, carding his hands through your hair as he hummed in pleasant satisfaction. 

Trey reached behind you and pushed open the door you had been unintentionally guarding, not breaking the procession of kisses for a single moment as he led you to your couch. 

Walking clumsily backward, you landed gracelessly on the couch when the back of your knees hit the lip of the cushions and buckled in surprise. 

Glasses slightly fogged, Trey stared at you in awe, mouth slightly agape at the beautiful mess you were. 

You noticed a slight dimple in his cheek that you had never seen before, and a tiny smattering of freckles that sat on the bridge of his nose. How long had you longingly stared at him and never noticed these things? It made you want to know everything else about him.

Trey licked his lips lightly in thought. He wasn’t one to make decisions without thinking them through, but it seemed like he wouldn’t be able to afford the time in this case. 

He had written off you as a possibility. He knew that his attraction to you would pass, no matter how intense it was. 

Trey noticed how others looked at you, some of them even being his underclassmen. Watching the eyes that wandered your body, memorizing the way you walked, the way your shoulders shook when you laughed, how your brows knit when you were thinking, the smile you would give him any time you ate something he made. 

He knew that even if you didn’t know it, you had stolen the hearts of many people around you, including himself. And yet, you both were here, you wanted him. How could he say no?

Standing up straight, he removed his glasses and tucked them inside the breast pocket of his jacket. 

He decided that was going to ruin you tonight, and any other nights that he was able.

“Really!”  Riddle  sputters, his brows knit in irritation “you should…. you really…” he trails off, his eyes frantically darting around your face as if a puzzle piece would magically fall into place if he just had the final hint.

“…You really should ask in a more romantic way than that.” He finally finished, fingers drifting to your tie to straighten the lopsided knot.

Your eyebrows involuntarily raised to the sky.

“Is that a no, house warden?” You ask. You wanted to start hysterically laughing, oh my god how could he possibly be so cute? 

Waiting for his response, you placed your hands on top of his to still the fingers that had been fussing over your tie. 

You were going to get him to answer your question in a forthright manner if it killed you.

“It’s not-not a no!” Riddle sputtered, pretending to wipe his mouth with his sleeve to hide away his increasingly flustered face. You noted that he had kept his other hand in your grasp though, feeling him shake gently beneath you.

“Next time I expect flowers! Or chocolate!” He finally shouted, pulling both of his hands away to cross them over his chest haughtily. You couldn’t hide the grin splitting your face.

“Oh? You’re already planning on next time?” You said, smoothing your hand over his ruby hair. 

Riddle seemed to finally register his slip of the tongue as his face lit as scarlet as the rest of him. 

“No!” Riddle practically screamed. You were glad Grim wasn’t here tonight, as he definitely would have woken up upon hearing this exchange.

You raised an eyebrow, “No?” 

Riddle’s gaze was fixed on the floor, face knit in irritation. 

“Only if you play your cards right.” He finished, turning his head away with a huff. 

You couldn’t stop the giggling that bubbled from your chest, God he was the cutest. How did he do it? 

Not being able to help yourself, you wound your arms around his body, pulling him close to you as you buried your head in his neck. 

Unsurprisingly he smelled great, like sweets and roses and some other sort of soft musk that was no doubt from some sort of expensive atelier. It was so charming the things he did to take care of himself for the sake of appearances. 

You idly wondered if there was a rule about smelling good in Heartslabyul. There probably was, but you decided that asking would only mortify Riddle further, and you wanted to get him to do more than talk to you tonight. 

Riddle was stiff as a board, arms hovering around you awkwardly for a moment until he finally relaxed, pulling you snugly into his arms. 

“Do you really want to kiss me?” You could barely hear Riddle mumble, his voice muffled by your hair as he nuzzled it into your neck to mirror the way you had been holding him. 

You pulled away slowly and held him by the shoulders, eyes boring into his shy grey gaze. You took a moment to take in the loveliness of his face for just a moment, relishing in the closeness you had never been afforded before now. The red eyeliner around his lashes, the rosy sheen of his heart-shaped mouth, and a tiny mole you had never noticed on top of his eyelid. So lovely.

“Yes. I do.” You said softly. 

If you could believe it, Riddle got even redder. He cleared his throat and seemed to make an internal decision, twining his hands behind your neck as he pushed himself forward to meet your lips. 

His lips were stiff but very, very soft. You pressed gently against him, massaging your mouth against his in hopes of loosening him up. It seemed to work, as you heard the smallest of moans as Riddle tried to mirror your movements, lightly sucking on your lower lip. It was shy, but also heartbreakingly genuine and careful. 

You both separated slowly, you wished you could take a picture of the expression on his face. 

Gorgeous eyes half open, glossy lips slightly swollen from the contact, he pulled the bottom of said lips into his mouth to chew on it lightly as he snapped his gaze to the side. How was he even real? His beauty shines like a fairy tale prince, and yet this gorgeous boy thought himself a villain. How ironic. 

“Again.” He whispered, pushing his face back towards you with more aggressive energy, seemingly having gained confidence now that the spell of your first kiss was broken. 

His kisses sped up and gained in ferocity, each time you separated for breath being punctuated with another ‘again’. His affection grew more demanding, his chest grew tighter and each breath became more labored. 

“Let me inside.” Riddle finally demanded, his hands curled into the lapels of your jacket. “I want to come inside.” 

You swallowed audibly and nodded, pushing the door open while Riddle pulled you inside of Ramshackle.   

(NSFW Conclusion)

AMAB!Reader // AFAB!Reader

“You’re such a tease, Prefect!”  Cater  giggled, his gaze on his phone as he typed away at a message. Tucking a stray strand of ginger hair behind his ear, his green eyes sparkled while a little fang peeked out from behind his lip. 

“I think your fans would kill me if I made a move on you.” he punctuated with a wink, tucking his phone into his pocket as he placed a hand on his hip. 

You let out a long belly laugh at the statement. “My fans? I’m not the one who’s  Insta -famous.” 

Cater wrinkled his pixie-like nose, “What’s ' Insta' ?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s a thing in my world.” You said with a smile, covering your mouth with your hand to stifle your unending giggles.

Cater’s eyes softened as he looked lovingly at the way your face screwed up while laughing so hard at his statement. It was sweet that you thought he was kidding.  

“I know I’m handsome and all, but you really can’t throw away your charm and innocence on a playboy like me.” Cater said with a smirk, his expression reminding you very much of the cock-eyed grin he had given the incoming students at orientation. 

Not that you had that much time to pay attention on that chaotic day, but even in the chaos you couldn’t help but stare at the gorgeous guy whose black diamond under his eye punctuated his perfect cheekbones. 

You had never asked why his mark was colored red now and black at that time, but you assumed it was some other Night Raven tradition that you had no clue about. 

It was pretty funny that he was trying so hard to play off your request. It hurt a little bit too, but it was still funny. 

“Playboy? Yeah, right! You and who?” you teased, poking him in the ribs. Cater looked visibly offended.

“Um, that’s because none of them go to this school.” He said with a huff. His excuse was lame and he knew it, but he had an image to maintain, you know? 

You covered your mouth with your hand to cover the smile spreading across your face, oh, so he was going to play the ‘my lover lives in Canada’ card, huh? Well, you weren’t going to let him off so easily.

“That’s a shame, I wanted to know your type.” You said, biting your lip and willing yourself to look disappointed. 

Cater felt a lump form in his throat that he couldn’t manage to swallow as he fixated on the teeth that were worrying over your lip. Fuck, that was so unfair.

“W-well…” he stuttered, “My type is, uh…” Oh sevens, why did he even start this sentence?

“Someone who laughs at my jokes... Um, someone who I can talk about anything with… Someone who doesn’t judge me for being… for being myself.” His face was burning. For once, Cater couldn’t look you in the eye.

He didn’t think you would pick up on it, but every single one of those requirements was just part of the ever-expanding list of why he was head-over-heels for you. It was too much to hope that you would reciprocate though. Why would you like him back? It made no sense.

“Oh… that’s very interesting…” You said, tapping your finger to your chin in thought.

“My type is you though.” You moved your eyes to the ground sadly, knitting your fingers with each other as you intentionally studied your cuticles.

Cater felt like his eyes might pop out of his sockets as he froze in shock. He had tried to play off your offer to him earlier, genuinely believing that you were just teasing him. 

What was he supposed to make of this? His face burned a bright scarlet as he covered his face with his hands. Were you really…?

“You’re kidding.” He mumbled. His chest was heaving in a way that looked very much like the precursor to hyperventilation. 

His thoughts were racing, what was he supposed to do? Did he believe you? Did he keep trying to play it off? What was the right choice? 

You stepped closer to him, gently taking his hands from his face and holding them in your own. 

“I’m serious.” You whispered, feeling your face burn at the admission. 

You stared at the shaking hands that you held in yours, thinking about the time that you attended his club’s concert and saw how those same fingers moved so deftly along the neck of his guitar. 

His hair was stringy from sweat, stomping precisely on his pedal board to switch the sound of his instrument as his eyes scanned the crowd and met yours. You felt like your heart would fall right out of your chest at that moment. It made you want to climb on the stage and jump him right there, as silly of an impulse as that was.

Cater stared at your face with an unreadable expression, you dared to spare him a glance, biting your lip even more fervently than you had been just a moment ago. You weren’t sure what you would do if he rejected you now.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to worry about that for much longer, as Cater had swallowed his nervousness to swing forward and trap you in a passionate kiss.  

You gasped in surprise, which gave Cater the opportunity to push himself even harder against you. Nibbling at your lips and pushing his tongue into every crevice that he could conceivably reach, he was overwhelmed by the feel of you. 

He tasted the hard candy that he had given you earlier, having spent much of the evening visibly distracted by the movements of your mouth as you rolled the sweet around with your tongue. 

It had made him think just a bit too deeply about what else your tongue might be able to do. 

You both separated, glassy eyes connected in a haze of mutual attraction and longing. 

“I gave you a chance to back out.” Cater said breathlessly, “It’s too late now though.”

Silence. You turned around to see if he heard you, but the boy in front of you was still as a statue.

Deuce’s blue-green eyes were almost completely round as he stared at you, unblinking. 

“...Deuce?” You called gently. Did you break him? 

Seemingly shaking off the brain fog that had overcome him, Deuce’s face began reddening like a cauldron coming to a broil. 

“...I’m in love with you.” Deuce said it so fast that you almost couldn’t understand him, but you did catch the word ‘love’ and now it was your turn to freeze in shock. 

“L-love?” You sputtered, you couldn’t have heard him right. Right?  

Deuce nodded at you seriously. Eyed steeled, jaw clenched in anxiety. 

Your heart felt like it was going to leap out of your chest. You were shaking, you wanted to scream in both joy and anxiety.

Deuce cleared his throat and continued his thought.

“I’ve been in love with you ever since I first saw you,” His breathing was shaky, it was embarrassing. He had imagined looking much cooler when he ran the scenario through his mind all of those times before.

It seemed like he might lose all of the courage he had built up at any moment, but he had to tell you. 

His words started to tumble out of his mouth at light speed, words blurring together as the thoughts and feelings that he had been bottling up for so long began bubbling over and spilling out.

“You’re gorgeous, you’re kind, you always support me, you take care of everyone around you and run straight into danger if it means helping someone! You suffer through me being a dumbass, you sit and study with me even though your grades are way better than mine and…” 

He paused for a deep breath. He wasn’t even sure if he could articulate how he was feeling, but he was going to try anyway. 

“Every time you look at me I feel like I could die happy. I feel like you could stab me through the heart right now and I would thank you for it. I feel the same thrill I felt when I won a fight with none of the pain! I just…” 

He felt like he could cry, he had spent so much time trying to change, trying to make himself into someone new, someone his mother could be proud of… someone lovable. 

Someone that maybe you… maybe you could love him. 

You couldn’t restrain yourself any longer as you pulled Deuce into your arms, holding him tightly, aggressively. You peppered his hair with kisses, petting his back soothingly, trying to still the erratic beating of your heart. 

Deuce slowed his breathing in your embrace. He counted his breath, in and out, in and out. It was calming, your arms felt like everything he wanted them to be.

Feeling better, Deuce lifted his head to take in your expression. He felt bad that he had just spent the past few minutes having an emotional dam break and then had just sat in silence. 

You looked perfect. Your expression was a stunning mixture between embarrassment and joy, your hair was slightly mussed from pulling Deuce to yourself so suddenly. 

He decided then and there that this was the end of holding back. 

Raising a gloved hand to your temple, Deuce trailed his hand down the side of your face, taking in a shaky breath as you leaned your face into his touch, closing your eyes to focus on the sensation. 

“Please let me kiss you,” he whispered, mouth a mere inch away from yours, eyes locked on your lips to read your response. You nodded wordlessly, staring as if hypnotized by his gaze.

He was so careful with you. It felt like you might disappear at any moment if he was too rough. Soft, curious, experimental, he moved with his entire focus on how your mouth moved and how you tasted. Both of you separated for a moment to catch your breath, his eyes seemed to almost glow.

“...Perfect.” He exhaled, pausing between his thoughts to begin kissing along your neck. Soft nibbles and moans escaped his mouth as you tilted your head to give him better access. Your hands grasped his back tightly, pulling him as close as you could dare. 

Your head was spinning at all of the new sensations, the emotion of it all, and the way that you felt any self-restraint leave you with each hesitant kiss along your neck, your collarbone, and the shell of your ear. 

“Deuce…” You gasped, “Deuce please…” Pulling away from your tight hold, Deuce’s eyes returned to looking at yours. His chest was heaving, and his clothes felt oppressive and tight. 

“Please, please let me have more of you.” 

He swallowed, Adam’s Apple bobbing at the action. Eyes scanning your face for any hint of reluctance on your part. He found none. After a moment of silence, he nodded. 

“I’ll give you anything you want.” 

My boys~! My beautiful boys! This was a little more tender than some of the other dorms, haha. Sorry, I was just in a mood for sap I guess.

Sexy will still come, I promise. I just wanted cute lead-ups.

As always, let me know if you have prompts and requests.

Love you, reader!

--

Requested tags: @naniky

[somekindofpoet]

Oh!Dealer Pt II

Summary: Drug Dealer! R and Vada try to figure out how this is all going to work.

Word Count: 3.1K

Warnings: +18 NSFW, smut, language, drug use

A/N: This has been cooking in my head for a while, so here it is, finally! A little smutty, a little angsty. Hope you guys like it!

Part I

You wake up with a heavy arm draped across your naked hip. Your eyes feel heavy, like weights are tied to your lids by a delicate thread. Your entire body is spent, aching, and exhausted. If it weren’t for the hand resting on your stomach, you know the depths of the withdrawal depression would have you spiraling into despair right now.

But the sight and feel of that arm brings back memories of your night spent in a euphoric, drug-induced haze. A haze half caused by the owner of the arm herself, Vada Cavell. 

If you weren’t at a chemical low, you’d probably feel giddy at the realization of the fact that not only is she still there, she’s still naked. Instead, you feel a dull excitement, like knowing you’re going on vacation, but it’s still months away. It’s present, but so far away, you can’t actually immerse yourself in it.

Not completely, at least. But when her fingers begin to stir, her nails softly scratching at your skin, the vacation feels like it’s only days away instead of months. 

She’s buried under a mountain of blankets and pillows, the only thing visible to you is her hair and her arm draped over you. You can feel her legs still intertwined in yours, but she’s almost entirely swallowed up by your bedding. 

“Uuuuuugh,” she groans, her voice raspy, “I think I’m dying.”

You take a long, slow breath in, nodding even though she can’t see you. “I think I’m dead.”

Vada presses a flat hand into your stomach, squirming under the blankets until her eyes appear half closed. “Can you tell whoever resurrected us that we want to stay dead?”

“I don’t think any higher power is going to help me after what I’ve done.”

Vada pushes her bottom lip out, “Do you think we’ll ever be happy again?”

You give her a tired smile, “In the next four to six business hours, we should be among the living again.”

She whines, rolling back into her blanket cocoon. You close your eyes, content to sleep the morning away. 

“Y/n,” Vada’s voice is muffled and soft beneath the blankets.

“Vada.”

“Could we like…I don’t know, would you maybe wanna…” she pauses, and you sigh.

“What?”

Her voice is small, almost childlike, “Could you cuddle me?” 

You open your eyes, frowning at the pull you feel in your chest. You consider the proposition. It’s not the worst idea. Maybe your recovering brain chemicals lower your guard, or maybe it’s just her absolute vulnerability at the moment. But you find yourself carefully pulling back the covers, crawling under them with her, and pulling her body close to you. She feels so small in your arms, a teaspoon of a little spoon.

She sighs contentedly, squirming her body back until not an inch of your skin is separated. You fall asleep like that, holding her against you, your nose in her hair.

——

Vada’s constant squirming wakes you again. You’ve shifted a bit, your face pressed against the back of her neck, her hair fanned out on the pillow above you. You’re not sure how much time has passed, but the sun is shining through the cracks in your curtains, so you think it must be at least mid-morning. 

Vada whimpers, shifting her hips back against you again. You lift your head, trying to look down at her, but it’s almost impossible with the duvet over your head.

“What’s wrong?” You croak, your throat dry. 

She lets out a shaky breath, “Uhm,” she hesitates, “you’re kind of turning me on.”

You jerk your head back, her words rattling the sleep from your brain. You take stock of your position, and it makes more sense. Your lips were brushing the skin at the top of her spine, your legs are intertwined with hers, and your hand is resting just below her belly button.

You startle, trying to pull away, but you’re met with an iron grip of Vada’s fingers around your wrist. It’s strange, to feel turned on when you’re still recovering from the ecstasy. The warm pooling in your lower belly is there, an aching between your legs. It’s not hungry, more indulgent than anything. But it’s certainly present.

It becomes gluttonous when she draws your hand down, luring your fingers between her legs. It’s almost automatic, the way you begin to touch her, your lips on the curve of her neck. 

She pushes her hips back into you, whining as you lazily circle her clit. You press a gentle kiss into her neck, breathe her in while you indulge her. She stays quiet, breathy, and sighing, rocking back into you. She whines when you pull your fingers away, catching your wrist again.

“Sshh,” you whisper in her ear, “let me.”

A small noise comes from the back of her throat, her grip dripping from your wrist. You push her top leg over, run your fingers up the back of her thigh. You kiss her shoulder again, your tongue slowly tracing over her skin. Your hand slides between her legs, cupping her, making her gasp. Your palm presses into her, then you trace your fingers down until you can gently push two fingers inside of her. 

She groans, her body pushing into yours. Your pace is languid, sluggish, lazy strokes into her, but it’s enough. She tries to turn toward you, but the finds the angle less satisfying, so she holds the pillow to her mouth instead. 

It feels good, a small pinhole of light in your withdrawal. Her whimpers and whining into your pillows, the steady rocking of her body against yours. It’s almost enough to trick you into thinking you’ve recovered. 

Her orgasm is patient, creeping up on her and slowly tingling through her. It’s longer than you expect, but somehow more satisfying than the night before. More real. 

She turns her head away from the pillow, and the quiet moan that leaves her is what you imagine the first breath of life must sound like. Relieved, satisfied, joyful even. 

She shivers and pushes your hand away, forcing your fingers out of her. You lift your arm so she can roll into you, her chest pressing into yours. She tucks her head under your chin, kisses your throat, and hums softly, her arm wraps around her waist, and yours pulls her into you, your hand flat on her back. 

You can feel her eyelashes against your skin, her jaw slack as she falls asleep again. You think you should probably get up, get to work, but find yourself unwilling to untangle yourself from her. Your eyes slide shut again as you give in.

——

You wake up the second time that day to an empty bed. A shuffling behind you makes you roll over, squinting your eyes in the light. 

You can see Vada’s outline, picking through your records on the shelf below your window. She turns to you, holding up a Chopin vinyl. As your eyes adjust to the light, you can see the perplexed look on her face.

You stretch your arms over your head, frown at her and drop them. “What?”

“What is this?” She asks, her voice soft.

“Chopin?” You tell her, confused.

She gives you a look that tells you that’s not the answer she’s looking for.

“But why do you have it? And why is your bed so nice? And your house? And why do you have a piano?”

You sit up, scratching your head. Grab your t-shirt from your nightstand and pull it over your head. She waits for your answer, her eyebrows raised.

“I like Chopin. Is that a crime?”

Her voice is high, tight when she replies, “You’re a drug dealer.”

You rub your eyes, not following her logic. “So?”

She drops the vinyl onto the shelf. Your eyes shoot to it. It’s not where it belongs, and that itches at your brain unpleasantly.

“So you’re supposed to be…supposed to be,” she gestures around with her hands, searching for the right words.

Your brows furrow, beginning to feel insulted, “Supposed to be what, Vada?”

Her face scrunched with worry and confusion, “I don’t know. Scary. Shady.” 

Your teeth grind together at her words, her judgment. You slide out of your bed, walking around to your bathroom.

“I’m sorry I didn’t meet your expectations of a drug dealer. I’ll try harder to be more shady next time.”

“No,” she says, coming around your bed to the bathroom doorway, “that’s not what I mean.”

You brush your teeth, narrowing your eyes at her in the mirror. “Why don’t you say what you mean then?” You slur around your toothbrush.

She opens her mouth to speak, then snaps it shut, deflating, “I should go.”

You spit into the sink, close your eyes, and sigh, “Do you need a ride?”

“No. Nick is on his way.”

When you open your eyes again, she’s gone. 

——

The next day, you wake up in a much better mood. You feel guilty for snapping at Vada, apologize through text. She never replies. 

It just so happens to be your twenty-first birthday, but you don’t tell her. After the way you treated her, you don’t deserve her attention anyway. 

Your grandma makes you pancakes and fusses over you the best she can. You remind her that you live there so you can take care of her, not the other way around. She just responds by waving you off, mumbling something about love on your birthday.

That afternoon, your phone rings, and when you see who is calling you, your heart nearly stops. 

It’s Whisper.

“Hello?” You answer the phone, willing your voice not to shake.

“Centennial Park. Twenty minutes.”

“Wait, what? Why-“The line goes dead before you finish asking. 

You sling your phone onto the coffee table, completely unnoticed by your snoring grandmother. You press your fingers into your eyes, stressed about what your dealers may want. 

Birthday or not, you have to get your ass to the park. You growl in frustration and stand, grabbing your phone and heading out the door. 

——

Whisper and Noodle are under the gazebo, looking for all the world like a heavily tattooed couple out for some sunshine. You gulp, striding over to them. When they see you, Noodle waves his arm over his head like an overjoyed child. Whisper’s eyes track you like a predator following its prey. 

You approach the gazebo, lean on the wooden pole with your arms crossed. You’re trying to look relaxed, but you chose to stand there because it would allow you a quick escape if necessary.

“Sit down, kid.” Whisper directs you, pointing to the bench across from him. 

You hesitate, and he narrows his eyes at you, his nostrils flaring in irritation. You sit obediently. You glance between them, nervous and unsure.

“So, uh, what’s up? It’s only been two days I haven’t-“

“You need to move double.” Whisper interrupts, kicking a black bag across the gazebo. It slides to a halt at your feet.

“I…what?” You look up at him, confused.

“Double. You have two weeks.”

Panic lays itself across you like a shroud. Your heart races, your stomach twists.

“I can’t move this much, man. It takes me two weeks to move my usual stuff.”

Whisper curls his lip, his hand drifting to his hip. You know his gun is there, hidden under his tank top.

“I don’t recall asking you a fucking question, little buddy.”

Noodle giggles. You gulp, your hands shaking. 

Whisper stands, looks down at you, “I don’t care how you do it, just do it. Or else.”

“Yeah,” Noodle laughs, standing with Whisper, “or else!”

A cold chill goes through you, emanating from your gut to the tips of your ears. “O-okay.”

Whisper smirks at you, a gold tooth flashing in the sun, “That’s my little buddy. Now get the fuck out of here. See you in two weeks.”

You sling the bag over your shoulder, and you can’t stop yourself from running to your car. You throw the bag into the back seat and hightail it out of the parking lot, sweat beading on your forehead. You have no idea how you are going to push double the amount of drugs you usually did. Your mind races, trying to come up with solutions. You find none.

You finally begin to calm down on your drive home, the trembling in your hands subsiding. With your nerves frayed, you pull into a gas station and park. It’s your twenty-first birthday, and you’ll be damned if the last few days didn’t deserve a drink.

You go inside and make your way to the beer fridge. You quickly find a case you want, open the fridge, and pull the box out. As soon as you stand, the cardboard tears, sending cans rolling every which way around you. They clatter on the tile, dented and spinning.

You stand with a now empty box, staring at the cans sliding across the tile floor. 

“Of course,” you say, your voice nearly breaking.

You tilt your head back, and squeeze your eyes closed. Take a deep breath. Drop your shoulders and open your eyes, setting to work at gathering the stray cans and sorting them back into the rolled box like some kind of karmic Tetris. 

A man steps over you as you knelt down, reaching for the cans. Your hand shakes, irritated at his indifference toward you. You shoot him a glare, and he looks down at you like he feels bad for you. You grit your teeth, gather the box in your arms and stand. 

The man at the checkout counter doesn’t even check your ID. 

When you drop back into your car, feeling defeated, you set the torn box of beer on the passenger seat. You rest your forehead on the steering wheel, your hands on either side of your head.

“What have I done to deserve this?” You grumble to yourself.

You check your phone, nothing. Vada still hasn’t replied to you. 

With a cold sickness in your belly, you start the car and begin your drive home. About ten minutes into the drive, a flash of movement behind your rearview catches your attention. Your body goes rigid as you try not to jerk the steering wheel.

A fucking wasp is inside your car, clinging to the glass just above your head. You grind your teeth, searching for a place to pull over, praying the stupid thing doesn’t drop into your lap. 

The one saving grace of the day is when you pull over, jump out of the car, and watch the wasp leave without too much of a fight. You know you must look like a crazy person, your windows all rolled down, throwing things at the bug, but at this point, you don’t give a shit. The last thing you need is an angry wasp stinging you relentlessly as you’re trying to drive your sorry ass home.

With the dramatics of the winged creature over, you finally climb back in and make your way home. You’re feeling sorry for yourself, cursing the universe at your bad luck. You start to wonder if maybe, just maybe, you're living in a sitcom.

 A shiny blue bicycle is on its side in your driveway, and you wonder who it could belong to. You shoulder the bag of extra drugs you hadn’t asked for and scoop up your beer in one arm. You eye the bike as you walk up, not recognizing it as one belonging to the neighborhood kids. The front door is unlocked, and you tell yourself to scold your grandmother for her negligence. 

There are voices coming from the kitchen when you kick the door shut behind you. You frown, curious. You turn the corner, and your grandmother is at the oven, grinning. The smell of cookies fills your nose, distracting you from the visitor at the island. 

“What-“ you stop mid-question, realizing who else is in your kitchen.

“Hi. Linda was just telling me about how you used to cry until they let you play the piano.” Vada says, her eyebrow rising as she teases you.

You scowl at her, then at your grandma. Vada couldn’t be bothered to text you back, but she was willing to come over, unannounced and hang out with your grams? Who the fuck did she think she was?

Vada must have sensed your dismay because she shrugs, her nose crinkling as she smiles apologetically.

“I think we should talk,” she says gently.

“It’s her birthday today, you know,” Linda says, her eyes twinkling at Vada.

The last thing you need is for your grandma to fall in love with Vada. Then she’d ask you questions about her every day, and you’d have to explain who she was to you. Not your girlfriend. That much was certain.

Vada looks at you with sad eyes, “I didn’t know.”

You shrug, set the beer on the counter, “Why should you?”

She frowns, thinking hard about your question, “You could have told me.”

“Kind of hard, when you ignore my texts,” you grumble, turning to place the beers in the fridge.

“Well, I’ll leave you girls to it,” Linda chirps, hobbling away from the oven.

When she’s out of earshot, Vada tilts her head and speaks, her voice quiet, “We should talk.”

You crack open a beer, shut the fridge, and lean back against it, “Okay. So talk.”

“I’m sorry, for running out the other day.”

“You didn't run out. You don't need to be sorry.” Yoru voice is harsher than you want it to be, but you can't find it in yourself to be soft when your day has gone the way it had.

“Still,” Vada says, “I’m sorry. It’s just. I don't know, I was surprised.”

“That I’m a person and not a walking pez dispenser?” You bite back.

“Vada sighs, rubs her eyes with her fingertips, “No, thats not what I mean.”

You huff; you’re being petulant, you know it. But it’s your birthday, and you can cry if you want to. “Vada, just say what you mean, for once. Please. Save us the time.”

She jerks her head back, hurt apparent on her face. She shakes her head, chewing on her lip, stands up from her chair. Her eyes dart toward the hall that leads to the door, and you can tell she's considering escape. You don’t blame her. Your foul mood would drive anyone away.

“Maybe we should talk later,” she says, moving past you. She turns in the doorway and looks back at you, “Happy birthday, y/n.”

As soon as she’s gone, you regret it. You want to run to the door, ask her to come back. Apologize for being a royal prick. But you don't. Instead, you grab another beer and lock yourself in your bedroom with a giant bag of pills you have to figure out how to get rid of.

[vaxieth]

because something really did ask, have a much too long post about my thoughts on laudna’s individual dynamics with the rest of bells hells.

under the cut because it’s almost 3000 words.

laudna/imogen

i struggle to find something to say about imogen and laudna that hasn’t already been said a million times before. the core concept—the thesis—of their arcs, together and separately, is choice. so much of their backstories are defined by helplessness. laudna was chosen and killed because she happened to look like someone else, she was resurrected because she happened to be there. imogen’s mother left, she was burdened with powers she didn’t understand and meant constant pain and isolation. so, they make sure to constantly emphasize that the other person has a choice in everything. imogen tells laudna she only has to come back if she wants to, even though it would have devastated her to lose laudna forever. laudna tells imogen that the gods can’t control her, that no matter what her “destiny” is, if she wants, they can leave and live in a little cottage and raise horses together. the way they love each other unconditionally is all the more incredible given how cruel the world was to them for so long. laudna’s “you make me better” is true for both of them. they give each other a place to be vulnerable and feel all their messiest, worst feelings because they know the other one won’t judge them. they’ll support each other no matter the choices they make.

something i’ve mentioned quite a few times but never gone in depth about is that imogen and laudna do have a fairly significant age difference, and i do think that affects their dynamic. on the one hand, they both have a bit of arrested development—imogen due to her isolation from the rest of gelvaan from 18-26, laudna because she died at 20. on the other, laudna has so much more life experience than imogen. she spent almost 30 years traveling and interacting with the world even if was mostly people trying to kill her, maybe even because of that. the “laudna is imogen’s aunt/mother/older sister” takes were obviously ridiculous, but laudna does canonically look at imogen and see someone young who she wants to protect in a way she never was. she said as much to fcg after the gnarlrock fight. laudna acts as imogen’s rock, her tether if you will, a lot of the time, and part of the reason she can counterbalance imogen’s anxiety is because of the experience that comes with age. for example, during their conversation in episode 49, laudna is able to stay more “rational” and level-headed even when imogen is scared and overwhelmed. 

one of my other favorite things about them, specifically from laudna’s point of view, is that with a few exceptions (the gnarlrock fight, her jealousy of frida), she doesn’t seem insecure about their relationship. again, during episode 49, laudna mentions that she knows they haven’t talked in a while, but she didn’t worry because they “transcend words.” she didn’t need outside assurance from imogen because she felt confident in their love for each other. something i love about that episode 39-49 period is that they didn’t interact a lot, but when they did, they slipped right about in the same kind of intimacy they’d always had—imogen holding launda’s hand when they went into her dream together, laudna’s protectiveness of imogen after she interacted with ludinus. but anyway—that confidence is why i believe the transition from friends to lovers was so easy for laudna. laudna’s unsure of herself, of delilah and what she might do, but she’s absolutely not unsure of the love between her and imogen. that’s why as soon as imogen tells her she’s not a bad person, that she wants to be with laudna in that way, she lets herself embrace it entirely.

in conclusion: they invented romance, they’re the best canon pairing critical role has ever had and one of the best dynamics in general, etc., etc.

laudna/orym

oh my god, WHERE to begin? i feel like my take on their dynamic is slightly controversial. at the very least, i get more push back from people when i post about it than anything else, so let me start with this: orym cares deeply about laudna, i will never dispute that. however, orym is uncomfortable with laudna and has been since the very beginning of the campaign. she’s his friend and he recognizes her beautiful heart and resilient spirit, but he’s uncomfortable with her appearance and her messages in his head, with her macabre humor and her deadness. he can’t reconcile that laudna his friend and laudna the dead woman can’t be separated. laudna’s deadness is a part of her, one laudna embraces. orym, for better or worse, is “normal.” he grew up with a loving family and he had a husband and a career. will and derrig’s deaths were an unbelievable tragedy but one that never challenged his place within the status quo. (sidenote: i’ve always wondered if part of orym’s discomfort with laudna come from the fact that her proximity to death is a reminder of the resurrections will and derrig never got.) he sees himself as a follower, someone that doesn’t stand out, then there’s laudna, who does nothing but stand out. 

something i find fascinating is that orym is the first person to find out laudna’s backstory, and it affects him so much he can’t sleep that night and takes a point of exhaustion. he even explicitly recognizes the dehumanization she’s gone through and how laudna’s relationship with puppets like pate and sashimi mirror that. yet, he still never apologizes for trying to disguise her appearance, something without even asking. yes, i get it’s tactical and for “safety” (though that argument falls a bit flat for me when there’s also a glowing rock person and a fully conscious automaton in the group, but whatever), but it still hurts laudna. even beyond that, orym always qualifies his friendship with laudna to other person, making some mention of how she’s dead-looking and isn’t that crazy, wow, almost as if he wants some validation that it—laudna—is weird (one he, interestingly, rarely ever gets, given how enraptured most of the other pcs, including guests, and even some npcs, are with her). he does this even in situations he absolutely doesn’t need to like, for example, when maeve says laudna “looks cooler than i thought.” all this just sucks. it’s not that the love isn’t there, it is. it just isn’t unconditional, and laudna deserves better than that.

finally: the delilah in the room. no, it isn’t orym’s “fault” delilah is back. yes, he was also having an extremely bad time during the bor’dor fight and it wasn’t his “responsibility” to save laudna from herself, but laudna is orym’s friend. he listened to laudna tell him the trauma delilah put her through, he fought through hell to save laudna from her, and still nodded because part of him thought maybe delilah could help him and that was selfish. the fight against ludinus is important to of the bells, but for orym, it’s personal. it’s been his mission for six years. meanwhile, laudna is the one with the least enthusiasm about this. she has no connection to the gods. in fact, she actively thinks they dislike her, but he’s willing to sacrifice not just his safety, but the safety of her and all his friends for a cause they never set out to fight for.

in conclusion: i want to put them in a salad mixer together and watch them go around and around and around and around and around, then let them out to scream at each other a little.

laudna/ashton

if i had to explain laudna and ashton’s dynamic in one word, it would be “projection.” i adore their relationship, it’s one of my top 5 c3 dynamics, but oh my god, so much projection, and it’s so interesting because of that. ashton thinks he understands laudna, but in reality, he doesn’t at all. i’m an absolute sucker for characters that look very different on the surface but in reality are much more similar than they know, and ashton and laudna are that to a tee. they are very much narrative parallels especially regarding their feelings of “brokenness” and how their traumas are physical, visual parts of themselves, but the ways they diverge are almost more interesting.

certain people have said that her conversations with ashton are the only time laudna is “honest” or that, at the very least, she’s more honest with him than she is with anyone else, and i couldn’t disagree more. laudna can be a joyful, optimistic person and deeply traumatized with a core anger she hasn’t truly processed. laudna is a high-charisma character, and in my opinion, part of how that manifests is her ability to adapt her demeanor to the person she’s talking to. she speaks gently to imogen the same way she matches chetney’s hyperactive energy when they go sky-sailing. of course when she’s with ashton, who makes no effort to hide his anger and bitterness and doesn’t want her to be soft, she isn’t. none of these laudnas are more “real” than the others, they’re all laudna. what those people, and ironically, ashton themself, don’t get, or won’t let himself get, is that all those things can be true at once.

with ashton specifically, i don’t think they want to believe that because then they’d have to admit that growth and healing is a real possibility because anger is so much easier to deal with. people talk most about orym’s choices during the bor’dor fight most, but i’m fascinated by ashton’s as well. i wouldn’t be surprised if there was a part, no matter how small, that wanted laudna to break, to prove to himself that he was right and laudna was just as broken and fucked-up as them. so, laudna killing bor’dor was almost vindication, evidenced by their “what have i done?” “nothing i haven’t done.” exchange afterwards.

i don’t want this to sound like ashton doesn’t care about launda, they do. ashton cares about her so much, and besides imogen and fearne, is the most unabashedly into laudna’s aesthetic. i love how much they love all the weird shit she does. i love how protective ashton is of laudna, especially during battles and their willingness to go above and beyond for her—he carried laudna when she was dead despite his chronic pain without complaining once and were willing to make a deal with hexum after going through an entire museum heist to repay their debt. i love the moments when ashton sees how much laudna is struggling and tells her, as gently as he can, to take a moment and do what she can to ground herself. i love that when laudna way too dramatically assumes they kidnapped imogen, their response is “that’s very fair.” it’s all wonderful, and i love them.

in conclusion: I LOVE THEM SO MUCH AND I WANT TO LOCK THEM IN A ROOM AND FORCE THEM TO TALK ABOUT THEIR FEELINGS FOR HOURS.

laudna/fcg

laudna and fcg have been getting more attention in the past few days for obvious reasons and that has me rubbing my hands together maniacally because even though they have very little actual interaction, the subtext is delicious. 

besides ashton, fcg might be the character laudna parallels the most, especially their struggle with their humanity (if they’re even human at all), which isn’t helped by the constant dehumanization they face from outsiders, including the almost continuous comments they get when they meet someone new. people look at launda and see a horror while they look at fcg and see a novelty (he’s a robot with personality??), and those both suck. i think, for fcg, laudna is an uncomfortable reflection of himself because everything they’re afraid is true about themself is true about laudna. finding out they had a soul was such an important moment for his character (also remember his early campaign habit of calling other people “soul-touched folks”). as a hollow one, who knows if laudna even has a soul. if i’m honest, fcg seems to think less of laudna than the rest of the party (see: him calling her a “former person,” his speech before casting turn undead including, “no offense to laudna but can you please shine your light and wipe these evil, dead souls off the face of this flat planet?”) and that’s probably why. they have such strict ideas about “good,” which has become “godly,” and “wrong,” (“ungodly”), and within that framework, everything seemed to point to laudna as “ungodly,” which is why their empathy towards her is lacking. 

the biggest conflict between fcg and laudna right now is obviously their feelings on the gods. the changebringer brought fcg purpose and tangibly helps them on a daily basis. of course they want to share this incredible thing with everyone they meet, especially his friends. yet, time-and-time again, the world has shown laudna the gods don’t seem to care about her. before someone says anything, pike resurrecting laudna doesn’t automatically mean she has to trust the gods. clerics and paladins spent 30 years running her out of towns for existing and trying to kill her in the name of their gods. if the circumstances were different, there’s a good chance fcg could have been one of those people. for fcg, the world is black-and-white. for laudna, it’s all gray. laudna was able to have a conversation with imogen about the ruby vanguard’s message and the purpose of the gods because she understands the need to question things and thinks that’s a good thing even if she doesn’t agree with the conclusions. fcg’s not there yet, and until he is, their friendship with laudna will never be able to progress past where it is now.

in conclusion: please have a conversation, maybe even two or three. it’d be so good for fcg to learn the world’s incredible nuances and for laudna to see how faith in the gods can be an empowering force for good, not just something beyond her grasp.

laudna/fearne

out of all launda’s dynamics, this is the one i desperately want more of. we’ve gotten so little! almost all their moments are interactions between the three witches that tend to center imogen (making the red-string friendship bracelets and comforting imogen after she talked with relvin come to mind) OR center imogen and fearne’s mutual appreciation for laudna’s… everything. one of my favorite about fearne is that, like imogen, she doesn’t think laudna is gross and creepy, she thinks laudna is gorgeous and charming without any caveats. even ashton, who also loves laudna’s laudnaness, tends more towards “yeah, you’re disgusting and THAT’S why it’s great.”

the other main part of their dynamic i want to sink my teeth into is the coin-toss, more specifically fearne’s guilt over the coin toss. regardless of whether you think fearne lied (i personally find that headcanon FASCINATING but to each their own), she clearly feels so many emotions about having to pick whether to save laudna and orym that she hasn’t even begun to unpack. one of the few sole moments we’ve gotten of them was in episode 42 when laudna asked fearne to help teach her to cast fireball, and in it, fearne, unprompted, blurts out, “how’s it feel being alive again?” almost immediately. she also apologizes to laudna, says they’ll fight any piece of delilah that’s still in there, and tells her, “i missed you terribly for that moment in time.” even when laudna gives her the chance to make the conversation light-hearted, fearne stays so genuine, which is all the more-noteworthy because she’s usually so flippant and almost always keeps her real feelings close to her chest. 

some other examples of fearne’s guilt include: the 4sd where ashley said part of why she was so protective over imogen during their separation arc was that she couldn’t bear having to tell laudna anything happened to her and just this past episode when fearne’s protectiveness after laudna made her only cast first-level cure wounds on fcg after they cast turn undead.

in conclusion: PLEASE LET THEM INTERACT MORE. THERE’S SO MUCH JUICY POTENTIAL AND I WANT TO SEE IT EXPLORED.

laudna/chetney

i don’t have that much to say about them except that their dynamic is absolutely delightful. i love that we’ve gotten to see more of it in recent episodes, and i hope that continues. 

chetney exists at an interesting place between orym’s genuine discomfort and fearne and imogen’s complete enchantment with laudna’s undeadness. he is sometimes grossed out, but he also seems to accept it as a thing about laudna without too much judgment, or at least, that “judgment” is light-hearted in a way orym’s or even fcg’s isn’t.

i love that they’re the characters with the most life experience (even if laudna is technically the fourth oldest, fcg only has two years of memory and fearne is a 100+ but spent 99% of that time in one place) but also embrace being “childish” and silly together, like the entire sky-sail sequence! 

in conclusion: *gently holds* i just think they’re neat!

that’s all! if you read this whole thing, you get my eternal love and gratitude. thank you.

[sweetbutpsychobutsweet]

Care To Make A Wager?

Chapter 5

Thorin Oakenshield x AFAB!Reader

Summary: There's only one bathing pool and all of the pent up tension between you and Thorin finally starts to come to a head in the form of a bet

Warnings: smut, 18+, NSFW, Minors do not interact, angst, fingering, spanking, light choking, biting

author's note: Ahhhh! I'm so excited to finally share this chapter with you guys!!!!!! There will be plenty more spiciness to come between these two, and that is a promise, dear reader😉

Word count: 3686

To say you were in need of a bath would be a massive understatement. After spending so long on the road you felt as though you were covered in a permanent layer of dirt and dust. Your boots were caked with mud and your hair seemed to be harboring an entire forest of leaves and twigs. 

When Lord Elrond offered you rooms to wash up before dinner, you were all too happy to accept. You had spent so much time in Rivendell over the years that you knew exactly how to get to your regular guest suite. 

The wardrobe was still full of fine gowns and shoes in your exact size. The well-worn books you had failed to return to the great library still sat undisturbed in a pile next to the bed. It took a great amount of restraint to keep yourself from running your fingers along all of the familiar elven luxurious. Not until you had scrubbed all of the dirt and grime from your skin. 

There is a large bathing pool right outside your room that you are all too eager to step foot in. It is always filled with warm, flowing water, and the ceiling above remains open to reveal the sky overhead. You grab yourself a clean towel and practically skip through the adjoining door.

Only to stop short when you see someone else has already beaten you to it. 

“No!” you shout in frustration and Thorin turns to see you pouting angrily at him from the doorway. 

He chuckles at your frustration from where he already stands in the warm waters up to his chest. You take extra care to direct your glare right at his face, refusing to let your gaze wander down to all the exposed skin.

“Sorry lass, not fast enough this time,” 

“Thorin,” you growl, “do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to visit this pool again?” he just shrugs at you. “There's another one down the hall I’ve been told, if you hurry you might still be able to beat the others to it.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” you snap before letting out a sigh.

“I can’t use that one,” you mumble, “it’s too…deep.”

Thorin stares at you in confusion for only a moment before barking out a laugh.

“Are you saying,” he chuckles, “that after all these years you still haven’t learned how to swim?”

You growl at him before turning around to march back to your room. 

“Wait!” he calls after you, still laughing. “I’m sorry, lass. We can share if you’d like? There’s plenty of room.”

You turn back to look at him suspiciously. He’s right, it’s a very large pool you could easily fit several people at once. The problem is that sharing it would mean taking your clothes off in his presence. It’s one thing for him to be naked, while you stand there fully clothed. But the depth of the water prevents you from seeing anything below his chest and you have a lot more…parts, that require coverage. 

It’s not that you feel insecure about your body, especially with all of the low-coverage outfits you’ve worn while performing. It's just that the idea of Thorin seeing you in that capacity feels… different. 

“I won’t look,” Thorin promises, seeing your internal debate.

The water looks so refreshing and warm,  you can’t help but think it would be worth the risk.

“Fine,” you relent, tossing your towel nearby and toeing off your boots. “But if I catch you peeking you’re walking out of that pool with fewer parts than you had going in.” He turns around slowly to face the wall when you reach up to undo the laces of your trousers, shimmying them down your legs before letting them fall into a muddy pile with your blouse not far behind.

You cautiously dip one foot into the water, slowly lowering your body all the way in and  a contented sigh escapes past your lips before you can stop it. 

The water comes up to your shoulders, and you try to rearrange your hair as best as you can so it covers your breasts.

“Alright,” you tell him, and he cautiously turns to face you again. 

His gaze slowly trails down every inch of exposed skin, lingering just a moment longer on the ends of your carefully placed hair.

Thorin takes a cautious step closer towards you and your breath catches in your chest. He slowly moves closer and closer to you until he’s standing right before you. If you were to drop your gaze, it would be safe to assume that you could see all the way down his torso, perhaps even further… which is exactly why you keep your chin held high and your eyes locked on his. 

He lifts one hand up out of the water and lifts it up reaching towards your chest ever so slowly. Your eyes widen and you temporarily forget how to breathe in anticipation as his hand finally makes contact… with the bar of soap beside you.

He takes a few steps back with that self-righteous smirk on his face as he starts to run the soap between his hands.

“Is something the matter?” he asks you tauntingly, “one might say you look… disappointed.”

You let out a growl and angrily splash water in his direction but he just laughs at your irritation.

You turn around to dunk your head underwater, wetting your hair enough to start lathering in one of the fragrant shampoos sitting by the side of the pool. 

With the product now in your hair, all of the dirt and debris finally starts to untangle itself from your head. All except for one particularly stubborn twig that seems to have knotted itself around several strands of your hair in one of the most inconvenient and unreachable places on your head. You yank and pull at it blindly but no matter how hard you try it only seems to make it worse. You could try adding more products but it would be pointless.

“Could you help me please?” you ask with a frustrated sigh. Thorin hums in confirmation behind you and you feel the heat radiating off him as he wordlessly approaches you from behind. 

You let your arms fall back to your sides in the water as his strong hands come up behind you to take their place. He delicately starts untangling it one strand at a time. Moving gently to try and avoid causing you any pain. You can’t remember the last time someone’s played with your hair like this, and the sensation causes your eyelids to flutter closed and your shoulders to droop in relaxation as you sink slightly deeper into the water.

“I could teach you if you’d like,” he says quietly, “to swim I mean. It’s an important skill it just might save your life one day.”

“Sure it is,” you reply sarcastically, “you just want an excuse to grope me underwater,”

His fingers still for a moment, “It doesn’t have to be underwater, but if you’re offering…”

You tip your head back to look at him with your eyes narrowed, pretending to give it some thought.

“Hmm, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your generous offer my king.” you reply formally, “I have very high standards for all my lovers, I only share my bed with those who can give pleasure just as well as they receive it.”

You’re only half joking to get under his skin, but Thorin doesn’t seem to take it that way. 

His grip on your hair gently tightens, and he leans down to bring his lips beside your ear.

“Are you implying that I’m incapable of bringing a woman to climax?” he whispers darkly.

Shivers run up your spine and a hot clenching sensation forms in your belly. You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly.

“Care to make a wager on that?” he challenges.

“Very funny,” you smirk nervously, trying to dig yourself out of the hole you’ve quickly gotten yourself in.

“I’m not laughing,” he replies darkly, one of his hands leaves your hair to trace a slow, agonizing path down the side of your neck, before landing on your shoulder.

“I bet I could make you come, right here, right now, using only my fingers.”

You gasp at the filthy images that start to fill your mind and you’re forced to squeeze your thighs together to help relieve some of the ache.

“How about we make a deal,” he drags his other hand along your spine causing your back to arch in ecstasy. “If I can make you come, you have to let me teach you how to swim.”

You laugh at his request, before thinking of a condition of your own.

“And when you can't, you have to let Lord Elrond look at the map.” his hand stills on your back and you half expect him to refuse.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he brings both hands down to your hips and roughly pulls your back up against his chest. “Deal,” he whispers before playfully nipping at your earlobe.

One arm snakes around your belly to anchor you closer to him, while the other reaches up to grab one of your breasts. You moan as his hand squeezes and massages the soft flesh. 

He growls into your ear and thrusts his hips deeper into your backside, making it all too clear to you just how his body is reacting to yours.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?’ he asks, his hand on your breast starting to trace slow circles around your now hardened nipple. You bite your bottom lip trying your hardest to suppress the sounds of pleasure his ministrations threaten to pull from you. 

“Do you know how many times, I’ve had to find some excuse to slip away, just so I could touch myself to thoughts of you in those damn trousers? It’s all I can think about.”

A wicked grin crosses your face. It brings you great satisfaction to know just how much of an effect you have on him. 

“Tell me,” he whispers from behind you, his free arm moving down the curve of your ass to give it a rough squeeze. “When you touch yourself, what do you think of?”

His hand slides around your hip to slowly inch closer and closer down toward your core. You arch your back to encourage him to keep moving his hand closer, but he stops right above the spot where he knows you need him the most. 

You let out a whine as he stubbornly keeps his hand frozen in place.

“I asked you a question,” he reminds you, “who do you think of?”

You tip your head back to rest against his chest, your eyes meeting his. You smirk at the dark lust you see in his eyes, swimming with desire for you. You think about lying to him, giving an answer that you know will make him angry, unhinged. But you don’t want to risk him moving that hand any farther away from your core.

“You, Thorin,” you whisper to him, “always you.”

He roughly brings his lips down to yours in a fierce kiss, and at the same time, he slides his fingers down the rest of the way to trace large circles around your core.  His hand at your breast reaches up to wrap around your throat, applying gentle pressure to keep you in place as he gives his tongue the freedom to explore your mouth.

You let out a moan before you can stop yourself, and you can feel the smirk on his face without even having to open your eyes. His teeth scrape against your bottom lip as his fingers start to tease circles around your entrance, one finger tracing the outside before pulling further away again.

You whine at his teasing and thrust your hips up to try and bring the entrance closer to his fingers. 

He abruptly pulls his hand away when he realizes what you’re doing to roughly grab you by the hip, the hand around your throat tightening the smallest amount in warning.

“Uh, uh, uh,” he chides in your ear. “Behave yourself.”

He removes his hand from your throat and presses it between your shoulder blades, gently bending you over in front of him. He keeps a gentle hand on your hip and brushes all of your hair to one side of your neck, exposing your entire back to him. 

Your hands reach up to grip the edge of the pool with a gasp as he starts to kiss his way down your spine slowly. 

“Can you do that for me?” Thorin asks, “Can you be good?”

You nod eagerly as his lips hover over the curve of your backside that remains above the water.

You jolt in surprise as a hand comes down to your ass with a sharp smack. 

“Use your words,” he demands, gently rubbing the now tender skin of your cheeks.

“I’ll be good,” you whisper hoarsely, “I promise.”

Thorin hums in approval as one hand slides down your bottom to tease the entrance to your core once again. His other reaches up to grab a fistful of your hair. With a gentle tug, he is pulling your head back to look at him.

The hand at your core leaves you briefly empty and wanting. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as two of his thick fingers push into your mouth. You can already taste the sweetness of yourself on him as he presses them deeper into your mouth. Your tongue licking and sucking every drop of yourself from them. 

You let yourself put on a little show for him, imagining it wasn’t just his fingers in your mouth. Your eyes flutter closed at the idea of what it would taste like, what it would feel like to have that beast currently pressing against your thighs deep inside of you.

“Eyes open,” Thorin warns with a sharp tug of your hair.

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, leaving you such a disoriented drooling mess that you don’t even notice where he’s relocated those fingers until they’re plunging deep inside you.

Thorin releases the hand in your hair to cover your mouth just barely fast enough to muffle the scream of pleasure you can no longer contain. 

You push your hips back onto his fingers, signaling for him to start moving and he is oh so happy to oblige. He does not start slow, his brutal pace has you arching your back and crying into his hand at how quickly you can already feel your climax approaching. 

That fire in your body is growing hotter and hotter and yet you still need more.

You desperately reach back behind you, blindly searching for his cock in an attempt to give yourself some kind of anchor in the storm of pleasure. As if sensing your intentions already he growls your name in a low warning, giving his fingers an extra deep thrust to catch you off guard. 

You gasp into his hand, your fingertips just barely grazing the tip.

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Thorin reminds you.

Shit. you think to yourself. The deal.

You were so confident that all of his talk would not be able to translate to the bedroom, that the only reason his fingers were deep inside your throbbing pussy right now was as part of a childish bet.

A deal to finally find the answers hidden in that map, to help you enter Erebor, and most importantly to knock his ego down more than a few notches.

If you let yourself come on his fingers like this he wins. You’ll have lost the wager, and he’ll be able to lord this victory over you for years to come.

You can’t let him win, you just can’t.

You bite down hard on the rough hand covering your mouth to try and distract both of you from your current task but it still isn’t enough to slow his pace. His eyes narrow at you from above, a wicked grin spreading across his face, seeming to relish the pain.

You growl in frustration, desperate to think of some way, any way to put a stop to the rising flame in your core.

You try thinking of the most unsexy things imaginable: Orcs, rotten fruit, trolls, too-tight corsets, chamber pots. 

But no matter what you try the only thought you seem to be able to hold on to is Thorin.

Thorin who has his fingers inside you.

Thorin whose enormous cock is still pressed up against you.

Thorin whose beard keeps tickling your bare back.

Thorin whose blue eyes look like the hottest part of a burning flame.

Thorin whose deep voice sends shivers down your spine.

Thorin who left you.

Who abandoned you, lied to you, broke your heart.

A hot angry tear slides down your cheek and you bite harder into his palm, enough to feel droplets of blood start to roll down your chin and mix with the salt of your tears. 

You hate him. He betrayed you, broke your trust, and left you all alone. And he has the audacity to still make you feel things for him? After everything?

Perhaps after everything, he owes you this much. A mind-blowing orgasm, deal be damned. You’ll convince him to share the map some other way.

You’re feeling a pleasure so intense, so intoxicating, that when his fingers finally hit that one perfect spot inside you, you let yourself come undone on him. You’re too high on your own bliss to even care that you’ve lost the bet.

You wait for Thorin to start gloating, to rub it in your face that you were wrong. But he doesn’t.

He just slowly removes his fingers from your core and his bloody palm from your face and quietly disappears behind you in the water. Your head suddenly feels impossibly heavy and you let yourself slump over the edge of the pool, exhausted and trembling.

Thorin reappears behind you with a gentle hand on your back, while the other brings a warm cloth against your skin. 

He gently turns you to face him and you’re too tired to put up a fight. A strong arm wraps around your back to hold you upright against him. He brings the warm cloth to your face, gently wiping the mess off your chin and your lips, before trailing it farther and farther down washing every inch of exposed skin with an intense focus. 

It’s getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open. Sensing your fatigue he drops the cloth as soon as he’s done and starts to slowly lead you out of the pool. 

“Wait here,” he whispers as soon as you’re out of the warm water’s embrace, cold and shivering. You cross your arms over your chest to try and warm yourself before a soft towel is gently wrapped around your body. You attempt to take one, shaky step back towards your room and are immediately swept off of your fawn like legs into Thorin’s arms. 

He carries you back into your suite, the both of you undoubtedly dripping water across the marble floor as he gently places you on the bed.

You’re almost disappointed to see that he now has a towel covering his bare waist.

You expect him to leave you now if he has no interest in gloating, but instead, he crawls onto the bed with you. His body heat is such a welcome feeling that you don’t protest when he settles in right behind you wrapping a strong arm across your wet skin and pulling you in closer towards him by your waist. 

“You were trying to fight it weren’t you?” 

You shiver at the sensation of his breath tickling the back of your neck.

“How could you tell?” you ask him.

He chuckles against your ear before giving it a playful bite. 

“You always have this look on your face, whenever you’re trying to restrain yourself. I’ll admit it’s not a look I see often as you tend to say or do the first thing that pops into your head without thinking it through,” he grunts as your elbow reaches back to jab him in the ribs.

“What made you change your mind?” he asks in a serious tone. “You could have easily fought me off if you wanted to.”

“I know,” you reply with a sigh. “As much as I hated the idea of letting you win, I figured after everything you put me through, betraying and abandoning me, at the very least you owed me a mind-blowing orgasm.”

You can feel Thorin tense up behind you. You crane your neck to look back at him and he’s staring back at you with an intense look on his face that you can’t quite place.

“I would have thought you’d be flattered to hear me refer to it as ‘mind blowing’” you laugh nervously. He blinks at you and gives a weak smile before slowly untangling his arms from your waist so he can rise to a seat on the bed.

“The others are waiting,” he says, “we should head to dinner before someone comes looking for us.”

You nod silently, not having enough strength to call him out on the convenient change of subject.

“You go ahead,” you tell him, knowing you’ll need some time to process everything that’s just happened. “It might take me a while longer to finish getting ready,” you lie.

He rises from the bed, still clearly deep in thought as he crosses the room to head back to his own suite. He pauses for a moment with his hand on the doorknob, like he has something else he wants to say to you. But instead, he just disappears through the door without another word.

You let out a deep exhale and press the heels of your hands into your eyes.

“I can’t believe I just let Thorin Oakenshield finger fuck me,” you groan.

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@mrsdurin @thetaekwondofeline

[venusandsaturnsrings]

inceltaru is so genius. kisses ur forehead. i have so many thoughts.

grinding against each other while he sits in his gaming chair, walking in on him watching some weird hentai anime, finding the nsfw manga he keeps in his bedside table.

ESPECIALLY. him thirsting over a chubby reader because his brain is too rotten from all the hentai with chubby girls hes consumed. jsut thinking about if he could ever get you to agree to recreate those nasty things with him

KISSES U BACK!! i can’t claim the idea of inceltaru as a whole (i stumbled across smthn abt him on twt like a year ago) but i’ve very much tailored him to match my preferences and how i see his character better!! when i first started writing him, it was bc there was no other content like it out there and if you want a job done right, you’ve gotta do it yourself y’know?? modern problems require modern solutions etc etc… ANYWAYS you’re a genius here this is for you MWAH!! >///<

if you asked Ajax his favourite genre of manga, he’d tell you something unassuming like slice of life or romance; he may even name some titles if pressed. he’s also a big fat liar with shelves of various adult materials, primarily centred around chubby girls and breeding. his computer has numerous tabs and folders dedicated to his favourite sites and videos unabashedly visible on his desktop. it’s not hard to come across something related to his perverted interests unless he’s chosen to stash it all away; he does this when you’re coming over.

to set the scene, it’s well into the evening and you’ve spent the day lounging in his house playing various games and chatting about mostly nonsense but he was still hanging onto every syllable that left your mouth. after drinking what you think was his fourth energy drink of the day, he went to the bathroom and you decided to poke around at the things he never let you touch. your first objective was the small shelves hidden behind a door under his bedside table. as quietly as possible, you opened it up only to be faced with a basket of… toys… and various mangas with covers featuring plump girls covered in certain substances. you were slack jawed. you had known Ajax was a bit of an oddball immediately upon meeting him from the way others talked about him and warnings your friends had given you but he was just so sweet and had a certain pathetic charm about him that you couldn’t resist. you just hadn’t quite expected these sorts of things to be amongst his collection of knick knacks.

unbeknownst to you he had reentered the room. Ajax cleared his throat and you whipped around only to be faced with the ginger sporting a half hard-on and a generous blush across his pretty face. he shifted slightly from foot to foot without making eye contact before speaking, though his voice cracked slightly.

“snooping around huh? i hadn’t quite… planned for you to see this sorta stuff so soon,” he paused as if thinking, “it’s only appropriate that you apologize, yeah? but i’m not sure that’ll cut it…” Ajax walked closer to you and bent down to be level with your face, his pupils blown wide and drool practically spilling out his mouth. “i can forgive you if you let me try out some of that stuff with you?”

he was nothing short of handsy for the rest of the night, flipping you through various positions but his hands never left your full hips for longer than a handful of seconds. Ajax practically had hearts in his eyes every time he blew his load straight against your cervix and made you whimper from the depth and feeling of fullness. his nervousity never quite left, fingertips trembling and brows furrowed, but the unsure nature of his movements was endearing in an odd way. it was a passing thought you couldn’t dwell on with the small vibrator held firmly to your clit at all times.