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angela-moore1996 · 11 months

Text

I Love You, Donna Karan

show: boy meets world <3

pairing: shawn hunter x angela!reader

synopsis: pretty much exactly like s5 e8 of bmw (just the shawngela parts <3)

word count: 3.5k

comments, likes, reblogs, and suggestions highly appreciated <3

౨ৎ･ﾟ:*

"So, I guess that's it. It's over," you sighed, gently pulling your hands back from Shawn's. You sat in a booth at Chubby's across from him, and he was letting you down easy. Not that you were phased. You knew what you were signed up for dating him.

"Two weeks," Shawn smiled apologetically, clasping his hands together. "You knew that going in."

"I did," you nodded, grabbing your things and standing up to leave.

"Wait...w-where are you going?" Shawn looked up at you with his puppy dog eyes.

You scoffed. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were done letting me down easy. Go ahead," you raised your eyebrows as you sat back down.

Shawn looked a bit taken aback, "Never mind."

"Are you okay?" you frowned.

"You're just taking this so well," he scrunched up his face like he couldn't understand how someone could still be standing after he rejected them.

"It was a great two weeks. We had fun," you stated plainly.

"Yeah, we did," he agreed.

"So?"

"So...see ya?"

You quirked your lips, nodding slightly before grabbing your things and leaving the booth. You glanced back at him before climbing up the stairs to the exit, unable to figure out his true intentions.

౨ৎ･ﾟ:*

Shawn Hunter might be a heartbreaker, but you were no saint either. You dated around, landing on Ted, a guy from your history class who seemed semi-interesting. You were regretting your earlier judgements as he seemed to love talking about himself and stealing your fries more than anything. You sat across from him in Chubby's, consequently the same booth you had shared with Shawn that day you broke up last week.

"So, Angela, the coach says, 'Scooter!' That's what he calls me, Scooter," the boy smiled, so full of himself it made you physically cringe. "'Go in there and save the day.'"

"Gee what happened, Scooter?" you rested your chin in your palm, trying for a grin. How could someone be so interested in himself and so boring to talk to at the same time? You have to make an effort not to roll your eyes. That would be rude. At this point, you would give anything not to hear another one of his heroic tales from the lacrosse team. He was on the bench for God's sake.

"Well, I saved the day," he continued, pointing at himself with both hands like it wasn't clear enough that he couldn't talk about anything else. Then, he leaned forward and had the audacity to ask, "You wanna make out?"

Thankfully, your knight in shining armor appeared...in the form of Shawn. This was going to be interesting. At this point, anything was better than having to press your lips against Ted's crusty, chapped ones.

"Hey, Shawn," you reached out to pat his arm.

"Hey," Shawn replied. He reached down and picked up your book. "Is this...a book of sonnets?" he sounded surprised for whatever reason.

"Yes," you said incredulously, raising one eyebrow.

Shawn started giggling maniacally, and for some reason, it was contagious. You laughed lightly, asking, "Why are you giggling?"

"Am I?" His voice broke a little because of how high-pitched it was. This only made him giggle even more.

"What's the matter with you?" you frowned, genuinely confused by his behavior.

He turned around, still laughing like a little kid. You saw that he was locking eyes with Cory, who said something to him that you didn't quite catch.

Shawn turned around, locking eyes with you now. He stared straight into your eyes, and you were more than a little weirded out.

"Shawn, why are you looking at me like that?" You were serious now. You didn't like how strange he was being at all.

"Because I never have before...," he trailed off, dropping your book before walking away to talk to Cory.

What a weirdo, you thought before shaking your head and turning back to Ted.

౨ৎ･ﾟ:*

On Monday morning, you walked into school early to ask Mr. Feeny a question about the history test. You found Shawn talking to Cory (who's surprised?) and walked up to them, hoping to talk to Shawn about the weirdness at Chubby's. Cory caught your eye, and it seemed like he was announcing your arrival to Shawn which caused him to turn around, look terrified, and bolt in the other direction.

Okay, now he was being even weirder than that night at Chubby's. You were suddenly nervous which made no sense. You were Angela Moore, you didn't get butterflies over boys.

Shawn ran into the janitor's closet and slammed the door behind him. Cory tried to open the door, but Shawn had evidently locked it.

"Hi, Angela," Cory smiled apologetically.

"Hi, Cory," you smiled back, raising your eyebrows.

"Uh, Shawn's in the closet," Cory explained as if you didn't just see him bolt in two seconds ago.

You walked up to the closet, pressing your ear lightly against the door. "Hey, Shawn," you greeted.

"Angela! You smell nice," Shawn replied.

You frowned. "What?" you mouthed to Cory. You rolled your eyes, walking away.

"Hey, Topanga," you greeted as you passed her.

"Hey, Angela," she replied back, walking to Cory.

You went to get some water from the drinking fountain before realizing how chapped your lips were. You knew Topanga would have some lip gloss you could borrow, so you walked back over to the corner she and Cory were in. Shawn was with them, so you guessed he got over his stay in the janitor's closet. When he saw you, he tried to bolt back into the closet before Topanga stopped him and pushed him toward you. What was going on?

"Hey, Shawn," you laughed a little at the frazzled state he was in.

"Hi," he smiled shyly.

"Do you wanna go out and get something to eat later?" you asked. This way you could talk to him, just as friends, without it being weird.

"I'd like that," he replied.

You nodded. "Oh, I saw this, and I thought of you," you smiled, pulling out a seashell you found on the lake trip you took with your dad the day before. You handed it to him before leaving, "See ya."

౨ৎ･ﾟ:*

The next day, you found yourself at Chubby's again after school. You picked a table near the stairs this time, with high swivel chairs. Shawn walked over to where you were sitting after picking a song on the jukebox.

"Vivaldi's Four Seasons, I love that," you smiled up at him.

"So do I!" Shawn sounded genuinely enthusiastic.

"It's so beautiful. If you close your eyes, you can actually see the seasons change," you closed your eyes briefly, seeing it even now.

"I said that!" Shawn was smiling a mile wide. "I said the exact same thing." He took a sip of his cola.

"You know, I really like hanging out with you. Maybe we could see a movie later on this week," you suggested.

"I hear there's a new Van Damme movie opening," Shawn grinned, almost as if he knew...

"I love Van Damme," you beamed at him.

"I know," he let out a laugh. "So, how about Friday night?"

"Oh, I have plans with Ted that night," you rolled your eyes.

"You're still going out with Ted?" Shawn sounded taken aback.

"Yeah," you said slowly, scoffing a little.

"Oh." Why did he sound...disappointed? "I'd better go check on our food." He turned to leave.

What the heck was that? you thought, sighing. We're just friends, why is he acting so weird?

"Well, here we go," Shawn returned with your fries.

"Great," you picked one up to munch on.

"Can I ask you something?" Shawn was staring at you again...just like the other day you were at Chubby's.

"You can ask me anything." You meant it.

"What do you think of Cory and Topanga?" he licked his lips, seemingly nervous like he needed you to tell the truth.

"I think they're a great couple," you nodded, satisfied with your response.

"Maybe we can have what they have." Well, that came out of nowhere.

"Shawn, we're not even dating," you frowned up at him.

"What do you call what we're doing right now?" Oh God, he didn't seriously think that...

"You asked me out on a date, right?" he smiled nervously.

"I asked you to go get something to eat," you stated plainly. So, this is why he was being weird. He...liked you. So why did your heart feel a pang as you let him down easy like he let you down two weeks ago? Why did you feel like saying yes to him despite everything?

"You gave me a seashell," his eyes were pleading now.

You looked down before staring back up into his eyes, "Sometimes a seashell is just a seashell." A beat.

"Look, Angela, I want to be with you more than anybody in this entire world," his eyes carried so much emotion that it was beginning to overwhelm you. "Why can't we be Cory and Topanga?"

You frowned, looking down at the food before turning your eyes back to his. "I'm sorry. I gotta go," you frowned at him, grabbing your bag and making a quick exit up the stairs.

౨ৎ･ﾟ:*

On Friday, you were once again at Chubby's. That place seriously got a run for its money from the entire John Adams High student body. Even now, you saw about twenty of your classmates warming the other booths.

You were in the same booth as you were during your last date with Ted. This time, he sat next to you. He was chatting it up about his favorite subject per usual: himself. You sighed, munching on a fry and listening to his pathetic lacrosse bench boy tales when in came Shawn.

Why did he always crash your dates with Ted?

This time, he cut straight to the point, heading for your booth and sliding in across from the two of you. He held his hands up, "Angela, hear me out. It will just take a minute. You don't mind, do you?" This was directed to Ted.

"You want a fry?" Ted mumbled, his mouth full. Gross.

Shawn shook his head before continuing, "Look, I read the same books as you, I listen to the same music, and I go to the same movies. So when I tell you how I feel, it is not just words."

"Hunter, I'm on a date here. Come on," Ted grumbled. You glanced at him, frowning, before turning your attention back to Shawn.

"Why are you doing this?" you needed to know. Why was he pursuing you relentlessly? So he could break your heart for real next time? "We went out. You told me it was only going to be for two weeks, and then it was going to be over."

"I know that you're scared, okay? I'm scared, too." Shawn gestured with his hands, "We both love Vivaldi, and we're both scared."

"I'm scared, too," Ted cut in. You rolled your eyes in exasperation, before turning back to Shawn.

"Shawn, you've never been in a relationship for longer than two weeks, and neither have I. We wouldn't know what to do," you stared into his eyes, searching for some sign of his sincerity.

"You know what?" Ted cut in. "This is getting too heavy for me, so I'm taking my fries and I'm leaving."

"Ted!" You cried, only halfheartedly.

"Oh, I paid for these fries," he stated before walking out.

You didn't mind him leaving that much. It almost felt like he was crashing your conversation with Shawn rather than the other way around.

"Give me a chance," you had never seen Shawn more serious in the short time you'd known him. "I-I just want to see you."

You lowered your head, glancing up at him, trying to discern whether this was a terrible idea that would crash and burn in the next week.

౨ৎ･ﾟ:*

You were at Barelli's the next night, next to Shawn. This was definitely a step up from Chubby's, but you weren't sure if all this was necessary. You had worn the nicest thing you owned, a hunter green sleeveless dress. The table was covered with a white tablecloth that was the cleanest thing you had ever seen, and you didn't recognize half the dishes on the menu, including the strange appetizer currently on your table.

"Shawn, this is really fancy," you gestured down at everything covering the table.

"You think this is fancy? I don't think it's that fancy," he took a sip of water as you did. As soon as the glasses left your lips, two waiters were there ready to replace them. Shawn glanced at you, trying not to show how nervous he was.

"Shawn and Angela!" you turned around, finding Cory and Topanga, dressed to the stars. "What a surprise, huh?" Cory chuckled.

"Hi, guys," Topanga looked perplexed at finding you and Shawn here.

"Talk about coincidences," Cory looked too happy for this to be accidental. Of course, he would plan something like this. "Of all the restaurants in the town."

"Yeah, and all the suits," Shawn added, which you didn't understand, but you shrugged it off.

"Enjoy," Cory and Topanga left you to find their own table.

The maitre d' appeared, "I have come to take your order. You no touch the pate. It's not good?"

"I really don't know what it is," Shawn frowned up at the maitre d'.

"It's...como si dice? Goose liver," he answered.

You swallowed, trying not to gag in front of the fancy maitre d' while Shawn made his grossed-out face at you.

"You requested it when you telephoned this afternoon," he continued.

"When I called, did I sound like I had curly hair and was ninety?" Shawn asked.

"Si," the maitre d' responded jovially.

After he left, you turned to your companion. "Shawn, you said you knew me. If you really knew me, why would you bring me here?"

Shawn hesitated, then pursed his lips before starting, "Because I have...no idea what I'm doing." Another pause. He started gesturing with his hands, "I-I don't know how to be myself around you. I really want you to like me, Angela."

"I do like you. If I didn't I wouldn't be here," you responded genuinely.

"So, then why is this so hard?" Shawn sounded slightly exasperated.

"I've never had a serious relationship either," you admitted. "Every time I got close to someone, I just figured it was best to get away before we hurt each other. Is someone gonna get hurt here, Shawn?"

Shawn looked long and hard at you before saying simply, "No. No, not if we're ourselves."

You looked down, swallowing, trying to convince yourself to believe he was being sincere.

"Hey, Eduardo," Shawn signaled over the maitre d'.

"Si?"

"Could you get rid of this and just bring us a couple of burgers?"

"You no like?" the maitre d' sounded miffed.

"No," Shawn stated simply, giving you a small smile.

"We like burgers," you added, returning the smile.

The maitre d' clapped, thankfully asking no further questions. "Barelli's is a place where all your dreams come true." He snapped his fingers at the waiter. "Two burgers!"

"Fries," you called. Very important.

"Oh, yeah, and get some ketchup, too," Shawn added. Essential.

"Hmm!" the maitre d' looked appalled, but he turned away, complying with your wishes.

Shawn turned back to you, "Do you mind if I take this tie off?"

"Oh, please, never wear a tie again, okay?" you leaned forward to loosen it for him. Shawn chuckled. "Why do you have that thing anyway? It can't be yours."

Shawn worked at loosening his tie further, tilting his head as he looked up at you, "Well, you know, I'm not one to give up any names, but...Cory. All of this was Cory." He smiled apologetically, "He's a good guy. He just wants us to have what he and Topanga have.

The two of you glanced over to the other side of the restaurant.

"That's it! I have had it!" Topanga stood up, throwing down her napkin, raising her hands up in frustration at Cory. "I don't want to put the Sweet'N Low in my purse!"

Cory shushed her vigorously, glancing around surreptitiously as if checking to make sure no one had heard her outburst. "You're going to get us in trouble in our place!"

"I don't want this to be our place!" Topanga screeched.

"You're ruining our anniversary!" Cory whined.

"What anniversary is this anyway? Is this the first time we kissed? The first time we went out? The first time we met? What? What is it?" Topanga was running her mouth a mile a minute, drilling Cory faster than you could keep up.

"It's the anniversary of the first time we ate at Barelli's! How could you forget?" poor Cory sounded genuinely upset.

"Because I hate Barelli's!" Topanga sounded even more upset. "I am 50 years away from going to Barelli's! Can't we just go downtown and grab a pretzel from a cart?!"

"Fine! I'm not making you happy? Go!" Cory shouted. "You think you're going to find somebody else at your age?"

Topanga was clearly holding back her next words, bringing her hands up, her perfect french manicure glinting in the dim lighting of the restaurant.

The maitre d' came back out with a consternated expression, "Signora Topanga, I must request that you keep your voice down!" He sounded pained.

Topanga actually growled at the maitre d' who recoiled immediately. "Thank you so much," he left quickly at that.

As comical as your friends' fight was, you couldn't help but feel nervous. "This is what scares me. You get close to someone, and you end up hating each other."

"Angela, there's nothing to be scared of," Shawn gave you that boyish grin he had perfected over his many years of flirting. "When two people are truly, truly in love, there's no way they can end up hating each other."

"Cory, look at us!" you turned your attention back to Topanga who was once again taking it out on Cory. "I am yelling at you, and you're not even getting mad at me."

"Grrr," Cory gave the saddest attempt at a growl you had ever witnessed. Even the baby lion cubs at the zoo could do better. You had to laugh at that, grinning at Shawn to know it was okay.

Topanga laughed in his face, "You call that a growl? That was pathetic."

Cory's face split into the inkling of a smile, "Well, I could never really get mad at you."

Topanga was calmer now, "Cory, I just don't want to celebrate any more occasions."

"I-I was just doing it 'cause I thought that's what you wanted," Cory looked more amused than anything else.

"No! I just want to be seventeen."

"Me too." At that, Cory cleared the table, pushing all the expensive dishes off the table where they crashed loudly into the ground. Eduardo came out of the kitchen, screaming as Cory pushed Topanga against the table, kissing her so passionately that it would make Romeo jealous.

You and Shawn grinned at them. "Shawn?"

"Angela?" he turned back to face you.

"I want what they have," you said before leaning in to plant a gentle kiss to his soft pink lips. Pulling apart, you looked up at him, noticing for the first time that there was a little green in those ocean eyes of his. You smiled at each other, realizing that everything would be okay. You would give this a try because you knew you could trust him to like you as much as you found yourself liking him.

౨ৎ･ﾟ:*

A week later, Shawn picked you up to come over for Thanksgiving at the apartment with Eric and Jack. The Matthews were with you, arms loaded up with various dishes for the big dinner.

Morgan opened the door to the apartment.

"Hey! Look, Jack, they found our turkey," clearly Eric had failed to procure and cook one himself. He eyed the one Mr. Feeney was holding with palpable relief written all over his face.

"Did you two actually believe that we thought you could pull this off, huh?" Mr. Matthews asked them as he walked in.

"You guys can't make toast," Morgan smirked at them.

"Eric, do you at least have some clean dishes?" Mrs. Matthews asked, disappointment already on her face.

"No," he grinned at his mom, totally unashamed at the barren state of his kitchen.

"I'll carve the bird," Mr. Feeney pronounced. "Now, everybody wants dark meat, right?"

"No!" everyone shouted in unison.

"I'm so glad I'm here, Shawn," you smiled up at him. He held out his hand for your taking before he walked the two of you into the apartment.

"Um, before we sit down, I'd like to say thanks for all the good things that have happened to us," Shawn announced to the family. "And to me," he added quietly, locking eyes with you once more.

౨ৎ･ﾟ:*

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enigma-im · 11 months

Text

Walk on the Wild Side

Rating: explicit

Relationship: Werewolf x F!Human

Warning: wild man, poaching, predator/prey play, clingy werewolf

Word count: 10,855

Taking care of animals and the park is a ranger's job. Though it's complicated when a werewolf becomes enamored with you.

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

The front door screeches on its old hinges in the front of the Ranger house. I look up from my coffee-making to greet a familiar face.

"Oh hey, Gavin," I look back to my drink, adding the necessary amount of cream. The door shuts behind the man with a loud thwack.

"Good morning, Ms. Alani, what brings you in so early," he asks as he steps up to the counter. I turn around and sip on my coffee, looking at the rugged man before me.

"I could be asking you the same thing," I answer back. He smiles, leaning on his forearms.

"I can't stop by to see my favorite ranger," he flirts. I roll my eyes but can't help the smile. I hide it behind my cup.

"Depends, are you sugaring me up for something?"

"no more than usual," he grins.

"Well, if you say so," I answer," but today I'm making my rounds. People have been reporting some traps around Little Bear Loop."

"Oh," he frowns," that's no good."

"Not at all, so I'm going to go scope the place."

"Make it sound like a crime scene already," he jokes," well, don't let me hold you up. I need to head back home and shower anyway. I smell like shit."

"Well, I wasn't going to say it," I tease. He chuckles, waving goodbye as he opens the creaky door again. I catch myself smiling even after he is gone. I shake my head and grab my hat. Duty calls.

Walking through the woods on a typical watch is rather boring, though peaceful. The tall trees give me a strange sense of size. I check around for any signs of caught animals though nothing really brings attention. Just another rumor I guess, or a miseducated hiker who saw some sculpture some kids made and took it as some 'sign of misdeeds'.

Following the path, looking at the nearly setting sun, I hear a whimper. I freeze. Listening carefully I hear it once more a distance off the path. Timidly I walk towards the sound, making as little noise as possible. The chance of a wild animal is high but the chance of it being injured is higher. Throwing out my self-preservation I venture onward.

I look every which way and catch no hide or hair of the mystery creature. As I give up and head back I hear a growl that finishes off in a whimper. I look around, jumping when I notice a half-hidden creature in a bush. It's lounged on its stomach, its lower half obscured by the leaves.

"Hello," I squeak. The creature doesn't move, glaring daggers up at me. I observe it, looking at its pinned ears and half-bared teeth. The animal looks like a wolf but wrong. Its muzzle is too short and its eyes too human.

A shiver runs over me just looking at them but I ignore them for the sake of my job.

"Oh, a werewolf," I relax," I'm sorry, I didn't notice." throwing out my caution I walk over to them, crouching near. "Hello, sir, are you alright," I ask. They don't answer, eyeing me suspiciously. Am I wrong? They sure look like a werewolf, maybe they're shy. I take a tentative shuffle closer causing them to try to shift away, whimpering as they do. Their leg stretches at an odd angle as they try to move.

"Are you injured, sir," I ask. They still remain silent, their clawed hand scratching at the ground. I observe their hand, seeing the human fingers littered with fur. Definitely a werewolf.

I stand and walk around to their legs, pushing the bush aside to get a better look. I wince at the sight, seeing large metal teeth digging into his ankle. Their blood is dried over the contraption, fresh blood leaking into his fur now.

"Damn hunters," I huff crouching down to free him," I'm so sorry, this area is supposed to be a no-hunting zone on the account of the park being so close. We have tried setting up cameras and have the staff keep an eye out. Generally, there isn't much to worry about here but I guess they have gotten brave." I press on a release switch, relieved when the hinges loosen. I grab at his leg while prying the teeth out of his skin. He yelps, lunging up and grabbing my shoulder. I stiffen at the contact, feeling his claws pinch through my coat. Looking up to him I gauge his level of potential aggression. He looks to be in pain.

"I just gotta get the teeth out and I can try to stop the bleeding. I have some gauze in my bag just for this sort of situation," I try to soothe. He nods.

I get the bear trap off and toss it aside before grabbing my bag off my back. I sort through my items, grabbing my first aid. With practiced ease I clean his wound, wincing with him when his nails poke through my coat. With the worst part over I begin wrapping his ankle.

With my focus elsewhere I barely notice him leaning closer, sniffing at my hair before dropping back on his rear.

"All good, do you think you can stand," I ask while lifting away. His hand clenches my shoulder, releasing me after a second. I watch him attempt to stand, looking stoic for just a moment before he stumbles and whines. Quickly, I grab his arms, offering minimal help with our clear height difference.

"I'll take that as a no," I chuckle. He chuffs, flicking his ear. I walk him over to a tree, helping him sit. I reach over to my belt and grab my walkie, calling up to the station. Standing, I take a step away from him. He startles me when he grabs my leg, tugging me back to his side. I don't bother with a response.

"Daryl, I need a truck to trail 17. I have a wounded man, he stepped in a bear trap and can't walk," I say to the walkie.

"Copy that, do you require medical to meet us back at the station," he calls back quickly. I look over to the werewolf, gauging the necessity of Daryl's request.

"Yea, I cleaned him up but he can't walk so it might be worse than I can see," I answer.

"Copy, I'll call Wendy. See you in five," he says.

I sit with the man, lounging with him against the tree. We wait in silence, listening to the birds chirping in the branches above.

"hey, a Goldfinch," I point above. The man looks up, he barks at the bird. We both watch as it flies away.

A rolling hum of a truck breaks the sounds of nature. I stand to greet Daryl but once again the werewolf stops me by grabbing my leg.

"I'll be right back, gotta go meet Daryl," I explain. He shakes his head, tugging me back down beside him. He drops me on his lap, holding me close to his chest. I immediately grow uncomfortable, feeling more in danger at this moment than when we first met.

"Sir, you have to the count of five to let me go before I hurt you worse than that bear trap," I growl. His answer is a chuff, sounding like a laugh more than anything else. With my own chuff, I look down at his leg and shove my heel against the bandage. He yelps, tugging his leg up and pushing me away. I take the chance of freedom and crawl out of reach. Twisting once out of range I see him cradling his ankle, whimpering as he does.

I ignore him, standing and heading over to Daryl. I meet him up by his truck, greeting him as he steps out of the car.

"He's down that way, you'll probably have to put him in the bed. I'm going to finish walking the trail and meet you back at the station," I say dryly.

"Alright," he looks to the woods then back to me," you ok?"

"Peachy," I joke," the werewolf is just a bit too touchy for my taste. Damn grabby men. You help em and they think it’s ok to grab you and jerk you around."

"Clearly doesn't know you if he thinks he can get away with that," Daryl chuckles.

"he sure doesn't," I huff," anyway, have fun."

I walk down the path, hands in my pocket and kicking rocks.

Half an hour later I'm at the driveway of the station. The sun setting just behind me. I take notice of the additional van next to Daryl's truck. Seems Wendy is still here. I head inside, hanging my bag on the hook by the door.

"Honey, I'm home," I jokingly call out. A head pops out from down the hall.

"Hey, you mind helping in here," Daryl asks, pointing into the room.

"Depends," I say skeptically as I head towards him. He ducks back in as I round the corner. The extra bedroom is alive with action. Wendy and another are attempting to calm down a writhing werewolf. The unknown person is trying to hold the man down while Wendy tries to undo the bandages on his leg. She passes a glance to me, doing a double take.

"Hey, glad you're here, can you help Jayce hold him down," she nods towards the unknown person. I nod, quickly walking in and helping Jayce. Not even a second after I grab his legs do I get snatched and pulled into a familiar hold. The writhing has stopped now that the werewolf's face is nuzzled against my neck.

"Hey! Stop it," I wiggle in his arms, thunking my head against his as I do. My arms are kept pinned to my side and my legs aren't able to kick him because he is on the bed. The only thing I have that I can hurt him with is my teeth. I bite his arm, cringing at the hair in my mouth. I bite softly at first, amping up pressure the longer he doesn't let me go. it's when my teeth actually sink into his skin does he growl, opening his mouth to bite at my shoulder.

His bite is gentler than mine but warns me with light pressure. I know his bite is worse than anything I can do to him. Pressing my luck I tug on his arm, still puncturing his skin. He digs his teeth harder against my skin, growling as he tries to tug his arm away from my mouth. His teeth start to sting, threatening to break through. Without much of an option, I let go, spitting out hair and licking drool off my chin.

"Good girl," he mumbles, licking my neck. I gawk, angry and frustrated at him.

"Oh, so you can talk," I bark," you dang jerk, let me go!" he chuffs, continuing to bathe my skin in his spit. I look to the others for help but Wendy has taken the time of calm to undress his leg.

"Daryl," I twist to him," Help me out." he nods. As he takes his first step toward me two people react. Wendy stops him and the werewolf growls. The rumbling in his chest feels weird on my back.

"Do not anger him again," Wendy snaps at Daryl before turning to me," bare with it for a second, he hasn't been still since he got here."

"What," I scoff," no! Make this man let me go, he keeps licking me and it's making my skin crawl." Wendy ignores my plea and looks at the newly revealed wound. It has stopped bleeding but the cuts look disgusting, if not a little mangled. I sigh, feeling bad for the beast-man. I guess I can tolerate his touching- and licking- for five minutes.

The werewolf lathers every visible inch of skin with his spit, even rubbing his cheek against it. His scratchy tongue makes my spine tingle with disgust. Every part of me wants to get away and take a shower. I count down the seconds till the doc wraps him back up.

Wendy rewraps his leg, adding a splint as well, before packing up her things. Jayce talks with Daryl while I once more try to escape this hairy man's hold.

"If you all are quite done then can you help me now," I shout into the room as the wolfman tries to pull me onto the bed.

"Oh, right," Daryl jumps into action. He walks to my front, reaching for the man's arms to pry off me. The man instantly starts growling, swiping out at Daryl with his long claws. I try to take advantage of the single-arm hold on me but the man is stronger than he looks. Jayce hops in to help, catching the wolfman's arm. Daryl grabs the other, dodging snaps of the man's teeth near his bicep. With a group effort, I manage to get out of the man's arms, crossing the room quickly.

I rub at the back of my neck, wiping off the spit," Don't ever tell me I don't do anything for y'all, now I need a shower." Daryl laughs, waving me off as I head for the door. Barely out of the room, I hear shifting and a shout. Wendy barks out a command as the Wolfman tries to hop off the bed. She and Jayce try to keep him down on the bed but he is too determined.

"Jayce, just get the muscle relaxer. I can't keep fighting him to relax and get some rest," Wendy says. Jayce searches through her bag, finds a needle, and rushes over to the man. Quickly, he plunges the needle into his arm, taking a step back as the man tries to swipe at him.

Slowly, the fight lessens till the man is flopped against the bed. Wendy releases him, taking a timid step back. The man huffs, dropping his head to the side. Without warning he lets out a loud whimper, nearly sounding like a wail.

I watch him try to lift his limbs, whining the entire time. He looks at me, his face pinched in frustration and strife. It tugs at my heart but his behavior has put me off from doing him any more favors. With a shrug, I walk off into the main room.

All down the hall, I hear the loud keening coming from the bedroom. Wendy and Jayce quickly retreat to the station to find peaceful silence literally anywhere else. I follow in their footsteps, grabbing my things and rushing out the door to my car.

I drive home, showering the second I can. The silence in my apartment has never been so good. I can hardly imagine how Daryl is doing with the whiney werewolf. One can only hope that the man tired himself out before it become too much for old Daryl.

As I lay down to sleep my phone rings. Dread jumps down my throat and into my stomach. I pray to whatever higher being that it's just a telemarketer. Looking at the screen I groan, flopping back onto my bed. I reach over and accept the call.

"You have reached Ranger Smith, if this is about Yogi then please hang up now," I joke in a deadpan tone.

"Hey, sorry to call late but 'yogi' has been driving me crazy. I have tried everything but he is as bad as a toddler with a sugar high. I beg of you to come down, I will owe you big time," he tries to persuade. I try my damndest to say no, to hang up and let it be his problem. Too many factors play in my reluctant 'ok'. Curse my compassion.

I dress quickly and head over to the station. The second I step on the porch I can hear the wolfman's whimpering. The sound reminds me of a puppy's first night sleeping alone. I drop my head and sigh, taking in all the courage and patience I can muster.

It seems right as I open the door the wailing pauses for a second. I walk down the hall, meeting Daryl in the doorway. The man behind him stops his whining, sitting up to look over Daryl's shoulder.

"Thank you, I owe you so much," he says with genuine gratitude.

"Yea, yea," I shrug him off," I expect a lot for this, got it?"

"Absolutely, I'll buy lunch for a week- no! A month," he smiles, patting me on the back as he steps out," Good luck."

I watch him walk into the main room, rounding his desk and flopping into his chair with a sigh. The urge to draw this out is strong, but it may start up the man's whimpering again. I bite back my pride and look at the wolfman.

"Hello, Yogi," I tease. He doesn't get the reference, just looking me over with his tail thumping against the bed. I walk over, stopping just out of reach. Despite that fact, he still tries to sit up and grab for me. I take a step back, just in case.

"you grab me again and I'll leave," I threaten. He drops his arms with a frown, ear flicking as he chuffs. I grab a chair and sit in the middle of the room. "I'm only staying for a little so you don't drive Daryl into mass murder, try to get some sleep," I suggest. He pouts, glaring at me with his arms crossed. I quirk a brow, nearly bored with all of this.

"Come," he growls, patting the bed with his tail.

"No," I say with a questioning tone. He nods, unfolding his arms to pat the bed. "no," I scoff, saying it with more confidence. He growls, sitting up straight. "You can try to look threatening all you want but I'm not going to lay in bed with you. Besides, I think I can outrun you so the growling and snarling aren't going to intimidate me into action," I lounge further in my seat, bouncing my heel on the floor.

He pouts some more, turning away with another flick of his ear. It's almost cute to see such a powerful beast resort to behaving like a child. The question rolls around my head though.

"Why do you want me there anyway? Most people don't just jump into bed with whoever saves their leg from a bear trap," I ask. He snaps his head to me.

He shrugs," Mine."

"Mine?"

He nods.

"What is yours?"

He points to me.

"No, I'm not yours. Try again," I answer. He shrugs, grinning slightly to himself like what I said was some sort of joke. "I'm not yours, I'm not anyone's," I say louder. He looks me up and down, still grinning as he does. The self-certain look picks at my nerves enough for me to stand and walk to the door. I'm not going to hang around some misogynistic werewolf who thinks he can just stake claims on people without putting in the work.

As I near the door he begins his whimpering again. I twist around watching him try to crawl out of the bed after me. He manages to get both legs on the floor, attempting to stand before falling hard onto the ground. My heart squeezes at the pitiful sight, the helpless look in his eyes. Without much thought I rush to him, helping him stand and getting him onto the bed.

"Jesus, why do you keep trying to mess up your leg more," I scold. He can't seem to care, his tail wagging as he tries to tug me onto his bed. "No," I shout, pushing away," we aren't doing this again!" he scratches at my coat as he pulls me onto the bed. I twist out of my jacket but he snatches my shirt instead. Managing to get me on the sheets, he curls around me, his tail thumping behind him as he sniffs at my hair.

He snorts as he withdraws," clean," he says with disgust. Before I can ask he once again lathers me in his spit. I wince, trying to wiggle away.

"No, stop it," I push at his chest," I just took a shower."

Try as I might he doesn't stop his tongue bath. Too tired from the day I finally cave, letting him do as he wishes.

It's over pretty soon, though I find myself willing to fall asleep. I try again to get away but he holds firm, arching around me to frame his body around mine.

"Why are you doing this," I grumble. He traces his nose around my hairline, giving small kisses to my eyebrows and cheek.

"Mine," he purrs.

"Why," I ask.

He shrugs, cozying himself before shutting his eyes.

"Why," I ask again louder.

"Don't know," he growls," just are."

"How do you not know, you're the one who said it but you don't know why you said it," I scoff, pushing against him to meet his eyes. He huffs, glaring down at me for preventing him from sleeping.

"Mate," he says," you mate, my mate. Mine. That's it. I want you, you are mine." the frustration comes across clearly.

"So you decided I was your mate after like five minutes," I ask," that's insane, how could you possibly make a choice like that?"

He shrugs," Werewolves different. You are good, pretty, strong. I want."

"I help you out of a bear trap and suddenly I'm 'mate' material? So if anyone else helped you, would you try to make them your mate?"

He snarls," No."

"Why not?"

He hugs me closer," You are one and only. Mine, only mine. Me, only yours."

I sigh, feeling like we are talking in circles. It's too late at night to bother with this, it's giving me a headache.

"Whatever," I grumble," will you let me go sometime soon?"

He chuckles, shutting his eyes once again. He presses my head towards his chest, humming while he pets my back.

The morning comes surprisingly quick. It felt like mere moments ago that I rested my eyes. I wake with my cheek resting upon a man's chest. A groan bubbles up my throat but I pinch it quiet, noticing the opportunity to escape. Slowly I slide away from him and twist off the bed. I bend my knees as I land on the floor, keeping the noise to a minimum. With the power of success, I rush to the door before checking that I didn't wake the man.

I'm startled by his appearance, but not surprised. He has forgone his beastly looks for a typical human form. His black hair is sprawled out on the pillow, wavy and unkempt. Scraggly bits of hair are on his chin and cheeks, poorly shaven. With a decent shower and a good haircut, he could pass for an attractive man, though he could use some extra food in his diet. He is rather skinny.

Admiring the man with a not completely off-put enjoyment I hardly notice eyes appraising me. It startles me when I look at his face to meet his cocky smile. I scoff, ready to march out the door.

"Should have ran when I had the chance," I huff.

"Wouldn't suggest it," he teases, grinning like a fool.

"Don't know, I still think I can outrun you," I tease back, scolding myself for even adding any playful banter to our relationship.

Without an answer, he bounces his brows with an arrogant grin. He throws the blanket off his legs, sits up, and twists his body out of bed. He steps smoothly onto his feet, not even wincing as he does. I dubiously look at his injury, still seeing the bandage wrapped around his ankle. It doesn't seem like it fazes him that he is supposed to be hurt. Also, it doesn't faze him that he is nude.

I meet his eyes, feeling dread pour down to my stomach. His posture stiffens, a smile pealing up his cheeks. Tension fills the room as my body readies for something to happen. I watch him, weirdly ready to move at a moment's notice. With a chuckle, he takes a hurried step forward. At the cue I bolt down the hall, aiming for the door.

I rush past Daryl sitting at his desk, hearing the wolfman pad down the hall after me. Grabbing my key off the hook I rush out the door to my car. I unlock it, getting jittery as I hear him slam against the door. I reach for the car door mumbling under my breath as weird excitement courses up my spine. As I jerk the handle it's pulled from my hand as the door is slammed closed. A body traps me against my car, forcing my stomach onto the cold metal.

Hot breath ghosts over my neck," what was all that about outrunning me?"

"I said I think I can outrun you, clearly I thought wrong," I grumble. He chuckles, lowering his head to kiss my cheek.

"Caught you, again," he teasingly takes a nibble on my jaw," you going to submit like last night or do I have to drag you back?"

"I liked you better when you could barely talk," I try to shove off from my car. He forces his chest closer to my back, properly pinning me to my car. His tongue laps at my neck, trailing up to my cheek. He presses a sweet kiss to my skin, brushing his nose under my eye while he grabs my chin. Twisting me towards himself he bumps his nose to mine. My stomach flutters with nerves, my lips parting in traitorous anticipation.

"Sir, I'm just going to ask you once to take a couple steps back from my ranger," Daryl says, his voice deep and threatening. I rarely hear that tone from him, only used on the worst of defilers in the woods.

The wolfman looks over his shoulder to Daryl. A low growl starts in his chest, vibrating against my back as it ramps in volume. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his fingers elongate, claws leading to a point. I watch him flex his fingers, digging his nails into my car. I nearly shout at him, momentarily distracted by his arm snaking around my waist. I look over at the wolf man and Daryl, annoyed at the situation already.

"Just because you found your mate doesn't mean you get to chase her down and harass her," Daryl crosses his arms," now stop being a moron and get back inside."

The wolfman can hardly pay Daryl's reasonable request any mind, too focused on some stupid animal instincts now. He snarls, baring his teeth at Daryl while holding me close. Daryl rolls his eyes, taking a step down the stairs. The man takes a step back, growling loud and pinning his ears.

"Oi," someone shouts close by," knock it off." a hand thunks the man on the head, distracting him. Beside us stands another ranger I've worked with since I first started here. Lily is a rather large woman of the mystical variety, her father being a werewolf like the man here. She hasn't inherited any of the shifting features involved with a union of a human mother and a werewolf father. Though her younger sister has.

The man looks at Lily confused, rubbing the back of his head with a huff. While he is distracted I worm out his arms and greet Lily properly before standing on the steps with Daryl.

Lily grabs the poor pup before he can lunge after me, snatching the scruff of his neck. She throws a friendly arm over his shoulder, holding him firmly beside herself.

"Ello, dear, what has gotten you all in a tizzy," she asks with a gleaming smile. The man ignores her, too busy trying to worm out of her hold. The sight makes me chuckle, enjoying how the situation has turned. Lily slaps a hand onto his neck once again, digging her fingers in till he bunches his shoulders.

"Mate," he grunts, finally answering.

"Mate," she asks, tossing a glance at me," Ms. Alani over there is your mate?"

He chuffs, nodding his head once.

"Well joyous day," she releases him, clapping him on the back instead," congrats brother on finding your dearest. Perhaps a word from the wise, don't go chasing the poor lady around the woods. It doesn't go over well for respectable women like her."

He grunts, finally looking at Lily with something other than irritation. She claps him on the back once more before dragging him towards Daryl and me.

"I'm Lillian by the way, Lily for short," she grabs his hand and shakes it. Daryl and I walk on ahead, still keeping an ear on the conversation behind us.

"Finley," he answers.

"Nice to meet you Finley, don't mind if I call you Finn?"

"Don't," Finley growls.

"So tell me, Finn," she trots on inside," why do you have the manners of a twelve-year-old?" I snort, chuckling as I pass the two a glance. Heading towards the makeshift kitchen I start up a fresh pot, grabbing a cookie from the cabinet. I lounge against the counter, watching Lily and Finley talk. They look friendly enough towards each other, almost like siblings though there is no relation.

The two bicker back and forth, Finley slowly fading back to human shape. Lily teases, tossing him her jacket to cover up. She catches me watching and passes me a wink as she keeps the man distracted. I take the opportunity to sneak away and grab some spare clothes from an emergency bag I keep around.

As I straighten my shirt I hear someone shout my name. I step out of the bathroom and head into the main room, greeted by a shifted Finley. He tugs me into a hug, his tail wagging behind himself. I awkwardly pat his back, looking over to Lily to translate any of the weirdness I've been dealing with for nearly a full day.

She shrugs," He missed you."

"Alright," I push him off," we gotta talk about this." I walk to the center of the room, arms crossed. Looking to Finley I point to the couch," Sit." he does as he told, Lily snickering to his right.

I open my mouth, to begin with the rampage of questions, glad for Lily's presence to add some sort of sense to all this. Before I can, I look at Finley, inspecting his short muzzle and erect ears.

"Can you, uh, switch back. I can't play charades with you through this," I ask. His ear flicks as he looks from me to Lily and back.

"can't," he fidgets.

"he's tense," Lily clarifies.

"Tense," I ask, "you're telling me about tense? I've been on this train of werewolf for about 20hrs now. I'm tense as fuck."

Lily shrugs, "Aye, but he is tense too. Just go on with ya question, dear. He ain't got ahold of his skills."

"Yea. What's that all about," I ask, gesturing to Finley, "He has been a fine line between wild and educated."

Lily shrugs again, looking over at him. She reaches out and flicks his ear. Finley jumps before baring his teeth at her. She just smirks.

"Gotta ask him," she answers.

"Ok," I turn to Finley, "What's with all this?"

It's Finley's turn to shrug. How helpful.

"What's your story? Where do you live? What do you want? What do you want from me," I list off all my questions. He doesn't get much of anything, deciding to zone out and look around the room. I take an angry breath.

"Give him a moment, he isn't typical," Lily defends.

"Damn straight he isn't typical," I fold my arms and sneer at him," the beast had me pinned to him all night without a care of the word 'no'."

Lily can't help but laugh, "to be fair even an everyday werewolf would do that. A mate won't hurt you but they are pushy as hell. My mother had a hell of a time one night when she had been harassed on the way back from work. My father wouldn't let her have an ounce of peace. It was a hoot for us kids to watch."

I roll my eyes," I can't find myself to be laughing at the moment. How do I cancel this? Or what's a better word? Break this mate thing?"

Lily and Finley went sober at the question, both glaring at me.

"What," I ask. Lily puts a kind hand on Finley before answering.

"You best not be speaking like that less you want the gods to hear you. This is a gift, Alani, there is no breaking once it has been done. And trust me, you don't want it broken. Not everyone gets blessed like this and you are speaking crazy. I'll give you a pass as you don't know what you have been given," she turns to Finley," she is an outsider. Please don't let this get to you."

I feel like a definite outsider now as the two share a moment. Why couldn't they have been paired off like this? I don't want to babysit- or be babysat by- this werewolf playing Tarzan. I can admit when he is human he is fairly handsome but not particularly my type. For starters, he is a werewolf. I don't want all that! Like, how do we even...you know? I've heard things from the grapevine and that sends a shiver of disgust down my spine.

I sigh," Can we just start at the beginning? Like who are you, where do you live?"

He shrugs, pointing out to the woods as an answer. We all look out the window, not completely grasping the reply.

"The woods," Daryl asks," we don't have any houses out there except some rentable cabins."

"Unless you live in the woods," Lily answers. Finley nods.

"You live in the woods," I ask," are you camping? Or going for an off-the-grid kind of thing?"

He shakes his head.

"ok, have you ever lived in a house," Lily asks?

He shrugs in a non-answer," House with Mom. Mom leave. No house."

"What," I startle at the answer. His mother left him?

"When was this," Lily asks, beating me to it.

He thinks for a moment," 14."

"years ago or...," I try to clarify.

"I 14," he answers. Lily and I tense at his words. He was alone since he was 14.

Lily turns to me," That would have been when he started shifting if he was a late bloomer."

My heart breaks at the implication. Was his mother a werewolf too? Was she human with her mate missing? A wave of protectiveness goes over me at the idea of my werewolf being left to fend for himself.

My werewolf?

Lily crouches beside Finley, he tenses a bit, jumping when she puts a comforting hand on him. "Why did she leave you, do you remember?"

He thinks for a moment, looking at me with a whine. He retreats into himself. Lily pets his back, to my discomfort. I draw closer, crouching in front of him. He sits straighter, watching me with a small wag of his tail.

"Why did she leave you," I ask softly. He whines again.

"Runt," he snarls out the word. Lily gasps, leaving me alone in the confusion.

I look at Lily," what does that mean?"

Lily snarls to herself," It means his mother didn't want a weaker offspring. She was a werewolf like him and probably had a few other kids. Disgusting. Not acceptable today. "

"Oh," I answer. The nuance is lost on me about how taboo this is but I know abandoning a child is downright wrong. My heart twists at the idea of him returning home and not seeing anyone around. A small child returning from school to his cabin in the woods just to find everything packed up and empty. My heart breaks a little and I can't help but reach up and hug him. He takes hold quickly, holding me like a lifeline. I pet his back, surprised when his fur retreats.

Finley pushes me back to look me in the eyes," Don't get it twisted, I'm still very capable to handle you, mate."

Well, that moment is over I guess. I huff, halfheartedly pushing away from him.

"You seem to have taken care of yourself enough," I stand," you made it this far without any of us knowing you were living in our park."

He sits back smug in his seat," Doesn't take much, humans are stupid."

Daryl and I resent that remark," Hey! Lily is half-werewolf."

Lily slaps the back of his head for the second time today," And you have a mate who is a human, you idiot."

He pouts," Most humans are stupid," he grumbles.

Before any of us can get a word out in regards to our demoted rank in the species list the door opens. In steps Gavin, all smiles and holding a box of donuts.

"Good morning everyone, I brought-," he stops as he looks up. In a sequence of events several things happen. Gavin notices a very naked man sitting in a chair. Finley notices a very familiar man standing too close to his mate. I notice a box of donuts, and Lily also notices a box of donuts. Daryl is worried about explaining the naked man.

Finley growls as his body forms into a beast. Gavin panics, dropping the donuts as he reaches into his jacket. I panic between the two freaked-out men. Daryl hustles over to Gavin, entrapping him into a bear hug before he can remove his side piece from his holster.

"A werewolf," Gavin shouts as he tries to wrestle Daryl off.

"You," Finley growls. He tries to lunge towards Gavin and Daryl but Lily catches him in the chest. Knocking the wind out of him as he is pushed back into the couch.

"Good god, Lily," I have half a mind to pay attention to anything else. Lily just slammed a werewolf into a couch. Don't get on her bad side, I guess.

She shrugs," He malnourished, it doesn't count," Finley wheezes," Sorry, dear."

We both focus back onto Gavin who is basically frothing at the mouth at the sight of Finley. Though werewolves are fairly known, a lot of people don't really run into them. The only one I know is Lily's family, outside of that I haven't ever casually run into them. Though I'd never know as they are generally human most of their life.

"Alani, run," Gavin calls out. I could almost laugh at such an obscene demand if it wasn't for Finley getting his second wind. He charges for me, catching me in a big bear hug. He lifts me, swinging me away from Gavin. Rushing me behind the couch like he was trying to guard me from shrapnel.

"What is happening," I ask utterly confused at this wild morning. I'm set down on the floor before Finley jumps the couch and charges at Gavin. He ducks Lily's attack and Daryl knows better. Gavin left to himself is tackled by the werewolf. Finley claws at Gavin, tearing his shirt and leaving bleeding lines across his chest. Lily and Daryl grab ahold and throw Finley to the floor. Gavin gains some level of self-control and rushes out the door. I'm peaking over the couch at all this mayhem.

What has my peaceful week become?

I round the couch as Lily is sitting on Finley who is wiggling and trying his darndest to run outside after Gavin. I'm over this already, crouching down to meet his eyes.

"Watcha doing," I ask all coy. He doesn't answer, instead growling up a storm. Teeth bared, ears pinned back. Oh yea, he is pissed. " you know I can't understand you like this," I cock my head to the side. He finds some calm, taking deep breaths and closing his eyes. He manages to wiggle an arm out from under himself and grabs my arm. Pulling me forward a bit he cuddles up to my hand. I roll my eyes, whatever at this point.

Once he is no longer thrashing and Gavin is nowhere in sight, Lily gets off him. I find myself utterly amused at the sight. They have known each other for a day and are already like siblings.

"Ok, mind telling us what that was all about," Lily scolds. Finley remains on the floor, huffing as an answer. I pull away from him to his dismay, and relax on the couch. I'm ready for a nap.

"He bad," Finley whines," Lust too."

"Excuse me," I pick my head up from resting it on the back of the couch," You were lusting?"

Finley sneers at the word," No. He lust you."

"Good god," I shout," can you be human for a minute so we can make sense?"

Finley rolls his eyes, getting off the floor and flopping onto the couch. He rests his head on my lap, turning his nose to my stomach. I look to Lily for some help.

"Just pet him, he will be fine in a minute. He doesn't know how to shift like typical werewolves," Lily answers as she heads to the kitchen. Daryl is just as done as I am with the day, heading over to his desk to sit.

I reluctantly pet his fur, wishing I could give him a bath. Slowly he begins to calm down, relax and shift. His fur retreats and there is a slight popping as his limbs go back.

"Ew," I mumble as I can feel it just under his skin. In just a moment he is back to the skinny hairy man.

"OK, now use your words," I say like a school teacher. Finley flops onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with a frown.

He looks at me," He wants you and I don't like that."

His pout is almost cute.

I scoff," Gavin doesn't- well probably- I mean he is- ok! Doesn't mean you have to kill the man over it!"

Lily chimes in from the kitchen," Sort of does."

"No, it doesn't! There are laws," I shout back. Werewolves are weird.

"He tried to kill me first," Finley pouts. Everyone stops what they are doing to pay attention now.

"Gavin tried to kill you," Daryl asks. Finley turns to my stomach again in a deeper pout.

"He set the metal thing," Finley grumbles.

"Metal thing," I ask, then it clicks," The bear trap?"

Finley nods and we are all shocked at the news. Gavin is our hunter? But he is just the guy who comes in to flirt and go for an early morning nature walks with a full backpa- ok I can see it now.

"Damn it," I shout, startling Finley," That motherfucker!"

I stand, Finley just barely sitting up to not be thrown to the floor. A surprising amount of rage overtakes my body. I can't say this has ever happened before. I charge to the back, grabbing the rifle we keep in a cabinet. What am I doing? I stomp back into the main room, startling everyone with my new item.

"Whoa," Lily jumps to action.

"Hey now," Daryl jumps as well. They try to stop me as I'm marching out onto the porch to look for that son of a bitch. I barely see Finley watching with a satisfied grin. Deal with him later. I have to fuck up that damn bastard for daring to hunt in my park. MY park. Hurt my werewolf. MY werewolf. MINE...oh this is new.

"What's your plan, Alani," Lily asks.

"You aren't going to just go shoot someone over this, are you," Daryl asks.

I scoff," Of course I'm not going to shoot him!" I continue charging ahead with the ranger crew in tow. Finley waits on the porch.

"Oh thank god," Daryl says.

"I'm just going to break his legs," I answer as I twist the gun around to wield it as a bat. I spot Gavin ahead on the trail leading into Little Bear Loop. I can almost see blood, besides the bit bleeding through his new shirt. He is happy to see me at first until he gets the whole picture. The crew tries to stop me but I'm running now. Gavin tries to back up but trips over the uneven path.

"You have been setting traps in MY park," I shout, now standing over him," hurt MY werewolf?"

"Your werewolf," Lily teases.

I snarl at her," Not the time!" My focus is back on Gavin who is still trying to crawl away. I catch up to him quickly enough and jab the butt of the rifle into his stomach. He wheezes and rolls to his side. I catch my foot into the crook of his elbow and flip his on his back.

Daryl tries to stop me but Lily stops him with a serious shake of her head. "I wouldn't if I were you," she says to Daryl. He steps back.

"Have you been messing with my woods," I ask sternly.

Gavin coughs," No, why would I-"

I hit him again with the gun," Don't lie to me now. Finley said you are the one mucking up my forest."

"He's an animal! Don't listen to him," Gavin tries to convince. That just pisses me off more. I wanted to hear him say it but this intolerance has pushed me to the point of not being interested in his words. He comes into MY forest and hurts MY mate, that won't do at all.

Where is this all coming from?

I press my boot onto Gavin's chest, sneering down at the pig. "I need cuffs," I say to the two behind me. They both peak up, looking between each other confused.

"We don't have cuffs, we have zip-ties though," Daryl answers.

"Same difference," I say. I hear Daryl run off, leaving me with a smiling Lily.

"How ya feeling, dear," She asks, seemingly already knowing the answer. I turn to look at her, and Gavin squirms under my foot. Stealing my attention back I lean more into his chest. His wounds bleed through his shirt again.

"Worm," I snarl at him.

"Why are you doing this," Gavin whines," that beast doesn't know anything!"

"knows more than you right now," Lily answers," I recommend ya shut ya gob before Alani here forgoes her 'no using the gun like a gun' rule. She is very persuadable currently."

"What," I ask," Persuadable?"

Lily waves me away," I'll tell you later."

Daryl returns with the zip-ties, helping me twist Gavin over to attach them.

"I've already called in the police," Daryl says," They should be here any minute. I can sit with him if you like."

I leave Gavin and Daryl, feeling rather invigorated. I feel a lot of things at this moment. Most of all I feel excited.

Lily and I walk back to the cabin, Lily stops a bit before the entrance to my dismay. Though I can't say why.

"Hey, I need to talk to you for a second," Lily begins. I turn to her, already bouncing on my feet.

"Yea, what's up?" Lily is smirking all-knowingly," What?"

She laughs," There is one thing you should know about being around a werewolf, specifically your mate. Not to give you the birds and the bees talk, heavens be I'd rather not, but you are going to be very excited to see Finley in a moment."

"What," I say confused," Why would I be excited to see him?" That was already a lie, I'm suddenly very excited to see him. I'm excited about a lot of things right now. Everything is so bright and amazing. The trees smell wonderful and I feel great.

"Lass, you are practically vibrating right now. My mother went through the same thing, it's completely normal. But I have to warn you, as your friend, you may want to go take a run real quick. Maybe clear your head for a second," she fights back a laugh at the whole conversation.

"Ugh, just spit it out already," I say, at my wit's end being so still.

"You asked for it," she mumbles," Ya right horny for Finley, when you see him it's going to be the starting pistol. It's a whole wolf thing that has a bunch of scientific mumbo jumbo which boils down to, ya get horny for your man. It calms down after a day or so. But heaven knows it's a drug while ya have it!"

I want to dispute her, to absolutely deny whatever she just said but God I feel wonderful. I should just go inside, I don't want to be with Finley. I mean we barely know each other. This is stupid.

"Ridiculous," I scoff," there's no way that's what happening. I just got that adrenaline from beating up on Gavin and making my park a little better."

I turn to walk into the cabin but the first step is uncertain. The door is a center point of a war in my head. To go in means certainty, to avoid it means...

"Ya feeling so sure now, love," Lily asks.

"Uhh," I take a step back," I think I'll take a walk, check for more traps."

Lily laughs," I'm sure."

Lily heads inside while I use this newfound energy to take up running. I run for what seems like forever, I don't get tired, I don't get winded. Though I'm sweating up a storm. After a bit, I begin to get hungry. Turning back to the cabin I become extremely hungry. I run back, bouncing to the porch before I see the door again. The war starts anew.

Instead of going in, I head to my car, put in the handle code, and grab for my walkie I keep in there.

"Lily," I call," Are you there?"

"Hello," she purrs," Getting tired?"

That know-it-all...

"Uh, no, just hungry," I answer," very hungry."

"I'm sure," I can hear that damn smile over the line, " I'll send Finley out with some food."

I nearly choke," Don't you dare!"

"Why not? He would be so eager to help," she teases. Sweat drips down my back, the humid evening air setting in. My body is at war at the idea of seeing Finley again. I know deep down I'm just wasting time, and even deeper down that I really want him to come out. Perhaps this whole mate thing is inevitable. Ineffable, if Lily had any say in it.

God, I want him so bad.

Before I can make a choice Finley is standing on the porch. My body nearly shuts down at the sight. Nude, the man slowly turning into a beast, hungry, hard, needy. Oh my. He takes a step and my body goes from a gooey mess to tight as steel.

"Don't," he growls as if reading my mind. He takes another step and I'm off like a jet.

I have a great big smile as I run through the woods away from Finley. I can hear him behind me, the leaves and twigs snapping and cracking under his weight. It's such a thrill to be chased like this, something I never thought would be. Damn werewolf magic. Though at this moment I couldn't care less about werewolf magic.

Finley gains on me, easily able to catch up but drawing out the chase. I feel all tingly inside, definitely wet. I wonder if he can smell it. I wonder if he is hard. I wonder what's going to happen when he catches me! I speed up to the best of my abilities, though it means nothing. The chase ends when he wants it to end.

I round off the trail into the woods. I can only imagine what this looks like to anyone camping nearby. A woman is being chased by some beast. Horror for some, is a smutty novel for me. I run past trees, over fallen branches, and through creeks. What a thrill! I only hope it can end soon though, I'm absolutely throbbing in my pants.

We near a cabin, my gut telling me to go in there. I take the porch steps two at a time and slam into the door. It flies open, banging against the wall. I stumble in, finding myself in a well-kept cabin that is clearly lived in. I forget my past activity and look around. This isn't one of ours.

Finley is behind me in a second, holding me against his chest. He wastes no time nibbling and licking up my neck. He palms at my clothed breast, rubbing a finger over my hard nipple.

"What is this place," I ask as I let my head lull to his shoulder.

"My place," He grumbles before guiding me to the floor. His place? I thought he said he doesn't live in a house anymore.

He covers my back as he directs me to my hands and knees. His arm snakes around my middle, pressing my ass into his crotch. Oh, that's nice. I'll solve the mystery of his living arrangements in a minute. Little distracted. I grind into him.

"Mine," He growls as he fumbles with my pants. I would laugh if I wasn't so damn turned on. He doesn't bother with any intricate maneuvers, instead ripping and sending the button flying. The zipper gives way and even tears down. I can't control my eager heart. His hand buries into my pants, fingers finding my aching clit. I choke on the moan ripping its way through my throat. It both hurt and absolutely laid me out with pleasure. My hand slips and I fall face down ass up.

"ugh," I grumble as I turn into my arm. He doesn't even bother with foreplay, is so long gone at this point, and begins trying to stretch me for him. His long fingers dive into my soaked pussy, scissoring. I grind into his palm which barely touches the one spot I need. I'm seconds away from begging before he takes his hand away in favor of ripping my pants.

If I had half a mind I'd be yelling about these pants. Too bad I don't have anything resembling a mind right now because his cock is slapping my ass.

"Ah," I whimper. He is over me again, his hairy chest tickling. He holds me tight as he guides his cock into me. I hiccup at the utter fullness I feel. Yes...

I am too lost to even care about anything else but being absolutely fucked. It seems he carries the same mentality. He begins with an abusive pace, his hips slapping against my ass. His growls are near my ear, I can even feel drool falling down onto my arms and shoulder. I sneak a view under me, resting my head fully on my arm. His balls swing to and fro. Why is that so hot? I shutter on the next back-breaking thrust, clenching up around him to get every inch of friction.

Finley growls, adjusting himself to have my legs between his. The slightly new position makes him snarl. Everything about him is driving me crazy with want. His hairy body rubbing against my sweaty one. The way his nails dig into my side as he holds me still to fuck into. Even the way he drools as he is utterly engaged with my pussy. I'm a wreck as my pleasure rises and rises, just a little more. I hear a crunching sound in front of me. I look up to see Finley scratching grooves into the wood floor. For some reason that puts me where I need to be. Just the idea of him absolutely tortured like I am.

I cum, biting into my arm as I watch his nails embedded into the floor. I'm utterly dizzy, absent even. I'm only even on my knees still because Finley is holding me so tightly. I'm trapped in the loop of pleasure as he gets his fill, me milking him as I ride this incredible orgasm. A thought though enters my mind without any prompt.

What's that thing I heard from the grapevine?

Before I can think harder a very thick piece is hitting the already sensitive walls of my pussy. With a guttural groan, it's pushed into me. I bite harder onto my arm, a few tears building at the edge of my eyes. Finley grabs my arm, tearing it from my mouth and setting his in its place. Alright then, I grab his arm and bite onto that. I hardly notice all the hair in my mouth but very much so notice the incredibly thick piece inside me. His thrusts have slowed to a restricted wiggle. He huffs, barely getting a breath before he is clamping onto my clothed shoulder. He chops down hard enough for the skin to not even be a proper barrier. I do the same to his arm. A heat fills me and I'm just in bliss.

We are trapped in this limbo for a moment. His cock barely moves as he wiggles for any more friction, I find myself doing the same. When he can no longer hold us both up he collapses to the side, hitting the hardwood with a loud thunk. I spit out his arm but he can't seem to let go of my shoulder. I'll just give you a minute.

I come down from it all a little faster than Finley, taking the time to look around at the cabin. There is a couch- wish we used that instead of this hard floor- and a coffee table. I have to work to see the kitchen just near the front door. I wiggle a bit to see any more of the room to Finley's dismay.

"Stop," he grumbles finally letting go of my now sore shoulder.

"Sorry," I whisper to him. Though I can't think why I should apologize. I didn't get stuck in him. Stuck? I seem to come back to myself at that moment. The sex brain fades to nothing. I look down at myself and then try to look over at Finley. He growls again as I wiggle about.

"Stop," he says louder. I ignore him, testing out my range. He pulls painfully at my crotch, and we both wince.

"Alani," He shouts," Stop moving."

"What is all this," I gesture to us," What is happening?"

"Sex," he says offended.

"No shit," I snap back," Why is it still going though?"

He grumbles in answer so I wiggle some more. He growls, throwing me onto my stomach with him closely behind. He settles his weight on me and keeps an arm below me to curl my body against him. His free hand takes it upon itself to rip my shirt. I haven't a clue how I'm getting back home now.

"You owe me clothes, dick, " I complain. He ignores me, letting the torn shirt fall to the ground. He reaches up and slides my bra strap aside. I wince as it angers my new open wound. His tongue laps at the mark he left, and I shudder. My pussy flutters around him as he cleans me. I'm both disgusted and euphoric about all that.

"What are you doing," I nearly whisper.

"Cleaning," he answers. Well no shit, I think.

"Why," I ask. He just hums, pleased with himself. I guess I have some embarrassing questions for Lily.

Finley settles into a comfortable position, leaving me to look around once again. "Whose place is this?"

He hums, "Mine."

"I thought you didn't have a place since your mom left," I answer back.

He shrugs," Sometimes mine."

"Sometimes yours, ok. I guess we will talk about that later. Another pin on the board," I mime putting a pin on a board.

I never thought sex with a werewolf would be so boring. I imagine it's been maybe 30 minutes and I've already counted everything I can see. When is this dude going to deflate? My ribs are starting to hurt being laid on like this.

"When is this all done? I really need to head back, it's already dark," I ask over my shoulder.

"Already done," he answers. Already done? I wiggle around not feeling much of anything. He is still in me but just barely.

"Are you cock warming," I say as I wiggle. He holds tightly, that damn beast.

"Stop," he growls.

"For what? We are done, why are we still here?"

"Cuddle," he answers simply. I scoff, freeing myself from under him to finally stretch. I shiver at the shifting fluids in me. Bleh.

"I need to get back and let the crew know I'm alive," I say as my shoulder pops. I groan as I stretch my back. God that feels great. I crack my fingers and I'm ready to take on a bear.

"No stay," he asks as he rolls onto his back.

"I have work, and as far as I know this isn't really your place. Trespassing like a bunch of teens snogging in the woods," I say as I look around for anything to wear. I find a blanket to wear as a toga. I wince as I stretch my shoulder to pull the blanket from behind

"My place," he thuds his chest," our place."

"Whatever, I gotta go," I tidy myself and head to the door. Finley keeps himself where he is, all hairy and content.

I walk alone in the woods back to a familiar trail. I follow it until the building shows up. I take the walk of shame up the porch and into work. I see Lily at her desk, turning in her chair with a smug look.

"Not a word," I snap. She barks a laugh.

I stomp past her to grab some proper clothes from my bag. I debate showering here, the hot water doesn't work but I am covered in filth. The cum dries to my leg and that settles it. I take a quick shower and put on mostly clean clothes.

I walk back out into the main room and fall face-first onto the couch, utterly exhausted.

"So how'd it go," Lily ask with a shit-eating grin. I glare at her but give up. I twist onto my back and look at the ceiling.

"What was any of that," I begin," like magic is all like 'horny time' and we are running through the woods like some sexually primed fae ready for a good fuck. Then he is all growls and claws."

"Sounds about right, " Lily says.

"Then," I shout as I sit upright," you didn't warn me about the locking."

Lily is in fits of laughter as I rant on and on about tonight.

"Also! He lives in a cabin in the woods but just doesn't use it," I throw my hands around in confusion," like?"

"He is a lost cause but he is your lost cause now," she says.

"Oh and the biting! What was that," I shout," it fuckin hurt as did the locking. I feel all gross about it all, embarrassed."

Lily scoffs," No need to be embarrassed, ya dork. You two are going to be a very strong match. Just give him a chance and it will work out. But as for the biting, that's just nature. No way that wasn't going to happen."

I huff, shaking my head," I need a drink."

I get up to grab the hidden bottle in the back, ready to just be piss drunk tonight. Nothing makes sense, cheers.

The front door opens and a very pleased Finley walks in. Human and naked.

"Not an inch of modesty, lover boy," Lily teases.

"Then grab me some clothes," he answers. While I'm back here I grab one of Daryl's pants and meet Finley at the front.

"Here," I toss him the pants. He lights up at the sight of me, already taking steps forward. "Nuh-uh," I stop him," pants first."

He rolls his eyes but begins the pants process. I fall onto the couch and take a swig of the burning liquor. Needs to be watered down, but do I care enough? I take another mouthful. Finley falls on the couch beside me, cuddling up with his scraggly beard. Lily laughs at my deadpan look ahead.

"So Lily," I take another drink," what now?"

"Happily ever after," she suggests.

I ponder the idea for a moment, looking over at lover boy. If he cleaned up he would honestly be so attractive. He could be a great help here in the park, perhaps another ranger. Could clean up 'his' cabin and bum out of there for a bit. All I know is he needs a shower and a shave.

"If I must," I answer Lily. Finley snuggles closer, content as can be.

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

Hello! This is the last story for my October run. I hope you enjoyed them, it's hard to write around a job. Though I continue to have ideas, I just can't set aside 5 hours to write them. So I collected the ones I could finish and released them together for Spooky Month!

Check out my Archive | Masterlist | Main Blog| Ko-Fi

#exophilia #enigma-im #monster boyfriend #fluff #monster lover #werewolf #savage man #werwolves #hunters

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chiefcheesecakemaker · 1 year

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Texts between mc and the bross

Asmo

mc: ASMO GURL THINGS WITH WATERHOUSE TOOK A DRASTIC TURN

Mc: PINEAPPLE IS BREAKING UP WITH WATERHOUSE

Mc: OMG

Mc: LOOK AT THIS

*sends screenshot of a conversation*

asmo: OMWKAOAIWKAJW OMG FINALLY

asmo: I'm so happy pineapple broke up though I think pineapple should step on legos

mc: I'm low-key happy that Waterhouse no longer needs to be together with pineapple besides I think pineapple likes Grape

Asmo: GRAPE!? poor grape no grape has to be together with pineapple I liked grape

Mc: yeah me too

Mc: me and pineapple are done I hate pineapple so much

Asmo: finally f**k that b***h I never ever liked her can I name the red flags?

Mc: not rn busy crying

Asmo: no way doll I ain't letting you cry over trash I'm coming to your room see you in 0

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codenameredkrystalmatrix · 8 months

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Another Life

Perhaps parts of us die, but revival is all the more fulfilling for it.

A shape bounded across the crags in superhuman leaps. His roar startled the local wildlife out of their hiding places. Pants for air mingled with the early morning mist. It was brisk out, as chilling as his aura. The minimal light brought to bear hints of his rigidity in feature. His eyes burned with the hue of all the suns that had never smiled on him.

He was hated.

He was feared.

In trying to take a step forward, his body locked. Savage, after 5 hours of training (or rather, trying to pound the ghosts in his mind with his fists), had reached his limit. His legs buckled. Now on the ground and slumped against a tree, he stared at bloodied hands.

He was nauseated.

Just as that very first day under Count Dookou, he felt his frame crumble. Without the resentment driving him forward, he was no longer sure why he trained. Still moving in that way without the purpose behind it was to live as the undead.

His breath condensed, translucent tendrils rising and becoming lost among an invisible, infinite sea of particles. The world had a lighter tint, blue-grey and so very cold. The silhouette of the forest canopy drifted slightly in the breeze. The damp of the forest floor reached under his skin.

Stillness....

...but for the wind rustling the leaves...

...and the occasional caw among the trees....

The rage faded to a soul-sucking numbness. He would end things for the moment.

Walk.

To hands and knees. Then he staggered to his feet, and took a deep breath. One foot at a time.

Walk.

His body grudgingly obeyed.

Thump.

Another breath, another step.

Thump.

Boots dragged, heaved, stumbled past tree trunks, logs and scampering creatures, past wide-eyed faces to a little hut at the edge of the town. His fingers fumbled around the door's handle and guided it open.

The scent of caf and roasting meat permeated his senses. The hissing of the Dark Side, the biting air and the lingering resentment had no place within those walls. That old, painful skin they formed around his being began to slip. A breath left his lungs, and he stepped beyond the threshold.

Warmth. Quiet. Darker than the outside.

You moved about at the dining table, wearing an apron while setting the table. From the moment you looked up, you could guess at what kind of morning it had been. He still looked a little wild. You kept your voice low for a soothing effect.

"Take a shower, and we'll have breakfast, ok?"

You were not a threat. You weren't ordering him. Crossing the room in three strides, he stood behind and embraced you, the pads of his fingers pressing into your waist.

"Thank you."

He nuzzled your neck to remember your scent. Citrus, muted with something mild and fresh. You were soft. The arm reaching up to caress his jaw reminded him you were kind. His pulses, finally, slowed down. You wouldn't hurt him. You never did.

"Thank you." He breathed, a low, continuous rumble starting from his chest.

"Of course, my love. Now you..."

You turned, lifted his face with both hands, and looked into slightly-glazed eyes. "...should go freshen up. I'll be here."

Pecking his lips elicited a small sigh from him. "Promise me."

Longing, a dash of humour, and...fear. You wondered if, sometimes, he felt like he was walking in a dream.

"I promise."

After a few more moments, he left for his quarters. The hot water soaked him and refreshed his body. His mind could wander to lighter things. He remembered spending hours inside the fresher when he'd first arrived, in shock that he could just...stand there without urgency- and that he could be truly clean. Flying around the galaxy did not afford such pleasures.

After he dried himself and changed, he joined you in the dining room. As you said you would, you'd laid food out for you and him. The tension in his body loosened, and he could savour each flavour of the meal. He took the dishes and washed up once the both of you were finished.

His glances outside looked weary. Maybe he'd like something different. "Do you want to stay i-woah!"

You laughed as you found yourself slung over his shoulder and on the way to his room. Unbeknownst to you, a soft smile was dawning on his face at the fact that you weren't resisting.

Laying you on the bed, he rested his face on your stomach and wound his arms around your middle. (He wouldn't confess it, but that was one of the reasons he'd filed his horns low.)

You moved your hands along his shoulders, kneaded his neck, then moved to his upper back. On the golden and inky canvas, scars lurked. Long since having learned their contours, your hand traced gashes, puncture wounds and burns alike

The warmth permeating your little hut had finally found a hold inside him, welcoming him home. Being lulled by your touch, Savage closed his eyes. In this new world- this new life...

He was cuddled.

He was kissed.

He was held.

He was loved.

#savage opress x reader #savage opress #star wars #the clone wars #domestic fluff #fluff #light angst

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ballad-of-birdy-lamb · 1 year

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Hello everyone, I am ballad-of-birdy-lamb, but you can call me Birdy! I used to be Mystic-bumble, but I accidentally deleted my account. 😭

I will write for The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream, Brave New World, 1984, To Kill a Mockingbird, and Fallout!!!

___

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream

Brave New World

1984

To Kill a Mockingbird

Team Fortress 2

Fallout

Rules for requesting

Rules for following

____

You can ask to add characters to the list if they are not already on here!

I will be trying to get my old fanbase back, so if you see any posts that seem copied that you have seen from mystic-bumble, please know, that was my dumbass.

Thank you so much for reading this! Please ask in my inbox! I will be posting just shortly!

Like and follow for more!!

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peggysousfan · 2 years

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Among the Dead (New fic!)

Among the Dead- A Walking Dead Bellarke story

The Ark was dying, its Oxygen supply running out. With little options left the council decides to make a hasty decision to send the prisoners from skybox to the Earth's surface. Not only would sending the hundred give them time to fix the oxygen, but to see if the ground could once again be called home.

When the hundred land on Earth they find much more than they bargained for. Not only do they discover the safety of the air but that they were far from alone. There were grounders, survivors from the bombs, and the living dead.

Will the delinquents survive alone with the walking dead? Or will a blonde stranger from the ground lead them to safety?

Chapter 1

I wasn't initially going to post this fic until later in the year but I was requested to write a Walking dead Bellarke fic. The funny thing is I already started this story months ago, so with the request I decided to post early :)

I will post chapter 2 later this week!

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sigurism · 7 months

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Neil Burstyn & John Davis Chandler The Young Savages Dir: John Frankenheimer

#<3 #babies #the young savages #john frankenheimer #neil burstyn #neil nephew #john davis chandler #mon trésor #my pic #my edit #conradrasputin #you need to fluff up those curls #he's so pouty and sweet looking #always looking after his other half

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thatonegeekygirl · 2 years

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He Fought the Law (And the Law Lost): IZ Fanfic

this oneshot takes place in my strange but true au, so its zadf with good but still chaotic zim and teen dib! i started out writing this as crack, and it kind of stayed crackish, but also segued into fluff and a bit of angst. i possess 2.7% understanding of the american justice system so sorry if thats all nonsense, i am so, so welcome to suggestions. crossposted on wattpad. idk what else to say here?? have fun reading ya'll!

Dib woke up to a cheery Saturday morning, nowhere to be, and the smell of bacon drifting up from the kitchen downstairs. He stretched and yawned, his too-big UFO pattern blue pajamas hanging from his reaching arms. Gaz repeatedly claimed that too-big UFO pattern blue pajamas were an embarrassingly childish thing for a 17-year-old to own. Dib repeatedly ignored her. He’d gone his whole life tuning out the people telling him he was a weirdo, and he wasn’t about to stop now. He grabbed his glasses from the side table, kicked his feet loosely over the side of the bed, and stood.

“Dib! Breakfast!” His sister's insistent voice yelled from downstairs.

“Coming!” Dib called back, picking his third pillow off the ground where it had fallen in the middle of the night, and throwing it back on the bed. He grinned as it landed perfectly in position between the two larger pillows. Well, if the whole paranormal thing doesn’t work out, at least I have competitive bed making as a fallback plan. He snickered to himself and padded to the door. He turned the knob and walked through the threshold, sniffing scents of bacon and egg hanging in the air, and–

I am an alien I am an alien I am an alien I am an alien–

The ringtone was a single lyric from the song Alien–surprise, surprise– repeated over and over again, and Zim despised it. Whenever he was reminded of its existence in Dib’s Short Angry Space Man phone contact he flew into a paranoid rage, ranting about how the humans may ‘grow suspicious’ or ‘connect the dots’ and snatch him up for experimentation. Dib replied to this with ‘they won’t connect shit’, and Zim neither appreciated the sentiment nor understood the reference. Dib crouched and fumbled about in his jeans’ pocket for a long moment before lifting the jeans off the floor and shaking them until the stubborn phone fell out of them. He picked it up and accepted the call, quirking a smile at the profile picture displayed on the screen–a blurred Zim with an enraged expression which Dib had taken after calling the Irken ‘shorter than the dwarfs’ in the Lord of the Rings movie they’d been watching.

“Hey, Zi–” “DIB!”

Dib winced and pulled the phone away from his ear. “C’mon, man!”

“The angry blue humans have taken me hostage!”

Having gotten good at reading between the lines with Zim, Dib replied, “You’ve been arrested?”

“If that's what you Earthlings call shoved in a flashing vehicle, handcuffed to an infuriatingly dull adult human, dragged into a crumbling concrete building, and forced to stand in front of a striped wall while being assaulted by blinding lights before being tossed into a crowded, disgusting, primitive holding cell, yes,” Zim spat. Dib rolled his eyes at the sneer in the alien’s voice and said, “Settle down. What’d you do to get in trouble with the police? Wait, don’t answer that, I don’t even want to know.”

“Cease your worrying, human, there were no casualties! Not today, anyhow,” Zim said. “GIR and I were out purchasing the new flavor of Suck-Monkey–the reason for his love of those things is beyond me–and as we were exiting the establishment these two security drones appeared, took GIR away, and Irken-handled me into their whining car!”

“That's weird…I’m pretty sure it's illegal to arrest minors like that…you were wearing your disguise, weren’t you?” Dib asked, suddenly worried.

“Of course I was wearing my disguise, Dib,” Zim answered snidely. “What do you think I am? A human?”

“Nothing like some extraterrestrial racism to start off the day…” Dib muttered to himself. “Okay, Zim, I’m coming down to the station. I’ll be there in about 20 minutes. Do you know where they took GIR?”

“Do I look like a floogaschmog to you!? No I don't know where GIR is! If it weren’t for these confounded witnesses everywhere I’d–SHUT UP!”

“Jeez, Zim, I didn’t even say anything–”

“You and the other pitiful policing man informed me I had one phone call, you never specified the length of time it had to encompass!” Zim’s voice screeched, slightly muffled, as if he had pulled the receiver away from his mouth. “Well ya shoulda thought of that before you gave me the phone, moron!” A pause. “I don’t care if you're going to ‘be in deep shit’ with your superior! DON’T TOUCH THE PHONE OR ZIM WILL BITE YOUR POINTING DIGIT OFF!”

Another pause, and then an annoyed huff blew from the line. “Insolent human. Anyway, GIR is in no danger, no matter where they took him. He’s nearly indestructible and equipped with top of the line Irken laser cannons and numerous knock-out drugs. Whether or not he possesses the presence of mind to employ them, however, is an entirely different problem...”

“Alright,” Dib sighed. “I just have to get dressed and I’ll head over. You really have no idea what you’ve been taken in for?”

“Not a flu.”

“The phrase is ‘not a clue’, idiot.”

“ZIM IS NEVER WRONG! Goodbye, Dib.”

The line went dead.

Dib pinched himself once to make sure he wasn’t just experiencing a particularly vivid nightmare, groaned when nothing happened, and shuffled to his closet to pull on some clothes.

__________________________________________

“Dib! If you don’t get your ass down here I’m eating your bacon!” Gaz yelled.

Dib half dashed, half jumped down the stairs, tugging on a red plaid sock. “You can have some of it,” he said, slipping into the kitchen. “I don’t have a lot of time to eat. Zim’s gotten himself arrested.”

“Took them long enough.” Gaz smirked, grabbing a piece of Dibs bacon out of the pan on the table. “What was he doing up so early on a Saturday morning?”

“It's 10:30,” Dib mumbled around his toast.

“And a Saturday.”

“...I concede to your point. GIR wanted the new Suck-Monkey flavor, y’know, pineapple rosemary or something along those revolting lines. He probably saw it in an ad during his early morning cartoons. You know how he can get with that sort of thing…”

Dib and Gaz shared a knowing look.

“That was a dark day.” Gaz nodded solemnly.

“Well, Zim did something at the wrong time and place and now he’s locked in a holding cell. Hopefully this is all just some big misunderstanding, like they thought Zim was a lost kid, or he’s reading the situation wrong,” Dib rambled, “but whatever it is, I don’t have much faith in Zim’s ability to get himself out of it in a way that doesn’t involve bribery or murder, so instead of watching the latest Mysterious Mysteries, I’m dealing with a deranged alien and a couple of irritated government employees.”

“How do you know they’re irritated?” Gaz asked.

“I’d assume that if someone called you a moron and threatened to amputate your finger, you’d be irritated too,” Dib huffed, grabbing his blue zip-up hoodie off a chair and his car key from the key rack. “Dad! I’m going out!”

“Don’t drink and drive, son!” Membrane called from the depths of his downstairs lab.

“It’s a sunny Saturday morning and the only friend I have to peer pressure me into drinking alcohol is an insane 170 year old alien,” Dib grumbled under his breath. “But thanks for the advice, Dad.” He swallowed the last of his toast and grabbed a second piece of bacon. “See ya later, Gazlene.”

“Good luck!” she yelled after him as he tromped out the door. “And don’t call me that!”

Dib shoved the second piece of bacon in his mouth. Technically, the handsome blue truck parked in their driveway did not belong to him. Technically, it belonged to his dad, but his dad never drove it–he preferred to take the massive white van containing a full-blown lab in the back and bearing the Membrane Labs logo on the side–so Dib had largely free-reign over it. Exempting the times Gaz demanded he loan it to her to practice her driving. It was a small truck, nothing like the behemoths that Dib occasionally saw dragging trailers or boats through town, and a well-loved one. Candy wrappers and empty cans were scattered about the backseat, numerous paranormal stickers dotted the outside, and various and assorted stains of unknown origin–cough cough GIR cough cough–coloured the interior. The cover for the hazard button had fallen off, claw marks left by an anxious Zim lined the bottom of the passenger seat, and the center console was filled with wads of cash and odds and bobs picked up from his past adventures. In the covered trunk Dib stored a plethora of investigating equipment, everything from wildlife cameras to satellite dishes, just in case he caught a big break and didn’t have time to grab his main gear from the house.

Dib pressed the unlock button on the key and the truck honked and flashed once. He yanked open the driver door, slid into the seat, and started the engine in one smooth motion. He then proceeded to spend a solid 20 seconds fumbling about with the seatbelt. Once he’d finally got it clicked in properly, he backed out of the driveway with all the care of someone who’d accidentally knocked over multiple lawn ornaments and mailboxes. Really, once he was on an actual road, he was a great driver. Honestly.

Fortunately, it seemed to be one of those Saturdays when no one wanted to leave the house and the roads were mostly empty. A few stray bicyclists wound their lazy way down the main street, and Dib had an awkward confrontation with a silver Soobaroo at a four-way stop, but either than that the trip was uneventful, if a little rushed. Four minutes over the allotted time he’d given Zim, Dib pulled into the parking lot of the police department. Patting himself down just to make sure he hadn’t accidentally put a bomb in his pocket when he wasn’t paying attention, he took a breath and exited the car. He nervously swallowed once, before opening the glass door and heading into the bowels of government agency. He’d spent plenty of time trying to get into the station to expose Zim, but that seemed an easy task compared to that of getting the alien out without doing so.

The inside of the building was friendly enough. The wall to his left was lined with pamphlets advertising various help centers and safe drinking habits, and the glass window was covered in flyers for local businesses and performances. Past another set of glass doors lay a receptionist’s desk. After a moment's consideration, he pushed past them and walked up to it.

“Hi,” he said.

“Good morning, sir, what can I help you with?” The receptionist, a young man with blond hair, asked.

“I’m here to see my friend? He was arrested earlier this morning? His name is Zim,” Dib explained uncertainly.

“Ah, you must be Dib,” the man said, “come with me.”

He stood and motioned for Dib to follow him. He led him down a long corridor, down a set of stairs, and up to a locked door. He unlocked it with one of the keys hanging from his belt and gestured for Dib to enter.

Inside was a desk, two police officers, a man in a suit, three chairs, and a very angry Zim. He was sitting in one of the uncomfortable looking chairs and was also handcuffed, a thing he didn’t seem at all happy about. As he said he had been, Zim wore his disguise. However, he was not just wearing his wig, contacts, and pink uniform, but also a pair of those cheap, slapstick glasses with bushy black eyebrows, a tiny square mustache, and an obnoxious large plastic nose.

Dib, tired and utterly confused, had just enough brain power to deduce that the glasses may have had something to do with Zim’s current arrested state.

“Sit down,” the man in the suit said.

Dib complied, wincing as the hard plastic of the third chair dug into his spine.

“My name is Constable Buckley. You may call me Constable,” the man in the suit said. “You and Mister Zim are friends, correct?”

“Yes…” Dib replied, still staring at Zim.

“Then perhaps you can shed some light on why, exactly, he was recently charged with kidnapping?”

This startled Dib out of his stupor. “He’s been what!?”

“I take it you were not aware of this until now.” Constable eyed him.

“No!” Dib shrieked. He whipped his head back around to boggle at Zim. “We really need to get your information sharing priorities straight!”

“How was I supposed to know!?” Zim hissed back.

“Quiet, please!” Constable boomed. “Listen up. Unless it is quickly proved that Mister Zim is not guilty of these allegations, he will go to court.”

That was not good. Zim in court was the last thing they needed. He’d probably piss off the judge and jury so much with all his insults and overbearing attitude it wouldn’t matter if he was guilty or not. Best case scenario, he went to prison for a long time. Worst case scenario, he outed himself as an alien and Dib never saw him again.

“Okay. Okay…deep breath, Dib,” he muttered to himself. “Why exactly is he being charged with kidnapping?”

“Mister Zim was seen leaving the gas station on 4rd Street with a young child wearing a green dog onesie, looking aggressive and generally shady,” Constable explained. “Officers Carp and Chinook intercepted him and asked the child if the man he was with was his parent or guardian. The child, we now know his name to be Gyr, replied, quote, ‘Naw!’. Carp and Chinook, just to be certain–kidnapping is a serious charge, you know–asked Mister Zim if he was Gyr’s parent or guardian. Mister Zim replied, quote, ‘Ugh, of course not! Leave Zim be!’. This prompted my officers to arrest him and take Gyr into their custody.”

“You two have GIR!?” Zim cried, twisting around to glare daggers at the officers standing behind him. “Why, you–”

“MISTER ZIM!” Constable roared. “If you do not behave I will be forced to return you to your cell!”

Zim settled back in his seat and attempted to cross his arms haughtily, a task made difficult by the handcuffs. Eventually he gave up and settled for clenching his hands in fists by his sides.

“Thank you,” Constable said. “Now, is there anything you can think of, Dib, that may prove Mister Zim’s innocence?”

“Oh, just one thing…” Dib reached out and ripped the glasses off of Zim.

A collective gasp filled the room. Surprised and horrified ones from the police, and a pained and furious one from Zim as the tape holding the glasses on his face was mercilessly torn off.

“Good God…” Constable muttered, mouth hanging open.

“Zim is not a forty year old man!” Dib cried. “He’s a kid with a horrible skin condition and a mean streak! I mean really, he's like four feet tall.”

“But…Gyr?” One of the officers asked timidly.

“My brother!” Zim shrieked as Dib eyed him meaningfully. “GIR is my little brother. He wears the green dog suit in, eh, a gesture of solidarity to my own green affliction. Being a foolish little worm baby I did not realize I should respond to your inquiry with ‘he is my brother’!”

“Do you have any way to prove these statements?” Constable asked, eyes wide.

“Er…” Dib picked at a nail worriedly.

“Yes!” Zim jabbed a finger in the air and growled when the handcuffs inadvertently pulled his other hand up with it. A whirring noise emanated from his PAK for a moment, followed by a cheerful ding. Zim handed Constable a short stack of neat papers. For once Dib was beyond relieved that no one else noticed the robotic appendage folding back into Zim’s PAK. “Here’s your proof, officer man.” Zim grinned smugly. “Mine and GIR’s passports and certificates of bornth!”

Dib was struck with the nearly uncontrollable urge to hit him. Fortunately, the police didn’t seem to notice the slip up.

“Everything seems to be in order…” Constable murmured, with the air of someone utterly bewildered, flipping through the forms.

“Thank you,” Zim said, pleased.

“...well, I suppose you’re free to go,” the man continued. “I’ll have Kyle bring Gyr around front to meet you. Apologies for the bother, Membranes.”

Dib’s brain took a long moment to turn over this piece of information as Constable unlocked the handcuffs from a smirking Zim’s hands and opened the door for them.

“Onward, Dib-thing!” Zim grabbed Dib’s arm and grinned. “I believe there is still enough Saturday left to make some floppy sugar disks!” Dib found himself being tugged out of the stuffy room, back down the blank hallway, and out the glass doors into the sunlight.

“Zim…” Dib started uncertainly.

“GIR!” Zim cried, upon seeing the robot. GIR, decked out in his green dog disguise, was being led out of the station towards them by two ruffled officers, both covered in crayon and some mystery liquid, looking like they’d just seen war.

“Mister!” GIR shrieked back, rushing forward and into Zim’s waiting arms. Dib had managed to convince GIR to call Zim Mister instead of Master, after having had a long and tedious discussion with Zim about the various reasons why this was a messed up thing to have happening.

“GIR, did they do anything to you?” Zim asked, looking the robot up and down with scrutiny.

“Nope!” GIR replied cheerfully. “We played with the colors and they gave me a new Suck-Monkey and then I threw it up on em!”

“That’s my GIR!” Zim grinned. “Now let’s go, Dib has come to take us home. We’re going to make floppy sugar disks!”

“They’re called pancakes,” Dib corrected slowly, train of thought finally arriving at the station. “And Zim, what last name, exactly, did you put on those documents?”

“Membrane,” Zim answered blithely. “That is your last name, yes?”

“Yes…” Dib nodded. “But why did you use it?” “You’re always telling me not to use The Human for my middle and final names, so I used yours instead,” Zim explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You do realize that makes us legally brothers, right?” Dib asked weakly, unlocking the car with an absentminded movement.

“Of course I realize that, Dib-thing.” Zim waved a hand in the air. “According to my studies in Urth customs, people living together and/or spending long periods of time in each other's company often become honorary members of their respective family units. Since we fill both of these fields to different extents, I deemed it reasonable to claim the Membrane name for ease of forging documents and simplicity when explaining our relationship.”

“...true,” Dib admitted. Zim tossed GIR into the backseat of the car and clambered in after him, feet not even close to touching the floor as he settled in the passenger seat.

“Won’t people be suspicious that my Dad suddenly has two more children than before?” Dib questioned, still not quite comprehending the implications of this recent turn of events.

“I doubt the masses will take any notice to GIR and I. As of now I don’t plan on making any public announcement or anything so they likely won’t even know we’re carriers of the Membrane name at all. And if they do grow suspicious, I’ll just show them the adoption papers and no one will be the wiser,” Zim explained smugly. “Do you think your father will mind?”

“No,” Dib replied, turning on the truck. “GIR, buckle up.” GIR wrestled with the seatbelt for a moment until Zim huffed loudly and scrambled into the back to help him. “He seems to have taken a liking to you,” Dib continued, as Zim forced the clip into the lock. “And he knows you’re an Irken, so we can just tell him it’ll help keep your cover from being blown and he’ll be all for it.”

“Good,” Zim said, leaping back into his seat and putting on his own seatbelt. “I’d hate to damage my relationship with the Professor in a battle for his name.”

“...adoption papers?” Dib muttered as an afterthought.

“Forging signatures is one of my specialties,” Zim gloated.

Dib stared out the windshield. The car was running and the road was clear, but he remained in the same spot. Zim raised an eyebrow, or rather the space where an eyebrow would have been, and gave Dib an incredulous look.

“Zim…” Dib said after an uncomfortably long pause. “You and GIR are my brothers now.”

“An accurate statement,” Zim nodded.

“You’re sure about this?” Dib prompted, turning to look at Zim.

“Sure I’m sure,” Zim answered proudly, then hesitated, a worried expression crossing his face. “...have I misstepped in some way? I can always null the documents…”

“No, no! It’s fine!” Dib laughed, breaking out in a grin. “I'm happy to have you two as adopted brothers.”

Zim grinned back. “Surprisingly, I’m happy to have you and Gaz as adopted siblings.”

“Surprisingly?” Now Dib raised an eyebrow.

“Irkens are not typically able to form emotional bonds,” Zim explained, “the ability to experience things like love and fondness are programmed out of our PAKs as smeets. It seems likely that my PAK’s…defective, nature,” he squirmed at the word, “has allowed me more freedom in this and other regards. You have that to thank for our friendship.”

“Well, I know what is seen as ‘defective’ on Irk is normal on Earth,” Dib said softly. “So I’m glad we got the Irken different from the rest. And I’m glad I can call myself your friend.”

“You humans and your glarking emotions,” Zim muttered, running a hand under his eye and wiping the suspiciously wet smear on his uniform. “Drive, Dib! We must get home in time to make the disks!”

“Alright, alright!” Dib laughed. “I’m going!” He pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the street. It was just as quiet on the roads as before, so Dib relaxed his vigil a bit and admired the beautiful day outside.

“Oh, and Zim,” he said. “It's birth, not bornth.”

“Wrong!” Zim declared. “It's definitely bornth.”

“Dude, if you’re going to be a Membrane we’re going to have to work on your grammar. You can’t just be a tech genius, you’ve got to fit the whole part!” Dib gestured grandly with one hand, keeping the other on the wheel and ignoring his Dad’s voice telling him to always keep both securely holding it.

“It is not my fault your cursed Urthen language holds up against next to zero laws of logic,” Zim complained. “Irken is twice as complex but a schmillion times more sensical!”

“If it’s easier to understand than English, maybe you can teach me,” Dib suggested. “Y’know, as compensation for stealing my name.”

“Nuh uh, you said you were pleased that I have your name, Dib!” Zim pointed out gleefully. “My company is all the compensation you need.”

“Compensation, my ass!” Dib squawked, amused.

“Although,” Zim continued, ignoring Dib’s outburst. “Perhaps I will teach you anyway. It has been some time since I’ve conversed with someone in my own tongue. GIR does not count. And, if all else fails, it shall be entertaining to observe your attempts at pronunciation.”

“Glad I have your confidence, Zim.”

A comfortable quiet filled the car.

“Why the heck were you wearing those crazy glasses?” Dib asked, the thought striking him. “That was weird, even for you.”

Zim’s silence prompted Dib to glance at him. Zim was twiddling his thumbs and avoiding Dib’s eyes. “No reason,” the Invader said.

“Sure, sure. No reason at all. You were wearing ugly, wackadoo prop glasses with a gross fake nose and eyebrows for no reason,” Dib said casually, pursing his lips and nodding.

There was a long silence.

“...I lost a bet with Minimoose,” Zim grumbled, slouching in his seat.

Dib suppressed a cackle. “Mmm. No shame in that,” he said seriously.

Zim glared darkly at him. “Silence your voice box. You are obviously holding in a pitiless laugh.”

A giggle escaped from his Dib’s sealed lips. “Okay, yes, but you have to admit it's pretty funny. Your purple stuffed-moose-robot somehow got you into a bet that ended with you walking around–in public–with the most embarrassing bad disguise mankind has ever known! You can at least admire his creativity.”

“Minimoose is a master manipulator! If only he weren’t so lovable I’d have scrapped him long ago!” Zim shook a tiny fist. “Damn that moose…”

Dib chuckled and turned his face back to the open road. Spring flowers dotted the sidewalk and sunlight tickled the colors into warmth, a breeze rustled the trees leaves. Zim reached forward and turned on the stereo, and Dib’s driving playlist bounced through the speakers with a laidback grace. With any luck, they’d be able to make pancakes with any great incident, and they could go to the library for a bit. There was a new paranormal guidebook Dib wanted to check out.

Actually, it was early enough in the day still they might even make it out to the haunted house the guidebook had talked about, if he could scrounge up the ghost monitoring equipment from his storage area in the basement and get it set up in time. Zim would be thrilled. Any chance to explore the many oddities excited him almost as much as it excited Dib, something he was surprised and pleased to learn when they’d finally enacted a truce. The little alien was quite the curious thing.

“Hey Zim?” Dib said.

“Yes, Dib-thing?” Zim looked up at him.

“It really is clue.”

“It’s not!”

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justalittletomato · 2 years

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OOOOO SAVAGE MAKING HIS LITTLE LEMONS A NICE BIG BOWL OF HOT PUNCH!

There was not too many fruits on Dathomir, and those that existed were not too sweet on their own, they were plentiful still.

The nightbrothers learned if they were cooked well? That was a treat!

Savage taking his little ones out to gather crabapples for such a treat. Eris and Ares with baskets full! Little Feral with a basket and his pockets full of apples!

To further ensure it was just as it was once done, the punch is prepared on a cold winter afternoon. Cut apples tossed in and cinnamon spice sprinkled in.

As the night comes Savage fills small mugs of the finished punch. The little ones blowing off the steam and sipping eagerly.

Such a wonderful drink! They giggle and sip, eager for another cup!

Huddled close as the winter night continues.

@patchiefrog

#star wars #star wars oc #the lemon loaves #savage opress fluff #savage oppress #dad!savage

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the-immortal-angel · 1 year

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#lego monkie kid #lego monkie kid macaque #lego macaque #lmk macaque #lmk little girl #lmk liu er mihou #liu er mihou #lmk rumble #lmk savage #lmk ramble & savage #Ramble & savage #lego monkie kid liu er mihou #lego liu er mihou #family fluff #happy family #family #goth aesthetic #little girl

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rockinnrollin · 2 years

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good morning, due to the latest photo of sav with a child, i’ve written a little one shot about having some heavy baby fever with him and want to know if you all would like some smut with it or just leave it as is?

-jade xoxo

#def leppard #rick savage #joe elliott #steve clark #phil collen #rick allen #vivian campbell #def leppard fanfic #rick savage fanfic #rick savage x reader #rick savage fluff #rick savage smut #def leppard fanfiction

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sp4ceboo · 6 months

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Atonement: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: fic i wrote with @triluvial 's lovely idea

tw: 18+, smut but pretty soft, oral (f recieving), so so so so much angst, fluff after tho dw, swearing, hints of sa and pedophilia from the baron, baron is also creepy to reader but not explicitly, u gotta bear with my yapping in the beginning but it gets good i promise, inkpie

wc: 3.9k

headcanons for this universe

When you married Feyd-Rautha, you were warned of many things. His cruelty, both in and out of the bedroom, his bloodlust, his uncontrollable rage, his violence, his complete and utter lack of mercy. They told you he was psychotic, he was a cold blooded murderer, he was insatiable and that you’d be lucky to last a year with him, and yet, they never cautioned you of his sheer, unerring indifference.

Before your marriage, you fancied that he’d be like fire; raging, searing to touch. You went as far as to wish to tame his inferno. Late at night, when you could not sleep and doubt wreathed your thoughts, you also considered that he’d be like ice, like the colour of his piercing eyes, glacial and cold, devoid of anything soft or sweet.

As a child, you saw him fight in the arena. There he blazed with passion, his victor’s smile a cruel curve upon his face, his knife blade stained dark with fresh blood: he was mesmerising. At that time you were beginning to understand that your future had been sold to this violent man, and you resented your parents for it - now you realise that it went deeper than that, that it was rooted in generations of religion, of whisperings of the Bene Gesserit. Still, even then, you found the way he burned intriguing, and you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

But you were wrong. He turned out to be neither fire nor ice, just stingingly, dismissively apathetic. His eyes slide right over you when he happens to pass you in the corridors, as if you’re lower than a servant, lower than the rare rats that survive Giedi Prime’s conditions. You suspected your marriage would be painful, wedded to a man such as he was, but you didn’t think it would be this damn lonely.

You wished he hated you.

That way, at least you’d mean something to your husband. At least then vehement, savage emotion would rise within his gaze whenever he looked at you, not that horrible, polarising blankness. You wish you disgusted him, because then he’d at least he’d speak his mind - you had learnt that he spoke with brutal honesty, uncaring of the consequences.

Maybe to him, that’s all you are. A consequence of being high born, of being the na-Baron. You mean nothing to him, and he treats you as such; to him, you are less than the speck of dust on the floor, less than a grain of sand in his beloved arena.

It’s not that you wish for him to dote on you, nor love you or devote himself to you. You just wish he would look you in the eye and feel something; you’d rather him stare at you in revulsion and call you names that you can’t even think up yourself than the dead, lifeless detachment that clouds his face when he sees you in your shared chambers.

Feyd-Rautha has never laid a hand on you in violence; in fact he rarely touches you at all. The last, and only time he kissed was during the wedding day, and he makes no moves to be in bodily contact with you any more than he has to be. You are obliged to produce an heir from him, yet even in these infrequent encounters it seems as if it is a chore for him - he takes no pleasure in your body nor does he try to pleasure you, and he makes no sound when he takes you, staying as long as it takes for his seed to fill your womb before leaving without a word. On those nights, your thighs tremble as you stumble to the bathroom, only allowing your tears to fall once the shower water is searing on your skin.

During the first month of your marriage, you did everything in your power to please him. You thought maybe you weren’t pretty enough for him, maybe you were not desirable as a wife, so you always smiled at him, made an effort to fill the silence that pervaded the air around him, bringing up topics you knew he would enjoy, like the arena, like his love for knives and duels. To even that he would not reply, rebutting your questions with monosyllables or simply ignoring you. You stopped once he began to leave the room while you were mid sentence.

It is now your fourth month locked in this marriage with an uncaring man, and all you feel is bleak, crushing resignation. Somehow, Feyd-Rautha seems to take more interest in conversing with his brother than you.

You wonder if he has forgotten your name. He addresses you simply as ‘wife’ - that, and nothing more, the title leaving his lips like an accusatory curse, reminding you that if you did not serve a purpose to him, and if decorum did not restrain him, he’d have disposed of you by now, either by slitting your throat or simply abandoning you outside the palace grounds, not even bothering to end you himself.

The palace in question is lonely, but you feel the loneliest when you lay awake at night, shivering on your side of the bed as Feyd-Rautha slumbers to your right. Tears always prick your eyes during those moments, but you stifle them, afraid that you’ll rouse him with your crying; you do not know what you’ve done to garner his mistrust, but many times you’ve glimpsed the knife he keeps beneath his pillow, the cold blade glinting in the moonlight.

Often you wonder if he has a secret lover, and that is why he does not bother with you. You wake up sometimes and he is gone, but soon you realised that he would visit his concubines, especially after he had bred you. You would finish your shower, unable to wash off the feel that you were dirty, you were just an animal, a mindless thing to produce an heir for him, and he would be lounging in the antechambers of your quarters, ignoring your presence with the three harpies wrapped around him, whispering in his ears and caressing his moonlight skin. They accompanied him everywhere he wished, even in public, and to begin with, you felt humiliated that he would so explicitly show that you were not to his satisfaction.

Now, it just makes the solitude even worse.

You find solace in no one. More than once, you have walked in on the servants laughing behind your back, and as it became evident your husband was uninterested in you, they did not hide their mocking. The Baron’s other nephew you hardly saw, and the Baron himself terrified you: there was something in the way that he stared at you, his beady eyes glittering from where they were set deep within his putrid flesh, that made you feel more soiled than even after Feyd-Rautha took you.

So you remain isolated, speaking only when spoken to, drifting through the palace’s wide, dark hallways like a ghoul, a mourning spectre. You can barely remember your life before, just wisps and fleeting flashes of colour that ridicule rather than comfort you.

To Feyd, it is obvious who you are. A spy, commanded by his uncle to report every single one of his doings to you; he cannot slip up once around you, cannot reveal his weaknesses, that he is desperate to be loved, to be seen as someone whose only use is not war. He sees the way his uncle looks at you, hungry for information you do not have because he does not impart it, the way the Baron comments on you and the way you flinch at his words, pretending that you do not report to him.

Feyd is determined in his resolve to give nothing away. His uncle has held power over him since he was young, he refuses to give him even an inch over him now. He still has nightmares of it, which he wakes up from with his pale skin sheened in clammy sweat, clammy like the hands of his uncle.

Sometimes, he sees the tears in your eyes after he fucks you. The first time, he almost stopped, almost asked you where it hurt, but you turned away before he could, acting, always acting; acting when you smile graciously at him, acting when you ask him what his favourite type of blade is, what his favourite form of swordsmanship is. You are good at pretending, but of course you are - his uncle is the Baron, a man who bathes in power. No doubt he would get only the best of spies.

Tonight, you are not where you normally are. At this hour, you are usually asleep, or feigning it in the very least, curled up small on your side of the mattress, yet the bed is still made, the sheets unrumpled and smoothed down as they were this morning. Feyd thinks that maybe he might catch you reporting to his uncle, so he strides out of your shared chambers, pausing in the doorway to listen carefully; as a boy, he hunted in forests that have now been chopped down and industrialised, but he has maintained his keen ears long after the last wild plant on Giedi Prime’s surface choked on the fumes of pollution.

There’s a soft noise, barely perceptible, that echoes down the corridor to his right. Silently, he tracks it down the labyrinthine passages of the palace, servants scurrying out of his warpath, bowing their heads to him - he wonders if they too report to his uncle, if they travel now to his quarters to inform him of his beloved nephew’s whereabouts.

Feyd wishes he and Rabban were brothers first before rivals. Then he could have someone to rely on, someone who he trusted in this palace built on lies.

Pausing, Feyd cocks his head. You huddle in a crumpled heap at the end of the corridor, your knees hugged tightly to your chest, head low as if under a crushing weight. It occurs to him that maybe the Baron was displeased with your efforts to gain information and made it known to you - a pang of pity tugs at him, for he knows what his uncle’s wrath is like. At least you have been spared from the sole thing worse than that - the Baron’s thirst.

‘What are you doing, wife?’

Your head snaps up, Feyd-Rautha’s unfeeling voice kindling a rare burst of temper from you. Is it not evident to him what you are doing? Or is he just too blind to see the tears streaking down your cheeks? Your words are injected with venom when you speak, and you hope that it stings him for leaving you alone in this cold, dark place.

‘So now I am of concern to you?’

Feyd is taken aback by the indignant arch of your brows, the resentment displayed in your eyes. It takes him a moment to register the harshness lacing your voice - you have never addressed him in this way - and another to digest your words. There’s a bleakness in your wet, tear stained face as you stare up at him, and shock too, as if you did not expect yourself to speak against him this way.

Something clicks into place.

Feyd recognises that look in your eyes. He recognises it, because he’s seen it in the mirror a hundred times before; haunted, harrowed, lonely. He remembers nights when he trembled beneath the cold sheets of his bed, when he was small enough that he felt like he was drowning in the black satin, his eyes wide as the fabric seemed to wend around his limbs, tying him there as he lay fearful of everyone, fearful that his uncle would summon him. Even young, he was so terribly aware of not knowing who he could trust and who would turn to the Baron, bearing information like knives to split open his childish skin and spill his guts on the freezing stone floor.

It broke him. He is barely a shell of a sentient being, repressed emotions wreathing like ghosts around his frame, his eyes hollow, his heart decaying. In his fear, he was blinded, and he pushed you to the place where he had been all those years ago, so terribly, terribly alone - you are stronger than him, for lasting this long.

Sharp, plunging, dread sinks in his stomach, weighs down his soul; he has done unspeakable things to you, treated you like a dog, like a whore - worse. How can you look at him without hatred in your eyes, spite?

Bile rises in his throat, his heart seized by a dark, burning anger. He has done this to you, he has slashed your skin and left you bleeding, and yet all you did was try to please him. In an effort to save himself, he trampled you under foot; in order to keep you out, he left you surrounded by shadows. Feyd has never hated himself so much, has never despised who he has become with this much furor.

Slowly, he crouches before you. Eyes wide, you shrink away, misreading the direction of his rage, flinching when he reaches out a hand. Pressing your back against the wall behind you, you turn your head away from him, fear causing tears to spill down your cheeks: he sees the way you will the stone to swallow you up, knows the feeling.

‘Please don’t hurt me,’ you choke out, hands trembling uncontrollably.

Something deep within Feyd’s soul withers and dies at your words. Forcing his jaw to unclench, his hands to release the fists they held, he shoves down his anger. The fury is for later, for when he has made things right - for now it is you that is his priority. Too late, a voice whispers in his ears, too late, too late, too late -

Gods, he deserves to burn at the fucking stake for this. He deserves eternal hell for this, he deserves worse. He is a fool: a blind, blundering fool, stuffed to the brim with paranoia and cynicism.

He sucks in a breath. ‘I will not hurt you. You have my word, whatever it is worth to you. I - I have made an irredeemable mistake, I - ’

After his first sentence, you have not heard him. Tears of relief soak your face, and you whisper needless apologies for them; it is an arrow through his heart that you fear him so - yet the pain is where it is due, justifiable for the way he has shamed you, belittled you.

‘May I - may I touch you, my wife?’

You do not know why you nod in reply of your husband’s strange request, but the moment you do, strong arms pull you into a solid chest, and a sob leaves you - he is so warm, warm enough to banish the seeping cold embedded in your bones, warm enough to let your sorrow flow anew, soaking his shirt as your hands bunch in its fabric, so that if he is cruel enough to leave you here, at least he will have to fight to do so. You have not been held in a long time.

Each of your shuddering sobs is a knife blade twisting in Feyd’s spirit. He lets the pain wash over him, clings to the way you burrow into his arms, a kind creature in the embrace of a monster. At one point, in the throes of your crying, you beat at his chest, telling him that you hate him, and he takes it with a bowed head, stroking your hair and holding you tighter once you exhaust yourself; this is only a fraction of his atonement.

You fall asleep in his arms. He carries you back to your quarters, and only once the door is closed behind him does he let his tears mingle with yours. Keeping you cradled to his chest like a child, he pours a glass of water for you to drink in the morning, knowing you will be dehydrated; he sets it on your bedside table before laying you down on the mattress.

You don’t let go of him, even in your sleep. His heart clenches, tight in his chest, and he drops a kiss in your hair before lying down beside you.

He believes he will love you, if you will let him.

Consciousness leaks slowly into your mind, and you blink, squinting through the beam of light that filters in through the curtains. From your months spent here, you’ve realised that Giedi Prime’s atmosphere is normally churned up with violent storms and choked with pollution, so this ray of sun that falls against your pillow, warming your face is far from unwanted - nor is the pale forearm tucked around your waist, firmly so, but not trapping you either.

Your husband’s chest fits snugly against your back, his breath warm and steady against your skin; his fingers splay out across your stomach, gentle, communicating so many things that were left unsaid. Vaguely, you remember falling asleep, nestled against his chest, tears drying on your cheeks.

When you roll over, you’re unsurprised that he’s already awake. With blue eyes softened by the sunlight, he regards you, fingers settled at the small of your waist. Something clouds his gaze, and he shifts, propping himself up on his elbows.

‘I owe you an explanation.’

You wait silently, unperturbed by the way he clenches his jaw. He vowed to you last night that he would not hurt you, and you trust that. Wordlessly, his lips open, then close, and you patiently watch him, far too well acquainted with how this man struggles to let down his guard - even now, you cannot read the twisting of his features, the way his eyes squint as he looks at you.

‘I - I thought you were a spy sent by my uncle,’ he finally confesses. ‘My uncle… when I was younger, he,’

Reaching out, you cup his jaw in your hand, running your thumb along his cheekbone until he relaxes. You see the battle in his eyes, to let go, to tell you the knowledge that he thinks you deserve, but you see with it the years of hurt, of solitude. Something hopeful, something beautiful blossoms within you - the realisation that this wounded beast before you is someone that you could grow to love; you want him to bare his scars to you, those that are long healed and those that still seep with blood.

‘All in good time, Feyd,’ you assure him quietly.

He sighs, touches his lips against your palm. ‘I am sorry, my wife.’

Slipping your hand down to grip his shoulder, you lean closer towards him so you can kiss him. An anguished sound leaves him, and you see clearly how he realises that he has wronged you, how it pains him, and yet how the taste of you awakens something tender within him - you marvel at it, that it has survived, buried within him for so long. Perhaps he will let you love him.

Feyd is neither forward nor insatiable in the way he kisses you. In fact, he pulls away first, moving to get up from the bed despite the way your hands grip his shoulders, and you almost doubt that he wants you before you glimpse the longing in his eyes that lingers before he pushes it down. You wonder if this man knows how to make love or if he just knows how to fuck, you wonder if he feels the same molten feeling in his stomach that you feel and that is why his movements are tinged with nerves as he gently escapes your grasp. It is clear to you: he does not want to scare you.

‘Must you go?’ You ask, tugging at his fingers.

He tilts his head. ‘I don’t know if you want me here, after what I have inflicted upon you.’

A streak of bravery takes ahold of you. ‘Please, Feyd, I want you.’

You delight at the fire that ignites in his eyes upon your words. He wastes no time in returning to your side, dropping a sweet tasting kiss to your lips before taking your chin in his hand, eyes searching yours as he sits between your thighs.

‘Tell me if you want to stop,’ he says. ‘Yes?’

‘Yes,’ you echo, blood heating your cheeks.

Feyd kisses you again, giving you time to rescind your reply if you want, but you just tug at the hem of his shirt, drinking in his sculpted chest when he pulls the black cloth over his head. Delicately, he trails his lips down your skin as he undresses you, his broad hands warm where they encircle your waist, holding you flush to him as his calloused palms explore your body, skimming over your spine and caressing your breasts before settling on your thighs and pulling them open.

You’re terribly aware of how wet you are when his eyes settle on your pussy. Instinctively, your knees tip inwards, your face growing hot at the hunger in his gaze, but his broad shoulders block your legs from closing, followed closely by his hands which gently push them back open. He smiles at the blush high on your cheeks, rubbing his thumb over your ankle in order to put you at ease.

The sound you make when he pushes his fingers into your cunt and curls them almost makes Feyd moan. You tremble for him, bashful, and he can feel himself rock hard against the mattress, aching for the tight clamp of your velvet walls. He wants to bury himself between your thighs, and so he does, your sweet slick exquisite on his tongue - he presses kisses like butterflies to your thighs, your hips, worshipping you as his fingers pump in and out of you to the same pace as your heaving chest.

You look beautiful, gilded by the sunlight, lower lip trapped between your teeth, but he doesn’t miss the way you grip the sheets with one hand, the other clapped over your mouth, panting as he pleases you. Stroking your thigh, he pauses, licking your slick off his lips.

‘Let me hear you,’ he bids.

You blush again but obey him, tremors wracking your body as he sucks on your clit, laving his tongue over it until you throw your head back, eyes rolling as you come, your honeyed moans and hot release exquisite upon his senses. He wants more, needs more of the taste of you, but you tug at his shoulders, whining for his cock, and he’d rather die than deny you.

The way you say his name when he buries himself inside you sets his soul on fire. You look beautiful beneath him, shaking and whimpering from the hot pulse of his length, clawing at his shoulders until he wears red marks that he’s proud to bear, moaning into his mouth when he kisses you. It seems you cannot get enough of him, and Feyd is more than fine with that because he finds himself addicted to the feel of you under his hands, begging him for more.

Feyd remains entranced long after he comes inside you, with you, your cunt spasming around him. You draw close to him, intertwining your legs with his as he kisses your face, your neck, your chest, making sure he has not hurt you, making sure you are sated. Curling your fingers under his jaw, stopping him, you look him in the eye and smile before kissing him, and he finds himself mesmerised again by you.

He is certain you will let him love you. He is yours.

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ruleofheart · 11 days

Text

growing pains — ellie williams

ellie williams x f reader

fluff, angst, smut >O<

ellie if nothing bad happened to her ever, childhood friends to acquaintances(?) to lovers, longing, joel is involved, ellie is a DWEEB! but so are you, car sex, classic misunderstandings

to the lovely folks that asked to be tagged, i hope this meets your expectations… i am terrified of failing you: @macaroni676 @d3sperationn @g3latin

beta read by @heartofrhea my best friend my apologies for being cringelord

The universe can be so cruel.

You sit at the edge of the curb, curling your legs to yourself to feel less vulnerable. Your phone rolls in your hand, tears of frustration prickling at your eyes. You probably should’ve known better. Well— you do know better. That sinking, intuitive feeling had been swirling in the center of your stomach all night, but you had let your desperation and loneliness take ahold of you.

You had agreed to go out with some friends and some friends of friends; people you didn’t know jackshit about, but hung out with anyway. You had hoped you didn’t reek of seclusion too bad, feeling like a wounded animal in a crowd of predators.

But your friends and their friends didn’t really care. They had pulled away from you in the club, losing you to flashing lights and crowded bodies. You searched up and down, called their names in the dingy bathrooms, and even asked the bartender. No dice; you were here to party alone. Now what was the point of even coming along?

Silly.

You initially opted to order an Uber to just get the fuck off the street already, but hey— it’s a Friday night and finals are over. The prices listed cost more than six different coffee runs, and there’s no way you’d be giving those up.

It’s how you end up sitting on the curb and fervently wiping your tears away, cringing when you remember your hands had been touching all the club door handles and god knows what else. You feel dirty, forgotten.

You unlock your phone and dim the brightness— the stupid thing almost all out of battery— and turn to what seems to be a last resort, an option that you’ve buried away at the back of your mind for years now.

Pressing your phone to your ear, you can’t help but sigh as the line rings repeatedly, almost positive that you’re completely out of luck.

It falls silent for a second before there’s faint rustling on the other side, and a voice so familiar, so painful to hear, questions you softly.

“Ellie,” you say breathlessly; from fatigue or relief, you’re not sure anymore. “Can you come get me?”

Becoming friends with Ellie Williams was almost too easy.

That’s just how she is as a person. So easy to be around; her voice and twinkling laugh showing no threat.

It began with Mrs. Sullivan’s freshman class seating chart; a table of four with you, Ellie, and two other boys who were too preoccupied with copying off each other’s notes half the time for you to even remember their names. You mostly kept to yourself as a weird adolescent, the onslaught of teenage hormones and emotions forcing you into your own little world.

Ellie, on the other hand, was different. She had noticed the front page cover of Savage Starlight slipped into the front sleeve of your binder, the edges frayed and jagged as if you had actually ripped it off. She was almost offended at the sight of such a careless pull, but found the emotion wavering once she realized you read the comics just like her.

“Hey! No way!” she had exclaimed with a growing smile, her eyes lit up. She had half a mind to just reach over and take your binder, fingers skimming over the glossy cover. She stopped herself mid-way, mind racing before she asked with just as much glee, “Can I see? I don’t think I’ve been able to get ahold of that edition yet.”

Your short-lived conversations about Savage Starlight began to transform into lunchroom giggle sessions and bike rides on the way home. She was so easy to fall into; it was almost like she had a part of herself that was reserved just for you, eager for your arrival.

The thing about your dynamic was that it was so intricately woven over time, each thread of yourself intertwining with her own as you came to know each other better. Unabashed adoration and excitement with every laugh, with every moment of eye contact across the classroom and dinner table at home: a twinkle of unwavering youth and closeness.

And the thing was, when it came to you, Ellie was not prideful at all. She would openly admit any given moment that there had to be a hole in her heart that was in the shape of you. The two of you fit so nicely in each other’s lives, slipping into a familiar rhythm that almost seemed karmic, even at such a young age. While you were surrounded by other girls your age navigating their own pent up emotions and typical coming-of-age realizations, turning against each other and whispering dirty secrets, Ellie only seemed to cling onto you— hanging onto your every word with sincerity and trust.

It didn’t take long before Ellie began to invite you over to sleepovers, which was new territory for both her and Joel. He was already a little awkward as-is, navigating life with a teenage girl who had the same foul mouth and temperament as he.

So when you came around, greeting him with little smiles and kind language, he couldn’t help but feel his heart sway in relief, happy that Ellie has someone like you in her life.

You’d tumble off your bikes, leaving them strewn across the front yard, crushing the grass he labored so hard over. But he didn’t mind, relieved to see the two of you arrive in one piece, losing yourself in video game releases and comic book pages as you both sat in her bedroom.

Joel became a sort of fly on the wall for you two, ever-present as you were fairly comfortable in their home. Tuning the both of you in and out, listening closely for anything that may alarm him (which, never happened). Sitting across the both of you at the dinner table, serving up a quick and easy bowl of Hamburger Helper to you two. He’d glance at the two of you from under his eyelashes, watching how either you or Ellie would lean into each other as you splayed out homework sheets on the table, muttering to each other in curiosity. The two of you may have been better off sharing a single chair, he’d think to himself in amusement.

Again, your presence in Ellie’s life and in his home never worried him. It became routine for him as well, watching the two of you bike up the block together almost every day after school.

One hot summer afternoon, he stood on the porch, prying off the entrance screen door in an attempt to replace it, the critters from the greenbelt nearby winning at their efforts to nibble away at the material.

From afar, he could hear the growing sound of your chattering, your bike chains clicking repeatedly as you breezed down the sidewalk. He glanced over his shoulder, watching as you two fought amicably, reaching out to each other in a playful attempt to push the other off their bike. He chuckled to himself and turned his gaze back to the screen door, fingers prying at the edges.

Behind him, Ellie reached a little too far to the side, fingers brushing against your arm before she toppled over sideways off her bike. She collapsed with a laugh-yelp, swearing at you in a way that made you burst out laughing, your shoes dragging across the concrete to stop your bike.

You hopped off your seat, carelessly letting it fall to the side as you approached Ellie, laughing at her as she pushed herself off the ground.

“You idiot,” you breathed out in between laughs, nearly folding in on yourself as the incident repeated in your mind.

“Dude!” she scolded lightheartedly, trying to feign annoyance, and of course failing. She stuck out her arm to show you a deep scrape right above her elbow. “This shit burns.”

You caught your breath and stepped closer, eyeing the scrape. It was rather gnarly, and you inwardly winced at yourself knowing it was probably going to scab horribly.

“Damn,” you muttered to yourself, holding her arm and twisting it to get a better look. Joel eyed the way you two interacted, pulling away from his task as he glimpsed the bloody splotch on Ellie’s elbow.

From where he was, he couldn’t exactly make out the words that you two exchanged, your voices lowered significantly. From the look of it, you were offering an apology. He didn’t catch the way you smiled up at her apologetically, but he was positive that his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him when you leaned in and placed a harmless, healing kiss onto her arm, right above the scrape.

It was, in reality, lighthearted and childish. A testament to your playfulness, your eagerness to please Ellie’s heart.

And although Ellie didn’t realize it, there was a flicker of emotion that crossed her face. A change in her eyes; in the way that she looked at you. It flew over your head, too; busy smiling up at her, pulling her closer with the strength of the sun’s gravity.

But Joel noticed. He caught this sudden change, this glimmer on Ellie’s face. He felt the complexities of youth and new emotion washing over him again, a short chuckle leaving his lips as he turned away, focusing back on fixing the screen door.

Later that night, he pulled Ellie aside.

“Hey, kid. I’m gonna need you to keep the door open when she’s around, alright?”

“What?” Ellie asked, utterly oblivious. A look of distaste flittered across her features.

He was trying to remain as nonchalant as possible, knowing all too well that if he pushed too hard or looked too stern, Ellie would just defy him out of her own stubborn nature. He folded some blankets over the couch, eyes avoiding hers. “Just keep it open, Ellie.”

She groaned in annoyance and threw her head back, hands falling to her sides. She looked truly exasperated, confused with this sudden change in house rules.

That night, as the door remained cracked open, Joel walked by Ellie’s bedroom to sort some towels in the hallway closet. His ears picked up her frustrated tone; “…wants me to leave the door open now. Never heard of a rule as stupid as that, but whatever.”

You giggled calmly, then fell silent for a second. “It’s okay. My mom has that rule too, for my brother and his girlfriend.”

And he could almost hear the way Ellie’s face scrunched up, a confused groan escaping her again. She failed to reply, and the topic at hand was dropped as soon as you leaned over to her and showed her a page from a new comic, rambling on about how the plot hole in this series was diabolical.

He silently walked away, mind wandering as he tried to think about how to approach this blooming situation, a flicker of both hope and protection illuminating in his chest.

It was junior year of high school when the foundation of your friendship began to split, allowing something else to slip into it. Something sneaky, deceitful, something that constantly rendered you speechless and warm.

You no longer rode your bikes or shared comic books; you were much too old for that now! Ellie had just gotten her license, a little too eager to drive Joel’s old beat up truck around with you in the passenger seat. And, of course, the both of you felt like true teenagers when you finally got phones.

You sat on Ellie’s bed, your knees pulled to your chest as you scrolled through your timeline. You giggled at random collages of pictures and videos, occasionally showing your screen to Ellie in hopes that she would laugh with you.

She sat on the other end of the bed, a rolled joint held delicately in her fingers. Joel wasn’t home, and her bedroom door was closed. The walls of her bedroom trapped the both of you with the smell of it, but you were slowly learning to not mind it as much.

When you first received a phone, you found yourself diving into social media, trying to keep up with this sudden boom of a new language, new jokes, new form of communication. Ellie, on the other hand, never touched her phone. If she was using it, it was probably because she was texting you. She refused to engage with any social media at all, meaning you had to sit and explain new jokes and trends to her. Sometimes, she’d try her hand at new lingo or an ongoing joke, but failed so miserably each time that you’d roll over her bedsheets in laughter.

She pressed the joint to her lips, eyes lazy as she looked at you with longing. The brightness from your screen illuminated your face, emphasizing every beauty mark and freckle.

“Hey,” she started, voice low. “C’mere.”

You looked up at her in curiosity, putting your phone down. Your eyes stayed trained on her as you scooted closer, the sides of your legs pressing against hers.

She wasn’t sure if it was the smoke or the way that you peered up at her that made the center of her body feel warm. She tilted her head away from you as she exhaled, the smoke clouding the space between you two; your heart thundered in your chest.

“Almost done,” she promised, voice only a little raspy. “Missed you; that thing is hoarding all your attention.” The corners of her mouth twitched.

“Is not!” you defended, shoving her shoulder with your own. “I’m right here.”

“Yeah,” she began, her hand coming up to tap at your head playfully. “But you’re not here. Let’s do something; been wanting to play a few rounds of that old zombie game.”

It was how you end up pressed into each other’s sides, hollering and giggling at the tiny TV screen on her bedroom dresser. You played erratically, your fingers relying on nonsensical button smashing to survive. Ellie had to constantly revive you every five minutes, but never mentioned it.

She missed the way you squealed in anticipation with every new round that started, your eyes wide as you spoke with a constant smile. And, maybe it was from her high, but she was a little too intent in the way that she watched you, her mind feeling far away as she memorized every crevice of your face from the side.

“Ellie!” you scolded, bringing her out of her daze. “No way you already died, the round just started!”

She turned her attention back to the screen, scoffing as her player screen was black and white, her character eye-level with the ground.

“Damn,” she muttered, surprised that she let herself slack off for so long. Too lost in your side profile, the dip of your lips, the way your lashes fluttered in surprise when a zombie attacked you in-game.

Your character raced towards her, shooting around sloppily before you pressed the buttons to revive her. Her hand found itself on the top of your thigh, right above your knee. Perhaps it was the fogginess of her mind, or a newfound boldness that spurts through her; but she squeezed at your leg, her eyes stuck on the screen. “Thanks,” she says a little too nonchalantly, like that was completely normal.

You swallowed thickly, your own movements faltering. There was a red ring forming around your player screen, indicating that you were being ruthlessly attacked.

She snickered, her voice playful. “Focus.”

The two of you kept on, your mind instead slipping up and focusing a little too hard on the way she touched you.

It was senior year when that particular, sneaky something begins to widen the cracks in your relationship. A feeling that blurred your vision, blurred your mind. A feeling that made it impossible to correctly decipher whatever it was that Ellie was going through, and the two of you began to fall apart.

It mostly started when Ellie got a job at a skate shop. For the most part, it was relaxed, her days consisting of seeing the same people come and go for wheels and decks. But it meant that she had less time to spend with you.

Initially, she would use every single day off to see you. To invite you over or to laze around on your fluffy duvet, listening to you ramble about your nervousness as graduation was approaching. She would take you out, spoil you rotten with the excitement of her new paychecks, saying fuck all to saving any money.

And in reality, you didn’t care about the way she spoiled you; granted, it was nice and certainly made your heart beat a certain way, but you mostly valued that she made the effort to see you still. Exchanging silent words and looks across the classroom was no longer sufficing your yearning heart.

Months passed and Ellie started to become a little bit more focused on balancing school and work; she was set on saving as college approaches, and you figured that the prospect of growing up had changed her. She was set on a college, set on astrophysics, set on buying Joel some land and maybe, hopefully, spoiling you some more in a few years down the line…

But she was maybe a little too caught up in it. She saw you less and less, accidentally channeling her friendly energy to her coworkers. And while you knew there was nothing wrong with that, you couldn’t help the bitter taste that rested on your tongue when she constantly brought up the names of others that you’d heard of countless times. A part of you wanted to turn to her, ask her so pathetically, why can’t you do the same with me?

You started to really feel like you were losing her when you finally got the chance to sit in her room again, the both of you babbling about what you think college will look like. At first, the comfort of her poster-covered walls and space trinkets settled your restless heart, and you had felt at home with her again.

It wasn’t until she slipped away to use the restroom, leaving her phone on her bed. The screen illuminated as it buzzed once, twice— three times. You should’ve left it alone, thinking maybe it was Joel warning her he’d be late from work. But you leaned over anyway, reading over the text on the screen.

For one, it was a coworker. You recognized the name on the notification; and for some reason, when you realized it was from the only other girl at her workplace, a horrible feeling nestled into your stomach.

And then you couldn’t help the minor feeling of betrayal as you realized they had been messaging each other on a social media platform; one of the many things Ellie swore up and down that she’d stay away from.

You didn’t even follow her on there. She never told you.

It’s silly, you thought. Ellie can do whatever she pleased. But this new turn of events, this tiny thing that was still so out of character; the foundation between you two felt almost completely severed.

Weeks passed from that day and you them found yourself pulling away. The both of you were accepted into the same college, but you couldn’t even find it in yourself to feel excited. Ellie begged you to fill out your housing papers on time so that the two of you could be roommates, but you purposefully procrastinated. You weren’t sure you could handle such close proximity with her anymore.

It was with this that the gap between the both of you widened. She didn’t drive you home anymore; it was time to put your own license to use. You two no longer exchanged knowing looks across the room, and you sure as hell didn’t share dinner with Joel anymore, either. You started to forget the exact layout of her bedroom.

Graduation came and went; you spent it in solitude, not really counting the presence of your family members. Ellie did race up to you and gave you a bone crushing hug, nose burying into your hair, but you were so caught up in it all that you didn’t reciprocate it.

It was another one of those minor things that widened the gap, made her step away from you both physically and emotionally.

Even when Joel offhandedly mentioned that he’d be okay with helping you move into your dorm, Ellie made up some excuse on the fly; saying your brother had it covered. She hadn’t even asked you.

So, just like that, summer passed in a blink. You spent your days curled up in your bed, wallowing. Ellie spent it trying to distract herself, losing herself in the presence of coworkers-turned-close-friends. You shamefully stalked her social media, tears pricking at your eyes as she posted places and things that seem so fun, so far away. Places and things that you would’ve liked.

What hurt more was the constant questioning from your family. Where’s Ellie? What’s she up to?

Hell if you knew. You’d been relying on her story highlights for snippets of her life, and even then they were still so vague. Scenery, music, her guitar. Someone else’s hands holding a deck of cards, videos with incessant giggling in the background. God, you were almost sickly with both wanting and loneliness.

And, just like that, it was freshman year again. This time, there was no seating chart. No binder for you to slip comic book covers into. No comfort of hopping on your bike and riding home with the only person that matters at your side.

You were in some sort of emotional purgatory. Your mind blank as you walked around campus, as you stared at your laptop screen in the dead of night, body aching as you slumped over and completed your coursework. The excitement and late nights that you and Ellie had planned were nowhere to be found.

On the other hand, Ellie busied herself so much, she found that she almost forgot you. Almost.

Burying herself into her homework, mind trying its hardest to wrap around these new concepts. Partying, though she wasn’t not really there. Smoking some, drinking some. It all still felt lonely.

She was enjoying this new group of friends, but they didn’t amount to the certain someone that still had their shape, their initials carved into the center of her heart. It was almost unbearable to exist without you; the two of you blending into each other so well, she still found herself saying things the way you did— the intonation, the little lingo, the mannerisms. Your existence was embedded into her own, folding over into her psyche so compact-tight, she knew she could never escape you.

Ellie assumed that now, at this point, it was about carrying you in her soul even though you were no longer around. The beauty of this life; she’d lost you, but not entirely. Your personality reflecting in her own no matter what, no matter how hard she tried. Her existence was a testament to your own— someone’s been here. Someone’s loved me.

Weeks passed. Months passed. The both of you constantly shuffling across the same campus, yet never running into each other. Your text messages now buried underneath more recent threads, your shared playlist long forgotten and neglected.

Winter break hit and the loneliness bit just as much as the cold. When Ellie returned home, she noticed her old bike in the garage, propped up against storage bins, the tires flat. When you returned home, you came back to photos of the both of you, pinned to your wall. Your breath stuttered in your throat as you took them down, throwing them into a box in your closet.

At the same time, yet separately, the both of you traversed new grounds, and odd fucked up forms of grief. Being in your own space yet running into things that reminded you of someone that you wanted the most. And it wasn’t not like they were gone; yet the both of you let go, deciding that somehow, it was for the better.

The cycle repeated as the seasons changed. Instead of actually moving on, the both of you just somehow got better at repressing your emotions and acting like nothing happened. Occasionally reflecting on your friendship in a daydream, and then reminding yourself that somehow, it just wasn’t meant to be. It was time to move on— she was never yours.

It’s summer now, the end of junior year. Ellie’s at her friend’s place, sipping on a poorly made drink as they play card games and tune into a new season of a trending series. She’s cross-legged on the floor, smiling to herself as her friends talk over each other, slamming the cards down on the coffee table and trying to warp the rules in their own favor. It’s fun, and it’s easy to sit back and watch everything unfold.

She feels her phone in her back pocket vibrating; assuming it’s Joel just checking up on her, she gets up and excuses herself, slipping out the back porch door.

When she reaches for her phone, her heart nearly stops beating altogether. In fact, she’s sure it does, as her stomach suddenly twists in confusion and pain, a small cough leaving her lips as she tries to collect herself. Your name shines on her screen as you call, and she’s so sure she’s hallucinating (the hell was in that drink?) until she swallows her surprise and answers.

And there you are. Breathless, exhausted. Immediately, she knows. Despite it being so long, despite the fact that she’s not entirely sure she knows you anymore, she still recognizes the tone in your voice, recognizes that you needed her.

“Where are you?” she blurts before you can finish your sentence, her body automatically pacing around. “Send me the address.”

You’re apologetic, sounding defeated on the other side. You tell her over and over again, I’m sorry.

There’s weight behind the way you say it, like you’re apologizing for something more. Like you’re counting all those times you shut her out, the times you let her slip through your fingers. It’s weak and shaky, but Ellie doesn’t bring it up. She’s too busy slipping on her shoes, keys dangling from her fingers as she mouths to her friends that she’ll see them later.

She stays with you on the phone the entire time she drives over to get you. She asks, over and over again, if you’re okay and in a safe area, and your heart twists with guilt and shame. You stay planted on the edge of the curb, looking like a wilted flower.

Ellie feels her heart drop to her stomach as she approaches the street that you sit on, her headlights illuminating your pathetic figure. She rolls down the window and pulls over, calling out to you.

Your eyes are low, the shame blatantly evident on your face. Ellie’s not sure how this will unfold; this isn’t exactly the way she dreamed the two of you would reunite. But that look on your face— Ellie knows it well enough. You’re both 15 again, and you’re trying to hide within your own body somehow. She sees the embarrassment, the bitter feeling that sits at the center of your chest.

You approach her car and observe at her through the window, eyes avoiding her own. You study her form, how much she’s grown. She’s got a new haircut; it’s shorter— gayer. You can almost imagine yourself laughing at her, can almost imagine twirling the short pieces between your fingers. A patch of black ink catches your eye just then, your gaze landing on her forearm. Since when did she get a tattoo?

She unlocks the door, silently beckoning you in. You slump into the passenger seat, completely defeated, and she reads your body language well enough to know not to pry at the situation.

She shifts the car into drive but realizes that she doesn’t even know where you live anymore. The car sits there, idle as she tries to figure out what to ask you and how, then you mutter the directions to your apartment, reading her confusion just as well.

The sound of Ellie’s music is quiet, practically just a gentle hum as the two of you sit, rigid as you keep your gazes locked on the road ahead. You don’t intend to explain yourself or have some sort of emotional come-to-jesus moment with Ellie, figuring that this situation alone is already stressful enough.

But, she clears her throat and opens her mouth to speak, eyes still locked on the street signs. “You see the trailer for the new Savage Starlight adaptation?”

You give her an awkward chuckle. “Yeah,” you say, nearly whispering. “Looked like trash, honestly.”

Ellie laughs at that. Laughs. And god, it’s not the kind of laugh that kills her, but it’s a solid one; an honest one. It sounds so good as it erupts from her chest, the sound of it pouring into your ears and over your heart. Christ.

Your eyebrow twitches and you have to turn your head to look out the window— you can’t let her see the look on your face. You’re sure your eyes are wide and pooling with some sort of desperation.

And, of course, Ellie catches it. But she just cares too much about you, so she lets all these little thing slip by to keep you comfortable, to keep you with her for even just a second longer.

The conversation stays trained on little comments, acknowledging new video game releases and comic book trailers as if the both of you are in high school again, caught up in your nerdy obsessions. The air is thick and steady; the both of you dancing around this thinly-veiled attempt to be normal. The smallest things, such as the sound of her clearing her throat, or her hand coming up to scratch at her cheek, make your skin crawl with anticipation.

You brace yourself for the ball to drop, holding it so tight to your chest, you’re almost suffocating.

And while there’s no way you’ll drop this act, desperately clutching onto this feeling of faux normalcy, you know Ellie will. She’s much too blunt and forward focused to let you both sit in this awkward, paper-doll like scenario; steadily crafting your sentences, training your eyes to avoid her.

And, god— it’s almost too easy to let your body relax, to slip back into your old comfortable patterns with Ellie right next to you. Because she’s never been prideful, and never will be, with the way she smiles to herself and breathes: “I missed you. It’s been… really long,” she says the last part with a bittersweet chuckle. “Too long.”

Your chest caves. Stupidly, eagerly, almost like it wanted to, this whole time. Your body feels prickly and warm, but you school your face to remain somewhat neutral.

“Yeah,” you offer dryly. “I’m kind of surprised, actually.”

At that, Ellie tilts her head, fingers fluttering around the steering wheel. “How come?”

“That, like, you even showed up. And you’re actually being nice and taking me home. I figured you kinda hated my guts towards the end.”

Ellie’s body has a physical reaction to that, and she taps on the brakes by accident. Not hard enough to send the both of you flying forward, but just enough of a push. You whip your head towards her, watching the way she furrows her eyebrows and shakes her head.

“Sorry. Not trying to be defensive, but why…” She swallows thickly. “Why would you think that? And of me, of all people?”

She’s so, so gentle with the way she says it. Her voice quiet and low, not wanting to scare you away with this sudden confrontation. She reeks of true curiosity and something else that seems like hurt.

“I just,” you start, trying to gather your words, then pause, not really recognizing where Ellie is driving. “Hold on. Where are you—?”

She pulls into an empty parking lot, stopping the car at an awkward angle, careless about her parking etiquette.

“I’m sorry. I really just wanna clarify things,” she breathes out, her tone hurried as if you’ll slip and fade away if she doesn’t explain herself fast enough. “But, if you want me to completely fuck off, I’ll take you home. Just tell me.”

You remain quiet, looking at her with a face that reads half anxious, half eager. A mix of the two, both emotions so similar in nature that maybe it kind of looks like… excitement.

Ellie turns her body in her seat so that she can face you directly. “I was never tired of you, ever.” She takes in a slow, deep breath, trying to pace herself and keep her voice steady. With you, she can become passionate very quickly, so she needs to remain cool. “If anything, I thought that you felt that way about me. You stopped comin’ around, didn’t even try to room with me, and completely bailed on my attempts to see you. Did I do something?”

She’s completely disarmed. Her words woven with nothing but good intentions, the look on her face desperate for some sort of reconciliation. She eyes you carefully, and if you looked hard enough, you may have been able to catch the glimmer of want in her eyes.

Overcome with emotion, you fumble. Too busy with wanting to just defend yourself, swinging around your sword with your eyes shut in the hopes that you won’t get hurt, you don’t even try to match her energy.

“Well, yeah,” you bite back, not nearly as careful as she was. “You changed. Everything changed. You made other friends, new friends, and just left me behind,” you accuse sharply, not thinking straight. “You… went behind my back.”

Despite the way that you speak to her, Ellie’s face softens. She knows what this is about. She’s too understanding, too willing to do anything to get you back in her life. As the realization slowly dawns on her, her heart flutters both with yearning and a deeper need.

It’s how you end up pressed against the backseat of her car, her mouth on yours as her hands roam freely around your body. You shut up rather quickly, mind blurring over with the oncoming release of years of pent-up wanting. You tried to keep arguing back at her, and she did nothing but talk to you in that sweet tone, with eyes that scream I love you.

It isn’t that she’s trying to coax you, or anything. It just happened as you begin to increasingly realize that she is not going to fight you; she just wants you. She needs you to know that, she has to make herself clear.

Fog creeps up the car windows as she presses her knee in between your legs, rocking against you slowly.

Ellie’s pacing herself; she’s thought about this a few times, guiltily. But in her mind, it’s always been in her bed, her mind crafting the scene of your body, your little sounds. It was like she had to slap her own hand away from herself sometimes.

So while this isn’t exactly what she had daydreamed it would be, she still wouldn’t complain. Regardless of the situation, you were pressed into her, panting and sighing in ways that made her mind turn to soppy mush, overrun with desire and emotion.

And, while she’s set on taking care of you and showing you just how much you meant and still mean to her, she can’t help but want to make you admit it too.

She pulls back from kissing you, her eyes glazed over as she looks at your face. Holy shit.

Skin so warm, and you already look spent. She swallows, suddenly doubting how long she’ll be able to hold off.

She bites back a satisfied smile before she dips down again, her face hidden in the crevice between your neck and shoulder, kissing all the way down.

“Take this off,” she murmurs, fingers pulling at the waistband of your skirt. You do your best to follow her orders, cramped up in the seat, pulling your knees towards yourself in an attempt to shimmy out of the fabric. It catches on your ankle, hanging, and you giggle at the state of the situation. Ellie’s heart melts over itself, beating erratically; she’s going fucking crazy.

You’ve done nothing but moan, twitch, laugh, and flutter your lashes. She hasn’t even felt you yet, hasn’t even seen your body in its entirety. And she’s gone.

She almost raises an eyebrow at the sight of your skimpy little underwear, but her question catches in her throat. You were at the club, after all. Something sinks in her stomach at the thought of anyone else seeing you like this, observing the way the fabric clings onto you.

Her fingers massage at your inner thighs, her knee firm in place as she keeps them set apart. Her digits dance right against your core, pressing against the fabric. You twitch, rolling your hips into her, fingers catching on the seatbelt behind you, gripping on for life. She laughs, but not necessarily at you.

It feels like it takes her years (well, technically) to push your panties to the side, eyes falling hazy as she stares right into you. You’re so vulnerable, you try shutting your thighs close, but she pushes them apart again.

“I know,” she hushes you, dipping lower to nip at your lips. “I know.”

Her fingers trace over your folds, and you think you’re about to explode. You hadn’t expected Ellie to be the type to make this agonizing and painful, but you know you probably deserve it after your showcase of attitude.

She draws her hand back and brings her fingers up to her mouth, sucking on them nonchalantly. A satisfied sigh escapes her as she finally, finally gets to taste you on her tongue. She lets her hand travel back down, and you turn your head to the side, shutting your eyes in anticipation.

“Look at me,” she commands softly, stopping her fingers right where you want her.

You nod, giving her the false promise that you will. Ellie sees right through it, and with her free hand she gently grips onto your face, turning you to make eye contact with her.

She needed to see your face as she fucked you, she needed to know, after so long of wondering, how you looked when facing pure pleasure.

Your lashes flutter, eyebrows screwing together as she slips her fingers inside your warmth, pressing the heel of her palm against your clit. She’s gentle in the way she stretches you out, working you through it with such care and patience.

Ellie revels in the way your chest heaves already, pupils blown out with bliss. She moves her knee and lets you shut your thighs together, trapping her hand in place.

“This is all you needed, huh?” she teases, her voice only a little prickly, but her smile says otherwise. “For me to touch you like this.”

You nod silently, too busy biting on your bottom lip and rocking your body onto her fingers to reply.

“Answer me,” she demands with the same softness, setting the tone. Her gaze is locked onto your face, memorizing every twitch of your brow, every whine that leaves your lips.

It’s almost ridiculous how brainless you are already, melting beneath her entirely.

“Needed you,” you manage to breathe out, nodding your head again. “So bad.”

Ellie hisses a swear, and she can’t help the way she leans into you, pressing her body against yours. She curls her fingers inside of you, the palm of her hand nudging at your eager bud. She groans to herself as she feels your walls twitch around her digits, her head dropping low as if she has to stop herself from spiraling. She’s hanging on by a thread; a hair, wanting nothing more than to fuck you senseless. But it’s been too long, and she’s got something to prove to you.

Her eyes shine as she feels your body grow tense, your wriggling becoming more constant. She slows down her pace, watching closely as your mouth drops, a pout playing at your lips.

“Please,” you begin, and she smiles.

“Please what?”

“Please, fucking just,” you try grinding on her fingers, lashes fluttering. “Oh my god,” you sigh, that little attitude trickling in your tone.

She scoffs, almost meanly. She stops her movements entirely, fingers falling slack in your pussy. “Yeah? Do it yourself, then.”

And to her surprise, you do. That attitude is wiped clean from your voice as you whimper pathetically, body rolling, walls fluttering as you try to fuck yourself with her fingers. She stares at you in awe, throat running dry.

It takes her a second, but she blinks and she’s falling back into you. Watching as you desperately chase your release, bumping your clit onto her hand, and you absentmindedly grab onto her arm, trying to anchor yourself.

She sucks her teeth and sighs to herself. She had intended to drag this out, to make you beg, to make you say that you were hers all along. But with the way you hold onto her, shamelessly rutting your hips, her name falling off your lips like a prayer— she already knows it’s all true.

She’s kind enough to start thrusting her fingers again, moaning at the way your slick bundles at your entrance, coating her fingers and slipping down her hand. It’s obscene, but she doesn’t care. In fact, it gives her more of a reason to clean you up afterward.

“Ellie,” you breathe suddenly, your little prayers becoming less coherent as a certain feeling creeps around, engulfing your body and mind. “I’m gonna cum,” you whine shamelessly, the heat in your stomach spreading lower and lower, your body tingling.

She leans over you again, watching over your face as your eyes slip shut.

“Go ahead, baby. Let me hear you.”

It’s a demand but she still says it so softly, a certain tenderness behind her words. You choke on your own moan, body practically seizing as your thighs tighten, fingers digging into her arm. You chant a repeated I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, and Ellie smiles as you do anyway, your cunt swallowing her fingers with your release.

Her hand relentlessly slaps against your core, even though you begin to tear up and beg for her to stop. She smiles to herself before she slowly drags her fingers out of you, bringing them back up into her mouth.

It’s not nearly enough. While you slump back into the seat, panting, body still shaky from such strong sensations, she’s busy maneuvering her body to sit on the floor of the car and propping your legs onto her shoulders.

You blink as you slowly come back to reality, your mind hazy.

“Ellie,” you start softly, reaching out your hand.

She reaches up and intertwines your fingers, eyes locked on your dripping cunt as her voice carries over to your ears. “I’m right here. Can’t let it go to waste.”

Your eyes roll back, another string of moans escaping you as Ellie shuts her eyes and latches onto your clit, moaning into your pussy.

The hours of the night escape both of you, becoming lost in each other in the back of her car, cementing your fate.

Ellie laughs at your blank expression, her hand rubbing down her face in disbelief.

“That was so… garbage. Beyond garbage. Landfill levels of trash,” you say weakly, the soft lights of the movie theater reflecting off your face.

She continues giggling at your side, hand over her mouth in an attempt to be quiet despite the fact that the movie is already over.

You playfully swat at her arm, turning to her, face ridden with shock. “There’s no way you’re not disappointed! This shit was such a waste of money. We were better off pirating it.”

She shakes her head and smiles to herself, hand wrapping around your own as she pulls you to stand up with her. “I think it was well worth it; it was, like, funny bad.”

You stand, wrapping your arm around her own as you two trail down the steps of the theater. You continue picking the movie apart, disdain in your voice. You have a reason to be passionate; this lazy attempt at turning Savage Starlight into a box office success had taken a terrible turn, the movie filled with stupid one-liners and god awful acting.

You should’ve known; it’s been a month since the trailer dropped— or, since you and Ellie came back together. A month of everything falling into place, the pieces of your individual lives slipping back into the way they used to be. A month of constant, whispered confessions, making up for lost time; lovelorn kisses, touches fueled by years of yearning. Pursuing your lives together again, and of course, falling back into your geeky little habits— the one thing that brought you together in the first place, anyway.

You shouldn’t have walked in with such high expectations after the both of you predicted how awful it was gonna be once you both sat down to rewatch the trailers together.

As the two of you make it outside of the building, Ellie bites her cheek at the way you continue to ramble, the passion in your voice making her heart swell. There is just too much to adore about you.

“Hey,” she starts, voice low.

You raise your eyebrows. “What?”

Ellie nods her chin in the direction of her car, mischief written all over her face. “I know a way to give you a happy ending.”

You groan in annoyance, pushing her away. Your voice rings out and into her ears, settling her restless heart as you scold her, a smile showing through.

“Ellie!”

#ellie fluff #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie smut #ellie williams smut #tlou x reader #ellie angst #ellie williams angst

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codenameredkrystalmatrix · 1 year

Text

Colours (Savage Opress X Reader)

Their colours change as he spends more time with you. He changes as he spends more time with you. (Cross-posted on AO3)

Red

When you found him at a wreckage site on Phu, his burning eyes and scowl told you he wasn’t the friendliest being. While he was passed out, you tried going through what was left of his flight log. The only pattern was that there was no pattern…

“Listen. Either you come with me, or whoever you’re avoiding catches up. And between and me, you don’t look ready for what they could be packing.”

A nod.

You’d bluffed well, and for your reward, were now the caretaker of a raging Zabrak male. His name (which you found out when he just about screamed it at you during a rant) made sense. Savage Opress. Any conversation you tried to have was shut down either with silence or a snarl.

He would stare daggers into your back while you worked. You couldn’t help the way your palms broke out into sweats. Things were getting out of control when you realized you could barely even pilot your own ship with him nearby. It was just…overwhelming. You’d thought it over and had decided that it would really be better if you both went your separate ways. At least, that was the original plan.

A bone-chilling scream echoed through the rooms. You jumped out of your cot, knocking your head against the wall in your wild twisting. Swearing, you doubled over and stayed put until you could stop seeing stars. But the screams weren’t letting up. Every urge in your body was telling you to get back to bed, huddle up and forget you heard anything. This was too much for you- how could you help? His health was none of your concern. Nothing would save him from whatever demons were-

“Hey! Wake up!”

You didn’t quite know how you’d gotten there so quickly, but you dismissed it. His eyes snapped open, and immediately the pupils narrowed. Sitting up from the floor where he’d been thrashing, he slumped. You realized your hands had found their way to his shoulders.

“Bad dream?”

He rose and silently sat cross-legged in another corner. Whatever he was running from, it haunted him. In such a state, you didn’t have the heart to leave him alone.

“I can’t afford any parts for this ship, got that? So, you better stop denting my floors.”

Still nothing. You huffed, returning to your room. Cargo deliveries had just gotten a little more complicated.

Black

If there was one thing that was certain about your fellow traveller- he knew his way around combat. He’d slash his way through opponents with speed and brutality that made you shiver. The problem of running into a couple of goons was often resolved in seven seconds- maximum. But for the bigger fights (like intercepts by rivals of your clients), he’d put himself in serious danger, and sometimes narrowly miss death.

In the dim light of the medical room, his eyes were flat and dark after times like those. Half-closed, and drifting in and out of awareness, they seemed almost lifeless. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest showed he lived. You tried to be gentler with him, asking how he felt after he’d fully awakened.

“I live.”

“How about I help out a bit? I know a couple older tricks.”

“I will tend myself.”

“You pass out halfway through it.”

Another stare, so you continued. “That won’t help. I’ll do it, so you get back into fighting form quicker.”

He didn’t object- either to you patching him up, or to you rubbing some cream in so slightly older injuries healed better. After one such session, you saw him looking at you.

“You cannot feel the Force.”

“Nope. Why?”

He couldn’t answer that. There was just…he wasn’t sure what to call it. The Dark Side only offered anger to suppress the pain for a while. There would be no true healing for him. But this...what he felt around you... was not unfavourable.

His skin was soothed with the creams. He slept more deeply with the scent of herbal oils lingering in the room. Savage found himself stretching his limits, battering his body to be melded together again under your touch. Something prevented him from drawing on the full depth of his anger. So, he avoided meditation altogether. It had always been a waste of time better spent in combat.

“I swear- it’s like you want to get killed.” You griped, working some ointment into his lower back after a more serious run-in.

“It would not be something I avoided.”

He regretted speaking, as his words caused your hands to still.

“Savage? You…”

“I am tired.”

“You…I…Savage. You’re…”

The Force within you reached out to him, begging in ways words could not articulate to not say that. It stretched to someplace within his hearts, hurting for him. What…was this? Turning to look at you, he tried deciphering your intent, but found nothing that the Force had not revealed. A little tremulously, you laid a hand on his chest.

“I’m really sorry.”

And, if he were almost any other being, Savage Opress would have broken down into tears. As it was, he simply closed his eyes.

Brown

Once he noticed, it was impossible to ignore it. He liked that little path in the Force that bent around the shape of your being. It reached out to him- like what he’d imagine a loth-cat’s tail would be like wrapped around his soul. Not the insidious coaxing of Mother Talzin, or the durasteel-cold of Count Dookoo. And not the white-hot mass of rage that had pulsed from his brother. It was quieter. He could feel the fear that most beings did around him, but something just under that drew him in. He stayed with you more to sense it.

You noticed his thoughtful silence. Maybe some air would do him good. “Would you like to come to the markets with me?”

A silent stare. Not pointed, but not exactly welcoming either. He did, however, nod after a bit. After that first trip, he made it a habit- standing as soon as he saw you with your bags. He’d lift things too heavy for you and offer protection. Well, “offer” wasn’t quite the word. It was more that he’d stay at your side and chillingly glare at anyone who stared at you for more than 3 seconds. During one such trip, you saw a parent walking with their child.

“Ever thought about it?” You cocked your head in their direction. He looked up at the sky, eyes less harsh than they used to be, but distant. Something…heavy came over him.

“I kill.”

“You killed. You can stop.”

His head darted down to you, expression asking.

I can?

He seemed surprised that he could be anything besides a monster. That left you with food for thought once you re-boarded.

After another unsuccessful meditation upon leaving your side, Savage stood. He looked to the corner of his area, where you’d left a costly lotion. What little rage he had mustered faded away, bringing clarity. It wasn’t that he’d been prevented from using his anger. It was that there was less anger in him to be used. Should he be worried about that?

He'd ignore it. He’d only wanted to be strong enough to fight alongside his brother. Dark power meant nothing if it could not bring him back. In any case, he felt too tired to tread that path any longer. There was another he wanted to wander down.

You worked around and with each other, settling into a routine over time. Savage served as your very-effective bodyguard and co-pilot, working the guns as needed. Your financial situation stabilized, and improved. So, it was time for a little treat.

“Ta-da!” You walked in with two boxes. “Gotcha some stuffed puffer pig.”

You sat in the opposite seat of the cockpit, passing him his food. If you hadn’t been so busy enjoying your algae crisps, you may have caught the surprise on his face, that melted into satisfaction as he ate with you.

As you took his box from him to throw it away, your shoulder brushed against his. A pleasant thrill caught him off-guard. He must have reacted outwardly, because you glanced at him.

“Everything ok?”

Catching your free hand, he guided it to his chest. Another floaty feeling. He leaned in and manoeuvred himself until you were nestled against his chest the way he’d seen others do. Unease, worry that you would break away. But despite that, every cell within him sang.

“You could have just asked, Savage.”

And when you tightened the embrace, he became convinced there was power in you that the Jedi and Sith could only dream of. Something that somehow both weakened him and eased the tension from his body. You couldn’t respond to any of his questions when he asked, and he could tell you were being truthful about your lack of Force-sensitivity. He let it drop, content to experience the effect you had on him.

Yellow

Sometimes you’d brush fingertips. Other times, his hand fit itself in the small of your back. Others, he’d simply stand behind you, fascinated by the soft curves of your body against himself. You’d glance back, and…was that a smile on his face when you teased him? Even the way he moved was shifting. His predator’s stalk was slowing- stretching into a smooth, easy stride that often directed towards you. Something fond peeked through his once-impassive stare.

Once, as you sat in the cabin, he took one of your hands to the base of one of his horns. Under his guidance, your fingertips rubbed the flesh at the point where they started to jut out. His torso relaxed, and carefully- making a choice and surrendering to a wish- he laid on your thighs. You continued slowly, in awe of what this gesture was doing to him. When he looked at you, his eyes seemed to hold the beginnings of peace. You beamed.

He…could cause happiness? Savage could not for the life of him believe that he was the reason for those looks. He wanted to see them all the time. Was there more he could do? After cycles of deliberation, he approached. He reached forward, forward, but then stopped. Was this a mistake? What if you frowned or glared at him? His hearts squeezed. He couldn’t remember if, before this, his hands had ever trembled.

You took them halfway. Thumbs slid along bruised and cybernetic knuckles alike. Then, with all the gentleness in the galaxy, you stretched up and kissed his cheek. A gasp, and his eyes widened.

“I’ll take it slow.”

Over time, many more caressed his cheeks, forehead, nose and, eventually, his lips. Every time, he’d close his eyes, letting relief flow through his jaded body. His meditation sessions grew once more, but with the addition of this beautiful creature sound asleep in his lap. He felt himself smile when you were like that. It was no longer the Dark Side that fuelled him.

Days were spent stealing embraces while you worked. Fingers always lingered more than what was strictly necessary. During lazier times, you’d set the ship to autopilot while you relaxed in the cockpit. He’d have you snuggled against him, planting the occasional forehead kiss. And as you responded gently along his neck and shoulders, he’d hold you just a little closer.

Nights were spent on his bed, where scented oils were massaged into his aching muscles. Contented rumbles would fill the ship, and, with either tenderness or near-unbridled passion, he’d kiss every inch of you in gratitude. Instead of nightmares, peaceful blackness waited on him as he closed his eyes.

…o0o…

If there was anything you loved about him, it was how close he kept you. Be it the way his hand always found yours as you walked together, or the way his arms steadied you in your weakest moments. In your current position, his organic arm was wrapped around your torso as you laid on his chest. The cybernetic one had been taken off- something he did only when he was sure he could have a long, peaceful moment with you. And that he’d had- being able to rest after a successful delivery.

Harsh lines made up his face, but with a relaxed expression that softened you. Reaching out, you traced the path of the bridge of his nose, then across to his cheekbones, along his jaw…

His chest vibrated with a hum. You giggled at that, and the corner of his mouth turned up. Savage rolled over to straddle you. The pads of his fingers skimmed your wrist, and he left a tender kiss to your neck. As he pulled back, those eyes finally opened to the colour you saw most in recent times. The colour of the flowers you’d decorated his horns with after you’d raced through a field. That of the bracelets he’d given you as a declaration and a promise. That of the new sunrise of hope in your lives.

Beautiful, burning, heart-melting…

Gold

#x reader #fluff #star wars #savage opress #savage opress x reader

34 notes · View notes

mooishbeam · 1 year

Text

『♡』 In the Ring

♡ featuring: boxer!wriothesley x manager!reader

♡ summary: its hard managing a boxer full time. maybe it's time you relieve that stress. wc: 6.8k+ (???>":>?)

♡ cw/tw: mentions of trauma, mentions of violence, rough sex, overstim, face-sitting, size kink, unintentional edging, hair pulling, mentions of choking, argument, confessed feelings, slow burn, kinda toxic?

notes: can u tell how down bad i am for wriothesley. also do yall like the smaller text cause I do. jing yuan fluff next :)) art by sxnalien on twitter! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

For a second, the crowd stills. Bright intense lamps illuminate the sweltering squared circle, buoyant under the nimble movement of the boxers. They trade blows, bobbing and throwing each devastating hook with an even deadlier counter. No one took a hit for the past minutes, and the audience scoots to the edge of their seats at the sheer stamina of the two. Both dripping sweat, barely holding on between the merciless clock and their steadfast opponent. You can almost hear the breeze of swift jabs cutting wind against their jaws. The one with blue gloves can barely manage to guard himself, with a swollen face and wobbly legs, while the crimson gloves deal relentless punches. The crowd shouts. Unintelligible echoes, some that pray for the win, others grieving the money they’re about to lose. He’s caught on the ropes, and attempts a wild swing to save himself, to save his career. Red gloves weaves effortlessly and delivers a brutal crush to his bloodied nose and possibly busted mouthpiece. The crack is resounding, it makes the commentators cringe. His skull flies back, and he comes crashing down from his dizzying tower. The head-first fall vibrates beneath the feet of investors in proximity.

DING DING DING

Mass uproar ensues. They jump out of their seats, flailing their arms, joy and pain in equilibrium.

“And he is out! It’s all over!” the commentator yells. Confetti floats golden dust from the ceiling. The victor stalks the ropes before hopping on them, his gloves raised in the air. Glistening, high off elation, but somehow composed in his attitude, akin to a wolf.

“A savage knockout from the untouchable world champion, the king of the ring, Wriooothesley!”

“Wrio, Wrio, Wrio!” they chant. You’re standing near the ropes, already identifying which joints you’ll need to observe after his victory lap. It’s hectic, and you’re jotting down the state of his figure. Past experiences sew through each deep scar carving his rugged biceps and abs, the bruises display early signs of discoloration. He’s tall on the unseen throne, it feels like you’re there with him. A million eyes in that vast stadium, and yet, those midwinter eyes ebbed in silver only look at you.

Your beginnings as a manager were tumultuous. You could barely comprehend how out of your league you were working for a renowned agency fresh out of college. Though you found quick success in your ability to grab the attention of investors through public relations, you weren’t equipped just yet with the hindsight in preparing for scandals. The other athletes you worked with served no problem, and so you never had to worry about their appeal. Higher ups praised your extensive portfolio, and at such a young age, it was even more commendable. You earned it, fame and respect, interviews and gossip—a delicate dance. You were always busy, assisting your clients throughout the day and maintaining their presence while they slept. It was hard work, but you loved doing it.

That was until you worked with amateur boxer, Childe.

A snappy, overconfident lightweight fighter with no regard for anything or anyone. He had an unmistakable void in his eyes, but you fought for him ceaselessly, to prove that he wasn’t the cold person he portrayed himself as. You bore with his flirtatious compliments and innuendos, the need to focus him whenever you documented his afflictions, and he’d not-so-subtly flex his biceps. Childe was unnecessarily violent with underhanded tactics. The media knew this and did everything to amplify that bellicose story. You’d combat it, negate it, but he only fed the flames with threats of retaliation. Taking his phone wasn’t enough, and you couldn’t get through to him. It was only a matter of time before he went off the deep end.

The day you slept, you discovered a restlessness you’d endure indefinitely. The flickering glow of your device woke you at midnight as hundreds of notifications congested your screen. 128 missed calls from your agency, 50 from news sources, and none from Childe. When you processed the damage from his deplorable stunt, you nearly hurled your phone out the window. He posted revenge porn, and evidently turned off his phone. Surely, there’d be a way to fix this. The chances seemed to dissolve with each text turning green. You started pacing, battling with morality and loyalty and anger. What he did was disgusting, but it’s your job to save him, right? Is he worth saving? You spoke with 4 managers at once, switching through motives and bickering until morning. As you flipped through the television, another emotion struck you.

There he was, on a tasteless gossip channel. An interview you didn’t arrange, with a man you’ve never seen before. And he was...crying? The sob story emitting from his deceitful lips was almost impressive. Childe went on about how “demanding and horrible” you were backstage. The crocodile tears dried up through dodgy anecdotes, but it was enough to have people hooked. You were allegedly physically and emotionally abusive. He was too scared to speak up due to your position and he just couldn’t bear it any longer. Then he dropped the bomb; he blamed you for his post. You forced him to do it, jealous of his previous partners, emphasizing how enamored you were of him. The questionable tears began to fall again, but this time he covered his mouth, withholding the duping smile crawling on his face.

You were filled with blinding rage, unable to control the fury at which your remote connected with the screen. It was everywhere now, social media websites booming with live opinions. He had no reason to slander you, and you couldn’t pinpoint why he chose to hurt you like this. You cried for him, shared stories of childhood and family. The knife you used to protect him was firm in your back, twisting and digging with each disgusting message in your inbox. You had no game plan to conduct, and no tears left to cry.

Within a week, you finally understood how cruel this industry could be. Within a week, you were no longer on top. You lost clients fast. It spread like wildfire and not a single outlet spared an ear for your side. People you called friends, coworkers, hadn’t replied to your messages. When you got back to work, the rooms were silent as you passed. You could feel their judgement, whispers rattled with rumors and accusations. They waited for the tiniest slip-up and pounced like hyenas—you were eaten alive by their pitiful stares. You attempted to tell your truth multiple times throughout the week, but it was consistently rejected. The headlines were eye-catching:

“Manager From Hell: Childe Tells All!”

“He Cries: A Story of Love and Jealousy”

Your stomach churned to the magazines being shown. Despite the great amount of loss you suffered, you were thankful for the one person that believed you, your boss.

“Childe is a lying little snake. The media knows that, too.”

“Then why is this happening?”

“Money. That story is making bank right now. But I know for a fact you wouldn’t do this” he reassured.

“Thank you, sir. But...I lost everything; I just don’t know what to do.” The weariness was heavy in your voice.

“I have someone you can manage. It won’t be easy, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.” You were unsure of yourself now, and he continued.

“You’re one of my best. If you want to climb out of this, now’s your chance.” Yes, you were unsure, drowning in doubt. But if the only way to get above water was to keep swimming, you wouldn’t give up so easily.

Wriothesley wasn’t exactly known for his kindness. Crude, cocky, maybe even spoiled were descriptions that circulated in the tabloids. He had a knack for pissing reporters off by not answering questions or humming over their voice with a shit-eating grin on his face. Women loved him, however, throwing bras and phone numbers written on scrap as the condemned “bad boy” departed post-game. They screamed his name at once, and he’d done nothing to deserve it. He relished infamy—that way, it was much harder to pry into his private life.

It had to be a coincidence that it was someone you fangirled over. In college, your eyes were glued to the screen every Sunday, waiting for Wriothesely’s post-conference and behind the scenes interviews. He didn’t speak often, but just the sight of those inky strands streaked with ash made your heart flutter featherlight in your chest.

When you first approached him, he was just as arrogant as you’d expect.

“Good evening!” you beamed. You caught him outside the gym, and he still had his headphones in. Full volume and blankly staring as you went on about the opportunity, silent under the blaring music. He took one earbud out when you finished.

“Hm? Who’re you?”

You were slightly annoyed. “Let me reintroduce myself, I’m (Y/N). Your new manager.”

“No. Bye.” He began to walk past you without an ounce of care. You couldn’t lose it like this.

“Ah, wait!” He turned half-heartedly.

“Listen, I get it. You don’t want to be bossed around. But honestly, your reputation is shit. That can’t be good for business.” you persuaded. He towered over you, the figure of a Greek giant peeked through the compression top as he lazily watched you.

“So? Why do you care?” he remarked.

“I’ll help you. Sponsors, advertisements, whatever you want. You’re good, but you can be so much better. Let’s make money together.” You held your hand out, awaiting a handshake of approval. He merely glanced at your limp wrist.

“Help? You’re obviously not doing this for free.”

“Of course not. Give a little, take a little. I don’t do charity cases” you shrugged.

He groaned, raking his fingers through his thick mane. At the very least, he hadn’t walked away yet. “I'd prefer for my life to be private.”

“Then I’ll guarantee your privacy.”

“Really?” he scoffed. “What can you give me besides empty promises?”

“Anything you desire. Work with me, and I’ll make it happen.” That offer enticed him. No one had been this persistent with him yet, he scared off any manager that dared succor him. It was slightly entertaining, the way you burned ambition in your eyes, you were so easy to read. Most people wouldn’t look directly at him, and here you were, ready to follow him home if that’s what it took. He chuckled, and his massive hand reached for yours.

You shook hands, and your fates were sealed.

That was a year ago, and ever since then he’s been a thorn in your side. Nonstop drama and rectifying consumed your life. You didn’t think a man who spoke so little in public could talk so much around you. Whenever you argue—which is a frequent occurrence—his smirk grew wider at your frustration. You weren’t sure why you ever liked him in the first place. He only puts in effort when it comes to sparring, but you’re determined to ameliorate his standing, and in turn, yours.

The minute you open the doors to the hall, the sound of pummeled sandbags, clanking metal, and sneakers skidding across the floor roars in your ears. Some men are dialed in on abusing the inanimate objects, the rest tense through repetitions of dumbbell curls with a hiss. You're in quick strides, the phone arm's length away from you as the sponsor on the other end screams. Another petty drama surrounding Wriothesley grabs the attention of the internet. Luckily, you have thorough experience remedying this.

“What are you going to do? You’re fucking with my money!” you hear the faint voice. You bring the phone back to your ear.

“Don’t I always deal with it? He fights, I make up for the other half. Give me a few hours.”

“I’m not going to wa-” You hang up at the response.

You propel the double doors free into a large room with a boxing ring in the center. A group of trainers swarm the perimeter, you can barely see through.

“Don’t be scared!” one of them taunt towards the sparring partner, who has an unthinkable panic creeping in goosebumps dotting his skin. Each sloppy dodge tilts him more and more off balance against the strikes. Wriothesley has a powerful stature, with his back curving in a way that accentuates the rough muscle shaping his spine. You drone an annoyed sigh at the commotion and push yourself through them.

“Move it, move!” you yell, before jostling your way to the front of the ring.

“Wriothesley! Times up.” He turns his head to the side, unintentionally sparing his partner and glares at you.

“Two minutes.”

“No. Now.” you command. He looks up at nothing, as if considering his options if he cusses you out. Then he begrudgingly drops the gloves and pulls himself under the ropes. The group disperses from the lack of action and he’s mere inches from you now. Sometimes you forget how to breathe in his half-naked presence.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He mumbles while drying his head with a towel. His colossal forearms are raised over his head, highlighting the happy trail thick down his abdomen and tufts of hair on his armpits.

“You. How many times do I have to tell you not to train during recovery?” you seethe.

“Damn. Must’ve slipped my mind.” He doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest.

“Well then, I’ll be sure to remind you hourly.”

“Nah, I’m good. Hearing you once a day is enough.” He tosses the towel to you like his dutiful servant and grabs his water bottle. The liquid drips down his chin and on his shorts, hanging below his v-line.

Your eyebrow twitches from withheld vexation. “If you don’t want to hear me twice, I suggest you do what I tell you. We need to talk.” A heavy sigh leaves him as he stretches, and he passes you the water bottle. If you had the strength to collapse the bottle with one hand, you would. “Lead the way” he goads.

Wriothesley follows you through the backdoor of the gym to a secluded alleyway. When you get there, he immediately pulls out a cigarette you didn’t know he had. You were aware he smokes occasionally, but seeing it physically coaxed a strange worry in your gut. You twist your phone to him, to display evidence of him instigating an argument with Childe on social media. He reads in silence, briefly laughing at the recollection of his own comebacks, then lights the cigarette.

“What’s this? Didn’t I say keep a low profile?” you reprimand.

He drags in a deep breath of nicotine, and you eye the foul scent with distaste. He blows it above your unhappy face. “Calm down. Once a month thing. That fucker's testing me.”

“This can’t happen again, Wriothesley.” He ignores you to continue his mumbling. “I should break his neck like a twig. He’s lucky he didn’t say that shit to my face, fucking punk.” he grouses. You're struggling to gather your thoughts, the cigarette compacted between his thick fingers irritates you.

“We all appreciate your restraint, however-” you get closer, and yank the stick out his hand.

“No-!” Before he can finish, you promptly smudge it underneath your shoe. You aren’t sure how he’d react, but you didn’t expect him to sulk like a puppy.

“You aren’t doing this shit while I’m here.”

“Oh my god” he pouts, throwing his hands into his face and pulling them down.

“You’re lucky I don’t report it to the doctor. None of this, ever again.”

“Fuck, alright just...” he lets out a defeated sigh. “What do you want me to do about it? Apologize publicly?” You need him to do nothing; neither agency wants controversy, and it’d most likely be swept under the rug in just a couple days. You point his water bottle to him.

“Nope, I’ll handle it. Just sit there and be pretty.” you reassure. He leans down to your height with a sweet smile and even sweeter gaze.

“I do that well, don’t I?” he quips.

“You manage.” He latches onto the water bottle, and drinks from it in your hand while looking at you. A soft heat envelops you beyond words that never reach your lips.

“Listen to what I’m saying. Low. Profile.” Wriothesley comes up from thirst, dragging his tongue along the straw to the top, and licks his blushed lips. He delights in your flustered reaction.

“Low. Profile.” he repeats in a sarcastic drawl.

Later in the week, you receive a call in your office. It was fairly busy today, with coworkers constantly “checking in”, more so to see Wriothesley sitting across from you. He had no reason to be here, and you were surprised at his arrival. Be it boredom or a certain longing, a dull swell pulsed in his chest once he saw your overworked smile.

“Hello, this is (Y/N) of Boxe Association. May I know who I’m speaking with?” Wriothesley’s ears perk up at your sudden professionalism, and he mimics your cadence.

“Good afternoon, it’s Isadora.” Isadora was an event coordinator you previously worked with before your controversy. You understood that she stopped communicating to protect her business, but the pain lingered. You twirl the phone cord around your fingers, and meet eyes with Wriothesley, who’s laid back in the chair, his arms behind his head.

“Oh. Hey, it’s been a while.” you say. You turn your swivel chair away from him to continue the conversation. His eyebrow twitches slightly with an unconscious scowl, and he walks towards your chair.

“It has. I’m calling because I have a proposition that might interest you. I believe a meet and greet would be appropriate for your client. A large chunk of his fanbase are young adult women, however, he’s also popular with children.” He spins the chair around with a firm hand and presses his cheek against the phone.

“That’s true.” You side eye him, and without skipping a beat, mush his nosey face away. His hot breath on your digits makes your skin tingle.

“Who is that” he mumbles. You'd never seen Wriothesley interact with children, and you have every reason to be hesitant.

“Hmm...any positive activity with children is good publicity. I’ll consider it. I’ll let you know by tonight.” The second you hang up, you release his face.

“Why are you being annoying-”

“Who were you talking to” he chides.

“Isadora. She’s an event coordinator.” His clenched jaw unwinds. “She wants to do a meet and greet with you and a few kids. If we go through with this, I’ll have a camera crew and some reporters there. It’ll be good for your image.”

“Okay.” he agrees. That was quick.

“...Are you sure? Kids are loud and obnoxious a lot of the time.”

“So? Fine by me. I can teach them how to fight.” Your skin crawls at the thought of Wriothesley launching a child through a wall. “That won’t be necessary.”

“It’ll be fun.” The more he assures you, the more uneasy you feel.

“Wriothesley, I’m serious. Don’t screw this up” you plead. He holds his pinky out. “I won't.” His loose interpretation of promises was dubious at best, but you had no other options, and this might be your only opening. You curl to his word.

After parleying the finer details, you broadcast a raffle for young fans to meet Wriothesley. The traffic to the website was overwhelming, and you quickly began sorting out tickets for the favored winners.

Fortunately, the next couple of weeks were par for the course.

It’s the night before the event, and you’re getting ready for bed. You sit at your desk in a big T-shirt and do your daily review of personal data. As you're scrolling through and identifying what needs improvement, you get a notification on your phone.

“Breaking News: Boxer Bar Fight!” Curious, you open the tab to a video. It makes your breath stall, sweating frantically. You can’t think clearly, and your shaky hands can barely increase the volume. Unidentifiable noises and wobbly camerawork made it impossible to catch anything besides those familiar inky black strands, throwing punches in a drunken stupor at a defenseless man. Your previous conundrum flashes through your memory in a horrific stop-motion; the duping smile on his face.

No. It’s happening all over again. Why is he at a bar? You messaged him before he went to bed. He never goes to bars. Why now, the night before the event? It’s late, he doesn’t go anywhere without telling you.

He promised.

None of it made sense as you threw on any sweatpants in your drawer and ran out the door. You can’t wait until morning. Disaster punctures and tears any rational decision you contemplate. Shouting silently within your mind, a crashing rage—or sadness—boils in your nervous stomach. You’re tunnel vision in a taxi on the way to his address.

When you get there, you bang on the door with a fury that vibrates throughout the archway. His home is extravagant, with two cars and an expansive driveway. You bang again.

“Wriothesley!” He finally opens the door. He’s still half asleep, pajama pants low on his waist, groggily leaning against the arch.

“(Y/N)? Uh, what’s up?” He slurs in a deep slumbering voice through heavy eyelids. You barge in without saying anything. “Make yourself at home, I guess.”

The interior is just as opulent as the exterior, it almost looks untouched. Every corner has a case or shelf stacked with ornate trophies and medals of excellence. It was the home of someone who achieved peak perfection and reveled in it. He follows you to his living room, bewildered at your furious expression. You play the video in front of him, and he watches with that same puzzled attitude that makes you angrier. You try taking deep breaths to compose yourself, but they halt shallowly.

“What the fuck is this?” you accuse.

“What? I don’t know.” “Like hell you don’t know, this shit is on every homepage. Are you serious?”

The cranky boxer pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. You show up at his house, and it’s to badger him about a rumor. Your temperament only heats the smoldering ember fueled by incessant claims. He covers his mouth, physically stopping the involuntary response.

“Okay” he says, and blurts a facetious chuckle. Your heart thumps in your chest and ears.

“Oh, It’s a fucking joke? I bust my ass to save your career and you’re laughing?” you snap, voice increasing in volume until it reaches a broken peak. He returns with the same energy.

“When did I ask you to fix anything? Did you ever think that maybe I don’t fucking need you-”

“You can barely control your smoking habits you pompous ass-”

“I would if you didn’t nag me all the time. Whining and complaining, it’s fucking annoying!” he yells. Neither of you meant the words spilling out the bubbling surface, but your tongues were solely seasoned with the next spiteful jab.

“Yes, whining! Because all you need to do is be on the straight and narrow, but you take nothing seriously, Wriothesley, and that’s exactly why-”

“Exactly why what? Why your career went to shit so you’re piggybacking off mine?”

Your battle stops. You can’t find the words to rebuttal. All the opinions of your colleagues, the media, Wriothesley, and yourself coagulate into a lump that fills the tightening throat. Pride comforts tears brimming your eyes.

He pauses, as though he came to reality. An apology attempts to form on his lips, but it never manifests. “(Y/N), I didn’t-”

“See you in the morning” you choked. You walk to the door, and he reaches out to the infinite space thick between you two.

You didn’t sleep the entire night. It’s morning, and you’re exhausted. You consistently replayed the quarrel in your head through the taxi ride home, and when you strived for rest, it plagued your mind. Your coffee is untouched during your morning routine, a movement comparable to zombies. You don’t bother to confirm if Wriothesely is at the building—either way you owe it to the event holders to be there.

You arrive just before the children file into the training room. Thankfully, Wriothesley is there in the center. Live cameras from reporters and parents border the walls; if something were to occur, it would be irreversible. Your head suddenly hurts.

Perhaps playing it up for his reputation, the smile stretched across his face is a sunny warmth you’ve never seen from him. He waves to them, and they erupt with screams. To your astonishment, he gets on his knees to be eye level with them. They all jump into his arms at once, and he topples over onto the mat.

And he’s laughing. This grumpy asshole fighter is laughing. A hearty, genuine laugh as he wraps his sturdy arms around all of them and picks them up at once. He whirls them around and they orchestrate high-pitched giggles. “Ready to have some fun?” he chortles. They say yes to varying degrees of excitement, and the meet and greet proceeds.

You can’t help but smile when he frolics with the kids. They chase him with boxing gloves, he pretends to fall dramatically. Dogpiling him, he lets out a shrill scream of defeat. He manages to work in proper defense techniques while they jump him like a test dummy. He tosses each kid in the air whenever they ask, and never tells them no. You receive another call from Isadora amid your admiration, and you step outside.

“Hey! Good news, these views are off the charts and the internet is really in his favor right now” she congratulates.

“That’s great...what about the video from last night? Did you see it?” you ask.

“Video...oh, that! Don’t worry, it’s confirmed fake.” What? Oh no. Immediate regret stirs in your blood, and you force the phone away to catch your breath. You feel utterly stupid.

“Hello?” You quickly bring the phone back to your ear. “Yea, sorry. I have to go; I’ll call you later.” you insist. You can’t facepalm any harder. You make your way back to the training room, where the kids decorate his gloves with iridescent stickers. Wriothesley occasionally looks at you, but you can’t bear to show your guilty face.

When the event is over, you both make sure to hug every child on the way out and thank the parent for coming. You’re sorting through mountains of requests people made to see Wriothesley again, and you mute your phone over the influx of emails. Peeking at the broadcast, under the footage in bold letters:

“(Y/N) Back from the Dead?”

It wasn’t the most flattering title, but it proved that public perception was salvageable. You emit a sigh of relief, for you and Wriothesley. As you’re packing your things to exit, he blocks the door with his body.

“Can we talk?” You were dreading this discussion, but agreed, nonetheless. The ride to his home is silent, you grapple with a proper apology.

You lean against the kitchen bar, while he’s laxing on the couch. Sleep deprivation torments you, causes you to wander as you fill in papers from sponsors. You can’t see the way Wriothesley steals glances at your slack figure curving to the marble. He eventually spoke.

“So, um.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. You did a good job today Wriothesley, you should be proud.” You flash a meek smile. He fumbles with his thumbs uncomfortably.

“I am. Aren’t I the best?” he boasts.

“You are” you say. The lack of sleep beckons you to a spur of honesty as you scribble. “You have stunning form, perfect accuracy, and immeasurable talent. Not just anyone can do that.” you return. He gazes at you, that dull swell pumping in his veins again. The cozy radiance of lights brightens your tired eyes.

“You’re a big fan, huh?” he chuckles.

“Of course, I used to watch you in college. I had a major crush on you” you snort. “Everything you are is amazing, but you know this. So cut it out.” He sits on the armrest, swallowing your confessions. The room is entirely too hot, he needs alleviation—he needs you.

“Sorry. For what I said.”

“Forget it. It's my fault, I was careless. I apologize.” you admit.

“You know I didn’t do it, right?”

“I know.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know.” you reassure.

“What if some other bullshit controversy comes out. Then what?” You stop writing to give him your full attention.

“Then, I’ll trust you. We’ve gotten this far. Even if no one else does, even if for some reason I lose my job and I’m not your manager anymore, I’ll trust you, Wriothesley.” you reveal. He doesn’t move. Wriothesley knew he wasn’t deserving of trust, and he’d made a plethora of mistakes throughout your arrangement. You had every right to leave him long ago. Nobody gave him the time of day or cared for his wellbeing like you did, but he couldn’t reciprocate. Even so, here he kneels, at the feet of an angel that shows him undying mercy.

Wriothesley stalks at you, but you remain. He looms over you, pinning you to the counter with both arms, inches from your face. It isn’t a threatening force, but one that begs for confirmation. That slated storm searches for a specific craving, you feel his chest rising and falling laden with yours.

“You’re too close” you quiver. The bitter musk and vanilla enveloping your senses makes you foggy, it lingers through the whole house.

“Tell me to leave.” His mouth slants to you, and he waits expectingly. You ogle his features, the scratches of a warrior celebrated across his hardy torso. His hair brushes against your forehead, imperfect and uniquely beautiful. Why were you mad, again?

“Tell me to back off, (Y/N)” he pleads. The pads of your fingers lightly caress his ear, then his jaw.

“Please” he whispers. Your thumb grazes his bottom lip, and he succumbs to the urge.

You collide fervently, lips coated in definitive desire. Dancing with rough, bruising kisses that don’t make space for air. It smears on your face, dips down your neck and swiftly returns to your lonely mouth. The pressure of the counter bar burns across your lower back from his weight, but those mind-numbing kisses soften any injury. You bite his lip when he pulls away, and he groans. Suddenly, he lifts you effortlessly with his hands on your ass, and you clash teeth and tongue in a passionate challenge. He demands entry, and you moan into the wet mass intertwining through sloppy kisses. It explores your mouth, sending throbs to your nerves and subdues any control you have left. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, but you yearn for deeper contact. He licks up the organ, and spots moist, hungry kisses on your jaw. You both take a fleeting breath before converging again. You find passage in his hair and suck staining rose-colored marks on his neck while he carries you to the bedroom.

“You’ve been waiting for this, hm? Slutty groupie” Wriothesley moans. You drag kisses along the shell of his ear. He tosses you onto the fluffy bedding and haphazardly strips to his underwear. The wide mirror opposite his bed gives you a glimpse of his thighs and shapely bottom hugging the briefs. You’re supposed to be undressing, but that thronging bulge made for a titan makes you nervous for what’s to come. He palms the erection to soothe the ache and climbs over you. He’s somewhat gentle, careful with the bulk of his body as he cradles your face for more kisses. The way he looks at you, a covet softness or misted lust tantalizing the wetness pooling in your panties. He moves to your neck, French kissing down your throat and on your collarbone. You feel like a virgin again, heart racing from every graze of his fingers and lips. His calloused digits grope the plush fat of your thighs, and gradually reach the hem of your skirt. You snake your hands over his pecs and abs and read the muscles. Moaning into each other's mouths, indulging every part of your bodies as you’ve wanted to do for months. He pulls your skirt off and you hold your button-down over your exposed panties. Heat spreads in your body, and he amuses at your sudden bashfulness.

“Oh…you’re shy?” he teases, before popping the buttons off with a brutal rip. “Wrio!” you yelp. That’s the first time you called Wriothesley a nickname; he must’ve died and went to heaven. The lace gift wrapped around your breasts taunts him, and he buries his face immediately. He nips the sensitive skin and snaps the clasp off. “Cute. Need to feel you” he husks. He twirls the bud in his mouth, while manipulating the other between his girthy fingers. Alternating among loving hickies and harsh tugs of his teeth on your nipple. You whine, and his laugh tickles your raw skin. He flips over on his back and steadies you on top of him. Discards the rest of your top, and let’s out a shaky groan.

“You’ve never been this speechless” he says. You smile and kiss his puffy lips, your hands kneading his chest. “You’re so pretty” you coo. He huffs while rubbing circles on your waist, eyeing your inner thighs covered in juices.

“Then come fuck my pretty face.” He slips under the waistband and tweaks the fabric, but you grip his wrists. “Wait! Let me shower first- “

“You said you'd give me anything I desire, remember that? Keep your promise." He yanks the thin material down your legs in your weak clutches, trailing a string of drool that sticks to your labia. “C’mere” he grunts and lifts you towards his face. Your thighs are soft on either side of him, and you still in his grasp. He lolls his tongue out, but you’re reluctant to fully sit. “I’m heavy” you murmur.

“Shut up.” He embraces your body, and you have no choice but to settle in his warmth. He keeps you flush with his flat tongue, swiping up and down the squishy flesh molding to his mouth. You writhe in his grasp, but he continues to lap at your clit with a starving lust. Wriothesely soaks in your velvet skin and perfumed essence dribbling down his chin. He doesn’t come up for air, and your brain is mush over him, his lips slurping your quivering cunt. A buzzing intensity courses through your twitching stomach. You rut your hips against his mouth, and he maintains his position while you use him. You’re grinding on his tongue, absent-mindedly biting your lips and mewling endlessly as you bring yourself closer to climax. He hums while sucking the nub and the vibrations make you cry out.

“Wrio, ‘m coming” you whine. You hump his mouth until you come undone in a pulsating finish. His hands restrain you, greedily devouring the newly found honey as it pours out. You ride it through while he curls the tip of his tongue at your opening. Without warning, you feel the pink muscle push in your recovering vulva. “S-Shit, Wrio” you whimper, trembling on him as he drives inside. He seizes the back of your thighs and begins to bounce you up and down the mushy appendage slowly stretching you. The sensation is overwhelming, his nose skims your oversensitive clit each time you drop, and you sob. Wriothesley moves faster, your hands entangle in his hair. You babble please’s repeatedly, gazing sensually at each other as the coil winds in your gut. More, more. Then it snaps, an abrupt shock, clenching on his tongue as you cream. He raises your lower half; the wetness collecting in your convulsing heat makes his cock strain more than it already suffered.

“Such a cute slut” Wriothesley husks. Your numb legs can’t navigate on their own, so he places you on your stomach. “We’re not done.” He springs his throbbing length free. The veins are consistent, prominent up his shaft to the angry red crown—9 inches begging to be inside you. Fresh precome trickles down his tip and he sighs at the bloated pain in his hefty balls. You arch your back, presenting yourself to his awaiting size. When he doesn’t enter you turn to him impatiently and he smirks.

“Put it in” you whine. Wriothesley spreads your backside, and watches you clench around the ghost of him. He glazes himself with your slick, and moans from the feeling of your puffy lips cuddling his cock. “It’s not every day a fan gets to sleep with me. Be grateful.” he teases. He pumps through your squashed thighs, the head prodding your nub while he forces your chest flush with the bed. After he thoroughly coats himself, he nudges the bulbous tip to your entrance.

Wriothesley sinks into your sex. You’re gripping him like a vice despite the searing soreness of your body accommodating the scale. The fevered sleeve nearly makes him crash to the hilt, but he stutters gradually to relieve your discomfort. He hits the base and shudders. You feel unbelievably stuffed, as if it’s squirming in your cervix. Then he starts at a savage pace. He’s using you like a flesh-light, balls smacking your overwhelmed tender nub with a carnal impulse. His moans spill uncontrollably as he watches your rippling ass and viscous webs blend together, clinging to his cock and forming a cloudy froth at the base. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets; you can’t think or feel anything that isn’t him, core surging with intense want.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, gonna snap my dick off. Ah- gonna make sure you can’t walk t-tomorrow. Then- hah- then you won’t be able to find anyone who fucks you like this, who makes you come like this.” He’s rambling and stuttering, completely incoherent the closer he gets. He glances at the mirror, then at you. You feel your hair jerked back by his massive hand, and lock eyes with Wriothesley in his drunken haze. “Stop, it’s embarrassing!” you slur. You’re both sheened with sweat, disheveled bodies satiating the hunger in any way you can.

“Shh, you hear that?” The squelching slam of passion echoes in the room, sopping down your leg through his pummeling thrusts. Your back bends unnaturally as though it were folded in half. “You’re so fucking hot, so needy for me.” His veins adorn your walls, you start to tear up from the mixture of pleasure and pain. He notices your tears and holds you up so that your back is flush with his chest.

“It hurts?” he questions, stalling his movement. You feel him twitch. “No, feels s’good Wrio. More” you mewl. He chuckles, and gently wraps his hand around your throat before pumping again.

“Too good? Am I the best you’ve ever had? Say it.” He moves faster, free hand rubbing your clit. Your knees buckle and eyes roll back to your skull, he takes in the scene of your convulsing figure in the mirror. “S’best I’ve ever had, please ‘m so close!” you rasp, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He chases his high, panting animalistically in your ear.

“Shit- look how desperate you are. Want me to come inside? Y-yea, I bet you fucking do”

“‘M coming!” you babble.

“Good. Make a mess.” he commands. Fire trails up your limbs, and you tighten before falling apart. Fluttering around him, taking him deeper while you come on his sack. Wriothesley pursues his sputtering hips, spurting thick globs that paint you white. He whimpers as you milk his spasming length dry and presses tired kisses along your shoulder blade. When he comes down from his apex, he turns you over on your back. It’s hard for him to not be proud of your boneless existence sprawled on his bed. You’re both breathing hard in silence, and he leaves for a couple minutes. You’re stunned when he returns with a damp rag to clean you up, and some dark substance in a mug.

You find the strength to sit up while he wipes your lower areas. “Where are my clothes?”

“...For what?” he mumbles.

“To leave?” It seemed like common sense to you—boxers usually don’t go for long-term relationships, and so you assumed it to be a one-night stand. You dip over the edge of the bed and locate your skirt, but Wriothesely hops up and snatches it before you can. “I’ll put it in the wash. Relax.”

“I didn’t know you were so hospitable. Do you do this for every girl?” you tease. He gets visibly upset, and shoves the cup from the dresser in your hands. “Don’t piss me off. Now, drink. I’ll order food.”

Multicolored sunset flaking through the sheer curtains frames his stature while he’s on the phone. You sip the tea, it’s a vile grainy taste. For a moment you imagine what life could be like with him by your side—poor quality tea and an awful temper. In your pleasant aftermath, it doesn’t seem bad at all.

#genshin smut #genshin au #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley headcanons #wriothesley #fontaine #genshin x reader #genshin impact

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