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#those white dots are snow
bluedovee · 4 months
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Bad Sansuary Day 8 Boxed In ft. Dust
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esther-dot · 1 year
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Hair discourse: GRRM makes a big deal out of Catelyn’s and Sansa’s hair. And the Lannister’s. Actually, 🤔 everybody else’s too. TargARYEN hair, Tully hair. Snowhite Jon and his Stark hair that concealed his identity. Ygritte’s hair in connection to both Arya and Sansa.
On a side note, does anyone else remembers the stans were pressed during season 8 because Misandei wasn’t around anymore to braid Dany’s ridiculous hair?? Truly they had their priorities straight 🤡
I do remember those comments about Missandei. This fandom is truly sick sometimes. D&D really contributed to the horrible treatment of her by the fandom when they didn’t allow her to realize what Dany was and choose to leave her/return home. That’s the ending she should have gotten rather than getting killed to “justify” Dany’s murderous rampage that was seasons in the making. Infuriating.
Martin really does have a thing with hair! It comes up a lot and he uses it in multiple ways. I talked about Sansa’s hair a little over here, and think a lot more could be said with a closer inspection of how it comes up throughout the series. It connects to her mother/identity/reclaiming the North...it’s really interesting how seemingly inconsequential things have such importance in Martin’s world.
Also, I love your “snow white” Jon comment. lmao! I just read this, and my brain immediately went to Jon/Snow White:
One day in winter, the girl’s foster-father was skinning a milk-fed calf on the snow outside, to cook it for her. She saw a raven drinking the blood on the snow. She said to Leborcham:
‘I could desire a man who had those three colors there: hair like the raven, cheeks like blood, and his body like snow.’
(from The Exile of the Sons of Uisliu, link)
Lot’s of interesting ASOIAF-y things in that story!
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dandelionandkrindle · 2 years
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WORLD OF WARCRAFT • LOCATIONS (87/?) Winterspring
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aeyumicore · 3 months
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Love and Deepspace Boys Azure's Echo Day (Valentine's Day) Headcanons
♡ pairing: zayne x reader, xavier x reader, rafayel x reader
♡ genre: pure fluff!
♡ word count: 800ish
♡ content warning: none, just pure tooth rotting fluff!
♡ a/n: just some headcanons on how each of the boys act on v-day/azure's echo day! do they ask you to be their valentine? how do they ask? and what kind of bouquet do they get you. credit to my friend @/myusuchaa on twit for designing the cute ass flower cards below and coming up with the content as well. she is the most unhinged raf lover, go follow her!
ALSO the xavier smut is still dropping later tonight. but wanted to self indulge a bit and share with yall <3 HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY LOVES.
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🌨️ Zayne
Does he ask you to be his Valentine?
Yes, he will ask you one week before the day, on the dot. Zayne might be blunt and sometimes abrasive, but he’s generous in affection for those he cares about, especially you, and incredibly perceptive. How do you think he climbed the medical ladder so fast? Also he won’t admit this, but he’s definitely taken mental notes on all the cheesy romance movies you’ve forced him to watch, so he’s learned a lot.
How does he ask?
Zayne is a simple romantic. But while his plan is simple, he pours over every little detail, no matter how minute. He’s had an appointment with his favorite florist for a month, and spends an hour hand picking each flower in the bouquet he’s planned for you. He will do his best to take the night off, though it isn’t unlikely he gets called in for emergency surgeries, to cook you dinner by candlelight even designing a whole ass menu for just the two of you. And only after you’ve finished dessert does he ask you if you’d do him the honor of being his Valentine. 
What bouquet does he get you?
A custom bouquet of a few select blue tweedia flowers and cape jasmines. Simple and elegant, like him. It’s reminiscent of iridescent snowflakes amongst a flurry of pure white snow. He sprinkles a few of his own never melting snowflakes on top, but not touching the flowers as cape jasmines cannot tolerate cold or icy temperatures, and it’s truly picturesque. He’s created his very own beautiful snowstorm for you, capturing his essence like a snow globe.
💫 Xavier
Does he ask you to be his Valentine?
He doesn’t at first, not until Tara or Jeremiah ask him if he has, three days before Valentine’s Day. And once he realizes he’s supposed to, he's a panicked mess. But he will scrap his entire day of hunting and miscellaneous errands to formulate and execute a plan. He knows you deserve the absolute best and he’s kicking himself for potentially blowing this. Best believe he will never forget to ask you ever again. 
How does he ask?
He goes missing all day on the 13th to find your favorite flowers and pastries from a bakery you two discovered on a past mission. It’s a whole day affair because he literally goes several towns over to get your pastries, and they always sell out within hours so he needs to go there the morning of. And then he arrives at your apartment door in a tailored white suit, his only one. With the most bashful grin and peachy pink face, he will ask you, his little star, to be his very first and last Valentine.
What bouquet does he get you?
You once told Xavier he reminded you of a Forget-me-not, and he remembers it to this very day. After all, the forget-me-not is known as a “star flower,” and you consider Xavier to be your very own shooting star, and he considers you his. So Xavier finds you a bouquet of blue forget-me-nots with a sprinkle of feverfew chamomile flowers amidst the sea of blue. It’s reminiscent of the glowing stars littered across the milky way, a view which you’d enjoyed with Xavier countless times. 
🎨 Rafayel
Does he ask you to be his Valentine?
Yes. He asks a million times, starting on February 1st. And if you say no, a single time, expect chaos. Whining and screaming. Feet kicking. All the dramatics. Mumbling about how you don’t love him anymore. Even if you take it back and say yes he will still be a little baby about it. While he asks you many different times, his most “serious” ask would be the weekend before Valentine’s day.
How does he ask?
Even though you’ve said yes countless times, he plans the most extravagant date, which isn’t out of the blue since he’s often spoiling you with his wealth and affection. After a day on a little yacht on the sea, admiring the glimmering sun against the ocean current, he will literally get down on one knee to ask you to be his Valentine. We all know Rafayel is all for theatrics, but more than that he loves to tease you and render you speechless, so he does this especially to mess with you. He'll be on one knee: "Will you make me the happiest man alive......................and be my Valentine?" Truly insufferable, but we love him.
What bouquet does he get you?
Rafayel loves flame lilies; there’s always vases of them in his home. They’ve made several appearances in his paintings, and on more than one occasion has he randomly gifted you a bouquet of them. And with how much time you spend with him, and how much they remind you of him, they’ve become dear to your own heart. Eternal memories and final goodbyes, it’s the perfect symbol of everlasting, neverending, and tragic love. He pairs these with some baby’s breath to create a picture of innocence, purity, and new beginnings against the backdrop of fiery red passion. The bouquet encapsulates Rafayel himself.
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© aeyumicore 2024. please do not steal ♡
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corroded-hellfire · 5 months
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My Favorite Elf - Eddie Munson x Reader
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Summary: When you and Nancy go to the mall to finish up your Christmas shopping, the sound of a familiar voice leads you to a jolly surprise.
Note: I wrote this for @palomahasenteredthechat’s 12 Days of Joemas with the prompt “Is that velvet?” 💚❤️
Words: 1.4k
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The holiday season at Starcourt Mall can be a chaotic nightmare on nights and weekends. Crowds so dense you can hardly see any of the mannequins modeling the latest looks at the GAP. It’s for this reason that you and Nancy decide to make a mall run straight from school one Tuesday afternoon. 
With most parents still at work and middle and elementary schools still in session, the mall is the calmest you’ve seen since before Halloween. You and Nancy plan on taking full advantage of getting all those last minute gifts you’ve been meaning to buy.
“Okay, I got the shoes,” Nancy says, jostling the brown paper bag in her hand in emphasis. “You wanted to go to Walden Books next?”
“Yeah!” you say. “I saw this book there the other day and I think Eddie would really like it.”
“Why didn’t you get it for him then?”
“He was with me,” you laugh. “As busy as it was, I still think he would’ve noticed me buying something.”
The bookstore is on the second floor, so you and Nancy have to take the escalators closest to the food court. Right before you lift your foot to hover over the silver steps, you hear a familiar voice coming from behind the escalators. 
“Are you ready? Come on, we’ll go up together.”
Your brow furrows in puzzlement, and Nancy turns to look at you with the same expression mirrored on her face. Together, you walk around to see what Eddie is doing at the mall and who he’s talking to.
A Winter Wonderland greets you and Nancy as you step around the towering escalators. The centerpiece is a life-size gingerbread house decorated with every type of candy you can think of. Colorful gumdrops frame the front door, pieces of licorice act as shutters to the icing windows, and oversized swirling lollipops stand around the house like a security team. 
Fake pine trees dot the scenery, their needles covered in fake snow. In fact, fake snow permeates about every spare inch on the display. It’s all around the platform and heavily dusted over the roof of the house. 
Sitting right in the middle of it all is the man himself: Santa Claus. He’s perched atop a large red throne smack dab in the middle of the wonderland. The entire display is surrounded by a white, glittery snowflake fence. 
There’s a girl dressed as an elf in a green tulle skirt and red tights standing behind a camera facing the big man. Your eyes then come across the best sight of all.
Your hand comes up to cover your enormous grin as you take in your boyfriend in his very own elf attire. The left half of his button up shirt is red, while the right half is entirely green. The same is true of the pants, just reversed; a green left leg and a red right leg. His hair is tucked up in a bun at the base of his neck and the rest of his curls are hidden by the green Santa hat on top of his head. The hat has golden jingle bells on the top and fake points to rest on top of Eddie’s ears to give the magical illusion of elf ears. The part that tickles you the most though is the shoes. They’re green with pointed toes that curl up, with a golden jingle bell attached to the tip of each. 
“Did you know he was working here?” Nancy asks you, a few giggles escaping her. 
“No!” You laugh but find it strange to look at his hands and see no chunky silver rings. 
The only people in the line to meet Santa are a little girl with long blonde hair, half up in a pink ribbon, and her mother. It’s understandable that there's hardly a crowd here on a Tuesday afternoon. The little girl looks scared and won’t let go of her mom’s hand no matter how much she encourages her. 
Eddie walks over to the girl and crouches down to her level.
“Hi. My name is Eddie. What’s your name?”
“Christina,” she answers softly.
“It’s nice to meet you, Christina. Are you a little nervous to meet Santa?”
She nods her head.
Eddie offers her his hand. “What if we go up there together?”
Christina still looks hesitant.
“You don’t have to be afraid of him,” Eddie says with a shake of his head. “He just wants to know what you want for Christmas so us elves can get to work on it. That is…if you’re on the nice list.” Eddie tilts his head and raises his eyebrows. “You have been good this year, right?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what I thought! Now, do you want to come up and tell Santa what you want?”
Christina stares at Eddie with wide blue eyes for a few moments before she nods her head. Eddie gives her a smile and extends his hand again. This time, Christina takes it. 
You watch as Eddie leads the small girl up to Santa and tells him her name. He crouches down and stays there until Christina seems more comfortable with Santa. When she climbs on his lap, Eddie steps aside so she can share what she wants with Santa in private. 
Once a picture has been snapped, Christina hops off of Santa’s lap and Eddie gives her a candy cane before she leaves the little Christmas village with her mom.
There’s nobody else in line to meet Santa, but he’s still scheduled to be there for another two hours according to the sign. The photographer elf starts cleaning up around her area and Eddie shuffles around his small space, looking for something to do. You take the opportunity to walk closer to the magical scene, Nancy right behind you.
“And here I thought Hermey the little elf dentist was the cutest elf I’ve ever seen,” you say as you approach the fence.
Eddie looks up and you immediately see his cheeks darken, but he gives you a bright smile.
“What’re you doing here?” he asks.
“Shopping,” Nancy answers, holding up her bags as proof.
“What’re you doing here?” you ask, looking at all the festiveness around him.
“I’m just here for the candy canes.” He laughs when you pinch your eyebrows together. “Figured I’d get a holiday job and make some extra money.”
“What for?” you ask, knowing there’s nothing you want that could cost more than a few dollars. And that Wayne will probably just get a new mug. Again.
“Well,” Eddie says with a shrug. “I know your favorite band is starting a tour next month…”
“My favorite band besides Corroded Coffin,” you say, pointing an index finger at him.
“Yes, of course, that goes without saying.”
“Eddie, you didn’t have to do this,” you tell him, though your heart grows three sizes at the gesture.
“I wanted to,” he says with a bashful shrug. 
You peek behind the gingerbread house and raise your eyebrows at Eddie when you see it’s away from any possible prying eyes. He chuckles and nods his head in that direction.
“Be right back,” you tell Nancy.
“Take your time,” she teases.
Eddie helps you over the snowflake fence and you take another look at his costume. He looks even cuter in it closer up.
“Is that velvet?” you ask.
“No, thank God. Cotton. This already gets hot enough.”
“Look at my adorable elf boyfriend,” you say with a playful smirk.
His face starts to turn red as you wrap your arms around his neck. He places his hands on your waist and gives a small squeeze.
“You know,” you muse, tilting your head to the side. “You didn’t ask me.”
“Ask you what?”
“If I’ve been good this year.”
Eddie laughs and leans in to nudge his nose against yours.
“Because I already know the answer to that one. Pretty sure I contributed to it,” he says in a low voice, causing goosebumps to run down your arms.
He presses his lips over yours and holds you up against his body as he claims your mouth. Your hands slide into his hair, and it makes the green hat move, causing the little bell to jingle.
You pull away, unable to keep kissing because you’re full of giggles. Eddie sighs.
“Fine,” he whispers. “I guess we’ll just have to get naughty later then.”
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serverusslaype · 6 months
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The Yule Ball, pt. 1
Severus Snape x professor!reader
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omg wow two posts in one day? who am i?
i also wanted to post this because i asked about it a while ago lmao, but i'm going to split it into two parts and finish the end of the second part tomorrow after work, it's mostly done, i just need to tidy it up hehe. this isn't very long, however, in part two, it gets good of course. pls don't hate me :( </3
i hope you are all doing well!! :)
warnings: slight harassment? ew, karkaroff
The atmosphere in the Great Hall was sparkling and lively as loud laughter and chatter filled the wintry and festively decorated room. Several large round tables were dotted around the sides of it, laden with beautiful white centrepieces and matching silver cutlery and glittering glassware. Long, blue-grey curtains adorned with artifical snow hung from the walls between the majestic and mythical stone statues, as if imitating frozen waterfalls. A warm and fuzzy feeling settled in your body as you glanced around the gorgeously decorated Hall, a small smile finding your cherry-red painted lips. 
You sat alone at a table in a silky, backless, long-sleeved dress with only a goblet of wine for company as you watched students and teachers alike dance joyously on the floor to a melodious tune. You had to bite back an amused grin as your eyes caught sight of Hagrid's hand slipping down to Madame Maxine's rear. She quickly swatted it away, and you couldn't help but chuckle quietly to yourself. Ever since the international schools arrived at Hogwarts, Hagrid seemed to be smitten with the enormous witch, and you could see why. Madame Maxine was stunning and classy; always dressed in the finest attire you could ever imagine - and of course, always carried herself with elegance. You envied her slightly as you watched the pair sway sweetly together.
Speaking of the international schools, a certain Headmaster had taken a liking to you during their stay and Hogwarts, and it didn't please you at all. In fact, it made you rather uncomfortable. Well, he made you uncomfortable. You shivered slightly at the thought of Igor Karkaroff and lifted your goblet of wine to your lips, downing the rest of it carelessly. You'd been avoiding him all night, and you hoped you wouldn't have to speak to him for the rest of it. 
As you placed the goblet back down, you glanced around, catching sight of Minerva stood to the right of Dumbledore and Snape who were currently observing the dancing students. Though you were looking at the older witch, your eyes were magnetically pulled to the wizard dressed in all black - surprisingly without his signature cloak.
Professor Snape.
You'd spoken to him a few times, but not many - he wasn't the most welcoming man you'd met. In fact, he was rather cold and short with you, which wasn't too unsurprising since he'd taught you back in the day when you attended Hogwarts as a student. So, you knew exactly what he was like. In those days, despite his harsh and cruel attitude towards you and your classmates, you developed a silly little crush on him. You weren't exactly sure why - perhaps it was the mysterious aura that he possessed, or his deep, sultry and silky voice he spoke with, or maybe it was just the plain simple fact that he was... attractive to you. Gods, your classmates would have disowned you, had you admitted such a thing.
Regardless of your history here, being the youngest professor here was a little intimidating to say the least, and the need to prove yourself was overwhelming. At times, you felt as if you didn't deserve your post as the professor of Astronomy - how could a twenty-something-year-old be qualified enough to teach students less than ten years their junior? Doubting yourself was bound to happen, especially in the presence of such talented, wise wizards like Dumbledore, Flitwick and McGonagall - Flitwick was a duelling champion, for goodness sake. And what were you? Merely infatuated with the nightsky and everything that possibly dwells beyond it? Merlin.
A deflated sigh swiftly fell from your lips as you quickly stood up from your seat, beginning to reluctantly head over in the direction of your fellow colleagues. It's not like you didn't want to stand with them, you just felt awfully out of place, and you didn't want to look weird by sitting all by your lonesome all night. Being the new person at the new job was never fun.
As you neared them, your eyes were drawn to the gloomy Potions Master again. As if he could sense someone watching him, his deep black eyes flicked to you, and you quickly glanced away with burning cheeks, walking forwards to stop beside Minerva. Maybe your crush never went away, and you winced slightly at the thought.
Turning to Minerva, she looked at you with happy eyes, a smile gracing her lips. "Y/N," Minerva beamed, her shoulders relaxing in a cheerful manner, "we'd wondered where you'd disappeared off to."
You hummed happily at her words, your stiff body relaxing slightly. McGonagall had been your favourite professor when you'd studied at Hogwarts, even though you didn't exactly excel in her class of Transfiguration. She never berated you for your lack of skill in the subject and that was probably what solidified your preference.
You looked at the witch beside you, though a silhouette of a prominent nose and a mop of black hair clouded your vision. "Just needed a sit down, really." You replied with a soft voice, smiling as you linked your fingers together in front of your waist. "Also, I fancied some more wine, it's rather moreish." Minerva and Dumbledore chuckled at your light-hearted joke, but Snape did not. You swallowed awkwardly.
"Perhaps it isn't wise to be drinking in the presence of students, Professor L/N." Snape drawled in a demeaning tone from beside Dumbledore, side-eyeing you.
"What makes you think I'm going to get drunk?" You frowned, his subtle dig at you twisting your insides. Crush or not, he was getting under your skin.
Snape snorted slightly, "A history of misbehaviour at Hogwarts doesn't bode well." He said, turning his head to face you. You fought the itching urge to roll your eyes at his words, remembering that one time you had pranked his class.
"That was one time, Snape." You sighed, fighting hard not to groan. Apparently, he wasn't going to let this go. "And it was years ago now."
"I wouldn't want to take any chances." He sneered at you, and your stomach twisted horribly. Did he really despise you that much? It hurt to say the least, you thought he would've put that in the past and moved on, but apparently grudges are the next best thing.
"Right." You huffed quietly, and Minerva cast an awkward glance to Dumbledore who also looked rather uncomfortable. Yes, this was a terrible idea coming to stand with your colleagues. A fucking terrible idea. Snape always had to make you look childish. Suddenly, you pathetically wished that Karkaroff would suddenly appear and bother you so you wouldn't have to deal with this awful interaction. Anything would be better than this right now.
As if on cue, someone called your name. "Would you excuse me?" You sighed, casting an apologetic smile towards Dumbledore and McGonagall, purposefully ignoring Snape. Dumbledore also excused himself, leaving only the Heads of Slythering and Gryffindor together.
As you and Dumbledore walked off, Minerva turned to Snape with scornful eyes. "You shouldn't be so harsh on her, Severus," she huffed, "she's not a child anymore. Y/N is an adult, capable of making adult decisions. There's no need for such hostility." 
Snape didn't reply, he only sighed heavily at Minerva's comment, prompting the older witch to roll her eyes at his petty behaviour. Though, underneath his cold and dismissive attitude towards you, there was something else. Something he did not want to unfold, nor understand. It wasn't a familiar feeling, and that was what worried him. And so, each time you spoke to him or looked at him, he had chosen to push that feeling away by being malicious to you. Snape wasn't fond of it, and he did resent himself slightly by acting so horribly towards you. Something inside of him tugged at his heart each time your face fell due to his sharp words, or the way he'd glare at you whenever you looked at him. It was the only thing he knew. Snape wasn't familiar with nor welcoming to feelings other than hatred or disdain.
The Potions Master cast his eyes over the crowds of students, absent-mindedly looking for your small figure. It's not like he wanted to check on you, he just wanted to see who had called for you, out of... curiosity. And there you were, chatting with the Weasley twins. Snape couldn't remember your exact age, but he was sure you were mid-twenties, perhaps early-twenties. Your youthful face and essence said so. As he observed you, his chest burned unusually as you laughed at something the twins had said, and it burned even hotter when he saw them hand you something. What were they doing?
"It's just a little something," Fred grinned goofily in his tuxedo as you held a small, neatly-wrapped box in your hands. It was a pale red, with a shining green bow. You looked up at them and smiled gratefully.
"Yeah, we just wanted to say thanks for being a brilliant teacher," George added after his brother, making you grin amused. The two of them always made you laugh in your classes, it was like they were the same person from how well they bounced off of each other.
"Oh, thank you, boys," you grinned, a little shocked at their kindness, "you didn't need to get me anything." Both Fred and George grinned together, their fluffy ginger hair bouncing a tad as they glanced at each other.
"You're our favourite, you know," George said, and Fred nodded with him, beaming. You chuckled at their silly smiles.
"Yeah, you're a thousand times better than any of the other professors," Fred agreed cheerfully, folding his arms against his chest.
"Especially Snape-" George interjected. Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of his name.
"Yeah, he's a right old miserable git, he is." Fred grumbled, nodding behind you. "He's staring right at us, too." Your stomach dropped the second Fred said those words, and you quickly whipped your head around, your eyes meeting with Snape's own fierce ones. As quickly as you looked at him, you turned back around, your face becoming hot and pink.
"Are you blushing, professor?" George grinned wickedly, glancing at his brother who also shared that same expression.
 "No!" You answered quickly, gasping.
"Don't tell me you like that horrible arse," Fred laughed, his eyebrows shooting upwards.
"I wouldn't have expected you to fancy a Slytherin like him." George frowned, his nose turning up in slight disgust. "I mean, he hates everything and everyone, why would you-"
"I never even said I liked him! You two just assumed so!" You scoffed, folding your arms against your chest. The twins laughed at your reaction, glancing at each other. "Anyway, boys, thank you for the gift, but this conversation is over." Another hefty sigh fell from your lips as you looked between the two of them, smiling politely.
"Professor L/N," A raspy, deep voice came from behind you, and instantly, your blood went cold. You knew that thick accent very well. Fred and George Weasley looked like they were on the verge of busting out laughing. They knew of your dislike for the Durmstrang Headmaster, and you were sure that the majority of the school knew of his weird, little thing for you.
"Headmaster Karkaroff." You turned around hesitantly, fighting back a scream of utter frustration. He looked a little more groomed than usual - his messy, dark brown hair with specks of gray in it was brushed through, and his long goatee had been neatly manipulated into a sharp point. You were also surprised to see him dressed in such expensive looking clothing. The dress coat he sported was a creamy-beige, adorned with a shining black leather belt around his middle, accentuating his lanky figure.
"You look like you need a dance," The corners of his lips turned upwards into a mischievous smirk, and an uncomfortable shiver ran down your spine. "May I help with that?" Karkaroff held out his hand, and your eyes shot down towards it.
"Erm," you stuttered, "well-" You couldn't find the words at all, and it wasn't helping that you could hear the twins behind you snickering to themselves. Before you could even answer, Karkaroff had his hand grasping yours and tugging you to the dancefloor. You stumbled slightly at how fast he had pulled you, and with your other hand, you reached down to grab your skirt to hike it up so you wouldn't trip over.
As the pair of you reached the floor after winding through hoards of dancing students, Karkaroff spun you around a little too quickly, and you ungracefully fell into his chest with a squeak. "Sorry," you mumbled, using a hand to push yourself away from him, "I wasn't really expecting you to do... that."
"You know," Igor chuckled, ignoring your previous comments, "I've been waiting for this moment ever since I arrived here at Hogwarts." He admitted with a wicked smirk, allowing his rough, bony fingers to slide down your bare back, gripping you a little too tightly for your liking.
"...To dance?" You frowned, using your free hand to fidget with his hand that laid flat against your bare back, silently telling him to ease off a little. "Don't be silly." You chuckled awkwardly, casting a glance over to where you had previously stood with the other teachers as you and Karkaroff swayed. Only Snape remained, and your face grew as hot as a firepit as you noticed his eyes were already stuck on you. His face was the usual unhappy, scornful, sour frown.
"Oh, but I am not being silly, little bird." Igor murmured, pushing his face closer to yours. Instinctively, you pulled your head away from his, scrunching your nose up at the awful pet name.
"Little bird?" You repeated, almost choking the words out. You squirmed within his uncomfy grip, casting another glance to Snape, hoping that he'd have just an ounce of human decency to realise that you were asking for help. Surely, he wouldn't be that much of an arsehole to ignore the sign of a colleague in trouble.
"Yes," Igor smiled, making your skin crawl. "You remind me of a little bird - tiny, beautiful..." Your eyes widened at his words, and again, you glanced to where you had seen Snape. Your heart dropped like a rock as you noticed the empty space where he had previously stood. You knew he was a dick, but not so much of a dick to let you get taken hostage by a man you hardly knew - and didn't want to know. "So beautiful... why don't we ditch this party and head back to my quarters? I could show you around." Karkaroff muttered and pulled you even closer, grinning lecherously as he brushed his nose against the crook of your neck. Your breath hitched - but not in a good way.
"Igor..." Your voice was shaky, yet low, indicating that you weren't comfortable at all.
"How about we go somewhere more private?" Karkaroff's hands tightened even more as they slipped down to your hips, pulling your body flush against his. A quiet gasp left your lips as you pressed your palms flat against his chest, attempting to push him off of you. Your eyes flicked to where Snape once stood again, but he was no-where to be seen.
"Something caught your eye, pilentse?" Karkaroff hummed lowly, his eyes narrowing, evidently upset that your attention is busied with something or someone else.
"No." You quickly replied - almost too quickly. "I just need a refreshment, do you mind?" You forced yourself to glance up at Karkaroff's intense, wrinkled eyes.
"Oh, no, that can wait. I've waited almost the whole night for this moment..." Igor grumbled with a sneer as his grip on you became deeper and a little tighter, as if to say you weren't leaving until he deemed it so. That was until you saw that same sneer fall from his face, replaced with what looked like fear. Instantly, your brows furrowed together into a confused frown as you noticed his eyes dart from yours to something behind you, and so you turned around, curious to see why Karkaroff looked like he was about to flee.
"Karkaroff." Snape's deep, almost threatening voice reached your ears, and immediately, your mouth went dry as your heart leaped up into it. So... he did notice you? A rush of relief filled your body and your shoulders relaxed a tad. Snape glanced down at you, his thick mop of black hair framing his pale face. The blue-white light from above highlighted his prominent, handsome features perfectly, and you felt a sense of warmth prickle your skin, pooling in your stomach. You looked away, certain that if you kept staring, he'd assume you were weird or something along those lines.
Igor swallowed thickly, his bony fingers digging into the skin of your back in fear. You winced slightly at the sharp prod, catching Snape's attention. His eyes darted down to where Karkaroff had an iron-grip on you, and his lip twitched into the beginning of a sneer as he looked back to Igor's worried eyes. "Snape," The Durmstrang Headmaster greeted the gloomy Potions Master, clearly a little afraid of him. Apparently everyone was fearful of Snape, except for a select few, you realised. "What can I help you with?" Karkaroff's thick accent had slipped slightly, his voice wavering. You had to stifle a laugh at that - how was a man like Igor Karkaroff afraid of Snape? There was definitely something that you were missing here.
"Professor L/N," Snape ignored Karkaroff and shifted his bored expression to you, though you didn't miss the venomous look that he'd shot at the Bulgarian. You were still in disbelief that Snape had answered your silent cries for help, let alone actually come to save you from Karkaroff's slimy grasp. "I believe we have some important matters to tend to." Snape said matter-of-factly, arching a brow at you expectantly. 
"Wait, what?-" You choked out with wide eyes. You'd been staring a little too hard at Snape, and so you stumbled over your words, unprepared. "Oh, right, yeah- the, erm, the... valerian root." You finished, turning a bright shade of red as Snape's brows furrowed at you in a judgemental fashion, as if to say 'seriously?'.
"Yes," Snape drawled, dragging his disappointed eyes from you to Karkaroff. You huffed quietly, embarrassed. "The valerian root." The Potion Master repeated, shooting you a glare. He held out his hand for you to take, and you reached out to grasp a hold of it, when you were suddenly tugged backwards by Karkaroff. Snape's narrowed eyes darted to the Headmaster's hand wrapped securely around your waist, his nostrils flaring in slight anger. This old, despicable man had no business holding a young witch like you in such a manner.
"That can wait, surely?" Karkaroff said, his voice low as he tucked you closer to his side. You shot a desperate glance to Snape, begging him to help you again. A frustrated breath shot out of his nostrils.
"Tragically, no." Snape quipped sarcastically, his dark eyes piercing a burning hole through Karkaroff. Snape looked furious - his body was rigid. He hadn't moved a muscle apart from his eyes to look at either you or Igor. "Professor?" He glanced to you, stretching his hand to you once more, and you took it happily, allowing him to pull you out of Karkaroff's slimy hands and to his safe side. Your cheeks flushed pink at the closeness between you two, and you kept your eyes on the ground as Snape shifted his hand to sit on the small of your back, guiding you away from Karkaroff.
Part 2! (wip) Masterpost
there is part 1, i hope you enjoyed it, and i hope it was sort of what you expected! i can't remember what i said i was going to do but this is what i came up with hehe. i'm always a sucker for jealousy.
let me know if you liked it/what you thought, i do apologise that it was kinda short, but it'll be finished tomorrow! <3
i hope you're all well! :)
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shogunish · 2 months
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𝗮 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗼𝗻.
satoru x f! reader, tooth-rotting fluff, satoru and reader explore their relationship, space talk bc i'm a sucker for that
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“the moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?’’ said satoru with cerulean eyes hidden behind sunnies that were as dark as the space in-between the seemingly infinite stars. his face was pale as the moonlight, hair white as snow in the middle of december and those eyes..oh, they held the skies and everything holy in them.
little dots sparkled in the dark of the night sky which was illuminated by the moon which merely reflected the sun’s own light. craters and their shadows were visible to the naked eye - no six eyes were needed for that. dew lay atop blades of green grass like countless little crystals just waiting to disappear once the sun would kiss them with its first rays. gently, the grass tickled satoru’s ankles as he sat down right next to you.
his gaze drifted from the moon towards your awestruck face scrutinizing the moon and trying to read constellations that you had never been able to find. too many stars, you always said and gave up with a pout. it was cute, satoru thought. even though he knew nothing about the night sky and its celestial wonders, he did know about you.
a chuckle vibrated in the back of his throat, deep like the ocean yet soft like the waves kissing the shore. he shrugged his shoulders almost nonchalantly as if amused. “she looks a little lonely, but maybe that’s why i consider her beautiful.”
“the moon isn’t that lonely. all these little dots of stars are her company and yet..the sun is the star closest to her and lights her up.” your voice came out as nothing but a murmur that was as gentle as the caress of the night breeze caressing the leaves of a tree above.
a hum of understanding. satoru didn’t know why he was next to you, shoulder to shoulder and having this sort of conversation with you, yet his heart seemed to know the answer and spoke before his brain could approve. “do you think the moon is the sun’s favorite companion?”
“who can say what the sun truly thinks of the moon? he’s big and complex and pulls everyone in his orbit like magic.” leaning back, you supported your weight on your palms. then, your eyes drifted over to satoru. the night cast gentle shadows upon his defined yet soft features that would always distract you during yaga’s classes. a little unfair how the gods crafted satoru with such care and the fingertips of a mother. “what i can say is that the sun is the moon’s favorite companion.”
a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. going on missions with satoru was a walk in the park. it was always him who exorcized the curse and treated you to a bowl of ramen in the hidden streets of tokyo. you envied him. if only you could show him your strength for once, but he always insisted on keeping you safe.
satoru tilted his head to the side, one eyebrow furrowed before he came to face you with a curious expression on his face. “what would happen to the moon if she strays too far?”
for a moment, you had no words. was this not..about the moon and space and everything lingering in-between? a blush dusted the apples of your cheeks, your tone a little wistful. “i think the moon would feel lonely and roam the emptiness of space forever.”
dissatisfaction was painted all over satoru’s face and a huff left his lips; his breath came out in a little white cloud of smoke. “that fate is too depressing,” he stated, “then what if the moon came closer to the sun?”
to sit next to satoru with the inside of the universe bared to your eyes was probably the closest thing to bliss you’d ever experience. perhaps, this was a little taste of paradise just behind the dormitories, hidden behind trees and bushes and atop a small hill where the grass was still dewy. “the things that get too close to the sun burn to ash. but if the sun truly loves the moon, i hope he’ll let her come close enough to spend an eternity together.”
underneath satoru’s ribs, his heart was suddenly pounding. he liked to believe that the moon reciprocated the feelings the sun had for her, but..he still tested the waters and only dipped a toe into the waters. “i think the sun would appreciate if the moon came a little closer.”
there was no infinity when you scooted a little closer to satoru and your shoulder gently bumped against his. nowadays, it was rare to see satoru without infinity surrounding him. you couldn’t possibly blame him for that decision and yet, you appreciated this little gesture more than any “good morning”, than any hug and any bowl of ramen he’d treat you to.
he trusted you.
he didn’t burn you.
instead, he carefully lured you into his orbit and refused to let you leave his space.
“like this?” you giggled, eyes crinkling at the edges.
for some reason, satoru was still dissatisfied. sure, you were quite a bit closer than before, but his heart yearned for more. “mh, no. more like this.”
and before the words on the tip of your tongue could fall, satoru cradled the back of your neck with a warm palm and pulled you in until his lips were upon yours in a sweet kiss. his lips tasted like those strawberry lollipops he always sucked on and his breath warmed the apples of your cheeks.
when satoru broke the kiss, his lips hovering just above yours, you asked, “how close do you want us to be?”
gentle fingers tugged a strand of hair behind your ear and caressed your warm cheeks. “close enough to taste you.”
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taglist. @torusmochi
(if you wanna get added to my taglist, hmu 🧚🏻‍♀️✨)
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sunflowersteves · 1 year
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crazy || j.m.
chapter two of ain't no sunshine
pairing || joel miller x f!sunshine!reader
summary || you get injured during a patrol and Joel is too occupied to assist your wound. what happens when someone else has to take over?
author's note || i hope you all enjoy chapter two! since the second to last episode, all i could think about was that smirk joel gave. oop. i promise next chapter will be fluffy. now that it's spring beak, i'm hoping to write much more for this series. can be read as a stand alone but follows a series! 5.8k!
warnings || jealousy, injury, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, murder, blood, possessiveness, brad has his own warning (ifkyk), unrealistic recovery time, delirium, joel is self deprecating and self sabotaging, arguments, SMUT, rough sex, fingering, praise kink, taunting, degradation, dom joel, joel is a little mean, but don't worry because soft joel makes an appearance, soft sex, creampie, [18+ only!!]
series masterlist || part one || masterlist
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Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you I'm crazy for trying and crazy for crying And I'm crazy for loving you
You weren’t sure when it happened—when the blade twisted into your gut, cutting your flesh and piercing your intestines. You could feel the pain. It was dull and throbbing as wet crimson seeped into your t-shirt. 
You heard a cried-out yell, and turning toward your side, you saw it. You saw the knife that was once in your stomach was now in your hand—lodged into your attacker’s skull. Your body had acted on instinct and perpetrated that familiar gut feeling of violence and revenge. 
You pause, just for a moment. You could feel the adrenaline kick into your system, and a numbing pain flushed out your senses. The blood felt warm and sticky—prompting the sleepiness to feel calming, and it urged you forward into its safe surroundings. 
But then you felt it. Panic. Panic rose in your neck as you looked around for someone. Your hand darted out to try and find them, but your mind was starting to become blank from the fuzzy warmth of pain. 
Joel.
You needed Joel.
But all you knew was that Joel wasn’t by your side. Joel wasn’t here. He wasn’t holding your hand. He wasn’t whispering into your ear about how everything was going to be okay. 
You didn’t know where he was. Then, you collapsed to the snowy ground, white dots fluttering around you. It was almost comforting the way the snow danced around you like soft wet pillows. You opened your mouth. You wanted to say something—you wanted Joel, but nothing could leave your lips.
It all happened too fast—too soon after just leaving the commune for a patrol. You and Joel had spotted someone walking too close to the river, but you and the rest of your party hadn’t seen the tracks behind you. You never noticed four men creeping their way to surround you. 
It almost felt astonishing, really. You, Joel, Tommy, Maria, and Brad were not new to the dangers of survival, especially you and Joel.
The two of you and Ellie have had your fair share of raiders and non-friendly people alike. You and Joel protected Ellie in every way possible, punching your way through cheekbones and splattering scarlet liquid. 
You and Joel weren’t new to picking out tracks and finding the smallest detail of other life. So how could you miss this?
“I’ve got you.”
Your brow crinkles. That doesn’t sound like Joel. You peek open one of your eyes to see a man—what was his name? Oh, yeah. Brad. 
You didn’t want Brad. You wanted Joel. You wanted the scruff of gray hair poking out loudly against the soft brunette ones. You wanted those honeyed brown eyes staring at you in concern and anguish. You wanted Joel to hold your hand as he gently took you into his arms and carried you all the way back. 
Finally, you speak. “Joel. N-Need Jo—”
“I know, but he’s not here.” He placed his hand on your abdomen and applied a great deal of pressure. Your breath hitches, but then your lips fall into a frown. 
“Joel isn’t here?” Tears start to water your lash line, but none of them fall. If you weren’t preoccupied with the open wound on your side, you would have noticed the twitch of a smirk on Brad’s lips. He was purposely attempting to make you feel alone like you've been abandoned by your partner. 
Your eyes start to sting, a fresh tear falling down the side of your face, right below your temple. Something was wrong. Something felt very wrong. You knew Joel would never ever abandon you, so why did Brad say that?
You could feel yourself become dizzy, and the white specs that fluttered around you started to become hazy. You opened your mouth, and your eyes felt so heavy. You could hear someone telling you to stay awake, and it didn’t feel like Brad this time. Maria? Tommy? 
You weren’t sure, but it was no use. You let the sweet lullaby of sleep take over you, and your eyes fluttered closed. 
You whispered Joel's name over and over. 
═ ∘◦❦◦∘ ═
Tommy hadn’t seen Joel act like this in quite some time. Everyone saw their fair share of grumpy glares and pissed off, snarling Joel, but never this—not since the very beginning of the outbreak.
Joel had just been so irate. He was so entirely impassioned with rage—furious and calculating as his fist connected with the raider's face, over and over. But there was something else, too. Fear and hurt swirled and ignited between his brown eyes at the sight of the blood that seeped into your clothing. 
He watched it all happen. He watched the knife lodge into your stomach. He saw your blood that almost became fluorescent in the white snow. He felt his chest seize as his eyes followed your fist that was puncturing the knife into the raider’s skull. 
He saw the way Brad flew to your side, the way that he yelled at you to stay awake. He watched as your eyes fluttered close, and desperation rose in his throat. He tried calling out your name, but he couldn’t get to you.
One of the raiders wrapped his arm around his neck and choked him—no doubt the raider using Joel’s vulnerability of pure agony to his advantage. 
He couldn’t get to you.
He repeated it over and over in his head. He grabbed the raider’s arm and used the weight of his body to fling the guy forward. Joel didn’t waste a single second. He grasped the gun that was flung out of his hands earlier to the raider’s face. 
The clock was ticking. He couldn’t get to you.
“Wait, wait, wait, I can help—”
Joel pulled the trigger, releasing the bullet and popping loudly against the barrel—shoving the nine millimeters of metal into the man’s head. He fell limp to the ground, and the hands that were clenching around Joel’s forearms slowly dropped. 
He looked over in an instant to see that Tommy had knocked out the last of the men that had surrounded all of you. His head snapped back over to you, feet crunching against the snow with each step. 
You weren’t moving—not even your eyes were fluttering—and Joel felt the whole world swallowing him whole. His heart thumped loudly against his chest as his knees hit the ground, no doubt bruising them in the process. 
Brad was on the other side of you, applying pressure to the wound still. “About time, old man.”
Joel ignored him—honestly, he was not even sure he really registered his presence at all. All Joel could do was hold your face, not caring about any of the blood that smeared onto your cheek. “Baby?”
His eyes skated across your face to see a sign—a twitch of your brow, a pull at your lips, anything. He could see the tears that started to gloss over his vision. “Sunshine, please.” 
He paused, desperately searching. “Please.” 
Tommy says Joel’s name softly as if he were going to snap at any moment. He flinched a little when Joel moved. The dark depths of memories from before rushed through his brain. His mind almost became blank—so did Joel’s. Was this going to be the same?
Maria was the one that snapped them out of it, holding her broken wrist to her chest. “We need to leave. We have to get her to the clinic.”
Joel's arm loops itself under your neck, and Tommy pulls your legs up to make it easier to lift you. He scoops you up into his arms, pressing a watery kiss to your forehead. He needed to get you home, and he needed to do it now. 
You murmur just barely under your breath and so quietly that he almost misses it. He wasn’t quite sure if you were even conscious. 
“Joel.”
═ ∘◦❦◦∘ ═
Worry, why do I let myself worry?
Wondering what in the world did I do?
Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you
The crackling, sultry voice of Patsy Cline flooded into your ears. Your eyes blinked open to see familiar plain white walls. You breathed in to smell fresh pine and some reminiscence of Joel’s cooking. 
Home. You were home. 
You could feel yourself groan as a dull pain spread from your abdomen to your chest. Your head felt a little fuzzy, and you tried to get your bearings, pushing yourself up from what felt like fluffy pillows. 
“Easy. Woah, slow down.” You smiled at the high-pitched voice. Ellie. 
She grabbed your hand, the other guiding the small of your back to sit up. While your wound had mostly healed by this point, there was still going to be a lot of internal discomfort. 
“How long was I out?” You rasped out, your vocal cords rubbing like sandpaper against your throat. You coughed out, and Ellie was quick to bring a glass of water to your lips. 
You gulped down heavily, the relief of the cold liquid soothing your aching throat. You cleared your throat and handed the water back to her. “How long?”
Ellie bit her lip, an uneasy expression lifting onto her face. “Six weeks.”
Your mouth gaped open. “Six weeks? Oh my god—”
She tried to quickly play it off as if she, Joel, Tommy, and Maria weren’t shitting their pants every day at the thought of you never waking up. “But Patsy Cline woke you up! I played all your favorites, especially the ones that you and Joel like to sing all the time, and I knew for sure that she was going to do the trick and—”
“Where’s Joel? Is he okay? Did they hurt him?”
Ellie winced at the mention of his name, but her heart also thumped against her chest. You were literally stabbed in the stomach and almost died multiple times, yet you still thought of someone else. You still thought about the safety and well-being of Joel.
His typical sunshine. Her typical mother. 
She gently squeezed your hand. “Joel is fine. He only had a couple of bruises.” She paused before answering your first question. “He’s, um, at Tommy’s.”
You just blinked, feeling the disappointment crash against your chest. “Oh.” 
Oh. That was okay. He didn’t need to be constantly by your side. Maybe he just needed some rest or comfort from his younger brother. That was okay, right?
Right?
“Is he sleeping?” You could tell by the way she avoided your eyes that something was wrong. What that was, you weren’t exactly sure. He wasn’t injured, so what else could it be? You gulped—suddenly feeling parched again. 
“No…He’s awake. I think so, anyway.” She winced again and knew that she wasn’t helping his case at all. “He hasn’t exactly left Tommy’s to come here.”
When Joel carried you all that way to the clinic in Jackson, he collapsed on the hard ground and cradled you in his arms. You felt cold. You felt unmoving. The entire walk back, he felt helpless—breaths of hopelessness crowded his brain, and all he could think about was that he lost you.
When they tried to take you into the operating room, Joel almost wouldn’t let them. He was clouded by fear and burning with uncleansed rage. 
He lost you, and he did nothing about it. He lost you, and he did nothing about it. It repeated through his head until he could no longer think, hear, see—anything at all—but those words. He couldn’t let them take you—he wouldn’t let them take you from him.
Finally, after realizing that he was wasting the precious time of your beating heart, he let them carry you into a back operating room. He never left the clinic that night, even after the ten-hour surgery. 
After that, though, Joel wasn’t the same. At least, he didn’t feel like it. 
While Tommy knew that and Maria knew that, you and Ellie didn’t. Ellie hadn’t seen Joel in six weeks—just Tommy checking in and bringing her the basics of food and water and helping you. Maria would come too, to bathe you and give you medicine. At first, Ellie thought that Joel had just been hurt or he was forced to go on another patrol.
But no. She realized Joel just hadn’t visited you at all. She was angry at first, stomping over to him and giving him a piece of her mind. As she calmed down, though, she knew Joel cared about you. Deeply. 
He was just…Joel. 
He was unemotional and brash. He was jarring and inanely grumpy all the time. He has violent tendencies and a very distant, dark past. He pushed everyone away from him—only gave affection within a ten-foot pole radius. God, he really, really pushes the people he loves away. 
She knew that she could handle that. She was stubborn and hardheaded like him, so it was a bit easier. She just was worried you wouldn’t be able to handle that.
Ellie and Joel were your worlds. You even told the two of them that when star-gazing one night on the roof of your cabin. You were sweet and doting. You were so calculating and headstrong when you needed to be. But if Joel wasn’t careful about this, she knew he could break your heart.
You go to stand, suddenly feeling a burst of anger rush through you. Ellie could tell by the way your eyebrow twitched and the hard thumps of your socked feet sauntered across the floor that you were very mad. 
“Look, please just—”
You hear a crashing noise outside of the guest bedroom door. Both of your heads whipped over to the loud sound. You would have almost let fear take hold of your chest if it weren’t for Joel bursting through the door not a second later.
His chest heaved up and down, rapidly, and eyes wide at the sight of you standing. You were in some sweatpants and one of his flannel button-ups. Your hair was a little damp. He had no doubt it was from Ellie washing it earlier this morning. 
“Joel.”
His eyes don’t even acknowledge Ellie’s presence. They’re just scanning your body over and over. You seem okay. You seem good. You seem alive.
His body carried itself forward before he was even thinking. His arm stretched out, and the pads of his fingers stroked your cheek. He takes a minute to look at the ways your eyes shone from the light of the window. 
He then retraced his hand so fast, as if your skin was a hot stove—sizzling and burning to the touch. He even took a few paces back. He could feel his eyes watering with each deep, dismal thought pulling him under. 
“You’re awake.”
He said it so softly that you weren’t even sure you heard him right. You just stood there, mouth opening in shock at his reaction. You weren’t really sure what to make of any of this. Shit, you weren’t even awake twenty minutes ago. 
Ellie cleared her throat at the awkwardness. “I’m gonna…go do things.” With that, she left the room, and a small ‘yikes’ escaped her lips. 
There was a long beat of silence before either of you spoke. Joel still looked at you, though. He couldn’t help himself. He still couldn’t believe that you were awake. You were the one to break it, your mind was wandering too aimlessly at all of the unknowns. 
“You didn’t visit me.” He opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him talk. “Ellie said I was in a coma for six weeks and you didn’t visit me.”
The cracking of your voice and the tears on your waterline broke his heart into two. It was split wide open and ached against his chest. “I-I couldn’t. I saw you layin’ there, darlin’, and I just couldn’t.”
You lightly scoffed. “Couldn’t or wouldn’t? I mean seriously Joel, who the fuck doesn’t visit their partner after they almost die and—”
“What do you want me to say, huh? That I wasn’t fuckin’ there for you? Is that what you want me to say?”
You purse your lips, your hands flying in the air. “No! I–I wanna know why, Joel. I wanna know why you couldn’t even see me.”
His nostrils flare at your tone—crackled and gloomy as it echoed across the room. “Why would you want to see someone like me? Huh? Brad was all over you, and—”
You couldn’t believe him right now. You almost didn’t, but the swirl of green that rested in between his eyes said otherwise. Joel didn’t visit you in your own shared home after being seriously injured because he was jealous? 
“Oh, my god.” You wanted to laugh, and you did. Laughter, the kind that was dark and fluid, bubbled through you. “You can’t be serious.”
You could tell there was something he wasn’t telling you. His hands were tight around the doorframe, and his eyes were glued to the ground. You wanted to pry a bit more, but as Joel always says, “You’re an absolute sunshine until that fire ignites inside of you.” 
“Maybe I should go to him, then.”
Yeah, that got his attention. His eyes flickered up towards yours, mouth opening slightly. “What?”
You crossed your arms over your chest. “You heard me. Maybe I should go see Brad. I should tell him to take me out to dinner at the bar. He seemed super interested a couple of weeks ago when he—”
“You shut your fuckin’ mouth.” Your mouth snapped closed as Joel towered over you. His nostrils flared, chest pulling up and down at a rate that was too calm—too calm while the red between his eyes burned a hole in your own chest. “You think Brad can please you? hmm?”
His fingers grip your jaw so that you’re forced to maintain eye contact. Not that you would give the satisfaction to Joel from the throb of your core anyway. “Yeah, Joel, I think he can.”
His eyes squinted, his face leaning even closer than before. “So if I shoved my hand down, your pussy wouldn’t be drippin’ for me?”
Yeah, okay. He’s got you there. “Huh? Gonna say anything, darlin’?” You defiantly squint your eyes back up into his. His tone was anything but sweet—it was snarling and patronizing as his brows furrowed even further.
Before you could even open your mouth to give a snarky comment back, Joel aggressively shoves the sweatpants you had on down to your ankles. “You’re a fuckin’ brat, you know that?”
He gets on his knees, fingers pushing between your folds. Sure enough, you’re wet. As if on cue, Joel smirks as his finger swirls to grab your sweet nectar. “F-Fuck you, Joel.”
“Yeah?” He groaned into your ear. His thumb presses deep into your clit, sparking your hips to jolt at the pressure. “I don’t think so, darlin’. I don’t think you deserve my cock.”
You gasped, “J-Joel–”
He slipped his index finger, pushing through your tight walls. His cock twitches at the whimper that left your lips. “All I’m doin' is fuckin’ you good with my fingers.” 
His torrid voice breaks you whole, sweet accent slurring his words together. “Can Brad do that? Could he make you dumb from just his fingers?”
He wants you to answer him, but he knows the pleasure is starting to blossom in your lower abdomen. His fingers always made you cum so fast and so hard. They always stretched your aching pussy so wide and scissored the perfect angle into you.
So, he was going to take his sweet time. 
He chuckled. “C’mon, you weren’t this shy earlier. I want you to answer me, sunshine.” Your head tilts back in a gasp, the nickname rolled off of his tongue, and it was so blissful. “Can Brad do this?”
You shake your head, mouth opening, but nothing comes out. You were sensitive—really sensitive. “You can do it, pretty girl.” God, he was enjoying this a bit too much, it was starting to drive you insane. “Answer me.”
The demanding tone struck through your chest, and you almost didn’t give in. All anger practically washed out of you when he inserted another finger—curling them with each thrust. “No! H-He can’t. B-Brad can’t fuck me like you do.”
A devilish smile sprouts from his lips at your affirmation. “That’s all you had to say, sunshine. I fuck you better, hmm?” The squelch of your juices running down his fingers sounded almost ethereal to his ears. “Look at you,” he coos, and you almost believed that it was sweet. “Fuckin’ dumb from just my hand.”
He pauses, almost taunting like. “Do you want my cock?”
Your fingernails dug deep into his shoulders, his name clouding over your mind, and it was all you seemed to think about. “Yes! Please, Joel! I-I want your cock. N-Need it, please.”
“Well, you can’t fuckin’ have it.” His fingers shove even deeper through your walls—finding that spongy spot that makes you mewl. “You don’t deserve it, sunshine.”
You weren’t sure how much more you could handle as the pressure builds, making your head feel a bit fuzzy. “Joel, please. I’m—” 
Oh.
Oh, you see it now. You almost say it. The apology almost rings through your ears. He wanted you to apologize for what you said to him, and it almost worked. Almost. 
You may be happy and considerate the majority of the time, but you were angry. Irritation still bubbled up between your chest, and you weren’t about to let Joel get away with something so easily. 
As if he knew, his eyes flared in anger. “Fuckin’ cum.” 
“I–I won’t—” You say defiantly, trying to make him more frustrated. He knew you better than that, though. He could feel the clench of your walls and the grip on his shoulders became increasingly tight.
“Fuckin’ cum right now, sunshine, or—” Your mouth hangs open as your orgasm breaks you whole. It flutters through you as he works you through it, thighs shaking and Joel’s name chanting from your lucid tongue. 
“Doing so good for me, yeah?” His hand thrusts into you, thumb still stroking your puffy clit. He groans at the gush of your juices dripping down to his wrist, and he leaned down, tongue swirling to just grab a little taste of you. “Y’taste so good, darlin’.”
Your head rolled over to nod. Your eyelids were heavy from the pure pleasure that rushed through your head and down to your toes. His fingers slip out of you easily, and plops them into his mouth, sucking every drop of your orgasm.
He takes his fingers out of his mouth and pulls himself up from the ground. Something sinks in between his stomach, though. He can feel the dread of confrontation unfolding in his eyes. 
The way you look up at him, Joel knows he doesn’t deserve this. You don’t deserve this. Your hand fluffs through the back of his hair, and he thought that your touch would bring him the comfort he needed. But it doesn’t.
He feels like he is going to be sick. He was mean to you. He degraded you. He acted like he didn’t trust you. You could see that he was pulling himself away from you with the way that his eyes snapped shut and his head shook back and forth. 
You tried to reel him back in, wanting him to know that you were just as angry as he was. You were just as turned on by his rage as he was by yours. But it was no use. Joel Miller had made up his mind already.
“I’m going for a walk.”
Your face fell as he bolted from the room. Pain swirled in your stomach, and a sob escaped your lips. You suddenly felt sick to your stomach, and everything just felt so wrong. There was a sunken feeling in your chest—a feeling of a hole burning through your heart. 
He left you.
Again.
═ ∘◦❦◦∘ ═
Tap, tap. Maria opened the door to your bedroom just a little, peeking her head in. “So the rumors are true. You are awake.”
You turned the pages of your favorite book, not even looking up at her just yet. “Awake as anyone can be.”
She smiled up at you before fully pushing the door open and entering the room. She had a glass of water and a handful of pill bottles—probably expired, but they have been probably keeping you alive. 
“Any pain?” 
You shook your head, but that was far from the truth. You just didn’t have any pain from the area you got stabbed. You just had lots of heart and head pain. 
“Good. Since you were out for quite some time, your body was able to mostly heal.” You noticed the small bag in her arm and figured it was most likely some more medical supplies.
You gave her a faint smile and turned another page—eyes skimming the small words. “Thank god. You know I can’t stay still for long.”
She chuckled, nodding in agreement. She gave you the pills you needed. You swallowed them down, gulping the fresh water. After handing the water back to her, you looked down at your book again.
She looked over at you, and a smile widened on her lips. “He read that to you every night, you know.”
You blinked, confused. “What?” You dog-eared the book and placed it on the bed next to you. You had somewhat of an idea, but the shock was still evident. “Who?”
Maria smiled and set down a couple of more pills on your bedside table. “It’s some pain medication if you need it.” After you nodded in acknowledgment, she sat down next to you on the bed. “Joel.”
Your eyes widened slightly. She continued, “After Ellie would go to sleep, he would sneak into the house. I told him he didn’t have to do that, but well, you know him.” She knocked her elbow with yours. “He just sat there all night reading that book to you, over and over. He’d come back to our place at around seven in the morning before Ellie woke up.”
She paused, looking right at you. “I know how he is. I know you know more than any of us, but that day? I hadn’t ever seen him like that. He was broken. He muttered under his breath the whole way back that you were gone, and it was his fault. I kept trying to tell him that you still had a steady heartbeat, but he was just—just fully convinced.”
She gave you a watery smile, noticing the tears streaming down your cheeks. You wiped them with the back of your palm and sniffled from a runny nose. 
“Oh, Joel.” You sighed, feeling slightly guilty, but you knew he would hate that. You didn’t know. He specifically chose not to tell you or Ellie anything because that was what he does. He pushes you away because he thinks he doesn’t deserve you or this life you have. Your silly, precious Joel. 
“I’ll leave you to it. Get better, okay? I need my movie-watching friend back.” She pats you lightly on the back before standing up from the bed.
You laughed, nodding in agreement. “Oh, I’m sure it was hell trying to watch Little Women with Tommy.”
She huffed, a hand on the doorknob. “You have no idea.” And with that, she left the room. You stayed there on the bed and tried to dry your tears. 
You felt an ache burst through you. You knew Joel wasn’t telling you everything. You knew it.
There was a part of you that still felt guilty, even though you know you shouldn’t. You just didn’t know what those six weeks felt like as he waited for you. He pleaded every night for you to wake up. Every ten hours after finishing the book, he would ask you all the same. 
You finally had enough of this. It was all his decision to wallow in his own darkness and sorrows—and you were going to put an end to it.
You took the duvet off of your lap and sauntered across the room. Your hand twisted the doorknob, and just as you whipped the door open, you were met with a hard chest. Joel’s hand was fisted, hanging in the middle of the air.
Your eyes widened as you looked up into his deep eyes. “Joel.” You whispered. Tears already started to water against your lash line from the sight of his creased brow and worried gleam in his eyes. 
“Darlin’.” He grunted. His hands clasp gently against your cheeks, and it pulls you forward. His eyes flickered across your face, and his thumb moved to wipe your tears. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that, okay? I-I just didn’t want to tell you the truth, and I just–I used Brad as an excuse—”
“Joel.” You bit your lip, trying to shake your head, but his hands stopped you. His other thumb moved back and forth in adoration on your cheek. 
“I just–I know I failed you. I know I failed Ellie too. I made you a promise that I would never do that again, and I broke it.” His voice cracked, and he let out a huff of air.
“Joel, you didn’t.” Your hand moved up to his chest, stroking back and forth, and he closed his eyes. “You didn’t fail anyone.”
He shook his head. “I did. I did fail you. When I saw the b-blood that—” He paused at the gut-wrenching memory, “I couldn’t get to you. I-I couldn’t help you, darlin’.”
Your breath hitched. Joel was worried about trying to help you. Not saved—like you were some damsel in distress. Not saved, as in pushing you aside and using his ego like others would. Not rescue you. Not recovering you. He wanted to help you. 
“Oh, Joel.” Your hand goes to cup his cheek, “Look at me. Joel—” His eyes snapped open, and he stared at your breath-takingingly beautiful, teary face. “You did help me.”
He opened his mouth to disagree, but you beat him to it. “You carried me all that way, and no one else could do that. Maria had a broken wrist, Tommy has noodle arms,” Joel lets out a snort, “And we can’t rely on a complete stranger to carry me back home. You did. You helped me more than anyone else in this damn world.”
A sob escaped his lips at your sweet affirmation. Tears cascaded down his cheeks, and he surged your cheeks forward to his, lips desperately pressing against your own.
They swallow you—burning a fire inside of you and your hands gripping his chest so tight that you were afraid he would vanish if you hadn’t. He licks into you, moaning.
“Sunshine.” He said, a smile turning up on his lips. He pressed his own back onto yours, so chaste and tender that it makes your knees buckle. “I’m sorry. I love you.”
His lips moved to your neck, and he whispered that against your skin.“I’m sorry. I love you.” His hands flittered down to your hips and gradually started to move you toward the bed. 
You whispered right back at him. “I’m sorry. I love you.” You could feel his lips curl into a smile on your skin, lips still pressing against the base of your neck and your collarbone. “I’m sorry. I love you.”
He gently laid you down on top of the bouncy mattress, hovering over you. He started to take off his jeans, and you do the same with your sweatpants. He gently unbuttoned his shirt, but his eyes never left yours. In fact, they were boring into you. They were glittering under the dimmed light. They were bursting full of love and worship for everything and everything you. 
He leans over on top of you, and one of his hands gently massages your breast. You wantonly sighed, pressing kisses onto his scruffy gray beard. A hand gently rests on your hip, sparking a hot sensation on your skin. His thumb swipes back and forth, and it takes everything in you not to let tears roll down your face once more. 
“I love you, sunshine.” He said it with such adoration and love that your heart seizes in your chest. His cock slipped into you easily, the arousal from earlier and the dripping now mixed and connected. 
“Joel, I love you—I love you.” He moaned at the clench of your walls. His lips lowered to press soft kisses to your chest. He thrust deep, the head of his cock piercing through you. The sweet contrast of Joel was making you feel dizzy.
He pulled back just a little. He wanted to look at you—he wanted to see you. Your mouth hangs wide open for him, whines and whimpers escaping your throat. “J-Joel! Feels so good, Joel.”
He smiled, “Yeah, Darlin’? Love my cock, don’t you?”
You gasped, preening into him. “Yes! Joel—” He thrusted into hard and his deep, hips brushed up against yours. “F-Fuck, baby—”
“Y’Pussy feels so fuckin’ tight, sunshine.” His lips pressed so gently against your skin, tasting the salt that seeped through. He groaned, hips slapping up and puncturing through you. 
“Joel, I love—love you.” You whined. His hand moved to swirl circles on your clit. You could feel the pressure build and burst through you. 
“Gonna cum, sunshine? Yeah, that’s it. Cum for me. Cum all over my cock.” 
You mewled, and he pushed into you a couple of times before you scream his name. “Joel! Joel, I—I love you, I love you.”
“Fuck, my sweet sunshine—” He grunts, coil snapping on his own and clashing against his abdomen. His cock twitched inside your walls, and he spilled inside of you. 
He pumps you full, while muttering under his breath. “I love you, sunshine. I—fuck—oh—I love you.” You whined his name over and again while he did the same. 
You clutched onto one another, desperate to be as close as possible. His lips pressed against your cheeks, leaving soft and gentle kisses in his path. He moaned as he felt your walls clench once more around him. 
You opened your eyes, flickering over his wrinkled lines and strong nose. You wanted to hold him forever, and he no doubt felt the same. 
After six weeks of pure agony, Joel finally felt whole again. He had you by his side, and he felt so loved by your presence. 
You were glad to be finally awake. The toll of being under for so long definitely affected you and your body. But, you couldn’t be happier than to share a little moment with Joel. Your Joel. 
Finally, after quite a while of enjoying each other's company—pressing soft kisses and caressing each other's skin—you break the silence. “We should probably go tell Ellie we’re okay.”
He nods in agreement, but he makes no sudden movements. “Jus’ five more minutes, darlin’?”
You gave him a big smile. “Yeah. Five more minutes, handsome.”
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rippersz · 8 months
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𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖘 𝕴𝖓 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖘
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Medusa!Larissa Weems x Blind!Reader (wlw/fluffy/mythological)
"You and only you, can make the rest of my life peaceful," ~ Madeleine Smith
~~~~~~~~
A gentle ebb and flow threaded through the leaves and water. The small waves in the river went forward, the green strands of the grass went back, and so in tune they were when the other changed direction. Forward and back and back and forward. They paid no mind to the birds - those of which flitted from one nest to the other. Nor did the rabbits or deer, grazing and passing through, interrupt their little dance. Forward and back and back and forward. The fish swam with no place in mind and the wolves were silent in their daily musings - tasked to do with whatever it was that wolves were tasked to do on such a sweet day.
The snow of the previous season had been shed; soaked into the ground over the past two weeks while the sun stretched her arms over her head and yawned with a big hello. She carried Spring along with her and spread her over the ground, making love until evening so that the fruits of their desire fell into seeds. Figs, apples, berries, nuts, and foliage dotted the bushes, the nettle, and the trees. All slowly growing ripe in their waiting, blooming in large families to match the quick growth of the flowers. White flowers, pink flowers, red flowers, yellow flowers; lilacs and lavenders and daisies and on the far side of the traveled grounds, even roses.
It was picturesque. Undisturbed. Serene in a way that many places weren’t. The breeze was constant and fresh and the sun peeked from behind big fluffy clouds, announcing her presence with a soft whisper.
And so beautiful it was that she was perfectly content with leaning beside the stone wall of the cave’s entrance; eyes trained on nothing but the journal in her hands. It was worn and old, made from leather with a latch clasp that was slowly rusting, but it was thick and good - full of notes and ideas and places and numbers. 1546 years of being alive as she was, tallying each day until the bitterness overwhelmed the distinct pride of prolonged survival and the tallies became a thing of the past. After all, there was no need to count when the days weren’t numbered.
Sure, there was a bounty on her head, but that didn’t matter. Not in the glory of a new Spring. There was no room for bloodshed on such a beautiful afternoon - and so she was not worried about a bumbling blistering fool with a great ego and dull blade. And so she was not worried about a feral creature with no regard for predator and prey dynamics. And so she was not worried about a-
“AGH!”
-woman?
Her head snapped up, rousing small hisses from the slumbering children.
The woman, she quickly confirmed, had fallen into the river. On her hands and knees, she wavered in the current and let out little sounds- huffs and grunts and even a small curse of ‘Gods, honestly!’- while she scrunched up the fabric of her skirt in her hands and struggled to her feet. Her hair, scraggly and unclean, hung over her face, wet at the ends and dry at the top.
A part of her felt the need to offer assistance, but common sense told her to stay put - and only to watch. Eventually, as time would say, the strange woman managed to trip her way over to the river’s bank and press her hands into the mud and rock. Then she scrambled up, her sandaled feet working in earnest to help lug her body over the edge and finally- finally- leave her belly up in the grass, heaving great breaths of air. Up and down her chest fell while she faced the sky. Her skirt, patterned and brown, hung below her knees and stuck to her legs; and the shirt, white and flowing and clearly a bit too big for her frame, turned see-through with the water-lined hem that rested against her sides. Her feet were bare in her simple sandals and aside from a blue worn shoulder bag- one that strapped sideways along her front- there was nothing particularly distinct about the stranger. She was just a woman returning home. Or a woman searching for something. Or a woman on a mission to provide for her family.
But whichever she was, woman with a purpose or not, she was no friend. And so she made no move to leave her cave and instead, sat, and returned to her journal.
So the breeze passed.
And the clouds strolled.
The river went forward. And the grass went back.
And for a good long while, nothing happened.
Then there was a shuffling, and a noise of effort, and a soft simmer of hisses began to rise. Feeling the slow slipping of movement on top of her head, she looked up.
The woman had gotten to her feet, apparently done with her momentary bask in the sun, and began ringing out the water at the bottom of her skirt. The bag she had was on the ground, and everything in it was spread out on the grass. From her point by the cave, a good distance away, she could see a few bits of light clothing, a comb, a small stone knife (which needed a good sharpening), and two wrapped bits of woven leaves and twine. There was no scent of meat in the air, aside from the flesh of the fauna within the forest, so she figured the woman most likely carried berries and nuts for nutrition. Which was, judging by the contents on her person, certainly not enough in an effort to run away.
The woman looked up. Her body jumped - like a spooked young doe, and her own body tensed. Silently, she told her children to hush. Then she thought, wished,-
‘Don’t turn your head. Don’t turn your head. Don’t turn your head. Don’t-’
Apparently deciding that there was nothing to worry about, the stranger kept her back turned to the cave and went back to wringing out her clothing. The hisses and movement had ceased, but the children were still vigilant - watching with perceptive sapphire eyes as the stranger then began to- oh!
She looked away, turning her head so quickly that the children jerked with her. One of the younglings instantly took the opportunity to slide along the shell of her ear and give a mean rumbling clicky-hiss. Absent-mindedly, she reached up to flick the child back into place; paying more attention to her own behavior than anything else.
The woman had reached to take off her shirt- to draw it above her midriff and throw it onto the grass. The river, mixed with the Springtime air, was a good place to stop and bathe, she supposed. It was her plan later anyway to go for a dip herself, if not to feel clean then to at least wash the little companions she carried with her. But the woman beat her to it. And in the silence as she averted her gaze, ignoring the blush of heat on her pale cheeks, the soft sounds of clothing hitting the ground some feet away filled the air. And when that was said and done, a few splashes and small shrieks - drawn from the chill of the river.
When it was quiet, and she was comfortable enough to sneak a look, she found the woman’s back turned to her still. Her hair was wet and slicked, sticking slightly to her neck as she turned this way and that and- oh. She had soap too. So that must have been in one of the two woven bundles.
‘Hm. Smart.’ But not entirely. It wasn’t good to stay long bathing out in the open. Hunters and gatherers and silly stupid mortals had a habit of coming around at the most inopportune times.
She knew that very well.
Though… since the woman was washing up near her cave… there was no harm in observing the scenery. No harm in taking interest in the sun. No, not at all. They would each have their privacy, and as long as the woman didn’t turn around, everything would be fine. And she could keep an eye out… for birds, of course. Not hunters. No no.
So that’s how it went.
The woman bathed, humming to herself, keeping her back to the cave and turning only to lather soap on another part of her body. Completely unaware of the forest creatures watching her. And one creature in particular made it her mission to watch the land, observing and peering; hearing the crackles of branches and chirping of baby birds, listening for footsteps or voices. But none came. And soon enough, the woman was rising from the river, putting on her sandals, and going to sit on the laid out skirt from earlier. She had no cloth to dry off… and so would use the sun.
‘Hm. Not so smart.’ A hiss or two from her children told her they agreed.
It was not right for a woman to be so vulnerable like that. And out in the open. If she weren’t there, the stranger could be hurt. Or worse - killed. But it was good then that she wasn’t alone, wasn’t it? That she had a guardian of sorts… who would kill her too if only she looked her way.
Did- had she fallen asleep?
Like that?
In the middle of the grass with her belongings spread around her and her body, soft and nude, bared to the sun?
‘Is she mad?’
Maybe she was. Or maybe she was just young. Maybe life hasn’t hurt her too severely just yet. And maybe Larissa was being harsh.
Hm.
Well.
It didn’t really matter either way. There was nothing else to do, and though the stranger wasn’t really ‘company’, she was still action. So there was no desire to chase her off and there was no desire to see her maimed - thus, Larissa sat. She tucked long pale legs beneath her, shifted the white chiton to fall on her shoulders just so, and kept her journal close at hand. Night was due to fall soon enough, as it always did in early Spring, so the tools for a fire were already prepared behind her - waiting to be utilized and set later. Hopefully the woman would be gone by then.
But she wasn’t.
At some point, she’d gotten up to change into different clothing; a dress hand-stitched from red dyed fabric. It was pretty, yes, but not very practical for running away.
‘But good clothing was probably the only thing she had.’
Which was most likely true, Larissa mused. Many young women, richer than most, took it upon themselves to run away. Their reason for doing so depended on who they were. The stranger in the red dress, who decided to lay on the grass and fall asleep again, was a woman of status but not to the point of being a royal. If that were the case, there’d be men on horses trailing close behind. Unless they hadn’t found her yet… and were using dogs to track her scent…
The children stirred, hissing with disdain and fear.
She watched the young woman with anxious eyes.
Such a naive thing could lead to her death, once and for all…. and how ironic would that be. A scorned woman with a passion for soft things… destroyed by a soft woman with a passion for a free life. Had they both wanted that at one point? Or was it still something they desired?
The children settled. She continued to watch the land.
But eventually, as Spring would have it, the peacefulness of the quiet had her lulling off to sleep as well. And she only awoke to the feeling of soft kitten licks at her cheekbones. The repeated lap at her skin had her groaning and flicking the offender away - only to have two more slide up and continue twice as hard.
“Ugh, what is it?” She groaned, scrunching her eyes together before pushing herself upright.
The licks turned to urgent hisses- and her darlings started writhing with anxiety- telling her to get up! And if possessed, she stood quickly and looked out into the sudden dark of night. The sun had disappeared. There was not a single light out there in the black. But there was movement. Breath.
The woman. She was still asleep. Dreaming about whatever it was that women liked her dream about.
Larissa frowned.
Well she couldn’t just leave her out there, could she? No! That was- that was… inhumane. Terrible. A fate worse than anything. And if she woke up to the screams of the stranger- if she woke up to her pain… she could risk killing everyone in sight. Literally.
A young king nipped at her ear.
She huffed. Well. It just wouldn’t do. It just wouldn’t do at all.
And so she collected the fabric of her chiton in her clawed hands and marched forward to the sleeping beauty. The creatures were stiff with observation, keeping their reptilian eyes sharp and alert as she moved - quiet as a snake and dangerous as… well. Herself.
When she was finally standing over the stranger, she let the cloth fall from her hands. The woman, in comparison to her, was short. And vulnerable. And maybe she’d just take her to the edge of the nearest village… or something like that. Something far from her cave and her life. But as she finished slipping the woman’s belongings into her bag (which had since dried from her fall in the river), a whisper rumble of thunder from the clouds above had her sighing. Well. A Spring storm was usually a good sign of the incoming year, but to have one so early was… less than favorable. Her plans, too, were foiled. The children quite disliked the rain, and getting her own clothing wet was something she desperately wanted to avoid (the heavier material took much longer to dry than what the strange woman wore - so she’d have to resort to at least another change of clothes for a day. Which she seldomly tried to wear.)
‘Well. We can’t leave her out here. So as long as she keeps her back turned, we won’t have any trouble now will we?’
No, probably not. Hell for all she knew, the woman could sleep through the whole night and then she could put her back outside in the morning and she could tottle off on her way as though nothing ever happened. Or she could wake up in the middle of the night and take Larissa’s head. Yes. Or that could happen. Which would really be quite terrible. Most likely painless, but still terrible.
The thought of that had Larissa pausing. The woman’s sling bag fell limp in her hand.
Was she taking too big of a risk? Never before had she helped a stranger like that, but she was not unfamiliar with such kindness. It was hard to find in her years, but she’d witnessed the sweetest acts of tenderness amongst strangers. Usually between two women.
She frowned. Some of her children turned, peering over to look down at the sleeping stranger.
Her hair covered her eyes and her limbs were spread out like she was sleeping on the comfiest bit of cloud that ever existed. Like she had no cares at all. It was both endearing and confusing. How could a woman sleep so soundly in the wilderness? How could a woman sleep so soundly in the open? Did her lack of awareness make her an omen of danger? Or was she a passing soul Larissa could provide help for? Someone to make her feel like she was human again… Like she was capable of being good instead of being what she… was.
A flash of lightning in the distance, above the forest before her, told her it was time to hurry up. Spring held no qualms about trapping the world in a downpour, and she didn’t feel like trekking through mud before bed.
So making up her mind quickly, Larissa slung the stranger’s bag over her shoulder and bent down to pick her up. She tried to be mindful of her sharp fingers when sliding her hands beneath the woman’s back and thighs; though surprisingly, for all of her mortal weight, she was easy to carry. Strength, Larissa had figured early on into her ‘new life’, was one of the very few advantages she’d gained after her transformation. But never before had she picked up a human. And never would she do it again as she realized how difficult it was to keep from jostling them. She was just so… limp. Her head lolled a little bit and her arms ragdolled and she looked more like a young woman than an adult stranger. But nonetheless, Larissa carried her back to the cave. The children were silent, understanding somehow that they were not to wake the mortal with their clicks and hisses and little rattling sounds. As endearing as their mother found it, the human would not take too kindly to their existence - before she turned into nothing but a statue, of course.
‘Don’t wake up don’t wake up don’t wake up don’t wake up,’ Larissa thought desperately to herself as she padded into the cave and placed the woman onto her bed. There was nowhere else for her to rest, and it wasn’t like Larissa was planning on getting much sleep in her company anyway, so onto the little nest of stolen blankets, wool, and pillows she went. Slipped so easily from Larissa’s pale arms - and then cared for even more when she went about gently turning her around onto her side, belly facing the cave wall, before pulling the mismatched bed coverings up to her shoulders.
The thunder and lightning from the world beyond was growing more intense by the second, striking a worried chord in her heart that had her quickly placing the woman’s bag beside her body and flitting around to get her home comfortable for the evening. The routine followed as it did every night. Gently unwind the twine that holds back the bramble, vine, and leaf-woven curtains to each side of the cave wall; being careful of the sap-gum that held everything in place. Then gently arrange the curtains, as thick and prickly as they were, to cover the entirety of the cave’s entrance. Once that is finished, move around in the dark for the corner in which the fires are conducted - then go about striking the rock and the wood and adding the sticks and gathering a flame and letting out a sigh of relief when the warm glow fills the grey emptiness of the space.
She had planned on going hunting that evening, before sundown, but the stranger stole all of her attention away; and searching for meat during a storm was a fruitless mission. They were both lucky then that Larissa had enough forethought to search for various nuts, grains, and fruits the day previous. They were stored away behind the fabric of her pillow… which was preoccupied by the woman’s sleeping head.
The world rumbled as Larissa propped herself up against the cave wall. There was never much to do besides ponder, write, sleep, and hunt… so she turned back to her journal, deciding to spend some time detailing the woman she came across. Her hand moved with sharp twirls and scritches, writing of how strange the mortal was; how innocent; how peaceful she looked sleeping in her bed, completely unaware of the monster that lurked behind her. Like a daisy in a pretty green field… soon to be trampled beneath the hungry paw of a bastard wolf; left without the gift of seeing so she couldn’t even anticipate her untimely death. It was rather sad. It was rather brutal. No woman deserved a fate such as that - for she was only running away and did not think she would be dragged into the cave of a beast.
As the embers of the flame died, the woman continued to sleep. There reached a point where Larissa thought she was dead. Despite being able to hear the warm thump of her heart, she still stood and loomed over the stranger - only to find that yes, she was still alive. Just resting.
‘Must have been quite a long journey if she’s been asleep for that long,’ she mused to herself, turning away to tend to the puttering glows of their fire.
Though as soon as the rain started, coming down in thick pats upon the mud outside of the cave, the huddle of blankets in her bed stirred, and her children stood - turning to glare at the sound. A soft swishing fell into the thunderstorm’s undercurrent as the woman moved her legs, kicked them out to stretch, groaned softly beneath her breath, and turned onto her back. She pawed at her hair, eyes still closed, and Larissa reached up to wrap her index finger and thumb around the snout of her eldest child.
‘Don’t speak,’ she quietly commanded the bunch, ‘I do not want to be the last thing she sees.’
But the crackling of the fire, paired with its warmth and light, had the woman releasing a confused hum as she shuffled onto her hands and pushed herself up to sit. Larissa watched, silent, while the stranger slowly came back to her senses and regained consciousness.
“Is there- what-” she spoke, soft voice trailing off into a myriad of inaudible questions.
The child in her grasp wriggled, having had enough of its mother’s scolding, eager to rejoin the others in their free scrutiny. She finally let it go, tapping its pale head with the tip of one finger, and then slid the journal from her lap and placed it onto the cave’s floor as quietly as she could. Spooking the woman was the last thing she wanted to do, but as she stood to her full height and gently pulled some of the loose fabric of her chiton closer to her body, the stranger jumped anyway - and instantly got to her feet.
Larissa’s heart stopped, tripping over itself as she jerked her head down.
“Wh-Who’s there?! What do you want with me?! I have a knife!!” The stranger’s voice, scared and loud, full of false bravery, was quieted by the rain and thunder.
‘You don’t have a knife. You don’t know where it is,’ was Larissa’s inner thoughts- right as the woman began murmuring to herself.
“Wait. Where is the knife…” and only when there was the dull sound of knees dropping onto fabric, did Larissa finally bring her blue eyes up.
The woman, in her absence of the knife… went looking for it. On her hands and knees… patting the ground… searching through the fabrics of the bed and slapping her soft palms against the stone of the cave’s floor… frantic and confused…
Larissa frowned.
“It’s in your bag.”
You jumped, letting out a harsh breath while your heart skipped up into your throat.
“Who goes there?! Who are you?!” Your voice was shrill, loud and scared as you forgot about the knife and went pushing yourself back up into your feet. “I-I know how to fight!” You yelled into the darkness, putting up your fists.
It was a lie of course- you had no idea how to fight- but that didn’t matter. As long as the person- woman?- thought you were tough enough to hold your own.
But when you huffed and puffed and bared your teeth, keeping your fists up, nothing happened. Complete silence filled the air, interrupted only by the rain and the flicker of a fire nearby. You could feel its warmth on you even in your panic - even as you stepped back and back and back until your shoulders hit something hard behind you. It was a wall; a curved imperfect wall that told you you weren’t in a cabin or home with extremely open windows, somewhere in the woods, but were instead in… in… well. You didn’t actually know. It’s not like you could see and just find out. Though despite that, you still looked around wildly - keeping your ears open for movement.
There was none.
You frowned.
“…How… are… you…?” It was a woman! The voice, spoken in front of you, across whatever space you were in, was smooth and deep. Accented. She sounded strange. Foreign. And also incredibly confused. Almost… astounded? Like she couldn’t quite believe what was happening.
“Don’t make me ask again,” you warned, reminding yourself that some women could be just as dangerous as men, “what do you want with me?”
“Blind…” came the soft response; so quick- it was in the air before you finished speaking; so quiet you had to strain to hear. “You’re… blind.”
Well. Yes. It was a rather defining feature; one that many noticed and took advantage of. One that people thought they could ‘work with’ and use to trick you - but you were clever. And strong. And personable in a way that many didn’t expect. The stranger across from you though… she was still just another potential danger. Still just a thing to be aware of. And so you cleared your throat and nodded, putting your hands at your sides and curling them into fists.
“Yes. I am. And what about it?” You sniffed, tilting your head up, trying to seem braver than you were.
No amount of cleverness, after all, could save a blind woman from a tricky death. If the river you had fallen into earlier was a cavern or a very deep pit, you would have been finished. Thank goodness you took advantage of it at the time.
“…Nothing. I apologize. I have- never met a blind person before,” the woman spoke, stilted and cautious. Still with an undercurrent of awe in her voice. It was peculiar, the way she was acting, but you shrugged it off. The apology was unexpected but not unwelcome. It had you squinting into the nothingness of your vision.
“Well. Now you have.” You nodded, suddenly feeling rather awkward.
Yes. She had. You were right.
Right and blind.
Blind. Unable to see.
The children froze, and she felt the way they looked at each other, unsure and confused. No doubt wondering ‘What issss happening?’ They were too familiar with mortal skin turning grey and hard at the smallest glimpse in their direction to understand what was happening. All they knew was their mother and solitude. And she, likewise, had no concept of how to deal with a stranger that did not want to- or simply couldn’t- kill her.
The milky color of the stranger’s eyes, although rare and odd, was beautiful. Like the wispy white of the clouds when they blanketed the moon at midnight. Light and dark at the same time… grey under a matter of circumstance. The cherry on top of the woman’s strange existence. Shocking to a new face but glorious to a trained eye. Her children observed the mortal with unending curiosity; casting violence aside as they slithered to their tallest heights and curled down, swaying their small pale heads. The situation was lost on them, but that didn’t matter. They’d understand eventually. Perhaps when the woman was gone the previous morning and she could muse over the mortal out loud to herself.
But until then,
“Are you hungry?” She wasn’t sure what else to ask.
You felt your stomach rumble- speaking to you as though the mention of eating had woken it up from its slumber.
“Um yes… you’re not going to poison me though, are you?”
There was a short gasp.
“Goodness, no. Why would I do that?”
She sounded so outraged- so shocked by your question- that you almost smiled. You couldn’t see her expression, but there was sincerity in her velvet voice. Like she was genuinely surprised, if not offended, that you’d ask her of all people that. It didn’t matter if you’d asked in slight jest or not; she didn’t seem to understand the consequences that came with literal blind trust.
“Some people like to take advantage,” you murmured, shrugging at the same time. Most women understood what you meant. People during that time, men in particular, saw the weak souls of the world and let their eyes light up with the chance to exert power. It was common. It was difficult. The woman opposite you, you were nearly certain, understood the sentiment as well.
“I–… yes. I realize that,” she stated, her voice growing firm. “But I’m not going to poison you. I’m not a m-” There was a soft hissing hush that filled the air, cutting into her words with a sharp strength you couldn’t ignore
What on Earth…
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” was the quick response. “I have nuts and berries I found not too long ago. Will that be enough?”
Your brow furrowed. What was she hiding?
“Um yes- yes that would be lovely… thank you.”
And with that, the stranger let out a hum and went walking around, shuffling along to grab a few things while you stood there on (what you assumed was) her bed. It was soft; pillowed with linens and fabrics and blankets that felt as though they’d come from all over the world when you shifted from one foot to the other. You frowned at the odd feeling and stepped off of the coverings- not wanting to flatten or dirty her sleeping area. It was kind of her to even put you there in the first place; though you wondered if she’d carried you herself or dragged you along. Not many women in your time, or the village where you were from, had the strength or initiative to pick up another woman and carry her anywhere, let alone their own bed. But if you were dragged along the grassy terrain outside, you surely would have felt the bumps and stops, no?
Either way, as soon as you stepped onto the hard ground of- well- wherever- you were at, you turned to the sound of movement and cleared your throat.
“And um… thank you for taking me here. Keeping me safe. You didn’t have to do that, but you did anyway. So- I appreciate it.” You fidgeted; keeping your hands at your waist and picking at the soft skin around your nails.
The shuffling paused.
“…You’re welcome.” The stranger replied softly.
It was almost like she wasn’t sure what to say. Like she didn’t hear the words ‘thank you’ very often. Like maybe she didn’t come into contact with people very often. And perhaps she didn’t. How else could she have found you if she didn’t live away from civilization? It wasn’t unheard of; it was just not very common. But, as you always said, to each their own. There was no room for judgment, after all - the woman probably ran away in a similar fashion as you did. In the very beginnings of morning, before the sun even rose, with everything you could think to carry in a satchel slung across your shoulders, heading out into the world as though it wouldn’t prove to be as dangerous as the life you left had been. The only difference being that nothing could make you want to return to that - not even the scary sounds that came out of the forest at night. The woman, even if only for one evening, was a saving grace.
And still a stranger.
She puttered around some more, dragging soft things across the ground- leaf bowls you assumed- and poured water into clay cups.
“I never got your name, you know. So I can remember you.” It was a hesitant thing to say, but you figured that if you somehow made friends with the woman, you could come back to her one day if you ever needed the shelter. Or the company. The world was tough, after all; and not always did a woman succeed on her own.
That woman had, though.
That woman, who stopped her actions again and allowed the combined ambience of the rain and fire to melt into the space.
That woman, who inhaled sharply before exhaling into one spoken breath:
“Larissa.”
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(Thank you for reading! Do let me know if you'd prefer the other layout/way of editing with the text dividers and character gifs. This Medusa thing may become a little series like Cannibal Larissa. Let me know what you think? Until next time, darlings - Rip x)
~~~~~~~~
(Tags [please know that Tumblr will not let me properly @ some accounts] : @oddball21 @kaymariesworld @bloommushroom @readingtheentrails @thegoddamnfeels @theonefairygodmother @theflashesoflove @sweetderacine @opalthefrog @gwensfreak @shyladyfan @erablaise-blog @bellatrixsbrat @sunnyanon @emilynissangtr @lex13cm @sugipla @hasthebaconinhispants @deongocrazy @nocteangelus15 @eveymay @one-pining-queer @azu-zu @niceminipotato @hopelessly-sapphic @barbarasstar @enchantressb @syrenacrainn @im-a-carnivorous-plant @willowshadenox @aemilia19 @ladylarissaweems @scarlettssub @ladysdraga @willisnotmental @gela123 @h-doodles @zillahofviolets-bayolet )
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softshuji · 1 year
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Sanzu wakes up after you on the first night he stays over.
And it's not that he's found it hard to sleep, quite the contrary, which is a start all things considered. Maybe your bed is just too warm and smells of perfume and vanilla, lemon soap and coffee that you're prone to drinking even during the late hours. Maybe it's that there's a hair of yours on his chest that whirls along his torso, and he can feel the warmth of you still on his skin despite the draught.
These are the things he knows immediately: He knows the sheets are soft, and you'd been embarrassed at the pale green of your covers that still had ink marks and spots of nail polish dotting its corners. He knows you'd switched the noise machine off last night and had curled on his chest, your ear pressed to his skin, the milky white juncture of his shoulder, the slope where his heart rests anxiously underneath.
But he's surprised that he doesn't feel inclined to move immediately when he feels you slip out next to him in the morning, taking the warmth with you. You hold his hand, halfway between sleep and not, and press a kiss to his wrist, before pulling the covers over him again, safe and cocooned in your bed.
You know he's watching and it doesn't feel awkward, him peering from beneath the snow of his lashes, sleep grit and fatigue still clinging to the shadows underneath.
It's not sexual when he watches you pick up a bra from the floor and shimmy into jeans thrown somewhere on the other side of the room from the night prior. It's unceremonious in fact when you pad to the mirror in just those and one sock and thermal pants underneath because, quote unquote "you hate the feeling of bare denim and your legs get cold easily."
And he remembers it had been a quick affair, getting you out of clothes and onto the bed, your thighs in his hands, your back on the sheets and him latching onto your skin, sucking deep purple onto your neck and lower still. He looks at the wreckage of his lust now, the capillaries broken under your skin that you don't seem to mind as you slip a shirt on.
You look at him and it's open, carefree and vulnerable when you tell him , "hey Haru, there's coffee in the pot for you when you're ready okay?"
He sits up on his elbows, the sheets slipping off his chest to expose your own destruction to the sunlight, fading pink that's stark against the ivory of skin. 'I think I should probably go,' he says, for something to say. And he does feel awkward now, feels as if he needs to rush to leave the safety of your home and your inviting bed.
You frown and dig around in your dresser for a hairbrush. 'I thought you said you had a day off today?' you say absent-mindedly, rubbing moisturizer into your skin.
'I do, but- Mikey- there's some things- I shouldn't stay-'
You pause, frown, drop the hairbrush onto the vanity in succession. 'You don't have to y'know.' And you smile, placatingly, amicably, moving to sit on the edge of the bed as you pull your socks on.
'What do you mean?' He sits up further, his back to the headboard now, frowning further when he feels your fingers dance on his open palm.
'I mean...' You tongue your cheek, avert your eyes, all timid shyness that seemed lost on you just last night. 'You can stay, if you want. I left a spare key on the microwave but- you don't have to- I mean it would be nice, if you were here when I got back.'
Suspicion is the first to crawl along his skin. 'You don't want me to go? I can go if-'
'Haru. Stay. Please stay.' And you lean across the expanse of cotton to plant a soft and hesitant touch on his mouth, the cherry of your lip balm a soft tingle on his tongue.
'Are you sure? You don't have to feel force-'
'I'm serious. I don't want you to go.' You touch at his cheek, one polished finger that traces a circle into his skin. 'Be here when I get back?'
He waits, and searches your eyes, the reflection of himself shining in the glassy mirror, for the honesty he finds in you and lacking in himself. 'Sure, I'll...stay,' he says, slowly, as if testing out the words, as if they're new.
And then you lean back and smile, tuck his hair behind an ear and it feels like a loss when the bed springs back as you stand.
Except it feels less like it hurts this time.
reblogs appreciated!
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mxtxfanatic · 8 months
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So @fireandgrimstone and I once had a discussion about how mxtx handles Xie Lian’s crossdressing in tgcf, the gist of which was whether or not it was falling into a gender essentialist trope ("you can always tell when a man is pretending to be a woman!") despite how much of the story tackles a kind of gender fluidity amongst other characters. I said I’d return to it once I reread it again to see how I felt reading those bits in context, so here I am!
The first instance of Xie Lian cross-dressing in the story is during the very first mission: the ghost bride. In order to find out who is kidnapping brides in the area, Xie Lian dresses like a bride to act as bait. When he first gets dressed, this is how he is described:
If you asked anyone to come and see, they would be able to tell with a glance that this was a young boy with a gentle and handsome looking face.
—Chapt. 6: The Ghost Holds a Wedding, The Crown Prince Climbs Onto the Marriage Sedan (Part 1)
You can "tell" that he is still a man, even as he wears the wedding outfit, we are told. However, later on, Little Ying comes and helps fix up Xie Lian so that he looks more like a bride. When next the others see his face, this is how he is described:
How could Xie Lian have known that a girl’s skill in make-up created legendary and mystifying results? Little Ying had only taught him how to fix his eyebrows by drawing them elegantly, how to powder his face with some white powder and how to dot his lips with deep, red rouge. However, if he didn’t speak, Xie Lian looked exactly like a gentle, soft and beautiful young lady.
—Chapt. 9: The Mountain’s Locked Ancient Temple, The Forest of Hanging Corpses (Part One)
A little bit of makeup and reshaping his outfit has transformed Xie Lian from someone you could tell was a man "from a glance" to someone who "looked exactly like a gentle, soft, and beautiful young lady." Even the crowd of men acting as "guards" could not tell Xie Lian was a man, and at no stage in this entire arc is Xie Lian uncomfortable with the act of cross-dressing, at being honestly mistake for being a woman, or Mu Qing and Feng Xin's negative reactions. He is indifferent to it all.
The next major moment we see him cross-dressing is when he is running away from the group of cultivators hunting Hua Cheng:
Behind the curtains sat a woman, her long raven hair hung a loose bun, her neck slender and white with a black choker and a thin silver chain circled around. Her robe was half stripped, revealing her snow white shoulder and a small bit of her back, looking to drape and fall, making one’s face burn and heart race.
When the curtains were pulled, the figure of that woman trembled, covering her face with her sleeves, and whimpered softly, as if she was shocked and terrified by such a sudden and brutish act. Heaven’s Eye instantly dropped the curtains, “I-I-I-I-I-I’M SORRY!!!”
The band of monks and cultivators who followed after Heaven’s Eye all screamed too, “WHAT A SIN, WHAT A SIN!” And they all covered their own eyes. Using this chance, that ‘woman’ whipped around -- who else could it be but Xie Lian? Hua Cheng was sitting in his arms and was only blocked from view by Xie Lian’s body. Although Xie Lian was a man and his shoulders were wider than the average woman, but he only pulled down half of his robe to expose the best angle, creating the perfect effect.
—Chapt. 137: Upon Barren Hills; Rioting the Black Hearted Inn (Part One)
Just as with the makeup and reshaping of the bride outfit, wearing a woman's robe, stripping to show off some skin at an angle, and whimpering a little was enough to trick this group of men into thinking he was a woman. The cultivators are so embarrassed, they run away, but even the passerbies who catch a glimpse of Xie Lian fleeing later in that same outfit have the vague idea that it is a "woman" they're seeing running with a child. Then, in the same outfit, Xie Lian enters an inn and we get this hilarious interaction:
A moment later, the door opened, and several attendants came forward to greet, their faces full of smiles, “Good si...”
They had wanted to say ;good sir’, but seeing the person before them was wearing women’s robes, they changed, “Mis...”
Before the word left their lips, Xie Lian emerged fully from the darkness with Hua Cheng in hand. If there’s a child, then it wasn’t an unmarried lady, so they changed again, “Mada...”
‘Madam’ was still half on their lips and Xie Lian’s face was fully illuminated by the light within the inn. Although this person was dressed in women’s robes and had a gentle countenance, if they must be honest, no matter how they looked it was the face of a man. The attendants all became mute, and it was a good moment before they went back to their original greeting, “Good sir, please come inside.”
—Chapt. 137: Upon Barren Hills; Rioting the Black Hearted Inn (Part One)
None of the attendants are able to tell Xie Lian's gender just from a glance. They rely on context clues (his clothes, the fact that he's with a child, then finally, his bare face) to finally decide that he is a man. Xie Lian is not discomforted by this either, not even to correct them. In fact, the narrative says that he feels no mental or physical discomfort as he is. Mind you, in this world, it is established that gods can and do change their physical forms to match a certain gender, but despite having the power to do so, not only does Xie Lian not take this route but he is still able to successfully appear as a cis woman to both strangers and his closest friends with only the minimalist of effort. Neither he nor the narrative place any expectations on how he "should" feel being man mistaken for a woman, nor do they waste time trying to explain to other characters why he is dressed as one like what one would usually see with this trope. Xie Lian simply exists in the form most comfortable to him and changes minor appearances to produce the aesthetic that he needs when he needs it. No more explanation is needed.
The thing about Xie Lian, too, is that while he is assured in his own gender, this does not translate into him being adverse to either weaponizing gender to reach a certain goal (such as being bait in a mission or hiding from enemies or just finding a dangerous object) or others doing as they please. Shi Qingxuan repeatedly attempts to wheedle Xie Lian into transforming into a female form with him, but though Xie Lian refuses for himself, he never shows disgust that Shi Qingxuan prefers his female form, unlike other gods.
Due to all of this, I don't see the repeated mentions of Xie Lian's maleness within these cross-dressing scenes as meant to reinscribe the gender binary but, instead, to impress upon readers how simple it is to throw gender into question. Gender is just that malleable and its perception so easily manipulated that even one of the most manliest men in the story can be viewed without a shadow of a doubt as a woman. Xie Lian is proof.
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aclowntiny · 9 months
Text
Puppy Love- Yunho x Female!Barista!Reader
I haven't forgotten about all my coffee shop stories 😁😁😁 Yunho in his ‘you like jazz?’ era
Word Count: 3536 | Coffee Shop, Fluff | Warnings: too dang fluffy 😝
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Yunho’s dream had finally come true. A dog café had opened up within walking distance of work. What a time to be alive! What a lucky walk of the streets on his break, unsure how to spend his rare free time once he had it. Using it for an activity seemed simultaneously gratifying and overwhelming. Time to burn some energy off with some very good boys and girls instead! Some caffeine might also reverse-jitter him back into productivity…or at least into the right headspace to squeeze in an episode of that show he needed to finish.
Beneath an awning of striped lime green and white awaited the door to Leash Love Latte, the lovely windowed building decorated with paint-on art of joyous pups of all breeds, two of which held mugs and one of which was about to devour a bone-topped cupcake. Yunho couldn't help but smile as his eyes scanned the glass, jumping a bit at the noise when he opened the door, but the startlement easily fell into a laugh as he opened the security door once the front one was closed and was met with a barrage of dogs.
"Oh, hi," he giggled as one little papillon practically climbed up his leg, bending down to scoop her up into his arms. Flipping her collar tag, he saw it read 눈. A name meaning Snow made sense- she was a ball of pure white fluff after all.
Carrying her up to the counter, Yunho was met with the sight of an extremely nimble barista practically skating across the café floor to slide a pastry onto the counter and call out its owner’s name, then turn on her heels to catch a drink from the older man who held it out to her and repeat the process. Once that was done, she twirled around to face the counter.
“Sorry about that, just had an order to finish up,” she paused, taking a couple breaths and getting her hair back into place, smile never leaving her face, “oh, Nunie, are you making friends?” Her gaze had dropped to the sweet pup in Yunho’s arms, the nickname and her evident familiarity with the café dogs warming his heart.
“Yep," he agreed with a chuckle, holding her up a bit higher with fatherly pride despite their very recent meeting, "I think she'd have made a ladder of me if she could."
"Well, you are pretty tall," the girl joked.
"I guess that's true! So, what do you recommend here?"
She grinned. "Dog or drink?"
"Drink," Yunho responded, "I don't think I'll get away with any cheating today."
"How does a peanut butter mocha sound?"
"Great," he replied, "I've never had one before!"
Plucking a solid pink, paw-print-dotted mug from some unseen counter alcove, the barista grinned. "It's sort of my specialty."
"She's always trying to hock those!" The older man called out from deeper in the kitchen, offering a devilish grin.
"Hey! At least I have a specialty!" She called back, smiling when he shouted that she was a better barista than him and sliding the mug down the slick metal counter surface before turning back to Yunho. "Sorry, that's my uncle. He's a bit of a jokester. Your name?”
"Yunho. And that's ok. I can see how well you guys get along. So this is a family business, then?"
"Yep," she nodded, "everything I do, I try to do with my family."
Something about those simple words touched Yunho's heart, throwing its beat off even as he lowered himself into a bench, stroking his snowy new friend and laughing as a brown and white Jack Russel terrier and a little grey mutt with a folded ear scrambled up to fill his lap all the way. His gaze darted between them and the young lady behind the counter as she operated all the kitchenware with focused eyes and lightly smiling lips.
This place really was heaven.
~
"Here you go!"
Yunho's attention snapped up from the mutt, Sammy, to meet the eyes of the girl. He hadn't really paid attention to the color of them before, but the lime-and-pink shaded light dangling above his table must have somehow brought it out as she set his mug in front of him a respectable distance from the squirming dogs piled upon his lap.
"What was your name again?" Yunho blurted out before he could help it.
"(y/n)."
"(y/n)," he repeated with a smile, "wonderful. I just felt like I needed to have a name to go with the face."
Her eyes remained on him, though the smile on her face did not fade. Sammy licked at her sleeve, which only made it grow wider, her nose crinkling a bit. A wave of awkwardness crashed over Yunho.
"So, (y/n), you must really like peanut butter." That sounded much better in his head.
She just giggled. “I love it! I was eating a peanut butter cup when I got the idea for the drink.”
“That’s so cool! I have a friend who cooks and that seems hard, let alone designing something new, like I can’t even imagine.”
(y/n) waved a hand before reaching it back down to pet a fluffy spotted Australian shepherd that ran by her feet. “Oh, I bet you could come up with something,” she told him with a smile.
Yunho racked his brain, but beneath the tantalizing chocolate-peanut-butter-coffee-with-a-hint-of-espresso smell, the light of that obnoxiously cute lamp, the warm, wiggling puppy pile on his lap, and the faint, anticipatory flutter of the girl’s eyelashes, not much was floating up coherently. “I can’t think of anything that would be good in coffee,” he finally admitted.
“What about something that would be bad in coffee?”
“All my brain was giving me was fruit loops, so I’d say that.”
(y/n) gave a humored wince. “Ooh, yeah. Though that would make a good milk latte or shake! I could totally work with that!” And with that, she made another of her skate-like drifts across the shop, dodging three dogs darting at her feet as she fell back behind the counter, pulling out a couple appliances and taking notes like a mad scientist.
Well, that wasn’t too bad a response to fruit loops of all things. Patting Sammy, Yunho pulled his steaming mug to his lips, barely feeling the cup’s heat above that in his own sheepish cheeks.
~
A few days after his Leash Love Latte trip, Yunho was out for a walk to clear his head after a very early morning of choreography practice, having rinsed himself off and wanted nothing more than to get out into the sun and breeze, practically melting the industrial lighting out of his skin. Cleansing the sweat off had only been step one.
Veering off the paved walking trail, Yunho crossed over the inclination of a grassy green hill, wandering over the great emerald expanse and dodging the occasional frisbee. Ducking under one that was thrown high enough, even.
The small amount of skin exposed by his t-shirt warmed pleasantly in the moderate day's air as he passed an area surrounded by metal gating that bore a few tied-on signs. Within it, dogs of varying sizes tore across the grass, played tug-of-war, and ran to their owners with new friends in tow. As he got closer, he noticed that one of those owners had a haircut that looked quite familiar, a smile Yunho felt like he’d just been graced with.
It was (y/n)! Carefully undoing the safety gate with a deft motion of his fingers, he lifted the release and entered, immediately dodging dogs as he ran a hand through his hair hoping he’d straightened it. His other hand was already getting thoroughly sniffed, a few licks coming to it before he reclaimed it, giving a bulldog and a border collie some pats as he milled through the park. A mutt- maybe half terrier- ran up to him snuffling with a squeaky toy in its jaws, so Yunho threw it, laughing as it turned into a little spotted streak of lightning. Hopefully its owner was young. And then, turning on his heels, he faced you.
“Oh, hey, (y/n), right?” He leaned forward, resting a hand as casually as he could atop the bench a few feet from him, mock-guessing your name like it hadn’t made a few runs through his head of late. “Didn’t see you there. I’m-”
“Yunho from the café. Fruit loops guy.”
Fruit loops guy. “Yep, that’s me.” He put a hand to his chest. “Fruit loops guy.”
“I’ve been tinkering around with stuff and that idea is something that we might be adding to the menu if my uncle lets me!” She added, grinning as a pup Yunho recognized as Sammy ran up to her, leaning into her offered pets.
“Really? That’s great!”
“Yeah! Should I name it after you?”
“The Yunho? Might confuse some people-”
(y/n) chuckled, wrapping her arms around Sammy to pull him onto her lap. “Yunho, I was kidding.”
“Oh, right, yeah, I knew that. So, uh, taking Sammy to the dog park?”
“Yep,” she nodded, smiling, “I try to take all the adoptables out on an alternating schedule.”
“Oh,” Yunho tilted his head in thought, “the Leash Love Latte dogs are for adoption?”
“Indeed they are. The goal is people live them so much they want to take them home!”
“Guess then they’d really need a doggy bag,” he quipped.
(y/n)’s eyes widened as she burst out with a laugh. “Ok, that’s so perfect, mind if I steal that?”
“Be my guest.”
“I’ll try my best to credit you where I can. Hey, wanna play frisbee with Sammy? It’s practically as big as him, but he loves it.”
Was there even a question? “Of course! Come on, Sammy, let’s go!”
And with that, they both pushed off their respective bench seat and lean, jogging deeper into the park’s grass and dodging a fire hydrant in the ground as they took turns tossing the blue plastic disc (y/n) had ready in her backpack.
~
“Hey, remember the guy who inspired my fruit loops latte?” You called back into the kitchen as you refilled the coffee bean jars up front, dim evening lights of closing time filing Leash Love Latte.
“Tall fellow, right?” You uncle questioned in response.
"Yeah," you nodded, "him. If he comes back, I'm going to get him in the kitchen."
"In the kitchen?" Your uncle's voice raised both in incredulity and response to some barks from your café companions. "I thought you liked him."
"Oh, geez!" Plucking a not-so-wet grey washcloth from your counter, you lobbed it at your uncle and his jokes. "I do. You think I'd let any loser with a dazzling smile into my laboratory?"
The washcloth connected with your uncle's shoulder, breaking his face into a grin as he shook it into his hand and started wiping the kitchen surface with it. "Ugh, save the sappy crap for him, huh? What are you even going to make him do? A day of free labor?"
"No," you giggled, leaning on the shining metal of your counterspace, "I think he has better ideas than he gives himself credit for. I'm just going to let him try making whatever he wants."
"As long as you guys clean up after yourselves," your uncle teases you, giving you a fond smile.
"Of course we will," you reply with a joyous look of your own, anticipation coursing through you as you imagined all the things you could come up with on your quest for a new menu item...and maybe something else new for you.
~
"Get in the kitchen with you? Me?" Yunho looked at you with eyes wide, holding little Nun a bit tighter in his hands in startlement as if you'd suggested he set his pants on fire.
"Well, I wasn't exactly asking your invisible twin brother there," you teased, clicking the pen in your hand open, then closed again, as you glanced over his shoulder.
He turned his head that way too like there'd suddenly be someone there. There obviously was not. "Alright, point taken. You liked the cereal lattes that much, huh?"
That wasn't what I liked most, you wanted to say. You leaned a bit further out from behind the register. "Something like that. I think it would be fun! Don't you? We don't have to make something good, that'll just be a bonus!"
Yunho's smile returned as yours spread out, and he bent over and gently placed the little fluffball he'd been holding back on the floor, where she stood at his feet, sniffing Cherry, a black chihuahua. "I don't think it'll be fun, (y/n)..."
Your expression stiffened a bit, eyebrows raising to urge his trailed-off sentence on.
"I know it will be! Let's do it! As long as you're allowed to do this, of course."
And then you were smiling again, heart beating in anticipation. You were going to get this dog-loving man and his silly innocent brain in your life no matter what it took.
"Cleared with the boss man and all. Let's make something out of this dead workday!"
Yunho laughed at that, accepting the hand you held out, beckoning him into the sacred space behind the counter, aka your drink and treat lab.
"So," you grinned, folding both your hands under your chin, "wanna make a drink or bake something?"
"Why don't we bake?" Yunho replies, gaze breaking from yours in thought. "Hmm, what's a good dessert to go with a drink? Shortcake?"
"Like strawberry shortcake?"
"Yeah, but why is shortcake always strawberry? Why can't it be any other fruit?"
You shrugged, feeling your expression smugly egg him on. "Why can't it? What do you have in mind?"
"Have you ever seen those candied melons? What about melon shortcake? I bet no one's done that before," Yunho answered before pausing for a couple ticks of Leash Love Latte's dangly-tail dog-in-a-teacup wall clock, "or is that gross?"
Crossing further into the kitchen, you pulled open a silver cabinet and turned back to him. "Only one way to find out."
He shuffled into the kitchen beside you, bouncing on his heels. “Do you have a shortcake recipe?”
“I do indeed,” you said with a grin, taking an apron off the peg on the kitchen wall and handing it his way.
You set to work prepping and measuring the wet ingredients while Yunho took on the dry, the most prominent of which was the flour. Shortcake, you reminded him, wasn’t as sweet as a regular cake, so that seemingly small amount of sugar was in fact correct.
It all went nearly without a hitch, only a small chunk of butter plopping onto the silvery counter, which you quickly twirled around to wipe squeaky clean again. Yunho was doing great at sifting everything together, almost as if he’d done it before.
Well, until the last scoop of flour, that is. The last one hung just wrong, dropping from the measuring cup in Yunho’s hand and sliding down the edge of the mesh strainer, bursting in a cloud of curling pure white dust upon the counter, his apron, and even on the side of your pant leg.
"Oh my gosh, (y/n), I'm so sorry!" Yunho immediately exclaimed, holding his hands out like he didn't trust them anymore.
"Don't worry about it," you replied with a smile and a flippant gesture, "it won't be the first or the last time that happens in here. Besides, in Hallmark movies all things like this do is start a cheeky flour fight."
Yunho glanced down helplessly at his apron and the counter. "Wouldn't that just make it worse?"
"Oh, absolutely," you nod, "but if you just twirl it off your apron, you'll get a pretty cloud effect."
Expectation? A little shimmy. Reality? Yunho executing a perfect showman's leaping twirl, the move indeed enhanced by a puff surrounding him as the powder shook off of him and drifted down to the kitchen tile.
You might've been gaping, but it quickly faded into a smile as you drifted past him in search of a rolling pin. "Alright, so you're, like, an expert dancer, that's totally normal and not extremely cool."
"Oh, I'm no expert. I-I just dance for a living," he replied with a shy grin and darting gaze.
"I hate to break this to you," you leaned on the counter in front of him, rolling pin in hand and awe on your face, "but that makes you an expert. Certainly more than me. You should be there one of the many times I forget a step of the macarena."
Yunho's hands started drifting around in the general airspace above his shoulders, head, and hips. "Which part?"
All you could do was giggle and hold the rolling pin up in your hand, head shaking. "Have you ever kneaded and rolled dough before?" He had good dough hands. Certainly more proportional to the dough than yours!
~
"We did it, (y/n)! We made shortcake!" Practically floating above the tile, Yunho high-fived you after you set the tray down.
While your creation baked, the two of you had ditched your aprons and crossed the threshold back into adoptable territory to absolutely ruin all your kitchen-sanitary hands on the hurricane of dogs that surged after you, leaping into your arms like the sweetest of crests crashing onto your jean-clad knees.
This time you took Nun and Yunho had Mickey the Australian shepherd, who plopped right down on the café tile with his head in Yunho's now-seated lap. You held your fluffy ball of wonder close to your chest and she practically melted in, little black boba eyes fluttering contentedly shut.
Both of you whined how it was torture and apologized to the dogs as if it was a coordinated act as you waved and backed into the kitchen with four remorseful eyes on the adoptable crowd, and that was how the shortcake was procured.
Candying the watermelon went off without a hitch. Well, mostly. While a welcome strength boost to cut the honeydews, Yunho had you half giggling, half protectively extending an arm as he yelped at the bubbling sugar boiling in the pot. For that, you bid him mix the cream while you got the fruit ready.
More time with the adoptables as the candy set, and then you were stacking cake, cream, and shining, syrupy melon chunks into a light yellow-and-green treat topped with some melon balls and classic rosettes.
"It's beautiful," you congratulated Yunho with a wide smile.
"Better than the fruit loop latte idea?"
You just nodded as the sound of your business's door closing rang our behind you. "And here's our proof coming!" You clapped, rushing out of the kitchen in the bouncing dance of a barista on a mission. "Uncle, will you try our dessert please? Yunho and I worked really hard on it," you plead as you dragged your amused uncle into your workspace, one arm linked with his and the other gesturing with a flourish toward the lovely shortcake and your lovely fellow baker, who immediately bent his legs and struck an introductory pose at it himself.
"I can tell. This looks great, you two," your uncle told you, pride clear in his voice as much as on his face as he ruffled your hair with his free hand.
Wiggling gently out of your grip, he accepted the proffered fork from Yunho and reached over to dig into the plated treat you'd decorated on the counter, which of course you'd wiped down before he could see the mess you made. Didn't hurt to butter up the person trying your new innovation, right?
Your uncle's eyebrows shot up the moment the forkful of your shortcake entered his mouth, both you and Yunho leaping up as if watching the pinnacle of a photo-finish race.
"Well, how is it?" You burst out, practically wiggling under the suspense.
"Yes, sir," Yunho added, straightening the apron he'd put back on, "is it good enough to go on the menu?"
"It's very good, son," your uncle began, eliciting a loud cheer from you two and a resonant, stingingly strong high-five of elation to boot.
"But," he added, both of you inhaling at his next words, eyes not even leaving him when an audible, surely adorable play-wrestle broke out among the adoptables, "if you want this on the menu, there's one condition."
"Wh- what's that? Er, sir?" Yunho stiffened under your uncle's serious gaze.
Short-lived as it was; the expression soon melted into your beloved joker's smile of mischief. "You have to take my niece on a date."
"Uncle, I-" You began to protest, heat rising to your cheeks faster than any oven or milk steamer could preheat.
"Yes, sir," Yunho nodded, sparing you a quick glance and a small wave as if he'd forgotten you were there, "that's a much greater reward than the menu spot."
His smile turned almost into something you'd see on a lovesick cartoon, as if your heart hadn't flipped hard enough in the past few minutes or even from the first time he walked in and you saw him being gentle with the adoptables.
What could you say? Guess it was puppy love.
170 notes · View notes
poptartzz2 · 10 months
Text
⋱⟡ Hot Cocoa ✩ Miguel O'hara ⟡⋰
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❀ Read this before you begin! ❀
For those of you who enjoy reading on Ao3, it’s posted here
✩⟡∵⋰ Synopsis: Getting snowed in with your friend is one thing, but getting snowed in with a gorgeous and horny man like Miguel O’hara is an entirely different ball game. It’s one you’ll have to navigate after grabbing a lovely sip of Hot Cocoa.
✩⟡∵⋰ Pairing: Miguel O’hara x fem!reader
✩⟡∵⋰ Warnings: 18+/ MDNI; little bit of flowery language
✩⟡∵⋰ Contains: Friends to lovers, slight fluff and angst, NSFW, mentions of cheek clapping and other sexual references , homie cops some feels lol
✩ Miguel’s thoughts are in purple
✩ Your thoughts are in pink
✩⟡∵⋰ A/N: I’m so nervous to post this, I hope ya likey (٥⁀▽⁀ )
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Coffee. Java. Frappuccino. Dolce. Mocha. Ristretto. These are just a few of the names that belong to the different brews you prepare each and every day.
Tall. Muscular. Quiet. Intense. Amusing. These are just a few of the qualities that belong to a peculiar customer you get the chance to interact with daily.
Miguel is his name. Miguel O’hara.
That’s the name of the man who enters your safe haven each and every morning, with a quiet and intoxicating energy, ten am on the dot, every single time.
He orders the same simple beverage every visit, sitting in the same peaceful spot resting beside the shop’s window, and he remains quiet every month. Untouched. Unbothered.
Well, scratch that. Something about this man feels familiar to you. When you get the pleasure of taking his order and having pleasant conversations with him, you find a sorrowful look in his eyes. It’s the kind of haunted look you’ve seen staring back at you in your own mirror each day, each month, every year.
His eyes. They’re red in hue, beautifully rich in emotion, hungry, and longing for something. These are the pair of eyes you get to look into everyday, and today was no different.
Or so you thought.
After a series of startling and bone chilling events, you’d find this gorgeous man’s gaze, your friend’s gaze, transform into something you’ve never seen before.
One that’s hungry for something he didn’t think he’d be able to have again. That something is you.
A beautiful woman who he has grown to enjoy and who he loves spending time with. Yours. His. All for the taking, after grabbing a comforting sip of hot cocoa.
↞✯ 。 .・☼・. 。✯↠
Today has been awfully chilly, however, that’s always good news for you. 
Despite having to deal w/ freezing temperatures in your room, that peacefully rests above the shop, snowy days typically mean you get a day off.
  Don’t get me wrong, you love the art of coffee making, but a day with less work is always nice. A win is a win, especially when you're the only one on shift today.
  This means you’ll have less picky customers to deal with, and you’ll have the chance to enjoy one particular customer more easily.
In fact, when you happen to look up from making some dope latte art, you easily spot him strutting into the shop, making a beeline towards you. 
Keep your cool, girly. Keep it chill. All puns intended.
“Hey Miggy, how are you today? Up for something new?” you brightly question, as the handsome man greets you.
This is the first time you’ve called him Miggy. You’d like to think that the two of you have grown to be friends (at the very least), but perhaps calling him this would make him uncomfortable, especially since you typically call him Miguelito.
However, as he stares back at you, you find his brows slightly jumping, and eyes widening but only for a moment, just to be replaced by a soft, sweet, and rare smile, that gently tugs on the corners of his mouth.
A mouth, you had never watched before, with a set of teeth you had never seen before. Sharp in shape, white as snow, warring for the attention that the beautiful snowflakes dancing outside, easily bring.
“Hi sweetheart, now that you mention it, I think I’d like to try something new today. Do you have any recommendations?” Miguel softly asks, as his eyes shyly avoid your own, while he moves to rifle through his wallet.
A wallet filled with memories baked in from the life he once had. The life he misses dearly, and the life he believed he’d never taste again.
As he listens to you speak now, his heart is in search of something tasty, flavorfully reminding him of his daughter Gabriela, and the fun and playful drinks she loved to get.
Thankfully, you give him a place of solace, and a peace of mind with one drink he can’t pass on trying.
“The final item I’d recommend is our “White Strawberry Coco-Moco”. I know it sounds interesting to say the least, but I think it’d be wonderful for today, especially since it’s been snowing for hours now. It’s the perfect thing to keep you warm.”
I can think of a few other things that would easily keep me warm involving you…
Oh no, it’s happening. Just shut up please, not right now.
“I know it’s been ordered quite a bit and if I’m being honest, it’s some of the best hot chocolate I’ve ever tasted. I-“
Before you can even finish describing the drink, Miguel happily goes with what you’ve offered.
He knows if Gabi were here, she’d be so excited to try it. So he has to get it, in memory of her, and because you recommended it.
“I’m sold. As you know I drink the same damn thing everyday, so why not change things up a bit? And like you said, it’s quite chilly today with the snow, so I’ll go for it. I know anything you make will keep me warm.” he says, as he fishes out his debit card.
The next thing he says, comes more quietly and is nearly undetected.
“You’re so talented with this coffee thing sweetheart, everything you make tastes absolutely beautiful… just like you. You’re so beautiful.” Miguel softly cloaks under his breath, as he finally meets your eyes.
Looking at him once more, you find yourself melting, just for a moment under his fiery gaze.
Did he really just say that? Looking like that? Oh my…
As you once this man over, your eyes begin drinking in every ounce of his presence and style.
You find it all too easy to gawk at his long and slimming black trench coat, that’s accompanying a dark & tightly fit cable knit sweater, who’s turtle neck collar accentuates his gorgeous facial structure, and accents a lot of muscles you’ve never noticed before.
Or at least that’s what you like to tell yourself, when that’s far from the truth. Here’s the reality:
Anytime Miguel walks into a room, it’s as if everything is drawn to attention; charmed and demanded to look at him.
This means you’ve had zero issues with taking account of this man’s muscles, piercings, his height, amongst many, many other things. Very interesting things.
Things are clearly no different now.
Lowering your head in an attempt to mask your nerves in front of your lovely friend, you don’t hesitate to have a little fun with him in hopes of recovering.
Surely he didn’t think he could just say those things under his breath without any repercussions right?
“Excuse me Miggy? I didn’t quite catch that. What was that last bit you just said? Something about beauty?” you playfully ask.
“Huh? What? Oh nothing. Just that hot cocoa will definitely keep me warm because it’s so… beautiful..like you said.” Miguel painfully murmurs, as he struggles to confidently meet your gaze.
What the hell was that ? No puedo…
Nodding your head with a soft smile, you easily shake off your nerves as they’re replaced by sweet laughter, and you begin making his drink.
Little did you know, Miguel wasn’t planning on going out today. Considering the weather, he thought it’d be best to stay at home. However, at the sight of your face flashing across his vision, he easily changed his mind. 
And how dare he try to ruin the tradition? The lovely tradition he’s kept up for over a year might I add. Where he comes in every single day, relaxes, gets some work done, people watches, and gets to spend time with you.
Sometimes when you’re on your break, he’ll buy you lunch and the two of you will enjoy the afternoon together. It’s something the both of you so desperately need.
Miguel also enjoys tipping you, whether you’re the one ringing him up or making his drink. No matter what you’re doing, he will tip you. He appreciates your sweet conversations, and you’re the only person who can make his drink just the way he likes. 
When someone else makes his stuff, he pays you extra, as if he’s begging you to make it instead next time.
While Miguel waits for this new and exciting drink to be prepared, he notices something odd, but sensible. Considering he enjoys people watching, it’s no surprise he’s caught the lack of customers in the shop today.
In fact, as minutes and minutes begin to pass, he not only finds the shop emptying itself, but he also catches the shift in weather and temperature.
Watching as the beautiful and gentle snowflakes outside swiftly begin to turn into a heavy torrent of wind and ice, Miguel feels a sudden urgency to get back home. Especially when he remembers he forgot to do something important. 
As in life threatening important.
I wanted to sit and chat with YN today, but I don’t want to get caught in this storm. Wait. You've gotta be kidding me.
I forgot to take it this morning. I really can't stay now.
I need it. If I don’t have anything in my system, I’m afraid of what I’ll do or who I’ll become. Getting stuck in here means I’d have to go without the serum, and that’s not good for anyone, especially YN. 
But I can’t leave her here alone, not in this weather. Damn it…
While you finish preparing his drink, and one for yourself too since you’ll be going on break, you just so happen to catch a glimpse of what Miguel is staring at so intently, and you instantly pause.
In the time it took for you to make two simple drinks, the whole world outside your little comfy home, turned white. Completely white.
As you further look around the shop, you realize no one else is here besides yourself and Miguel. Everyone is gone.
Happily lost in thought over your friend, and your enjoyment of making this chocolate delicacy, you easily missed the snapping change in weather.
While you move to place Miguel’s drink in an interestingly cute coffee mug, and finish garnishing it with sweet toppings, the lights above you begin to flicker, the wind suddenly begins to violently howl, appliances clatter, and the warmth in the room instantly vanishes.
POP. POP. 
Immediately jumping at the loud noise of electric friction, you quickly sigh when the lights dramatically go out, and as the room grows stark in silence. Just like that, everything is out. Everything has left you.
Warmth. Joy. Electricity. Customers, and so much more. Gone, in the blink of an eye.
Funny enough, people and things swiftly leaving you behind isn’t something new or foreign in your life, or in Miguel’s.
  Just as Miguel has lost people in his life, you too have lost people that you’ve held close to your heart. Some of them are gone because of you, and that’s a guilt you’ll never be able to shake.
That’s one of the reasons why Miguel and yourself have become friends, despite his initial rough and bold disposition. 
Underneath that rocky exterior, that’s battering with the world beating up against him and a boatload of grief, there’s a man with a soft interior. A man with a shattered heart that's slowly being put together again, by you of course.
With the popping of the light fixtures, and the whirring and buzzing of the coffee machines coming to a halt, heavy clicks of suede booted footsteps come walking towards you. 
As a large arm suddenly leans against the order pick up counter, you breathe a sigh of relief. Having Miguel here right now couldn’t be more perfect.
The last thing you would need or want, is to be left in this shop, cold and all alone.
 ࠾᛫⁖✯⁖𐫴࠾
“Nice weather we’re having hm?” Miguel asks, as his playful question shockingly warms the air. Instantly smiling, you eagerly respond.
“Oh it’s absolutely gorgeous. Who doesn’t love a freezing winter day with nothing to keep you warm?” you brightly say, as you come from behind your workspace, and peel off your apron.
Or at least you’re trying to.
Before he even has the words to respond to, Miguel slowly begins to walk towards you, as his eyes never leave your frame.
All this time, he’d been watching you, intently listening to words drip off your tongue, attentively watching your smile, and closely looking in places he shouldn’t be.
Considering this, he found it all too easy to see you struggling with the apron tightly wrapped around your waist. A waist Miguel often thinks about squeezing, holding, roughly gripping, etcetera, etcetera.
Abruptly feeling a large presence hover behind you now, your body grows stiff and your mind begins to scatter.
Your friend doesn’t help you to feel any differently, especially as his breath slowly dances across your ear, humming a melody you’d never thought you’d hear, which easily sends a tingling sensation down your spine.
“Let me help you with that sweetheart…” Miguel breathily smiles into you, as he gently steadies one of his hands against your waist, before moving to loosen the bow tightly woven behind you.
As he masterfully removes your apron for you, your thoughts are frozen on what just happened. Even after a year of spending time with Miguel, not once had you ever experienced this.
A moment where the line between friend and “I wanna fuck you” grows awfully thin. A moment, where you could visibly and audibly encounter Miguel purposefully leaving you breathless.
One moment he’s quietly complimenting you under his breath, and the next he’s doing this. What in tarnation is going on…
Completely acting as if nothing happened, this man finally responds to what you said, as he remains closely behind you.
“Woah, who said you didn’t have anything to keep you warm? Are you cold right now? I can certainly help with that.” Miguel smiles deviously, as he lowers himself to gently and ever so slowly, wrap those large and calloused hands of his around your waist.
Badump. Badump.
Your heart beats faster.
Badump. Badump.
His strong arms pull you closer.
As you now lie against Miguel, his head moves to rest against your shoulder and into the warmth of your neck, while you both sweetly sit in a peaceful silence, and comforting embrace. 
Until you fully come to recognize what’s happening right now.
As soon as you realize it all, in panic mode, you swiftly remove yourself from his touch, and nervously turn around to meet his gaze.
There’s absolutely no way this man is acting like this. He’s never been so..what can you call it? Amorous. He’s never once touched or held you like this before, especially with such longing and affection.
Simply because you’ve been friends.
Friends. 
What a beautifully painful word, imprinted and engraved on your relationship with Miguel. A word you desperately wish could be washed away and replaced by something else. By something more.
Frantically trying to process this all, you need a way to escape, just for a moment. 
Easily thinking of something on the fly, you thank the brutal blizzard for its handiwork, leaving you in need of warmth and light.
“Ah- thank you for that Miggy. Um- I actually have a few candles and blankets upstairs, do you mind if I go grab them for us really fast?” you nervously say, vaguely avoiding his maroon dressed gaze.
“Candles? Blankets? What are you up to sweetheart, trying to wine and dine me?” Miguel softly smiles, as his lids grow heavy and his voice silky smooth, thick and heavy, weighted with a lust for more of you. 
Hearing him now, you’re completely baffled. Don’t get it twisted, wining and dining is the least of what you’d like to do with Miguel, but who is he right now? The Rizzler?
Once again trying to hide your startledness, your playful side comes to aid you in your mission.
“You wish that were the case, don’t you Miggy? Or surely you’d like to be more than wined and dined? Besides, it's not even evening yet, so don’t be ridiculous. But seriously though, I want you to be okay; it’s freezing in here. Do you mind if I go and grab them from my room?” you ask.
Miguel slightly pauses at your statement of 'you wish'. Somewhere deep inside, your kindness has warmed his frosted heart, and much like the storm outside, he was heading down a dark path before he met you.
You are his candle that helps him to see when things get dark. You’re his blanket that keeps him warm on nights when the cold wind of grief and anger seizes his breath and thoughts.
Sometimes there are nights when Miguel lies restless in his bed, with no one to comfort him, with nothing to woo him back to sleep.
Those are the moments when his phone lights up with a call from you, his solecito, his lovely little sun.
With seemingly perfect timing, whether it’s late at night, or early in the morning, whenever he’s in need of comfort, you’re right there with him. Calming him down, encouraging him, and reminding him that everything will be okay.  Of course, he doesn't hesitate to do the same thing for you.
 Talking for hours on end, smiling, laughing and getting to know one another better, you often communicate like this. Whether it’s over the phone or standing face to face, like you are now.
Even if Miguel said yes to your inquiry, he wouldn’t need any of those items. He has you and that’s all he needs. You’re all he’ll ever need.
Yes you may be friends, but at times when he finds himself thinking about you and wishing he were with you, wishing he were inside of you, those are the moments when he dreams of being more.
More than just a man from the coffee shop. More than just a friend you can spend time with. He wants to be called yours, which is something he’d never thought he’d be able to experience again, but he’s not surprised you’re the reason why he feels this way.
“Hello? Miguel, are you there?” you ask out of curiosity, as the man gets lost in thought.
“Ah yeah, lo siento. Feel free to, and actually let me help you with that.” he softly says, with the rubbing of his neck.
“Oh okay, thank you.” You say, trying to mask your worry. You needed to get away, and now you’ve single handedly invited this man to come following after you, up to your room. A room you don’t want him to ever see.
Ignoring this though, you just suck it up and let Miguel help you. 
What could possibly go wrong?
 ࠾᛫⁖✯⁖𐫴࠾
“Alright, let’s go then. I know I told you I lived upstairs, but I realized I haven’t given you a grand tour yet. Don’t worry though, there isn’t much to see…anything that’s good anyway” the last bit you whisper under your breath, with vague enthusiasm, which Miguel easily hears. 
Unbeknownst to you, he can detect lots of sounds with his extra enhanced senses, due to his genetic makeup. Nothing will easily slip past him, and sometimes this comes with a cost. 
There are too many situations to recall, where Miguel often finds his mind drifting into forbidden spaces when he’s around you. Especially when he can hear your heart racing like crazy in his presence.
 It leads him to think about certain activities that might leave you a little winded and thoughtless….
Activities he has to keep himself from imagining, for both your sakes, simply because there’s that beautiful line of friendship he can’t cross, even though he so desperately wants to.
He’d love nothing more than to keep that pretty heart of yours beating just for him, in ways you’ve never imagined.
 ࠾᛫⁖✯⁖𐫴࠾
As you two head upstairs, Miguel instantly sees what you’re talking about. 
Considering he’s such a large man, walking and moving in this cramped space is quite difficult and it causes him to direct his attention towards you. You’re so sweet. So compassionate. Very Grateful. 
With the limited area and items you have in your living space, “your room” is more like a glorified closet, and yet he’s never heard you complain about it, not once.
He knows he would, if he were you.
 Fascinated that you never grope or say anything negative about your circumstances, he finds it’s because you’re too busy caring for others and trying to be a goofball. He loves that about you.
“Ack I apologize you have to see this. I'm not typically messy but things can get a little disorganized to say the least.” you nervously chuckle, as you painfully allow him to see where you live.
With things scattered across your floor, and sprawled across your bed, you feel terribly embarrassed. On the one day you decide to let your room be a little messy, a friend you find extremely hot, walks in and gets to see everything in all its glory.
Wonderful. Absolutely Wonderful.
Praying and hoping that things will be okay, Miguel thankfully reassures you while you go fishing out your candles, candlesticks, lighter, and blankets.
“Don’t worry about that mi solecito, you’re just fine. So fucking fine…” Miguel softly says, with a hidden smile as he now leans against your doorframe and watches you from behind.
 ࠾᛫⁖✯⁖𐫴࠾
While you are moving around your room, in search of everything you need, you easily miss Miguel glancing around as well, while he patiently waits for you.
In his waiting, he just so happens to spot a poorly hidden, and very large object.
It’s bright in color, long, thick, round in shape, and laying right next to your bed… the bed you've laid in, spending nights and nights thinking about Miguel.
Curious about it, but not that curious, he quickly tries to avert his attention from the doodad, but it’s too late as he comes to fully recognize what it is. Although it's wrapped in a silk cloth and barely tucked away in your nightstand drawer, there's no denying what it is. 
There's no denying what it's been used for. There's no denying who uses it, and why they choose to. There’s no denying how it makes you feel.
There's also no denying how it makes Miguel feel about you at the sight of it. 
That look that he always has in his eyes? The hunger and longing? It's growing now. His eyes are no longer that deep shade of maroon they once were.
At the sight of this object, his eyes discard the once dark hue, and truly begin flashing a dangerous tone of scarlet instead.
Fuck. Me. Why did I have to see this? Now of all times? Today of all days? When I didn’t take it?
When I can’t hold on much longer to this friendship we have? Why now?
Miguel’s recognition and confirmation of what the item is only grows, once he sees your face. 
After catching him looking in the direction of where you keep a very personal and pleasurable object, unable to hide it or hide your own self, the only thing you can do is emptily look towards the floor.
With your eyes wide, and lashes slowly fluttering, you can’t breathe. You can’t move. There’s no way this man just saw it. Once again, of all the people that could’ve seen this, it just had to be Miguel of course.
As heat quickly jets across your face, you quickly turn back towards your belongings and focus on grabbing everything you’ll need.
While you do this, Miguel is focusing on your heartbeat.
Here it is again, beating fast in the heat of a moment. A moment where he has caught you being someone he never thought you’d be, doing things he never thought you’d do.
However, it does leave him pleased.
Suddenly feeling a familiar urge creep up within himself, Miguel tries to take deep breaths, as images begin to soar across his mind at the thought of you using your lovely object, and who you thought of while you using it.
Feeling his canines ache, feeling his body grow warm despite the temperature, and feeling his vision begin to shift, he knows he needs to calm himself down but it’s difficult. It’s hard. He’s hard, and there’s only a matter of time before you notice it.
Seeing your “little”…friend, has this man falling apart, especially with the lack of serum in his system, called “Delight”. 
Delight isn’t Rapture, but it’s similar enough and he takes it daily. He absolutely needs it, and he can’t go without it. 
Delight keeps him from ravaging someone, and not in a gory way, but a sensual one.
It works as a calming agent, taming the hunger that stems from his genetic makeup as Spiderman, along with cooling the symptoms that come with it. However, it isn’t an antidote. 
The antidote will give him complete relief, and prevent the hunger from consuming and controlling him. He often needs Delight and the antidote together to be in a good place.
Hunger Symptoms
Increased sexual desire 
Increase in sensitivity 
Shift in personality/ Bro gets devious
Lack of self control 
Aching canines 
Increased body heat 
Being hard for long periods of time→ not fun at all
The antidote to completely calm his symptoms and satisfy his hunger for the day, is the act of indulging in anything that brings him sexual relief.
Miguel has always had to relieve himself from the symptoms and hunger, simply because it can get difficult to do anything with and without Delight.
Sometimes this means jerking off, or in the past, it meant inviting a lovely woman, or not so lovely (he didn’t care, his body didn’t care. He just needed relief) over to his place. 
When he has Delight in his system, no matter the amount, all he needs is something small, simple, and quick. Something as light as foreplay can do the trick to help him feel better.
However, when he doesn’t have anything in his system at all, that’s when things get dangerous. This is when his symptoms and hunger go on x games mode.
When Delight is completely absent from his body, Miguel needs everything, and he needs to feel it all, or else the hunger will consume him.
Foreplay won’t cut it. The only thing that can satisfy and satiate him is intense and powerful movement. Penetration. He needs to feel it. He has to be inside. He needs skin to slap and pound against, a neck to bite, hair to pull, and places to suck, lick and fuck. 
He needs his leading lady to climax and release, or the hunger will consume him.
This means that it’s not over until you cum, and not just by any means. You have to cum with his cock alone, and nothing else. No fingers used, no toys allowed. Just him and him alone.
As you have already witnessed, on top of being mega horny, Miguel will begin to transform into someone else when Delight isn’t present in his system.
While he tends to be more thoughtful, reserved, and well composed, he will grow to be more cocky, more bold, and more seductive.
As previously stated, bro gets devious. Not giving a rat’s ass about what flows out of his mouth, he says whatever comes to mind.
If his words leave you a flustered mess, then so be it. 
↞✯ 。 .・☼・. 。✯↠
As you awkwardly grab everything you need, it seems too easy to pretend like nothing happened, and so you do.
Skipper from Madagascar said it best, “You didn’t see anything”, and you proudly embrace this phrase in order to keep yourself together. Miguel didn’t see it, and neither did you.
“Here we are! I've got a few vanilla scented candles I bought, which smell absolutely delicious, and these warm and fuzzy blankets I love!”you say brightly in hopes of masking your embarrassment.
“Do you mind-“ Before the question can even fall out of your mouth, Miguel begins to take everything you grabbed into his arms and heads back downstairs. He doesn’t leave you to carry one item. 
He also doesn’t speak or give you eye contact.
While you believe it’s because of what he noticed in your room, it’s actually because of what he noticed going on in you and in himself.
Trying to avoid  your scent, your smile, your bright eyes, your laugh, it’s all impossible because he’s stuck here in his favorite shop, snowed in with you. No way of escape. Zero traces of Delight in his system. Time is running down.
He has no idea what he’s going to do, and neither do you.
As you stand in shock for just a moment's notice, you quickly think about the interactions that just took place and you wonder where Miggy’s head is at.
Considering the both of you have hot Cocoa waiting for you, and nothing to do, it would be a perfect time to figure that out.
 ࠾᛫⁖✯⁖𐫴࠾
When you go back downstairs, you find Miguel with his jacket off,  all the candles lit, and find him waiting for you with blankets and hot Cocoa filled mugs in hand.
He oddly did that extremely fast, but you put it behind you.
Awkwardly creeping into his space, you're wondering what's going on right now. 
With the air feeling thick and cold, tense and awkward, your words are easily getting caught in your throat and your mind is easily getting caught in the trap of replaying what happened in your room.
However, that's not the only thing your brain is rehearsing.
Miguel seeing your dildo wasn't an issue just because of his relationship with you. It was also an issue because of what you've done with the object.
After seeing Miguel and watching him painfully tear his gaze away from the toy, you were reminded of every guilty thought, noise, and touch that came along with the dildo's usage.
Everytime you used it, everytime you got yourself ready, you only had one person on your mind. 
One person on your mind, who your mind and body ached for, who's voice and touch your core dripped for. Miguel. That’s who.
Remembering all the times you allowed your imagination to take flight, all the positions you used, and all the noises that were made, you can't help but feel embarrassed, flustered, hot, and incredibly horny, especially because the person you constantly fantasize about is right here in front of you.
Just a step away. Just one belt unbuckling away. Just one kiss away. Just one fuck away. That alone is too much. Too nerve wracking.
You can’t run from him now, and you can’t hide. There’s no escape.
You have to face all of your fantasies and come to terms with what he just saw. You have to face it all…but you cast it aside and try to forget everything.
What a terrible idea.
As the room grows awfully quiet, reality truly sets in. 
You're snowed in and alone with the man who always leaves your heart racing and mind pacing. You’re snowed in with the friend you’d like to fuck, but can’t do anything with.
Whatever shall you do?
↞✯ 。 .・☼・. 。✯↠
As you and Miguel move to sit down, you awkwardly head towards the sectional couch resting by the shop’s largest window.
While he gets comfortable and seated in one area, you make sure to remain in another, far away from him.
Fortunately for you, you’ll find out this is yet another terrible idea.
As you begin to cuddle up with your favorite blanket and begin sipping on your hot chocolate, you suddenly feel Miguel’s gaze burning into you.
With heat lovingly caressing your body at the sight of his eyes trained onto you, you really wish he’d look somewhere else, at anything else. 
If you keep it up, I might pounce on you, and I can’t do that. 
So please spare me, and take your fine ass somewhere else. Look anywhere else but at me. I beg you.
As if hearing your inner monologue, you find Miguel chuckling, and suddenly pausing for a brief moment. His chest stops moving, his fingers stop tapping, and a muffled sound erupts from deep within himself.
Looking over at him out of curiosity, you find he’s got his face buried in his hand now, as he leans against the edge of the couch.
“Fuck.” you hear him curse under his breath, as you watch his free hand begin to violently grip the couch.
“Hey…are you okay Miguel?” You cautiously inquire, as you walk over and softly place your drink down on the coffee table nearby.
With one hand still buried in his face, and the other clawing up the furniture, he says absolutely nothing. The only thing you can hear are ragged and desperate breaths that are now overwhelming his body.
Heavily concerned at this point, you move to step closer to him. You’ve never seen him act like this, and you want to make sure he’s okay.
As you do, he puts his hand out to stop you.
“Don’t. Don’t- I’m fine solecito. Thank you-but I’m okay” Miguel murmurs, with frequent pauses and furrowed brows.
Slowly nodding your head in response, you head back towards your spot. 
“Okay..” you silently say. However, as you give Miguel one look over before you go, your eyes land on this odd strain in his trousers.
Watching in amazement as it grows tighter and larger by every passing moment, you don’t know what to do, especially since this bulge is absolutely massive. 
You know what this is. You know what’s happening, but you don’t know how to handle it. What the hell is going on with him today? Clearly Miguel is not okay….
Deciding to once again ignore it all, you finally grab your cocoa once more and sit back down, getting extra comfy with your blanket, as you tightly grip its fabric. 
You need help or you’re gonna lose it.
As you take another swig of your drink as a scapegoat from this very awkward moment, you'll find there is no escape.
Things just keep getting more and more interesting to say the least, and that line we talked about earlier? The cute little friendship line? Yeah, that's getting thinner now.
 ࠾᛫⁖✯⁖𐫴࠾
“I know you saw it YN, you don’t have to pretend.” Miguel bluntly says, as his breathing steadies and his muscles relax.
Startled, you easily find yourself choking on your drink now.
Leaving you no time to recover, as you get up to put your mug down once again, in your coughing fit, you suddenly feel something slap against your back.
Before you know it, you’re flying backwards into the couch, and right into Miguel’s lap.
Trying to process what the hell is happening, your lovely friend easily brings your focus elsewhere and onto more important matters. Matters that are growing larger, more painful, and more urgent as time passes.
Bringing your focus onto matters that you’ve both dreamt about. Fantasized about. 
As you now rest in Miguel’s lap, a place you’ve never been in before, your body easily begins to speak before your mouth can.
Feeling his thighs underneath your own, feeling your back pressed into his, and feeling his arms wrap around your waist, you naturally get comfortable and sink into his touch.
As he now begins to gently caress your sides, you suddenly feel his breath cascade across your neck, and feel his silky voice reach your ears once again.
“You honestly didn’t think I’d let you sit that far away from me did you? When you look this beautiful? How cute...” he grins into you.
“I know you feel it now too YN. Don’t you want the real thing sweetheart? I promise it’s better than your cute little toy.” Miguel breathily whispers, as you abruptly feel his teeth begin to nibble, and his lips begin to gently kiss on your ear.
With hearing “cute little toy”, along with feeling Miguel do all of these things to you, things he’s never done before, your mind is in shock.
Little? LITTLE?! No…no way it’s far from little. Does that mean you’re bigger than-
Unable to compute all of the things happening right now, Miguel doesn’t help with that.
He just keeps on getting lost and lost in you, and how much he wants you. How much he wants to be inside of you. How much he wants to be with you.
Without Delight in his system, he’s beginning to crack and things are only just starting to heat up. Of course he doesn’t refrain from letting you know this, by showing you of course.
Actions are far better than words aren’t they?
Continuing to whisper in your ear, Miguel sends you further and further into the struggle zone, as your heart begins to flutter, and as your core grows warm.
You’ve wanted this man for so long, but you’ve kept those feelings on a tight leash outside of some interesting activities of course. Now that this is happening though, you’re unsure of what to do.
Is this real? Is the sweet and reserved man you’ve known this entire year still here? Or has this been him all along, just buried and hidden away from you?
As you sit in his lap a little while longer, Miguel easily gives you the answers you’ve been looking for.
“All those pretty little things you’ve dreamed of at night YN? All the thoughts and ideas you’ve fucked yourself to? They can become your reality sweetheart. Right here, and right now.” 
“I know you think of me when you have your little fun, don’t you YN? Tell me what you think about when you ride it, when you bounce up and down on it, when you pound and sink into it. Tell me…” Miguel smiles into you, as he continues rubbing your sides.
Completely baffled now, your mind grows fuzzy at the remembrance of everything you just tried to forget.
Whispering “Miguel” is the only thing you can manage to do before he easily picks you up, turns you around, and presses you down into his lap, as your legs straddle his own.
Looking into his eyes now, you find they’re a brilliant red you’ve never seen before, a red that could rival even the brightest star in the sky.
As the both of you remain close to one another, with shared breath and mouths only centimeters apart, you suddenly wrap your arms around your friend’s neck.
You then ask him a question. Before anything happens, you need some answers, simply because you have no idea what’s going on right now.
“Miguel…are you okay? I’ve never seen you like this before, where you’re-“
“Where I’m what? Fucking hard for you? Where I’m clawing at this damn couch, trying my best not to kiss you, not to sink my cock into you, not to love you?”
“Well if that’s the case, then you better get used to this. I can’t hold it back anymore. I don’t want to be your friend anymore, I wanna be yours. I simply want you. Every inch, every curve. I want to touch all of you, to taste all of you, but I can’t unless you want this too. Unless you want me too.” Miguel achingly and breathily whispers into you.
Completely baffled, your heart begins to race even more than it already has, and your face instantly grows more warm. 
You can't believe it. You truly can’t believe what you’re hearing, even if you’ve been dying to receive these words from Miguel fucking O’hara all this time.
Responding back to the best of your abilities, you let him know where you’re at.
“Oh trust me, I’ve wanted this for so long. I just didn't know if it was okay. If having feelings like this for you was ever okay.”
“I mean who could resist somebody like you…with those gorgeous eyes, and these lovely muscles? I just didn't want to ruin our friendship.” you nervously mumble.
As Miguel deeply gazes into your eyes for a few moments, he looks and feels you over all at once.
Finally, he has the woman he deeply cares about and wants so badly, right here in his arms. She’s underneath his touch, telling him exactly what his body has been yearning to hear. Exactly what his heart has been yearning to hear.
It only makes him more hungry and more eager to be with you.
Look at you all hot and bothered, feeling warmer than the sun.
My poor solecito, I’ll have to fix that for you. Although, I don’t think what I have in store for you will cool you down one bit…
Now easing your mind, and completely erasing that line of friendship that’s laid in the sand for far too long, Miguel dips his toes into the ocean of intimacy, and intertwines his fingers with yours, so that you can both step into the deep.
Even though he wants to be rough with you, he craves being gentle and slow with your body and mind even more, so that he can savor every touch, every breath, every noise, every scratch, and plenty more.
“Well now you know. It’s more than okay to feel this way sweetheart. Can I kiss those pretty lips of yours now? You can choose which ones you’d like for me to taste…” Miguel smiles as you both woozily look into one another’s eyes.
Smiling right back at him, your noses begin to softly intertwine as you say one last thing.
“You can taste both, Miguelito.” you softly grin.
As your mouths move to meet now, a loud crash is heard from upstairs and your lips never touch.
Startled by the sound of glass shattering and the loud howl of rushing wind, Miguel immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling your body underneath his chin.
As snow begins to flow throughout the shop, the flames of your candles easily blow out, leaving the only warmth in the room resting between you and Miguel.
He doesn’t know what’s happening right now, but his primal instinct is built on protecting you and keeping you safe, especially as he hears footsteps dash across the creaky floor upstairs.
With his senses on high alert now, especially with the absence of Delight in his system, Miguel’s heart is beating faster, his hearing is growing more crisp, and his mind is feeling sharper, as he awaits the moment he can go and check things out. 
Abruptly smelling a scent he hasn’t encountered before, Miguel takes that as his sign to move.
Leaving a slow and gentle kiss on your forehead, he tenderly places you out of his lap and onto the couch.
“I’ll be back sweetheart, stay here.” Miguel softly says, as he looks back at you before he swiftly leaps up too many stairs at once.
Baffled at the sight of his movements, similar situations come flooding back into your mind, ones that just haven’t added up about Miguel over this past year. Ones that you had cast aside.
Now, you have to address them.
Everything from that leap up the stairs, to you flying backwards into his lap, and from the sight of his sharp teeth alone. It’s clear something about him isn’t completely human. 
He’s almost spider-like.
This whole time you’ve known Miguel, you’ve felt like he was holding something back from you, something he felt you’d never be able to understand. Or perhaps it was something he wanted to protect you from.
Now you know what it is.
Not only did you manage to befriend Miguel O’hara, but you also managed to befriend Spiderman.
The Spiderman who has saved yourself and others countless times.
That is the man who you’re snowed in with. It all makes sense now. The tall, muscular, quiet, intense and amusing qualities…. they all belong to him.
Spiderman 2099. 
And you just kissed him…. or you almost did.
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❀ I hope this was enjoyable ma lovelies & I apologize for any errors made since this was quickly edited!
Sending you lots of huggies & smiles- POPTART 🍓
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205 notes · View notes
corroded-hellfire · 4 months
Text
Merry and Bright - Eddie Munson x Reader
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An As You Wish story
Collaboration with the marshmallows to my hot chocolate @munson-blurbs 💝
Summary: It's Eliza's first Christmas, and even though she may not have a clue what's going on, the rest of the Munson family have fun introducing her to their traditions.
Note: Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Festivus, and have a safe and cheerful whatever it is you celebrate!
Words: 4.3k
[As You Wish masterlist]
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Eliza’s usual 6am feeding has you and Eddie awake before the boys on Christmas morning for the first time ever. Their 11-week-old sister has them beat for the earliest riser this holiday. 
Both of you sleepy-eyed as usual, you and Eddie slip into your daughter’s nursery and close the door behind you so her cries don’t wake her brothers. As soon as she sees you, she calms down because she knows the routine by now. You show up when she cries? Eliza gets food. 
You walk over and peer into her crib, Eddie stepping up behind you and slipping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. Eliza’s tears dry as she stares up at you and her father, her eyes wide like his. 
“Merry Christmas, Eliza,” Eddie says. 
“Happy first Christmas, sweetheart,” you echo. 
She clearly has no idea what you’re saying, but the way she’s looking at you makes you think that she’s thinking: Why are you just standing there smiling at me? Did you not hear the crying? Do you not know what time it is? Where is my food, lady?
You pick her up, clad in her green pajamas dotted with snowflakes and Santa Claus on them. The very same pajamas you, Eddie, Ryan, and Luke are all wearing. When you came up with the idea of matching family pajamas, you weren’t entirely serious until the boys backed you up. Whether they were truly into it or were just going along because they knew their dad would hate it, you have no idea. But Eddie grumbled and agreed, and once it’s just the two of you, declared that you are the only person in the whole world that he would do this for. 
Eddie goes to the window and pulls back the pink curtains with the white polka dots while you settle into the rocking chair with your baby. 
“Wow,” Eddie says as he looks outside. “It must’ve snowed the whole night. Everything is white.”
“Hear that, Eliza?” you coo as she begins to drink. “Your very first Christmas is a white Christmas. I think your brothers are going to have some fun outside later. Maybe we’ll go out and join them.”
Eddie looks over his shoulder at you. “Does she have enough clothes to layer up and go outside in this?”
“Enough clothes?” you ask with a chuckle. “Between the baby shower, Max and Nancy giving us some of their old baby clothes, and what we and the boys bought? I think she has enough layers to look like the Michelin Man.”
“Oh, but look at those rolls,” Eddie says in that baby-talk that’s pretty rare for him. He grins and kneels down next to the two of you in the rocker. “She already looks like the Michelin Man.”
There’s no denying Eliza’s rolls around her wrists and knees and ankles are absolutely the most adorable thing ever. And there is most definitely a long list of adorable things about Eliza. 
Once Eliza is done eating, you burp her—and she gives you one her father is quite proud of—and change her diaper, then you head out into the hallway and it’s time to wake the boys. 
Eddie walks into Luke’s room and heavily plops down on the mattress, making the ten-year-old bounce. He’s usually a pain to wake up in the morning, but Christmas is an exception. 
Luke rouses with a sleepy laugh and rubs at his eyes. “Present time?” he asks.
“I dunno,” Eddie casually replies, shrugging his shoulders as though the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “You think Santa came this year? I haven’t checked the tree yet.”
“And why wouldn’t he come?” you ask from the doorway, holding Eliza. Luke glances over at you and grins; you return his gesture in a silent I’ve got your back. 
Eddie, meanwhile, is dead set on provoking him. “Oh, come on,” he scoffs, “Luke had to have made the naughty list.”
Luke playfully lunges at his dad, who catches him and swings him over his own body to let his son land on the floor. 
“Nice try,” Eddie says. “But you’ll never beat me.”
When you let out a snort of laughter from where you’re standing, Eddie raises his eyebrows at you. 
You innocently raise your shoulders and walk across the hall to Ryan’s room. He’s a bit easier to wake up than his younger brother, though he’s started to fit the teenage stereotype of sleeping in late.  
“Oh my God, it snowed! A lot!” you hear Luke shout from his room, which makes you chuckle. “It’s like Antarctica!”
You can practically hear Eddie playfully rolling his eyes. “Yeah, bud. We’ll see a penguin waddle by in a sec.”
Ryan is already awake from all the chaos. He’s slightly grumpy from his unconventional wake-up call, but he smiles as soon as he stumbles into the hallway and scoops Eliza from your arms. 
“Merry Christmas, baby sis!” he coos. You notice that his pajamas barely reach his ankles even though you’d only bought them a few weeks ago. “You ready to see what Santa brought this year?”
As anticipated, Eliza says nothing, but you unanimously agree that she’s excited for presents. 
The five of you head to the family room to see multiple gift piles under the meticulously decorated tree. 
Luke points at the biggest pile near the front, blue eyes wide. “Who’s that for?”
“Eliza,” you tell him as you ruffle his curls. “Mostly from you and Ryan, I’d wager.” 
The boys had wanted to spoil their new sister with heaps of presents; you had to continually remind them that she’ll quickly grow out of any clothes and won’t be playing with toys for a few more months. Eddie had to keep reminding them that they were technically spending his money on the baby. He’d found it nearly impossible to say no to them, his heart swelling with pride that he’d raised such thoughtful—if not rambunctious—young men. 
Luke and Ryan get down on the floor, while you and Eddie sit down on the couch with the baby. 
“So, this is how we do it, Eliza,” Luke tells his sister, as if she will grasp any of what he’s saying. “Ryan picks up a present, reads who it’s to and from, then he gives it to me, and I give it to whoever’s it is.” It’s a tradition they’d started before Luke learned how to read, but it’s stuck throughout the years. 
Eliza lets out a few puffs of air that Luke takes as confirmation that she understands.  
“She gets me,” he says simply.
“Or,” Eddie teases, “she can’t tell which one of you is Ryan and which one of you is Luke in these ridiculous matching pajamas.” 
The four of you take turns opening Eliza’s presents for her. Each time a new one is opened you try to get her attention to show it to her, but she rarely cares. Eddie’s curls start to be more of interest to her than anything anyone else is doing. 
Whenever Luke or Ryan open them for her, they get really excited and hype their sister up about whatever it is that she got.
“Wow, Eliza! Look at this dress!” Luke says as he picks it up and shows her. “It has Princess Ariel on it! I bet you’re going to love the princesses.”
“Ooh, Eliza! Look at these!” Ryan shakes the oversized keyring with the pastel-colored plastic keys hanging from it. “You can drive Dad’s car with these.”
“I’d let her drive it before I let either of you two menaces behind the wheel.”
Eventually, Eliza’s pile is depleted, and the boys open their own presents. Ironically, they were more enthused for Eliza’s, though their new Game Boys are an absolute hit. There was eventually a gift that Eliza seemed to be enthralled with though. The only thing that really caught her attention was the shininess of a new watch that Eddie got from Luke. She wanted to put it directly in her mouth, but Eddie stopped her as Luke warned that he wasn’t sure if it was water proof or not. 
Once presents are done, Eddie cleans up the variety of wrapping paper while you dress Eliza in her Christmas candy cane outfit. This outfit Eddie picked out. It seemed only fair since you practically forced him into the pajamas. 
It’s nap time for Eliza, so you settle her down while the boys go through their new gifts. The clothes they received only got a once over while the toys and video games were more heavily scrutinized. 
After Luke makes his rounds through his toys, he notices how much snow has built up on the ground.
“Daaaaad!”
“Whaaaat?” Eddie mimics as he walks in the room.
Luke walks over and gives his dad an over the top smile—a telltale sign that he wants something.
“Wanna go play in the snoooow?”
Eddie pretends to consider the question even though he’s been waiting for one of the boys to ask all day. He’s still a kid at heart and has been dying to get out there and mess around. 
“I guess I could go for kicking your asses in a snowball fight.”
“Luke and I can take you, old man!” Ryan says.
“Two against one? Huh. Babe? Wanna come be on my team?”
“Sorry, hot stuff,” you say as you stroll in from the kitchen. “Then who would be here to get little Miss Eliza up from her nap and get her all bundled up for the snow?”
Eddie suddenly looks a bit more serious. “She’s going to have to have a lot of layers.”
“Really? Because I was going to bring her out in just her diaper.” You can’t help but chuckle at Eddie’s protectiveness and lean up to press a kiss to his lips. “Don’t worry. She’ll have so many layers she’ll look like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.”
The three men get all layered up and you get comfortable in a cozy chair near the window with a mug of hot chocolate to watch their shenanigans unfold. The boys go to one side of the yard and start making snowballs while Eddie goes to the other side. Your husband makes a little snow barrier that he can crouch behind before he starts making his snowball supply. 
“Teach these kids to call me old,” he mumbles to himself. 
Eddie quickly throws a snowball that hits the back of Luke’s head before he ducks back behind his wall. Eddie tries to control his laughter, but it keeps coming out in hot puffs of breath that he can see float away from his mouth.
“What the?!” Luke shouts, looking all around. “How’d he do that?”
Eddie chuckles to himself as he creates more ammunition. These amateurs. 
You look on in amusement as the three of them commence in all-out war. Eddie clearly gets the better of them, which you can tell he’s secretly proud of. Or not-so-secretly as he sticks his tongue out at them and taunts them. You’d swear you were the one in this relationship who is older by a decade, not him. 
After a while of running around, your sons and husband fall into a pile in the middle of the yard, obviously tired from so much exertion. You giggle as you watch them try and catch their breaths; Luke literally reaching up with his gloved hands to swipe at the condensation his huffing and puffing is causing. 
Luke is the first one up and starts tugging on his dad’s coat sleeve to pull him up too. Ryan is the next one up, then finally Eddie. It takes you a couple of minutes to figure out what they’re doing at first. It looks like they’re just moving piles of snow around with no rhyme or reason. 
Just as you’ve put together that they’re trying to build an igloo, you hear Eliza’s cries coming from her room. You get up from your warm cocoon on the chair and wander into Eliza’s nursery where she’s whining for attention.
“What’s all the fuss about?” you ask as you scoop her up. “It’s Christmas. Didn’t anyone tell you there’s no crying on Christmas?”
Eliza’s only response is a tiny sneeze that makes you giggle.
“God bless you. Now, let’s see how many layers of clothes we can put on you before you’re as good as bubble wrapped.”
When you open the back door, both you and your daughter bundled up tightly against the cold, the igloo looks like it had some architectural issues. Eddie pushes himself off the ground and comes over to the two of you. 
“Look at my girls. So cute in all your layers.” He presses a kiss to your nose, which gives you a shiver.  
“Your lips are freezing!” you exclaim, scrunching your face. 
“What do you expect?” Eddie asks with a laugh. “Igloo construction is very serious work that can only be done in these dire weather conditions.”
A few snowflakes fall onto Eliza’s pale pink coat, and she blinks at them in confusion before they melt away. 
“How is the construction crew doing?” you ask, nodding to the boys and their building, snow stuck to their gloves like Velcro. 
“Some structural problems,” Eddie shrugs. “Definitely inhabitable, but I don’t have the heart to break it to them.” He brushes his gloves onto his jacket and holds his arms out towards Eliza. “Come here, you.”
He takes her, snuggling her to his chest, and walks over to where the boys are working tirelessly. Crouching down, he lets Eliza’s legs hang down so her booted up little feet are on the snowy ground.  
“Hey, ‘Liza,” Luke chirps. “We’re making a house out of snow.”
“It’s not going too well,” Ryan adds under his breath. 
His brother scowls. “She doesn’t know that!” he hisses. 
Eliza’s eyes track the snowflakes falling down around her. 
“You like the snow, huh?” Eddie asks her, kissing the tiniest sliver of exposed forehead beneath her fuzzy hood. 
A chunk of the attempted igloo comes off in Ryan’s hands and he lets out a defeated sigh. “You wanna try some snow?” he asks Eliza just as you walk over to join them. He breaks off the snow into a small chunk and holds it up near Eliza’s lips. She only stares at it for a second before Eddie helps her lean in and she opens her mouth, just as she does when she’s trying to eat. 
The moment the coldness touches her lips, Eliza turns her head and curls her hands towards her face, making the rest of you laugh.
“Cold, huh?” Ryan chuckles, tossing aside the snow that Eliza hasn’t consumed. 
“All right,” Eddie says as he stands up, shifting his daughter in his arms. “I don’t know about you boys, but my butt is pretty numb. What do you say we head inside?”
Both boys whine, even though you can tell by their chattering teeth that they’re getting a bit cold themselves. 
“How’s hot chocolate sound?” you add.
That gets both boys up and headed towards the back door. Eddie walks ahead of you with Eliza, and you shuffle towards him so you can whisper in his ear. 
“If you can’t feel your ass, maybe I could feel it for you?” Your lips curl into a smirk. 
Eddie turns to face you. “Why, Mrs. Munson, how very naughty of you.” His kiss lingers in a way that tells you to expect a special gift the moment you two are truly alone. 
It takes a few minutes for everyone to peel off their wet clothes. Eddie and Ryan work on throwing the snow-soaked pants and socks into the dryer while you recruit Luke to help a freshly warmed Eliza into her swing in the living room so you can make hot chocolate. 
Luke buckles the straps over Eliza’s red and white outfit and turns the swing on the lowest setting. It gently sways her back and forth from left to right, which is usually her favorite thing in the world, but her tiny cries warn that she is not amused. 
“Hey, what’s the whining about?” Luke asks, frowning at his fussy sister. 
Eliza squeals and throws her little arms up as much as she’s able to as though purposely acting in defiance. 
Luke immediately springs into action. “No, no!” He scrambles for an idea. “Here, watch me, Eliza!”
He starts to do an overexaggerated jig in front of her and sings I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.
“I want a hippopotamus for Christmas. Only a hippopotamus will do. I don't want a doll, no dinky Tinkertoy. I want a hippopotamus to play with and enjoy!”
Eliza stops her crying and just stares at her older brother as he continues his impromptu performance. 
“I can see me now on Christmas morning, creeping down the stairs. Oh, what joy and what surprise. When I open up my eyes to see my hippo hero standing there!”
Watching the mini concert from the kitchen, you notice that Eliza is mesmerized by her brother; the look on her face reads, “what the hell are you doing?”, but you’re not going to question whatever it is that’s quieted her down—even if it means being subjected to one of the most irritating holiday songs in existence. 
“I want a hippopotamus for Christmas. Only a hippopotamus will do. No crocodiles, or rhinoceroseses. I only like hippopotamuseses. And hippopotamuses like me too!”
Successfully distracted, the baby makes spit bubbles and flaps her arms. Luke feels that he’s done his job, and he gives a small bow. 
Luke finishes imagining the applause his baby sister so obviously wants to give him when Eddie comes into the living room carrying two mugs full of steaming hot chocolate.
“Hey, Timberlake. Here’s your drink.”
You and Ryan are right behind him as you carefully balance your own drinks, giggling at each other as you check on one another’s progress from the corner of your eyes. It’s almost a game to see if one of you will spill a few drops before the other.
Luke plops down in the chair you had been sitting in while watching the boys outside and Ryan settles in on the loveseat. You take advantage of your husband sitting alone on the couch to cuddle up to his side. Eddie settles one arm over your shoulders and brings his Metallica mug to his lips with his other hand. Taking care to hold your “Meowy Christmas” mug dotted in adorable kittens in both of your hands, you rest your head on his shoulder. Your eyes admire the cup that Luke gave you last year for Christmas before they drift over to your daughter comfortably rocking in her swing. 
Her large eyes move from family member to family member, as if wondering what you’re all doing. You imagine her holding her own little mug-shaped bottle to join in with the rest of you and you let out a soft giggle at the thought.
“What, baby?” Eddie asks softly.
“Nothing,” you say with a shake of your head. “Just look at our little girl. Watching all of us.”
Eddie smiles when he looks over and his daughter’s gaze locks on his. He feels as if one more ounce of happiness was pumped into his heart it would explode. The room is still and quiet, but Eliza continues to look on as the four of you warm up by drinking the confectionary delight. 
By the time the four of you have emptied your mugs, Eliza is fast asleep in her swing. Eddie presses a kiss to your temple, and you take his empty cup as he rises to his feet. He walks over, slowly stops the rocking, and scoops Eliza up. She lets out a little sigh as Eddie resituates her in his arms; her classic sign of contentment when she knows she’s safe in her daddy’s care. He carries the sleeping infant into her room and lays her down in her crib. 
“Sweet dreams, sweet pea.”
An hour later, the buzzer rings. 
Wayne’s on the other side of the door, two pizza boxes in hand. Since Eliza is still so little and requires almost all of your energy, there isn’t a fancy meal this year, but no one seems to mind. 
The Munson patriarch sets the food on the table, opening the boxes to reveal pepperoni & green peppers atop each pie. “Christmas colors,” he announces proudly. 
Eddie pops a Christmas album into the CD player as you all gather around the table and eat. By some miracle, Luke and Ryan manage to take their slices without fighting over the bigger one, and you thank your lucky stars. 
No sooner do you sit down and lift your own slice to your lips, Eliza’s cry bleats through the baby monitor. You instinctively start to stand, but Wayne puts a gentle hand out to stop you. 
“I got it,” he assures you, walking into the room where Eliza lays in her crib. 
“You’re the cutest candy cane I’ve ever seen!” you hear him exclaim as he lifts her to carry her back out to the kitchen.
He takes his seat next to Luke, who holds his slice in the baby’s direction, a glob of sauce plopping onto the floor. 
“Eliza, you want some pizza?” He pretends to bring it to her mouth before he pulls back and cackles. “Aahh, just kidding!”
The tiny baby manages to stay awake for the entirety of dinner, but by the end of dessert, she’s starting to get cranky again. 
When it’s time to clear the table, Eddie stands up and stretches his arms high over his head. And so what if your gaze drifted to the pale expanse of his stomach that it showed? 
“Come on, men,” Eddie says. “Let’s get this place looking ship-shaped.”
“You sure you weren’t the one in the military?” Wayne asks with a husky laugh. He hands you the baby who is only getting fussier by the second.
“I think it’s time for some jammies,” you say as you hold her against your chest. Her whines and whimpers in return sound like a disagreement, so you can only imagine what her backtalk will be like when she can speak. 
“Not fair,” Luke says with a huff as you move to leave the dining room. You turn around and raise an eyebrow at him.
“What’s not fair?” you ask.
“You don’t have to clean,” he says as he picks up the bowl of mashed potatoes that is now so empty it looks as if it’s been licked clean. It wouldn’t surprise you if it was, honestly. 
“Do you want to try and get Miss Crankypants into her pajamas? Then to bed?” you ask.
“No,” Luke admits with a groan and brings the empty dishes into the kitchen.
“That’s what I thought,” you say to Eliza as you carry her down the hall to her room. 
It’s time for the annual tradition of watching Charlie Brown’s Christmas, but Eliza still hasn’t gone to sleep. You’re not sure how long you’ve been trying to soothe her to sleep, but it feels like it’s been hours. You tell the guys to start watching it without you as you start to walk throughout the house with your fussy daughter in your arms. The rocking motion of walking tends to have a calming effect on her. Hasn’t worked so far, but it’s worth another shot.
“Come on, sweetie,” you beg her. “You had a big day. You must be so tired.”
She continues her protests, so you hold her closer to your chest, her green elf pajamas soft in your hands. On your fourth lap of the house, you pass by the living room again but there’s music coming from the television this time.
Eliza stops her fussing at the sound. The scene ends and Eliza starts to act up again, so you take another lap around the house. Once more back at the living room, there’s music and again she calms down. 
“Hmm…” you hum to yourself.
Testing your theory, you sit at the edge of the couch and keep your firm hold on Eliza. The music continues as Eliza calms all the way down. This time, she’s calmed enough that you can sit back on the couch and enjoy the show with your family. Every time a scene with music comes on, Eliza gets happier and even gives you a smile that you’re pretty sure had nothing to do with gas.
“You like the music, huh?” you ask your daughter softly. 
“Making her daddy proud,” Eddie says, throwing a wink your way. 
Not much later, Eliza falls asleep, and it allows you to watch the rest of the program with your family. When it’s time for bed, the boys each get up and press a soft kiss to their sister’s forehead. Once they’ve gone to brush their teeth, you bring Eliza into her room, Eddie right behind you. You gently lay her down and Eddie snakes his arms around your waist from behind. Both of you look down at your daughter, her little pink lips parted as her chest moves up and down with her steady breathing. The soft downy hairs on her head are starting to get a curl to them and you smile at the thought of her having hair like your husband.
Eddie presses a kiss to your cheek and rests his chin on your shoulder so he can look down at the sleeping girl as well.
“We made a cute baby,” Eddie says softly.
“The cutest,” you agree. 
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separatist-apologist · 4 months
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Dried blood stuck to his midnight black hair, to the golden brown of his cheeks, to the white of his torn shirt. Gwyn took a step forward, thinking this wasn’t the first dead body she’d seen. Buttercream stepped out of the stall entirely which was going to get Gwyn in trouble. She considered going back for the horse before deciding that Clotho would understand.
Hopefully.
Gwyn knelt beside the body, roughly turning him to this back. More dried blood caked over his neck and his bare chest, though she couldn’t tell where he’d been wounded. An old scar screamed white against his neck, like someone had tried to cut it and failed. Gwyn swallowed hard, fingers trembling as she pressed them against the pulsepoint.
He gasped, eyes flying open to look at her. His bloodless lips parted, hazel eyes dilating with fear. Gwyn tried to skitter back but he grabbed both her arms with a surprisingly strong grip, sitting up just enough to put them at eye level.
His were the most intoxicating mix of brown and green, dotted gold around his iris. “You,” he breathed before releasing her arms to hold her face in callused hands. “You—get help.”
She might have done exactly as he demanded had he not crushed his mouth against hers. Gwyn yelped, held in place by this stranger who, despite the blood coating his skin, tasted like warm smoke curling against icy snow. Gwyn kept her eyes open and so did he before those thick, dark lashes fluttered and he felt back with a loud thud.
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some-pers0n · 4 months
Text
Memoir of an Albatross
Chapter 2 - Blood in the Water
[1] [2] [3]
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(Art by Loquatic)
Chapter Description: Albatross, a lonely and ostracized dragonet, finds himself on the Sunset Beach. To entertain himself, he chases a seagull, only to then be interrupted by his two sisters.
[CW: Blood, gore, derealization, verbal abuse, bullying]
Albatross was the type of dragon you wouldn't want to be seen around. He was a dragon that others would make up wild rumours about to explain their natural repulsion to him. The kind of dragon that they would whisper about behind his back, yet put on a face of false kindness to try and hide their disdain. There was something fundamentally different about Albatross. Something that made him undesirable.
He understood this from the moment he hatched. He had vague memories of that day. Distant, fuzzy recollections of the looks given to him by the surrounding dragons. How could there not be some discussion? The newest prince of the SeaWings turning out in such a repugnant way? Why did this happen? Was this the result of some secret affair that the queen had with an IceWing? From his unnaturally pale scales and nearly pitch-black eyes, that wouldn't be such a far-fetched assumption. Maybe a curse had been placed on this egg by a rogue IceWing animus, or perhaps it was some genetic mutation.
Whatever the cause may be, Albatross was not seen as the same in the eyes of many. His sisters, Sapphire and Lagoon, were perfect examples of what a SeaWing should be. Rich, royal blue scales with gorgeous wing patterns. They were naturally gifted with those looks. They were the sorts of dragons that artists in the future would look back on, painting their lavish features and gushing about them and their beauty.
Comparatively? Albatross was a freakshow. His scales were a ghastly grey, looking almost entirely snow-white in certain lighting. His eyes were a deep, dark blue that one could easily mistake for being entirely black. His neck was too long and his wings were too big for his body. His snout was hooked and his teeth seemed far too small, even for his relatively young age. His tail was pointy and whip-like. He smelt vaguely of rotting fish no matter what he tried. Not exactly a great sight for the eyes.
Because of his outward appearance, the others judged him. Something beyond his control or will made him into a circus act for others to gawk at. They look at him and either laugh at his features or worse, pity. Show condescending compassion. Say "I'm so sorry for you" or apologize for something he was hatched with.
He wasn't a tragedy. He didn't want to be remembered as a dragon to pity or be seen as some lost cause. He wanted to be seen for who he was. He would do great things one day. He doesn't want his looks or how others treat him to get in the way of that perception. He wanted to be known as Prince Albatross, a SeaWing who did...something. What that would be was still unclear, but he wanted it to be grand. Important. He wanted to be remembered for years to come for what he did during his life.
For now though? He was alone. Better to be ignored and out of sight from the others than to be acknowledged and seen.
It was peaceful at the Sunset Beach. The Island Palace was a quiet place he liked going to whenever he felt stressed or wanted some time to himself. It was only ever used for visiting diplomats to stay, so it was empty most days. The Sunset Beach was a large stretch of pearl-white sand right next to the beautiful ocean. The waves were foamy and the water was crystal blue. Dotted around were small pavilions covered in decorative lanterns.
Albatross found himself sitting on the sand, just a fair bit away from the waves. He had been digging around in the sand, entertained by playing around with the driftwood and whatever else floated onto the shore. Alone with nothing more than himself and the gentle, yet nevertheless powerful calmness of the ocean.
Until...a seagull came down. From a nearby palm tree. It swooped from on high, landing gracefully onto the shores. It stood there, beak digging around for whatever fish or creature the ocean had spat onto the beach. Albatross watched it intently. He was content with simply seeing it pick the grains and scavenge for remains. Yet, as he did so, he couldn't help but feel a small thought worm its way into him.
Chase it.
He didn't know why he wanted to do it. It simply felt right. He had seen Lagoon and Sapphire do the same with their prey. Albatross could never swim fast enough to catch his own food. Too slow. Too weak. Perhaps now would be his time. He could sneak up on the seagull. Grasp it. Feel it writhe and struggle to break free. Feel the fear course through its body as it tries desperately to live on. Feel some semblance of control and power.
The thought disturbed him though. The other dragons seemed just fine with it. They would tear into sharks, whales; for moon's sake,  his fellow peers would cheer and holler in joy upon seeing a prisoner of war be gutted. Was there something odd about him? Perhaps others simply never talked about that part. Kept it under a rug. It was shameful. Some sort of animalistic desire for violence and bloodshed. For dominance. To be a dragon.
They were civilized. They had palaces and kingdoms. Complicated societies and systems put in place to keep a gentle balance. A semblance that they were above the likes of wolf packs. Albatross wasn't an animal. He was a prince of the SeaWings.
...but maybe, for just a moment, he could live a little.
He dug his claws into the sand and pounced. He dove where the seagull was, only to be met with a cloud of dust and debris. It flew away.
"No, come back!" Albatross yelled, spitting out all the sand in his mouth. "Please?"
Miraculously, the seagull seemed to listen. It turned back to him. Eventually, it landed back on the beach. It was entertaining him.
He smiled back. He was about to fling himself at the seagull once more, when he felt something brush against his claws. It was a clamshell. Big one. One of the halves was as big as his talons. It was a dusty white colour, blending in with the rest of the beach.
He grabbed it. "I'm gonna eat you!" he giggled, pointing the shell at the seagull. He imagined it as though it was a dragon's mouth. That it could open up and snap at the bird just like any other set of razor-sharp fangs.
The two continued their dance. Albatross wanted to get it, but at this point, he had more fun playing around. He would leap towards it, the seagull hopping away right in time, and once both parties recovered they'd go again. It was fun. Simple, extraordinary fun. Much better than boring lessons or whatever else his tutors had in store for him. He didn't want it to end.
But, of course, things had to take a turn for the worse, didn't they?
After a couple minutes, Albatross became aware of something. A shift in the air. It wasn't sudden, but it was certainly different. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was most definitely another being present. Watching him. Judging him.
He looked to the ocean. Under the waves were two pairs of glistening blue eyes, glaring at him.
He felt a drop in his stomach as the two dragons rose out of the water, their laughter an ear-splintering chorus of noise. What was once a peaceful and tranquil afternoon on the beach became a playground for them. His sisters.
"Finally! I thought you'd gone blind or something," Sapphire giggled. "I was wondering when you would look over and see us."
"Really? I was enjoying watching him. I didn't think you were actually capable of running." Lagoon teased.
"Why are you here?" Albatross asked. "I thought you both had queen lessons."
"We finished early. Apparently, something happened with Mother, needing to call over all of her advisors. Thank the moons for that. So boring having to learn how to be a queen and to, well, rule over everyone," Lagoon said, passively looking at her claws.
His sisters weren't exactly the greatest of dragons, especially towards Albatross. They made it clear that they didn't like him. He was their weird brother who came out wrong. Who was a blemish on the otherwise perfect royal family. A pathetic good-for-nothing blob that should've been strangled the moment he crawled out of his egg.
Sapphire, despite being the middle dragonet, bossed around everyone. She was next in line for the throne. Even though that'd be years away from now, she acted as though she was on top of the world. Queen of everything. Most of their antics against him were her ideas, with Lagoon tagging along just because she found it funny.
Of course, right when he was having a bit of fun by himself, they'd have to ruin it all.
"So you came over to annoy me?" he asked.
"Annoy you? Why would you think we would do that?" Sapphire gasped. "No, no, we were very interested in talking with you. Seeing what our precious brother is up to! We were so worried about you. We thought you ran off."
Her words were sickening to hear. That fake sympathy and compassion that made his stomach churn. "I was doing just fine before you got here." He swiped at the sand.
"You don't like us?" Lagoon crooned. "I thought you cared about us. Aren't we your sisters? I mean, we could always treat you worse." They walked up onto the shore. They were far bigger than him, perhaps another head taller. "I don't think you'd like that. You're already so weak."
"I am not weak!" he snapped back.
Sapphire let out a squawk of a laugh. "You couldn't even catch a seagull! You just kept jumping around it. Great reefs, that's sad to see."
Albatross turned around and tried to get away, only to trip and fall. His tail was caught under their talons. His chin hit the sand with a distinct thump.
"Where are you going?" They both said in an eerie harmony. "We just got here!"
"Just leave me alone..." Albatross grabbed at his ears, pulling them down to try and block their words out. But, to no avail.
"What? Can't handle a little light teasing? Moons above, that's so sad." Sapphire walked in front of him, looking him up and down. Her eyes landed on the seashell clutched to his chest.
A wicked grin cracked across her snout as she said, "ooh, what's that you've got there?" Her voice was grating, like claws against metal.
"It's mine!" he yelled back. He tried to sound intimidating, but it came out as a mere squak.
"Give it." Sapphire grabbed at it, tugging the shell.
"No! Please, Sapphire..." He held onto it tighter, pulling it back.
"Why do you care so much about this stupid thing?" she laughed. "Do you really not have anything else to care about."
Albatross tried to speak, but the words never found their footing. He stammered and stuttered, choking back tears. Yet, he kept holding on. He couldn't let them take another thing from him. Even if it was as small as a shell, he wanted something to call his own.
"What, are you going to cry?" Sapphire mocked. "Boo hoo, my mean ol' sister took my stupid shell." She whacked him in the stomach with her tail.
He recoiled, letting go. The pain shot through his system, taking the air from his lungs. He gasped for breath as he looked up to her.
She stood there, absently inspecting the shell. "Stupid shell," she said, "I can't believe you fought so much over it. Besides, it'll be mine anyway. Everything here will be mine. I'm the eldest daughter, right? So, obviously, I'll be queen. And when I'm queen, I own everything. You're just a prince."
She tilted her head to the side, mocking his mannerisms. "But, nobody will care. Nobody loves you. We just have to put up with you and your weird, ugly self."
Albatross dug into the sand. Tears welled in his eyes. "That's...not true." He mumbled.
"What's that?" Lagoon asked. "What did you say? Say it again!" She grabbed him by the neck.
"I said it's not true!"
The both of them cackled like a flock of seagulls. "What?! Of course it is! Who even likes you?" Sapphire flicked her tail at him. "You could die right here and nobody would cry. Nobody would care."
Then, a shift in Sapphire's eyes. "You know, that won't be the worst thing in the world. Mother wouldn't even be upset. Princes are only meant to be married off, but who could even stand to be with you." She raised her talons, claws still on the shell. "Wouldn't you like that, brother?"
Albatross's stomach dropped. "No...no, no, no please, Sapphire, no..."
"Sapphire?" Lagoon said, "I'm not...I don't think that's a good idea." She sounded genuine.
"Why not? What has he ever done to us? For anybody? He just makes everything worse." She brandished her claws. "It'd be better for everyone."
Fear took hold of his body. He flailed in all directions, yet he could not free himself from Lagoon's hold. The only free thing was his mouth.
He looked up. He saw the shell. Then, as though instinct itself was speaking through him, he screamed. He could barely comprehend it before the words left his mouth.
"BITE HER!" he yelled, crying louder than he ever had before. "TEAR HER CLAWS OFF!"
The next moment was painted in scarlet. A splatter of ruby liquid on the sand. It pooled and grew larger, dripping down from above.
Albatross didn't feel like himself. There was a loud, piercing ring in his ears that drowned the world out. His body felt cold and numb. His brain was full of fog and he could barely think. He felt detached from reality, like an observer of the chaos.
The pressure that was on him– Lagoon, definitely– released. He pushed himself upwards, staggering to his talons. He looked blankly ahead.
She was thrashing. Her mouth was unhinged as though she was screaming, but Albatross couldn't hear a thing through the ring. Her wails and cries, while inaudible, were full of agony. Her face was painted with horror.
Lagoon was by her side, similarly in shock. She was trying to stop Sapphire, keep her still. Eventually, she tore something from Sapphire's claws. It landed by Albatross's talons, splashing in the puddle of blood. It splattered onto him, his talons, everything.
It was the clamshell. Its jaws held bits and pieces of flesh and gore in them.
He looked back at Sapphire. She held her talons up. Where her claws should have been were fountains of viscera. They were both screaming. Lagoon turned to him, yet he couldn't hear a word. He felt hollow. Absent. There should have been emotion, but instead, everything was muted. 
This...couldn't be real. Why was this happening? He didn't mean to hurt her. He didn't want to hurt her. Whatever it was, he knew it was his fault.
He looked at his talons, and for the first time in his life, he became aware of the slight burning sensation within his claws.
Rapidly, he gained feeling all over his body, as if suddenly pulled back into reality. His knees gave way and he fell to the ground. He shook, trying desperately to make so much as a squeak, yet nothing came out. His eyes were wide with fear.
The screams. By the tides the screaming. It was unlike anything he could properly fathom. A shrill shriek that made his blood run cold. He couldn't properly think of what else to compare it to. He had never heard somebody in so much pain before. 
Lagoon quivered, tears rolling down her face. She looked back at Albatross, her expression shifting to one of hatred and anger. "YOU KILLED HER!" she snapped. "How could you do this?! You- you monster!"
"I didn't mean to-"
"You did! You killed her! She's going to die!"
Albatross tried choking out another response, but he couldn't. He backed away. The sands were stained with Sapphire's blood. Everywhere he stepped his talons became soaked in it. 
It was his fault. Everything. He's to blame. Sapphire is dying. All that happened was a little squabble. She probably didn't mean it when she said she was going to kill him. 
But how? How could he do this? He was just a SeaWing. A normal, typical dragon.
He felt sick to stand there. Slimy and disgusting. A passive observer while watching her sister bleed out and die. She didn't deserve this.
He stared at Sapphire's stubby talons. They gushed blood. He held out his claws, pointing to it. He didn't know why. It felt right. That same instinct rushed through him. This deep-rooted knowledge that he never knew he had.
"Stop bleeding!" he cried out. The words were loud and clear, as if he was ordering Sapphire.
Then, stillness. Sapphire held up her claws. The three stood in silence as the scales began to heal. They did not regrow the talons but left them as is. They were healed.
Sapphire stared blankly at her talons, eyes wide and transfixed on them. Then, she promptly fainted. Not dead, but simply overwhelmed. She wasn't going to die. He saved her.
"It's...healed?" Albatross muttered. "How? Why? There can't be any-"
"Magic."
A pang in his heart. He turned back to Lagoon. "What?"
"Animus magic." She looked at him, her eyes piercing his very soul. "That was magic. You're an animus."
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