#and that's what the ring and mourning band are for

[murdrdocs]

BUT YOU'RE NOT MINE. miguel o'hara

description. if you're not his to have, why do you look like the one he has loved? why do you spread your legs and whine and moan for him?

includes. DARK CONTENT 18+, DUBCON & CNC ELEMENTS (it's complicated fr), SMUT 18+, slightly angsty but mostly filfthy smut, fem!reader, massive size kink, dacryphilia, p n v, oral (fem receiving), animalistic miguel (fangs and claws included), possessive miguel, reader is a variant of miguel's late wife, reader's miguel is dead, slight dumbification, power play, cervix kissing, brief mention of paralyzing reader unwillingly, told from miguel's pov (still 2nd person), creampies, like 3 spanish pet names (author does not speak spanish)

wc: 5.5k+

fanart creds to @shuploc

→ kinktober masterlist

He stalks his prey from the window. 

The house looks the same. There’s not much dust anywhere, there’s still four seats at the kitchen table and the still slightly cluttered island, the couches are the same worn in set. He can’t tell what the floorboards are like from outside, but he figures that there’s still the scratches from young Gabriella, or the times he dragged his luggage across the living room instead of picking it up like you wanted him too. 

He wonders if the kitchen has the one mixed matched knob on the furthest left cabinet like his house does. He remembers the time he underestimated his anger fueled strength, leading to the custom made knob being ripped off the wood. He remembers how upset you were for a second, mourning the loss, and then the flare of lust in your eyes as you looked at him. 

You look the same. 

A little thinner, clothing a little more muted than before, but you’re still you. 

Even though he knows you’re not the woman he married. 

And he’s not the Miguel you married. 

But you’re still his wife. 

He notices you wear your wedding ring, the band accompanying it, and he notices you’re wearing the necklace he got you for your first anniversary. So much is the same that he finds it hard to believe he’s in a different universe. He’s finding it hard to believe that he wasn’t supposed to be here. 

But the confusion on your face when you open the door quickly reminds him. 

It takes a while for you to calm down from the hysterics. He makes you your favorite tea, marveling, because this is the same, too. He rubs your back when you start to inch more towards him than away. He coos in your ear lovingly, calling you the sweet pet names that you always responded to. 

And when your cheeks are dried just enough, Miguel’s lips are on yours. 

He meant to lead more up to it. He didn’t even think he came here for this. But you smell like you and you look like you and you feel like you and Miguel just couldn’t take it anymore. 

You stall in the kiss, freezing against him, but Miguel continues. He knows you love him. He knows you’re as eager to see him as he is to see you. And he knows you want him as much as he wants you. 

You kiss him tentatively at first, and Miguel slows to let you set the pace. He follows your lead, gently connecting his lips with yours, a hand rising to cup your cheek. He slides his palm towards your head to stick his fingers tips in your roots, digits separating around your ear. It’s shocking almost, how his hand envelopes your entire cheek; fingers spread close to your eye all the way down to your jaw. 

And it’s with this –– and your hands going to his shoulders –– that Miguel realizes just how much bigger than you he is. He almost dwarfs you in comparison, having both stature and structure over you. 

The thought makes him animalistic. 

He groans into the kiss, his other hand cupping your other cheek, and he can’t take it slow much longer. He kisses you aggressively, noses smashing together before he tilts his head, and even then his nose digs into your cheek. 

You hum, slightly apprehensively, and Miguel feels your eyebrows furrow. Your hands lay over his, and he thinks you’re going to push him away. He prepares himself. 

But you don’t. 

You keep kissing him, movements still slow so you don’t move in time like you should. 

But Miguel’s forgiving. 

He takes one of his hands away to slide it down your back, rough palm rubbing against the worn in fabric of your crewneck. It fits you a little big, Miguel remembers from when he came in, and he wonders if it’s his. The him from here, smaller due to the lack of necessity to go out in a Spiderman suit. 

The envy that he feels makes him aggressive. This time he growls. 

Miguel fists the back of your shirt, using his grip to pull you impossibly closer, and it’s with this movement that you pull back. 

He chases your lips, and you let him kiss you once, twice, and Miguel goes for a third time until your lips pull from his with a smack. 

“Miguel …” you say, voice uneasy, a little shy. Not like his wife but he remembers that you’re not his wife. 

He’s instantly apologizing, fear rising in his chest. “I’m sorry. Am I too much?”

Your smile is soft and comforting. Miguel quickly feels at ease and he suddenly wants to cry. Just the effect you’ve always had on him. 

“No. You’re never too much for me. I’ll always want you. Always.” 

And that’s the same too. His eyes soften for a second, widening as his eyebrows lift. He searches your gaze for the look, the one that tells him you want this, that this is where you want the night to go. Because he doesn’t know if that’s what you mean. 

But you smile gently, you nod, you bite down onto your bottom lip, and Miguel knows. 

His body engulfs yours. 

You lay there, small in structure, but also in nature, too. You look shy, timid, intimidated by the large man above you. Which does nothing but hardens the prominent length between Miguel’s legs. 

He likes that he has this above you. He likes that your safety, your pleasure, your comfort, all relies on him. 

Most of all, he likes how your legs spread for him, even though your mouth says something different. 

“Miguel, I don’t think we should do this. You’re not my husband, you—“

“I’m not?” He dips down, teeth nipping at your neck. It’s just his front ones this time. He licks the spot, kisses it. “Am I not your husband?” 

Your head shakes and your hands go to his shoulders. 

“N … No. You’re not my Miguel. You’re not the father of my child.” 

Miguel hisses and his chest flares with anger. He didn’t need the reminder, not at a moment like this. He fists the sheets beside your head to calm himself, but when he nips you this time, it’s with his sharp canines. It’s not strong enough to pierce your skin, maybe not even strong enough to sting. 

You suck in a sharp breath anyway, realizing you did something wrong, and you’re quick to apologize, leaving Miguel to shut it down. 

“Don’t apologize, cariño. Just be good for me, yeah? Let me feel you.” 

His free hand slides down between your legs, forcibly cupping your mound, pushing the heel of his palm into the area where your clit resides. You hiss, your back arching, but your hands push at Miguel’s shoulders. 

“Mig, this isn’t right, this isn’t—“ but he’s cutting you off, tired of hearing your excuses. 

His lips kiss at the sensitive skin of your neck as he speaks, his mind racing with how soft your skin is, and how thin the layers truly are. If he wanted to, he could easily sink his fangs into you, claiming you forever. 

He considers the thought as he chooses to gently press his lips into your skin instead. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this. Missed you so much, beautiful. I need you.” Your sounds are soft, little breaths, almost mewls whenever Miguel sucks harder in a spot. 

It’s all music to his ears. It does nothing but fuels his desires more and more. He wants you louder, he wants you to whine and cry for him. 

And Miguel has always been determined. He’ll do anything to reach his goal. 

His middle and ring fingers separate from the rest on your mound to press between your lips, the pinky and pointer fingers spreading them so his middle fingers can settle between. 

Your mouth falls open. 

Miguel can tell when he hears the clearly audible breaths you let out that sound a lot more like panting than breathing. 

“You still make those pretty little noises, too, yeah?” He pulls his head out of the crook of your neck to look at you head on, brown eyes searching yours. If he’s reading you right, he’s noticing it all. There’s shock, some guilt, maybe a tiny bit of fear, but Miguel can clearly see the arousal in them. 

He can’t help but smirk, smug and overconfident as he tilts his head. “I wanna hear everything, okay? I need to hear how good I make you feel.” 

He leans down, forehead pressing against yours, and you’re so warm, nearly sweating even though Miguel has done absolutely nothing to bring you true pleasure. Your eyes close while his stay open, and Miguel takes a second to admire just how gorgeous you are. 

He takes in all of the similarities; from your eyebrows, to your eyelashes, to your nose, to your lips. But it’s beside your lip that he notices something not right. You have a scar, deep enough to be visible, clearly healed, but it’s there. His eyebrows furrow, he gets possessive, he gets angry, because you weren’t protected. You’d gotten hurt, and he knows that if he were here, the Miguel above you not the other one, this wouldn’t have happened. 

So when Miguel presses his lips to yours, it’s soft at first. Gentle for a few moments as he tries to communicate the fact that this Miguel, while he might not be your husband or the father of Gabriella, is willing to be your protector all the same.

He wants to be more gentle with this entire ordeal, but you start to kiss him back and he loses it again. He starts to devour you, face a little scrunched as he pushes his lips against yours, moving with a pressure and pace that overwhelms you. 

Your smaller hands fist at the fabric of his shirt, bunching the material up at his shoulders, pushing at them but Miguel barely even moves. Miguel understands that your reaction comes from the way he’s attacking your lips, but the more illogical part of his brain reasons that you want his shirt gone, so he pulls back long enough to yank the fabric over his head with one hand. 

It’s thrown off and into one of the clean corners of your bedroom, Miguel’s eyes quickly taking in just how clean the room is. He notices the lack of anything belonging to him, save for an old pair of sneakers that sit in the vicinity of his shirt. 

Sadness overtakes him for a second, but then he hears your soft “wow” and he turns back to you. Your eyes are tracing his exposed body, taking in his physique. Your hands reach out, hovering over his biceps before they rest fully upon them. It’s amusing to Miguel, the way you squeeze the area and your eyes widen more. 

Your heart starts to beat faster, Miguel can hear it in the silence of the bedroom, and when your eyes look at his again, he sees a bit of fear in them. 

He tries not to have a positive reaction to the emotion, but he can’t help it. He’s entertained, thinking of how you’re finally realizing that Miguel is bigger than you. So much bigger. He can do whatever he wants at this moment, and you have to take it. 

He doesn’t know if you’re aware, but you fucking whimper. You sound like a terrified pet, facing danger inescapable to them. 

Miguel reaches his free hand out, cupping your cheek just as his occupied hand starts to rub up and down your slit. Your lips part, your eyebrows push together, and Miguel smiles. 

“If you want me to stop, all you have to do is say it.” 

You know the code word, Miguel made sure of it before you reached the bedroom because he would never hurt you. Not if he could control it. 

You just stare at him. Not saying anything. And Miguel subtly feels your hips shift to push further down, more into his touch. 

He takes it as his go ahead. 

He sits back on his haunches, all six feet and nine inches of him, his chest rising and falling with shallowly taken breaths as he eyes you beneath him. 

Stripped of your shirt and shorts, wearing nothing but a clearly loved bra and a pair of printed cotton panties. There’s no manufactured bow in the center of them, and Miguel briefly wonders if you still have those. He thinks back to how you’d always pull them out for date nights, or nights where Gabriella wouldn’t be home, and when he’d comment on them, hinting that you were surely expecting something, you said nothing, gently smiled, and turned towards the bathroom. 

Miguel doesn’t realize it, but he’s gotten lost just staring at this single garment. Your wiggling hips breaks him out of the trance and he slips his thick fingers beneath the elastic waistband of your panties and he starts to pull them down your legs. 

The movement is awkward, a product of your refusal to work with him. Your legs are spread too far, you won’t close them enough to let Miguel slide your panties down, it fucking frustrates him. He’s holding back a growl, his lips clamped shut in a thin line so he doesn’t snarl. 

“Baby, just close your legs a little, let me–” but his words are cut off as Miguel grips one side of your underwear with both hands, and then the fabric is broken into two. 

A sharp gasp from you and your legs clamp shut. But Miguel’s not having any of that. His hands, palms rough against your soft skin, grips your knees, muscles barely flexing as he easily pulls your legs apart. 

He briefly wonders if the lack of resistance comes from your own personal will, or if he’s just that much stronger than you. Either thought has Miguel feeling a little dizzy, his blinks slowing as your opened legs reveal a slickened cunt. 

Pretty, glistening with your juices, evidence of how much your body wants him. He starts to salivate a little, his enhanced nose picking up on the aromatic scent coming from you. 

Miguel barely realizes that it’s happening, but suddenly he’s leveled with your cunt and his breath is fanning against the most sensitive parts of you. 

You jump, moving a little further up the bed and away from him, your escape futile when large hands drape over the tops of your thighs, pulling you back to him and pushing you down into the mattress simultaneously. 

Miguel’s sure that the sound that escapes from your mouth would’ve been a whimper if he hadn’t decided that now was the time to lick a long stripe from the lowest point of your cunt, to the clit. 

It’s slow, a little torturous on his end, but it’s worth it with the reaction you give him. 

Mouth dropping, eyes widening as your eyebrows attempt to meet in the middle, your hands fisting the sheets, your hips trying to pull away from him and get closer at the same time. 

How reactive you are does nothing but excite Miguel. 

He launches forward, head burying in your essence, his nostrils flaring as he takes deep inhales. He gets lightheaded for a second, the dizziness coming back, but he reminds himself to breathe when his nose bumps against your clit and he hears you take a deep inhale. 

What follows is Miguel O’hara behaving in a way that can barely be akin to a man, more akin to a beast, as he tries his best to devour you. The sounds are sinful; Miguel’s saliva combining with your wetness, his tongue uncoordinated as it plunges into your walls and comes back out to slurp the surrounding area. 

This isn’t his best work, and he wants to correct his technique to bring you more pleasure, but he can’t get enough. He’s like a man starved, attempting to consume a meal as if someone’s waiting to take it away from him. 

Briefly, he’s reminded that someone could take this all away. He can’t stay for long, or else your universe could collapse. He shouldn’t be here in the first place. But his greed, the very thing he’s displaying now, brought him here, completely on selfish desires. 

Guilt attempts to cloak his being, but you whine and Miguel’s right back in it. 

He lifts his mouth to wrap his lips around your clit. He sucks, once, twice, flattens his tongue to swirl the bud around, and then he bares his teeth, turns his head to the left, and his right fang gently connects with the sensitive nerve ending. 

A little gasp comes from you. “Fuck,” you whisper, and Miguel wouldn’t have heard it if it weren’t for his enhanced hearing.

It’s a positive reaction, he figures, so he does it again. And again. And one more time before he has two fingers plunging into your walls, inching further in even as you heave. 

“Not used to this, are you? Your little fingers haven’t been cutting it. Need something bigger to fill you up.” 

Miguel lifts himself again, arm going to rest beside your head, body hovering over yours once more. 

You don’t say anything, but Miguel’s fine with that. The pads of his fingers are deep inside of you, they’re massaging your walls, curled and reaching for the spot that Miguel still hasn’t forgotten. He finds it after a little too long, and you try to stifle the sound by biting onto your bottom lip, but Miguel can see the pleasure. 

It shows in your wide, pleading eyes. In your raised eyebrows. In your flared nostrils. 

He smirks, proud of himself, and pays special attention there. 

“That’s it. There it is. ‘S all the same.” 

He kisses your cheek and his fingers slowly pull out, only to thrust back in, finding the area of that spot over and over again. It has you mewling, your legs spread, your body clearly enjoying it even though you pretend the opposite. 

“Mig, Miguel, please, I … I’m, it’s all…” You’re saying so much but so little. Little jumbles of words that preface something that never comes. He can’t tell if you’re begging him to keep going or to stop. He doesn’t know if he could stop even if he wanted to. 

Not with the way you’re so obviously close. 

One of your hands fling to wrap around Miguel’s wrist, and he fucking laughs when he sees that your pointer finger and thumb is miles apart, on opposites sides of his wrist. 

“Don’t know how you’re gonna take this cock, baby. So fucking tiny beneath me. ‘M gonna split you open.” The words are whispered in your ear, meant as a warning, maybe even a promise, but it feels borderline threatening coming through his bared teeth. 

Your head turns away from him, your eyes squeeze shut, and you’re practically intelligible when you say, “‘M close.” 

It’s like Miguel’s been presented with a goal that could alter everything. He needs to make you come, this time being the first of many tonight. 

He has a thirst that can only be satisfied by feeling your walls squeeze and flutter around his fingers. 

He kisses your temple, his fingers speed up, and he’s encouraging you. 

Not even a few moments later Miguel’s fingers are constricted. His hand lifts with your hips, his ears drink in the sounds you let out; little moans and huffs of air that you’re clearly trying to keep hidden. Which Miguel is fine with for now, because he knows in due time you’ll be screaming around his cock, not even aware of the sounds that you make as you reside in complete ecstasy. 

You’re barely calmed down, the occasional twitch still in your legs, before you’re looking over at him. 

He stands off to the side of the bed now, eyes on you as his thumbs dig into the elastic of his gray sweatpants. He tugs them down, watching your eyes trail down his body. He exhales, abs flexing with the breath, and your eyes get just a little wider. 

But when his sweats are on the floor, and he’s stepped out of them, your eyes are low, lidded not just from the directional change, trained on the way his cock is straining against the stretchy fabric of his briefs. 

He steps closer, hand cupping your cheek, head dipped as he looks at you. 

“Would you like to do the honors?” A phrase he’s uttered frequently to you in this setting. Usually a wicked smile, and eager hands is your response. 

Now, you tilt your head, assumingly letting the words translate in your head, and Miguel realizes that it’s really been a while since you’ve had your Miguel. 

When you understand, your hand reaches out to his boxers, but then it stops midway. 

Miguel nods. “Come on, don’t be shy.” 

Then your nails scratch at his lower abdomen, beginning to stick under the elastic. 

“There you go.” His eyes turn down, watching his crotch, watching your hand disappear beneath the fabric. They flutter shut when you wrap your hand around him. 

The first touch is always the best for Miguel. He shudders, the feeling translating to a shaky breath. 

He wants to keep his eyes closed, basking in the feeling of you starting to timidly stroke him, but he feels eyes on him, and there’s nothing Miguel loves more than your eyes. 

So he looks down at you, he watches you as your hand trails to the tip of his cock, thumb smearing the precum along the circumference to give you better slip. 

Your hand glides up and down the expanse of Miguel’s cock, feeling him up, working him slowly. 

It feels nice. But it’s not nearly enough. 

Miguel takes the liberty to pull his briefs down his hips, the garment meeting the same fate as his pants. 

Your hand is still around him, but your grip falters just a bit when his cock springs free. 

Miguel watches your eyes size him up, taking in the sheer length and girth of him. 

He can already predict what you’re going to say before you go. 

“Miguel. It’s not gonna fit.”

The fear returns to you. It shines in your eyes, flares in your chest, scrapes up your limbs and leaves goosebumps in its trail. 

His head shakes. “It’ll fit, amor. I’ll make sure it fits.” 

He wants the words to soothe you. He hopes the words will soothe you. 

But as he situates himself between your legs, as he arranges your legs to lay over his, as he starts to line himself up, you look even more fearful. 

You’re clenched tight, it’s showing in your entire body, so Miguel rubs his thumbs along your hips, and he gives you what he thinks is a comforting look. He hasn’t been able to contort his features into that look for a while now, and he’s sure that he’s out of practice, but it works.

Your eyes set on his face, they roam over his features, then they lock onto his eyes like meeting a target. 

There’s an unspoken agreement for him to proceed. 

So he does. 

You’re tight. Miguel knew you would be, but it’s still slightly unexpected. He can’t help but hiss as the head starts to breach. You’re tight. 

“Baby. Let me in. Breathe.”

You try to do so, but it’s like no matter how many calming breaths you take, you get tighter as Miguel continues to push. 

It gets to the point where Miguel has no choice but to keep going, hoping that his attempt at soothing words work as he buries himself to the hilt. Miraculously, it’s only then that you relax, the feeling of loosening alerting Miguel of the change. 

He looks at your expression, satisfied to see your features slack, starting to morph into pleasure once more. 

He starts to move, slow drags out and even slower pushes back in. 

They’re intended to allow you room to adjust, to cease your whines and provide you comfort, in an alarmingly discomforting situation. Miguel thinks it’s working. You go mostly silent, he wrenches his eyes closed in pleasure, but they peel back open whenever he hears sniffles. 

It’s impossible for him to continue holding back when you look at him all pretty like this. Tears streaming down the sides of your face, pooling in your hair, salty liquid sticking your eyelashes together as you blink pathetically up at him. 

Something tugs at him, telling him to give it his all. 

So he does. He takes what he wants. 

He takes what he deserves. 

His snapping into yours with a force that sends you up the bed each time. He refuses to let you off the hook like this, hands gripping your hips, your soft and supple skin pinched between calloused fingers. You whine, crying out desperately as you push at Miguel’s hands. 

He doesn’t let up, believing that this is the only way to keep you close to him. Even if it hurts. 

He gives you some reprieve, however, taking away one of his hands to slide up the back of your thigh. He hooks your limb over his hip, encouraging you to dig your heel into the dimples at his lower back. It’s something the you that belongs to him would’ve done, and there’s a split second of fear in his chest as he anxiously waits for you to do it now. 

Whenever you do, the heel of your foot pressing into the skin right above his ass, he snarls. It’s unfiltered, an accident, but it’s real and raw. 

His claws come out and they swipe at your skin accidentally. A gasp from you, then a wince, alerts Miguel of the mishap, and his heart stops. His hips stop. He’s hurt you. He’s done the thing he swore he never would. 

You look at the bleeding cut, then at him, and Miguel doesn’t see hurt in your face. Instead, you pull him closer, arching your back, pushing your hips into his and grinding as best as you can against him. 

You go from stoic and pliant to untamed, your own nails digging into his forearms, your hips lifting off of the bed in what should be an unattractive motion. 

Yet there’s nothing that you could do that could be unattractive in Miguel’s eyes. 

He’s sworn to love you forever, despite the Universal difference. 

He licks his lips, and with the motion he feels his fangs. Sharp, pointy, ready to plunge into whatever flesh he can reach. He once again considers it for a second, sinking his teeth into your thigh and rendering your limbs useless. Keeping you stuck to the bed for him to use and abuse however he’d like. 

But you’ve been behaving so well tonight. So he finds no need. 

Miguel angles his hips differently and you whimper, the sound sweet and small and soft from you. It resembles a “hng”, tailoring off into a gasp towards the end that has Miguel grunting in response. 

“Acting like you’ve never been fucked like this before.” His voice is rough, lacking any romanticism in the tone. He could barely care less.

“Maybe you haven’t. Has no man taken you like this? This sweet, supple body, left unused for this long. You know that’s not your purpose. You’re wasting your potential, honey. This is what you’re made for.” He punctuates his statement with a piercing thrust, hitting a spot that makes you gasp sharply. 

“Made to give men like me pleasure. Not many can take what I can give, but you can, right?” You nod eagerly, seemingly attempting to prove your agreement by taking a deep breath and relaxing your cunt around Miguel enough for him to slide just a little deeper. 

He smirks, hand reaching to your tit where he strokes your nipple with his thumb. “Such a good girl. Probably make a good little housewife too. Maybe I'll stick around. We could do this more often. Get this tight little body to take me 24/7 until it’s second nature. I can feel her struggling around me. Pussy’s too tight. Hasn’t had a big cock to fill it in a while. But that’s alright, we can train her. She’ll be as good as new in no time, yeah?” 

It seems he’s fucked you too good, beyond any verbal or nonverbal responses from you. Instead, you’re a mess of whines and groans. Your mouth hangs open, drool pooling at the corner just before it fills over and slides down your chin. It doesn’t bother you, or you have more important things to focus on, because you let it glide down until it sits in your clavicle. 

Miguel’s ego inflates as he watches you fall apart like this. Earlier tonight you were the picture of perfection; a neat outfit, a neat home, your emotions and responses polished. But you shed all of that for him. Because of him. 

In his mind, there’s no greater honor. 

Especially whenever he slides his hand down to your clit, flicks your bud one, two, three, times, and then your back arches as your orgasm travels through your body. 

He sees it start in your loins first. Your pelvis rocks against his ferociously, and then it stops, twitching every so often as your orgasm travels to your limbs then. Your legs lifting, hovering on either side of Miguel and twitching sporadically as he continues to fuck you despite your feeble hands pushing at his shoulders. 

He’s bigger than you, stronger than you, smarter than you, and he knows what’s best. He knows your body better than you do. He knows you can handle another. 

He knows you need another. 

So he continues. 

He hooks your legs over his shoulders, presses his hands into the mattress on either side of your head, and starts fucking you to a second round of completion. 

Your eyes squeeze shut, your body tensing as you brace yourself through the pain. But Miguel tuts. 

“None of that, baby. Look at me. Look at who’s making you feel this way.” It takes you a second. You huff, your eyebrows push together. 

Miguel rolls his eyes. He lifts one hand, taps your cheek with enough force to have your eyes snap open, and then he grips your face. “I said: Look at me.” 

You do as told now, fear flashing through your eyes, and Miguel grins. He likes the power. He likes this feeling. 

“There you go. That’s it.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Now give me another. Just one more, my love.” 

He’s so deep within you, your arousal leaking out around him, giving him access to the uncharted parts of you by virtue of providing absolutely no resistance. There’s possibly the easiest slip and slide happening between the two of you, Miguel’s cock entering and exiting your cunt rapidly, shallow thrusts that reach mere inches away from your cervix each time. 

Each drive into you prompts a sound, a gasp or moan or just a force of air from your diaphragm. They spur Miguel on, the vigilante adjusting your leg over his shoulder just a little, his chest almost parallel to yours as he forces himself deeper and fucks you harder. 

“C’mon, baby. When you’re ready, just let go for me.” 

He’s close at this point, too, but he absolutely refuses to cum without you clenching around him.

His wish comes true just a few thrusts later. This orgasm builds longer, your walls starting to flutter a few moments before your moans crescendo. 

“There we go. There we––” His words are cut off short as his orgasm pushes through his body. His balls twitch, his hips stutter, and he’s shooting warm ropes into your fluttering cunt. He can feel his claws come out and pierce the fabric of your mattress, but he doesn’t think about how he’ll replace it yet. Instead he focuses on this feeling. 

The euphoria taking over every fiber of his being as his hips automatically piston into you a couple of times as your cunt greedily milks him. It’s not until he has none left that he pulls out of you, his cock steadily softening, creating a sensitivity that has Miguel wincing. 

You’re silent except for a few breaths and Miguel mirrors your state. 

You both lay there, staring at the ceiling, and Miguel looks over at you after what could be anywhere from a few seconds to a few minutes. 

You’re already looking at him, smiling softly. He smiles, too, his features getting softer whenever your hand raises and cups his cheek. He places his hand over yours, body relaxing when he feels your wedding ring. 

“I’m glad you came back to me,” you say, voice earnest and honest. 

Miguel pulls you into his chest.

[tiyoin]

📍pt 1 | pt 2

tell me why i just made a whole story in my head:

mc comes back to twst 10 years later cause their homeworld didn’t work out. they go to jade’s mega mansion and see him obvi.

you were surprised the gates opened for your lower class car, and that guard just shooed you inside the gate.

but, jade’s shell shocked, there’s almost a look of terror in his face as he stares down at you.

you could almost see the war raging through his eyes

his wife comes and is obviously jealous when she realizes who you are.

great, it’s the bitch my husband is still in love with. greet, it’s the slut that my husband moaned one time.

she doesn’t tell you outright, but when her hand snakes up his arm, silver and teal wedding band glittering. you get the hint.

smearing it in your face, her touch lingers as she leaves, telling him dinner will be done in 10 minutes.

ofc he’s going to pick apart every ounce of your appearance. you seemed like you got a little taller, curvier, maturer.

it would be inappropriate to express these thoughts. he’ll mourn not sending you the love letters he wrote in college.

“i don’t know why i thought you’d wait…” the elephant in the room has been spotted.

“i mean, no i get it. you thought i was never coming back, i thought i was never going back… yet i couldn’t bare to get another partner…”

you sighed looking past his shoulder (what you could, before he closed the door and stepped outside.)

“y/n-“

“i’m sorry jade. i’ve made a mess” you swiped a tear so fast that jade almost missed it. he never missed when you cried. as he was always there, taking your hands in his while his thumb would rub against your knuckles.

he was there, yet wasn’t smothering. something you appreciated.

you could see his body jerk to hold yours, yet you took a step back, and another, and another until you were down the front stairs.

“it was inappropriate for me to come here, i’m sorry. i wish you and your wife nothing but happiness.” and with that you turned tail. you wanted to run to your car, but some part of you wanted him to chase after you, throw out his ring and hold you once again.

but you knew he wouldn’t.

turning back to see his paralyzed form still where it was, you waved “stay weird, okay?”

getting into your car you started it immediately. it wasn’t anything luxurious as the sports cars parked in their drive way. but it would do.

you turned up the music, wanting to destroy those pesky daydreams before you became deluded.

you didn’t bother to tell him you were bunking with deuce, or that you were getting a job under vil, or that you were planning on staying, for good.

“fucking floyd, why the fuck would he even tell me to come here” you grumbled, clenching the steering wheel so hard you knuckles started turning white.

the other mischievous twin had given you the address, had given you the time jade got home from work, and where he worked.

but remembering the leeches are a less than… PG family, you decided to show up to his house- mansion.

you couldn’t help but recount the time you two were talking about where you’d live.

on the beach, maybe a small and cozy hut, near a forest of course.

yet here he was, extravagant mansion, with a fountain at the front that depicted twin eels (that squirted water from the mouth. which was something you know they had a chuckle over.)

jade looked different too, his eyes got sharper, jade got more defined if possible, and you could see the age lines starting to come in. no doubt would his child’s friends think of him as a dilf-

you screeched to a halt once you reached the main gates, the guard nodding to you as he opened the gates.

once you could squeeze through you sped away, windows closed as you screamed.

fuck.

you were going to have eel leather lining in your car once you see floyd again. that fucker didn’t bother telling you jade got hitched and was living the life.

he made it seem like he’d take a greasy little no body like you in his arms the second he opened the door.

yet all you got was a gawking eel with his jaw dropped.

he moved on… so maybe you should too…

—

spoilers : floyd is a little shit i tell ya

i have plans with this but idk if my ADHD will let me divulge in this

[stubz]

"Human Kim's mate is dead?!" cries Calis.

"What?! Kim has a mate?!" cries Max

"She is your comrade! How did you not know she has-had a mate?!?"

"But what about Fenrir-wait is Fenrir dead???"

"Human Kim had her bonding band before courting Fenrir, I'm talking about her other mate."

"She's cheating?? Fenrir is the other man...orc???"

"Do humans not have multiple mates?"

"I mean...not usually no...but wait lets back up a minute. How do you know Kim's mate is dead and what do you mean by bonding band, do you mean a ring that goes on a finger?"

"I cannot believe you, her comrade of 5 years, have not noticed her longing rubbing her ankle. How she no longer has the bright orange band on her left ankle. How she looks at her communication device...phone? and looks at what I guess is a photo."

"...wait the orange band? Made out of fabric? Like string?"

"So you have noticed, why have you not consoled her then??"

"...hold on a sec. I'll be back in a moment."

"Are you getting her? Bring her to the command room then, we shall have something for her."

"....how many people think her mate is dead!?"

.

"Why are we going to the command room?"

"Just keep walking. I have a question for you but I need you to answer in front of a lot of people."

"Ookay?" the humans enter the command room and see it decorated dark and somber. Friends and close co-workers are there dressed in black or their respective mourning attire. Calis steps forward.

"Hu-Kim...Kim we are so very sorry for the loss of your mate...may they join the galaxy as a brilliant star and may you both reunite someday in the great beyond..." They slowly grab her five fingered hand with their four fingered hand.

"...If anything were to happen to Gala...I can't even begin to imagine what you are going through. If there's anything you need, anything at all, just ask."

"...Calis...thank you so much...but I don't have a mate?"

"That's what I was saying!" exclaims Max. "If she did then she would've told me, her work best friend!!"

"...but the band on your ankle and your sadness?"

"...Kay I did not notice that but yeah what's up? You alright?" he turns to his short friend

"Ohhh, you mean my friendship anklet?"

"Friend-ship anklet? ...not a bonding band?"

"It was made by my best friend, no offense Max, on Earth the last time I saw her in person 'bout...almost 2 years ago? Anyways it finally fell off since its string and I just miss having it."

"None taken."

"So no one died? She's still alive?"

"Yeah, I just texted her yesterday about the anklet and she said she'll just tattoo one on me cause it'll ward off Max...no offense Max...she just can't accept that I have more than one best friend."

"Again none taken...wait is this the friend who hated you at first and you didn't know so you kept being friendly to her until eventually she accepted you and you've been best friends for like almost 10 years?"

"She...hated you?"

"Oh yeah, she thought I was really annoying but I'm pretty dense so I just kept being nice and going to eat lunch with her throughout high school until after like...2-3 months she gave up and accepted my friendship. Oh! and I didn't know any of this until like this year." she grins

"That's a beautiful friendship right there...makes me jealous about how boringly we met and bonded over anime and musicals."

"On most planets beings would maul you over your annoyance...would you like some of the cake we got you before we knew no one died?"

"Yes please! Also thank you everybody but sadly...and luckily no one died!!" she calls out to the dozen or so aliens and humans in the command room.

"...wait you thought I was having an affair with Fenrir!?" cries a horrified Kim

"That's what I was saying!!" screams Max

[morningberriesao3]

As Sneaky Link comes to an end, it just means that I’ll get to work on some other fun projects that have been in my drafts for (literally) a year and a half.

The next multi chapter I’m working on is set back in the 80s. Only this time, it’s not Steve who spirals about his sexuality.

Eddie is straight—he’s just never met the right girl to feel that spark. But Steve over the last years has had a secret that he’s told no one. Not even Robin.

Until Eddie walks in on him in a very compromising position. With another man.

I started this fic as something we hardly see in the Steddie fandom—and that’s Steve being the certified queer, and Eddie having a full blown crisis as he figures himself out.

As promised, below the cut is the first 2.4K words of chapter 1, and in February it’ll be posted in its entirety on my ao3: morningberries

Enjoy 🥹

It was a chilly day in early September—the wind carrying half-brown leaves through the air in swirling patterns that looked like mini tornados. Eddie stared at them from his trailer’s living room window as Wayne’s truck disappeared beyond the bend in the road.

Another weekend alone as his uncle worked a double shift.

It’s not that Eddie didn’t have friends. There was Gareth and Jeff and Grant—the members from his beloved band Corroded Coffin—but he knew Jeff was on vacation with his parents before college started and Grant was working with his dad in the garage on that ’69 Mustang they picked up from the scrapyard over the summer. Gareth, although in Hawkins, had landed himself a hot new girlfriend and spent every waking moment with her.

Eddie couldn’t really blame him, even though he didn’t really get it.

It had been the same thing his whole life, if he was being honest with himself. Since middle school, he’d watch his friends start dating whatever chick they had a crush on, listen to them start yammering about how gorgeous she was or how cool or how smart. How she made them get butterflies in their stomachs, whatever the fuck that meant.

Yeah, cool.

Eddie had dated girls—some pretty cute ones at that. There was Sam, who he dated his second senior year, and they’d gotten along really well. She was what Eddie thought should probably be his type—dark hair, a lip ring, wore lipstick in blacks and unearthly blues. She was even in Hellfire Club and honestly kicked ass at it. Objectively, on paper, she was everything he wanted.

Except he didn’t feel it. Whatever it was. The fucking butterflies, or whatever.

When they broke up, it hadn’t really been the end of the world. He mourned their friendship more than the sexual aspect of their relationship, because Sam had been awesome to hang out with and smoke with and laugh with.

Gareth hadn’t believed Eddie when he said he was fine—took a solid 4 months before Gare actually accepted that Eddie’s heart wasn’t shattered.

Eddie cared more about… God, like, anything but dating. Like D&D, and his friends, and his guitar, and Metallica’s newest album, and making his fucking bed in the morning, and even his therapist. He knew it didn’t really help him look normal to be a twenty-year-old man who couldn’t care less about pursuing girls, but whatever. He was King Freak, after all.

When he met Chrissy six months ago, he thought for a moment that he might be able to convince himself to have a crush on her. It should be easy; a small, thin, blonde, pretty cheerleader is everyone’s type. Maybe he’d just been chasing after the wrong girls. But what he felt on the drive to his trailer with Chrissy in his front seat, as she timidly told him she thought he was kind and funny, was, again… not the fireworks he expected from all the stories of love at first sight.

And then she’d died, which vastly overshadowed Eddie’s worry that there might be something wrong with him for not developing feelings. He talked about both things in his weekly government mandated therapy sessions. But mostly about her death.

The doctor had told Eddie it wasn’t uncommon to have an aversion to romantic or sexual relationships after experiencing trauma. Eddie didn’t really bother to elaborate that it had started long before said trauma. But whatever.

He digressed.

Gareth had a girlfriend, and they spent their time making out and—apparently now—doing hands and mouth stuff. At least, that’s what Gareth had been bragging about at their last band practice. And, according to him, they were probably going to fuck on this weekend that Eddie was once again alone, so calling Gareth was completely off the table.

He sighed, standing from his uncle’s withered brown couch to walk the ten steps to his bedroom. He plucked his guitar from her hook on the wall, strummed a few chords without bothering to plug her in. If he was really going to talk about trauma responses and aversions, he might as well start with the one he developed for playing his guitar after the epic battle in the Upside Down.

Since the day he nearly bled out on the gravel outside of his trailer (that wasn’t really his trailer, because apparently alternate dimensions are, like, actually a thing), he hadn’t really been able to play anymore. It wasn’t some dramatic thing, like getting wild flashbacks of battling massive fucking hell-bats, or getting feasted on by their fang-filled mouths, or Dustin crying over him, or what if felt like when he literally died for four minutes before he was defibrillated. It was just this soft, but uncomfortable, feeling in his stomach, accompanied by massive brain fog, and a general lack of motivation to learn anything new.

He hung the guitar back where it belonged, in front of his mirror. The reflection that looked back at him looked… well, goddamn bored, for one. And a little anxious. And like he should probably try to reach out to some of his other friends.

There had been some silver linings to the whole everything-he’s-ever-known-about-the-world-has-been-a-lie thing. He did, now, have other friends. Dustin, for one, would hang out with him on days that weren’t D&D related. Although, Eddie was sure that a lot of that was because he had a working vehicle that could tow him around to the arcade, or the diner (where Eddie paid for Dustin’s meals, obviously), or the video store.

Eddie didn’t mind crashing Family Video, because more often than not, it meant he could visit his new age-appropriate friend.

Robin and Eddie had become attached at the hip, honestly. Best friends. Trauma bonded, or something. Or maybe it had more to do with the fact that they were both losers, and somehow both smart and dumb at the same time. They also both talked a lot, and got excited over weird shit, and liked to rag on Dustin. So Eddie really took a liking to Robin.

And here was something that he’d been thinking about for the last few weeks.

Maybe he had a crush on her? It didn’t really sound right, but he did get excited when he got to see her, and his heartrate sometimes sped up when he went to family video and he first laid eyes on her talking to Steve, and maybe there was also a tinge of jealousy that settled in the pit of his stomach when he thought of how close they were. That had to mean something—meant something more than anything else he’d ever felt before.

He knew if Steve and Robin were going to get together, it more than likely would have already happened. But the thought still nagged on him a bit. He wouldn’t like it, and he couldn’t really put his finger on why. Having a crush on Robin was the only feasible explanation, really.

It was either that, or perhaps it was because Eddie was convinced that Steve hated him for some unknown reason.

Eddie tried to become friends with Steve during the aftermath of the Upside Down, and for a while it seemed like it was working. It seemed like Steve actually enjoyed Eddie’s company.

They’d hang out first with Rob, or Dustin. And then just by themselves. Steve even came to smoke up at the trailer once or twice, ended up crashing on Eddie’s couch. Steve used to smile at him, and nudge him in the shoulders like they were sharing some inside joke, or sling his arm around Eddie casually like they’d known each other for ages.

It always made Eddie feel like he was buzzing, like there was some sort of weight in his chest that spasmed and choked him. His therapist had said that it was probably some sort of satiation for his inner child, finally being accepted by someone who was deemed popular. Eddie hadn’t ever thought he cared about shit like that, but the subconscious was a mysterious place, he was coming to learn. Definitely explained the attachment he felt for Steve those first few months out of the hospital; the absolute giddiness he felt when they got to hang out.

But that was at the beginning. The start of July was when Eddie noticed Steve acting different towards him. Avoiding touch, and then eye contact, and then Eddie’s calls, and finally, just Eddie altogether.

The pit Eddie had felt in his stomach from losing Steve’s affection had been awful. He really thought they were becoming close, really thought it was the start of something. A really great friendship.

But Steve peaced out as quickly as he bonded with Eddie, apparently deciding now that they were back in the real world, they couldn’t really mingle anymore.

The bond they formed in the Upside Down was acceptable when they were actively monster hunting, but Eddie supposed now that things had somewhat calmed, reality started to crash into focus. Steve was still a jock; Eddie was still a freak. Therefore, no more sitting across from each other at Benny’s Diner.

That was Eddie’s theory, at least. When he’d ask Robin about it, she’d just shrugged her shoulders and said, “He hasn’t spoken badly about you. Like, at all. Seems like he likes you to me.”

Then, as if to prove his point, Steve would go all red when Eddie would stop by his work and go hide in the back room until the kids picked whatever Sci-Fi movie and piled back in Eddie’s van.

Whatever. It didn’t matter.

Eddie survived sans Steve before the Upside Down, he’d survive without him now.

He picked up the phone and dialed Robin’s number.

“Hello?”

“Rob,” Eddie greeted, a smile already forming on his face from hearing her raspy voice. “What are you up to?”

He could hear a snort from the other end of the line. He knew she was rolling her eyes. “On a Friday afternoon at five PM? Absolutely nothing, of course.”

“Is that sarcasm?”

“Did it sound like sarcasm?”

“I’ll be honest with you,” he said, tucking the phone against his shoulder as he poured himself a mug of old drip coffee from this morning, “it very much did.”

“You’re getting better at social cues!” she mockingly praised.

“Watch it, Bucky. Don’t get too comfortable hiding behind that phone.”

“You’ll forget before the next time we see each other. I’m not too worried.”

Eddie sighed for what felt like the hundredth time since his uncle left the trailer. “Does that mean you can’t hang?”

The line crackled as Robin moved through her living room. Eddie could imagine her flopping on the couch, getting comfortable, her green phone glued to her ear with a big bowl of popcorn settled in her lap. “Noooott necessarily,” she drawled out. “Although, I know you’re not exactly fond of parties.”

Eddie furrowed his brow as he slid his mug onto the new microwave’s glass plate. He’d gotten it for Wayne’s birthday with some of the hush money the government had… well, hushed him with. Eddie had promised to keep his lips sealed when they flashed him the size of the cheque. Not like he had many people to tell, anyway.

“You’re going to a party?”

“Yeah,” she said, sounding surprised. “Steve’s party? For his twentieth?”

Eddie’s stomach dropped. “Steve’s having a party for his birthday?”

As far as he’d known, Steve said he was doing a quiet thing with his parents and his aunt that he didn’t even want to attend, and that was that. He’d just shrugged when Eddie pressed about celebrating with his friends, muttering something about it feeling weird to celebrate after everything that went down earlier in the year.

Which had been fair enough.

But now it was abundantly clear that Steve had been lying to Eddie. To keep him away.

“Uh, of course he is, Doofus. He told me you said you couldn’t come?”

Eddie, for some wild reason, felt his eyes pricking with tears. Out of anger or betrayal or confusion, he wasn’t really sure. It was dumb; he was tough, and he didn’t cry when jocks hated him ever before. So he swallowed them back down.

“Guess my plans changed,” he said, venom seeping into his tone. Fuck Steve and his master plan to keep Eddie from attending his dumb house party. “I’m coming.”

It seemed that Robin was totally oblivious to his anger as she squealed excitedly from the other end of the line. “Yay! Will you come pick me up then? It would be so much cooler to show up with a friend than have my mom drop me off in front of all the former popular kids of Hawkins High.”

“Why do you care about that shit?” Eddie asked, even though he knew it was hypocritical of him.

“Look, I know you’re totally unaffected by the social hierarchy, Eddie, but I’m unashamed to admit that it’ll feel kind of amazing to debut myself as Steve’s best friend, you know? And I’d rather do it in your shitty van than have my mother yelling that she loves me from the open window of her Honda Civic.”

“Don’t call ol’ Heffer shitty,” Eddie sulked. “It’s not good to bite the hand that feeds you. Or something like that.”

Eddie ignored that it didn’t feel great when Robin said she was Steve’s best friend. That heavy shadow of jealousy weighed down on him. He was unclear whether it was because he was jealous of Steve or Robin.

“Whatever,” Robin said, her voice laced with yet another eyeroll. “Pick me up at seven-thirty?”

Eddie nodded, his face still pulled into a scowl. When he realised Robin couldn’t see him, he shook his muddled brain and mumbled, “Uh—yeah. Seven-thirty. See you then.”

“Cool. See you soon, Doofus,” Robin sang. And then the line went dead.

[rivendell-poet]

Hiii could you do a SFW Alphabet for Fíli?? Thank uuu mwah 🩷🩷🩷

Hi anon! And yes of course, here it is (thank you for requesting & hope you enjoy!)

*･༓˚✧❝𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭 - 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐢❞‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « SFW Alphabet »

Wordcount : 2.1k (not including questions)

A = Affection(How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?) Very shameless when it comes to practically all kinds of affection. Will happily greet you with a kiss, or a hug if you're not comfortable with that. Enjoys holding hands, if he's next to you then your hands will almost certainly be in his. Tries not to stare at you, but if there's no-one else around then he certainly will. You'll catch him and he'll chuckle, apologising before complimenting you on whatever had caught his eye the most.

He also really enjoys playing with your hair, or being involved in its health in some way. On a lazy morning he's happy to braid it, doing one or two different ones before finally settling and excitedly showing you how it looks.

B = Best friend(What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?) Fíli treats close friendships in quite a sibling-esque relationship. He's willing to throw down his life for you, loyal to a fault, and is absolutely not giving you the slice of cake that's got a centimetre more frosting on it. That's his. He enjoys laughing and joking about most of the time, but can be serious when you don't have the energy/it's not appropriate.

C = Cuddles(Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?) Fíli enjoys cuddling, although he often just hugs you then starts talking so you'll have to initiate it. Always gets a big smile on his face when you start to initiate it. Enjoys burying his head in your neck, if he's in a position to do that. However he is someone that naturally moves around a lot, so cuddles can be filled with gentle shuffling and whispered apologies. Very occasionally the cuddling is awkwardly interrupted by him realising he still has knives on and he doesn't want to stab you. Still doesn't want to let go of you once you've started cuddling, and looks mournful the entire time he's getting further away.

D = Domestic(Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?) He really wants to settle down, it's always been a dream of his to finally find a home - and he wants to be able share that with you. Ideally you can come with him to Erebor, because that's the home he's always wanted.

He's actually very good at cleaning, especially since he's worked in a forge most of his life. Admittedly a lot of the stuff he's great at isn't completely domestic, but it carries over pretty well. Has a bad habit of picking up something to move it and then just keeping it and forgetting to put it down. Fíli is fine at cooking, generally better at hearty and spiced foods, and if he tries he can make a pretty good meal.

E = Ending(If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?) Fíli is genuinely in love, and cares about you a great deal. He'd be open and honest about his problems the first time they come up, so it'd be very hard to be bad enough for him to want to break up.

F = Fiance(e)(How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?) Cares a lot about commitment, and is very loyal as soon as the two of you are together. Once you've been together for a while he's thinking of marriage, and his main reason for waiting so long is crafting the perfect proposal ring for you, and then the perfect wedding band after that. As he knows the physical ring will take some time, he does ask you on your opinions of marriage before it happens - but tries to be subtle about it. Has pulled several all-nighters to perfect details on it. (You have to send Kíli to go get him as he doesn't want you to see it before it's ready.)

G = Gentle(How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?) Gentle isn't something that most dwarves, especially Durin's line, grew up with. But he certainly tries his best to learn, and meet the level of gentleness you give to him. He'll still give slightly too strong hugs, or enter them by running into you, but you can tell it's never malicious, and he'll apologise afterwards.

Fíli is naturally an emotionally intelligent dwarf, so is fairly aware of your emotions and acts accordingly. Generally he sees no reason to change how he acts around you, because he loves your genuine self and hopes the same for him, but this doesn't mean it's harsh. When you're upset he tries to lower his voice, and asks you what he can do or tries not be as loud and over-the-top. He feels he can be emotionally vulnerable around you, as well, and even though he often isn't it's still something he's very grateful for.

H = Hugs(Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?) Very much enjoys hugs, and will engage in them as often as he can. If you've been away for too long he'll often run up and hug you, not quite knocking you over but enough for a startled laugh. He hugs you as tightly as you're comfortable with before letting go, sheepishly apologising yet again.

Hugging is also one of, in his opinion, the best ways for him to show his affection while in public. It's enough for him to get his message across, but not to embarrass either of you. He'll turn to you and quietly ask if you can hug, turning away as though he's expecting disappointment and that you'll say no.

I = I love you(How fast do they say the L-word?) He says it after around the fourth or fifth date. He's loved you since around the second, but he wants it to be a special occasion and he wants to make sure his feelings for you are real. Which they certainly are, because they keep getting stronger. There are quite a few times where's he's almost said it, but either got tongue-tied or you made him laugh. It's a big deal to him, so he wants to treat it as such.

J = Jealousy(How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?) Fíli is about average when it comes to jealousy. He's not great with it, but he tries to keep himself calm and reminds himself that he trusts you. If the person he's jealous of is making you uncomfortable, however? Goes over and is very aggressively friendly with them. Talks about how funny it is they've both got exactly the same type, and isn't it wierd how they were both talking to you? He's glad you chose him, at least. Feels maybe too much satisfaction watching them slink off.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?) Enjoys giving a lot of light kisses around the face, often quick and playful - trying to catch you off-guard when your at home together. He's content to leave it there, but if you lean into them he's certainly good with giving proper kisses. Fíli does feel a little awkward about his moustache braids when it comes to kissing so the first few times this happens you might have to be the one to lean in. Eventually learns you like it, and then is quick to deepen the kiss as soon as you want it without encouragement needed. On his part, he enjoys being kissed on the lips - but isn't particularly fussy about if it's just a peck or something proper.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?) He's pretty good at keeping them entertained, will listen to them and nod along in all the right places. Does have a (slight) tendancy to give children knives, but he maintains that he's supervising them so therefore it's all fine. Remarkably good with annoying and/or very clingy kids. When asked why he says he grew up with Kíli. Will sometimes make them a little something out of scrap metal if he's by the forge and they've been watching him.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?) Fíli isn't really an early or late morning person, so tends to get out of bed at around the same time you do. On the occasion he wakes up earlier he just stays in bed with you, waiting for you to wake up. Remarkably cheerful in the morning, although he says it's just because he's with you. If there's time he enjoys brushing your hair and braiding it for you, trying to make it as elaborate and beautiful as he can for you within whatever time constraints he has. Always overjoyed if you ask to do his, no matter how often you ask.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?) Goes to bed surprisingly early, unless he's staying out to be social. Very much enjoys coming home and then cooking up and eating a nice meal with you, it's a good way for him to ask about your day. Tries to smooth over any stresses and hiccups in it, but isn't overbearing. Every two weeks he'll stay up later than he normally does to polish all of his knives and check they're working. Has a whole routine for which knives and which wetstone, has a little song he hums under his breath.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?) Enjoys telling you stories about the positive times in his life, wanting to make you smile and laugh - although he tells them more for that reason that to inform you of him. If you don't know about Erebor Fíli explains it after the firs month or two, but that's more because he's scared you'll fall out of love with him. He's pretty honest about things if you just ask him, the only exception being if it's very painful for him - a question he would answer, but might need a bit to think of the right response.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?) Fíli is a very patient person, he's used to letting others take the lead and being in control. However if you've made plans, he does tend to get anxious if you're late or otherwise very behind schedule. He isn't deliberately angry, but some of it might slip out because of stress. He always apologises afterwards. Doesn't tend to engage in shouting matches, if he's very angry (which is almost never at you) he'll take a deep breath, say a parting remark, and try and calm down somewhere.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?) Actually very good at remembering lots of things, even the passing details you're simply laughing over. It's not shown too often, but maybe the flowers in his forest carving are a mixture of your favourites and the ones that you pointed out to him on the walk a year ago. It's the small detail that made you laugh that he repeats sometimes, just to see you smile again. Some little things slip though, but if they're important to you he makes an effort - and certainly won't forget a second time.

R = Remember (What is their favourite moment in your relationship?) His favourite memory is when he finally proposed to you. Fíli had taken an age to get the ring right for you, and then had put every effort in to make sure that the night he proposed on was magical as well. Still remembers how anxious he felt when he pulled out the ring, and the pure joy of seeing you slip it on.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?) Fíli is over-protective before Erebor is reclaimed. He has very few things in life, and you're one of them. Tends to do it by keeping around you, sometimes making you knives. He understands it's a little overbearing, but he can't bring himself to do anything more than tone it down. After Erebor is reclaimed he's a lot better, although he still always makes sure you have a knife on you. Fíli enjoys the protection of being constantly armed, and if you're with him - and in some way reader to fight - he's always that bit more relaxed.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?) Very good amount of effort into dates and anniversaries, he's a prince - so definitely pulls a few strings to get the best of the best for you. Great a gifts, combined with making you things and remembering a lot of your favourites they're always very personalised, and it's clear how much he cares. Fíli puts effort into romantic everyday tasks, although if it's more domestic duties he doesn't feel bad about asking a servant.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?) Sometimes, when he's very stressed, he feels very anxious without his knives and vulnerable. Will take them out and start twirling them, even if it's not entirely appropriate. Has been a few minutes late once or twice because he's forgotten a knife and needed to find it again.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?) He's a dwarf, so of course he takes very good care of his hair. It's one of his prides, and so he spends an appropriate (he feels) amount of time making sure it looks good. Always meticulously checks braids and buffs beads on there until they are shining.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?) Yes, with or without Erebor. When it hasn't been reclaimed he notices it a bit less, instead joining his general feelings of profound loss, but when it's reclaimed he notices it even more. Struggles with it sometimes, because he's fought so hard to feel whole.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.) Fíli can play a lot of instruments, all of them very well. He is very open about his musical talent with all of them, willing to perform, except for the harp. Will play if you ask him too, but not for anyone else.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?) People without loyalty. It's fine if it's conflicted, he understands that, but he wants to know you'd chose him - or that there's something you love enough to always stand with.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?) Fíli is an oddly adaptable sleeper. He tends to go to bed somewhat early, however.

thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ wish to be tagged? // Taglist : @celestialhole, @starwars2222, @withasideofmeg, @ferns-fics, @fleurdemiel-145

[whateverisbeautiful]

Hi there

What do you think happened to Rick's ring that Michonne wore around her neck? Do you think Michonne eventually started wearing it again? What do you think Rick's thoughts were when he saw his ring around her neck?

Hi @tinuvielstrider9 💕 Thank you for these questions! They definitely made me think about some things and I wrote my thoughts on it right here. ⬇️😊

#1: What happened to Rick’s ring that Michonne wore around her neck?

I believe the last time we saw Michonne wearing the M necklace with Rick's ring was when the CRM helicopter was coming to pick her and Rick up in ep 2. So I think what might’ve happened is Michonne hid it away before being vetted by the Civic Republic panel. She especially would have to hide the ring since the background story she fed them was that she was previously with her boyfriend, not her husband, and a wedding ring could raise suspicion.

And I like to think wherever Michonne kept that M necklace and ring tucked away in her consignee room, she was able to relocate it and get it back once they defeated the CRM and could roam more freely.

#2: Do I think Michonne eventually started wearing Rick’s ring again?

No, I don’t think she does. I think that ring stays in a dish now. Michonne had been wearing his ring as a symbol of their husband-and-wife union, and she doesn’t have to wear that one anymore because now Rick has given her a ring of her own that symbolizes exactly that. 🙌🏽

I also envision that now that they’re back home, Michonne will find a new wedding band to give to Rick as well. One that’s completely between the two of them, rather than from his past. And even if he doesn’t have a traditional ring finger anymore, I think he’d still be happy to wear the ring Michonne gives him on the hand he does have. 😊

#3: What do I think Rick’s thoughts were when he saw his ring around Michonne's neck?

This question. 🥲 This question made me think about how, in the apocalypse especially, being apart for over 8 years would have technically given Michonne enough time to have potentially met a new man, married him, lost him, mourned his death, and then wear his wedding ring in remembrance. So when Rick saw the wedding ring dangling on Michonne’s necklace, he could have had a split second of being curious about where it came from because, considering he remembers every single detail about Michonne, he’d know it definitely wasn’t something attached to her necklace the last time he saw her.

But I personally think he didn't even need a split second to wonder about the ring’s origins or if Michonne had moved on because one; when Richonne reunited in the woods, they really did seem to have this intrinsic knowing that they'd remained loyal and in love with each other all these years. And two; I like to think that Rick would pretty much immediately realize it was his ring she was wearing.

And upon realizing that, and later having more time to mentally acknowledge it, I'd say Rick felt extremely moved to see Michonne was wearing his ring. Especially seeing his ring attached to her signature M necklace that means so much to her. He'd know she'd been wearing his ring with her everywhere. 🥹

There could be sadness there too because the ring could be a reminder for Rick that he was working on getting Michonne a wedding ring and marrying her before he was taken, and now he sees she's had to make do with wearing his old ring since they were separated before he had the chance to go through with the wedding plans.

But I think Rick also would be encouraged to see that just like he was in Philly declaring Michonne his wife, Michonne was clearly back home finding ways to declare him her husband as well. Rick knows the way Michonne values the things that remind her of her loved ones (through clothing, jewelry, gazebos, etc.) and so he'd probably feel touched that this ring was a way for her to still stay close and devoted to him.

And on top of all this, I think most of all Rick’s thought when he learned Michonne had been wearing his ring was “I’m going to make sure I give my wife a ring of her own like she deserves and like I’ve longed for so long to give her.”

And like a true Get Things Done Grimes, Rick made it happen. 😇💍

I always enjoy these questions so thank you again for asking and wanting to hear my thoughts! 💗

[italianlobster]

This Love

PAINNN </3

Summary: You and Matías were perfect for each other, until one day, he called it quits. He starts dating Malena Sanchez, and you're left all alone, mourning over the loss of your first love.

BTW the story is named after the song from Pantera, if you like that band, ily =)

--

As you entered your apartment, your eyelids felt heavy. This was due to crying. Why? During the day, your ex-boyfriend Matías had asked if you'd like to stay over at his house so he can give you one of his acting lessons. You had suddenly gained an interest in acting recently, and Matías was eager to teach you. He was a good actor, too, and had time to teach you today. Before you can say yes with a smile on your face, the familiar sight of a thin, pale woman had captured your eyes.

Malena Sanchez.

Matías' new girlfriend.

You and Matías had broken up a year ago. However, your heart belonged to him only, and you just couldn't move on. Although it felt like he ripped your heart into pieces and left your side the moment he got someone new, he had constantly plagued your thoughts and dreams. The only man you had your eyes on. Matías was your first everything; from your first love to your first kiss. So when the two of you finally broke up, you felt like a piece of you was lost. You couldn't imagine being with anyone else. This went as far as you rejecting others and not allowing yourself to be in a relationship.

For four months now, he had been dating his friend Malena Sanchez, and they were madly in love. One couldn't be seen without the other. You saw the way Matías looked at Malena, and your already broken heart started to decay. There were no tears left to cry at this point. But you wished them the best and tried to be happy for them while you were left in the dark. Your eyes were puffy, and your face was red.

When Malena had shown up, you had kindly declined Matías' favor and decided to go home instead. Thoughts had raced in your mind during the way home. You had no car and walked the long way home. Your vision became blurry, and you were already hyperventilating. It was also raining, which made your heart break even worse. Your tears blended with the rain. You didn't really pay attention to where you were going, but fortunately, you made it home. Keys fumbling, and the door was open, your eyes scanned across the room to search for your comfort items. A teddy bear Matías had given you for your birthday. It had a zipper located at its back, which contained the jewelry he had given you. There were rings and necklaces. One even had his initials engraved onto it. There was also a letter. You just couldn't bring yourself to throw them away after the breakup.

So you decided to do the most dangerous thing and read the letter Matías had given to you, which had his love confession in it. You took out the letter from the envelope and unfolded it. It was definitely going to make you feel worse, but you proceeded anyway.

Dear Y/N,

You have caught my eye. Whenever I'm around you, my heart races, and my pale face turns red. I just gawk at you. You're just the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Although you may not feel the same, I can't hide my feelings anymore. Please, let take your hand, and we shall jump together in the sea of love.

Sincerely, Matías Recalt

You sighed as the memories of you and Matías together danced in your mind. From picnic dates to trips at the beach, your eyes connected to the ceiling for what felt like hours. Then you feel asleep. At least in your dreams, the both of you were still together.

You were the makeup stylist for Matías on the set of Apache. Since the day you both were introduced to each other, you were inseparable. Texting and calling each other for hours, meeting up after filming was done. This went on for months until finally, Matías had sent you the letter confessing his feelings for you. You felt the same way for him and started dating. Unfortunately, Matías broke up with you a year later due to losing interest in you. He left you there to cry after breaking your heart. Before your breakup, you had also noticed some signs: Matías being visibly uncomfortable whenever you showed affection toward him in a romantic way, like kissing. His responses while texting became shorter, and he'd also take a long time to respond to you. He even stopped saying I love you. Once Malena entered the picture and became a friend of Matías, it was only a matter of time before he broke up with you. He seemed interested in her, but you brushed it off, thinking your mind was playing tricks on you.

Matías had never said he broke up with you to be with Malena, but you knew well that was also another reason why you both broke up because the moment he left, he began to date her. You begun to compare yourself to Malena. She had the perfect body. The perfect face. The perfect personality. You even begun to copy her fashion, hairstyle, and makeup for him to notice you. No wonder why Matías fell in love with her. You were nothing compared to her. But you could never hate her. She was always nice to you despite you being his ex. She'd always invite you to parties or shopping, but you'd always decline. You tried your best to be her friend, but the memories of Matías just kept coming back. All those things he was doing with you, he was now doing with her. That thought absolutely destroyed you.

It bothered you how Matías acted like you didn't mean anything to him before and that you were once the person he considered marrying. The both of you are still friends, of course, but you knew that everything wouldn't be the same after the breakup. For example, he doesn't even text or talk to you first anymore. He doesn't invite you to things that aren't even considered intimate, such as taking a walk in the park or just having a simple conversation.

Everyone else seems bothered by your constant rambling about Matías. You complained about how much you missed him, how you still have feelings for him, and even more nonsense. Years have passed, and you are now the makeup stylist for the LSDLN cast. Everyone in the cast continuously rolled their eyes and excused themselves from the conversation whenever you brought up Matías and Malena. All except for Enzo. He was the only one who listened to you. Whenever you were feeling down, he was there for you, comforting you and allowing you to cry on his shoulder. His chocolate eyes were filled with anger toward Matías, about how he dropped you the moment he got someone new. Although he didn't hold a grudge toward the couple, his blood still boiled.

You just wanted to scream at those who were bothered by you. If they can be in your shoes for one day to understand how you feel. They didn't hate you, of course, but you wished they were more emotionally available like Enzo. You wished they would listen.

A recent moment besides yesterday when you saw Malena visiting Matías on the set. She gave him lunch, and then they went off to somewhere private. Probably went there to make out or something. You sighed and also went somewhere private and took the letter out of your pocket. You read it over and over again. Since nobody was near, you said out loud,

"I guess he never meant what he wrote in that letter."

Your back slid down the wall as you sat down.

It's not easy having your heart broken.

You'll never forget how Matías left you. How could he go and leave you behind? All alone, to cry on your own. You should've known he was going to bail on you.

You closed your eyes, wishing this feeling would go away but deep down, you knew it wouldn't.

--

[desiderio-dixon]

Seesaws and Stray Dogs

Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Negan's sister!reader

Genre : angst!! some comfort and fluff

Warnings : violence, gore, the lineup, mentions of Daryl's time as Negan's prisoner, guilt, toxic sibling relationship, please lmk if I missed anything!

Word count : 1.2k

Request (by anon) : "daryls wife coming out as negans sister how will everything unfold when she learns????"

A/N : I could definitely expand on this universe more in the future! Hope this is along the lines of what anon was looking for!

❀~~__~~❀~~__~~❀

The last time you'd seen your brother, it ended in yells and tears. You were furious to find how he'd been treating his wife, the same wife that was wasting away each day. You'd told him, "Don't call me." And left his apartment. He didn't have much of a reaction, that stone cold expression, never meeting your eyes. But he'd stayed true to your request, and hadn't called ever again.

When the world turned upside down and the dead began roaming, you figured he was dead. Of course you still cared for him, had fond memories of seesaws and stray dogs. But you couldn't stand to think of the person he'd become, so it was easier to believe he was dead. To mourn, and then move on.

And move on, you did. You found a group, a group that quickly became family. To add, you even found love.

Daryl is a big heart hidden behind a gruff exterior, and he stole your heart before you even knew it. After months of pining, you finally threw in the towel and kissed him. It was clunky and awkward but it made your heart grow ten sizes. It wasn't long before he'd found a ring for you. A simple thing, a dainty band with a small green gem in the center. It isn't much visually, but it means the world to you.

Now, on the worst day of your life, you twirl the ring anxiously around your finger over and over. Beside you, Maggie trembles, pale and sweaty. A little further down the line is Daryl. He's hurt, bleeding and doubled over. You want to crawl to him, to stretch your body over his and protect him. Let his blood seep into your clothing. But you can't, you know that. Around you, the saviors keep alert, waiting for someone to act out of line. For someone to give them a reason. You won't.

And then the trailer door snaps open. "Pissing our pants, yet?" At first, you think you're hallucinating. Some sick and twisted trick your brain is playing on you. There's no way that your brother is the big bad wolf.

But then he sees you, and he laughs. A big, hearty laugh that crinkles the corners of his eyes. And then he's strutting over to you, bat swinging at his side. "Holy...shit!" He exclaims, leaning down to face you eye-to-eye. You meet his eyes, searching them. In your peripheral, you see Daryl begin to struggle, trying to reach you. You want to tell him that it's okay, that this is your brother, but you're not sure that's even true anymore. Who has he become? "Definitely did not expect to see you here!" Negan bellows, a happy grin on his face.

You can feel the confused gazes surrounding you, both from your friends and his. You don't dare look away from him, eyes steely and jaw set. But still, your hands move on their own accord, twirling the ring over and over. "Now this here...is an absolute plot twist! That is my baby sister, y'all!" He looks at your hands, at the ring you obsessively touch. "Oh! Now don't tell me my little sister is married to one of these pricks!" Daryl squirms.

"I am, not that it's any of your business." You spit. Negan twirls around, giving the lineup a good once over.

"Now wait! Don't tell me! Let me guess." He walks back and forth, exaggeratedly rubbing his chin in mock-thought. He stops in front of Rick, glancing to see your reaction. You don't move. And then Glenn, but when Maggie cries out, he swiftly moves on. Right to Daryl. You swallow harsh, holding your breath as he raises his bat to him. "I think I hit the jackpot! Get up, kid. Come sit next to your husband." You stand on shaky feet, sending one last lingering glance to Maggie before stumbling your way to Daryl.

When you reach him, falling to your knees, he shuffles forward, hiding you behind his frame. Negan laughs at the display. "Well, now that we've got that settled, let's get started!"

When all is settled and done, you can't look away from the patch of dirt and leaves you're perched on. Because if you do, you'd see your friends. Abraham and Glenn, or what's left of them. A mangled mess of gore, the soil below drinking their blood and tinging a crimson red. And you'd see that he's gone. Your love, ripped from you as you kicked and cried and screamed. You're not sure how long you sit, staring at the ground. But night turns into morning.

And then Maggie stumbles toward her husband. All the girls leap up, yourself included. You, Sasha, Rosita all help Maggie. Like some kind of widows club, you think bitterly.

There's a sense of guilt too, that this blood was spilled by someone of your own. That the same evil that runs through him could be in your veins, too. Rick can hardly meet your eyes.

In shame, you exile yourself to Hilltop with Maggie and Sasha. There's nothing for you in Alexandria anymore. You knew Negan wouldn't hurt you, but everyone else was free game and you didn't want to be there to see it. Let him believe you were dead. Maybe then he'd let Daryl go.

Hilltop is where you and Daryl reunite. It was somewhere around a week after the lineup, a week of hell for everyone. Daryl was weakened, beat and starved and sleep deprived. He practically falls into your arms.

The tears roll freely as your hands roam over his back, confirming that he's really there. Really with you. You're overcome with a strange mix of gratitude and guilt. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." You cry into him, tears staining his shoulder. He doesn't say anything, but he squeezes you tightly. That says more than words.

That night, as you both ready for bed, Daryl tells you all that he went through at the hands of your brother. You run your hands over the fresh bruises and the aged scars. "I'm sorry. I thought he was dead." You mumble, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder. The dim light of the lamp casts an intimate glow over the two of you.

"He will be." Daryl grunts, but then he timidly adds. "...if ya want him to be." You know he's no stranger to a morally gray (or rather morally black) brother. His own brother was once his enemy too.

"I don't know, honestly. He's my brother but he hasn't been the same since even before all this." You sigh. "I wish things were different." The things Negan has done, they're unforgiveable. And yet, he may be the only blood you have left in the world. Doesn't that mean something?

You settle into the bed next to Daryl, wrapping your arms around his frame. His skin is warm and comforting against your own. Familiar. You begin to doze off, feeling safe knowing he's here with you, but before you reach sleep, you hear him. "Me too."

At that, you make a promise to yourself. You won't let your brother hurt Daryl anymore, no matter the cost. No one, including Negan, will take Daryl from you ever again.

[sourscratched]

picking up the funny little guys like they’re miis in the plaza and dropping them into the fair au

extra doodles and notes etc

- josh and katrina have matching earrings designed to look like gyrfalcon feathers (they’re tiny but they’re there i swear)

- rachel of course has a wolf pendant for her hacker besties 🌙🐺

- janices necklaces are a hammer and artisanal ice

- janices “sword” is just a big handsaw (couldn’t find a way to reconcile medieval sword with coping saw in any realistic way so handsaw it is)

(B is the one i used, you could kinda pretend it’s a sword if you unfocus your eyes)

thank you to all the beautiful people in the discord and everyone who gave me ideas for the outfits!!! 💖💖💖💖 @wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos @fatestitcherr @vexillologyisenjoyable @spacetime-storytime (let me know if i missed anybody who gave design ideas!)

(I drew the above one a few days before the discord chat about the renfaire au designs started so that’s why Josh’s outfit is weird)

couldn’t get this out of my head, wanted to draw jester josh so bad... didn’t know what to do for lorenzo and d’artanio so i just used my old design but slightly fancier lol

and jacques and felipe from flow of the rings can be there too

other potential ideas

- polypalooza came down dressed as their dnd characters and did some photoshoots

- brendan and his friends are of course also at the fair

zekes character is having the time of his life hanging out and taking selfies with all the Star Wars cosplayers

Jess’s character found a bunch of people to play tag with (and another group of people to act out the movie Tag while they do it)

zachs simultaneous karaoke guy maybe got into doing chants and tavern renditions of his favorite songs. and also considering the fact that the man accidentally sexted brendan in the opening number i think he probably already has the falconers contact info and is hoping to see them at the fair (lorenzo and d’artanio don’t own phones but luckily he happens to know a guy who trains carrier pigeons) (and his wife who sells stationery)

idk if byler made it to the fair, he may have been preoccupied trying to solve the mystery of how a mourning dove got mixed in with his pigeons and why it had a scrap of paper tied to its leg with “whoops wops widdly wops” scrawled on it

that evening there’s some musical acts down at the lake, including some boy band called Plato Could Never. no one’s super sure who they are but they’re local and apparently they’ve got killer harmonies

that’s all for now, thanks for reading my strange ramblings trying to connect everything for no reason at all

[wildemaven]

fall apart, again : chapter one | joel miller

Pairing: Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x OFC!Genevieve

WC: 5k

Warnings: 18+ Blog; Heavy on the Angst, post-outbreak world, no specific age mentioned but reader is close in age to Joel, minor character death, Ellie and her smart mouth, leaving the rest to read at your own risk to not spoil things, reader has a name but there are zero references to her appearance/she’s a blank slate character, 2nd POV, this is way AU so can be read as Game Joel or TV Joel

A/N: I’ve been so excited and nervous for this series. I don’t have a timeline for posting with this one, just going to take my time with it. Big thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for listening to me wrack my brain over this series and for being my second set of eyes!! Please go check out her new Dieter Series!!!

Series Masterlist / Playlist / Inspo Board

Next

Spring was slowly transitioning into the next season. 

Bright fragrant blooms wilting away into the dry soil from where they were born— a poetic reminder of the time. 

21 Summers. 

21 years of surviving. 

Enduring. 

Remembering—  the normal life before the outbreak that you mourn daily. 

A giant Bur Oak lends itself to you, branches providing ample shade as you sit resting against its sturdy trunk, the ground cool beneath where you sit. 

The harsh sunlight filters through the tree’s canopy, a warm dapple light speckled all around you. 

There’s a gentle flicker to your left that catches your attention, a single light-ray hits the small diamond on your dainty gold band where it sits heavy on your ring finger. You hold your hand up, remembering back to when you both had found it, he had immediately dropped to his knee— it wasn’t much, but it was perfect. 

“I give you this ring as a reminder that we face this world together. We’re an unbreakable team.”

Even after all these years and the circumstances of the world around you, it’s a vow you stand by. 

Branches above rustle and crack as a breeze sweeps through, the edges of the paper that is resting on a book in your lap fold over with each small gust, drawing your attention back to the words you’ve written. 

…We passed what looked like it was a small farm at one point. It made me yearn for normalcy. Where we could settle into the small farmhouse, drink our morning coffee on the wraparound porch while we watch the sun rise. Have all the animals that would give a homestead atmosphere. A coup of chickens where we would gather eggs daily, a flock of sheep and goats for milk, and a small herd of cows— because what’s a farm without some cows I can give silly names to. 

We’d raise a family in that farmhouse— lots of babies running around to wrangle. Breakfast of pancakes and fresh eggs, all of us together around our table, then tucking them all in at night after we’ve read them several stories. 

We’d lay in each other’s arms as the crickets sing their chirping songs. A breeze washing over us through the open windows, the evening air lighter and crisp as the night fades and our worn bodies succumb to sleep. 

There wouldn’t be heartache or sadness. No fighting or stressing over jobs. We’d be happy. We’d be together… 

“Eve! Let’s get goin’— we only got a few more hours of light left. Should be at the cabin before sundown.” The thick Texas twang breaks through your thoughts. 

Steve standing off in the distance, his blonde hair disheveled and wind blown as he looks back to where you’re tucked under the tree. 

He’s handsome in his own right, not someone you would have ever found yourself with in different circumstances, but now you wouldn’t know how to function without him. 

A chance meeting the day of the outbreak had brought the two of you together. 

You were working as a traveling nurse at a hospital 4 hours from where you lived, instantly going into crisis mode as lead of the trauma response team, the ER quickly overwhelmed with patients seeking treatment for bites or flu-like symptoms— it was unlike anything you had ever seen before in all your years as a nurse. 

Steve, a retired detective, was on vacation with his wife visiting a friend before the initial outbreak happened. The morning of, he’d gone on a duck hunting trip, while his wife went to breakfast with some girlfriends at a local Waffle House. He had brought her into your ER when he noticed she was acting strangely, similar to the symptoms the news was reporting as a widespread epidemic. Her outcome was not hopeful as you did your best to administer vials of antibiotics and fluids, the infection moving through her was beyond anything you could treat. 

It was Steve who made the call to abandon his wife and the hospital and the realization hit fairly quickly that there was less you could actually do to help others. 

Fleeing the area, seeking solace in one another as you both navigated through quarantine zones— searching for familiarity in your former hometown, only to be met with decimation and nothingness. 

Steve’s way around a gun helped keep you safe when evading FEDRA, the nursing kit you put together came in handy when stitching him up between shootouts and fighting off the infected— this was now your new normal. 

As the years progressed, you both found contentment with each other. Security gave way to a sense of comfort and revival, falling into a deeper connection beyond two people surviving a post outbreak apocalypse— if you were going to be in each other’s lives, you might as well be fully committed. 

“Eve! Pack your shit up— let’s go!” He spits out a little harsher, no real malice behind his tone— he likes to stick to his schedule. 

You don't respond, folding your letter carefully then tucking all of  your items into your canvas pack.  Standing to your full height, you give your legs a minute to let the blood reacquaint fully, your hands brushing the bits of dust and weeds from your pants. 

You hear Steve continue his huffing, as you make your way closer to where he’s standing. 

“I thought I told you to knock it off with those pointless letters!” He gruffs, hands secure at his hips and his head cocked to the side, hoping to catch your gaze. 

Your letters. They had become a loose journal, your stream of thoughts you needed to get out so you were not plagued by the pain and anxiety that came with them whirling around your brain. 

Letters to your past, letters to a new life that awaits you and sometimes to no one at all— you wrote about your travels, things you missed or longed for now, hope for the future. 

They were too much to keep, pages and pages filled with your words and stories, some containing memories too painful to read or share, a weight you didn’t want to carry, so you scattered them throughout your travels. In the last 21 years, you’ve written hundreds of them, dropping them in abandoned mailboxes, or tucked away in the abandoned spaces you’d settled into in passing, as if to send them to whomever you were writing to— leaving a trail of your life across cities and states. 

“And I thought I told you to stop calling me Eve— guess we don’t always get what we want?” You had asked him multiple times over the years to not call you Eve, that was your former life and you hated the reminder, but you know he doesn’t do it out of spite. 

The gravel crunches under your boots as you walk past, not looking to argue with him in the heat of the sun. 

Steve’s hand reaches out clasping around yours, halting your movements, his eyes fixed on you, furrowed brows as if he wants to say something. 

“Hey— Ya know I love you, right?” He sighs, his fingers toying with the gold band on your ring finger. 

You look to where your hands are joined, the twisting of the gold band a small gesture of his when things get tough or tense, you smile when you meet his gaze again. 

“I know.” You do know, and you feel it too. “Come on, we’ve only got a few hours of light left.” He shakes his head, but gives you a smile at the way you throw his comment back at him. 

*

It had been close to 2 hours of walking, nearly dark, by the time you both made it to the cabin, nestled among dozens of other abandoned cabins on the hillside of an old ski resort. 

You imagine it was a popular spot in its prime, filled with families taking their kids on their first snow trips, friends racing each other down the slopes, non-skiers enjoying warm beverages in the lodge while everyone else enjoyed the snowy weather. 

Now desolate and forgotten, a stop for raiders on the hunt for supplies and hostages or survivors seeking refuge in search of a town just north of here, Jackson. 

Steve had managed to trade for a hand-held CB radio early on, he kept tabs on chatter that happened among FEDRA, staying one step ahead of their whereabouts. At some point he had stumbled upon private channels used by other survivors, he didn’t talk much about what they discussed with you, it was his realm of expertise and a small thing that was just his, so you didn’t push him to share more than what he was willing to. 

It was a year ago he had connected with someone and heard about Jackson. There was an offer for a place for a fresh start, a community of other survivors, somewhere to feel safe and comfortable without fear of being attacked, placed in solitary confinement, killed— or infected. Steve decided it was where you both were meant to be, hashing out a plan and specific route on his tattered map, making sure to stay in constant contact with this person in Jackson as you both traveled. 

Venturing further into the resort, you both settled on the lesser marred of the dilapidated cabins.

“I’m gonna check the perimeter, you go on inside— check each room first, I’ll be right in. But remember, if I’m not back in ten minutes, you don’t come looking for me— you wait until morning and you head over that mountain, under no circumstances do you leave that cabin before sunrise.” Steve instructed, his hands on your shoulders reassuring the doubt he can see written all over your face. 

“Steve— W-what if, there’s something inside—“ Your voice is barely a whisper, nervousness creeping in as your hands grip onto Steve’s wrists that have moved to cup your face, his thumbs smoothing across the apples of your cheeks. 

“We’ve done this a million times before, I know you can do it— I wouldn’t send you in there if I didn’t think you were capable, you’ll be fine. Just think, this is the last time we have to do this. Then it’s you and me, in Jackson, together and safe— ‘kay?” His direct eye contact really drives home the message— together and safe.

“Okay.”

“I love you, go be brave.” Romantic and encouraging as he presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“I love you— be safe, please.” 

“Always.” He shoots a wink with his mustached smile, a few slow steps backwards then turning to make his way up the backside of the cabin, pulling the butt of his rifle close to his chest, hunched and scanning every inch of the surrounding area. 

The cabin would seem warm and inviting if the possibility of a Clicker behind the door wasn’t a high probability. 

Armed with the knife Steve insisted you keep on you at all times, your refusal at his request for you to carry a gun, you make your way up the front steps. 

Each move was slow and calculated, the wood beneath your boots wobbled and creaked the closer you got to the front door. The handle is cold to the touch as you twist it open, pushing the door with a little extra effort to unstick it from the doorframe. 

It’s dark and musty, uninhabited by the living and anything beyond that at first glance. Dust and cobwebs cover every surface, pictures still mounted on the walls slightly hanging uneven. A floral couch with two side chairs still arranged in an inviting way, waiting to be enjoyed during a long conversation. The kitchen was small but large enough that it still would have been possible to whip up a hearty meal over the stove, then gather at the tiny table to enjoy the meal and dessert. 

You’re grateful the floor plan is an open space, no immediate threat to you upon entering. 

There’s only two doors, which you assume hide a bathroom and a bedroom. 

The first door reveals nothing but a sink, toilet and shower-tub combo— you’re looking forward to a hot shower when you get to Jackson. 

You stare at the closed remaining door, the handle of the knife twisting in your hand as you prepare yourself, not really feeling like you have it in you to take out anything that might be waiting for you on the other side. 

A deep breath in, reaching for the the handle you give it a quick jiggle announcing your presence, twist and a quick swing open— a queen size bed draped in outdated sheets, bedside tables with lamps covered in a layer of dust, a dresser opposite the bed with a giant mirror hanging above it. 

Empty. 

Relief washing away the dread. 

Stepping into the room, you toss your pack and knife onto the dresser before finding a seat at the end of the bed, the mattress shifting under you, the springs groan as you settle into a comfortable spot. 

You’re not sure how much time has passed since you entered the house, noting it’s been a while since you had heard or seen anything from Steve, but knowing he likes to be thorough, you’re hoping he makes his way through the front door soon. 

The moon has crept into the night sky, shining through the small bedroom window, illuminating the reflection staring back at you. 

Sometimes you forget how long it’s been since you’ve seen what you really look like. While it’s you that you’re staring at in the mirror, you feel slightly unrecognizable to yourself— aged by 21 years in every sense, tired and worn down by the state of the world and lack of sleep. 

Your fingers lightly trace over your skin, taking in every detail, rediscovering every angle of your appearance— the old characteristics blending into the new ones. 

A yawn escapes you, remembering what Steve had said about not leaving, you decide to get yourself comfortable in bed and wait for him. 

Kicking your boots off, you crawl up the length of the bed, plopping your head down onto the stack of lumpy pillows, your mind wandering as you run through all the scenarios as to why Steve hasn’t returned yet, debating whether you should go take a look outside or listen and wait for morning— scared of what you might find waiting for you. 

Your eyelids begin a heavy blink, struggling to remain open and alert, your breathing evening out as your body relaxes into the mattress, sleep consuming your mind. 

Warmth surrounds you, the bed dipping and creaking pulls you from your sleep, immediate panic bursts in your chest as your eyes shoot open, your vision blurred as you seek out the movement of a shadowy figure behind you. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay— it’s just me.” 

“Steve?!” Turning your body to lay facing him, your hands fisting his shirt, scanning his face for any sign of distress or discomfort. “What took you so long?”

“I’m fine.” Placing a hand over one of yours that’s settled on his chest. “Decided to wait a bit, just to be sure nothin’ was out there— I’m sorry.” His hand moves to the base of your neck, his forehead resting against yours.

“S’okay.”

“No— I’m sorry for callin’ your letters pointless earlier. I know how much they mean to you.  I just—“ He releases a heavy sigh, voice quivering as he avoids eye contact with you. 

“What— what’s the matter?” You sense there’s something Steve’s not telling you. 

“Nothin’s the matter. I just worry about what’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours— you shut down on me and I just wish you’d let me help you carry the burden.” His gaze moves back to yours. “Promise me, when we get to Jackson, you don’t let your thoughts weigh you down any longer— promise me you’ll let yourself be happy there.”

“I p-promise.” You say, brushing the blonde strands of hair off of his forehead. “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier.”

“Nah, I was pushin’ your buttons— I deserved it.” You both laugh at his response. 

Steve leans into your space, his lips slotting over yours, it’s angled and slow, his grip on your neck still steady as the kiss begins to deepen. Throwing your leg over his hip, canting against the sturdiness of his thigh, seeking out some sort of friction to relieve the building ache between your legs. 

But before things are about progress, Steve’s pulling away from your mouth, slowing the roll of your hips with his hand. 

“We should get some sleep— we’ve got close to a 3, maybe 4 hour walk tomorrow, we need to get all the rest we can get.”

“Y-yeah, of course.” Your response is breathy, a slight pang in your chest at his soft rejection, questioning whether you had been too harsh towards him earlier in the day— but your body could use the rest. 

Adjusting yourself, you turn away from Steve, his large arm wrapping around and pulling you closer to him. Your back now against his firm chest, each one of your tense muscles slowly relaxing into him and his warmth. 

Thoughts of a new start in Jackson flood your mind as you drift off into a deep sleep. A chance at a better life, where Steve and you can settle into normalcy together. Retire from the constant fear and panic of daily survival out in the open. The taste of prosperity and the sense of peace, an almost tangible reality for the two of you. 

Steve senses sleep has set in for you, the ease of your regulated breathing paired with your gentle snores. He nestles himself into the crook of your neck, his fingers instinctively migrate to your ring smoothing over the cool metal, his thick whiskers tickle lightly at your skin as he whispers reserved confessions into the balmy. A gentle kiss to your shoulder before allowing himself to fully breathe easy, deciding to keep a watchful eye throughout the night. 

“You’ll be happier Genevieve, I promise.”

*

The sun is in its full glory once you both set out on the last stretch of your journey over the mountain.

Steve had been rather short with you all morning, you chalked it up to his tossing and turning all night, his eyes bloodshot, evident in lacking sleep— he had promised everything was fine, so you believed him. 

“How much longer do you think we have?” Not really knowing what to talk about with the uneasiness that’s been going on all morning. 

“I don’t know, Eve— they guy said it was about a 3 hour walk from the resort. We’ve been walking close to 2 and a half, so we’re probably close.”

“Please don’t call me—“

“Jesus Christ Genevieve! I’m fucking sorry! But you don’t make it easy for me sometimes— I feel like I’m always at a fucking arms length away from you even after 21 fucking years.” Anger shoots from his mouth like bullets, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like this, at least never towards you. “It’s a goddamn name! Gen, Eve, Genevieve— they’re all the fucking same!” 

“I-I’m sorry.” Tears prick at your eyes, you try your best to not let them fall— you’ll save them for when you’re alone in the safety of your new home. 

“Fuck! No, I’m sorry— shit! C’mere.”

Steve pulls you into him, his face hot against your cheek as he holds you close, the button down he’s wearing is drenched in sweat, there’s a slight tremble to the grip he has on you. 

“Are you okay?” You pull back to get a better look at him, beads of sweat glisten across his forehead, his cheeks flushed a bright red. 

“Yeah, just really fucking tired.” 

*CLICK*

“Hands where we can see them! Slowly, no fast movements!” A woman’s voice echoes through the air. 

Steve releases you from his arms, both of you slowly turning, arms raised up as you were told. 

There’s 5 of them, all on horses with their guns drawn in your direction. The woman seems to be in charge of the group, her horse placed a few feet in front of the others.

“We don’t mean no harm, we’re just trying to get to the settlement just over this mountain. You must be Maria? I was told you might greet us before we got there.” Steve says, keeping his tone even as explains himself. 

“Am I supposed to know who you are?” She asks, her expression still unreadable as she waits for Steve to respond. 

“No— you don’t, but I was told you would bring us the rest of the way in.” 

Maria takes a minute to decide whether she wants to believe Steve or not. 

“Scan them.” Looking back at one of the men behind her, nodding to where Steve and you are still standing with your arms raised. “I don’t care who you talked to, you get scanned before you come in.” 

The man grabs a device from his saddle pack, then makes his way towards you, the other 3 men’s guns still aimed, fingers hovering over their triggers. 

“Lady’s first.” The man states, placing the device on your neck, there’s a small zap to your skin when the scan is administered. 

“Green!” He shouts, holding the device up to show the green screen in Maria’s direction. 

You breathe a sigh of relief, even though you knew you were fine. 

Turning towards Steve, the man places the scanner on Steve’s neck, Steve’s eyes locking with yours as the man presses the designated button to conduct the virus scan. 

The man steps back quickly, a flash of red catches your attention. 

“RED!” He holds the device up. 

The other men direct their aim to Steve, his head hanging low and no sign of resistance to finding out he’s infected. 

“Steve! No— Tell them you’re not infected!” Insisting he speak up. “He’s not infected! Scan him again! Please!” You scream at the group, your voice straining as you plead with them to scan Steve again, convinced it was a bad read. 

“Please!! Scan him—“

“Genevieve— it’s not wrong.” Steve says. 

You turn to him, chest heaving and your throat burning from yelling, confused by what he’s saying.

“What? What do you mean it’s not wrong? You’re not infected Steve— you’re just tired, they need to scan you again!”

“I was bit.” 

You can feel the blood drain from your face as the words leave his mouth. Your brain takes a moment to register what he had said. 

Bit. 

Infected. 

“No— no! No, no no!”

“Genevieve—“

“W-when?”

“Last night, there was a runner that came out of one of the other cabins—“

Steve’s confession hits you like a ton of bricks in slow motion. You hate it and don’t want to believe a single thing he’s saying, because the reality is that this is where it ends for him— for you. 

The tears burn as they begin to stream down your face. 

“You didn’t say anything though—“

“I needed to get you here— I needed you to be safe.”

Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, throwing yourself at him, anchoring your arms around his neck. 

“No! I can’t do this without you— I can’t lose you too!” 

“Yes, you can. You’re the bravest person I’ve known in a long time. You’re going to get there and you’re going to meet new people and you will be able to help out because that’s what you love— you love helping people and I love that about you. This is your chance to start over, to be happy— do that for me?” His hands cup your face so he can look at you, his eyes filled with tears as well. “Do me a favor, write me one of your letters— I want to know everything.”

You nod, unable to speak, the lump in your throat growing as your remaining time together dwindles away. 

“I love you, Genevieve.” His words muffled against your skin, leaving one last kiss on your forehead. 

“I love you, too.” You breathe out, your eyes closed savoring his soft touch one last time. 

“How long?” Maria asks Steve.

“Probably ‘nother hour left, give or take.”

“Alright Genevieve— you’re riding with me, hand your pack to one of my men. Andrew, you hang back with Steve— you know what to do.” Maria orders everyone. 

Wiping your tears before placing a kiss to Steve’s cheek, then turning to where Maria is waiting for you, handing your pack to one of her men. Maria leans down to grab onto your arm, as you hoist yourself up onto the backside of the horse. 

“Let’s head back.” Maria says, pulling the reins up and to one side to signal the horse to turn around, a click of her tongue has the horse moving forward in the direction of the settlement. 

You can’t bear to look back in Steve’s direction, not trusting yourself to not run back to him. 

Leaving him and knowing his fate is like reliving the same pain you endured 21 years ago. The outbreak takes everything from you for a second time. 

Your world shatters, crumbling as the horse carries you further and further from him. 

*BANG*

The sound ricochets out over the valley, your heart sinks as a new wave of tears silently fall. 

*

You don’t remember the entire ride to the settlement or how you ended up on the porch of a two story house. 

Maria had mentioned putting you up in her brother-in-law's converted garage, a small studio bedroom where those new to the settlement would stay while their permanent residence were being cleaned and prepped. She said it wasn’t anything special and you’d have to use the main houses kitchen and bathroom, but you’d have your own space in a few days— so interacting with a few strangers was the least you could do for the hospitality. 

You honestly didn’t care where she put you for the time being, the stables would have been enough, you just wanted to be alone. 

Glancing over your shoulder you see others moving about freely, children running about in the open, a stark contrast between what you had been so used to. 

There’s rows and rows of homes, a small town-like area, a community garden— this place was everything that Steve had described to you, he would have loved it. 

The opening of the front door pulls you back to the front porch where you’re standing with Maria. 

“We’ve got a newcomer, she’s going to stay here until we get a room ready down the street.” Maria explained to the young girl who is glaring at you. 

“Why do you keep bringing them here? This isn’t a shelter— can’t she stay somewhere else?”

“No, she can’t. This is Ellie, her bark is worse than her bite— she’ll grow on you. Ellie, this is Genevieve let’s let her get comfortable and situated— she just lost whom I’m assuming was her husband, so please make her feel welcomed.” Maria coerses Ellie into letting you stay, but you don’t miss the eye rolling throw your way. 

The home is spacious and inviting, you decide it’s far more comfortable than the stables would have been. 

“Ellie, can you grab Genevieve a glass of water please.” It’s more of a demand than an ask. “Here Genevieve, have a seat here at the table. I’m sure Ellie can make you something to eat if you’re hungry too.”

“So now we’re a shelter and we have room service? Her legs don’t seem broken to me—.” 

“Ellie, glass of water!”

The girl grunts something under her breath as she follows through with getting you water, you settle into a chair and try to not let the unwelcome feeling that’s been looming over you since you set foot in the house add to the pain that is still radiating through you. 

You wipe a few tears you hadn’t realized had fallen, a new wave of emotions hitting you, another moment of realization of Steve not being here with you like you had both talked about. 

“Is there anything else I can get you Genevieve?” Maria cautiously places a hand on your shoulder, you take it as her way of apologizing for your loss. 

“Umm, just my bag would be great and a shower would be nice.” You sniffle, ready to lock yourself away for the day, not wanting to be forced to have unwanted conversations with a teenager who already hates your new presence. 

“I’ll go grab your bag from the stables, then you can start getting settled.” She gives your shoulder a light squeeze before turning for the front door. “Ellie, be nice.”

A glass of water is placed in front of you, a few cubes of ice float around the clear liquid. You don’t even remember the last time you had enjoyed an ice cold drink. 

Ellie situates herself in the chair across from you, looking as if she wants to say something. 

“So— your husband is dead?” 14 years old and a great conversationalist. 

“No— y-yes.” Your chest aches at the mention of ‘your husband.’

“Well, that’s not confusing. So, did you watch him die?”

“Hmm?” 

“Your husband, did you watch your husband die?” She asks again. 

“N-no.”

“I’m all out of questions then.” She slinks back into her chair. 

You stare at the ice, almost half the size it was when it was placed in front of you. Wishing you could slowly melt away, become the nothingness you feel like. 

The front door swings open and closes with a gentle click, the clunking sound of boots makes the presence of whoever stepped into the house known. 

“Hey kid, sorry I’m late. Tommy wanted to get drinks after our patrol.” 

A deep husky voice permeates the room, its thick syrupy tone seeps into every little crevice of your memory, its familiarity prompting the goosebumps to form across your body. 

“I didn’t know we were having guests— this a new friend of yours?” He asks, his foot step getting closer to where you're still seated at the table, your back turned to him. 

“Fuck no! It’s one of Maria’s strays. Said she has to stay here until her room is available— which is bullshit if you ask me!” She spouts off, her annoyance very apparent. 

“Ellie, manners!” He grits out. 

You lift yourself from the chair, steadying your weak state on the table and chair as you turn in his direction. 

Your heart nearly stops the moment your eyes land on him— a ruggedness to him, his soft brown eyes filled with a darkness that comes with loss and sorrow, his dark locks and beard sprinkled with tuffs of gray, an overall hardness about him that hides his true self. 

“Joel?” Your eyes wide and filled with more tears, the name is barely a whisper as it falls into the air. 

“Eve?” A name he never thought he would say again. 

[thus-spoke-lo]

cw: gn!reader; angst; spoilers for dressrosa arc.

There was no contingency plan for you.

Doflamingo didn’t have a plan for what to do with you when the end came—when there was no one left to serve as cannon fodder, when the island crumbled and the skies seemed to darken, when the bird cage closed in and the buildings fell and the streets were torn apart.

There was no plan for you when that brat came to the island with his band of upstarts because there was no threat. The petulant child would be defeated, and his little friends would never make it out alive. There was no plan for you because there was nothing to worry about.

And he reassured you with his words and he calmed you with his touch, and he pulled you into his lap and acted as if nothing was wrong—no harm would ever befall his little bird, your wings clipped but unbroken, and you’d remain his as long as the sun set over Dressrosa. No one could take the throne from him, not by force, not by wits or by will, and you would be safe as long as you were his.

But he lied.

You watched from the windows of the castle as long as you could before it became clear that you needed to run. You still believed in him, in his strength and in his promise, but you still needed to run. As the cage over the island closed in, and the screams grew louder and the world looked grim, you knew you needed to run.

But there was nowhere to go.

So you stayed. And you listened. And the world went deafeningly quiet, soon broken by cheers, shouts of they got the bastard! ringing in your ears and the roar of celebration vibrating you to the marrow of your bones. And you watched from a window as the whole world learned of what happened there, and you watched as men carted Doflamingo away, and your blood ran cold at how many people knew your face and your name, knew what you’d been to him, how you’d turned a blind eye in the name of something like love.

You knew you needed to run.

And you found your way onto a ship, stowed away until you reached some faraway island where you could finally breathe, finally cry, finally allow yourself to mourn what was and what could have been. One day you’d find your way back to him. No one could take him from you, not by force, not by wits or by will, and you would be safe again as long as you were his.

[renegadeknucks]

Hello I was wondering if you have any sonuxadow (hope I spelt that right) headcannons I love your art style by the way

i do! and thank you so much i really appreciate it!

Sonknuxadow headcanons

The three of them wear matching gold jewelry to keep close to each other, Shadow and Sonic both have their right ears pierced with two earrings, and Knuckles has the gold bands on his spines because he lacks visible ears. They do all have promise rings as well, but they're not typically worn due to none of them wanting to break such a sentimental item.

Sonic flirts with both of them constantly during battles against Eggman, he thinks it's funny. On multiple occasions this has led to Eggman forfeiting because he really doesn't want to hear it.

Their favorite nap spot is on top of the Master Emerald.

They seem to spar far more frequently than before the three of them were dating, often using it as a competition to see who can be the least worn out at the end of each session. It's almost always Knuckles, but Sonic seems to be really proud whenever he actually manages to stun the echidna. Shadow always looks the most well kept after, no matter how long it goes on, and the other two will immediately gang up on him for the sole purpose of messing up his quills. They're all very competitive.

The teasing and bickering also became far more frequent, except now instead of ending up with someone being physically hurt (usually Sonic) it now ends in them laughing due to them starting to truly understand what's off limits when it comes to each of their personal lives. 

Knuckles and Shadow are both trying their hardest to help Sonic get over his fear of water, giving him gentle kisses and holding his hands as soon as they see him getting even slightly nervous. They haven't gotten him to try full on swimming, but he's gotten okay enough in the water to go waist deep while he's with them. He still prefers to stay as far away from it as possible.

Knuckles had found the two, on multiple occasions, sneaking onto Angel Island just to play with the vast population of Chao. He finds it cute.

All three of them are known to ramble for hours about their interests, and they're always purposely asking about specifics so the rambler can go into heavier detail about it. They all love listening to their partner talk about topics that they know nothing about, they just want to hear their voice and like seeing them so passionate.

Knuckles seems to leave his island a little more often since he'd started dating them, along with using his communicator a lot more because he grew attached very quickly than anyone expected him to.

Sonic and Knuckles both help Shadow mourn the date of Maria's death and celebrate her birthday every year, Shadow secretly thinks she really would have liked them.

Shadow and Sonic started dating first, and they were only dating for two weeks before they decided someone was missing and immediately got ready and raced to Angel Island to be the first one to ask him out. Yes they did bring gifts of chocolate and flowers and stuffed animals, they had no idea what they were doing.

Speaking of stuffed animals, that's like their go to gift for all of them. Shadow has a collection of various cat plushies which eventually led to Sonic and Knuckles getting him a real cat for his birthday. Sonic has various sea creatures, and Knuckles has forest creatures. They also all have a plush of the other. None of them are the best at gift giving, Sonic often forgets he needed to.

Shadow and Sonic help Knuckles with his chores around the island, they practically live with him as their relationship goes on. They were never really invited to stay, but Knuckles loves them too much to kick them off unless they're becoming genuinely destructive or too much to handle.

Shadow does both of their makeup, the three of them all like feeling pretty so it usually ends up with all of them dressing up in feminine or masculine clothes depending on how they're feeling that day.

[mistydeyes]

May you write hyacinth + ghost? :)

Thank you so much for requesting!! This one was too good! Forewarning, I am so sorry at how potentially tragic this is like MAN I WAS TEARING UP WHILE EDITING

link to the prompt list and 1k celebration!

prompt: hyacinth - they decide to interrupt the wedding just as you're about to say your vows

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

warning: ANGST, swearing, canonical violence, ABSOLUTE PAIN AND MOURNING, no happy endings here for simon :(

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

Simon Riley was never a religious man but he said a silent prayer as he entered the small chapel. He settled in a pew towards the back right of the holy place, ignoring the gazes that fell upon him. His breath was heavy on his face mask as he briefly looked at the program. He felt confided in his grey dress shirt and could feel the palms of his hands begin to sweat. He wiped them on his rayon pants as he tried to calm his nerves. Soon the crowd hushed as the wedding procession entered. Simon's eyes flickered to the groomsmen and the accompanying bridesmaids. Violet. They were wearing violet, your favorite color and the one you always envisioned for your wedding.

"Si, look at these," you smiled as you showed him a photo on Pinterest. Simon looked at the violet silk wedding dresses that complimented a smiling group of bridesmaids with orchids in their hands. "Looks nice," he mumbled before returning to his phone. You let out a sigh before responding. "I think I want those for our wedding."

Eventually, the ethereal organ music began to play a different melody and the crowd stood in response. Simon quickly joined the smiling family and friends as their gaze was turned to the door. Nothing could have prepared him for that moment. You walked out onto the aisle looking like a fucking angel. Your ivory gown floated on the ground and in your delicate hands, you held a beautifully designed bouquet with orchids, chamomiles, and hydrangeas. You looked so happy and radiant at the moment. With the softest note of the organ, you descended the aisle to your husband-to-be. Simon's heart ached as he recognized the melody, So This is Love by Emile Pandolfi. As you walked, it was as if you only were in the room with your husband as he watched a fragile tear fall down your face. His gaze followed as you ascended, taking an elegant step on the altar.

Throughout the ceremony, Simon's nerves and anguish reached a fever pitch. He felt like he was drowning as the crowd sat and the priest began the ceremony. His ears rang as he barely registered the words, "If there is anyone present, who can show just cause why these two persons may not be joined in matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.” If you asked him this morning what his plans were, attending your wedding was not on the list. But something, maybe it was hope, or maybe foolishness had forced him to dress and drive to the rural estate. As the priest spoke on the solemnity of marriage, Simon couldn't help but muse over the last time he ever saw you.

"Do-do you know how long you'll be gone?" you whispered through tears as he held you in his arms. "They didn't specify," he replied. and you buried your head into his chest. It was 2006 before Simon Riley was a dead man walking. It was a time when he was just a soldier who had a life and the opportunity to love his family and his fiancée. "Remember what I told you, you keep this ring so I have a reason to come back," Simon whispered as he opened your palm and placed a thick gold band into it. "Please don't go, Simon," you cried as he tried to pull away and head out the door. "I'll be back in no time, love," he replied and gave you a soft kiss before exiting out of your life forever.

Since that moment, you had believed the man you loved was dead. Rumors circulated as you found out there had been some sightings before his family tragically died in a house fire, even allegations that he had been the one but you refused to believe it. For 10 years, you looked for him on the crowded Manchester streets but you never found him. However, you were here today with the man you loved and finally had the opportunity at a happy life. Simon knew this fact as well and he tragically continued through the ceremony until the vows were to be said. As your maid of honor handed you a piece of paper, he saw the familiar sheen of a ring on your finger. He knew that ring anywhere as he had bought it with his first paycheck from the service. What struck him more though was as you turned to face your husband, you held onto a gold ring on a necklace chain before you spoke. That was his ring. The ring he gave to you before he died.

"Elliott, poets say that love finds you when you need it most. In what I believe was poetic irony, you found me as I placed flowers on a grave and cynically commented on how the ones we love leave us too quickly," you began to say and Simon began to feel his eyes burn with the prickles of tears. "While we remember those lost, today I am here to celebrate the one who arrived on time, the one who stayed, the one who helped me through the roughest of moments and brought me back to life." That final sentence was all Simon needed to hear as he shuffled out the door and made his way to the exit. Your eyes fell towards the interruption and you felt faint as you could have sworn it was Simon. You met his gaze but the man ran out of the chapel and you could never be certain. Your husband put a reassuring hand on yours and you shakily continued, trying to rationalize the appearances of ghosts from your past rather than the individual being your Simon.

As Simon ran to his car, he let out an anguished cry at the empty field. At that moment, Simon had seen all the painful memories you endured flood back and your gaze filled with fear and uncertainty. He could never put you through that again. He lit a cigarette before driving away just as the wedding bells filled the spring air. Simon would forever be dead to you and you would have an opportunity at a life he could never offer.

[xhoneygirlxx]

warnings: angst, no happy ending. heartbreak/end of a relationship. Eddie and Reader are 20+

minors plz go away, this account is 18+ only.

this is inspired by Nothings New by Rio Romeo, the same song that’s been stuck on repeat for the past couple of weeks. I hope you all enjoy this <3

*if you see spelling errors/bad writing, pretend it didn’t happen

—

You both knew it was coming, a thought in the back of your mind that constantly ate away at you until it finally came true. There’s a moment in life when you just know it’s not going to work out anymore, that no matter how much you love a person it all comes down to a spark and when that spark is gone, so is the relationship.

It’s like a sandcastle right on the shoreline, you wait with bated breath as the water inches closer and closer to your creation and there’s nothing you can do about it because you’ve built it on a bad foundation. It’s like a balloon, it can only fly so long before the helium seeps out, one day it’s high up in the sky and the next day it clings to the ground where it will stay before it eventually deflates.

You nor Eddie set out to end like this, no one gets into a relationship in the hopes it ends but somehow, you ended up right where you hoped you wouldn’t.

I love you’s weren’t shared as much anymore, sweet kisses turned into chaste pecks on the cheek, and the closeness you both craved was now despised. A long fall from the pedestal your relationship was once held upon, now it was just an obligation that felt torturous to even continue.

The dinner on the table is perfect, the kind you would find photographed in some kind of home and lifestyle magazine, but the two people consuming it are anything but. A date night that was supposed to be fun and exciting felt like a job, a requirement that both of you had signed on for that you just couldn’t get out of.

Eddie looks handsome as always, a sleek button up adorning his torso and unruly curls are tamed down by the products in the bathroom that both of you share. He cuts his steak with tattooed hands, the same silver rings he wore in high school decorate his digits as well as the one you bought him all those years ago when you first got together. You look at the thick black band, the engraved lettering of your initials that go across it, and you wonder if he only wears it out of habit- something he only wears on his right ring finger because he would feel unbalanced without it.

Despite the crowd that sits at neighboring tables, it’s quiet, and not the peaceful kind of silence most people would imagine. It’s the kind that happens after a car accident when dust and debris settle to ground, the sulfur from the airbags fill the air, and the ringing in your ears are too loud to hear through anything else.

You poke at your plate mindlessly as you continue to look at him, trying to piece together where it all went wrong and why the two of you have let it go this far. A bitter taste fills your mouth, one that can’t be washed down by the red wine that sits in your untouched glass, making a ball form in your throat.

As you look at the man across from you, you don’t see the person you’ve grown tired of but rather the boy you fell in love with all those years ago. Wide eyes and dimpled smile, rosy cheeks and shaky hands. Memories of shy banter and longing stares fill your head. Two young kids so full of love and adoration for one another now sit silently as they ignore one another’s presence.

Your heart squeezes, painfully twisting in a devastating way as it prepares for what’s going to happen. A tear escapes from your waterline and you don’t fight it. As much as you don’t want to be the dramatic girlfriend in the middle of a fancy restaurant you allow yourself to cry, mourning the death of a love story that started with two star cross teenagers that lost their way.

Although he isn’t looking at you Eddie can sense it, the beginning of the goodbye he’s tried desperately to avoid. He sets his fork and knife down, swallowing his food down as best as he can while his throat begins to choke up in unshed tears.

There’s a pause in his movements, a delay from looking into the eyes of the one he promised to love until his dying day. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, reaching his hand out across the table in search of your own. Fingers interlace, palms touching for the first time in a long time and for once you both feel it, the spark you used to feel when everything was fresh and new- only it doesn’t linger, it slowly blows out and fades away into the cold night air.

Big chocolate eyes meet yours, the tears that brim in his tear ducts match your own, the shared sadness for the future you will no longer share.

“This is it?” Eddie’s voice is small, like he’s straining in the hopes the sobs won’t break out.

You can’t stop it, the wobble of your pouted lip and the river that falls from your eyes. There’s no words you can say, none that will capture the amount of pain this brings to you, so instead you just nod your head.

Eddie isn’t any better, eyes closing with the hopes that this will all go away when he opens them once more. When he opens them back up he doesn’t find a different outcome but instead the blur of the fat tears that cloud his vision.

“You know I love you, right? I always have and always will love you Eddie, but this isn’t good for us anymore.” It’s like you’re pleading, begging for all of the misery to end for not just yourself but him too.

The subtle nod of his head tells you all you need to know, he agrees just as much as you that this isn’t going to work anymore, that this is killing him as much as it is you and if it continues this way it’ll only be a matter of time before this slow and painful death creeps up on you.

“I love you too, always have.” Eddie makes sure to look you in the eyes when he says it, like he wants you to know that everything that’s happened was never intentional.

You give his hand a squeeze, an acknowledgment to his statement, he squeezes right back.

This was the end, in the middle of a fancy restaurant where families, couples, and friends laugh and talk over warm meals, you and Eddie slowly cut the string that’s been keeping you tethered together for more than five years.

—

—

[autisticgirliesbracket]

What makes Steris Harms from Mistborn Era 2 the autistic girlie ever of all time? Here's what the people have to say:

Steris-related asks/reblogs: x This post will be updated after each round!

Image ID in alt text and under the readmore.

[Image ID. White slide with a greyscale illustration of Steris on the left, taken from the 'The Bands of Mourning' novel. On the right there are text boxes which read,

"She has lists for everything. Every possibility, every outcome, she has a list for it. Evacuating the city? She has 15 different ways it could be done. City under a tsunami threat? She's got procedures. Needs to take her husband's place in a senate meeting? Don't worry, she's got a list of every senator and good talking points to impress them specifically. She loves taxes, treats them like a puzzle. She doesn't understand how to talk to people. No one ever gave her the sex talk and she doesn't understand what's expected of her in that department. She threatened to throw up on the table of a war meeting to get people to stop yelling and listen to what she had to say. (She keeps medicine in her purse to do just that if she needs to) She DID use that medicine to get her and her fiance out of a party so he could go chase bad guys. Her 'tism captivates her fiance so much he is so fascinated with her. I love her and my god she's got the 'tism something massive"

"It's canonical!"

"She was intentionally written as autistic. I love her"

"She's canonically autistic as confirmed by the author. As far as some of the textual evidence, she loves, and I mean really loves, lists; she makes so many lists and plans in order to navigate her world, and it means a lot if she's willing to change those plans for someone. She's prepared for everything; for one example, while staying at a hotel/inn, she gave the innkeeper a pamphlet full of all the different disasters that could happen while she and her companions were there and what to do in each case (including 'framed for murder,' which was like a dozen pages in and actually happened); for another example, when getting ready for her first wedding attempt, she tried to determine which of her fiance's enemies would show up, and she got several backups of their equivalent of wedding rings in case anything bad went down. And when she was first arranging her engagement to him, she wrote a many-pages-long contract for it, which included a provision for how they should go about it if either of them took a lover (her father cheated on her mother, so from her experience this was just a logical thing to factor into the plans, but also she'd been rejected by a few suitors in the past so she didn't expect much affection from this one--fortunately, time proved her wrong in this instance. By the end of the series they're quite in love, and enjoy dates like 'working on their house finances' or 'doing amateur metallurgy'). She can easily come off stiff and cold to someone who doesn't understand her well; part of it is the pressure she has, as a noblewoman expected to be competent in high society, to mask a lot, and she generally treats the details of social interaction as something to memorize, eventually explaining to her fiance (once they've known each other a while, and they're thawing out) that she has to prepare her witty quips way ahead of time, lest it all come out wrong." End ID.]

[amostimprobabledream]

Before I fade to silver (Bram Stoker x Reader)

For contest winner @librarianqueen! :D The silvery moonlight lit the forest path like a beacon guiding your slippered feet onwards. Dead leaves rustled as you walked, the wind blowing through the trees. The vicar, your lone company in the cool light, wheezes as he struggles beside you. Ordinarily the sound would be of considerable irritation to you, but the present moment, it is a small comfort to know that you are not alone. Especially considering where you’re headed. The castle looms into view above the skeletal tree branches. Grey stone that looks forbidding in the night, like the skin of a corpse. The man, your groom, is waiting for you by the front doors. Lord Bram Stoker watches impassively as you and the vicar approach him, a figure dressed entirely in black. The rumours appear to be true. He is handsome in a pale, eerie way. His long silver hair flows in the wind, and as you draw closer it strikes you how tall he is. “You came alone?” He asks with the slight tilt of his head. His voice is smooth and deep, with the faintest trace of an unfamiliar accent. You nod, your throat suddenly feeling dry. You didn't want a fuss. The thought of some long-winded ceremony bidding you farewell, the pompous mayor's voice droning on and on, and citizens who had never even met you before coming for the free buffet and pretending to mourn your impending absence…it was more than you could stomach. You would not be used to feed their collective ego. So, you politely declined the offer and insisted that the only required the vicar to accompany to officiate the proceedings. But now, standing alone before the vampire lord, who has your life in his hands, it was like the bravery was being leached from you through the cold ground, sucking it away alongside your body heat. The vicar was so insignificant in this equation that you may as well have been all alone with him. Bram seems to understand your reasoning for not having any friends or family with you, and unspoken look of mutual distaste for the town passes between you. You had not been surprised when your name had been brought up as a possible tribute to offer the vampire. You stood unattached in the town and had no strong ties there – in other words, in the eyes of the counsel, you were expendable. “May I begin?” The vicar asks, and Bram finally broke eye contact with you to glance boredly at him. “You may.” He replies, as if granting a great favour.

The vicar begins to read out the wedding vows in his croaky voice, but they mean nothing to you. The words slide over you like water as you stare at what is meant to be your future husband, unable to comprehend this is really happening. It seems that any moment you’ll wake up in your bed, probably drenched in sweat. It's only when Bram takes your hand in his do you finally jolt back to reality.

“With this ring, I do thee wed.” he intones gravely, locking eyes with yours. You reply with the words that had been drummed into your head, all for this moment. Your lips tingle as you say;

“With this ring... I do thee wed.” His pale fingers slide the ring onto yours, a lone diamond glinting in the metal band like a tear. The vicar shuts the heavy, leatherbound book in his hand with a cough. It’s like a punctuation on this whole affair. “May god be with you.” He says to you, even if he knows it’s unlikely. He nods stiffly to Bram and hurries away as fast as his decrepit state will allow. You watch him swallowed up by the darkness of the forest, before you turn back to Lord Bram, wanting to ask him what happens next, yet you can’t bring yourself to say it yet – you want to relish your last few minutes or freedom and – possibly- life you have left. “Come inside.” Bram says, turning away from the woods, uncaring about whether the vicar will make it back safely or not. “It is chilly out here.” You nod, surprised by his courtesy and simultaneously grateful for an excuse to get out of the biting winds, and follow him through the thick, heavy doors of the castle. They boom through the deserted entryway as they close and you crane your neck to look about the place – it looks enormous, especially compared to what you’re used to. You wonder if he lives here all alone or if he has servants to talk to. You turn to Bram, biting your lip anxiously. His eyes are tracking up and down your frame and you have the instinctive urge to cross your arms over your chest. He has a right to look at you if he wants, you just married him, but his stare is unnerving and you’re aware of his power even if he isn’t actively using it. There’s a subtle sort of magic that thrums in the air like music. “It has likely been a long day for you, preparing for this.” Bram says, glancing towards the staircase. “I can have someone show you to your room if you would prefer to rest- “ “Wait, you’re…I mean, I’m staying here? To live?” you say, feeling stupid, but you’d thought you were going here as an…offering. You weren’t expecting to be treated like a guest. Bram doesn’t look unduly surprised by your confusion and simply sighs, giving a little shake of his head. Moonlight glints off his hair, giving it an almost ethereal glow. “I am not surprised they did not explain to you what would happen once you stepped over the threshold to my castle. Rest assured; whatever you may have been told, I have no interest in harming you. What I want from you is…” He reaches out a hand and his fingers trace your throat. You stare at him, sucked in by the deep ruby colour of his eyes and you find yourself unable to move away, even if you wanted to. “My blood.” You breathe, feeling your heart picking up the pace of its frantic beating. “Yes.” He says, more softly than before. “But, if you do not want to become like me, I will not transform you. I simply require sustenance that only someone like you can provide.” “I can…become one of you?”

The thought of transforming into a vampire, one of the undead, should be horrifying, but…your own life hasn’t been terribly exciting up until now. Just a powerless human girl. And being offered up as a wedding gift to Lord Stoker proved to you how easy it was to be ripped away from everything you’ve ever known, how little you mattered to the people around you. But if you became a vampire, turned by Lord Stoker himself…well. That’s a different thing entirely. “If you wish it,” Bram replies, reaching out to cup your cheek. “Who am I to deny my wife?” Butterflies take flight in the pit of your stomach. Being in wedding clothes hadn’t really made you feel any less like a pig for slaughter, more like a costume than a real, binding ceremony. It wasn’t as though anybody in the village thought you would live a few minutes past the wedding vows.

But now… “Then yes.” You say in a breathy voice, your heart pounding loudly, you feel like it’s taken a trip to sit in your throat instead. “I want…to be like you.” Even though he said he wouldn’t mind your choice either way, there is approval on his carved marble face as he looks down at you. He seems pleasantly surprised by your answer and he moves closer to you, until the gossamer material of your dress brushes his all-black attire. “Then hold still…” he says, his voice lowering slightly, husky with want. You nod and tilt your head for easier access to your throat. With one hand still on your cheek, he moves closer, silver hair tickling your skin. When his fangs sink into the fragile skin of your throat you like out a squeal – it’s like being pierced by twin icicles, the sensation a shock of cold that sends shivers running down your back, flesh breaking out in goosebumps. But gradually, the pain starts to ebb away. Bram’s touch is firm but gentle on you as he laps at your throat, the blood bursting on your tongue like flowers opening. Your body trembles beneath him but you don’t buck, don’t fight to get away. You sink into the sensation, and gradually a warmth washes over you in a soothing tide. A pulse throbs between your legs as Bram holds you in a passionate embrace like a lover, a growl in his throat as he drinks and drinks and drinks. Oh god… you think, wondering if he’s going to drain you dry or even kill you. Who would punish him if he did? Who would even learn of it? And just at the moment where you feel like you might pass out then and there in the entryway, he stops. He leans back and pulls you upright but doesn’t let go. You take a moment to reorient yourself, blinking, taking note of your body and how it’s faring. You’re still breathing, your heart is still going a mile a minute, but you’re not dead. You don’t feel dead. “I…that’s it?” you ask, looking at him – a dribble of blood shines in the corner of his mouth. “Have I transformed?” He chuckles and swipes some of your hair out of your face. “Of course not. It takes time to transition from human to vampire, but it is the beginning. You will be weak for a little while, as your body begins the process, but rest assured, you could not be in a place better equipped to care for you.” You can’t help but giggle a little at that, probably because you’re light-headed and giddy, but…the townsfolk all thought you were going off to be drank from and tossed aside, or perhaps even killed, and now you’re under the protection of a handsome, mysterious vampire lord who wants you to stay by his side in relative comfort. If those other girls knew what they could have had, they’d be pissing blood with envy. You think gleefully, almost wanting to clap your hands like a child at a birthday party – it’s like reverse schadenfreude. But Bram is right, you do feel light-headed and weak now, despite the euphoria. When you slump in his grip he takes action, stooping and easily picking you up, one hand supporting your knees and the other your back. You make a choking noise and look at him. “Lord Bram, this isn’t- “ “Nonsense. I would hardly force my bride to walk up all these stairs after her first blood drain.” He replies in a stern voice that makes you wriggle, biting back a grin. “Converse your energy instead of protesting.” You sink into him as he carries you upstairs, glimpsing the moon peeking through the window as you pass, and a smile crosses your lips as you slowly feel your eyes begin to close. You should get used to being a nocturnal creature, but for now, you fall into the embrace of your husband and the night, dreaming of diamonds sparkling in cool silver, sharp teeth and glinting stars.