#is after he's let the hope and happiness fester

[mentally-a-slut]

Can I request "You deserve to be loved." For Astarion with female reader please? Please make it smut too!

Thanks so much for the request! I have been super ill, but I managed to get one thing done! I hope this is to your standards, this is my first time writing for Astarion so I hope it's not too out of character. I left Tav pretty neutral, so you should be able to imagine her as anyone. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Remember, please leave feedback! I love to hear your thoughts and it helps motivate me to keep writing.

Rating: E

Warnings: smut, piv sex, oral (f!receiving), face sitting, angst with happy ending, Astarion has a praise kink i don't make the rules, dom!Tav, kinda sub!Astarion, female Tav, likely ooc Astarion, not proofread

It was a calm night, the stillness of the camp blanketing over everyone as the stars glimmered in the darkening sky. Scratch lay idly by Shadowheart, eyes fluttering with the beginnings of sleep as the cleric's hand absentmindedly stroked his head.

Most everyone was already knocked out, the events of the day rendering them useless against the wave of sleep that washed over them. Tav was the only one that couldn't put her mind to rest, thoughts racing behind her eyes as she tried and failed to join her companions in their peaceful oblivion.

At least, she thought she was.

After an hour of fruitless attempts of rest, she abandoned her tent with an aggravated sigh, opting to get some fresh air. When she slipped out of the canvas walls, her eyes fell upon the gleaming silver hair of Astarion, restlessly sitting outside of his tent with his piercing gaze directed at the sky.

She knew that vampire spawn didn't exactly sleep, but Astarion usually went into a trance at night. He said it helped him feel energized in between feedings. A twinge of concern jolted through her, gaze softening as she approached the gloomy spawn.

"Astarion?"

His red eyes quickly cut towards her, his scrutiny heavy on her form.

"Are you alright?"

His gaze flickered with an unreadable emotion for a split second, too quick for her to discern. He hesitated before responding, the familiar too-sweet drawl coating his words. "Quite alright, now that you're here."

Tav's cheeks blazed with a poorly restrained blush at his charming words, and she averted her eyes to the ground between them. She heard his movements before she saw them, the soft brush of his feet brushing the dirt as he rose from his seat.

"I do so love when you blush, so pretty and red."

His cold finger trailed along her jaw, gently prompting her to direct her gaze back to his. She attempted to blink away her flustered state, instead focusing on the handsome elf's face. His sharp features were contorted into his familiar expression of mischief, dark red eyes upholding a look of desire.

Fighting the fog of attraction, she narrowed her eyes at him, searching his practiced expression. He was always a flirt, quick-witted and prone to making her blush, and yet something felt off about him. Something festered beneath his sweetened gaze, almost invisible behind the facade he upheld, but Tav caught a glimpse of it.

One glimpse was all it took for her to step away, brows furrowing as she created distance. His eyes flashed momentarily, a small crinkle of his brows the only sign of his confusion. "What's the matter, darling? Why so shy?"

He attempted to step closer to her, resulting in Tav taking a matching step back. She thought she saw a flicker of hurt before he steadied his expression. "Oh, I see. Don't want to cuddle up to a vampire?"

He turned away from her, already in the motion of retreating to his tent, when Tav shot out her hand and grabbed onto his arm. "That's not it."

He tilted his head to peer at her, teasing smirk already pulling at his lips. His flirtatious remark was cut short when Tav suddenly darted for his tent, hand still firm around his arm. He let her lead him, silver eyebrow raised in curiosity.

The cloth of the tent flaps had barely fallen shut when his cold hands met her waist, pressing her up to him in a way that had Tav's heart beating against her chest. "Eager, are we?"

His breath dusted her cheeks as he held her, seductive gaze steady on her beneath his lashes. Her eyes fought to flutter closed as he leaned in, lips just barely pausing before her lips.

"Why are you doing this?"

Her question was almost quiet enough to miss, but Astarion's grip loosened as he pulled away in shock. "What?"

Tav put a shaky hand to his chest, wanting nothing more than to hold him this close forever. "The flirting. The lingering touches. The stares. Why?"

Silvery brows furrowed, undead hands still idle at her waist. "I didn't take you to be dull. Do you need me to spell it out for you?"

His snark didn't go unnoticed, the same tone he took when someone tried to pry into his business too much. Tav's lips quirked downwards into a frown. "I know what desire looks like. The look you gave me back there was a decent imitation of it, but I saw through it. Why pine after me if you do not truly desire me?"

Tav tried not to let her disappointment show at his loss of touch as he dropped his hands from her waist and stepped back. "I don't know what you mean. I do desire you."

She narrowed her eyes at him, crossing her arms across her chest as she gave him a withering look. "I don't much like being lied to, Astarion. Nor do I like to be led on."

A flash of guilt crossed his eyes, almost quick enough to miss. "You're a clever one. Fine then, I confess. I needed safe passage to the city, and the only way to get it was to seduce you into providing it for me."

Her heart seized in her chest at his words, hurt and betrayal curdling in her stomach. "Do you truly think so little of me?"

His previously avoidant gaze shot towards her when her voice cracked with emotion. Her eyes shone with unshed tears.

She struggled to keep her composure through her next words. "Seduction was not the only way. I would have aided you no matter what, romantic feeling or not. I do not need anything in return. I would have helped you. I would have- I do care for you. There are no strings attached unless you wish there to be."

She recoiled from his hand as it reached out towards her. Tears now steadily falling down her cheeks, she continued with shaky words. "And I will still help you, even though you have hurt me. Even though you have made me think there was something... I thought you liked me. I really thought we could have," she heaved a sob between her words, "Why did you have to make me fall in love with you?"

Her eyes avoided his, tears rushing down her face as she hung her head down. If he had a beating heart, he was sure it would be hammering against him.

"You... Love?"

She hid her face in her hands as she cried, granting him a small nod.

"Tav, I..."

"Don't. Just... I'm sorry for thinking you returned my feelings. I don't expect anything from you, and you're still welcome to stay with us."

She turned to leave, eyes burning with emotion, when his cold hand gripped her shoulder. She froze, holding her breathe in case any movement would scare him away.

"Tav, please don't go."

His voice was timid, a broken sort of tone that she could never dream of him carrying. She chance a movement, turning her head to peek at him. His eyes were watering, sincerity pooling in the blood red of his gaze.

"I... It wasn't fake."

A stuttered breath as Tav turned to face him, tear stained face contorted into an expression of dread, fearing he was playing a cruel joke on her. "What?"

"The feelings, the flirting... I admit, at first it was purely self-preservation, but..." he gently trailed his hand down from her shoulder to her wrist, "you... you enraptured me."

"Astarion, you don't have to-"

"I mean it. This isn't me trying to use you, I'm not just doing this as an apology, I truly mean it. I fell for you, and it terrifies me."

She turned her wrist in his grip, staring down at his hand as she maneuvered hers to fit against his. "You love me?"

She stepped forward, bringing a hesitant hand to his face. His brows furrowed as he nodded slightly, almost like it pained him to admit it. Slowly, she moved closer, giving him time to recoil. When he leaned in, she fluttered her eyes closed and pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss.

His other hand went to her face, delicate fingers stroking her cheekbone as they kissed. There was no desperation, only gentle passion as they melded together, pouring all words unsaid into their embrace. When Tav pulled away, Astarion sighed and chased after her lips, only stopped by her firm hand on his chest.

"You don't need to do anything you don't want to do. I'm alright with not sleeping together. You don't owe me anything."

His pupils swallowed up the red of his eyes as he whined, true desire swirling in his gaze. "You saying that only makes me want you more."

Tav hummed in surprise as he pulled her lips back against his, fingers tangling in her hair as he hungrily devoured her lips. His free hand snaked around her, palm pressing firmly into her lower back and arching her into him. Tav sighed into him, pulling away from his lips to murmur, "are you sure?"

"Never been surer, darling."

She stopped his approach, giving him a sultry look as he pulled her even closer against him. "Alright, but we're doing this my way."

He raised a brow, his teasing smirk sending a jolt of arousal down her spine. "Oh, yeah? And what did you have in mind?"

She pressed a soft kiss against his lips, admiration flooding her eyes. "You let me do the work." She tutted against his lips as he started to protest. "Please, Astarion, let me take care of you. You deserve to be loved."

His resolve completely vanished at that, and he pulled her back for another desperate kiss. Tav's core burned with each sound from his lips, whines and moans vibrating against her lips. She pushed him towards his bedroll without breaking the kiss, giving a pleased hum when he obeyed.

She sank down with him, straddling his lap as he sat. His fingers fought with the hem of her shirt, insistently tugging as he whined against her lips. She smiled and pulled away, chuckling as he tried to chase her lips. "Use your words, love."

"You're a tease," he all but whined, hands still itching to rid her of her top.

She answered him with only a stern look, pulling his hands from her waist. He groaned in frustration, pride a little more than hurt as she coaxed him to obey. "Take it off. Please."

"Good boy," she teased, all too aware of the growing bulge her words caused. His hands wasted no time in exploring the skin of her exposed stomach as she peeled away her shirt, tossing it over her shoulder. He sat up to capture her lips, firm hands desperately trying to gain control.

His fingers dug into her waist as she rolled her hips down against his, eliciting a groan from him. She rolled her hips again, pressing harder against his prominent arousal. His hands frantically trailed across her skin, gripping her ass as she grinded once again.

Her core grew hotter as he moaned against her, and she pressed kissed down his jaw and neck as she began to tug at his shirt. She pulled back to look at him, holding back a moan as he rutted against her. "This okay?"

"Yes, yes, it's okay," he whined, breathless as he pressed himself between her legs. She discarded his shirt, continuing to press hot kisses down his neck and chest. She pressed a hand to his chest, pushing him back to lay down. She held her hip up away from his, grinning at his frustrated groan.

"Be patient," she warned, trailing a finger down his torso and teasing the waistband of his pants.

His hand found the clasp of her bra, fingers restlessly fidgeting against it as he looked up at her for permission. She nodded with a smile, and his swift fingers released the garment within seconds. He groaned as her breasts were exposed, bringing a hand up to one and flicking a thumb across her nipple. She faltered for a moment, hips rutting down on his as his hands teased her chest. "So gorgeous, darling, perfect."

She felt silly for blushing at his words, the simple compliment turning her insides to jelly even as they were half naked. He smirked and pulled her down to him, pressing his tongue against her lips and sighing at the feel of her chest against his. Tav snaked a hand between them, delicate fingers brushing against his length. His responding moan send shivers down her spine, encouraging her to press her fingers against him harder.

He rutted against her hand, grabbing any part of her he could reach. He pulled away enough to whine out a "please," and Tav swiftly unbuttoned his trousers and pushed them off. His hardened length strained against his underwear, a growing damp spot evidence of his desire.

He whined as she pressed her palm against him, and he grabbed her wrist to still her movements. She glanced up at him, concern in her face. He panted, shifting involuntarily to try and gain friction. "As much as I love what your doing," he trailed his other hand up her thigh, coming to a stop at the waistband of her pants, "I want to taste you. Please."

Tav couldn't stop the whine that fell from her lips, his words sending an entire new wave of desire through her. She nodded, moving to help him remove her pants. Once she was fully bare above him, his eyes burned with lust as he stared at her glistening cunt. Tav didn't have any time to be insecure before his hands gripped her waist and tugged her up his body, settling her spread legs just above his lips.

He quirked a brow at her, silently asking permission. His breath tickled her folds, making her groan with her words. "Oh, fuck, yes."

His hands gripped her ass firmly as he pulled her core down against his lips, his tongue immediately flicking against her swollen clit and teasing her entrance. She threw her head back with a moan and tangled her fingers in his hair, involuntarily rutting against his mouth.

His tongue was quick, flitting between her clit and dipping into her core with precision. She half worried that she would suffocate him with her thighs before she remembered that he was undead.

Tav swore as his lips closed around her clit, sucking harshly and sending her eyes into the back of her head. Her muscles tensed as he lapped at her, core tightening as he brought her closer to the edge.

"Fuck, just like that! I'm gonna-"

He hummed against her, sending vibrations through her core and pushing her over the edge. He didn't pull away until came down from her high, tongue coaxing her through it.

With a sigh, Tav adjusted herself back to where she was, leaning down to kiss him and sighing when she tasted herself on his lips. "You taste delightful," he muttered between kisses.

His cock throbbed beneath the restraint of his underwear, and Tav couldn't help but roll her hips against him. "Don't tease me, darling."

She did it again, pulling back to look him in the eyes. "Do you want this?"

"More than anything."

She smiled at him, one of pure admiration, and then hastily rid him of his underwear. He sighed when her core brushed against his painfully hard cock, tightening his hold on her waist. She leaned down to peck him on the lips before lifting her hips, stroking him teasingly as she lined them up.

With one last look of confirmation, she pressed her cunt against his tip, her tight hole swallowing him torturously slow. His gaze was heavy on their joined bodies, fingers digging into her waist as he groaned.

The stretch was pleasant, brushing against her walls as she slowly lowered onto him. She sighed as her clit brushed against her pelvis, his cock now fully sheathed inside of her. She stilled for a moment, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to his lips.

The movement shifted them slightly, making him groan against her lips. She smirked, lifting her hips slowly. With a hand on his chest to steady herself, she sent him a cheeky wink and sank back down. His eyes darted all over her body as she rode him, watching her tits bounce, staring as her cunt swallowed him up. "You feel so good, filling me up," she whined, thrusts getting faster.

His moans grew louder at her praise, hands pressing tighter against her hips and guiding her down against him. "Such a good boy, letting me ride you."

He sat up, pulling her against him and matching her thrusts. He whined, pressing sloppy kisses against her throat as he rutted into her. "Please, feels so good," he whined, fangs brushing the delicate skin of her neck. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pressing him into her neck.

"So, so good for me, such a good boy," she moaned, thrusts becoming rougher, "you wanna cum inside me?"

He groaned, cock twitching inside her as she tightened around him. "Please, please, so close, I'm so close-"

"Bite me," she whispered, "c'mon baby, cum inside me while you sink your teeth into my neck."

His orgasm crashed over him just as he sank his fangs into her, the sweet tang of her blood coaxing forward his release. She soon followed, moaning as he painted her walls and drank his fill.

He pulled away from her neck, pressing his lips against hers and smearing her blood into her mouth. She whined into the kiss, cunt clenching with the aftershocks of her orgasm.

He pulled back, eyes swimming with emotion as he studied her face, their sweating bodies clinging together. "I love you."

She smiled before kissing him softly. "I love you too."

[midorisudachi]

“Living a lie…it festers inside you, like poison. You have to fight for what’s in your heart.” – Dorian Pavus

I recently beat Dragon Age Inquisition for the third time! I love that game immensely: everything about it is wonderful. I chose a male Inquisitor - as a rogue - because I wanted to romance Dorian. The first time I played DAI, it was the female elf Lavellen – whom I named Zephyra – and she was a mage, and the romance with Solas was a bloody disaster & heartbreaking. (Damn you, Solas!) The second time I played as the human female Trevelyan – named Bryony (who you have seen me do two fanarts of) – a warrior, and romanced Cullen. (Cullen is so hot for a video game character…where can I find a man like that? Lol.) I hope you like this artwork!

Also: Happy Pride Month! 🌈 It’s actually a perfect time to submit this artwork. This was a lot of fun to create (a full colour piece). If you haven’t played the Dragon Age games, it is actually very LGBTQ friendly. You can make your characters gay, lesbian, or bisexual. There is even a transgender male in DAI, named Krem, who is a cool character. Bioware is open-minded, that’s for sure, so the DA series is for everybody. And omg, let me tell you that the conversations & bantering between the characters is hilarious!

⚠️Warning: Spoilers Ahead!⚠️

Dorian is quite the character…a sarcastic & witty lad. He is complex at first, especially regarding his history (how his father tried to “erase” who he truly was, when it came to his homosexuality). It was fun romancing him with Cedric (Trevelyan), who I made a rouge/assassin. So off course I had to draw my OC [male] Cedric Trevelyan with Dorian! Cedric is Dorian’s “Amatus”. I made them wear simpler outfits when I drew them, because near the end of the game, they were wearing complex armour. That stuff is hard to draw! I chose to draw Lilies by Cedric & Dorian, because if you romance Dorian, his tarot card shows him holding what looks like a Lily.

The two of them had this conversation near the end of the Trespasser DLC:

Cedric: “Whatever happens, I wouldn’t trade the years we’ve had together for anything. I love you.”

Dorian: “I knew you would break my heart, you bloody bastard.”

Lol! Awww, jeez, Dorian, just say you love my Inquisitor, too. I honestly really think that Dorian loved him, as stubborn as he was to admit it. At first I was annoyed when Dorian chose to go back to Trevinter, and I thought, “Darn you, don’t you dare pull a Solas on my Inquisitor, after all you've gone through with him!” However, after the game ends, it tells you what happens to the characters (depending on your choices). For me, the game said that Dorian’s “greatest strength lay in the lover he left in the south, but still conversed with via message crystal”, and “some claimed to have seen the Inquisitor on the streets on Minrathos on rare occasions, sneaking into the heart of Trevinter to aid his Amatus.” It made me happy to know that the Inquisitor and Dorian stayed together. I wonder if that will show up with the 4th game.

⚠️Spoilers Over!⚠️

Speaking of the 4th game, who is excited to Dragon Age: The Veilguard, to be released later this year? I watched the gameplay trailer and I am excited for it! I hope characters from DAI will be in it (so far, Varric & Solas have been shown).

Drawn with sepia Sakura Pigma Micron pens, then coloured in with a mixture of Copic Markers, Ohuhu Markers, & Zenacolor coloured pencils. White accents done with a Sakura gel pen & the gold accents were done with Golden brand acrylic paint.

Dragon Age Inquisition/Dorian Pavus/Inquisitor Trevelyan © Bioware & Electronic Arts

Artwork © of me, Jacqueline E. McNeese

[skelekins]

:P

[cryptidghostgirl]

hii i read your fic with the humanalastor! x reader where they become like partners in crime (i loved it sm)

and got an idea based off of it

what if Alastor dies first and a few years later Alastor and the reader reunite after she goes to the hotel? thought it would be kinda cute :)

A/N ngl I was thinking of doing something like this so I am very happy it is desired by the people as well. Also, we're gonna pretend that the timeline I created wouldn't make her like over a hundred years old when she died, okay? Okay.

Cover Up Pt. 2 (Alastor x Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of murder and blood, nothing graphic. Alastor being a depressed little bitch. Also a lot of dead bird metaphors for lost hope. Please let me know if I forgot anything.

Word Count: 1,971

Part One: Cover Up (Human!Alastor x Human!Reader)

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

When Alastor had died, Y/n had shattered. Their years of holding one another's bloodstained hands had finally drawn to a close. They had a good run, nearly a decade before anyone caught on. His death also came with the added downside of throwing suspicion on Y/n. To say the event changed her life would be an understatement.

When Alastor had first woken up in Hell, he had mourned his loss as if she was the one who had died and not him. The allowance of such a foolish thing was short lived. He quickly realized there was no way Y/n wouldn't end up in Hell as well eventually, with her track record. He refocused his pain, his anguish into making sure he had the perfect world to serve up to her on a platter as soon as she arrived.

As the years ticked on, the little bird fluttering away in his ribcage became more and more despondent. He tried to distract himself by continuing his work, continuing his plans for her. Always for her. It worked to a certain extent but, soon it had been sixty years and she still hadn't made her arrival. It didn't matter how many overlords he killed, how many worthless souls he tortured. There was nothing that could take his mind off that.

Alastor wondered what sort of life Y/n had made for herself after his death. He wondered if she had found love again, held out hope that she hadn't. It was a selfish wish, he knew it. Alastor had always been selfish. It wasn't that he wished for her to be unhappy, just that he knew she was the only person, living or dead, out there for him. There was no hope for Alastor that wasn't Y/n and he wanted her to feel the same way about him. He didn't want to lose, to have been an idiot, to have been the one that loved more. At the same time, he didn't want her to feel that way either. It was complicated and confusing, the twists of his own logic.

Another decade and he began wondering if somehow his beloved wife had gotten into Heaven instead. He knew it was a long shot, after everything she had done but, she had also never killed anyone who didn't deserve it. Maybe there was some exception for women who killed their pursuers, when the pursuers were coming on too intensely or had ulterior motives. He wondered if she'd remarried, if she had kids. If she was still on earth, there would have to be something that was keeping her there and that was the only thing that made sense.

Eighty years, as it turned out, had been all he could take. The bird had died and its corpse had rotted, festering into anger. Not anger at Y/n no, never anger at Y/n but anger at the world, at the system of the afterlife. He became bolder, brasher, more foolish. He got caught in a bad deal.

Coming to the hotel had been a command, yes, but it had also ended up being something of a salvation for the man. In the seven years of his disappearance from the rings of Hell, there had been little to distract him from the growing hole of Y/n's absence. It was a hungry thing, a deep seated want, a controlling desire. The hotel served to fill it. Not completely, but a little. It was better than nothing. Besides, for all her violence, Y/n had always had a way of seeing the best in others, in the world around her. He was certain she would have liked Charlie if she ever got to meet her, certain the hotel would shine in his wife's eyes.

Husk and Nifty were the only two who knew. They had both met him when Alastor's focus had been the creation of a world for Y/n, it was impossible for them not to. They had both noticed how as the years had passed, he had said her name less, how he had become crueler. Not even Charlie had in inkling of an idea that Alastor might be missing something, might be unshakable heartbroken. He hid it well.

Even now as he entered the lobby intent on finding Charlie in order to discuss some of the decor on the upper floors, he made sure his smile was firmly fixed in place. A smile was the strongest weapon a person or demon could have, the strongest disguise. He made sure he was never without one.

"So you just arrived today?" he heard Charlie saying as he began to make his way down the stairs.

He could see her by the door, talking to a demon whom her position obscured from his vision. A new guest. Internally, Alastor sighed. This was throwing a wrench into his plans for the day.

"Yeah I... it's all so confusing here. Wonderful in a way, don't get me wrong but... when I heard about your hotel, it seemed safe."

The unknown demon's voice was soft, it pulled at his heart strings. The corpse of the bird was a puppet at its familiarity. It was a sickening feeling, the dead body of his hope being pulled up and twitched around for another's unknowing amusement. Alastor nearly faltered, hesitating on the last step.

"So are you actually interested in redemption?" Charlie asked, sounding downcast.

"Well, I'm not really sure yet. Is that okay? I mean, I just got here today and... either way, I love the idea of your hotel and I want to help. I could work as a maid? Or I'm a pretty good cook? My husband always said so anyways. I'm sort of trying to find someone too so... What I'm trying to say is that I could work until I've figured it out, if that is alright with you?"

Charlie hummed in thought as Alastor began to cross the room, heading straight for the pair.

"It's a bit unorthodox but, I suppose. We could always use another helping hand."

"Really!?" the stranger exclaimed, "Oh thank you!"

Alastor was over Charlie's shoulder practically now. She shifted on her feet, allowing Alastor to at last see the person she was talking to.

"So, what's your name?"

The demon opened her mouth to speak but, before a word could leave her lips, she was interrupted by a static filled voice. It brought back memories, hurt her heart to hear.

"Y/n."

There was no doubt about it. Even in her new demon form, Alastor knew. It was the curl of her hair, it was the brightness of her eyes, the way she held herself. She looked up at him with wide eyes.

"When did you get here?" Charlie asked in confusion as she turned to the side, turning the pair into a group of three all facing one another, "Also, you know her? Oh my gosh, wait. Are you okay? I don't think I've ever seen you not smiling before."

Neither payed the princess any mind, each absorbed in one another's eyes. Y/n took a sutering half step forwards, her mouth slightly open.

"Alastor?"

It was barley more than a whisper. She took another step towards him, then yet another. Lifting her hand, she gently cupped it around his cheek. Instinctively, the Radio Demon leaned into the touch.

"It really is you... isn't it."

Alastor pulled Y/n into his arms, wrapping her in his frame and resting his chin on the top of her head. Y/n was frozen in shock for a moment before she returned the gesture, balling her fists in to the back of his coat.

"Wow. You guys really know each other." Charlie mumbled to herself, eyes wide.

The pair pulled apart, Alastor still holding Y/n's waist as Y/n held his coat. She looked up at him, disbelief etched into her features, her sentiments reflected back to her in Alastor's own face.

"I thought..." he mumbled, raising a hand and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, "I thought I'd never see you again."

Y/n laughed tearfully.

"Me too."

"Where have you been? What happened? What... what took you so long?"

"If I had known I was coming to you, I would have died way sooner. I lived, Al. That's what happened. I only just got here today."

"I know, I heard, but what... what kept you?"

Y/n heard the tremor in his voice, the fear. She looked up at him, eyes narrowed.

"Are you jealous?"

Alastor's eyes flicked to the side momentarily. One of his ears twitched. It might have been nearly ninety years since they had last seen one another, they might've looked completely different and had whole lives the other wasn't in, but it felt like they had just seen one another yesterday.

"Oh, you so are!" Y/n teased brightly.

"Y/n."

"Yeah, yeah. It's just dumb is all, especially now I know you've been here all along."

"So tell me."

Y/n had always loved his insistence. It was what kept Alastor to his code, kept him to her, kept him him. She smiled once again.

"Soooo..." Charlie stepped in, her hands behind her back, "Either of you want to explain?"

Both Alastor and Y/n at last turned to look at her. He was smiling again, Charlie noticed. Not the normal ear to ear grin, teeth bared, she was used to. Something smaller, something softer. They released one another, only for Alastor to immediately drape an arm over Y/n's shoulders. It almost seemed like each feared the other would vanish into thin air if they weren't physically touching. She reached a hand up, gently holding his hand where it hung off her shoulder, keeping him to her.

"Charlie, this is my darling, lovely wife."

Y/n shoved him playfully and he smiled down at her.

"You're married!?"

"Yes." Y/n nodded, "We are. Have been for what, like one hundred years now?"

"So what kept you?" Alastor asked again and Y/n sighed.

"You really aren't going to let this go, are you?"

He shook his head. Y/n slipped out from under Alastor's arm, taking both his hands in hers. Her fingers traced his knuckles, the lines of his bones beneath the surface of his skin. Her eyes watched their hands, she sighed.

"After... well, Al, you died burying a body. It was hard for people not to know. I..."

"You got caught? You went to jail?" Alastor interrupted, his smile having fallen once again.

Y/n laughed slightly under her breath.

"No, heart. I stopped my own work but, the whole world knew of yours. I thought that... it was so dumb! I thought that... if I was alive, then so was the real version of you in some way. Not the true crime, vandalized version, but the person I knew."

Alastor lifted her face to his, his hand lingering under her chin.

"You were always secretly quite the romantic, weren't you."

"Oh hush you."

"Make me."

Y/n cheeks suddenly flushed bright red.

"Okay!" Charlie interrupted, laughing nervously, "Okay, well, I'm happy for... this, um, Alastor! Why don't you show Y/n around?"

"With pleasure."

Alastor leaned down, kissing Y/n gently. Her hand was half raised to burry itself in his hair when he pulled away, smirking in response to Y/n's irritated glare. Linking arms with her, he began leading Y/n to the staircase.

"I must say, I rather like this new look of yours." he hummed placidly.

"You're not half bad yourself deer boy, if a little cocky."

"I was always cocky. That's what you liked about me."

"Wrong. It's only one of the things I love about you."

----

Next Part -> Cover Up pt. 3

[sunsburns]

kiss of life (iii.)

pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!daughter reader

masterlist

summary: you have never doubted aphrodite when it comes to soulmates, she's the goddess of love, she knows what she's doing and you're getting pretty sick of people telling you she's made a mistake with your soulmate, specifically. you refuse to believe that she could be wrong, but luke castellan is making it really hard for you to have hope.

—or: you and luke are off on your quest you're totally not having second thoughts about choosing him, he's your soulmate after all... right?

word count: 3.2k

warnings: filler chapter (sorry gang), reader's pov, reader is lowkey unreliable and is hiding something, pre-tlt, luke's character is kinda inconsistent but whatever, angsty fight with luke and reader, low-key happy ending

a/n: everyone might've moved on but i'm still here 😔… gang i think i’m coming back to my active era (no one cheered) anyways there’s so much i wanna write for this series so enjoy this little filler!

You'd always been a fan of bad ideas, but choosing Luke Castellan as your companion for the duration of your quest had to be your worst one yet. You felt a pang of doubt, questioning your choice, especially after witnessing the outcome of his quest—a failure that seemed impossible to shake off from the whispers of other campers. A failure your siblings wouldn't let you forget.

"I was there when he came back. I know what happened," you muttered, frustration creeping into your voice as you stuffed clothes into your bag.

Your siblings meant the world to you. You cherished the bond you shared—the familial camaraderie that bound your cabin together. As the eldest, you revelled in guiding and nurturing them, relishing the role of guardian and friend within your cabin's close-knit circle. Yet, like any family, they can sometimes be suffocatingly overbearing.

Alexis, your brother, ever ready to smack a reality check, had been the first to warn you against choosing Luke Castellan, and now he spearheaded a group of your siblings, all urging you to reconsider with reason.

"But that's just it. You don't know. Not really. None of us do." Alexis told you, reclining against the shared vanity in your cabin. The absence of the younger kids, off with Chiron for a lesson on constellations, offered you some peace of mind, sparing them from witnessing the escalating intervention.

As Silena sifted through the clothes strewn across your bed, her soft humming filled the room, a stark contrast to the weighty silence that hung over the conversation. "No one but Chiron and Mr. D knows what happened on that quest. He refuses to talk about it." she mused.

"There's not a lot of glory in that." Alexis shrugged, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"He's been so weird and different since he returned," Silena added, "I remember he used to smile. It was such an attractive smile. And he used to talk... He barely ever talks anymore."

Alexis snorted, "That's called depression, Silena."

"It's just so sad." She frowned and sat on your bed, her gaze distant, "Pretty people don't deserve to be depressed."

"Amen to that."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at their melodramatic exchange, a fleeting smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you focused on folding another pair of pants. 

"He still talks." You said.

"But it's not the same," Alexis countered, his expression grave. Deep down, you knew he was right.

"And the way he's treated you," Silena scoffed, "constantly icing you out..."

"Avoiding you for months..." Alexis added, stepping closer to you with a solemn expression. "Refusing to even talk to you."

When he tried to put his hand on your shoulder, you couldn't help but shrug it off, not wanting his sympathy.

Their reminders, well-intentioned though they may be, served only to deepen the wound already festering within you. Like a knife twisted in your back, the memories of Luke's avoidance and unanswered questions pierced your thoughts with relentless precision. You vividly recalled the disappointment etched across his face in the infirmary, a silent testament to his dismay upon discovering your role in his fate. The weight of his unspoken words hung heavily in the air, a haunting reminder of the rift that had formed between you before it even started.

Your siblings were very careful with their next words: "Do you think that maybe... just this once... Aphrodite got it wrong?"

With a heavy heart, you stormed out of the cabin, your mind reeling with conflicting emotions. You swore up and down to Alexis and Silena that you were fine, that you only needed air. The need for clarity drove you to seek solace in the quiet embrace of nature, the gentle flicker of a breeze offering a touch of comfort amidst the turmoil raging within.

Throughout your life, your unwavering loyalty to your mother, Aphrodite, and the Gods has been a source of solace and guidance. You found comfort in the subtle manifestations of them, from the celestial dance of stars to the gentle caress of sunlight filtering through the trees. Even in the casual interactions of everyday life, you sought traces of your mother's hand guiding your path.

As you gazed into the dancing flames, the remnants of fruit smouldering in their fiery embrace in a tin can, you found yourself caught between hope and despair during your offering for your mother. Silena's words echoed in your mind, a harsh truth you were reluctant to confront. Maybe you didn't have a soulmate. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe you're unlovable.

Yet, amidst the cloud of doubt, a flicker of defiance ignited within you. The mere thought that Aphrodite could be mistaken in matters of love seemed impossible to you. You had witnessed firsthand the intricate tapestry of fate woven by her hand, guiding souls to their destined counterparts with unfailing precision. 

The yearning for that connection, that soul-deep bond, burned within you like a beacon in the darkness of uncertainty. It was a desire as old as time itself, the longing to find solace and belonging in the embrace of another.

As the flames dwindled to embers, their dying glow casting flickering shadows upon the ground, your prayers went unanswered. 

The weight of your impending quest pressed upon you like a heavy cloak. Questions tumbled over one another in a relentless cascade, each one a dagger aimed at the heart of your resolve. Where would you need to go? Would you need to defend yourself? Would monsters come after you? Should you choose someone else? Could it be that Luke was nothing to you but a mistaken thread tethered into your life?

Your shoes stepped over twigs and dry leaves on the ground until you stepped out of the forest. Passing by the armoury, you forced a smile upon your lips. You forced yourself to be excited for your first quest rather than dread it. It was a rare privilege bestowed upon a child of Aphrodite, you should honour it.

As you approached the heart of camp again, the familiar clang of sword meeting dummy rumbled through the night air. The rhythmic sound, though commonplace in the realm of demigod training, carried an ominous weight under the cover of darkness. You would have assumed that all campers were asleep.

Luke Castellan, a boy who had become synonymous with the darker days since his return from his quest, stood amidst the training grounds, his silhouette illuminated by the pale moonlight. The sight of him, bathed in the ghostly shine, was haunting. With each precise strike of his sword, a muted testament to the rage that plagued his restless spirit, he seemed to exude an aura of both determination and despair.

No wonder you were so exhausted.  

You dared not meet his gaze, instead keeping your head bowed as you navigated the familiar path through the training grounds. Every fibre of your being screamed for you to move faster, yet the pull of his presence was undeniable. Despite your best efforts to remain unseen, Luke's voice cut through the night, calling out your name with a sense of urgency that sent a shiver down your spine.

Shit.

With a sinking heart, you felt his hand land on your shoulder, stopping your escape. You couldn't avoid him now. Turning to face him, you were met with a sight that mirrored the restlessness within your own soul. His features, etched with lines of weariness and frustration, betrayed the weight of the burdens he carried.

You were distracted by the way he was looking at you. Brows furrowed, his lips turned and pulled into that permanent frown that had you wondering if he had ever smiled since he came back. Yet, despite the weight of his solemn expression, there was a flicker of something in his eyes – a glint of warmth, of familiarity, that almost stirred a faint glimmer of hope within you.

Almost. 

"You're making a mistake." He insisted. "You need to choose someone else for your quest."

You tried not to seem too disappointed. "I can't pick anyone else." You protested, and he raised his brows at you, doubtful. "The Oracle told me to choose you."

"She told you to-?" A scoff escaped him, "The Oracle doesn't tell you who to choose. She doesn't say anything about who you should bring-"

"Luke-"

"The Oracle tells you what your quest is, then a weird riddle about something that will happen on your quest that will put you on edge the entire time."

Luke had stepped closer to you as he spoke as if his words would've sunk into your head clearer if you could hear them better. He spoke to you a lot that way, hoping you'd cling to every word he had to say; good and bad. Mostly bad.

The Oracle's cryptic words lingered in your mind. She had not revealed much about your quest, offering no subtle hints or insights into Eros' whereabouts to make your life easier. Instead, her assurance that success hinged on bringing Luke Castellan along had left you grappling with uncertainty. "He has all the answers you seek," she had urged, her words echoing with a weight that you struggled to comprehend.

"It has to be you."

"What else did she say?"

You hesitated. "That's it," you replied, your words falling short.

"That's it?" He didn't believe you.

"Just a few hints of where Eros might be, I guess." The lie slipped from your lips effortlessly. 

He caught it quickly but never urged you to admit it. Luke remained silent, his expression unreadable as he mulled over your words. 

You sort of wished he fought you over it.

You wished he'd do anything with you. At least try to.

"If you don't want to come with me, that's fine," you conceded, "I'm leaving tomorrow morning, with or without you."

"Really? You'll just leave?"

The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable. Yet, despite the resentment that coloured his words, there was a flicker of something in his eyes – a glimmer of regret, perhaps, or maybe resignation. It only annoyed you further.

Luke Castellan was possibly the most confusing person you've ever met. He didn't want to join you on your quest, but you couldn't leave without him either? What's his fucking deal?

He intrigued and frustrated you, like some curse had been placed upon you, and you wanted to understand every part of him while he wanted nothing to do with you. Perhaps Aphrodite was being cruel when she chose him as your soulmate, but you weren't any better when you put him in the position of joining you on your quest.

"I don't know you." You admitted the words hanging heavy in the air between you. "You've made a really good effort to make sure that I don't know anything about you. I did my part. I picked you. If you don't want to come, that's... fine."

It pained you to say it. You did not want to go alone, but you weren't going to force someone to accompany you who clearly didn't want to be there. However, the uncertainty of what lay beyond the safety of the camp walls loomed large in your mind. You haven't left the protection of the camp in years, you weren't sure of what was out there other than the stories the summer campers would tell you, of their close calls and near misses. 

Luke Castellan was the perfect example of what leaving camp does to someone.

Despite the weight of your decision, you held your head high as you turned on your heels. You doubted Luke had anything more to say; he was a man of few words, after all.

You left him there, just as he left you by the docks for months. And then you lied to yourself, clung to the belief that your mother, Aphrodite, would safeguard your journey and that your brother, Eros, awaited your rescue.

And so, the next morning, after bidding your tearful goodbyes to your siblings and friends and earning a proud pat on the back from Chiron, you swallowed your pride and left.

The Oracle's words were etched into the very fabric of your being, a relentless mantra that monopolized your thoughts as you trudged toward the top of the hill and left the safety of campgrounds. Each step forward was a testament to your determination, each footfall a declaration of your unwavering commitment to the quest ahead.

As you climbed, you couldn't help but imagine the faces of campers upon your return. You pictured the awe in their eyes, the pride in their voices, and most of all, the look on Luke's face when he realized the extent of your lone success, his disbelief mingling with a begrudging respect.

"Hey-"

The sound of your name startled you out of your thoughts. You were trudging through the grass when you spotted a body sitting under a pine tree, shaded from the sun by its leaves.

Luke looked up at you, frowning, "Took you long enough."

His dishevelled dark curls fell over his eyes, a stark contrast against the vibrant greenery surrounding him. With a resigned sigh, he rose to his feet, his movements fluid yet tinged with an air of impatience Luke picked up a bag by his side, tossing it over his shoulder. It wasn't until he emerged from the tree's shade that you noticed the subtle changes in his attire. Gone was the signature orange camp shirt, replaced instead by a more subdued navy tee that hugged his frame. His old cargo pants remained the same, but different nonetheless.

Eyeing his bag, you could spot smaller daggers strapped to the sides, prepared for anything. It took you a few seconds to process why he was there. You squint at the sun as he steps out from under the tree. "You came."

He huffed, "Obviously."

You let out a breathless chuckle, maybe one of relief since honestly, despite everything you'd been trying to convince yourself of, you were terrified to leave on your own. 

"Why?" you asked, your voice betraying a hint of uncertainty as you adjusted the straps of your own bag. The question hung in the air, unanswered. Of course. You almost rolled your eyes as Luke began to descend the other side of the hill. With a fleeting glance over his shoulder, he wordlessly beckoned you to join him by tilting his head to the side impatiently.

You grinned then, wide and bright. "I know I said I didn't care if you came or not, but I'm glad you're here."

He showed no sign of acknowledgment of your sentiment, his gaze fixed ahead as he continued to walk once you joined his side.

As the minutes stretched on in silence, broken only by the rhythmic crunch of leaves underfoot, you found yourself lost in thought. It was only when the distant hum of passing cars reached your ears, their blurred forms darting through the forest's fringe, that you were jolted back to the present.

Drawing to a halt near the forest's edge, you felt the weight of uncertainty settle upon you. With a hesitant pause, you turned to face Luke, the question that had been gnawing at your mind poised on the tip of your tongue.

"Why'd you stop?" He asked.

"I just..." Your voice wavered, uncertainty lacing your words as you struggled to articulate your thoughts. You worried that if you said the wrong thing he'd leave you stranded right there and return to camp while the two of you were still walking distance from it. It annoyed you a little; how much you had to walk on eggshells with him.

You couldn't help but wonder how different things might have been if you hadn't chosen him. You were being stupid when you picked him, you decided. You already regret it. Maybe Luke was right, the Oracle was just trying to get into your head.

"What made you change your mind? About coming on the quest?" you finally managed to voice, your eyes meeting his in search of answers.

He looked at you, brown eyes flitting over your expression, before licking his lips and simply stating: "If you break an arm, so do I."

That had been the closest Luke Castellan had ever been to admitting he had a soulmate.

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[eoieopda]

can i request something about getting into an argument with bf jungkook ?

Sorry for the wait, love! I couldn’t decide how I wanted to approach this (silly vs serious, etc.) so now I’m just winging it! I hope this is okay??

cw: alcohol mention, couple fighting, repeated use of the word “fuck” and its derivatives, angst w/ fluffy ending.

also- I have no idea what the word count is but it feels excessive for a drabble?? lol sorry 🫠

You weren’t quick to anger. Truly, you weren’t. In fact, you were patient and forgiving - to a fault. When something didn’t go your way, or when someone said something upsetting, you took a deep breath and let it go. You didn’t hold grudges; didn’t dwell. You didn’t keep score. But this one stuck in your teeth, and it hurt.

He knew how important this was to you. He knew exactly how many times before you’d played it cool, let the disappointment go rather than let it fester. You constantly excused him for how busy he was, and you understood that there were just some things he couldn’t show up for. You didn’t hold it over his head that he couldn’t be as present as either of you wanted him to be.

So, when he cleared his schedule and promised you he’d be at your firm’s happy hour - joining you in celebrating your promotion - you were elated. Your associates could finally meet the man you’d been prattling on about for two years. They’d see the real-life version of the person in all your framed photos. And he’d get to know all the people you had to spend most of your waking hours with. But they didn’t; he didn’t.

Seething in your seat, you ruminated on the fact that this was his idea in the first place. He drove you to your office that morning. He wanted you to let loose after hours, and when the night was over, he wanted drive your tipsy ass home. But now, your tipsy ass was crying on a city bus because he couldn’t be bothered to keep his promise.

Your bitterness swept you up like a wave and carried you - from the bus stop, across two blocks, to your apartment - even after the heel of your left pump snapped on a particularly cracked patch of sidewalk. When you hobbled over the threshold into your foyer, it was bone-deep anger that kept you from bursting into tears; and too-high adrenaline that carried you on aching feet.

You tore up the hallway and hung a right into your bedroom. There, sleeping sideways on the bed with his trouser-clad legs dangling off the edge, was Jungkook. His tie - untied, more accurately - looped around his neck, underneath the chin nestled into his shoulder. He’d gotten ready and then - somehow - he never made it out the door.

For reasons you couldn’t articulate, this fact made it all worse. So close.

“Are you kidding?” You snapped, scaring him awake. His bleary eyes tried to focus on you, but you were bent in half, hopping on one foot as you tried to undo the ankle strap of your busted shoe.

His horrified eyes dropped from your mascara-stained face to that of his watch. Immediately, he muttered, “Fuck. Shit! Baby, I’m so s-“

Having successfully released your ankle from the death trap it was held hostage by, you whipped your heel against the ground. You stood on one stocking-covered foot to address the other pump. You cut him off - mid-sentence, at the knees.

“No, I am not your baby tonight. I am the girl who just made partner - who got stood up in front of the people who made her partner - who then had to wobble home alone!”

He was shocked by your tone, and frankly, so were you. He’d never seen you angry because you didn’t get angry. The two of you had never fought before, either. Trivial arguments, sure - but nothing a calm conversation couldn’t fix. Nothing like this.

He raised his hands, silently begging you not to shoot, “I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry, okay? I am. I fucked up - and I know I fucked up - but I was up all night working so I could take the night off. I guess I was more tired than -“

“Then go back to sleep, Jungkook,” the look in your eyes was nuclear but your voice was eerily soft. You could’ve leveled Gyeonggi in its entirety when you tacked on, “On the couch.”

Without another word, he shot to his feet. Lips pursed and eyes wild, he stalked off out of the bedroom. You shucked off your blazer and threw yourself onto the bed - mattress still warm from the weight of his body. Face first in a pillow, your eyes screwed shut. You swallowed the frustrated scream you wanted so badly to let loose.

After several moments of tense silence, there was an elongated, muffled scraping sound, and then a tremendous clatter in the doorway. Your head snapped to determine the source of the noise.

With gritted teeth, there was Jungkook - pushing the chaise from your living room into your bedroom as if it weighed nothing at all. And he didn’t stop pushing until that stupid little sofa was crammed up against his side of the bed.

That bastard.

If you weren’t so mad at him, you might’ve conceded that this was impressive. Typical. Lovely, even - how insistent he was on sleeping next to you that he found a loophole in the most Jungkook way imaginable.

Ignoring your shocked expression, he slumped down onto the cushions, onto his back, and knotted his arms over his chest. Simultaneously, you rolled over; unintentionally mirroring his posture. Both glowering up at the ceiling, jaws clenched.

He sounded so angry when he said it, you almost missed what he said.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye to find him doing the same. Expressions still set in stone, body language communicating one word - impasse. You said nothing; you didn’t know where to start.

“You deserve to be celebrated, and you sure as fuck don’t deserve any of what you got instead.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

“And I swear to god, I will spend the rest of my life showing up for you.”

You swallowed hard, wanting nothing more than the end of this ugly evening. Weapons down, white flags up. His face softened when yours did.

“Baby,” you started slowly, watching a spark of hope ignite in the dark of his eyes.

Just as cautiously, he replied, “Yes?”

“Put the couch back,” you sniffed. After a pregnant pause, you finally finished, “And then come to bed.”

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Prompt 7 with Malleus? And the reader as the ghost? 😳

Visions of the Past; Malleus Draconia

Content; Gender-neutral reader, hurt/comfort, pining left unresolved

Content Warning; Reader death (not heavily described)

Word Count; 700+

Please do not put my work into AI. If you would like to see more of my work check out my masterlist!

Time heals all wounds. But Malleus knew that wasn’t true. Yes, time may heal physical wounds, although not always perfectly, but it no longer weeps or festers. Whereas emotional wounds, such as trauma, grief, and anger do not fade or heal in the same manner as a cut would.

Malleus was standing outside the entrance of Ramshackle, once his nightly walking grounds turned to the home of the first person that befriended him for him. The first person who didn’t know or care, even after finding out about his identity, that he was the Malleus Draconia. A magicless human who treated him as they did with others, but with a tad bit more ease, humour, and kindness since they were friends.

Were friends.

His heart knew though that you weren’t just friends. He had felt this emotion before to some extent with his passion for gargoyles, but they paled in comparison to you.

Your brightness. Your laugh. Your little mannerisms that most wouldn’t pay attention to, but he did. 

“Do you think we’ll still be friends when we’re older,” you mused while on one of your nightly walks with Malleus. Malleus furrowed his brow and looked at you quizzically, “Why wouldn’t we be? I have no intention of not being in your life.” You had stopped moving forward and Malleus came to a stop beside you. “Well, I don’t know. You’re a prince, future king, and you might get swapped in royal business and duties…” You pursed your lips, an unpleasant taste in your mouth. “And isn’t that more important?”  “Do you not like spending time with me?” Malleus’ voice was more sharp, on edge. “NO!” You shouted, the word echoing a bit in the quiet night. “I like spending time with you. I love it!” Malleus looked at you with confusion, and if he were looking at anyone else the way he had been in the past minute, they would have been grovelling, asking for forgiveness. But not you.  “Then why did you bring it up in the first place? Should there not be time, I will simply make it,” he said quietly. A small smile and chuckle replaced the irritated look of moments prior, “I will even make it ‘royal business’ as you put it.” You cough-laughed at his statement, but you only laughed harder when you looked at him to see a baffled expression.  Malleus chuckled lightly, joining your amusement, even though he didn’t understand what was so funny that had you tearing up. You let out a long sigh, recollecting yourself. “Well, I’ll be there then, promise.”

And you had held that promise. Despite both of your hectic lives, you both met at least twice a month. If neither of you had the time? Well, Malleus would just show up outside your place, like old times, and you would both go about the property. Sometimes talking away, and other times in silence, just happy to be next to each other again.

Malleus knew he liked you, loved you even — the way he felt more like himself when he was around you, and a tinge of jealousy made that distinction clear — and he was planning on asking you if you felt the same.

But he didn’t have the chance.

He would never have the chance.

He knew that he wouldn’t have many years with you, but he had planned that it was old age that took you away from him.

Ramshackle had not changed, but Malleus could still smell the scent of soot, even after all of these years. The foyer stopped, and Malleus looked into the gloom of the burnt ruins.

“ … do you remember our promise?”

He had been coming here, once a fortnight, asking the same question and hoping for an answer. Every time all he ever received was the sound of rotting wood and the scampering of mice.

He took in a breath and was ready to leave, to go back to his duties, but he stopped.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He couldn’t see you, but you were here. And that was all that mattered to Malleus. That although you may not physically be here anymore, he had not lost you.

Time may heal all wounds, but Malleus didn’t want this wound to heal. He didn’t want to lose you, not again.

. . .

. . .

A/N; Hope you enjoyed what I came up with for this combination! And *hands you an emotional dragon fae that misses you*

~~~~

Tags; @afunkyfreshblog @bloomstruck @eynnwwyjth @keii-starz @lucid-stories @ryker-writes @syrenkitsune @the-v-lociraptor @twistwonderlanddevotee @xxoomiii

[libraryofgage]

A Place Like Steve in a Boy Like This

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually Debbie and Fester Addams One Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One (you're here!)

The Mummy (1999) is one my comfort movies, actually, and I realized Rick and Steve are very alike actually. It's the looks, it's the hair, it's the loyalty and devotion.

Anyway, here's an AU where Rick and Evelyn O'Connell are Steve's parents lol

If there are any other people you think would make good parents for Steve, let me know! I'll take them into consideration and see if inspiration sparks :D

Anyway, if you'd like a tag on any future parts, let me know!

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;P

-----

After being relegated to the open-air portion of some ruins in Crete, Steve entertains himself by slowly moving closer to the cats nearby in the hopes of petting them. His parents said he couldn't go into the ruins, but they didn't say a thing about playing with the ruins' inhabitants. Said inhabitants are gathered in a circle, some standing and some stretching out in the sun, but sticking together as though they're waiting for someone to begin a discussion.

He takes a piece of jerky from his bag, tearing it into small pieces as he peeks around the corner of a column. A few large stones are scattered around it, nearly reaching his shoulders and helping to hide him from the view of the cats on the other side. Though, in all honesty, they're probably only sticking around because they smell the jerky in his hand.

Steve grins and tosses a piece of meat over the stones, watching as it lands in the middle of what he's dubbed the Cat Council. A calico cat jolts, ears perked as she stares at the meat before taking a tentative step forward. She sniffs the meat, decides it's an acceptable offering, and eats it.

When it's gone, Steve tosses more pieces. He feeds a few more of the cats now, and he's practically buzzing with excitement. Deciding they're less likely to scatter, Steve clambers onto the huge boulder in front of him, managing to find little footholds to boost himself up. With a grunt, he makes it to the top and looks down on the Cat Council, ready to throw the last of his jerky when he hears the stone beneath him shift.

In the time it takes to blink, the ground crumbles beneath the rock, scattering the cats and dropping the stone out from under Steve. He falls with it, momentarily and terrifyingly weightless before gravity takes over and he drops. A yelp escapes him, followed by a pained cry as he lands feet-first on the rock, his ankles taking the brunt of the impact and, if not breaking, severely spraining for the effort.

Grit, dirt, and dust coat Steve's tongue and throat, and he coughs up as much as he can while taking in his new surroundings. Thankfully, sunlight filters into the underground space, allowing him to see the tiled floors and walls covered in a carefully carved and painted frieze that has, somehow, survived the centuries since its creation. Several figures wearing togas and carrying baskets line up outside a darkened arch. They don't exactly look happy to be there, but they seem resigned to their fate. Steve can even see the tears meticulously carved into several faces.

When he follows the frieze, he realizes the space he's in is really a hallway, one that seems to stretch forever on either side of him. Amazingly, there's no other sign of aging in it. No spiderwebs crowding the walls, no erosion from wind or water damage, and no sign of people having walked the passageway in centuries. It's the kind of perfectly preserved discovery Steve and his mother lose their heads over while his father waits for something to go wrong.

Steve is about to try standing (if he can stay upright, maybe he can explore a little and find something to show his mother before they realize he's gone missing) when he hears...a snort? Maybe it's more like a heavy puff of air. He tilts his head, twisting around to squint down the corridor to his right. Something glints in the darkness, close to what he assumes is the ceiling, and Steve grabs his flashlight.

He clicks it on, aiming the beam at the ground and slowly moving it down the corridor. He stops when the light shines on cloven hooves, a bad feeling beginning to build in his chest. With a now somewhat shaking hand, Steve slowly raises the beam, that bad feeling growing as it shines over furry hind legs and a furry waist that seamlessly blends into scarred skin just below the navel. Despite everything, he keeps going, only confirming his worst fears when his flashlight finally reaches the top to find the head of a bull staring straight at him, the horns cracked and nearly scraping the ceiling, the black eyes undeniably trained on Steve, and a glimmering golden ring looped through its nose, as untarnished by time as the friezes.

For ten seconds (Steve counts while trying to control his panic), he and the minotaur stare at each other. Then, it puffs out air again, the force strong enough to sway the ring in its nose. Steve grips the flashlight tighter, swallowing around the wariness threatening to choke him and briefly wondering if, maybe, centuries have somehow soothed the minotaur's anger.

And then it roars, deep and loud and powerful enough to shake the corridor and bring more dust and grit raining down on Steve from above. It lowers its head, aiming its horns straight at Steve, and charges with all the fury of a creature that's been denied centuries' worth of sacrifices.

Steve screams as the minotaur's hooves shake the ground with each step, too scared to do anything more than sit there and wonder if there will be enough of his body for his parents to identify when the minotaur is done with him.

He's just about accepted the answer (it's no; the answer is no) when something grabs the back of his shirt and yanks him up just before the minotaur crashes into the boulder. Strong arms wrap around Steve, holding him close as his father's familiar voice says, "I gotcha!"

Steve blinks, his heart still hammering as he clings to his father's neck and looks at his mother over his shoulder. She's staring at the hole, a frown on her face as the minotaur's enraged roar sounds from below. "Rick, I think we should go now," she says, grabbing the back of Rick's shirt and yanking him back just in time to avoid the minotaur's giant hand slamming into the ground next to the hole.

"Great idea, Evie," Steve's father says, his voice a little strained as he passes Steve over and pulls out a gun. "I'll cover you. Get Steve to the car, get it running, and I'll meet you there." The minotaur screams again, and Steve is still close enough to see it realize it can climb the stone to reach the surface.

"You have three minutes, or I'm coming back for you."

Rick looks over his shoulder, flashing a grin at Steve and his mother. "I'll be right behind you," he promises.

And he was. With a minotaur right on his heels and another week added to their time in Crete while they tried to get the whole situation straightened out without too many casualties or Steve's uncle Jonathan ruining more than one good pair of trousers.

-----

Steve doesn't think he'll grow used to the smell and sounds of the hospital. The antiseptic, sterile atmosphere isn't too bad, but the constant background noise has the potential to drive him up the walls. It helps that he, Eddie, and Max were finally moved to a room together, mostly muffling the beeps and PA announcements with each other's chatter, snoring, and other noises.

Right now, everything is drowned out by the kids arguing with Eddie about their next campaign. Eddie wants to do a sequel of their current one while they've been gunning for something sci-fi-themed if Steve is understanding their debate correctly. He's not sure why it's so important, but their voices are creating nice background noise, and Robin's rhythmic, habitual tapping of her fingers on his arm grounds him, so he lets his mind wander.

Honestly, Steve thinks they'd all benefit from a nice trip somewhere. Maybe Paris. They can't possibly run into anything in Paris, right?

Well. The catacombs do exist, and nobody knows what's down there. So they'd have to stay well away.

But still. Paris. The food. The Louvre. The history. And, you know, maybe they could just pop into the catacombs just so Steve can take pictures and show his mother later. Following a strictly regulated guided tour should be perfectly fine.

Steve drops his head back against the pillow, wincing slightly when the action tugs at the stitches along his throat. They hurt, but his worst injuries are on his sides where the demobats bit and feasted. The doctor said they'd scar permanently, looking somewhat apologetic about the fact until Steve waved her off. What's a few more for the collection?

Besides, at the time the doctor was giving him a rundown of his injuries, another had been doing the same for Eddie. His list was pretty similar to Steve's, and it only took him a few seconds to realize something very important: if Steve hadn't been there to share the demobat burden, Eddie would be dead.

That fact had sat with him for a while. Death is no stranger to Steve. In fact, he's intimately familiar with the concept. And all the ways it can be subverted. Steve doesn't want to think he'd be the kind to pull out the Book of the Dead after everything his parents have told him, but he also knows he'd do anything for the people he loves. Like Eddie. Like Robin. Like the kids.

Steve has risked his life for them numerous times, and he'd do it again without a moment's hesitation.

"I can't believe we're only just finding out!"

This statement comes from the hallway on the other side of the room's closed door. The voice is achingly familiar to Steve, one he's only heard over the phone for the past few months, and he sits up straight. The conversation in the room falters for a few seconds before picking up again after the kids decide it's probably not relevant to them.

And then comes hurried, angry footsteps outside the door and a doctor's voice saying, "I'm sorry, but only authorized visitors are allowed to see patients."

"I wouldn't stay in her way," a man's voice says, his tone teetering between amused and genuinely sympathetic toward the doctor.

Apparently, he doesn't heed the warning, and the room is silent enough that everyone hears the following tirade. "Authorized visitors? Authorized visitors?! Are you stopping me from seeing my son? Who on earth do you think you are? If you don't get out of the way, I will make you move, mister."

"I wonder when she'll realize she's got the wrong room," Dustin says, sounding amused.

"Ma'am, I ca--," the doctor's words are cut off by a sudden yelp and the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the floor outside.

The door is thrown up to show a woman, her shoulders heaving and her curly hair in disarray. She's covered in grime like she dragged herself out of a grave and came right away without stopping to clean up. Which, honestly, might be the case. Behind her is a similarly disheveled man, a fond smile on his face as he looks at the woman. "That's my girl," he says, the smile becoming a full-blown grin when the woman smacks his chest without turning around.

The sight is so familiar that Steve nearly tears up. He hasn't seen his parents in months, and their appearance suddenly lifts a weight that he didn't even realize was on his shoulders. Whatever else happens, they'll take care of it.

Finally, Evelyn's eyes land on Steve, and the anger on her face melts away into relief and worry. She rushes over, sliding around Robin before she can move, and cups Steve's face in her hands. "Oh, my poor boy, are you okay? What have the doctors said?" she asks.

Steve's father hovers behind her, giving Steve a once-over with his eyes before determining he's fine. "Better question," he says, placing a hand on Evelyn's shoulder and leaning closer, "Where in the hell were your guns?"

Steve is about to answer when his mother whirls on Rick. "His guns? Our son is in a hospital bed, and you're asking where his guns were?! Are you daft? Have you lost your mind?" she asks, poking her finger into his chest.

He sighs, takes her hand, and wraps his other arm around her waist. "Evie, he's fine. He's awake, and nobody in here looks like they're preparing for a funeral. Clearly, he's gonna be discharged soon. So, I think asking where his guns were is reasonable because maybe he wouldn't be in a hospital bed if he'd had them."

"Dad is right," Steve says, getting his parents' attention. He grins at them. "I'm fine. Doctors said it would just be another scar. Or, well, like three more scars. Doesn't matter. I should get discharged later this week."

Before Evelyn or Rick can say anything else, Dustin asks, "What the fuck is going on here?!"

"Language!" Steve shouts, turning his head to glare at Dustin.

"Did you seriously just call him out on language?" Rick asks. "You?"

"His mom gets upset when he swears, so I've been trying to set a good example," Steve mumbles, slumping down in his bed. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Everybody, these are my parents. Evelyn and Rick O'Connell. Parents, this is, well, everybody."

"Oh, let me see if I can name them," Evelyn says, her eyes lighting up some at the challenge before pulling away from Rick. She points to each child as she correctly names them. "I already know Robin. So nice to see you again dear--"

"Nice to see you, too, Mrs. O'Connell."

"--Now, you must be Dustin. I've heard plenty about you, young man. And based on the haircut, you're Will. You've got to be Mike, and you two are Lucas and Erica. This must be El, and you're Max, right? I'm sure you'll get better soon, dear." When Evelyn turns and sees Eddie, she gets a softer smile. "And you're Eddie. I've heard quite a bit about you, too. All good, I promise. It's so nice to finally meet you."

"Wait," Lucas says, frowning slightly in confusion, "Eddie and Steve have only known each other for, like, a week?"

Everyone looks at Steve, and he shrugs in response. "Eddie was pretty impossible to ignore in high school," he says, brushing off the questioning looks until only Robin and Eddie are left staring, the former with a knowing glint in her eye and the latter with a confused one in his.

"Sorry, I still can't get over Steve having parents," Mike says, his nose scrunched up like this entire thing might be some hallucination.

"Did you think he was an orphan?" Robin asks, shooting him a similar scrunched-nose look.

"I don't know! He's never talked about them! I thought his parents were, like, absent assholes or something," Mike says, his shoulders raising defensively.

"That's our fault, I'm afraid," Evelyn says, smiling apologetically as she moves to stand by Steve again. She places a hand on his head, gently carding her fingers through his hair. The motion is familiar and reassuring, and Steve leans into the touch, unaware of Eddie staring at his mom's hand.

"Our work is pretty, uh, need-to-know," Rick says, shrugging as he reaches behind Evelyn and places a hand on Steve's shoulder. "As in, nobody needs to know."

Steve is nodding in agreement when more footsteps sound from the hallway and his uncle slides into the doorway, nearly tripping on his own feet. He clears his throat, adjusts his jacket, and looks up to find a whole room staring at him.

He blinks and tugs on his collar, shifting his gaze to Evelyn and Rick. "Well, after you lot ran off, I got us visitor passes," he says, holding up three stickers.

"You stole them," Steve and Rick say, their voices in synch and nearly indistinguishable.

To his credit, Jonathan doesn't question it. He just scoffs, walking into the room and slapping a sticker on Rick's chest. "I am offended. How could you possibly think I stole them?" he asks.

"Should I remind you how we met?" Rick asks, raising an eyebrow at Jonathan.

"Fair enough. Carry on," Jonathan says, looking away and moving to Steve's side. "Good to see you, old boy. Glad you aren't dead, and sorry it took so long to get your parents here. It's not easy making phone calls to the Amazon Rainforest."

Steve shrugs. "I figured," he says, watching as Evelyn pulls her hand from his hair to place the visitor sticker on her chest.

There are going to be endless questions later. The kids are definitely going to try to grill Evelyn and Rick about their work and about Steve as a child. But there's plenty of time for that later.

For now, Steve is happy to just relax and let his parents take over. He doesn't have to be the responsible one anymore, and he can finally breathe with that weight off his shoulders.

----

Tag List (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@badgerburrows

[undercoverpena]

iii. build me furniture

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter three of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

chapter warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. illusions to smut. frankie builds you furniture, and like that deffo needs a warning.

an: thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for letting me bother you countless times about this.

wordcount: 3.7k

He knows he should check the calendar, but he doesn't.

Frankie, instead, throws his hat on the seat, phone into the cup holder, and shoves the key into the ignition before sparking his vehicle to life. Waiting, and waiting, until he hears the distinct beep of his phone connecting before his finger is seeking your name on the dash, pulling out of the car park.

The dial tone echoes through the bed of his vehicle. The silence between each allowing the sound of tyres crunching the road to fill his ears until your voice soon plugs the quiet.

It’s heavenly, all sweet, layered ever so slightly by an edge of sarcasm—What do you want, Morales?

After some back and forth, a slight deviation in his journey, you’re buckling yourself in beside him. His hat in your lap, your perfume filling the car as he pulls away from the front of your house.

He hopes it soaks into the fabric—clings to the interior of his car. A thought, he suspects he shouldn’t have, but allows to swirl and twirl in his mind all the same.

“Bit spontaneous of you, Mr Calendar.”

Shifting in his seat, he checks the mirrors, watching from the corner of his eye as you did your usual. It starts with checking his glovebox, for what—he’s never quite sure—to closing the vents, to fiddling with the station or volume of his radio.

If it were anyone else, he’d kick up a fuss. But, not you—never you.

“I can’t believe you was gonna ask someone else to take you to IKEA.”

Rolling your eyes, you lean back in your seat—eyes doing that thing. Where they warm him, sizzle his skin under his clothes. “I wasn’t asking anyone, I was asking Will.”

“Still.”

“I thought you were busy. Your calendar was blocked out.”

“So, you’d have asked me first if I was free?”

It leaves his tongue teasingly, and a part of him means it as such. But another, a darker-tinged part—one forever covered in shade, where things fester, and happiness has wilted—means for it to be tainted with bitterness. The embers of jealousy brimming, licking, nipping at the words as they filter out into the air.

“You’re my best friend, Frank. Of course, I’d rather go pick out an entryway table with you.”

“Good job my day opened up then, isn’t it?”

You only hum. It being followed by a smooth, almost comforting silence that falls across the vehicle as he drives. His elbow leaning on the door, fingernails tapping against the window to the beat of a song which thrums through him.

He can’t help it, but his eyes flit back to you—finding you staring out the window, lips moving, whispering along to the words of whatever song filled the truck.

And he shouldn’t think it—shouldn’t even entertain the thought—but fuck you are something.

His hand gripping the steering wheel as the thought undoes itself, it opening itself up within his chest, releasing butterflies and confetti that, in time, will fall absently to the base of his stomach. Because—

“I don’t want anything too big,” you announce suddenly. Your head turns, rolling on the seat as you lift your leg up, present, but eyes unfocusing as you think. “Just near the wall, where the chest currently is—think it’ll look nice.”

Swallowing, he nods. “It will.”

He’s not sure what to do with the way you smile. The way you beam. Illuminating the world on what is already a nice sunny day, adding something extra to it. So, he does nothing. Letting the vehicle fall into silence again. Your foot occasionally taps the floor, muttering lyrics as he lightly thuds his fingers against the roof until he enters the parking lot, hunting for a space.

Frankie has been here countless times.

For his place, for yours—for ex-partners who over-romanticised a trip here. But, it was furniture. A warehouse full of pre-arranged rooms and ideas, accessories flowing out of bins and plants swirling around light fixtures in a zone they try to make look close to a jungle.

“You know what you’re looking for?” he asks, walking in step with you.

Shaking your head, you nudge him with your elbow. “Good job your day opened up, right?”

Nudging you back, he turns on the spot—facing you, walking backwards. “Shotgun pushing the trolley.”

“You’re such a big fucking kid, Morales.”

And, he’d let his cheeks burn under your words, but he sees the look on your face. The unfiltered delight, how it glides from you and lands straight in the centre of his chest.

He’d scribbled the aisle number on the piece of paper three zones previous.

Your fingers had been running over the display table—a little smile etching itself across your cheek as he flicked up the paper, writing the information he needed.

“The pencil looks tiny in your hand.”

Smirking, he stuck it behind his ear before poking your side. “It’s a tiny pencil.”

When you look at him, you’re smirking—a thought running, all restless in your mind. He can tell. Can practically hear your mischievous wheels turning in your brain.

“We done?”

“Nope.”

The ‘P’ pops intentionally, your body turning to face him, hand on the base of the cart—walking backwards, an unreadable smile spreading out over the place your smirk had just lived.

“Need candles, plants—and I would really love your opinion on a new throw cushion.”

“Fuck. Maybe I should have let Will bring you,” he grins, nudging the cart into your side as you laugh sarcastically.

If he was honest with himself, Frankie knows he’d spend all day in here with you. Get to play house in your two’s weird, twisted way.

Because he'd liked it earlier when you called him to come and look at a display kitchen, hand pretending to fry the plastic eggs in the pan as you tell him to check the fridge for OJ. From the twinkle in your eye, you liked it when he called you honey and asked if you wanted to watch the sports channel with him—you hovering in the doorway of the display living area, shaking your head.

If anything, though, it made the knot in his stomach tighten.

The one that’s been loosening and binding since the moment in your kitchen, the moment in his, the bedroom and your sofa.

“Frankie, c’mere.”

Pushing the trolley, he finds you—of course—in a sea of shelves filled with candles. Various shades, an array of scents, some more overwhelming than others, as you lift a left and then a right to your nose, before jutting your head.

“Smell this.”

Lifting the candle to his nose, he inhales, watching you—before his face scrunches, yanking his head back as you burst into laughter. It flows out from your throat to your eyes, nose scrunching, hand clasping his forearm as you lean into him, muttering in half-breaths and laughing that it’s awful, right?

The scent is, but the moment isn’t.

Composure sets in, wiping the joy from your face gradually as you place another back. His hand finding one, a white pot—simple, plain, glass. Lifting it to his nose, he’s immediately transported to your place. A candle he smells so often, it unlocks a host of memories that suddenly balloon inside of him—pulling a smile across his lips, before he tilts it to your face, watching your fingers wrap around his wrist, gently, softly.

“This is the one you usually buy, right?”

Flicking from the candle to him, he almost loses his breath. More so when you let a different smile grace your lips, one that makes his heart skip a beat.

“Y-yeah. It’s my favourite.”

Nodding, he forces a swallow, before he puts it in the bag inside the trolley—your brow arching, smile fading. “It’s mine too.”

“You burn candles?”

Smirking, he tilts his head, he grabs another, and another. “What? I don’t strike you as someone who burns candles?”

“No, Morales. You seem like someone who’d accidentally burn their house down.”

“Yeah, maybe. But, maybe I can buy these and keep them at yours.”

If you’re conflicted, you don’t show it. Staring for a second, and another, until you shrug. Something there, desperate to glide over your cheeks, but he knows whatever it is, it’s forced back. He can tell.

It’s a thing he’s about to point out and poke fun at you for—especially when the two of you haven’t stopped staring. Focused. Entirely too much, if the next second is anything to go by. Because you clear your throat, avert your eyes, turning—rather quickly—not seeing it, the other shopper’s trolley full of poorly stacked packages.

And it’s instinct, he thinks. Tells himself.

The way his mouth curls around your name, but his arm is already reaching out. Fingers first, then palm, until he’s wrapping his forearm around your waist and pulling, twisting you into him. His other hand all quick to follow his movements, grasping your shoulder with the other until your body is flush with his—head, avoiding the other person’s trolley full of long boxes.

Your gasp hits his ears, as your eyes land on him.

They’re wide, wild—painted in surprise, fright and amazement. Your pupils having swallowed all the colour—until you blink, and he realises his chest is falling and rising in tandem with yours.

“Should look where you’re going, querida.”

If at all possible, your eyes widen. His fingers release your shoulder, hovering, half-tempted to brush his knuckles against your cheek—but he drops them to his side.

Even if all he thinks is: this is nice—holding you this close.

It pulsating within him, until he lets go. Watching you step back—eyes still on him, all unreadable and surprised.

“We should…”

“Yeah. Let’s,” he replies, quickly.

Pushing the trolley in the direction you’re heading, feeling his cheeks burn, his ears following not that long behind.

Fuck he looks good.

Your mouth goes dry for the billionth time in the last five minutes. Having already found yourself needing the reminder that you have a glass in your hand—even more so when he looks up at you from his place knelt on the floor.

The two of you had chosen to also buy a set of drawers to match—ones that would fit in the corner, and store the six thousand candles you own. As though he hadn’t played a part in why that amount had grown.

“You listenin’ to me?”

Not at all. “Hmm?”

“Where’s the toolbox I made up for you?”

It’s easy to let your face fall into a two-step. For your brow to arch as his question pulls it, and your lips slide into your cheek. “Wherever you left it when you made it me.”

Your name falls from his lips—satiny, yet laced with disappointment—as he slowly gets up, leaving his spread-out instructions, many screws, and bits and bobs he’d laid out before he could even attempt to build it.

Frankie has always been more sensible—more structured. You’d witnessed him build things before, always following the same pattern, the same checks he’d do—to the point you wonder if he has an order when he flies. Whether he has a to-do list in his head he has to run through, one that doesn’t beat to the same drum as what is needed, but rather a curated one by him, just for him.

By the time he’s back, you’ve downed half your glass, finding—like the last—it does nothing to quench you. Not in the way you’d hoped, least of all when he removes his hat, throws it to the sofa, and you see the dampened edges of his curls.

Your brain betrays you. Reminding you—in vivid shades and high-definition, how you’d liked the feel of them in your hand. How he’d like them tugged, pulled when he was deep, his thumbs digging bruises into the back of your thighs—your hand all desperate for leverage, for something. You’d liked the home they found in his head, earning yourself the trophy of a groan that shot sparks through your already overstimulated body.

Blinking, you shake your head.

Trying to think of something, anything—

“I need to ask you something.”

His eyes lift, fixing on you as he kneels back down—all vast brown landing on you, coating you, smothering you in warmth that only he ever can.

“I’m starving, Frankie. Please, can I order us food?”

It takes a second, two at most. His face shifts into a frown before it smooths out, realisation dawning, crashing out over him.

“To say thank you,” you add, fluttering your eyelashes, face smooth.

Sighing, he licks his lips. “I’ll let you order, if you can keep your hands to yourself.”

Rolling your eyes, you move from the floor. “Yes, Morales. Because cheese dripping down your chin really does it for me.”

Grinning, he wipes the back of his hand against his forehead. “I don’t know your kinks.”

Competency, you quickly think—almost hum it. Especially when he slides another wooden leg into place—not even glancing at the instructions this time. You, your brain follows up with, immediately banishing, forcing it away, storing it in some box marked do not ever fucking open.

His grunts as he builds being added to the same box as you order the food. They’re all punchy, low—and it sparks memories which shouldn’t be present when you’re ordering food.

Not if you want to keep a level head, because you’re not entirely sure what playing field the two of you are on tonight. Prior to today, it’s all been planned—blocked out in both calendars, clear, rooted in the rules the two of you had laid.

The boundaries all spelt out.

But this, today and tonight, is now two people—two friends—who are moving to the beat of their own drum. The same two who hung out like this before the entanglement had begun, and while you know this, something else whispers around the logic.

It isn’t drowned out when you’ve ordered, or when you’re hanging in the open doorway—watching him, ogling him, basking in how normal it is that he’s here.

“Can I build something?”

Smirking, he leans back on his knees. “You can build a drawer.”

“Because they’re the most important part?”

He smirks wider, more teeth—a flicker in his eyes.

Because you know why he’s left you with drawers. Your earlier mishaps with furniture building had set a rule that you should be nowhere near a hammer, nails or flat-pack furniture—especially if you wanted it to be usable.

“Or, you can pass me the bits I need,” he offers.

Simpler, you swear you hear him think.

So you do. You pass each tool, each fixing. Watching in awe as he slowly ignores the paper, not even bothering to turn the pages as the thing slowly becomes an entryway table—a thing which you can store and put things on.

In the time he builds, your face aches from smiling, and your stomach hurts from lack of food and laughter. So much so, you don’t realise the time until the pizza arrives—him standing, all but trying to force money into your hand until you kick him in the shin.

By the time the two of you are back on the floor, the box open, scent immediately filling your home, he’s still complaining.

“Bet I have a bruise.”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo. Eat ya damn pizza, Morales.”

Grinning, he takes a messy bite.

And you know what you said earlier. Are distinctly aware that the thoughts you’re having are crossing all sorts of lines, even if the two of you never specified rules. Because, you want to trace your tongue over his chin, catch the sauce that’s sat there, climb into his lap, grind your lap into his—

“You’re staring.”

Blinking, you swallow. “Forgot what an animal you are when you eat.”

“You’re rude, y’know that?”

Grinning back, you take another bite. Aware of the way he’s staring now. Feeling the way it runs up and down your body, your fingers brushing against your thumb to remove the dust.

Clearing his throat, he averts his eyes. Focusing on a spot on the floor, toying with taking another bite. You’re so close to asking him why, when his mouth opens, and something falls out you don’t expect:

“You think friends build each other furniture?”

You pause because it’s unexpected. A warmth floods your cheeks when he lifts his stare back to you. Waiting—for what, you’re not sure.

Clearing your throat, you lean back, palm pressing into the floor—rooting you, keeping you stable. “Well. I was gonna ask Will, remember?”

He says nothing. Doesn’t even move to eat the last two bites of pizza in his hand.

“I think friends as good as us,” you say, needing to fill it—the silence, “can do lots of things together, and still be able to…”

“Reap the awards of unlocked benefits?”

“Exactly,” you manage to croak.

Feeling it again. The way the air thickens. Something charging, all electric, lightning and thunder.

“I meant it earlier—about asking me.”

“Your calendar is rather full, Frankie.”

Wiping his hand on the box, he shoots a smile. “Nunca estoy ocupada para ti.”

Your smile pulls itself across your face, chin dipping, ears warming. It settling, the meaning of his words, sweltering in the tension that seems to double until you ask if he’s done. Excusing yourself, mumbling about tubbing up the rest. Letting him continue, not much left anyway, he’d said. It’s why you take longer, tidying—putting things away that have lived on your counters forever.

Because this is new and foreign. All of it.

The way things are flowing inside of you, bubbles of feelings you want to ignore but find them rising up in the sea that’s suddenly ever-present and just fucking there.

“I’m done.”

Your hands spread over your kitchen counter, taking in the cold of them—the feel of them—as you let a big breath fill your chest. Whether for courage or strength, you weren’t sure. But it fuelled you to turn to face him, but not quite enough to settle the fluttering in your stomach as you walk back to him in the living room—finding him standing, admiring it.

Just like you should be.

But your eyes are on something else—someone else.

Lingering up and down. Seeing him differently, things all mixed up inside, jumbled, out of sorts.

“It looks good,” you whisper, aware your voice has dropped an octave.

Even more aware that your shoulder is close to his, a gap barely there between the two of you. And it’s hard not to stare at him. To not marvel at him. How he’s soft and muscular, firm and strong—how you’ve seen his arms flex when he’s between your thighs and when he’s building your furniture.

Licking your lips, you don’t blink when his head turns, and he meets your stare.

You don’t fight the way your eyes drop to his mouth.

Instead, you just move into it. Slanting your mouth over his, tongue brushing over his bottom lip as your fingers slide around his neck, burying themselves in his curls as you become aware that his arms are around your waist. Then, you’re kissing him hard, dizzying.

Heat, all bubbling and ferocious, grows inside of you—spreading, beginning at the base of your spine, until it’s curling up and around everything it can to lick at your throat. Every sense, nerve and thought orienteering and honed in on him. How his body feels pressed against yours, how his mouth feels on yours.

“Frankie,” you moan.

It escapes, his name passing your lips as he buries the sound with a groan of his own. But, you've opened the gate—it flung open now, more escaped syllables and letters following it.

Want you.

Wanted you all fucking day.

Think about you all the time.

Your fingers slide up the front of his t-shirt, darting the tips of them over his stomach, resting your palm against his hip as he walks you back to the wall—stability needed as his hips find yours.

Dios mío, eres tan sexy.

The words have barely washed over you, when you feel his fingers under your chin, lifting your chin, forcing you to hold his stare. Proving a chance to back out. A momentary break.

A get-out to keep the night friendly, rather than whatever the two of you now call the thing you do. But, if anything, you want—

“Bet that pencil would look real small next to your—”

“Shh,” he whispers, cutting you off.

His grin spreading, all large and not easily contained or bit back—ghosting it over yours, the tip of his nose tracing yours.

His fingers sliding further up your neck, his thumb catching your chin and the fire in his eyes almost makes you forget how to think, never mind breathe.

“Really want to fuck you on your new table.”

“You think IKEA build furniture to support how we do it?”

He ponders, you can see it. Sweeping his eyes up and down your frame. The maths running, there suddenly an array of equations in the blown pupils of his eyes as his fingers circle and swirl on your neck and hip. “If I break it, I’ll replace it.”

“You’ll be doing that forever, Morales.”

You see it bloom, his cockiness. It swallowing whatever remainders there were of the shy friend you used to know, replacing him with the cock-sure person who regularly makes your thighs shake and your brain empty.

“Building furniture gets you going, does it?”

The hand on your hip drops, finding a place along the tops of your thighs—and even through your jeans, you can already feel him. The strokes of lightening up and down your body, the way he makes you become putty.

The point is proven when he slides his hand between your thighs, a gasp escaping, easily kissed from your tongue by his lips.

“Not usually,” you whimper, his ministrations halting. “Just you building it. Apparently.”

And fuck, you swear you’re swallowed by lava, from both the look he shoots you and the way his mouth crashes back to yours.

chapter three ->

[moonlight-prose]

IT WILL COME BACK

a/n: this man won the poll and in all honesty, i couldn't stop myself from writing for tommy miller. have you seen him? he's fine as fuck. which resulted in this. in my head i will just make this a small collection of drabbles compiled on a masterlist. so after this i'll reblog prompts you can request more from that tie into this fic. since i have my joel series going i won't make this a full series (yet). either way i hope you enjoy.

summary: mornings in the kitchen with him made life worthwhile.

word count: 4.1k+

pairing: pre-outbreak tommy miller x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, cussing, oral (f receiving), floor sex, p in v sex (not really though), spitting, tommy miller being a little shit, fluff, romance.

Sunlight attempted to break through your curtains; the sheer white blocking anything but the warmth. You felt it creep along the bed, encasing you in a bundle of blankets that trapped the sun’s glow. Shifting to your side, you expected to feel him there. Feel the broad expanse of his chest as you reached out with still closed eyes.

You found nothing but the cold sheets instead.

The first thing that ran through your mind as your eyes fluttered open, was that he must have woken up early enough to head out to work. It would explain why you never heard him leave. While he may share your bed at night, this wasn’t his home. Not entirely.

The drawer you emptied for him only held a flannel or two—mainly for you to use—but nothing essential remained. At night his touch, his body, was yours but once morning came, they were nothing but a lingering memory that stuck to the edges of your mind. If it weren’t for his scent that still remained on the blankets—you would have thought you imagined him.

With a sigh, you sat up. The sheets pooled at your waist, exposing your bare chest. It’s not like you needed him here in the morning, but waking up alone always felt hollow without him. Tommy turned your house into a space you actually found solace in, but the serenity never truly lasted. So, you were left with no other choice but to swallow the pain like it was medicine.

When in fact it was poisoning you slowly; Tommy simply remained your antidote.

Searching through the drawer, you pulled out one of his flannels. More than happy to be wrapped up in his scent.

Eventually, the time would come when you would have to go about your day, and the memory of last night would shift into becoming just that. A memory. But for now you basked in the afterglow that still stuck to your skin.

The urge to tell Tommy what you were feeling would have normally come out sooner or later. But this feeling, this aching loneliness that ate away at the inside of your body, was something you kept to yourself. If he knew how him leaving each morning affected you, he would let the guilt fester in his heart. Because that was his weakness at the end of the day. It wasn’t you, but the feeling that his actions caused you to hurt.

You found that it was better to keep him in the dark, than to burden him with something that would ultimately change the trajectory of your relationship. It was easier this way. Or at least that was a belief you continued to tell yourself. You loved him, this he knew, and he loved you all the same. But the future was a topic that terrified you enough to keep it hidden until things could one day be different.

The scent of coffee filled the bedroom. You figured the timer on the machine must have gone off, starting the brew. That became your alarm most days, the aroma of a good cup of coffee usually pulled you out of bed faster than an alarm.

Tightening the flannel around your bare body, you made your way downstairs, instantly regretting forgetting your slippers as your feet connected with the cold hardwood floors. You wouldn’t be down here long, ready to grab a cup of coffee and crawl back into the safety of your blankets. Yet the sound of a crooning southern voice playing softly in the background and someone humming along, stopped you in the doorway of the kitchen.

Tommy stood at the stove, attempting to flip what you assume was an omelet at one point. Even though you couldn’t see his face, you knew his expression. The furrow of his eyebrows as he concentrated, his lips pursed in frustration when things didn’t exactly go his way.

“Good morning,” you said, drawing his attention away from the catastrophe on the stove.

He turned, his chest and stomach on display. You felt heat creep up your face at the sight of the dark hickeys that trailed down into his jeans. Last night was still a slight blur, but you could vividly recall leaving those—marking him as yours. A wild need to possess him took you over as he was sprawled out beneath your body. Other times you would feel the slight tinge of embarrassment creep into your mind, but you knew he loved it.

“You’re up,” he responded, his eyes dragging down the expanse of your bare legs. His flannel only covered so much—leaving you open and free for him to admire. “I was making you breakfast.” His tongue swept along his bottom lip. You wondered if you left a slight bruise from where you had sucked it into your mouth.

“Smells good.”

He smiled, turning back to flip off the burner. “Smells like burnt shit, but thanks for lying.”

Moving around the table, you slid your hands up his back, lips pressing to his shoulder and suddenly…the ache disappeared. Retreating to the far reaches of your mind, giving you the peace you needed. Sighing against his skin, you felt him shiver beneath your touch. You know his reaction by heart now. Could practically see the way his eyes fluttered closed for a moment, the pleasure of your touch grounding him.

Tommy would forever be a man with a mission. Never once able to sit still long enough to not fly away, but you were the gravity holding him down. You were the reason he hadn’t left this town yet. Though he left every morning, there still remained the guarantee that no matter what, he’d return once the sun went down. Falling into your bed with whispered promises he would eventually break, and a love that was sweeter than honey.

“I thought you had work this morning,” you said, wrapping your arms around his waist, his hands shifting to rest over yours.

“Called Joel while you were asleep. Told him I’d be coming late.”

You hummed, hand dragging slowly down his stomach. “I bet he wasn’t happy about that.”

The soft huff of laughter he let out made your heart beat just a bit quicker. But it was the soft groan that rumbled in his chest as your hand dipped into his jeans, that had a fresh wave of slick pooling out of you. He was already hard, his cock heavy in your hand as you slowly palmed him. The realization made you throb, the heady dizziness of lust rushing over you. Wrapping your hand around his length, you felt him twitch, dragging another grunt from him.

If you had the time, you’d drop to your knees for him there in the kitchen. Make him see stars the way he did to you last night. But Joel was an impatient man when it came to Tommy. You knew he only had barely an hour tops and you wanted him inside you before the time ran out.

He turned quickly, forcing you to let go of him. The small sound of protest you let out, cut off by his lips, his hand wrapping gently around your throat to keep you there, tongue delving into your mouth with ease. Tommy knew what made you melt into his body, knew how to drag out all manner of sounds from you, and you gave in willingly. You were his to mold. His to have.

“Baby,” he breathed, his fingers digging into your ass, dragging you closer. “I can feel you soakin’ my jeans.”

A wet moan was pressed to his jaw. Your hips rolled over his denim clad thigh that was slotted between your legs. You knew you were leaving a wet spot on the fabric—that he’d have to wear these jeans to work probably—but you couldn’t care. Not when you felt the fabric catch on your clit, sending a shock through your body.

“Want you,” you gasped, nails digging into his chest. “I need you inside me.”

He moaned, hips grinding against yours. You felt him pull down his flannel, cupping your breast in his palm, thumb running over your peaked nipple, before he dipped down and took it into his mouth. Gasping, your head fell back, hips rolling over his leg even faster as the pleasure continued to mount in your body. Heat spilling into every part of you, burning you from the inside out.

“Tommy.”

He groaned as you pulled at his curls, dragging his lips back to yours. If there was a place you’d want to spend forever with, it was here with him. Wrapped up in your small safe haven of just each other. No one else existed when you were with Tommy. He consumed you, yet you gave into it without question. There was no one else for you and he knew it.

Dragging the piece of fabric off your body, his calloused palms ran along your skin, sending a shiver through your body at his light touch. You whimpered, barely able to open your eyes due to the dizziness clouding your mind. He smiled at your reaction, eyes dark with lust and yet somehow within the brown, you saw the light he had within. The light you ached for.

There he was, pouring it into you with each kiss pressed to your skin. He promised you forever without saying it and you wanted so badly for him to keep it this time.

“Take me upstairs baby,” you breathed into his mouth, hand feeling his stomach clench as you pressed your palm to his hot skin.

He shook his head. “Can’t do that ma’am.”

“What?” Pulling back, you felt him smile against your throat, his teeth sinking into your skin a moment later. “W-why?” you rasped, fingers curling around his hair in an effort to grasp onto something stable.

“Want to eat you,” he mumbled against you, teeth closing around your earlobe and tugging. “And I eat my meals in the kitchen.”

If it were any other time and his fingers weren’t inching towards your aching clit, you would have laughed. Told him he was an idiot in the most loving voice you could muster—your emotions bubbling over with a single look from him. But before you could get the word out, his fingers circled your clit, causing you to sag into his hold. You buried your head into his neck, your cry muffled against his skin as he built the rapidly growing pressure in your stomach.

“You gonna come for me honey?” You nodded, hips rolling over his thigh faster in an attempt to get there, to feel the hot bliss wash over your skin. “I know you want to.”

“Tommy,” you panted, nails digging into his shoulder. “Please.”

He groaned, fingers digging down to spread you, your slick practically dripping down his hand. “You sound so fuckin’ pretty when you beg. Alright honey, I got you.”

You keened when he pressed you down harder on his thigh, guiding you through the small stunted thrusts. Vaguely you were aware of how much time was passing, but the worry that he’d leave soon was washed from your mind the second he pinched your clit between his fingers. You sobbed into his neck, eyes rolling back as the dam finally broke, your body going taut—pleasure flooding you. It practically spilled out of you, overwhelming every part of your being, and Tommy kept going.

He pushed and pulled your hips, dragging you along his thigh and smearing your cum along the fabric until they were good and ruined. The pleasure continued to build, burning so hot inside you that you could barely see straight. If you weren’t careful you wouldn’t be able to find a way back to yourself, but maybe that’s what he wanted. Maybe he wanted to ruin you so perfectly, you’d never be the same after him.

Although who were you kidding. There’d never be anything after Tommy.

“Oh god oh god,” you chanted, your withering moan being swallowed by his lips colliding with yours.

Spit trailed down your chin as he pulled away. The two of you combined; you expected him to wipe it away. Only he smeared it across your cheek, his dark eyes following his thumb as it dragged along your skin.

“On the floor,” he said, his voice gruff and thick with lust.

Even if you wanted to, you wouldn’t have been able to deny him. Your mind had settled into that sweet spot of numbness that allowed him to maneuver your body in any way he pleased. Without realizing it, you found yourself spread on the kitchen floor, his flannel now parted to reveal the expanse of your naked body. A sight that Tommy was indulging himself in.

“So damn beautiful,” he murmured, his hand trailing up your waist, fingers stroking the side of your breast. “And all fuckin’ mine.”

Your body jolted, a shaky breath leaving you as he dropped down your body. Lips kissing and teeth biting along your hips—the dichotomy of pleasure and pain turning the molten burn into a raging fire. If there’s one thing you could expect with Tommy it was this. The softness that came with his touch.

He made you fall in love with his laughs, his jokes, but he owned you with his lips—his hands that spread you open, revealing you to his eyes.

“Baby,” you sighed as he pulled your legs up and over his shoulders, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“Yeah honey?”

The small word brought a smile to your lips. “Love you.”

You watched his eyes light up, his lips parting into a smile so big you felt it in your chest. There it was. The reason Tommy could call your heart his. You met him unexpectedly and before you knew it…he had you with that smile alone. He was the one you could call home, the one you saw yourself spending forever with. If only you knew that Tommy felt the exact same way—that the small little box tucked away in his jacket pocket was burning a hole right through his heart at this very moment.

“I love you so damn much,” he said, placing a kiss on your inner thigh.

The clock that hung on the kitchen wall taunted you, telling you that eventually your time with him would be up. That he’d get up, go to work, and leave nothing but the pleasurable ache between your thighs and sore bites up and down your skin. You wanted to capture this moment in your hands, to hold it close when he left. But all you could do was remain in it—savor his touch, his lingering love that burned you slowly, sensually.

The first lick of his tongue through your pussy sent a jolt up your body. You gasped, hips canting up slightly to meet his mouth as he moaned into you. Tommy was insatiable when it came to you, this became clear early on in your relationship. What you didn’t know was how enamored he was with your taste. How he craved you constantly. You learned quickly that if you didn’t cut him off, Tommy would spend hours between your thighs.

His lips attached to your clit, sucking it into his mouth and causing your head to fall back against the floor with a soft thud. Sparks littered up your spine, a broken sob of his name echoing off the kitchen walls. You were thankful the floor was so cold, because you were currently overheated, your body desperate for some balance to the madness.

“F-fuck,” you gasped, eyes falling shut, hand digging into his unruly curls. “You’re so good. I’m–fuck Tommy.” Your words broke off into a whine, his tongue pressing against your entrance.

He lost himself, the taste of you becoming an addiction he couldn’t get rid of, but at the end of the day…he wouldn’t want to. His nails scraped along your thighs as he moaned into your pussy, his hips grinding into the floor to appease the need he felt growing. Licking into you, he watched your mouth drop open in a silent sob, your legs shaking with each flick of his tongue along your clit. You wouldn’t last long, he knew this. 

Except he was adamant to remain here with you, unwilling to leave until he felt you gush into his mouth.

Lifting his head, he heard your broken whines of protest echo in the air. The small beg to have him keep going caused his cock to throb painfully in his jeans. You were beautiful like this. Incoherent with pleasure and body covered with a sheen of sweat that made you glow in the early morning sunlight. He grinned, licking at his bottom lip, resembling a starved man desperate for another taste of his meal.

“I know, I know,” he murmured, shifting up swiftly to press his lips against yours. Sharing your taste as he licked deeply into your mouth. “My pretty baby.”

“I want you inside me,” you begged, hips bucking up to grind against his. “Please Tommy, need you to fill me—” He cut you off with a sharp gasp, his fingers sliding through your spit slicked pussy.

“‘M not done honey.”

The beg was on the tip of your tongue, another plea to hopefully convince him of what you both wanted. Him spitting into your pussy lewdly cut you off. Your eyes rolled back, his tongue spreading his spit up to your clit, fingers prodding at your entrance. The plea died in your throat—an incoherent cry of his name overtaking as his fingers curled into you, finding the spot along your walls without trying.

Tommy knew your body well enough to notice the signs. The way your legs trembled, how your walls clamped down around his fingers. You were right on the edge and he wanted to see you fly off. Moaning against your pussy one more time, he scraped his teeth gently along your clit, fingers rubbing against your g-spot in quick movements. The pleasure once again built, mind growing hazy with it as he continued to push you until you were right there.

Glancing down, you caught sight of him thrusting his hips against the floor, desperate to get himself there and that did it. You snapped, brokenly sobbing his name as your hips grinded against his mouth. He let you use him, doing his best to continue stimulating you, the wet sound of his fingers thrusting into your pussy now echoing through the room.

Pleasure filled you, burning its way through your body until you could do nothing but silently scream. You tried to catch your breath, but it was stuck—lodged in your chest—forcing you to take in gasps of air. All the way through, Tommy continued to lick and suck at your clit, grunting with each thrust of his hips. He was aching for you, nearly on the edge but unable to fully finish.

“Taste so fuckin’ good honey,” he mumbled drunkenly into your pussy, his eyes shut and mind in a state of delirium. “Shit—” The button of jeans knocked against the floor, his forehead falling to rest on your hip.

“Tommy,” you breathed, fingers curling around his arm and trying to tug him up your body. But not before he kissed above your clit, licking one last time into you.

His hand slapped against the floor above your head, tongue pushing your cum into your mouth and sending a shiver through your body. Even as your shaky hands dipped into his jeans, pulling him out, he still asked to keep tasting you. That’s how things worked in his mind. Seeing you cum was worth more to him than getting off himself.

“Want you to cum,” you mumbled into his mouth, tilting your hips up and notching his cock at your entrance.

“Fuck honey.” He gasped, as you started to fuck yourself on the very tip of his cock, his hand moving down to keep himself steady. “You want me to fill you up?”

You nodded, whining his name against his cheek. “Need it baby.”

Pumping himself in quick strokes, he felt his balls draw up—the tightening in his abdomen nearly causing him to double over. It wouldn’t take him long at all; his release already having built as he ate you out. The feeling of your hand moving to cup his balls did him in. With a hoarse shout he felt something break inside of himself, your walls clamping down around his cock as he finally pushed himself into your pussy.

You sighed at the warm feeling of his cum spurting along your walls, filling you until it dripped down and smeared along your thighs. But nothing compared to the sight of Tommy lost in his own bliss. His mouth dropped open, eyebrows pulling tight as a flush of red took over his face and chest. It would take him a while to come back to you, his mind buzzing from having cum so hard.

With a contented sigh, he pressed the rest of his weight on you. “I’m definitely not making it now,” he mumbled, smiling against your chest.

“I don’t need Joel banging on my front door,” you replied, shoving lightly at his shoulder.

He laughed, teeth sinking into the top of your breast, his cock twitching inside of you. “I’ll call him and tell him…”

“Hey sorry I can’t come in today. Got too busy fucking my girlfriend on the kitchen floor.”

“Perfect.”

“Tommy!”

His head raised, smile pulling so wide you could see the slight crinkle in the corner of his eyes. “I’ll say it in a nicer way.”

“You’ll tell him nothing at all.” You cupped his cheek, lips sliding against his softly. “You will get up, wash your jeans, get another cup of coffee, and get out of here before we incur the wrath of the other Miller.”

He sighed into your mouth. “I don’t want to go.”

Your heart twisted in your chest, the reminder of time once again filling you with a dread you could never escape. Neither of you wanted to part, too wrapped up in what could be. But eventually you would have to open your eyes and see what this was. Just two people who loved each other too much to give this their all. A pattern that would never stop.

“I don’t want you to go,” you admitted, finally letting that painful ache be seen by him.

“Then I won’t—”

“You have to.”

Tommy’s eyes searched yours, trying to find something in him he could fight for. Something that would assure him of that single question still residing on the tip of his tongue. He wanted forever with you. Wanted a house together, a dog or cat, the life that he watched his parents once have. He wanted you.

Before he could stop himself, his mouth was moving.

“I want to marry you.”

Your eyes went wide, heart beating rapidly in your chest. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Silence passed between you for a brief moment, the shock now being replaced with a sinking feeling. He wouldn’t be saying this if it were a different scenario. In fact you were certain that he wouldn’t even go near this topic on any other day.

“This is just the heat of the moment talking, Tommy,” you said, in an attempt to save yourself from the pain.

His eyes narrowed. “No it’s not.”

“You’re still inside me! You shouldn’t be saying this unless you’re sure that—” His hips grinding into yours cut you off as you gasped.

“You want me down on one knee I’ll do that honey. Want me to give you romance and dinner and everything in between? I’ll do it. But you’ve got to know I’m more serious now than I have ever been.”

“Tomm—”

“Before you can continue your argument—which I’ll let ya—let me go get the ring.”

Your jaw snapped shut, breath catching in your chest at the sight of his grin. “You…you have a ring?”

“Yes honey. I do.”

“Y–You’re serious?”

He nodded, his thumb brushing the top of your cheek. “I want forever with you. If you’ll have me.”

If you listened hard enough, you would have been able to hear your heart burst. The ache now vanished the longer you looked him in the eyes to see the truth. It was there you found it. Small hints of a future that you yearned for was now being offered to you and this time the promise he made would stick. Laughing, you pulled him down for a kiss, your legs hiking over his hips to keep him there with you.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” he asked, parting from you long enough to simply give you another chaste kiss.

This time it was your turn to nod, tears already streaming down your face. “Yes Tommy. I’ll have you. Forever.”

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Toxic Love

Yandere Male Cherub x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Stalking, magical mind manipulation, religious themes, dub-con, general yandere behavior, smut) Word Count: 1.3k (A long time ago I had written a similar piece to this, but I deleted it because there was a request on another blog, that i had not seen until after I wrote my piece, that looked like it had heavily influenced my fic. Now I have reworked and added smut in celebration of Valentine’s Day. I hope you all enjoy. I apologize for any mistakes I forgot that it was going to be Valentine’s Day until just a few hours ago.) 

Celael was a cherub. There were many cherubs, more commonly known as cupids. None of them looked like little flying babies though. Most actually had long hair, one set of wings, and skin in varying tones of pink and sometimes lavender or even red. Celael’s wings were a pastel pink, matching his skin tone, but his shoulder length hair was light lavender and his eyes were a passionate crimson red. Most cupids were happy with their existence, taking both pride and joy in their work, spreading love among the humans. But Celael was not happy at all. Through the countless years of diligently carrying out assignments, matching humans together, and keeping the love flowing for mortals he became more and more empty until he was pretty much running on autopilot. Just going through the motions. A void was festering within him that he failed to understand. Co-workers and friends did nothing to fill it, his job seemed a cruel mockery. He influenced the hearts and minds of humans until they were filled to the brim with love, but he could do nothing for his own ever withering soul. But he kept doing his sacred duty. But then one day he got an assignment to set up a cook in a little restaurant with a co-worker and when he went to go pierce each one of their hearts with a set of bonded arrows to push their hearts towards love he suddenly realized what he was missing. That cook he was supposed to match together with a waiter was you. And you were just exactly what he was missing. Every time he gazed upon you his heart beat faster and his palms grew sweaty, was this what love was? And just like many humans that didn’t need a supernatural push he was experiencing this all entirely without arrows. He decided to observe you to be sure, he knew how love worked and he wanted to be sure of his emotions. Celael was entirely invisible to you as he stalked you, watching you at all hours of the day. He loved the way you nervously stammered when talking to your boss. He loved the way you carried yourself, all shy but determined to do your best. And most of all he loved how you treated others, without an ounce of malice in your heart, though it made him worry that someone could take advantage of you, and that thought is what sealed the deal. You needed someone to keep you safe, someone stronger than another mere mortal. Someone like… an angel. After all, your co-worker could not do a fraction of what he could do for you. He could let you know safety in the paradise of heaven. And why shouldn’t he, your designated match was a mortal the same age that you were, but he was as old as time! He had paid his dues, served humanity for countless ages, didn’t he deserve you a whole hell of a lot more? He thought so. So he formulated a plan and set it into action, he had to get you to have just a small amount of feelings for him. That’s how the arrows worked, there had to be something there naturally for them to work off of. And this would also give him a chance to know you better than he had ever known any human, or anyone at all for that matter. Celael donned a human disguise. His wings were gone, his eyes became brown, his skin slightly tan, and his hair black. He, under the name Cel, applied for the position of waiter that had opened up after your inconsiderate co-worker just disappeared, seemingly walking off the job in the middle of break and never returning without ever mentioning it to anyone. Over the course of weeks and then months Celael became your absolute best friend, you confided everything in him and trusted him completely. You were practically attached at the hip and could always be seen together. Just when you thought you might be starting to have the slightest whisper of feelings for him you felt a pain in your heart and collapsed. With only a brief flutter of wings Celael whisked you off to his little corner of heaven, it was a cozy cottage on a large floating island that was surrounded by a pink sky. The amorous cupid placed you on his comfortable bed and waited for you to wake. When you did finally rise from your magically induced slumber he could tell by the way that you looked at him that everything he had done had worked flawlessly. He had shot you with some extremely strong and illegally crafted love and lust arrows to make you only have eyes for him. You saw Cel upon opening your eyes and your heart immediately fluttered while your crotch felt a bit warm, but there was something wrong. He had wings and odd hair and skin, and this wasn’t your bed. You looked up at Cel and started to question him but he closed the distance between the two of you and leaned in for a kiss, pushing everything else to the back of your mind as all of your conscious thoughts were consumed with your focus on him. He disrobed you and rubbed your thighs gently before kissing a trail up them to your crotch and using his mouth on your sex. You stroked his pretty hair and silently moaned and gasped, unable to form words because your need for him was so deep. Celael, who you still only knew as Cel gently guided you into missionary position and aligned his large cock with your hole before sliding in fully in one smooth motion. Now it was Celael’s turn to gasp, in his many years of life this was his first time giving in to carnal desires, never had he known a greater pleasure than when he slipped into you. He took his time, this was a delicate and wonderful act that was surely meant to be savored, he slowly thrust in and out of you as he tenderly licked and kissed from your neck to your lips, He planted a deep kiss to your lips and moaned into the kiss. He was sloppy, but passionate, you could practically fill the emotions radiating off of him and you matched them perfectly. You had never felt like this before, so dizzy, so lost in the moment, but you were with Cel and that was all that mattered. He bit and sucked gently at your nipples before putting you into a mating press and going quite a bit faster, but not ruthlessly. The cherub continued at a good pace until right before you both came, when he slammed his lips into yours so you could share a kiss as twin orgasms racked both of your bodies. He draped his wings over you while holding you tight, happy tears in his eyes as he beheld you. That festering void that had been within him so long had at long last been filled. A bit of the fog that had been building in your head during the intimate act started to disperse and you had so many questions but seemingly as if reading your mind Celael shushed you as you began to open your mouth. “Not now my beloved, we can talk in the morning, right now let’s just rest okay?” You murmured your agreement and the angel repositioned you both so that you were both on your sides with him behind you. He spooned you with an arm and a wing draped over you as his large cock slid back inside of you, it did not take long for him to drift into a blissful sleep and even though you felt something was really off you gave into love for him and fell asleep beside him.

[dindjarindiaries]

Your Needs, My Needs

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompts: "Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy?" "I dropped everything to be with you! Everything!" & "Don't you want the same?"

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

Din stumbles towards you, and you give him a worried once-over at the unsteady movement. He doesn't appear to have any serious injuries on the surface, and the bodies strewn on the floor around him prove that the fight alone could have made him exhausted—especially since he spent stars know long fighting them on his own before you showed up.

You holster your blaster and keep your gaze on Din's visor as he approaches you, awaiting his usual polite nod and gentle thank-you. Instead, he stands with his gloved hands curled into fists at his sides, his helmet tilting before he addresses you in a tight tone. "What the hell are you doing here?"

You scoff and raise an eyebrow. There's no way he's being serious. "A 'thank you' would suffice."

"No." Din's response is curt. He points a gloved finger towards your chest. "You're not supposed to be here."

Your jaw hits the floor, bracing for the impact of your heart that follows it. "Really?" You cross your arms and hope the gesture hides your hurt. "I save your ass, and that's the first thing you choose to say to me?"

Din swings his helmet to the side, readjusting his stance amidst his audacity to act angry. "I told you to stay behind and rest while I got this information." He faces you again and punctuates each word through a tightened jaw. "You're. Not. Supposed. To. Be. Here."

"Yet, here I am." You laugh, but the sound is curt, not amused. "And had I not come here, you probably would've died. What then, Din?"

He shrugs. "It would've been a warrior's death." He adds a nod. "This is the Way."

You gawk at him for a moment. Your jaw ultimately snaps shut as you shake your head at him. "No, no. This is bantha shit." You take a step closer to him and lift your own finger in accusation. "You were taking longer than I expected, so I did the right thing and came to see if you were okay. Now, you're angry at me, because I didn't let you die?"

Din's helmet straightens as if he insists on speaking, but you don't give him the chance.

"If the roles were reversed, you would've killed anyone in your path to get to me, right?"

Din remains silent. His weight is set on one hip, his visor never straying from your gaze. You suddenly begin to feel overcome by a wave of fear as you repeat yourself.

"Right?"

"That's different. I signed up for this life. It was information I needed." Din points his finger into his own chest this time. "It was reckless of you to risk your own life trying to intervene."

"Reckless?" You can't help laughing again, your hands slapping your thighs as you walk back and circle around to compose yourself. "Stars, Din, doesn't it get exhausting playing the role of the honorable hero? The person who's so self-sacrificial, but refuses to let anyone do the same?" You cross your arms again and narrow your eyes. "That's not how this works."

Din's hands rest on his hips. "How what works?"

Your chest stalls for a moment, and your gaze falls to the floor. This isn't how you wanted this to go. You've been picturing this moment for so long, and this isn't at all how you expected it to happen. "You know what."

Din's arms slowly fall back to his sides as he takes a step forward. "How what works?"

Your chin nearly meets your shoulder as you hide from him, your eyes squeezing closed before you force yourself to face him with all the desperation and rage that festers within your chest. "Love, Din." You throw your hands up in the air. "Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy?"

Din's already stopped in his tracks, and after a long moment of anticipatory silence, he starts to shake his helmet. "No."

You huff, the pain rattling you in a wound worse than anything a blaster could give you. "No?"

Din's visor falls to the floor. "No. You weren't supposed to..." He can't even say it. He shifts his weight between his feet. "You can't."

"Again, Din, that's not how this works." You're thriving on your bitterness, now, as you take a step away from him. "And who are you to tell me how to feel?"

Din's helmet snaps up to meet your gaze. "I'm not... I didn't mean..." He lets out a frustrated sigh of his own, his gloved hands resting on his hips again as his helmet swings to the side. "You're not supposed to because it's dangerous. I'm still a wanted man, with or without the kid." His voice lowers at that, and for just a short moment, you pity him. "You shouldn't be tied to someone like that." He finds your gaze again and nods in resolve. "You won't be."

Your heart begins to shatter into painful fragments, and you let your agony show. "So, that's it?" Every memory of your time spent with Din hits you in an instant, blurring your vision in a way that's either rooted in anger or heartbreak. "I'm honest with you about this, and after everything, it's just... goodbye?"

Din looks back down at his boots. His modulated voice is so low, you nearly miss it. "It's for the best."

"You don't even have to feel the same way. I don't give a shit anymore." Your tears dissipate from the heat of your anger as you go on. "But for you to just assume you can put an end to this, to our partnership—whatever the hell it is—in an instant is something I won't allow. After all this time, Din? Really?" You close the distance towards him and jab your finger against his beskar cuirass. "I dropped everything to be with you! Everything!"

"I—."

"No. It's my turn to say no." Your finger taps the bottom of his helmet, urging him to face you. You can only hope he feels ashamed at the pure fury in your gaze. "You don't have to feel the same, but I know you do, because you've told me. You didn't have to use your words to do that. I'm not a fool, Din, and that's one of the reasons why you love me so much."

You give Din a moment to say something, but he doesn't. He's frozen in place, and you take that as your cue to go on.

"You've let me stay, and that alone says more than you ever could with your words. You never stay in one place, or with one person, for long—and that's something you have told me."

You furrow your brow, now painting on all the genuine longing you feel towards him.

"All I want is to the live the life we have together the way we want. No more holding back. No more dancing around the spark that's been there since the beginning. Just you and me." You search his visor the best you can, your voice lowering to a whisper. "Don't you want the same?"

Din's armored shoulders rise in a visible breath, though all other parts of him remain still. After a long moment, he speaks, his voice just as soft as your own. "There is nothing in this galaxy I want more than that." He sounds wounded as he goes on. "But just like with the kid, I've learned that I can't have what I want if it means someone will get hurt, or if there's something or someone better for them."

Din exhales, a broken sound that makes you physically resist the urge to hold him. His helmet looks away from you again.

"I'm used to it. And one day, I'll be okay with it."

You take a gentle hold of his helmet, making his visor face you again. Your thumbs brush over his beskar cheeks. "Well, I'm not." You lift your brow at him. "Do I get to have a choice?"

Din's gloved hands wrap around your wrists. "I would never take your freedom away from you."

"Then I'm making the choice to love you, and that includes everything that comes along with you. The bad, the good, I don't care, Din." You give his helmet a gentle shake. "I know what I signed up for. I've known." You lower his helmet to your forehead. "I'm all yours, Din, if you want me."

Din's hands slowly slide from your wrists towards your face. He gives his helmet an aimless shake, asking his question as if he can't fathom the thought of it happening. "And what if something happens to you?"

You smile with the most reassurance you can muster, whispering the words he holds close to his chest. "This is the Way."

Din pauses for a moment, then—in the slowest and most tender way possible—he pulls you into his embrace. His arms support your back and keep you tight against him, and your arms wrap around his neck. Your eyes close as you bury your face in his shoulder, each broken fragment of your heart piecing back together at the warmth of his affection.

After silence persists for longer than you can handle, you dare to ask the question that's holding the last piece of your heart back. "Do you want me to—."

"—Stay." Din answers the question before you can ask it, his voice a desperate plea. "Please."

You smile and hold him tighter. "I always will."

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

[lynderman]

𝘼 𝙁𝙤𝙧 𝙀𝙛𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩 (Xavier Thorpe)

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x Fem!Addams!Reader

Word Count: 2.8k+

Date Published: 12/9/22

Synopsis: You’ve always been 2nd place. First place for losers. Attending Nevermore was supposed to change that.

A/N: (I was so confident writing this, and I feel like I went down a rabbit hole because some shit doesn't even make sense. So idk if it’s good or not. It also isn’t proofread 💀)

Part 2

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Vi, are you still free after fencing today? I thought I’d take you up on that offer and go down to Jericho to get-“

“Sorry. I told Wednesday I’d meet her in the nightshades library to look for a certain book.” My smile instantly vanished as he said her name. It’s not that I hate her, no. I could never. We’re best friends! Well, as close as best friends could be to Wednesday Addams. I didn’t have a reason to hate her; But I did have more than enough to be jealous. Ever since we were kids she’s always been able to one-up me.

It started with small things like getting better grades in school. Then to committing higher and bigger crimes. And it eventually reached the point where I felt like everyone in the family preferred her to me. Even my own dad! Her precious ‘Uncle Fester’, the only one who made her smile. He made everyone smile though. Every time he came home from one of his jobs, I’d get a pat on the head and Wednesday would get a hug. His niece got more love and affection from him than his own daughter did.

I thought maybe, just maybe when I came to Nevermore I’d be able to fit in. Be my own person! Make my own friends, be someone who I wanted to be. Not living in the shadows of my cousin; Being known as ‘The other Addams?’ Or ‘Wednesdays’ Cousin!’ And I was for a while. For a whole year I was just known as Me. I wasn’t compared to anyone or told to be better. In fact I was great! Fantastic, even.

I’d made captain of the fencing team, like aunt Morticia. I was first chair in almost all my classes. I had friends of my own and was always asked to hang out. People were interested in me. They wanted me for me. Especially Xavier. God, Xavier. He was drop dead gorgeous. His long hair that framed his face so perfectly. His hazel eyes so full of hope and warmth. The smile that was always on his face when I walked up to him or when we hung out. He made me feel so happy and appreciated. Just loved and seen. I would do anything for him because I know he’d do the same for me!

Or so I thought.

The second that Wednesday showed up to Nevermore, any hopes I had of asking him out or just anything suddenly vanished. Like everyone else in my life, I was soon replaced by her darkening and compelling image. He became so infatuated with her. Our afternoon runs were taken away and replaced with him hanging out with her. He sat through and listened to her crazy theories all day and looked at her like she hung the stars herself. The same way he looked at me once.

My fists clenched my bag and I held back the urge to scream on the spot. Now the one time we were both free was taken away by her again? She wasn’t even a nightshade so that isn’t fair. “Have fun with that. I’ll be by the lake if you feel like I’m worth your time today.” My words seemed to get his attention because he finally looked up from his sketchbook. I caught a glimpse and saw it was an another drawing of Wednesday. He opened his mouth to say something but I walked off before he got the chance to. Or cry. Whichever came first at this point.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The sun shone directly onto my face as I continued to write down the finishing lyrics to my song. My plan for the day was to hang out with Xavier and show him my new music for my violin. He knew I played an instrument but he didn’t know what it was or that I sang. So I thought it’d be a good time to surprise him! But of course my plans were ruined thanks to Wednesday. Again.

Letting out a grunt of frustration, I threw my pen into the lake. “What’d the pen ever do to you?” My attention turned to Xavier’s voice behind me. I listened to the sound of the leaves crunch and stop before he sat down on my blanket beside me. I didn’t ask him to, but I always found it hard to be upset or angry with him. Peering over my shoulder he asked what I’d been writing. “Just some music. I was gonna go back to my dorm and see how it turned out.” He didn’t need to know I wanted him to go back with me.

“Really? Can I see it?” Hesitation filled my body but I still gave him the notebook. His hands flipped through my pages and the words. I prayed to god he didn’t under Latin. “You never told me you write music.” I shrugged and turned back to the lake. “You never bothered to ask.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

We sat at the lake for a while and just talked. It was nice; Feeling like I got my old friend back. The way he laughed at each joke I made and seemed to be genuinely interested in my topics made me realize how hard I’d fallen for him again. “Speaking of hair-“ He reached out to twirl the white strand in my black head of hair between his fingers. “Did you just decide it was a cool fashion statement or something?” I laughed lightly and shook my head.

“No, no. Back in 6th grade I was doing a science experiment, Y’know the one where you dissect frogs right? I was cutting him open and i just electrocuted myself without realizing it. That’s when I found out I’m like my dad. The whole lightning and shit. But I can do this weird thing with weather too where-“ I paused when I realized I was getting off track. “Anyways. I zapped myself and some shit happened with my hair when I did. It was only this piece though.” Laughing I turned the other way and buried my head into my knees. “I’ve tried to dye it back but it never works. All the other kids would make fun of me and say I’d get cancer or go bald. I dunno why though, that doesn’t make sense.”

What didn’t make sense was that I was basically Trauma dumping on Xavier for no reason. All he asked about was my hair and got some sob story in return. There was silence for a moment. I knew I overshared and he’d think I’m just some attention whore. It took me by surprise when he put his hand on mine, making me turn to face him. “I think it’s cool. Makes you stand out.” The blush that spread across my face was inevitable. Like an idiot I asked: “Really?”

A smile broke out in his face as he nodded. “Do you still wanna go to Jericho? The shuttle leaves in about 20 minuets? We can go to the weathervane and maybe check out that new music store?” My stomach was filled to the brim with butterfly’s, warmth spreading throughout it. Play it cool, play it cool. Don’t freak out. Just say that sounds fun. “Yes! Of course. I’d love to.” I mentally face palmed myself with the joy in my voice. It felt like a movie moment. Was this him asking me out on a date? Xavier finally got the balls to be the one to initiate it? No thoughts were going through my mind as my body leaned closer to his, him doing the same.

I could smell his cologne and feel his breath on my face; A mere 6 inches between my lips and his. Just as mine were to meet his, a phone rang. His phone. He blinked and apologized before picking it up.

“Hello? Enid? Since when did you call me? No, I’m not. She was busy so I’m at the lake, hanging out with-“ Xavier paused as Enid’s voice rose over the line, his brows furrowing as she spoke. I couldn’t hear what was going on. “Yeah, sure. Give me 7-8 minuets and I can. The quad or the courtyard? Mhm, sure.” He lowered his phone and hung up. “What’d Enid call about?” Standing up he began to brush himself off. “Wednesday asked her to call me since she doesn’t ‘want to be a slave to technology’. Said something about her finding a new lead on the monster and to meet her in the nightshades library.”

“But didn’t you earlier?” He shook his head. “No, she needed to do something else and talk to someone.” My lips pursed and watched as he grabbed his sketchbook from beside my bag. “Can we uh- rain check on Jericho?” All the butterflies and warmth my stomach were replaced with dread and insect repellent. “Again?” I muttered. “It’s nothing personal, I just need to-“

“No it never is with you is it? I mean do you even care about anyone or anything other than Wednesday?” The words left my mouth before I could process what I said. “Sorry?” Now I was standing up, arms crossed as I spoke. “Sorry? Oh shut up; Stop playing dumb. We both know you’re not so don’t try to bullshit your way out of this.” He took a step closer to me and looked down, irritation and confusion clouding his eyes. “What’re you talking about? What’s this even coming from? Why’re you getting so worked up about us hanging out?” Scoffing I took a step back from him.

“I’m getting worked up about this because you hang out with her all the time and not me! I’m constantly being ditched and put to the side cause you wanna go waste your time who doesn’t give a single fuck about you!”

“Don’t say that. She does but just act-“

“Acts distant and cold? Stand-offish and uninterested? She’s like that with everyone. What makes you think you’re any different to her? Do you think you’re special or some shit? Wednesday’s been like this her entire life and she’s certainly not going to change for some moron of a dude.” Xavier’s face only showed confusion as I spoke. “Oh come on. Don’t tell me you can’t put two and two together? Wednesday Addams; (Y/n) Addams? How many Addams’s in this school do you know? If you named more, I wouldn’t be surprised since you seem to pay attention to everyone else other than me.” “Not everything is about you (Y/n).” He snapped.

“You’re right. It’s not! It’s always about Wednesday. Everything is. It’s always ‘Oh, have you seen Wednesday? I’m looking for her.’ Or ‘Do you wanna see this new drawing of her? It looks better than the last!’ Anything that comes out of your mouth is about her! Have you ever noticed how you put me next to her? Below, If you will. She plays cello and you draw her. I play violin, but you never bothered to ask because you’re too busy talking about how good she sounds. You go with her to Jericho to get coffee while I’m left behind doing schoolwork. Everywhere I go I’m beneath her. I’m compared to her, I’m belittled because I’m not as edgy or mysterious as she is. My family seems to like her more too. My own father loves her more than me! Can you imagine that, Xavier? Having to live in the shadow of your little cousin because she’s so much better than you at everything? I thought the name I made for myself at Nevermore would stick! I’d have my own friends and interests and not be known as the other Addams girl. I thought that I could get away and have shit of my own! BUT NO. I CAN’T.”

The air around me felt chilly and vast, a small breeze inclining as my voice got louder. “But it’s never going to happen. Everyone will always choose her over me. I’ll always be second to her. And it’s not fair. It’s not. I try to hard at everything. Especially when making friends. I’m almost on my knees trying to get people to approach me but she just has to stand and glare at people and suddenly they’re wrapped around her finger. Like you. You’re just another string waiting to be pulled by her; Following and doing what she says like a lost puppy. You look at her with such admiration and longing in your eyes. Maybe if you turned your head the other way and fixed your eyesight, you’d see that’s how I look at you! If you weren’t so fucking blinded by her borderline manipulative tendencies you’d notice I’m the way with you you are with her.”

My hands were moving with immense exaggeration as I spoke. The feeling of static shooting through my veins when I threw them down to my sides in anger. “Look, I’m sorry. Why don’t we talk about this and-“ A short circuit of lighting extended from my fingers when I held my hand up to him. “This isn’t a two way conversation right now. It’s one where you listen to every word I say because that’s all I’ve ever done for you, especially ever since Wednesday’s gotten here-“

Speak of the devil, and she’ll arrive. Looking to my left I could see her standing a few feet away from us. “I think your feelings for Xavier are getting in the way of our goal, (Y/n).” I deadpanned. “Our goal?” She didn’t answer my question, only asking another one in its place.

“How would your father feel if he knew you were letting your emotions get the better of you?”

“Gee, I dunno. Why don’t you ask him since he was with you early in the nightshade’s library!” She said nothing. “He finally shows up after being on the run again and stops to say hi! Not to his daughter, but his niece.”

“It’s not my fault if Fester approached me and not you.”

“It’s never your fault is it? Nothing ever is. You’re just perfect Wednesday who’s above all others. Especially her cousin who’s done everything in her power to help her with her bullshit conspiracies. I’ve been on your side since day one. Believing in your shit when no one else would. And how do you thank me? By stealing the few people I have In my life away from me. Again and again. It’s a never ending cycle. And I never bother to break it because we’re family, Wednesday.” The overwhelming emotion of anger and hatred died down, the slight breeze fading completely. Now it was just cold and quiet. Water began to drop onto my clothes and belongings. When I looked up I realized It was raining; But only on me. As cliché as it sounds, there was a small storm cloud hovering above my head. Hence the weather thing I was telling Xavier about earlier.

“Do you know what you struggle with, (Y/n?).” Laughing, I faced Wednesday again. “No, but I’d love to hear your piercing insight on it!” “You don’t know when to turn your emotions on and off. You let them consume and confuse you. How you’re just a fool with a slow heart; Putting out love for others only to never get any back.” The rain became heavier as she spoke, each drop hitting harder against my face. “I understand that emotions are a foreign concept for you, Wednesday, but you don’t have a right to talk about mine if you don’t have any.” Is what I’d like to have said. But it isn’t. It was more along the lines of:

“Maybe you’re right. I do love too much because no one has ever given me any. I hope that one day you’ll think about all of the love I’ve given you, and maybe feel generous to reciprocate it.” Turning from her I grabbed my bag off the now drenched blanket and sling it over my bag. “The same goes for you, Vi. When you come to your senses and realize that I have and will still do anything to get a small sliver of your validation or time, my dorm room door will be open.” I meant to passive aggressively hand him his sketchbook back, but it was really just me shoving it into his chest. I didn’t dare look back at the two as I literally stormed off into the forest.

The sun still was shining around me even as I made my way back to the courtyard, through the quad, and up to my dorm. The cloud only got bigger when I was alone in my dorm room. Sitting in my shower I thought. Thought about how Wednesdays’ right. Despite ending up with nothing, I’ll still give everyone else everything I’ve never gotten in hopes someone will one day do the same.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[recreationalfanfics]

Hello it's me again I am sorry for the previous request and I hope I am not bothering you and that you are doing ok ☺️

If it's ok and if you have time and you're not busy, would it be ok for a Yandere Poseidon x Angel Reader, Yandere Hades x Angel Reader and Yandere Buddha x Angel Reader

I noticed that in the manga and anime we don't see any angels at all unless I overlooked them but I got curious and wondered what would happen if one were to appear would the gods lock them up in a golden cage or cut their wings to keep them tied to them because in a way angels are being of pure light and power

I am sorry if it sounds ridiculous 😂 and Thank you

I don't write for Hades since he's in the manga, I hope you enjoy and SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER.

Yandere! Poseidon + Angel! Reader:

- Poseidon does very much believe that, because he's a God that he is still superior to you. After all, Angels are meant to be messengers for Gods. Compliant, innocent, quick on their wings, and adoring of their Lord.

- Perhaps on the God's side, you belonged to a different God. One who was on good terms with Poseidon, at least from their point of view, and who you adored being around.

- Everytime they requested Poseidon to meet them, he'd open his room door and see you and all your holy light. It's clear you're scared of him from the timid smile on your face but you were given a mission from your God and you would not fail them!

- He was annoyed with you at first, after all, you were just a sniveling little servant who followed your diety around like a lost puppy. It was pathetic really. Yet, it never stopped his eyes from drifting towards you and never stopped him from zoning out as he took in your appearance...it was, no pun intended, heavenly. Everything about you was absolutely glowing both literally and figuratively.

- He started to hate your diety, honestly. They always got to keep you by their side. You always loyally flew after them with nothing less than admiration and a certain brightness in your eyes and a smile on your face. Even if they were upset, you'd break your back bending backwards just to see them smile and it sickened him.

- You start to get creepy vibes from Poseidon, his eyes holding this dark stare and your intuition as an angel could see something dark fester within him. His hands touching your wings, making you flinch from how cold they are but you didn't dare pull away...you'd just stand there, panicked and terrified. He smiled to himself as he let his fingers feel your soft feathers, enjoying your compliance and submission.

- When you tell your god, they hear your concerns and start to keep you away from Poseidon...a terrible idea. One that resulted in your diety dying, in fact.

- It was bloody and it was brutal and when it was done, you tried to fight him by summoning your sword and burning him with divine light. You stupid little angel, did you forget? He IS Divinity. A powerful God. And you were just an angel, powerful but not strong enough to kill him.

- He threatens to cut your wings off when he takes you to his palace in the ocean. You're not entirely sure if it's a hollow threat (it is not) so you take it to heart and try not to be annoying (smart decision) but you still mourn the loss of your God. You know better than to let Poseidon know that because as far as he's concerned, HE is your new God now. You serve and worship him.

- He wouldn't want to cut off your wings, they are apart of what makes you so gorgeous and considering you're underwater: they'd most likely drag you down than help you so he lets you keep them (for now) and admires you from a golden cage. He will touch them when he pleases, he will seek for your physical affection and he dares you to try and deny it to him because you know the consequences.

Yandere! Buddha + Angel! Reader:

- Oh he's heard about you guys before...Angels, that is. He's pretty sure that you're the cutest one he's seen. You're so happy and upbeat yet so strong and loyal, even though most angels are like that, there's just something different about you that really catches Buddha's eye.

- The way you'd allow him to touch your wings and when you sat and talked to him while he napped, you'd extend them and use it to shade him from the sun. Maybe it was the way you were the first angel to greet him with a cheery smile or the way you constantly wanted to spar with him and pouted when he teased you after beating you for the umpteenth time.

- He met you because he was friends with your diety, the god you praised all day long. Buddha wonders when he started to hate the person he called his "friend", probably the same time his obsession started with you because he slowly became more and more jealous of the way you acted around them.

- Following them like a lost puppy with wings, declaring your undying allegiance to them every day, and having that adoring look in your eyes. Buddha was confused about the feelings he'd get when he saw you look at them like that but he knew what they were now...and he spent long enough trying to hide them.

- He tried to explain the entire thing to his friend, trying to cover up his obsession as best as he could with promises of taking care of you of you became his. Yet your god was a clever one and saw immediately through Buddha's honey coated words and noticed the obsession in his eyes. It was a shame really, Buddha would've preferred not to have killed him but your god threatened to keep you away from Buddha...to keep you safe from him.

- The old fool didn't realize Buddha was going to keep you safe, especially how Buddha held you after telling you that your god unfortunately got into an altercation with the other gods, how you should fight for humanity with Buddha to avenge them and stick it to the gods. He doesn't actually let you fight, however, despite the fact that Angels were adept fighters as well as messengers: he couldn't risk you getting killed after he stained his hands in blood just to have you.

- Buddha is one of the Yandere's that is least likely to get caught, I will die on that hill personally, and chances are is that you trust him enough to believe everything he says at first...but also, you're an angel. You can sense when someone isn't being honest, when someone doesn't have the right intentions, and while you don't want to doubt Buddha after all he's done for you and your deceased god...you know he hasn't been telling you the truth.

- When you confront Buddha about the truth or if he feels like you're becoming more cold or withdrawn, he'll tell you everything. He hopes you'll understand his reasons but it seems your too blinded by your grief to try and attack him...which is silly because you should know from sparring lessons how this is gonna go, little birdie.

- There isn't really any place you can go to escape Buddha, nor is there a God alive who will believe you, but Buddha would rather save the trouble and just tie your wings up and keep you in his room. He'll inform Brunhilde that he'll just do his fight and then yours because you're too torn over the passing of your god when in reality, you're tied up in his room crying tears of frustration from how easily Buddha fooled you and how he even managed to put magical chains on your wings to prevent you from flying.

- He'll take them off someday, when you realize why he did what he did and that it was for the best. When you realize that he wasn't the problem: your God was for trying to keep you away from him when you were clearly destined to be his. Don't worry, he fixed that...now he just has to fix you and everything will be all better.

[whiskeyghoul]

Pt.6 || She blinded me with science || [Spencer Reid x Goth!reader]

First part, Previous part, Next part

A/N: Ah okay this took a bit longer than expected. I really wanted to do this justice but that took a while oops. I really hope you enjoy it. A bit more good vibes towards the end. There are more plans for part 7 with backstory so hopefully that will be up and going soon. Maybe some spice? If people want? Let me know. Remember to please reblog when you can!

WC: 3,4K

Tags: alt reader, little hurt comfort, past relationships, making up, hurt comfort-ish, fluff. 

Warnings: Mentions of past relationship, toxic relationships, hinting at nsfw

Your POV

When Spencer left the office it took a few moments for Penelope to return. Being alone in the room, surrounded by computers and Garcia trinkets, it was still incredibly lonely. You felt horrible, tears were threatening to fall from your eyes. Like they had been the entire day. You felt like a dick. Spencer had been nothing but nice, kind, looking at you with those big brown eyes like you were the only person in the world. It was just unfair that when you finally had something, someone, to look forward to talking to, that it was all taken away. You were at fault too of course. It wasn’t just the situation, you actively pushed him away but only to keep him from getting hurt.

The door opened, Penelope walked in looking concerned. “Boy genius looked upset. What happened? What did you tell him?” the two questions you really didn’t want to answer. “I just told him I needed time to work on something. Fix something.” You answered after swallowing thickly. “You didn’t tell him about Tommy?” You told Penelope before about how bad your ex was, how he had snuck into the building and left you a ‘gift’. It was always about Tommy. He made sure of that. Popping back into your life when things went well. Squashing any form of happiness down, stamping it into the ground. 

The thing with Tommy was that when you had been together he had been almost dismissive when it came to showing it. Your relationship felt shallow, like you didn’t know the person you had been with. Only discussing the basics, never truly getting to know each other on a deeper level, when you did it was a rare occasion and you both used it against each other. You had a different kind of passion though. There was undeniable tension in the way you teased and called eachother names. It was a love hate relationship if you had ever seen one. Hate seemed to be your way of love with him. It lasted 6 months.

You don’t even remember how it came to be, because it happened on a drunken night out with a mutual friend. A former friend. Who made a comment about the way you berated eachother like an old married couple. You made a comment about how you’d never do him. He made a comment about how you would be lucky to have him. Jabs were made, words were said. Then suddenly, the next morning, you woke up in his apartment with your clothes discarded on the ground and black lipstick marks on his neck. Somehow it happened, and you don’t remember hating it, nor the time after. That was the start of it.

You do remember hating the end of it. Every week ended with a fight, and not in the way you had been used to. This didn’t have the usual quips and remarks, no it was truly using sore spots to anger each other. Every week he would try to make up, apologize, buy flowers or make dinner. But every week would end the same as the one before it. You were stressed, sick and tired of the continuous flip flopping of his personality. His words were venom, and every week it settled deeper into your body, festering, feeding this growing idea of leaving him. When you finally found the courage, the right time, his reaction shocked you.

He hit you.

He apologized profusely after that. Trying to reconcile once again but that was the straw that broke the camel's back. You packed up the few items you had at his apartment and left. Still he didn’t seem to be able to let it go. Every so often he would pop into your life. Like he had done the weekend before, leaving a gift on your doorstep. Something to remind you he was still there, watching you, following every step you took and swooping in as soon as you got close to someone. Making you relive the entire thing. This time it was a small paper gift bag with a tag that stated he missed you, inside was a jewelry box you didn’t even open. It sat there on your doorstep for 3 days until you caved and brought it inside. Still though, it sat on your dining room table, unopened. 

“Yeah… He uh… I don’t want Spencer to be caught in the middle of it. I don’t know how far Tommy is willing to go.” You shook your head slightly, trying to shake away the memories. Penelope stared at you, mouth slightly agape “And you didn’t think that the FBI agent could help you with your problem?” she managed to bring out, there was clear confusion in her face. “Yes, but I need to do this myself. I don’t want to burden Spencer with this. It’s my thing, and I won’t let him ruin something good again.” You took a deep breath, knowing you might have ruined your chances with Spencer just now. It made your heart ache, terribly so. “I can hack his phone, tell him to back off, put a virus on it so it opens every porn site known to mankind as soon as it gets close to you?” Penelope’s tone being serious made you crack a smile. “Let’s keep that as our plan B.” There was a hint of humor returned in your voice.

You thought about it, you really liked Spencer. Tommy was standing in the way of things for you and you needed to get him out of your life once and for all. You looked to Penelope, “I just hope I didn’t lose my chance with Spencer.” You admitted before you were enveloped in a tight hug. “I’ll keep an eye on him, let you know if our boy genius comes back.” She said as you returned the hug. She was a good friend. The best. Always looking out for you and you so hoped she felt the same about you. You thanked her before you took your leave. Promising to keep her updated on what you were doing. 

You: ‘Is Spencer back?’

You texted Penelope the question as you sat in the lab waiting for the centrifuge to finish. It was Wednesday, you had been able to talk to Tommy that Sunday. Talk was a big word. He took your contact as an admission that you still liked him. That you wanted him back. When you told him to leave you alone he got angry. Which threw you right back to the fights that you had with him before. It was like nothing changed for him. Things had changed for you though. You finally realized he didn’t care about you, he didn’t want you back, he wanted the idea of you. 

Spencer hadn’t shown up to work again since Thursday.

Penny: ‘No, I wanted to go check on him. I can’t get a hold of him.’

Penelope replied to your text. The ding of your phone pulling your attention back to it. The fact that Penelope, the sweetest, most caring, technologically adept person you knew couldn’t get a hold of him meant he really didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. ‘I’ll try and text him again.’ You sent the message to Penelope before quickly changing to Spencer’s contact. Your previous messages sat unanswered.

You: ‘Spencer, can we talk?’ Sun, 16:30

You: ‘Are you coming into work today?’ Mon, 8:38

You: ‘Spencer? Could you please answer me? I want to talk about what happened.’ Mon, 12:45

You: ‘I fixed it.’ Mon, 12:46

You: ‘Please text me when you see this.’ Tue, 15:24

It was ironic. These messages were so similar to what Tommy had sent you when you first broke up. You really didn’t want to become like him. Just when you had finally gotten rid of him. You sighed, typing out a new message. Hitting send you quietly waited for a reply. Turning the chair you had been sitting in. Looking at the phone screen every few seconds, anxious for an answer. Watching the minutes pass by felt like it was taking forever. Until the phone buzzed alive, the screen lit up with a message.

You: ‘Spencer, everyone is worried. Just let me know you’re alive.’ Wed, 12:36

Spence: ‘I’m okay’ Wed, 12:40

You breathed a sigh of relief, the nerves settling down. Finally, he was speaking to you again. Or well, texting you again. Which was better than nothing in all honesty. Missing spencer for 6 days has been torture. No conversations, no lunch together, not even a quick pop by the lab just to get the notes on a case. You didn’t think you could miss someone so much. Especially when you had only known each other for a few weeks.

You: ‘I’m coming over after work. I need to talk to you.’

Spencer: ‘What? You don’t have to. I really don’t need you to check up on me.’

You: ‘It’s not about checking up on you. I want to apologize in person, explain what happened…’

Spencer: ‘You don’t even know where I live.’

You: ‘So text me your address. Or I can ask your colleagues for it.’

Spencer: ‘...’

Spencer: ‘Alright.’

You: ‘I’ll get you something to eat on the way over. Anything you want.’

Spencer sent you his address, and a request for chicken tandoori from a place near his apartment. A smile crossed your lips, he had needed time but he was accepting you coming over. Maybe, you could make up. There was just a little glimmer of hope. You quickly texted Penelope that Spencer was alive, and you were going to check up on him later that day. Explaining you were going to talk about what happened, to hopefully get on his good side again. Maybe have a shot at going on a date again, though that was probably too soon. You realized you had hurt his feelings, terribly so, but it was to make sure you could get rid of Tommy. Without him hurting Spencer in the process. You didn’t know what he would be able to do. An explanation was necessary, for sure.

So you stood in front of Spencer’s apartment door. Bag of Thai take-out in hand. You had texted Spencer before you left the Thai place, letting him know your ETM just to make sure he was prepared for you showing up. Nerves had begun to coarse through your body. The fact he could still be angry with you was weighing deeply in your mind. Though accepting your coming over was a step in the right direction it didn’t mean he’d necessarily want to listen to what you had to say. You just hoped he would be willing to listen. To have a conversation.

You reached your free hand up, knocking on the apartment door. Waiting a few seconds before hearing movement inside. The door opened and Spencer stood in the entrance. His hair was disheveled, a slightly large cardigan hung from his frame, just a t-shirt underneath. His eyes were tinged red. He looked… not so great. Tired. You had really hurt him. A sinking feeling in your stomach, it was terrible to see him like this. You never wanted this. “Hey.” The word came out strained. “Hi.” Spencer said in return, his eyes looked you over. You realized you weren’t looking so hot yourself either. Comfy clothes had been your go to for the past 2 days, a sadness settling in your bones at not seeing Spencer, not hearing from him. A way too large zip up from some band you didn’t listen to anymore, with holes at the cuffs from nervously picking at them in times of distress. You had foregone makeup too, not feeling the motivation for it the past days. 

“I brought the thai you wanted. We should eat before it gets cold.” You said, holding up the take away bag with a sad smile. Spencer took a step to the side, “Right, thanks.” He said as you walked past him into the apartment. It was somehow exactly what you expected from Spencer but still surprising. There were books everywhere you looked. The massive shelves that lined a wall were filled to the brim. There was a leather couch in his living room, where a blanket laid haphazardly over the arm. A small table sat next to the window, a chessboard atop with a game configuration.

It smelled like him. 

“I really like your apartment, it suits you.” You complimented as you had your look around. Taking everything in as Spencer walked to a small dining room area. “Thanks.” Spencer’s answers were short. Annoyingly so. You walked over to the table, placing the take out on the table. Watching as Spencer got plates and cutlery out and handed you your set. You got all the food out, separating yours and Spencers out and placing them on different sides of the table. You wanted to face him when you apologized. So when you both sat down you took a deep breath. “You w-” “I am s-” Both Spencer and you spoke at the same time. It was so similar to when you had both spoken that Thursday before. You let out a soft laugh, it was borderline ironic that when you wanted to apologize it happened in a similar fashion as when you upset him.

Spencer looked at you with a hint of confusion, maybe a bit of disdain at your laugh, “You wanted to talk?” he said as he piled his plate with the chicken tandoori that smelled so flavourful. “Yes. I wanted to explain, apologize…” you said, slowly putting some rice and chicken masala on your own plate. “I am sorry about what I said. I was afraid you would be caught in the middle of things that would put me in a bad light. Or maybe make you realize I am not worth the trouble.” You started, “I have an ex, Tommy, who ehm… how do I even explain this.” You felt nervous, this was the first time you had actually said something about Tommy to a guy you might like. “Tommy wasn’t the greatest. And when I finally broke up with him he couldn’t let it go.” You watched Spencer’s expression change, you couldn’t place it though, it wasn’t pity. Pity is what you usually get when you tell people about your emotionally abusive ex. No, this was different.

“He stalks you?” He said before you could continue. You were a little surprised he found that out with the words you used. Before remembering that’s what he does, behavioral analyst. Finding answers through just the smallest of details. “I hope he won’t anymore.” You answered, “I talked to him. He found out about you. After we went to the museum together he had left me something.” You continued, “And it made me realize that I didn’t know how far he was willing to go to keep me from meeting someone. I did not want you to realize I am not worth the trouble of dealing with a stalker. Or, for you to get hurt because of something he did.” you fell silent, Spencer was so too. His eyes on you felt heavy. Analyzing every little move, facial expression. “Why didn’t you tell me? I don’t… I don’t think that. I wouldn’t think you aren’t worth the trouble.” He sounded just a little upset. Like the mere thought of you not being worth the trouble was appalling to him. “But you still could have gotten hurt.” You protested. “If I was scared of getting hurt I wouldn’t have joined the FBI.” He answered so seriously. It made a wave of relief wash over you. 

Spencer took a bite of his food, which reminded you that yes, you were here to eat too. “So… You’re not mad at me?” You asked before taking a small bite of your own food. It was nice, Spencer was right to order from here. “I’m not… I was sad, a little confused at first. I knew you were hurt too… which is why I wasn’t mad. And I am not mad now.” He explained after swallowing his bite. “I am hurt that you didn’t tell me. That you think I would leave at the first signs of trouble.”

You nodded your head, he had a right to be hurt. “I’m sorry, I was just, people tend to leave. Or I don’t let them get close enough to really know what was going on. It caught me off guard that you were the first. How quickly it happened too.” your voice still sounded a little strained. Speaking words and thoughts that had subconsciously taken up your mind. Ones that you didn’t give the time of day before to fully develop, to acknowledge. Penelope sent him on purpose, she must have known, or had an inkling that the good doctor would break down your walls. His disarming nature, sweet demeanor, his smile. Everything about him made you feel safe. It was terrifying.

“So what did you say to get him to back off?” Spencer asked, seemingly a little interested, though his voice was a little soft. You cleared your mouth, “Well… I don’t know if it worked just yet.” you started. “But, I eventually made him realize how stupid it is to threaten a person who has access to lab equipment and various kinds of poison. Oh and also that if he so much as glances at me again Penelope will put a virus on all his electronics that will cause them to irrevocably be loaded with porn and viruses.” You felt just a little devious, a small smirk playing on your lips. You looked up at Spencer who had his mouth slightly agape, his eyes wide as he processed your words. He looked surprised until a soft chuckle escaped his lips, “Remind me to stay on your good side.” He laughed.

You missed that sound more than you would like to admit. More than you expected.

“I don’t think you could ever get on my bad side.” You said it, eyes softening as you looked at Spencer. His eyes mirrored yours. There was a kindness in them with a hint of sadness still. “I wouldn’t even want to try.” he said those words almost like a whisper. They were imbued with tenderness. It made a shiver run up your spine, a warmth settled in your stomach. “Can we go back to normal?” You asked, putting down your utensils on the table, “Please?” You didn’t want to plead but you didn’t want to lose Spencer. The only thing on your mind was wanting to be close to him again. You waited, watching as Spencer thought for a moment. The silence was nerve wracking. The only thing you could feel in that moment was your heartbeat. The seconds felt like minutes instead. You waited in bated breath hoping he’d be willing to make up. Hands fidgeting with the holes in your sleeves. Teeth assaulting the inside of your lip.

“Yeah… I’d like that.” You let out the breath you had been holding, relief washing over you at his words. Shoulders sagging down as finally relaxation took over fully. “Thank you, I couldn’t stand not hearing from you every day.” you spoke and you watched Spencer visibly relax too at your words. “It was hard to ignore you.” He confessed. “You better never do it again then.” Yeah, this started to feel normal again. “And you better finish your food. You gotta get up early to meet me before starting tomorrow.” You teased, taking a bite of your own food. “Or you c-'' Spencer stopped himself, a small blush tinging his cheeks. It was a little surprising, you didn’t understand what he wanted to say, but he looked extremely adorable blushing. “If you want, we could watch a movie after?” He said, it wasn’t what he wanted to say at first, but it was something that he wanted to spend time with you again. “I’d love to.” You nodded your head yes.

So after dinner, you sat on his couch together. Both dressed in your shabbiest clothes. Your head leaned against his shoulder, a blanket wrapped around the both of you. The smell of Spencer completely enveloping you. Completely at ease. Though still wondering what he really had wanted to say.

Tag list: @luvkatryna @emma-e-a @littlemadamred @cultish-corner @styleiconsize0 @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @depressedbutartsy @mikariell95 @jasf444 @queermaxwooo @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @sammy-4103 @thedevioussmirk @pleasantwitchgarden @khxna @mega-kittyglitter-1 @superlegend216 @seninjakitey

[jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd]

PLEASE write about Jean seeing you for the first time in four years 😭. Like you got taken by Reiner or something and when they attacked you went and found him. PLEASE THIS WOULD BE SO COOL!!

at last

pairing: jean kirstein x f!reader

word count: 1.2k +

tw: kidnapping, cursing, angst,

a/n: wow! this is a lil emotional! i hope you love it like i do. also, this isn't proof read.

it'd been four years. it'd been four whole years since you felt the company of your comrades, no, your friends. the day you were taken still burned sharply in the back of your mind, replaying on an endless loop, constantly reminding you of the last day you were happy. there was no forgetting the devastated looks, their faces twisting and contorting with fear. the sounds of their panicked shouts fading into the distance. the most haunting thing of all your brain tortured you with was the feeling of jean's fingertips slipping away from yours.

things like that weren't so easily forgotten, especially from the confinement of your cell. at the end of the day, you were grateful. you were grateful to still have your life, no matter how miserable it might have been. the cell you stayed in was dim, cold and all too quiet. it was the perfect breeding ground for your trauma, festering day and night. of course, there was a time you weren't as grateful; you'd rather have died then reside in marley for whatever time you might have had left. you were angry. you were angry at reiner, at marley, at the scouts for not being successful in their attempts to rescue you. there was fear residing there, too. were your friends alive? where was eren? did they know what you knew? did they know about the cruelty of the world?

eventually, reiner became somebody different. you no longer saw him as the traitor as he once was. you grew to understand him, your resentment eventually fading away. he'd come down most days and visit you. he taught you a lot of things about marley and about paradis. reiner would tell you about the world away from your cell, about things that were happening outside.

the day came where reiner told you that willy tybur, an eldian noble, was going to declare war on your homeland. he seemed remorseful to be telling you this. you screamed at him, begging him to interfere all while reminding him he was once a soldier, too. he ignored your pleas and left you a pacing mess in your cell.

not long after reiner's disappearance, a blond male soldier stopped by your cell. the soldier said nothing as he fumbled around in his pockets before pulling out a set of keys. he unlocked the door as you asked a thousand questions, raising your voice with each word. he said nothing. like reiner, he left without a word.

the sound of eren's titan echoed through the air, shaking the ceiling and causing bits of rock to fall. you thought you were hallucinating, your brain playing another sick trick on you. you heard it again with booms following right behind it. praying on the chance it was real, that eren was really here, your legs took off, your calves burning with each swift movement.

above ground was a nightmare coming to life. the sky was dark. there were no stars to see, the only light from the raging fires. the attack titan's silhouette was visible, muscles rippling as he pounded another titan. there were so many emotions running through the track of your mind but there was one thought that stood out apart from the rest.

if eren was here, were the scouts here too?

then, you heard it. the unmistakable sound of odm gear being launched through the air. anxiety brewed deep within you, letting you know this might be your one chance to go home, begging you to not let it slip away the way jean had let you. tilting your head up to the sky, you saw them. the scouts, in a different uniform than you remembered, were zipping through the air with utter grace. they were angels compared to the relentless war behind them. you wanted to cheer; your saviors were here, at last. you opened your mouth, filling your diaphragm with all the air it would let you and you screamed. you screamed as loud as you could.

"help! it's me, (y/n)!" it was the only thing that came to your mind. you thought your efforts were useless, barely being able to hear yourself over the screams of men, women, and children. the fight between of titans covering up your futile attempts at a rescue. you were about to yell again when you felt an arm snake around you.

the air was cold, an unwelcoming breeze, as you flew through the air with an unknown liberator. your eyes closed as the harsh wind hit them. you'd long forgotten what it was like to be a scout. once being able to zip effortlessly through your environment, you found yourself taken back. the arm on your waist was warm and you reveled in the heat, despite the chilled air around you.

your flight came to an end and only then did you open your eyes. with wide eyes, you blinked, taking in your surroundings. you were on a rooftop now. you centered your eyes in front of you.

"(y/n?)" his voice is choked, barely getting through your name.

jean kirstein.

tears brimming in your eyes like a dam threatening to break, you had let out a guttural cry. the next word out of your mouth was much softer than the sound you'd just made. "jean." you whisper. jean didn't move as water collected in his eyes, spilling over and running down his face. "jean." he nodded his head, at a loss of words. his mouth opened but only the sound of war was heard. jean shook his head and lunged forward, engulfing you in an embrace you thought you'd never feel again.

jean's shoulders were shaking with sobs and the battle behind was long forgotten. jean was no longer a soldier; he was healing. the wounds you'd left had never closed. they were deep gashes all over his body, aching to feel you, to hear you at any given moment. with a single embrace, he felt them closing.

his palm cradled the back of your head, the other wrapped around the entirety of your back. there was nothing said here as you two breathed each other in, finding the love that was once lost with each breath. jean's voice was quiet in your ears.

"i'm sorry," his breath was warm as it poured over the side of your neck. "i'm sorry." jean repeated.

you found it within you to pull away from his arms. you could see him now. you could really see him now. you could see how the four years had hardened him. the only thing that was the same was his eyes. it was the same way he had looked at you back then. his eyebrows twitch with concern, awaiting your next word, scanning your face for a hint.

your mouth fell open, desperately begging you to say something, to say anything at all. the sound of your cry was barely heard over the explosions of thunderspears; your tongue failing you with words once again.

"i know, baby."

you rushed forward, meeting him once again in an embrace. your head became wet with his tears as yours dampened his neck. jean's arms tightened as he let out a shaky breath. "i'm here, baby. you're here with me, at last."

my jean fic 🤍