#i hate this but i hate fighting myself over making something good even more | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imfinereallyy · 1 year

Text

hummingbirds

Steve’s crying on the porch of his parents' house, with a duffel bag and baseball bat, when Eddie pulls into the driveway.

“Jesus, Steve, what happened?” Eddie crouches down to get eye level with Steve. Despite being dark out, the sun set long ago, and the outdoor lights weren’t on. Steve turns to look at his parents' car in the driveway and thinks back to when the lock had distinctly turned shut on the front door. They were around to switch the lights on; they just didn’t care anymore to do so.

Steve is grateful for the moonlight, as he can see the pretty lines on Eddie’s face. Even if they currently curve into a frown.

“Hey Eds.” Steve’s voice cracks.

“Stevie…what happened?” Eddie asks again, this time it’s gently. It cradles Steve and holds him softly. He wishes Eddie’s hands would do the same.

“Did you know hummingbirds are the only birds that can fly backward?” Steve sniffles.

Eddie’s face scrunches in confusion, “What? Birds? You lost me.”

Steve pushes past Eddie’s confused face. “They are the only birds to fly backward. Surprisingly, it wasn’t Dustin to teach me that out of the munchkins. It was actually El. She’s apparently going through a bird phase. And I don’t think the others are very interested. So I try to pay attention when she talks about it. And she taught me about hummingbirds.”

Eddie settles on his knees, “That’s great, man and those little shits should listen to her more, but I’m not sure what that has to do with what’s wrong. You called me to come pick you up and hung up before I could even answer.”

Steve bites his lip, “Sorry, my dad clicked the phone off.” Eddie’s face shows surprise, but Steve keeps talking before he can interrupt. “And well, I guess hummingbirds have nothing to do with anything. It’s stupid, really.”

“No, no. It’s not stupid. Tell me about the birds, Stevie.” Eddie’s hand finally reaches out to Steve. He brushes the fallen hair out of his face, and something in Steve just sets him off.

“You see, they can fly backward. And well, no, I’m getting ahead of myself. You see, my cousin Tucker is here to visit. And let me tell you, he is the worst. Like Eddie, you would hate him. Conservative, capitalist enthusiast, real bootlicker kind of guy.”

“Sounds like the worst. Especially if he made you use the big words.” Eddie’s hand falls away, and Steve mourns the loss. Normally, when people make jokes about his intelligence, it stings. It makes him feel small. But when Eddie does it, it isn’t mean or a poke at how stupid Steve is. With Eddie, it’s almost like he’s reminding Steve that he is smart. That maybe Steve is the one making himself small.

He is.

“Anyway, he’s visiting, right? So my parents come home. And I haven’t seen them in months, since before spring break. It’s nearly October, and I haven’t seen them, and I can’t tell if I’m excited or dreading their arrival. It’s always a fight when they are around, how I’m not good enough, how I should be more. Their visits always end up being cut short, and me feeling like shit. But this stupid, stupid part of me was hoping it would be different this time. They haven’t seen me since the “earthquakes.” Surely they’ll be happy to see I’m okay, right?”

Eddie stays silent, his face revealing nothing.

“Of course, it’s not. They only came home because my cousin Tucker was in town. All the way from Indy cause it’s so far. And my mom ‘made’ dinner, as in she ordered it and pretended she made it. It wasn’t even that good, but we all pretended it was the best thing ever made. Cause that’s what they do, pretend. And the dinner is fine, boring. Most of it is just me staying silent while my dad and Tucker talk about the business. Tucker runs the Indy office while my dad is in New York. Ya see, Tucker has been gunning to take over for my dad when he retires, which is another word for dies—“ Steve let’s put a bitter laugh; he wonders if his parents are listening. He doubts it.

“—and they are going on for the whole meal, and I’m almost through the home stretch when my dad brings up me, coming to work for him.”

Eddie reacts finally, “You’re going to New York?” His voice is strained, like he is trying very hard not to yell, not at Steve, but at anyone who will listen. Steve is quick to correct.

“No, no, I’m not. This was news to me to Eds. I have no interest in my dad's business, and as far as I was concerned, he didn’t want me a part of it either. Guess that has changed. Has? Had? I don’t know…” Steve trails off.

“Harrington.”

“Don’t call me that. It makes me think you’re mad at me. Besides, it doesn’t fit me anymore.” Steve bites.

“Sorry, Steve. I’m not mad. I promise. Just, what do you mean?” Eddie’s head tilts to the side, his curls cascading down his shoulder. It reminds Steve of a river, dark water rippling in the moonlight.

“I was so shocked, Eds. When he said that. That I was quiet, I should have corrected him, maybe. Maybe I could have fixed it. But Tucker was so quick to act. He was pissed. He knows my working for my dad means me being set up to take over. And Tucker, he’s worked too hard to make sure he does get the business. But instead of yelling, he just gets this concerned look on his face. And he…”

“He what?”

Steve wrenches his eyes shut as he recalls the rest. As he recalls the way Tucker’s face faked worry as he struck. Like he has been waiting for the right moment to ruin Steve. He manages to open his eyes eventually, only to see Eddie’s face once again. The honest look on his face is enough to push Steve on.

“In the summer, Robin was feeling sad. This was before you guys knew about each other, and I was the only one who knew about her. And she was sad cause nothing had happened with Vicky and she felt so alone. And I hated seeing her like that. And so, so I took her to Indy. And, and—“ Steve starts to hyperventilate.

Eddie takes him by the shoulders. “Breathe for me, Steve. Come on, baby, match my breaths. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Steve matches Eddie’s breath. Ignores how the word baby calms him down instantly. “Tucker told my dad that he saw me in Indy. That he saw me come out of a gay club, Eddie. And he went on about how they should focus more on getting me help, than putting me in a power position, again Eds, which I don’t even want! And how I would be a bad look for the company. How would it look if a company whose whole image is family values, only successor, turned out to be gay.”

Eddie flinches a bit, but doesn’t let go of him. Steve feels instant regret. “That isn’t what I meant, Eddie.”

Eddie shushes him, “I know, sweetheart. You’re just upset. I know. Did you tell him that you weren’t there for you? Or maybe that Rick was mistaken; it was a regular club?”

Steve rubs a hand down his face, “And what? Tell him that my two best friends in the entire world are gay? So that I can be shipped off to New York and never see them again? Yeah right. I’d rather face the bats again than be removed from you two. And I’m not going to out you guys like that.”

Something warm crosses Eddie’s face, “So, you lied then?”

“Before I could say anything my dad reacted.”

Eddie freezes, a darkness swims in his eyes. “He put his hands on you?”

“No, no!” Steve panics, and he purposely leaves out the ‘not this time.’ Eddie isn’t necessarily a violent person. But he does have a protective streak. As admirable as it is, Steve doesn’t want him to get hurt.

Eddie relaxes but only slightly.

“He was actually pretty calm, which is even more terrifying. I expected him to yell, throw things. But instead he just turns and says, ‘Is this true, Steven?’. And what gets me is they didn’t even question why my cousin was anywhere near that club in the first place. Why did he see me there? Instead, he just asks me if it’s true. And it’s the first time in a long time, if ever, that my dad asks me this. He always just assumes I’ve fucked up. And this time, he really asked me about the truth. And I couldn’t, I couldn’t lie. I don’t know why, but it felt wrong to. So I didn’t. I just told him, ‘Yes. It’s true.’”

“Stevie…”

Steve throws out a bitter laugh, “And you know what? He still doesn’t freak out. He just tells me I have five minutes to get my shit and get out. That I needed to call a ride because the car was under the name Steve Harrington, and I was no longer a Harrington. And he was so calm. And my mom just sat there, and I just listened. I didn’t fight. I am so tired of fighting.”

“Steve, why not just tell them the truth? Tell them you were there for a friend?” Eddie’s tone isn’t scolding, only curious.

“See, that’s because I started thinking about hummingbirds, Eddie. I started thinking about how they fly forwards and backward and how they are the only ones that can do that. Isn’t that fascinating? These small birds are so strong and interesting, and can do something no one else can do. But no other birds understand; the rest of them just fly forwards Eds. And I—I feel like that sometimes. That I’m not flying in one direction, ya know?”

Steve feels like he isn’t making much sense, but then Eddie nods and looks at Steve. Like really looks at Steve, and sees him. And Steve feels raw, stripped of his skin, exposed, and it should hurt, but it feels so fucking good. And Eddie stares deep into Steve’s eyes and says, “Yea, I know.”

“I didn’t want to lie. Because even though Tucker was wrong, he was also right. I wasn’t there for me, but I think I needed to be there. To get it. And I think that I’m flying backward, Eds. And I’m worried it’s wrong of me, that it shouldn’t be allowed. And that there is no purpose to me flying backward if I can just go forwards. If I can just fly with the rest of them. But I don’t think, I don’t think I’ve ever really taken flight before. Not before I understood I could also go backward.”

It’s in this moment, where Steve is covered in tears and snot that Eddie finally takes his hands and cradles Steve’s face. Steve’s never felt safer.

“Listen to me, sweetheart; there is nothing wrong with you. Okay? Nothing wrong with you. Just because you can fly forwards doesn’t mean you have to, doesn’t mean you should. Sometimes you’re going to have to fly backward; you’re not going to have a choice. It’s just the direction you’re fast, huge, hummingbird heart takes you. And it might take you a bit to learn that. To understand that, but I will make sure that you do. Because you, Steve Harrington, are fucking fearless and fucking beautiful, and I am so goddamn proud of you.”

Steve finally reaches his breaking point and collapses in Eddie’s arms. Full body, ugly sobs wreck Steve. He is sure that he is soaking Eddie’s favorite Black Sabbath t-shirt to the bone, but he can’t find it himself to care. His fingers dig into Eddie’s back as he clutches tighter as his breathing picks up.

“Breathe, baby, breathe. Remember that. I got you. I got you.” Eddie whispers into Steve’s ear.

Steve picks his head up when he finally calms down, and looks at Eddie. “You.”

“What’s that?” Eddie says softly, rubbing circles through Steve’s polo.

“I called you. Because, I think—no, I know, that I’ve been flying backward, to you. For a while now. And I knew that, even if you weren’t too, you’d still show up. And I just—just need you to know that. I am so grateful you showed up.”

Steve knows he should feel nervous telling Eddie all this, but he isn’t. He strangely feels like his dad at this moment, calm and unmoving. Steve doesn’t understand many things in this world, but he understands that even if Eddie doesn’t love him like that, Eddie still loves Steve in plenty of other ways.

It’s still nice, though, when Eddie leans forward and kisses Steve’s forehead. Steve closes his eyes and releases a breath.

Eddie slides his head down slightly so their foreheads are pushed together affectionately. “Stevie, I’ll always fly backward to you.”

Although it’s awful how they got here, Steve can’t help but feel happy at this moment. He also can’t help the silly giggle that comes out of him, “I think we have just lost all meaning to this metaphor at this point.”

Eddie snorts, “Oh, have we? And here I thought we were having a nice moment, a poetic one at that, telling each other ‘I love you.’”

Steve blinks at him, “You love me?”

Eddie frown lines finally turn upwards, “Yea baby, I love you.”

“I—“

Eddie cuts Steve off. “Tell me in the morning. When your tears have dried, and I’ve woken up with you in my arms. I want to hear it in the daylight. Okay? Let’s go home.” Eddie stands, offering a hand to Steve.

“Home?”

“Yea home, got to fly back to our nest.”

Steve can’t help the snort he releases, “Dork.”

Eddie just smiles, “Thought I told you to save the ‘I love you’ til the morning.”

Steve smiles back as he takes Eddie’s hand, “I didn’t…”

Eddie squeezes Steve’s fingers, “Yea, ya did.”

****

I’m back, not dead, and in my feelings. Thinking about expanding on this one. I hope you guys like it. 🧡🧡

#steddie #stranger things #Steve eventually gets a hummingbird tattoo #everything I write is soft #they deserve to be soft #bisexual steve harrington #gay eddie munson #cw: implied homophobia #cw: internalized homophobia #my writing #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #robin buckley #steve x eddie #soft boys #post s4 #bisexuality awareness

4K notes · View notes

ateliersss · 25 days

Text

Oh, take me back to The Night we met

Pairing: Yautja x Fem!Reader Summary: 1936, eighty-eight years ago, you met him, the creature that changed your life in a way that goes beyond human imagination. Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: Attempted Rape, SA, Murder, English isn't my first language Word Count: 10.162 After the Blooming Family series

⇨ Surprise! I hope you are surprised because I was starting to doubt myself. I actually believed I wouldn't even finish it this year. Anyways, I wrote the finishing 6.800 words in the last seven hours and my brain is mush. I hope it didn't affect the pace or logic of the plot. If so, I will edit it in a few days. Comments are always appreciated.

⇨ Also, if you tell me I wrote an unrealistic reaction to seeing a Yautja's face for the first time, let me tell you, you and I wouldn't be here if I hadn't reacted the same.

1936, Earth

“Thank you, ma’am.” The soldier in front of you returned your identity card, the national animal printed on it facing you.

You returned his bright smile with a tight one. You were already used to identifying yourself to patrolling soldiers after work. It was for “safety measures”, according to the government.

While you were busy putting away your identity card, the boy looked nervously over his shoulder to his comrade who nodded back to him, encouraging him to finally man up and just tell you what he had rehearsed a dozen times already to eventually make a move on you and ask you out.

“A-And thank you for your service, ma’am!” He blurted out, louder than he intended to, with a soft blush covering his cheeks.

You closed your purse and looked up at him in confusion.

The boy, you now noticed, had to be at least five years younger, probably around the same age as your younger brother, Emil. And you recognized him now, too. He was patrolling around this area two to three times a week.

At your confused face, he gestured a little awkwardly to your uniform, the white dress and blue-grey blouse underneath it. “D-Doctors and nurses are in desperate need in times like these a-and saving lives is a remarkable job!”

“Oh.” You looked down at yourself before you pulled your coat tighter around your body and smiled softly at him. “If that‘s all I‘ll take my leave now. Have a good night, gentlemen.”

He visibly deflated at your words and mumbled a quick “Have a nice evening, ma‘am.” but you barely got half of it when you turned around to continue your way back home. The second your back was facing them your smile dropped.

You hated it, hated this, this so-called life you and everyone around you had to live. Horrible and disgusting things were happening, but no one dared to speak up. You were all trapped, too scared to act, too afraid to do something.

And the people could feel it, the tension that was stretched so tautly that was just waiting to snap. The whole world was holding its breath, deferring that one moment when the match would ignite and reduce everything and everyone to rubble and ash.

Meanwhile, your brother was beaming with pride as he was now considered old enough to join the army and could finally fight for his country. On the other hand, your father, the only other family you still had in this world, was far more reluctant when it came to the plans of the government and his son’s naive blindness of patriotism.

No one was talking about the horrifying wrongs your home country was doing for years now, but everybody knew, everybody saw. And if someone even dared to utter a word about it, they disappeared.

That didn’t stop your father from ranting about it behind the closed doors of your home. He did so, of course, in Emil’s absence. He was family, yes, but nowadays blind obedience could manipulate even a brother and son to go against his own kin.

You loved your brother dearly. He was a good guy and he only held a very strong pride for his home, his people, and his culture. But sadly that was the only thing he acknowledged around others. He denied the “rumors” of a genocide going on and overlooked unintentionally the more sinister motives of others in the world of politics and the military. He was truly and utterly blind, but you couldn’t condemn him for that. Not really.

The Great War ended when Emil was three years old and you remembered him crying when your father told him he couldn’t participate in it anymore. Ignorant of the horrors that happened at the Front, he and a few boys from around the neighborhood would play war and were disappointed when they were told it was over. The worst part was the elder men sitting on benches near their battlefield, telling them their people were the superior power since they had been able to hold their own against three opposing countries in the end.

You sighed and started to fumble around in your purse for your keys as you reached your destination. After a quick look into the mailbox — the usual evening newspaper and another flyer that encouraged men between the ages of twenty and forty-five to sign up for the military — you made your way up to the first floor and poked around in the lock with the key, a little distracted by the newspaper as you were searching the headlines for anything concerning. There was another report about a skinned man found hanging upside down from a church tower. Unbelievable. At times like this and there was a maniac running around, killing people in the most grotesque way for fun.

“I’m home!” You called into the dimly lit hallway, knowing your father was sitting in his usual spot in the living room.

After dropping your purse next to the wardrobe, toeing out of the white pumps, shrugging off the coat, and hanging it on the coat rack, you walked through the corridor and past five doors. The ones leading to the bathroom and the kitchen were open as always, just like the door of Emil’s bedroom. Although it hadn’t been inhabited for a few months now, you would always leave it open after cleaning. It was false reassurance, but that way it seemed as if he was still home.

“How was your day?” Your father asked gruffly from his spot on the wing chair, the morning newspaper still in his hand before it got replaced by the evening issue you handed to him with a kiss to his temple.

“It was…”

Screams.

Blood.

Wails of a newborn.

A cold body.

“…long.”

“Mhm.” Your father hummed, his eyes scanning the front page before turning it. “Hah! Sightings of another black cloud of smoke and the authorities tell the public another farmhouse burned down. Do they think we are stupid? Unbelievable these people! Think they will get away with it, hiding it from the public eye, and no one would notice!”

You weren’t entirely sure if he had even listened to you, but you didn’t care. You weren’t very eager to start a conversation with him anyway.

“I’m in my room. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

Though you didn’t expect a response, you waited a few seconds — maybe today he would ask if his son had finally sent a letter — before you turned around to retreat to your room.

Since your father had lost his legs in a bomb attack at a munitions factory where he had worked during the Great War, he had changed. A lot. Before he was quite a gentle and jovial man who worked hard and never shied away to show how much he loved his family. Nowadays he was resentful and bitter towards everything happening around him.

It was exhausting, not only listening to his complaints day in and day out but also being nothing more than a maid and caregiver to him. You were the sole breadwinner in this house. You worked yourself to the bone in a business that was equally about life and death but gave you more grief than joy. At least it made the medical care of your father a little easier. The surgery, the medicine, and the wheelchair would have cost you a fortune.

When you would get off work, more would await you at home. Taking care of the household was your responsibility for nine years now since your father wasn’t capable of doing it anymore. After the first week of dusting and sweeping, washing the dirty laundry and ironing the clean ones, going grocery shopping and cooking as well as taking care of your father like washing him, helping him get to the toilet and such, you cried yourself to sleep with the thought of quitting and running away.

But you didn’t.

You were miserable, yes, but you stayed. You stayed with the hope of a better life in the future. Maybe you will be married to a nice man in a few years like your girlfriends already were. You had experience with men, sure, but none of them you would consider fit to be your husband.

In your bedroom, you quickly got rid of your uniform until you were only in your undergarments, a baby-blue silk panty that flowed around your mid-thighs and an uplift brassiere of the same fabric and color, both with a lacy hemstitched design. You were about to throw the white and grey-blue dress to your other dirty clothes when you noticed red speckles on the left sleeve.

Yes, the day had been long, too long for your taste, and when your shift did end, you felt hollow once more. You could still see her in that bed, screaming and crying.

Watching her, you had wondered if you would ever end up like her.

You shifted in your place, second-guessing, before you finally turned and looked at your reflection in the mirror that occupied one corner of your bedroom. You hesitantly lifted your hands and placed them on your belly.

No. Your job showed you women struggle and in pain every day. You would never do that to yourself. Being a mother was not worth the probability of taking your last breath during labor, giving your own life while granting another to your child.

Today was another reminder of that.

The girl in the delivery room, Johanna, was sweet and lively. You met her occasionally on a monthly check-up when you assisted the doctor who took her into his care. She would tell you about her and her husband trying for this baby for years and how excited she was.

You bit the inside of your cheek when tears once again started to well up in your eyes when you thought of how helpless you had felt when you stood in that room. Your colleague, an older and more experienced woman, was holding the crying newborn in her arms. The doctor was doing his all to save the unsavable while Johanna’s body got colder as the dark red spot grew bigger on the white linen of the bed.

Today had shown you once again that you would never let something like that happen to you.

“You have to incise into her abdomen.”

Not ever.

“No!”

Not in a million years.

“No, Mi’ytiar… you have to, you have to.”

You would never put someone else’s life before yours, not even the one of your never-going-to-happen baby.

“Save our baby. Forget me… ju-just save our son… please.”

Sighing, you got ready for bed. You were far too tired this evening to get anything done. The laundry had to wait until tomorrow and your father probably already had eaten, so there was no need to get to the store. For now, you needed to stop thinking.

A whole week passed and you had followed your everyday routine like every other day. Occasionally, when you walked past the room where Johanna had delivered her baby and made her husband a widower, you paused and stared. Instead of the freshly made bed and the stark white linen, you saw her, dying as she bled out. You saw the doctor, yourself by his side and the nurse holding the baby at the foot of the bed.

You jumped when you felt a hand on your shoulder and you turned to see said nurse smiling pitiful at you.

“You are still there, right?” She asked softly, her eyes scanning your face.

You swallowed and nodded. “It’s like that every time I come here. I don’t know why. She’s not the first I watched dying during childbirth.”

The elderly woman patted your cheek and guided you away from the delivery room by the crook of your arm, pulling you away from the sorrowful abyss before you could drown any deeper in it.

“You liked her, that’s why.” She started, “I had a Johanna, too. A long, long time ago. Although she was a lot younger, she was just as excited to be a mother. Poor thing died just like her baby.”

You gasped and now it was you who looked with pity at her. “Why?”

“The baby was stuck.” The older nurse sighed, “She pushed and pushed and tore. By the time the doctor started to cut her open, she died of internal bleeding.” She had to clear her throat before she continued, “The baby died with her. A little boy. He got himself tangled up in the umbilical cord.”

You turned your gaze from her face down to the ground and watched your feet walk an unknown route. Swallowing down your tears, you forced yourself to concentrate on not stumbling over your own feet.

You did like Johanna. You had empathized with her, even though children would never be part of your life. She had just wanted a baby, a part of her and the man she loved united in one body, and all that she got was death. She hadn’t deserved it. At least the thought that she might be together with her baby in heaven now thanks to her belief in God soothed your heart a little.

“Go home, (Y/N).” The elderly nurse interrupted your train of thought.

Looking up, you saw her holding up your purse and coat. Apparently, she had led you to the lounge where the doctors and nurses spent their lunchtime.

“But I still have six hours to go.” You tried to argue, but bit down your lower lip when she shook her head.

“If someone should ask for you, I will tell them you didn’t feel well and that I sent you home. There are certain benefits as head nurse.” She winked at you, pushed your belongings into your hands, and shooed you in the direction of the exit.

“I promise I will feel better tomorrow.” You called over your shoulder and waved at her, giving her one last smile before you shrugged on your coat and left.

Thirty-two minutes later, you got off the bus and turned around the corner into your street, your purse dangling back and forth on your wrist. With your extra five hours, maybe you could finally start that book on your bedside table if your dad wouldn’t find any reason to turn your attention to him.

Feeling slightly more cheerful, you walked a little faster, already searching for the key. Like always, you checked the mailbox — nothing again — before you hopped up the one flight of stairs to your apartment, the sound of your heels on the wood filling the otherwise silent staircase.

The noise seemed to attract the woman living across from you because you barely reached the top of the stairs when she ripped her door open and stared at you with wide eyes.

You paused and looked at her in concern. “Mrs. Walter? Is everything okay?” You asked and carefully inched closer to her.

For several moments, you didn’t get an answer. Only when you opened your mouth to ask her again, she slowly lifted her trembling arm and pointed past you at something you could not see.

Strange. The only thing back there was your apartment door, so…

The slamming of Mrs. Walter's door barely reached your ears when you turned around. All you could hear was eerie silence, not Mrs. Walter quickly putting her distance between her and the door, not the dog barking from above you that got awakened by the slamming door, not the traffic noises outside.

The door that you diligently locked every morning before you got to work and unlocked every evening when you returned home hung on its hinges. In quick strides, you reached it and ripped off the note that was nailed into the wood under the peephole. Your eyes scanned over the words as you pushed the door open and entered the apartment.

A search was carried out here due to a tip-off of a conspiracy against the country and its people. All residents are requested to report immediately...

Tears clouded your view and made it impossible to make out the rest of the words. But there was no need to. You already knew what you needed to know. Your father was dead, no questions asked, no evidence to prove that he was innocent or guilty, no interference by the judiciary. He had dug his own grave since he started to badmouth and criticize the current sins committed by the government.

You slowly navigated your way through your destroyed home, your hands supporting yourself against the wall, careful to not get caught in something with your pumps. You had to duck under the big shelf close to the entrance of the living room. It was tilted to the side so that the upper part was now leaning against the other side of the wall. Everything that had ever been placed onto it — pictures, plants, certificates, and other little knick-knacks — was now scattered on the floor.

It got even worse in the living room. Everything had been turned upside down. Your father’s chair was thrown to the side just like the couch and the coffee table. The books from the huge bookshelf that covered the length of the smallest wall in here were pulled out and tossed on the floor, pages ripped out and strewn on the floor. Pictures were taken from the walls and the glass crunched as you stepped over them. Dirt was covering the floor as if someone had been digging in the soil of the potted plants. The carpet was overturned, partly thrown onto the couch, and revealed the wooden floor it usually covered.

Your living room had been thoroughly searched and you doubted the rest of your home looked any different.

In a daze, you carelessly let your purse drop to the floor and shuffled to your bedroom. Opening the door, you were greeted with a view you had expected — your bed was tilted to the side, clothes from your closet were now scattered on the floor, and your mirror was lying face down on the floor.

When you saw the pictures of you and your family carelessly thrown into the corner, you couldn’t hold the sob in any longer. You sank to your knees, curled into a ball, and cried to your heart’s content with your eyes squeezed shut.

You lost your mother at a young age, lost your father for the first time after his accident, lost your brother to the country, and now lost your father for the second and final time. Now you were wholly and utterly alone. Not for long, though. If you didn’t come forward and turned yourself in to a possible fair trial in the next sixteen hours, you would be taken just like your father and die the same way he did.

Your breakdown had been apparently so nerve-wracking and tiring that when you opened your eyes, it was dark inside your room and outside your window. Groggily, you propped yourself up and looked around, disappointedly ascertain that you hadn’t been dreaming at all. Your eyes scanned your room, still a little out of it, until you spotted your clock on the wall, surprisingly intact. 9:24 PM. Now you had less than ten hours left.

How would you spend your last ten hours in freedom? You didn’t know, but you for sure wouldn’t do it in here. You needed to leave.

As quick as you could you switched your nurse uniform to a skirt and your favorite blouse, fixed your make-up and your hair to look less like a mess and more like the respectable woman you usually were, and left the apartment after putting on your shoes, coat and grabbed your purse. At first, you strolled around with no real destination in mind, but the darker it got the higher the risk of being stopped by a patrolling soldier.

You had enough money with you to occupy yourself with a few drinks, so why not enjoy yourself, let a little loose. You never really got the chance to try it out. Your job unironically prevented you from unnecessarily damaging your liver and you had the responsibility to take care of your family. Your girlfriends always invited you on girl’s night, but sadly you had to decline almost every time, be it your father or another night shift forced upon you. They had another planned on the weekend in a few days, the first one in a very long time you would have had time for. Not anymore. When they would sit around a table and share the newest gossip, you had already started to rot away in a mass grave.

You entered the first, non-shady-looking bar and plopped down on one of the bar stools on the right. When the bartender finally took notice of you, all he needed to do was to take in your gloomy figure pitifully slumped in your seat to grab a glass and fill it with a brown liquid. No words were spoken — you didn’t feel like it and he noticed that — as you grabbed the glass, tossed the liquor back, and placed the now empty glass back down. The alcohol, whatever it was, burned like hell and you couldn’t help but cough, tears forming in the corner of your eyes. The bartender meanwhile had wordlessly filled your glass again and without any hesitation, you emptied that one too.

You spend almost four hours like that. Losing count after your sixth shot, your head started to feel funny, like the world around you was spinning too fast. You mused what your life would have been like if your mother hadn’t died when you were just nine years old, if your father hadn’t lost his legs when you were seventeen, if your brother had chosen a normal job at your current age. You could have grown up like any normal girl, could have joined your friends more often to hang out, could have started going on dates again after your last boyfriend dumped you for neglecting him.

And what about your future? What about the man you wanted to marry in a few years? Every day you daydreamed of someone who would just sweep you away in his arms and take you far, far away from here. There had to be a place somewhere where you could live your life in peace without a brewing war and the constant fear of death. You waited for someone who would make your life easier than it currently was, who would take the weight from your shoulders and not add some more on them every single day. Someone who loved you passionately and would spoil you after nine years of labor where you worked yourself to the bone. Someone who would take charge and let you rest when you needed it. Someone who was the other half of your soul that hopelessly awaited to be rejoined with its counterpart.

When you reached out to your glass for the nth time, a hand softly clasped your wrist. Looking up, you saw the bartender giving you the same pitiful look you had received for God knows how often today, from your colleague at the hospital to some of the other patrons who entered and left the bar during the last few hours.

“I think you should get home.” He said firmly and pulled his hand away.

No longer being hindered, you lifted the glass up to your lips and emptied it in one go. “I no longer have a home.” You dully answered, your speech a little slurred.

“We close in a few minutes.” He tried another route, anything to get you to stop drinking.

He may not be interested in what personal business you have to drink yourself under the table, but even he wouldn’t let a young woman like you do that to herself.

“Fine.” You mumbled, grabbed your purse, and searched for the money that was stored somewhere in there. You hummed when you finally found it and without looking at it, you dropped it down on the counter. “Here.”

You held onto the sleek surface of the bar to lift yourself up and from your seat, supporting your whole weight with one hand while you needed several attempts to grab your coat. Not bothering to put it on, you turned to leave and even you were surprised that you could still walk in a (more or less) straight line.

“Hey, you paid too much!” The bartender called from behind you.

Not bothering to stop or turn around, you simply proclaimed, “Keep it. Where I go I won't need it.” and pushed the entrance door open.

Outside, you tilted your head up, closed your eyes, and took a deep breath of the cool night air. It instantly freshened you up and cleared your mind a little. Looking left and right along the sidewalk, you decided to take the left and began strolling wherever it was taking you, once again with no actual destination in mind. You had no idea what time it was, but you guessed you had around five or six hours left. If you’re lucky and didn’t get held up by some patrols, you could visit the park one last time where your parents, Emil and you would hold a picnic every summer when you were younger. It would only take you ten minutes on foot. It wouldn’t hurt to visit the place that held so many good childhood memories and bask in them in your final hours.

You were walking for mere two minutes when you heard a whistle from your right. Halting your steps, you turned your head to the side and looked over to the source. There, on the other side of the street, were two men sitting on a bench and two standing around them. One was holding a beer bottle while the others were smoking their cigarettes.

“Hey, pretty lady.” The one with the beer bottle called over to you and lifted it to toast to you.

You quickly snapped your head back forward and continued on your way, your strides bigger and faster to create as much distance between you and them as possible.

When you thought you were safe, you felt a hand clasping your wrist whose owner pulled you back and against his strong chest.

“Hey, hey, hey.” The voice of the man with the beer bottle breathed against your ear, sending an uncomfortable shiver down your spine. “Don’t be shy. We were just celebrating my friend’s promotion.” To your horror, he put his hands on your hips and turned you both to his three companions who had seemingly followed him, all of them wearing leering grins. “Why don’t you join us, hm? We could need a little entertainment.” He murmured against your neck, his breath reeking of alcohol.

Before he could place his lips anywhere close to your skin, you struggled out of his grip and stumbled a few steps away from him. “I-I’m sorry, but I need to go home. I’m already late.”

The man who seemed to be the leader of the bunch stepped closer to you, smirking when you accidentally walked right into one of his friends. The guy immediately held you against him, keeping you in place.

“I think you could spare a couple of minutes.” The leader said firmly and reached for your blouse.

Fear seemed to be a great way to quickly sober one up because the next thing you did was stomp down on the foot of the man that was holding you, your heel hitting his toe perfectly, causing him to let you go with a cry in pain and a curse. Next, you rammed your knee into the crotch of the man in front of you and when his body doubled over, you pushed him to the side and bolted down the sidewalk.

Not daring to look back, you sprinted as fast as you could, but the alcohol made it hard to keep balance, not to mention the nausea that bubbled up in your stomach. But you ignored it and tried to keep it down when you heard their calls from behind you, coming closer and closer.

This was not how you wanted to spend your last night, this was not how you imagined it. Tears clouded your view and you narrowly escaped the grabby hand of whatever guy that was closest to you when you ducked down and sharply took a left turn into an alley.

Unbeknownst to you, you were being watched.

The next thing you felt was hard concrete as you fell forward when a heavy weight collided with your back. You cried out in pain when you hit your head, then hysterically screamed in panic when you felt hands on your skirt and you started kicking around, not caring if you hit something or not. You heard a grunt when your heel finally made contact with the shoulder of one of them, but you had barely time to bask in your little victory when a punch to your face almost knocked you out cold. Your body went instantly slack, a long-winded groan leaving your mouth.

“Move your ass and hold her down.” The voice of the leader sounded from somewhere above you. “And turn her around. I like to watch their face when they give up.”

Hands turned you on your back as your screams and cries accompanied your attempts to fight their hands off.

“No… please no.” You begged as your wrists were pinned above your head by a pair of rough hands. “No!” You screamed louder, in a high-pitched, panicking voice when your blouse was ripped open, your brassiere following suit, and your chest got groped by a calloused hand.

You squeezed your eyes shut when you felt an eager mouth around your nipple, harshly sucking on it, while your breasts were still in a painfully hard grasp. You tried to gather your last strength, the drinks earlier and then the hit to your head from the fall tempted you to just fall unconscious, but you bucked your body up in hopes you could throw whoever was above you off of you.

Only you couldn’t move. Someone was straddling your thighs, hindering you from moving.

You finally forced yourself to open your eyes and the blurry image of the leader pushing up your skirt presented itself in front of you.

“Stop, please! Help!” You started screaming again, causing the leader to sigh in annoyance.

“Could you please shut her up, for fuck’s sake? I’m trying to enjoy myself here.” He growled at the guy who was holding your hands down, his patience growing thinner with every passing moment he wasn’t able to force himself inside you. “When I’m done with her, you get what’s left of her.”

“No, no, no, no...” You wailed when you heard the clinking of his belt and a zipper being opened, but you soon got silenced when a palm pressed down on your mouth.

Rather than keep watching him, you closed your eyes in defeat, now only feeling how he moved closer to your crotch, his fingers pushing your underwear aside, and positioned himself against your entrance.

A dull thud behind your attackers stilled them for a moment, but a raging roar got them to whip around. You kept your eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to see whatever feral animal was going to maul you and those men.

A scream, something wet splashing on you and something, someone, heavy landing on top of you got you to finally open your eyes again. You stared right into a gaping hole where the head of a person normally should be. Maybe it was the shock of almost ending up left on the ground in this alley, covered in bruises, blood and bodily fluids after they were done with you, that kept you from screaming.

In a daze, you pushed the corpse off of you, and looked down at your body. It was covered in blood, parts of a splattered brain, and white fragments that had been the skull of the leader of the group. His head had bursted into pieces. No animal could have done that and no human either. There was no weapon on earth with that much destructive power, so what…

With slow eyes, you looked up from your soiled legs. The guy now lying dead next to you had been obscuring the view of a large creature standing no more than three meters across from you.

Whatever it was, it seemed livid. Its body was heaving with wrathful breaths and its long fingers were twitching, clenching into fists before relaxing them again. The massive form of it was hidden by darkness and you could barely make out its silhouette.

It felt like an eternity with you just staring at the creature and it (probably) staring right back. The other assaulters, two of whom had fallen to the ground in shock with the sudden attack on their leader, hadn’t dared to move a muscle. Maybe they were in a trance just as you were, not for the same reason of course.

“H-Hey!” The fourth guy squeaked, breaking the tension that seemed to suffocate the whole alley. “Wha-“

In a practiced, seemingly effortless movement, the creature whipped out its arm, and something silvery shot out of the darkness. It wrapped around the throat of the man, choking him and sending him to his knees. He was clawing his neck and tried to remove what seemed to be a whip made out of sleek silver and grey material.

You watched him as he desperately tried to free himself and blood started to flow from where the whip was wrapped around his neck down to his shirt, turning the light blue fabric deep red. Your eyes then traveled along the bladed chain, you now noticed, to the other end of it, and found the large creature moving towards you.

If you would have been able to make a sound, you would have, but you were still too out of it that no noise escaped your bloody lips when you were finally able to distinguish your savior.

It was indeed huge, a massive body that was dwarfing any human being you could think of. Its appearance was bizarre. Its feet and calves up to its knees were in unusual boots, made out of metal instead of leather and an interesting design. You wondered if it was the skin of the creature, or if it was wearing a net-like cloth that was visible on every body part that wasn’t hidden beneath armor like the chest plate that bleed over into a full sleeve of its arm. It was covering the left side of its chest, but not enough to conceal a rather fit upper body. You found yourself staring a lot longer at the well-defined, almost sculpted abs of it. It was no doubt a male.

As you were eyeing the creature up, he yanked on the whip. You were only aware of a dull thud when the bladed chain cut off the head of the man who had been in its hold.

You didn’t register when more blood sprinkled on you as you were too busy trying to imagine a face underneath that strange mask. With his green, brownish, and beige reptilian skin, the long black tendrils sprouting from the head, the long claws, and the animalistic posture, he was without a doubt not human.

An arm wrapping around your throat from behind, preventing you from breathing evenly, brought you back to reality. You immediately put up a fight, scratching it and pulling on the arm in hopes he would let go.

It was one of the attackers that had fallen to the ground when the creature had appeared. He must have scrambled over to you when his last companion was foolishly enough to run up to the murderous beast, trying to do something quite laughable, only to be impaled by a spear and was now hanging on the wall to the right like he was a portrait above a chimney, the spear rammed through the brick of the apartment building.

The idiot behind you thought the creature would let him go if he was holding you hostage as if he wasn’t going to kill the both of you just like his buddies. So foolish, you internally sighed.

“S-S-Stop! I‘m warning you!” He screamed at the towering figure which was closing in on you. “I will… I will kill her!”

The creature stopped a few steps away from you and reached behind his back. Quicker than your eyes could keep up, his hand shot forward and he threw something of the size of an orange at the man.

Yelling, the man loosened his grip, his instincts kicking in to fight against whatever was sticking to his forehead. In his struggle, he fell on his back and started rolling around on the floor when the little device made a strange wiring noise. His body went stock still when he was engulfed in a net, restraining him. Then the man screamed bloody murder when the wiring noise grew louder and the device pulled the net tighter around him.

You turned to him, only to see the strings cutting into his skin, drawing blood, until only pieces of his body were left of him, leaving him unidentifiable to whoever would find him and his friends.

Now it was only you in that alley. You, the beast that saved you and the bloody massacre turning the place into an image of horror.

You were going to get sick if you stared at what had been a living and breathing human once any longer. Rather than wanting to face the creature when it was going to kill you, you turned back around and then startled back. Said beast was crouching in front of you, the head cocked to the side.

He reached out a clawed hand and you closed your eyes, preparing yourself for whatever gruesome death he had planned for you. You thought back to everything you had achieved in your life, every person that was still dear to you, said goodbye to every place you loved to visit, to the movie you had wanted to watch in a week with a friend, to the unread book on your bedside table and every dream you had wanted fulfill — you had actually planned to do that in a few hours. At least he was going to give you a quick death and not whatever the authorities had done to your father.

Something poked your cheek.

Your eyes snapped open and you were met with a closer view of the strange mask covering the creature‘s face. His hand was outstretched and a finger was prodding your skin. A strange noise was coming from behind the mask, something you could only describe as a rumbling purr.

You stayed still, afraid if you would only move a muscle it would set the creature off, and let him drag his clawed finger up to your temple where a trail of blood had started to run from the wound you got from the fall. You hissed in pain when the pad of his thumb stroked — probably unintentionally hard — over your lower lip, the rough skin touching where it was busted. He pulled its thumb away only to replace it with the back of his pointer and middle finger to caress your jaw and down to your throat. The touch caused you to swallow which he most likely could feel. Only when you felt the scaly sensation on your skin dip too deep, too far beneath the ripped remains of your blouse, you gripped his wrist.

The creature’s head snapped up where it had followed his exploration. You flinched back at the sudden movement and quickly loosened your hold on his wrist, pulling it away like you had burnt yourself.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, your voice hoarse.

What if you had just signed your death? What if you touching him like that had triggered him? What if he thought you were a threat now? What if he thought of it as highly offensive? What if he was going to kill you now? What if-

A low thump caused you to flinch when he hit the left side of his chest with his right fist. With parted lips, you looked from his fist up to his masked face and then back again, confused, both at the gesture and the lack of aggression towards you. Almost as if he could understand the look on your face, he repeated the action with a little more determination after he inched closer to you. You were more focused on his sudden closeness, daring not to move back, but you hastily turned your gaze down to his fist. It was a little hard to concentrate on what he was trying to tell you after the vast change of demeanor — from murdering in cold blood to trying to… communicate with you?

“You?” You tried hesitantly.

It really was your best guess on what he could mean.

A soft growl reached your ears from underneath his mask, making you tense up but relaxed in relief the second his attention turned to his forearm. You watched in curiosity as his clawed pointer finger ghosted over the armor-like wristband that started flashing in a bright red and made strange beeping noises like when a caller on the other line hung up before you could. Your mouth opened without you even noticing. You had never seen something like it, probably no one ever had. How was it functioning without cables like your telephone and radio did?

“Are you telling me you are married?”

You jumped back a little when a male voice chimed from his wristband.

“To a cup of tea, I will never say no.”

“I can’t believe you put the jar in the oven!”

You looked at him in astonishment as more voices sounded from his forearm. Human voices.

He kept repeating the same three sentences, but they seemed to get shorter with every replay.

“-telling me you are… telling me… me.”

“-a cup of tea… tea.”

“-you put the jar in the… you put the jar… the jar… jar.”

He seemed to be satisfied as he let out a deep, low-pitched chirp before he played the cut and put together word snippets to you, his head facing you now.

“Me-tea-jar.” He hit his chest once again before playing the word again. “Me-tea-jar.”

“Meetja?” You tried the word, tried how it felt on your tongue.

He let out a deep grumble before he played the same word again and leaned even closer to you.

“Me-tea-jar.”

“M-Meetiar. Mi’ytiar.”

With his head slightly cocked to the side, he tilted it forward in a one-movement nod as if to say, “Now you got it.” and his fist hit his chest one last time.

“You. Mi’ytiar. T-That’s your name?” You asked and hoped you put the puzzle pieces together correctly.

Another nod before he pointed at you.

“Oh.” You softly said, shifted slightly your hips, and nervously placed a hand on your own chest. “(Y/N). I’m (Y/N).”

“(Y/N).” Your voice sounded from his forearm when he touched his wristband. “(Y/N).”

You couldn’t help the small smile and you nodded. “Yes. (Y/N).”

The creature — Mi’ytiar — lowly grumbled in appreciation and you breathed out the air you had been holding in your lungs in a laugh. You couldn’t believe you talked, more or less, to something that undoubtedly didn’t belong on earth while you were surrounded by death after being spared from something that would have scarred you for life just because you had been out drinking to have one last night in freedom until you would follow your father in an early grave. Your life really had taken a strange turn in just a few hours.

“What are you?” You asked him and tilted your head to the side.

“Hunter.” He communicated with the help of his wristband.

“Where do you come from?”

“Sky.”

“Sky.” You repeated the child’s voice and looked up.

So he came from the sky. You wondered if he meant the clouds, or maybe the moon. It could be the stars for all you knew. Was he the only one living there, or were there more? Maybe one like him lived on each star the night sky had to offer.

As you were looking up in thought, Mi’ytiar took his time to admire you. You were, what you humans would use, adorable. He didn’t hunt humans very often as they weren’t much of a challenge, but sometimes he would visit earth out of curiosity. Your kind was interesting and his ancestors had been quite fond of them when they used them to breed their prey centuries ago. Humans have made a continuous development from then to now, so it was fascinating to watch.

Like he watched you now. He admired your wide eyes, the curve of your nose, and your rosy cheeks that displayed the dried tear streaks of panic and fear. He admired the shape of your lips and the cut that had caused you pain when he touched it. He admired your shiny hair that had once been pulled up in a neat bun but was now hanging loosely and messily around your face, framing it like it was a piece of art. He admired your small, shaking hands that were desperately holding the ripped-open blouse together, protecting your modesty, and the naked skin of your trembling shoulders when the fabric had slipped down to your biceps. You had been so incredibly warm and soft when he had touched what you were hiding now.

A quiet hiss got you to look back at him and you watched with uncertainty as his fingers first pulled on the one tube that was connected to his mask and then the other before he removed it anxiously slow. You mentally prepared yourself for the most horrific sight of your life, but when the top half of his face was laid bare, you sucked in a breath. It wasn’t the foreign shape of his head, the texture of his skin, or the spiky triangle-shaped bumps that circled the sides and the back of his head like a crown, clearly dividing where the roots of his hair ended and his face started. It was his eyes, though an abnormal orange, that were salient and captivating you. They didn’t look like what your wildest fantasies had to offer, but somewhat seemed almost human — a black pupil surrounded by an orange iris. And not just any orange. It was the kind of orange that stretched across the sky at every sunrise and sunset. The only difference you spotted from your own eyes was that he had a black sclera instead of a white one.

You would have gotten lost in them if he hadn’t removed the mask fully so his lower face was showing too. You wouldn’t exactly describe it as terrifying, but the sight of his mouth was, to say it simply, unnerving. It was hidden behind four tusks that represented his mandibles. You were fascinated when he suddenly made a clicking noise but were taken aback when he extended the fleshy texture to reveal two rows of teeth. It was like he had two jaws, one when the mandibles were retracted to his face and one when they were extended and showed his actual mouth. His upper jaw held three teeth with two larger fangs on each side, his lower jaw held the same amount only were they a little thinner, so his fangs wouldn’t hinder his mouth from closing.

Even after the initial shock subsided, you wouldn’t exactly use the word pretty, but there was something about him. Thrilling and particular, astounding and intriguing, but also alluring.

The longer you looked at him, at Mi’ytiar, the more accustomed you got to his appearance.

Another clicking sound reached your ears and you stopped mapping his features with your eyes, only now realizing how he looked down at you with his head tilted to the side. When you mumbled his name, almost as if it took all your courage, he straightened up and his eyes snapped to your hand that had loosened its grip on your blouse. He followed the movement of it getting closer to his face and when you turned your hand so your palm was facing him, his own hand reacted fast and grabbed your delicate wrist.

Bad idea, real bad idea, you thought. He wasn’t exactly hurting you, but his grip wasn’t exactly soft.

Instead of tugging against his hold in an attempt to free yourself that would obliviously fail, you let your arm go slack. Instead of panicking, you remained calm. Instead of screaming at him to let you go, you kept your mouth shut and waited for his next move. If you triggered him in any way, he would surely kill you.

Mi’ytiar, on the other hand, was amazed with you, in awe. He wouldn’t be the first Yautja to be enthralled with a human in this kind of way, sure, but he hadn’t expected to be one of them one day. You were extraordinary in the way you looked at him, didn’t mind the proximity he had put you in, and apparently seemed to seek for it.

Contrary to what you believed, he pulled your hand closer to his face by the wrist, causing you to move from your side-sit on the floor to get on your knees. Your lips parted in surprise when he pulled his mandibles in and he himself brought your hand up to his cheek.

The sensation underneath your touch was unusual and new. His cheek wasn’t like that of a human when you would press the fat until you could feel the jaw bone. It was springy, considering it was only a fleshy layer that covered his mouth. You moved your hand down to his outer jaw which consisted of his mandible and followed the length of it with your palm. You could feel the firm muscle and bone and gave it a gentle, experimental squeeze. Almost automatically he made a soft purring noise like that one of a cat and you blushed at the possibility that he was enjoying the caress.

You, of course, had no idea that you were touching a highly sensitive part of his anatomy and would be alive to tell the tale afterward.

Just as you were curious about him, he was eager to explore you as well. Carefully, he reached out and through the ripped-open front of your blouse. Seconds later his palm made contact with your stomach and he could feel how you tensed up. He looked up into your eyes, but when he found nothing that indicated that you despised his touch, his hand ran along to your waist and down to your hip, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your belly. It was strange how you could feel his thumb near your navel and at the same time his other fingers on your lower back, taking the width of your hip like it was nothing.

The both of you were too busy in your explorations that you had grown ignorant to your surroundings, so when a scream filled the previously quiet alley, you grabbed his extended arm, not to push it away but to hold onto it in panic, while Mi’ytiar whirled his head around to the two outlines standing near the street at the end of the alley. Your body was hidden by his massive one, so it looked like a monster was kneeling among his freshly killed victims, basking in the glory of his crime.

Mi’ytiar’s mandibles flared and the guttural roar that left his lungs made you cling to him in fear. Not of him, but the consequences that you would have to face if those who had stumbled upon this scene without context would call for the patrolling soldiers. You heard more screams and hastily retreating footsteps as the couple ran as if their lives depended on it.

Large hands grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you up on his shoulder, causing you to squeal in surprise, and you had barely time to hold onto him before he started climbing up the metal scaffolding of the balconies of the apartment building, jumping up and landing on the roof. With an arm secure around your waist, he jumped and ran further and further away.

And you let him.

2024, Yautja Prime

“What you smiling for?”

And all of a sudden, those purred words were taking you from your past life to your current one. You hadn’t even noticed you had stopped drawing random figures and forms on Mi’tyiar’s naked chest. At some point, you had started daydreaming with that far-away look in your eyes and a smile slowly making its way on your lips as you were lying on him, between his legs.

“Just thought of the night we met.” You drawled lazily and rubbed your cheek against his reptilian-like skin. “My hero in shining alien amour.”

“My amour does not shine.”

Now you had to laugh. Sometimes you couldn’t help yourself when he was so bluntly clueless. Humans and their analogies were oh so confusing.

“It’s a human saying, my love.” You explained as you crossed your arms on his wide chest and rested your chin on them. “A male who saves a female from danger. A male who would sacrifice himself so the female can get away without harm.”

Mi’ytiar reached towards your face and cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your cheek before he dragged it over your lower lip. You were dreamingly looking up at him, basking in his loving touch. You were placing your hand on his and turned your head to the side so you could pepper his palm with light kisses.

He couldn’t help his body’s reaction, he just couldn’t. He was starved of your touch.

You suddenly stopped your sweet kisses when you felt something big poking your stomach. You looked down, although you could only see how your breasts were pressed against him before you looked back up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“You are insatiable.” You smirked and hoisted yourself up after placing one last kiss between his pecs.

You straddled his midriff but left enough space between you and him so you could reach underneath your body and grab his semi-hard cock. Even at this size, you had a little trouble to fully embrace it and getting your fingertips to touch.

You hissed when you felt the familiar sting of his sharp mandibles and teeth digging into your skin. You tilted your head to the side and offered him more access. Mi’ytiar let out a feral growl when your blood finally hit his tongue. He relished in it, tasting so sweet, just like the rest of you.

Grasping your hips with both of his hands, his claws scratching your delicate skin, he pushed them down to his crotch.

He needed you again, needed to be so deep inside you, so he could see the bulge of his cock forming in your tummy. Just the thought of it made his hips snap up, barely missing your entrance, and dragging his cock through your sopping wet folds that were covered with your combined releases from your last mating moments ago. It elicited a whiny moan and a wiggle of your hips.

“Stop teasing, tanhì. Put it in.” You groaned and started rubbing yourself up and down his rock-hard cock, coating it with your mixed cum that was still leaking from your hole.

Mi’ytiar wrapped a large arm around you and started to get up, his other arm supporting himself, to manhandle you on your back to be on top. The second your hazy mind registered what he was doing, you placed both of your hands on his chest and pushed him back down. You preened when his body immediately went slack, allowing you to do as you pleased with him.

He was staring up at you with flashing eyes. You didn’t take the lead very often, preferring it to be dominated by your mate, but when you did, he was gladly giving you the power you wanted.

The first time you had tried to be on top, it had gone from steamy to ugly pretty quickly. You had been on your back when you tried to push him and switch your position, but since he had been unmovable like a rock, you had untangled yourself from him and told him to lie back. You were straddling his hips, humping his hardening cock for exactly thirty seconds before he flipped you over and on your back again. You had then mewled and tried to push him back once more, causing him to growl. For your attitude he bit roughly into your throat, hoping it would keep you submissive. You let out a cry and hit his chest with both of your fists. This time Mi’ytiar had shown you his displeasure more vocal when he slammed his flat hands next to both sides of your head and roared right into your face. Safe to say, it scared the living daylights out of you and caused you to escape his caging arms. He, of course, followed you quickly and tried to amend his outburst rather with purrs and snuggles than words.

The next time you were on top, he vehemently focused on staying seated on the edge of your nest with you on his lap as you rode him with his helping hands on your hips. His eyes strayed from the spot where his cock was disappearing inside of you, to the bulge in your stomach that grew and shrunk with every movement, to your bouncing breasts, to your pleasure-contorted face.

After that, he couldn’t get enough of you being on top.

The same was the case now as you slowly inserted his throbbing cock into your-

A wail broke the sensual atmosphere, causing the both of you to jerk your heads to the doorway connecting the room to the rest of your home. With your maternal instincts kicking in, you practically jumped up from your mate, his half-inside cock slipping from your tight heat, and run to the room where the sound was coming from.

Mi’ytiar slumped back with a displeased grunt. He loved his pup dearly, truly he did, but he hadn’t been able to mate with you for an eternity — five months, double the time the healer had advised you to keep from being intimate with each other after the pregnancy because a certain someone had been overly cautious with you — and his cock throbbed painfully at that sorrowful thought.

He got up from the nest and followed the direction you had run off to. Your five-month-old pup was sleeping alone in his room for only a short part of his life. Before that, his crib had been standing next to the nest in your room, quickly accessible and in reach should he need any sort of attention. Now he was sleeping in his big brother’s former nursery you had lovingly prepared when you had been pregnant with Akail, your first pup.

Mi’ytiar watched you standing in front of the crib in the middle of the room, your back to him, as you rocked the whiny pup in your arms. The wholesome thoughts of his beautiful mate taking such good care of his youngling quickly turned into an animalistic need to breed you once more when his eyes trailed over your curves that had gotten bigger after bearing his second son. They fixed on your legs where trails of semen were running down your skin from between your inner thighs.

He was faster by your side than you would expect from a being of his size. He pressed his bare body against your own, hands on your hips pulling you closer, his cock digging into your back. Mi’ytiar bent down to snuggle his face into the crook of your neck, purring lowly.

“He was just hungry.” You whispered as you watched your pup falling back to sleep.

Bending over, you placed your little one back into his crib, careful not to disturb him. You had to bite your lip when you felt Mi’ytiar pull you back against his crotch to rub himself against your ass. All you needed to do was push your ass back into him for him to grab you, throw you over his shoulder and turn to leave your son’s nursery.

Giggling, you looked back to the pup’s crib and whispered, “Dream of the stars, my little Toyah.” before you got carried back to your nest.

Masterlist: here

Tag List

@rorrika, @lialiwasneverseen, @lil-lilacwitch, @purplekitten30, @eternalmoonshineofahopelessfan,

@ladygrimmx, @blurpleuni-squid

⇨ Want to join the tag list?

#predator #predator x reader #predator x you #yautja x reader #yautja x you #fanfic

333 notes · View notes

lanadelnegan · 1 year

Note

Hi I’m kinda shy about this one. So the reader has been traveling with dead city cowboy Negan for awhile and she’s liked him for a long time but she’s a virgin and she wants him to take it.

Don't be shy bb, I am a slutttt for dead city Negan. Basically, think of this as if you were in Ginny's shoes, but you're 18.

Our Little Cabin

Dead City!Negan x Reader

Warnings: smut, 18+, NSFW, virgin reader, vaginal sex, fingering, family death (reader's mom), reader seduces the hell out of negan, extreme age-gap (reader is 18, negan is 50ish), masturbating (both), masturbating in front of Negan while he refuses to touch you, daddy-kink, breeding kink, cuddling, pure filth

A/n: If you like slow burn, sexual tension and a "hard to get" daddy Negan, this one is for you. I promise one day I'll finally write a fic without daddy-kink, but today is not that day.

"Can we go home now, Negan? My legs hurt." I complain, dragging my feet lazily through the leaves.

He stops and sighs, resting his hands on his hips. I stop too and stare at him. That damn cowboy hat.. I swear he wears it just to tease me.. and it's working.

"Yeah, doll. Sun'll be going down soon anyway."

"Ugh thank god." My head falls back dramatically and he chuckles as we start our way back.

Negan took me under his wing a few months ago when some assholes attacked Oceanside, killing my family and everyone I know. I was lucky - if you wanna call it that - enough to escape. I ran into Negan in the woods and it's just been me and him ever since. I'm thankful for him, considering I never had a dad or father figure growing up. My mom was my best friend.. and now she's gone. But at least I have him.

I've grown attached to Negan over the recent months.. But something feels.. different lately. I'm not sure what suddenly changed over the last few weeks, but I've caught myself imagining things about him that I shouldn't. Even touching myself to the thought of him. I feel so guilty afterwards, but I can't stop. I've never been with anyone.. never kissed anyone.. never touched anyone. And my body is screaming at me for it. I can't even look at him anymore without imagining what he looks like under his clothes.

"Why're you so quiet, kid?" He glances at me as we walk.

Ugh, I hate it when he calls me kid.

I shrug. "Just thinkin'."

"About?"

"Doesn't matter." And I've convinced myself it doesn't. I'll never be with someone romantically, because for one.. it's the apocalypse. It's not like I have a school full of hot boys lined up ready to ask me to prom. Not that I'd give them a chance anyway. I'd probably be more into the teachers. And second, the man I want would never think of me that way.

"That's not true."

"You don't even know what I'm thinking, so how can you say that?"

"Anything you think about - worry about - matters to me, y/n. So, spill."

We finally make it back to our little cabin. We've been staying in it for awhile, stocking it with food and supplies. No one has found us yet.. It's kinda nice. But I won't get used to it. Because nothing good lasts forever.

I throw myself on the couch dramatically, as if our walk that we've done a hundred times now could've killed me.

"I don't know... I just, I feel like most kids - people - my age have already experienced more in life that I have."

"Like?"

"Sex." I blurt before I can stop myself. I look to Negan to see his reaction, but he's surprisingly not that alarmed. His eyebrows are raised as he studies me, probably more shocked that I actually had the balls to say that in front of him.

"Listen, I don't really feel comfortable doing the whole birds and bees talk with you."

My cheeks turn pink with embarrassment and I nod disappointedly.

"Sorry, it's just.. I - no one's really talked to me about it before. My mom said she would when I was ready.. but then she.. she.." I fight back the tears. I hate crying. You can't come across weak in the times we live in and I've been forced to be strong my entire life.

He looks at me finally and sighs, holding his arm out for me to come snuggle next to him. It's not the first time he's held me as I've cried over my mom. Won't be the last.

I bury my head in his chest, sniffling, as his hand rubs my back.

"Alright, kid. What do you wanna know?" He gives in, feeling sorry for me.

"Well, I know how it works, but I guess I just wanna know what it feels like." I feel him tense underneath me as he adjusts himself awkwardly.

"No boyfriends at Oceanside?"

"There were boys.. but none that I was interested in."

"You'll find someone when the time is right. You're still young."

"Well you don't have anyone, and you're.. not young."

"Jeez, kid. Thanks." He chuckles. "I did have someone. A few someone's actually. Lost them all to this cruel world." He admits and my heart hurts for him.

"Well, you have me now." I get more comfortable, laying my head in his lap and looking up at him. He shifts uncomfortably but eventually relaxes and even strokes my hair lightly.

"Yeah, I do. And nothing is going to happen to you. You're safe with me, doll." Butterflies swirl around in stomach, but I know he doesn't mean that in the way I wish he did. He sees me as a kid.. hell, as his kid. For a moment my heart sinks from jealously at the "someones" he mentioned. Lucky bitches.

"...Negan.. does it.. feel good?" I blush a little.

"Sex? .....Yeah, doll. It fucking feels good."

"Will you.. show me?" I stare up at him innocently and his hand abruptly stops stroking my hair.

He bends over, planting a kiss on my forehead. "Time for bed, darlin'." He pushes me gently up and off his lap before standing and heading to his room. The cabin is small but we each have our own rooms. His is the smaller one, right across from mine. He wanted me to have the bigger one.

I sit on the couch, feeling defeated and stupid. What was I thinking. I relax on the couch for a little longer, choosing to read a book to take my mind off what just happened. After an hour of barely keeping my eyes open, I close the book and head down the hall towards my room. I stop in front of Negan's door, peaking through the crack. He always leaves his door a few inches open just so he can hear if anything happens. My eyes widen when I notice the sheets are barely covering the lower half of his legs, revealing the rest of his body. His tan torso is exposed, showing his peppery chest hair, and his black boxers are low on his waist. I restrain myself from not jumping him right then.

I eventually make my way back to my room and change out of my clothes, throwing on some shorts and a tank top to sleep in. I can't get the image of Negan's body out of my head and find my hand slowly making its way towards my aching center once I'm finally in bed. I close my eyes, imaging Negan between my legs as I touch myself. I don't bother suppressing my moans, confident that Negan is fully asleep. "Mmm, Negan!" The sound of his name rolling off my tongue as I'm pleasuring myself brings me closer to the edge.

"Oh, Negan. Right there!" My door suddenly swings open and I snap my eyes open to see a worried Negan standing in my doorway.. still in his boxers. My hand flies out of my shorts and I throw the sheets over me.

"Oh my god, can you knock?!"

"I - you yelled for me." He says flustered. I notice the way his face reddens when he realizes what I was doing.

I gently pull the covers off me again and spread my legs a little.

"What are you doing, y/n?" He stands in front of me at the doorway, refusing to look at anything other than my eyes. That's okay.. I bet I can make him look at me down there. I like the challenge.

"What's it look like?" My bite the tip of my finger seductively at him before sliding my shorts to the side, completely revealing my pussy to him.

He glances down with a serious look across his face, like he can't believe I'm doing this. And neither can I. This is so unlike me, but I'm so desperate for him I don't even know how to control myself anymore.

The fact that he's still watching encourages me to continue. I use one hand to pull my shorts to the side and the other to slowly slide a finger through my wet slit. "I just wanna know what it feels like, daddy."

I study him closely, noticing the way his jaw ticks at the nickname. My eyes travel lower and I see his bulge through his boxers. It looks so big, but I'd be determined to make it fit no matter what.

My finger dips inside of me and I arch my back a little and moan, putting on a show for him. He stands with his back against the wall, refusing to move.

I start rubbing my clit slowly and get frustrated when he still isn't reacting. "Negan, please touch me."

He rubs a hand down his face with frustration. "Goddamn it, y/n."

"I just.. I need you. Please." I cringe at my desperate attempt to have him touch me. I need this man so bad it's embarrassing.

"I can't, baby."

"But you like watching me, don't you?"

I take it as a yes when he doesn't say anything and that's all I need before pushing myself over the edge. "Negan!" I cry out as my orgasm rushes through me. Even in the dark, I can see the lust burning through his eyes.

"Go to bed, y/n." He demands but I'm unable to read his tone. Is he mad, proud, annoyed?

I fall asleep at the thought of him giving in and touching me. Maybe if I think hard enough, I'll manifest it.. I heard that shit really works.

Negan's POV:

That girl is gonna be the fucking death of me.

She's been so flirty with me lately and I've been trying to ignore it. But fuck if she's not making it hard. Literally.. I'm hard as a fucking rock right now.

I refuse to touch my dick while thinking about her. She's thirty-fucking-three years younger than me for fuck's sake.

She's confused. She doesn't want me, and she damn sure isn't getting me. Apocalypse or not, it's still fucking wrong.

I drag a hand down my face and sigh. I shouldn't have watched her, but I couldn't look away. She flashed her fucking pussy right in my face and I just stood there.. watching her. Fuck me.

My dick is throbbing and I know I won't be able to sleep until I get some relief. "Fuck it."

I pull myself out of my boxers and immediately start stroking my dick. I think about anything but.. her. Fuck.. y/n. That pretty little wet pussy dripping right in front of me. The way she said my name when she came.

"Ahh, fuuuck. Y/n, fuck." I cum hard and fast and immediately regret it afterwards. Fuck is wrong with me.

I can't - and I won't let myself think about her like that again.

Y/n's POV:

I wake up before Negan and decide to read my book some more in the living room. It's a romance novel that I found one day in an abandoned car. I've read it four times already, but it seems to be the only romance I'll ever get in life, so why the fuck not.

"Morning, sunshine." Negan says sleepily as he walks towards the kitchen next to the living room. He grabs a handful of berries we picked yesterday and tosses them in his mouth before making me a cup full and putting them down next to me.

"Morning. Thanks." I say without looking at him.

He sits on the couch next to me. "You wanna talk about last night?"

My cheeks redden. "Nope."

"Okay, then I will." Great, here comes the lecture. "Y/n, I shouldn't have watched you. We both know that. But, I think you're just confused. It's just been the two of us for months now and you're all young and.. fucking horny and shit. But, us? It can't happen."

I stay silent, pretending to read my book.

"Seriously? The silent treatment? You sure did have a lot to say last night."

I remain stubbornly quiet, popping a handful of berries in my mouth.

"Y/n, I don't understand why you're upset right now. Talk to me."

"I'm not upset." I snap. "I'm embarrassed.. humiliated. I was stupid to think you'd ever be into me."

He sighs and I see his head drop out of the corner of my eye. "Darlin', if I was your age, I'd be all fucking over you. Trust me. Please don't be embarrassed, okay? You are hot as shit and any man your age would be lucky to have you. We can forget it happened if that's what you want." He holds his arm out again, and like always, I snuggle into him.

"I don't want to forget." My hand rests against his white t-shirt and I want so badly to slide underneath it and run my fingers through is tummy hair.

A moment of silence goes by before he finally whispers. "Me neither, doll."

I look up at him, my face dangerously close to his. "I love you, Negan."

His hand reaches up to caress my face as if he's scared to hurt me. "I love you too, baby... Just not like that."

He wipes the tear that falls from my cheek and my heart shatters in my chest.

One month later...

My feelings for Negan haven't faded; I'm just better at not showing them. We've been more touchier than usual... cuddling on the couch, holding hands when we walk, but nothing "inappropriate." We also haven't mentioned that night. It's like it never happened, which still hurts when I think about it.

I get done bathing myself off after dinner and slip into my usual sleepwear before crashing to the bed and pulling my book from the nightstand. I could quote every line in it by now.

I start to drift off right before a loud boom hits right outside my window, following a bright flash of lightning. I try to fall asleep, but every time I doze off, another loud boom jolts me awake. I toss and turn for an hour before deciding to do something I know I shouldn't.

I crack Negan's door open slowly, trying not to wake him and gently slip into bed next to him. I also may or may not have taken my sleep shorts off, leaving me in just my pink panties and black tank top. I ease underneath the covers and lay facing him. He's usually a light sleeper, so between the thunder and me sneaking into his bed, I'm surprised he's not awake.

I'm completely still for a good ten minutes, making sure he's still sound asleep before I make any movements. When he lets out a little snore, I slowly slide the blanket down off of him. I imagine myself reaching over and running my fingers through his thick chest hair. I keep sliding the covers down further and further, careful not to wake him, until I get to just below the waistband of his boxers. My eyes trail from the deep v in his abdomen to the black hairs peaking above his underwear and I let myself imagine what it would be like to touch him right now.. to slide my hand down his boxers and feel him. I've wondered how big he is for so long.. trying to steal glimpses of him through his pants when he walks, or catch him with the covers down while he's sleeping.

I decide to pull the covers slightly further down and my mouth gapes open at the sight. He's hard.. so hard that I can see the outline of him through his boxers as it threatens to poke through his underwear. My mouth waters at his size and I know if he ever put it in me, it would definitely hurt like hell.

After I've stared at it long enough to feel like a total creep, my eyes travel back up his body and I almost yelp when I see his head is slightly turned and his eyes are watching me curiously, as if he's been waiting for me to make a move.

"I - uh.. The thunder.. I got scared." I explain.

"Nice try, kid. Go back to bed."

"Negan, please. Just let me sleep here. Nothing weird, I just.. don't wanna be alone."

He sighs and that alone tells me he's going to let me. I hide my excitement as I turn over, facing away from him and snuggling into the covers. They smell like him.. musk and leather.. and the scent makes me practically feral. He's still on his back, but my ass is barely touching his side. It's hardly anything, and it's not like we haven't cuddled before, but the thought of my ass so close to him sets my insides on fire.

Another lightning strike hits outside his window this time and I flinch a little, not purposely meaning for my ass to press into him even more. He doesn't react and I wonder if he's already asleep.

"Negan...?" I say softly.

"Hm?"

"Will you hold me?"

"Y/n, you are seriously pushing it. Go to sleep."

a few minutes go by before another boom echoes in the distance and I jump a little again.

He sighs heavily and turns over, draping his arm over my waist and pressing his body firmly against mine. His dick is pressed against my ass, but it's not as hard anymore... and that hurts a little.

"Go to fucking sleep."

I hold his hand tightly against my lower stomach and embrace this moment with him. I want him so bad that I can literally feel my vagina throbbing. If it could speak, it would be meowing like a cat in heat right now. I close my eyes and imagine him sliding in me from behind. I get a little too lost in the thought and accidentally arch a little, grinding my ass further into him. I feel him grow to full length against me and the feeling is enough for me to squeeze my legs together, desperate for some pressure down there.

"Where the fuck are your shorts?" He says in a deep and sleepy voice.

I giggle as he breathes heavily into my neck before whispering again.

"What the hell am I gonna do with you, baby?"

"Touch me?"

"I'm already touching you, y/n. My fucking dick is basically between your ass cheeks."

"Not yet.. my panties are in the way." I slip my panties off my legs smoothly and discard them on the floor.

"Y/n." He warns but before he can tell me no, I'm bare from the waist down and pressing my ass back against him.

"Trying to give this old man a heart attack?" He chuckles deeply.

"I can try harder than that if you want me to." I tease.

"Fuck, baby. Go to sleep before I do something we'll both regret."

"Like what?"

"...Like pound that pussy so fucking good you'll never think about another man's cock but mine."

"If you love me, wouldn't you want to be the one to give that to me for the first time? Wouldn't you rather it be you than some asshole who doesn't care about me."

He doesn't answer, so I keep pressing him. I place my hand back on top of his resting against my stomach and slowly slide it lower towards my aching center.

"Don't start something you can't finish, darlin'."

"Oh, I'm very determined to finish." I spread my legs apart slightly to guide his hand over my wet center. His middle finger easily slides between my slippery folds and we both moan at the feeling.

"Goddamn. Fucking dripping for daddy. He growls in my ear before leaning up a little and pressing his lips to my neck from behind. I move my hand from his, letting him take control - finally.

His finger moves back and forth between my wet slit, gliding over my clit every few seconds and making me moan each time. His other hand slips under me and up to my neck, gently squeezing my throat.

"This what you wanted, baby?" He breathes in my ear and chills spread over every inch of my skin.

I nod quickly as I feel my orgasm build from just his light touch. He hasn't even put a finger in me and I'm already on the verge of tears.

As soon as his finger rubs tiny circles over my clit, I lose it.. moaning out for him.

"Thaaat's it, cum for daddy, babygirl."

"Negan!" I scream out as his hand goes from my neck to my mouth, muffling the sound.

"Don't need the dead hearing us, doll."

He kisses my neck once I've soaked his fingers and then brings them to his mouth.

"Mmm, fuck, this pussy tastes so good I might have to eat it everyday."

I turn around in his arms to face him. My hand goes up to hold his face and my fingers play with his gray hair. He kisses my forehead before meeting my gaze.

"This is so wrong, baby." He strokes my cheek gently.

"Can't be wrong if it feels this good."

He tilts my chin up to press his lips against mine. It's so much better than I ever imagined. He knows exactly what he's doing, and even though I've never kissed anyone, he takes the lead and I'm thankful for it. I moan into his mouth when he deepens the kiss, his hand gripping the back of my neck now. The feeling of is tongue in my mouth makes me clench my legs again, and I think he notices because his hand on my neck travels lower until it reaches the back of my thigh. He lifts my leg over his and his hand slides to my ass, squeezing lightly before his long fingers tease my entrance from behind.

His dick is pressed into me painfully and I can't wait any longer. I need to touch him. Feel him inside me.

I reach my hand inside his boxers and pull out his big, hard cock. I try looking at it under the covers between us.

"You've never seen a dick before, doll?"

I shake my head no and admire him. It's so perfect.

He closes his eyes as I stroke it. "Fuck. So innocent, baby."

He kisses my neck while I pull on him even more. "You sure you want this, baby?"

I nod. "Yes, please. I've been wanting this for so long, Negan."

He lines himself up at my opening, my leg still draped over his so that he's in between my legs.

"Once we do this, you're mine darlin'."

"I'm already yours."

That's all he needs to hear to finally push the tip past my opening. I've never had anything inside of me other than a finger, and the feeling of his thick head pushing through me and stretching my walls has my mouth falling open.

"Tell me to stop, baby."

"No, keep going. Please." I beg.

He slides deeper and deeper until he's buried inside me completely. He stays still, letting me adjust. and kisses me through the pain. A pain that feels so good. I kiss him back hard, scratching his back while grinding my waist pathetically against him repeatedly. I moan in his ear and give him the go ahead to start moving. He fucks me deep and slow at first, letting me get used to him.

"So fucking tight baby."

He growls in my ear and vibration of his deep voice sends chills through me again until my pussy flutters around him.

"Holy fuck, doll. Do that again."

I squeeze my cunt around him again and he lets out the hottest moan I've ever heard. Not that I've heard a man moan before, but I just know that his are the hottest.

"I won't last if you keep doing that, baby." He warns and the thought of him shooting his load inside me has my head spinning.

After a few more thrusts that have my eyes rolling to the back of my head, I feel myself reaching my orgasm again and hold him against me so I can grind against him and ride it out.

"Negan, Negan, oh my god.” I breathe out as I push myself so hard against him that my clit rubs against his pubic bone creating the friction I need to send me over the edge.

"Goddamn." He thrusts into me faster and harder. "Gonna make me fucking cum already, baby." He tries to pull out but you tighten your leg around him so he can't pull away.

"Cum in me, Negan. Please." I cry desperately. "I love you. I want all of you."

He kisses me hard before his hips come to a halt. He practically yells out when he shoots his load deep inside me. "Ah, fuck! Babyyy."

The sound of Negan cumming is even hotter than his moaning from earlier - I didn't think it could get any better but holy shit. We're both a tangled, sweaty mess while our hearts beat out of our chest.

We eventually fall asleep with our lips still touching and his softening dick still inside me.

I don't even worry about the possibility of what could happen in the future.. I know I'm safe with Negan.. Here in our little cabin. He gently strokes my hair as we drift back off to sleep.

BOOM. The thunder crashes outside again, but this time I don't even flinch.

"You're not scared of thunder, are you, doll?"

I smile against his chest. "...No."

The End.

Brb, going to take an ice bath.

2K notes · View notes

bunnliix · 29 days

Text

When Eight Becomes Nine - Chapter Twelve

I managed to get through another chapter of this fic hehe. This is just a cute lil chapter because we all need the fluff in our lives, especially myself. <3

Pairing: Ateez x 9th member!reader Summary: Y/n has her realization about what's happening now, and has a talk with Jongho about his actions. wc: 2.8k AU: a/b/o Genre: Fluff/Angst warnings: playflighting, yelling, referencing last chapter's events without much detail, jokes about being hurt, mentions of discrimation and hate against omegas, self-doubt, crying, I think that's it? masterlist

Wooyoung’s laugh broke the silence that followed y/n’s realization. He couldn’t believe that it took y/n this long to realize what they had said back in the conference room. His laughter provoked the others into joining, to which they got yelled at by the subject of their laughter.

“HEY! Don’t laugh at me, there’s been a lot going on, okay? You try being in my shoes today and having this all happen to you and see how you react, huh?” She argued, only to make them laugh even further.

You- You really didn’t realize until now?” Wooyoung questioned her, his words being interrupted by his laughter.

“Obviously not, idiot.” She fired back at the idol, who jokingly reached over to try and grab her.

Seonghwa gripped the back of Wooyoung’s top, stopping the younger idol from reaching her. “No fighting. We just left a fight, we’re not starting another one.”

The restrained idol pouted and whined at Seonghwa. “It’s not like it’s a real fight, I was just gonna play around a bit.”

“And I think we’ve had enough excitement for the day, Youngie.” Seonghwa reasoned, and the other man continued to pout, and instead turned to tackle the pack omega, starting a little omega fight while they others watched.

Eventually the other younger members joined in, while Yunho and Hongjoong had moved a bit farther away to discuss something, leaving Jongho and y/n the only two left to their own devices. Y/n decided that this was a great time to get to know the fellow ‘00 liner better. They really hadn’t talked much since she arrived here, as she had been pulled this way and that by the other members. She scooted a bit closer to the maknae, leaving a bit of distance still, so that he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.

Jongho turned to look at her, “Hi,” he greeted her, “I hope this day hasn’t been too much on you.”

“It could have been worse, y’know. I could have gotten hurt, but I didn’t,” y/n tried to joke, but it fell flat when Jongho didn’t find her words funny.

“You found out that the one person you trusted in that group, was out to hurt you. I think that counts as getting hurt.” Jongho stated, looking decidedly unamused at her attempts to joke. “You know it’s okay to feel hurt about it, and to mourn the loss of a friendship, right?”

“I know. I’m still processing it now, and I’ll come to terms with it.” The omega explained, looking down at her lap.

“Good. Otherwise, it was a bit of a waste to tackle him.” Jongho commented.

That made her think for a minute. Why exactly did Jongho decide to tackle Aaron? All he would have had to do was get the attention of the others, not tackle the man. She fell silent for a moment, and the silence worried the singer next to her.

“Why did you tackle him?” She asked him, breaking the silence.

“What?” Jongho said, not expecting the question.

“Why did you tackle Aaron? How did you even hear what he said over the yelling? We’ve barely interacted, why would you potentially get yourself hurt, over someone like him?” She queried, curious as to how he would answer.

Jongho didn’t think, answering right away. “He was being an absolute asshole, and I had to protect you from that, from him. I’ve seen how other subgenders’ treat omegas, and I’ve seen firsthand the effects of it. Seonghwa and Wooyoung-hyung have dealt with more than their fair share of discrimination and hate, simply for being omegas. I may not know you that well yet, but it seems that the rest of my pack is set on you, and so I think it’s time we get to know each other better. It may be an interesting way to start off a friendship, but I wouldn’t change my actions. His words and actions were despicable. And they’re not acceptable in today’s society, let alone in Ateez.”

Y/n’s eyes started to water as she listened to the maknae’s words, not expecting this answer. She didn’t realize that while getting lost in the idol’s words that her scent was getting stronger, the scent of fresh flowers fading into something much more subtle. One that could almost be described as wilting flowers, if they had a scent.

“What do you all see in me? I’m just me. I’m someone that none of you wanted in your group, and I’ve barely interacted with most of you besides Wooyoung and maybe Seonghwa and Hongjoong.” She asked him, unknowingly garnering the attention of the others, having heard their names.

“I see someone who doesn’t give up when they struggle. Someone who enjoys dancing and performing, just like we do.” Yunho chimed in, making y/n realize she had caught the attention of the others.

“Yunho’s right. You’re talented y/n. I may not have heard you sing yet, but on performance alone, you strive to get better and perform to the best of your ability. Sure, you need to work on stamina and a few other things, but Yunho and I have seen how determined you are. Y’know, Yunho commented that he sees me in you, in how you look after finishing a run through.” San further cemented his fellow dancer’s words.

She looked up at the two of them, who both smiled kindly back down at her, which made her tear up further. To hear those words from idols she’s admired and watched for so long, it made her efforts feel worth it. She felt like she could die happy in that moment, and she was so grateful to be here and have these experiences with the men surrounding her.

“You have such a kind heart, y/n. Your personality is what I see in you. Sure, talent and the ability to be an idol is important, but it’s also important to be sure of who you are, and to be kind. Fans can sense when we’re not being truthful, and I know that you have been nothing but honest around us and the others. So I think you’d fit in well as a member of Ateez.” Seonghwa stated, smiling softly down at her, before he moved to sit in front of her.

“Everyone is right, you know,” Hongjoong said, moving to sit behind Seonghwa, as he looked at her, “You’re an amazing person, and you’re a great singer. I trust our dancers to know where you’re at dancing skill wise, and based on what I just heard, that’s basically glowing praise from those two. You have been nothing but graceful and kind, and I find myself drawn to you, and I know Seonghwa and Wooyoung would be very unhappy if I let you go. So, will you trust our judgement and become the ninth member of Ateez?”

Y/n looked up at him, so many emotions clearly showing on her face. A tear trailed down her face as she processed all of their answers, and she could see her vision blur as tears welled up in her eyes. San came to sit next to her, wrapping an arm around the omega’s shoulders but loose enough if she wanted to pull away if it was too much for her. The comfort was welcomed as the younger omega leaned into the beta’s side, looking around at the seven members who had moved to sit in front and to the side of her, gentle smiles from each of them directed at her.

“You all really want me to be a member of Ateez?” She asked, her voice soft with an undertone of disbelief.

“Of course.” Seonghwa reassured her.

Y/n looked at Hongjoong, and nodded, “Then yes, I’ll trust your judgement and become your ninth member.” She said simply.

The room burst into a cacophony of noise at her words, and San pulls her closer in a side hug before Wooyoung swoops in on her other side, pushing Jongho away so he could sit right next to her. “Baby omega~,” Wooyoung crooned, “You’re really gonna be one of us!” He shouted, almost directly into her ear as she cringed away from him and into San, who scolded his fellow ‘99 liner for how loud he was being.

Someone reached out and grabbed her hands, and when she looked to see who it was, she found two people instead. Mingi and Yunho had both grabbed one of her hands, and she found herself smiling at them, and lightly squeezing their hands in silent thanks for everything they had done. Yunho had been a great help while perfecting their choreography, and while in the moment she had protested it, she was very thankful for Mingi’s help the previous day.

“Thank you both, so much.” She said, her voice so soft that the two had to strain their ears to hear her.

“You never need to thank us. We’ll always be by your side, and if you get better, then Ateez gets better, hmm?” Mingi told her, chuckling at the end, as Yunho nodded in agreement to his best friend and packmate’s words.

Y/n pulled out of Woosan’s hold to launch herself at the taller men, who caught her and hugged her as she struggled to hug them both at the same time. As the three hugged, she realized that holy fuck she would be spending however long Ateez existed with these men, and how that didn’t feel real, but she knew it had to be because she could feel the two bodies surrounding her. She felt so happy and the others smiled as her scent changed to reflect her feelings as Yeosang moved in to ruffle her hair as she let out a whine at the alpha messing up her hair.

“Don’t do that!” She whined as she pulled a hand away from hugging the duo in front of her to rearrange her hair back to how it was before.

She heard her name called and she looked to find that it was Jongho who had called out to her. When he saw that she was looking at him, he nodded his head and smiled, before pointing to something to the other side of her. She smiled back at him before looking to find Seonghwa and Hongjoong watching all of them with big smiles on their faces and looks of fondness for the six men surrounding her. She moved out of Yunho and Mingi’s hold and got up, heading over to the two eldest and leaders of the Ateez pack.

“Why are you two over here by yourselves?” She asked them.

“Does there have to be a reason?” Seonghwa asked her in return.

“Of course there does.” She fired back.

“Can’t we just observe our members having fun and enjoying themselves?” Hongjoong interrupted.

“No, because you two need to join in too.” She said, getting a bit fired up at the two not joining in on the happy moment.

“Someone is a bit insistent, aren’t you?” Seonghwa said, chuckling.

Y/n gave up on trying to convince them to join the other six, grabbing the pair’s hands and tugging the two behind her as they let themselves be pulled along, not minding in the least. She made the two sit down before she would sit down, eventually being pulled down herself to sit in between the two.

“So now we can have trios!” Wooyoung broke the silence, making the others laugh.

“Yes Wooyoung-ah, we can have trios. Not that we wouldn’t have had them already, in the upcoming album.” Hongjoong pointed out to the younger man, who pouted at being reminded of that fact.

“Trios?” The newest member questioned, looking at the captain.

“Wooyoung, San and Yeosang are doing a trio for their unit song in the upcoming album, which we need to get you on, but that’s a discussion for tomorrow. Today we’ll just celebrate you becoming our newest member.” Hongjoong explained.

“Yes! We’re celebrating you today! Our newest member and my baby omega!” Wooyoung shouted, getting slapped on both shoulders by San and Jongho, who had gotten the lion’s share of his shouting. This made the omega pout, and then was promptly tackled by San. The others laughed at their shenanigans, and it made y/n feel right at home here with them as she laughed along with them.

“Are you ready to deal with this craziness every day?” She heard, looking to find that Hongjoong was the source of the question. Before she could answer, Seonghwa moved away from the duo to police the roughhousing that had started.

“Probably not, but I don’t think I have a choice now, do I?” She replied, to which he shook his head.

“No, you don’t,” He said, pausing for a moment before speaking again, “Thank you for giving me a second chance after what I did that first day.”

“Of course, Hongjoong-oppa. You meant your apology, so I had no reason not to give you another chance. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here right now. And I should be thanking you for giving me a chance, for taking me in as part of your group.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that. Your actions last night helped cement that you fit in with us, in a way that makes me think that you were meant for Ateez.” Hongjoong said, looking down at her with more emotions in his eyes than y/n could discern. She could see that adoration that he usually reserved for his members, and it was hard for her to reconcile the idea that he’d look at her this way too, because she was one of his members now. But she knew she’d come to terms with all of this, though it might take a while.

Hongjoong saw the wonder in her eyes and disbelief, which he understood, and he wouldn’t fault her for feeling that way, when he’s felt the same way before. He reached out to wrap an arm around her shoulders, like San had done not long before, as he felt her do the same, albeit her arm was around his waist instead. Checking to see that no one was looking, he leaned his head on hers, and out of instinct with his two omegas, kissed the top of her head without thinking about it, leaving y/n to be surprised and feel her cheeks heating up at his actions.

“You two are getting cozy together again,” Seonghwa commented, his voice soft, as he sat back down next to the two.

Hongjoong pulled away from her, glaring halfheartedly at his pack omega. The omega only chuckled in response, not deeming there to be a need to respond verbally. The arm that was around her shoulders reached over to lightly shove the omega sitting next to her, making her giggle.

“So, sweetheart, what do you want to do today? It’s your decision.” Seonghwa asked, turning himself to look at her.

She hummed, not exactly sure what she wanted to do, plus the fact that she hadn’t exactly gotten a chance to go out and explore Seoul, so she didn’t know what there was to do, besides the obvious things.

“I don’t know?” She replied to the older man, “I haven’t gotten a chance to explore Seoul, as I think you might be aware of? So I don’t really know what there is to do around here?” She answered, her voice uncertain.

“We can always pick a few of our favorite things to show you? Would that be something you’d be interested in doing?” Yunho butted into the conversation, making the three look over to find that he had abandoned the other’s play fighting.

“That would be good. It makes it a little easier on me, than trying to figure out what there is to do, and I can get to know each of you a bit better that way too.” She said, nodding and smiling at the third-eldest.

“Then we’ll do that.” Hongjoong decided as he pulled away from y/n, who let out an almost inaudible whine in response to the alpha leaving her side, before being embarrassed at her reaction.

While Hongjoong went to corral the others, Seonghwa and Yunho discussed their favorite places and activities with y/n, providing her some options on what to do today. It was a little overwhelming, but she knew that they wouldn’t push her into doing too many things.

Once everyone was corralled over to where y/n and the others were sitting, they immediately launched into a discussion. Some were more enthusiastic than others, but in the end, they had created a list that featured almost one place or activity from every member. They had decided to start with whatever was farthest from KQ and work their way back to the company. This was also all done without the permission of their managers or the company, but they could care less about that.

Prev | Next Taglist: @bethelighthalazia @scarfac3 @smally97 @potatomountain @iyeeeverydee

@lxsunshine @ismelllikechlorine247 @fr34k4c1dr41n @ateez-atiny380 @sapphirewaves

@davinashifts333 @cookiesandcreammy @not-straight-kait @hoeforalbedo @calisnewworld

@smilefordongil @fantasy2wonderland @forever-atiny @khjcoo

@hhoneylix @ayoo-bangtan @11glitch11 @lynnsqueendom @fireseo

@cara-rey @therealcuppicake @lyracarvahall @anxiousskylar @dinossaurz

@madilinetheb3st @h3arteyes4mingi @sweetmoonlight9 @strayteezsimp @yukichan67

@insanityxofxfanfiction @genderfluidthatwannabealone @mallielovssyou @queen-thiccness @xiosmemoryoflife

@silverstarburst @dimeb29 @quailbagutte @londonbridges01 @ravensfeatheruniverse

@haven-cove @seventeenthingsblr @vic0921 @bakedpotatoman @peachyy-jooniee

@uhhheather @yoonjikim @vampiregirl215 @kawaiikels @lovelyglares

@kaleigh-2002 @arabelleum @kibs-and-bits @0325tiny @miracle-sol

@discombobulatedrat @witchbxtch0701 @bee-the-loser @hwallazia @dawn-iscozy

@ldysmfrst @ahhhhhhhhhghh @neivivenaj @comicnerd557

Taglist is: open!

if your name is in pink, I was unable to tag you!

237 notes · View notes

scudslut · 6 months

Text

too sweet

daryl x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, mdni

a/n: okay, is this like the song? IDK i listened to it on repeat tryna decipher shit and come up with a good plot but i think i got a little lost in the sauce, or maybe im just being mean to myself🫢 ANYWAY I HOPE YOU LIKE IT ANON BYEEE🤍

you two never got along, never saw eye to eye.

years you’d known each other and all it ever did was reveal those differences all the more. highlighting them in bold letters for you to gaze at thoughtfully, but did that stop you?

it was a game you played, back and forth for so long that it became a routine. bicker and disagree till you were blue in the face and at each other's mercy for only the moon to bear witness too.

how many times had you dug into him for his habits. he smoked, kept to himself, he fought, but where had that ever gotten him? it was against your nature. a way of being that you genuinely could not understand.

and he’d be right there with you, matching each dig with his own. you were sweet, too soft. you pleased and walked among ice like you weighed as much as a feather, so predictable it was almost humorous. if you didn’t understand him, he was absolutely riddled by you.

“how do ya sleep at night? huh? don’ya ever get tired of keeping everyone so fuckin happy?” he’d mutter, all the while tearing articles of clothing off of your supple skin, one by one. skin that was pristine by default and worn as if only heaven itself had touched it.

“believe it or not, i actually want people to like me daryl. i like when i can make people happy. it’s not a fucking act,” you sneer back.

who was he to talk? he lived inside his own head. could go days… no, months by himself, not muttering a single word to a breathing soul. and you’d tried to reason, guide, and help, but if anyone knew daryl dixon, they knew he didn’t budge easily. he had to want it for himself and he simply didn’t see the glory in your people-pleasing nature, as he’d like to call it.

sure he saw the value in it, somewhat. but he liked things the way they were, as they were meant to be. if he disagreed with something he sure as shit wasn’t gonna prance around trying not to hurt no feelings.

“alright, you keep tellin’ yerself that, princess.”

so what was it that kept you two coming back for more? why was the tension and aversion between your minds so magnetic between your bodies? he wanted to snap those annoying, pretty lips shut with his. maybe if he kissed you hard enough something would click in that head of yours. maybe he could fuck some clarity into you.

his fingers would rub fast circles over your clit, watching you keen and moan into the pillow beneath you, “how’s that princess? good enough for ya? hm?” he’d mock, “faster? slower?”

“god, would you shut up already?” you tried to sneer only for it to come out as a breathy whine, adding fuel to his pride and smirk across his face. your lips crashed into his in an attempt to diminish it but it was right there, now pressed up against your face, and fuck, why was that so hot? why was his rugged stubble, his long hair kissing your shoulders, and his broad, strong body so infuriatingly sexy to you? muscles built from years of fights, kills, and hunting. you didn’t like it… but you did.

“fuck, i’m gonna-“ you cried to him softy.

“nuh, uh. not yet pretty girl.”

his belt was loud throughout the quiet room. your eyes were squeezed shut in pleasure but you heard the familiar clanks and zips, and then you felt his weight above you — warm and spicy. it pulled you so far and close that you sucked him in before he even got his pants all the way off.

“fuckin’ christ girl,” he groaned, snapping down to meet your hips flush. it was rapid and hot, both of you pouring all your frustrations into each push and pull. frustrations with each other, frustrations with yourselves that you liked this so fucking much.

he fucked you deep and hard like his body hated you, but somehow kissed you so tenderly through it all. his tongue massaging and tangling with yours as if you created his oxygen for him.

“so fucking sweet, princess, y’know that?” he whispered against you, “no good fer me.”

he was telling himself that; convincing himself and you knew it. your body rolled to meet his quickly, feeling every gooey, warm muscle against your skin and drooling over it, “more.”

as if to prove a point he slowed down, pulling out till just his tip was caught at your entrance, and then would thrust in, hard. over, and over, and over until you were singing his name and muffling it with his neck. warm and spicy.

“ya like that? thought ya wanted faster?”

he knew he was walking a line, but what had you guys ever been but a definitive line? a clear distinction of night and day, the only time ever seeing eye to eye being these moments. as one.

you were sent over the edge instantly, spasms of pleasure rolling languidly through your body. the tight swelling of your cunt causing daryl to finish with you and fuck if he didn’t cum the prettiest, sexiest way you had ever seen. straight out of your dirty, teenage fantasies and above you to soak in while you wreathed along with him.

he groaned and cursed into your chest, riding out each wave until he was shaking above you and so sensitive he couldn’t help but hiss as he pulled away, flopping down beside you.

a cigarette was quickly fished from his strewn jeans pockets and placed between his lips, lighting up and rolling back into the pillows lazily. every ounce of mending and merging you had just done was palpably tossed out the window, your scoff loudly filling the silence.

“that will kill you one day, hope you know that,” you muttered whilst gathering your clothes and slipping them on.

he didn’t bat an eye, nothing he hadn’t heard before from you and honestly, he didn’t really care. plenty of things in the world that’ll kill you, your naivety being one of them.

“lemme guess, gotta be up bright n’ early? tendin’ ta all yer charity cases?” he mused as he watched you head for the door. there had never been a night you’d spent together, probably would end up ripping each others faces off alone in room together for that long.

he didn’t get an answer, just an amused eye roll as you opened his bedroom door, “bye daryl.”

and then you were gone, quiet stomps heard as you floated up the stairs and he knew it would only be a matter of days before you were right back here, glued to his body and singing his name like you needed him to survive.

“figures,” he mumbled, taking a long drag from his smoke and smirking softly to himself.

what’s that saying? opposites always attract?

481 notes · View notes

solbaby7 · 6 months

Note

Az is so🤤🤤 toxic men in real life repulsive me but Az does it soooo well.

Can you do a slutatious reader meets possessive Az?

Like he refuses to make it official so she continues about her life and he stay hearing rumors about her activities. He doesn’t want to be another fuck buddy but he’s also holding back from her and that pisses her off and encourages her to continue w her endeavors.

I’m talking screaming fighting throwing shit toxic🤭

i love your work mamita, I’ll read ur fics all day😩🤧

Maneater

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: toxic relationships, possessive!az, promiscuous girl, swearing, sexual themes, lemme just say thank god for this request, probably typos

—

“You’re not wearing that.”

“And who’s going to stop me?” The retort comes easily, all too familiar with this dance. You continue as if he’s not there, staring at the material that molds to your curves like second skin. The entire back is out, the sultry swoop accentuating the fullness of your ass even if the front was fairly tame. Curled hair is flicked over your shoulder, lashes flirty and lips glossy as you reach for your clutch.

A shadow beats you to it, sliding the clutch just out of your reach and a slightly agitated smile quirks at the corner of your mouth as you turn to face him. “I mean it. If that’s what you’re wearing, then you aren’t going.”

A brow raises, eyes taking in the perfect structure of Azriel’s face, the strong neckline and tattoos that crept up the left side. Rippling muscles strain against the black top; a pleasant contrast from his usual leathers and you nearly forget his audacity when appreciating his physique. “You must have the wrong room, Az.” You can’t help yourself but to touch, two manicured fingers dragging down the middle of his abdomen. Nails catch on the belt holding his breeches in place and the teasing tug has his pupils dilating. “Possibly confused me with one of those simpering females with damsel in distress tendencies? The ones who actually allow the tone you’re taking with me right now. ”

“I know exactly whose room I’m in,” Unashamed possessiveness radiates from every word and the step he takes to close the distance has an annoying effect on your body. “Just like I know exactly who won’t be leaving it if you don’t walk back over to that closet and change.”

“I have no reason to listen to you,” Azriel refused to admit it out loud, but he secretly loved this part—the pushback. The flirtatious flutter of your lashes and the seductive scent lacing every inch of glistening skin. “You have no claim over me. I’m a free female,” You know exactly what you’re doing; goading him with the same implications of the relationship that you and Azriel had been dancing around for the better part of a decade. It could’ve been different, could’ve spent more time making love rather than hate fucking against any sturdy surface after the shadowsingers jealousy had gotten the best of him after hearing yet another rumor about your latest conquest. “Free to do whom and whatever I please.”

He’s too good at feigning restraint when he truly was grappling for purchase; falling victim to such feminine curves and unwavering confidence. You peered up at him without fear, heart rate steady in his presence and he just barely catches the slightest hitch of your breath when Azriel’s hand wander up the bodice of the dress. Familiar fingers brush over the thick of your thighs, up the soft curve of your belly, taking special time over supple breasts and peaked nipples. Foolishly, you lean into the touch, goosebumps beginning to dot at your spine when the fabric rips in two. “It’s adorable that you believe that.” He doesn’t acknowledge your surprised expression, hands hovering over the ruined material as if it would magically sew back together. “Don’t ever make me repeat myself again.”

“You just—“

“I will see you there—in something much more appropriate, I’m sure.”

Azriel’s gone before you can respond, a humorless laugh passing glossy lips as you shuck off the remnants of your dress. High heels stomp against hardwood floors as you make your way to the closet, ripping through shades of deep navy’s and obsidian until your sights set on a sexy little number saved for special occasions.

A sinister smirk forms as you slip into it, eyes almost sparkling as you regard yourself in the full length mirror.

The halter neckline crosses at the chest, cupping cleavage with ease as the intricate golden bustier cinches at your sides, creating the illusion of wider hips and ensures nothing less than an elegant posture when you stride inside. Soft silks and chiffon kisses at the length of your legs, grazing over painted toes in painfully high heels but it pulls the attention you were searching for. Necks craning and hungry eyes eat up every dip and curve of your figure, mouths salivating at the liquid gold that pushes up the weight of your breasts. “You’re late,” Rhysand voice murmurs in your mind, utter boredom creeping into his every feature.

Your eyes slide to Azriel when you answer, anticipation buzzing beneath the surface of your body. “Wardrobe malfunction.”

To anyone else, the shadowsinger would appear to be the embodiment of stoicism.

But you knew that hard line of his shoulders, the barely restrained tick of his jaw, the slight flexing of his fingers around the thick arms crossed over his chest. The firelight crackles around him, golden light casting perfect shadows that nearly blend seamlessly to the ones that sang to him. With each step closer to the dias, those shadows grow more agitated, wiggling restlessly at Azriel’s feet, stretching up the length of his back to whisper in his ear.

You play coy too well, nodding respectfully to the High Lord and Lady before taking your place but those shadows shove you in closer. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Azriel’s towering form, the wings held high behind him subconsciously tucking you out of view. “Appropriate enough for you?”

“You are the most stubborn female I have ever met in my entire life.”

“I wouldn’t have to be if you’d just admit it.”

He pretends not to care, masking desperate glances with hardened side eyes. The grip on his crossed arms gets tighter, barely refraining from the urge to drag you away from all the eyes greedily eating up your form as if it were a six-course meal with desserts on the side. “Admit what?”

“That you want me.”

That you love me the same way I love you.

That you don’t want it to just be a game anymore either.

Azriel doesn’t answer right away, doesn’t even look your way but the sneer that curls at the edge of his perfect mouth was enough to have your confidence faltering. “I have better things to do with my time than chase after some harlot.”

Your brows snap up, nearly blending in with the seam of your hairline. He regrets every word when the teasing spark fades from your eye. Taking a sizable step away from him, your face goes hard like steel, nose scrunching with barely concealed humiliation and your teeth bare like a wild animal when Azriel reaches out to touch. “Don’t,” Angry tears make your eyes go glassy but not once does your voice waver. “Just stay the hell away from me.”

Rhys had already dismissed the others, waving a lazy hand and music fills the space. The strong smell of food permeating the air and you’re quick to blend into the gathering crowd, making a beeline for the elegant champagne pyramid tucked on the other side of the room.

Your hands shake when you grab the first glass, taking it back more like a shot than a classy sip of the flute but you just needed your hands to stop shaking—your heart to stop racing. One drink quickly turns to three and you’re well on your way to a fourth when a hand curls around your shoulder. “Fueling up for me?” The familiar drawl of Autumn’s first born heir reaches your ear, halting your display of gluttony.

This was why you were here—in Hewn City, prancing about the Court of Nightmares. Acting as a pretty faced guide the Night Court provided as light entertainment before Eris would be escorted off to the private meeting room two halls down. You’d amuse a few dances, allow him to talk your ear off and pretend you don’t notice his fingers inching down the curve of your spine. “There’s not enough alcohol in the world to prepare me for you, Vanserra.”

His brow raises, a sly smirk growing as the lights from the iron-wrought chandeliers casted their shadows against the burnt copper of his hair. Warm eyes trail down the length of your form, a single finger twitching when taking in intricate details of your gold bodice; the rich fabric that was so dark it almost seemed blue in certain light. “Are you flirting with me?”

“No, I’m just hot and talking.”

Eris is just as bold as you remember, laughing softly under your breath at his proximity when you’ve turned around for another glass but a quick hand has swiped it from your grasp before a single drop can coat your tongue. “You’re testy tonight.” You can feel the cool caress of Az’s shadows curling around your ankle, a silent claim that has your teeth gritting against each other.

For once, you amuse the Autumn heir and his playful fire, dancing into the thick of his flame when you allow him to finish your drink and guide you to the dance floor with the others. “I double booked,” You lie easily, following his lead effortlessly as if you didn’t feel that cool wisp of a shadow steadily clamping tighter against your ankle. Low chatter blocks out the ability for others to eavesdrop but you can feel those golden eyes burning holes into the side of your face—to the bare strip of skin at your hip where Eris’ hand rested for the entire duration of the dance. “Can’t help the attitude that lingers knowing that I have to spend my night prattling about with you when I could’ve been indulging in multiple orgasms.”

A laugh that’s smooth like whiskey escapes Eris, a hint of a dimple forming on his left cheek and you hate that you notice the perfect lines of his teeth; his bottom lip that was fuller than the top, the slight bump on the bridge of his nose indicating it’d definitely been broken at least once in his life. “There’s ample time before my meeting if you’d like to have your cake and eat it too.”

“Maybe I’d agree,” You make a show out of examining him, subtly inhaling the spice of his cologne. Handsome but not Azriel. “If the ‘cake’ was a different flavor.”

Eris doesn’t falter for a second, even with the entirety of your Inner Circle’s attention fixed on him and the hands he had on your body. The deep baritone of his voice rumbles against your chest, nipples pebbling at the sensation. “Close your eyes then,” Words whisper at the lobe of your ear and the glittering jewel poked through it. “You can pretend I’m whoever you want with my tongue between your thighs.”

A witty remark crawls to the tip of your tongue, readying itself to leap off when that ghost chain around your leg pulls taut. There’s only enough time for your eyes to widen before you’re tugged away from Eris like a dog on a leash. It leads you out of the room and into the hall, refusing to loosen even a touch when you stubbornly resist but there’s no point when you’re cloaked in shadows. You barely notice the scenery change before you’re back at home and tossed over a shoulder. “You stupid, brutish, ape of a male!” Your shouts echo through the empty halls, bouncing off closed doors as Azriel strides through the foyer like he was on a mission. “Put me down right now!” Every word is coupled with the palms of your hands slapping at his thighs and digging into the back of his knees. One hand cranes back to dig into the thick of his hair and tug—hard.

Azriel’s hand is harder though, pure heat burning against the skin of your ass when it connects with a deafening clap. “Shut up.”

Your jostled back into place, cheeks warm and hands frozen where they’re bunched in the fine material of his dress shirt. “Az—“

His hand comes down once more and this time you yelp, teeth biting into the fat of your bottom lip as he clears the stairs and makes a sharp left. “I told you to shut up.”

Every bone in your body screams for you to comply, primal instincts igniting deep within advising you take the route of self-preservation but your pride overrides better judgement. “And I told you, I’m a free female. Let me go, right now!” You squirm once more, legs kicking and arms clawing for release when you’re roughly thrown off his shoulder and shoved into the wall in a motion so fluid it takes the air from your lungs.

Fuck your pride for letting her mouth write checks your ass couldn’t cash.

You’d never seen such darkness in such a vast sea of gold, the whole pupil of Azriel’s eyes blown out like a feral animal salivating at the mouth. “Do you feel like a free female right now?” He already knows the answer judging by the pleased smirk beginning to creep in the corner of his mouth at the sight of his shadows holding your hands in place.

You swallow thickly, annoyingly affected by his closeness and the hard bulge that throbs at your belly when he curls a hand around your neck, nose brushing your own. “I certainly don’t feel like I belong to you.”

“I can fix that.” It’s a promise. One you silently scold yourself for praying that it’s a promise he makes good on.

The Mother has favorites and tonight you must be one of them.

The kiss Azriel initiates is nothing short of brutal; the drag of his tongue across the seam of your lips his only kindness before gaining access and completely dominating from the inside out. Every touch is claiming; a strong hand calloused from centuries of skilled swordplay is generous when easing off the expensive gold bodice before the delicate fabric beneath is torn to shreds. Pretty strips of dark material spills to the floor, left for the house to clean as your thighs are gripped and your weight is hoisted up, legs cradling the muscular taper of Azriel’s waist.

He’s sucking marks into your neck, back pressed against the wall as his teeth graze at the sensitive skin there. Breasts spill from the confines of your bra, straps eased down your shoulders to make more room for his mouth to lay claim to. Azriel pinches at your nipples, eating up every sound like it’s offered on a platter. “Those noises sound like you belong to me.” Every nerve burns where he touches, marring your flesh and branding his mark as arousal collects in your underthings.

“Azriel,” You pant, trying to clear the fog of your brain but he’s all consuming; refusing to allow you air if it’s not the same one he breathes.

The flimsy underwear is pushed aside, familiar fingers collecting the slick gathering between your legs and a cruel smile grows on his face. “It certainly feels like you belong to me.” A thumb pressed firmly on the stiff bud of your clit, rubbing slow circles that has your toes curling. A thump sounds from where your head falls back to the ball, exposing the line of your neck and the dark purple bruises smattered along it. Your eyes close for a second, breath labored and mouth salivating from the promise of more but all that changes when his hands bunch up the elegant curl of your hair. He wraps it around like a leash, forcing you to look him in the eye and the rasp of his voice is devastating. “So why the fuck can’t you get it through your pretty head, huh?”

It’s a rhetorical question, that much you gather when he moulds his mouth to yours before you can even begin to muster up an answer. You’re boneless in his grasp, allowing him to take you to his room and share his sheets. The bedside table screeches when Azriel’s boot kicks at it, knocking over lamps and light bulbs shatter on the hardwood. He doesn’t even flinch, glass crunching under the soles of his shoes that he kicks off as he eases you down. “Az,” Insecurity threatens to rear her ugly head and ruin the moment, trying to push forth his hurtful words and the years of dancing around this feeling but Azriel’s already there to push that away. “Are you sure you even want to?”

“You belong to me,” He says and it’s final. Offering up the keys to the locked box filled with everything you’d dreamed about when you closed your eyes and wished on falling stars every year. Off goes his shirt and shortly his pants follow, dragging his underwear along with it and you can’t fight the moan when all of that bare skin is exposed and hovering above you. “Say it,” He urges, the hard length of him slotting between spread legs, grinding against warm need until you’re keening soft pleas into his chest, heels digging into his back.

The intrusion makes you gasp, hands greedy and mouth glued to his while he fucked into you like he always did. It’s a demanding pace; forcing you to take all of him while he watched you lose all your composure—all that beautiful fight that drew him to you in the first place. Az doesn’t stop, spurred on by strangled moans and choked words garbled together begging for more of him; harder, faster, deeper. Your clenching around him when the words stutter out of you in a whisper. “I belong to you.”

750 notes · View notes

tadpolesonalgae · 1 year

Text

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You

Azriel x Third-oldest-archeron-sibling!reader

a/n: I was in the mood for a writing a heated argument that turns into an even hotter make-out session, but then it got slightly depressing so…

warning: slight angst but not much because I can’t take that emotionally :’)

word count: 3,888

-Part 2[*]-

“How was she today?”

You fight the urge to clench your jaw. The harsh snapping of your book is the limit to how far you’ll allow the leash on your anger to slip. Jealousy? Frustration? Whatever complicated nonsense he’s gotten you tangled up in.

“No hello? What about a how are you today?” You ask tersely. So much for keeping your emotions on a tight leash. His brow narrows a little—you don’t usually bubble over when he asks how your older sister is doing. “You weren’t practically bed-ridden for months,” he replies slowly, gauging your response carefully.

Instantly, guilt weighs in the pit of your stomach, and you look away quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you,” you soothe hastily. Gods, why did you say that to him? You’re trying to gain his favour, not make him think you’re an ungrateful, self-absorbed sister. “She was fine. We did some baking—well, Elain did some baking, I was reading something. It’s a new book, actually! Because I finished the last one, which was actually pretty good, but this one I think is set in the last war and…” you trail off when you notice the patient smile he’s giving you.

Right. He’s not interested in what book you’re reading, or how you spent the day. He’s not interested in you full stop. He’s interested in Elain. You fight the way disappointment wants to twist the edges of your mouth, instead plastering on a smile that you hope he reads as oops, look at me! There I go again, haha.

“Well,” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat, “she made some cupcakes—I think they were vanilla, and she put something that looked like jam inside. Really good. I’m sure she’d be happy for you to try one—if you ask,” you smile, adding in the details he wants to hear. For the Spymaster, he’s surprisingly open about his interest in Elain to you. But maybe that’s because you’re always so willing to answer any question you can for him.

“I’m glad,” he says, something glimmering in his hazel eyes. “And there were no silent spots? No abrupt changes?” You return your attention to the book in your hands, fingers running over the bound edges, “she was fine all the way. You never would have guessed everything she’s been through.” He hums, pleased with her progress. It’s a sound of contentment, from the back of his throat that you’re certain rumbles throughout his chest. It’s an effort to keep your attention on the book.

It’s been more than two years since the three of you were tossed into the Cauldron. Feyre and Rhysand are happy, Nesta’s made progress on healing herself and is now alarming in love with Cassian, Elain’s taking large steps in a good direction, too. You remember vividly the time when she would hardly utter a word for days, hardly shift her gaze from a strange spot in the middle-distance, how worried she made you and Nesta. And Feyre, obviously, but things were a little…strange at the time. They always had been.

You spent the first few months struggling to hold a meal down, often being wracked with spasms of anxiety and flushes of hot and cold. There was a time you would black out if you stood up too fast, and now you can hold down three meals a day without needing to run to the nearest latrine provided you don’t eat too quickly. You feel like yourself again, but fresher. You know you aren’t the same as you were, though. Not after the Cauldron, but you had no choice but to adapt. With eternity ahead of you, you couldn’t stand the thought of spending it weakened and frail—hardly capable of standing without feeling dizzy.

Maybe you are a little jealous that Elain’s getting all the attention. She’d always been the centre of Nesta’s attention, and while you were on fairly good terms with your oldest sister throughout your childhood, you were no competition for her sharp mind and sharper tongue. Feyre was the wild one, Elain the pretty one, Nesta the cunning one—then there was you.

What’s your place in your dysfunctional family?

“It’s good she seems to be steadily improving,” Azriel says, breaking you from your inner thoughts. You nod dutifully, agreeing with him. “She smiled for most of it, too,” you add, remembering how pleased she’d been when they came out how she wanted—after numerous attempts. “Though she was covered in flour—her hair was practically white!” You laugh fondly, covering your mouth with your hand.

A faint smile appears on his lips and, for just a moment, you let yourself pretend he’s smiling at the sound of your laugh.

But that’s all you have to report back to him, and even if you’ve pleased him, he’ll be finding an excuse to slip off now that he knows she’s been fine. You’ll admit, it’s difficult to remember she’s your sister when he so clearly would choose her over you. It’s not even a competition.

So you swallow your nerves, tuck your hands behind your back and peer up at him. “Hey, you read right?” You ask, keeping a pleasant smile on your lips—lest he think you’re too eager. He blinks out of whatever thought he was having, clearing his gaze as he looks down at you, then nods. “I’ve been known to pick up a book from time to time,” he answers. He’s in a good mood, it seems.

“Do you have a favourite?” You ask, tipping your head at a slight angle, appearing to look at the books stacked on the shelves. “I feel like I’ve been rereading the same story over and over again and want to try something else.”

“You’re asking me to pick just one?” He replies, quirking his brow. The smile that comes to your mouth isn’t as fake, or as controlled as you would like—it stretches your lips thin, showing the gaps either side of the top row of your teeth.

“Okay, give me a couple to have a nose at. So if one bores me to tears, I can pick up another,” you laugh gently, pulling the book tight to your chest, worried you’re showing too much. Does he know how your days often centre around whether he’ll seek you out? The too-short conversations that often revolve around your sister?

“Does Elain read?” He asks, tentatively, and it’s like a stone to your cheek. You clutch the book tighter to your chest, taking in a slow, quiet breath. “I can ask her? Subtly, of course,” you force a smile, fingers digging into the spine of the book. He shakes his head, “I’ll do it. I’d like to see how she’s doing for myself.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, “to be fair, she might be sick of them for how long she was in here last year. They might be an eyesore by now,” you laugh softly. But instead he frowns disapprovingly, like you shouldn’t be making jokes at her expense. And suddenly that urge appears, the urge to confront him about his behaviour—why he never talks to you for you.

“Azriel…?” You say, the smile slipping from your lips, though your make sure your eyes still sparkle a little, keeping them partially crinkled. But then you bite the inside of your lip, and the rest of the mask fades, leaving you raw, and more than a bit scared. If you overthink it, it’ll never get done.

“Why do you…I don’t feel like you ever…like we ever talk. Us,” you say, then flush at the word—so intimate. Us. “What do you mean?” He asks, standing sturdy before you. A seed of frustration sprouts within, but you push the irritation away. “I just…You’re always asking me about Elain.” His brow narrows a bit, and you want to take the words back.

“What else?”

You look up at him, all beauty and classical grace, and such unearthly, ethereal lines and angles to him you wish you knew how to paint like Feyre. “What do you mean, ‘what else’?” You ask, a little hurt.

“I mean, is there something else you want to talk about?” He asks, gently. Carefully.

My book would be nice. I’d like you to ask how I’m doing today, how I’m feeling, what I want to do.

“Something that doesn’t involve my sister, would be nice,” you laugh, giving him a smile that reads, can you really blame me for not wanting to talk about Elain all the time? He doesn’t smile like you’d hoped, but frowns. “Do you not like her?” He asks instead, “did something happen between you two?”

“No,” you say hurriedly. “No—nothing happened, we’re fine. Right as rain. It’s just…you always ask after her, and I feel like that’s the only reason you approach me.” You swallow, having begin to put the truth out there for him. “You seem fine talking about other things with Feyre and Nesta, but I can’t remember the last time we talked about something that wasn’t my sister, and I… I don’t really…” You trail off, watching him nervously.

His frown only deepens as he takes you in. “I’m asking out of concern for her well-being, you understand that, don’t you?” He asks.

“I know, I know, but…are you?” You reply, managing to reign in your wince at the blunt question. When he only looks at you without response, you push forward. “I mean, you…you like her, don’t you? That’s why you ask all these questions? Why you care more than the others do?” You say, fighting to keep your voice even as the words come out. “And there’s nothing wrong with that,” you quickly amend, “but, you know, it would be nice to talk to you for you. And you for me. And, you know, she does have a…mate, so, I just thought—”

“What did you think?”

You blink at the sharp tone, his eyes colder than before, more sealed off. Still, you square your shoulders, keeping the book tucked tight against your front. “Well, that, maybe, it would be better to try somewhere else? Instead of investing in someone who’s practically already taken?”

“She doesn’t love him.”

“I know she says that, but—”

“But nothing,” he says, brow narrowing. “The mating bond can’t force someone to fall in love. If she doesn’t want him, she doesn’t have to have him.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you shift on your feet beneath his penetrating gaze. “Feyre and Rhys worked out,” you manage, eyes flitting away from his, focusing on the book in your hands. “And she didn’t love him at first.” The paper’s old and crisp—worn with age. “Then Nesta and Cassian also got together, too,” you add, the pads of your fingers dragging over the pages, “and you saw what Nesta was like. How badly she was struggling. They didn’t look like they were going anywhere but destruction, but—”

“Are you done with the nosey speculation into other people’s relationships, or is that how you’ve found yourself filling your time?”

Again you blink at him, caught off guard by the ice in his tone. “I’m not saying it’s wrong to pursue her, Azriel,” you appease—try to. “I’m just saying maybe you could try looking…elsewhere, you know? Maybe try something with someone else? That won’t end badly?”

“You don’t know it will end badly,” he replies, all former warmth gone, no trace of it in his beautifully designed features. “It will for someone. Even if you and Elain do somehow end up together, what about Lucien? If it were Feyre and Rhys, or Nesta and Cass, would you think it okay for someone to try and separate them? When they were chosen to be together?”

“Bad pairings happen. Rhys’ parents are a fine example.”

“Yes, but they’re rather suited for one another, don’t you think?” You ask, pushing forward, “Elain’s always excelled at social events. She easily settles into the flow of conversation—she knows what to say, and how to act to put people at ease around her. And Lucien does the same. He knows how to draw ties between people where there seem to be none, just like her. He knows how to keep conversation flowing without pushing it, how to keep things at the right pace, just like her.”

“While you…” you pause, and his jaw tightens.

“Go on,” he says icily, “tell me why think I’m undeserving of her.”

“I don’t think its a case of deserving, Azriel,” you say quickly. “But you…well, you try to blend into any corner you can when there are more than three people in the room.”

His brow narrows, “I didn’t realise you’d been keeping tabs on me.”

“Yes, well, you’re the only one I’m interested in, so.” Your voice is soft, bladed, honed. Resigned. You lips press into a thin line as your eyes flicker away from his, too embarrassed to look even in his general vicinity. You had never anticipated laying your heart to bare to be so…scary? Terrifying?

Anti-climactic.

Admitted in such a quiet, understated way. As if he isn’t the first one you’ve ever felt so strongly for. As if he isn’t the first one who’s given you a vague understanding of why some women were so happy to do whatever their husbands told them. Why they were so happy to live in subservience, and why that’s not what it was.

“You think you’re deserving of me?” He asks, coldly. Shame and embarrassment heat your features, but you manage to shoot back, “do you think you’re deserving of her?” You cross your arms over your chest, trying to prevent yourself from being intimidated by his height, and muscle, and beauty, and overall damned attractiveness that makes you weak in the knees.

His upper lip twitches in a repressed snarl, anxiety spiking in your chest. “Answer my question,” he says, softly, an edge to his voice. You swallow, “answer mine.” You’ve never demanded something from someone before, but it’s out there now, and it feels surprisingly good to insist on something for yourself.

He regards you silently, and it takes a remarkable strength to stand still beneath his icy gaze—knowing that he’s judging what he’s seeing. Weighing if you’re worth his answer.

“I think I gave a hint of my interest for her,” he says, eyes glittering with something cold that you’re unaccustomed to have turned on yourself. “And she reciprocated with her own signs.” He stares you down, unyielding, and powerful, and you want to run and hide. “What about you?”

You purse your lips to keep them from trembling as heat crawls beneath your skin with humiliation. But—no. Get over it. Make it through. Survive something else. “I think I’m tired, and hurt from knowing that you only talk to me because you want to know how my sister is doing,” you confess, voice wobbling. “I think it’s cruel to continue asking after her when I so obviously answer every question you have just so you might pay me a little more attention.”

There’s no bite to your words, and they come out softer and weaker than you had expected. You feel tired, and drained. Eyelids heavy and heart rate spiking every other beat, numerous crescent shaped indentations on the heel of your palms.

“Maybe you’d be better off turning your affections somewhere they’d be appreciated,” he says, icily. Your heart aches, and it takes a few humiliating moments for you to gather yourself enough that you won’t burst into tears when you again find your voice. “That’s all you have to say?” You manage, fingers trembling behind your back.

“Maybe if you were even half the female she is, I’d be tempted to show a little interest,” he snarls softly, eyes glittering with cold rage.

It feels like a smack to the face, a punch to your stomach. Your eyes go wide, then blur, hot pressure building steadily. You dig your nails into the binding of your book, and move to walk past him—at least preserve what little dignity is still intact by refusing to let him see you cry. He already barely sees you as a woman, you won’t win any points with your blubbering. He wants a female, not a girl.

But he seems to realise what he’s said and turns, gripping your upper arm to keep you from leaving. You allow him to stop you, if only because demanding he let you go would show your tears. “I didn’t mean that,” he says quietly, and you can hear the pity in his voice. “I spoke in anger, I did not mean to upset—”

“Get those hands off me,” you snarl, turning on him with defensive ire blazing in your pupils. Rage fresh from the forges.

He recoils as if you burned him. Retreats a step.

“Not nice, is it? Targeting someone’s insecurity—rubbing salt into an open wound?” You snap, blinking away the tears and pulling your arm back to yourself. “Don’t come asking me for updates on Elain again. I don’t want to talk to you if your only interest is in getting between her legs.”

He’s silent for a moment, and you debate just running from the library—you can feel the storm in him brewing, and you’re not sure you’re ready for him. But he doesn’t wait for you to decide, because the storm breaks right then and there. “At least she has someone interested in getting her into bed,” he says softly, hazel piercing into you. “Can you say the same?”

Mortification flushes your skin, mouth parting in humiliation. “I—…This is inappropriate,” you hiss to hide your burning shame. Because no, it’s always been Elain and Nesta to be pursued. His eyes gleam, reading your thoughts clear as day in your expression. “Thought not.”

Pain twists viciously across your chest, heart strings being plucked within an inch of snapping—pulled taught around your throat. “If I’ve never taken a man to bed, it is not because I am unwanted. Rather that I would not waste my self nor my time on someone I was not sure about. That I did not want with everything I have,” you whisper hoarsely—the final layer stripped bare for him to slice and dissect.

But then he steps forward, and without thinking, you yield a step. He’s not perturbed, and takes another. “You admit you have no experience in bed, yet think you could handle me?” He snarls softly, wings flaring ever so slightly at his back, shadows thickening. “I don’t think it’s a matter of handling you, Azriel.” His name is a little more than a whisper from your mouth. One he tracks eagerly.

“No?” He asks, stepping forward again, slowly herding you. “Then what?” You swallow, trying to stand your ground, but the sense of him is so overpowering, he threatens to obliterate every ounce of your own self. “I think it would be a matter of learning. And if you think I’m unprepared, then Elain is definitely no better off, so that clearly isn’t your issue.”

“At least she’s shared the bed of a man before, at least she would know what to do.” You don’t correct him that you have, in fact, shared a bed with a male before. A few in fact, by this point. Nesta’s the bad influence. He steps forward again, and he’s towering over you, hazel glittering between his shadows. “At least she wouldn’t lose her head over the slightest touch.”

And then his hands have landed softly on your hips, and your head is silent. Only his touch on your body, his warmth on your skin, seeping into your clothes. Does he find your shape pleasing? Is he feeling this mind-numbing shock? The tingling at his fingertips where they’re pressing into you?

For a too-long moment you just stare at him, thoughts eddying about without a destination, floating throughout your conscious.

“Still in there?” He taunts quietly, pushing you back, turning you gently as he feels the heat radiating from your skin, the stiffness to your body beneath his touch. It’s only when a hard, wooden shelf digs into the base of your spine that you realise he’s pushed you against the case. You open your mouth—to say what, you don’t know. He beats you to it either way. “You want to prove you haven’t already lost your mind?” He says softly, voice like a lover’s touch. You can do nothing but stare at him, panting softly, completely at his mercy. “Tell me to stop, or I’ll keep going. Say no, and it finishes,” he murmurs, keeping you pressed tight between his hips and the book case. “But I think you’ve already lost.”

You blink up at him, hardly a thought behind your eyes.

In the back of your mind, you’re struggling frantically to decode his words, translate them into something that makes sense. And then his challenge clicks, and you take a sudden, deep breath. You need to tell him to stop, to show him you’re still in control of yourself—that you haven’t lost your head over the slightest touch.

But then his mouth latches over yours, tongue prying your lips apart, and your efforts of rebellion are washed away. You go all warm, and soft, and pliable in his hands, melting like butter as you coat him. His piercing hazel eyes lock with yours as his mouth slants, one hand rising to the curve of your spine, pulling you against his front.

How are you supposed to stand against him when he annihilates everything that you are with the softest brush of his fingers—fingers that are now tracing up the path of your spine, reaching that final notch as they tangle with delicious pressure in your hair. His gaze cuts into you as his tongue drags across your own, flicking at the roof of your mouth.

He’s utterly unruffled, and you feel like you’re on the verge of bursting into flame right there, setting him ablaze in the process.

But then you’re again subverting his expectations, your hands flying over his shoulders as you tilt your head to allow him deeper. The only sign of surprise he allows is a blink of his eyes, but you’re already lifting onto your tiptoes—the swell of your breasts dragging over his chest in a way you must’ve learned males like. But where would you have learned?

Your arms tighten, then your hips are pressing against him, and—you’re fighting back, he realises. And for the first time in a long, long time, he feels excitement flare deep inside him as you stride to meet him. No matter that you aren’t Elain: he’s hungry, and you can make your own decisions. If you want him to stop, you need only say the word, and he’ll be off you. But if you don’t…well, he’s not going to be the one who backs out first.

He has a damn point to prove—that you have no idea what you’re getting into with him.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

#azriel #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #shadowsinger #Azriel angst #Azriel x Archeron sibling #part one #Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You

1K notes · View notes

youneedsomeprompts · 6 months

Text

~ IS THIS REALLY MEANT TO BE? ~ enemies to lovers arranged marriage PROMPTS

requested by: anonymous request: Would you do arranged marriage prompts but they like hate each other? Aka enemies to lovers arranged marriage. Like they bicker and fight a lot at the start but are like "damn them for actually having a point" idk I really love all your prompts and I am forever in your debt for the amount of writers blocks they've/you've gotten me out of!!! ❤️❤️

Feel free to use and reblog!

Part 1: 10 marriage of convenience prompts Part 2: ~ IT'S FATE, RIGHT? ~ ARRANGED MARRIAGE PROMPTS

"I hate you and I won't even pretend to like you." "Well, you're in a pretty shitty situation then. We're stuck together."

"You're the worst person. I can't believe I have to spend the rest of my life with you."

"If you weren't so disagreeable you'd actually make a good spouse."

"I would like spending time with you if you weren't my spouse/wife/husband."

"I need some time for myself FOR ONCE!"

"Why did it have to be you? Anyone really would have been a better choice!"

"Do you think you can let me speak for once? It's not just your marriage. We're both in it. Unfortunately."

"Stop suffocating me! It won't make me like you more."

"But is the prospect of a life shared really only horrible? Can't we find something good in it?"

"Do you sense that? Is it possible that this is the first nice moment we spend together?" "Don't jinx it!"

they feel aggravated whenever their spouse is there but when their spouse is gone they feel strangely empty

they notice how they want to tell their spouse everything that's happening, even though they don't like them

they hate the forced proximity but they hate it even more to be alone

their spouse is so different from them but over time, they learn to appreciate their spouse's unique strengths

they realise that they might actually make a good team

when they have to spend time together they stay silent because every conversation would turn into a big fight

they have strangely romantic dreams about their spouse, even though they can't stand them

after a while, they write nice things about their spouse into their diary

^ their spouse finds the diary and reads it (bonus: they're confronting their spouse and an argument about trust-breaking and hidden feelings ensues)

they would never call it love but they're having these strange butterflies in their stomach whenever their spouse enters the room

#arranged marriage prompts #enemies to lovers prompts #writing prompts #prompt list #otp prompts #prompts #fanfic prompts #writing inspiration #writing ideas #writers on tumblr #writeblr #otp #arranged marriage au #enemies to lovers au #bickering prompts #arguing prompts #dialogue prompts #setting prompts #20 prompts

450 notes · View notes

steviewashere · 1 month

Text

I'd Like For You and I To Go Romancing

Rating: Teen and Up CW: None apply Tags: Post-Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst With a Happy Ending, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Sex, Self-Sacrificing Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Love Confessions, Lover Boy Steve Harrington, Sad Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart For @steddieangstyaugust Day 21 Prompt: "Please." Title taken from "Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy" by Queen.

💕——————💕 “Please.”

It’s said to him so quietly, Eddie almost doesn’t hear it. The same way he can’t really see, can’t make out the shapes in the room despite the one light through the window. Maybe it’s the panic in him, while he’s trying to fight his way through tears as he pulls his clothes back on. But the word whispered at his back makes him take pause.

A desperate little word. He wants it to mean something.

Eddie swallows. Quickly, he goes back to shimmying his jeans back on. Hits his rings on the belt buckle currently hanging loose from the loops of his pants.

It’s not that he wants to go, but it’s that he should. He’ll give some lame excuse later. Something about Wayne needing him back home—despite it being late at night, despite the fact that everybody knows Wayne works the nightshifts. He’ll say it’s because he gets anxious sleeping in other people’s beds. That he even wets the bed sometimes, even if he stopped doing that more than a decade ago. Gets nightmares so violent and lurching, he’s afraid he’ll hurt somebody. He could say that he actually hates sleeping with another person in his bed.

Despite everything in him screaming that he needs it. Because he’s a lonely, lonely person. And always wanted somebody there, needed them so close they could almost climb inside his ribs.

But he fastens the buckle of his belt and continues on with finding his t-shirt.

“Please,” whispered again, so singular, yet so drawn out, and so heartbreaking. The word pierces through Eddie’s back, kills his heart on impact, and exits his chest in one clean pass. It makes him stop searching again. “Don’t go. You don’t have to go.”

Oh, but I do, Eddie thinks, because if I let this go on any longer than it already has, I’ll have to admit how much I love you. And if I admit it and you say nothing in response, I’ll implode right on the spot. I’m saving myself. I’m saving you.

He sniffs. Grabs a random t-shirt from the bedroom floor and begins to pull it over his heavy head of curls. It’s not his shirt, he comes to find, but isn’t surprised. It’s loose on his chest, but tight on his biceps. The shirt is lightly worn. Smells like amber, like cinnamon and vanilla. Not his cologne. Not like cigarettes or marijuana or citrus-bergamot from his Irish Spring. Eddie plucks at the fabric, pulls it farther away from the skin of his chest, where his heart—resuscitated—tries to kiss the shirt with every beat.

If he doesn’t get out of here, he’ll do something stupid like break down into tears. If he doesn’t get out of here, he won’t save face. And if he doesn’t get out of here, he can’t move on.

A pleading, “Eds, please,” hits him. “Please don’t go. Don’t do this to me, too. Please, baby, come on.” Then, the bed behind him shifts. And there’s warmth on his back. A gentle brush of lips to his neck.

Steve wasn’t as sleepy as Eddie thought. Go figure.

“I…I gotta go, Steve,” Eddie states quietly, “I checked my watch. Gotta be home for Wayne, y’know?” He remains as still as he possibly can. Because Steve can read him, he’s come to find. He’ll know that Eddie’s lying if he shifts from foot-to-foot even an inch.

“He’s not home right now,” Steve immediately points out, “it’s dark out. And it’s a weekday, he’s working.”

Eddie swallows again. “I just have to go, Steve.” He doesn’t face him, doesn’t think he could. Doesn’t move, also doesn’t think he could. Just hopes, beyond all else, that Steve will just accept that and go back to bed and forget this night ever happened. That he ever touched Eddie that way. That he ever let himself get involved with a person like Eddie—not because he’s a freak and not because he’s in a different tax bracket, not that he’s above Steve, not that he’s below Steve…because he’s just him.

He hears Steve heave a deep breath.

Then, soft and tiny, “I was going to make you breakfast,” Steve says, “but this doesn’t have to…we can forget this happened if that’s what you want to do.”

“I…Steve”—

“It’ll be hard for me to let go, but I can try.” That makes Eddie turn to Steve. To see him. His limp, sweaty hair and the fact he’s only wearing boxers. The downcast eyes and twisting, nervous hands in front of him. “You’re not the first, so I’ll be fine.”

Eddie’s stomach churns and his palms sweat and he swears that his heart is the loudest thing in this room—screeching and beating and crashing straight out of him. But he brings himself to meet Steve’s volume, to ask, “What do you want, Steve?”

“I want you to stay,” Steve immediately responds, “I want you to stay in bed with me. And…and I’ll wake up first and maybe I’ll find out that you drool in your sleep and then I’ll brush back a stray strand of your hair and I want to get up and make you breakfast and then you’ll be over the moon when I hand you a cup of coffee and it’s made the exact way you love it and then we can…we can…you can…”

He blinks. Blinks again. Harder the third time. “You can…?” Eddie prompts.

“You can find somebody worth loving out of me,” Steve timidly answers, “because I already love you.”

Unable to hold himself back anymore, he takes the few steps forward to put him face to face with Steve. And, in a moment of bravery, holds Steve’s head between his hands and kisses him. Soft and exploratory. Then, passionate and disbelieving. And another, for good measure, that’s in the shape of all the words he wants to say.

“You want that with me,” Eddie states, though it sounds more like a question. Steve nods anyway. “With me. Wow. I…I wish I was better at this part, at saying the good shit. But I do love you, Steve. I’ve been in love with you since we started this whole thing between us but I…I’ve never had something like this and it terrifies me the way you’ve nestled your way into my brain.” He runs his thumbs under Steve’s eyes, catching tears he won’t acknowledge, because he’s sure he’d start crying, too.

“Do you still have to go?” Steve asks quietly, small in a way that’s unlike him. “I don’t want to keep you here if you don’t want to be”—

“I’ll stay, Steve. I’m sorry that I…I’ll stay, I promise. Let me just—let me get dressed down again and I’ll make all this up to you, swear it.” He’s jittering out of his skin; he wants to run laps through the whole house, wants to climb the walls, scream if he has to. But, in a way that’s unlike him, he continues to cradle Steve’s face in his palms and with languid, thoughtful movements, he kisses Steve between his eyebrows, under his eyes, the tip of his nose, and again on his mouth. “I’ll stay as long as you want me,” Eddie promises, “you won’t have to worry about somebody leaving ever again.”

Steve smiles sticky sweet and soft like a stack of pancakes. “Good,” he whispers, “because I never want to let you go.”

💕——————💕

#steddieangstyaugust #stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #friends to lovers #angst with a happy ending

276 notes · View notes

froggiewrites · 27 days

Note

hey, congrats on 100 followers! i love the way you write zoro and sanji and the final chapter of "picture you" has me craving some zoro x reader x sanji smut. could we maybe get a taste of that, please? 🙏

I've been thinking about writing a threesome for Sanji and Zoro since I finished Picture You, but I was nervous to try it, so thank you for giving me an excuse to push myself out of my comfort zone a bit 😊 I hope you enjoy it!

Two for One

Pairing: Zoro x Reader x Sanji

NSFW

Summary: Sanji and Zoro have been fighting even worse than usual lately for reasons beyond your comprehension, and everyone else is growing sick of it. Once you finally figure out why, you decide you three are all going to solve this together. Warnings: Smut, Clueless Reader, Canon Typical Zosan Fighting, Praise Kink (if you squint) Word Count: 3.2k

“Shut the hell up, mosshead!”

“Only if you get out of my goddamn face, you damn cook!”

Your crewmates were moments away from tearing each other’s throats out. They always were, of course, but the tension had grown so thick lately it was almost hard to breathe in the same room as them. You have no idea what caused them to turn into rabid dogs, constantly barking in your ears, but it was absolutely unbearable.

“Will you two stop?” Nami smacks them both softly upside the head, glaring harshly. “Don’t make this our problem. Look around, you two. Look at what you’re doing.” There’s something behind her words you can’t quite make out, and both of their gazes turn specifically to you, taking in your tense shoulders and the way you’ve begun to hunch in on yourself a bit. The tension eases slightly as they both slump a little with shame, before Sanji quickly grabs your hands.

“I’m so sorry, my dear. I never meant to make you uncomfortable. The brute and I will stop now. “

“Brute?” Zoro snaps. “You little–” He looks at your face before stopping, letting out a huff, and storming out.

Sanji reluctantly lets go of your hands when a timer goes off in the distance. “Well, duty calls, angel.” He skitters off into the kitchen.

The rest of the crew lets out a relieved sigh. Brook places a skeletal hand on your shoulder. “Good luck with that.”

“What?”

Robin and Franky chuckle, like this is a joke you aren’t in on, and Nami sighs. “You really don’t know?”

“Know what exactly?”

“Oh my god.” She sighs, resting her head in her hands. Everyone else laughs again, slowly filing out and patting her on the back, silently designating her with the task of explaining.

“What is it? What don’t I know?”

“The reason they’ve been fighting. You haven’t noticed a pattern at all?”

You think back to all of the most recent arguments you’ve witnessed, and you can’t think of a single thing that connects them. One about who was more handsome, one over who was stronger, and, strangely, one over who was better at fishing, which is something you didn’t think either of them were particularly invested in. “They’re the same stupid fights they’ve always been, just worse.”

“Not…exactly. Think harder. Have you walked in on any fights recently? Or have they always started when you’re there?”

You’ve been unfortunate enough to witness the rising tension firsthand every time recently. “I’ve been there for all of them. It’s sucked.”

“So you’ve been there for every single one.”

“Well I don’t know if they’ve fought when I’m not around. I’m not there.”

She sighs deeply. “I–okay. That’s fair actually. If I told you they barely ever fought when you weren’t around, would that help at all?”

You narrow your eyes, puffing out your cheeks slightly in thought. “It’s…my fault.”

“Yes?”

“They’re…mad at me.”

“Wait–”

“They hate me.”

“No! Oh my god. They’re fighting over you. Because they’re in love with you.”

Your eyes widen, jaw going slack against your will. “What?”

“You really never noticed? Why do you think Sanji insists on dragging you to the kitchen and slowly rolling up his sleeves directly in front of you, and constantly unbuttoning his top button? Or why Zoro insists on training in front of you, or doing push ups with you on his back?”

You pout. “They’re my friends and they wanna spend time with me?”

Nami hesitates at that. “Okay, um. Yes. That too. But they only do it with you. Sanji hates letting other people into the kitchen that much. And Zoro hates being bothered when he’s training. They’re trying to show off. They want to show off how strong and cool they are, because they want you to fall at their feet and beg to have sex with them.” She sees your eyes dim a bit at that, so she quickly corrects. “They want you to like them, is the point. I mean they definitely also want the sex, but really they just want you, and the idea of the other one getting you first pisses them off.”

You blink. “Oh.” You shift, eyes narrowing in thought. “So…they want to have sex with me.”

“Yeah. A lot.”

You think for a moment, wondering how you could possibly choose between the two of them. Your dear friends, your dear, wonderful, handsome, sexy friends. “What do I do now?”

“You pick one, I guess.” Nami sees the frown on your face, and you can see the realization sink in. “Or…you don’t?”

“Do you think they’d be okay with that?”

“For anyone else? No, probably not. I think their pride would get in the way. But for you?” She smirks. “I think they’d do anything you wanted, and they wouldn’t even have to think for a single second about it.”

“I wouldn’t want to push them into anything they’re uncomfortable with.”

“You think they of all people could be pushed into anything they’re uncomfortable with?” She laughs. “I promise you, they wouldn’t. Just go ask. I think you’ll be happy with their response. And the rest of us won’t have to listen to their stupid dick measuring contests anymore.”

You leave the kitchen, steps lighter and filled with determination. Your extremely hot and wonderful friends want you, and you want them. You have great things ahead of you.

Zoro is up in the crow’s nest training, shirtless and sweating, which seems to be his default state. He sees you out of the corner of his eyes, and his next slash is particularly strong and dramatic. He even looks back to see how you react. How did you not notice the way his eyes lingered on you before?

“Hey Zoro?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you meet me in my room in about an hour? I need to talk to you.”

His eyes absolutely light up, even if his face remains neutral. “Hm? Yeah, sure, I can do that.” When he thinks you aren’t looking, he has the smuggest smirk you’ve ever seen on his face. He thinks he’s won. And he has, in a way.

You wander to find Sanji in the kitchen next. “Sanji?”

“Yes, my love?” He gives you an affectionate smile before returning his attention back to the onions he’s chopping.

“Can you meet me in my room in an hour? I have something important to talk to you about.”

He doesn’t try to hide the way he lights up, giving you a heartstopping smile. “Of course, angel! I won’t keep you waiting!” He starts humming a love song as you leave, affection written clearly on his face.

And then you wait. A few times you wonder if this is a bad idea, if it will make them hate you, but you reassure yourself that Nami would have told you if it would fail. She wouldn’t let you walk into a trap like that. You bounce your leg anxiously as you wait for your friends to arrive.

Sanji is first, of course. He shows up exactly an hour from when you talked, down to the second, an offering of your favorite drink in hand. “Hello, darling. I brought something for you!” His smile is so excited you almost feel bad for not letting him know the rest.

“Thank you, Sanji. That’s so sweet.” You take it gladly, taking a grateful sip and letting the flavor wash over you.

“So what did you want to talk about?” He’s leaning closer, longing clear on his face, but you hold strong instead of kissing him senseless like you want to.

“I can’t start until we’re all here.”

“We? All?”

Zoro opens the door nearly immediately after, joy clear on his face before it sours at the sight of Sanji. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“Darling, why is this bastard interrupting?” Sanji is glaring at him, putting himself between you two as though he’s protecting you.

You set your drink down on a table before regarding both of them. “I need to talk to both of you. …If you’re okay with that.”

They regard each other a moment before humming in affirmation, looking at you expectantly.

“So I found out recently that you guys are…fond of me.”

They nod.

“And I’m fond of both of you.”

Another nod.

“And I thought that…maybe…we could all share in that fondness. Together. At the same time.”

“You want a threesome?” Zoro is straight to the point.

“Well, more than one, ideally.” He laughs, while Sanji sits in silence, brow furrowed in thought. You continue, unable to stop yourself in your anxiety. “I like you guys a lot, and I was hoping you’d be okay with this, but I understand if you aren’t–”

“I’m okay with it.” Sanji speaks up with a firmness you didn’t expect. You expected an argument, maybe reluctant agreement, but he seems to have no reservations. “Whatever you want, I’ll do. Simple as that.”

“I don’t want this if you don’t, though.”

“I do want this.” His cheeks turn a little pink. “The thought is…not terrible.”

“I’m also down.” Zoro immediately starts approaching. “So we should start now, right? Break this whole thing in?”

You freeze for a moment, a deer in headlights. You really expected at least a little arguing. “So you guys are really okay with it?”

“Yeah.”

“Absolutely.”

“Shit. Um, okay. I wasn’t ready for this to go well. Uh, let’s start then. I guess.”

“Yes ma’am!” Sanji is on you before you can even process he’s moved, hands hooking under your thighs and pulling you against him. He kisses you hard, but before you can sink in and enjoy, he’s flipped you around to face Zoro. “Let’s christen this voyage, huh?”

Zoro scoffs. “That was so cheesy.” Even with his annoyed grumble, he seems pretty thrilled. He captures your mouth with his own, rough and demanding. His lips are chapped, and he quickly slides his tongue across your lips, demanding they open. You do so gladly, allowing his entrance, and you’re quickly overwhelmed by the sensation of Zoro taking what he wants from you as Sanji grinds against you, hands wandering and squeezing everything they find. He gropes your breasts, your thighs, before eventually landing on your clothed cunt, making you gasp into Zoro’s mouth.

“God, darling, you feel just as wonderful as I imagined.” Sanji’s voice is dripping with affection and lust as he squeezes you again. “So soft, so perfect. Absolutely made for us.”

Zoro parts from you just to comment. “You really are,” he mutters, squeezing your tits. “Absolutely perfect. Can’t wait to ruin you.”

Sanji makes a soft tsk. “Not ruin. You could never ruin such perfection.”

“Watch me.”

Zoro quickly sheds you of your top and bra, leaving your tits on display for the two of them. They both pause in their movements a moment, just quietly admiring your body, before their hands fight over who gets to feel you first. Sanji ends up with your right breast and Zoro ends up with your left as they both squeeze and prod however they want. When Zoro gives a particularly hard squeeze to your nipple you can’t help but whine, rolling your head forward into his shoulder. This makes you miss the shit-eating grin he gives Sanji, but the other man notices it immediately. In response, he shoves his hands down your pants, rougher than he would normally be, quickly finding your clit to rub.

“Oh god,” you cry, muffled by the fabric of Zoro’s shirt.

“Hear that, mosshead? That was all me.”

“Oh yeah?” Zoro’s voice is cocky as he rolls your breast in his fingers again, making you moan. “I’d say that was me.”

“You two are insufferable,” you murmur.

“You think?” They chorus, and you realize that there’s always one thing they can agree on: a common enemy. Quickly their hands start to work in unison instead of opposition, Zoro always squeezing whenever Sanji takes a break and vice versa. They don’t allow you a single moment of peace, always pushing you closer and closer to the brink, closer and closer to losing yourself, before they pull back, not quite ready to give you your pleasure quite yet.

You don’t remember losing your pants. You were too focused on the feeling of Sanji’s bare erection pressed against your ass, the feeling of his warmth against your back, the sight of Zoro’s scarred chest and perfect cock right before your face. Sanji pushes you down so you’re eye level with it as he lines himself up with your entrance.

“Get ready, sweetheart. We’re not going to go easy on you.”

“Don’t listen to him, angel. We’d never be rougher than you can take.” You can’t help but notice the implication that there is a level of roughness you can take, but you don’t voice the thought, left silent by the heat of their bodies and the tension in the room. You’re practically drooling at this point for somebody, anybody to fill one of your waiting holes.

“Please,” you mutter, unsure exactly what you’re asking for, or from who you want it. You just want them, all of them, and they’re more than happy to provide.

“Of course, sweetheart. Just relax. We’ll take care of you.” Zoro’s voice is gentler than you’d expect when brushes his tip against your mouth. His hand tangles itself in your hair, ready to guide you forward, but he’s careful not to pull too hard.

“We’re here for you, always.” Sanji’s voice is gentle as well, but his hands on your thighs are rougher than you’d expect. You had always imagined him a tender lover, treating you as though you’re made of glass, but it seems the spirit of competition has made his hold a little tighter. You’re excited to see if it makes any other parts of him rougher as well.

They thrust in at the same time. Zoro fills your throat slowly but steadily, and Sanji fills your hole in a single thrust, pushing you forward into Zoro. You moan around him, and he shivers at the feeling of the vibrations. He pets your head affectionately, muttering quietly, “That’s it, sunshine. Just like that.”

“Oh god angel, you’re even more perfect than I imagined.” Sanji relishes in the feeling of bottoming out in you, in your warmth and wetness. He allows his eyes to close for a moment, head thrown back with pleasure, before he allows his hands to settle on your hips and prepares himself for the job ahead.

They make eye contact, sharing a single nod before they begin to move without mercy.

You expect Zoro to demolish your throat without hesitation, but his movements are slow and precise. You expect Sanji to take his time enjoying you, but his thrusts are quick and deep, relishing in the feeling of you. You wonder if having them together has evened them out, bringing them to a center between Zoro’s harshness and Sanji’s carefulness that allows them both to lose themselves a bit, treating you less like a toy or glass and more like another person who’s simply thrilled to participate.

As you move, Sanji squeezes your hips just firm enough to keep you still without risking bruising your skin. He leans down, pressing warm kisses to your back, muttering praising words, yes and more and just like that, angel against your skin. Zoro is also whispering to you, as one hand rests in your hair and the other rests on the back of your neck possessively. His words are less obviously worshiping but no less affectionate, even as he whispers more and yes, good girl and fuck to nobody in particular. You close your eyes, soaking in the words of the men against you, absorbing their warmth and affection and need. You don’t think you’ve ever heard their voices turn more desperate or wanting than they are right now.

Sanji gives one particularly hard thrust, pushing you further up Zoro’s cock until your nose is resting in his pubic hair, and they both give a deep moan in unison.

“Yes!”

“God, there you go!”

You honestly couldn’t tell who said what at this point, too lost in the sensation of it all.

As their thrusts grow rougher and more sloppy, Zoro’s hand starts to grip your hair tighter, pulling in a way that makes you keen. Sanji slides one of his hands from your hip to your clit, rubbing small precise circles around the bud. You thrust your hips slightly when he does, and you can hear him chuckle. “Almost there, darling. Just a little more.”

Zoro cums first, thrusting deep into your throat and holding you there as he cums in your mouth, inadvertently forcing you to swallow it all. He gives a few small thrusts into your mouth, fully emptying himself, before he pulls out. You manage to ground yourself for long enough to look him in the eye and open your mouth wide, sticking out your tongue, showing him not a single drop was wasted. He groans, lust clear on his face.

You expect Sanji to be second as his thrusts grow more erratic, but then you hear his soft whispers. “So close, angel. Just a little more. Together now.” His finger on your clit is relentless, calluses rubbing you in all the right ways. It’s only once you let out a high pitched moan, tightening around him, that he allows himself to release into you, painting your insides white. You clench around him, and he leans forward, biting gently into your shoulder, just enough to ground himself. He continues thrusting into you and giving attention to your clit until he’s sure you’re finished, before he finally pulls out, cum leaking from your cunt onto the wooden floor.

You’re about ready to collapse, but before you can, a pair of strong arms wraps around you, guiding you to your bed. “You did great,” Zoro murmurs softly, resting your head against your pillows. Sanji disappears for a moment before reappearing with a damp washcloth, which he uses to lovingly clean you up and erase any trace of the act other than the bite mark on your shoulder and cum inside of you.

“Did you like that?” You murmur sleepily. You know they did, felt it firsthand, but you still feel the need to confirm.

“More than you could ever know,” Sanji whispers tenderly. He then grows a vicious smirk. “And it felt wonderful to be the first one to make you cum, darling. I’d do it again in a heartbeat, with or without current company.”

Zoro scoffs. “You may have made her cum first but I’ll make her cum faster next time, just you watch.”

“In your dreams, mosshead. Though I guess you do know something about cumming fast.”

“Watch yourself, cook.”

You laugh as you realize this didn’t solve any of the arguments your crew thought it would. That’s alright, though. You didn’t mind. They could fight over you any day.

#sanji x reader #zoro x reader #zoro x reader x sanji #sanji x reader x zoro #one piece x reader #x reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #zoro x you #zoro x y/n

188 notes · View notes

cosmicdahlias · 5 days

Text

I Hate Everything About You

a ford x reader fic

MINORS DNI

warnings: slut-shaming, slapping, oral, rough sex, choking, breeding, drugs (weed)

this is my first stab at an enemies to lovers fic. i’ve always loved the trope, so this was a lot of fun. i also definitely didn’t include them smorkig weed because i’m like missing it and living vicariously through my writing or anything. 👀💦

You sat in your dorm finishing your homework. You were in your junior year at Backupsmore University with a major in theoretical physics, winter break was two weeks away. Tonight you were on edge, dreading a knock on the door. The reason? You had been assigned to write a research paper with Stanford fucking Pines.

Oh my god how you hated him. Success and praise flocked to him. You were the only feminine presenting person in your major, and thus had to fight tooth and nail to be seen as even half as good as your male classmates.

It drove you mad how professors just seemed to naturally love him, whereas they never showed you the time of day. And worst of all? He was arrogant and self-absorbed. He thought himself so much better than the other- in his words- “troglodytes” around him.

But what you hated the most was how attracted to him you were. How could you want to fuck someone so badly when you hated their guts? You always tried to repress your feelings, but some nights you still shamefully found yourself with your hand between your legs, thoughts running wild of Stanford using you like a sex toy.

You quietly seethed over your homework when you heard knocking at your door. You sighed heavily and pushed your chair back, savoring your last Stanford free moments.

You swung the door open and there stood the man that you despised more than everything.

“Stanford.” You said coldly.

“Y/n.” He responded, not even entertaining the idea of making eye contact with you, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.

Barely an hour had passed before you two found yourselves locked in a heated argument. A simple disagreement over formatting had boiled over.

“Jesus christ, Stanford why do you have to make everything so fucking difficult?”

“I’M making things difficult? I’m not the one who’s been shooting daggers all night, barely responding to my questions because apparently talking to me is like pulling teeth. What the hell did I ever do to make you hate me this much?”

“Oh you really wanna know why I hate you? Maybe it has something to do with the fact that professors fawn over you for the most menial effort, meanwhile I’ve had to work myself to the bone, slaving away just to earn half the recognition you barely have to lift a finger for.” You spat.

“Well maybe if you kept your legs closed every now and then this wouldn’t be nearly as hard as you make it.”

Hot tears formed in your eyes, you quickly raised a hand and brought it down hard on his face. He stumbled back, his cheeks turning bright red and not from the slap. You looked down, a bulge clearly forming in his pants.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” You thought, quickly growing angrier that he had managed to turn you on like this.

“For fuck’s sake Stanford, are you serious?” You said through gritted teeth.

“I- well I- it’s not like I can help it. I’ve never been slapped before.”

You stared at each other for a moment, the sexual tension building.

“Look,” he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation “it’s clear we both have some underlying feelings for each other, perhaps it would be for the best if we-“

“Whoa whoa whoa,” you said, cutting him off “maybe you do, but I certainly don’t.”

“Oh please, don’t lie to yourself. I catch you staring at me during lectures all the time, undressing me with your eyes, nothing anywhere like the malice you so pretended to demonstrate tonight. Admit it, you like me. Despite aaaaaall of your personal hangups about my successes, you genuinely have feelings for me.” He said, crossing his arms.

He let his words hang in the air, a smirk creasing his lips. God, he was such a dick.

“Now,” he continued “I was going to say I think it would be best if we just put this to bed, literally.”

“Stanford, no I-“ the blush on your cheeks betrayed you.

He chuckled, tilting your chin up. “I knew it, you want this.”

He pressed a firm kiss to your lips. He was right, you did want this. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you hadn’t imagined him between your thighs during class. You reached a hand down, fondling his cock over his pants.

“Mmm, fuck.” He groaned into your mouth.

You both began removing each other’s clothes desperately. He looked down at your naked body, his breath shaking. He took your breast in his hand, stroking your nipple with his thumb.

“Do you know the things those brutes in class say about you, about your body? When you walk into the room every man fucks you with their eyes, but you like it that way, don’t you?”

You took his thick cock in your hand and stroked it, he moaned and buried his head in the crook of your neck. He pulled himself away then pointed to the floor. You sank to your knees in front of him and wrapped your fingers around his cock again, pumping the near 8.5 inches in your hand. He tilted his head back, groaning and cursing.

“Put my cock in your mouth, baby.”

You went to slowly take his head in your mouth, but he seized a fistful of your hair and shoved the full length down your throat. You choked and gagged.

“You know I was thinking of being nice, but honestly I think you deserve to be brutally fucked after the way you’ve been acting. How does that sound, princess?”

You nodded with his cock buried in your mouth.

“Good, although honestly I was planning on doing it regardless.”

He gritted his teeth and resumed bucking furiously into your mouth. You to whimpered and gagged around him, tears streaming down your face.

“You’re my little slut now, you understand?”

You let out a muffled “Mhmf.”

“Look at you, letting me fuck your mouth like this. Do you let anyone else do this to you?”

He pulled out to let you answer. “No.”

He shoved his cock back in your mouth. “Let’s keep it that way. I’m not big on- mmf, sharing. I always figured the rumors of you being the campus whore weren’t true. You have too much self respect for that, but I bet you’re so dirty when you’re alone. Picturing me fucking you in every position, touching yourself and cumming with my name on your lips.”

He quickened pace, fucking your mouth rapidly in pure aggression. He growled and his hips stuttered, he was going to cum in your mouth if he kept going like this. He pulled you back by your hair and you took in a gasping breath. He didn’t give you a chance to breathe before picking you up and throwing you facedown on the bed.

He knelt behind you, slapping your ass hard a few times. “There, now I think we’re even.”

His hands pinned your wrists to the bed and he teased your entrance for barely even a second before slamming every inch inside you. You struggled to hold back a loud moan, trying to not let the whole floor know that you were getting absolutely wrecked.

He growled and moved his hands to your hips, fucking you so hard that it felt like his cock was going to split you in half.

“I have a confession to make, y/n.” He breathed between violent thrusts into you. “I saw you, two weeks ago, in the library. You didn’t see me, you leaned down to select a book off the lowest shelf and I could see your panties under your skirt. Pink with black lace. God I- I couldn’t resist, not after watching you eye me up in class. I found a quiet part of the library and stroked my cock to the thought of you.”

He picked up his pace, the slaps of his hips meeting your ass only aroused you more. “When our professor announced the assignment I knew I had to have you. I went and spoke to him after class and convinced him to pair you up with me. And now look at you, taking my cock like the whore you are, just like I knew you would.”

You gripped the sheets in your fingers as he pounded you into the mattress. Jesus fucking christ the idea of him getting worked up because of you was enough to fuel your masturbation fantasies for months. The thought of him stroking himself- in public no less- just because he saw your panties, good god you were going to savor that image in your mind forever.

He flipped you over on your back, kissing you deeply. His hands found your hips and pulled you onto his cock, resuming his aggressive rhythm.

“I love the feeling of fucking you from behind, but I need to see those eyes.”

He slid his hand to your throat, gripping it tightly. You choked out a weak moan and the corners of your vision started to turn to black static.

“God you’re gonna make me fucking cum. I want you to look in my eyes as I breed you, princess.”

He pounded faster and faster, savoring every moan and whimper that passed your lips. You dug your nails into his back causing his cock to twitch and throb, edging him closer by the second to cumming inside you.

“Look into my eyes, look into my eyes as I cum in you.” He demanded.

The sight of your doe eyes looking back at him was what did it. His brutally fast pace faltered and his breathing hitched and as he felt himself release deep in you, his hot cum coating your walls. He moaned your name loudly.

He panted, exhausted and collapsed beside you, trying to catch his breath. You were about to kiss him when he started making his way down your body.

“Stanford what are you-“

“Finishing the job, I’m not about to leave you unsatisfied like some kind of neanderthal would, I’m better than that.” He muttered.

You rolled your eyes, there he goes being arrogant as usual.

He took your clit in his mouth, you reached a hand down and buried it in his hair. He hummed against you, tongue lapping at your delicate nub.

“So desperate for me, aren’t you?” He teased.

“Nnnngh, Stanford.”

He looked up at you and chuckled. “Please, call me Ford.”

He slipped two fingers inside you, curling them against your g-spot. You arched your back instinctively and he held you in place by your hips.

“Getting close already are we?”

“Mmh, I can’t help it, you’re too good at this.”

“Surprisingly research goes a long way. It’s amazing what certain books can teach you.” He said with a devilish smile.

“You fucking nerd, I didn’t say you could stop.” You tightened your grip on his hair and pushed him against your clit, he let out a little “hmf”.

You rocked your hips against his tongue, feeling yourself tip over the edge.

“Ahh hah, oh Ford.”

Your orgasm shook you, hitting you hard. All you could do was focus on your breathing. Ford watched you intently, god you looked so perfect when you came.

He moved himself up on the bed, coming behind you and wrapping an arm around your waist, spooning you.

Goddammit, you really thought you were going to just bottle up your feelings for Ford until the day you died, but here you were in post coital bliss with him pressed against you.

The conflicting feelings of fucking the classmate you thought you despised moments ago started to weigh on you, you needed to take the edge off. You rolled out of Ford’s arms and off the bed, his eyes following you. You dug around in your bedside drawer pulling out a small baggie and a glass pipe.

You packed the bowl and flicked the lighter, taking in a long drag. You let out a cloud of smoke and sighed heavily before laying back down next to Ford, who was still watching you. You raised an eyebrow.

“What is it six fingers?”

“Nothing, I just-“

“Lemme guess, those anti drug psa’s really got to you as a kid.”

He looked away, embarrassed.

You rolled your eyes again. “Jesus, you really are a fucking nerd. Here.”

You handed the pipe to him, he took it in his hand, studying it for a second before flicking the lighter taking a deep inhale, you watched him hold his breath and couldn’t help but laugh.

“Dude, holding it doesn’t do anything, breathe.” You snorted.

He took gasping breath and let out a hacking cough, smoke coming out of his nose.

“That’s what they- ack- always do in the movies.” He wheezed.

“For the love of god, you really need to get out more.”

You passed the pipe back and forth for a good while, talking about random shit. By the end of it you were both sufficiently stoned.

You quickly learned that Ford was very affectionate when he was high, he pulled you close against him, nuzzling the back of your neck, peppering your skin with kisses. He traced the curves of your body with his fingers.

“You know, I was starting to think you genuinely hated me.” He murmured into your neck.

You let out a long sigh. “Ford don’t think I ever actually hated you, I envy you. Everything seems to come so easy to you, almost naturally. Your professors love you and- I don’t know- it was just hard not to feel a twinge of jealousy. Like this college wasn’t even my first choice, everywhere else rejected me and I still have to bust my ass just to be seen as being worth anyone’s time.”

Ford took a breath and exhaled deeply. “BMU wasn’t exactly what I had planned on either, I mean, remember what they said at orientation? This is no one’s first choice. My dream school was West Coast Tech, but things… fell through.”

He paused, you could tell there was weight to that last part, memories too painful to say aloud. You didn’t pry.

“Y/n, I want you to understand it hasn’t been easy for me either. I’ve had to work twice as hard just to make something of myself at a school with nonexistent educational standards.”

You felt a pang of guilt for ever assuming this was in any way easy for him. You turned to him, holding his face in your hands and kissing him deeply.

He broke away. “You know I was thinking we could grab coffee in the morning before heading to the library to work on our paper together. I- if you want, that is.” He looked away, nervous.

You smiled and kissed him again. “I’d like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You laid your head on his chest and he wrapped his arms around you, kissing your forehead. His breathing deepened as he began to fall asleep. You soon felt your eyelids grow heavy, following Ford into slumber.

#ford pines #ford pines x reader #ford pines smut #ford pines fanfic #gravity falls

158 notes · View notes