#while writing yet another fic where you dig him out of that hole. i miss him 🥹

[dullahanswritingstash]

Why do Hidan x Reader fics and such very frequently have reader so averse to converting to Jashinism? If you're in a relationship with the man there's no way you don't condone it. Cowards. Live a little. Perform human sacrifice with your immortal boyfriend.

[ryuksbathsaltedapples]

High honor Arthur Morgan x younger reader

Ch 1 abt 3k words

Cw: older man younger woman, NO ACTUAL SEX yet 😏, eventual smut, FEM READER, shy and awkward reader, Arthur is a flirt 💪, masturbation, and believe that’s it nothing much

Author note: this is like the first BIG fic I’ve ever written💀 so if it’s a bit scratchy let me know! Would love to have feedback on what I can do to make my writing better. On another note I’ve only played about 1/4 of the actual game so far, so if this is not an accurate depiction of high honor Arthur let me know, just Spoiler Free!! But I will adjust his personality to make it as cannon as possible. Oh and suggestions for the next part would be great! Brain frog man, craziness

|Arthur finds a girl who needs help with her dog, little did this girl know he was gonna be like a parasite in her brain!|

Arthur was a tough a man, a man who’s killed, robbed, and hurt. But, he does have some morals and values in life, despite what others might think. He’d lived a hard life, 36 years of living and many of them running with the Van der Linde gang, but he trusted the people, trusted Dutch, and he’d never turn his back on them.

One morning while it was a bit cooler, a cold prickly brisk in the air hitting his face as he rode his horse, he saw a girl. He didn’t think much about it, just some young lady out for a stroll, that was until the young lady started calling for him. “Sir! Please! I-i need some help!” Her voice rang out in a pitch clearly distressed. On a bad day, he wouldn’t have tuned around, on an okay day he’d probably would’ve stopped, but today was a good day. So Arthur thought ‘what the hell’ and turned around riding his horse up to the young lady.

“What’s the problem miss?” He said his deep southern voice ringing out, the calmness in his tone widely different from the thin nature of hers. “M-My dog he’s…Jesus he’s fallen in a hole I can’t get him out…! I promise I’m not lying pleas help me!” Her voice rang thin again, he could see the red teary stains around her eyes, and even though apart of him felt suspicious he decided to believe her (besides if it was a trap, he could make it out unscathed easily). “Okay okay, tell me where the dog’s at?” He stated clearly trying to get the girl to calm down, he watched intently as she wiped her eyes and took some deep breaths. “He’s over there…, I tried pulling him out, but..damnit I can’t! He’s to heavy for me…” defeat and embarrassment rang through her voice as she spoke, clearly upset at her failed attempt. Arthur got off his horse and waved his hand, at this the girl started walking towards her big o’l dog.

“He’s in there…” the girl said quietly. The hole was deep and the dog, well being a dog was digging and running around all in it, clearly not as stressed about the situation as his owner was, Arthur sighed a little, realizing he’s about to have to either get in the hole with the dog or fight to get it out “your pup better be a good o’l companion for this…” he said in a slight exasperated laugh as he slowly crawled into the hole, the lady above not responding to his comment. The hole itself was most likely formed by an old cave in, a failed well hole at the looks of it eroded by time. Once Arthur was fully in the dog immediately ran to him sniffing his shoes and pants, its long tail wagging hard.

“He’s a good dog…! Just a bit…well stupid” she said a slight giggle falling over her voice as she spoke tiredly. Arthur took in the smelly big o’l animal, covered in dirt with a stocky build, a large black lab with a very dumb glint in its eyes “well, let’s see if I can get him out”. Once the dog had calmed down a bit he slowly wrapped his arms around the dogs flappy stomach lifting it up. With Arthur’s height he was able to push the dog up enough for the young lady to grab it, the dog crawling out to freedom; as Arthur himself climbed out of the hole he couldn’t help but smirk a bit at the sounds of her scolding the dog.

“Oh you stupid thing! Making me get all dirty and tired! And then forcing me to have to drag some poor soul to get you out!”. “Oh it ain’t no problem, he’s just testing your love” Arthur chuckled whipping some of the dirt off his jacket and pants. He couldn’t help but notice the slight blush on the young lady’s cheeks as she looked to him, she smiled a little as she spoke “..thank you sir, you’re a good person..w-what’s your name?” Her voice ranged shy, something he did not miss. “Arthur Morgan, and yours missy?” he spoke smiling at her, “it’s Y/N”

>

>

Weeks have gone by since you first met the handsome stranger. You weren’t expecting to think about someone who just helped get your dog out of a hole so much, but here you where in your room combing your hair out thinking about his smile, his hair, and his nice weathered cowboy hats and coat. Your daydreaming about this almost complete stranger was cut short as your mother walked in to your room. “Welp! Break times over sweetie, we need to get back to work” your mother spoke strongly but nicely as she exited your room.

You took a deep breath and stretched your back before getting off of the bed, and going outside to continue doing chores. It was a day like no other, feed the chickens, water the animals, weed the gardens, things you’ve been doing since you came out the womb. But, today instead of your mind drifting to thoughts about reading or going swimming in the evening, your only thoughts were on that mysterious cowboy….his face wouldn’t leave your mind, his shadowy stubble…., his tough eyes…, his hands…long and thick fingers, calloused by many hard days of work and life…you wondered how they would feel…, maybe in you hands , or….on your body. This time instead of the voice of your mother waking you from your thoughts, it was the prick of a rather thorny weed that made you snap back, you felt a bit embarrassed at yourself, how could you be so dizzy over a man you met once? I mean sure he was nice, respectful, tough, and handsome….But that’s not the point! ‘If I’m ever gonna get anything done I need to clear my big o’l head!’ You thought shaking your face and continuing with your chores.

>

Sabbath day, you loved it, sure the preacher could get annoying…, and sometimes some of the church members looked at you weird. But, your chores didn’t have to be done today; thoughts raced as the sermon continued, barely paying attention to what the preacher was preaching as you thought what you would do with such a fine Sunday to yourself thoughts about baking, catching up to a book, maybe even begging your parents to let you ride out on your own for a few hours. These thoughts raced and raced, until the next thing you knew you were walking out of church and heading home, but something of surprise came when you got home. Your father, a very gruff man handed you $8 and told you to spend it on what you wanted: well, now you you knew what you were gonna do.

After eating lunch (very quickly might I add) you headed for town, your plan was simple, get some treats, some new pencils or pastels, and maybe check for a new book. You walked into the general store and said hello’s at the owner before looking around, taking in all of the small candies you might get; it was nice, for once being handed money and spending it on something other then necessities, being able to just do something nice for yourself. As you were looking around you heard the door to the shop open, you payed it no mind and kept looking around, trying to think about which sweet was worth the amount of money and what you would have left for other things. Once you picked out the candy you wanted you moved to the small art booking section, filled with the very basics and nothing more.

Looking around you heard a voice “excuse me missy, but I need to grab that” the voice was deep and relaxed, and it caught you off guard as you saw a tough hand pointing to some lead pencils. You turned your head to the man and your eyes immediately widen, the handsome face of the cowboy looking back at you, you couldn’t help but blush immediately feeling very awkward not expecting to ever see that man again. As you stepped over a bit so he could grab the pencils he looked at you again, his serious blue eyes scanning your face, it made you feel a bit nervous “hey…you’re the young lady with the dog!, thought I recognized such a pretty face” he smiled politely at you “y/n right?”. You nodded your head fast as you looked at him, Jesus, marry, and Joseph you could have fainted then and there, maybe it could have been like a romance, him capturing you in his arms…taking you on a romantic ride….kissing all over you… “I-I want to thank you again sir! For getting my dog out, you saved me a lot of trouble mr…Arthur?” You spoke tumbling your words out as you looked at him, standing so close you could really see how large he was, much taller then you, and obviously more muscular.

You felt like a train being derailed almost completely forgetting where you were or what you were doing, that was until he spoke again “well, don’t worry about it, feels good to help young things like you. I remember what it was like at that age, always needing help with something before you get it down” your mind raced as you saw him walking to the counter ending the conversation, you couldn’t just let him end it right here??! So you spoke again following behind him slightly, thinking of the only thing you can do for the man “hey…if you like pies or breads I-I’d like to give you some, I mean as a thanks for helping me, I’ll bake anything you like!” Arthur looked at your for a second taking in the offer, then he spoke cracking his neck as he did “well why not? Haven’t had a good apple pie in.., well a while, besides free food is free food!” He smiled at you as he payed for his things, and oh lord, that smile, maybe you should’ve stayed in church all day with the thoughts swirling in your head. You told him where you lived and to meet you there tomorrow afternoon and he agreed before exiting the store, outside the window you could see him talking to an older gentleman who pointed inside as he spoke to Arthur. Suddenly you felt very embarrassed.

>

You went to sleep early that night unusual for you were known to stay up a bit later to have time to yourself, but the thought of seeing that cowboy tomorrow made you want the day to come sooner. You woke up early that morning and immediately went to go look in the ice box to see if there were any apples left, luckily you found a few and as you were bringing them to the kitchen your mother noticed, and was asking why in the world you were baking now? You stumbled through an explanation about how you were thanking the man who helped you with your dog, your mother eventually backed down but she still seemed a bit upset at the idea of some strange man coming to see her daughter, but she figured it was just a curtsy for him helping you. You baked the pie as fast as you could while also keeping it well, once you were done you hurried outside to catch up on chores you missed while baking.

It felt like hours upon hours of waiting for Arthur to arrive, but eventually around 1pm he did, you saw his horse riding up to your humble estate and you tried to fix yourself as best as you could before greeting him. You walked him inside and your mother walked into the kitchen staring down the man very intently, looking him over and judging his appearance. “Hello Mrs….?” He trailed waiting for your mother to answer “L/N, Mrs L/N. I heard you helped my daughter get our dog unstuck?” She said curtly never taking her eyes off the man “yes, just doing what I can to help. Quite a beautiful estate you have” he spoke warmly trying to defuse the tense air. You stood there quite awkward as your mother interrogated Arthur, but you kept yourself busy as you pulled out a plate for him and yourself and began to prep the pie, “…mom do you want any..?” You spoke quietly looking at your mother who was finally starting to loosen to the cowboy “not right now dear, I’m going to sort the vegetables, I’ll have some after dinner” she said as she left to go drag in a box of recent vegetables grown.

You made Arthur a plate and he sat down at the table taking in the atmosphere of your home, you felt nervous as you put his plate on table before making your own and sitting down. You watched him take a a few bites and a very pleased look spread across his face, “well I haven’t had many, but this is probably one of the best apple pies I’ve had” he said smiling at you clearly making himself comfortable in your home. Your face flushed red and you smiled at him “thank you…I try my best” your voice shy as you ate your own serving. Your mother came back into the house and started sorting and washing the vegetables Yall would keep in the sink; you continued to talk to Arthur, shyly asking about his life, you noticed his answers were rather vague but you didn’t want to push him. From what you could gather he really was just some Cowboy, taking odd jobs and exploring this part of America looking for the next big thing.

After talking causally to him for a while you began to lighten up a bit relaxing some, your mother walked back out of the house and once she was away you were shocked to see Arthur lean over the table a bit staring at you. “You’re quite a sight Miss y/n, always nice to see pretty young ladies like you, especially if they’re making me pies” he chuckled lightheartedly giving you a nice smirk. If you weren’t mistaken you believed you just felt your whole body pulse, suddenly you felt very hot and you could barely make eye contact with the man your whole face covered in blush. “Thank you…” you spoke out quietly voice a squeak as you felt a tingle in your legs. You heard him chuckle at your embarrassed demeanor his face lit up with a dangerous charm. After a few moments your mother came back into the house and shortly after Arthur left thanking you for the hospitality.

>

Later that night you had gotten ready for bed, cleaned yourself off and put on your nightgown. You laid down and warmed up underneath the covers, closing your eyes and getting comfortable, but immediately thoughts about Arthur clouded your brain, the words he spoke to you making you feel hot and sensitive. Images of his face…his hands…, Jesus his hands, his long thick callused fingers, you couldn’t stop thinking about them. And then something even worse came to mind, books your mother would have burned if she caught you reading them flashed in your head, stories of damsels and their knights in shining armor, but it was more than that… You kept thinking about those certain chapters…were the knight would slowly undress the damsel, kiss from the top of their head down to their stomach…going further and further till they reach their cunt, kissing them along their other lips….fondling their chest.

You couldn’t take it anymore, your whole body felt on fire as you kept thinking about such sinful things, so to ease the tension in your body you slowly started fondling yourself, gently pinching your nipples letting out soft quiet moans and mewls, your breast felt soft in your hands and the feeling of your nipples hardening from the touches made you feel wetter. After a bit of teasing your now perky nipples you traced you hands slowly down to your own cunt, slowly rubbing your now very wet slit, trying to keep your moans low as you rubbed your wet clit, your pussy hot and sensitive. You slowly plunged your fingers into your sopping hole pushing them in and out till your legs started to shake and your back started to arch, the wet squelching sounds of your tight pussy echoing across the walls.

One hand using fingers to fuck yourself, the other hand using your fingers to rub your very needy and inflamed clit, you couldn’t help the quiet moans and whines coming out of your mouth, as your fingers kept moving inside you trying to touch those spots that made you cry out. You kept this up for a while, getting more and more worked up, but no matter how much you bucked your hips, no matter how much you rubbed yourself you just couldn’t cum, you would get so close to the edge just for it to slowly dissipate. Eventually your arms started to feel tired and so did you, so with some aggravated whines you tuned over and went to sleep, pussy still wet and needy.

[oonajaeadira]

Long Fall Into Oblivion (Ezra x reader)

(header by sirtadcooper - check out the whole beautiful set here.)

Rating: Mature. 

Pairing: Ezra (post-Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: Non-explicit sex. Some swears maybe (think there’s a f*ck in there somewhere, my GOODNESS). A lot of gooey, syrupy, soft fluffety fluff. Author attempts at writing Ezra dialogue. A lot of chewy prose.

A/N: I can’t believe I’m posting this, but here goes. I love Ezra. He is a man of questionable morality and an insufferable tongue and I really shouldn’t. But I really do. I just wanted to give him a try. I’ve softened him up here, putting a few years on him so maybe he’s fluffed up some since the events in the film. Also I just ignored the fade or assumed that aurelac mining was still happening because scarcity/demand. Doesn’t matter. Just wanted to go exploring.

Summary: You take a job as an aurelac prospecting trainee and Ezra shows you the ropes. You’re gonna fall in love with him. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.

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MASTERLIST

________________

Bakhroma is one of the smallest gas giants in the sector, but as you stand on the surface of the Green Moon, it dominates the entire horizon, pulling your focus, threatening to engulf everything around it. You almost feel sorry for the lush moon as you walk through its undergrowth, so gentle and full of beauty, destined many years after you’re gone to give its life to her.

A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?

There’s a painful, sour ache in your heart as you walk back to the camp in twilight, watching the back of Ezra’s helmet bob along in front of you. You’d spent two days digging that claim only to find the weakest aurelac nest you’ve seen yet, only three viable nodes. You’d dug through one of them by accident and completely melted another like an incompetent fool. Kevva’s ass, you were such a disappointment. Three months in the Green and you still can’t cut a blister out properly. Not even once.

Ezra’s shoulders are wide and tense, his one hand splayed out as he walks, running over the tops of the tall ferns, catching one every now and then only to rip the top away, twirl it between his gloved fingers and toss it impatiently aside.

The other two members of your team headed out on a sling this morning, another two will be arriving in a few days. And you wonder if Ez regrets just not cutting his losses and leaving with them, or at least sending you back in exchange for another kip.

You think about shifting through the comm channels, hoping that he’s chattering away in one of them, switched without your knowledge, but it’s a lost cause. You can hear him breathing on the channel between you. It’s not often Ezra has nothing to say.

________________

You thought your father was leaving you an inheritance. It’s not the reason you took care of him through his illness, but you’d dropped everything to be back home with him through his final months. In a way, it was a blessing, a reason to quit the Dasha factory and the terrible working conditions there, come back home and focus on your dad, relive good memories, just spend time. The reconnection lifted your heart, but his death sank it low again. When you learned he had nothing to leave you but a small house and some old vehicles, you sold what you could and traded in the rest.

Then you had nothing. No family, no job, little savings, questionable future. It almost broke your spirit. But the last few months with your father rekindled your love of him as he told you about his years in the Fringe, mining and prospecting. And your heart had said, “what the hell, let’s try that.” So you listened.

It took some time to track down the right inroads, but you were able to find some ads for prospecting teams, in particular those who were willing to take on members in training for a re-distributed cut. With all provisions included--other than suit and gear, which your father’s inheritance neatly covered--it seemed like just as good of a deal as any, and an adventure to boot.

But the reality was, every team you met with was full of hardened men, and while you were not a soft Central woman, you also weren’t overly versed in weaponry and didn’t know if you could defend yourself out in the Fringe against attack if things got crusty.

You were just about ready to admit defeat when you walked into yet another conference bunker and found your match. The first thing you noticed was that he was standing when you arrived, waiting for you politely rather than manspread at the table. Second were his eyes. Deep, brown, and sad. Maybe sad was the wrong word, certainly it seemed by the lines in his face, possibly by the missing arm, that he’d seen enough sadness, but toward you, it read more as concern. You wouldn’t know it until later when he confessed his feelings about this first meeting, but he was worried you wouldn’t choose him. Ezra had a hell of a time hiring partners. He may have been one of the longest-working aurelac diggers out there, but young kippers saw his greying beard and seasoned diggers saw his lacking arm and they all tended to turn around and walk out before he even said hello. So he’d tried to put himself out there as a trainer, show that he had something more to offer.

It didn’t hurt his feelings when you admitted to him later that those qualities were exactly why you chose him. He seemed the opposite of threatening. And his eyes were bright when he smiled at you. With his thrumming baritone and his Fringe twang and his mixed deck of mosaic words, he had a way of speaking that felt like a fluffy blanket curling around you, your brain vibrating with comfort at every new monologue. He was eccentric and perhaps a little jarringly rough in his humor at times, but there was something about him that you trusted immediately, even though you’d come to learn later you probably shouldn’t have if you were being overly cautious.

Not that your judgement ever came to detriment. Not that he ever proved you wrong that way. Not when it came to you. But the man was dangerous when he had to be in a way you hadn’t initially picked up on.

________________

You hadn’t been out in the Green two weeks before you looked up from the bottom of a dig hole to see Ezra standing over you with a thrower.

“You get down and you stay down, understand?”

“Ez? What--”

“I said stay down! Do not make me waste words on mere repetition!” The fuzzy blanket of his voice replaced suddenly by a snarling, snapping brush wolf, a quick change hitting you like a slap in the ear.

There’d been pops and whizzes as shots rang through and you did as your trainer said, face down, the view of your visor giving you nothing but dirt. Your helmet was a chorus of quick breathing from both of you and sweat rolled down your neck as you begged the eyes of Kevva to look down upon your partner. When the crossfire faded, you’d heard Ezra stalk away. Then there were a couple more shots. Then more footsteps returning.

“You are permitted to stand, trinket. All is well as it can be for us. But not so much for our dearly departed friends.” These words were as soothing as much as his previous ones had burned, and he simply went back to working at the dig at hand as if he’d just come back from taking a leak. It wasn’t until you left the site that evening that you tramped past two rotting raiders, gaudily outfitted with broken face shields, left to let the Green take them.

Ezra whistled as he stepped over them, stopping only to harvest their filters and munition rods, which he tossed your way to stow in your pack, and then continued lazily down the path toward camp. Just another day on the job. 

He may be a little peculiar and not someone to trifle with, he may have just killed two people without remorse or further comment, but his lack of reassuring words told you that this was just part of the deal. You wear the suit, you use the air scrubber in the tent, you follow the landing pod instructions as written, and you defend yourself against those who wish to harm you. Survival by any and all means is paramount, mundane, and something he has no qualms with on any level.

There was something deep down inside of you that instinctually pulled you to follow him, not just down the literal path before you, but whatever path Ezra chose to wander.

________________

Before you’d left the station with him, he’d taken you to a thrower range to gauge your skill which was decent in theory, but dismal compared with what he could do. No matter, he still patiently taught you how to properly clean and charge a weapon and the best way to breathe and pull the trigger; “like you’re taking hold of a man’s...well... Just go easy and firm.” He suggested you should come and practice every day before lift off and then hope to Kevva that you didn’t have to rely too heavily on it.

“If I find myself in a coffin of my own suit, then feel free to defend yourself as a final means of preservation. Otherwise, when it comes down to shots fired, best to let me do the dirty work. Might as well keep the blood where the blood has been.”

You’d been a little nervous about sharing a freighter pod alone with him, but Ezra was...well, not so much a gentleman as just a comfortable soul. 

He always waited until you were hungry to eat, thinking it rude to eat alone in front of you. He never moved around the pod while you were sleeping, content to keep still with a book in his cot. And if you couldn’t sleep, he was always willing to read to you from whatever impossibly dense old world classic he was digging through for the umpteenth time, letting his voice come up from the deeps and pull you gently under. If you asked permission to turn on the radio, he’d ask you “why Isn’t it on yet, woman,” quietly tolerating your taste in harsh and gleeful babblecore pshcyopop. In the later days of the journey, he’d even come to dance with you from time to time, although both of you were dismal at it and ended up with you in a fit of giggles. It was a sure-fire way to cure a case of the pouts you carried through from the morning fitness sessions when he beat you at pushups. Again.

When it came to privacy in the tight space, he had a habit of turning away without having to be asked or stopping his stream of talk when you went to change clothes, just happily chattering away until you called the all clear. Although he was not squeamish about his own state of undress, should you happen to catch it by accident. While he was respectful of your privacy, he seemed to need none of his own, but neither did he flaunt anything. You might look up from studying the flight manual to notice he was changing into a fresh pair of compression pants, tugging them on haphazardly with one hand, more concerned with telling you the overwhelmingly disgusting manufacturing process of Bits Bars than his own ass hanging out where you might see it. At least he always changed facing away from you which was a kindness.

Until it wasn’t.

After you realized you’d fallen quietly in love with him--a sudden, soft moment on the Green--then you’d admit only privately to yourself that you wouldn’t mind if you accidentally saw a little more than the occasional shirtless attire he might wear around the tent.

But in the pod, the only part of him that had caught your curiosity was his stump, and you’d known Ezra intensely enough over the past couple of weeks where you knew he wouldn’t take offense. Especially if you asked him the right way.

“Will you tell me a story, Ezra?”

“I feel that it is my duty to do so whether you ask me to or not. Shall I choose, or is there something in particular you would like to hear?”

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, propped up against his cot, going through his kit, cleaning his gear. You waited until he noticed your lack of answer and looked up to meet your eyes. When he saw that you had put your manual down and were focusing all your quiet attention on him, he stopped his busy work. 

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute. When he knows you seriously need something from him, that becomes his immediate main priority and all else can wait. It’s only gotten more intense since that day, but there is a trust that resides between you when you look into his eyes, gathering your words as he waits patiently every time to hear whatever you’re going to request of him. There’s always hope there in his big browns, always something specific he’s waiting for you to ask, and every day you get a little bit closer to understanding what it might be. But until then, any question is a welcome one, any query is met with his wish to provide.

“Will you tell me how you lost your arm?”

At first you thought you may have gone too far, that maybe you insulted him, as his eyebrows peaked together and he looked down at his hand. But then, “That is a tale that may cause you some consternation, trinket. The Green is dangerous and unforgiving, and there were times I may not have been a man worthy of fair opinion.”

“My father was a prospector, you know. I’ve heard stories. Have you ever killed anyone?”

He clicked his tongue and screwed up an eye, causing the thin white scar on his cheek to twist. Then he sighed and returned to your locked gaze. “To be honest, I have. Though I have never done so with pleasure, I have killed in defense and out of desperation, and it was out of dispatching a man in this way that I came to lose the second favorite of all my appendages.”

“Second favorite?”

“Well, it depends what you classify as a limb.” He huffed a small laugh, a spark in his eye, trying to diffuse the harsh subject in his own way.

His leaning into baseness never bothered you. There was something earthy about it, gritty and rough, but never lewd. You rewarded his crassness with a smile. “Do you plan on killing me out in the Green?”

“I would hope my murdering days are behind me, and if they are not, you would see me aim a thrower at everyone but you in the course of my spree. You are under my tutelage, and for that, I owe you a duty of care. That is my word by Kevva.”

“Then tell me the story. I like your stories. I promise not to judge now-Ezra by then-Ezra.”

A dimple formed on his cheek, a punctuation mark framing the approaching anecdote on his lips. “Then I will declare myself absolved of any sin heretofore and regale you with a clean and grateful heart.”

________________

You can see the tent through the trees and you realize with some horror that it’s just you and Ezra for the next few nights. If he’s angry with you, and this is how he is when he’s upset, the silence will be unbearable.

Even that little girl he helped out here years ago was probably more capable than you. You feel so lost in this moment, and it’s only made worse by his silence. You fumble with your communicator and hit the mute just in time to choke on a sob.

This isn’t like you. You’re not one to cry when things get rough. You hardly shed a tear when your father died. But the thought of that just brings another sob and as acting as your own psychologist you realize that you are experiencing some displaced sorrow, the odd need to please the leading male in your life, the one that’s walking ahead of you, away from you. If he’d just turn around and throw you his worn weary smile, if he’d just start up a conversation you’d know that there was hope for you, you’d know you didn’t give up everything to be here in a job you couldn’t hack.

You gotta stop this. Or it’s going to be an uncomfortable night.

Shake it off.

Once you enter the tent, the usual dance happens. Ezra reaches up to turn on the air scrubber and you unhook his filter tube from his helmet. When he turns to you, you pull open the zipper cover on his suit and start his zip for him before lifting his helmet up and off. He can pull the zip the rest of the way, but you generally pull the left collar down for him so he can get his arm out. He’s on his own from there as you turn to fuss with your own gear. 

________________

You remember it starting easily enough. He was telling you a story about the breeding habits of the Tokovian Musk Owl and you could see he was having trouble with his suit zipper, yanking at it and trying to look down at it even though it was under his chin and his helmet. Without another hand to keep the fabric taut, the zip didn’t want to release, so you simply batted his hand away and started it for him. He didn’t even stop his yammering, just threw in a “thank you” somewhere in between “could hear them screeching” and “for a fuck.” He’d right out asked you the day before if you wouldn’t mind disengaging the filter tube just because it was delicate and he didn’t want to mangle the expensive part trying to pop it out one-handed day after day. And while he could manage the helmet fine enough, his prominent nose thanked you for a smoother removal for sure. 

It wasn’t the only routine dance you’d concocted. 

There was the harness dance.

While dig days were excruciating, you always looked forward to helping him attach the harness for his prosthesis--a kind of rigid pole attached to a shovel so you didn’t have to do all the hard digging alone. There were a couple of straps that came around his torso with multiple latches and you’d come to really enjoy wrapping your arms around him to fit the straps on. Sure, you could do the job just as easily from behind, but if you embraced him at the front, he’d usually raise his arm and let it come to rest around your shoulders while you worked. If you let yourself dream, it would be easy to imagine that he might be pressing you into him just a little bit.

And there was the harvesting dance.

On a dig, you were the one to mix the fazer and Ezra did the pour. He fished the sack, you cut the cord. You sliced the outer casing and held it open while he did the extraction. And with the flesh-covered stone, he told you every time to “hold it like you love it” so he could cut away the slippery blister before cleaning the gemstone.

It was a beautiful harmony. And the only way it worked. Because once on every dig he urged you to do a solo extraction, and on every dig, you pierced the blister and lost that stone. And on every dig, he squeezed your shoulder and told you it was a wondrous try, that he was proud of you, and there would always be another turn. There was no sarcasm, no pity, just a warm smile and ceaseless optimism even though you just lost both of you thousands in pay.

These were the first touches, these shoulder squeezes that ran down your arm on the let-go. Sometimes he would just reach out and grab onto you like a pole to help himself up, or he might stumble off balance on uneven ground and without the counterweight of his right arm he’d throw his hand out onto you to steady himself. He wasn’t beyond lightly touching the small of your back to encourage you down a path or to take your next try at a gem pull. 

This was all part of something you’ve secretly named the left-handed-lover’s dance. Basically, that you keep on his left whenever you can in case he needs your help or has the inclination to reach for you. It started out as just trying to be a good partner. Then it became a passing hope that it was more than just a friendly bond. But you were both here to do a job. He was here to teach you to be an independent prospector and you were here to assist and learn. That was evident at the end of the day; once you were both in the tent and out of the suits he never touched you, never so much as bumped into you or grazed your hand in passing an item or clapped you on the arm after a good joke. 

But out in the field all zipped in and helmets on, there was nothing more natural than his gentle hand guiding you or reaching for your assistance, including the day you realized you loved him.

________________

Before you can turn away to strip off your own coverings, Ezra catches your arm, spinning your face into the light. You try to shake him off, not wanting him to catch your eyes puffy from crying and your cheeks still streaked with tears, but his grip is not so gentle now and he yanks you back around to his stormy glare, chin up, brows low. His intensity paralyzes you, rendering you unable to continue your struggle when he catches your eyes with his.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute.

His gaze travels back and forth between your eyes, waiting for an explanation, a minute so stringent it breaks you down, dissolves you into the tears you’d tried so hard to hide.

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I really am trying... I don’t know why I’m such a scuffer at this and I know it would only be right to release you from the contract and tell you to send me back but I don’t want you to, I really wanna stay, I really wanna learn and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your words have an immediate effect, softening him, pulling his glare into concern and wonder, his lips parting just the tiniest bit in surprise.

“This is the reason for your heavy mood? You think I am provoked by your proficiency in the field?” 

“I crusted up good today and it seems like you’re not happy about it. Just...know that it means so much to me that...I don’t wanna let you down.”

“Oh, trinket, no.” An incredulous huff jumps out of him and his grip on your arm loosens, becomes a splayed warm support behind your shoulder, moving in soothing patterns and you’re instantly relieved that your assumptions were wrong. “You have done no harm in my book. It is not an easy thing to deliver a gem of this ilk into the world unscathed. Your opportunities have been few and scattered and it takes many sticks before a lover becomes a lothario.” He knows the crass humor will make you laugh, knows what to say to lighten your heart, to get you to soften, and bring you into his intimate, conspiratorial mood. “To be perfectly honest, I am selfish to an unrighteous degree, for every gem you burn keeps me in value to you. A worthy sacrifice to guarantee you mightn’t be so quick in your need to fly away from me until your training’s complete.”

This causes a hitch in your breath as you see the welcome turn the conversation he’s taking and you follow the path he’s making for you. “I don’t want to leave you, Ez.”

A smile creeps up one side of his mouth. “Well then I am a happy man. A bargain is struck! Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

A moment hangs between you as he rubs his thumb in slow circles on your shoulder. There’s that look in his eye again, the one where he’s waiting for you to ask the question he wants to hear from you. So close now.

Still, you’re unsure. “I guess I’m lucky I found the one person who wants an incompetent partner.”

“No, I do not, nor is it what I have and I must express my objection to your self-debasement. This work is not for the shiny, and you have not once complained about taking on the meat of the digging or the crawl of my schedule.”  His hand comes to your helmet shield and he rakes his thumb across it as if he ached to wipe away one of your staleing tears. “Those bright eyes of yours got a penchant for spotting deposits more skillfully than I could ever manage and that’s not something that can be taught; that’s talent, girl. The blistering?” He shrugs. “Even I can’t manage that without the steady help of your fine hands. You may think that your blunders in education are causing us some financial ruin, but our fortunes are creamy. I assure you, we can afford it.”

That look is still there. He’s waiting. “There’s some ‘us’ and ‘we’ in there, Ez.” Your hands drift to his sides, taking fistfuls of his compression suit top, willing him closer.

The edges of his eyes take on the crinkle you’ve come to find so much comfort in. “So there is.”

You’re almost there. You know what he wants. “Why were you so quiet on the walk back?” 

“Because for the next few days we are alone here and I have a mind full of questions I do not know how to ask you.”

“Then let me go first.” A yearning happiness settles in his brown eyes; finally. Finally you’ve found out what it is he needs you to request of him. “If I take this helmet off, are you going to kiss me, Ez?”

His eyes close in contentment and he nods, “Yes. Yes, little jewel. Yes I am, that and more. I hope I have inferred correctly that it is your wish that I do so, because I am in free fall. I feel my orbit ending and my pull to you is complete.”

_______________

“A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?”

Speculating days were some of your favorite times, just wading through the brush and looking for the telltale signs and shoots of an underlying deposit. Sometimes you came upon nests of strange groundling insects or flowers that only grew in secret. There were treasures underfoot on this poisonous moon, but if you remembered to look up as well, you might find some dangerous beauties there too. 

On that day--the one where you finally understood your heart--you’d looked up to find that you were on a cliffside overlooking a valley, the canopy a million different hues of green, the gas giant looming over half the sky in a big pink and orange semi-circle. There was a fallen log that served as a perfect seat for the perfect view and you knew Ezra wouldn’t mind if you stole a few moments to sit and to take it in. It’s just the kind of thing he’d appreciate. And you were proven right when he came up behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder to steady himself as he swung one leg then the other over the log, finding a perch next to you, spouting pretty words through the channel link--soft and low--about moons and orbits and obilvions.

“That glowing beauty is Bakhroma. She is quiet and fierce, made up of the unfathomable and the unknowable, always within sight, but out of reach and untouchable unless one would trade the honor with great sacrifice. She reflects the light that is given to her with a patience that is heretofore untold. And the Green Moon upon which we ride follows where she goes like a lovesick fool, spinning around her in a heady kind of adoration, full of secret treasures buried deep down that will ultimately one day belong to her, falling incrementally over eons until he finally loses himself in her, all his glories gladly forfeit to her welcome and inevitable embrace. Alone but together, seemingly eternal, pulled as one by the laws of a mysterious universe.”

The void that came after those words was filled with the beating of your heart, and you were sure he could hear it through the channel.

When he’d landed there beside you, you’d registered how his hand slid off your shoulder, diagonally down across your back, coming to rest at your waist, his arm draped lightly around you. Natural. Easy. Everything was warm--the colors of the sky, the care with which he kept you close as if to better hear the honey sweetness in his prose, the fire burning in your lungs and neck.

Ezra probably didn’t know that you spoke a little Vayok.

Bakh being the Vayok word for adornment. Ornament, Gem. Roma was a modifier, a diminutive. Small. Dear.

Bakhroma. Sentimental bauble. A little jewel.

In other words, a trinket.

All you wanted to do was sit down to take in the view of an entire world for a few moments, but by the time Ezra took your hand and helped you to your feet, all you saw was him.

________________

The helmet is barely off before his lips are sealed to yours in a press of greed. Even if he can’t form words when he kisses you, he can’t help but express his deep relief in a heartbreaking moan. It’s a fight to release yourself from the suit when he keeps pulling you against him and every time you try to get some space between you to work the zipper, he chuckles into your mouth, enjoying the tease and the struggle. It’s simultaneously frustrating and thrilling and you give in for a few moments just to give him what he seems to want so desperately right now.

Ezra kisses like a man starved for air, long, hard, and full of need, peeling his lips away only to come back for another breath of you until his initial want is slaked and he slows, allows for more time between his taking, his mouth starting to mumble against yours, praising you with pet names, telling you how perfect you are to him, how long he’s “fought against my more dubious natures to respect your womanly virtues and take them only when you could see in me a man worth bestowing them on.”

You’re able to use his weakness for monologuing to turn around in his vice-like embrace, finally freeing yourself of the suit and he takes the opportunity to drawl more pretty words in your ear, warning you that “I’m afraid I have been enamored of you overly long and may be extra eager in my attentions. So you just say the word if you need a slow down, gentle one, and I will do my best to comply. Although I will admit it will be a difficult endeavor indeed as I feel I am entering your atmosphere and nothing might quell this burn but finding some drowning place to land.”

Your first impression of him was of a man whose age and temperament and body would not be able to overpower you.

Your first impression was wrong.

Of course, it helps that you are willing.

It doesn’t take long for him to strip you down, and then himself. To kiss you down onto the floor. To find exactly where you like to be touched most and how long it takes for you to break from it. He has so many words for you, so many praises to sing about every part of you that is round or soft or wet, comparing you to things that are sweet and plush or celestial and holy. And when you take his favorite limb in hand--as wondrous as the rest of his body--and guide it to its fit, he plunders and harvests all you have to give him, filing you with himself, for as long as you call for it, as long as you let him. He loves you like he speaks to you: rough and drawn out, full of beautiful tangents and meandering plotlines, but in the end it is beautiful and fulfilling; you may be just a little bit confused how you got to the ending, but you’re completely in awe.

When you lay breathing heavy, staring but not seeing the ceiling of the tent, your consciousness seemingly lifted to see through it to the stars, to the glowing face of Bakhroma, you run hands through rough-chopped hair on a head laying on your chest. He’s listening to your heartbeat, waiting for it to slow down so he can start again. The air is thick--even the air scrubber can’t keep up with all your humidity--and there’s a halo around each bulb of the string lights just barely illuminating the darkness.

“How long, Ez?”

“Hm?”

“How long have you been waiting for that.”

“Most likely since the day you walked into my interview. I am a man of simple wants and you had all the right parts for my preferences.”

“For real, Ez.”

He tipped his head up to find you. “What you ask has many true answers, and I stand by the first. I have no qualms telling you of my weakness for a pretty succulence and a kind smile the likes of which you possess. But if you are asking when I knew I would have it, well, that may have been the first day you danced. Or when you asked me to read you to sleep. Or when I understood I wouldn’t let those bastard raiders get near enough to take their turn at your qualities when I had not had them myself. Or when you finally saw me as a viable person to drape your affections on; maybe it was that day too.”

“When I finally saw you as....”

“I have read many tomes and verses but none so full of beautiful passages as your face that day on the cliff. There is a difference of knowing and being. I knew the feel of your pull that day, but found I’d been in orbit all along.”

How he can live this way, twist everything into a tossed away poem...it should be exhausting. Yet you feed off it. You breathe it like air.

After another long cycle of frenzied entanglement and violent euphoria, you ask Ezra if he’d like to move to a cot, maybe get some sleep. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to walk to the dig tomorrow morning,” you confess.

“No need to worry about tomorrow,” he says, wapping his arm around you and dragging you back to him, grumbling into your ear. “We are the only prospectors in this sector and the aurelac will wait. Until our new compatriots arrive, we are officially on hiatus. Recreational mining only. Restricted to the confines of this tent. By order of your supervisor. In the interest of more precious treasures. And I intend to strike it rich.”

“Well. I’m here to assist. And learn.”

“When it comes to this dig, trinket, you are more than competent. I am no longer your trainer. Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

The new contract is struck, signed and sealed in kissing and in touch and a long, slow fall into inevitable oblivion.

[lilyharvord]

I saw another anon on king mavens page ask how Cal would react if mare died and they didn’t wanna answer bcuz it’ll make them go into a depressive state. So if u don’t mind how do YOU think Cal would react if Mare died. If u don’t wanna write this u don’t hv too tho

I too saw annie's response, and while it makes me super sad to think about as well.... I've thought about it... I may have started writing a fic about it once (it was like once chapter), and I had an idea. So I'll give you my branched ideas. They're loooong so I have put them under the read more.

idea 1: Mare dies before they are married, before anything.

It's horrific. People are shocked... the little lightning girl? Dead? Impossible. Cal doesn't immediately hear about it, he's so busy he's doesn't know something's happened until he walks into a room and everyone goes quiet and slowly looks at him like he might collapse right then and there. He finds out because Farley pulls him aside. She takes him away from everyone to a quiet little garden with a fountain and tells him what happened. When he hears, he just sort of gives her this confused look, like HE doesn't understand, doesn't believe. Then he sort of sinks down onto one of the benches and just sits there. Doesn't move, doesn't even seem to be breathing. Farley thinks he'll explode in a ball of heat and rage and pain, but instead he just gets really really quiet, and really cold. The air around her gets so cold her breath fogs in front of her. He asks her to leave him alone and she does. He sort of draws into himself after that, doesn't really speak to anyone, spends a lot of time running and sitting at his desk and staring out the window. He attends the funeral but is quiet the whole time, he only speaks to the Barrows and even then, there isn't much to say that wouldn't hurt either party. After that he BURIES himself in his work. He gets so good at it that one day he looks up and ten years have passed. He's still got the stack of letters they wrote to each other, and he even has the letter he had been drafting to send to her on the front where he lost her. It ends with the phrase: I miss you. And god does that ring true. He miss her like a limb he lost. It feels like a part of him was torn away, just like with Maven, just like with his father, just like with Nanabel when she passed a few years back, just like the hole his mother left without him even knowing it was there. He visits her grave that year, just sort of sits under the little tree they planted, looks out at the mountains as the sun sets behind him, and talks to her like he does with Maven, tells her about everything that's happening. After a while, he just falls quiet and sits there, digging his hand into the grass and dirt right above the grave, like he can dig down to her, like it's her skin and he can still feel it's warmth. He swallow really heavily and then says: I never met anyone else that made me feel the way you did... I don't think I ever will. You were it. You were going to be it. And then he gets up and leaves. He runs into Gisa down in the Ascendent, they grab coffee at what was once Mare's favorite coffee shop, now it's Gisa's. They talk about everything, never mentioning Mare. Gisa only asks once if he's seen anyone, and he just shakes his head, and she gives him a tiny smile and says: she wouldn't have minded... well if a random bolt of lightning came from the heaven and struck you, then I guess you would know she minded. They laugh about that, and then he leaves cause he has an early flight home. When he gets back, he puts the letters in a box and then puts that box in a drawer. He never sees anyone else though. Doesn't even really fool around with anyone either. He tries once, and the whole time he just thinks about her, thinks about all the what if's and could be's. He apologizes profusely to the girl and says that it's not going to work. Something in her understands, some weird warmth that she gets that makes her pull him into an extra tight hug before she leaves from his little apartment in Archeon. He doesn't mind being alone as much, he has his friends and a strange little belief/hope that someday, he will see Mare again. And when he does he is going to pull her into the tightest hug and never, ever let go again.

idea 2: Mare dies after they are married and have at least 1 child

This one hurts far more. He knows she's on missions, and they made a pact to never be on missions together so that if the unthinkable happens and one of them does die, Coriane will have the other at least. Its a god awful early hour of the morning when there is knock on the door. Coriane is sleeping in his and Mare's bed, she had a nightmare and immediately came for comforting snuggles. He thinks he's dreaming when the knock comes again, a little more instant this time. He gets up, and Coriane sleepily trails after him, curious as a cat always. When he answers the door, he picks her up and is still sort of half asleep. When he sees the young soldier standing on the porch in uniform and the most pained look on his face, he is suddenly wide awake. The soldier reaches up and removes his hat before pulling out an envelope with the official Montfort seal on it. He holds it out and quietly says, "I'm sorry."

When Cal takes it, he worries that his hand is shaking, but it is perfectly still, Coriane is falling asleep on his shoulder, not even aware of the ramification of what this little envelope means. And he just sort of looks up at the man and asks, "Do the Barrows know?" The man blinks before saying, "Protocol dictates immediate family are informed first... spouses are immediate family along with children. We leave it to them to inform the rest...I'm sorry again sir." Then he gives a little clean military salute and leaves. Cal stands there for a long time looking at empty space, wondering what comes next, what he is even supposed to do. Coriane answers for him: by lightly tapping his cheek and whispering that she's cold. He closes the door, and sets the letter on the little table by the door. There are already four other letters there. One, an invitation to Farley's wedding to Cordelia at the end of the month, and another is a letter from Julian addressed to all of them, most likely about his trip with Sara to see the land north of Montfort. But there is her name in beautiful script on both envelopes. There is her favorite jacket hanging on the peg she always hangs it on. There is the book she left on the table, chaptered at the exact part she was on. There is her favorite mug in the sink because Coriane asked to drink her milk from it last night. She is everywhere in the house, and yet that letter means she will never be in it again. Those were her things. They not longer are. He carries Coriane up the stairs and puts her back in their his bed and then lays next to her, watching her chest rise and fall as she sleeps, a tiny smile creeping to her lips as she dreams, completely and blissfully unaware of how her life has fundamentally changed now. Then he rolls and stares at the ceiling, but the tears come and they don't stop as they fall silently. He gets up and showers at dawn--he didn't sleep-- and cries a little more there. He has to crouch down under the scalding water and bite down on his knuckle to keep from sobbing out loud and waking Cori. It's pitiful, and he knows it. She would be furious with him for not being honest about how he feels and trying to hide it like its some ugly thing. But it feels ugly, a twisted ugly thing in his chest that is screaming and clawing at his insides. He stands, turns the shower off, steps out, shaves, does his morning routine, and then wakes Coriane and gets her ready. She's still sleepy, doesn't understand, asks him when mommy is coming home, when she will be back so they can go to the market and get ice cream. He says they'll go today, but his voice shakes, even as he tries to hide it. Then he takes her to the Barrows, tells Ruth and Daniel to gather all of them together. When they are all sitting before him in the living room, packing it to the brim, he takes out the letter and reads it. There is a horrible silence when he finishes and folds it before putting it back in the envelope. Ruth slowly pulls Coriane toward her and then lifts her into her lap and hugs her so tightly Cori actually whines about it for a second before she sees the look on Cal's face. They all sit in the kitchen after that and Ruth makes tea and she makes hot chocolate for the kids and gives Coriane an extra 4 marshmallows. The kids leave to go play and the adults sit and discuss the logistics, where is the will, was the a will? Do they have to adhere to anything if there isn't one? Would she want to... to be buried on Tuck with Shade? The will would probably say. Should they do that if there isn't one? Ruth offers to take care of Coriane while Cal deals with everything, settling paperwork, etc. etc. Then everyone kinda starts talking about everything again, and he just sits in silence and stares at this knot on the table that Mare pointed out to him because she said it looked like a turtle on its back. He traces it a few times, just sort of thinking about that moment and all the other times they would be in this kitchen doing dishes after family gatherings etc. Farley watches him from across the table

before getting up and nodding for him to follow her outside. Everyone pretty much doesn't notice them leave, or they pretend not to notice. They sit outside on the back porch in silence, just the two of them. After a little bit, it starts to snow. The first snow of the year. Farley holds her hand out to catch the flakes and says quietly: "I hate that it doesn't rain when these things happen. It always feels like it should be raining." He nods silently in agreement, and then she sets her hand on his shoulder, and he bends forward, letting the weight of it drop his head into his hand. He doesn't cry again, he honestly doesn't understand why he feels nothing now, just emptiness, and numbness from the tips of his fingers all the way to the tips of his toes. Even with Maven he didn't feel this way. He felt something then, something biting and hot like a pan that he touched when it just came off the stove. They sit like that for a long time before Coriane comes outside, and slips underneath his arm to snuggle against him. Farley gets up and leaves then, sensing she's said her peace and he understands she's there if he needs her. He holds Coriane close when the back door closes, and she whispers quietly to him, "Mommy's not coming home, is she?" and he just squeezes her once in answer. She frowns and stares out at the snow for a second and then turns around to face him and cups his cheeks in her little hands like she had seen Mare do a hundred times when Cal was in the middle of an especially hard day. She looks at him with a very serious expression for a child and he can see Mare in her when she does that, in the crease of her brows and the slight squint in her eyes. In the hint of chocolate brown in the curls of her hair. She will be furiously beautiful like her mother, and he had a feeling someday she will break a man's heart like his is breaking now. She looks at him for a good little bit and then says, "don't worry, I will take care of you." And he laughs, knowing that Mare always said the same thing. He pulls her close again and whispers with a thick voice, "it's my job to take care of you. But it's just us now... we have to take care of each other."

The funeral is in the spring. Cal pushed it off. Mare hated the winter. Even though she had happier memories of it now, her childhood and the painful clenching of her empty belly were like a permanent stain on the season. He would not bury her in that time. When the snow thaws and the ground melts, they release her ashes on a hill and leave stone for her on a hill under a tree, with a view of the mountains. There is a long line of epithet underneath her name: beloved daughter, sister, friend, wife, mother. Staring at it, Cal wonders if she knows just how important she had become. If she knew that she wasn't just a captain, or a figurehead that brought a centuries old regime to its knees. Everyone leaves after, the Barrows going last, but Cal and Coriane stay. Cal just sitting in the grass next to the grave, the wind in his hair while he watches the mountains for a little while. Coriane sits on the grave, probably not the nicest thing to do, but she does, and traces Mare's name over and over again on the stone with her little finger. "Mommy had a long name." She says as she traces the four names on the stone. Cal hesitated to put his name on there with hers, but he adopted the Barrow name as much as Mare took the Calore one when they married. And in the very, very short will she had drafted, that he almost didn't read because reading it made everything real, she asked that he put both their names on it (but to put his name before hers and she even made a little quip at him in the will about it which made him laugh, even as it made him cry). He glances at Cori after she says that and nods. She then crawls into his lap and they sit watching the mountains before Coriane says, "Uncle Julian says that when people die, they become the dirt that feeds the trees and the grass... do you think mommy is happy to be tree food?" He laughs and hugs her really close before saying, "She's not tree food. That dust we let go of today was mommy. She's on the winds now, traveling everywhere."

He does not remarry, no matter how many years pass, and how many women try to infer that it might be for the best if Coriane had mother in her life. He thinks its a stupid notion that he can't raise his own child on his own. And its hard, god is it hard. But he does it. He makes Coriane Barrow Calore into a women that Mare Molly Calore Barrow would have been very proud of. And he holds onto the notion that someday, when he dies, and they scatter his ashes, that his will find Mare's and they'll be together again that way.

[whenwordsmakesense]

Another first sentence + 5 sentence fic, "I hate it when you're being a martyr!!?"

Lol, next time just send me a sentence. I don't think I'll ever be doing "only" +5 sentences xD

Okay, okay, so this isn't from my *THE* time-travel fic, but the thing is... I just love the idea of a bamf!sterek that go back in time and don't tell anyone about the truth and then comes this CONFRONTATION and everyone else is confused/in awe.

Quick rundown of dynamics, just because: Alpha Talia Hale. Human/Alpha Mate Nathaniel Hale. Betas Peter Hale, Laura Hale, Cora Hale, Claudia Stilinski. Human Noah John Stilinski. Alpha Derek Hale (but he presents as a beta to everyone except Stiles). Human Stiles Stilinski (but he is actually a spark, the strongest there is).

Idk their ages, but you can imagine Stiles as a 15/16 year old teen (he's mentally older, of course, think like... hmm... let's say he came back in time at age 21. So he should be 30, mentally). That makes Derek 21/22 (mentally 36).

Okay, enough rambling, now let's get down to the fic!! I'll be writing this from Laura's POV. Also, tell me if I should post this one on AO3? Now it's on AO3!

The Moon's Come Out

"I hate it when you're being a martyr."

Stiles' voice is a soft whisper underneath the chaos of blood and death, but it's not quite enough to drown under. It's a resigned exhale of breath, a truth so absolute that it's no longer just a truth. It's a fact.

Laura Hale wonders when her baby brother aligned himself to such a fact. She wonders lots of things about her baby brother.

She remembers the day when it all changed. When Derek changed. It was subtle, but it was prominent.

She remembers when she'd helped Derek with his flirting skills. Paige, she remembers; the same Paige who had once held Derek's eyes had been rendered into nothing that day. No, not nothing—something else. Something deeper. Something like grief.

But why would Derek grieve someone living? It's a mystery, but more than that it's an act shared between Derek and Stiles—like they're barely tethered to the world, and every moment with anyone but each other is like a gift and a curse, all in one.

But this isn't the time to think about it, how it feels like she's lost Derek once.

It's time to save him.

"Mom," her voice is a barely there sound, but her mom, her Alpha, she's here.

And she's silently crying.

"Mom, we need to- need to help him,"

Her mom is nodding her head, and they're moving between the bloody bodies—hunters, who'd come to kill them, only to die by Stiles'... everything.

Laura feels she can save him.

"Stop." Stiles' voice is still a whisper, but it's an order. A command.

Her mom—Alpha Talia Hale—stops in her tracks, and Laura, with her injured leg has to stop with her.

Dad is shouting at Cora to stay back, and John is trying to free Claudia and Peter from their confines, and Laura can hear all that. But right now, her world boils to where Derek is. On the ground, only a few feet away but so, so far away, spitting blood out of his mouth as his healing tries to kick in where the bullets are lodged on his body.

Bullets. Because Derek had jumped in front of the hunters when they started shooting at Peter and Claudia. And they're all wolfsbane laced.

Laura opens her mouth to protest, to shout, but Stiles doesn't let her.

He's always stopped her from talking.

She hates Stiles.

He's taken Derek away from her. From the pack.

"I can deal with this, you don't have to worry,"

"You can't order me around." Laura's eyes flash at her Alpha's tone, and she bares her neck.

Stiles' jaw sets with a determined look. "Oh, yeah? You really think so, Talia?" Laura watches him as he speaks, words fast paced and laced with worry and fear and anger. It's an ensemble of emotions, but even Laura has to admit that there's always been something special about this kid. His hands work as he talks.

"I mean, maybe you do. You Hales always think you know the best, don't you? It's like you think nobody else has any brains but you. Well, except Peter. That fucker is just too clever for his own good and he knows it. But he at least knows not to underestimate others. That's more than I can say for you, Talia. Or Laura. You two are so similar, you know?"

Laura does. She does know. And she is proud of that fact. But Stiles says it like a curse, like being so similar to her own mother—her Alpha—is nothing short of the worst thing.

Laura wonders why. She wonders a lot when it comes to Stiles.

"Stiles," everyone stops at that voice, as if freezing in place would freeze time itself.

Laura has been tortured, she's seen more blood than she needs to today, and she'd cried herself hoarse when they'd started to torture her previously unconscious mom. And then she'd wanted to die when the hunters turned their guns toward Cora, Claudia and Peter. So much so that she'd barely noticed Derek somehow escaping from his own personal confinement, the shackles he was in, all of it covered in wolfsbane. Neither had she witnessed Stiles breaking the literal cage the humans of their pack had been put in. But the thing that truly, truly scares her isn't any of those things. No.

It's losing Derek. Her baby brother (he used to hate it when she called him that, but when he changed, that hate turned into a grieving sort of fondness, like this was something he'd missed), who feels more like an adult than she is, her Derek. She can't lose him. She just can't.

It would break her. It would break the pack. Derek has always been the heart of it, the sweet little kid who is adored by his sisters and trusted by his parents; the man who even Peter respects, and Claudia cherishes like her own son, and John who calls him a good man.

It's no surprise they all just stop when Derek speaks for the first time since he was shot. And oh, was it only minutes ago? It feels like hours.

"Finally coherent, huh?" Stiles asks Derek, like Derek speaking right now is no big deal. Like it's that easy to try and repel the poison of wolfsbane.

"Shut up," Derek coughs out, voice throaty and weak.

"Derek," someone calls out. It's choked with tears, and it's a female, and it's her voice. "Derek! Please don't die,"

Derek tries to move his head, but falls back on the ground with a thump. Stiles swats at him, and Laura only now notices that Stiles' hands are covered in blood, one anchored on Derek's chest while the other digs around one of the holes. There's a host of bullets lying on the other side; Stiles throws another bullet there.

Perhaps everyone notices the same thing just then, because everyone makes a noise, a wail of pain and disgust and fear, all of it mixed in one sound.

Her mom has lost all her fight in herself, and Laura deflates, too. Stiles seems to know what he's doing.

And he doesn't seem to care what he sounds like.

"No, shut up? Me? Shut up? I swear to the fucking moon, you asshole, if you die on me I'll follow you. I'll fucking follow you there, because nothing is left for me here, okay, and I know you know that. You know this. How could you even do this to me? I told you to wait for my signal! I never would have let them get hurt, Derek! No, no, shut up! You keep your words to yourself and you listen, you goddamn martyr, you listen.

You made me a promise. When we came back, you promised me we'd be together. Always. We'll fix things, then we'll live, and then we'll die. Together. But you-you broke that promise, Der. You did tha-that,"

Laura is missing something. They all are.

Stiles' voice is a steady stream, a flow broken only by the cracks in his voice and the anger in it. And then it's a whisper, the height of his voice toppled down by his sorrow.

Derek smiles softly, as if Stiles worrying himself to death about him is not a new thing. Like Derek almost dies on a constant basis, and this is a routine they have—Stiles worries, Stiles shouts, and then Derek smiles because he's still here. He isn't gone yet.

Laura watches as Derek puts his weight on his elbows, brings his face close to Stiles'. Nobody interrupts them, still frozen in time, still processing what they just went through. Stiles shuts his eyes.

"I am here. I am here, Stiles," Derek tells Stiles, and Stiles takes a shaky breath, and it hangs there, that breath—the worry, the anger, the pain, everything—between them, before Derek lunges forward and presses his lips against Stiles'.

There are a few sharp breaths, and a hysterical giggle from Claudia. "I told you," she says, and Laura thinks she's saying it to John.

Laura isn't exactly surprised. She's caught them kissing multiple times, and she's always wanted to tattle on them. And she would have, because this is wrong—Stiles is a teenager and Derek is an adult—but Stiles is clever and somehow always a few steps ahead of her. He knows all of her secrets, and she'd rather he didn't but that's not the life she has. No, the life she has is—

—clearer in hindsight. She thinks back on those kisses, shared in the early mornings or late nights, between whispered words that Laura couldn't make out and with a desperation that went beyond the desperation of wanting a good time.

And she looks now, looks at the way Stiles' breaths are shaky and labored, but his hands are steady, even as he brings flames appear out of nowhere and presses it against Derek's bullet wounds. She looks at the way Derek has his forehead pressed against Stiles', and how he moves his head to Stiles' neck at the precise moments that the fire touches his skin. Like he's done this before, knows how to keep his pain between him and Stiles. She looks at the way Stiles' other hand, still bloody, tangles in Derek's hair, comforts him, like he's the only comfort Derek needs in this world.

She looks at the way Derek's body heals, like even his body is used to being hurt like this.

"It all makes sense," Peter's voice brings her out of her thoughts, and she turns to look at him. He's vibrating with excitement. "The way they talk—the way they behave—it all makes sense!"

Laura doesn't want to know. She doesn't want to know how this much blood and death and crying and confusion could ever make sense.

But if knowing is the answer to ease the burden on Stiles' and Derek's shoulders, she'll take it. She will know.

[bloodpenned]

plz plz plz can you write m!whitney skullfucking pc

wordcount: 2.5k (can’t believe this is the first time i write an actual fic on here.) cw: noncon, detailed ero guro / gore porn, eye trauma, drugging, knives, vomit mention, needle mention, degradation, victim blaming.

or: whitney fucks your eye socket and prepares you for the act. don’t read this to upset or trigger yourself, please.

Since all of your holes have been used by others, Whitney makes one for himself.

“Look at you- You can barely keep your fucking head up, slut.”

The voice drifts to you from far away, a figure leaning over the ice you’re trapped under. Where am I?, you ask, but all your vocal cords produce is a gurgle. Your limbs are made of cement and frozen in place. Letting yourself be dragged back into the depths of unconsciousness is much easier than staying afloat. Through trembling eyelids, you barely make out the shape of the person in front of you. Their legs, to be precise. Pain shoots through your scalp and you jolt, finally present enough for the ties around your wrists and ankles to register in your mind, the cold wall you’re leaning against. That it’s Whitney, because who fucking else would it be, yanking you up by your hair. Your tongue still refuses to move. 

“Follow.” His voice feigns disinterest. Yet he keeps shuffling, leaning his weight more on one leg, then the other again. He holds his hand in front of your face, moving it from side to side. Your head is so fuzzy you see no reason to disobey. By the time you’ve caught up with him to the right, he’s already back the other way. Your eyelids droop. He laughs. “God, you’re out of it. Poor you, did I gave you a little too much? You can’t say I’ve ever underestimated you.”

As soon as his grip loosens, your head drops and black dots litter your vision. Drool spills from your mouth. Something bad is about to happen, there’s no other explanation for this. His hands will end up all over your body again. But there’s no chatter of his friends, no flashes of cameras, so different from the usual that you don’t know what to expect. The world fades out, before flickering back in the middle of a sentence.

“...pay me back. Got that? Good.” The hand is back in your hair, keeping you steady. He’s digging around in his pocket. “If you weren’t such a whore, I wouldn’t have to do this. Did you think I wouldn’t see those pictures? Wouldn’t know when my slut’s gagging around someone else? I promised I would beat some sense into you if you didn’t listen, so here we are.”

Whitney’s found what he had been looking for. There’s something in his hand, moving toward your face too quickly to make out. Everything’s so blurry that even while squinting, you can’t immediately tell what it is. You nearly go crosseyed trying to figure it out. A handle clenched in his fist, gray, reflecting surface, ending in a sharp point-

A knife.

“You’re a fucking cumbrain already, but I’ll give you one too.”

You watch the situation unfold from the back of your skull. This is happening to someone else, anyone except you. It’s a movie, and a bad one at that. You can’t pinch your arm to wake yourself up. Whitney had hurt you before, sure, with his bare hands. Never like this. He’s always made fun of Kylar for having to resort to knives, why would he use one now? Is it just a threat? It has to be. Then again, you’re so disoriented you don’t stand a sliver of a chance against him. Your heart hammers against your ribcage, so loud it makes your head throb. The furthest your abilities go is to shake your head and force a whimper from your throat, rubbing your wrists raw on the zip tie. Whitney presses cold steel against your cheek. You try to spit at him, but you can’t put any force behind it. It dribbles down your chin in a slow stream. 

Whitney barks out a laugh. “What the fuck are you, a dog?” The knife digs into your skin, a gentle push away from slicing you open. “Don’t get to get too excited yet, we haven’t even started, slut.” He slides the blade up to your bottom eyelid, leaving a shallow cut. (Your brain is fuzzy. Your cheeks are warm, burning- Are you blushing? Is the wetness rolling down your face a tear?) Your fingers twitch, your teeth grind together, every muscle pulled tight like a bowstring. 

His breathing is laboured, eyes boring into yours, expression blank for a mere moment. Whitney, as you know him from school, is all but empty. He’s of scoffing and snarling, of laughter and grins- This is nothing you recognize. Your gut twists. Every instinct in your body is screeching at the top of its lungs for you to run. At the same time, another part tells you to stay as still as possible, as if you will simply fade out of existence if you don’t move. (But it’s okay, because none of this is real, and you’re at the orphanage in bed curled up under the covers, and you’ll wake up late and rush to get your uniform to not miss the bus and you’ll be fine, you’ll be fine, you’ll be fine-) Whitney’s tongue darts out to trace his upper lip, his fingers turning white around the handle. 

The next, there is a blow of air against your eye before pure, indescribable agony accompanied by a wet squelch. You’re dying, you’re dying, you’re dying, it’s over- Half of your face has been blown off, your brain is exposed for all to see and poke and prod, your lungs collapse with every breath, your throat spasms around vomit. What’s left of your right side of vision is a red and black pulsating blur. The screams, the sole outburst you’re capable of, are mere groans in the back of your throat. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish on land. Blood, sweat, tears, pus, slime- You wouldn’t know. Something oozes down your face, thick mucus, making a mess on your lap. You’re warm, you’re cold, sweat thick underneath your clothes. Everything is wet. Everything is hot.

A hand is on your head, stroking. The sensation dissapears into and becomes one with the pain, the thing that melts everything else away. “There you go, you’re being so good! But I’m not done yet.” He speaks to you in the tone reserved purely for dogs. From the corner of your good eye, you can see him reaching his fist back and pounds it against the handle, your entire world dissolving into nothing as it hits.

When you wake up, you do so to a palpitating heart that’s skipping beats left and right, to a convulsing body, to spit frothing at your mouth and a needle in your leg. The gag in your mouth rubs against your tongue and tastes of sweat. Whitney has discorded the knife, left it at your feet. Your eyeball looks like scrambled egg white on one end, a sloppy mess, and you gag. At one point or another, you will have to come to term with the fact that you’re never going to see from it again.

“Can’t have you leaving before the party’s started.” Your head whips around, the sensation of something sloshing inside your eye socket immediately making you regret it. Wind blows straight into the wound and causes you to ear up. He’s on your right. Somewhere. What you assume to be the syringe falls to the ground with a clatter. There’s no way he isn’t standing there, in the void he created, on purpose. You would’ve preferred to be really fucking dead right now. Let him rape your corpse, at least you wouldn’t have to be there to notice it. Whatever he injected you with, it’s all so much sharper now. The lights are brighter, every little step he takes ringing in your ears, your right eye (or the slurry that’s left of it) aflame. You rock back and forth to shuffle further away from him, but you’re already backed against a wall and the movement makes the blood in your skull slosh alongside it.

“Gotta check if you’re wet enough for me. Thank me later, slut.” Whitney pulls on your eyelashes, the tip of his finger teasing the hole. Once in a while, it dips into the wound, your nerves tingling in anticipation at the near touch. Breath hitching every time, your brain can’t comprehend what’s exactly happening to you. Your heart pounds in your ears, your limbs keep twitching against your will. Now that you can, you want to struggle, but you’re so scared of that pain, terrified that he could choose to take the other one as well.

All you want is for this to be over. You just want to be home. As flawed of a home it is, it’s still the one place you can think to return to. (Robin will be there, waiting for you. They always have. Could you still keep up with them during games, now that you’re like this? Bailey’s presence, suffocating as it is, at least keeps you safe from intruders. How pissed off are they going to be, now that you're a damaged ware?)

“Can’t you sit still for one fucking second? You wanna know what it feels like when I slip so badly?” Your head jerks to the side against your will, foot hitting his ankle. “I guess you do, huh? But, fuck- You keep writhing around, maybe I should give the needy whore what they want. You’re soaked, that’s for sure.”

Whitney pulls away, his fingers coated a pale red. Using your hair as a rag, he smears the fluids in it, tugging on it once for good measure. He takes a step back, descends back outside your field of vision. There’s the rustling of fabric, unbuckling of a belt, a zipper being undone. You begin to plead through your gag, repeating muffled, incomprehensible words, because please, anything but this, not right now, not ever, hasn’t he done enough, isn’t he satisfied, he’s already ruined you enough, please, just please-

“It’s cute you think you have a choice.”

There’d been a nagging suspicion in the back of your head that it would come down to this. Every meeting with Whitney would end up leading down the same path, but this time... You choke on your breaths, chest heaving with sobs. With every shock of your shoulders, more heat leaks out of your eyes, your entire face turning into one throbbing mess. You squeeze your eyes shut. (There’s no way you can move the right eyelid, the knife has torn straight through it. All it is now is limp meat, hanging on by a thread.) His dick presses against your cheek. Fucking hell, why does he have to be so big too? There’s ringing in your ears as he leaves a trail of precum, mingling with the mess already there. His scent overpowered by the metallic smell of blood. Why can’t you just pass out again? But you’re still twitching, thoughts racing faster than you can keep track of.

“You’ve been asking for this, don’t try to deny it. I’m not stupid. Well, you’ve got my attention now. You better be grateful.” He misses the first time, the head of his dick rubbing against your eyebrow. Whitney curses underneath his breath. Trembling fingers tug your eyelids as far apart as possible and you hate it, you hate this so fucking much, you want someone to come by here to save you, you want to sink through the floor, you want to die.

He sucks in a breath through grit teeth, and hits his mark. You’re not sure how much he crammed inside your skull, but all of it was too much, too cruel. The screaming is clear through your bounds, raking your throat raw. Whichever way you move, his cock stays lodged in between the bone. The muscles snap and tear, the bones crack, the flesh, like the tight fit that it is, clings around his dick, and he groans as he pushes himself further inside. An impossible amount of more fat and mucus and slime comes free, clogging your nose. The back of your head slams against the wall with every movement, but it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t compare. 

There’s nothing else. There can be nothing else. Your mind is full and empty at the same time. He’s all you can think about, he’s fucking the memory of him into your brain, leaving his permanent mark. Is this what he wanted? You’re being dissected, pulled apart, the creases of your brain violated. He’s saying things, (tight, mess, slut, enjoying, loud.), but he’s pulling out and the scrape of the warm flesh makes the scenery blur. Your throat feels like it was pulled across sandpaper.

The pressure dissipates and you cry in pure relief. But, a moment later, he’s back in and down a slightly different path at a slightly different angle and there’s more snapping, more gushes of fluid. The only thing that will ever fit there again will be him. The perfect little cocksleeve. He’s pushing up against something and you don’t know what, but every time he twitches and brushes against it, your entire vision blacks out. Where the pain reached a crescendo before, it’s turned around to be almost numbing now. Are your nerves torn up? Are you dying?

“Open your mouth. Wait, fuck-” He’s breathless, stuttering over his words. His dick twitches and scrapes against bone. Trembling fingers remove the gag from your mouth. If this were literally any other situation, you might have been almost proud to have turned him into such a wreck. “Stick your tongue out and it’ll be over. Done.”

You latch onto those words like a lifeline. No matter how it ends, you just want it to be over. Without much more than a second of delay you do as he asks, your good eye rolling up to try and look at him. Considering how full your head is, you hardly notice the strings of cum being added to the pool, until some of it leaks through your nose and onto your tongue. He puts one hand on your head, shaking it until more follows. (Though his cum isn’t the only thing there.)

Strings of blood and slime stick to his dick like drool as he pulls out. You hate him. You hate yourself. You hate this fucking town, and you hate every piece of shit in it. Your brain is a cacophony of screaming, of visions of growing fangs and claws and tearing him to shreds, of burning this whole town down. All you do is stare up without really looking, eyes glazed over. You’re tired, so unbelievably tired. All you want to do is rest, even if it’s while bleeding out in some shitty alleyway. His voice drifts to you from far away, smile clear in his tone.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

An eye for an eye has never sounded so appealing before.

[marmosa]

kisses to make it better.

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: none!

A/N: here’s this in the meantime while i try to crank out a longer fic. i’m not sure who to write it about yet, but it’ll probably be one of the twins. i can’t get those two off my mind, it’s impossible. pain 💔 i don’t know what else to say, my brain is like fried right now, but i hope you’re all doing well. i’m sending you lots of love and please remember to take care of yourself, you’re the best. enjoy :)

***

If you’d asked [y/n] what she’d be spending her Friday evening doing, she certainly wouldn’t have said sitting over her best friends unconscious body in the nursing wing. She might’ve guessed meeting up with him and a few friends in the common room for an excess of butterbeer and bunch of shitty games that would’ve lead to way too much personal information being dispelled, but not this.

She bounced her leg nervously, trying hard not to rock in the squeaky chair she’d been provided, glancing over her shoulder every two seconds to try and see if Madame Pomfrey had come back with a potion or a spell to fix him right up.

Of course it was expected that something catastrophic would have happened eventually, him being one of the best beaters on one of the best quidditch teams and all, but she hadn’t expected it to roll over so soon. There was certainly no doubt in her mind that he’d come to from his unconscious state, but she couldn’t do anything to quell the worry swirling around in her stomach.

“Still out?”

[y/n] glanced up from where she’d been staring holes into the ground and felt a small rush of relief when George, looking all the more clam, came striding over, “Yeah, Madame Pomfrey still hasn’t come back with anything.”

George smiled softly at her and ruffled her hair gently, pulling up a chair and sitting next to her, his knees knocking against the bedframe, “He’ll be okay y’know. Fred’s always been trooper, he’s got a skull as thick as rocks. If anything he’s probably just napping to try and scare us.”

“I know,” [y/n] giggled slightly, relaxing her shoulders, “I’m just worried is all. Sure he’s strong and stuff, but you never know. It’s bothering me that we haven’t sorted this out yet.”

“It’ll be sorted out in no time, you need to stop worrying yourself or you’ll end up in one of these bed’s just like him,” George scolded her, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“That would be nice, I could go for a nap, I studied my arse off all morning before the match and I truly feel like my head is going to explode,” she sighed, leaning her head onto George’s shoulder.

He hummed and wrapped his arm around her, squeezing her gently, “You should go to sleep then. He’ll be here or in his dormitory in the morning.”

“But I’d feel bad to leave before he was all healed,” [y/n] frowned, glancing over at Fred’s peaceful form, his chest rising and falling softly.

“Here, how about you go to sleep, I stay here until Madame gets back with something, and I’ll let you know what’s become of him by morning,” George bargained, raising his brows as if to make the offer enticing, “Deal?”

[y/n] hummed, as if to ponder the offer, “Fine, but only because I know you wouldn’t let me hear the end of it if I didn’t accept.”

“You know me so well,” George smiled cheekily, squeezing her in a side hug once more as she stood up and stretched out her arms, twisting her torso side to side.

“Good night George,” [y/n] smiled, waving goodbye as she slipped away to head to bed.

***

“George told me that you’d stayed in your room for the morning because you were tired, so I brought you some breakfast because he had to go drop something off at Professor McGonagall’s, HOLY SHIT-,” [y/n] gasped, nearly dropping the napkin full of food balanced in her hand.

Fred’s head snapped upwards, popping out from under the sweater he was just about to put on as he jumped back, startled at the sudden early morning intrusion.

“I’m so sorry, I should’ve knocked,” [y/n] apologized, covering her eyes the best she could with her robes, while simultaneously trying to maneuver herself inside the room to set the stuff in her arms down, “But good lord Freddie, George didn’t tell me it looked so- bad?”

“First off, why are you covering your eyes, it’s not like you haven’t spent countless summers by the lake with my family. Secondly, it’s because we know you, George said you nearly worried yourself to the bone yesterday over a small game mishap,” Fred chuckled, tossing his shirt onto his bed and walking over, pushing her arm out of her face and taking the plate out of her hands, “thanks for the breakfast by the way.”

“Well it’s not my fault you looked absolutely awful-,”

“Ouch,” Fred interjected, a teasing smile on his face as he plopped down on his bed, taking a bite out of one of the hashbrowns she’d brought.

“Okay, you know what I meant,” [y/n] rolled her eyes, lolling her head to the side with a irritated sigh, “The bruises looked absolutely awful and I was worried sick as to why Madame was taking so long. It’s not my fault she spent ages digging around in her inventory, it’s like she did it on purpose.”

“Hey, the bruises look kind of cool,” Fred mumbled, pouting slightly as she returned his look with a flat expression.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, let me see them, will you?” [y/n] muttered, shuffling over as Fred maneuvered himself around so his back was facing her.

“Holy mother of Hell, that looks raw,” [y/n] sucked in a breath, ghosting her fingers over the purple and red splotches that decorated his pale skin, “I’m going to kill that arsehole who did this to you.”

“Again, you worry too much, it’s totally fine- OW! What are you doing?” Fred yelped as she pressed her fingers against the fresh bruise, albite lightly.

“Would you quite whining, I’m trying to see something,” [y/n] snapped back, poking him in the side, chuckling when he bent away from her prying hands.

“It’s not my fault your hands are as cold as a corpse,” Fred grumbled, sucking in a shaky breath when she carefully brushed her fingertips over the wound.

“My mum used to kiss our bruises when I was little, If it was especially bad she’d bandage it, even if we didn’t need it. She used to say kisses always made it all better,” [y/n] mentioned, drawing back her hand to go grab the napkins out of her bag that she’d forgotten about.

“I think your mum’s onto something,” Fred hummed cheekily, setting the empty napkin down on his nightstand, “Maybe you should try it out, see if it works.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you, ya twat,” [y/n] teased, sticking her tongue out at his puppy dog eyes, “give me one good reason as to why I should?”

“You were so worried about me, right? Well then make it better, hm?” Fred titled his head backwards, staring at her approaching figure upside-down.

“Compelling case,” [y/n] clicked her tongue, “not. Give me a better reason.”

“Because you love me?” Fred grinned, wiggling his brows.

[y/n] sighed and plopped down next to him, passing him a napkin, “that is true. A promise is a promise then?”

“Only if you want,” Fred shrugged, “you never have to do anything you’re not comfortable with when you’re with me.”

“A sweet sentiment, but I never go back on my word,” [y/n] shook her head, pressing her palms flat on his shoulders, smoothing out his posture, “And please don’t squirm around, I don’t want to get elbowed in the face.”

“No promises-oh!” He gasped quietly as she pressed a soft kiss to the biggest bruise on his shoulder blade.

“You know,” [y/n] began, pausing to press another soft kiss to a bruise slightly below the biggest one, squeezing his biceps and dragging her hands down his arms until they rested at his wrists, “My mom always told me,” another kiss, “that kisses were the best type of medicine.”

“Again, I think she might’ve been onto something,” Fred chuckled to himself, trying to fight off the heat quickly rushing to his face, his ears already starting to hue red.

“Mhm,” [y/n] hummed, continuing her ministrations, quietly pretending to heal each and every wound to the best of her ability, despite no actual change occurring at all.

She finally finished, sitting back and squeezing his wrists to let him know she was done, a small smile pulling onto her features as she eyed him up and down, finding it amusing that she’d finally gotten him to go quiet, “I think I’ve got ‘em all.”

“Actually,” Fred piped up, leaning his back onto her shoulder, “I think you missed one.”

“And where would that be?” she chuckled, reaching behind him to card her fingers through his hair, smiling softly when his eyes fluttered unconsciously at the sudden feeling.

“It’s funny you should ask, I got hit in the face, it was actually really bad, Madame fixed me up quick, but I still have a bit of a bruise on my lips,” Fred grinned cheekily.

[y/n] scoffed slightly, curling the hair at the crown of his head between her fingers, “That, Weasley, is the shittiest line you’ve ever pulled on me.”

“You love it though.” Fred hummed, reaching behind him to tap his fingers against her cheek, fiddling with a strand of hair curled up behind her ear.

“I really do,” she smiled, leaning down so her lips were ghosting over his, “Still got a bruise here?”

“Biggest one yet,” he giggled, tilting his head up so their lips finally connected in a soft, sweet kiss, their eyes fluttering shut.

When they pulled away Fred couldn’t help the massive grin plastered on his features, his teeth pulling his bottom lip between them as he stared up at her with a new sort of sparkle in his eyes, “I’m thinking I should get injured more often if this is the outcome.”

“Absolutely not, I think that kind of stress would kill me,” [y/n] shook her head, pinching the bridge of his nose gently.

“But kisses,” Fred pouted, like that negated the stress of it all.

“You’re an awful bargainer.”

“Hey, I bargained my way into a kiss!”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Freddie.”

“Again, ouch.”

[mistresspandora-archive]

1, 12, 14, 24 😁

Oooh thank you!!!

1. favorite fic you wrote this year Hands down, the big angst bucket cocktail with a broken glass rim: This Ain't a Love Song

12. favorite character to write about this year This is a HARD one to answer. The obvious answers would be Jamie or John, right? But really I think I had the most fun putting side characters in the spotlight in some way or another. This feels like such a cop-out answer but there's not someone I really fixated on all year. But like... Dougal comes to mind, I had fun digging into his twisted brain and letting him be a villain (or pairing him with BJR because that's a match made in hell). Isobel, I got a little smitten with her and exploring her relationship with John in different ways (actress Isobel in TAALS was my absolute favorite version of her, it felt a little like setting her free for a while). HECTOR, omg, I finished the Through the War series this year, so that counts. WWII Marine pilot Hector, my beloved.

14. a fic you didn’t expect to write The freaking Christmas fic, A Spouse for Santa. That was NOT on the docket until 10 days ago. Wild.

24. favorite fic you read this year I have to preface this by saying reading has been a real struggle for me the last several months. I've posted about it once or twice, but just for one reason or another (mental burnout or inability to focus, or can't find twenty minutes of quiet time without someone IRL needing me to find their car keys or legos or something). So there's a lot that came out this year that I regretfully didn't get to, or started but haven't finished yet but want to. But again, VERY hard to pick just one, so I won't LOL.

Put my heart in your pocket by @narastories is DELIGHTFUL and beautiful and if you missed it because maybe John/Tom isn't your ship, you should definitely try it.

Ewig Dein and the sequel Ewig Mein by @beccafk8 which I admit is sadly one I made it partially through and then my brain decided we were doing the thing where we can't have nice things. I WILL finish Ewig Mein, it is STUNNING and BEAUTIFUL and fills the biggest Stephan-shaped hole in this fandom, and it is a NOVEL. Also, Becca could teach a class on using the setting as a character, just saying.

Theatre Masks by @faeriesfanficblog. This one surprised me. I always know I'm in for a treat with this author, but this one in particular messed me up in the best possible way.

What a wonderful world (this would be) by @iihappydaysii. Another one that I'm behind on but vow to catch up. It's both condensed sunshine and yet distilled pain, it's perfect. It's the original Brian fic, what more could you want?

[animezing-fandoms]

Willow

Masterlist

Relationships: Nalu

Warnings: Blood, injury, stabbing (basically there’s a fight and injuries are sustained but it’s not graphic detail) Implied/referenced lemon. Abusive parents (Jude’s a real bad parent in this AU) 

Summary: During a job with team Natsu, Lucy gets hit in the head and wakes up in a dream where she's a princess who runs away from home to be with her lover, the half-dragon half-human Count Natsu Dragneel.

A/N: So I had this wild dream one night about nalu and decided to write it as a fic. I hope it isn’t too crazy! And yes I also incorporated some lyrics from Taylor Swift’s Willow. Enjoy! 

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

“I am seriously starting to regret taking this job with you guys!” Lucy wails.

She was currently on a job with Team Natsu. The job seemed simple enough on paper. They just needed to find a rare crystal in a forest. Sounds easy right? Well, the client forgot to mention that this forest has weird clearings that need to be crossed in order to get to the crystal, and giant killer eagles that attack you when you’re in the clearings! 

That’s why Lucy was currently running for her life, heading for the tree-line. She dares to look over her shoulder and instantly regrets it when she sees one of those eagles swooping down towards her. 

Before it can grab her, Natsu kicks it with his fire dragon’s claw and then scoops Lucy up in his arms bridal style and they leap into the tree-line as another eagle swoops by, just missing them. 

Natsu looks down and sees Lucy breathing heavily with her face buried in his scarf. 

“Lucy are you okay?” He asks her softly. 

At the sound of his voice Lucy turns to look at his face and blushes. 

“Y-yeah I’m fine.” She replies softly. 

As her fear began to fade a new feeling was arising. Well it wasn’t entirely new. She’d felt this before. A warm feeling in her chest and butterflies in her stomach. She felt like this whenever she was close to Natsu. And she knew what it meant, she had felt it before whenever a cute guy got close to her. But Natsu wasn’t a potential boyfriend? That ship had sailed after she got all dressed up to meet him in the park to dig for holes instead of a date.

He clearly doesn’t think about her in that way. And even if he did, she never would have known from the look on his face. 

So she shouldn’t think of him that way either. He could be really annoying sometimes. Breaking into her apartment, wrecking her plans. And yet, sometimes at night with her head on the pillow she could feel him sneaking in. 

He was like some mythical thing. And not because he was created as a demon, was taught dragon slayer magic and time traveled 400 years to be with her now. To be with her now...

As she looks at him she wishes she could know what he’s thinking. 

There’s one prize I’d cheat to win. 

“Oooo Lucy’s blushing!” Happy teases pulling Lucy from her thoughts. “I think she’s in lo-“ 

“Shut it cat!” Lucy retorts before Happy can finish. 

“I agree with Lucy. Now is not the time for jokes.” Erza says seriously as Natsu sets Lucy down. “We have one more clearing to cross before we can reach the willow tree that holds the crystal.” 

“Another one!?” Lucy exclaims. “We can’t find some other way around?” 

“Unfortunately we can’t.” Erza says. “Our only option is to run for it and fight too if need be.” 

Lucy looks past the tree-line to see the large willow tree on the other side. It would be a long, dangerous sprint. She takes in a shaky breath then exhales when she feels a warm hand slide into hers. 

She turns to see Natsu smiling at her. But not with that goofy grin he usually wore. This time, he was smiling at her softly with an endearing look on his face, as if he was looking at something precious. Her heart was pounding and she could feel a blush creeping up her cheeks.

“Don’t worry Lucy. I won’t let any of those birds hurt you.” He promises.

Lucy smiles back at him. 

“Thanks Natsu.” Lucy says. 

“Alright now let’s go fry up some chicken!” Natsu shouts and runs into the clearing.

“Natsu wait!” Wendy shouts after him.

“That idiot! We were supposed to come up with a plan together first!” Gray exclaims.

“Well it’s too late for that now!” Erza says with a frustrated sigh before drawing her sword and following him.

Lucy figures that Natsu’s plan was to draw all of the attention to himself, so that the rest of them could sneak past. And that would have been a good plan if they weren’t in an open clearing. There was nowhere to hide and now they were all spread out. And there were more birds this time too! 

What’s worse is that these birds were quicker. Lucy knows that if she slows down to summon a spirit, she’d surely get picked up and carried away! And she was definitely having a few close calls right now.

I thought Natsu said he would protect me? She thinks to herself as another bird swoops low.

Lucy was almost at the willow though. Just right through those branches and then she’d be safe! 

But she was so focused on getting there that she didn’t see the branch hanging down from one of the other trees in her path! And as soon as she made it there, she smacked her head on the branch and everything went black.

—————————

When Lucy awoke, she was laying under the willow tree all alone, her companions nowhere to be found. 

As she rose to sit up she found that her head was in no pain from getting hit, like she had never hit it in the first place. And the killer birds were nowhere to be found either.

She gently brushes the leaves off of the long purple skirts of her corseted dress as she tries to remember what she was doing out here in the woods. 

“Did you rest well Princess?” A familiar voice asks and Lucy smiles.

“Virgo!” She exclaims, happy to see her face. 

Suddenly her memories of how she wound up in this situation came flooding back to her. She, Princess Lucy Heartfilia of the kingdom of Fiore was betrothed to a man she did not love by her father who cared little for her happiness. So she ran away with the help of her most trusted maid Virgo, to a place where she knew she would be safe. The territory that was home to the man she truly loved. Thinking of him made her chest feel warm, yet she could not picture his face at the moment. Nor his name. 

“Wait for the signal and I’ll meet you after dark.” 

Those were the instructions he gave Virgo. She waited for the signal. A dragon flew over the castle, casting a dark shadow over it to give she and Virgo cover as they escaped. 

And now it was dark. She was in the place. But her man was nowhere to be found. 

“Have we made across the border to the Dragon’s Forest yet Virgo?” Lucy asks eagerly. 

“We should have, if that is the Dragon’s Roar River.” Virgo says, pointing at the rushing white-water river that was behind them. 

Lucy couldn’t begin to think of how they managed to cross it. But she wasn’t as interested in figuring that out as she was about another matter. 

“If we’re really in the forest then he should have known I’m here and come by now. Unless I was napping for a shorter time than I thought...” Lucy says.

“Hmm...well it could be the second river further up ahead?” Virgo says and looks ahead. “Perhaps we should continue to move inward onto his territory, just to be sure we’re in the right place.”

“I agree.” Lucy says and brings herself to stand, brushing the dirt off of her skirts.

Then fear grips her heart as she hears horses whinnying nearby, followed by men’s voices shouting. 

“No...” She mutters as she turns to see a carriage followed by a group of soldiers crossing a bridge over the river.

A few of the soldiers ahead of the carriage began to approach with their spears drawn. 

“There’s the princess! King Jude, we found her and the traitorous maid!” The soldiers shout as Lucy and Virgo turn to run away. 

As Lucy desperately hiked up her skirts to run away, she regrets not changing into a different outfit. These large skirts definitely weren’t made for running away from danger in the woods. But once she and Virgo had discovered what her father’s plans for her were, there was no time to change. They had to leave immediately to get to the one person Lucy knew could protect her. And as the soldiers surround her and Virgo, and her father approaches them, Lucy hopes that he’ll come soon.

“Daughter, have you gone mad!” Lucy’s father, King Jude exclaims. 

“I could ask you the same thing!” Lucy bravely retorts. 

She may be surrounded by soldiers and facing the man who had been controlling her life since she was a child. But if he was going to lock her away in the castle and force her to marry a man she didn’t love, then she won’t succumb to that fate without a fight. 

“You’re saying I’m the one at fault!” Jude exclaims. “You snuck out of the castle on the night of the ball being held to announce your engagement because you trust in the counsel of some lunatic maid over that of your own father! And now I find you here with that maid trespassing on dragon’s territory! And you think I’m the one who’s mad!” 

The anger behind his words made tears sting at the corners of Lucy’s eyes, but she wouldn’t back down from this fight. She couldn’t. There was too much at stake. 

“What kind of father would ignore the happiness of his own daughter and make such a huge decision for her without even asking her what she thinks!” Lucy exclaims. 

“Because a father knows what’s good for his daughter!” Jude replies. “And a good daughter would obey her father and do what’s best for her kingdom!”

“It’s not what’s best for the kingdom! It’s what’s best for you!” Lucy retorts. “The royal families you wish to make alliances with only care about their own wealth! They don’t care about the citizens of their own kingdoms much less ours! I could never marry someone like that!” Lucy shouts. 

“What the hell are you all doing in my forest!” A voice shouts from somewhere in the trees. 

Gasps of fear erupted amongst the soldiers while Jude’s face pales. Virgo cracks a small smile and a look of relief washes over Lucy’s features as the figure of a man drops down from the trees. 

This was no ordinary man though. Even though he wore the typical noble attire for a human man, he also had large maroon dragon wings sprouting from his back, and two matching horns pointing up from the spiky pink hair on his head. He even had matching maroon scales on the sides of his face and trailing down his neck. Most people were terrified when they looked into his bright reptilian green eyes. But Lucy felt something very different. She felt warmth, and love. 

“Natsu...” she sighs in joy and relief.

“Lucy.” Natsu replies with the same warmth in his voice.

The warmth in his voice makes warmth flood through her chest. No matter what world they were in, Natsu would always be her knight in shining armor. 

He holds out his arms for her and she moves to go to him but her father grabs her arm and yanks her back.

“Hey! Let me go!” Lucy protests and tries to yank her arm back but her father only pulls harder “Ouch!” She yelps.

Upon seeing his damsel in distress Natsu’s  soft demeanor immediately changes into something more reminiscent of the beast he resembles. 

“Get off of her!” Natsu roars.

He charges forward at an inhuman speed, right past the guards and yanks Jude’s hand off of Lucy’s arm, not caring to be gentle with him at all, causing him some pain as he takes Lucy into his arms and hugs her.

“Are you alright?” Natsu asks her softly. “Did he hurt your arm?” 

“Just a bit when he grabbed it. But I’ll be alright now that you’re here.” Lucy replies and rests her head under his chin, taking comfort in the warmth his body provided. 

Natsu holds her in his arms and gives her a light squeeze as he rests his cheek on top of her head. 

“You’re safe with me. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise.” Natsu swears and presses a light kiss to her forehead.

“And yet you dare hurt me, her father?” Jude asks Natsu angrily, making him frown. “The King that your father is loyal to!”

“The Dragon King Igneel doesn’t swear loyalty to humans. He’s only loyal to his friends, and mine. And you’re no friend of his.” Natsu growls back. 

“But I made a deal with him! I let the dragons live in this forest in peace without any humans trespassing on your land and give you the noble title of Count to represent the dragons in our kingdom and in return the dragons protect us from invaders. We have an agreement, your father is loyal to me, and therefore as his son you should show me some respect!” Jude declares.

Natsu can’t help but smirk and laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” Jude asks. 

“You clearly misunderstood the purpose of the deal.” Natsu says. “The only reason my father protects your kingdom instead of burning it to the ground is because your daughter lives in it.”

Lucy smiles as Natsu gently nuzzles his face against her head before continuing.

“I’m half-dragon half-human. Igneel fell in love with a human woman and through some source of magic they found he was able to have a child with her but she died giving birth to me. So I stayed with my father’s people, the dragons. They were the only ones that accepted me. The humans all thought of me as a monster and when I was a kid they would chase me away when I would go into their towns looking for desserts and other treats I could smell from the outskirts of town. And because of the death of my mother my father is very protective of me so he’d burn down any village that treated me poorly. Then one day we came to Fiore and it was the same story as the other kingdoms. I got chased out of the markets and somehow wound up in the palace gardens to hide. Then that’s when I met Lucy. The first human I’d ever met who wasn’t afraid of me. And to this day, the only human who’s treated me with kindness. That’s why Igneel agreed to protect Fiore. Because it’s where my new best friend Lucy lived.”

“So the only reason Fiore isn’t ashes right now is because King Igneel wanted you to be able to have play dates with my daughter?” Jude asks.

“Yep.” Natsu replies. “If we burned the place down then my Princess would cry. And I can’t have that.” Natsu says.

“Your princess?” Jude asks. “You think she belongs to you?”

“She doesn’t belong to anybody she’s a person not an object!” Natsu retorts. 

“That’s where you’re wrong! I’m her father so she belongs to me!” Jude replies. 

“Not anymore!” Lucy shouts back, finding her courage now that she was with Natsu. “Count Natsu Dragneel and I are in love and he won’t let you take me away from him to marry me off to someone else!” 

“He was going to do what?!” Natsu exclaims and growls at Jude.

“He was going to sell me off like a brood mare to some horrible prince so I came here to run away with you so we can be together!” Lucy explains.

“I’ll never let my daughter marry a monster!” Jude yells. 

“Natsu’s not a monster! But you are!” Lucy retorts. 

Jude smirks and nods his head. 

Then a loud smacking noise comes from behind them and Lucy and Natsu turn around to see that one of the guards slapped Virgo in the face. 

“Virgo! No!” Lucy exclaims and turns back to her father. “Why would you hurt her?”

“Because I can’t hurt you at the moment. So your dear little treasonous maid will bear the punishment for your disobedience instead.” Jude explains. 

“You’re disgusting!” Lucy replies reflexively but then regrets it when Virgo gets hit again. 

Natsu frowns as he notices Lucy starting to cry so he turns to the soldiers with a frown.

“Virgo duck!” Natsu shouts before breathing fire at the soldiers. 

They scream as the flames hit them and Virgo gets free of them. Lucy runs over to hug her. 

“Virgo I’m so sorry!” Lucy apologizes. 

“It’s alright princess! It wasn’t your fault!”Virgo says. 

Natsu smiles as Lucy embraces her friend. Happy that she wasn’t crying anymore. Then he grimaces as he feels a shooting pain in his side. 

He turns and sees Jude holding the sword that just stabbed him. 

Virgo gasps when she opens her eyes and sees what happens. Then Lucy turns and her heart shatters. 

“Natsu! No!” She wails. 

“Don’t worry Lucy I’m fine.” Natsu says and grabs the sword in his hand and pulls it out of the wound with no pain whatsoever. 

The look on Jude’s face was priceless. 

“I’m half-dragon. You should’ve aimed for my head if you wanted me dead you moron.” Natsu says. 

Lucy giggles at the fact that Natsu called her father a moron.

Jude brings the sword up to swing at his head and Natsu just plucks it from his hands and throws it away, hitting some poor soldier in the helmet and knocking them out. 

Virgo and Lucy get grabbed by soldiers again so Natsu breathes fire to get them free. But while he’s doing that a few more soldiers stab him in his back and stomach. 

“Shit will you guys just quit that it feels weird!” Natsu exclaims and fired up his fist to take them down and that’s when one soldier gets a lucky stab in Natsu’s chest too. 

“Princess you and Natsu need to get out of here!” Virgo urges. “He’s strong but he’s also outnumbered!” 

“I know but what about you?” Lucy asks. “My father will kill you for helping me, I can’t just leave you here!” 

“Don’t worry! I’ll be fine.” Virgo says as she picks up a sword and grins.

Lucy smiles, feeling reassured that Virgo would be able to handle herself and she runs over to Natsu. 

“Natsu!” Lucy says as she runs towards him and he takes her into his arms. “Let’s get out of here!” 

“I was thinking the same thing.” Natsu says. 

And the next thing Lucy knows she’s being lifted into the air with Natsu. 

————————

As they fly over the trees, away from the willow tree and deeper into dragon territory Natsu notices that Lucy is surprisingly unafraid.

 “I thought you were scared of heights?” Natsu asks. 

“I can’t see how high up I am if I’m only looking at you.” Lucy replies.

Natsu can’t help but kiss her. 

————————

When they finally land at the Dragon King’s den, Igneel is there to greet them. 

“Greetings great dragon.” Lucy says and curtseys for him. 

“Lucy! How lovely it is to see you again!” Igneel greets. “I had a hunch that you were the reason Natsu was out today but I had no idea he would be bringing you to our den.”

“Natsu why have you brought her he-Natsu?” Igneel asks. 

Lucy turns around and gasps. She hadn’t noticed before because it was dark but now that they were under the light of the moon…there were red stains on his clothing and he looked paler than usual. 

“Natsu your wounds! I thought you said they weren’t serious?” Lucy exclaims as she runs over to him to inspect his injuries closer.

“I lied so you wouldn’t worry over me until we were safe. If I had said something sooner then you would have panicked and it would’ve slowed us down and then we would’ve never gotten out of there.” Natsu admits and Lucy cups his cheek and Natsu leans into her touch. 

“Who did this to my son?” Igneel growls. 

“My father and his goons.” Lucy answers with gritted teeth, her rising anger matching that of the great fire dragon behind her. 

“And why would they dare do such a horrific thing to betray me?” Igneel demands. 

“Because I was protecting Lucy.” Natsu says hoarsely and groans as Lucy sets him down into a more comfortable position on the ground. “King Jude was being cruel to her, he was going to try to take her away from me and give her away to someone else so he could expand his fortune. So Lucy fled here to find me so we could be together, but the King and his soldiers caught up to us and we had to fight our way out.” 

Igneel watches with concern as Lucy tears off strips of her dress fabric to soak up the blood on Natsu’s wounds. But there were multiple wounds, and she only had two hands. 

“Then they will pay for this!” Igneel declares. “I’ll burn them all!” 

“No! Please spare Fiore!” Lucy urges. “The citizens have done nothing wrong. Please don’t let them suffer just because of their King’s wrongdoings!” Lucy begs. 

“I understand.” Igneel says. “And I agree with you. I apologize for being quick to jump to violence but after losing Natsu’s mother, all I’ve ever wanted is for my son to be safe. And when you have powers like mine that allow you to burn away anything that troubles you well, it’s easy for that to become the default response. But after Natsu met you I realized that there are other humans like his mother that don’t see dragons as monsters that need to be slain.” 

“I’ve never seen your son as a monster. I met him after my mother died from illness and he brought such joy into my life by being my friend. And now he’s grown into the man I love. When I’m with him, I know I’m home. Anywhere else is hollow. And so with your permission I’d like to take his hand, wreck my father’s plans, and make Natsu my man.” Lucy says and smiles at him and Natsu smiles back. 

A look of pure joy spread over the dragon’s features and he looks at the lovers before him. 

“Oh Lucy I know how much my son cares for you. He’s already told me of his intentions to make you his mate so yes of course I approve!” Igneel says. “But first we should really treat Natsu’s wounds.” 

Lucy gasps. She was so caught up in the euphoria of being able to marry the man of her dreams that she completely forgot he was bleeding internally. 

“Oh my goodness! I completely forgot! Natsu I’m so sorry you must be in so much pain right now!” Lucy rambles and Natsu can’t help but smile at how cute she looks when she was worried over him. 

“It’s not that bad actually. I’ve had worse.” Natsu says with a shrug. 

“In this tower over here is where Natsu lives.” Igneel says and gestures his head towards an old stone tower on the edge of the clearing. “You’ll find some medicine in there that the dragon Grandeeney made to heal any wounds that a dragon or half-dragon might sustain.”

“Thank you. I’ll take care of him right away.” Lucy says and puts his arm around her shoulder and leads him inside. 

————————— 

As Lucy and Natsu sat on his bed together, Lucy takes note of how amazing this healing dragon’s powers must be. This medicine was a miracle. His wounds had stopped bleeding the instant she put the bandage with the magic salve over them. 

But other thoughts were crossing her mind. As she dresses his wounds in the dark room lit only by candle light, Lucy can’t help but feel a bit aroused. He was shirtless and her hands were all over his muscular torso, and she couldn’t help but take note of the strength those muscles conveyed. She wonders if he feels anything either. 

The silence starts to feel deafening so Lucy decided to ask a question that’s been on her mind for awhile.

“Natsu, now that we’re betrothed I think I should ask you, how do dragons get married?” Lucy asks. 

“They don’t.” Natsu says simply. 

“Oh...” Lucy asks unsure of how to respond. “But I thought you told me once that dragons mate for life.” 

“They do. Just not in the way humans do. Dragons don’t really have an official ceremony or anything like humans do.” Natsu explains. “When two of them decide they want to become a couple they just…mate.” 

“I see.” Lucy says as she dresses the gash on his left pectoral. 

The tension that was already starting to build between them had now fully crept it’s way into Lucy’s mind as Natsu mentioned mating. She had been thinking about doing this with Natsu for a long time. She does want to marry him after all, so she already found him attractive. But now, she had run away from her home, and the rules that came with it. She and Natsu had already promised themselves to each other with words, why not follow through with actions as well? 

“Well, weddings take a long time to plan.” Lucy begins to explain as she gently lets her fingers trail down his torso after setting the dressing. “And even if we were to have a wedding, it would probably be just your father’s clan anyway, since my father would sooner plot your murder than hand me over to you as a bride. He may even be plotting something to steal me away from you sooner rather than later. So instead of waiting for a wedding…” Lucy says, moving her gaze up to look into his eyes. “I think that we should just get married now. The dragon way.”

Natsu takes in a deep breath when he realizes what she’s asking. What she’s offering him. And Lucy could tell by the tent forming in his pants and his breaths becoming heavier that his primal instincts were starting to awaken. But Natsu kept himself in check. Sure he’s had these thoughts about Lucy before but only when he was alone, leaving him to deal with those urges on his own. But now she was right here and moving closer to him, with dilated pupils and his brain was screaming at him to just tear off her dress and claim her now. But he holds back. Because this wasn’t just some fantasy, this was real. This was Lucy, the love of his life and before he accepts her offer he has to be sure it’s what she wants. 

“Lucy are you sure that’s what you want?” He asks.

“Yes I’m sure.” Lucy says “We are in dragon’s land after all. And I’ll be living with your father and his clan. So I want to do things their way.” 

Natsu’s arousal builds even more as she takes his hand and places it at the top of the corset that was keeping her ample chest confined while her other hand slowly trails down his abdomen. 

“I love you Natsu. And I want you to claim me, if you want me too.” Lucy says. 

Natsu searches her face for any sign of unease or reluctance, but he only finds the same emotions he was feeling for her. Lust and love. And as she places her hand over the bulge in his pants, all doubt leaves his mind and he lets his primal urges take over as he cups her cheek to speak to her.

“Lucy my love you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. Of course I want to claim you as my mate.” Natsu declares before tugging at the bow on her corset.

Lucy gasps as she feels the garment loosen before Natsu seals his mouth to hers in a passionate kiss as she unbuckles his belt and they proceed to undress each other, and make love not long after.

——————————

That morning when Lucy woke up she was still naked in bed. She follows the sunlight streaming in from the balcony, and sees her clothes scattered on the floor. 

Lucy felt goosebumps form on her skin as she remembered the warmth of Natsu’s touch from the night before. His hands hands were strong and felt rough against her soft skin, just like the parts of his body that had scales, and the contrast felt divine. He caressed every part of her body with his hands, and then re-traced his path with his mouth which had only aroused her more and encouraged her to explore his body as well, wanting to know him as intimately as he knew her as they consummated their love and became one. 

Her father couldn’t marry her off to anyone now. Natsu had claimed her for himself last night, and she loved every minute of it. She was his, and he was hers. Mates. And Count and Countess to the human kingdom, and prince and princess among the dragons. 

And right now her Prince was standing on the balcony, still naked as well. They were deep in the woods after all, it’s not like any passers by would see them. But then he turns around when he hears her stirring in bed. 

“Good morning my princess.” Natsu says and smiles. 

“Good morning my prince.” Lucy says and smiles warmly back at him. 

He comes over to her and leans down to place a gentle kiss to her lips. 

“Did you sleep well?” Natsu asks. 

“Yeah. I slept great.” Lucy says. “The bed was so warm with you in it.” 

“Well duh, fire dragon.” Natsu reminds her and Lucy giggles and kisses him again. 

Then Natsu’s expression turns serious. 

“Before you woke up, my father talked with me. He still wants revenge for what your father attempted to do to me, and what he attempted to do to you too.” Natsu says. 

“Oh…” Lucy says. 

She looks down at the blanket in-between them as she tries to think. On one hand she certainly agreed that something needed to be done about her father. But on the other hand, he was her father. 

“What does he want to do?” Lucy asks. 

“He wants to remove your dad from power.” Natsu starts. “And let you take his place.” 

Lucy perks up and looks at Natsu who was smiling with pride. 

“So I’d be Queen of Fiore?” Lucy asks. 

“Yep. And we don’t have to kill your dad. We can just lock him up in the dungeon or something.” Natsu explains. 

“Then you’d be my King?” Lucy asks. 

“King Consort, since you’re the one with the power but yeah.” Natsu says with a shrug. 

“That sounds great.” Lucy says. “Except…You and your father like to travel sometimes, go to other lands to train together…If I’m Queen then I won’t be able to come with you.” 

Lucy looks away sadly but then Natsu cups her chin in his fingers and tilts her head towards him. 

“You’ll never be alone again.” Natsu says and gently cups her cheek. “You’re the love of my life, and I promise we’ll always be together Lucy.” 

He leans forward and kisses her.

Lucy closes her eyes and melts into the kiss. 

——————————

When her eyes flutter open she sees Natsu’s face and smiles warmly. 

“Oh Natsu…” she sighs dreamily. 

Natsu frowns at her. 

“Uh, Luce you’re looking at me funny. Are you okay?” He asks her with a frown. 

“Hmm…” Lucy hums in confusion. “Of course I am! I’m with you my…” She explains until she notices his horns are missing, and that there are no scales on his body either. 

She reaches forward and feels the blankets and realizes she’s no longer naked in the expensive large bed she was in before, but wearing her pajamas while in a bed at the infirmary in Magnolia! 

“My…what?” Natsu asks, wanting her to finish her sentence. 

“My…idiot!” Lucy shouts and kicks him in the stomach with her foot. 

“Ouch!” Natsu yelps and doubles over in pain. 

“Yep! She’s fine!” Happy says cheerfully from the other side of Lucy’s bed. “You really had us going there for a second Lucy, I was worried that that bump on your head might have made you go crazy!” 

Lucy reaches up and feels that there are bandages wrapped around her forehead. And she winces slightly in pain as she touches the injured spot and remembers reality. She must have hit her head pretty hard in order to have envisioned Natsu as some sort of romantic Prince. 

“Honestly, I’m not too sure I’m entirely sane.” Lucy says. 

“That would explain why you kicked me.” Natsu grumbles. 

“Want me to do it again?” Lucy growls and Natsu yelps in fear. 

“Nope! I learned my lesson, please don’t hurt me again!” Natsu pleads. 

“Maybe I should still go get Porlyusica?” Happy suggests. “I mean, she’s mad at you now, but when she woke up she was looking at you like she was in love.” Happy teases. 

Lucy frowns at Happy but at the same time can’t help but blush as she remembers how she felt about the Natsu she met in her dream. I mean there were obviously some differences between the two of them. But now that she thought about it...there were a lot of similarities too. The Natsu from her dream may have been more obviously romantic but most of what he was saying to her and the way he was looking at her...the real Natsu did all of that too. And she loved him for it. 

And then it hit her...did she love Natsu?

“I’m sorry Lucy.” Natsu says softly and looks into his lap. “I said I’d protect you and you got hurt.”

“Well, you said you wouldn’t let the birds hurt me. And I got hit by a willow branch. So you didn’t break your promise. You’ve never broken any promise to me.” Lucy assures him.

Ever since they met in Hargeon, he had been the major catalyst for the events in her life. Both good and bad. And this job was no different.

Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind. 

“I know but still, you got hurt because I was so busy keeping those birds away from you that I didn’t notice that damn branch.” Natsu pouts. 

“It’s not your fault. I should have been watching where I was going.” Lucy says.

“If I was with you you wouldn’t have had to worry about that. I shouldn’t have left you alone. I know that ever since Tartaros you get upset when I do that.” Natsu says and Lucy’s heart skips a beat.

So he really did notice how his year long absence had affected her...Who would have known? Certainly not Lucy. He really paid attention to her feelings like that? 

“And I don’t like it when you’re sad. It makes me feel weird, like I want to fix it and make you happy again as soon as I can. It’s easy when I can just punch whatever’s bothering you until it goes away. But it’s different when I’m the one that hurt you. It makes me feel worse because I never want to be the cause of your pain. I want to be the one that takes it away, or even better prevents you from getting hurt in the first place. All I want is to keep you safe and make you happy. But I failed...” 

The more that you say, the less I know. 

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Only the lovers in the books she reads say things like this. Maybe he wasn’t as dense as she thought? Did he know what love was? Did he love her?

“Instead of fighting for you I should have just been with you. I made a mistake and you got hurt. But I won’t make it again. I’ll be more mindful of you the next time we’re on a job.” Natsu says. “I swear I‘ll protect you next time.” 

“Natsu...we’ve been doing jobs together for years. Nothing ever goes the way it’s supposed to.” Lucy says and holds out her hand for Natsu. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

Wherever you stray, I follow.

Natsu smiles and it warms Lucy’s heart as he takes her hand. 

“Promise that tomorrow you’ll wreck my plans again by taking me on some wild adventure?” Lucy asks.

“You bet!” Natsu says and flashes her his signature goofy grin.

That’s my man.

[hughiecampbelle]

You Remind Me Of My Own Unhappiness (Thomas Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: Thomas

Word Count: 1,587

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @brithedemonspawn @megnotfound @death-of-a-mermaid @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @captivatedbycillianmurphy @theshelbyclan @creativemayhems @soleil-dor @thegirlwithoutaname87 @babylooneytoonz @peakyxtommy @locke-writes @lucillethings @miahelen @valkyrie-2312

A/N: A lil writing before I start requested prompt fics, which are still open btw!!!! Ngl, I've had this is my head for a while, and it turned out better than I expected!!!!! I've been reading for my horror fiction class, so I guess this is kind of based off/inspired by all of it (lots of Poe, Jackson, King, etc.) so be warned my loveliest of loves!!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Summary: You knew too much for his comfort 💕

Gif Credit: @peakycillianblinders :)

FIC MASTERLIST PARTS 1 -> 3 / WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

The earth is soft in your palms, loose as your dig away, your fingers aching amidst the clumps and rocks. The maggots fall one by one off the bone, disturbed in their everlasting feast. Fresh in his mind, an open wound he leaves exposed, to bleed, to breath, to eat him alive. Shallow, as expected. Careless in execution. Impatient, your husband always in such a hurry. Even with this. Handful by handful, muddied, the morning dew undisturbed even as nightfall came. Smelling faintly of a sweet memory, that of the first time you kissed. The raindrops coming between you. Pulling away with a laugh, in awe, at how his beauty compared to that of a rainy day. Your shoes sinking deep, your hands clutching his arms as he pulls you from the muck, letting the slightest hint of a smile slip. The noise of that day, the plops from the pond, the quiet, yet powerful, taps of the leaves, the shudder of branches and bones alike cold from the breeze, the soft of his voice, low, teasing of all the things he'd do when you were alone. Lost, but not forgotten.

It doesn't exist here. The silence is heavy, deadly, respectful. Something he is not. Early, before the sun has her chance to even set and paint the sky. The in between, the dark not as inky as you remember, the stars fading in, resting for their show ahead. A creature of habit, your husban. Every night, at the same time, no matter what. Day by day, you grow less and less, and this becomes an ever harder task than before. Time staking, your movements slow, weary, all knowing of the journey ahead. There is an ache of gratefulness, a nod to the thoughtfulness you assumed he was lacking in, though it could have come out of selfishness none of the less. Not far from home. A quiet walk, that of seclusion. A quick pace, a tight jaw, he could have made the journey in no time. Your body was not as forgiving

No wooden box. Not eternal flame. A sheet, dirty now, and spotted in red, tangled around you. Wet and cold. The same sheets you used to wash, scrubbing clean, that thick soap smell no longer. One more thing you'd miss, the newness of this dying as each minute ticked by. That excitement, that joy, that want for anything more fades as all things do, decomposing with the rest of you. It's become a duty, an obligation, to him, to your marriage, as all things had been, or would become.

There is no where else to go. Nothing more to do. A broken routine was a broken man. Fight it, resist, and you might find him in the tub again, his spine kissing the porcelain, neck bent, waiting to sink until he finds the bottom. You might find him in the bed you shared, eyes open, never crossing that split down the middle, always faced away from your side. You might find him out, at the bar, a job, surrounded, your presence striking him, bloodying his lip. He stares, his balance off, truly shaken to his core. You are a guest he does not share, a secret he locks in his closet, a beating heartbeat under his floorboards.

So, you give up fighting, as you had the last time, and accept this battle lost. Wave your white flag, shaking yourself free of the sheets, standing uneasily on your own rotting skeketon. Step by step, your toes tearing, soles wasting, the entirety of you threatening to cave, making your way home. Tendons frayed, splitting apart. Your flesh bloated, runny, what's left is chewed away. You can feel it all. Your teeth chatter by the openings that were your cheeks, the cold passing right through you, whistling through your open ribcage. Dreadfully exposed. All of it is heavy. With nothing to hold, to cling to, you're stitched together by a single thread. You pull forward with all your strength, choking back a scream. It wasn't pain, not anymore, your nervous system long gone, but the memory of it bursts through your open chest the way it had in that moment, before everything seeped away in a puddle beneath you, and the warmth of your body grew into icy cold.

Your hair is all but gone, just like your middle. Innards spilling into your clothes, filling out, everything once protected inside catching their first taste of freedom. You give up making yourself anymore presentable. You could pass for sickly, at your best, even tired in the beginning. The bags under your eyes gone now, eaten away, the green tint to your demeanor disappeared, leaving nothing but a rotting smell. There was no hiding this, hiding the time that's passed. The flies buzz, bugs crawl freely. It's much their home as yours. You click, a tune you suspect is music to his ears, but it only leaves an ache in your hollow chest. There isn't much left of you, there isn't much more time.

How long does he want to do this?

How much longer can you?

The light streams through the windows, a welcomed warmth. You missed it. You missed that comfort, that knowledge of a place being yours. All you had left to your name was a hole in the ground, weak and muddy. Even then, few knew it was yours at all. The back door, the one only homeowners used. You could see it, your skeletal hand resting weakly on the heavy door. A night like every other. Pressing your ear to the door, listening, as if the pull from his want, his need to see you, hadn't tugged you the whole way here. This act, so small, so innocent, had lead to consequences he could never take back.

Listening, waiting, your own breath no longer a distraction, your own heartbeat no longer drumming through your veins, interrupting every word. It was the only way. Banished, shunned, turned away. Though you wrote his name, you did not share blood, a defining trait he could not look past. The business, family business, turned you away. Complicit, docile, that's what he expected, what you tried to be. Yes, Love. No, Love. For your own protection, Love, as if it hadn't been the barrel of his gun pointed at your chest.

Not everything, but enough, your first mistake was making it known. Invading his world one word at a time, overstepping boundaries with a bit of advice. That was all it took. You realized too late, none of it you could ever take back. Pleading, wide eyed, you promised not to say anything more, to keep your distance between the job, but the damage was done. He changed before your eyes. Tight, rigid, masking himself, crawling back into his shell. He trusted you, he did, but not after that. A man like him could trust no one, not even the person he married. If you knew, who else did? Even the smallest detail could be dangerous. It could coolapse his entire empire. He didn't want to, insisting there was another way, but they agreed as long as you lived, knowing what you did, none of them were safe. A family by name, hardly by choice.

So, by their insistence, he pulled the trigger.

He dragged the body.

He dug a shallow grave.

He made an elaborate story, one of belief, of half-truths, and throw away lines about your solemn departure seeking a new life, abandoning your husband for something else, each of them chipping pieces and plots to the story, anything to help them sleep a little easier.

And here you sat, the hard wood of your dining room chairs puncturing your back. There are two plates, and two sets of silverware. A candle is lit between you. Not always, but tonight it seems he's been missing you more. A napkin sits on your lap, waiting, covering the mangled mass that used to be your lower half. He sits across from you, the space between you large enough to seat the entire family. Only two, though. Everyone else has left, gone, suspecting what it is Mr. Shelby is up to, wondering why they are let go more frequently, always at the exact same time. He musters up a smile, that of pain, with horror in his eyes, finally realizing just how cruel this has all been for you. You smile back, pieces of you ripping open, your lips uncurling, splitting in two, revealing a mouth empty of teeth.

Thomas speaks lightly of the day passed. The endless dread of paperwork, the faint gnaw that someone has been following him lately, a special nod to the advice he took from you that had been successful. No thank you, though. No admittance of grief or wrongdoing, no apology, not even a word of what you were really doing here. He couldn't let go, move on, he couldn't shake the guilt that woke you each night and put you to bed hours later. You were dead, killed by his own hand, had been for quite some time. Yet, every night after the murder you joined him. For dinner, for drinks, to sleep beside him in the bed you shared since your wedding day. Step by step, decaying in your time of rest, the same thought in your mind over and over, never letting it escape your lips, you knew better from the last time: when would he let you rest in peace?

[neon-junkie]

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

Summary: This is exactly what it says in the title. Arthur gives you the ride of your life.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader (male and female)

Word Count: 1585

Rating: NSFW

Tags: Cowgirl position, Saloon, First time, Strangers to lovers, Creampies, Flirting, bottom!Reader, top!Arthur.

Notes: I don’t write Arthur that often, but the Arthur hoes may have this fic, as a treat. Female and Male reader included below x

Female Reader

These two strangers were some of the loudest men you'd ever served. At first, the rest of the Saloon seemed to be a little irritated with their noise levels, despite them being drunk and rowdy themselves, but after the two strangers had gone around making friends with everyone, followed by performing the can-can, it seemed that they were more than welcome here. 

"Another, please!" The man said as he attempted to lean on the bar. You weren't meant to serve drunk customers, but he'd been tipping you like crazy all night. He didn't look like the type of fella that was made of money, but it seemed he held money as little value to him. Something you wish you could also have the mindset for. "You better not end up throwing up in my Saloon," you tell him as you pour him another shot of whiskey. 

"Oh, nah. If I'm gonna be throwin' up then it'll be outside, Miss," he tells you with a drunken smile. "Say, what's your name? If I may ask?" "I'm ___," you tell him. "___? Pretty name for a pretty woman," he smiles again. "I'm Arthur. Pleasure to meet you," Arthur says as he picks up the shot, raising it as he winks at you, followed by downing it, a trickle spilling from the corner of his mouth. "You err, you ain't seen my friend Lenny have you?" he asks you as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, placing the empty shot glass on the bar top. "The fella that you've been with all night? I ain't seen him in a while," you tell him as you serve another customer. "Owh. Maybe he gone and got lucky!" Arthur tells you with pride. "And left you all alone here without telling you first?" you tut, joking along with him. "Good point. Lenny would never do that. He must just be throwin' up 'round the back," Arthur says as he fiddles with the empty shot glass. "You wanna go check on him?" "Nah, he'll be fine. He's a big kid, he can look after himself. Besides, I don't wanna leave this conversation with a pretty stranger such as yourself," Arthur smiles. "You still callin' me a stranger even though we introduced ourselves?" you smirk. "Well, names only mean so much. I ain't got to know you yet," he replies with wide eyes, trying to backtrack the hole he began to dig for himself. "Well then. What do you for a living, Arthur?" you ask. "I err, I guess I'm a traveler," Arthur shrugs. "Is that what they call cowboys now?" "I wouldn't say I'm a cowboy," Arthur laughs. "They're a dying breed!" "With those spurs and that gunbelt? Oh, please," you shake your head. "You can call me a cowboy if you really want to," he shrugs. "Whatever suits you best." "Oh? And how would a cowboy benefit me? What use do I have for one?" you smirk. "Well, I can take you for a ride some time," Arthur tells you with a glisten to his eyes. "I do own a horse, Mister Arthur." "I didn't mean like that," Arthur replies with a wave of his hand. "And what did you mean then?" "You know what they say," Arthur shrugs. "Save a horse, ride a cowboy." And that's exactly how you got yourself in this situation. Arthur had soon left you alone to find his friend after coming to the agreement that he would spend some time with you the next day, not wanting to take advantage of his drunken state. He did take you for a ride on the back of his horse, trotting north of Valentine and finding a quiet patch by the river. The sky is blue and the birds are singing, but the peaceful tranquility of nature had been drowned out by the echoing of skin against skin, followed by both yours and Arthurs moans. The two of you knew where this was going, which was why you found a secluded location with a nice view to enjoy the ride of your life. Arthur had flirted the whole way, and knew you were flirting back not just from the tone of your voice and the words that spilled out, but from the way you held onto his gunbelt and began undoing his buttons as he approached the location. Arthur was practically shirtless by the time he helped you off his horse, and was quick to pin you against a tree and weave his thigh between your legs whilst he peeked down at your revealing blouse. "Shit!" Arthur hisses, holding your hips and encouraging you to bounce. You're not holding back on your moans, you have no need to, so you let them flow freely as you bounce your pussy against Arthurs thick length. His hat was a little too big for your head, so you move one hand off his chest to hold it in place as you straighten your back, rolling your hips against his and enjoying the way his cock brushes against that spot inside of you. "Well, ___, I did promise you I'd take you for a ride," Arthur grins as he looks at you through hazy eyes. "I knew you'd keep to your promise, but a poor girl like me gets tired so easily on these long journeys," you pout, slowing your hips down slightly so you can talk to him. "Awh, Miss. You want me to take over for you?" Arthur asks. "That'd be so kind of you, Sir," you grin. Your body leans forward as Arthur lifts his knees up, pushing you down so you're now pressed against his chest. You move his hat to the floor, and rest your hand on his thick display of chest hair, admiring his toned body. Arthur begins to buck his hips up into you, a lot faster than you were riding him. He pushes a moan from your lips, followed by many others, as he lets out his own mix of grunts and moans. Your hand moves from his chest up to his neck, holding it gently as your head tilts up so you can kiss along his neck. Arthur tilts his head, giving you all the space you need, his eyes falling shut as he enjoys the wave of pleasure that continues to hit him like a stormy sea. He only moans louder when you begin to bite and suck at the skin, encouraging you to leave a few purple marks that will go nicely with his blue shirt. "I'm gonna get teased for them," Arthur tells you. "How about you leave a few on me and we'll call it even?" you ask as you move your head to settle in the crook of his neck, your hand returning to his chest. "Oh, I will. Maybe on the next round," Arthur replies. You place a shaky kiss to his jawline, the moans beginning to spill out of you as he picks up the pace again. You can tell he's close from the way his cock is throbbing inside of you, so your hand moves south and begins to rub at your clit as you shift your weight, propping yourself up on your elbow. "I'm waitin' for you, sweetheart. I wanna feel you clench around me," Arthur says as he opens his eyes a little, his mouth remaining parted as he gazes up at you. "Trust me, I'm real close," you reply. "Come here," Arthur says as he moves one hand off your hip, placing it on the back of your head as he pulls you down. Arthur kisses you hungrily, though your noses often bump together and the two of you moan against each other's lips. You have to break the kiss when your orgasm hits, your walls clenching around him as you lie back down against his chest, moaning into the crook of his neck as Arthur continues to buck his hips up into you. Arthur slams your hips down against his crotch as he spills his load deep inside of you, his hand returning to your hip as he rolls your hips down against him, milking himself. The sounds he lets out are godly, the prettiest moans you've ever heard, and they continue to flow from his lips as he rides his high. Arthur eventually wraps his arms around your waist, letting the two of you relax as you catch your breaths, his cock still inside of you. Eventually, you roll off him, lying down next to him. His hand settles on your thigh, his thumb rubbing small circles against your skin as the two of you relax. Arthur rolls onto his side so he can place a kiss on your temple, before getting up and buckling his pants back up, his shirt still hanging open. He fetches a bottle of water from his mounts saddlebags and after taking a large gulp, hands it to you. You sit up and take it, Arthur settling behind you. His knees settle on either side of your body, and you're gently pulled back to rest against his chest as you finish off your drink. "You alright?" Arthur asks. "Mhmm," you nod as you put the lid on the bottle. "Are you?" "Course," Arthur says as he kisses your temple again. The two of you look out at the landscape, relaxing and lounging about, catching your breaths until Arthurs hand eventually trails south and begins to get you ready for another round.

Male Reader

These two strangers were some of the loudest men you'd ever served. At first, the rest of the Saloon seemed to be a little irritated with their noise levels, despite them being drunk and rowdy themselves, but after the two strangers had gone around making friends with everyone, followed by performing the can-can, it seemed that they were more than welcome here.

"Another, please!" The man said as he attempted to lean on the bar. You weren't meant to serve drunk customers, but he'd been tipping you like crazy all night. He didn't look like the type of fella that was made of money, but it seemed he held money as little value to him. Something you wish you could also have the mindset for.

"You better not end up throwing up in my Saloon," you tell him as you pour him another shot of whiskey.

"Oh, nah. If I'm gonna be throwin' up then it'll be outside, Mister," he tells you with a drunken smile. "Say, what's your name? If I may ask?"

"I'm ___," you tell him.

"___? Handsome name for a handsome man," he smiles again. "I'm Arthur. Pleasure to meet you," Arthur says as he picks up the shot, raising it as he winks at you, followed by downing it, a trickle spilling from the corner of his mouth.

"You err, you ain't seen my friend Lenny have you?" he asks you as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, placing the empty shot glass on the bar top.

"The fella that you've been with all night? I ain't seen him in a while," you tell him as you serve another customer.

"Owh. Maybe he gone and got lucky!" Arthur tells you with pride.

"And left you all alone here without telling you first?" you tut, joking along with him.

"Good point. Lenny would never do that. He must just be throwin' up 'round the back," Arthur says as he fiddles with the empty shot glass.

"You wanna go check on him?"

"Nah, he'll be fine. He's a big kid, he can look after himself. Besides, I don't wanna leave this conversation with a handsome stranger such as yourself," Arthur smiles.

"You still callin' me a stranger even though we introduced ourselves?" you smirk.

"Well, names only mean so much. I ain't got to know you yet," he replies with wide eyes, trying to backtrack the hole he began to dig for himself.

"Well then. What do you for a living, Arthur?" you ask.

"I err, I guess I'm a traveler," Arthur shrugs.

"Is that what they call cowboys now?"

"I wouldn't say I'm a cowboy," Arthur laughs. "They're a dying breed!"

"With those spurs and that gunbelt? Oh, please," you shake your head.

"You can call me a cowboy if you really want to," he shrugs. "Whatever suits you best."

"Oh? And how would a cowboy benefit me? What use do I have for one?" you smirk.

"Well, I can take you for a ride some time," Arthur tells you with a glisten to his eyes.

"I do own a horse, Mister Arthur."

"I didn't mean like that," Arthur replies with a wave of his hand.

"And what did you mean then?"

"You know what they say," Arthur shrugs. "Save a horse, ride a cowboy."

And that's exactly how you got yourself in this situation. Arthur had soon left you alone to find his friend after coming to the agreement that he would spend some time with you the next day, not wanting to take advantage of his drunken state.

He did take you for a ride on the back of his horse, trotting north of Valentine and finding a quiet patch by the river. The sky is blue and the birds are singing, but the peaceful tranquility of nature had been drowned out by the echoing of skin against skin, followed by both yours and Arthurs moans.

The two of you knew where this was going, which was why you found a secluded location with a nice view to enjoy the ride of your life. Arthur had flirted the whole way, and knew you were flirting back not just from the tone of your voice and the words that spilled out, but from the way you held onto his gunbelt and began undoing his buttons as he approached the location. Arthur was practically shirtless by the time he helped you off his horse, and was quick to pin you against a tree and weave his thigh against your crotch whilst he began to undo your shirt.

"Shit!" Arthur hisses, holding your hips and encouraging you to bounce.

You're not holding back on your moans, you have no need to, so you let them flow freely as you bounce your ass against Arthurs thick length. His hat was a little too big for your head, so you move one hand off his chest to hold it in place as you straighten your back, rolling your hips against his and enjoying the way his cock brushes against that spot inside of you.

"Well, ___, I did promise you I'd take you for a ride," Arthur grins as he looks at you through hazy eyes.

"I knew you'd keep to your promise, but a poor fella like me gets tired so easily on these long journeys," you pout, slowing your hips down slightly so you can talk to him.

"Awh, Mister. You want me to take over for you?" Arthur asks.

"That'd be so kind of you, Sir," you grin.

Your body leans forward as Arthur lifts his knees up, pushing you down so you're now pressed against his chest. You move his hat to the floor, and rest your hand on his thick display of chest hair, admiring his toned body.

Arthur begins to buck his hips up into you, a lot faster than you were riding him. He pushes a moan from your lips, followed by many others, as he lets out his own mix of grunts and moans.

Your hand moves from his chest up to his neck, holding it gently as your head tilts up so you can kiss along his neck. Arthur tilts his head, giving you all the space you need, his eyes falling shut as he enjoys the wave of pleasure that continues to hit him like a stormy sea.

He only moans louder when you begin to bite and suck at the skin, encouraging you to leave a few purple marks that will go nicely with his blue shirt.

"I'm gonna get teased for them," Arthur tells you.

"How about you leave a few on me and we'll call it even?" you ask as you move your head to settle in the crook of his neck, your hand returning to his chest.

"Oh, I will. Maybe on the next round," Arthur replies.

You place a shaky kiss to his jawline, the moans beginning to spill out of you as he picks up the pace again. You can tell he's close from the way his cock is throbbing inside of you, so your hand moves south and begins to tug at your own length as you shift your weight, propping yourself up on your elbow.

"I'm waitin' for you, sweetheart. I wanna feel you clench around me," Arthur says as he opens his eyes a little, his mouth remaining parted as he gazes up at you.

"Trust me, I'm real close," you reply.

"Come here," Arthur says as he moves one hand off your hip, placing it on the back of your head as he pulls you down.

Arthur kisses you hungrily, though your noses often bump together and the two of you moan against each other's lips. You have to break the kiss when your orgasm hits, your ass clenching around him as you spill your load over Arthur's stomach. You lie back down against his chest, moaning into the crook of his neck as Arthur continues to buck his hips up into you, not minding the feeling of your cum pressed between both of your bodies.

Arthur slams your hips down against his crotch as he spills his load deep inside of you, his hand returning to your hip as he rolls your hips down against him, milking himself. The sounds he lets out are godly, the prettiest moans you've ever heard, and they continue to flow from his lips as he rides his high. Arthur eventually wraps his arms around your waist, letting the two of you relax as you catch your breaths, his cock still inside of you.

Eventually, you roll off him, lying down next to him. His hand settles on your thigh, his thumb rubbing small circles against your skin as the two of you relax. Arthur rolls onto his side so he can place a kiss on your temple, before getting up and buckling his pants back up, his shirt still hanging open.

He fetches a bottle of water from his mounts saddlebags and after taking a large gulp, hands it to you. You sit up and take it, Arthur settling behind you. His knees settle on either side of your body, and you're gently pulled back to rest against his chest as you finish off your drink.

"You alright?" Arthur asks.

"Mhmm," you nod as you put the lid on the bottle. "Are you?"

"Course," Arthur says as he kisses your temple again.

The two of you look out at the landscape, relaxing and lounging about, catching your breaths until Arthurs hand eventually trails south and begins to get you ready for another round.

[hatsukeii]

One where y/n has been obviously in love with Tsuki since they were kids and not afraid to show it, but he’s always been lowkey mean to her and thinks she’s annoying and then finally years later she decides he’s not a nice guy and let’s him know she’s fine with all that crap and then he realizes he’s falling for her and does something really sweet for her and they fall in love? 😭😭🥺👉🏻👈🏻 ty in advance. Sorry if this is too long or specific, if it is, feel free to ignore

I genuinely hope you didn’t think I would actually ignore this<33

IM SORRY IM A MASTER PROCRASTINATOR ILY ALL AND YOU ALL DESERVE AN APOLOGY FROM ME

Dear diary//Tsukishima Kei x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k+

Warnings: Cursing

Genre: Angst??? I guess???

Summary: He’s an ass, but you still love him to bits, and it’s killing you.

July 16, 2008

Dear Diary,

I got to play with Tsukki again! He had his dino with him, it was super cute! He told me his front teeth came off last night, and there’s a big hole in his teeth, but it’s okay, because he said it will grow back. I tried to hold his hand while going down the twin slides but he said it was sweaty, so next time I’ll wear gloves!

You flip through the hot pink diary, cringing at your young infatuation. Your diary entries were cringey as fuck, but they always rekindle something within you whenever you read them. You can’t even remember when you stopped writing in the book. Was it when you turned 10? Maybe 12? You don’t have a single clue.

April 30, 2011

Dear Diary,

Tsukki refused to marry me in the playground at break:(( I’ve known him for so long though, aren’t we supposed to get married? I just wanna hold his hand and hug him and give him a biiiiig kiss<33

Chuckling at the memory, you recalled the event from that entry clearly. You were seven years old only, still an immature kid. You still thought that getting married in a middle school playground was a huge milestone in life, almost as crucial as a legal marriage.

May 29, 2016

Dear Diary,

Love how Tsukki didn’t even remember my birthday:,) Must be nice getting made fun of. Half the students in my class felt my second hand embarrassment from when he completely forgot about it. God, why am I even in love with this asshole? I’m gonna have to go to school tomorrow and deal with all my classmates making fun of me for being hopeless. Brb, currently digging a hole for myself:)

Frowning at the memory, you think back to when you were twelve. He was an asshole then, still is an asshole to this day. And yet not an ounce of your unconditional love and support for him has faded. Grabbing a tissue, you wipe the remaining tears from your eyes, ignoring the dried tear stains on your cheek. Your hand slams onto the bedside table, lazily feeling for your phone. Tilting it towards your face, you sigh at the empty lock screen, accepting defeat. Flicking through the rest of the book, you are welcomed by pages and pages of white. “So that’s when I gave up on this diary...” you mutter to yourself as you lift yourself up from your bed. Heading towards your desk, you absentmindedly grab yourself a pen, notebook in hand. Slamming the diary down, you open it up to the next entry page after your last one, gently placing the tip of your pen on the first line. You grab your hair out of frustration, the ink bleeding into the thin paper. “What to do, what to do...?” You mumble, starting to form sentences in your notebook.

July 17, 2020

Dear Diary,

It’s been a while hasn’t it? Holy shit, all my entries were about Tsukki weren’t they? Jesus, of course they were. At least I was able to get it off my chest this afternoon. Telling him that I’ve been in love with him for years, that was fucking terrifying. Telling him that although I know he’s an ass, an animatronic dick complete with ballsack, that won’t stop me from falling harder, it was gut wrenching, but also relieving to a certain degree. I’m still waiting for some form of response, although I’m not sure I’m gonna get one anytime soon. I can’t decide whether telling him was the dumbest or bravest decision I’ve made. Maybe it was both. Just wait until I look back on this entry like a decade later and still cry about it lmao. Tbh he’s a genuinely nice person at heart. I know that all too well. He may be an ass most the time, and he may think I’m annoying, but despite how hard he tries to push me away, I’ll never abandon him. Jesus Christ, I sound like a yandere here, but it’s not that. It’s that I care for him a lot. Maybe even a bit too much. It’s ridiculous how absolute and utter shit a crush can make you feel.

Throwing the pen down, you flop back onto your bed, huffing into the thick blankets. You stay silent, not sure of what to think of the situation. “I’ll just deal with it all tomorrow, I’m tired of this shit.”

On the other side of the incident, Tsukishima is currently going through a mental crisis.

The blond sits at his desk, eyes unwavering, but focusing on nothing. It feels as if he hasn’t blinked in what seemed to be hours. Just hours of staring at his wall that led to nothing. Your confession plays in his head nonstop, like a broken record that refused to run out of battery.

“The thing is I like you. I’m pretty sure I always have. And I know that you’re such an asshole and all that, you won’t treat me as well as people would expect, but it’s fine. I’m fine with all that. All the dumb, stupid, careless insults you’ll throw at me, the side eyes and sneers, telling me to shut up and go away, I’m fine with it. I know you’re a good person, and that’s all that matters to me.”

“Well shit what the fuck do you want me to say?”

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.

Maybe he should have let you down slowly.

But as he stares at his wall, the photos of the two of you framed and balanced on his floating shelves, he starts to reconsider his feelings.

The way your expression faltered then as you hastily took your bag and rushed away without a single word, the way you avoided him in the halls, the way you stopped talking to him throughout the day, it drove him crazy. He couldn’t handle the realisation that he hurt you so incredibly badly, so now all he can do is stare at his empty, blank wall. Did he know why he felt that way? No. He didn’t and still doesn’t. He’s Tsukishima fucking Kei, the emotionless, provoking, unlikeable king, yet a mere girl is somehow able to mess with his mind so badly, that all he can do is wallow in regret and confusion? What is this weird feeling? His throat itches, his heart is beating like crazy, sweat starting to gather around his temples. He clamps his two hands together, slamming his forehead onto them and squeezing his eyes shut.

How could I have been so dense?

How was he unable to see that you were absolutely in love with him? Even with the bento boxes, birthday gifts, constant compliments, he still only ever thought you liked him as a friend. However he never did. He likes you more than that. Way more. Yes, he thought, and still thinks you can be annoying at times, especially when you nag at him about not eating enough or being rude, but it was undeniable that there was something else he felt. But his stupid ass shitty ego would never let him admit it. And now that you finally confessed, he freaked out and fucked up. Even then, he didn’t think it would affect him to this extent.

“It was a stupid middle school crush, I’m over you (Y/N).”

He says that over and over again, desperate to cloud out the disagreeing thoughts in his head that scream otherwise.

“It was a stupid middle school crush, I’m over you.”

“It was a stupid middle school crush, I’m over you.”

“It was a stupid middle school crush, I’m over you.”

The guilt didn’t go away.

In fact, now that he’s said all that, he feels even worse. Oh how much he wants to find you right this second, wrap you in his arms, tell you how incredibly sorry he is, but he can’t. He doesn’t deserve to do that. His heart is begging for him to just get out of the house and run to yours as fast as he could, but his body won’t move. He wants to cry. Scream. Shout. Throw something. Shatter something. But most of all, he wants to get another chance.

Picking up his phone, he hesitates, before typing in your contact, the cleared out, empty chatroom showing up on his screen. Going as fast as his fingers could, he typed out the one sentence he’s been dying to let out.

“It was a middle school crush, but I’m still into you. I always have been.”

Is it just me, or is this bad-

Idk man it seems like all my fics are pretty much the same and I hate it😌

Tags:

@sunshines-and-tatertots @izzyphantomgamer @justachillgirl @trashcanweeb @just-another-bored-writer @poppirocks @majorfangirl37 @kaylacinderella @random-fandomlover @tiger1719 @tiredgr3mlin @itmekisuu @skyeackermans @talks-a-lot-of-stuff @shoutsukii @agentvicinity @sakusasgarbage @kuroo-thought-of-a-better-un @sneezefiction @bokutokoutarou @thirstyvolleyballhoe @iwaixiumi @iwaigroomi @inlwlevi

Feel free to comment or pm to be added to taglist!

I’m back to writing lmao I’m bored in two week quarantine rn

Edit: cue me realising I was half asleep and missed something in the request don’t be surprised if I repost this💀💀💀💀

Btw the hq manga just ended time to cry

💕💕💕💕

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Snowed In p5

I have an hour before work so instead of doing the responsible thing and cranking out my labs, I’m posting smutty fic. in my defense, I have none.

Pairing: Geralt x fem!reader

Warnings: smut. hella smut, unprotected sex, bit bitey, hair pulling? I’m new to writing smut so if there’s any more plz message me I really wanna know and be able to tag my shit accordingly.

Summary: How else does one get to sleep if not by fucking your friend that is totally not more than a friend? or Geralt finally does something about the tension between them?

There’s a bit of plot in here somewhere I swear. Not really, I just have a feeling G is competitive af. We’ll be back to our regularly scheduled emotionally indulgent programming next part so if you’re not down with the smut I’ll add a little summary on the beginning of the next one.

Part 4 here!

__________

Day thirty brought a restlessness that couldn't be soothed. If you weren't moving you felt like you were going to disintegrate to dust from the pent up energy. 

You tried trudging circles around the barn in the snow, sprinting up and down the stairs, making Geralt spar with you until your muscles gave up and you collapsed, but you couldn't shake the need to move. You even went so far as to ask Geralt to hold you while you tried to sleep. You used the "it works for babies maybe it could calm me down" excuse and he must have bought it because he wasted no time pulling you into his arms. Regardless of how comfortably you fit tucked into his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, you only slept an hour or two. 

Day thirty one was no different. Anxious, restless, and now pissy because of how tired you were. You paced most of the day, to Geralt's dismay. He finally ordered you to run the stairs because he couldn't "sit here and watch you walk a hole in the floor anymore". You'd rolled your eyes but you did it anyway, until you thought you might hurl. Then when the nausea passed you ran them ten times more for good measure. You even ate more than usual at dinner, hoping a full stomach would at least make you feel sluggish enough to stop moving. 

Despite all this, you laid staring at the ceiling for hours, tapping your fingers on your ribs and wishing for even a wink of sleep.

Just when you were starting to feel lighter, ready to float off to blessed unconsciousness, you heard a deep moan and a giggle from the other side of the wall. 

"Fuck me. I thought they were still fighting" You groaned, rolling over to face away from the wall and pulling your pillow over your ear. 

Geralt grimaced, staring at the ceiling, "Made up an hour ago." 

You snickered, "So you really hear all of it?" 

He rolled his eyes, the movement just barely visible in the light of the dying fire, "Unfortunately, I can hear a room past them as well." 

Another moan and the distinct sound of someone's ass getting slapped seemed to echo in the silence. 

"I was so close to sleep" you sighed, silently wishing a curse on the neighbors.  

Geralt frowned, you assumed because he heard something he'd rather not until he opened his mouth, "S'probly why they're so chipper." 

"Hm?" 

He glanced at you before elaborating, "All the… they're in a better mood because they actually sleep. After they… you know, fuck." 

You snorted, praying he couldn't see the flush in your cheeks, "Is that how it works?" Your voice was dripping with sarcasm. 

The neighbors were growing louder by the second, clearly so excited about the resolution of their fight that they didn't care if they woke the whole inn. 

He shrugged, "Works for me." 

His tone was too casual, too measured even for him. You narrowed your eyes in a desperate attempt to pull any more information out of the shadows on his face. 

"To get to sleep you mean?" Your voice was nearly a whisper, tamped by what you thought he might be implying. 

He hummed in agreement, finally turning to face you, his face completely unreadable, "Might calm you down." 

If you'd wanted to play it cool your body betrayed you. Your heartbeat alone was a dead giveaway that his words got to you, and you didn't even want to know what he could tell with any other senses. 

You blinked hard, trying to form a coherent sentence, "Ar- are you… uhm… offering?" 

He propped himself up on an elbow and his entire demeanor changed, the usual mask of indifference replaced with a grin, "I am." 

You heard a little voice in the back of your head yelling about how things could get messy but you shut it up, already feeling that coil tightening between your hips just from how he was looking at you. 

You reached out to run a finger over his wrist, lightly tracing little figure eights over his skin, "I'd hate for you to regret it in the morning." 

"I have a lot of regrets in life, very rarely do I regret sex." 

He can tell. He's way too fucking confident not to know. Fuck it.

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and looked up at him through your lashes, "Couldn't hurt to try." 

He leaned over you, almost kissing you before moving to your ear, his lips brushing against your skin as he whispered, "Is that a yes?" 

Fuck.

"Yes. Hell yes." 

You felt the vibrations of the rumblings in his chest as he practically growled before nipping at your jaw. You gasped and grabbed onto the hem of his shirt, now that the tension had broken and you'd touched you finally could move. 

He stopped you though, placing a soft kiss over the skin that stung from his bite before sitting back and pulling you with him, "Clothes. Off." 

You obeyed immediately, shimmying out of every last stitch and letting out a soft moan as you saw him drop his small clothes. 

He smirked, "That excited?" He asked as he resumed his position above you. 

"Something like that. Your ass is great." You answered, not bothering with this charade of shyness anymore. He laughed softly, placing kisses on your neck and running his hand up your body to your chest. You moaned when he squeezed your tit but you yelped when he kissed his way down to the other one and licked at your nipple. He chuckled and took the nub between his teeth, biting down and pulling back just enough to earn another moan before he pressed his lips over the area and sucked. 

"Ah fuck Geralt." One of your hands gripped his hair, but you didn't pull, not like you wanted to. 

He left a trail of kisses to your other breast, "Pull all you want." He paused to circle your now extremely sensitive nipple with his tongue, "I like it." Before you could respond he bit the very tip and you moaned again, this time testing the waters with a light tug at his hair. 

He hummed in response and continued his trail down your body. 

You hadn't pegged him for the type to go down on his woman first, but oh how wrong you were. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing and exactly how it drove you wild. 

He left little bites at your hip crease and on your inner thigh, coming closer to where you wanted him most, only to switch to your other hip.

"You're a fucking tease." You whined, breathless and so achingly turned on. 

Almost before you finished your sentence, one of his hands spread your folds and he licked from your opening up over your clit.You shivered and gasped, tugging at his hair again. 

He moaned against you and your eyes rolled back in your head, "Mmmmmm Geralt more. Please." 

He obliged immediately, flicking his tongue over your clit in a pattern that made your whole body tingle and thighs squeeze together. Without missing a beat he pushed your legs apart and laid his arm over your hip, bringing his hand to your opposite thigh to hold you in place.

Still working your clit with his tongue he slowly pushed two fingers into you, curling and pumping at an annoyingly laid back pace. You bucked your hips up, or tried, and he chuckled, pulling his fingers away completely.

"Fuck you." You gasped, "That's just rude." 

He licked over your opening with a broad tongue and pulled back, "Kinda the point, isn't it?" 

"Geralt." You mewled in protest, pulling his hair again and earning a grunt in return before his mouth was back on your cunt. He added a third finger when he started again, stretching you out and damn near making you writhe. He coaxed moan after moan, whine after desperate whine from your lips and just before you came, he stopped completely. 

Sitting back and surveying his work he grinned, "Not yet. You have to earn it." 

Melitele's Tits. That's so hot.

You lurched forward, pushing him on his back and straddling his thighs, "Earn it? Like this?" You reached between your legs and gathered your own slick before gripping the base of his cock and pumping just as infuriatingly slow as he had gone earlier. 

The way he groaned set your body on fire, making you shivered in anticipation. You couldn't wait anymore, you leaned forward, placing a hand on the center of his chest for balance and lined yourself up over his hips. 

Your breath hitched in your throat as you sank down on his dick. Of course you knew he was big, but this? This was heaven. You savored every bit, lowering yourself as slowly as you could, your fingers curling to grip at the hair on his chest. His hands roamed over your thighs and hips, squeezing at what he could reach of your ass.

When you finally bottomed out your eyes fluttered closed and a low groan clawed its way out of your chest. 

"Fuck , Y/N…" Geralt breathed, fingers digging into your flesh. 

Your eyes snapped open, a devilish grin on your face, "What? Do you want me to move?" 

Before he could answer you clenched around his cock, getting a gasp and gritted teeth in response. 

"What was that? I didn't hear you." 

He opened his mouth to respond but you snapped your hips up and back down as fast as you could, grinding your hips against his in small circles. Whatever he was going to say turned into a string of curses that only spurred you on. You placed your other hand on his chest, rocking your hips slowly forward and up but swiftly back down.

Geralt looked completely undone, his hair splayed out almost like a halo and the firey need in his eyes made you move faster. Your thighs started to ache and your moans were coming out more like desperate whimpers. You leaned back, bringing a hand to your clit and one to your breast. You felt his cock twitch inside you and bit your bottom lip, changing the direction of your hip circles. 

With a growl he gripped your hips and held you down against him, sitting up and turning to sit on his heels. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed at his jaw, letting him hold you to him without moving, "Did I earn it?" You whispered, almost hoping you hadn't with how good it felt to just be filled by him.

He let loose a breathy laugh, "Fuck you." 

You rocked your body closer to him, gripping his hair in one of your hands, "Oh gods please do." 

He bucked his hips against yours driving your whole body up in the air, and pulled you back down with one hand at your hip and one wrapped behind your back holding onto your shoulder. He set a rough, fast pace and you cried out every time your hips slapped against his. 

You felt yourself losing all the strength in your limbs, almost unable to keep hold of his shoulders, and that familiar tingle creeping up your spine. 

"Mm-f- fuck I'm close." 

"Good." Geralt growled, snapping his hips up somehow faster and harder, sending you hurtling over the edge of your orgasm. You yanked on his hair as your whole body was flooded with electric pleasure, leaving you gasping for air. He came right after you, moaning soft and low as you writhed on top of him. 

As your high began to fade, you rocked your hips against his more methodically, working him through the last of his orgasm. You gently tugged at his hair to tilt his head back, placing soft kisses along his jugular and over his Adams apple. His arms wrapped around your waist and held you tightly to him as his breathing slowed. When you made your way up to his chin and jawline he leaned you back onto the bed, pulling out and flopping onto the mattress next to you.

It was deathly silent as the two of you caught your breath. The predicament you found yourselves in seemed to dawn on the both of you, only you saw absolutely no sign from Geralt how he felt about it. 

Later. Don't ruin this. Talk about it tomorrow. Or never. 

"Did we intimidate them?" You did your best to make it sound like a joke, pointing at the wall to indicate the silence. 

He snorted, rolling onto his side facing you, "No idea. I was distracted." 

You giggled, shimmying closer to him and tucking your head under his chin, "Yeah, thanks for that. Good distraction." 

He draped an arm over your waist, "What high praise…" 

"Ssshhhhh," you leaned back and placed a finger over his lips, "I'm trying to sleep here." 

He hummed against your touch, lips thinning into a soft smile. 

It would have been entirely natural for you to lean forward and kiss him, even expected in such a situation, but you couldn't. That crossed the friendship line, as if it wasn't already blurred beyond recognition. Instead you nuzzled into his chest, snaking your arm under his and holding him close, savoring every moment. After all, when the heartbreak eventually set in you'd need something to cling to, even if it was just the memory of his touch. 

__________

Uhm some of yall wanted to be tagged in the next part and  i stg i could cry with how happy that made me! If anyone else wants tagged just hmu 💕💕

@ab-haya @fire-in-her-veinz

part 6 here!

[gallickingun]

Are you familiarized/comfortable with the omegaverse? Do you take multiple-requests? Sorry to bother if your answer is "no"! I just wanna to know which are your thoughts/hc about Bakugou, Deku and Todoroki being omegas, thank you for your time!

i’m gonna do a little headcanon thing! i’ve read some omegaverse and understand it okay!! not great, and not well enough to write any fic (yet), but enough to be dangerous! and personally i think that kacchan and todo are definitely alpha’s but deku could be alpha or omega tbh. but anyway! on to the omega headcanons! 

ps, hope this isn’t absolute trash. be gentle with me. 

Izuku Midoriya

- cries when he gets too frustrated, whether it’s by little things like screwing up dinner or forgetting to take the trash out. boy digs his fingernails into his hands and fat tears drip down his cheeks.

- likes to have some alone time, especially after a day out in public. needs time to recharge, and can do so by himself or with his SO!! 

- isn’t assertive, but does like to do his own thing. he’ll wander off so he can be in charge of his own activities and schedule! 

- has very few super close friendships, but is really close to the ones that he does cultivate, including his SO. doesn’t mind being nice to people he doesn’t know too well, but doesn’t trust them with his life story.

- it takes a long time to become friends, let alone romantic. but, once you’ve kissed for the first time? it’s over. always all over you, rubbing up against you, trying to figure out how to drown himself in the scent of you. he’s infatuated with you once he falls in love.

- likes to steal your hoodies. LOVES to use your shampoo. his favorite thing to hold onto when you’re gone to remind him of your scent is an old sports shirt you have from college. there may be holes in it but it smells like you and gives him something to ground himself while you’re away.

- has NO concept of personal space. the second you walk in the door, his nose is on your neck and his hands are under your clothes. laid out on the couch watching a movie marathon? you bet izuku is completely wrapped around you, head tucked into your chest, knee between your thighs.

- has been bullied most of his life so when you tease him, he gets a little defensive at first. he’s not used to being made fun of in “a good way” so he doesn’t understand why you calling him things and picking on him is endearing, but eventually he gets used to it and when you go lighter on the bickering he starts to wonder what’s wrong!!

- his chirping is LOUD. so loud. loves to let everyone know that his alpha takes care of him with sweet little chirps. but everyone knows not to mess with deku, because he will chirp so loud that his alpha will come STORMING into the room bc deku has NO CHILL. and doesn’t understand the varying emergency levels of different situations. it does not matter if someone stole his cart at walmart or if he feels like he’s about to get snatched by another group of alphas, the chirping is the same. 

Todoroki Shouto

- very quiet. much sarcasm. doesn’t like to be told what to do, mostly sticks to his own space so he doesn’t have to deal with other alpha’s that will just make fun of him anyway.

- when he does speak, it’s usually only about something he can relate to, or something that interests him. doesn’t mince words or talk about things that are unrelated or pointless.

- does NOT read social cues and can sometimes act out in public. does NOT understand why his alpha is so angry in starbucks - all he did was tell that other omega that they smelled like shit. he was just telling the truth!!

- when he’s anxious, when he has nightmares, he starts searching for you. your kisses soothe his fast-paced heart, your hands on his skin giving him something to anchor himself to. 

- hums when he’s content. likes to sing in your ear, his throat vibrating with sound. when he sings your scent floods the room and he loves it, so it only makes him sing more. 

- his face gets bright red when he’s embarrassed and he doesn’t mean to chirp as often as he does. the trill sounds that echo out of him scare even himself, and when you come to his aid he profusely apologizes for not being more in control of himself.

- the best thing that carries your scent are the blankets, so he always shoves them at you when you’re going to be gone for more than a couple of hours. you’d laugh at him, because heaven forbid that he ask you to scent him directly. 

Bakugou Katsuki

- angry crier. angrY CRIER. ANGRY CRIER.

- gets really frustrated when he can’t say what he’s thinking, or can’t verbalize it. usually requires his SO running their fingers through his hair to calm him down and try to interpret what he’s trying to say. 

- anti-empathy. doesn’t care what you’re going through. a little self-centered. mostly because he’s pissed that he wasn’t born an alpha, but that passes when he meets you and realizes that not all alphas are dicks.  

- has been alone his whole life and likes it, but once you come into his life he kind of starts to understand the appeal of having a significant other. 

- you find your t-shirts going missing. after some time you go looking on his side of the room only to find them stuffed in his side drawer, mimicking a miniature nest. you even come home to him curled up on the couch with one tucked under his chin and you don’t have the heart to be angry. 

- LOVES to cook for you. can’t stand it when you suggest take out, he takes it as an insult. as soon as you threaten to order pizza, he flips out and speeds into the kitchen, pouting while he’s cutting the veggies.

- cannot get enough of being held! loves to curl up with you, head tucked into your neck where your scent is the strongest, the most comforting. everyone expects so much out of him all the time that it’s relaxing to have someone who will let him unwind and take care of him.

- on that note…omega!katsuki is a total brat. LOVES to be taken care of. LOVES it when you wash his hair and rub his back and take his shoes/clothes off of him after a long day. LOVES the attention once he realizes you’re not out to break his heart. 

- HATES being in public. REFUSES to go to a mall. CANNOT stand in line at a starbucks. WILL go feral.

- is nervous all the time, which only makes him more nervous because he sweats when he’s nervous and he’s scared that his quirk will pop off at any given time. and he hates feeling out of control, especially in public. and especially with you.

—-

WOW that sucked but it’s fine, everything is fine! hopefully i didn’t ruin your expectations lol

[gumnut-logic]

Who do you save, John? (Bit 6)

Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Bit 4 | Bit 5a | Bit 5b | Bit 6

It is so nice to be able to just sit and write without having to rush off to work ::sighs contentedly:: Having said that, man, this fic is tense. I don’t need caffeine, writing this has me strung tighter than a bow. I hope you enjoy.

Warnings: Blood (but nothing major)

For @5hadow-alpha​ cos they wanted Shopping and a Tracy brother. You got more than one, and I got more than I expected. Fic isn’t quite out of control, but wow, it is going places I did not expect in the process.

-o-o-o-

Alan’s arm hurt like hell.

But he wasn’t paying it any attention.

At some point Gordon had edged just a little closer, just enough to brush up against his hand. It was a simple reassurance and Alan could appreciate it.

But Alan’s attention was caught between Virgil and John.

Dad was holding his stricken brother like a child.

Alan could hear each struggling breath from here. There was too much blood on the carpet.

Far too much.

He itched to help Virgil. To save him.

But he couldn’t.

Time was slipping through the blood drying on his fingers.

It made him want to scream.

He couldn’t even do that.

So, he turned his attention to John.

His space brother stood ramrod straight in the middle of the room attempting to blast their assailant with his eyes.

John had always been the quiet one, the odd one out of their five. Sure, Virgil had his own brand of quiet, but John’s was as solitary as the stars he chased.

Alan had always admired him. Despite being different from the rest of the family, John never apologised for it. Alan suspected that somewhere in their eleven year age gap, something had happened to his star brother that had wrought the steel under that facade. Perhaps forced him to accept himself the way he was and leverage the advantages.

In any case, John was John and Alan loved him for it.

The fact they were both technically geniuses didn’t hurt either. They shared smarts at least. But while John sought energy from solitude, Alan was much more energised by people. He could operate alone, but he preferred to be with others.

And he loved being with John.

Okay, it was hero worship. Just a little. He had to admit it. After all, John lived where Alan wanted to explore. John knew so much and they could speak space for hours.

And had many times when Alan was little, laid out on the grass in their backyard, staring up at a clear night.

John may have preferred to be alone, but he always had time for Alan. Now, as an adult, Alan could appreciate that gift his brother had given him so many times, so much more.

“John.” Scott was vibrating in his corner, eyes darting between Virgil and John even more than Alan’s. “I think-“

“Nobody cares what you think, Commander. You’re not in charge here.”

“Timothy, or whatever the hell your name is, this has gone far enough.”

The gunman arched an eyebrow at Alan’s father. “So, you think you’re in charge, too. Honestly, do you idiots even realise the power your brother has?” His eyes latched onto Alan’s father. “How you’ve gifted him the ability to play god? Neither of you are in charge. So, shut up or I’ll shoot the both of you.”

“But that would ruin your test, wouldn’t it?” John’s voice was ice calm and just as cold.

Timothy turned back to Alan’s space brother. “Maybe you are as smart as they say you are, Voiceman.” A glare. “Now choose.”

John’s eyes flicked around the room, catching each of his brother’s and his father’s.

A groan from Virgil. “No…” And the engineer was attempting to sit up.

“Virgil, stay still!” The words fell sharply from Alan’s lips and were backed up by the rest of his family as their father tried to hold him back.

“Oh, for the love of-! Don’t any of you know how to shut up?!” Timothy took several steps closer to Alan’s fallen brother. The gun pointed directly at Virgil. Painfilled eyes stared up at the man. Timothy’s finger twitched. Alan opened his mouth to scream.

On the far side of the room, John’s tablet, put aside while he changed clothes, let off a chime. “John, are you dressed yet? Can I see?”

Eos.

Alan’s heart lurched as John didn’t hesitate. “Eos! You are the Dawn!” His space brother knocked the gun aside and the whole room jumped as it went off, digging a hole in the floor beside Virgil’s foot.

The tablet pinged acknowledgement.

Timothy whipped around and grabbed John. John was taller, but Timothy obviously had strength and training and before Gordon or Scott could take more than one step forward, John’s arm was wrenched behind his back, bending him awkwardly, and the gun shoved at his throat.

“What did you do?!”

A brief flicker of pain passed over John’s face before that familiar calm settled again. “What I always do – what has to be done.” He groaned as Timothy yanked harder on his arm and with one shot, narrowly missing Gordon, destroyed John’s tablet with a bullet.

“John…” Virgil’s voice was whisper quiet and ending in another groan.

“Virgil!” His father admonished the prone engineer, but Virgil was inconsolable, struggling against his hold.

Timothy ignored them, jamming the gun so deep into John’s throat, the astronaut choked. “Choose, you asshole! Who lives and who dies, or this building comes down on all of us now!”

-o-o-o-

“Eos! You are the Dawn!”

The words hit her hard.

Emergency level threat.

John and/or his family members were in danger and in need of her assistance.

Her response was immediate.

She flooded the building’s digital infrastructure with herself, clawing through the optical cables seeking as much information as she could gather.

John’s tablet gave her a little, but its signal died almost immediately. Its camera was useless, but its microphone gave her just enough to hear her father’s voice before it cut out.

Her father was in pain.

A tendril shot out across the other side of the world and alerted Kayo.

The security officer swore, dropping her suspect as Eos pulled a sitrep from the scene.

Communications within the suit shop had been manually severed and cloaked. Her assessment earlier had been passive. Now active and aware of the issue she was able to dig beneath the benign code to find programs running that were absolutely not.

Why had John forbidden her from prying?

An alert was sent to Lady Penelope’s residence. A full status feed churning through the connection.

Eos’ electric fingers sliced through alien code and disrupted it, triggering an alert to IR security.

Kayo was already alerting Gerald, chief officer on site. IR security moved.

Except for one.

Eos’ eyes were everywhere. Lightning fast she pinpointed each member of the team as each responded to Gerald’s update and command to report.

The man outside the door. The man trusted to stand guard on the Tracys. His vitals reported elevated heartrate and he was refusing to acknowledge commands.

Thunderbird S was nearing a redline as the craft tore across the Atlantic.

FAB1 was airborne, Parker swearing colourfully.

And still the security officer did not respond.

She infiltrated his comms, pulling recordings. She pulled video from cameras. Faster than any human, she pulled his history, his recent activity, his recent movements.

She watched him meet with one of the tailors’ assistants two weeks earlier. There was no recording of conversation, but there was a data trail.

She tore through the assistant’s personal computing devices.

The protection written into his files was professional and a challenge. He wasn’t any kind of assistant at all.

While simultaneously gathering information from the disabled security system, updating Kayo and Penelope, and burrowing through electrical infrastructure desperate to find a connection of any kind with John or any of his brothers, she identified Timothy Wilson, ex-marine, millionaire as the ‘tailors’ assistant’ who had spoken to Anthony of IR security two weeks earlier and passed on a computer program and what was likely a plan that resulted in the blackout of communications she was currently battling.

The camera in the foyer focussed sharply on the man whose heart was now redlining almost as much as Thunderbird S’ engines.

Spread across so many systems, multitasking with the sole aim to locate and secure her father, she stared down at this man who had obviously betrayed him.

Kayo was yelling at her as she crossed the coastline of England.

But Eos was the Dawn.

-o-o-o-

Next

[doodleimprovement]

Of Brothers and Moonjumpers - AHIT Victorian AU Fic

This one is long enough to be an actual one shot - be warned! 

----

Marcus Arelius can seem a bit dim from a distance. Always smiling, always pleasant. It seems like willful ignorance if you do not know him.

But if you do know him, you know of his cunning, his wit, his surprising slyness.

Vanessa was well aware of him and his mild disapproval of her, but played up his friendliness in such a way as to leave him with no room to speak.

It was the only way to keep his knowledge and questions about his brother quiet.

What the lady of the house did not count on, was the little servant girl.

While taking a leisurely walk in the courtyard of the manor, he spotted the little girl very eagerly pulling weeds from a neglected little corner.

His corner, he lamented - where he used to grow -

Oh lord he used to grow moonjumpers there!

“Little one, Little one stop!” Marcus shouted, causing the little girl to jump and turn. He spotted the dried moonjumper pinned to the ribbon in her hair  and he rushed over, getting onto one knee “You didn’t touch this while it was living, did you??”

“Wh-uh no!” The girl responded “It was a gift from Miss Delilah. She warned me ‘bout how bad they are”

He looked passed her and saw that whatever moonjumper’s he’d planted there had long since died - such a shame. His brother had taken such good care of them while he was away.

“Well, might I ask what you are doing to my garden?” He asked politely.

“This is your garden? There’s not a lot here” She tilted her head “Miss Cici told me to take out the weeds so it looks nice, and plants these peterpoppies” She pointed to the five lovely, large, hardy flower plants, with bright red petals and blue-green stems.

“Ah, Peterpoppies.” he looked at the flowers over “I do love these - perfect autumn flowers.. if being planted a bit late” He muttered “Do you need any help, little one?”

She furrowed her brow

“Who are you?”

“Oh, I'm sorry, how rude of me!” he got on both knees, dirtying his navy breeches. “I am Markus Arelius. What is your name?”

“Harriet Timms!” She grinned “Are you related to the lord?”

“Indeed I am! I’m his twin. I live in HoriHollow, a day's journey from here.

“Oh, wow, that’s a big city, right?”

Markus laughed a bit “I suppose it depends on your definition” he contemplated “Though HoriHollow is certainly bigger than Subcon”

“I’m from Marfa Town” She commented, turning around and getting back to pulling weeds. Markus began to assist her, grabbing at the more stubborn ones on her behalf

“Marfa town? That’s not too far from here”

“Yeah. I lived at Mother Rumbi’s” Harriet commented “But then they sent me here”

Ah yes, Markus knew of this type of thing.

“So you are like Morgan, then?”

“What?”

“Like Morgan. She was given to the manor by an orphanage close to the border known as “Alpengott””

Harriet’s brow furrowed “I … didn’t know that. Huh”

“She didn’t tell you?” Markus chuckled, grabbing another weed “She would not stop talking about it a few years ago.”

“Well I wasn’t here a few years ago” Harriet commented, grabbing at the trowel to dig a hole for one of the peterpoppies.

“Fair enough” Markus nodded, grabbing one of the flowers and loosening the dirt.

The two fell into a silent rhythm for a few minutes pulling weeds and planting the flowers together.

“Uh, Mister Lord Markus…?” Harriet looked up to him

The man chuckled at her addressing “You can simply call me Mister Markus, if you wish”

“Oh, okay!” She grinned at him- he couldn’t help but grin back. Oh, his brother would love this little servant girl.

“So uh, Mister Markus… Do you know where Lord Lukas went? Lady Vanessa said he was traveling the world but.. He’s been gone for a long time, right?”

“.. Yes, he has.. I was in HoriHollow when he left. The letter Vanessa sent to me told of him having a prophetic dream and leaving without so much as a goodbye even to her” he explained “It came shortly after a letter from him, proclaiming a party he wished to host to celebrate their 5 year wedding anniversary. He seemed so excited I …” The man drifted off, holding the last peterpoppy in his hand “... I genuinely do not understand why he didn’t come to HoriHollow first. Why he went straight to London and … left”

Harriet paused for a minute “... What does lord Lukas look like?” She asked “I’ve never seen any pictures of him…”

“Oh, I have one!” Markus reached into his jacket, pulling out a rather large pocket watch that fit firmly in his hand. He popped it open, and showed the little girl the picture.

“He was so suspicious of the photographer and the camera, but I got him to stay still for just one photo. This was taken a few months before he left”

Harriet nearly choked on her own words.

The man in the photo. With the not unkind expression and shorter hair and fuller face… It was Snatcher. It was the man in the basement

She struggled with how to vocalize this.

“... He as a dumb face” was all she could come up with, causing Markus to pause and then laughed out loud, boisterously, with a volume that seemed to echo into the sky.

“Well if he has a dumb face than so do I! Perhaps dumber even, with my missing eye and all that” he laughed, still as he spoke, trying to calm himself down.

“Oh uh, uhm” She tried to backtrack.

“What on earth are you two doing?”

The two of them looked over at the voice, where the Lady of the house stood stiffly.

“Ah, good afternoon Vanessa. I was just helping little Miss Timms here with the flowers. This was my corner, after all” Markus stood, a stiff smile on his face.

“Ah... “ Vanessa looked down at Harriet, and the girl stayed on her knees, not looking at the lady of the house “And what were you two talking about?”

“Oh, I was just showing them that photo I have of Lukas” He showed the photo “She’s never seen Lukas since he went … on his trip”

Vanessa leveled another glare at Harriet, which Markus caught this time around.

“Yes…. I do hope he sends a letter soon. I’ll be sure to write you the moment it comes… when it does” Vanessa returned his tight smile “Will you be joining me for dinner?”

“I shall, yes. Let me return to my room to change. Gardening is dirty work, after all” He responded.

“Ah yes…. I shall see you in the parlor then” The lady of the house turned on her heel and left the center garden, leaving Harriet and Markus alone again.

“.... Are you alright, little Harriet?” Markus looked down at her with a pensive expression.

Unable to maintain eye contact, Harriet nodded and went to collect the weeds into a basket for them to be fed to the cattle.

“‘M fine, mister Markus.. Lady Vanessa can be lil’ intimidating but it's okay”

“... If you are sure” he leveled back at her.

Harriet simply nodded and stood up “uh, Mister Markus, can I ask you something?”

“Indeed you may” he invited

“... Miss Cici told me that in order to run the manor, you have to uh, make a deal with the forest” She started nervously “... Do you know what Lady Vanessa gave up?”

Markus paused, taking a moment to think. He’d been contemplating that very question for years, but she didn’t seem very… different, from the woman he knew before his brother disappeared. Somewhat suspicious of the child’s question, he still answered honestly.

“... I do not, no.” he looked to the door where Vanessa left “Might I ask you a question?”

She finally looked up at him, her deep eyes knowing… something

“... Does my sister in-law ever talk of my brother? How do you know of him?”

Harriet’s brow furrowed, twisting her apron in one hand “Uh… Once or twice… I heard about him from the other people that work here. I uh.. Heard he likes Cici’s cinnamon bread?”

Markus let his shoulders relax a tad “That he did… He would often eat it in less than a dozen bites. Fascinated me, really”

Harriet snorted “Sounds right?”

“Oh? Have his food related exploits really been gossiped about so keenly?”

“Maybe” She grinned, her smile not even hiding that she knew something.

Harriet head back for the door

“Hey, Mister Markus?”

“Another question, little one?” He asked, walking towards her

“No but… I have a feeling that Lord Lukas will be coming home soon” She stated “I just… It feels like something I *know*” She affirmed, the determination on her face giving him a strange feeling in his chest.

Like he wanted to believe her.

“Well… Let’s hope that you’re correct, Little Harriet. I miss my brother very much”

She smiled back up at him “I hope I am too” she responded, before turning the corner with her basket in tow.

That little girl knew something, Markus was sure.

And yet… he still hoped that she was correct.