#give the bruises out like gifts | threads | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

familyvideostevie · 5 months

Text

day after tomorrow

joel miller x reader

summary: joel drops you off and picks you up from the airport. you are definitely falling in love with him.

warnings: modern no outbreak au, game!joel or hbo!joel, fluff, really just a fluff fest honestly, new-ish relationship, falling in love, sweet enough to make your teeth ache | 2.7k

A/N: this is a christmas gift for my dear friend @strangerfreaks who makes my life better in every way possible. i love you! hope you enjoy this <3

___

He's leaning on the side of the truck when you hurry outside with your stuff.

"Morning," you call. It's barely that, sky still dark and air still carrying the bite of the night's chill.

Joel straightens up and gives you a tired smile. Most of his smiles are tired but they're always genuine when directed at you. He tugs the backpack from your shoulder and presses his lips to your cheek, beard scratching your skin gently.

"Howdy," he says in your ear before pulling away.

The travel mug Joel pushes into your hands is warm to the touch.

"Tea," he says before you can tell him it's too early for coffee. His voice is deeper than usual, still warming up from sleep. It's not a cup from the local shop -- they're not open yet -- so he must have made it at home. "No caffeine before flights."

"You remembered?"

He gives you an unimpressed look and grabs your bags. They go in the backseat of his truck and he jerks his chin at the passenger door. "Get in. S'chilly."

It's also early. So early you were not going to ask him to drive you to the airport but when you mentioned you had to go on a work trip he offered. Insisted, actually, once he found out what time you needed to get there.

"You ain't takin' a cab that early," he had said. "Hell, you ain't takin' a cab home, neither. I'll pick you up."

This thing between you isn't new anymore, not exactly, but it's not solid yet. It doesn't have a name. But it's been a few months and you know what his sheets smell like and the feel of him pressed against you in the middle of the night and how he laughs with his head thrown back, mouth wide and eyes creased at the corners. He likes to take you on long walks around the lake a few towns over and you know all about his daughters even if you haven't met them yet. Your life feels a little more solid with Joel in it and the swell of your heart in your chest when you talk to him, when you see him, when he looks at you, is a welcome feeling. It's nice to want and be wanted in return.

The inside of his truck is warm, your seat heater already turned on. The radio is down to a low hum and there's a silver cup similar to your own in the holder between the seats. Joel gets back into the truck with a slight groan and glances at you to see if you've got your seatbelt on before he clicks his.

"Ready?" he asks. You nod. He settles his hand on your headrest and looks out the back windshield as he reverses the truck out of the driveway. "Shouldn't hit much traffic," he says.

You take a sip of your tea and watch him as he drives out of your neighborhood and towards the highway. Part of you wishes you would hit traffic so you could look at him longer. Even in the dark you know his face pretty well by now. His hair is getting a little long, the dark threaded through with some grey and falling over his perpetually lined forehead. The scar on the bridge of his nose that you love to run your finger across and the bruises under his eyes from too many nights up late working on site plans and employee schedules. You don't think you've met a man who works as hard as Joel, and yet here he is driving you to the airport when he could be sleeping.

Maybe it's because he's tired or maybe it's because it's dark or maybe it's because you're leaving for a few days but Joel lets you look without teasing. His eyes catch yours for just a second and he smirks.

"Why don't you drink coffee before a flight?" He takes a sip of his own thermos. You watch his throat work as he swallows and look away this time. The sky is starting to look purple out your window, the trees and fields and occasional buildings flying by too fast for your eyes to settle on anything. Joel drinks coffee like it's water. You're still leaning things about each other -- most days you find yourself thinking that you want to be learning things about him for the rest of your life -- and this is a new topic of conversation. You haven't had to be on a plane since you met him.

"I don't really like flying," you say. "Makes me nervous. I figure caffeine will just make it worse."

"Don't like it much either." You look at him again and find see smirk turn to a frown as he merges onto the nearly empty highway. "You gonna be okay?"

He asks like it's within his power to make flying something enjoyable, to cancel your work trip, to squash everything in this world that makes you nervous. Mostly you're just glad he's not teasing you about it. Maybe someday you can take a trip and be grumpy about it together.

"I'll be fine, Joel."

"Hm."

He rests an elbow against the window and rakes his hand through his hair.

"What are you up to this week?" you ask.

He sighs. "Not much," he says. "Lumber shipment but Tommy's handlin' it. Ellie says her shower head is actin' funny so I'll go to her place and look at that. Probably sit my ass on the couch and try to watch a damn football game or somethin'."

"So what I'm hearing is you're going to miss me." It's meant to be a tease but it comes out a bit more earnest than you'd like.

He sends you that unamused look of his but the mirth in his eyes betrays him, tells you he sees through it. You're learning that he's good at that -- seeing what you really mean, what you really want, who you really are, all the way down to the core. "Course I will," he says. "What man wouldn't miss cold hands bein' stuck up his shirt when he gets in bed?"

You scoff and Joel snickers. You could remind him how he usually catches your hands in his before you make it to his hemline on the rare nights he does wear a shirt, how he cradles your fingers and blows on them softly while rubbing them with his perpetually warm palms. The memory makes your breath hitch just a bit.

It's only three days. Some conference your boss wanted you to go to in his stead. It won't require much of you -- you just have to attend a few panels, a dinner or two, and schmooze a little bit. You'll be back before you know it. You tell yourself it's silly to feel this apprehension at the distance, the time apart. But you're used to Joel by now and damn if you won't miss him. Used to him taking up space in your kitchen, used to his arm around you on the couch, used to his short texts and heavy gaze. You know by now that it's only a matter of time before you love him.

"I'll miss you, too," you say softly. Joel eyes you, smirk turned soft again and reaches for you. He settles his palm on your thigh and you cover your hand with his.

When you get to the airport aren't many cars around and you're pretty sure the attendants won't yell at you for idling. Joel seems to think the same thing as he gets out of the truck to set your luggage on the ground. You leave your now-empty to-go mug in his car and throw your arms around him when he gets to the curb with your suitcase. His chest rumbles in amusement but he hugs you back, one palm rubbing between your shoulder blades until you pull away.

"Thank you for --"

"Nope," he interrupts you. "No thanks allowed." He hands you your backpack and you shoulder it. "I'll pick you up on Wednesday," he says.

You wave him off. "I get in way too late, don't worry about it --"

His hand cups your cheek and the words sputter out in your throat. "I'll be here," he says again.

"I'll call you," you say. "When I get there." It sounds like a question.

His eyes crinkle at the corners. "Please do."

"Thanks for the tea --"

"Now, what did I just say?"

You wrinkle your nose at him and he rolls his eyes before leaning in to press his lips to yours. You sigh into the kiss just a little though it remains chaste, mouths closed as his thumb strokes your cheek once, twice, before he pulls away. It's the kind of kiss that feels fond, feels familiar. A kiss that becomes routine and for a second you imgaine the press of your mouths a thousand times over just like this.

"Safe flight, sweetheart."

You smile at him and grab your suitcase before you stand here kissing him all day. "Bye, Joel."

6:04 am: you make it to your gate okay?

You send him a picture of your breakfast sandwich and the sun rising through the window, painting the sky purple and orange.

6:05 am: don't text and drive!

He replies with a photo of a full mug of coffee on his counter. It's a silly one, a dinosaur wearing a Santa hat. You think Sarah got it for him as a gag gift.

6:05 am: home already. let me know when you land

6:06 am: will do. have a good day!

The flight is pretty okay. You spend the bumpy moments thinking about Joel's hand on your leg and get through it just fine. A shuttle takes you to your hotel and you have to hurry a bit to be ready for your first panel.

You're busy all day. So tired by the time you get back to your room that you flop on the bed with a groan.

"Ugh," you say, face smushed into the sheets. You're tired and hungry and...you miss Joel and feel a little silly about it.

That sense of puppy love, as most people would call it, hasn't faded. Your feelings for Joel are more than the crush they were when you first started seeing each other but they still linger in the realm of infatuation. You like to look at him, to feel the solid warmth of him beside you, above you, underneath you. You like being near him. But you're also starting to love things. You love the way his voice sounds when he wakes up, the way he says your name over the phone, the way he asks you what you want, how you are, how your day was. You love to see him on your couch, in your kitchen, in your bed. You've started to miss him when he's not around.

And what you said to him in his truck is true. You do miss him. It's an ache that sits in the center of your chest, an ache that feels like the best kind of bruise -- because it comes from something good. And because you know it'll be soothed soon enough.

But, because you're only human, you doubt that it's as serious for him. Joel keeps his cards close to his chest and while you feel like you know him pretty well by now you also have so much to learn. So, though you really want to, you don't pick up the phone and call him. Maybe the next time you're away.

7:54 pm: day 1 done! ready to get in bed. why do men talk so much?

He texts back immediately.

7:54 pm: god knows. don't forget to order room service on the company dime. sweet dreams.

You laugh and do as he says.

The rest of the conference goes the same. By day three you're exhausted and your face hurts from smiling at so many people. Your shoes are no longer comfortable and as soon as the closing keynote ends you're out of there, changing into soft clothes and taking the shuttle to the airport. You text Joel a picture of your airport dinner and then your eye bags and he replies with a cute that has you giggling a little too loudly in public.

You just want to get home to him. Your own bed is a bonus.

But then your flight gets delayed. Twice. Joel tells you not to worry, he'll pick you up in the middle of the night if he has to. Once you board you get stuck on the tarmac for another half hour before finally taking off. It's a decidedly less relaxing experience because you're so anxious to be home but you make it. When you land it feels like you're sitting in your seat for ages. You're tired and feel gross and you want to go to bed. Your phone turns back on and you've got one text waiting for you.

10:34 pm: i'll be by baggage claim

That was 15 minutes ago. He must have been checking your flight in the air to get here at a reasonable time. God, you want to touch him. You want to stick your nose in his neck and inhale.

You try very hard not to run through the terminal to the escalator that goes down to arrivals. It seems to move really fucking slowly once you're on it. As soon as it gets far enough for you to see the baggage claim level and everyone waiting there your eyes search for him. You see some families, a few tired children sleeping in arms that hold them tenderly. A group of girls with a sign that reads WELCOME HOME RACHEL!

And then there's Joel.

Once you spot him it's hard to keep a smile from your face. He's standing there with his hands in his pockets, eyes glued to the escalator. Jeans, jacket, boots, and a firm set to his jaw that might be intimidating to anyone else but to you it's familiar. It's him. Once he sees you he stands a little taller and you see his cheek twitch. If someone wasn't in front of you you'd be down the steps in seconds but you wait until you're at the bottom to race forward.

It's probably a bit dramatic. You drop your suitcase and backpack at your feet in front of him.

"Hi," you say, and then you throw your arms around his shoulders. Joel laughs.

"S'like you're comin' home from war, or somethin'," he says, though his hugs you back just as tightly. "Should'a made a sign."

"Feels like it." Your words are muffled by his shoulder.

"That bad, huh?" His palm drags up and down your spine. "Let's get you home, then."

Neither of you pull away. "I missed you," you say softly.

Joel breathes deep and pulls away, hand on the back of your head as he makes sure you're looking at him.

"Missed you, too," he says gruffly. Then he kisses you. It's less chaste than your goodbye kiss but still perfectly acceptable for airport arrivals, you think.

"You hungry?"

"I sent you a picture of my dinner!"

"Not what I asked." You shrug and tangle your fingers with his. His thumb strokes the back of your hand. "We'll get you somethin' on the way home."

"Do you want to stay over?" you ask in a rush, realizing too late he's got no reason to want to. It's late and tomorrow is a workday. "I'm just gonna shower and go to bed but I--"

Joel's nostrils flare. "If you want me to I will." Simple as that.

"Okay," you say. He squeezes your hand.

You walk in easy silence for a few moments. Once you're in the car you'll ask how his week was, tell him about the gossip you learned at the conference. You'll look at him the entire drive to your place, drinking your fill of him after three days without. Yeah, you're going to love him. It's just a matter of time.

"Thank you for coming to get me," you say.

Joel looks like he wants to argue but he allows it.

"Anytime," he says. It sounds like a promise.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff

2K notes · View notes

sxnktaalxna · 4 months

Text

Threads - Chapter 3

Azriel x Acheron Sister

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

As a child, (Y/N) had always been gifted with the needle. As young as she was, her nimble fingers could thread fabrics and string as though it were dancing across a silky stage. She supposed it was a blessing as time went on, and coin grew low. Coats with holes and thinning linings were given second lives. Curtains and old table cloths were stitched together forming misshapen blankets, too itchy socks and new pants that Nesta complained were unladylike to wear (but she wore anyway - how could she deny her youngest sister's efforts?). Those pants still stayed hidden in depths of Nesta's dresses.

Now this needle, growing blunt and losing its shine, found a home in her sister's skin. Dancing and weaving through a tapestry of an ocean of scars. (Y/N) always kept her spool of string in the back of the closet for emergencies - Elain's ripped sleeve, Nesta's too long hem, her father's fraying shirt, and Feyre's broken skin.

Feyre kept a straight face during those nights when stitches was needed, but (Y/N) only needed to peek from the corner of her eye to see the smallest wince each prick gave her. She knew Feyre had been through worse, but she did her best help her older sister as best as she could. It was the least she could do. So gentle notes of childhood lullabies began to spill from her lips. Nights filled with bloody threads and folk songs began to fill the house that once was drained of love and light.

(Y/N) would often ask what happened when Feyre would come home with a new cut or bruise. And each time, Feyre would dismiss it with a wave of her hand. Her younger sister was still a child, freshly 18 and still curious of the world. And yet, she had been robbed of the childhood and youth that Nesta, Elain and to some extent Feyre had. The night of her mother's death, when Feyre had curled herself into the dark corner of her bedroom, tears on her cheeks and a promise held to her heart, her baby sister crawled in next to her. As silent as a mouse, she said nothing as she cradled her older sister in that dark corner. (Y/N) had always been that way - too old for her age. She supposed that's what happens when the world leaves you to die. That's why Feyre kept her pains to herself - to spare her younger sister, give her a small relief that she never had. Protect her as best she could, while she still had her innocence.

But standing there, watching her beloved sisters fight for their lives, she felt lost. Helpless. Her heart wrenched at them, nightgowns dirtied and torn. No matter how much she fought, she remained defenceless as her sisters cries and shrieks echoed the battle.

(Y/N) could barely understand what was happening. Awoken and attacked in the night, in the safety of their home. Dragged and torn through the dirt as they fought their captors. Continuing to fight against the inhuman strength that held them hostage. And now, watching her fate bubble and boil in a cauldron. She could only cry as she watched Feyre fight so far from them. Could only watch as Cassian's wings were shredded apart and Azriel laid in a bed of crimson. Could only watch as Elain and Nesta fought against their fate, only to come out changed. Could only watch as it was her turn.

She could feel the ache in her bones as she fought against the guards dragging her towards the bubble surface of the cauldron. Her heart pounded like thunder in her ears. She dug her bare ankles into the floor, trying to stall as best as she could. She could only do so much before she was pushed in.

This must be what death felt like. To feel it flood ur senses, surround you and drag you under its cruel fingers into a dark abyss. To feel it flood your throat and tear the air out of your lungs in a fiery rage. The burn ran through each nerve of her body - she felt in behind her eyes, in her fingertips, within the bones of her frame.

The light blinded her as she tumbled out of the cauldron. What felt like hours was only a few seconds. The cold air sent icy pricks that stung her skin, leaving goosebumps. But none of that compared to what she felt under her grip. Her fingers clawed the wet soil, feeling as though a line had threaded itself between her fingers and to the very core of the earth. It anchored her so far down she thought she felt the quake of the world beneath her touch.

And she looked - she didn't just look, she saw. Saw gentle lines of threads dancing across each living being. They were so fragile and thin they were almost imperceptible- but they were there and they shone and glistened like glitter. A painting of golden webs danced across the wind - she imagined this must be the song of the wind Azriel had spoken of. And she felt a tug from one of the fragile threads in front of her - one that shone brighter and held stronger than the others. One that led to the man laying on his crimson deathbed.

-☆-

Even after months, the world had been too much. The colours had been much brighter, as if the Fae world was ripped from Feyre's paintings. The lullabies that floated in the wind carried by songbirds rang in her ears no matter where she was. Even when she locked out the doors, closed the windows, kept the curtains down. The world she had always dreamed of seeing, and she had been forced to see it everywhere. She couldn't escape it.

And those golden threads that seemed to weave the world to her fingertips... She could feel the urge to tug at those threads, to pull back against the own pulling of the Mother. And yet each time she reached out and held own, her fingers never seemed to hold steady.

She hadn't seen her sister's in a while. Nesta was often gone, and the only clues of her existence lingered in the tussled room next to hers. Elain had been just as bad, possibly worse. Locked in her room, Elain spent most of her days staring out the window, her lips remaining sealed from the world.

Feyre had tried. For (Y/N) especially, she had tried to coax them outside and to experience Velaris properly. There were good days, like when Elain and (Y/N) were sat by the window, hands held tightly - but most days were spent with the Acheron sisters out of sight, locked away and silent. During those days, Feyre would sometimes wish she were back in their cabin in the woods. Nesta and Elain staying inside, hogging the blankets. Their father carving creatures from woods. (Y/N) as fresh as the first winter snow, axe in hand and firewood in a circle around her. Huddled around a small fire in the cold nights, hungry but free.

And now they had been damned into an existence unwanted, cursed - and what good was a cursebreaker if her sisters remained crushed under this living burden?

She could hear shuffling behind the door, quiet yet frantic. Moments later, the door gave way to her baby sister. Nesta had been devastatingly beautiful, her features sharpened like a blade on grindstone. The moment she had come out the cauldron, power had emanated from her pores like waves of heat from an everlasting flame. Elain had come out like the personification of spring, bright and rosy and glowing, yet blank and shivering like a baby deer. (Y/N) came out...different.

Nesta had come out with power, but (Y/N) came out with purpose. Feyre remembered watching (Y/N)'s eyes dart around the air, as if staring at flying bugs that no other eye could see. For days, weeks, (Y/N) stared out into nothing, eyes darting and following the air. One night during their early days as Fae, Feyre caught her sister reaching out towards the stars, fingers reaching to hold onto something. That night had ended with (Y/N) in tears, weakly clawing at the air. No longer did her sister yearn for the unknown, no longer did she smile at the curious or giggle at the strange.

'Hello little butterfly,' Feyre grinned. Often (Y/N) would not answer, staying silent behind the door. Today was a lucky day it seemed.

'Hello,' (Y/N) nodded, her fingers tightly around the door edge. They were slender, thin, no longer covered in small red dots. Feyre's smile dropped slightly, but she quickly recovered.

'May I come in?'

(Y/N) sidestepped away from the door and back to the chair in the corner of the room. Today must be a very good day then. Feyre stepped in, closing the door and pushing away the last bit of artificial light from the room. (Y/N)'s room had been in perpetual darkness since her change. The only source of light was the small set of candles on her table gifted to her by Rhysand - 'So you don't prick your finger when you sew,' he'd said. Her sewing kit laid untouched on her shelf.

'Please don't ask me if I'm ok,' (Y/N) sighed once Feyre sat down on her bed. 'You know I'm not.'

'You won't get used to your new senses if you keep yourself locked away. Maybe if we opened a window-'

'It's not that, and you know it,' (Y/N) snapped. Her fingers gripped the wooden handles of her chair, nails digging in. 'I know you were there.'

'We were all there-'

'Not my changing.' (Y/N)'s eyes snapped up to Feyre's. Feyre almost flinched at the severity behind them. 'That night. You were there. I felt you - your thread.'

'My thread?'

'I felt it tugging that night. It only feels like that when someone is close by,' (Y/N) frowned. It looked like more words wanted to spill, but she kept her mouth shut.

'I've...' Feyre trailed off, confused. 'I've never heard of threads. Are you sure-'

'I'm not going insane,' (Y/N) cried, pushing her palms into her eyes. Feyre felt her heart shatter.

Reaching out, she took her sister's trembling hands, holding them steady in hers. 'You are not insane. There is nothing wrong with you.'

Feyre's hands reached up, cupping (Y/N)'s cheeks. 'You are just as you've always been. My dear little sister. My little butterfly.'

(Y/N) inhaled, closing her eyes. She felt her sister's fingers glide across her cheeks, tucking her hair behind her ears. For once, she could feel the golden strings. They gently grazed her cheeks, as warm and as soft as she could ever imagine. She could feel them connected to her being, connected to the love of her sister. They danced around her heart, tugging at her heart.

'I'm hoping to start a sewing workshop sometime in my art studio,' Feyre said, her hands holding (Y/N)'s hands in her lap. 'And I was hoping, you'd help me run it.'

(Y/N)'s breath hitched at the thought of leaving the house so soon, but Feyre gently squeezed her hands. Those threads made their presence known once more. (Y/N) could feel them tracing the outlines of their conjoined hands, a small tickle that ran along her skin. She wondered if Feyre could feel it too.

'Only when your ready,' Feyre said, 'We'll wait as long as you need.'

(Y/N) nodded, unsure of what to say. Or think. She felt a different tug at her heart - a stronger one. One that was familiar and warm in a way that brought her comfort. A small puff of air blew through her room, causing a small flicker of candles.

'I know,' Feyre said, seeing (Y/N)'s lips starting to slowly upturn. 'You have guests. No wonder you're in a good mood.'

'I'm not sure what you mean,' (Y/N) huffed, brushing her skirt down nervously.

Small shadows flowed from the underside of her door, immediately finding a place around her. They wrapped around her arms, like a gentle welcoming embrace, as if to say 'I missed you.'

Feyre stood up, chuckling at their puppy-like behaviour. 'I'll leave you two alone.'

Opening the door, she laughed and left down the hall. She stood up as the man she was excited to see walked in. And she too, almost giggled at his sight. His usual dark armour had been foregone, only in his undershirt he normally wore underneath his armour. His daggers had also been left behind. But what amused her was the abnormally bright bouquet of various flowers in his hands, slightly obscuring his face.

He coughed at her amused gaze, bowing his head slightly, 'Cerridwen and Nuala said you loved flowers, and I was passing by and figured I'd pick some up.'

'Thank you,' She said, gently picking the flowers out of his grips. Her fingers grazed his, a bright tingle running up her arm. The thread began pulsing, beating like a drum in the back of her mind. It had become a regular visitor alongside Azriel. At first it hurt, feeling like angry waves roaring at sea. But now, they felt like cooling waves meeting the shore. She had to crane her neck around the bouquet to see him, 'I'm not sure where I'll put these, but I'm sure I'll find a place.'

Gently she placed them on her bed. Azriel would never arrive back from a mission without a gift for (Y/N). Her shelves began to overflow with trinkets from all over. From flowers to small carvings, they lined her barren shelves, brining life to the otherwise empty room. Her personal favourite sat on her bedside - a music box. The very first gift actually, now that she recalled. She kept it close to her bed, and during nights where she found it particularly hard to fall asleep, the gentle tones of an unknown lullaby would guide her to her rest.

'Have you had dinner?'

'I'm not that hungry,' (Y/N) shrugged. 'Maybe later.'

Azriel frowned, but continued on. 'The florist told me the flowers would last longer in sunlight. There's a spot by the window sill you could put them.'

(Y/N) stilled for a moment, fiddling with the stem of one of the roses on her bed. She could tell what he was trying to do. He'd always tried, always with a different excuse. She felt disappointed in herself. Each time he came, she felt herself reach for the curtains, only to be too scared to go any further.

The shadow she'd made friends with curled down her fingers, pulling a tug at her lips. 'You must not be treating your shadows well if they prefer my company.'

'They have a weakness for beautiful women is all.'

(Y/N)'s nose wrinkled at his expression, 'No wonder they hate you then.'

Azriel laughed, 'Am I not beautiful at least?'

(Y/N) could feel her ears turn red at his question, her heart skipping a beat. 'And I thought Rhysand was the one with an ego.'

'I'll bring you dinner soon,' Azriel said. 'And I won't take no for an answers. My shadows will make sure you eat.'

'One day I'm going to steal your shadows from you,' (Y/N) said, toying with the shadow around her arm.

Azriel smiled. As the Spymaster of the court, he knew people better than most. He knew how to get into their heads, how to unlock secrets and force those to do his bidding. He also knew that being a spymaster took patience and time. And he would spare all his time for (Y/N).

'Your sleeve,' (Y/N)'s eyes caught the rip in his shirt. The seam had broken open long ago, and had began unravelling over time. It had reach his forearm now, exposing his wrist. (Y/N) reached over, turning his arm over to look at the seam. 'It's going to get worse if you don't get it fixed.'

'I don't suppose you know someone who could help, do you?'

'Haha,' (Y/N) sneered sarcastically, her fingers running along the sleeve. She went silent for a moment, her eyes blank. Azriel waited. He could see her thoughts churning in her mind, and gave her time to figure out which one to articulate it. The one she chose caught him off guard. 'Leave it with me.'

-☆-

It was past midnight now. Feyre had crawled out of bed, creeping towards the kitchen for a late night snack. It would've taken her a few minutes if she hadn't noticed something strange.

A small light stretched out from a certain door down the hall. Shadows flickered across the light. Someone was still up. The closer she got to the door, she began to hear the sound of a music box. The tune it played was a familiar one - an old illyrian lullaby Rhysand and Cassian had belted one drunken night.

As quietly as she could, she cracked the door gently open. She thanked Mother the door didn't creak as she peered inside. (Y/N)'s back was to her, humming along to the lullaby. Rhysand's candle set was lit, illumianting the room once more. Her hands gracefully moved through the air, in movements that Feyre had long since memorised on nights like this. And in her lap sat a familiar black shirt she had seen many times before.

-☆-

'You finally got your shirt fixed then,' Rhysand said, seeing the fixed sleeve.

'It was minor.' Azriel replied, fixing his armour properly.

Rhysand chuckled, 'I like the flowers.'

The armour covered most Azriel's upper body. But at certain angles, a small gift would make itself known. Along the seam of his sleeve ran a small green vine that twisted and brought together the two halves. At the very end of the stitch lay a small bouquet of embroidered flowers.

-☆-

Hello! Thank you so much for waiting! I might honestly come back and add more to the ending of this chapter but I don't really have the time or any ideas right now. But I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

Also thank you so much for all the support on this series. I wasn't expecting so many people to be invested and it honestly makes me a little nervous lolol. Anyways, I'm a bit busy lately with my uni enrolment and apartment hunting, but a new chapter will be up as soon as I can write. Thank you again everyone!

Taglist:

@wallacewillow0773638 @impossibelle @utterlyotterlyx @weasleyreidstyles @justdreamstars @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @fussel9913 @willowpains @eatsleepreadance1 @blueeclipsepaperstudent @pee-stachio @zara-aliza08 @woodland-mist @cherryinsalemverse @minnieoo @why4anne @brujitafantomatico @judig92 @robinbaum143 @esposadomd @sleepylunarwolf @darling006 @jesssicapaniagua @fxckmiup @nickishadow139 @hanitastic @scatteredstardustt @thisblogisaboutabook @bookaddictedgirlie @kindasleepywriter @hnyclover @sstrohma @dianxiaxiexie @azzydaddy @namelesssav @microwaveallthedemons @twsssmlmaa

#acotar x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #acheron

682 notes · View notes

juletheghoul · 1 year

Text

Ache

Gif by @userkeery

Authors note: It's 3:30am and I am posting Joel smut because just like all of you, that show ruined me. It's literally pwp because.. well you all saw it. lol. Hope you enjoy! (Thanks to my wife for literally talking me through this @foli-vora)

Pairing: Young Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word count: 800

Warnings: 18+ no minors, piv sex, dirty talk, creampie, feelings? let me know if I missed any!

Masterlist

He walked through the door with an air of determination, his mouth seeking out yours with pure purpose. He licked into it, barely giving you time to close the door behind him.

“Someone’s happy to see me.” Your words come out breathy, his passion flowing through him and now into you as you’re herded towards your couch.

“Been thinkin’ bout you all day, couldn’t wait to get here.” He punctuates his words by grabbing a meaty handful of your ass, low enough to pull the lips of your sex apart and it makes you gasp into his mouth.

“Jesus Joel-“ he doesn’t let you finish, his tongue fills your mouth again and all you can do is try to keep up, your hands find the gap between his shirt and his jeans and you sweep your hands up the broad expanse of his back—lifting it up and off relishing the golden skin on display for you now.

He grins and then your shirt is off and tossed onto the floor, your bra joins it soon after and within a few minutes you’re both naked and on your couch, mouths fused together, sharing the same panted breaths.

“I missed you too.” You thread your fingers into his dark hair, guiding him towards your breast and he gifts you with a groan from deep in his throat, his tongue eager on the stiff bud of your nipple.

He hums his acknowledgement onto your breast before moving to the other and his desperation is currently hard and weeping against your hip, sliding against your skin with every movement but he doesn’t get to it. Instead he keeps a steady suck at your nipple, moving from one to the other until you open your thighs underneath him, hoping he’ll slip in to soothe the aching emptiness he’s created.

“Come on baby, you gonna make me beg?” You tug at the dark waves of his hair, gasping when he lets your nipple go with a pop.

“I have half a mind to let you, love it when you beg.” He kissed your sternum quickly before grasping his cock in hand, giving himself a few strokes against the slick pooled at your entrance. “You think she’s ready for me?” He bites his lip, drunk on the way your hips tilt up to help him.

“Yes Joel, put it in already.” He laughs at your tone, his dark eyes lively and lust blown.

“Yes ma’am.” He slides in with a moan. The smile morphs into something almost unfocused as he pumps himself slowly in and out, coating himself in your liquid heat before he speeds up.

The stretch of him is exquisite.

You’d thought about him all day, waited with baited breath from the moment he’d called during his break, knowing he’d have you wet and mewling for him just like he always does and yet this is so much better than your daydream. It’s always better.

He shifts, kneeling on the couch and pulling your hips up with him. His big, calloused hands hold onto your hips with a grip hard enough to bruise but it doesn’t matter because his cock is pressing up against something sacred, something that makes your eyes roll back, something that lights a fire in the base of your spine. And then it strikes like lightning, a scream and a wet clench and you're falling off the cliff.

“You’re not even gonna make me work for it huh?” He’s triumphant, proud of the way he’s made you see stars but it’s not enough for him, he speeds up, fucks you through your climax and just when you think you might pass out he’s pulling you up to wrap your arms around his neck, grinding his come deep.

Your hands slide across the smooth skin of his back, enjoying the press of his lips in the crook of your neck. Your legs are tangled up together, a rare cool breeze envelops you both as you catch your breath and savor the afterglow.

“Where’s Sarah today?” You press the tips of your fingers into the knots of his shoulders, wanting to take some of the pain he complains about away.

“She’s at—oh, fuck that’s nice—the Adlers, Jesus Christ, right there-“ he winces but leans into it, letting you work the ache away. “I should get goin’ soon.”

“Am I ever gonna meet her?” It’s not an uncomfortable question, with the way things were going between the two of you it was only a matter of time.

“Actually, yes. My birthday’s comin’ up. Thought it would be nice if you came over then. You can meet my shithead brother Tommy too.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw, moving to find your mouth again before he inevitably had to go.

“I’d love to.”

Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @ezrasbirdie @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @wheresarizona @sherala007 @marydjarin @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @greeneyedblondie44 @maxwell--lord @princessxkenobi @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @mrs-ghuleh @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @quica-quica-quica @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @mandosmistress @deadhumourist @felicisimor @no-droids-on-sunday @sophiefatale2495 @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @localddreamers @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @maievdenoir @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @lorosette @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @allthatsleftbehind @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed @swtaura @evelynseventyr @send-me-to-valhalla @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @oliviajdjarin @actuallyanita @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x some people who I think might like this; @the-ginger-hedge-witch @write-and-buried

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joelyyyy #young joel miller #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #tlou

3K notes · View notes

urfavoritegirlkisser · 4 months

Note

ooh for hazel maybe a fic where hazel is fully oblivious to the fact that reader likes her and misses their very obvious flirting until someone makes a joke about the two of them

idk i feel like that’s something she would do lmao

Oh for sure, she is definitely very oblivious when it comes to someone flirting with her

Tags: Fem!Reader, Hazel is so oblivious, swearing, a smidge of angst and insecure!reader, use of y/n, slightly suggestive at the end but it's no big deal honestly, lightly proof read, girls kissing (giggling and kicking my feet)

"Friends Don't Look At Friends That Way" - Hazel Callahan x Reader

“Maybe we could go hang out at your place? You could help me study for Mr.G’s final” You say, lightly grazing your fingertips on Hazel’s arm while batting your eyelashes up at her.

“Didn’t he literally give us the test answers as a study guide?” Hazel says, oblivious to your flirtation as always.

This was the billionth time it feels like that Hazel has shut you down, and honestly, you’re sick of it.

You decide to try a different tactic, gently grabbing her hand and admiring her rings, “I just love your rings” you rub your thumb across them and let your other hand rest on her thigh.

“Thanks! Most of them were gifts from friends, and this one was from a cool thrift shop downtown” Hazel rambles on while you sigh as she continues to ignore your obvious attempts at flirting with her.

You genuinely thought all hope was lost…until you heard PJ shout from across the gym.

“Jesus! Get a room you two, have some decency for the rest of us and go fuck in the janitor’s closet!” the girl shouts and your face heats up as a deep blush settles over your cheeks

Hazel scoffs, “What? We’re just friends PJ, don’t be a loser” she says while laughing nervously.

It took all of your willpower not to crumble right then and there.

You’ve had enough of this, you weren’t going to put in all this effort for someone who just sees you as a friend. Sniffling as tears start to form in your eyes from embarrassment, you quickly excuse yourself and practically run out of the gymnasium.

Your feet carry you to an abandoned classroom, where you let yourself finally let out the sobs you were holding in. Of course Hazel didn’t feel the same, why would she? She was amazing in every way and you were just some loser.

You’re so consumed in your thoughts that you don’t hear the door crack open and Hazel slowly walk inside.

“Y/n? Are you alright?” she says in a near whisper, but it still makes you jump and quickly look up at Hazel while wiping your tears.

“Hazel, what are you doing here? The club meeting is about to start, you know how PJ is with people being late” you try to speak in a confident voice, but it comes out shaky and thick from the lump of emotions in your throat and you look away from her so she can’t see your tears.

Hazel shakes her head and sits down beside you, “You’re more important than a stupid meeting” she says softly, “Josie told me about your feelings for me”

You groan at her words and put your head on your knees, looking back at her with a sniffle, “I’m so sorry Hazel, I get it if you don’t feel the same way and I won’t blame you-” your words are cut off by Hazel grabbing your face and hurriedly pressing her lips to yours in a bruising kiss.

You shriek in surprise at first, but quickly kiss back, shuddering as you feel her tongue enter your mouth.

Hazel pulls you onto her lap, your fingers threading into her soft hair as her hands rest on your hips. You both pull away after a moment, pupils blown, breaths heavy as the both of you just stare at each other for a moment.

Hazel is the first to speak up, “I’ve actually wanted to do that since the first time I saw you” she says breathlessly while moving a hand up to cradle your jaw and gently stroke your face with her thumb, “You are so beautiful y/n, I would be lucky to be able to call you mine” she says with a smile that makes your heart melt

“And I’m sorry for being such an idiot” she quickly adds which makes you laugh

You kiss her softly, pulling away just enough so your foreheads touch and you can just live in this tiny moment the both of you have created.

“As long as I can call you my idiot, then that’s all that matters” you say before the both of you dissolve into giggles.

an - meant to post more today, but got hit with a wicked migraine, so I hoped you enjoyed. Go drink water you girl kissers.

#hazel callahan #hazel callahan x reader #hazel bottoms #hazel callahan fanfiction #wlw fanfic #bottoms movie #ruby cruz

249 notes · View notes

coffearabica · 1 year

Text

your words, princess|xavier thorpe

synopsis: xavier wants you to say it

!includes!: soft/dom xavi, teasing, cockwarming if you angle your phone the right way, literally just smut on smut

note: help this is so bad ive literally never written smut this explicit asldkfd also the ending is soo bad. aged up obviously <3

word count: 0.898k

He was slow as he moved, every flick of his tongue savoring and every brush of his fingers lingering. It drove you crazy in the same way it liquified your bones.

“Xavier.” you sighed, legs curled around his hips as his head dipped below your collar bones. It was so easy to get lost in him. Every wet kiss against your skin was anticipated, your core tightening with every huff of cool air brushing against the wet spot he'd leave behind. He hums as his hands tighten around your wrist, where he has them locked in place above your head.

“You feel so good, baby.” he breathes, movements gentle and rocking. “So, so good.” the bed creaks, the sheets rustle, and outside the dark clouds gently grumble. His hip bones meet your inner thighs over, and over, and over again. He’d leave bruises for him to kiss in the morning, but for now, masked by darkness, you were his to do as he pleased with.

“Please,” you gasped, back arching when he hit that spot. He smiled down at you, your breasts offered before him like a gift. He pulls back, lowers his mouth, thrusts back in, and sucks you into his mouth. “Fuck!’

“Hmm.” he moans out, knowing you’ll feel it in places he couldn’t physically reach. You thrash a bit, turning your face into your arm, legs slipping down his waist, and hips moving on their own accord. He loves it, seeing you so vulnerable before him. So needy for him.

“What do you want, baby?” he licks a stripe between your breasts, all the way up to your jaw. You turn back to him, eyes shut and lips searching for his. He kisses you, only a quick peck that you meet with a frown. He’s slowed almost to a complete stop now.

“More.” you whine.

“More?” He nudges your cheek with his nose. You turn again, wanting so badly to kiss his lips before you screamed. But he pulls away again.

“Xavier,” you drag his name out, tugging on your hands but he only tightens his grip.

“Your words, princess. I want to hear exactly what it is you want from me.”

When your eyes open all you see is him and for a moment you’re reminded of just how big he is. Tall and lean, his shoulders span across you with one arm slipped underneath your back and the other bounding your hands. Every inch of him rubbed against you and every breath you took reminded you of how badly you needed him to move.

“Hi, pretty.” he smiles and pecks your lips again, parts of him amused by the frustration in your eyes. “You wanna tell me now?”

With a huff and a glare you pick your head up, getting as close to him as you could, “I want you to make me come with your cock.”

The dirty words coming from such soft and sweet lips was like electricity in his blood. Both of you could feel him pulsing from deep inside you and when your legs wrapped around him again, ankles digging into the backs of his thighs and driving him back in the last few inches, he sees and feels nothing but burning, white pleasure.

“Fuck, baby. You’re perfect.” His lips smash down onto yours, teeth knocking and tongues battling. He begins moving again, his dick sliding in and out slowly at first before he begins picking up pace, leaving you to groan into his mouth. “Whatever you want,” he pants between kissing you, “I’ll give it to you, baby. Whatever-”

His words die on a gasp when your insides tighten, his hips stutter and his head falls into your neck. He doesn’t even hear the gentle moans falling from his mouth, doesn’t register that his hold on your wrists has loosened. It isn’t until your fingers thread through his hair and tug and that same blinding pleasure surges through him.

“You feel so good,” he repeats. “You know how to make me feel so good, only you.” He speaks into the junction of your neck.

The words send another ache through you, this one so intense that your vision shifts and when he slams into you at a particular angle it reaches its peak.

“Xavier!”

“”Fuck yeah, come on my cock, pretty girl.” he picks himself up and moves over you until your legs fall away from him. Until you're a quivering mess and the sight of you all flushed and sweaty and sated has his lower back tingling and soon his own head falls between your breasts as he pours endless spurts into you.

There's a brief silence filled with nothing but your heavy breaths. His damp forehead rests against your sternum as you brush his hair away from his face. It isn’t until he drops a kiss across your chest, then up to your chin that his eyes meet yours.

“Hi.” His grin is dopey and infectious.

“Hi.” You smile back and he drops his mouth to kiss it.

“I think this was my favorite time.”

“You say that every time.” your eyes roll.

“Can’t get enough of you.” he wiggles his brows, proud of the giggle that escapes you.

He doesn’t move and you don’t tell him to, he simply lays back across your chest as your fingers find their place in his hair once more.

#xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe smut

2K notes · View notes

strangelittlestories · 3 months

Text

It was somewhere around a year into the apocalypse when the Lion and the Lamb found what they had long been looking for: a very remote (and thus largely unpillaged) and *very fancy* hotel.

(Lion and Lamb were the names I knew them by, at least. We met at a wedding - always a strange event in the end times - and they did not give me their true names. This was, honestly, a wise move given the kind of entity I am. But they did gift me with this anecdote, which perhaps reveals more about them than a simple name could.)

After scouting the place out - and bloodily evicting a small pack of ghouls that had gotten separated from the horde and (hopelessly lost) wandered into the hotel spa - the pair climbed the many steps to the building’s palatial penthouse suite.

There, they found many wondrous treasures. Fluffy bathrobes. Tiny sachets of shampoo. A bed so large it should probably have been illegal.

And, of course, a little peace and quiet.

---

“What do you think the thread count on these sheets are?” Asked Lamb.

“Do I look like the kind of person who understands thread count?” Lion was already lying in the bed, starfishing her limbs out across the pillowy expanse.

“It’s just…this might be the softest thing I’ve ever felt. This has got to be four hundred. Maybe even five?” Lamb’s brow wrinkled for a moment. “Hey - would you mind if I take this with us when we leave?”

“What’s the matter? You already afraid to go back to scratchy blankets and sleeping bags?” Lion grinned, while twisting the top off a little bottle of Jack Daniels. A small pile of tiny liquor bottles lay beside her; across the room, her axe rested against the sundered mini bar.

“No, I uh-” Lamb looked sheepish. “I was thinking it’d make for good bandages.”

Lion paused with the mini bottle of Jack on her lips. She made steady eye contact with Lamb as she downed the bottle, then threw it casually to one side.

“You want to take the sheets off this bed.” She sat up and calmly took hold of Lamb’s arm, pulling him close. “This bed that may as well be made of clouds. These covers that were probably hand spun by gods or artisanal Shoreditch arseholes. This bed that may be the last gift from a now-absent god, and which - by the way - we have not even hugged in yet…”

“Well, when you put it like that-”

“You want to take the sheets off this bed - this bed that is larger than some countries - and tear it up for stab wounds and bullet holes?”

“I just-”

At this point, Lion yanked on Lamb’s arm and he tumbled awkwardly into the aforementioned bed, rolling over Lion and landing nestled snugly in the crook of her shoulder. It was somewhere between a cuddle and a headlock and, if we’re being honest, Lamb really didn’t mind that.

Some time passed. We need not discuss how it passed, let us simply say that it did and that, for the Lion and the Lamb, its passage was necessary, healing and only mildly bruising.

Lamb sighed happily and said:

“I just thought. Y’know, about the bandages. That … well, dangerous shit happens to us so often. It’s really easy to get used to being scared. To being hurt. So I figured it might be nice, y’know, if when we were patching each other up, we had something soft to do it with. So that even when it hurts the most, we can *practise* being soft. And it’d be something that reminded us of this. This perfect day we stole for ourselves. A happy memory to literally bind up the hurt with.” Lamb looked shyly up at Lion. “It probably sounds silly. Or soppy. But, well. I am those things sometimes.”

Lion leant down and gently and carefully kissed Lamb on the forehead.

“Okay.” She said, in a voice roaring with love. “We can destroy the sheets when we’re done.”

“Thanks.” Said Lamb. “I knew you’d cotton on.”

And, even despite the pun, Lion could not have been happier.

#writing #microfiction #flash fiction #short story #love stories for the end times #love story #honestly even writing this made me make little d'awwww sounds so I really hope y'all like it

62 notes · View notes

la-petitmortss · 4 months

Text

when: late evening where: charlotte's favorite home in kensington who: charlotte and @asa-m-holland

Charlotte always indulges after a death, particularly those involving so much effort on her part. It's distraction, or perhaps self care - some way to rebuild the facade she sheds each and every time she picks up a knife. Shrouding herself in silk and lace and luxury until she is no longer Death, but the glossy armor that is Charlotte Astor. The knock is expected, but arrives too early - she’s not fully back yet, stuck somewhere in between her two selves. She huffs in irritation, deliberately ignoring the unease that’s plagued her since she landed, or perhaps before that, this building pressure like shaken champagne against a cork.

“A house call? Aren’t I special?” Lottie gives Asa an almost unnerving smile, then steps back to allow him to enter. “You’ll have to forgive the mess,” there is little, “I only landed a few hours ago, the flight was terrible, thank you for asking,” she hums, voice flighty and distracted - that considerable willpower occupied in keeping the creature of roiling emotion and rage locked inside its gilded cage - ritual now fully interrupted. Charlotte drifts into the kitchen and frowns, pulling out a bottle of champagne. “I suppose this will have to do, would you like a glass?” She finally looks at him again, eyes a touch too bright. “Oh! I got you something!” She beams, then slides the men’s signet ring from her thumb, watching vaguely as it skips and spins across the marble countertop.

#give the bruises out like gifts | threads #asa tag tbd #death tw

9 notes · View notes

hell-drabbles · 5 months

Text

Gabriel 1

Summary: It was a cruel idea that you put on the table, you know this well, but you’ve never known yourself to be soft and merciful. If one manages to break Gabriel in, then it should be a simpler task to break the rest of his brethren.

(This one is a… a little extreme. Gabriel torture and the beginnings of Stockholm Syndrome. Also probably gonna make an angel OC. Just need to settle on an appearance that appeals to me. His loyalty will be towards the Reader. The man will worship them with every fiber of his being. Probably will be big, like Mammon. Jokingly want to name him Baraqiel. Because, you know… bara.)

This was torture entirely built on the base of selfishness. Your selfishness. You won’t even begin to pretend that this was for the greater good of the devils in Hell. Well, not as though torture was ever anything but self serving, it just feels more… significant that you proposed this idea with the full intention of taking advantage of it.

Gabriel, the angel that phased through your screen, who sliced open your friend and declared you a target of all angel kind, was chained to the floor of a humid dungeon. He was forced on his side, mouth gagged with hands and eyes bound tight with the cloth of his own clothes. Practically clad in blood-soaked threads rather than a uniform.

He growled as all dogs of heaven do when they hear anyone near their cell. He bit down on his gag when the devil keeping watch clinked open the cell door. And he shuffled his back–six jagged lines, uneven skin caked in disgusting black blood–away from you. You didn’t even grant him the mercy of giving him stitches. He’d scar, but he’d heal.

He didn’t have his halo anymore. You had that thing ripped off when it nearly blinded you just a week ago. He didn’t deserve to shine, to cling to this grace gifted to him by this being he worshiped so much.

You stopped before him and watched him squirm and attempt to curl into a defeated ball. You knelt and grabbed his chin before forcing his head up at an almost agonizing angle. The devils that came before you had left marks on them. Claw marks and plum colored bruised all over his neck.

Of course, they couldn’t kill him. Not when that was your right.

You heard a rasp deep from his throat, pushed out of his mouth with a purpose. He’s trying to say words, probably trying to curse you with an anger deep from his bones, but there was nothing.

“Tch,” you clenched your jaw and ripped off the gag. You forced his mouth open with a thumb and peered inside. No tongue, no uvula, and beyond that was fresh and fleshy scarring trailing down his throat. “Someone took your voice, huh?”

And without your permission. You said to those devils that they can hurt, but they cannot take pieces of your toys. Of course someone would get high on their own power and disobey you.

Gabriel didn’t dig his teeth into your thumb, he closed around it instead. He didn’t stuck, and couldn’t lick, but he let his lips fall around your thumb nonetheless. Seems he recognized your voice. You do make it a habit to do some care. Can’t very well have him die on you suddenly.

You scratched through his greasy hair, like you would any pet, and Gabriel bowed his head into your hands.

Isolation certainly has done a number on him. It won’t be long before he’s bouncing right towards your feet.

#whb #what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad #drabble #hell-drabbles #heaven #gabriel #reader insert

83 notes · View notes

ohhophelie · 2 years

Text

when: just after midnight, Sunday, July 31 where: AU obvi who: ophélie and open @mobscene-starters

“Shots!” The blonde beamed and clapped her hands together, “its my birthday so you’re not actually like allowed to say no.”

#give the bruises out like gifts | threads #this is bad i apologize #only if it would make sense for them to be at her bday celebration xox

3 notes · View notes

samstree · 1 year

Text

in other words (please be true)

A secret santa gift for dear @lamberts, hope your year is full of good sleep and love! 💖 (2.2k ☆ AO3)

“Jaskier,” Geralt says with his eyes closed.

“Hmm?” A slight shuffle, the sound of Jaskier burrowing into the cover.

“Go to sleep.”

A puff of breath ghosts over Geralt’s cheeks. The pillow under his ear is soft, a nice spot to stay forever like this.

“I am,” Jaskier answers, carefully.

“Your eyes are still open.” Geralt doesn’t even need to look to know, with Jaskier’s gaze on the back of his eyes.

“They’re not,” Jaskier lies again with a smile in his voice.

Sighing, Geralt leans forward to press a kiss to Jaskier’s forehead, down his eyebrow, and then lightly, on the tip of his nose. He rests a hand over Jaskier’s back, patting a gentle rhythm. It’s a trick he’s learned to get Ciri to fall asleep quickly.

Jaskier sinks into the bed further, but Geralt can practically hear the sound of him blinking. The feeling of being closely observed by Jaskier is not a bad one. It’s just a small weight of attention, a warm tingling on his senses, a safe kind of being seen.

Still, the subtle hint of exhaustion threads into the thrumming of Jaskier’s heartbeat, just on the edge of too light and too quick.

“It’s late, and you are tired,” Geralt shushes again under his breath. “Close your eyes.”

“They are closed.”

Shamelessly, Jaskier keeps looking, so Geralt lets him for a few moments longer.

The fire crackles as Geralt keeps his eyes shut—opening them would mean admitting defeat. He’d be giving up on the attempt to sleep, and he’s reluctant to do so just because Jaskier wants to be a cheeky liar.

Without looking, he can picture Jaskier perfectly—lying on his side, face only inches away. The night is dark, and so are Jaskier’s eyes, peeking from under the covers with his face hidden. Age has never taken away that mischievous glint in those eyes, nor the overflowing adoration resting in the crow’s feet at Jaskier’s temple. Without looking, Geralt knows he’s being seen with love.

His lungs expand, filled with the familiar scent of Jaskier, and then, he opens his eyes.

There Jaskier is, safe in their bed, the lower half of his face hidden under the cover. The smile is unmistakable when his eyes are curved like this, showing those beautiful crow’s feet. Upon seeing Geralt is wide awake, his eyes light up even more, nearly gleaming with excitement in the dim firelight.

“Oops,” Jaskier murmurs. “You’ve caught me.”

“As if you regret it.”

“Who says I don’t?”

Letting out a deep breath, Geralt searches for Jaskier’s hand under the covers, his limbs all slow and lazy, heavy from a day’s journey. Jaskier meets him halfway, links their fingers together and brings Geralt’s hand to his lips.

“Hey,” Geralt greets him as if they didn’t say goodnight mere minutes ago. A content hum rumbles quietly as his hand is being kissed.

“Hey,” Jaskier greets him in return.

They lie there, blinking slowly in the warm nest of their bed. There are faint bruises under Jaskier’s eyes from days of traveling. He truly is exhausted, and Geralt’s heart twists in sympathy.

“The only thing you’ll regret tomorrow is the lack of sleep.” He squeezes Jaskier’s hand in worry. “Come on, stop staring.”

Jaskier only shakes his head. “No.”

“Jask.”

“I didn’t ride for days just to not look at your face, witcher.” Jaskier’s lips purse into a displeased line. “I’ve waited for months. Months, Geralt. Do you know how long they last when you are away?”

Geralt is too aware, because those months stretched out in Jaskier’s absence as if they’d never end. The empty bedroll beside him grew cold every morning when he reached out, but he kept reaching anyway.

“So you’ve decided to never take your eyes off of me again?” Geralt asks. “Even at night, just to make up for those months?”

“You tease me for missing you.” Jaskier pouts, wounded as if he’s suffered great unfairness.

“I tease you for being unreasonable.”

Geralt wraps an arm behind Jaskier’s back again and begins running soothing circles, inching forward until Jaskier fits into the curve of his body.

“Perhaps I am,” Jaskier whispers, his breath warm against Geralt’s neck. “When we were apart, I’d close my eyes and picture all the details of your face. I was quite proud for remembering well, but my imagination could never compare. You see, you’ve changed in my absence.”

“I did?”

“Mm-hmm.” Jaskier touches his forehead to Geralt’s in confirmation. “You always change when I’m not there. I merely wanted to record the differences for my imagination. So next time, I’ll be more accurate.”

Geralt aches at the thought of separating from Jaskier again. “You understand we need to part, do you? Between your job and mine, it’s the way it is.”

Jaskier swallows. “Yes, for a few years at least. We have our plan, so I understand. Doesn’t make it easier.”

With that, Jaskier looks down at where their hands link. For the first time, a real sense of tiredness weighs on his frame, shrinking his presence, and it makes Geralt feel wrong-footed in a million ways. It just won’t do. Geralt hates it when Jaskier takes up less space.

“No. It’s never easy,” Geralt agrees, rather urgently. “It’s the same for me. I…I’d pretend you were with me too.”

“You would?”

Geralt nods. “Our bedroll felt too big. I kept trying to find you at night, only to remember you weren’t there. Even Roach sensed I was sad.”

“Oh,” Jaskier breathes. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, I am. Shouldn’t have made fun of you.” Geralt pulls Jaskier closer to lay on his shoulder, securing the comfortable weight of his bard at his side.

“You can’t stop making fun of me even if you wanted to. I don’t know why I’m sweet on you,” Jaskier mumbles into Geralt’s shirt. “Perhaps I shall forget about your face altogether and let you suffer in unrequited longing.”

With a huff, Geralt pulls away, wrapping a hand around Jaskier’s chin. “My, my, have mercy. I won’t survive.”

“So you’ll let me stare now?” Jaskier perks up, his face open and earnest. “I don’t ask for more, only a few stolen moments at night.”

Jaskier still talks about Geralt’s love as if it is something he cheated out of the universe, as if he can only steal moments of affection in the darkness of the night. Even after all these years, he treats Geralt like it’s a privilege to love him, to be loved by him.

Suddenly, he never wants Jaskier to stop looking.

“Stare all you want,” he answers. “Look all you want. Remember all of me, but know you can ask for more. Always.”

Jaskier’s eyes crinkle with a coy smile, the lower half of his face swallowed by the soft cover once again. “Always is a long time. I’d never sleep if you kept letting me get my way. You’d be dealing with a cranky, sleep-deprived bard every morning.”

“Hmm. A compromise, perhaps,” Geralt says. “A deal. Look all you want, but if you sleep early enough, I’ll get you those strawberry tarts you like in the morning.”

“With honey tea?”

“With honey tea,” Geralt confirms. “You can stay here comfortably, with your tea and breakfast. It’ll also be snowing in the morning, I can smell it in the air.”

“Oh,” Jaskier breathes hopefully, “you know I cannot refuse a lazy morning in bed. With snow, no less. This is the highest form of bribery, I’ll have you know. It’s put me in a rather difficult position.”

“Look your fill, bard.” Geralt raises his eyebrows, his hand sneaking up Jaskier’s back again, patting gently. “I won’t mind, but think of the price you’ll be paying.”

Jaskier squints, studying Geralt with a wicked look.

“There is one thing different about you, now that I’m paying attention,” he says. “You’ve grown cunning while I wasn’t here. It’s not a good look, darling. I liked it better when I could get away with anything.”

“I learned it from the best.” A human’s heartbeat thrums under a witcher’s callused fingertips, and Geralt keeps his touch patient. “What else is different about me?”

Jaskier reaches out for the stray hair at Geralt’s temple. “Lots of things. Your hair, for one. It was too short when we parted. Kept getting into your eyes. Now, I think I can braid it again.”

“In the morning, then,” Geralt offers another bribery. “And?”

“You have a new scar. Right here, by your collarbone. Is it a scratch? A vicious beast, perhaps?”

“The most vicious.” Geralt winces. “A stray cat by the road.”

Jaskier gasps, soothing the claw marks, hissing in sympathy. “What? Have you still not given up on petting them? Geralt, you know they attack witchers on sight!”

The orange little thing liked Roach fine, purring and rolling by her feet in the sunbeam, so Geralt made the mistake of letting down his guard too soon. It’s been a century of feline injuries; he really should have learned.

“I’ll live, Jask. Don’t you fret.” He catches Jaskier’s hand and kisses his palm. “Anything else?”

“Hmm, let’s see. I don’t see other signs of your foolishness.” Jaskier recoils a little when Geralt’s stubble scratches the sensitive skin of his wrist. “Except you are not taking care of yourself again, despite all my nagging letters. You know I love your face as it is, dearest, but this beard needs some upkeep.” His voice drops to seriousness, a hint of worry hanging by his pursed lips. “You’ve also gotten thin, just a little bit.”

Jaskier looks saddened by the thought, his fingers now tracing the sharp lines of Geralt’s cheekbone.

“You know how winters are,” Geralt says, his chest warm from the sense of being protected. It’s a rare feeling, but here Jaskier is, fussing over a witcher who is only meant to protect others.

“I know it gets like this. But again, it doesn’t make it easier.”

Jaskier sighs, brows knitted and deep in thoughts. They are no doubt thoughts of pampering Geralt over the entire winter now that they are together. He’d be mentally arranging all those sweet treats Geralt likes, or even contemplating cooking by himself again. Hopefully not—the kitchen can’t take another burning.

It’s too ridiculous a sight, Jaskier exhausted with dark circles under his eyes, worrying over Geralt’s missed meal or two.

“Hey,” Geralt calls out, interrupting. “I know something hasn’t changed.”

“Hmm?”

He always knows another trick to put Jaskier to sleep.

With their bodies tangled up and breaths mingling, Geralt kisses Jaskier sweetly and lazily. He sets a languid pace, a gentle exploration, a quiet homecoming. They exchange soft hums between pleasant teasing, but it never goes beyond what it is. Geralt simply kisses Jaskier, coaxing him to lie back and bask in the attention.

“Is it the same?” Geralt breathes, pressing another small kiss on Jaskier’s grin.

“Better, even.” Jaskier blinks slowly, his eyelids growing heavy despite the grin on his face. “Something else hasn’t changed.”

“Oh?”

“The way you look at me.”

Geralt runs his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, studying the light fluttering of his lashes in the dim light. He’s looking right into all that is kind in the world, all that is his.

“And how do I look at you?” Geralt asks.

“Like I’m a secret you get to keep,” Jaskier answers.

For a moment, the world disappears and all that’s left is them, being here, a secret Geralt never thought he could keep.

Jaskier’s hand falls next to the pillow, where Geralt threads their fingers together. He’s almost entirely resting on top of Jaskier, but he knows the weight is welcomed. It makes Jaskier feel safe enough to be humming that pleasant sound, and most importantly, it makes Jaskier sleepy.

“My secret. Mine. How did that happen?” Geralt muses as Jaskier lets out a yawn. He chuckles. “You know, we can always pick this up tomorrow.”

Under him, Jaskier is all sprawled out and squirming, pressed into the mattress and melted into a puddle of contentment.

“Not tomorrow, no. More kisses for me…right now.”

“Hmm, another deal, then.” Geralt smiles wickedly, resting his head on the pillow, studying Jaskier’s silhouette. “More kisses, but only tomorrow morning. I’ll kiss you more when I have the strawberry tarts.”

A sad whine escapes Jaskier’s throat, but there is no fight behind the drowsiness. “Sabotage on top of bribery, depriving me of kisses. You are truly too cunning.”

“You can complain tomorrow.”

“And feed you strawberry tarts too.” Jaskier yawns again. “Must feed you treats. Keep you happy and healthy.”

“Tomorrow,” Geralt promises, watching Jaskier’s eyes flutter shut, his mouth going slack. The quietness stretches on with only the fire crackling. The shadows dance around Jaskier’s features, warming his round cheeks, the rise and fall of his chest evening out.

It’s like Geralt could stay here all night, just counting all the ways Jaskier is safe and happy and comfortable.

“Your eyes are still open,” Jaskier whispers under his breath, half asleep.

“They are not,” Geralt lies.

“Liar.”

A small smile tugs at Jaskier’s lips as he drifts off. He lets out soft snores soon after, his pinkie still hooked with Geralt’s thumb.

Geralt stays there for just a while longer, reveling in not having to reach out for cold, empty sheets, and in not having to miss Jaskier like there is a bard-shaped emptiness in his heart.

He sleeps, knowing he won’t need to miss Jaskier for a while longer, knowing in the morning, he will have sweet treats to buy and his bard to kiss awake.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #secret santa exchange

310 notes · View notes

watcher-with-burned-wings · 9 months

Text

Ship in a Bottle Pt.1

(We doing something different this time! A borrower au with Private Scosage because I like cute smol things, plus this is a birthday gift for my online older brother, Auto!)

(Warnings: Fearplay Possessive behavior)

It had been a normal night for Scott. He had made the two day trip to the town of the Faction Isles to gather some essential resources for a borrower such as himself, something that the Herons had sorely lacked. Don’t get him wrong, his fellow herons, as he affectionately calls them, are great. They have plenty of food and fresh water that he’ll never go hungry or thirsty. But snagging a spare fish hood or thread was impossible when they only bought what they needed, rarely having extra.

Scott had just finished raiding Missy’s storage for some string, tying it to the new hook he had borrowed from Hook’s supplies the previous night. Deciding to test the new hook, Scott threw the hook onto a crate, the hook catching on the wooden ledge. Tugging the rope a little bit to test if it was anchored down, began climbing up the rope. Scott was pleased to find the string was thick and strong like he had hope, easily supporting his weight. Once Scott reached the top of the crate, Scott admired the view.

The crate he stood upon was on the side of the tavern. From here, Scott could see the whole town square and the pier beyond in the early evening. The sight took his breath away, his tail flicking in wonder. Idly he thought if humans saw this every night. Scott was knocked out of his head by the sound of glass shattered inside the tavern and loud drunken laughter.

Oh right. He still had to be careful.

The downside of living on the Isle is that pirates don’t have proper sleep schedules, making it difficult to borrow at any time. But luckily for Scott he was born and raised on this island so he quite used to it.

What he wasn’t quite used to was drunk sailors stumbling around.

Scott made a surprised squeak as two Kestrels exited the tavern singing drunken sea shanties, one of them knocking into the crate he was standing on. Scott stumbled as the crate started to tip, making Scott go with it.

Scott didn’t have time to scream as he fell and hit the stone ground, just barely missed being crushed by the fallen crate. Wincing, Scott stood up, checking himself over. He was relieved to find a few bruises but nothing serious. Scott scooped up his satchel and secured it safely to his body before momentarily relaxing.

“I think I might have drank too much Sausage because I’m seeing a little humanoid rat.”

Scott froze at the human voice, glazing up, only to lock eyes with two very drunk humans staring down at him. Scott felt as though his legs had turned to stone. His instincts screamed at him to move! But he remained firmly planted.

“How dare you call that fine little fellow a rat Oli! He’s too cute to be a mere rat.” The other human, Sausage, replied. “He’s cute enough to be a gem!”

Scott snapped out of his frozen state by the comment, a blush crawling up his face and turning his ear tips red. Shaking his head, Scott booked it into the grass, pointedly ignoring the drunken shouting. Once far away enough and knowing the human had stopped following, Scott leaned against the wall of stone, catching his breath.

That had been way too close for comfort, Scott thought.

Luckily they were probably drunk enough to forget about him, he decided. Scott sighed and began the long journey back toward Heron base. As he walked he couldn’t help but think about how handsome the human, Sausage had been. —————————————————————————————————

The next time Scott had an encounter with Sausage, it was at the Kestrel’s base.

While Scott preferred to avoid the Kestrel’s base like the plague due to how meticulously they handled their treasures, it had to be done. Scott was a simple borrower but after finding out that is long lost brother, Acho, had returned and was residing at the Nightingales, Scott knew he had to give him something special.

Currently Scott was in the kitchen of the faction base, browsing the selection of fine imported foods that seemed to be littered around carelessly around the counters. He glanced over at the odd orange and pink fuzzy fruit that smell sweeter then anything Scott had a pleasure of eating but decided that it was definitely way too big. Moving on, he examined a bunch of small red berries with green leaf tops with seeds outside of them. He sniffed them as was pleased to find they were also sweet, his tail swaying as he picked one up but then paused as he was about to put it in his satchel.

It was well passed midnight, so it surprised Scott as the glow of a touch appeared on the wall. He quickly dropped the unusual berry and quickly hid in an overturned wooden mug. The mug shook slightly as human footsteps approached his hiding place. Scott held his breath as he coward, silently pleading to the universe that he wouldn’t be found.

Unfortunately for Scott, his pleads when unanswered as the mug was grabbed. Scott tumbled out onto the counter in plain view of the human. The human made a horrible screech that had Scott’s ears ringing before he was rudely hit over the head with the wooden mug. The last thought Scott had before everything went black was ‘Shit.”

——————————————————————————————————

When Sausage when to get a midnight drink, he had not expected a little mouse man to fall out of his mug. Out of instinct more than fear, he had smacked the poor guy over the head with said mug. Which leads to his current problem; a motionless body of a little mouse man.

Biting his lip, Sausage carefully picked up the little guy, who hung limply in his hands. Sausage pales and hoped to ever god he believed in that he had not just killed this innocent soul. Pressing his ear to the mouse-like persons chest, he released a small relieved breath as he heard a little heartbeat. Sausage also ran a finger through the guys ginger hair, checking the guys head. Relaxing fully when he realized he just gave him a little bump, nothing too bad.

Now reassured that the little guy would live, Sausage examined his find in the touch light. The small humanoid creature had two small ginger mouse like ears with a long furry ginger tail to match. Ginger hair fell into his cute human-like face, with the exception of small whiskers on his cheeks. On his torso, a little blue jacket with gold thread’s for the cuffs and a white shirt underneath it. His hands, more human than not, with the slightest hint of claws and was more furrier. His legs once again reminded Sausage that this wasn’t just a tiny human, as they appeared to be animal like. Small paws were visible at the ends of the mouse-rabbit like legs. Ginger fur covered them coarsely as Sausage petted one of the appendage, causing it to twitch but the creature remained knocked out.

Sausage blinked a little bit as he realized how long he had just been sitting there staring at the little guy. The small man was quite pretty, prettier than most humans he had met. He would make a wonderful treasure, Sausage thought.

Cradling him to his chest, Sausage decided to abandon the idea of getting a drink as he carried his new treasure back to his room. As he walked through the halls back to his room, Sausage thought of decorating his new pet in gold. Just imagining it made Sausage grin like a mad man. Humming a tune, Sausage quickly when into his room and then paused, realizing that he didn’t have a good place to keep his new treasure.

Grimacing, he scanned his room for a good container he could keep his pet in. Sausage started to frown as he scanned through most his room until his eyes fell on a miniature glass jar with a cork top that he used to have fireflies in. His eyes lilt with excitement as he walked over to it, setting his treasure carefully on the sheets of his bed as he passed, taking care not to disturbing him from his slumber.

Sausage grabbed the tiny jar and brought it over to his desk. Lighting the candle next to him, he began to work on the perfect display for his new mouse friend. Pulling off the cork top, he cut a few small holes into the cork to allow oxygen into the jar. Next, Sausage found a metal ring and embedded it into the cork with hot wax. Once cooled, he grabbed a golden chain and threaded it through the partially open ring. Grinning, Sausage held up the new necklace he had just crafted.

Moving on, Sausage grabbed a few soft fabrics from his collection and placed them in the bottom of the jar. He also threw in a few cotton balls he had laying around. Deeming the enclosure done, Sausage focused his attention on a certain little fellow.

Giddy with glee, Sausage got up and went over his jewelry box. He sorted through and gather golden rings and small golden bracelets. His hand hovered over a silver band with a blue gemstone. Deciding to grab it, Sausage then stroll over to his bed. Placing the jewelry next to the sleeping form, Sausage compared each golden band and chain before deciding on simple gold bracelet that drapes nicely over his companion’s body and a gold earring that sat loosely around his neck. Something in Sausage purred as he looked at his new friend with the gold on him. The silver ring rested on snugly on the mouse man’s brow, making him look like a little prince. Sausage giggles at the thought and picked up the boy, placing him in his new home.

Fatigue suddenly hit Sausage as he realized just how late it was. Yawning, Sausage placed the cork back onto the jar and blew out the candle before crawling into bed. Rolling over, Sausage stared at his new treasure’s sleeping form with something borderline possessiveness. The mouse man had moved slightly and had curled up into a ball in the fabric. Grinning once more, Sausage sighed and closed his eyes, falling asleep.

The next morning when Sausage got up, he got dressed and was about to leave when the small jar caught his eyes. Smirking, he carefully lifted the necklace over his head. Smiling down, Sausage headed out proudly with his catch.

——————————————————————————————————

Scott groaned a little bit as he began to wake up. His head was pounding as he forced his eyes open. His vision was fuzzy for a moment before he blinked again. His eyes widen as he was met with an ocean view. It was only then Scott realized he was swaying slightly.

Sitting up quickly, Scott pressed against the back wall. Sleep melting from his mind as he quickly realized that he was in a jar. Looking up, he practically froze when he spotted the human from last night. His heart was in his throat as he leapt away from the body, only to hit the other side of the jar.

In his panic, Scott realized he had been decorated with human trinkets. Scott took the ring off of his head and threw it away from himself. The ring clinked against the glass as it bounced off and landed on the fabric. He gripped the odd golden collar but couldn’t manage to get it off.

“Hm? Oh! You’re awake! I was beginning to worry!”

Scott squeaked in surprise as his prison was hoisted up to eye level with the human. His blood rushed in his ears as he pressed away as far back as he could get from the human. Against his control, his body started shaking. Wide terrified blue eyes met giant brown ones.

“Hey, hey. It’s gonna be okay.” The human attempted to soothe. “I’m not gonna hurt you little fella. At least I think you’re a fella, are a fella?”

Scott stayed frozen as he shook, not wanting to let him know he was sentient but nods slightly.

The human grinned, “Nice you met you little fella! I’m Captain Sausage! What’s your name?”

His loud voice boomed his is sensitive ears, making him pin his ears down as he quivered.

“S-Scott….” He whispered, curling in on himself.

“That’s a cute name for a cutie such as yourself!” Sausage sang. “I’m curious what you are actually but that can be a later topic. Are you hunger by chance?”

Scott, despite being scare, blushed at the words. He shook his head as he wasn’t hungry and still had plenty of crumbs to eat from the herons in his satchel.

“Aw, okay. Well I hope you enjoy your carrier as you’ll be with me most of the time, my little treasure! Just let me know if you want to change it or make it comfortable! Ooh! I can’t wait to show you to my friends! They’ll be so jealous!”

Sausage’s rambling faded into the background as Scott paled and panic over took his senses. He was gonna be a pet. Just another treasure to be treated as an object. Plus he was gonna reveal his whole species and his baby brother. Tears gathering in his eyes as he hugged his knees to his chest, tail curling up on his feet.

A tiny sob broke Sausage out of his rambling, glancing to the jar, he see his sweet little gemstone curled in to a ball, shoulder trembling with sobs.

“Oh no, It’s okay! I promise. I bet I’m scary but I promise you that I’ll treat you right.” Sausage comforted. “You just need time to adjust. You’ll see, within a few weeks, you’ll see that this is the best for you.”

Sausage lowered the necklace back to his chest and rubs the outer glass lovely before he goes back to sailing. Scott hiccups in fright at the words and begs for his brother to find him.

(Part 2 coming soon, hopefully. :3)

75 notes · View notes

mamasturn · 2 years

Text

like a prayer.

pairing: sebastian kydd x unnamed!black fem!oc. warning: 18+ sexual situations. descriptions of sex. summary: sebastian is inexperienced and his s/o shows him the ropes. song: like a prayer cover by miley cyrus. tags: @neeville@dulcewrites @crash-and-cure@cvpidspearl @blackwriter48 @wonderprince @venus2eros @adoreyouusugar @sunshinetoday1 @cosmic-parker @kaitaesupremacy @librarydame @louderfortheback

His eyes were mountainus lakes. Bobbing and weaving, flowing with passion. Within them were threads of gold she was desperate to be weaved in. They were intense. Strong like the currents in the 7 seas but as gentle as the rivers between earthly pastures.

His lips were as beautiful as his eyes. A shade of pink that mimicked blush colored roses, much like the ones he gifted her eons ago. Her thumb drummed over his slick duo and encourage the parting of his lips and the relaxing of his jaw. Her mouth captured his and she inhaled all things exiting the entryway to his mind and soul.

Her knees greeted the carpeted floor with a soft thud. She thanked her lucky stars for a durable pair of sweatpants. Her hands, smaller than his, slid up his pajama pants. His knee jumped at her touch. Through hooded lids, she met those mountainous lakes. They’d morphed into deep oceans, dark and brooding.

She continued her advances. Meticulously, her fingers hooked around the waist band of his pants. Her nails, long and painted black, tickled his skin. A quiet whimper came from him. Her mouth twitched and her heart swelled with pride.

Down his waist they fell and below his knees they sat. She let a few moments pass to give room for any objection or retraction of consent. She smiled wickedly at the silence.

“How you feelin’?” She questioned, prepared to remove the last article of clothing that blocked her from what she truly sought after. A treasure she’d been desperate to get her hands on. To dive into a sea of gold and diamonds.

“M’okay.” His voice was hushed, quiet. Submissive. She hummed in response.

“You sure, baby? We can stop.” Her torture began with soft kisses along his neck, down his collarbone and chest, and to his pelvic bone. His hips stuttered at the warmth. His large hand, one tucked behind his head, fell by his side. He wanted to touch her, to push her head lower so he’d finally get what he’d been aching for.

“No, no, keep going,” he breathed out. “Please.”

Green light means go. In a split second, the tension that’d been built over the course of their relationship had exploded. Mentos in a shaken Coke bottle.

She was in control and that she loved. Watching as he thrashed against the pillow like an impatient child, clutched the sheets by his hips, and chanted her name like a mantra. A delicate prayer to herself, the goddess responsible for the incomprehensible pleasure he experienced.

"Baby..." He sang a sweet song. The only lyric was her name. Repetition, they called it. The constant saying of a sentiment. It fueled her ego, she had to admit. If she could have it play constantly on her cassette, she would. Lul her to sleep and bring her peace.

She lifted her eyes once more. Her favorite work of art, he was. If only she could capture him in all his glory. Disheveled hair, rosy cheeks, bruised lips from constant biting, and heavy breaths. She pulled away for reaction, and was pleased when he shook his head and begged her to continue.

His pleas and cries for mercy were enough to make her thighs clamp together. She wasn’t the focus, though. It was all about him. His release. His pleasure.

Suddenly, his hand came to her head, tangling in her thick coils. She sighed at the feeling. His hips jerked. His song grew louder, more intense. Then the record scratched, and there was a stillness that filled the room as thrashing heads and bodily trembles were brought to rest.

She removed herself and smiled seductively. Her hand came to her mouth to wipe away any remaining traces of him that she didn’t cage behind her lips. She crawled over his body and caressed his face gently. He leaned into her touch.

“You okay?” Her lips ghosted his and he captured them sloppily.

“M’good. Sleepy.”

She giggled and nodded. “Shower first. Then sleep. Deal?”

“Deal.”

#black authors #austin butler x reader #austin butler x black!reader #austin butler #austin butler x black reader #austin!elvis x reader #austin butler fic #just a little something #austin!elvis x black!reader #writers and authors #sebastiankydd x reader #sebastian kydd x reader #sebastian kydd x black!reader #sebastian kydd

87 notes · View notes

secretwhumplair · 1 year

Text

The Banquet, p.1

1,175 words | Royal arms / Rat king timeline

Content | Captivity, slapping, humiliation, starvation, past torture, possessive & creepy whumper, shame, sexual harrassment, Cassio wants to kill people, mention of: past whipping

Notes | I read an royal whump (this one) so naturally I had to go back to tormenting Idalis a little.

This event was always planned for the rat king timeline so I'm happy I got around to it :)

(Also note that neither Idalis nor Cassio are actually boys, just much younger than Razolf who is being his best self)

Taglist | @whumpy-writings @cupcakes-and-pain @whumpzone @newbornwhumperfly @whump-cravings @whumpityy @nicolepascaline @whots-a-tag-precious @thegreatwhodini @shameless-whumper @neverthelass @wolfeyedwitch @onlybadendings @melancholy-in-the-morning @quietshae @whump-blog @whumpydaydreams

Idalis fell to his knees all too easily. But there was no point in being defiant. He would be punished, and forced to his knees anyway.

The hard, cold stone floor of the dungeons had become such a familiar sensation, and far from the worst, even though his knees ached.

He didn’t even look up as Razolf stepped closer. He told himself it was calculated, that he was doing what he needed to to survive until Cassio could extract him from this hell. He wasn’t too weak or scared to fight.

But in his bones he knew that truth was changing. Everything hurt, and there were times he would do anything for a break.

Razolf grabbed him roughly under the chin, purposely digging into bruises with sadistic glee.

Idalis didn’t give him the satisfaction of crying out. There were much worse pains in his body even now. And he knew he looked miserable enough anyway when he caught sight of Razolf’s grin.

»Look at you! What a good little dog you have become.«

Idalis said nothing; he hadn’t been given permission to speak, so he wasn’t even sure whether the slap breathing another wave of burning pain into his cheek was a punishment, or just a whim.

»I think you’re good and ready to serve at the banquet I’m having tonight.«

The mention of a banquet alone made Idalis’ stomach growl, and Razolf chuckled darkly.

Then he leant in. »You’ll be nice and well-behaved, do what you’re told, and not speak a single word. Every step out of line will get you an hour in the well. Do you understand?«

Idalis swallowed. He was not a coward. He wasn’t. And yet the mere mention of the well sent a shiver down his spine he could barely hide. He tried to cling on to his famed bravery, tried to think of ways to use this to his advantage, to escape.

But the thoughts remained faint and abstract, and burning shame at it joined the pain in his guts where he had been punched over and over earlier.

»Yes.«

The second slap hit him hard enough to snap his head aside; he barely managed to stay up on his knees. This time, he did cry out.

Razolf grabbed him a little lower, dangerously close to his throat. »What, little rat king?«

»Yes, your majesty,« he breathed, the words leaving a clinging sense of disgust in his mouth. And yet, with all disdain, he couldn’t help the fearful leap of his heart at the sudden attack. He could have screamed - with frustration, with despair, with fury.

Razolf smiled. »Very good. Let’s get you ready.«

* Cassio was not looking forward to the evening in the least. Razolf was going to hold a banquet, at which he, the little trophy Razolf had won off Idalis, would be paraded in front of all the wealthy and noble of the whole kingdom and several from its neighbours.

He had gifted Cassio clothes he wanted him to wear, with a sparkling, quizzical eye and a, »I hope you like them, dear,« to which Cassio could only smile sweetly and thank him profusely.

They were richly made, thickly embroidered, plenty of the best of fabrics - all in the colours and motifs of Razolfs crest. Had he had a gold-threaded »mine« emblazoned onto them, it would not have been less subtle.

Yet he had to obey. Winning Razolf’s trust was the only chance he had to get them both out of here - him and Idalis.

The King - his true king and love - was always on his mind. It had been weeks since he last saw him, when Razolf had had him publicly whipped until he broke down in front of all, and there was no telling when he would see him again. He would not get to wear clothes that befit him, or even kept him warm. While Cassio would feast, he would hunger on prisoner’s rations in the dungeons.

It was enough to make Cassio sick. He dreamt he had the power to just pull the castle stone from stone until he found Idalis, wrap him in his arms and never let him go again. But that was foolish; it wasn’t even what Idalis would want.

He would want revenge, and to show that his strength was unchanged.

Cassio so hoped that was true. Idalis’ cries from that whipping still haunted him every waking moment, and in many of his dreams.

It was maddening that all he could do was don the clothes that said Property of Razolf, and force a smile when after a brief knock, Razolf himself entered.

»You look stunning,« Razolf said, and Cassio endured his leer, leant into his hand on his cheek, permitted the hateful kiss and the hand grabbing his ass.

»You flatter me, your Majesty.«

»Shall we?« Razolf offered him an arm as if he were a feeble boy unsure of his manners, and led him to the banquet hall.

The guests were already assembled, and rose for their king. Cassio was given his left-hand seat, well within reach, he was acutely aware, of his wandering hands.

»Thank you, friends,« Razolf began after gesturing for all to sit, which they did like obedient dogs. »It is a joyous occasion indeed that brings us together here, the defeat of a boy whose mommy didn’t teach him better than getting a little too greedy.«

The assembled guests laughed, and Cassio forced out a snicker. If he is a boy, he thought idly - anything to distract himself from the picture he knew he made next to Razolf - then what am I, at his same age, doing in your bed?

»I have a special treat for you tonight.«

Cassio barely heard the rest of his speech when, upon his words, a servant - no, a slave - entered. There was no reason Cassio should have been able to recognize him as quickly as he did, with his haggard frame and bruised face and meek manner. But his heart cried out as soon as he laid eyes on him.

Idalis - for at second glance Cassio was sure it was him - barely looked up at the assembled company, only stealing a quick glance, yet Cassio felt certain he had seen him. He was wearing nothing but a waistcloth and a cover of bruises and cuts and welts. And, worse, he started to serve the table without hesitation, without the slightest sign of defiance, stony-faced and silent.

It had to be an act. Like Cassio, he must be doing what he needed to do to succeed eventually, even if Cassio didn’t know how. But he could not bear the thought that this was what his love was reduced to, and he needed to keep it together, keep his own act up. Already he could feel Razolf’s hand on his thigh as he leant in too close.

»What a sight, isn’t it?«

A nod was all Cassio managed, certain he would choke on any words he attempted, and then maybe lose his countenace and choke Razolf too.

#whump #whump writing #royal whump #my writing #idalis #cassio #razolf #rat king timeline #royal arms

18 notes · View notes