#i feel like every fanfic reader has experienced this

[ironicsmiles]

rereading fics because of that one scene that will never leave your head>>>>>>>>>

[nyrasvoid]

The Cost of Duty

Gwayne Hightower x Fem!Reader

Summary: Gwayne Hightower, is summoned in Kingslanding during his wife’s first pregnancy. After giving birth to their son without him, she struggles to forgive Gwayne upon his return.

Warnings: lots of angst because our girl is alone but a good ending i guess ?

A/N: no use of Y/N and also included Daeron in the fanfic, he’s 7 yrs old and raised by Gwayne and his wife

- Word count: ≈2.9k

Your hand rests on your growing belly, feeling the subtle movements of your child. The babe is still small, just five moons along, but every tiny kick, is a reminder of the life growing inside you, a life you created with Gwayne. Yet, as the days pass, it feels like you are experiencing this miracle alone.

The door creaks open, and Gwayne steps inside, his expression tired as he pulls off his gloves. His face is lined with the exhaustion of someone who has been carrying the weight of Oldtown on his shoulders.

You watch him as he moves around the room, setting his things aside without a word. A part of you wants to let it go, to simply accept that he is busy, that he is doing his duty. But another part aches for his attention, for the warmth and closeness you once shared.

"Gwayne," you say, your voice soft.

He looks up, his eyes briefly meeting yours before he looks away again. "Yes, my love?"

You hesitate, trying to find the right words. "You've been so distant lately," you begin, trying to keep a calm tone. "I understand that your duties are important, but... I miss you. I miss us."

He sighs, rubbing his temple as he moves closer to you. "I know, my love. I know it has been difficult. But there is so much that needs my attention. With Father in King’s Landing, everything falls to me."

"But what about me?" you ask, your voice rising slightly. "What about our child? I need you, Gwayne. We need you."

He looks at you, with guilt in his eyes. "I am here now, am I not? I’m doing the best I can. But Oldtown... it doesn’t run itself."

You stand, unable to keep your frustration to yourself. "And what about me? Do I run myself too? I sit here every single day, waiting for you, hoping for just a moment of your time. But when you finally come, it’s like you’re not really here.”

You pause.

“You do not even look at me unless I speak to you first."

Gwayne steps back, as if putting distance between you would solve your problems. "I do not have the privilege of simply putting things aside, my dear. You knew this when we married."

"I didn’t know it would mean being ignored!" you snap, your hands trembling as you grip the skirts of your dress tightly.

He takes a deep breath. "I’m doing this for us, for our future. The child’s future. Can you not see that?"

Tears threaten to fall out your eyes, but you refuse to cry. "I just want my husband back," you whisper.

Gwayne’s face softens, and he reaches out to touch your arm, but you pull away before he can touch you. “My love-"

"Don’t," you say, "Just... don’t."

He watches you for a moment, but he says nothing more, only turning and leaving the room, the sound of the door closing behind him, leaving you alone again.

Days pass, and the tension between you two only grows. Gwayne is present, but his mind is always on his duties. You feel as if you’re growing further and further away from him.

One evening, after a long day, Gwayne finally sits down beside you as you take your evening meal. You’ve been silent for most of the day, and now the sight of him so close yet so distant is almost unbearable.

He clears his throat, breaking the silence. "I have received a raven from King’s Landing today," he begins.

"And?" You replied unphased, not even looking at him.

"Father has summoned me," he says, "He needs my presence to sort out some political matters."

You place your spoon down. "King’s Landing?" you repeat, disbelief in your words. "That’s so far... and I’m already five moons along, Gwayne."

"I know," he says, his voice low. "But I will be returning as soon as I can. I won’t let anything keep me from being here for the birth."

You shake your head, unable to believe what you’re hearing. "You don’t know that. What if something happens? What if you don’t make it back in time?"

"I will," he insists, reaching for your hand, but you pull it back.

"You’re not listening to me!" you raise your voice at him, your frustration taking over. "You’re choosing to leave. You’re choosing your father over me. Over us."

He frowns. "It’s not a choice, my dearest. It is a duty. My father needs me."

"And I need you," you sob, your voice breaking. "I can’t do this alone, Gwayne. I shouldn’t have to. You are my husband before anything else."

He reaches out again, but this time you stand, moving away from him. "Please," he begins, but you shake your head.

"Don’t ask me to understand," you say, "Because I don’t."

After a long moment of silence, you hear him rise from his seat. "I’m leaving in three days time," he says quietly, his voice filled with regret. "Please, try to rest.”

You say nothing, you hear the door close behind him, and you break down crying, once again, you are left alone.

The night before he’s supposed to leave, Gwayne comes to your shared chambers, his expression softer than it’s been in weeks. He moves to sit beside you on the bed, his hand resting on your knee.

"I know you’re angry with me," he begins, his voice gentle. "But I don’t want to leave on bad terms. I love you. You must know that."

You turn to face him, your emotions a mix of anger, sadness, and love. "If you loved me, you wouldn’t be leaving."

He looks surprised, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your neck, his hand sliding up your nightgown. "Let me show you," he murmurs as he presses tender kisses down your collarbone.

But the anger and hurt are still too fresh. You place a hand on his chest, pushing him back firmly. "Not tonight, Gwayne."

He pulls back, surprise and hurt showing in his eyes. "My love..."

"I can’t," you say, "I’m still angry. I need...time."

He nods understandingly. "I am sorry," he whispers, pulling you into his arms despite your anger. "I am truly, so sorry."

You let him hold you, sobbing into his arms without saying a word.

Gwayne leaves at dawn, you watch from the window, your hand resting over your belly as he rides away. He turns once, looking back, but you don’t move. You don’t wave.

As the days turn into weeks, the loneliness only grows. Gwayne’s absence is a constant reminder of the growing distance between you. You try to busy yourself with tasks; embroidering blankets for the babe, reading, even taking long walks through the gardens. But nothing can fill the void he has left behind.

You spend time with Daeron, Gwayne’s youngest nephew, who has been staying in Oldtown under your and your husband’s care since he was born, and he had now seven years of age.

One afternoon, as the two of you sit beneath the shade of a large tree, Daeron looks up at you sadly.

You reach out, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “What’s on your mind, sweetling?”

Daeron glances up at you, his blue eyes filled with a sadness. “Auntie… will you and Uncle Gwayne forget about me when the babe is born?”

The question catches you off guard. You shift closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into a gentle embrace. “Forget about you? Never, Daeron. Why would you think such a thing?”

He shrugs, trying to appear indifferent, but his voice trembles as he speaks. “Because the babe is your child. He’ll be important, and I’m just… I’m just your nephew.”

You tighten your hold on him, your heart breaking at the thought that he feels so insecure. “Daeron, listen to me,” you say softly. “You are not just our nephew. You’re as much a part of this family as the babe will be. Gwayne and I love you dearly, and nothing will ever change that.”

His eyes fill with tears. “But… he’ll be your real son. Won’t you love him more?”

You shake your head. “Of course not, sweetling. I will love both of you equally, just as if you were both my sons. I promise you that. You and the babe will grow up together, and I will raise you both as brothers. Nothing will change how much I care for you.”

Daeron’s lip trembles, and he finally allows himself to lean into your hug, resting his head against your shoulder. “You mean it? You won’t forget about me?”

You press a kiss to the top of his head. “I mean it, Daeron. You are very dear to me. The babe will be your little brother, and he will look up to you, just like you look up to Gwayne. I’m sure you’ll be the best big brother anyone could ask for.”

He sniffles but nods. “I will teach him all the things I know. How to ride a horse, and how to climb trees…”

“And how to be kind and brave, just like you,” you add with a smile.

Daeron smiles a little. “I’ll do my best. I promise.”

You hug him tighter. “I know you will, Daeron. And I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

He pulls back slightly, looking up at you with determination. “I’ll be the best big brother ever.”

You smile, ruffling his hair affectionately. “I’m sure you will be, my love. And the babe will be so lucky to have you as his brother.”

The boy’s expression softens as he looks at your belly. “Do you think he’ll be just like uncle Gwayne? Brave and strong?”

You hesitate for a moment, the thought of Gwayne filling your mind with sadness. “Perhaps,” you say gently.

Daeron nods, then his face brightens again as he looks up at you. “Can I help you pick out a name for him?”

Your smile widens at the offer. “Of course. Do you have any ideas?”

He thinks for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration. “What about Maelor? It’s a strong name, isn’t it?”

You tilt your head, considering the name. “Maelor…” you say slowly. “Yes, it is a strong name.”

Daeron smiles, clearly proud of himself. “I can’t wait to meet him, auntie. We’re going to have so much fun together.”

As the months drag on, you begin to feel your belly grow heavier each day. Letters from Gwayne arrive frequently, filled with words of love and concern, but you don’t care to answer them.

You feel alone, as the weeks turn into months and the baby gets more active. Every kick is a reminder that the time is running out and you can only hope that Gwayne comes back in time.

But as your belly grows, so too does your anxiety.

One evening, you feel a sharp pain. You clutch at your belly. It’s too soon, you think. Gwayne isn’t here. He promised he would be here.

The pain intensifies, and you know without a doubt that the babe is coming. Your maids rush to your side, their faces filled with worry as they help you to your bed. The midwives and the maester are summoned.

You grip the sheets, your knuckles turning white. “It’s too soon,” you gasp, tears streaming down your face. “Gwayne isn’t here… he isn’t here…”

The midwife shushes you gently, wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Breathe, my lady. Focus on the baby. He’s eager to meet you.”

The labor is long, painful, and each moment is filled with fear.

At one point, you feel that you can’t go on, the pain too much to bear. “I can’t,” you cry out, “I can’t do this…”

“You can, my lady,” the midwife insists. “You’re strong. Your baby needs you.”

The room is full of faces, of whispers and encouragements, of hands holding yours as you push with all your strength.

Hours pass, and just when you think you have nothing left to give, you hear it. A loud cry that fills the room. The midwives wrap the tiny babe in soft blankets before placing him in your arms.

Tears stream down your face as you look down at your son cry. He’s perfect, you think.

“Maelor,” you whisper, “my sweet Maelor.”

Days pass, and the babe grows stronger, his cries filling the empty chambers that once were filled with silence. Daeron is overjoyed to meet his new brother.

“Can I hold him?” Daeron asks one afternoon, his eyes wide with excitement.

You smile, carefully placing Maelor in his small arms. “Support his head,” you instruct gently, watching as Daeron cradles the baby with surprising care.

“He’s so small,” Daeron whispers. “Will he be strong like uncle Gwayne?”

You nod, your heart filled with pride. “He will. But he’ll also have your kindness, Daeron. He’ll need you to show him how to be a good man.”

Daeron’s face lights up, and he nods eagerly. “I will. I promise.”

You watch as Daeron gently rocks Maleor, your heart warming at the sight. For a moment, the loneliness fades, replaced by the joy of watching your sons together.

But as the days turn into weeks, Geayne sends letters, each one more desperate than the last, asking about Lucerys, about you, about your health. But you can’t bring yourself to respond, the anger still too fresh.

Maelor grows, his tiny fists curling around your fingers, tugging at your hair, his eyes beginning to focus on your face. He’s beautiful, perfect in every single way, and yet every time you look at him, you’re reminded of Gwayne’s absence.

Two months pass before Gwayne finally returns. Word reaches you that he is only an hour away, but you remain in the nursery, rocking your son in your arms as you sit by the window.

Despite knowing Gwayne is coming home, you make no move to greet him at the gates.

Footsteps approach, and a moment later the door to the nursery swings open. Gwayne stands there, his eyes searching for you immediately. He takes a step inside, his gaze falling on you and the child in your arms. “My love…”

You do not look up, focusing instead on Maelor. Gwayne approaches you, dropping to his knees beside you. “Please, look at me. I am so sorry…”

You remain silent, unwilling to let your emotions show. Gwayne reaches out, placing his hand on top of yours. “I know I’ve hurt you. I never meant to be away for so long. I didn’t think it would be so… difficult.”

You glance up then, your eyes meeting his.

“I needed you,” you say quietly. “I went through the hardest moments of my life without you, Gwayne. And now… now you come back and expect everything to be as it was?”

“I do not expect that,” he says, “I know I’ve done wrong. And I can’t change what’s happened… but please, give me a chance to make it right. I want to be here for you, for our son.”

You look down at your son, your heart aching. “Maelor is already two months old,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “You’ve missed so much, Gwayne. His first smile, the way he grabs my finger when he’s hungry… you weren’t here.”

Gwayne’s breath hitches, and he finally touches Maelor’s tiny hand, his fingers trembling as they brush against the babe’s soft skin. “I know,” he whispers. “I am truly so sorry, my love. I’ve never regretted anything more in my life. Please… let me be here now. Let me be the father he deserves, the husband you deserve.”

“We’ll see,” you say quietly. “For now, all that matters is that Maelor is healthy and safe.” You pause and take a deep breath, “But… I want us to be a family, Gwayne. For Maelor and Daeron.”

Gwayne nods. “Thank you,” he whispers, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your son’s forehead. “Thank you for giving me a healthy son, my dear. I promise, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this right.”

You watch as he cradles the babe in his arms, the sight filling you with joy.

PS: I know I have to start writing for other characters, I just love this man so much 😔 So just a reminder that my requests are open 🥰🥰

[hazbin-writings-and-musings]

Lucifer Morningstar x Pregnant!Reader Headcanons

As much as dear Lucy and reader enjoyed themselves in this headcanon post, I can't help but imagine such activities might lead to Charlie become a big sister, so I put some headcanons together for such a situation. I know that Sinners can't get pregnant as canon currently stands, so I typically employ either the Rules of Fanfic or I imagine reader is a living human that ended up in Hell through magic shenanigans (will elaborate with a prompt post once I've got the spoons), though of course you're free to imagine them as Hellborn or whatever suits your fancy!

Warnings: Pregnancy Mention, Implied Smut

- He's insistent you see the Royal Physician as soon as you start experiencing symptoms, but he's not at all prepared for the diagnosis you bring back, and he might need you to repeat it a few dozen times. You're pregnant? With a baby? And it's his? He put a baby in you? You're going to have his baby? An actual baby? He's going to be a dad again?! So goes the conversation for a good ten or so minutes, and suffice to say he's far from calm once the news finally does sink in. Given that the two of you had assumed that an angel and a mortal couldn't reproduce, this is more than an unexpected surprise, and Lucifer knows all too well how much of a fuss this will create from Hell's lowest ring all the way up to Heaven. That's to say nothing of how Charlie might take the news...

- Once the initial panic fades, after a solid hour or so, he gathers himself and focuses on setting a course of action. A very important decision needs to be made. He says it's up to you, but upon being asked what he'd like to do, the King of Hell surprises himself and answers without hesitation that he'd love to have this baby with you. He's surprised because he knows better than anyone that it will be challenging, but he can't deny how much he wants it regardless. Having Charlie was the greatest thing he'd ever done, and the thought of another little bundle makes his heart swell in ways he can barely describe, but ultimately he'll support whatever decision you make. Carrying a half-Archangel is no easy feat... Hearing that you want the same and intend to carry through is enough to make him lift you clear off the ground in a spinning airborne embrace, wings fluttering like a hummingbird as he breaks out into a celebratory musical number or two. He can't wait to be a dad all over again!

- If you thought he pampered you before, you were wrong. He doubles the amount of servants at your call, ensures there's always a physician available at a moment's notice, and hires a full team of chefs to cook whatever you might crave at any hour of the day. From beginning to end, he doesn't want you to want for anything, and the man knows a thing or two about spoiling, and he goes all out to ensure you're surrounded by comfort at all times. That's to say nothing of his own personal dedication to more or less worshiping your existence. Even the tiniest indication of pain or discomfort has him leaping to your assistance. Backrub? Footrub? Full body massage? You name it, he's quite happy to provide. If it wasn't such a cliche he'd be rather happy to feed you grapes from a golden platter. His efforts are borne from the deep sense of pride he feels every time he looks at you and thinks of how incredible it is that he's with you, that you're carrying his child, and that the two of you are bringing something quite wonderful and unique into existence. Said pride fully extends to the public view, where he doesn't hesitate to show you off and humbly brag to anyone that will listen about the news.

- You'll also find that as protective as he was before, he doesn't even hesitate to get his fangs out now, not that many in Hell are stupid enough to mess with the King's beloved. He expects you to be treated with the highest levels of respect, and if he can't accompany you somewhere, he'll insist on an armed escort to keep you safe. This fear isn't completely unfounded, as there are some willing to risk everything for an upper hand on Lucifer, but he's got ample experience keeping the opportunists at bay. He did the same when Lilith was expecting Charlie.

- Speaking of Charlie, the only thing that gives him any kind of hesitation is his fear that she might take the news poorly. Though she took your relationship well, what if she isn't thrilled about a younger sibling? With their relationship so recently repaired, he fears she might worry about being replaced or pushed aside, and he doesn't know how to reassure her that nothing will ever make him love her less. Thankfully, with her boundless kindness and eternally upbeat personality, the Princess of Hell puts his worries to rest as soon as she gets the news. In fact, she reacts much the same way her father did; a massive hug and a delighted musical number, albeit with far more happy sobbing. She promises through tears that she'll be the best big sister Hell has ever seen, and that she simply can't wait.

[blue-devil-of-the-lord]

i'm so happy you're writing for nightcrawler! he's my favorite and its criminal how little fanfic there is of him out there. could i request a slight hurt/comfort fic? kurt has a habit of sitting in the dark in the mansion (its quiet and peaceful for him), and fem!reader finds him up late one night. kurt is completely enamored with reader, so he doesn't want to burden her with his problems, but she gets kurt talking and slowly finds out that the bad memories of his past are keeping him up. kurt walks reader back to her room, and she tells him that if he ever wanted to talk or needed someone, she was there for him. kurt takes her hand, kisses it, and cant resist saying that merely being around her was enough for him to rest easy that night.

i'm sorry this was so long! thank you!

And only the stars will know

Kurt Wagner x fem!reader Words: 1.9K Warnings: slight hurt/comfort, but very faint A/N: Thanks so much for requesting. I feel like I didn't quite get the tone but I hope you like it anyway :)

It was a cold, starry night, the kind of night when you prefer to wrap yourself in a blanket, a hot drink in your hand and stare at the night sky from the windowsill. She was wrapped in a blanket, but she was a long way from her bed as she leaned against the doorframe to the balcony.

Her original plan had been to rush to her classroom and retrieve the papers she had left there, but the cool breeze in the corridors had distracted her from her plan.

Thinking someone had left a window open, she had followed the cold, even though her shivering body protested strongly against it, and ended up at the balcony. The doors were slightly ajar, leading her to think, as she had previously assumed, that one of the students had simply forgotten to close them.

However, just as she put her hand on the handle, she thought she recognized a person in the pale moonlight.

It was hard to make out, at first she thought she was imagining it, but when the clouds cleared the moon for a moment, she could clearly make out the outline of a person. A very familiar person.

She knew he was capable of it, after all, he had explained it to her, but it was the first time she had really experienced Kurt's ability to merge with the shadows and the darkness. Now that she knew he was sitting on the railing of the balcony, she could spot him, but she still had to make an effort to actually see him. Normally she would have spoken to him, but she didn't recognize the usually cheeky, flirtatious man, which had made her pause at the door frame.

Kurt had pulled his legs close to his body and hidden his head in his folded arms. His tail, which usually curled and swung back and forth in a bold and amused manner, was wrapped tightly around his body and didn't move a bit.

He must have been sitting out here for some time, because his body had started to shiver a few minutes after she found him and she couldn't stand it any longer. She carefully pushed the door open further, giving a soft squeak, but he didn't react, causing the worry line on her forehead to deepen, as he was usually so attentive. She shuffled quietly across the balcony, the stone icy cold beneath her bare feet, but he only noticed her when she carefully placed the blanket that had warmed her earlier around his shoulders.

He flinched and looked at her with wide, golden eyes, which she returned with a slight smile. She noticed that it was instantly easier for her to recognize him, as if he was making a conscious effort to remain visible.

„Meine Liebe, why are you still awake?" Her smile widened when she heard the nickname he honored her with. It wasn't much and in a language she didn't really speak, but it made her heart beat faster every time. "I could ask you the same thing, Kurt." She climbed carefully onto the railing next to him, careful not to fall. He seemed to have the same concern, as once she was seated, his tail detached itself from its place around his legs and wrapped itself around her waist.

"I couldn't sleep," she replied anyway, leaning forward slightly and adjusting the blanket so that it completely enveloped Kurt. It was only when she leaned back again that she noticed he had one arm hovering around her shoulders in case she lost her balance. Her smile softened and when he withdrew his arm, she reached for his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. "And you, honey?"

Kurt let his eyes wander over her face for a moment before turning them skywards. "Same with me." That answer shouldn't have worried her as much as it did. It wasn't like him to answer so curtly or to avoid her gaze. Thinking back to her conversations with Kurt, she couldn't remember him ever letting his eyes wander far from her.

Still, she tried not to be too pressuring and instead attempted humor. "I doubt that. You don't need to read twenty-two essays on Shakespeare to deprive you of sleep." That elicited a slight smirk from him, but it didn't come close to the broad smile she was used to seeing from him. "Not quite, no."

Kurt pulled the blanket into place and she felt the grip of his tail tighten a little around her hips, but said nothing, just watched him in silence. His hands were in his lap and she could see that he was wringing them, apparently not knowing what to do with them. Her eyes traveled up over his tense posture to his face.

His mouth, usually twisted into a toothy smile, was now nothing more than a barely recognizable line and his eyes, usually glowing with energy, looked dull and sad. She couldn't bear to look at him. Kurt was important to her, one of the most important people in her life, and seeing him like this broke her heart.

"Kurt?" Her voice was soft and tentative and he didn't look directly at her, but when he did, his face looked tired, exhausted and resigned. Slowly, so that he had enough time to pull back, she lifted her hand and brushed a few strands of hair from his face before resting her hand on his cheek. "You know you can talk to me? If there's something on your mind... I'm here for you."

For a brief moment, his features softened and he smiled, just slightly but it was a genuine smile. "I know, meine Liebe. It's just a few bad memories. Nothing to burden your mind with." Gently, she let her hand move from his cheek to his hand so that she was now holding both of them in hers.

"Shouldn't it be up to me to decide?"?“

Kurt was silent for a long time and she almost thought he was going to turn away, but he let out a deep, almost sad chuckle and shook his head. "God, you're one of a kind, aren't you? What did I do to deserve the honor of your attention?"

"There was nothing to earn," she whispered. "It was yours from the beginning."

This seemed to leave him speechless for a moment, but when he caught himself, his expression softened, the worry line gone. "It was just a few bad memories," he explained and it took her a moment to realize that he was answering her previous question. "Usually they can't hurt me, but sometimes-"

"-they just come up, no matter how much you've distanced yourself from them," she finished his broken sentence and Kurt nodded slightly.

„Ja.“ His eyes wandered from her face to the lands of the Xavier Institute. "I have found my role, my place, in this world. I am surrounded by people who accept me for who I am, love me for who I am." For a few seconds, his gaze flickered over to her. "But that wasn't always the case."

That sad look she couldn't stand came into his eyes again and he withdrew his hands. "I was fine for a while, in the circus. They may not have all loved me, but I was accepted and respected. That was all I wanted. But outside-" His tail loosened from her hip and curled around his drawn-on legs again.

"Monster, they called me. Freak. Spawn of hell. Abominable. Dangerous..." She curled her fingers into her thighs. Kurt didn't deserve this kind of treatment. He was an angel, wonderful and magnificent, and the fact that people didn't treat him like this infuriated her.

Kurt let out a gasp. "I know none of this is true. I'm not a monster, not a spawn of hell, not abominable, but..."

"It still hurts." He nodded and she felt her heart break in her chest. "Oh Kurt..." She didn't care that they were sitting on the railing of a balcony that hovered several meters above the ground, but acted on instinct.

She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the blue mutant. He froze for a few seconds, but quickly recovered from his shock.

Under her touch, she could feel him relax and bury his face in her hair while his hands clawed at her back. It didn't hurt, but even if it did, she wouldn't say anything. Something slowly wrapped around her middle and it took her a little too long to realize it was his tail.

"You don't deserve this. You least of all of us," she murmured into his chest and felt his grip on her tighten. "You're a wonderful person, an angel, and I'm very grateful to know you." There was silence between them, though neither of them was uncomfortable. She snuggled against him as he buried his face in her hair and his arms and tail wrapped around her.

The softly breathed "thank you" was carried away by the wind, but she heard it anyway and wrapped her arms around him even tighter. If it had been a warmer night, she could have stayed in his arms for hours, but this night was cold and she soon began to shiver, despite the warmth radiating from Kurt's body.

At first she tried to suppress it, not wanting to let the moment go, but over time her trembling became so bad that Kurt noticed it as well and broke away from her, eliciting a complaining whimper from her. He, however, paid no attention and just looked at her with wide, worried eyes. "Meine Liebe, you're freezing to death. Why are you wearing such thin clothes?"

"It wasn't really the plan to go out," she confessed through chattering teeth and Kurt swung himself elegantly from the railing to offer her his hand. She gratefully accepted it and as soon as her feet touched the cold ground, she felt something warm envelop her.

Kurt had put the blanket back around her shoulders as well as wrapping his arm around her middle. He smiled down at her and finally he looked the way she knew he would - wide, fang-toothed smile, bright eyes and a curling tail.

"Come on, my dear, let's go inside. After all, I can't risk my favorite person catching a cold, can I?" She grinned slightly and really hoped he couldn't see the blush in her cheeks. From his smile, he very well could. " Don't let Rogue hear you say that."

He chuckled softly and led her through the hallways to her room. She stopped in front of her door, the blanket wrapped tightly around her, and looked up at him as he began to melt into the shadows again, though this time she had no trouble spotting him.

"Sweet dreams," he murmured with a smile and she lightly smiled.

"You too. And Kurt?" she called back to him as he tried to turn around. Her smile turned a little sheepish.

"If you have bad dreams again or are plagued by bad memories... My door is open to you. Any time."

Kurt's smile widened and his tail curled slightly at the tip as he carefully took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips. "Don't worry, meine Liebe." He looked up at her through his lashes and his gaze was so soft and appealing at the same time that she felt like she would instantly burst. "

Just this time near you will be enough to keep me from having bad dreams for the next few weeks."

He gently let go of her hand, winked at her and disappeared into a dark cloud with a slight 'bamf'.

Frozen, blushing heavily, she stood there and looked at the spot where Kurt had been standing before she chuckled softly and turned towards her room. God, this man....

[the-peak-tmnt]

Hey The Neon Void readers, quick update from the author's sister!

(art commission by @kaysdenofchaos)

Hi readers of The Neon Void fanfic. This is the author’s older sister. She’s been getting a lot of fan art and asks lately. She’s sent me screenshots of a few unanswered ones looking for advice on how to respond.

While all the love and support of TNV is genuinely appreciated, my sister @sugarpasteltmnt is not equipped to respond to a small handful of these asks/comments that are, quite frankly, inappropriate.

Sugarpastels is not a therapist, and she’s certainly not an internet stranger’s therapist.

She’s an adult with an extremely demanding and stressful job for a very large client. Some of you have already experienced and enjoyed her work IRL without knowing it. Her company is close to finishing another project that will bring a lot of joy to hundreds of thousands of people every year, but working on a project of that scale is extremely stressful.

She is writing this fanfic for fun. TNV is a way for her to decompress and put her creative energy towards something other than work.

What’s not fun is coming home to asks/comments from readers who are projecting their own struggles/mental health onto TNV, and even Sugarpastels herself, and demanding some sort of attention from her over it.

Let’s be real: it’s fun to watch our blorbos suffer! So much of fandom is just us putting our favorite characters in Situations because it’s fun. Simple as that. But I think another reason TNV has resonated so strongly with readers is because of the way Sugarpastels writes the internal struggles of these characters.

We are both aware that TNV deals with mental health topics. Since the early days of “modern” fandom, fanfiction has been a way for people to explore complicated, difficult and sometimes even taboo subjects. There’s no shortage of complex feelings being explored in TNV, which is why we’re all having so much fun reading it.

But that’s all it is; an exploration. Sugarpastels is not a mental health expert. I’ve read a handful of books on PTSD and mindfulness for research while writing my own fanfic, and I would never consider myself prepared to help someone else.

It’s okay if you relate to things from TNV. I know I do! Again, fanfic has always been a way to read about things rarely dealt with (or handled poorly) in published fiction/tv shows/movies. I will always argue one of the greatest things about fanfiction and other fanworks is being able to see ourselves and our own struggles through our favorite fictional characters.

But Sugarpastels is not a fictional character. She’s a real person. Most importantly (to me at least) she’s my little sister, and this big sister cannot handle watching some of her readers expect more of her than is appropriate.

So I’m asking you to please be mindful of what you ask/say to not just her, but literally everyone on the internet. Unless you’re chatting with someone regularly, they do not know you. Whether it’s friends, family, teachers, coaches, etc, there are people in your life who know you personally, and are therefore better equipped to help you than a stranger on the internet.

Sugarpastels is so full of empathy that it’s hard to not feel for you when you send things like this. But it just isn’t fair to put that kind of unnecessary pressure on someone who is, at the end of the day, just trying to have some fun writing about ninja turtles bein’ sad.

(That being said, PLEASE DON’T BE SCARED TO SEND HER ASKS AND FAN ART!!! They make her day every single time and are seriously so, so appreciated. She’s texting me about it constantly how much she loves all of TNV’s readers. This whole post is really directed at an extremely small percentage of her readers, but there have been enough I felt something needed to be said.)

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

07 — DISTANT MEMORY I USED TO KNOW

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

Quickly switching to the main channel once more, you go to report the status of your target, when black consumes your vision.

Pain sparks in the back of your head, your head unnaturally twisting to the side as you fall to your knees, forehead colliding with the harsh concrete as all of the oxygen within your lungs leaves you in one thick swoop.

“Sweetheart?! Sweetheart, what’s your status?!” You can hear Price barking out through the comms, but all you can see, hear, feel, is the sparks in the darkness behind your eyes, the cool, rocky surface of the ground on which you lay. That, and the all-consuming ache your body’s become.

Your hand claws at the floor, an attempt to right yourself, but the very new feeling of a boot’s sole presses against your skull, crushing your cheek between it and the rocks.

“Now it’s clear why you got Colonel,” a nasty, nasally voice spits out from above you. Above? Beneath? You can’t tell, not with the world spinning, not with everything within you falling apart at the seams. “Thanks for confirming what we all knew.”

Even with your centre of gravity out of whack, your words never seem to fail you. “That your,” you suppress the urge to vomit everywhere from the onslaught of nausea, “Commander’s a bad lay?”

The man’s – a Shadow’s – boot presses further against your skull, and you can’t stop the pained groan that falls from your bloodied lips. When you cough, you can hear the red liquid splatter across the floor. He laughs, coldly, unamused.

“No. That you’re a filthy whore who slept her way to the top,” he seethes, and your chest heaves with every intake of breath.

“Real. Fucking. Original,” you manage to grit out, through every flash of pain in your head. Your stubbornness was going to get you killed. Right now, even, maybe.

…Hopefully not.

Struggling to open one eye, you manage to allow yourself a small sliver of vision. You know where your small, hand-held pistol sits, hidden beneath your vest. If you can distract him well enough, all you’d need is one shot.

He grinds the heel of his boot into the nape of your neck, and you find yourself hacking up even more blood. Not a good sign.

“How does a combat medic even make it to Colonel?” He continues, sneering, ignoring your grunts of pain and frequent squirming. “Was your pussy that good?”

“Jealous, Corporal? Wanted his small prick up your ass instead?” You goad, every word a struggle to get out, but worth it nonetheless. He doubles down, looking up to the roof to calm himself down with shaky breaths.

The short, two second window allows for you to slip a trembling hand into your vest, grab a hold of the small pistol, raise it, and pull the trigger.

Your eyes flutter shut once more as the revolting feeling of a corpse on top of you has you freezing up. You can’t even check for more threats, not with every nerve ending in your body feeling as though they’ve been frayed, the truest form of torture you’ve ever experienced.

It’s then that you fall into a state of limbo. A grey area, an unknown, a state of something that can only be described as a loss of self. The crash you’d been anticipating. A pain-induced one, maybe?

“Love! Love, shit, fuck, hey, hold on!” 

In the floaty, intangible abyss you find yourself floating in, you’re unsure if the words are even spoken in reality. If they’re just a figment of your imagination, a taunt, a way for the gods to mock you before you fall into their clutches. 

Graves escaped, the thought comes to you through your haze, as what feels like phantom hands clutch the nape of your neck and your hip, an alarm bell ringing through the blankness of it all. He’s free. He survived. 

You will never belong again.

“Ghost Team, I have Sweetheart, she’s in pretty bad shape,” the words are more certain, this time, your consciousness slowly coming to. You think someone’s carrying you against their chest, a potent smell of cinnamon and gunpowder surrounding you that has you instinctively curling in closer to the source. “We need exfil, now!”

You think you let out a small whimper from the confusion, the agony of it all, because the person holding you shushes you with a soft sound and tightens their grip around the back of your head, squeezing your outer thigh. A princess carry, then.

Attempting to open your eyes, the instant light that floods them has you burying your head into a chest, the fabric blocking your vision. It, too, has that distinct, comforting smell.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart, I got ya.”

…Gaz.

Gaz is the one holding you, the one carrying you to exfil, the one who, embarrassingly, saved you. Out of the four of them, you suppose you were grateful it was him that had seen you passed out. A body on top of you.

Oh. God.

“What,” you croak, your voice broken and throat sore, “What. I – are we safe?”

“You’re safe with me, love. Won’t let anything bad happen to ya. You probably have a concussion so imma need you to stay awake for me, yeah?”

But sleep. It sounded so nice. You haven't slept since. Since you met them all. Since everything, since your life got ruined.

Whatever he says next goes unheard. Whatever pleas are made.

You let slumber take you in its icy grip.

*

“It’s a myth, ya knob. Only gotta wake ‘em up every few hours.”

“Brushed up on ya first aid knowledge to impress her? Real smooth, Soap.”

“The two of you – quit it. She’s wakin’ up.”

“Great.”

“You shut your mouth too, Simon.”

With a small groan, you try your best to gauge your surroundings. You’re moving, that much you’re sure of – by the thrum of the engine in your core and the distant whirring, you’re in a helicopter.

You think your head’s resting in someone’s lap – a hand in your hair, stroking against your scalp, soft and sweet.

Eyes fluttering open, you quickly adjust to the neon lights of the roof, finding yourself face to face with Gaz. So, you figure, you’re in his lap, his hand in your hair. He’s good, you think distantly, a proper damn masseuse.

His brows are furrowed, bottom lip forming a small pout as he glares at who you gather is Soap to your left. 

When he looks down, however, a grin quickly replaces the expression and the hand in your hair starts rubbing smooth circles into the base of your skull. If this is what Heaven is, you suddenly understand man’s desire to reach it.

“There we are,” he smiles, voice lower and smoother. “Sleepy head.”

You shoot him the world’s weakest glare. He, dutifully, doesn’t comment on its lacklustre effect. “I promise. I don’t usually have to get saved,” you petulantly point out, but the edge is dulled as Gaz continues to play with your hair. And that intoxicating cinnamon seems to have you on a leash.

“Didn’t think you did,” he reassures, and you accept the confirmation with a steady breath.

You try and pull yourself up, using your hands to do so, when a soaring pain through your left shoulder has your breath hitching and your head falling back into Gaz’s lap. It’s only then that you realise that someone’s got your bent legs in theirs, too, and when you try and get a look, you see it’s Price.

“Try not to use that arm,” Price jerks his chin to your aching arm. “You got grazed.”

It hits you, all at once, what has just transpired. What you failed to do. 

“He escaped,” you croak, looking up to the ceiling even when it starts spinning. “I tried to take him down. I did. But. He escaped, I’m…” you swallow, a heavy thing, “Sorry.”

“Hey, no, lass,” Soap chimes in, and with a secure hand at your non-wounded shoulder, Gaz helps you sit up, head resting against his shoulder, “Dinnae ken why yer sorry. It was one against ten.”

Your head pounds, a relentless rhythm, and when you look down, it’s to find Price’s hand fall onto your thigh and give a comforting pat. When you turn to him, he gives you a small smile. “You did good. We have to finish up another loose end, but we’ll take you to the nurse on base –”

“I want to go,” you interrupt, sitting up straighter with a small wince. It’s a small helicopter, obviously meant just for the 141, with bolted metal as far as the eye can see. “I can’t. I have to be useful.”

“No.”

The final member, the worst one, the man seemingly out to get you.

Ghost.

“What do you mean, no?” You quip, shooting daggers at the man who sits beside Soap on the other side of the chopper. 

“Did the concussion give you hearing loss?” He asks, cold, and you feel as though you’re buzzing with energy, “Or do you just hate hearing the word no? We don’t need you on this mission.”

“Didn’t realise you were taking over the duties as Captain,” you grit, your headache increasing tenfold, even with Gaz’s hand at the base of your nape a soothing presence, “How does Price feel about his Lieutenant’s new role?”

Both you, and Ghost, shoot a look to Price. He unknowingly tightens his grip around your thigh.

“We can discuss this on base,” he commands, allowing no room for argument. “We head for Chicago in two hours.”

Your brows furrow. “Chicago? Why?”

Soap’s smirk is dirty, excited as he simply says, “We talked to a… friend. She gave us the information we needed.”

“Information for what?” You ask, narrowing your eyes, leaning further against Gaz as more pain shoots through your body. He doesn’t say a word about it.

“Graves didn’t tell you…?” Gaz asks, looking down to you with barely concealed shock. 

You look around at the four men. “What? What’s going on?”

“The last missile,” Price folds his hands together, leaning forward to meet your eyes with serious blue. “We’re heading to Chicago to dismantle the last missile.”

*

“There we go, doll. Right as rain.”

The woman gives you a kind smile, securing the bandage around your arm, the disinfectant and tape underneath it along with the shot of morphine she’d given you easing the pain. She pulls off her latex gloves, a ring adorning her wedding finger.

“Thank you…” You trail off, not seeing a name badge on the nurse.

She places her hand on your good shoulder and gives you a soft squeeze, her smile warming. “Sarah. My name’s Sarah. I’d say that I’ll see you around, but… I hope not.”

You let out a laugh, and she lets out her own chuckle.

Sarah’s gorgeous, with dark features, black hair cut short to her head, graceful in her movements. A gold necklace rests on her collarbone, the pendant in the shape of a K.

The 141’s base is, well, almost exactly how you’d imagined it. Busy, well-stocked, off the grid.

Gaz and Soap had been lenient to leave you in the Med Bay by yourself, but Price and Ghost had made them haul ass to the conference room. You were all running on a very tight ship, time seeming to fall through your grasps with every breath you took.

“Thank you, again, Sar–”

“Colonel?” Turning where you sit on the white, hospital-issued bed, your confusion doubles when you see a woman you don’t recall having met before. She seems kind, motherly, almost, but steely in a way that only came with being in Special Ops.

“Hello to you too,” Sarah rolls her eyes, and you watch as the stranger looks to the nurse, her expression immediately easing into something loving.

“Hey, love,” the blonde woman says, pressing her lips to Sarah’s cheek, before pulling back and watching you.

“Who are you…?” You ask, feeling bad for ruining what seems to be the couple’s greeting. But also. You just got here, and couldn’t be expected to understand everyone and everything on base.

Inclining her head in a small apology, the woman extends her hand to you, which you take with a firm grip.

“Kate Laswell, Station Chief,” she greets, and recognition sparks in the back of your mind. This was the woman that had found out about Shepherd and Graves’ off the books treason. It feels as though a rock has gotten stuck in your throat as you pull away, not breaking eye contact. “You want to come on this mission? You’ll be with me.”

You immediately look to Sarah, expecting her to object, as a normal nurse probably would.

Instead, she just gives you a cryptic, knowing look. “I know how you soldiers work. If I tell you to rest, it’ll just give you more of an incentive to get yourself shot again.”

Your smile is the brightest it’s been in years.

“What’s our role?” You ask, standing up from the bed with the smallest of winces. Morphine has its limits, you suppose. Sarah starts cleaning up the supplies, and when Laswell encourages you to walk beside her with a hand at the dip of your back, you do just as much.

“We’ll be locating the missile,” she explains, low as the two of you walk through the crowded hallway. Her hand doesn’t leave its position on your back, and you’re grateful. “And you’ll be telling me everything you can about Graves and the Shadows.”

You fall into pace beside her, embarrassed by the difficulty of the task. Sarah had said you’d suffered a minor concussion, and a pretty hefty cut on your temple which she’d patched up as best she could. Being a combat medic, you knew most of your diagnoses anyway, but it was nice having it cemented by the kind woman. The bullet graze was at risk of infection, and a general pain in the ass, but it was durable with the tending in Med Bay.

“I’m surprised the boys aren’t the ones interrogating me,” you jest, more of a seeking for reason than anything. Why would they have Laswell do the talking, when they seemed so… interested?

She shoots you a look – a mystery for you to uncover. “Price told me that you mentioned a… questionable difference in authority and age. Gaz said just as much, and while they may be brutes,” she smiles to herself, telling of her history with the team, “They’re good men. Think they’re looking out for you.”

The only person, in hindsight, who had ever looked out for you was your mother.

You blink away the burning in your eyes, swallowing, before adjusting your smile once more. “I think they’re… wary of me, more like it.”

Her brows shoot to her hairline. “You don’t think that Gaz finding you unconscious with a dead Shadow atop of you cemented your allegiance? The two Sergeants haven’t shut up about you since they arrived. Only stopped talking when Price threatened them.”

“He threatened them?” you choke on a shocked laugh, getting lost in how… nice it is, talking to another woman. How safe, how it feels like you have someone to trust. The 141, you think you can trust them, but there’s something so different in the camaraderie of women. The inherent safety you feel with one in a position such as herself, that niggling in the back of your mind gone.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she looks to you with a smug grin, pushing open the back exit of the compound with a nudge of her shoulder. The wind slashes against your face, a strand blowing into your mouth, making you wince and spit it out.

“Fucking hate that,” you mutter, Laswell immediately quipping, “The worst.”

You think you and Laswell are going to get along quite well.

“Fuck, Sweetheart, there ye are!” A now all too familiar Scottish lilt calls, stood with the rest of the 141 by two helicopters. You stand across the field, but you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face when both him and Gaz come bounding over, Gaz adorning what appears to be a wetsuit underneath his standard uniform. 

Bulky arms wrap around your waist, and you find yourself being lifted off of the ground, Soap pressing you against him with a strong hug. A surprised giggle leaves your lips, and you see Gaz stop just in front of you both, hands on his hips.

“She’s still injured, you dolt,” Gaz goads, and Soap responds by squeezing you harder.

“Aye, that she is,” Soap grunts, letting you down a touch gentler as you find your footing once more. He smirks. “But… She still owes me one for that dirty move back in Las Almas.”

You playfully punch at his shoulder. “Wasn’t patching you up enough? Not leaving you for dead?”

“I don’t seem to recall…” He trails off, his dimples deepening when you punch him again, harder this time.

“Good to see you up and ready to go.” The wind whistles through your ears, the near-dusk light brushing you all in sensual blues as you meet the Captain’s affirming grin.

Even when you try and flatten your mouth into an authoritative line, the smile seems unable to leave your face. You fold your arms. “I seem to remember you all wanting me dead or nowhere near you, just a day ago.”

Gaz raises his hands in defence, teeth on display as he swings his arm around your neck, pulling you in. “Don’t group me with ‘em. Trusted you the moment I saw you.”

“And who’s to say we still don’t want those things?”

Right. Ghost.

Laswell, standing behind you all, seeming to cast her calculative gaze over the five of you, narrows her eyes at the Lieutenant at the exact same time you do. “If you can’t play nice with the Colonel, Ghost, we can and will swap you out.”

That has you instantly ready to protect the woman’s six.

“Someone seems to recognise my rank,” You look to Laswell as Gaz unravels his arm from around your shoulders, and the woman simply shrugs, hands in her vest’s pockets.

“I just recognise another woman deserving of her power when I see one,” she says, and you might’ve proposed at that very moment if it weren’t for her wife just a few doors away.

“Sergeants, Lieutenant, go ahead and check over the supplies. I’ll catch up in a moment,” Price orders, and when both Gaz and Soap go to answer back, he raises a hand, raises his brow, too. “That wasn’t a request, boys. Go.”

They do just as much, both Gaz and Soap waving back at you as they jog back over to the helicopters.

Just you, Price and Laswell then.

“Kate, a minute.”

…Or, well, just you and Price.

Leading you with a hand on your elbow, Price pauses by a quiet section of the base’s wall, looking around you for any stragglers. Not seeing any, he moves both his hands to rest on your shoulders.

“The deal we made,” he begins, and it’s like a blow to your side. You lift your chin, straighten your posture, clench your jaw. “We – I would like it to extend until Graves is officially KIA. If we can plan a takedown properly, not rush it as much, we can do it. But it’s only right if you do it right alongside us.”

He subconsciously squeezes your flesh, but it’s a grounding motion, one you find necessary.

This feels like more than just that. This feels like an offering – a sense of stability for your foreseeable future. A way for you to find your feet, with a community, a support system to help you restart this path your life has diverted to.

“Yes,” you say, earnest, eyes not straying from Price’s for a single moment. “Yes – thank you.”

“I’d argue that we get the better end of the bargain,” Price mutters, and it’s so quiet and human that you think you might’ve imagined the words. You go to push, ask what exactly he means by that –

“Captain! Hassan has entered the building!” 

He breaks eye contact, finally, and your eyes catch on his profile in the night of dusk – the slope of his nose, the angles of his jaw.

He is, all things considered, a beautiful man.

Your heart thunders, and you pull away, his hands falling from your frame like weights. With a small, delicate smile, you raise your hand to your head in a faux-salute.

“Good luck, Cap.”

His responding smile is softened by the dreaminess of it all, the light, the nervous buzz in the air. He raises his own hand, then, a mocking of your movement.

“See you on the other side, Sweetheart.”

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re @oreo-cream @lalashhyl @someonepleasedateme @letmeapologise @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @inarabee

author's note. i have TWO very specific. but huge. plot twists thatll happen WAY later in the fic. im very curious if anyone can guess em before hand! both of which HAVE been hinted at. a part of me hopes that you guys miss it!! :p

[pretty-little-mind33]

NSFW ALPHABET

Pietro Maximoff x fem!reader

ask: hiii may i ask for a nsfw alphabet with pietro maximoff if you havent done that one yet? i really loved your fics with him hagwhahw i’ve been searching like crazy for pietro maximoff fanfics and there are only a few.. but anyways, have a nice day also hehe

~ we need more pietro content fr! i gotchu babes 🩵 ~

mature content warning

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

He is such a sweetheart when it comes to aftercare! He wants to make sure he's taking care of his girl! Making sure you're cared for and feeling safe with him, which means running a bath, peppering kisses all over your sore skin, braiding/combing your hair, cleaning you up and cuddling with you until you're asleep.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Pietro loves his legs. This isn't necessarily sexual but more because he runs with his legs and he likes his super speed. He also likes his hands because of what he can do with them 😄 For you? He loves every inch of you but he does have a soft spot for your thighs. God, he loves feeling your thighs under his hands, or having them wrapped around his waist/head/wherever he can have them!

(on another note in my mind he's a boob guy 😏 loves boobs. Any boobs, no matter the size and shape he's all over them)

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Pietro likes when he can come inside you because it makes him feel like he owns you—he has a possessive streak. He also loves fingering you because that means he can lick your come from his fingers and taste you on his tongue. He's feral for the way you taste.

D = Dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

He often masturbate to selfies/pictures you send of yourself—dirty ones or normal ones it doesn't matter—he needs you and he'll masturbate to your picture alone. Yes, he'll feel a little ashamed but he'll do it anyways because he's extra horny.

E = Experience (how experienced are they?)

Super experienced. Man whore. Had fun when he was single, who can blame him? He's sexy af 😩He's done almost everything under the sun and if he hasn't? He's willing to try. (Obviously he's a loyal guy now that he's with you, but as I said…man whore).

F = Favorite position (👀)

Lives for a riding but doesn't like reverse cowgirl because he loves to see you and see your tits bounce as you do. Makes his feral! His second favorite would be good old missionary because you can't go wrong with a good classic!

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Pietro likes jokes, he likes having fun. He's goofy so he'll joke around during sex but if you like it serious, he'll only be serious. If you like the laughs and giggles, he'll indulge you without question. He just wants you to be happy!

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I feel like he's all natural lol…he's is good with hygiene though! No worries there! And I mean I think his silver hair is dyed so it's assuming his pubic hair isn't silver lmao! I feel like he'd somehow dye it for fun (idk how good that is for the goods though or if that burns)

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He can be very romantic but he prefers being a little more rough with you during sex. He isn't like bdsm rough but he likes letting go and using you. However, as said, his aftercare is absolutely banger and he's usually romantic then.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

As mentioned he masturbates to pictures of you and overall he's just super horny. Constantly horny. He has a high sex drive so he masturbates a lot. He likes masturbating with you (so mutual masturbation or you giving him a handjob). He likes masturbating in the evening, it helps him fall asleep.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Pietro has a breeding kink 100%! Like okay, he also has an edging kink (if that's even a thing). He'll go slow with the thrusts. Slow and deep, making you feel it all, but not get quite enough to achieve anything more than becoming cock dumb.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He likes using the couch—any position on the couch lmao. Or he likes a bed, he's a classic at heart. He doesn't like car sex because he doesn't have any space, he gets antsy and he feels trapped.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Anything you do. Especially if it's with your mouth. If you lick your lips or bite your lips. Even simply show off some skin turns him on. Any touch when he's horny sets him on fire. He's surprisingly easy to rile up.

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

He wouldn't be into sharing. Like if you wanted a threesome it would take MONTHS and MONTHS of convincing him to let another man or woman be around you like that. He's a possessive guy and he loves you, he wants you all to himself! Plus, being a twin I bet he's kinda sick of sharing lol

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Obviously he likes when you give him head, I mean what man doesn't? But he likes eating you out more. He likes when you tremble and the sounds you make. And oh he's soo good at it. Sometimes when you guys have "sex", it's only foreplay because he exhausts you just from his mouth alone.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Pietro is fast, duh. He's fast but he's also controlled and he can go slow when he wants. He doesn't use his super speed obviously because that would break you and hurt you, but I like to think he can vibrate his cock like a vibrator lmaoooo (😩).

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are fun for him. He likes to have them when you're both busy. His favorite place for a quickie is a bathroom (a clean one lol, only the best for his girl).

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He def experiments and if you want to experiment, he definitely agrees and hears you out! While he doesn't like sharing, he likes the risk of having sex somewhere semi-public! He lives for the thrill and he doesn't mind if someone sees because he knows he can keep you safe so really, let the other assholes watch 😌

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He has good stamina because of his powers! He can go for hours and hours but once he comes, he's done. Now, his stamina for foreplay is unmatched. He will never get tired of making his girl feel good!

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Pietro owns no toys for himself, but he uses your vibrator on you when you ask him. He doesn't feel emasculated, he knows it only enhances the pleasure he gives you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

HUGE TEASE! Like he's constantly teasing you and making dirty jokes to turn you on! He likes edging you and especially overstimulating you because he can usually last longer than you. Whispers dirty things in your ear all the time and then teases you under the table at dinner (if yk yk)

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Usually, he's quieter than most. He controls his breathing for running so he can do it very well during sex. However, you like the noises he makes so he is conscious of them and he has this whimper you LOVE. It's soft and yet throaty, basically it's perfect like he is. Sometimes, when he's going particularly hard, he'll grunt in your ear but that's mostly for show, not that you mind.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon)

Pietro calls you pet names in Sokovian when he's having sex. Hell, he'll use more Sokovian than usual (he usually uses English pet names like dove, sweet girl, my heart), but because his mind is so fuzzy and lust filled he just automatically transfers to his native language. It's hot.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He's not small, but I don't think he's super big either. Like it never hurts! I'd give him a solid 7 and he's def a shower.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

As high as possible. Constantly horny.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

As soon as aftercare is performed and you're all good, he's gone and sleeping like a baby. He spoons you (or you spoon him) and he sleeps all night, occasionally kissing your neck in his sleep.

[amuyyi]

How Sweet .

synopsis: you somehow find yourself in Vietnam with your best friend Hanni, and the heavy southeast asian heat leaves hanni to her own devices... trope: non-idol!hanni x non-idol!f!reader, best friends to lovers, summer vacation, high school seniors, fluff

wc: 3.9k

cw: none

a/n: hello hello! this is my first fanfic in a long long time, and ive never shared on tumblr before.. but i love hanni's fuckass bob ! please let me know what you guys think, im bit rusty in terms of writing ^^'

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

“So… What do you think?”

You stare at your best friend, mouth agape in complete and utter shock as Hanni stood in front of you. With a sheepish expression on her face, your eyes glaze over the silver blades within Hanni’s left hand as she holds a long lock of her naturally jet black air within her right. As your eyes travel upwards, you’re met with a rather uneven, extremely choppy bob planted on the top of your friend’s head alongside some hastily cut bangs. You would’ve thought it was a poorly done wig if she wasn't already holding evidence of her own wrongdoing within her hands. There's an uncomfortable silence that passes between the two of you as you simply stare, your jaw practically threatening to fall off of the base of your skull as you could see the other girl’s eye twitching ever so slightly in response to your silence. 

“Can you please say something?! It's not that bad I swear!” The vietnamese girl whines out, spinning on her heel and making her way back towards the bathroom where she had initially emerged. With Hanni no longer in your line of sight, you snap out of your daze, shaking your head as your brows knit together in confusion, just now beginning to fully process what you had just seen. You practically fall out of your seat on the couch as you scramble to your feet, following after the other girl as you call out, “wait, wait, what?! When did you do that???”

Hanni had made plans for the summer to visit her family back in Vietnam, and had graciously extended an offer for you to join. Excited and albeit a bit nervous, you instantly agreed, having been meaning to make some fun summer plans between the two of you for a while now. Your best friend’s family was sweet, having met her grandmother alongside a few aunts, uncles, and multiple younger cousins who were all pleased to meet your acquaintance. 

Despite the lovely first day of introductions and adjusting to the horrible jet lag you two experienced once landing, you soon learned that summers in Vietnam were, for lack of a better word, brutal. For the entirety of Southeast Asia, the heat during these months were ruthless, practically leaving everyone in sight panting, sweating, and doing anything possible in order to relieve themselves from the scorching sun– and the humidity. Oh, the humidity. The air felt thick and heavy in a way you’ve never experienced before. It almost felt hard to breathe sometimes because everything around you just felt so… sticky. How did Vietnam manage to make even a supposed nice summer breeze feel hot? Hanni had conveniently managed to not mention the intensity of the weather at the time, and as a result, left you two practically melting into the couch, marinating within your own sweat as Hanni’s grandmother left the two of you home alone for the day.

You practically break down the door to the bathroom to find a distressed Hanni increasingly becoming more panicked the longer she looks at her reflection.  “My Ba used to always cut my hair like this whenever I visited over the summer, I thought it’d be easy to replicate!” Hanni exclaims, staring herself down within the mirror as she tries to assess the damage that has been done at every angle possible. Honestly, the whole situation was almost too good. Almost like a scene from a sitcom or something.

Fighting back a snort, you smirk teasingly, “has she always made it so uneven?” Your unsolicited comment left Hanni clicking her tongue in offense, raising her hand holding the scissors threatening to hit you before shifting her gaze back towards the mirror, letting out a distressed groan in defeat. “I don’t even know what came over me, y/n. I think this unbearable heat actually fried my brain,” she runs her free hand through her hair, some poorly cut strands falling out as she winces, “I don’t know! I don’t know! My Ba made it look so easy!” You watch as her eyes dart around, not talking to anyone in particular as the panic seemingly begins to take over, “I can fix it though! If i just cut–”

“Nope.” You firmly grab Hanni’s wrist as she begins to lift the scissors back up towards her hair, cutting her words short as you wrestle the blades out of her grip. “Y/n–” she starts, “Hanni.” You begin, your voice a tone that is similar to that of an owner telling a dog to sit, eyebrows raised and head cocked to the side as you lock eyes with your friend. She silently stares back, mouth open as if to retort, but it soon closes as she sighs, sitting down on a nearby stool in defeat as you also let out a breath you didnt you know you were holding. At least she didn't have free reign over the scissors. 

“Now let me see what I can do about… this,” You hum, dragging the stool closer to where you stood as you get a better look at Hanni’s hair. The scissors she used were very obviously not haircutting scissors, but you doubted she had anything better on hand. Alongside that, she somehow managed to cut drastically uneven halves of her hair, and it was obvious the cuts on both the left and right side were not a clean process, leaving multiple bluntly chopped bits all within her hair. As for the bangs, thankfully she didn’t cut them too short, actually leaving a lot of hair left to work with. Knowing Hanni, she was probably too scared to commit to the act after seeing what she did to the rest of her hair. Now, you were no hair cutting expert, but anyone with eyes could see what needed to be done in order to fix this mess. Hanni awkwardly avoids eye contact seemingly out of embarrassment as you examine her, eyes looking practically anywhere but within yours as you contemplate your next steps, her cheeks faintly dusted a light shade of pink. You raise the scissors and start off by trying to even out both sides of her hair, the quiet snipping sounds filling the bathroom as Hanni sits up as straight as she can, hands placed a bit too formally on her lap. 

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” 

“Apparently more than you.”

“That's not very comforting.”

“I can always leave your hair like this.”

“Don’t you dare, y/n.” 

Soft, lighthearted giggles erupt from the bathroom as the banter between you two continues. Even in a situation like this, you and Hanni always managed to make each other smile– It's what drew you two to each other. You recall the day you two first met. Through some common friends or the other, somehow you ended up at a picnic within the local park, Hanni being one of the first to arrive. She had brought a container full of fruit to share, and practically dominated the conversation with her cheery attitude– but not in a suffocating kind of way. She somehow managed to know everyone who arrived and they all seemed to naturally flock towards the girl. You were no different than the people she attracted, but you were lucky enough to have her full attention the whole day, her large round eyes attentive and focused on you as you told stories and cracked with everyone. Ever since then, the two of you have been practically inseparable. Always waiting for each other after classes and somehow ending up in comical situations such as this.

After a few more snips of the scissors, you take a step back, taking in your work as Hanni’s eyes flutter open, blinking a bit as she stands up. She approaches the mirror, eyes lighting up as she sees the result. Thanks to your handiwork, her hair had ended up in a lovely dark layered bob with straight across bangs that actually looked intentional. It was a bit shorter than your liking, having the ends land just above her chin, but the other girl didn’t give you much to work with.

“Wow, this actually looks… really good.” Hanni spoke, her voice laced with awe as she continued to admire her reflection, “I kind of look like Mathilda! Y'know, from that kid assassin movie or whatever?” She comments, looking back at you expectantly as you pretend to think for a moment.

“Ah.. That's unfortunate, I was really trying to go for an Edna Mode kind of look… Maybe a bowl cut…” You trail off, feigning regret as you twirl the scissors in your hand, eliciting a snort from Hanni, punching you in the shoulder as you let out a laugh. 

The other girl doesn’t hesitate to pull you into a hug though, even through all of the laughter, and you tense up for only a moment before melting into her touch, your arms wrapping around her waist as her arms snake comfortably around your neck. The light smell of flowers emerges from the embrace, unintentionally causing you to sigh with pleasure as you can feel the vibrations of Hanni giggling into your neck in response. The feeling left your stomach fluttering with butterflies for some reason. Hanni had always smelt really nice, but this time it was a little different– a little more fresh? Maybe the tropical air was doing something to her. 

“Thank you,” you hear her whisper into your ear gently, and you could feel your cheeks warm at the praise as you pull back shyly tucking a strand of your own hair behind your ear as you shrug, “It really was no big deal,” You trail off as Hanni’s gaze shifts back onto her reflection. “Still, I wasn't expecting it to be so… Short.”

You arch a brow at her as you bluntly state, “Well you didn't give me a whole lot of leeway with your little scissor-happy act over there,” which rewarded you with another punch on the shoulder and a tongue stuck out in a childish manner from the short haired girl.

As the two of you exit the bathroom, Hanni lets out a relieved sigh, “aaah, that feels SO much better!” She cooes, stretching her arms and shaking her head, letting her short hair fly as she grins. You also smile at the sight of your friend so happy, but let out a tired breath shortly after. “Well I’m glad you like it, but it's still hot as hell in here.”

An imaginary lightbulb goes off within Hanni’s head as a grin forms on her lips. “I know a place, c’mon,” Hanni grabs your arm, guiding you outside as you immediately get hit with a wave of heat and a flash of light. Squinting, you use your free arm to try and shield your eyes from the sun above, “Do we HAVE to be outside?” You whine, feeling beads of sweat forming on your forehead almost instantaneously as you’re guided to a rather charming looking vespa parked nearby. It was pastel yellow in color, and had some stickers plastered on the side. You watch in awe as the other girl hops on it with confidence, taking a pair of keys out of her pocket as she pats the free seat behind her, “do you HAVE to keep complaining and not trust me?” 

You are once again brought back to a dumbfounded state as you slowly approach the vespa, admiring its quality and state before your eyes go back to Hanni, “Can you actually drive this thing? You never told me!” An almost cartoonish glimmer shines within her eyes as she winks, pressing a finger to her lips as she playfully grins, “There's a lot you don’t know about me, y/n.”

Very hesitantly, you slowly make your way onto the back seat of the vespa, awkwardly sitting as a brief second of silence passes. Hanni rolls her eyes, chuckling lightheartedly at your uncertainty as she grabs your arms and places them around her waist, “You can trust me with this y/n, I promise.” Her voice was soft and reassuring, and she looked at you with her all too familiar warm eyes that made it nearly impossible to not trust her at that very moment. Besides, Hanni wouldn’t actually let you get hurt, you knew that much. Reluctantly, you let out a sigh and tighten your grip on Hanni’s waist, saying a soft “okay…” which resulted in an unseen smile from the other girl and the sound of the engine to rev confidently.

-

If there was one thing Ho Chi Minh City locals perfected, it was the art of organized chaotic traffic. You fearfully bite back a scream as you watch as oncoming traffic simply did not stop for anyone anywhere ever. People did not look before crossing the street and every vespa, motorbike, car, or other miscellaneous vehicle simply maneuvered around one other to get around. You swear your grip on Hanni at this point would cut off all circulation in her body as she lets out a loud and hearty laugh amongst the chaos, speeding up as she weaves in between pedestrians with ease, as if she's been doing this her entire life. “Hanni what the HELL–”

Soon enough the two of you made it out of the city, and Hanni guides you through the dusty terrain of the more rural areas of Vietnam. You were a bit nervous at first, unsure if you were a fan of the bumpy nature of the rocky road that was debatably either safer or more dangerous than those in the city. Once you realize Hanni was no longer entertaining your fears though, you take a moment to finally get out of your own head and live in the moment. Inhale. Exhale. Your eyes glisten as you take in the sights around you. It was so… Green. The lush flora coats the environment with a serene green glow, and the feeling of the wind flying through your hair was such a freeing feeling. Your grasp on Hanni loosens as you let out a loud cheer, laughing as you let everything go. The dappled spots of light from the overhead trees rush past your vision below as you look forward, spotting multiple ox and farmers ahead within the flooded fields. The clouds ahead looked so incredibly soft, and the sky looked bigger than ever– even bigger than how it looked on the plane ride here. You can't help but wonder if it were nighttime, would you be able to see the stars here? You press your cheek against Hanni’s back as you relish in the feeling for a bit, closing your eyes in bliss as the sounds of the nature around you fade.

Before you knew it, the green forestry surrounding you was slowly diminishing, eventually being replaced with a more beige sandy soil. A small gasp leaves your lips as you look out, spotting a small beach with an even larger body of water. The waves glistened beneath the summer sun and you were surprised such a place had absolutely no human traffic. “I found this place when I first got Sunny here,” Hanni practically reads your mind, also glancing over at the ocean before finding a place to park her vespa and hop off, “It's a place the locals keep a secret, and now you also know of it as well.”

You tilt your head a bit in confusion at her comment, hopping off of the vehicle, “Sunny?” Hanni raises her eyebrow as she points to the back end of the Vespa, a large sticker labeled ‘Sunny’ in large white letters is proudly showcased on Hanni’s vespa, and you mentally facepalm as the other girl giggles. Still, it left a warm feeling within your chest knowing Hanni was sharing a hidden area like this with you.

“Come on, let's go in the water! It's hot out here!!” Hanni exclaims loudly, immediately booking it towards the ocean ahead, kicking her shoes off and into the sand in the process. Your eyes widen as you chase after her, hastily taking your shoes off as well as you call out, “Hanni, wait! We didn’t bring our swim suits!” You hissed a little as the sand was unrealistically hot from the sun practically cooking it throughout the day, muttering out little “ow, ow, ow’s” as you hopscotch your way into the water. You couldn't help but notice Hanni was unbothered by the temperature, her new hair allowing a newfound freshness within her step. It truly seemed like she was made for the beach.

“So…?” Hanni extends the word playfully with a grin, already calf deep into water by the time you awkwardly trudge through the ocean towards her, kicking up liquid in the process and splashing Hanni’s shorts. She gasps in shock at the cold sensation and you open your mouth to apologize before getting cut off by water getting shot directly into your face. Salty water entered your mouth and nearly up your nose and you spat it out, wiping your face with your hands as your eyes focused and landed on the culprit, who stared at you with a mischievous grin, bent down within the water to prepare for her next attack. 

“Oh no you dont–” You immediately side step and just narrowly miss an icy cold splash of water before you, bending over to counterattack with twice as much. A high pitched scream followed by genuine laughter followed suit, and the two of you go at it for a little bit, splashing water back and forth in between fits of laughter, completely drenching your clothes. You were happy. Being here, being with her. You took a moment to truly take in the sight of the girl before you. Eyes crescent shaped as she laughs from her heart, a toothy open mouth grin that you knew was genuine and grew to love over the years, and the way her newly cut hair was soaked and stuck to her cheeks and forehead charmingly. You loved the energy Hanni always brought to the table, her constant smile and the endless surprises she had up her sleeve. You were glad she chose you of all people to be her best… friend.

…Oh.

Hanni however, is not aware of your current sentimental and affectionate internal thoughts towards her, and decides to up her game with a new strategy, smirking to herself as she backs up, building up energy while you were catching your breath. You were so worn out and lost within your own thoughts you only noticed the charging bob-haired girl all too late, “Hanni WAI–” 

Practically all of the air got knocked out of you as Hanni strikes you down with a full body bear hug, sending the both of you into the water with a loud splash. Satisfied with her work (and quite worn out by now) Hanni doesn’t even make an attempt to hold you down, going full dead fish on your chest with an innocent grin and multiple giggles as you prop yourself up within the water with your arms. Coughing pathetically, you use one of your hands to wipe your face and slick back your hair as you look at Hanni, who rests very comfortably between your legs and on your chest, her arms wrapped around your waist as she looks up at you with those big dark brown eyes. Your breath hitches as you realize how close your faces are to one another. It wasn’t like you two haven't been this physically close before, but that never stopped you from being flustered. Something about the way she looks at you sometimes always caught you off guard, and you never knew how to handle it. The last time this happened was at your last sleepover together, having talked about past crushes, relationships, and how dating would work after high school graduation. Something about the way she looked at you underneath the sheets after asking about your crushes made your mind go blank. She had that look in her eyes again, and it drove you crazy how you couldn't read it. Cheeks reddening, you instinctively whip your head away, needing to look at something other than Hanni to keep yourself propped up within the water.

Frowning at this reaction, Hanni reaches a hand up and cusps your cheek, guiding your head to face her once again, forcing you to make eye contact with her. “y/n…” Her tone was soft and airy, if anything it was a bit needy. The blush on your cheeks was apparent at this point, and you still had no idea why you were even blushing in the first place, but the way her eyes flickered down to your lips for a split second intensified the color tenfold. You watch as her eyebrows knit together and how she subconsciously bites her lip, a habit she had whenever she was lost in thought– a sight you were familiar with. Even so, it felt different this time. 

You watch as Hanni closes her eyes and leans in, softly pressing her lips against yours. It was a gentle kiss, a very hesitant one at that. Just a small peck. You could tell it was Hanni’s way of “testing the waters” (ba dum tss) but to you? It was everything. You quite literally felt fireworks within your stomach as she kissed you, and the shock left you simply frozen in place, eyes comically wide open for the very brief moment. All too soon, she pulls away. She looks up at you again, a glint of fear and uncertainty in her eyes as she waits for your reaction.

You take a moment to simply sit there dazed, mouth agape in the water once again as panic settles within Hanni at the silence. “Oh my god. I'm so sorry y/n. I-I thought—“ She had begun to hurriedly make her way off of your chest when you quickly grabbed her wrist, pulling her back into you as you brought your lips together. Now it was Hanni’s turn to freeze up, but it was only for a moment. Almost immediately after, you could hear her blissfully sighing into the kiss as her arms snake their way around your neck, your free hand moving down her back and landing comfortably on the small of it.

Her lips were soft, and tasted ever so lightly like berries despite having been splashed with saltwater multiple times. You’d never think you’d find yourself within the beaches of Vietnam, kissing your best friend, yet here you were. The sound of waves surrounds the two of you as you find yourself lost within the movements of her lips. You felt her pull away for air and you almost let out a whine at the sudden lack of contact before she starts peppering kisses all over your face. Your cheeks, nose, chin, forehead, everywhere. “You look so pretty right now y/n-nie~” Hanni cooes as you roll your eyes, pulling her in closer as she focuses her kisses onto your cheek. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve been wanting to do this for a long time,” you tease, getting a hum in response as Hanni brings you back in for another kiss, whispering “you have no idea..”

“So… Do you have a crush on me or something?”

“Do you not like me back, y/n?”

“Well… I don't know about that...”

“I'm going to leave you here.”

“Noooo~”

Several splashes and giggles erupted from the both of you, and suddenly summer just became a little sweeter.

[candycandy00]

The Doll House - A Sukuna x Reader Fanfic Part 2

Covered in scars and left totally numb by your abusive previous owner, you’re considered an “unsellable doll”. That is, until the Doll House takes you in and Sukuna becomes your trainer.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Read Geto’s Part Here!

Read Toji’s Part Here!

Read Nanami’s Part Here!

Read Gojo’s Part Here!

Read Choso’s Part Here!

Note: Please remember that these stories don’t take place at the same time, or even one after the other! Consider each one its own timeline. So if you see Geto and Toji with other dolls, don’t be alarmed lol. I had to do it this way because if I don’t, by the time I get to the last trainer, there won’t be any other trainers left to interact with!

AU! Each trainer will get their own story! This is Sukuna’s. If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, let me know! You must be an adult to be tagged! Any feedback whatsoever is adored! I’m not keeping the same tag list as before, since this part deals with darker themes. I will resume the tag list after Sukuna’s part is finished! So if you want to be tagged in this one, please specify!

Note: Consider these parts AU’s within an AU. So you might see Geto with a different doll from the reader in his part, but just consider this an alternate timeline lol.

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. BDSM. Erotic Torture. Bondage. Clamps. Electric shocks. Reader is covered in scars. Everything that happens between Sukuna and Reader is consensual but there is mention of abuse by a previous owner. Divider by @benkeibear!

You’ve been numb for three years, but right now, your body is alive with sensation. This always happens when you’re having a training session with Sukuna, and after a week of being in his “care”, you’re still not quite used to it. You don’t know why you can feel the things he does to you in these moments, or why you return to being numb once the sessions end, but right this second, you only want to enjoy feeling it. 

Chains coil around your body as you sway slightly, suspended from the ceiling. Your arms are behind your back, sore and bruised. Your feet are curled up behind you, almost touching your hands, your thighs held far apart by a bar at your knees. You don’t have a stitch of clothing anywhere on you, but you’re “covered” in an entirely different way.

Fierce, heavy metal clamps hang from your nipples and your clit, biting into your most sensitive places. The chains dig into your skin, leaving purple and black stripes where they wrap around you. And you’re covered head to toe in Sukuna’s cum. 

He’s fucked every hole you have numerous times today, always pulling out and shooting his seed onto your body, letting it slide and drip down your flesh until it has completely coated you. You can feel it in your hair, all over your face, in your mouth, pouring over the painful clamps. A few times he’s left the room, left you hanging naked and filthy and bruised in the dark, letting his cum dry and cake on your skin, only to come back and give you a fresh coat. 

Several times, he removed the clamp from your clit, rubbed and pinched the aching bud mercilessly until you came, then put the clamp right back on while you were still trembling from your orgasm. 

Presently, he’s fucking your mouth again, holding your head steady by your hair, his enormous cock slamming into your throat. Your face is covered in various fluids - his cum, your tears, and your saliva. You’ve never been such a mess before in your life. 

You have both a safe word and a safe hand gesture you can use if you need to. But you can’t imagine ever using them. All these sensations wracking your body make you feel so very alive. You can’t get enough of it. 

There’s a big difference between the pain you experienced at the hands of your previous owner, and what Sukuna is doing to you now. There’s an artistry to the way Sukuna alternates between giving you pleasure and giving you pain. You’ve already had more orgasms in this one week than you’ve had in your entire life before coming here. And unlike before, you have some measure of control. You can stop this at any time, even switch trainers if you wish. 

You wouldn’t think of it. You’re already addicted to these feelings. 

Sukuna’s grip on your hair tightens as he shoves his cock as far in as possible, choking you as he cums down your throat. You swallow it as fast as you can. You’re parched and you want every drop. 

When he pulls out, he tucks himself back into his pants and begins removing all three clamps from your body. They somehow hurt worse coming off than going on. You wince and whimper as his fingers rub the places where the clamps were, the numbness slowly beginning to spread through you again. He unchains you, his strong arms holding you up, not letting your feet touch the floor. 

He carries you to the bathroom, where a hot, steaming bath is waiting for you. He eases you down into the water, then hands you a loofa as well as some shampoo and soap. “Can you do it yourself?” he asks.

“Yeah, I can,” you answer, reaching for the shampoo. You’re tired, but the soreness you felt earlier is completely gone. 

He nods and steps out of the room. 

********************

Sukuna is cleaning up after the latest training session in his room, putting away various items and setting some aside to be washed. He prides himself in keeping everything neat and clean, even though he thoroughly enjoys making messes. 

His idea for today worked perfectly. If his doll could only feel during a training session, then why not just have the training session last all day? So he kept her in that “training” mindset, kept her chained up since this morning. No previous doll he’s trained could withstand this, could last so long and take so much punishment. But this one can. Is it because she’s so starved for sensation? 

Back in the bathroom, the doll is now standing in the shower, rinsing off. Her body still intrigues him, both because of her unusual condition and because of those scars. 

“How did he make those?” Sukuna asks her, pointing to the most prominent scarring pattern that stretches from her face down to her hip. 

She’s not the least bit shy about being nude in front of him, and he finds that refreshing. She casually glances down at her side and says, “He made me strip and then poured boiling water over me. Well, over the left side of me.”

“That must have been agonizing,” Sukuna says, his eyes shining. 

“Not really. It was one of the last things he did before I was removed. I was already numb by then.”

“Do you know why he did it?”

She lowers her eyes as she reaches for a towel to dry off on. “I accidentally spilled wine on his shirt while pouring a glass for him.”

Sukuna can’t help laughing at how pointless the cruelty was. The doll looks at him curiously, but doesn’t say anything. If she’s offended by his laughter, she doesn’t show it. 

“What about those?” he asks, pointing to a series of scarred lines across her abdomen. 

“Oh, these? It’s hard to tell since half of them blended in with the burn scars, but he carved words into me.”

Looking closely, Sukuna can see letters. He can make out the first few of two different words: “whore” and “cunt”. 

Sukuna chuckles. “He wasn’t very creative, was he?”

“No, he wasn’t,” she says. The corners of her lips move up slightly. Did she almost smile? She finishes drying and drops the towel into the nearby hamper, then pulls on one of his older shirts that he laid out for her before heading out of the bathroom. 

She had no luggage, no belongings, when she was brought in. She’s been wearing his shirts when she’s not naked, which Sukuna doesn’t really mind. There’s something appealing about the way his clothes look hanging off her body, the fabric rubbing over her otherwise bare skin. But she needs some of her own clothes. 

“What do you like to wear?” he asks her as she sits down on his bed. “I’ll pick up some clothes for you.”

She looks mildly surprised by the offer. “Oh, um… just jeans and tshirts mostly.”

Boring choices, but he supposes someone with her background had no need for anything formal. Maybe he’ll pick up something a little more sexy while he’s at it. “I’ll go out tomorrow. Do you need anything else?”

“No, nothing I can think of,” she says, her voice small and quiet as usual. Then she looks at him as she adds, “Thank you.”

He doesn’t think it’s anything worth thanking him for. He’s bought clothes for the dolls he’s trained in the past, usually because he ruined the clothes they brought with them or they simply were not dressing to his standards. But her little expression of gratitude seemed so sincere, so strangely heartfelt for someone who could barely feel emotions anymore. 

“I take it your previous owner didn’t buy you many gifts,” he says. 

She shakes her head. “He only ever took from me. I had one possession that I cared about, a silver locket my mom gave me before she died, and he tore it off my neck the first day I was there.”

Her stories do not pull at Sukuna’s heartstrings. He’s not even sure he has any of those. But he does find them interesting. In fact, he finds every part of her interesting, which is far more than he could say for any of his previous dolls. It’s a strange feeling to him, actually wanting to know more about someone. 

After having some tea and some warm food, she curls up in the bed and falls asleep almost instantly, no doubt exhausted. 

****************

The next morning, you wake up to find yourself alone in the room. You climb out of bed and stretch, even though you don’t feel stiff or sore. It’s just a habit, some phantom muscle memory. 

Strangely, you can still feel hungry or thirsty, even if you can’t feel a stomach ache or a dry throat. You’re aware that your condition is related to mental blocks you’ve subconsciously placed on yourself, but you don’t really understand how they work. 

Right now, you want some breakfast, so you open the door and head out into the hallway. You’ve never been outside the room since the day you arrived, but Sukuna told you there’s a kitchen and a dining hall further down the hall. He always brings back food for you, but he’s never told you not to go yourself. So you walk until you reach what must be the dining hall. 

It’s empty, probably too early for anyone else to be there. There are several tables with chairs set up around the room, along with a very long table on one side. There’s no food there, but there are stacks of plates, utensils, napkins, and other such items. You can smell food cooking somewhere, perhaps through the door behind the long table. 

Beyond the dining hall, you find a small kitchen that you assume is there for the trainers and dolls to use, separate from whatever kitchen prepares the main meals. It has the basics: a stove/oven, microwave, coffee maker, toaster, refrigerator, sink, and a few cabinets. You open the fridge to check out the contents and find a mesh bag full of small oranges. Is it okay for you to take one? Do they belong to a specific trainer, or everyone? Shrugging to yourself, you reach in and take one from the bag. Just as you close the fridge door, two men walk into the kitchen. 

One of them is very tall, with messy white hair and dark round sunglasses. The other has long, silky black hair. They were talking as they walked in, but when they spot you, their voices trail off. Both of them stare at you silently for a moment, then the one with long hair says, “Oh, hello. Who might you be?”

You’re standing there in the unfamiliar kitchen, holding a possibly stolen orange, wearing nothing but one of Sukuna’s shirts (which thankfully covers enough of you to be decent). “I’m a doll. I’m being trained by Sukuna.”

The two of them glance at each other, then the one with white hair removes his sunglasses and looks you up and down, obviously taking in your various scars. His expression changes from surprise to horror. 

“Oh my God, you poor thing! What has he done to you?! Do you need us to hide you? Blink if you need help!”

“Satoru,” the long haired man says, “you’re being rude. Those scars are clearly old. Sukuna didn’t make them.”

The white haired man looks more closely at you, then exhales in relief. “Sorry, I just assumed the worst and… wait, did you just blink?”

“Uh, I tried not to,” you say. “I don’t need any help though. I’m fine. Thanks for offering.”

The long haired man gives you a pleasant smile. “You’ll have to forgive us. We don’t normally see Sukuna’s dolls unless we catch a glimpse of them as they’re arriving or leaving.”

“Really? He never told me not to leave the room, so I figured it was okay. I got hungry. Do you know if it’s okay to take an orange?”

The long haired man looks at the orange in your hand. “It’s fine. There’s plenty left.”

The white haired man is looking at you somewhat suspiciously. “Are you sure you don’t need help? I mean we all hear the screaming.”

“I’m sure,” you tell him, forcing a smile. “It’s the good kind of screaming.”

“Okay, but now you’ve got me real curious,” he says. “What is he doing to-“

“Hey, stop harassing my doll,” a voice says from the doorway. All three of you look over to see Sukuna standing just inside the kitchen. 

The other two men look slightly uncomfortable. The one with long hair smiles again, though it seems like a fake smile. “Hey, Sukuna. You’re out early today.”

Sukuna grins. “I had to go buy her some clothes. Unlike you freaks, I like for my dolls to dress normally from time to time.”

Before the other two can respond, Sukuna takes your hand and leads you back to his room. After he shuts the door behind you, he notices the orange in your hand. “Got hungry?”

You begin peeling it with your fingers. “Yeah. Was it okay for me to go to the kitchen?”

“You can go wherever you want in this house, aside from the other trainers’ rooms. Why?”

“Those two guys acted like you never let your dolls out.”

Sukuna scoffs. “They’re all morons. My dolls leave my room all the time. They just never go to the dining hall during regular meal times. By choice. Have I ever told you not to go?”

You shake your head, chewing a bite of the fruit. “No.”

“Then whether you stay in here or go out there is up to you.” 

After finishing the orange, you look through the shopping bags sitting on the bed. There are several pairs of jeans, in various colors, and more tshirts than you’ve ever seen in one place. They all look expensive, and they’re all in your size. 

Digging deeper into the bags, you find underwear, socks, three different pajama sets, and finally, a dress. It’s short, black, and silky, with no straps. It’s beautiful, but you can’t imagine a reason for you to ever wear such a thing. 

“All this for me?” you ask, holding one of the shirts up to your body. 

“You’re going to be here another five weeks. Might as well have something to wear,” he replies. 

You feel something then, a fluttering in your chest, a bubbling of some emotion. Is this happiness? You’re not sure, but you like it. 

**************

Later in the day, Sukuna begins another training session. The doll is strung up from the ceiling, in a harness. Her arms are tied above her head, her knees up near her chest, leaving her spread eagle, naked, totally at his mercy. Just the way he likes his dolls. 

He loves watching her numb body come alive, the way she goes from having no reaction whatsoever to moaning, quivering and trembling beneath his touch. When her nerves are awake, she feels everything so acutely. She becomes far more sensitive than even she realizes.  

Sukuna always starts with pleasure. It’s the best way to get her nerves working and get her in the right mindset. So his fingers are delicately stroking her wet clit, being oh so gentle. She’s shaking in the harness, gasping out short little moans as she cums. 

Immediately after, Sukuna pulls out a device he very much enjoys using on dolls, at least the ones who are into pain. It looks like a square metal box, with various thin cables connected to it. At the ends of the cables are small clips, which he attaches to her nipples and clit. She looks at him silently, a glint of excitement in her eyes. Whatever he’s going to make her feel, she’s looking forward to it. 

The device sends currents of powerful electricity through the cables. Apparently some places in the world use it as an actual torture device. Online, someone described it as feeling as if you’re being snapped with a thousand rubber bands all at once. And that’s on the low setting. Sukuna has never turned it higher than that before, but he believes this doll can take more. So he sets the device to medium power and pushes the button to turn it on. 

The doll’s body jerks as if she’s been punched in the gut, her eyes wide, her hands clenching air above her head, her mouth open as shaky screams leave her. She twists in the harness, the motions making for a truly erotic sight, all of her scarred beauty on lewd display. 

He lets the currents assault her sensitive flesh for a good ten minutes before turning it off. She’s left twitching all over, her breaths catching in her throat, tears freely pouring down her face. He can’t hold back anymore. He quickly opens his pants as closes the distance between them. Before she seems to realize what’s happening, his cock is already buried inside her. She moans as he thrusts into her, hard and deep, hitting her sweet spots. 

He watches her face, notices the way the tears make wavy trails over her scars, and he can’t resist licking them. After running his tongue over the marred skin, he looks at her again, and there’s an expression on her face that he’s never seen her wear before. Is she… blushing? She turns her face away from him, as if embarrassed. But this strangely emotional reaction from her is simply too delicious to ignore. 

Sukuna grabs her face with one hand and turns it back to him, then parts her lips with his thumb. He kisses her, sticking his tongue into her mouth, muffling her moans as he continues fucking her. It’s more intimate than he usually gets with his dolls, but he can’t resist drawing more emotions from her. He doesn’t break the kiss until after they both cum, him pumping her full of his seed and then quickly pulling out, letting it drip from her pussy and make a mess on the floor. 

She’s panting and shuddering, unable to do anything else while tied up in the harness. While she’s still in this state, raw both physically and emotionally, Sukuna steps back over to the device, sets it to high, and pushes the button. 

The screams alone are enough to get him hard again. 

Hours later, after baths, cleanup, dinner, and trying on new pajamas, the two of them are lying in bed. She’s on her side, facing away from him. Perhaps she’s already asleep, but he’s noticed her being oddly shy this evening. Out of curiosity, to see if she reacts, he reaches over and runs one hand down her unscarred arm. She seems to shiver, and rolls over to look at him. 

“I… I felt that,” she says, wide eyed. Her feeling has never lasted this long after a session has ended. She sits up in bed. “It’s weird, I can’t feel the fabric of the sheets. All I can feel is…”

Sukuna grins. “My touch.”

Again, there’s that look on her face, as if she’s embarrassed. He finds it cute. He pulls her back down, then closer to his body, wrapping his arms around her. She gasps at the sensations, but then sighs as she curls up against him. 

Sukuna feels some unfamiliar emotion when he looks at her, when he listens to her quiet breathing, when he feels the warmth of her body. He doesn’t know what it is, and he’s not sure he likes it, but it’s there all the same. So he drifts off to sleep, planning the next training session. 

Tag List: 

@akaotv @khaleesihavilliard @issracollen @maflorex @dabislittlemouse 

[greensagephase]

New Year's (Nonviolent Communication One-Shot)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x SpiderFemaleReader (colleagues to friends to lovers; currently in the friendship era, so no romance.) Summary: New Year's with your spidey friends and Miguel. Word Count: 7,526 Warnings: A little bittersweet at the beginning; Reader eats meat (sorry to my readers that don't consume meat; I just realized I've included so many meals throughout the fic with meat and never thought of nonmeat eaters); terms in Spanish are included but translations can be found at the end; some crying but they're happy tears; soft Miguel; fireworks Short A/N: This is a one-shot for my Nonviolent Communication fanfic but can be read as a standalone. Masterlist

Happy New Year!!

You close the door of your apartment, making sure it’s locked before you walk down the hallway. You make your way down the building, fixing the scarf you threw around your neck earlier since your city is experiencing strong winds today on top of low temperatures. You could’ve easily just stuck to swinging around the city for what you’re doing but you remember that it has been years, since your Peter died, that you’ve walked the streets of your own city on New Year’s Eve.

The two of you used to go out each year, holding hands amongst the crowd before you found your way to the center of the celebration, joining other citizens to welcome the new year. Peter always held you close, your back pressed to his chest to keep you warm as the two of you enjoyed the performances of artists. And then at midnight, you’d welcome the new year with a kiss and a “I love you.”

“Did you unplug the lights?” a feminine voice asks as you reach the lobby of your apartment building.

“No,” a second voice, a woman, replies.

“Girl, you know the landlord said to not leave the lights on for long periods of time because of a short circuit.”

“It’ll be fine,” the second voice responds.

You turn sideways as you hear the young women join you, coming from a different floor than yours. You face the front again, not paying attention to their discussion as you’re lost in your thoughts regarding the last New Year’s Eve you shared with Peter. It was so long ago, and you silently wonder, where did the time go? If you try hard enough, you can almost feel Peter’s lips against yours; so sweet, so tender, so gentle… So Peter.

At last, you exit the building with the young women behind you and go in a different direction than them. You fix the scarf once again, but this time closer to your neck as you immediately feel the chilly breeze on your skin. You walk the street, hands in your coat’s pockets as you move alone. The sun is already setting even though it’s early in the afternoon, and the streets are, as always, busy and filled with so much energy. As you walk past people, you take it all in, the realization hitting you more now. You’re walking the streets on New Year’s Eve again after years.

In the last few years, you went out to patrol, watching from rooftops in solitude. You managed to cut your friends off in a short amount of time following Peter’s death, so the first holidays without him were spent completely alone, and every year after that was the same. You never stayed out close to midnight, especially on New Year's Eve, for you couldn’t bear the sight of kissing couples. It hurt too much. Instead, you found yourself at home, settled in your once shared bed, alone. That’s the way it was, until last year, when the Morales family invited you to their building’s party and then found yourself once again in Miguel’s penthouse because Mr. and Mrs. Morales asked if you could take him food just like you had for Christmas Eve.

You head to your usual flower spot, picking up a variety of them before you head to your destination. When you reach the cemetery, you find other people, visiting loved ones one last time before the year ends. You find your parents’ graves and change their flowers from last week before you move to Aunt May’s, and at last, to your Peter’s. On one knee, you kneel on the cold and frozen ground after you move some snow away, and proceed to clean his grave like you did the others. You clear away snow and find last week’s flowers, frozen. You replace them with the fresh ones, arranging them nicely for him.

“Happy New Year’s Eve, Peter,” you whisper softly. You look around slowly, the figures of other people meeting your gaze before you return it to Peter’s grave. “So, last night when I was out on patrol, I heard one of the craziest things I’ve ever heard. I think it would’ve made you laugh…” you start as you talk to him like you always do, telling him about your patrolling. You always focus on the night shift because the nights are always the craziest. You tell him about what happened over the week, the universes you went to, the missions, the little moments between you and your friends, all of it.

By the time you’re done, the sky is fully dark. You sigh softly and look up, noticing that you’re alone at the cemetery now. You rub your cheek softly, feeling the coldness. The kneeling has created a cold and damp spot on your pants, allowing you to feel it on your skin. You can almost hear Peter telling you to stand up and go home, to shield yourself from the cold.

You smile softly as you hear his voice in your head. Sometimes you like to imagine that he sits in front of you or on his stone, smiling at you as he listens to you talk, maybe even adding his thoughts despite you being unable to hear them. You know better than to do that, but it used to bring you comfort in the first months after his death.

“I miss you,” you whisper. “I always do, Peter.”

You imagine Peter now, returning the words you’ve whispered.

“I miss you more, love.”

You smile in the darkness of the cemetery, the wind blowing against you, causing you to shiver.

“Go home, darling. It’s too cold. Go home, please.”

You stand up and pull your pants at the knee to relief yourself from the unpleasant cold sensation and sigh. “I do need to go home. As I’ve told you, I have plans,” you tell him with a smile. “I’m meeting with the group and then with Miguel. He insisted on cooking. Again,” you say with a soft chuckle. “I don’t know what he’s making but I just know it’s going to be amazing. He’s an amazing cook, Peter. I’ve already told you about it but he really is great... In many ways,” you state softly as you look down at your wrist, where your gizmo rests. Your fingertips touch it delicately.

“From what you’ve told me, he sounds like a great man, love.”

You smile softly and nod at no one, feeling an ache in your chest. You’re uncertain if it will ever truly fade.

“I love you, Peter,” you whisper pressing a kiss to your fingertips before pressing them to the gravestone. “I’ll always love you, no matter what.”

“I love you, darling. Forever. Never forget that.”

You straighten up and sigh again, feeling the winter breeze biting your skin. You pick up the frozen flowers that you’ve collected from all the graves to dispose of them appropriately and nod at Peter’s gravestone.

“Happy New Year, love. We’ll see what this new year brings, hm? I look forward to it. I know you’ll be there with me along the way.”

“Forever, darling.”

You nod once again before you head home, keeping an eye out for any threats but there seems to be nothing amiss. You return home and prepare your belongings. You baked some cakes for the party at Miles’s universe and one more on top of other sweets for when you head to Miguel’s.

You head to the first universe, where you spend close to two hours. As soon as you arrive, you're welcomed by Miles's neighbors who have grown to know you, or at least the version all the spider members agreed you'd play, Miles’s school mentor. You're eventually greeted by Miles and his parents and in a matter of minutes, you find yourself with a plate full of food and sitting under the water tower with all your friends. The ambiance is lively with outside twinkling lights hanging all across the rooftop. The scent of food fills the air and the building's DJ is keeping the mood light with their song choices. You have a great time, listening and talking with your friends about the year, recalling memories you've made over the three hundred and sixty-five days.

At last, you depart from the party, but not before giving each of your friends, including Mary Jane, Mayday, and Gayatri, a hug for the new year since you most likely won't see them until later tomorrow. You head back to your universe to pick up the last baked items and then head to Miguel's just on time.

You immediately find yourself in Miguel's living room. Music fills the air thanks to Miguel’s new record player that you gifted him just a few days ago for Christmas. The thought of him already using it so much warms your heart.

“Hey.”

You turn to the voice. Miguel. Your smile grows at the sight of him as he stands at the entrance of his living room, looking cozy as always in a beige turtleneck sweater. He gives you a soft smile with pink cheeks, probably from the heat of the kitchen since he cooked dinner.

“Hey, Happy New Year’s Eve,” you say.

“Happy New Year’s Eve. May I take that?” he asks, gesturing to your reusable bag with baked sweets.

You nod and walk closer to him, he meets you halfway and takes the bag from you gently.

“I baked a cake and a few other things. Also, Mr. and Mrs. Morales sent you food. I packed it in there as well. They wish you a Happy New Year,” you tell him, passing on the well wishes from the Morales family.

“Thank you for bringing it. I’ll be sending them a thank you card this week with Miles,” Miguel answers, still smiling.

He tells you to follow him as he leads the way to his kitchen and dining area, the scent of food immediately surrounding you. Like always, Miguel places your bag of baked sweets on the counter before he turns and gestures to your coat. He offers to help take it off, and you let him, finding some relief once it’s off. After hanging your coat, Miguel leads you to the stove to show you everything he’s cooked.

“Una taquiza,” Miguel says. “I cooked different meats like carne asada, chorizo, al pastor, and two more, **so we have options. I also made three different salsas, and of course there’s the toppings, like cilantro and diced onion, and a few other things.”

You smile at Miguel’s set up and tell him what kind of tacos you want. As always, Miguel serves you your food, asking you to take a seat once you tell what you want. He moves through the kitchen with ease as he prepares your food, talking quietly with you as music continues to fill the air. Not long after, the two of you sit side by side, enjoying delicious tacos topped with cilantro and diced onion and the salsas Miguel prepped, even with some grilled banana peppers and a glass with agua de Jamaica.

All throughout dinner, the two of you talk about the year and other things. You even share with Miguel that you visited your loved ones earlier, which leads Miguel to tell you about his own visit to Conchata and Gabriel’s resting place. Noticing the look on his face, probably about Gabriella, you change the subject to the record player, which instantly lights up his eyes.

“I’ve ordered more records,” he says, as the two of you head to the living room, after taking care of dishes. “I got you a few that I remembered you like as well. They’ll be arriving in a few days.”

You glance at him, smiling softly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he says quietly, hands in his pockets as the two of you stand in front of the record player.

“Thank you,” you answer, equally quiet.

“Always.”

You sigh softly as you listen to the music. It’s a record from your universe that you gifted Miguel so he could start his own collection. The two of you hang out in his living room, listening to music as Miguel tells you about the records he bought. You can’t help but smile as you see his excitement about them, making you feel more than satisfied with your decision to gift Miguel his own record player.

An hour later, the two of you sit in his living room. You’re each on one of his couches, the music still playing, yet it’s a different record now. The fireplace is on and outside, the citizens of Nueva York are already setting off fireworks. For a few seconds, you both stay quiet, listening to the music and fireworks until Miguel breaks the silence.

“What if…” Miguel starts, thinking about something that’s been on his mind.

You look at him, wondering what he’s going to say.

“What if… we go to Miles’s universe?” he asks quietly, meeting your gaze. “So, we can be with them as the new year starts.”

You stare at him, blinking softly as you realize he said “we” not “you” meaning…

“You want to…?” you start but trail off, trying to confirm that you’re understanding what he’s saying.

Miguel continues to hold your gaze with a soft smile on his face. “We can find a nearby rooftop…”

“One that’s empty so we don’t attract attention,” you finish, smiling.

“Yes. Do you want to?”

You nod, smiling. “If you’re up to it, yes but - please don’t feel pressured to if you’re not comfortable with it.”

Miguel shakes his head. “Last year you didn’t get to exactly see them as the new year started. You were here with me. I know how much they mean to you, and how much you mean to them. I don’t want you to… choose,” Miguel explains. “As long as it’s an empty rooftop, I’ll be fine. Promise,” he adds to reassure you as he notices your concern.

“Okay, but if at any point you don’t feel like it any more, please don’t hesitate to tell me and we can come back,” you reply softly.

“Will do,” he tells you with a soft smile.

“Alright, but you want to bundle up. It’s freezing. Go on and put more layers,” you tell him.

Miguel continues to smile, finding your concern for him regarding the weather sweet. “Alright, I’ll be right back,” he says before he heads upstairs to his bedroom. He quickly goes through his closet, finding a coat that he slips on in seconds. He grabs a scarf and throws it around his neck before he grabs the mittens you gifted him just a few day ago. In a minute, he’s on his way back downstairs.

You turn from a window just as he steps back into the living room. You find yourself unable to tear your eyes away at the sight of him in a coat. For some reason, the sight makes you feel something you can’t quite pinpoint in the moment but you brush it off. Your eyes move to the mittens, the ones you gifted him a few days ago, in one of his hands before he leads the two of you back to the kitchen where he places the mittens on the counter. He walks towards the cupboards.

“I just thought that we could use something to keep us warm,” he says as he pulls out two thermos.

You raise an eyebrow in curiosity before you watch him open a pot that’s been sitting at the back of his stove, one that he didn’t open earlier. You smile as you guess what’s inside, and sure enough, Miguel confirms your suspicions as he begins to pour café de olla into one thermos before moving to the next one. He turns around to face you, holding the two thermos now.

“Ready?” he asks as he hands you one before he grabs his mittens with his free hand now.

“Ready,” you reply as you hold your thermos, already wearing your coat and your other accessories since you put everything back on while he went upstairs.

The two of you head back to his living room where Miguel opens a multidimensional portal to Miles’s universe. In a matter of seconds, you’re both standing on an empty rooftop. You lead the way to Miles’s building, knowing your way around more than Miguel does. You swing from rooftop to rooftop, with Miguel behind. He follows you closely, grinning to himself as you sneak past rooftops with people having their own parties until at last, you stop on the closest empty rooftop to Miles’s building.

The two of you stand side by side, looking across to where your group of friends are. As always, they’re hanging out by the water tower, away from the crowd to avoid raising suspicions, especially with Noir and Spider-Ham. You wait a few seconds before you notice their spidey senses go off, causing them to turn towards Miguel and you. You wave at them as they stare back with shocked faces. You grin as you realize the reason, turning to look at Miguel, who stares at them as he holds his thermos. His face is relaxed. There’s no smile or grin but there’s also no glare.

“Miguel… If you-” you stop when Miguel turns to look at you.

“It’s alright… I’m alright, don’t worry. I’m just thinking about how it’s actually really cold. Are you okay with your coat?” he asks, glancing at your attire with concern in his eyes.

“Oh, yes. I’m okay, don’t worry,” you reassure him just as you notice your friends swing towards the rooftop you’re on.

“Well… this is a surprise,” Peter B. says as he places Mary Jane down, who nods while holding Mayday.

“A big surprise,” Pav adds, as he lands with Gayatri.

The rest of the group lands on the rooftop, staring at Miguel and you like you’ve grown an extra head. You give them a subtle look, asking them not to stare because you don’t want Miguel to feel uncomfortable or overwhelm when he’s trying. Thankfully, your friends catch your drift, hiding their surprise as they begin to greet the two of you.

“You guys hungry? There’s still so much food left, we could all probably eat seconds,” Miles says offering.

“Is there still some of that flan left?” you ask with shiny eyes, which Miguel notices.

“Yeah! I can bring you guys some food. To be honest, I feel kind of hungry myself,” Miles says with a little frown.

“You know… Me, too,” Noir replies.

“We’ll get some food, then” Miles says. “Be right back.”

You watch as Miles, Hobie, Margo, and Gwen swing back to the other rooftop. You watch in amusement as you see webs flying around, gathering food.

“And no one notices,” Miguel says amused as he notices the webs, too.

“Everyone is too busy talking,” you murmur softly, turning around as Noir and Spider-Ham approach Miguel.

“Nice mittens,” Noir tells Miguel. “Helpful for a piercing, cold night like this.”

“This kind of weather takes me back to when…” Spider-Ham begins, sharing some story from his universe with Noir and Miguel as you’re suddenly but gently pulled backwards.

“Um, hi?” you say as you find Mary Jane and Peter B., each holding on to one of your arms and tugging you away from Miguel.

“So…” Mary Jane starts, holding Mayday, who also seems to be staring at you with curiosity.

“So?” you repeat, sounding more like a question.

“How did you do it?” Peter B. asks.

“Did what?” you ask confused once they stop pulling you. You look around them to see Miguel. His back is to you as Spider-Ham is still talking. Noir gives you a quick glance before he turns his attention back to Porker. You suddenly feel like this is some little plan.

“How did you get Miguel to agree to attend? He never likes to go to anything, even HQ events,” Peter B. says, confused.

“I… Didn’t. He offered.”

“Oh,” Mary Jane simply says.

“What?” Peter B. says.

Mayday laughs in Mary Jane’s arms.

“Are you guys okay?” you ask.

“We’re perfectly fine,” Mary Jane says with a glance to Peter.

“Yeah, we’re fine. Just… chatting,” he replies.

“Right…” you answer, giving them each a glance.

You turn to Mary Jane as she’s called over by Gwen, who has returned to the rooftop with some food. She heads over, carrying Mayday away and leaving you with Peter B. alone. You raise an eyebrow as he stares at you. He shakes his head and smiles, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“Kid… I don’t know how you did it but… I’m glad,” he says as the two of you stare at Miguel. He’s still caught up with Noir and Spider-Ham, but seems to feel the gazes because he looks over his shoulder. His eyebrows furrow as he realizes you’re not near him anymore. Peter looks away, trying to hide the fact that he was staring. You, however, continue to stare back at Miguel. He meets your gaze before his eyes, subtly and without your knowledge, follow Peter’s arm around your shoulder. He gives you a slight nod before turning back to Noir and Porker.

“He offered. I didn't ask him,” you tell Peter B. quietly once Miguel has turned his attention back to the two men.

Peter nods, smiling. “He's… I'm just really happy for him and for you.”

You smile at him, remembering his talk from Thanksgiving, when he told you that he was happy you and Miguel were moving forward and had each other after being closed off and distanced from others for so long.

“Thank you,” you whisper and he nods.

“I just hope… You know what this means. It’s a big step for Miguel, Y/N. A very big one. And I’m so proud of him. And of you. The two of you have come so far and - ugh, I’m growing sentimental, aren’t I?” he asks with a soft groan. “I already had to stop myself earlier, just thinking about another year passing and Mayday growing up too fast for my liking but I just - I’m proud of Miguel, you, and all of us. And, I feel good about the future. About this new year, you know? I think we’re going to be okay,” he says as the two of you watch the other spiderlings swing back to the rooftop. “Everything is going to be okay.”

“I have a good feeling, too,” you answer before you repeat his words. “Everything is going to be okay.”

“Hey! I got the flan!” Miles says, waving you and Peter B. over.

You chuckle and nudge Peter B.. “C’mon, your favorite. You better hurry up before I eat it all.”

“I’ve already eaten two slices, I don’t think I can - or should - eat another one,” he replies with a frown.

“More for me,” you answer as the two of you head over to the group where food is being passed out.

You end up taking a seat on the edge of the rooftop with a plate on your lap. Once settled, you gesture to Miguel to join you and wait for him, shivering slightly as a cold breeze hits you. You’re surprised when you feel something being wrapped around your neck before the fabric rolls down your front - a scarf, Miguel’s to be specific. You look up at him as he takes a seat next to you, opting to sit on the side from which the breeze is coming from, and not by accident. Miguel purposely chooses this side to shield you from the breeze with his own frame.

“Your scarf,” you tell him quietly as you hear your friends talking in the back, though you pay no attention.

“You’re cold,” Miguel simply answers as he brings a piece of flan to his mouth with a fork, avoiding your gaze.

You nod. “If you need it back, please let me know.”

He turns to look at you again, nodding. “This flan is amazing. No wonder Peter had two slices.”

You chuckle as you bring your own fork to your mouth but stop halfway as Miguel’s words truly sink in about Peter and the flan. Did Miguel hear what Peter and you were talking about previously? You look over at him but his face reveals nothing.

All your friends end up sitting on the edge of the rooftop to eat, joining Miguel and you. You notice Miles sits on Miguel’s other side, keeping enough distance to respect his tío’s boundaries. You look at yourself, realizing you’re too close to him, so you subtly shift over, moving closer to Margo, who raises an eyebrow at you. You shrug and keep eating as someone says there’s only forty minutes left before the new year.

As you eat, your friends share funny things that have happened so far after you left the party earlier with Miguel and you. You’re so engrossed in the conversation that you don’t even notice it until you bring your arm down from eating that Miguel seems to have moved closer to you. It becomes clear when you brush arms with him. You keep your gaze on the party scene, listening to the music the DJ is playing for the night. Your face reveals nothing but you’re silently thinking about Miguel’s scarf wrapped around your neck, the warmth from him being near, and how he’s blocking the cold breeze with his body, which makes you wonder if he did it on purpose. You realize, he did.

Your attention is redirected when you spot Mr. and Mrs. Morales from across the rooftop, waving at all of you. You greet them with a smile and a wave before looking sideways, finding Miguel giving a wave of his own and a nod of appreciation before he turns to Miles.

“Please give my gratitude to your parents for the invitation and the amazing food, mijo.”

“I- I will, tío. Thank you. I can already tell you they’re happy you’re here,” Miles replies gently.

Miguel gives Miles a nod, a hint of a smile on his lips that leaves Miles with wide eyes.

You turn away and continue to eat, smiling to yourself.

“I think I’m going to grab another slice of flan,” Miguel mutters to you.

“I think - I probably shouldn’t. I’ve eaten way too much sugar today and I’m going to pay for it later when I can’t sleep,” you reply with a grin.

“Well, you have the day off tomorrow, so you can stay up without any worries,” he replies, meeting your gaze. “I’m probably going to stay up late, too, so...” Miguel trails off.

“Staying up on nights like these is fun, especially with… amazing people.”

“I think so, too,” he replies, giving you a soft grin.

Caught up in your own little world, neither of you notice Miles’s parents still watching from across the rooftop, with a smile on their faces.

“Mira, she did it,” Mrs. Morales says with a soft smile as they watch you and Miguel sitting side by side, talking like nothing, even noticing the small grin the leader and founder of the Spider Society gives you. “I told you,” she adds, as they turn around to head back to the party.

“Well, we’re yet to see it fully happen” Mr. Morales responds.

“Con esas miradas… Jeff, be honest here,” she replies, eliciting a laugh from Mr. Morales before he pulls her closer.

“Time will tell, mi amor.”

Shortly after, you look at the time on your gizmo. There’s only twenty minutes left until the new year. You sigh softly as you look down at the next building. You decided to climb up to the next rooftop just for a few moments, especially when Miguel was approached by Spider-Ham again, apparently he didn’t finish his story earlier. You smile and shake your head as you notice Miguel’s eyebrows creased in concentration, looking down at Porker as the latter tells his story.

You look up at the sky, knowing that in a little while, it will be lit up by fireworks, welcoming the new year. You pull your coat closer, trying to shield yourself from the wind as you reflect on the year. It’s your first full year in the Spider Society and only the second year that you’ve spent with friends, with family, after being alone for three years following the death of your Peter, who was the last bit of family you had in your universe. You glance down at your friends, hearing their laughter and chatter as they move about the rooftop and before you know it, tears spill down your eyes.

You quickly wipe them away but more roll down your cheeks, making you turn away to prevent anyone from seeing you. However, a pair of red eyes have been looking after you from the moment you left the rooftop and they immediately notice your tears.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you - do you mind if I just - I need to check something,” Miguel says to Porker. “I’m sorry,” he adds as he’s already heading towards the wall, climbing it within seconds using his webs. He finds you on the other side of the rooftop, your head hanging low. “Y/N?” he says softly, approaching you.

You turn sideways and quickly clean your tears. “Hey, I’m just…” you manage to say. “I think this wind got to me, that’s all.”

Miguel frowns, walking closer to you. “Y/N…”

“I’m okay, Miguel,” you reply softly as you finish wiping your tears, turning to face him at last. You give him a small smile, eyes a little red.

The sight makes Miguel’s heart ache. He’s not okay seeing you like this and it shows on his face as his frown deepens.

“They’re happy tears, I promise,” you say at last. You walk over to the other side, looking down at your friends again. “I was just thinking about… All those years I was alone,” you whisper so softly, your tone carrying some sadness.

The sight of your teary eyes and the sound of your voice makes Miguel wish he could take your sadness away and make it his own.

“I went from having my little family and friends to having no one, and I’m to blame for that. I pushed my friends away, hoping that they’d be safer away from me. I don’t regret my decision but… I won’t lie. Some days felt… Some days were not great but now I have this,” you say pointing down at your friends. You turn to look at him. “I have…”

Miguel holds your gaze, his face expression softening. He gives you a nod, knowing that you’re deciding whether or not to say what you want to say and encouraging you to.

“I have you. I have all of you in my life and I’m so - thankful for it,” you reply with a smile as a few more tears roll down your face. “I’m sorry - I don’t know what got into me,” you apologize, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.

“Don’t apologize,” Miguel whispers as his hands balled into fists. He can’t stand the sight of you crying, even if it’s “happy tears” as you said. He wishes he could reach over and dry them with his hands. “It’s okay… It’s understandable,” Miguel says softly, understanding what you’re going through for he was thinking about it earlier. This year has been so different, so much better than previous years have because he’s had you by his side and the others when he has let them. “They’re…”

“A little family,” you answer and Miguel nods, smiling softly.

A little family. One that neither of you ever expected to have but you do.

“I’m sorry. I guess - I’m feeling a little sentimental especially after going to visit my loved ones,” you say, wiping some tears away and turning to face your friends below.

“It’s okay…” Miguel reassures you, stepping closer as you keep your gaze on the next rooftop.

You nod, trying to blink out the last tears. You don’t want to make Miguel uncomfortable nor dampen the festive mood, even if you’re not sad but just filled with gratitude for the amazing people you have in your life. Your thoughts are interrupted and you’re filled with surprise once again when you feel soft fabric pressed to one of your cheeks.

Miguel stands near you, looking at you with a soft expression on his face. He tried to fight it but in the end, his need to comfort you won over. Now, he gently dabs his scarf, the one still wrapped around your neck, over your cheeks to dry them.

You stand still, frozen by the act, as this is the most intimate gesture Miguel has ever done for you. You feel the softness of the fabric, and how gentle he dabs your skin with it. Even though there’s no skin-to-skin contact, you’re silently overwhelmed by the gesture - by the milestone - Miguel has reached just minutes before the new year arrives.

Noticing your cheeks are dry now, Miguel lets go of the scarf, letting it fall against your coat once again. He takes a step back, avoiding your gaze.

“I…” he starts.

“Thank you, Miguel,” you whisper softly, offering him a small smile of gratitude.

Miguel nods before his red eyes meet yours. You can’t help but notice his red cheeks, and wonder if it’s from the weather or from something else.

“Always,” he replies gently, giving you a soft smile.

“Mayday, this is how you throw a snowball, sweetie. See?” you hear Peter B.’s voice. “Now your turn. You grab it like this and - wait! Look out!”

You turn just as you see a snowball heading your way, straight to your face. You lift your hand to cover yourself but the snowball never hits your hand. Instead, it hits Miguel’s hand because he placed it on front of yours to shield you.

“Peter,” Miguel says, looking down at him.

“I’m sorry - I was trying to teach Mayday but man - she’s got a throw, doesn’t she?” Peter replies with a grin before he laughs, picking up Mayday over his head.

You laugh softly and shake your head. “She’s already so strong. Imagine in a few more years,” you say.

Miguel turns to you, happy to hear you laugh. He smiles. “It’s going to be interesting but… we’ll be there to help out with her. She’ll have great mentors,” he says as he notices Peter offering Mayday to Hobie to carry. The younger Spider-Man accepts, giving her a little salute.

You grin. “That’s true.”

“You guys coming down from up there or?” Hobie asks, glancing at the two of you.

You share a glance with Miguel before you both jump down, joining the group again.

“Five minutes left!!” Gwen announces as she pulls out little hats and glasses with different years printed on them.

“It’s the 2020s here. I forgot,” someone says.

Miguel raises an eyebrow at this. You turn as you hear Margo realize it’s the 2020s in Miles’s universe.

“You’re going to get to celebrate the 2020s,” you tell Miguel, since the 2020s in his universe took place decades ago before he was even born.

“That’s… true,” Miguel answers, realizing it as Gwen passes out hats and glasses with everyone’s year printed on it. He hesitantly accepts his from Gwen before she moves to you, handing you your designated year. You thank her and place the hat on your head, saving the glasses for later.

You look around as everyone puts on their little hats and glasses, finding Peter and Mary Jane fixing Mayday’s but she keeps taking it off. You smile in amusement before turning away to look across the rooftop, to Miles’s building. You can feel the energy change as everyone starts gathering in a group. Someone calls out the time over the the music, which is still lively. You sigh softly. Another year has come and gone but you’re excited about it. You weren’t lying to Peter B. earlier when you told him you have a good feeling about the new year.

Everything is going to be okay.

“Two minutes!” someone says.

You glance at Miguel. He’s still holding his hat and glasses in one hand, staring at the rooftop with Miles’s family and neighbors. There’s a thoughtful look on his face as he silently recalls years when his childhood home hosted large gatherings like this one. He also thinks about the one New Year’s he spent with Gabriella. She was so excited about the fireworks, tugging his sweater for him to look, much like his brother Gabriel did when they were kids. He sighs softly and turns his gaze to you.

“One minute,” Miles says just as everyone gathers around Miguel and you.

You smile at Miguel and give him a little nod as your friends start counting down out loud. He looks at your little hat, grinning softly at the sight.

“Thirty.”

“Twenty-nine.”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Twenty-six.”

“Twenty-five.”

“Ah, man. She keeps taking it off, Mary Jane,” Peter complains softly from somewhere.

“We should just leave it,” MJ responds.

You glance back, noticing Mayday in Mary Jane’s arms as she plays around with the glasses. Peter B. holds on to her hat, giving up on trying to place it on her head.

“Fifteen.”

“Fourteen.”

“Thirteen.”

“Twelve.”

“Eleven.”

“Ten.”

You turn back to the front, waiting for the fireworks to illuminate the night sky.

“Mayday!” Mary Jane calls out before you sense something coming your way thanks to your spidey senses.

“Seven.”

You turn and catch Mayday just in time, causing her to laugh. You laugh softy before she flies out of your arms and towards Miguel, climbing up his torso to his shoulders. Miguel looks equally surprised but ready to catch her just in case she falls.

“Four.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One! Happy New Year!”

You hear your friends and Miles’s neighbors and family yell just as Mayday slides a pair of glasses on Miguel’s face with the year “2024” on them. She doesn’t do too well of a job, making the glasses dangle from one of his ears. Muffled laughter fills your ears and when you glance around, you find your friends trying not to laugh as Miguel stands there with the standard new year’s eve glasses hanging from only one of his ears while Mayday sits on his head, giggling at the fireworks.

Miguel raises an eyebrow that sends everyone to the edge of the rooftop, pretending that they’re no longer laughing at the sight. You, however, don’t hide your smile even when Miguel turns to face you. Seeing your smile, Miguel’s own lips twitch into a grin.

“Smile!” a voice says out of nowhere. “Got it!”

You turn and find Lyla, floating in midair just a few feet away from the three of you. She very quickly displays the photo, showing Miguel and you smiling at each other with Mayday on his head and the 2024 glasses danging from his face.

“Lyla,” Miguel says, shaking his head.

“The first picture of the year, Miguel! For my new photo album. Happy New Year!” she calls out to everyone, appearing in front of your friends and quickly snapping some photos before she disappears. At the same time, Mayday swings away towards her father’s arms, who quickly wraps his arms around her in a protective embrace.

“She said new photo album. I haven’t found the other one,” Miguel says as he finally slides the glasses off, shaking his head softly, yet there’s some amusement in his voice.

“I’m sure one day she’s going to show it to you. Knowing her,” you reply with a chuckle and he nods, agreeing.

“You’re not wrong… Happy New Year, Y/N,” he says quietly to you as your friends are all hugging now, with a soft smile on his face for your eyes only.

“Happy New Year, Miguel,” you reply, smiling. “I wish you a wonderful year.”

“I wish you a wonderful year, too,” he answers before you receive the first hug from Gwen and Margo.

Miguel watches as you’re hugged one by one by your friends. The gang knows Miguel is not open to physical touch, yet, so they stick to wishing him a happy new year verbally.

A few minutes later, with everyone back on Miles’s rooftop to meet Mr. and Mrs. Morales, Miguel and you stand side by side watching Peter B., Mary Jane, and Mayday, who are in front of the two of you. The Parker's point at the sky for Mayday, showing her the fireworks. You smile at the sight, distracted by it.

“Your thermos,” Miguel says, taking your attention from them.

You turn to accept it, remembering the thermos just now since you placed it on the ground at some point during the night to free your hands. You smile as you reach for it with your gloved hands, careful not to drop it or touch Miguel’s hand out of respect for his boundaries regarding physical touch. You notice he has his mitten off on this hand, probably storing it in his coat’s pockets. As you reach for the thermos and slowly wrap your hand around it, you feel it. Despite your precaution to not touch him, you feel Miguel’s pinky wrap around yours softly. He gives your pinky a gentle squeeze before he releases it, letting you fully grasp the thermos and retrieving his hand once he feels you have a good grip of it. He looks down and retrieves his mitten, sliding it on again before he grabs his own thermos from the ground.

You turn to the fireworks, smiling softly to yourself as you think about Miguel’s gesture. You suppose this was his New Year’s “hug.”

“Happy New Year, Y/N,” he says softly.

“Happy New Year, Miguel,” you reply as the two of you continue to watch the fireworks in Miles’s universe for a while longer before you both return to Nueva York.

And just like Miguel said, he stayed up the whole night, with you keeping him company in his living room, and the record player playing soft music. **More café de olla was drank and more of your baked sweets were eaten as the hours went by in his dimension.

You don’t return to your own universe until after you have breakfast with Miguel, due to his invitation. When you return home, you make your way to your bedroom and hang up your coat. You change into fresh clothes and are thinking about taking a short nap as you start putting your gloves and scarf away. It’s then that you realize that you still have Miguel’s scarf. You forgot to give it to him when the two of you returned to his universe. You hold it in your hands, appreciating the softness of it before you tentatively pull it closer to your face, his scent filling your lungs. You put it on your bed and shake your head at yourself in disbelief before you enter your bathroom to freshen up.

At last, you climb into bed and set up an alarm even though it’s still morning. When you pull the covers, you accidentally pull the scarf, too, but instead of putting it away, you pull it closer before you settle down. You fall asleep shortly after, softly inhaling Miguel’s scent from his scarf. 🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆

Translations: Una taquiza - this is a like a taco buffet; the main dish are tacos and you can choose whatever meat and toppings you want Carne asada -grilled meat, usually beef Chorizo - pork sausage Al pastor - marinated pork meat; Agua de Jamaica - hibiscus tea café de olla - coffee made from a pot Flan - a dessert; custard topped with caramel tío - uncle mijo - literally means "my son" but is used as an endearment term friends, too Mira - Look Con esas miradas - With those gazes mi amor - my love _________

Posting this at around 10pm on my time, just before the new year. Wasn't planning on writing this but here we are! This is officially my last writing piece of the year. Just wanted to say thank you for all the support and love for Nonviolent Communication. I never expected for it to get this much support and love, so THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! It truly means a lot to me and it has been amazing having the opportunity to write especially for a character I've grown really fond of. I also want to thank all the amazing readers that have created fanart for the story. I just saw someone posted a new one and I'm SO HAPPY AND THANKFUL FOR IT <<<<<<3. I will get to it in a bit as I'm getting ready to hang out with my family but just wow. 🥺 I'm so honored and grateful for every single piece of fanart that has been made. If you haven't already, please go and check it out and show some support to the artists. You can find the fanart here! THANK YOU AGAIN!!

Also, thank you for the lovely asks and comments. I always enjoy reading and responding to them!!

Thank you for everything and I'll be back with part 12 very soon. I wish you all a Happy New Year, filled with all positive things!!! ❤️

-Alondra

[tiredfox64]

May I request a part 2 to your Havik “You Have Freedom” fanfic? This felt so good to read. Truly liberating 💖

Test Your Freedom

Yip notes: I saw that you really loved the first part. Hopefully I can do you justice with this one as well.

Pairing: Havik x Gn reader

Warnings ‼️: Mention of abusive/toxic relationship, violence (not towards you), he is so strange, what a little goober

You are lucky. Very lucky indeed. Havik was your unexpected savior and you were grateful to have him in your life.

It’s been a year since you started dating him. Every day you were healing from the horrible past that you experienced. You were weary of him dropping his façade and would start gaslighting you into thinking you were crazy like all your exes did. But it never happened and it never will. He’s not like the others. He’s better than them.

I wasn’t lying.

Havik lets you do your own thing while he does his own. You go out more frequently to have fun with your friends or even have the chance to see your family. You get to eat whatever you want without him judging you and telling you to watch your weight. You don’t need to ask for his permission, just tell him what you are going to do so he knows in case of anything. In return, you don’t pay any mind to what he does. It’s best that you don’t. He doesn’t want you to know all the heinous acts he commits.

The one thing you haven’t done with him is introduce him to anyone. Not that it really matters to him his presence will be found out one day. But to you, you feel guilty for hiding him away from everyone. The first guy who has treated you right and you were afraid to even have your closest friends meet him. You could have been worried that they would assume the worst of him based on his looks. Or even that he would kill you one day. If that were true he would have done that a long time ago. Havik genuinely loves you and wants you to be safe. The thought that anyone would think negatively when you see him so positively saddens you. Maybe you will hold off on introducing him to others. Slowly expose them to the truth.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

You invited your friends to come over since it’s been so long since they visited. You told Havik to stay in your room till your friends left.

Havik loves you but he won’t listen to every command you give him. When he wants to move, he’ll move.

So as you and your friends are catching up about what’s been going on and having some snacks you hear a ‘thud’ sound from your room. Oh geez, he’s on the move. One of your friends joked about you already having a new partner and your other friends felt like it was in poor taste to say something like that. Your face was blank with the only hint of emotion being a weak smile. You thought if you ignored it then they would ignore it. Your friends couldn’t ignore the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the steps.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Soon enough you heard your friends gasp in horror once they saw Havik. Not only did his mutilated face scare them but since he had no shirt on they could see all the scars he had. The only thing that he had on was a pair of sweatpants and he may not be wearing any boxers under there, my gosh he truly loves being free in every sort of way. And what does he do in response to your friends' reactions? Nothing. He’s just coming down for some food. Like a slab of frozen meat or a head of lettuce. He doesn’t eat normally but you’re not gonna change that.

He got what he wanted from the fridge before heading back up the stairs. All the while you kept that weak smile on your face. You can’t ignore what just happened. It’s like ignoring a buffalo breaking into your house, you can’t.

“What…was…that?” One of your friends asked.

“Uhm…” You debated about telling the truth or not, “My imaginary boyfriend.”

You heard Havik let out an amused ‘hah’ at the top of the steps because your efforts were too ridiculous.

You spilled the beans. You were honest with your friends and told them how you started dating Havik near the time your last ex left you. You told them that he was the one to walk you home. Your friends were unsure about this situation. They’re not gonna victim blame but you did have a bad history when it came to dating. Havik looks like the worst choice you’ve ever made. If they saw how he usually dressed and the weapons he had they surely would think you were in trouble. But they also realize that if you were telling the truth about how long you two were dating that means he was letting you do whatever you please. The others didn’t allow you to do that. You did seem much happier as well, even insisting that they come for a visit. If what you say is true, they want to make sure of it.

They told you to bring him back down so they could “observe” him, whatever that meant. You were unsure but realized that they only wanted the best for you. You told them certain likes don’t ask him about his scars or face, don’t start making rules, don’t start shit in general. You got up to get Havik.

“Could you do me a favor?” You asked him.

“You want me to go down there to have your friends judge me, don’t you.” He hit the nail on the head.

You were about to tell him never mind but he picked you up and threw you over his shoulders. He knew this would happen. Relationships call for this moment. He had one request.

“Don’t have them treat me like a freakshow. I can’t promise I will be gentle with them like I am with you.”

Your friends were alerted by the heavy footsteps and stared at Havik carrying you over his shoulders. He went over to the couch you were sitting on and laid you down before deciding to lay on top of you. His head rested on your chest as his arms wrapped around your waist. If it wasn’t for his burned face your friends would have said he looks peaceful while resting on you.

Your friends began asking him questions like how does he feel about you going out and would he allow you to do certain things like take a week-long vacation. The only answer they got out of him was “I don’t care”. You couldn’t tell if he was saying that in regard to whatever you do or if he was blankly telling your friends he didn’t care what they were asking him. You didn’t get the chance to ask him since they were throwing out questions left and right. After a while, he stopped answering them. Maybe an occasional grunt, but nothing more. He had his eyes closed acting like he fell asleep but you knew he was wide awake.

You’re not afraid that he will be angry after this because you know he will pass it off as something irrelevant. He tends to not listen to people when they are criticizing him. Havik knows at this point that you know he loves you and he knows you love him back. That’s all that matters. Your friends can keep testing, but they will eventually have to accept the truth. He would and could make them accept it now but you would tell him not to because you know what he would do.

Your friends were not too on board with you dating Havik. They find his dismissive behavior to be a red flag. You don’t see it that way because it isn’t that way. He has nothing to hide, this is just how he is because of his past. In fact, he was pretty calm at the moment until someone started slamming their fist against your front door. Then you heard a voice. Your ex’s voice.

His tone was aggressive and you heard him slurring. He was defiantly drunk. It wasn’t even the typical time for happy hour. You heard his voice calling towards you to open the door. He said he knows your friends are in there as well and that they can’t protect you. Immediately his tone changed quickly to begging for you back, saying he will be a better man. You’ve heard those promises before and they were never true.

You began shaking and holding Havik’s head closer to you. He tried his best to soothe you by rubbing your arm. He needed you to let him go. He slowly got up and walked over to the window. Lo and behold he saw your ex. Havik walked back towards you but grabbed one of your friends to drag them closer to you. He advised them to not let you near the windows or doors. They didn’t know what he was about to do but they got the hint when he walked over to the door and immediately headbutted your ex when he opened the door. Your ex fell back with his hands covering his bloody nose and Havik closed the door behind him so you didn’t have to see the bloodbath that would appear.

Havik grabbed your ex by the neck and dragged him to the forest near your home. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ex’s neck, causing a more painful sensation than a burning one. Once he was far away from the house he started wrecking your ex. Havik broke off parts of his own body to use his bones to stab. Your ex stood little chance. He had many opportunities to leave you alone but he always came back. Havik could not stand for that anymore. He would have killed him the first time but you were always around. Now was his chance to do you right and permanently end your suffering.

“You have permission…to die.” He said. It’s ironic that your ex always made you ask for permission. How the tables have turned.

Soon the pleas turned to gargling. Limb after limb was being ripped from Havik’s body only to be regenerated back in seconds. A painful cycle for his victim. An unholy demise for an unholy being. One would not say he was killed like cattle. This was a murder that could not be mentioned in a true crime show. All that was left was a mess that wouldn’t be cleaned up by your boyfriend. He will leave that job to the animals who were already coming close to take a piece of flesh or bone for themselves.

Havik did his best to hide what just happened. Any spot that he saw blood on he ripped that part of his body off to regenerate it back clean. He walked back into the house to spot you nearly hyperventilating. Once you saw him you ran into his arms. You were babbling things that no one could understand. Whatever it was it could wait. You needed to be taken care of. Havik picked you up and had your arms and legs wrap around him before taking you up to your room. Your friends let him do that, feeling like he might be able to calm you down.

When you both were back in your room he laid you on the bed and held you close. He licked your tears away as he comforted you with his words.

“You don’t have to worry anymore. You are free.” “Your chains are broken.” “You will never be controlled again; I’ll make sure of that.” “You did nothing wrong.” “I will make everything better.” “No one will cause you pain if it’s the last thing I do.”

Your breathing started to slow down and your took in every word he said. His licking has become a new comfort for you. Your fear and anxiety went down once you realized it was over. Fully over. Havik pressed his forehead against yours as he allowed your head to rest on your pillows. It was a blur after that.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

You woke up randomly. The golden light of the setting sun filled your room, letting you know that it was getting late. Havik was asleep next to you, drooling away as usual. You needed a drink of water after that emotional episode. You got up and went downstairs.

When you got to the last step you realized your friends were still there. They ran up to you and hugged you while asking if you were okay. You nodded which was relieving to them. They were so worried about you but were grateful to hear your crying stop quickly once Havik brought you upstairs.

They apologized for doubting your boyfriend and doubting you. After seeing how quickly he acted both when defending you and calming you down, they saw him as a green flag. A little weird and horrific, but he’s chill. They were happy that you finally found someone good for you and they promised not to butt it too much with this relationship. They could see clearly that you were in good hands with a man who wanted to give you the freedom you deserved. Hearing that was the greatest thing to you. You knew you had finally won and got what you deserved.

So Havik is a little off. He can be a bit scary and even uncanny to look at. And some of his methods could be extreme. Not a little bit extreme, they are full-on extreme. But when it comes to you, he is perfect for you. You are perfect for him.

The only thing I would ask of you is to keep him on a good path. Do you think you can do that?

Yap notes: I saw a blue jay this morning and immediately when woooooooooah. That has nothing to do with the fic but I thought y'all should know. I wanted to post yesterday but I was having anxiety problems and fell down the rabbit hole of ARGs. Fucking Wyoming. I like and dare i say love Havik now. I lied to my friend and said he scares me. But I'd try my best to give him a kiss. I made a comment on a tiktok yesterday on an edit of him saying i would shove my hand through his chest cavity and take his heart. The creator said he would love that and now that's a headcanon of mine. This was too much and i need to feed my dog. Adiós!

[astarionancuntnin]

Die For You (Epilogue)

summary: a year after their confrontation with the corrupted lords, a fleeting thought crosses astarion's mind as he watches you admiring the crack of dawn.

rating: E

word count: 4.5k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader)

cw: 18+. time skip, fluff (in my angsty fanfic? its more likely than you think!), emotional smut. full list on ao3

a/n: gods, what a ride! this was my very first long fic, and im very happy with how it turned out, considering i had NO idea how this would end up when i first started it! this ending was one of three, based on the poll yall have taken on the second chapter. i hope it lives up to your expectations and im looking forward to all the feedback! this is not my only work, if you wanna be tagged on my other works, feel free to let me know and ill add you to the tag list. thank you all for sticking along! <3

Masterlist

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You're part of the dawn where the light comes from the dark

You're a part of the morning and everything matters

And we are, an atom and a star

You're a part of the movement and everything matters

-

It has been a year since your transformation. A year since you officially died and came back as Astarion’s dark consort; his bride, his eternal love. Since the incident with the corrupted nobles, you’ve only grown stronger, as much as a vampire – and he couldn’t be more proud of you – than as a couple.

Your return among his court was gradual. You were reluctant at first: the lingering fear from the dreadful soiree you experienced still affected you, so Astarion let you watch from the shadows; he would never force you to do something you didn't want to. It's only after two more months that you asked if you could attend, and only if you could stay by his side; your social anxiety wouldn't let you be alone in a room with so many strangers without feeling as if you were asphyxiated. He was beyond thrilled by your request, as he wanted nothing more than to introduce the whole world to his beloved.

It took some more time, but you found yourself joining in on discussions with lords about the state of the city and its economic state. Your teachings were buried deep in your memory, but you retained the most important parts of them, using those to show your knowledge and bring forward ideas to save the city from its downfall following the mindflayer attack. To your surprise, you found yourself right at your place within the high society; it was in your blood after all, and what was the point of running from it when you were clearly a natural? You found out that it was never your title that you dreaded, but rather the association to your parents and contributing to their schemes — something you were glad to not be a part of anymore.

The change was almost seamless: one day you were attached to Astarion's arm, never leaving his side, and the next, you were strolling through the crowd, knowing everyone's name, their occupation, and how influential they were. While Astarion was able to persuade more nobles to ally with him, you’ve been very successful at swaying people to your advantage, using your charms and wits to redirect power from the right people for the good of the city; together, you’re considered the strongest couple in Baldur’s Gate.

You proved yourself countless times, and he was always delighted to present you as his partner.

His equal.

After yet another successful night of dancing and socialising, one where you had convinced a neighbouring lord to fund an orphanage for the children who had lost their parents in the attack, you met up with your lover in your chambers to celebrate the news. In truth, everything you accomplished was a great reason to celebrate.

To see you act with the might of a Lady, smart and witty, and use every tool you had to your advantage made him swoon over you, and one of the best ways to express it was to worship you in bed, spending hours and hours devoting himself to you.

It’s something you thought you would struggle with — the intimacy after the violence you had endured — but you found yourself easily melting in his embrace once you were back at the palace. Just like that first night you spent together and he had let you guide that dance; upon your return, he let you take control until you were the one asking for him to take you however and wherever he wanted, how you grew to crave his touch, the look in his eyes when a sinful thought was shared across your connection, and the faint blush you could spy on cheeks and ears as he painted his vision of you via your bond. The endless teasing throughout the evening sure made the meetings more interesting, and less dreadful, if you had to admit it.

After a great season of events, Astarion cancelled all his meetings for the next tenday to devote his attention to you, and you only. No one was to disturb either of you unless they had a death wish.

And the night of that last meeting, any restraints had broken down, when you almost threw yourself at each other as soon as your last visitor had left the palace. It started out in the hallways, but you were quickly brought into his room to have the privacy you required. You spent the remainder of the night in bed, switching from making love to cuddling, until you were back to straddle him for more; unable to leave the other’s side or even spend a second without your bodies touching.

He kissed each and every part of your body, showing his devotion to you in such a delicate manner that turned you to putty in his hands, embracing away any pain your body had gone through. This past year, he had been the most attentive lover; always in the moment with you, making sure that your eyes met as his hips collided with yours, sharing the same breath that united you both, body and soul. As your bodies fused and you both came undone, you could sense the love, the utter adoration he had for you. Both of you grounded the other and reminded each other that you were not the result of your past; only you chose what to make of it.

There was no one else in the world who could understand you better than each other.

It’s only when you noticed dawn approaching as you nuzzled into his chest, that you realised how long you had been indulging in the other. You chuckled and commented on how you both could use some sleep, since if one of you was tired, the other would be too, and really, how impractical it would be to have you both incapacitated at once.

He took a look at you as he lazily caressed your hair and that’s when he was reminded of the one thing that had been on his mind these last few months. The one thing he dreaded, but couldn’t avoid anymore.

“There is a way, you know…” he said, his voice soft. “To sever the bond. Between creator and consort.” He pauses as you lift your head, frowning as you meet his gaze, and for a second he doubts if he should carry on, but quickly pushes the doubts aside; you deserved to know. To have a chance to decide for yourself, without any ultimatum.

“It is mostly painless,” he continued, “You would remain as you are, a full fledged vampire, but we wouldn’t share our connection anymore; no more mental discussion, no more shared sensations.” You looked at him with a thousand questions in your eyes, as this was the last thing you expected this morning. “I am willing to go through the procedure for you, should you desire it.”

You remained silent through your blinking, until you finally found the words that fought to get out. “You would… really do that?”

This proposition felt so unlike the Astarion who once had you chained up in his dungeons, something that he had agreed had been, and you quote, ‘impolite’, since you last spoke about it. He didn’t regret it — you wouldn’t be in his arms otherwise — but he supposed there could’ve been a better way to talk to you at the reunion.

“As much as I want to keep you all to myself, I can’t bring myself to keep you bound to me after what you’ve been through. It… wouldn’t be fair for me to make that decision for you. I want you to have the chance to make the choice yourself.”

You scanned his expression, and although you saw the sincerity, you also sensed grief. Breaking your bond would sever any type of connection between you both. A part of you would die along with it, and you would lose the possibility of lingering in each other's mind. Even though you understood his intentions, it didn’t make sense for him to propose this when he finally had you to himself. Against your best judgement, you peeked into his mind, searching for an explanation, and what you found completely shattered you.

By offering this to you, Astarion understood that there was a chance you might just… leave. With nothing holding you back, linking you to him, he thought you had no reason to stay. That the sole reason keeping you here was this bond, and even with how close you had become, how much you had grown together in your relationship, how utterly in love you were — in that moment, under all the false confidence, you saw right through him; he was convinced that once the bond was broken, you would leave. Run away from this mess that had been life at his side, and find someone who truly deserved you, saw you for your worth. That you could only degrade yourself if you stayed after what he had put you through. He didn’t believe for a second that you would continue to put up with this life if you had the choice, and yet, here he was proposing it to you, offering you this way out.

You gave him a soft smile, a reassuring one that you hoped carried the intention you had.

“I… would like that.” He nodded, understanding that this was a possibility, and he hoped you would take this opportunity, if only for your own sake, but it didn't hurt any less. “But I do have a condition.”

He smiled sadly, his features softening at hearing you bargaining, a bittersweet reminder of how all of this started. “Anything for you, my dear.”

It’s the warmth of the sun’s embrace that stirs Astarion awake this morning. Gods, he will never tire of it. If only for this reason, his ascension was well worth it, and no one will ever convince him otherwise.

You let your minds connect, telling him your request through your bond, and when you saw the light sparkle in his ruby eyes and his face light up, you knew there was nothing in the world he would like more.

-

That, and seeing his reflection again. He's lost count of the times he spent admiring himself; pausing at every mirror he had meticulously installed around the palace, stealing glances at his reflection, and lingering at the colour of his deep ruby eyes. Those same eyes that had sealed the fate of so many unfortunate souls; these deadly, beautiful weapons, that keep helping him charm the right people. How he went two hundred years without enjoying the sight of himself has him completely astounded. Needless to say, this was an issue no more, and long gone were the days of misery; Nearly two years later, he had everything he ever wanted, at long last.

Everything, and yet his most prized possession remained this little human fighter turned bride.

Really, the only person he ever truly wanted, that he ever loved, even. A feeling that had felt most foreign once upon a time. He never thought he could experience such a strong emotion, something that was forbidden to him just over three years ago — something he would’ve considered a weakness — turned into his greatest strength. A feeling that overwhelmed him to the point where he couldn’t restrain himself from physically expressing it; taking his dark consort in every room, every surface of the palace, until they were both panting, eyes half-lidded and lost in one another. That same feeling that would now have him chanting out her name all night long as he devoted himself to her; her body, her pleasure, her desire for him. How utterly blessed he was to have her just as enamoured for him as he was for her.

As he finally awakens from his reverie, he quickly picks up on the empty spot next to him. Curious, he thinks, she was never the early bird. When he lifts himself on his elbows, that's when he sees her on his balcony, and he takes the time to admire her; his consort, his love, still by his side through it all, blessed by the rising sun’s warmth. It took over a year more after their engagement, as Astarion couldn’t believe her decision to stay, but he finally got over the fear of losing her. After everything that had happened, and the opportunity she was given, she chose to stay and have a life with him. After everything, she still loved him just as deeply, and that day at the altar, she promised to spend the rest of her undead life showing him just how much she did love him.

Content with the sight of her, he finally gets up to join her on the balcony, without bothering to dress up. He sneaks up on her, snuggling her from behind, his hands wrapping around her waist, while he leaves playful kisses along her neck and shoulder to greet her.

“Mmmh, hello my treasure,” he murmurs in the crook of her neck. “Can’t sleep?”

“I was just admiring the sun,” she hums. “It’s funny, I never really bothered to appreciate it until I thought I could never be under its light,” she takes a deep breath as she closes her eyes, taking in the warmth she was basking in. “I never quite realised how beautiful this world is.”

She sighs in his embrace, but it's almost a moan, as she pushes back against him for more contact, “I didn’t think I would disturb you from your precious beauty sleep.”

He can hear her smile through her mumbling, and he smiles in return, “It’s your sleep I’m rather worried about dear.” His kisses linger on her neck, over the bite marks he birthed upon her skin an eternity ago. “And I think you should join me back in bed to remedy it.”

She laughs, “I’m not sure your idea of rest coincides with mine,” she turns around to face him and rests her hands on his bare chest. “Actually, I rather believe you will wear me out more than anything.”

He smirks as he presses her against the edge of the balcony, lifting her nightgown up before propping her up to rest atop it, guiding her legs to wrap around him. “Do you really think so little of me? That I would drag you to bed only to satisfy my carnal desires?”

“Well,” she rolls her eyes as she smiles, “you haven’t given me a reason that proves you would do otherwise.”

She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her, and in the same movement, he wraps his arms around her waist and leans into the nape of her neck, resuming his sweet attention. When his smile widens, he feels the creases in his cheeks, depicting the countless moments of happiness she brought him since she has blessed him with her company.

“I assure you, my love, my intentions were most pure,” he purrs.

She tilts her head aside, offering him more liberties with her neck. “Were they now? Well, if you say so, then I’m sure I can trust you to carry me to bed where I shall resume my rest.”

“Ah, but I’m afraid the offer has expired. You see,” his finger hooks the string of her nightgown, pulling it down, “now, all I can offer,” he pulls down the other one, revealing your breasts to the morning breeze, “is a morning spent fulfilling our matrimonial duties.” “Matrimonial duties?” She exclaims ironically. “What unholy thoughts have you got in mind, I wonder.”

“I could show you, if you would indulge me,” his kisses over her skin become sloppy, his teeth softly grazing her skin while his tongue leaves a faint trail of saliva from her shoulder up to her ear, playfully nibbling it, while one hand reaches for her breast and the other finds its way in the heat between her legs.

“Ah– Astarion…” Her playful tone is replaced by soft moans as he takes a salacious pleasure in touching her in her most sensitive spots.

“What’s that, dear?” His fingers slide against her folds, not yet daring to dip further.

She groans, “You are incorrigible.”

“And yet, I don’t hear you asking me to stop,” he pinches her nipple between his fingers with the hand massaging her generous chest, while his other hand brushes over her clit, lingering near her entrance but intentionally avoiding it. As he hears her ragged breath, he pulls away, cutting any contact between the two of them, and languidly sucks on his fingers to taste her wetness, while his gaze focuses on her, before releasing his fingers with a pop. He tilts his head, with a playful look in his eyes, “Unless that’s what you want?”

She looks at him with lust clouding her vision, barely containing herself, “If you intend on teasing me, my lord, I hope you know what you’ve got coming for you.”

He leans back, assessing the vision of his consort completely lost in her need for him, with a salacious smile tugging at his lips, “My, my, is my little love threatening me?”

“Oh no,” her hands sneak into his hair to grab a handful of it before lightly pulling back and leaning into his ear, murmuring, “This is a promise.”

She lets go of his hair, leaving her hands wandering, and when their eyes meet again, they are darkened by their shared passion for each other. His voice comes out deeper, as he closes the distance between them, their lips now but a whisper apart.

“Then I believe I should make haste to tend to your needs, my lady.”

Their lips finally meet into a passionate kiss, the tenderness of it even surprising Astarion — considering the eager tone she had previously used — but he melts into it, pouring all of his longing into the kiss, just as she does when her hands pull back to hold his face closer. He picks her up from the edge of the balcony and carries her back into their room, where he lays her out on their bed and removes her nightgown, slowly unravelling her soft skin to the morning afterglow. The sight of her, bare before him — only for him; with her legs parted and inviting him in, her body bearing only the bite marks he had given her — is enough to break any restraints left in him. He couldn’t bear to tease her longer, he needed her as much as she needed him.

Licking his lips, he kneels at the end of the bed, crawling his way up to his wife. He lifts her leg over his shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses up to the apex of her thighs, until he reaches the centre of his desire. He breathes her in, the scent of her pleasure stirring something deep within him, before his tongue finds its way between her slick folds, where he finally licks her, from the bottom of her entrance right up to her clit.

She moans softly, already lost to the magic of his tongue, and that's when he lifts her thighs over his shoulders, locking her legs around him, and holding them in place to feast on his meal.

His tongue dives into her, reaching into the depth of her cunt and drinking in her nectar, the effects of it visibly affecting him, as his hardened cock throbs between his belly and the soft sheets of the bed. His hips move unconsciously, searching for a temporary relief as he moves his tongue out of her to lick his way back up, where he finds her swollen bud.

While his hand sneaks away from her thighs, into her dripping entrance, his eyes flick up to find her unravelling before him; her head thrown back, and her hands grabbing at the sheets, holding on for dear life.

“Gods, please…” she begs, her breathing failing her, and he smiles between her legs, as he pumps two fingers into her.

With a final flick of his tongue over her clit, he lifts his head up, still hitting that sweet spot inside of her, “Yes, little love?”

“I… I need you— gods, I need you.”

“You have me, my love,” he says, his voice soft like velvet. “All of me, however you wish.”

He knew what she meant, but he wanted to hear her say it. He would never tire of having her melt under his touch, coming apart under him.

“Inside me,” she whimpers as she clenches around his fingers working wonders inside of her. “Now.”

The urgency of her tone was clearly noticeable, but Astarion wants to push her further, “But I am inside you, my dear.”

She lifts herself up on her elbows, her hair completely dishevelled and her chest rising with each deep breath, staring down her husband with a mix of fury and lust. “If you don’t fuck me right this instant— Ahhh ffffuck!”

While she was talking, Astarion went back to teasing her sensitive bud and accelerating the pace of his fingers thrusting in. “Oh, I’ll fuck you alright. By the time I'm done with your delicious cunt, you’ll only see stars, my sweet.”

He could easily make her go over the edge only with his mouth and his fingers; he had done it countless times in the past already, he was well aware of his abilities, but nothing compared to the feeling of her tightening around his cock and milking him dry while he pumped every drop of his seed into her. It was his favourite way to come with her, and he took great pleasure in making her shatter in every way imaginable. They had all the time in the world to discover the many ways she would cum under his touch.

“Mmh ahh— Pleasepleaseplease Astarion, I want to feel you inside of me, I’m begging you—” Her words get lost in her throat, instead replaced by cries as she nears her climax, until—

“Ah,” Astarion pulls away completely, “but how could I deny my lovely wife when she begs so beautifully.”

Her groans turn into small cries as his teasing starts to overwhelm her, and that’s when he drops her legs down on their bed and crawls over her, aligning himself with her swollen pussy, before linking their hands together to pin her down. He leans down and stops right before kissing her, simply to push her to the limits of her patience, and when she hisses at him for being just out of reach, he shoves his cock inside of her, stilling her.

He remains unmoving, always taking his time with his first thrust to take in the feelings of her tight walls, pulsing around him. Astarion rests his forehead on hers, their eyes lost in the other, carrying the words they had learned to communicate aloud after they had broken their bond.

Carrying on with this ritual had pushed them to communicate better and work on their relationship, creating a new type of bond with the other. They had learned to understand the other’s body language so well that sometimes, a simple look was enough to communicate their exact thoughts from across the room.

His fingers dig into the mattress as he tightens his hold on her, and he resumes his languid strokes, “Focus darling. I want to see every little expression you make while I fuck you. Can you do that for me?”

She tries to nod, but his depraved speech only pushes her further and faster to her climax, as she fights to keep her eyes open and focused on him.

When he feels her cunt’s grip thighten around him, he can barely contain himself anymore, “Fuck, just like that, love,” his groans and the wet sound of their hips slapping against each other gets only louder as he accelerates the pace, nearing his own climax, “Gods, you’re so tight around me— I’m gonna fill you up to the brim, and you’re gonna take it all like the good girl you are.”

A few more thrusts is all it takes to send her over the edge, screaming out as her climax erupts through her like electricity flowing through her veins, followed quickly by Astarion who stills inside of her, shooting thick ropes of come that leak out from her, into their bedsheets. It was the least of his worries right now — he could always change them later, but they would be ruined in the following hour regardless.

They both remain panting, basking in the bliss of this aftermath, until he takes a look at their hands still intertwined. On her right hand, he spies the sparkling diamond ring adorning her finger, the public display of their unison matching his own, and he brings it to his lips for a brief kiss, before taking the time to admire it, thinking back to how it all started.

“I told you, Lady Ancunín suits you beautifully, my love.”

She smiles sweetly, eyes tired from their lovemaking, “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

And he knew she spoke the truth. Their marriage didn't only solidify their relationship, but it protected her from solicitors who might've been tempted to try giving her advances after the news of Virric's death had been propagated, and by taking Astarion's last name, she was free from any remaining links to her family, a name she detached herself from completely years ago already, now legally unbinded.

She didn't even need to explain the extent of her reasoning; the second she proposed, Astarion was on his way to commission matching rings for them. Truth be told, he had wanted to make the proposal himself, but after knowing of her past with Virric, he didn’t dare bring it up first. She did give him the chance to announce the news at their next soiree, and it's the only thing he had spoken about that evening.

They would be Aeterna Amantes. Lovers forever, until the world burns down.

Gods know that he would burn the world down himself if she merely asked — not that she would ever, he knew her better than that — and she was the only one he would ever get on his knees for.

She was the goddess who finally answered his prayers that had gone unanswered all these years ago; the sun that made him feel alive once more; the brightest star that guided him throughout the night; the very reason he decided to live on, and yet, if it came to it, he knew he would die for her.

-

Pars avant l'aube

Quand la lumière veut nous voir

Quelque part dans le monde

Un oiseau s'endort sans bruit

Toi et moi

Dans la nuit on trouvera

Quelque part où déposer

Les fleurs qu'on a cueillies

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

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[violetasteracademic]

Hello!! I absolutely adore your posts and how well you've researched and thought everything out. I am curious what you think about Mor being Azriel's mate. I go back and forth on the question - it's a lot to tackle with Mor's sexuality and how mates are chosen etc. I feel like there's some language that could indicate they're mates, but I know it's not a popular theory in the Elriel bubble and ACOTAR fandom as a whole. It would also solve the question of "what would Azriel do if him and Elain aren't mates, but he found his mate later on?" Just curious if you have any thoughts on the matter. :)

Hello my love! First of all, I want to genuinely thank you for your kind words. I have quite a few days in this fandom where I wonder if I fit in here, but my deep enjoyment for writing theory posts and fanfics keeps me going! You caught me on a day I was sort of in my feels about it, so it was really lovely to see a kind word attached to the ask!

I am 100% a Morrigan and Azriel are Cauldron breeding mates just like L/ucien and Elain truther, and I have soooo much to get into about it and am bringing my usual receipts. I'm pretty convinced that even if she ultimately opts not to go that direction, she for sure was thinking heavily about it.

This post is EXCEPTIONALLY long (as usual) because I think Morrigan is a character that receives unjust hate in every microcosm of the fandom and some things need to be noted, and I hope you all will give it a chance even if you dislike Mor or hate this theory!

It is important to remember that every character is in fact *not* a real person, but the author. And sometimes character flaws are not intentionally curated for arcs and development, but they are author flaws. I believe this is partly the case with Morrigan. I don't spend a lot of time critiquing SJM. This is not because she is above reproach, it's simply because there are plenty of people out there doing it and there are valid spaces for that. That being said, I cannot address the Morrigan situation without addressing the very real issue of SJM and her blind spots when it comes to representation. This is something that SJM and Bloomsbury have addressed and made necessary steps to improve:

Time article published January 30th 2024, found here.

SJM has fallen into a lot of bad tropes and stereotypes when it comes to her BIPOC and LGBTQ representation, to the point where she has hired sensitivity readers to ensure she does not continue to so do. This is a great thing, and personally I think sensitivity readers should be the bare minimum and the absolute norm and not solely employed in response to criticism. Alas, it is a new addition and her past mistakes live on.

Sexuality is a spectrum, and while some people might identify with the way SJM has represented it, she had a pattern that she did not break until recently: Tokenizing sexual representation as bi characters interested in having sex with all genders and orientations without experiencing emotional attraction outside of their preferred gender.

*TOG spoiler* The Aedion bi reveal in the second to last book served literally no purpose other than- look! More representation! He had no romantic or emotionally intimate experiences with men throughout the series, but very suddenly and randomly reveals he has sex with men. It is mentioned once, then never again, because he is pursuing a heterosexual relationship. That is a valid experience with sexuality but in the context of ToG it was a brow-raising and unearned attempt to throw in an extra queer character because she was being criticized. That's a hey you tried but maybe do better next time.

But then it happened again with Helion- freely having sex and experiencing physical attraction with both men and women but only suggestions of having fallen in love with a woman, and will likely only persue a hetero relationship.

Then it happened again with Morrigan (with a slightly flipped script), who only experiences love and romance with women but freely has sex with men. Now we see a *pattern* and at this point its like, mmkay, skill issue. Even if it does feel authentic and representative to *some* readers, it is also a reflection of the authors limitations exploring emotional intimacy with her bi characters and just treating them as wanting/willing to have sex with anyone while only like liking just boys or just girls.

I bring all of this up because I am going to bring in my usual methods of comparisons, themes, development, ect- but I am typically talking about things SJM did exceptionally well. When it comes to Morrigan, I don't necessarily think she has done things all that well. But the threads are still there, and my love for Morrigan and experience with her themes live beyond an irritating skill issue on the authors part. Lets get into it.

I've made quite a few posts about the usage of the mating bond as a plot device and the development of theme. The best one to catch up on if you'd like is probably this one here.

The biggest indicators to me that Morrigan is Azriel's corrupted Cauldron (aka breeding) mate are twofold: parallel behavior between Mor and Lucien as well as the development of Morrigan's theme of her value being tied to her breeding in ACOWAR alongside the introduction of the mating bond being nothing less than a tool for powerful breeding, also for the first time in ACOWAR.

With the confirmation that the Asteri corrupted the Cauldron, along with the conversation regarding the Asteri forcing mated pairs outside of sexual orientations and not caring (*HOSAB), SJM doubled down on all of this. The Asteri need powerful offspring. They will force queer women to mate with men to do it.

Spoiler alert: Celestina does *not* prefer males. And the Asteri do not care.

CC also, in my opinion, cemented the two-bond theory. The Mother Bond (also known as Urd or Wyrd) the true soul-mated pairs, and Breeding Bond- created at the behest of the Asteri.

With breeding bonds, you can experience a sense of ownership and possessiveness over someone you are not even remotely romantically interested in:

Both Mor and L/ucien go stiff during representations of their *alleged mates interacting romantically with someone else even when there is no attraction or emotional intimacy. For L/ucien, he doesn't even know Elain. He doesn't automatically assume they will even be together, because he wants to know more about her personality and decide if they are a good fit. Honestly? Super healthy and valid.

Morrigan is having her moment during ACOFAS. She is very much out as queer (again, with some confusion of whether or not she is bi due to a skill issue on the author's end, but 100% confirmed to not be romantically interested in men) so why is she going tense at the sight of Azriel acting like a BDE husband to Elain? The unjustified and unsympathetic take (imo) is that she is being weird and jealous and wants Azriel's attention even though she doesn't want him. This makes no sense. She has actually only ever acted positively towards Elain, and before this dinner mused on Azriel giving Elain truth-teller without a shred of jealousy. But then to see them together, even though she does not want Azriel and only wishes for his happiness, she tenses, then recovers quickly. To me, both of these moments indicate a jerk reaction to the breeding bond at work.

There is also this idea of feel a pull to explore their *alleged mate just once:

L/ucien actually has already seen Elain, and although he had some immediate instinctive reactions, it didn't leave him immediately feeling like this was the woman he was supposed to be with. Alternatively, Morrigan deeply loves Azriel, just not in that way. She loves him so much that sometimes she wonders if she should try, just once, just to know for sure, even though she is not capable of falling in love with men. Both of these scenes are from ACOWAR, and tie into the way mating bonds are finally described, and how most mates feel like they should try:

Even though neither Mor or L/ucien experience romantic feelings for their mates, they feel a pull to try. They think about giving things a chance just to be sure. This is not something any of our other mates have experienced.

This passage also leads me to another important note- which is the severity of mating bond rejections. Again, all of this is in ACOWAR and thematically connects. Both Elain and Mor have very good reason to be afraid of a mating bond rejection. It can drive a male mad and make them go violently insane. We can criticize both women all day long about how they should just reject their mates and have the conversation so everyone can move on, but when this is what is on the table for them? A man possibly killing because of the power of the mating bond? That is no joke.

The only reason Morrigan slept with Helion is because she was sick and terrified over Azriel handing Eris his ass because he called her a slut. Mor has already seen Azriel act in an uncontrolled and violent manner that could not easily be stopped on her behalf. If she is afraid of what a mating bond rejection will do to Azriel, the depth and complexity of her decision, and her behavior to try to distance and avoid the conversation is a lot more sympathetic. I also believe that Morrigan, Azriel, and Elain will be doing some work together in Vallahan, and the issue of the Cauldron being wrong for both Azriel and Elain will resolve during that storyline. You can read more about that here.

And then of course, there is this:

Rhys only brings up Mor when Azriel brings up the Cauldron. That feels extremely intentional to me. I think Rhys either knows or assumes that Azriel and Mor have a mating bond. I think both Az and Mor know (I also think Azriel absolutely knows Mor is queer, and their weirdness and his constant confusion and staring at her has more to do with that than being in love with her, because he doesn't understand why she is sleeping with men at all.) Crack theory, but I think Eris knows. What happened between Mor and Eris isn't a secret, it was all revealed in ACOFAS. But I think somehow, for some reason, Eris is also aware of the mating bond between Az and Mor, which is why Morrigan gets so pissed when Eris needles her about not telling the whole truth. She isn't trying to hide what Eris did to make herself look better (he didn't do much, really, still left her to die even though he did her a solid by not accepting her as his wife) but he also knew that a Blood Duel could be called by Az over her.

Here's the thing: ACOWAR states that some courts allow men to kill each other over their mate choosing or having other partners. The bonus chapter clarifies that violence as the Blood Duel. I do not believe the Blood Duel can be called over anyone over any situation- it is specific to mates. I could be wrong, but it seems strange that Rhys would talk about outlawed violent practices that is not allowed in his court but is in others, and then we would see the Blood Duel brought up as the Autumn Court tradition, and not see them as one in the same:

Ultimately, all of these characters are grappling with their choices being affected by deeply held cultural beliefs about the mating bond.

If Azriel and Mor are breeding mates, she is struggling with genuine love for him but being unable to love him romantically. She thematically is dealing with hiding her sexuality because there is no greater dishonor to the culture of her family than a woman not being used for sale and breeding. If Azriel and Mor are mates, so much of her behavior and her themes and experiences make so much more sense. Rhysand's response to Azriel thinking the Cauldron was wrong when he has a mate in the Inner Circle whom he already loves makes more sense. Azriel knowing Mor is queer and not understanding why she sleeps with men but also not pushing her to have a conversation about their bond makes more sense.

Everything makes more sense if Az and Mor are mates.

If they are not, well, skill issue, I guess.

Either way, I truly hope Mor gets her HEA and SJM's employed sensitivity writers will help her do it justice.

How did we do? Did anyone stick with me on this one? Have I won you over? I can't wait to see what happens, however it pans out! And I'm grateful for the addition of sensitivity readers to Sarah's work. I hope she does her best to represent as well as she can!

[the-fab-fox]

Okay. So Imma just come out and say it.

Y'all who read fanfic. You. Need. To. Start. Commenting. On. Fics.

I have been told I'm a great writer. I've been told I'm spot-on with characterization. I've been told I'm great at making readers feel and experience what the characters are feeling and experiencing. Been told it's like the reader is in the room as everything plays out.

However, when I see that my fics have upwards of 1K hits and maybe 100-300 comments and maybe 40-100 kudos and not even hitting triple digits in the bookmarks/subscriptions to a fic... Well, what would you think in my shoes?

Most likely, if you're like me, you're thinking all kinds of negative things (especially if you have mental illness/ADHD/neurodivergency of some kind). Stuff like... Oh, those other people are just being nice (not fair to them so I try not to think this way but negative self talk doesn't play nice with me).

Or I think... Okay so they checked it out. They had to click on the fic for it to even register the hit, right? So why don't I at the very least have more kudos? That's the easiest option on there (though it's like a like on here; if you are gonna leave kudos please also leave a comment), right? So what was wrong with my fic that I don't have more kudos at least.

But then I get on here and see so many comments and reblogs on FANART (still not enough for them either though lbr). THE POINT IS... If you read a fic. If you read it and liked it, you all really need to start commenting.

It doesn't even have to be long paragraphs or quoting or any of the ✨ big comments ✨ stuff. You could leave an emoji that be showing me what my fic or update got you feeling. You can do keyboard smash. If the author asks for it, you can leave constructive criticism (but only if the author has actively asked for it; if they haven't or given you permission, then don't). You can absolutely do big comment things too.

One of my favorite type of comments to get are the quoting ones. You just copy/paste and then say what you liked about it or what it made you feel or your reaction to it. Things like that. I love when my readers tell me their fave parts in an update. Or quote a line and tell me their thoughts and feels. Just yes.

We are far too advanced in this day and age and fanfiction and fandom are wholly more accepting than it used to be but for some reason, comments and reactions have become almost non-existent compared to when I was 15. And I was... Pretty cringy in my writing back then but I can admit that. But every chapter I'd get at least 8-10 comments. A chapter!

Even earlier in my Twst series I was getting A LOT more comments and with every fic it seems to have dropped significantly.

To me, to my brain, that tells me that my writing is suddenly sucky or I lost my talent or I'm not actually as great a writer as I was told because then why aren't more people commenting.

You might try to argue and say you're shy. Do you comment on order things? Do you tack onto a reblog to put out some addition to the original post? Do you chat with people in the fandom? Do you comment on fanart?

Then what makes a fanfic any different? (This is not including smut fics because I get but necessarily wanting it tied back to you. But if you open ao3 in a browser you aren't logged into ao3 on, you can (as long as the author has allowed it) post a comment anonymously. Yeah!)

You might say oh well I don't have time to comment right now. But you had time to read the fic? You had time to reblog that shit post? You had time to comment on the tags on a fanart you really loved? Thing is, unless you want to write a long one, comments do not take that long to leave. They really don't.

If you're worried the author doesn't want to hear from you—I'll stop you right there. The author ABSOLUTELY wants to hear from you.

So now is the time to stop making excuses to be lazy. You are reading really great fan literature for free. The least you can do as a thank you and to show support is to COMMENT. ON. THE. FIC.

And if you wanna really make an author's day and help support them and their work, REC the fic. REC the Author's work list. You can do that to friends you know would like it or even better, make a post about the fics and link your recs.

It's really not that hard and we should not have to beg. Realize the blessing you have that fics you would enjoy exist for free and do your part. COMMENT.

[manias-wordcount]

There do be not enough roy mustang stuff out there and i crave fluffy angst for him. All i can think of though is the "i thought you were dead hug". Probably not out in the open, given his position, but possibly as a form of love confession in private. I love your writing by the way. You're my go to for good anime fanfics.

O' Colonel, My Colonel (Roy Mustang x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗶 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗶𝗺 𝘀𝗼 𝘀𝗮𝗱 𝘀𝗺𝗵 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗛𝗔𝗛𝗔𝗛𝗔𝗛𝗔𝗛 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗶𝘁!! ;]

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

The door closes behind you with a heavy thud. You manage to finish your salute just in time to hear the final note in its symphony.

  You’ve heard it so many times it’s hard to forget. You’ve memorized the sound. Every creak and groan and its place. And it used to annoy you. Used to make you grimace every single time you had to take a trip down the hall to this office. But by all things holy, you’re more than glad you got to hear it at least one more time. Because now that you’ve heard the sound?

  You feel like you can finally breathe.

  The files tucked beneath your arms are heavy. And standing at attention has never been your strongest suit as just an administrative secretary. But his office is exactly as you remember it during the hours such as these. The hours when the sun starts to crawl on all fours and the sky gets painted shades of fiery reds and oranges and pinks. The hours when those will a little too much pay for their very few responsibilities decide that they’ve done enough sitting around for the day. And the hours when people like you and him had only truly begun to start working. His office looks exactly the same. And you know why you thought it would change. But it didn’t. It didn’t change.

  The man who owns this office is the face you wanted to see once you opened the door. It’s the same face. It didn’t change. 

  You’re so happy it didn’t change.

  “Lieutenant Colonel Mustang.” You greet lightly, unable to hold off the small smile that adorns your face. It’s hard keeping up the decorum when your nose is filing cabinets daily rather than speaking and working with the officers like your co-workers usually do. But it’s even harder for you to keep the formalities in check now that your superior is watching you from behind his desk with a smirk of his own dusting across his lips. It flusters you- something that he notices all too easily as he tosses up an eyebrow at you. And so, with warm cheeks and a tight throat, you’re forced to address him once more. “I have the files that you requested.”

  Despite the fact that you want nothing more than to run away and hide now that you’re the object of his amusement. 

  Fortunately for you, he’s merciful. At the mention of the folders tucked beneath your arm, he leans back in his chair with a nod of approval. The motion allows for his jacket to shift ever so slightly on his body. And your eyes manage to catch a glimpse of a worn, white bandage wrapped around his neck and collarbone before you avert your eyes. You’re glad he’s back. But it doesn’t change the reports of what happened out there while he was out in the field. It doesn’t change what he experienced.

  It doesn’t change what you thought you knew to be true when there had been no sight of him for over a week.

  “And that’s why you’re my favorite. Timely as ever.” The sound his voice makes as his hum carries over the room has you shivering. The look in his eyes is too proud to let you hold the false hope that he doesn’t recognize what he’s doing to you. And his posture is too relaxed to say that he’s not below picking on you now that it’s after hours and you’re both alone. But you should have known that after all his time alone, he wouldn’t change. “Excellent work. I’ll take them on my desk.”

  Especially not towards you.

  You try not to let the praise affect you that much. You’ve been a secretary for the Military since around the time he joined. You’ve watched him rise through the ranks quickly. Sometimes from afar. Sometimes up close. But at the moment, you’re overwhelmed. More overwhelmed than you’ve ever been in front of any of your superiors- including the Führer. 

  Your throat is tight, and your mind is elsewhere. But could you be blamed? When the status reports three weeks ago said that he had gone missing after a fight with an unknown assailant, you thought for sure you would never see him again. But as you stand in front of him now, you realize that your hands are shaking. More than they did when you shook his hand and introduced yourself to him for the first time. More than they did when you were told to start preparing the paperwork for a Lieutenant Colonel who had gone MIA and likely died on the battlefield. 

  More than they did when you first heard that they found his bound- barely conscious but somehow alive. 

  Yet here you are, walking to the side of his desk with a handful of files that you can’t be bothered to understand why he would deem them more important than his rest and recovery right now. And yet here he is, rising to his feet and stepping out from his chair to meet you as you approach him.

  You’re swallowing your thoughts as you stop to stand a respectable distance away. You have so many questions. So many things you weren’t told because of your clearance. But you don’t ask any of them. You don’t ask any of your questions. You just avert your gaze from his face and present the files to him in the way that you were always taught. Back straight and standing tall. Using two hands and reading nothing that you know you’re not supposed to. You have so many questions, but honestly, you’re not sure you care enough about them. You’re not sure you care about them at all. You’re just glad he’s back. 

  You’re just glad he’s back.

  He takes the files out of your hands gently without another word. For a second, you stand there, eyes still down as you await the sound of him dismissing you. But it never comes. Instead, you stand at attention for a moment longer than the first. And then another one. And another one. And another. And another. And another. And another until finally…you decide to look up.

  And the sight you’re met with- it surprises you.

  Mustang stands with his back straight. Proud and strong as his head turns to the side and reads the documents you just passed off to him. And while you know you’re not supposed to, you couldn’t help but study his profile. The curve of his nose. The shape of his jaw. And the distant look in his eyes. The shakiness of his grip. The unsteady frown on his lips. The sweat beading at his brow. The uneasy-

  Another thud sounds. Light, but it’s not without its weight. Not without its bass. Half a second later, the sound of papers scattering in every direction fills your ears. And all too quickly, the sight of it too.

  “Colonel Mustang?!” You exclaim in alarm. You hadn’t even noticed the pile of papers slipping from his grip with your gaze and mind being elsewhere at the moment. Your look around you briefly- noting all the papers that had fallen. Luckily, things haven’t seemed to have traveled far. You spot a few by a couple of papers nearby the empty desks abandoned by his subordinates from the day. But most are still on or thrown around his desk. You try your best to remember all the places where the papers had fallen just out of view before turning back to address your superior and his health with the utmost brevity. “Is something wrong? Do you need me to call a doctor or your-”

  You lose the words on your lips. Except they weren’t lost. They were taken. 

  By your superior. By a Lieutenant Colonel. By the flame alchemist. 

  By a man once presumed dead as he closes his arms around your body and holds you like you’re the only thing that will keep him alive.

  And so not only do you lose your words. You lose your breath. It catches in your throat before behind swiped away at Mustang’s speed and strength. And not only do you lose your breath, you lost your thoughts as well. No longer do you think about the papers scattered around the two of you. No longer do you think about how you’re due to report back to your workspace soon. No longer do you think about anything. Anything that isn’t him. Because you know you shouldn’t.You know you shouldn’t do this. You know that you’re breaking all kinds of rules and formalities. You know that if someone were to open the door right now and see him holding you tight and holding you close, your positions could be in jeopardy. You know all this.

  But his breath against your neck is sending more shivers down your spine as he buries his head into your shoulder and he breathes in your scent. And his arms around your torso are so, so tight and so warm. And the body you’re pressed against? It’s alive. It’s alive. Is it well? You’re not sure. But all you care about now is that it’s alive, and that’s human, and that it's him. So you tell the years of training and traditions and rules and regulations to fuck off for just a minute. Just one measly minute.

  And you hug him back. 

  And he hugs you tighter. 

  And you hug him, just as tight.

  And he breaks. 

  Because he’s more than just your superior. He’s a full-bodied human. He might have more confidence than you. He might like making you feel shy and small in front of someone so powerful. But He has thoughts. He has needs. He feels pain. He fights against death. He’s human. And what’s wrong with giving someone a hug? What’s wrong with showing someone that you care? Because you do. You do care. You care so much. You care so much that it hurts.

  “I thought about you every day out there. I don’t know why but I…I just did.” His whisper is quiet and hushed against your skin. But you swear you can feel every single word he says as his lips just ghost above your skin. But you don’t respond. You just find a way to squeeze your arms around his shoulders just a little tighter. And you try to pretend that his words didn’t make your heart race in a way that only he’s capable of doing to you. He squeezes you tighter too. The warmth of his palms pressed against your body can be felt through your uniform. It makes you want to cry. “I’m sorry I called you out here. But I had to see you. I had to. I’m sorry.”

  “Colonel-” You begin, tears already dusting at your eyes but he doesn’t let you finish. 

  “Roy.” He interrupts. You breathe hitches, and his grip on your body adjusts, almost as if he’s afraid of you becoming a flight risk now that all bets are off the table. But you just let you sniffle you’ve been holding in fall out as your fist grabs at the fabric of his uniform with all types of fear and desperation. He relaxes into that touch of yours. He breathes a sigh of relief that doesn’t quite go well with your tense body. But he’s quick to finish what he started. Especially now that you’re holding him as much as he’s holding you “You can call me Roy when we’re alone. And forget about all the respect and superiority bullshit. I don’t care how many rules it breaks, I don’t want to ever see you salute me agai-”

  But you had something you need to finish as well.

  “I thought you died.” You cut him off in your own harsh whisper. The words come out clearer than you expected. Stronger than you had known yourself to be capable of. And more true than you had ever hoped. But you said it. You said, and it’s too late to take it back. Your heart feels heavy at the confession. Your tears start to roll down your cheek at the admittance. And when all is said and done, you almost can’t believe that it’s true. That you almost lost him. That you almost lost the man that had taken your heart so, so long ago. “I thought you were dead, Colonel.”

  And that he’s now in your arms, confessing that he thought of you. 

  “I know…”

  Even in his darkest hours. Even in his worst moments.

  “I thought you had died… Roy. I thought you were….”

   He thought of you.

  “I'm sorry.” He tells you.

  You want to laugh. You want to laugh as much as you want to cry. Who would have thought that this stupid long-term crush of yours would lead you here? But most of all? You just want to hug him. Holding him. Feeling him. His heartbeat. His breath. His warmth. His body. His everything. Because maybe if you hug him this tight, you’ll gain the courage to tell him the thing you’ve been dying to tell since you first realized that you had fallen for him. And maybe hearing you speak those words will make him say the words you desperately want to hear from him. Since the moment you knew this crush wasn’t going away. Since the moment you heard, he had gone missing and would soon be officially declared dead. And since the moment you had heard he was alive and well and waiting for you in his office.

  Or maybe…maybe you won’t say a word. Maybe you won’t say anything at all.

  Because maybe feeling your arms around his body is all that you need right now. Because maybe his arms around your body are all that he needs right now too. Because maybe there’s nothing either of you could say that is worth more than the touch of another when the sun sits low. The hold of another when emotions climb high. 

  Because maybe words work the best when they are spoken at all. Either way, You’re glad he’s back. You’re glad he’s here. You’re glad he’s alive.

  And for now, that’s more than enough.

[b00kdiary]

MASTERLIST

SJM: A Ballad of Flame & Shadow | Azriel Fanfic Alex was falling between worlds- falling through worlds- until she landed with Bryce someplace that was definitely not Hel. And now there was a male before her, the most beautiful male she had ever seen and something other than fear sparked in her heart. Wattpad & Ao3 A Court of Pleasure and Ruin (Nesta x Cassian x Azriel)

Nesta can't stop thinking about how Azriel and Cassian made her feel during training and all the things she wished she could do with them. Looks like her wishes have come true.

Wildest Dreams (Batboys x Plus size reader ACOTAR)

Where the reader finds herself gaining the attention of the most notorious males in Prythian and it seems that even her wildest dreams couldn't prepare her for the night they would share.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V

Relax (Bat Boys X Plus Size reader) Where the reader goes into the Birchin sauna for some peace– and then falls asleep. She wakes up and finds she isn’t alone anymore. Rhys, Cassian and Azriel desperately want to help her relax. (Hint: High Lady Feyre likes to watch) Dreamer-(Rhysand x Reader)Rhysand begrudgingly goes to Hewn City to secure a marriage pact that will indefinitely bond the two Courts together- but the fine ladies of the Court of Nightmares are not what he wants or needs. Instead, he discovers Lady Y/N, and she has no qualms about telling him how he has failed this City and her. This is more than just coincidence, it’s fate.

Yours (Rhysand x Plus size reader) Y/N meets Rhys in a bar- one month after the worst night of her life. One month after he saved her. But Rhys has no interest in being a hero, and Y/N doesn't want to be a victim. They only want each other.

Euphoria- (Ithan Holstrom x Plus size reader)

Where Y/N finds herself needing to be reminded just how desirable she is, and Ithan Holstrom is more than willing to show her.

Stay With Me (Rhysand x Plus size reader) Part Two Part Three

Rhysand reappears at the cabin four hours after he had gone on a mission- wounded and bleeding. Y/N has no choice but to help him, even if it means yanking out every ash arrow embedded in his wings by hand. But something Cassian once told her makes her re-think the line between pleasure and pain, and she will do anything to make it better for her High Lord. ‘Cassian said that the talon holds the most nerve endings, does that make it the most delicate to touch?’

Better Than Any Fantasy (Ruhn Danaan x Tristan Flynn x Plus size reader) Y/N’s been avoiding Flynn like the plague, and Ruhn knows why and is more than happy to tell him. Especially when that conversation leads to something much better than any of them could have hoped for.

Hurt me (Cassian x Plus size reader)

Cassian and Y/N are late for an IC meeting not that Cassian cares, no, he has two things on his mind: your body and your pleasure.

Mirror, Mirror (Cassian x Plus size reader)

Y/N flees a party where it seems Cassian and Nesta can’t stay away from each other, but when Cassian comes rushing after her, more than one declaration is made and more than one secret is discovered. Cauldron Blessed (Azriel x Plus size reader) When you overhear Azriel say that the Cauldron was wrong about you. Take it (Cassian x Azriel x Plus size reader) Part 2 Rhysand's playing Cupid and his meddling has you experiencing something you never would have thought possible. Unworthy (Azriel x Plus Size Reader) Azriel hated her, he was disgusted by her… and he didn’t want another male coming near her. It all comes rushing to the surface one night when Y/N can’t take his cruelty anymore- and Azriel can’t keep lying to her about how he really feels. Mine (Cassian x plus size reader) Y/N goes wedding dress shopping and is confronted with females who make it clear that they think she’s unworthy of being Cassian’s mate, that she shouldn’t be his wife. Cassian shows her just how fucking wrong they are. Fire Night (Eris X plus size reader) It’s Fire Night and High Lord Eris has to complete the Great Rite. He finds Y/N – he finds his maiden. Cautious (Bat boys x plus size reader) PART TWO It's just as Cassian said: the bat boys were young and dumb… and fucked females in the same room as each other. Y/N’s in for one hell of a surprise.House of the Dragon: Aemond Targaryen

An Old Flame (fin) Wattpad version

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI a Part VI b The Letter

Beautiful Creature (fin)

Part I Part II Part III

Unexpected (fin)

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI