#//rolls around. sharing this part of something i drew at least

[moonlight-prose]

I saw that prompt list you reblogged and so if you’re looking for logan ideas i really liked:

10) finding their partner’s sex toy/toys and making them play with it in front of them

Love your fics btw too!!! 💜💜

hunger

a/n: oh my brain went to mush at this one. like actively i've lost brain cells and am currently scrounging to find more. this is basically me being a horny bitch for this man. (possibly cause i'm ovulating). but that's okay. we're all here to do the exact same thing!

summary: things are set into motion the second logan opens your drawer. suddenly you find yourself the center of a show with only one audience member.

word count: 1.7k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, hints at oral (f receiving), cigar smoking, voyeurism, dirty talk, he's so filthy i blushed writing this.

Accidental was far from the word he'd use to describe the current situation. He'd rather say it was intentional. At least that's what it felt like when you sent him to your drawer for a pair of clean boxers you stole from him in the first few weeks of dating. Logan was used to the act. Finding his flannels strewn throughout your closet—his leather jacket draped across the foot of your bed like a fancy throw blanket.

He felt it before he saw it. The soft silicone feel of something small—an uninteresting object he normally would have overlooked. He pushed it out of the way at first, mistaking it entirely for the little portable charger you usually keep by the bed.

Only for it to roll to the side, the button hitting the drawer. A loud buzz drew his attention close within seconds. His hand grasping the small vibrator and flicking it off with a smirk. A look he wore when the choice to fuck you into the mattress solidified in his mind.

"Hey what's taking so long?" You stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel—water droplets streaming off your naked body, forming a small puddle on the hardwood floors of your shared bedroom.

He close his fist around the small device when he stood, holding the clothes you were waiting for. Logan watched you smile, reach for his hand, and stop short as his other palm opened—revealing the black little toy you only kept for emergencies.

For nights when he was called on a mission that might land them in deep waters for days on end. You never minded—it was part of the job after all—but telling Logan that you fucked yourself in your spare time to ease the thoughts of him that plagues you...wasn't an easy conversation to have. Yet there it was. Staring directly at you; taunting you with the knowledge that he found it before you could locate a better hiding spot.

"Got somethin' to tell me bub?"

Your mouth dried at the sight of his grin—nostrils flaring as your scent sharpened in the air. Thicker than before; the tell tale sign that you weren't angry or irritated. But interested in where he might take this.

Before you could snatch it from his hands, he tossed the clothes back into the still open drawer. His smile on deepening at the sight of your swallow—the steady thrum of your heart now a quick flutter under your chest. There was no hiding how you felt with him. Not when he was so in tune with your body it nearly scared you.

He could smell the pool of slick that began to form in between your clenched thighs. The sharp breath you sucked in giving him enough confirmation to keep going. You wanted this—him. And though he could never understand why, he rarely questioned it.

So he nodded towards the bed, dragging the chair you kept at your desk over to sit a foot away from where you were perched. Your hand still clutching the towel and eyes stuck on the vibrator in his hold.

Logan lowered himself with a sigh—legs spread and body relaxed as your eyes trailed down his stomach to the thick expanse of his thighs. Last night you were perched on one, reduced to a whiny moaning mess as he dragged you along the rough denim. Watching you work yourself into a high that left you immobile.

His head tilted, gaze dragging down your body, tongue swiping out to wet his bottom lip. "You aren't gonna need the towel bub," he rasped.

"I don't know what we're doing."

"Don't you trust me?" You nodded quicker than you expected. "Then drop it and spread those pretty legs for your old man."

A soft whimper barely legible above your gasp echoed in the room. Logan heard it as if you pressed it directly to his ear. You scooted back on the bed, the towel now forgotten and dropped to the floor. He shifted at the sight of your feet pushed against the soft comforter, your cunt on full display for him to view.

"There we go," he murmured.

Your hand slipped down, sliding through your slick for barely a second before he was clicking his tongue. "That's not what I want."

"B-but you said-"

"I said spread 'em. Not touch your pretty little clit."

"Logan," you breathed, fighting the pull that demanded you find some sort of relief. Even if that came in the form of your own touch.

He merely lounged in the chair, smiling at how you battled with yourself in order to be good for him. Oh how he loved the sight of your brows pulled together—need eating away at the very core of your body. If he was a better man he'd let you choose what to do.

He'd follow your lead.

But that remained something he never excelled at.

"Don't worry. She'll get the attention she needs." He leaned over you, placing the familiar device between your breasts—a kiss quickly snuck against your nipple that peaked under the wet heat of his mouth. "I'm real interested in how you use this sweetheart. Show me?"

The breath escaped you with a punch to your stomach as he settled back in his previous spot. You glanced at him—heat spilling beneath your cheeks—and felt a wave of slick drip down to the bed at the sight of him pulling a cigar free. He cut the end off, stuck it between his teeth, and flicked the lighter on with practiced ease.

This was a show and he remained the only audience member.

"Go on," he mumbled, smoke unfurling past his lips. "Be a good girl."

With a shaky breath, you gingerly picked up the vibrator and turned it on. This was second nature to you now. Laying in bed with your legs spread as you listened to the buzzing sound that would bring you your desired orgasm. You'd been here before. You would no doubt be here again.

Only this time Logan paid attention to every minuscule movement. He clung to the way you slid your hand down and pressed the end of it to the very top of your clit. Almost as if you were the best fucking program he had the privilege to watch.

Instead of the rush of sweaty embarrassment you almost expected. You were greeted with a boost of pride at the sound of his harsh groan. The chair creaking under his weight as he shuffled to find some relief for his growing cock.

"How's it feel bub?" he breathed, inhaling another drag from his cigar.

You sighed, high pitched and needy. "Good."

"Yeah?" He shifted again when you slid the vibrator through the lips of your cunt, a moan spilling past your parted lips. "Fuck. You normally take your time with it?"

Nodding, you dragged it back up to your clit, teasing yourself with small circles. "F-Feels better like this."

That familiar tug in your gut began to grow the longer you held it against yourself, building quicker than before. You knew it was on account of him watching you. Licking his lips and white knuckling his cigar to keep from sliding his tongue through your slick. You had half a mind to beg him. To see if you could get him to break.

The minute you slipped it down further and plunged it into your tight walls was enough for him. He snapped with a feral grunt. His hands working the belt buckle of his jeans—a whisper of his zipper being tugged down—before his cock sprang free. The tip red and shiny with precum.

You moaned at the sight, legs trembling as you pumped the vibrator clumsily into your cunt. "Touch yourself," you gasped, stomach going taut. "Please. Need to see you baby."

"Fuck sweetheart. Gonna make me cum like a fuckin' teenager." He spit loudly into his palm, slicking up his cock with a heady moan.

"P-Pretty," you slurred.

"Look whose talkin'," he huffed. The cigar now clamped between his teeth.

The intensity of his gaze only grew when you replaced the device with two of your fingers. Rapidly working them in tandem with the buzzing on your swollen clit. Sparks shot down your spine, heat clamping tight around your stomach. What time you thought remained now worked its way to an eviscerating crescendo.

"Your creamin' around your fingers bub," he grunted, the wet slap of his hand blending with the echo of your cunt. "Want to lick you clean after this."

Your walls fluttered, heart leaping to your throat. "Can I suck your cock?"

A ragged moan filled the empty spaces that lay between. "Can't say no to you."

"Logan," you mewled. "'M gonna-"

He snarled, abruptly sitting forward, hand still working his cock in rapid strokes. "C'mon. Cum for me. Give me a show."

The string holding you together broke in two, flooding your body with bliss and turning your vision blurry. His name was a broken cry torn from your throat—hips canting up into your touch as you pushed the vibrator harder against your clit. Until the pleasure began to seep into pain. A whimper echoed in the room when you pulled away, legs falling to dangle off the bed—body now entirely spent.

The soft press of his lips against your knee jolted you slightly; the nerves under your skin still sensitive. He dropped to the floor, eyes latched onto the way your entrance fluttered, cum now forming a mess between your thighs.

"Made such a pretty mess for me bub."

You sighed, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips. "You like it?"

Wet open mouth kisses trailed along your inner thigh, his nose pressed to the curls above your center. "I fuckin' love it," he sighed, inhaling your heady scent with a groan.

"It's yours."

You gasped when his tongue slid along your cunt, thumbs spreading you to reach every fucking inch. "Yes it is." He pressed a kiss to each lip, sucking them into his mouth as if he was kissing you. "All fuckin' mine."

[maysileeewrites]

🫧 what is this feeling? 🫧

Fiyero Tigelaar x gn!reader

Synopsis: „Stop calling me that!“ „What - darling?“ || Or: Fiyero suddenly finds himself spending an unusual amount of time in the Shiz library

c.w: enemies to lovers (sort of), tension & bantering, gratuitous use of darling & super cheesy ending; (also most of my Wicked knowledge [you’ll notice that I made up a back story of my own for Fiyero] comes from seeing the movie three days ago, I did see the play in the West End 2 years ago, but I’m not in as deep as I’m with other musicals like Phantom) 

w.c.: 2.5k | masterlist

Sighing frustratedly, you slammed your textbook shut in annoyance.

Something you usually didn’t do - the slamming the book shut part, that was. 

But then, you also didn’t usually feel this level of frustration after an afternoon spent at the library; at least not over things that weren’t related to your studying. 

Reaching for your book bag, you got up from the table right next to the window facing Shiz’s garden you’d managed to secure earlier this afternoon. 

But what good was a good table, if the atmosphere in the library was so distracting that you couldn’t concentrate on anything? 

Grabbing your books, you glared at the object of your ire. 

Prince Fiyero Tigelaar. 

Most of the other students here at Shiz, especially Galinda, seemed positively obsessed with him, but you happened to share your friend Elphaba‘s opinion about the young prince. 

In your opinion, he was nothing more than a shallow, self-absorbed troublemaker that apparently didn’t concern himself too hard with other people’s wants and needs. Really, couldn’t he have done his strutting around anywhere else instead of the library? 

„What did that poor book do to you?“ 

You flinched, losing your hold on the books in your hand. You’d been so lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t even noticed Fiyero approaching you. 

The books slipped from your grip, and fell to the floor with a loud, clattering sound. You winced, bending down to pick the books back up, but Fiyero had already beaten you to it. 

He’d already gathered three of the four tomes in his hands and, feeling weirdly annoyed at this sudden, new … helpful site to him, you reached for the last book - at the same time as Fiyero did. 

Your hands touched. 

You felt the rough callouses of his fingertips and wondered what he, as a prince could have possibly done in his life that was the reason for this - before trying to remind yourself that you didn’t care. 

Hastily, almost as if you’d been burned, you drew your hand back and got back up. 

„Well, there you go, darling“, Fiyero said, flashing you a surprisingly genuine smile, as he handed you the four books. 

Again, you felt a weird tingling in your fingertips as your hands briefly touched, and, almost defensively, you clutched the books to your chest. 

„I - thank you …“ 

He laughed, the sound surprisingly warm and deep. This wasn’t his typical, obnoxiously loud laugh you’d come to despise during the last few weeks. 

„It’s nothing … still curious what that poor book did to you, though …“ 

„What?“, you asked, frowning. 

He grinned. „That poor-„, suddenly, he leaned in closer towards you - and was it just the used-up library air you’d been breathing in all day that suddenly made you feel slightly dizzy? - eyes fixing on the covers of your textbooks, „history book. Really darling, I wouldn‘t have expected you to treat a book like that.“ 

„You’re one to talk“, you muttered, without thinking. 

„Well, I guess you’re right there, darling.“ 

„Stop calling me that!“, you exclaimed, feeling your cheeks flush. 

He smirked. „What - darling?“ 

You rolled your eyes. „Yes! Now, if you’ll excuse me-„ 

„You’re off to study some more?“, he asked, genuine wonder in his voice. 

Your eyes met, and you immediately looked away from him again. You didn’t like the way his gaze made you feel. There was genuine curiosity in his eyes and his gaze was far too intense for your liking. 

„Yes, because unlike some, I actually care about my education and my future!“, you exclaimed, before turning away from him. 

Fiyero just chuckled. „Trust me darling, you’re missing out on a lot of fun.“ 

You only rolled your eyes at his statement and walked out of the library without looking back at him. 

If you had, you’d have seen him trying to fight off a smile. 

The next day, your luck was even worse. 

Things started out alright - after classes, you and Elphaba went to the library, managing to secure a table near the garden windows again. Elphaba, however couldn’t stay long, as she had her magic lessons with Madame Morrible in the late afternoon. 

After she left, you managed to catch up on some of your assignments for a while. 

Then, someone sat down right next to you. 

You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. 

„Go away, Fiyero“, you said, not looking up from your textbook. 

Fiyero just laughed. „You’ve really been quite grumpy lately, darling.“ 

„Stop calling-„, you began to say, but stopped. Knowing Fiyero, you commenting on this particularly annoying habit of his would only serve to egg him on. 

„Never mind“, you therefore muttered, turning a page. 

„What are you doing here, though?“ Somehow, the question just slipped out, even though you kept trying to tell yourself that you didn’t care. 

„Studying, of course“, Fiyero replied, his smirk widening even more when you turned to look at him, raising your eyebrows.

„Really?“, you asked, frowning. 

He just smirked. „Really. I mean, there’s quite a lot to catch up on, isn’t there?“ 

„I can imagine“, you replied, frowning. 

To your great annoyance, Fiyero just smirked again, before taking a textbook out of his bag, opening it and grabbing a notebook and a pen. 

Your eyes widened. Was he actually here to study? 

To your utter surprise, it did seem that way, because during the next few hours, Fiyero was completely engrossed in his textbooks, only looking up from them occasionally to jot something down in his notebook. Even his handwriting surprised you - it wasn’t at all the unintelligible scrawl you’d imagined it to be, but a rather concise, if somewhat over exaggeratedly loopy handwriting. But then again, he was a Prince - elegant handwriting must have been taught to him from a young age, among other etiquettes and niceties, not to mention historical and sociological knowledge. 

Really, it was such a shame that he didn’t seem to care at all about a good education. He’d probably already had all the best opportunities one could only imagine, and now he was here at Shiz, studying at one of the most renowned universities in all of Oz. Not that he seemed to particularly care about that, though. 

It did make you wonder, though. Was he really just the rogue prince who rejected every expectation society imposed upon him, was he really as shallow and self-absorbed as you’d perceived him to be these last few weeks? 

Suddenly, you weren’t so sure anymore. 

You chanced another look over at him, and caught him staring at you. Despite yourself, you felt your cheeks flush, when he grinned at you. 

„If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that I’m distracting you, darling“, he said, grin widening. 

You had the sudden urge to grin back at him, but quickly suppressed it by biting down hard on your lip. And was it just your imagination or did his eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips and back to your eyes again? 

„Every time I think your ego couldn’t possibly get any bigger, you surprise me again“, you muttered. 

He just chuckled. „Well, that’s me, darling - full of surprises.“ 

Right - that. 

„Why - why don’t you care about any of this?“, you asked him, the words slipping out before you’d thought them through. 

When he raised his eyebrows at you in confusion, you quickly hurried on. „You’re here, studying at Shiz University of all places, and yet it seems that classes and studying are just this huge burden for you. You’ve been handed this great opportunity on a silver platter - and yet you’re not making any use out of it!“ 

Fiyero’s smile froze and for a second, his eyes seemed to darken as well. „There’s more to life than just studying and books, you know?“

„Like what?“, you challenged him. 

„Like actually living life, instead of just going through the motions“, he replied quickly. 

You frowned irritatedly. Was that what he thought of you? That you were just going through the motions, like you were some kind of robot, devoid of actually having any feelings. 

You felt your cheeks heat up again, though this time it was out of anger. Standing up, you started stuffing your textbooks into your book bag, glaring at him. 

„Well, excuse me - I have to go, going through the motions, because some of us aren’t privileged enough to get everything in life handed to them on a silver platter.“ 

With that, you walked out of the library rather dramatically, not bothering to look back at him, still seething with frustration. 

How was it that he seemingly always managed to get under your skin so easily? 

And why did you care? 

Why did you care about anything having to do with that stupid, arrogant prince who was too full of himself to form any complex, intelligent thought. 

You didn’t. 

You did not care about Fiyero Tigelaar.  

Not at all. 

But no matter how many times you tried to tell yourself, deep down, you knew that it wasn’t true. You hated to admit it, but just thinking about that moment yesterday when your hands had touched, made your heart beat faster. As did thinking about all the not so subtle glances he’d sent your way this afternoon. 

You sighed, running a hand through your hair in frustration. 

Sweet Oz, what was this feeling? 

You didn’t see much of Fiyero during the next few days, at least not in the library. You did see him during classes and at meals, but you did your best to keep out of his way. You were ashamed of your outburst at him in the library a few days ago, and if it were anyone else, you’d have already apologized to them. 

As it was, you did feel sorry for your comment, but the feeling was lessened whenever you thought about how he’d insinuated that you were just going through the motions. 

Somehow, that had frustrated you much more than his stupid insistence on him calling you darling - not that he’d done that since that day in the library. In fact, you’d hardly spoken to each other at all, other than a few off-handed comments, made in passing. 

You could tell that your friend Elphaba was already becoming somewhat frustrated with the situation, because you’d forced her to change directions, walking through empty hallways and taking a detour on the way to class just to avoid having to walk past Fiyero more than once. 

You were starting to feel rather frustrated yourself, but still - you weren’t about to be the one to take the first step. 

And anyway, it wasn’t like you cared much about Fiyero and whether your comment had hurt him. 

Or so you kept trying to tell yourself. 

Frustrated, you turned a page in your textbook, trying to concentrate on your studies. Today, you weren’t in the library, but rather in Shiz’s magnificent garden. You were sat on a bench under a willow tree, a field of red tulips right next to you. 

But no matter how serenely beautiful the atmosphere around you, you were unable to concentrate on your textbook. 

„I thought I might find you here.“ 

Your heart started beating faster and you didn’t have to look up to know who the voice belonged to. 

„Fiyero …“, you said, closing your book shut and getting up rather awkwardly from your bench. 

Fiyero’s eyes found yours and he smiled nervously. 

Wait - nervously? Fiyero wasn’t one to be nervous - at least you’d never perceived him to be so. 

„I - I wanted to apologize … I didn’t - what I said, in the library - I never wanted to imply that you were just going through the motions, I-“

„I wanted to apologize as well“, you interrupted his nervous rambling, fighting off the smile you felt tugging at the corner of your lips when his eyes widened and his gaze seemed to soften. „I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that, I … I had to study - like, really hard, to get a scholarship for Shiz, my family isn’t - I …“, you trailed off, biting down hard on your lip. 

You didn’t know why you were telling him all this. Maybe it had something to do with the soft, concerned gaze in his eyes, or maybe it was just his sudden closeness making you feel rather dizzy. 

„I get it“, he said quickly, running a hand through his hair. „Honestly, if I were you, I’d hate me as well.“ 

„I don’t hate you“, you pointed out. 

„See, darling? Always a good start“, he said, grinning. 

„Don’t test it“, you said, rolling your eyes, but you weren’t quite able to fight off your own grin anymore. 

„The thing is, my family -my parents, they expect so much from me“, he said, turning serious once more. „And I know what you’re thinking, poor prince, his parents put so much pressure on him, yet he’s still living a privileged life, boo hoo“, he continued, shaking his head, his eyes fixed on some point in the distance. „And you’d be right, at least to a certain degree … my parents, they - sometimes I feel that no matter what I do, I’ll always manage to disappoint them somehow. To them, I’ll probably always be a failure.“ 

„You’re not a failure!“, you interrupted him, shaking your head. „You’re not!“ 

„Oh really?“, he asked, and his grin was back in place, though it did look rather shaky and uncertain. „I thought that a good education was the key for everything?“ 

Despite the seriousness of what he’d just said, you rolled your eyes. Trying to soften the mood, you said: „Well, someone once told me that there’s more to life than just books and studying.“ 

He smirked. „Sounds like a wise someone.“ 

You just rolled your eyes.

A moment passed, during which neither one of you said anything, yet the silence didn’t make you feel uncomfortable. 

Then, you found yourself asking: „What were you doing in the library, though?“ 

Fiyero laughed, though somehow, he seemed nervous once more. Maybe it was the way he ran his hands through his hair distractedly, or maybe it was the way his eyes kept flickering between you and the willow tree behind you. 

„Well, for one I am trying this thing called studying …“ 

You laughed, though you could sense that there was more he wanted to say. 

„But … there was also - there was someone I was trying to build up the nerve to talk to …“ 

Suddenly, your heart started to beat faster and you felt that weird tingling sensation in your fingertips once more. 

Fiyero was standing so close to you now, your noses were almost touching and you could feel his warm breath on your skin. 

„Who - who were you trying to talk to?“ 

He laughed. „I’d hate to disappoint you, but I think there’s some questions textbooks simply don’t provide answers for, darling …“ 

Before you could come up with a reply, he’d leaned in even closer towards you, and then his lips were on yours. His lips were soft and full, and the kiss surprisingly gentle. 

Without having to think about it, you found yourself reciprocating the kiss, moving your lips against his. 

Whatever this feeling you felt when you were with Fiyero was, it felt good. Exceptionally good. 

And so, abandoning every other thought, you wound one hand around his neck, tangling the other in his hair. 

And when you felt him smiling into the kiss, you felt your heart soar. 

[ceoofglytchell]

Daughter Of The Sea

Summary: Crushed by the burdens weighing on his shoulders, Aegon takes you, his wife, on a flight on Sunfire to a special place, where he can forget the raging war and the burdens of the crown for at least a short time and at the same time start an attempt to get closer to you.

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Tully!Wife!Reader 

Word count: 4108 words

Warnings: fluff, obvious pining, brief angst (communication is hard), mentions of past smut, Aegon having dirty thoughts about you, very brief hint of a breeding kink, brief making out, no mention of Y/N 

Notes: I am a little stressed at the moment so this will be the only fic coming from me this week, but I will most certainly be back with another one on Saturday 💛. As always, feedback and criticism is always appreciated and please remember that english is not my native language.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

"No, no, fat old Lord Tully can either raise my banners or see his burn," Aegon said firmly, scanning the members of his Small Council. It was only early in the morning and he was already having to hold one of those miserable council meetings that just always tired him out. He would rather drink wine in his chambers or go out into the city to the Street of Silk, but he was no longer allowed to do that either. He was the King, after all.

"Lord Tully has another proposal, Your Grace. One that doesn't involve any bloodshed or fighting. A marriage alliance. His daughter is not yet married, but she will be soon if the pretender realizes that too. In this way, with this alliance, we could unite a large part of the Riverlands under our banner and expand our army with their men."

A small murmur went around the table and he could immediately see his mother looking at Criston with her dark brown eyes and they shared a long, knowing look. It was decided without him even having the chance to say anything about it and give his own opinion.

Once again, a decision was made over his head and he was forced to do something he did not want - just like the crown on his head, which was never meant for him.

He was going to get married and he didn't even know you.

You were different than he had expected.

A little more than a month had passed since the wedding, which had been held in small circles in front of a High Septon and your families in the great Sept in King's Landing. You were a pretty little thing. A little younger than him, loving and innocent. You had actually blushed when he had pressed a small, fleeting kiss on your lips to seal the marriage, which had then given him the motivation not to get drunk to the point of insensibility during the banquet so that he would not have to endure your company.

Instead, the opposite had been the case, for he had quickly grown to enjoy talking to you, hearing your soft voice and seeing the warm expression in your eyes. You were a little shy and you did not have much in common, but as the evening progressed, as the moment drew closer and closer when you would have to retire to your marital chambers to consummate the marriage, Aegon had noticed how you were picking at your cuticles and how you kept raising your hand to your face to bite your nails out of nervousness.

It was a habit he himself had, so he knew exactly how you must be feeling.

At that very moment, the king had felt something for you for the first time. He had realized that not only had he been forced into this sudden marriage, but that you had also suffered from this decision, and that you knew him as little as he knew you. Here, you were both the victims.

Aegon had been gentle when he had you lying beneath him in his bed and taking your innocence. He had tried as best he could to make it as comfortable as possible for you, but your little whimpers and the big tears that had rolled down your cheeks as he did his duty broke his heart and he had vowed to be good for you. You were now his wife, his queen, and soon probably the mother of his child, if his seed had taken root in your womb that one time, which is why he wanted to be a better man for you.

He had to get to know you first and maybe at some point your heart would open up to him and you could love each other as if this had not just been a political alliance but a marriage of love from the start.

"Nothing."

This very word clouded his every thought as he wandered through the cold, bare corridors of the Red Keep in search of something. He was the king, but at the same time he was completely powerless, at least when it came to his own life, because as long as he can remember everyone has always decided for him or over him and that was no different now. The only person who had decided absolutely nothing for him or forced him to do anything so far was you.

That was probably why he had instinctively walked to your chambers without even looking where his feet were taking him, and now found himself in front of the closed doors.

He could hear a faint noise from inside and as he took a step closer to the wooden doors he realized that you were humming. He did not recognize the melody nor could he hear you clearly, but for some reason your soft voice alone was soothing him immensely, as if you were a distant light in a world that consisted only of darkness. He only had to approach you and reach for your light.

He carefully opened the door and stepped into your chambers, which he had only briefly visited once before, when you had just furnished them after you had come to King's Landing. Back then, the interior had been sparse, but now every inch reminded him of you. It was comfortably furnished with plenty of seating, cushions and plants. The tapestries that hung on the walls were not about any sexual practices, unlike his, but yours were embroidered with small fish, aquatic plants and it was all in the colors of your house - red and blue - to give you a feeling of home so that you could properly settle in. On the shelves were piles of books, more embroidery and small pictures that you had painted on parchment.

You sat on an armchair in the corner of the room, rocking back and forth slightly as you gently stroked the cat that had curled up on your lap and you hummed a calm tune to it. He didn't remember the name of the small, orange kitten, but he knew it was a parting gift from your younger brother Oscar, so you wouldn't feel lonely in your new surroundings.

Aegon didn't want you to be lonely - or unhappy. Quite the opposite, he wanted to see you happy and above all he wanted you to be happy with him, as you would probably be together for the rest of your lives unless - gods forbid - a tragedy happened and you were taken away from him, which he would never allow. You were his wife and he would be damned if he couldn't protect you. If he wanted to be strong for anyone, it would be for you.

Approaching footsteps made you look up from your little friend in your lap and you froze when you saw your Lord Husband standing in your doorway and your eyes widened as he was the last person you expected to come visit you. Your marriage had been quite cold up until now, except for the consummation on your wedding night, but that was it. After that, you hadn't even kissed or touched each other in any way, except for the occasional kiss on the cheek before supper.

However, you would be lying if you said you didn't long to be close to him. You did not want to live a life without love, but to get it you also did not want to break the promise you had to make to him at the altar.

"Husband? What are you doing here?"

He wanted to approach you, but something inside him wouldn't let him move and he remained rooted to the spot at the door, which he at least closed behind him so that you could talk to each other alone.

What was he doing here? That was a good question. One that he himself didn't have an answer to. He wanted to get closer to you, but he didn't want to force his company on you either. However, he knew of a way that would allow him to be close to you, to show you a different side of him, while you would probably enjoy it too. He might even see you smile, but not the kind, respectful smile you always had on your lips, no, a real, loving one that was only meant for his eyes. He had not heard your laughter yet either.

"I wanted to see you." You blinked in confusion and scratched the cat a little more behind the ear, as if it would take away your nervousness itself, which wasn't the case, as your heart was beating so fast you were afraid it would burst out of your chest. He wanted to see you? Why? He had never voluntarily come to you to spend time with you, but you suspected there was a first time for everything.

"Why?" A rather unpleasant thought entered your head and for a moment you feared that he had only come to do his duty and then leave again, like the first time. You longed to be close to him, but you still wanted to get to know him a little better and learn to love him before you let him into your bed again. Hopefully he saw it the same way. "Have you come here to do our duty?"

The king immediately shook his head so that his short, white curls fell into his face, but that didn't really bother him. What bothered him, however, was that you thought he had only come here for that reason, but at the same time he could understand why. In your eyes there could be no other reason why he should come, since after a month of marriage you still barely knew each other.

"No, I... I wanted to ask you if you already have plans for today?"

The cat jumped off your lap and disappeared into your bedchamber next door, leaving you all alone with him, and you immediately felt a little more tense again. You wanted his attention, but it happened so suddenly that you were at a loss for words for a moment.

“No, not really. Do you have anything special in mind, husband?”

“I wanted to ask if you would like to ride with me? Just the two of us?”

You didn't know if it was his hopeful look or your longing and desire for freedom that made you accept his offer, but you did. The only thing you hadn't seen coming was that he wasn't leading you to the royal stables, but to a carriage that would take you to the dragon pit.

"I do not think I am made for the skies, Aegon," you said carefully as you heard Sunfire's gentle chants and the golden dragon slowly moved out of the darkness of the pit into the light to greet its rider. His mount was nothing short of beautiful. The dragon shone in a variety of colors when the light shone on it, and the dull pink of its wings reminded you of the many flowers that often grew on the shores of the small lakes in the Riverlands. Despite everything, the thought of flying on the back of such a winged beast filled you with fear and awe.

"No, small fish like you belong in the sea and that is why I am taking you there." For a moment you just stared at him, unable to believe that the first time he voluntarily spent time with you, he was granting two of your dearest wishes - to get closer to your husband and to see the sea again. Of course, there was a good view from the highest towers of the Red Keep, but just seeing it was not the same as feeling it, and you didn't want to disturb the fishermen at the harbor at their work just because you felt the need to stroll barefoot across a sandy beach.

The young king held out a gloved hand to you and tried to smile invitingly at you while he gently stroked the shiny scales of his mount with the other. He hadn't been out riding for a while and was already looking forward to flying through the air with you and seeing how you would feel about being able to see the world from above. On Sunfire's back he had always felt completely free, free from the annoying duties, free from the weight of the crown, free from the burdens of his name, free from everything, and you might feel the same. At least he hoped so.

You took a deep breath to calm your nerves before you walked closer to the beast, which seemed to be watching you curiously from the side.

Aegon helped you climb onto the saddle and then sat behind you to assure you that you would not fall off during the flight and that he would be a widower a month after the wedding. The warmth of your body so close to his, the sweet scent of your hair and the way your body clung to him drove him to the brink of madness in the first second, which was why he quickly gave Sunfire the command to take to the skies so that he would no longer have to think about you while you were so close to each other.

A small cry left your lips as the dragon, along with you and Aegon, rose into the sky above King's Landing and you saw the city from above for the first time. Instinctively, you pressed yourself closer to your husband's chest and grabbed his arm, which was wrapped securely around your waist, your fingers pressing so tightly into the fabric of his tunic that it was a wonder he hadn't objected to the touch.

Sunfire rose higher and higher until it almost reached the clouds, and Aegon couldn't help but grin like a fool when he felt you reaching for him in search of protection and safety, holding on so tightly as if you were afraid you might slip off the saddle and fall into the depths at any second.

As if he would ever let that happen.

"Are we nearly there?" you called over the wind that whipped against your ears and messed up your hair, while your narrowed gaze was fixed in fascination on the landscape below you.

"Soon! Be patient a little longer, wife." Aegon answered close to your ear, sending goosebumps down your arms as his voice made you realize just how close you had been and how much trust you had just put in him. You didn't even know where he was taking you except that it would have something to do with the sea.

After not too long of flying, you saw the outlines of a small group of islands appear in the distance, although they seemed to be uninhabited. The dragon suddenly began to fly a little lower and when your husband gave no other orders to contradict this, you realized that this must be the place he wanted to take you to in order to spend time with you - an island in the middle of the sea.

The island you landed on was small and had nothing more than a few rocks, some grass and a few plants and a small beach where the waves gently crashed. The sun was high in the sky and the sea was completely calm, which was a huge relief for Aegon, as he knew from experience that in the event of a storm, most of the small island would be swallowed up by the waves.

You landed on the ground again with wobbly legs and you could immediately smell the salt in the air and feel the sun burning on your skin. A smile formed on your lips as you stared into the horizon and saw the endless blue stretching out before you, which for some reason warmed your heart and made you feel more free again.

Riverrun, your home where you grew up, was not directly at the sea, but the castle had been surrounded by river water on all sides and you loved to ride to the coast with your younger brother to spend the day there, which made you miss the sea and nature even more. When you and Aegon had children together, you swore that they would not only have a dragon egg laid in the crib, as you knew was the Targaryen tradition, but you would also show them places like these and maybe even your childhood home at some point.

As Aegon dismounted behind you and Sunfire rose back into the air to circle over the island or just fly around a bit, and he saw your broad smile, he could feel a lump forming in his throat. He had always thought you were beautiful, but only now did he realize that you were much more than that. You had a beauty that he had never known before, and he was a fool for staying away from you for so long.

"Have you known this place for a long time?" You asked him, turning back to him to look into his eyes, which appeared a light purple tone in the blazing sun that reminded you of lavender.

"I come here occasionally. It is quite relaxing and simply... beautiful."

"Peaceful. It is peaceful," you responded then, whereupon Sunfire made a noise that reminded you of your cat. It sounded almost like an agreement - if a dragon could understand humans at all. He seemed to understand his rider well enough, even if he barely spoke High Valyrian.

"Yes, that too," Aegon gently patted Sunfire on the flank, causing the dragon to straighten up, flap its wings and take to the skies again, flying circles over the island group as they stood on the small beach and looked at each other.

"What do you do when you are here?" You asked him, lightly playing with your wedding ring on your ring finger, as it was a better distraction than biting your nails.

"Laying around and doing nothing, mostly," he felt a little bad telling you that, as it did not sound particularly like kingly behavior, but it was the truth and he did not want to deny you that. After all, he was doing this entire trip with you to get to know you better.

You nodded your head, an idea coming to you as you heard the sound of the waves slowly hitting the sandy beach and you could smell the salt that was hitting your skin. However, you didn't just want to smell it, you wanted to feel it too. "I will go swimming, I think."

Aegon blinked, as this was certainly not what he had expected you to do. He had expected you to lie down and talk, but not that he would suddenly see you starting to undo the laces of your dress and reveal your thin white shift and parts of your supple skin that he would love to caress and kiss if you let him one day.

"Be careful, please," the king asked gently, as he was not about to come with you and sink into the salty sea water and feel as free as a fish himself, but hopefully you would. He wished that you would feel as free and carefree as you did before marrying him.

"I will be," your blue dress fell onto the ground, while you walked into the waves in your white undergarment until you were surrounded by water up to your shoulders, while he sat down on the ground and quietly watched you from afar.

You reminded him of the old tales about nymphs who were said to have seduced men at lakes with their beauty and then dragged them into the depths never to be seen again, but he also knew that you were different. You were definitely tempting him right now- not that you knew-  but you would also never harm him. A small part of him wanted to join you, to see if he had managed to make you feel happiness again, but his courage failed him and instead he merely kept on watching you.

You swam through the cool water for some time, and each and every minute you could feel his eyes following your every move, while your husband's dragon flew around in the sky above you the whole time. Two dragons were watching you, and you had hoped one would join you, but he did not. Of course not.

Aegon had lost himself in daydreams the longer he watched you swim. He dreamed of a life where he had met you under different circumstances and he had married you because he wanted to and not because he was forced to. It would have been love, not obligation.

Lost in these sudden daydreams, he did not notice you rising from the waves again, the now soaked shift you were wearing being practically see-through now, the thin fabric clinging to your curves like a second skin.

When his gaze focused again and he saw you like this, his amethyst colored eyes widened immediately and you stole his breath away by not even doing anything. You were heavenly.

You dropped into the sand next to him and lay down, your eyes fixed on the blue sky and your hair spread out beneath your head like a halo. He couldn't take his eyes off you anymore and he couldn't help but let his eyes wander over every inch of your body. Under the thin material of your shift he could see your hardened nipples and little pearly drops of water running down inside your cleavage, making him look at your breasts for a moment longer than necessary, which caused a lump to form in his throat and to feel something stir deep inside him.

Gods, now he would have to control himself.

"You could have joined me," you said suddenly out of nowhere and turned your head so that you could look at your husband's handsome face, which was catching the rays of sunlight in such a way that you thought he was glowing.

"I did not want to force my company on you."

You quickly rolled onto your side, giving him an even better glimpse of your cleavage and he had to actively bite the inside of his cheek to avoid making any noise that would ruin the beauty of this moment and that would force him to explain himself.

"Aegon, I enjoy your company. I just wish you would give me more of it. You are my husband and I barely know you."

The disappointment in your voice broke his heart, but at the same time he cursed himself for not being able to think of anything other than ripping off the last piece of clothing that covered your body and repeat your wedding night, but this time properly and not just giving yourself to him because it was your duty as his queen to give him heirs. But he restrained himself.

"My little wife enjoys having me around, huh?"

"Come on, you are not that bad. I am sure you are more bearable than Aemond." You giggled and the sound made his heart beat faster and a warmth spread through him that he had not felt before with a woman yet.

"You would not have survived marriage to him, little fish. He is too... fierce."

"Do you not know what they say? Tough on the outside, soft on the inside. Perhaps I could have softened him."

Aegon laughed and shook his head firmly, as he was a thousand percent sure that even your kind nature and sweet disposition could not have changed his little brother's stoic demeanor, even if you both shared a common love of books. "No, my love. Even you could not have done that."

"And what of you? Do you think I am able to warm your heart?"

The king did not have to think about his answer for a second and he replied to you without thinking of any possible consequences: "You already have."

You didn't know if he had closed the gap or if it was you, but suddenly your lips were on his and you lost yourself in the way he held you tightly and deepened the kiss with a sense of urgency you had longed for.

Maybe you would not have to wait forever for love to blossom.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

[crestfallenyh]

new light ; jyh

cw: yunho x reader. reader making things hard for no reason, so this is quite long. sweet boyfriend yunho. a bit of a corruption kink. unprotected sex. backshot lol. breath play, hair pulling, biting and overall roughness mixed with a natural sweetheart yunho. not proofread, i'm testing the waters to start posting again.

"you should still talk to him, you know"

seonghwa's slightly muffled voice made its way to you as you groaned in disagreement with your face buried on his pillow. he gave you a sympathetic look before laying on the bed next to you, propping himself up on his elbows and seemingly preparing to repeat the same speech about trust and communication he'd already given you twice in the past hour. before he could start, you rolled on your back and laid there, staring at the ceiling where the silver lightning from his bedside lamp drew funny shapes.

"i know i should, i'm just not sure if i'm ready to face his rejection yet"

you ignored the stern look he shot at you, he knew better than anyone how dramatic you could get when it came to your relationship. your fears were not unfounded, though. you had been thinking over and over for the past couple of weeks about the topic and yet you couldn't bring yourself to speak to yunho about your worries, and as much as you shouldn't do it, you couldn't help but convince yourself time and time again that it wasn't worth bringing it up. you wondered why, because your boyfriend hadn't been anything but supportive throughout the couple months you had been together. perhaps that was the problem. deep down you knew he wasn't going to judge you, much less laugh at you, as understanding as he was. it was just that the relationship was still quite new, feelings yet so fresh that despite his bright personality, he was often rather shy around you. the thought of him looking at you with flustered cheeks and doubt on his gaze, not from nervousness and anticipation but because of embarrassment, held you back from getting too sincere with him.

"i know he's gonna listen and maybe even try if i ask, but i don't want him to do anything he's not comfortable with," you sighed and put a hand over your eyes, the lights suddenly too bright.

"you wouldn't, though," seonghwa tried to reason, "yunho is not the type to not tell when he doesn't like something. also, i have a feeling he might be into that even if he doesn't know yet"

and with that you were left thinking. in more than one occasion you tried to play different scenarios in your head on how he could respond. your soft and sweet giant... how would he react if you ever told him about the dark fantasies running through your mind everytime you saw him, simply existing? what would he say if he knew how badly you wanted him to share the same passion for roughness you had, the same hunger?

up until that moment your sex life had been good, for the most part. he was always respectful and mindful of his strength whenever he held you, kissing you with light pressure and fucking you equally as soft. you liked it, but you wanted more. you needed more. you needed his weight on top of you, suffocating and hot. you needed his hands everywhere, those long fingers of his biting into your skin. he was always nice to everyone, it was no surprise he would be gentle in bed too, but you didn't want him to be nice to you. not in that instance.

maybe it was worth a shot. maybe if you told him what you wanted, he would find a new side to himself too. your hope it was, at least. that's why, by the time you met with him at your place a couple of days after your conversation with seonghwa, you were so nervous it was impossible for you to look him in the eye because the possibility of it going wrong scared you as much as the possibility of it going great. he noticed, of course. after all, he was always perceptive of any minimal expression you made and although he tried not to worry, his mind wandered off to sad places whenever he tried to touch you, hug you or kiss you and a slight hint of a wince appeared on your face. were you about to break up with him or something? his mind was restless, and the atmosphere was somewhat tense, with short whispered answers and stolen glances. you hadn't felt that awkwardness in forever. instead of dissipating the awkward feeling, the anxiousness of the situation going in the wrong direction already made you grow even more coy, and you reprimanded yourself. pull it together, you thought.

ten minutes into the movie you were watching and he sighed, pausing it and looking at you with a question in his eyes. impressive, you thought. he held quite well, but it was now your turn to hold your breath. you weren't ready, but you knew you had to let it out. one big sigh of yours after and you tried to ignore the slight shake in yunho's hands as he repositioned on the couch. him being as nervous as you somewhat calmed you, though you didn't want him to get the wrong idea.

"it's nothing bad, i promise," you caressed the back of his wrist with your index finger, rummaging through your brain to find the right words, "it's just... you know, i've enjoyed our relationship quite well so far..."

yunho's eyes were fixated on your expression as you spoke for several minutes about how much you liked spending time with him and how he was the best boyfriend anyone could ask for, so intense that you couldn't help but avoiding his gaze. you said not to worry but your body was sending contrasting signals, eyes looking everywhere but him and twitching hands. he was slowly spiraling, waiting for the 'but' within your ramble. he couldn't even feign nonchalance.

"... i've never quite liked being with someone like i do with you, but..." yunho gulped, "... you know, i just.."

"what is it, love? are you not comfortable with something i did? tell me what is it and i'll fix it"

you shook your head slowly, finally making eye contact, "i don't think it's something you did, yunho. it's more like something i want but i fear i might make this awkward"

"you know when we have, you know, sex?," yunho nodded, more confused than before, "well, there's a lot of things i wanna try, and don't get me wrong, i like what we do now but i just... i don't know if you would want to do most of those things, and that's why i don't want to make you uncomfortable"

you cringed on your seat, suddenly hyper aware of the fact you were finally saying it and wondering if you should backtrack.

yunho's eyebrows furrowed.

"try me, y/n. do you want me to tie you up in the air or something?," he was so very obviously trying to joke but seeing how you made yourself small against the couch, he coughed, "wait, seriously?"

"would that make you uncomfortable?"

he stopped for moment to think about it, and finally shook his head no. he'd never tried in the past and he'd actually never thought of something like that to do with you, so he was surprised at his own answer. he considered himself a pretty standard guy when it came to intimacy, vanilla, if you will. he was too aware of the size of his body, so he never entertained the idea even though he knew people did lots of stuff out there. the more he thought now, the more he found himself interested on how the whole thing would play out. he was only worried about the safety of it all, and as such he explained to you. you listened, still a bit shaken up, relishing on how he was seemingly taking it serious even when barely anything had been discussed and you yourself had never thought of trying bondage, not too much at least.

"but seriously, if you wanted us to try something different, you should've told me before doll," he noticed how his words could come up as nagging, so he explained further, "i believe you when you say you've enjoyed it so far, but i'm always open to listen and i would want you to love it, instead of liking it"

and so, a long discussion ensued. at first it took a lot of courage from you to stop downplaying your actual desires and took a lot from yunho to stop blushing with each word you said. he never thought of you as the type to want to be choked and marked up, if he was honest. he wasn't scandalized per se, but the more you explained, the more he started feeling heat all over his body. he knew he was considerably taller than most and in the back of his head he knew people found that attractive, but knowing now how much you wanted him to do all those things to you and take full advantage of his strength made him lightheaded. he really appreciated how, although you couldn't seem to stop talking once you finally turned off the shyness switch, you still listened to everything he had to say to make sure he was also comfortable and just how far he was willing to go.

once the conversation died down you let the silence sink between you two, processing everything you talked about with your gaze lost in the distant glow of the long forgotten movie. after a while his voice and his hand on your thigh brought you back.

"you were scaring me back there, you know," yunho chuckled, soft eyes and a fond smirk drawn on his handsome face, "i thought you wanted to break up and turns out you just want me to rag doll you around"

the simplicity of his tone made you frown.

"well, now that you say it like that..."

he knew you were joking, and from one moment to the next you found yourself swiftly placed on his lap, curling his soft black hair around your fingers and kissing him, softly at first. his embrace around your hips was tender but firm and you trembled a bit, relief replacing the anxiety from before. seonghwa was right, after all, though you would never admit that to his face. you quickly forgot about your friend when you adjusted yourself on top of yunho and felt his hardness against your body. his eyes met yours and your breath hitched. how come the look in his eyes was so dark now?

"we can wait before trying changing things, you know," your soft whisper fell against his plumped lips, "think about it till you're comfortable"

yunho kissed you again, this time more fierce before tightening his grip on you and starting a trail of kisses down your cheek, jaw and neck.

"do you want to do it now, though?," shivers ran down your spine as his now slightly hoarse voice ringed in your ears, "because i do"

you nodded almost too desperately as those electric eyes of his bored into yours and that was all the confirmation you both needed. suddenly your back was against the couch and he held up a hand to caress your face, moving the scattered hair aside while he positioned himself on top of you. as a reflex your legs wrapped around his lean figure and soon enough you were nothing but a bunch of short breaths and flushed pink cheeks, his hands went up and down your sides and a gasp left your mouth when he gripped your thighs with his ringed fingers. amongst the passion there still existed some gentleness and you whimpered, pulling him against you with need. everything was suddenly too hot. his touch, his breath, his forehead against yours after a particularly long kiss.

yunho unfastened the buttons on your shirt and removed it as well as your shorts, leaving you almost completely exposed under his exploring hands. he glanced at you to check how you were doing and you so badly wanted to wipe off the smugness from the curve of his lips, but before you could say anything, two of his fingers pushed your underwear aside and made contact with your wetness. your head fell back with every movement of his, soon enough his lips were on your neck and for a moment you forgot how to breathe. nothing on your head but him, everything was filled with the feeling of the cold metal of his rings against your folds and the sharp occasional pain from his biting on your neck that made you sink your nails on his broad shoulders.

it was intoxicating having him like this, his instincts so good at that moment that he knew where to touch you so as to pull the sweetest sounds from your mouth. he just knew your body so well. you wanted to return the favor, make him feel as good as he was making you feel but as soon as you lingered around the button of his jeans he used his free hand to grab your wrist and hold it above your head. you whined and his response was a chuckle. it was more fun than he expected, and he was honestly enjoying himself, drinking in the expression on your pretty face and the cloudiness on your hazy eyes.

"no, doll. today you'll just take what i give you, yeah?"

he waited for confirmation and once he got it, he flipped you around, pressing his torso against your back and his clothed pelvis against yours. the roughness of his jeans against your bare thighs made you shiver, griping the couch tightly as he got a hold of your hips with his right hand to stop you from pushing back to feel him. his other hand was busy with his zipper and afterwards with prepping you. he slowly pushed two fingers inside of you and you gasped at suddenly feeling stuffed. yunho whispered reassuring words in your ear and after a while he took his fingers out, replacing them with his cock. inch by inch, you shut your eyes closed until he bottomed out and the air escaped his lips in a quick exhale.

you'd never tried it like this before and he could tell you were struggling a bit to take him, which was unusual. he attempted pulling out to let you adjust better but your muffled "no, don't" stopped him. he raised his already furrowed eyebrows, it was hard to concentrate with your warmth around but he paid attention to your breathing, waiting for it to be more steady before intertwining his fingers with yours from behind for support and pushing down with each thrust.

your moans became sharper and sharper and he almost couldn't resist the urge to go harder and faster, afraid he might hurt you. yunho loved the outline of your body and how you jolted every time he hit the right spot. he laid down on top of you, letting his weight fall almost entirely on you and enjoying the way your whimpering was almost involuntary at that point.

after a moment he grabbed a handful of hair to turn your head a bit, just enough for him to be able to kiss your temple. as if that wasn't enough, his other hand sneaked around your body to get a hold of your throat. he didn't put much pressure, but the feeling of his large hand restraining your air intake little by little and the feeling of his large body trapping yours had you shaking with a silent scream around his cock. as you rode your high, yunho slowed down the speed but not the force of his thrusts and so you were left there, overstimulated in the best way as he was chasing his own high. he was almost there, and the ringing in your ears could only be interrupted by the sound of his grunts and moans.

yunho pulled put and let go of your neck to finish himself off, looking at your exhausted figure and blissed out expression was enough to have him cum all over your back with a choked out groan. you smiled at him, taking in the image of him with his dark hair sticking slightly to his forehead. it shouldn't be as hot as it was, but seeing him practically fully dressed on top of your naked body made you feel fuzzy on the inside. your boyfriend smiled back at you and ran to the bathroom for something to clean you up. you would have to hop in the shower at some point for sure, but for now, after he finished wiping his cum off, the only thing you both wanted and had energy to do was to lay down.

he quickly slid one of his shirts on your body so you weren't cold and held you close, both still too agitated to give in to your heavy eyelids.

after a while of him caressing your back and you drawing shapes with your finger on his arm, you heard his voice again.

"you know, i think i liked that a lot," you nodded in agreement, both you and him knew that figuring out what each other liked the best was going to be a journey, but you were grateful for his willingness to try and he loved that you finally decided to confide in him, "what do you say?"

"depends," you joked with a sleepy voice and fluttering eyelashes, admittedly a bit flirty for his inquisitive gaze, "will you spank me next time?"

[springtyme]

for the october challenge can you write some for your roomate thing with simon. I really love the first part you have out. I would lover any scenario, but some cute pining would be lovely ❤️❤️ thank you

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ♡

Simon Riley x reader || Main masterlist || Ghost playlist

summary: You had never expected to become as close with your flatmate as you have, and on one of your usual movie nights, you and Simon become even closer.

word count: 1.3k

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟒) 𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

You settle onto the sofa, crossing your legs under you and letting yourself sink into the soft cushions. The warm, buttery smell of popcorn from the large bowl that is nestled comfortably in your lap fills the air, a comforting scent that always brings back memories of childhood movie nights with your family. The soft glow of fairy lights creates a warm ambiance. You glance at Simon who is sitting at the other end of the sofa. He was the one who had helped you put them up.

His usual short, military approved, haircut is slightly longer than usual, the blonde strands catching the soft light in a way that makes him look almost ethereal. He’s reclined back, one arm resting casually on the back of the sofa, you can’t help but admire the way the muscles in his arms seem to shift slightly as he adjusts his position. The black compression t-shirt, which should be illegal for how good it looks on him, hugs his biceps so snugly and accentuates the outline of his broad shoulders and chest.

You catch yourself staring for a moment longer than intended, your heart fluttering unexpectedly at the sight.

Simon must feel your gaze because he turns his head towards you. “So, what are we watching?”

You blink, momentarily snapped out of your reverie, and manage to clear your throat. “Why don’t you pick? I feel bad that we always watch what I wanna watch,” you respond, trying to sound casual.

He raises an eyebrow, a look on his face you can’t quite read before he turns his face to the tv. “I like watching what you pick,” he mumbles, his deep voice rumbling softly, but he picks up the remote nonetheless and starts scrolling through the streaming service.

You watch him in silence, the way his brows furrow slightly in concentration, the way his thumb brushes over the buttons of the remote. This is not what you had expected when you moved in with a stranger, especially not of the military background. You had anticipated the typical flatmate dynamic: polite yet detached, maybe even a bit awkward.

But instead, Simon had turned out to be surprisingly laid-back, at least after he got used to you being in his space, his dry humour surfacing in unexpected moments, and a warmth that drew you in.

You fold your arms around the popcorn bowl, savouring the comforting weight of it against your lap as you watch him. A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth; Simon is a puzzle you find yourself wanting to decipher more and more.

He seems to finally settle on something that catches his eye. “How about this?” he asks, glancing over at you once more. You nod in agreement without even really seeing what he’s chosen. Truth be told, you don’t really care what you’re watching—you’re just enjoying being here, sharing your evening with him.

You remove the bowl of popcorn from your lap and set it on the coffee table, grabbing a handful before settling back into the cushions, feeling the soft fabric mould around you. As Simon starts the movie, you slip a few kernels into your mouth, relishing the buttery crunch and the subtle saltiness.

The film starts, and as the opening credits roll, you lose yourself in the story. However, you find it increasingly hard to concentrate on the plot. You’ve had a really long day, and it seems as if the reality of how tired you really are is only hitting you now that you’re finally comfortable.

Your attention slowly begins to drift away from the screen. Instead, you find yourself immersed in the warm atmosphere between you and Simon. The light from the fairy lights dances softly across his features, and you steal glances at him, feeling a warmth spread through you.

Eventually, you find the perfect spot in the cushions, a little closer to him than before. There is a comfortable silence that blankets the room, with only the distant sounds of the movie muffled beneath your thoughts. You notice the way his eyes flick between the screen and his popcorn, and you can’t help but admire how he throws his head back in laughter at moments you don’t quite catch.

The soft hum of the dialogue from the television blends with the comforting rhythm of Simon’s breathing nearby. Each word and sound envelops you, lulling your senses into a peaceful state. You try to concentrate on the plot unfolding before you, but despite your efforts, your eyelids just grow heavier and heavier. You yank a throw blanket from the side, pulling it over yourself. Its warmth wraps around you like a hug, and you let out a sigh of contentment.

Suddenly, you feel an arm slip behind you on the back of the sofa, an almost protective gesture that sends a ripple of awareness through your body. Simon glances down at you, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity? amusement? worry?—you can’t quite place it. “Are you tired?” he asks, his deep voice surprisingly gentle, not wanting to disturb the atmosphere.

“A little, yeah,” you admit, your voice soft as you try to suppress a yawn.

“We can stop the movie if you want?”

“No, don’t do that,” you say quickly, not wanting to ruin the moment. “I’m enjoying it. I just… think I might fall asleep.”

Simon chuckles softly, and the sound sends little shivers down your spine. “You’re already halfway there,” he teases, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk.

“Maybe…” you reply, snuggling deeper into the cushions. “But I’m staying here with you until the movie is done.”

“Okay,” he says softly with a small nod, seemingly in agreement, and you can sense the unspoken understanding between you. “But you’re gonna mess up your neck if you’re planning to fall asleep like that.”

You shake your head, determined to stay present with him, but the lush sensation of comfort begins to weigh heavily in your limbs. The warmth emanating from his side, coupled with the rhythmic sound of his breathing, only adds to the allure of sleep. You shift slightly, trying to adjust your position, but it’s a hopeless endeavour.

“Really, I’m fine,” you murmur, even though you can hear the drowsiness creeping into your tone. Yet the truth is, pulling away feels unwarranted; there is something about his presence that makes you crave closeness.

Simon looks at you for a moment, a contemplative look dancing in his eyes. Without another word, he subtly shifts his posture, leaning towards you just enough for your head to naturally slide down onto his shoulder.

The moment your head rests against him, a sense of safety washes over you. Simon doesn’t flinch; instead, he allows the contact to linger, shifting a bit to make you more comfortable. You take in the scent of his cologne—a subtle but masculine scent that mixes with the faint smell of buttery popcorn that still lingers in the air.

Your heart is suddenly beating a lot faster than it was moments before, an exhilarating flutter stirring deep within you as the warmth of his shoulder cradles your head. You can’t help but lean into him a little more, finding solace in the way he doesn't just tolerate your closeness, but actually seems to welcome it.

But as the movie plays on, your pulse calms down again. Your eyelids is growing even heavier than before, and your senses slowly starts to shut down, but you can still hear Simon’s steady breathing beside you. There’s a rhythm in it that further lulls you to sleep—slow and calming, like a heartbeat you want to lean into. The dialogue on screen fades into a background lull, and it feels as if the world outside the two of you has simply evaporated.

Every now and then, you catch a whiff of popcorn, or the warmth of his arm where it rests behind you, and both sensations soothe you deeper into this tranquil state. Simon’s shoulder is the perfect pillow, sturdy yet comforting, and you can feel a smile blooming on your lips, even as you drift off.

As you surrender to the weight of sleep, you have a fleeting thought that you could grow accustomed to this closeness, to this unexpected physical connection with Simon you haven’t shared before.

[reds-writings]

jealousy, jealousy!

(pairing: rust cohle x fem!reader)

a/n: hello! welcome to my first bout of writing! feedback is greatly appreciated and i hope you enjoy! there isn't much rust content on here so i figured i'd create it myself lmao

warnings: cursing, steamy scenes but nothing too crazy, sorta sexism, marty hart being himself, rust being pigheaded, mentions of sex, etc etc let me know if i missed anything (minors just don't bother interacting regardless thank you!)

word count: around 5.8k

Never did you think that sitting in the passenger’s seat of Rustin Cohle’s red Ford pickup could have you seething as it did now. This wasn’t at all how your night was supposed to go and the culprit of said unsavory evening was sitting right next to you, cigarette pinched between tense fingers and eyes set hard on the dark highway ahead. The stubborn bastard had made no move to turn on the radio to save you both from the borderline unbearable silence. All you had was the humid Louisiana air from his rolled-down window flowing into the truck’s cabin and you couldn’t quite find it in you to be grateful for the fact he seemed to have kept in mind you detested the smell of that sour burning tobacco. 

Just who the hell does he think he is?

The question that repeated itself a mile a minute in your Coors-addled brain as it fought to catch up with all that just occurred not even a mere hour prior. Rust, as you already well knew, did not bother himself much when it came to others unless it strictly involved the endless trials of his work. That was the line he drew on a daily basis. Nothing could be clearer than the fact that Rust had little to no capacity for getting truly personal with most who existed in his orbit.

It was something you dealt with a bit better than the likes of your other partner Marty day in and day out at the CID. Though he may be one mystery wrapped in a more or less fucked up enigma, Rust’s way of functioning stayed relatively consistent. You didn’t dig often given that he wasn’t up and ready to offer much in the first place. He was sharp and strong-minded. Possessing most qualities that make well for a good investigative partner. Lines didn’t get muddled. It was how you preferred it. Up until recently, that is.

You didn’t have much nerve or will to go down that route right about now. 

Earlier in the day…

Your fingers were cramping at the end of typing the last dregs of the day’s reports. This recent case was starting to weigh heavier and heavier as an influx of countlessly cryptic details revealed themselves with each milestone of the investigative process. Something about this being darkly occultish as it was made it all the more daunting. There was a sense of underlying dread that this was something bigger than all of you. A sentiment you found yourself sharing with at least one of your partners: Rust. Marty on the other hand was still on the fence, not totally in the business of believing this was more than just some twisted piece of shit who had nothing better to do with his time. You wish you had half the mind to reduce it down to something so simple.

Strange things were not that of an irregular occurrence around these parts. Though said strange things didn’t have the habit of making it to the limelight as the Dora Lange case had. This wasn’t the type of case where one could be fine with just leaving it at work and picking it back up when they returned the next day as normal. Its disturbing details twisted themselves into every fiber of your daily life since that poor girl was found posed in Erath. It was better to eat, sleep, and breathe this case so that it may be solved all the more quickly. 

A world with one less monster like the one capable of committing a murder such as this is was a world where you could maybe sleep a little more soundly. 

Rolling your shoulders back, you twisted your aching neck side to side, resounding with an aching series of pops. God, I need a drink. You thought to yourself as you leaned back into the roller chair at your desk. The clock on your floor’s wall read 6:02. With all the work on your part done you figured you could slip out with much complaint. Stiffly rising from your spot, you started to pack away any necessary belongings into your well-loved messenger bag. Marty glanced up from his notes with a small quirk of his brow, “You headin’ out?”

Throwing your hair up to save yourself from the impending humidity from outside you replied, “Yeah. Need to wash the day off me and go grab a drink or somethin’. Bein’ out talkin’ to them church folk in the heat nearly all afternoon then witnessin’ Rust make that one boy shit himself was enough for the day.” 

Marty snorted to himself at that while Rust made no move to acknowledge your statement from his spot as he analyzed his comically large ledger. The blonde sipped his evening coffee as you finished gathering your things, “Don’t get too crazy tonight now. Lots to do in the days to follow I reckon the more this case stays befuddlin’ as is.”

You scoffed lightly, “I don’t doubt that. I’ll probably just head to that Blue Gator joint off the highway. Grab a few beers. Maybe a dance should one be willin’. Need’ta let loose is all.” 

“I’m sure any fella would be delighted to spin the night away with the likes of you, darlin’. Leave it at just dancin’ will ya?” Marty snickered a bit as you scowled and flipped him off idly. You notice in your peripheral Rust go still with a pen in hand but he didn’t make any move to look up or participate in the conversation. 

Continuing, you fix Marty with a half-hard look, “I’m sure you have your extracurricular activities beyond the job so it ain’t a sin to have my own. Anways, this is hardly an appropriate conversation to have betwixt coworkers, Martin. Keep your nose outta it.” 

Marty let out a surprised guffaw and placed an offended hand over his heart. Rust still hadn’t moved an inch from his position. When you let your gaze drift over towards the silent half of the duo you were met with that cold blue stare of his. The mere instance of contact left you feeling funnier than you’d prefer as of late. Things were starting to blossom into something a little different between you two after the few months of being in each other’s presence. He had been starting to open up in a manner he hadn’t bothered to when he first transferred to the CID here in Louisana. His presence had been quiet but no less intimidating, leaving you and Marty at a loss of what to do to prompt him out of his self-imposed shell.

Now, as this new case unfolded it seemed to trigger a sudden release of the deepest tidbits of his…intense opinions and values that went on within the inner workings of his mind. Marty often found himself wishing that Rust never bothered to open his mouth at all. Anything coming from the brooding Texan seemed to offend Hart on some deeper level one way or another.

For you, while it was not all that pleasant to constantly hear how fucked up we as a collective were and how life had little to no meaning, were intrigued nonetheless. You believed that Rust was just as human as everyone else despite him pushing himself as far away from that narrative as possible. He was just broken in a way that couldn’t ever be truly reversed. So while his infinitely dismal ramblings left you feeling more defeated about life than anything else at times, you couldn’t find it in you to really hold it against him. 

When it came to your dynamic, he seemed to have more of an unspoken respect for you than most of your colleagues did within the department. It wasn’t some radical declaration made by him that clued you in on the matter. He mostly just treated you the same as everyone else. Not inherently negative nor too positively outgoing where others could accuse him of giving you some form of special treatment. He listened to you and took your input into genuine consideration which was more than you could ask for when it came to working alongside any of your other male counterparts. However, there were these little instances within the recent weeks that had your mind (and heart) taking another route when it came to how Rust Cohle just might regard you. 

First, it started with fresh coffee materializing on your desk by the time you’d be strolling in at morning time. Two sugars with one cream and always in your favorite green mug ordained with hand-painted daisies. Very specific and not at all a detail that Marty ever bothered himself with remembering about you in the time you’d known each other. Not that you ever really cared. No one else here would ever think to offer you a damn thing unless it was maybe the lovely receptionist up at the front.

It wasn’t until one night you had forgotten your keys at your desk and made your way back inside the assumingly empty department only to find the Rust Cohle with sleeves pushed up to his elbows in the small office kitchen cleaning your daisy mug that you’d left haphazardly in the sink before leaving. You watched in silent awe as he had set it gently aside after drying it for what you assumed was for the next morning where he’d be the one who dutifully made your memorized coffee order in secret before your arrival. To him, the act was probably meaningless. 

To you, the simple scene made your heart squeeze in a way you didn’t think was possible. 

Next, it occurred when he started offering you rides to and fro after your car suffered a nasty rear-ending thus needing to have it sit in the shop for the time being. At first, it was a little nerve-wracking to be in close proximity without Marty present to break any drawn-out silences but after a while you’d found yourself in a rhythm you could call your own. Sometimes you’d talk, sometimes you’d sit and listen to whatever old country cassettes he had stowed away in his glove compartment. It was never dull to you. 

Each car ride had you piecing together factoids that unfurled into the evergrowing idea that was your new(ish) partner. You still found yourself sharing more about your own life than he did more often than not but you were okay with that. Even if he wasn’t the most reactive of men, you knew he held on to every word. Anything he decided to sparingly share had you doing the same with a reverence you weren’t sure you carried for anyone else.  

After getting your car back and no longer needing his chauffeur services a silent agreement had followed. Neither party was completely ready to let go of the pleasant thirty-three minutes permitted to be spent together outside of work. It was decided that he’d drive you home on nights you happened to leave late, deeming it too dangerous to be traveling home at odd hours in the night although you had already been doing so plenty before he manifested into your life.

Eventually, he even found himself at your house one day after having determined that your porch steps needed fixing��or that your gutters should be cleared…or that the lawn was looking a little too overgrown than what was acceptable. Small acts where you felt that maybe he wanted to be in your presence a bit longer than normally desired when it came to his usual limits of socialization.

Seeing him working around your property with that sweat-soiled wife beater of his and those lithe, god-given arms made that squeeze in your heart reach new heights and your tongue feel like lead. Who knew such pictures of domesticity could have this intense of a hold over you? You usually prided yourself in not being so easily affected by men. Though it wasn’t necessarily news that Rust was his own brand of a striking handsome that stood out against most men you’d come across. The sweet tea you’d supply for the dreadful heat when he’d carry out his projects ended up being more for your own benefit than his.

You caught yourself feeling greedy for more of his presence as he made himself an increasingly present fixture in your life. Which realistically…couldn’t lead to any sort of good. 

Bringing yourself back to now, his gaze held an emotion you couldn’t quite place. Hell, most times it was hard enough to know exactly what he was thinking unless he outright declared it. Maybe it was disapproval? Judgement? It wasn’t likely that he wanted to hear about your potential escapades. You probably wouldn’t want to hear of his either (not that he ever does speak of it if he even engages in that sort of activity) but you’d be coming from a different place on that matter. He returns to the pages of his ledger after deciding to break the staring spell, “I don’t see what sorta grand company could be found at an establishment such as the Green Gator.”

 His tone came out a bit too passive for your liking. Bordering the ugly lines of judgy which was something that rubbed you wrong entirely, “It’s the Blue Gator-”

“Oh hush up, Mr. High and Mighty. Not every man is as intellectually driven as you find yourself. Most men want fun and ain’t gonna pass it up when it’s in front of em’. They don’t need nearly as much as you do to get their rocks off.” Marty angles himself towards Rust in his chair, already willing to bat for you in his more than unhelpful way. 

Rust just scoffed and shook his head slightly, “Wouldn’t expect a thing from anyone in this vast shithole…buncha ignorant shitheels with no sense of fuckin’…” He muttered the rest of his ramblings detailing the severe lack of intelligence that the people of Louisiana seemed to hold while bringing his attention back to his ledger. 

His shoulders were set in a harder line than usual. Marty got a kick out of it all, reducing Rust’s distaste to not being able to participate in normalcy like anybody else in the world could.    

On your end, it struck a nerve that he clearly found your plans more than dissatisfactory. It left an unpleasant taste in your mouth to be on the potential receiving end of Rust’s ruthless judgments.

“You forget him, y/n. You have yourself a good ol’ time with whatever strappin’ young man of your choosing should he be lucky. Don’t let grumpy guss piss on your parade.” 

You find yourself grimacing at how much focus on you and the prospect of potentially getting laid has been put. You look back to Rust but he seemed to be no longer interested in your presence, back in his own world and on the case. Patting Marty on the shoulder you finally make your way to head out, “G’night. I’d love it if we never brought any of this up again. Page me if anythin’ comes up.” 

“Y’got it, darlin’. You stay safe.” Marty points at you a bit more seriously and you nod in slight exasperation with a soft ‘got it’ before officially leaving. Rust hadn’t said another word which left you feeling all sorts of confused. Relieved he didn’t further insult your plans for a night out? Disappointed he didn’t put up much of a fight when it came to you maybe trying to avoid any of your current problems with the company of another man? You don’t know what you expected but you did know that you needed to get it together and just let this shit go even for just one night. 

And what a night it would be indeed. 

Night at the Blue Gator…

The night was proving to be a bit more than uneventful. Perhaps uneventful was just about the only thing your mind could handle at the given moment with everything else going on. The lingering feeling of Rust’s disapproval had also left you more affected than desired. With a few Coors in your system, you find your gaze a little hazy as it passes around the kitschy establishment.

Some George Strait song filters through the bar on top of the active chatter of the patrons taking up a surprising amount of space for a Wednesday night. The cute little black dress you managed to find in your closet and squeeze into was becoming less than ideal as you found yourself hearing the siren call of just calling it quits and crawling into bed back home. Clean sheets and reruns of something like The Golden Girls…absolute fucking heaven right about now. 

Briefly pressing your perspiring bottle to your forehead, you soon enough were roped into a dance as some lively Brooks and Dunne tune came on. The fella who managed to drag you on the dancefloor was decent enough. A bit short and plenty bald… with maybe a tad too eager of hands for your tastes that left you feeling a bit removed from the experience as a few more songs went on. You weaseled yourself out of the crowd after ‘promising’ baldy (named Rex or Tex but who’s to really care) you’d make your return after grabbing a refreshment. 

Making your way to the bar your legs come to a sudden halt at the sight of a familiar figure slouched on a stool. After your brief shock shifted into a brewing irritation, your feet found themselves mobile again as you sidle next to Rust and order yourself another drink. He put out his cigarette as soon as you were near his side but made no motion to speak so you find yourself shooting first.

“For a place you couldn’t bother gettin’ the name right of you can color me surprised to see you here.”

“A man ain’t allowed to drink after work?” Is his flat reply. 

You put your hands up in mock defense, “No need for my permission. Just didn’t think you’d grace the simpletons ‘round here when you can have a drink for free and in peace in the comforts of your own home.” 

Rust didn’t have anything to say to that, instead lifting his own drink to his lips, “That man sure had a grip on ya. Doesn’t seem the type you’d to give the time of day to. Less’ you’re that compelled to blow off steam.” 

The thinly veiled nonchalance of his insult didn’t go past you. Instead, it caused you to bristle only in the way you could when you had a few drinks in you, a bit more sensitive and a helluva lot more confrontational. Who was he to judge how you spend your time? Let alone who the hell you spend it with? You set your new drink down with more force than necessary and felt your face starting to get hot. 

“I can dance with just about anybody.”

“That’s been made clear.”

“And why in god’s name do you care exactly just who it is I dance with?”

“Don't remember ever givin' the implication that I quite cared.” Calculated blue flitted over you as if bored. But you knew better.

“I’m sorry, did you just come here to make me out to be some desperate whore for drinkin’ and dancin’ when I’m a grown-” That got his expression to fall with something closely resembling alarm. 

“That ain’t-”

“Last I checked I can do whatever I so fuckin’ please. Do not go insertin’ yourself in the aspects of my life in which you are not fuckin’ concerned. Some of us are lonely and tired and can’t take comfort in stupid murder manuals or severe stretches of solitude. Call it my shitty programmin’ but that’s just how it is for most people. If I wanna drink and let a greaseball feel me up then that’s entirely up to me! Shit, it might be dumber than hell but it’s not like I’m gonna sit and wait around for you to make a move! That’s if you even feel a speck of the way I’m startin’ to towards you. Knowin’ you you’ve probably noticed and just like to see me embarrassed or somethin’.”

 Everything was coming out like one big bout of word vomit. There was an even deeper change in Rust’s demeanor but you were too tipsy and too angry to pay much notice. The burning behind your eyes grew stronger as you threw up a finger to jab at his shoulder,

“It is not up to you to judge people for the shit they do that you deem is beneath you every chance you get. You’re not perfect yourself and I know you know it. But thanks anyway for making me feel like a fuckin’  stupid loser-” Your heated rant was interrupted by a fat mitt of a hand making its way around your waist. 

“This fella botherin’ you, honey?” The hot whiskey-riddled breath of Tex or Lex or whoever the fuck immediately made your nose wrinkle in disgust. Your patience had run its due course for the night as you roughly shoved him off you,

“Oh come off it, Dex-”

“It’s Rex.”

“I don’t care no more I’m leavin’.” You threw a couple bills on the bar’s surface before making your move past both the offending men. Rex had different ideas and made the choice of gripping your arm tightly without much remorse despite your loud protest. 

“You still owe me a dance, bitch. Where d’ya think you’re goin-”

“You best get your hands off her, boy.” Rust’s glare was off-putting even to you. Rex was either too stupid or too drunk to really care as he attempted to yank you back towards him. With your heart racing, all you could think to do was take your heel-adorned food and stomp on his booted one hard. The short bastard yelped as he let you go, giving you the room to skirt past him far enough just in time for Rust to take him by the collar and send him reeling with a swift punch.   

Rex surprisingly regained momentum and took his chance to get a lick back at Rust but his opponent was already plenty steps ahead of him. Rust took Rex’s fist, twisting it behind the shithead’s back, and slammed his head into the bar countertop with a sick thud. A commotion had well enough formed by now and it was your obvious cue to start hustling your way out. Rust spit on the man who now had made a home on the sticky floorboards before turning to you. Your chest was heaving as you made way to open your mouth but he wouldn’t hear it as he grabbed your arm and started leading you out. 

The bar doors slammed open and the persistently thick air of the South drove you further into rage. You yanked your arm a few times until finally freeing yourself from his clutches. He didn’t stop to acknowledge you, instead making his way toward his truck as if expecting you to faithfully trail behind.

“Where exactly do you get off?!” You demanded, struggling to keep up in your heels which then had you electing to nearly fall over yourself trying to rip them off.

No answer.

“I’m talkin’ to you! What the hell is wrong with you?” Your feet were finally free on the warm pavement of the parking lot. You still received no reply.

“RUSTIN.” Your throat nearly felt raw at the volume of your hollering. He stopped at his truck’s passenger door and opened it. The blood in your veins thrummed while your head and heart felt like they were going to burst out of their respective places. 

“Get in the truck.”

“Absolutely not.” 

“You’re drunk-”

“You ain't one to talk. Don’t think I ain’t seen those bottles of cough syrup in your car or them pill bottles you got! I’ll make it just fine-"

“Y/n.” His low baritone left no room for argument, nor did his hard stare. You felt like a petulant child staring back at him with your arms crossed. 

Your will to break was unshakeable but you had the inclination that if you pushed him hard enough he’d have you in that passenger seat even if you came kicking and screaming. Huffing out a harsh breath you half stomped your way over and climbed in. Grabbing the handle for yourself you slammed the door before he had the chance to close it for you. You felt a lick of petty satisfaction when you saw his shoulders drop and a hand come up to squeeze the back of his neck. It wasn’t often you could catch Rust off-guard, let alone see him visibly exasperated.

After a moment or two, he rounded his way to the driver’s side and got inside with noticeably less ruckus than you did. He lit a cigarette as he pulled out of the parking lot, but not before rolling down the window in consideration of you. Bastard. 

“My car better find its way back into my damn driveway come morning.” 

He remained silent for the rest of the way.

Back to the present…

Pulling up to your house, the truck hadn’t even made a complete stop before you unbuckled and hastily hopped on out. You only stumbled a bit as the old Ford squeaked behind you in what was probably the harsh fashion in which Rust must’ve slammed on his brakes at your sudden escape. You heard the truck get thrown into park and a heavy slam of a door shutting as you quickened your pace up the pathway to your front porch. Your heaving breaths were drowned out by the frogs and nearby cicadas that created their own little symphony on your property. You knew Rust was following you but you naively hoped you’d make it up to shut the door in his face just in time. 

'Fuck, I forgot my shoes.’ Was your narrow thought as you fumbled for your key ring in the endless depths of your purse. Rust’s footsteps grew closer causing you to whip around and shove him back with a clumsy force much to his surprise. 

“Don’t you come followin’ me! I’ve had just about enough of you!”

“Listen-”

“No you listen! Never have I been more embarrassed than you’ve made me tonight. Never have I felt more stupid and small all because you decided today was the day I’d be on the shit end of your scathing criticisms! You can fuck right off with that mess. I’m goin’ to bed.” You turned to start your trek before he spoke up again,

“My intentions were not to come by and make you feel stupid.”

A near-jarring laugh clawed its way from your system, “Oh, so that’s your twisted way of makin’ a girl feel cared for. Is that it?” 

He let out a frustrated sound, “What’d you mean by startin’ to feel a certain way towards me. Back at the bar.”

Your heart nearly dropped out of your ass just then. Did you really blab on about that somewhere in the middle of your tirade? God, you could just about go feed yourself to the gators right now. Work would no doubt be complete hell after this nightmare of an outing.

“Take it how you want it. I know with you being as perceptive as you are it shouldn’t come as a mystery what I might feel. You do plenty towards me that’s had me foolishly thinkin’ there could be a one in a million chance of somethin’ but no dice. So what I want to know is why did you follow me out. Why did you come all this way to ruin my night.” 

The silence was biting as he offered up no explanation. He seemed to be trying to figure out that answer himself. Instead of the petty satisfaction you felt from seeing him at a loss earlier, he seemed well and truly bothered now which left a sinking feeling in your gut. The thought of the immovable force in front of you being this bothered when it came to matters involving you just made you all the more disoriented. There was only one other plausible explanation as to why he went through all this trouble to insert himself into the mix. 

You could almost fall to your knees laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of your creeping realization. It couldn’t be. There was just no way. But given the miserable look of Rust’s obvious inner battle on what he should decide to say to you had you gawking. 

The man was jealous. Rustin Cohle, feeler of nothing and believer of none, was jealous. A fit of giggles made their way out of you before you could help it. It might’ve been in poor taste during the seriousness of the moment between you both but you couldn’t stop. Rust seemed all the more distressed as if he’d been caught red-handed. Stripped bare in front of you despite no real accusation of his behavior being made quite yet. 

“If I knew any better I’d say you were plain jealous, Rust. Can’t say I see you bein’ capable of actin’ so irrationally. I thought entertainin’ such primal notions was too beneath you. Especially should it involve lil ol’ me.”

But he was indeed more than susceptible to all the irrational factors of his so-called programming when it came to you. You were beautiful. Mind, body, and soul. Your presence brought things to the surface he didn’t believe he could ever have the experience of feeling again. It scared him shitless. Having to face what was making his old tired heart beat into a lively rhythm again after convincing himself things of that nature were abysmally futile. Even as you stood in front of him now, with eyes and hair looking something fiercely wild, feet bare and dirtied from your lack of shoes in that high-cut black ensemble you had on. He absolutely knew that he couldn’t bring himself to deny what his programming was demanding of him when it came to the unknowing hold you had over him. Flexing his shaking fingers as if to render them steady he took a slow approach to you. 

This was a moment where you had neither the sense nor the imagination to anticipate what he’d do next. It was as if your heart had forgotten how to keep itself beating. This was the closest you had found yourself in his proximity. Being able to see every fine detail of the tragically beautiful man in front of you could have left you speechless for the rest of your days.

A large, calloused hand came to cup your jaw then the other followed. Both nearly took up the entire sides of your face, and their warmth made you feel as if you were on fire. His grip was firm… more so intenful if you were to put a name to it. Eyes searched each other in the most tortuously bated moment you’d ever found yourself being victim to. If you were to move an inch or look away the spell might be broken forever and you think you might just collapse if that were to happen. When had you gotten this dramatic?

Kiss me. God, kiss me. Just kiss me. You thought over and over as if willing it into his mind. Then, as if he heard you through some unspoken link, he did. 

It was like being let in on one big universal secret that couldn’t be fathomed by most. Never had you thought a kiss could wield as much power as Rust’s did. For being such a hard and withdrawn individual, the feeling of his slightly chapped lips on your plush ones felt nothing short of soul-bearing and endlessly warm. Trailing your hands up his broad chest, the quick pitter-pattering of his heart didn’t go past you. Drawing your palms up further you reach to lace deft fingers into the sandy waves that you’d secretly been aching to touch for a while now. His breath faltered as you pulled back for a brief moment. It wasn’t long before the invisible magnet between you both had you returning for more. 

The kiss turned more intense, bodies pressing and molding into each other as if you could become one entity. His tongue traced the seams of your lips and you had no qualms with letting him invade your senses further. The need for air was becoming harder to ignore but no force on earth could rip you away. The desire for him was something you’d not felt for another person in you’re not sure how long. If not ever. His breath held traces of the Lonestar he’d been cradling and the cigarette he’d deeply pulled on the way here and it had you absolutely hooked as it curled into your mouth. You didn’t know how long the pair of you stood on your porch necking like a bunch of desperate teenagers but by the time he pulled away you felt dizzy at the sight of his flushed complexion and swollen lips. Possessiveness gripped your being at the thought of being able to have such an effect on him. You. No one else. 

Rust’s grip loosened on your heated face as he planted one last sweet kiss on you before stepping away entirely. It was a shock that you had any remaining strength to keep yourself upright. His expression seemed a bit more relaxed, a bit too casual for what just transpired. There was a brief pause. 

“Don’t go out dancin’ anymore.” 

With that, he turned and made his slow descent back to his truck. Snapping out of your daze once the words sunk into the crevices of your Rust-drunk brain you quirked a brow, 

 “If that’s your odd way of layin’ claim on me I think I’m gonna need to ask for a more straightforward redo, mister.” 

You saw his shoulders shake slightly in amusement as the night found itself ending on a more playful albeit confusing note, “G’night, y/n.”

“I’m bein’ serious, Rust. You can’t just kiss a girl like that then waltz on out. I have questions.” You pointed.    

 “I’ll see ya tomorrow.” The cowboy gave a slight wave and then got into his truck. Oh, you could wipe that subtly growing smirk right off his stupid face. His dry sense of humor made its presence known at what you thought was the most inopportune of times. You stood there watching his truck disappear into the night, the ghost of him sticking to you like molasses. Your fingertips graced your buzzing lips and you could’ve started giggling again like some schoolgirl. How ridiculous indeed. 

You were so not letting any of this go when you got into work tomorrow.

[eveninggstar]

what is this feeling?' ⊹ ࣪ ˖

max verstappen x ferraridriver!reader

12.12.24

୨ৎ back one page ୨ৎ back two pages

part one, part two, ....

୨ৎ In the high-stakes world of Formula 1, Y/N, a rookie Ferrari driver, enters the paddock with the weight of legacy on her shoulders, replacing the legendary Sebastian Vettel. Armed with charm and determination, she quickly wins over fans and drivers alike. But not everyone is so easily impressed—least of all Max Verstappen, the controversial Red Bull prodigy whose dominance on the track is matched only by his polarizing personality.

*dear universe this is not me manifesting max retiring, if he wants to take a season or two off to be with his kid i fully understand that but i need him in f1 *

imagine that max is still as hated as he was during the 2021 season and still acts the way he did, and yes this is inspired by wicked

The paddock buzzed with life, reporters running wild like headless chickens in a desperate bid to extract every last detail before the Abu Dhabi GP drew to a close. Cameras clicked like clockwork, capturing fleeting moments, while engineers barked orders in preparation for the season's final race. Yet amidst the beauty and glamour, one name cast a shadow large enough to shroud even the brightest lights: Max Verstappen.

To many, Verstappen was the villain of Formula 1. Some called him "Mad Max," while others simply labelled him wicked. A driver who thrived on chaos and adrenaline, his daring overtakes and unapologetic demeanour had earned him countless trophies—and just as many critics. His success on the track seemed almost effortless, but his reputation came with a price, leaving what many described as "blood on the asphalt."

As the last cars crossed the finish line, a new kind of chaos erupted. The usual end-of-season celebrations were overshadowed by a statement that reverberated through the paddock like a shockwave. It wasn’t just about the podium or the champagne—it was about him.

Max Verstappen had announced his retirement.

The reporter standing before you barely registered as a person, her voice blending into the noise of the moment. You were only half-listening, waiting for the key phrases that would prompt your rehearsed responses. But this time, her words jolted you out of your trance.

"How are you feeling about Max’s retirement?"

“His what?” Your eyes widened, searching her face to confirm you hadn’t misheard. The news hit like a bombshell, one no one had seen coming. Max Verstappen—arguably the most dominant driver of his era—was walking away.

"Let us be glad and grateful that he’s taking time for himself," you replied with a smile that felt as stiff as the tension in the air.

The reactions to his departure were as polarizing as the man himself. Some celebrated as though tyranny had ended, gleefully tweeting about a "freer grid." Others expressed grudging respect for his legacy. But one sentiment echoed louder than any other: "No one will mourn him."

Another question came, cutting through the murmurs. "How would you describe your relationship with Verstappen?"

Your mind betrayed you, flashing through secret memories you’d carefully buried—moments shared with Max away from the cameras and the chaos. A fond smile softened your features before you could stop it.

“Well, it depends on what you mean. I knew him well.”

The sharp intakes of breath around you made you realize your mistake. Your eyes darted to the reporter’s raised eyebrows, and you scrambled to recover.

“That is, our paths crossed a few times,” you added hastily, forcing the smile back into something neutral.

The memory hit you like the roar of an engine at full throttle.

You were replacing Sebastian Vettel. The Sebastian Vettel. It was a surreal honour and an immense pressure, all rolled into one. As a wide-eyed rookie in the scarlet Ferrari suit, you stepped into a world dominated by egos as sharp as the turns at Suzuka. Despite the intimidating atmosphere, you had already gained a reputation in junior categories for your kind nature and willingness to lend a hand to those around you—traits that endeared you to fans and teammates alike.

But in the paddock, another name was whispered with equal parts awe and trepidation: Max Verstappen.

You had heard the stories before you ever saw him. He was the paddock prodigy—unstoppable, unrelenting, and, if the rumours were true, utterly unbearable. Nothing, however, could have prepared you for the reality of meeting Max Verstappen.

Your thoughts were momentarily elsewhere as your parents dropped you off, their excitement practically radiating. Who could blame them? You were about to make a name for yourself in F1.

“I love you both so much!” you said with a smile as they each kissed your cheek. “Remember, it’s not goodbye, it’s farewell.” You held their hands, knowing they couldn’t travel the world with you and trying not to let the bittersweet moment dampen your nerves.

“We love you,” your mother said, squeezing your father’s hand as he wiped away tears threatening to spill.

“You’ll write, won’t you?” he asked, his voice choked.

“I’ll text,” you promised, feeling a pang of second-hand embarrassment as you noticed some bystanders watching. “Alright, off you go. Love you both, but this is getting sad.” You began shooing them toward the car with exaggerated motions. “Miss you already!”

As the door closed and the car pulled away, you let out a small sigh, a fond smile tugging at your lips. “They’re going to miss me so much,” you said mostly to yourself.

“Not to ruin your moment, but my parents didn’t give me a send-off like that when I started.”

The voice startled you, and you turned to find an awkward-looking boy standing nearby. He seemed about your age, his British accent immediately catching your attention.

“I’m Lando!” he said with a cheesy grin, holding out his hand.

You blinked, feigning interest but not taking the offered handshake. “Nice to meet you,” you replied, though your tone made it clear the sentiment was forced.

“I know we don’t really know each other yet,” Lando continued, undeterred by your cool demeanour, “but—”

“You know what I believe, Bando?”

“It’s Lando—wait, did I just call myself Bando?” He paused, blinking in confusion as he realized his mistake.

“That strangers are just people I haven’t met,” you said smoothly, cutting him off before walking away with a quick “Bye.”

Lando stood there, staring after you in stunned silence. You didn’t look back, but if you had, you might’ve seen the hint of admiration in his gaze.

As you strolled through the paddock, clad in a Ferrari-branded top and a denim skirt, you could feel the public falling more and more in love with you. The cameras followed your every move, and you basked in the attention, your charm effortlessly captivating drivers, reporters, and fans alike.

While chatting with a fellow driver, you noticed the whispers around you growing louder. People were glancing over your shoulder, their curious expressions hinting at the presence of someone noteworthy. Though intrigued, you refused to let anything interrupt the conversation.

“Nice shirt.”

The voice came from behind, startling you enough to make you let out a small yelp as you spun around. Standing there was Max Verstappen, his outfit eerily similar to yours—jeans and a Red Bull-branded shirt. His smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, a clear sign he wasn’t here to make friends.

“It’s Ferrari,” you replied coolly, your voice steady. “Of course, it’s nice.”

He let out a soft laugh, the kind that made you feel like the punchline to a joke you hadn’t heard. “Right. Tradition over innovation. Bold choice for someone who actually wants to win.”

You bristled, the jab hitting its mark. “Bold words for someone who’d rather push people off the track than pass them cleanly.”

His smirk faltered, just for a moment, before returning sharper than ever. “So, you’re a fan of the rulebook, huh? That explains why I’ve never seen you near the front.”

The remark stung, but you didn’t let it show. “Well, I prefer to race with integrity, not turn every Grand Prix into a demolition derby.”

The tension between you was palpable, crackling like static electricity and drawing the attention of other drivers nearby. Daniel Ricciardo, ever the diplomat, stepped in with a quick joke to diffuse the situation, breaking the charged silence.

Even as the event continued and the focus shifted elsewhere, you could still feel Max’s gaze on you, like a challenge waiting to be answered.

That night, as you replayed the interaction in your mind, it left you feeling equal parts irritation and curiosity. Max was everything you’d been warned about—brash, arrogant, and maddeningly self-assured.

But there was something else too, something in the way his eyes had lingered on yours, as if he saw you as a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.

And maybe, just maybe, you felt the same way.

Please don’t steal my work, much love ᡣ𐭩

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 eveninggstar

[writerwrabbleswords]

Hi! I saw your request were open and I just found your fics and I love them! I lost my childhood dog this weekend and I was wondering if you could write a Logan x trans male reader where he comforts the reader if you want to!

Hello, dear Requester! I can do this for you! (This wasn't specifically centered around Reader being transgender, however if you'd like a version where it is, feel free to shoot me another request!)

---

| A Need at Night | Wolverine/Logan Howlett X [Trans-man] Reader

  An awful day made better by your lover, who simply holds you close

Quick Notes :  This is my first attempt at writing from the Reader's perspective! My apologies for this taking so long, I’ve been a tad busy in my daily life, so this had to be put to the side. However, I have finally completed it! Requester, I hope this is able to provide some comfort for you. I’m terribly sorry for your loss - a beloved pet is a part of the family - and I wish you the best for your time recovering from such an event :[ 

  Story Details :  Roughly 700 words, Reader is referred to as ‘You/Your,’ Reader is a trans-man but body parts are described neutrally (general statement), Reader is on Testosterone (not a focal point), Logan is a softie for Reader, Cuddling, lots of fluff but a bit of angst at the beginning,

  You had been having a rough day. Not only had you woken up late for work, you’d also hit your head rolling out of bed, nearly slipped in the shower, put your shirt on backwards, and to top it off, work had been utter shit. 

 So now here you were, laying in Logan and yours shared bed with the TV on - playing some random show you’d put on without really looking at what it was - and most of you covered in the thick, fluffy comforter you kept on the bed. It didn’t seem to be helping your crappy mood much, but at least the feeling of warmth it gave you made the day just a tad more bearable. 

  Logan wasn’t home yet, and you’d already messaged him that you didn’t feel up to cooking and that he could pick up something on the way home (preferably something greasy and comforting, like pizza). To your disappointment, he hadn’t responded, most likely wrapped up in the damn X-Men meeting he’d told complained to you about before you’d left for work that morning. You loved Logan dearly - you really did - but his grumbling and huffing had only tripped up your day further; instead of exchanging your usual ‘good morning’ kiss and sharing a pot of coffee, you instead had to rush out the door while he dragged himself after your hurried form.

  The sound of the front door creaking open drew you from your thoughts, the familiar scent of cigar smoke drifting into the bedroom. Speak of the devil and he shall appear…

  Groaning softly, you covered your eyes with your arm and rolled over so your back was facing the door. You just wanted to wallow in your self-pity until you fell asleep - maybe cry about your bad day a little - but now you had to deal with your lover. 

  A frown was etched on your face when the door to your bedroom was pushed open, Logans’ heavy steps echoing through the room as he approached your grumpy form.

  “I brought home takeout,” He stated bluntly, kicking off his shoes as he climbed into the bed beside you.

  You grunted, glaring at the wall in annoyance as Logan immediately scooped you into his arms, holding you against his form as he buried his face in your hair. A rumbling sound pulled itself from the mutants’ chest, and reluctantly, you relaxed into his form. As if sensing your heavy mood, Logans’ hands trailed down your sides in that subtle way that always seemed to draw your focus out of your thoughts.

  “Rough day?” He murmured softly, resting his chin in the crook of your neck as his eyes drifted towards the TV. 

  The only thing you could do was groan in reply. 

 Logan gave a huff of amusement, simply enjoying your closeness in a way that was so common for the two of you; he’d hold you close and you’d rant or ramble about the day. It was a routine you’d come to enjoy, even now, when you were so cranky and annoyed that you wanted to grumble at the man.

  “It was awful,” You said at last, brows furrowed in frustration as you rested your head against the pillow, “Work was shit. My boss was practically on my ass my entire shift and I couldn’t get my list of things done!”

  The mutant hummed for you to continue, one of his arms coming up to slip beneath your head so you were laying against him instead. At the motion, your irritation faded somewhat; it was nice to be held.

  “I had a pounding headache from hitting my head this morning,” your voice was softer - less aggravated - as you relaxed fully into your lover’s hold, “and I just wanted to sleep today…”

  You trailed off, expression weary as you let your eyes drift closed. The mutant was quiet after you finished speaking, the hand not beneath your head slowly running up and down your side comfortingly; he was always there for you, and this was no different.

  “Rest, love of mine. I’m here for you,” Logan murmured gently, placing a small kiss against your skin, “I’m here.”

[flame-shadow]

A breakdown of my quirrel!nosk comic from last year (original post here) since I like doing breakdowns and talking about my process, and I know at least some people like reading those things. :)

First of all, a little background. I made that comic in an evening with just a pencil, a black marker, two grey markers, and a yellow-orange marker. (All markers had a thick tip and a thin tip, and all were water-based markers, so they don't blend like alcohol markers, but they can still be layered to affect the values) I had a text post from @g0at0ad saved in my drafts that said "gotta say. massive missed opportunity to not have nosk mimic quirrel to lure the knight into its lair." and finally, I had an idea for how to illustrate the reveal and felt I had a decent idea for the nosk's design.

I wanted to follow the same encounter order as the game provides, and by happy coincidence, I realized that the route from first sighting to nosk den includes the hot spring, so it made perfect sense for that location and the real Quirrel to appear in the comic.

Ghost spots a Quirrel-like figure in the darkness in the first panel, and then as the path continues and drops into the hot spring, there's (real) Quirrel, so clearly that's who Ghost saw a minute ago. Yay, friend! And since Quirrel explores around, it's not strange that Ghost would spot him again in an area not so far away, though it's odd how he got ahead of them. Perhaps a different tunnel? And it seems like Quirrel wants to lead the way to something, so Ghost follows, until- That's not Quirrel.

In addition to the potential of a reader already knowing the game's locations and recognizing the path to the nosk's den, there are other visual clues that subtly communicate that something might not be right. I made it so every panel but the hot spring one has black silhouettes encroaching on the space within.

The third panel is the mildest one being encroached upon because Ghost doesn't yet feel like something is off (still reassured from seeing Quirrel in the safe hot spring) but the trap is coming together. The existence of the spider web in the corner is a nod to the trap because it's a common visual symbol for being trapped.

Also note how both the first and third panels have some safety via straight panel edges. Contrasted with the fourth and fifth panels which have no straight edges as Ghost cannot escape and there is no safety.

Another subtle reinforcement of danger vs safety is how the use of black is very limited in the hot spring panel. It's a brighter room mechanically, yes, but it's also a Safe Room. The only black is Ghost's void parts and a thin outline around Quirrel (and also a bit of shading on his arm that I did out of habit before remembering that I wasn't going to use black to shade him here, oops!)

And, note that in the only panel with Real Quirrel, he isn't framed against a darker shape in the background.

Okay, and finally, I will share a bit about the nosk reveal panel and its design...

This pose and angle are dramatic and all, but they're The Worst for showcasing the actual design of the nosk! Just a complete mistake on my part that I did my best to roll with, since I didn't realize until too late how I'd messed myself up.

Which happens! I don't always get it right, and especially when I'm working traditionally, there's a point where I can't go back, so I just have to make do with what I gave myself. :) I don't hate what I have here, but I have been dissatisfied with it ever since I drew the lineart.

A thought I have had since then was that maybe I should've drawn it larger, to be more threatening? Maybe a different pose to show off the side-body frills? I explored a couple ideas below, but honestly, I think the whole panel would have to be reworked to get it right.

Making sure that the background frames the nosk effectively would be one of the main things I'd redo, but I'm getting tired and don't feel like drawing more, so I'll just leave it at the nosk replacement sketches.

And since I don't think I did a good job with displaying the nosk's design effectively, I quickly sketched some of the features to maybe show them off a bit better.

I like the gimmick of the nosk turning its head, so I pretty much always maintain that with my nosk designs. This one is no exception. Quirrel's head and face become the cranium and upper jaw while Monomon's mask becomes the lower jaw - the extra length causes an underbite. I've always been a fan of when people add a veil hanging from Monomon's mask while Quirrel is wearing it, so that's where the frills come from. ("Why didn't you include the veil in your Quirrel drawings, then?" I hear you ask. And honestly..... I don't know! That could've been an oversight or it could've been deliberate and I just don't remember my justification. That happens sometimes XD)

Anyway uhhh yeah! I think that's it. I like making comics. I like thinking about nosk. Tadaa~

[atzfilm]

APRICITY - c. jongho (m)

➼ pairing/wc; jongho/f.reader, 3.6k ➼ genre; enemies to lovers, fantasy (faeries), angst ➼ warnings; explicit smut, murder mentions, cursing

with your kingdoms having been at war for centuries, it's only fitting that you would be kidnapped and locked in the room with your sworn enemy – choi jongho.

part of the ...and it's snowing collab

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

“Being locked in a room with you isn’t exactly what I’ve planned,” you murmur, back against the corner as you stare at Choi Jongho. It is all you can do, the room tiny enough for you to only stretch out your arms and legs, a small crack for ventilation, a toilet in the corner. He has grown since you’ve last seen him as a teenager – height a bit taller than yourself, wary shoulders now solid. Brown locks grown out and over his eyes, though still holding a slightly joyous expression on his face as if he finds amusement in the situation. It only makes you grow more irritated. Out of everyone from his kingdom, he’s the last person you would want to see.

“Nor did I plan for my week to turn out this way, y/n. Wait, do you smell that?” His nose wrinkles. “Ah, it is just the odor coming from your side of the room.”

Stone-faced, you scoff, “How childish. We are barely a couple of yards apart.”

He shrugs, snickering, “You used to find me hilarious.”

“Fifteen years have passed since we were confidants, Jongho. I’m no longer a child that laughs at mediocre jokes.”

“That you are not,” he agrees, sliding down to sit on the floor.

The oppressive atmosphere in the room only seems to amplify the weight of your shared history. Jongho and yourself, heirs to the neverending feuding faerie kingdoms, trapped together in this small room. It is not something either of you chose, a rebel group forcing the two of you to occupy this space. Their end-goal is unknown, but your thoughts could only linger on one possibility - your demise. Being the heir to a kingdom has its drawbacks, including attempts of kidnapping. This time they’ve bested you, and Jongho as well.

From the moment you both drew your first breaths, you two were inseparable. It wasn't until you reached puberty that the truth was told to you by your parents, stripping away the semblance of childhood that you once had. It made sense, once you’ve thought it through. No wonder Jongho only sought you out at night, hidden in the underbrush of the thickened forest that separated your two kingdoms. No wonder his face would twist everytime you discussed your duties with him. He knew, and you never did. Jongho and you had been inseparable. Roaming the forests hand in hand, yourself unaware of the hatred that would soon grow in your own heart. The revelation was disastrous, to say the least. You broke off your friendship soon after confronting him about it.

Your thoughts linger on how the man sitting in front of you was once a scrawny teen, barely able to stand about without stumbling on something hidden in tall grass. How you two laughed together in the dark, shared secrets you’d never tell another soul. Yourself, still harboring the remnants of a childish crush, forcing your frown to deepen. You don’t know him like before, and you’re sure as Hell not willing to try now. He is meaningless to you, despite the pang of your heart each time he meets your eyes.

Jongho is an enemy, nothing more.

“Cold as usual,” Jongho looks at you, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Care to share those thoughts of yours?”

“There’s nothing for me to say to you,” you murmur. “So I’d rather remain in silence.”

“When we were young, you were talkative. You spoke more than me.”

You meet his gaze for a brief moment. How could you forget? You rarely ever stopped speaking around him, your laughter echoing around the nights you spent together. There was true happiness, back then. You wouldn’t admit that to him now, but you do miss it. "Yes, Jongho. Those days are long gone. I was naive."

Jongho grunts, frustration manifesting in the roll of his eyes, “You’re acting as if you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t! My parents told me when I was of age about what your people have done to mine. This isn’t something simple like Romeo and Juliet, Jongho. This runs deeper than that silly play.”

“Your kingdom—your people—started all of this. We were the ones that were blindsided by your deceit."

"Blindsided? This started long before any of us were born. Our friendship was doomed from the beginning. And I don’t understand why we’re talking about this when we’ll just go in circles placing blame on the other."

You stop speaking, giving him your back. Your eyes, unbeknownst to him, softened momentarily. You can remember when your heart grew seeing him, the days when you were, unburdened by the weight of your responsibility. You are to become the next royal to sit on the throne. To take on this yourself. But still, you can’t help that small feeling in yourself. What if… what if things were different? What if Jongho and you lived in the same kingdom? What if you weren’t in line for the throne?

"Remember the secret meadow? It was quite pretty when it snowed. I wonder if it's still snowing now." he asks after an hour or so has passed.

“There’s no use in thinking of those things.”

He ignores you, continuing. "The one we’ve hidden from our parents, the one we’ve met often to speak about our problems, to vent about our responsibilities? Or have you forgotten?”

Your shoulders tense for a moment. You can remember. How you’ve cried on his shoulder, sobbed even, at the words your parents told you, the people who have passed because of this war. Unable to do anything but watch.

"I remember," you admit, the crack of your voice betraying you. “You would tell me how your brothers bullied you, how your sister left you to deal with it on your own.”

“Remember when we told each other, no, promised, that despite it all, we would still be friends. We would fight for us?”

“That was before I knew.”

“y/n,” he sighs after a moment. “You told me you hated your parents, you hated the bloodshed. And I believed you. I still believe you think the same way. I didn’t tell you who I was and what kingdom I belonged to because you would have hated me.”

“I do hate you.”

“No, no you don’t.”

You turn around, meeting his eyes. He looks exhausted, eyes riddled with tiredness. More than just due to the current circumstances. Though you haven’t seen him in years, only through photographs or word of mouth, you still hurt for him. Wish that somehow, you’d be able to wipe his fatigue away. You eye the wound on his leg, before looking away.

“I do.”

He doesn’t try to correct you now, both of you knowing the truth. He adjusts himself against the wall, whispering expletives underneath his breath as his wound touches the cold, cement floor. Your eyes flick down to it, blood pooling beneath him. It will collate soon, sure, but right now it must be painful. You slip a finger into your jacket, a small wrapping of gauze and healing potion sewn into the fabric. He watches you carefully as you slide, tensing once you scoot closer to him. You hesitate, scooting closer to him. His eyes flicker with a mixture of pain and worry. You extend a hand toward his leg, watching his own grip his pants tightly.

"Let me help you," you say. You can sense his hesitation as you examine the wound, glancing at him for a brief moment. “Stay still.” You rip off a piece of your own clothing, dipping it into the potion.

Jongho watches you silently, hissing when it touches his skin. As you continue, his rigid posture begins to relax. Despite you two being enemies, despite the animosity that still hangs in the air, for this moment in time, you two silently agree to a momentary truce. The potion glows as you bound his leg with the small wrapping of gauze, your fingers light against his skin. He seems to hold his breath as he stares at you.

You don't dare look up from your ministrations. It is tough enough being this close to him, even worse, knowing that your small crush you harbored has not lessened despite the years. It is so silly, humorous even. How easily your heart is swayed being in the same room with him. You finish securing the bandage, eyes resting on his. The hardened gaze that you expect to see is anything but.

Brown eyes wide, an array of emotions displayed within them. For that brief moment, it feels as if there is nothing there between you but raw emotions. The bitter exchange you just endured, sure, but other things as well. The wonder of finally seeing your childhood friend over a decade later, the unspoken regrets. You can only imagine what your eyes are revealing to him.

"Thank you," he whispers, words carrying much more than just gratitude.

You nod, swallowing slowly. “It’s nothing.” You slide away, this time still within arm's reach.

“We’re going to die here anyway. There was no use in healing me,” he looks down, watching his skin sew itself slowly. “You could have kept that for yourself.”

“I’d rather not hear you moan and groan in pain. And I don’t want to be stuck in here with a body.” You lean back, head resting against the wall. Your body aches, your own wounds still not healed. It’s stupid to help him before yourself, but perhaps, in that fondness of his, between the anger and resentment, he’ll be able to get out of here and tell your people what happened. He was always so much braver than you, stronger. The cut on your stomach throbs as you think of it.

“Have you not outgrown your stubbornness?” he murmurs, shooting a glance at you. “Pitiful.”

“Fuck you, Jongho,” you hiss. “I heal you and you only complain.”

“I thanked you. Then I told you what a vacuous choice you’ve made when you’re sitting there pretending that you’re not hurt at all.”

“Please stop talking,” you merely sigh, pushing strands away from your face. “I cannot believe I’m going to die next to you of all people.”

“I’ve seen worse fates.”

You draw your leg back, intending to deliver a swift kick to stop. him. from. talking. But Jongho, ever perceptive, catches it with his left hand. Your eyes locked in a silent struggle, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. He does not let go when you attempt to wiggle out of his hold. “Jongho, if you don’t-”

Breaking the silence, Jongho releases your foot, a wry smile playing on his lips. "I guess some things never change. I've always been faster than you."

You snort. “In your dreams.”

“Oh?” Without another word, he hovers above you, hands resting on the wall behind you. Surely, you didn’t expect for him to do anything, especially with that leg of his. Barely a few inches apart, you look up at him, mildly shocked.

Your chest tightens, heart quickening at the lack of personal space. His knees slowly drop to the floor, body still not touching yours as his knees entrap you on either side of your body. Eyes remaining on yours. You try looking away, but he moves a hand, reaching up to your face, stilling you. His thumb is rough, years of hurt and war etched into the lines. His hold is delicate enough for you to push away.

But something makes you stay.

“You-”

He leans forward, lips a breath away from yours. "We were always more than just friends, y/n."

Your fists tighten at his words, closing your eyes for a moment. “We were only just friends.”

“You have forgotten how well my hearing is. I can hear that heart of yours beating. I know you’re lying to me. Should I let you lie this time?” he tilts his head slightly to the side, lips dragging across the curve of your chin.

You reach out, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. How easily you crumble in his presence. “You are delusional.”

“I am, aren’t I?” his laugh is heavy against your neck, lips pressing against the corner of your mouth. An invitation, a pause. Your hand pulls him closer, and he takes that as encouragement, mouth on yours in an instant. You can barely breathe with him against you, him nipping and sucking your lower lip between his teeth, sliding his tongue into your mouth. Hands pulling you back as he sits on the floor. You straddle him, hovering above his body. Careful not to sit on his leg. His hands wrapped around your hips force you down against him, a groan escaping him when your calf hits his wound.

You pull back, worried, “Jongho–”

“Fuck,” he curses, pupils back. “I want you so bad.”

“Your leg–”

“y/n, if I gave a shit about my leg I wouldn’t have let you sit on me,” he grins, lips pressing against your wrist. “Ride me.”

Your legs tighten at the prospect, waves of pleasure pulsing through you. You almost ask him to repeat what he’s just said, but he’s already nudged down his pants. You glance back at the door behind you. “Should we?”

“They come around every evening just before supper. We have time.” His fingers tug at the top of your jeans, “Please.” He breathes heavily. “Please my pretty girl.”

“Okay, okay, let’s be quick,” you slip off your pants down to your knees. Jongho waits no time, fingers sinking into you with ease. Your cunt tightens against them, hands wrapped around him piercing the skin off his back. His lips move back to yours, tongue entering your mouth the same time he pulls his fingers out. The wet sound of your arousal echoes around the small room, hips thrusting into his hand each time he enters you. “Ah, Jong–”

“You’re so wet for me, fuck,” he pulls away from your mouth, fingers leaving you. You moan, a huff escaping your lips when you feel him leave. He’s quick, spitting into his hand and stroking his length. He rubs his tip against your folds, rubbing against your clit. You press your forehead into his shoulder. A small laugh escapes him, before he presses his cock into you. His hands wrap around your hips, pushing you down fully against him. You gasp, the sudden intrusion only tightening your grip on his cock.

“Feel so good, you’re so good for me. Come on baby, bounce on my cock. Do it for me pretty.”

You slowly rise up before pressing down on him, a long moan falling from his lips, head thrown back. The pace is slow in the beginning , the feeling of him almost consuming you entirely. Jongho’s hand reaches down, thumb rubbing against your clit. You tremble, immediately sitting on his cock. After a moment of adjustment, you move up and down much quicker, moving your head off his neck to look at him. His eyes meet yours with ease, a slight smirk on his lips.

“Fuck you,” you utter, and he laughs.

“Surely you know we’re already in the middle of it?”

He grabs your body, moving swiftly. Soon, you’re against the floor, his jacket beneath you as he roughly grips your body, slamming his cock into you. You lock your legs around his hips as he pounds on you with reckless abandon. Ramming into your cunt, fingers digging deep into your flesh, surely to leave bruises. Your arms are stretched above you, resting against the wall as he drags his tip against your walls mercilessly.

“Jongho,” you whimper, his gaze moving back to yours. The look is intense, enough so that you move your gaze back to his cock pressing into you. The sound of skin on skin becoming slick as you moan against him, body moving in sync with his as his thrusts echo around you. If anyone were close, they’d hear you two now. Panting as he fucks you roughly, each look and touch of his pushing you closer to the edge. Tears slipping down your cheeks as spit pools in the corners of your mouth. He leans forward, sliding his palms down your clothed body as it rocks beneath his thrusts.

“Wish I could see all of you,” he admits after a moment, lips pressing against your cheeks, wiping away the tears with the gesture. “Wish I can do this to you every fortnight.” The sound of sex echoes throughout the room, your synced moans loud with need and desperation. Neither of you speak, wordless gasps. He presses his forehead against yours, breaths loud. His pace increases until only one or two words slip through gasp, “Come with me pretty girl, come on.” Fingers reaching between the two of you, he presses his thumb against your aching clit and moves in tight, small circles. It doesn't take much for you to fall over the edge, your body quivering and spasming beneath his fingers. He follows you promptly, cum sliding back down his now softening length still buried deep within you. You're both looking one another over, taking in the sight of him after their intense moment together.

Jongho pulls you into his chest, arms wrapped around your body. There’s not much to say to him, the arousal of the moment dwindling by each passing moment, reality slowly coming back to you. Thoughts cross your mind in an instant - your family, your kingdom. How you betrayed them in a weak moment of being in the same room as the person you shouldn’t have been with. It is not his fault, you fell for him in an instant. His body trembles against yours, breaths shuddered.

“You will go back to them even after this?” his voice is low, hesitant. “You would leave my side?”

“We have duties, Jongho-”

“Do you not love me, y/n?” He pulls away from you, sorrow filling his eyes. You can feel your heart breaking. “This was not me just fucking you, y/n. This was me making love to you. I love you. How could you not see that I always have?”

“We cannot be together. You know this. We are heirs to the throne in our respective kingdoms-”

“What if we weren’t any longer? What if… what if we abandoned our posts?”

Your skin grows cold, “What?”

“We leave our positions. We run. They have others to take our place, and we live far away from here. We enjoy each other for the first time in our lives without hesitation. We no longer have to follow silly rules or the whims of our parents. We love the way we are meant to. The way faeries are meant to, y/n. Without any troubles. We just live.”

He looks at you with hope, with adoration. With pure, unrivaled love. It would be foolish of you to deny his words, no? Nothing else is said, your hands reaching up, cupping his cheeks as you press your lips lightly against his. His laughter echoes in the small room, unbeknownst if you two will survive the next few days. Or if you’ll even live after tonight. All you two know is that you’re together, finally. And nothing, no one, would prevent that.

[writerscall]

Enemies to lovers with spider hazel

author's note/s: 3.6k words. spider!hazel and fellow superhero/vigilante!reader, more of a one-sided annoyances to lovers, really. think kind of supergirl-esque for reader's powers (at least in the flying and strength aspect) and to help visualize reader's mask, click here for reference.

“So that’s, what, five bad guys down for me this week now and three for you? Maybe I’ll sit back and relax tomorrow so you can catch up.”

You can’t see the face behind that mask but you’re sure there’s a shit-eating grin on it. You roll your eyes at the quip. “Oh, fuck off. It’s not a competition.”

Not that that ever changed how annoyed you got whenever the tally was higher in her favor, though. But the webslinger’s count wasn’t what really got you riled up; wasn’t even how smug she could get about it. It was the way she executed the crime fighting skills that you assumed she was learning and making up as she went. Spiderwoman was messy and, ironically, uncoordinated half the time, but the worst part was that she drew too much attention.

You knew attracting the attention of the police and the papers was inevitable, but at least you had the good sense to not make a whole show of being a vigilante. Spiderwoman, on the other hand, just loved to stay and chat.

“Hey, come on, don’t be like that. You know I’m just messing around.” There’s a drop in her tone, clearly making an attempt to ease the tension. “You’re a lot faster than I am with rounding up criminals, so you get extra points for that.”

At that, you allow yourself to smile the tiniest bit. She can’t see it behind your own mask but if she was as observant as she claimed to be, she might see however little of it reached your eyes.

She clears her throat, bringing a hand to scratch at the back of her neck as she says, “So uh, I know it’s getting late and all, but I’ve got my backpack stashed somewhere not far from here and my lunch sandwich is still intact. It’s a pretty big one so you know, if you wanted a post-crime fighting snack…” 

It’s a harmless, friendly gesture so you hold back a scoff and snide comment. You get it — the business you were in was best done alone but it could get lonely after doing it for some time. Besides, masked heroes like the two of you wore masks for a reason: nobody could know who they were, and even fellow vigilantes weren’t an exception to the rule. But you supposed it would be nice to have a friend with the shared experiences.

Just… maybe not her. Or just maybe not yet. This wasn’t like making friends in school, after all.

“Not hungry,” you tell her shortly before lifting yourself off the ground, signaling that your conversation was over and you were leaving.

You hear her say something as you take off, but you can’t be bothered to look back.

Despite it being the last day of the week, you found Fridays particularly hard to get through. Mostly because you were itching for the weekend to come but because the bad guys in the city always seemed to act up during that day. The feeling in your stomach about what your evening patrol might turn out like was a mixture of both fear and excitement, but you tried your best to push it down for the time being. It was only the second period.

“You and Miss Callahan, partners,” your teacher says with a tap to your table as she strides by, listing off other pairs. You look over to Hazel who apparently is already looking at you, her eyes wide with… shock? A hint of nervousness in them too.

Weird. You were sort-of friends through the cheerleaders she was surprisingly close with, Isabel and Brittany, but you’ve never really spoken much to each other. Maybe she was worried you guys wouldn’t click without the other girls around.

You cast her a smile as she gets nearer, sliding the worksheet to the midpoint of the table. “The total number of questions is an even number, 12, so we can each get a half. But we can help each other too, of course.”

Hazel mutters something that sounds like an ‘okay,’ but she mumbles something else under her breath that you can’t quite make out.

Overall, the class goes fine. The osmosis experiment wasn’t too hard to do and the questions were manageable. It was just how Hazel acted throughout the whole hour that threw you off a little. You knew she could be as awkward as she could get excited, and sometimes she talked too much and didn’t pick up on social cues easily, but the whole time she just seemed… uncomfortable, if that was the right word. Like she really wanted to say something or do something but she couldn’t for whatever reason.

Once you’re both done cleaning up, she wastes no time in removing her laboratory coat and shoving it into her bag, but you don’t want to let her get away that easily. Gently, you place a hand on her forearm to stop her. “Hey, Hazel?”

She pauses, eyeing your hand for a second too long before looking at you. Properly looking at you. She could barely do it throughout the experiment.

“I just wanted to ask if everything’s okay?” You bring your hand back and begin to slip off your own coat. “It could be none of my business, so feel free to tell me off if you want, but you just seem a bit out of it.”

Hazel opens her mouth to speak, but her gaze quickly moves from your face to something beside you. Rather, on you; your shirt was pulled to the side while taking off the coat and it exposed the bruise at the juncture of your shoulder and collarbone. Shit.

“Oh, that’s— don’t worry about that. I just tripped and fell hard in P.E. the other day,” you say with a dismissive wave of your hand, pulling your shirt back in place. God, you hoped nothing in your voice or face was giving you away. You doubt her first assumption would be that you were one of the masked vigilantes featured on the news, but she couldn’t be thinking of anything good either if she didn’t buy your excuse.

And she didn’t. “That doesn’t look too good,” Hazel says with a frown.

“It’s fine—”

“Come with me to the locker room? I’ve got something that can probably help with that. I mean, it’s not in the locker room, it’s in my actual locker and I’ll have to go get it from there first before going to the benches, but uh… um, yeah. I-I’ve got something.”

Her ramble ends with a sigh and you can’t help but smile at how she stumbled out all those words. Funny how you were the one all concerned about her just a minute ago and now the tables were turned. You didn’t want anybody seeing your cuts and bruises, or at least didn’t want anybody asking about them, but you didn’t get to ice the one she saw just yet. You’d take whatever ointment or cream she might have stashed away in her locker if it would help.

So you nod your head and walk with her towards the door. “Alright, yeah. I’m sure you know a thing or two about treating bruises, what with all that fighting you do.”

You almost bump into her when she stops and whips her head at you sharply, that wide-eyed look back on her face. What was with her today?

“Your fight club? With Isabel and Brittany and all those other girls?”

Hazel visibly deflates and lets out a half nervous, half relieved-sounding noise at that. “Yeah, yeah! Always gotta be prepared.”

You say nothing in return and follow along to her locker, deciding not to overthink it. Hazel could just be a little odd and there was nothing wrong with that.

“Ah—”

“Sorry, sorry,” she says, being even more careful than earlier with moving your shirt and bra strap to the side to expose the bruise more.

“It’s okay, just… I think it would be easier if I took my top off for this?”

Hazel actually makes a sound when she gulps. You’re quick to add, “Only if you’re comfortable with that, no pressure at all. It’s just that the bruise kinda trails off to the back too, so…”

“Yeah, no, it’s fine. Whatever you’re more comfortable with. I’ll just…” she trails off, turning away so you can take your shirt off.

“Haze, you don’t have to do that,” you say with a chuckle. But it was instinct as it was for everyone when somebody was changing in their presence, and you knew there was an extra kick to it now for her.

Brittany and Isabel were always just poking fun, but you knew they teased Hazel about you sometimes. Both girls even asked you about your possible interest in her more than once. Hazel was cute and you did want to get to know her more, especially see how she was in that fight club because they always said she was different in that element. But considering your own after-school activities, dating was just out of the question.

Silently, Hazel turns back, cap off the tub of gel in her waiting hands. It was obvious that she was trying very hard to look nowhere else but your face and the area of the bruise, so you reach out and smile at her reassuringly. “Nothing to worry about. I know you’ve seen boobs before.”

“Well, not your boobs.”

She says it so casually that you’re both taken aback, but you just laugh. Thankfully, Hazel laughs along with you too.

You lean against the sink and she comes closer, stopping once her knees knock against yours. “Tell me if I’m pressing hard, okay?”

You smile at her again, softer this time. “Okay.”

It’s comfortably silent as she applies the gel on your bruise. High in vitamin C, she tells you at some point, cause it apparently helps bruises heal faster. Hopefully you didn’t get hit there again tonight so you could actually see if the science behind the gel worked or not.

When you turn around so she can work on the bruise’s extension on your back, you say, “That gel looks like it’s barely used. Do you have a stock of those at your fight club or do you guys just tough it out when someone gets a hit in?”

“This is my personal one, but most of us prefer to use the traditional ice packs. And unlike the rest of them, I heal pretty quickly.” Hazel smiles at your reflection in the mirror and you immediately smile back. You didn’t think it was possible for her to ever have a hint of cockiness in her tone. You kind of liked it.

“Like a regular superhero then, huh?”

She looks away, her smile dropping slightly. “Nothing like that. Um, you’re all good now.”

Hazel reaches for your shirt before you can even ask her to. You thank her with another smile and she moves away so you can put it back on.

As you walk alongside her to the exit, you stop her for a moment before pushing the doors open. “Thank you again. I’m pretty sure the gel is working already.”

Her gaze falls to the ground and once again she’s all fidgety and bashful. You hesitate for a second, but before you can talk yourself out of it, you lean forward to kiss her on the cheek. Just a light, friendly peck, even though ‘friendly’ might’ve been teetering over the edge at that point. Something shifted and you weren’t so sure you’d just laugh it off the next time Brittany or Isabel asked you about Hazel again.

You walk out of the locker room together, shyly glancing and smiling at one another until you have to part ways for your next classes.

Christ on a cross, you were really fucking tired. The city had been quiet since you started surveying it at around five o’clock and you were highly considering calling it a day at around half past seven, leave whatever happened in the later hours to the other crime fighters your city had one too many of. Hell, even to whatever cops who might be able to do their job properly for a change.

But a trio of snatchers caught your eye as soon as the thought occurred to you. So much for an earlier end to the week.

And you had them subdued with ease. Two of them were clearly new to the life of crime or just greatly inexperienced, and the other one was yelling at them half the time. Despite your skill and inhuman qualities, however, they were all relatively bigger than you so knocking them all out still took some time. You were two down with one to go when you heard a thwipping sound by your ear, and in the next split second, the snatcher was webbed to the wall.

Then you heard that voice. “Looked like you needed a hand.”

You look over your shoulder, groaning. “I didn’t, actually.”

“Well, I wanted to help you anyway. You’re welcome!”

“I’m not thanking you!”

The blare of police sirens comes not long after and you and Spiderwoman flee the scene before any of the cars come to a stop. Flying got you ahead of her since she relied on buildings to swing off from, but she caught up to you in no time. In just a few minutes, you were both back on the rooftop you left her at earlier in the week.

“You know, you’re right for making sure to never have to talk to the cops after putting the bad guys down. I should do that more. Those people really don’t like us.”

“I think you just talk a little too much for their liking.”

It’s not meant to be funny, but she laughs at you anyway. You might’ve put your guard down and decided to not be so irritated if it weren’t for the throbbing pain near your shoulder. You were sure the bruise there got bigger and worse after one of the snatchers got a good punch in that area.

“Yeah, well, I’m calling it a night. The city’s been quiet enough except for that one incident today, so I’m going home.” You sigh, moving to walk past her. “You should, too.”

“Hold on, I…”

You stop, waiting like she asked. If she was gonna ask you to hang out and share a sandwich again, she still wasn’t getting the answer she wanted.

She’s in a silent debate with herself for too long and you really, really wanted to go, so you say goodbye and start walking again. But just as you come shoulder to shoulder with her, she reaches out to touch yours and you wince back in pain. It just had to be the bruised one.

“Oh god, sorry.” She says as she takes her hand away. “Are you okay?”

“Obviously not, but I’ll be fine the next time we unfortunately cross paths again.”

“Wait, I just—”

“Look, Spidey, I really don’t have time—”

“Just take the tub of gel home then, if you don’t want me to take a look at it.”

What the hell was she talking about?

Then it hits you, and you freeze in place even before she says your name. Your actual name, written on your birth certificate and school records, written on that worksheet you shared just a couple of hours before.

Slowly, she begins to take off her mask. You almost want to tell her to stop but that wouldn’t change anything. Even if she didn’t show you her face now, you’d see it in two days time on Monday. Maybe even earlier if you happened to bump into her on the weekend.

Your greatest annoyance was the same person you thought you might’ve been developing a bit of a crush on earlier. You could not deal with any of that right now.

So you don’t.

“I know you’re probably freaked out by now, but I promise I haven’t—”

“I need to go.”

A crease forms between her brows. She starts to say something again but you’re quick to cut her off. “I need to go, okay? Just leave me alone.”

Hazel lets out a resigned sigh, looking to the floor as she nods. You fly faster than you ever have to get back home.

Your luck doesn’t get any better over the weekend when you get a fever on Sunday evening, making you miss class for the next three days. A paracetamol usually did the trick after a day, but the fatigue and exhaustion of your secret life was probably getting to you, too. But even with the ugly feeling of a fever, it was actually really nice to just stay in bed and drink soup for a change. It feels like you haven’t properly rested in weeks.

Your mind, however, was still restless. You tried not to look at the news too much in case there was some criminal that got away and it would just make you feel awful for not being able to catch them. But you tried even harder not to message Hazel to talk.

“Hey kiddo, your friend from school is here. Says she has the notes and homework you’ve missed since Monday.” Your dad pops his head in as he speaks. You can’t see who’s behind him, but it was probably Isabel. She’s been checking in on you constantly.

“Yeah, just let Isabel in, dad.”

“Not Isabel,” says a different voice as the door shuts behind her. Speak of the devil. “But I do have Isabel’s notes because they’re way neater than mine,” Hazel adds, a sheepish look on her face.

You don’t say anything as you watch her cross the room, shrugging off her backpack and gently placing it on the seat by your study table. Then she turns to you, and you’re surprised to see the tears welling up in her eyes. “Hazel, what—”

“Sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just…” She shakes her head, angrily rubbing at her eyes. “I thought something really bad happened to you.”

“It was just a fever,” you tell her as you sit up straighter against your headboard.

“You know what I mean.”

You did. You reach out and pat the space beside you on the bed. “Come on, come here.”

Hazel does as she’s asked. Her gaze was focused on your carpet but you could see that her eyes weren’t glistening with unshed tears anymore, although they were rimmed red. “I’m fine, I promise. The fever’s gone now and I’ve been cleared to go back to school tomorrow.”

She nods but she’s still not looking at you, so you take one of her hands in between both of yours in an attempt to make her. “I’m sorry for the way I reacted on Friday night. I just didn’t know what to say and it was… it was a lot to take in at the moment. I was so sure that nobody knew who I was. I panicked.”

“I haven’t told anyone, I swear.” Hazel looks at you then, holding your gaze like her life depended on it. “I know I talk too much but I would never do that to you. Never.”

You can’t tell if she’s quoting you from your last conversation or not on that last part, but you believe her. “I know. I’d never tell anyone about you either, Hazel.”

She looks down at your hands when you rub your thumb across the side of hers and, after a moment, she laces her fingers with yours. There was a burst of warmth in your chest and you could tell there was one in Hazel’s too. So much for your one rule of not dating anyone because of the dangerous part of your life.

Not that you thought the two of you were dating, though.

“So… now what?”

“Well, life goes on as it did before, I guess.” You scoot closer to her, smiling as you add, “But I guess we can hold hands every now and then, if you like.”

“Oh, I like. I very much like,” Hazel replies enthusiastically, a matching smile on her face. She holds on to your hand tighter. “Can I kiss you every now and then too?”

“You haven’t kissed me yet.”

But that’s changed in a heartbeat, both of you leaning forward at the same time. You tug her closer, unlacing your hands so you can bury one in her hair as the other holds on to the side of her face. Hazel kisses you slowly, but there was an urgency to it as well; like something could happen the next day that would ensure she would never be able to do it again — but all things considered, that was an unfortunate thing that very well could happen. You kiss her back just the same, savoring the moment and praying to every god out there that your mom or dad wouldn’t come barging in any time soon.

She pushes you down onto the bed and pulls away with a grin, planting kisses across your cheek and down to your neck. You hold back from verbally reacting to that and the feeling of her hands on your hips, her thumbs gently caressing the skin there. It takes too much energy for you to manage to say, “Hazel, Haze… my parents are home.”

Hazel brings her face back up to yours. Instead of looking disappointed, she just looks pleased. “I know, sorry. Got carried away — I have been fantasizing about this for a while now, though, so cut me a little slack.”

You giggle out an ‘okay’, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Also, if there’s any of that fever bacteria still in me, I apologize in advance if you get sick in a day or two.”

“Don’t even worry about me,” Hazel says with a shake of her head, leaning down to kiss you soundly once more. “I heal fast.”

[mystwrites]

Snowed In (Squealing Santa 2k24)

Summary: Akutagawa doesn’t have fond memories of snow, but luckily for him, Atsushi is there to remind him that being snowed in isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

A/N: @squealing-santa gift for mango!anon!🥭💞i really hope you enjoy this fic w/atsushi cheering akutagawa up. also, i had a drawing from months back so here’s a little addition to your gift!😁

Much to the shock of everyone in Yokohama, there was a rather nasty snow storm that had rolled in. For the past few days, it’s been snowing hard, resulting in everyone being confined indoors. Most loved it, Atsushi even expressed his happiness with being locked indoors with Akutagawa until the storm blew over but Akutagawa didn’t necessarily share the same sentiment.

He wasn’t against spending time with Atsushi. He loved being around his boyfriend. The problem was the snow. First of all, there was way too much snow, keeping everyone indoors. Akutagawa had wanted to go out and do some last minute shopping but the weather had other plans.

Secondly, Akutagawa hated the snow, specifically heavy snow storms. It reminded him of living life in the slums as a child who was ignored when he was seen begging for scraps of food or digging in the ground for roots and bugs to munch on. It was a horrible reminder of how he was one insignificant person out of a billion people on this planet.

Deciding that his day was ruined in more ways than one, Akutagawa flopped onto the couch, grumbling to himself as he buried his face into the cushion. When he heard Atsushi ask if he was okay, his mumbling stopped and he huffed in annoyance, choosing to ignore his boyfriend who innocently just wanted to know if he was okay. A part of Akutagawa felt horribly guilty, remembering that he vowed to work on his horrendous communication skills but his pride kept him from giving in and giving Atsushi a decent apology.

Much to his shock however, Atsushi drew the curtains closed and sat next to Akutagawa in silence, moving his feet so they could sit together. This prompted Akutagawa to sit up and switch his position, his head now replacing where his feet previously where. As a hand gently ran through his hair, Akutagawa sighed, wishing that Atsushi would do something in an attempt to make him turn off his brain for a few minutes.

“Ryuu, I know you might not be in the mood,” Atsushi began, gently running his fingers through Akutagawa’s hair. “But can I attempt to make you feel better?”

As if the gods answered him, Akutagawa nodded, deciding that he didn’t care what Atsushi did. As long as it meant he could forget about the snow storm and his past involving snow storms, he would be fine with it.

“Also, do you mind telling me what’s bothering you?” Atsushi gently ran his thumbs along Akutagawa’s cheeks, the mafioso sighing with content at the sensations.

“I’d prefer not to delve into my past, Weretiger.” he replied, closing his eyes as Atsushi began to stroke his hair again. “Maybe once I’m feeling better, I’ll confide in you.”

“That’s fair.” Atsushi then playfully tried to pull his lips upwards into a smile. “Can I at least see you smile?”

“No.” Akutagawa said, rolling his eyes. “I don’t feel like smiling, Weretiger.”

The touches on his head ceased and Akutagawa whined at the loss of touch. He loved whenever Atsushi played with his hair. However, he jumped in shock when he felt fingers tickling the sides of his neck.

“That’s okay, I’ll just make you smile myself!~” Atsushi giggled, now tickling his lover with gentle scribbles. “We both know you’re starting to enjoy receiving tickles!~”

Akutagawa swatted Atsushi away, ready to yell at him and tell him to screw off, but deep down, he knew Atsushi was right. Ever since Atsushi grew brave enough to tickle him, Akutagawa slowly realized that being tickled wasn’t so bad, it just depended on who did it and how it was done.

He also remembered his tickling seemed to cheer Atsushi up every single time he witnessed him down in the dumps. Maybe it would work for him as well and maybe…just maybe Akutagawa wanted to laugh and be at Atsushi’s mercy for once. Maybe he just wanted to forget about his past and have fun with his favorite person.

“Wow! You normally never let me tickle you!” Atsushi giggled, tickling the sweet spot below Akutagawa’s chin, receiving a sweet giggle. “May I keep going?”

Sighing as his neck was left alone, Akutagawa was about to nod but froze. He suddenly felt really shy. Deciding to make Atsushi work, he got up and bolted, heading to the bedroom.

Atsushi gave chase, easily catching up and grabbing Akutagawa around the middle. Together, they went crashing down onto the bed, both young men giggling as they fought for the upper hand. Eventually, Atsushi won, sitting beside Akutagawa and holding his shoulders down to the bed.

“Y-you have my permission.” he finally said, cheeks flushing as Atsushi gave him three more kisses. “But I’ll admit, it’s pretty difficult to make me laugh out loud, especially when I’m not in a good mood. Are you up for the challenge?”

A grin formed on Atsushi’s face. “Oh, I’m up for it alright! Prepare yourself because you are gonna start laughing in no time!~”

The tickling started on Akutagawa’s stomach, the sensations very gentle compared to the tickling Akutagawa normally gives Atsushi. It felt nice though, the touches threatening to make him giggle, yet we’re quite tolerable, nearly relaxing depending on where Atsushi tickled. As Atsushi’s fingers danced along his waist, Akutagawa squirmed a little more, his cheeks heating up as he pursed his lips together. His waist was more ticklish than his stomach, that’s for sure.

Now things were becoming difficult. Akutagawa was more sensitive around his hips than his waist, the light tickles on his hipbones threatening to make him laugh. Atsushi seemed to sense this as well and surprised Akutagawa by squeezing at the squishy flesh just below his ribs.

Shaking his head, Akutagawa rolled to the side and tried to curl up, his face now plastered with a huge smile. Willing himself to not laugh was even more difficult now, Atsushi tickling at his more ticklish spots. The tickles under his ribs now changed to his thighs, Akutagawa weakly squirming and finally dissolving into soft fits of giggles that became louder as Atsushi squeezed the spot above his knees.

“Aahahahahaaa!! Nohoho!!” Akutagawa cried, reaching out to grab the tickling hands. “Nohohot thehehere!!”

“Aww! I found a tickle spot!~” Atsushi cooed, laughing as Akutagawa cackled upon getting his thighs squeezed. “Ryuu, are you boy crazy? If you’re ticklish here it means you’re boy crazy!”

“I-I’m nohohot!!” Akutagawa protested, slapping Atsushi’s hands away with a squeal. “Dohohon’t tehehease mehehe like that!!”

“But it must be true if you’re laughing this much! Or maybe you’re crazy for me?~” Atsushi got off briefly and resorted to lying against Akutagawa, grabbing a foot and gently scribbling. “See? Look, you’re laughing so much!~”

Akutagawa’s feet kicked out and he started to scramble for purchase, doing his best to squirm away from Atsushi. He was getting too ticklish to stay still, laughing harder with each passing second as Atsushi kept tickling his feet.

“Ihihi’m gohohonna…AAAHHAHA!! K-kihihill you…NOOHOHO!!!” Akutagawa rolled onto his side and kicked out, unsure if he wanted to kick Atsushi in the face or let him keep going. In the end, he resorted to allowing Atsushi to keep going.

It all became even worse, Akutagawa arching his back with a howl as he felt Atsushi lie on top of him and lift up one arm, threatening to tickle his armpit. Knowing he was screwed if Atsushi tickled there, he used his free hand to protect himself, pushing Atsushi’s hand away each time it drew near.

“Come on, Ryuu.~” Atsushi sang, laughing as Akutagawa refused. “Come on! Let me tickle you here!~”

“Absoluhuhutely nohohot!!” Akutagawa argued, laughing even more as he defended his armpit with his free hand. “Nohohot thehehere!!”

“Where?~”

“My ahaharmpits…WAAHAHAHA!! NO! NOHOHO!! AHAHTSUSHI!!”

Knowing he made a grave error, Akutagawa covered his face with embarrassment. He fell for a trick he normally would’ve used on Atsushi! The weretiger was stealing every trick he had used on him in the past! Now, all Akutagawa could think about were the relentless scribbling fingers tickling his worst spot.

Atsushi dug his fingertips into Akutagawa’s armpits a little more, the mafioso responding by shrieking with laughter and rolling from side to side. Seeing that the squirming became slightly dangerous for him, Atsushi got on top of Akutagawa’s taking a seat on his waist. Unable to stop Atsushi as his arms raised up over his head, Akutagawa let out a snort, practically howling as Atsushi kept tickling him gently but relentlessly.

The tickling became unbearable as Atsushi kept his fingers underneath Akutagawa’s arms. Each scribble left the mafioso in stitches, his face and stomach hurting from laughing so much. As Atsushi suddenly used his thumbs to rub deep circles into Akutagawa’s armpits, the man finally broke, his eyes filling with tears of mirth and his lungs aching for an ounce of oxygen.

This method worked wonders. Akutagawa for a split second had no idea why Atsushi started to tickle him and had no clue as to why he was being so gentle yet so merciless all at once. When he finally did remember, it was only when the tickling became too intense, Atsushi’s fingers staying at the hollows of his armpits for way too long.

“AHAHALRIGHT!!” Akutagawa wheezed, cackling as Atsushi used both hands to tickle his armpits. “IHIHI CAHAHAN’T TAHAHAKE IT!! I SURREHEHENDER!! MERCY!!”

“Are you begging, Ryuu?~” Atsushi teased, alternating between tickling Akutagawa’s lower set of ribs and his armpits. “Are you begging for me to have mercy on you? That’s so unlike you! Am I tickling you good?~”

Akutagawa nodded, snorting and laughing, squealing and screaming as his armpits and flanks got tickled relentlessly. “YEHEHES!! AAAHH! OKAY!! OKAHAHAY!! MEHEHERCY!”

Hearing the plea for the tickling to stop, Atsushi slowed to a stop, but not before he gave Akutagawa’s neck a raspberry, tickling his armpits for good measures. When he was satisfied, Atsushi released him, Akutagawa sighing with relief and satisfaction.

“Breathe for a minute then tell me.” Atsushi said, running his fingers through Akutagawa’s hair. “Take all the time you need.”

After a few minutes, Akutagawa looked into Atsushi’s eyes. “I…I hate snow storms.” he began. “They remind me of the nights I struggled to keep my sister and friends alive…and I always remember how people looked at us, making everyone, especially me feel insignificant.”

Before Akutagawa continued to ramble, Atsushi suddenly pressed their lips together, Akutagawa reciprocating and kissing back with an eagerness neither knew he had. He felt relief from not only explaining what was going on, but knowing Atsushi would never make him feel insignificant.

“You’re the most important person in my life, Ryuu.” Atsushi whispered, kissing Akutagawa’s cheeks as quickly as he could, giggles beginning to spill. “And I’m gonna make sure you know that anytime it snows like this!~”

Akutagawa let out a giggle as Atsushi kissed down his neck, flinching when he felt fingers dancing along his belly. “S-so yohohou’re going to tihihickle me during snohohow storms?”

Everything paused. “Only if you want me to.” Atsushi replied, sitting upright. “If you wish for something else, I won’t tickle you.”

“N-no…I…uhhh…I-I would love it if you tickled me during these moments of insecurity…” Akutagawa stammered, his cheeks now bright red all over again. “It makes m-me feel like you want me…”

“Of course I want you!” Atsushi exclaimed, suddenly pulling Akutagawa’s arms up over his head, forcing his laughter to return. “And I’ll prove it by tickling you from your ears…” Atsushi nibbled on Akutagawa’s earlobes, making him laugh. “All the way to your toes.” Atsushi reached back and gently tickled the underside of his lover’s toes, Akutagawa throwing his head back and howling.

“NOOHOHOHO!!” he laughed, gasping as Atsushi stopped and pinned his wrists out to the side.

“I’ll do that only if you want me to though.” Atsushi said, releasing Akutagawa’s arms to cup his bright red face. “I’ll never tickle you if you don’t wish for me to.”

Akutagawa smiled a genuine smile and knew what he wanted. Atsushi could sense it too and he grinned. “I…I want you to do it.” he admitted.

“Whenever it snows or at any point?”

“Whenever you sense that my past is coming back to haunt me, Atsushi.”

The weretiger smiled at the use of his first name, Akutagawa smiling back at him as they kissed again before Atsushi pulled away and started to leave the bed. Getting up to check outside, Atsushi made his way over to the window and slid the curtains aside.

Despite having been playing around for a while, it was still snowing, the snow falling with more intensity than it had been before. Seeing this, Atsushi rushed back over and grabbed Akutagawa’s ankle, the mafioso letting out a scream as fingers began to dance all over his right foot.

“It’s still snowing rather hard.~” Atsushi said, giving Akutagawa’s ankle a tug and bringing him to the edge of the bed. “Think you can handle more?”

Akutagawa thought about it, but he didn’t want anymore tickling. His lungs would explode. He did smile but shook his head, Atsushi instantly releasing him, but Akutagawa had something else in mind.

“No tickling…but,” he grinned as Atsushi instinctively leaned down upon his shirt being rugged on. “I wouldn’t mind a kiss or two.”

Atsushi giggled and pushed him down, leaning over him. His lips pressed against Akutagawa’s, making the dark haired man sigh. As Atsushi helped him up, he pulled them both back down, Atsushi laughing as he suddenly was launched to the left. Akutagawa grabbed Atsushi and grabbed his sides, making Atsushi burst into laughter instantly.

“N-no! NO, YOU LIHIHIED TO MEEHEHEE!!” Atsushi shrieked, cackling as Akutagawa straddled his waist.

“No, I did receive that kiss I wanted. I just think it’s time for you to reap what you sow.” Akutagawa replied, more than happy to flip those positions for a few minutes.

Despite the howling storm outside, all Akutagawa could hear was Atsushi’s adorable laugh. Maybe being snowed in wasn’t so bad after all and maybe, just maybe his bad memories would slowly be replaced with memories such as having Atsushi tickle him to pieces and him getting his revenge soon after.

[joannasteez]

"im with you" - installment two

featured characters: mother's milk & female reader. warnings: alcohol usage (misuse) and angst. MM being his supportive, caring self. mutual pining? (kinda) authors note: this second installment has been sitting in my drafts since the release of season three, so over a year maybe? i don't see myself progressing the story (sorry?) but i was tired of seeing this in the drafts. so i give it to you all who wish to read it!

You hate 'The Reserve', not just for its sordid means of molding into fruition false delusions of grandeur, but because it is also a reflection. A mirror, smudged and stained, bitter callousness webbing sharply from the heart of it, mangling its way to the furthest reaches, but a mirror all the same. And when the sun wanes low into the horizon, that bombastic need for liquid comfort livening up the bar, in the solace of yourself you say 'I am not like these people; degenerate drunks and reckless hedonist, bleeding the poison of a heartless raging machine who thinks them too low to even consider their existence. I am not like the super-abled, I am better'. The hatred is beautiful enough in those times, consistent enough that it waters the dust and forms thought into palpable word. Then where is this mantra now? As the weeks grow colder, air nipping sporadic bites into the skin, lethargy soothing something still and lukewarm into your veins.

Grief is loud, 'where is your mantra now?', and your need for comfort is as bombastic as theres.

On this unsteady line of desire, here must be where the attraction falls short for him. Clips its wings, falling from on high.

'He sees you', the brandy says, auburn and taunting. 'He pity's you'.

All those years ago when the ache was new, splitting raw and lethal at your chest, you're almost sure it was pity that drew him in, that made him linger. It had to be, or that's what the sluggish, drunken part of you thinks, the part that takes comfort in dark hard spirits and makes you believe all the untrue shit that stains the foreverness of wayward esteem and memory. But sipping from the bottle is good, it's easy, feeling like a drizzle of fresh rain on the skin. The burn goes dull after while, when the sky bleeds something angry and orange,  leaving just the smooth glide down the path of your throat, and when your eyes shut to escape the welling of tears, you hear that everlasting crunch of metal.

It's a hard piercing, that cringing screech and scratch of metal etching into itself, the friction tearing into flesh and bone, and just mere seconds remain before the face that shares your own fades into something distant and lifeless.

Twins, a true phenomenon, and yet as you stare into the bottle, it all feels false and unnatural, like retribution. Something beautiful and different, worth no more to the state than a cover up story and a check for $75,000.

She was worth more. She deserved more, true justice, and yet here you are wasting away, your stomach a pool of brandy.

Like clockwork your phone vibrates. 'Here comes the pity', you think.

--How you holdin' up?

His wonder is a grey text bubble, nothing more than routine and after several years still its consistent. Maybe that's why desire has etched into your skin so, a slow gradual drag into nerve, entangled to the pulse of your veins, because at least some semblance of him cares. Even if it is all just obligation, when others stopped their award wining performances of sympathy, he'd still roll around in the early cool of October asking 'Are you holding up?', and 'How are you doing?'

The tears and liquor screw your senses well, fingers slipping over some of the right keys and missing others. It takes a while to gather thought, and even then it's driven by lies and poor motor skills.

--Mi fi.

--Im fie.

--Fire*.

--Fuk Im fine*.

--Fuck*.

The disappointment is palpable, heavy on the tongue and an uncomfortable warmth to the skin. You know it, can picture the way those brows of his pull together, mouth screwed and on the verge of disgusted. Well fuck him, if he thinks you care, he isn't the one in pain, drowning in perpetual heartbreak. Saturated to the bone with it really and its ripping at you slow and dreadful, a vicious tear of tissue and vessel. And God-- but...but doesn't he know? No, no, no he has to, he's suffered similar... but it's not the same... but it is, you stress to yourself, it has to be... but it isn't, and the tears taste more salty as they come. An aged bitterness that makes you wince.

--... are you drunk?

You keep him suspended, seconds, minutes even.

--No

--A but,, Im ok.

--A bit but Im ok*.

He's quick to reply.

--Where are you?

He waits, with a staling patience just at the top floor of the flatiron building, where the city bustles and groans, exhausted and restless. In just a few measly minutes, still nerve goes erratic with impatience and then comes the hammering of his pulse.

You're drunk and alone, drowning in the memory of shitty circumstance. His chest aches in that familiarity-- Harlem and a blazing summer sun, the hard blow of barely cool air, a child's excitement and then the coming in of doom, Soldier Boy, and then the swooshing in and fatal crunch of metal-- the ache a vicious sting. Growing nails make slight indents in his skin, fingers coming into his palm, to ball and harden, to feel and never to forget.

He was lonely then, just a wild vengeance to keep him company.

Marvin moves before he can think, leaves, turns the key in his ignition and joins the hard rush of the city before resolution melts loose and hesitant.

Your Brooklyn apartment is old, as old as the house he loved destroyed by the hurling in of a benz, and as he breathes, alleviating the hard brick of tension in his shoulders, he understands why he's here. Why-- in the most inconveniencing of times-- he thinks about you. Why desire, a fervent stream in his blood, has become more ungovernable by the day. You are new but familiar. Soft and alluring but recognizable to the bone, a reflection of pain and survival that wholly scares him and excites him just the same.

When the door opens, it's the petulant embrace that catches him first, the bottle of brandy nestled in your palm, but the smell curls about the air bitter and heavy, unsullied by shame. Even in the most dismal affair, your eyes are blood-shot, daring him to go beyond whatever is shy and lingering, a plead to make the pain go away. To call out the itching twitch in his skin by name and validate its presence.

"What?", you start, feeling his eyes. The stony weight. "You're not gonna wish me happy birthday?"

"You're a mess".

You'd waited for this, hoped for it even, to have the burn and the break of desire collapse against you. For it to scorch flesh and that unrelenting part of the heart that says 'yes, i want him, need him', but it never comes. There is no fracture, even when he tears you open with concerned eyes, just the unreconcilable truth that if you are a mess, royally fucked up and drunk out of your mind, that you do not want to be. Not when or where he can see. Because there is no middle, no point at which allure and brokenness meet in a charming enough compromise... right? So this must be judgement then, 'you're a mess', the knocking in of the gavel.

The quiver to your lip is fragile. You are fragile. "If you're here to judge, you can fuck off".

The lone tear you give makes his heart squeeze. Maybe he shouldn't have led so strong, so exacting.  

He brushes in anyways, like a piece of him belongs here and steals the bottle from your fingers. Palms growing idle now, fearful, balling and releasing, grasping at air --like your whole being-- grasping at everything, anything and gaining nothing. Nothing but the soreness of muscle once bent about glass fighting for strength, for the will to straighten. All there is, is the leaning in of silence, as he cracks the windows for a fresh breeze, a hard press that leaves you scorching and loose with a raw bare boned awareness. The mantle of your belly churning and awakened with a sullen impatience to hear his words, the charge of his thoughts.

Wont he do it now?

"Just say it already", knotting pain in your throat leaving your urgency dry. Brittle. "Whatever straight laced bullshit speech you got about effective coping, and-and-and pain... and whatever the fuck".  The new air is chilling, makes the grate of your voice wane and shiver. "Just say it".

He's next to you, sinking into the couch, and it's the closest he's ever been. "What's the point of preachin' shit you don't practice".

"Drinking isn't effective coping but tearing through the city, through the damn country, offing supes left and right with Butcher is?"

You were both wrong, but so terribly right. The through-line of your lives, just narrowly escaping death, broken already but always seeming still to be on the precipice of breaking.

For some time there's nothing, no word or deed, and then, there's everything. A delirious unearthing, barbarous and desperate. 'Look at me, understand me, please', fragile, on the borders of begging. "I never meant to drink so much, it-it just happened I-", your tongue goes lax and dry from temporary thoughtlessness or the swimming and draining of liquor in your veins, you aren't sure. "I don't even like the taste but June she... she made it a thing. Our thing".

You look to him, and see through the blur of your vision, the forming together of intent and attention. No crease of pity, just tenderness and patience, without blame. Just understanding.

And then it's here, nostalgia, a wistful coming together again of memory. "My father liked to have his taste every now and then y'know... a little sip just to feel some shit I guess", you start. A finger pulling at and curling into another. "So he'd hide little bottles of brandy around the house. A stash here, stash there, but he'd always end up forgetting. He had shitty memory that way... still does", the knot in your throat grew, forming a choking sensation. "But June would find them  and re-stash them, so when our birthday came around we'd sip and get shitfaced together".

You can feel the build, a hard rushing in, the levee soon to break. "We both hated the taste, but we were doing stupid shit together and thats all that mattered".

She comes clearly in your minds eye, a replica yet different. Glassy eyes dazzled by the soft burning away of innocence. The liquor is strong on her tongue, makes her touch something tight to the skin, a holding on to that bites but comforts all the same, and the air is pungent. Rife with rebellion. In the shared bedroom of an old family owned Brooklyn Brownstone, the world opens, teems founded and un-conforming with the blazing of this single moment. Oh sister, my sister. She was your mirror, your opposite. Everything. "She was just here my whole life and now she's gone. What thing am I supposed to have that I can touch, that-that-that I can feel other than this, other than our thing".

Something in Marvin wonders, if he reaches out, forms you with his hands, will you take him in or stretch away? Will you break? Shatter into a fragmented loathing because he is not her. And there is the curt twitching in his finger, he feigns for the answer.

"You never told me that".

You laugh, mirthless and ironic. "I never told anybody because I feel like a fucking joke. I speech those kids to death almost every damn day, about being present and making room, growing in grief and look at me." Your head feels full and heavy, a sharp pounding meeting just at the forefront of your skull. "I didn't even have the fight to do anything about it. They took her away from me and I just let that shit fade. I let her go Marvin, me".

He pulls at your chin softly to face him, smearing away a lonely rolling tear. From here, just inches away, everything about him is tender and warm. But if you lean further into him, will he pull you in?, or will the comfort of his touch fall away?

It travels instead, holding firm at your shoulders. His eyes settling light and easy.

"You wanna go all Rambo with the shit, and find out what happened, I'm with you 100%, but what happened to June isn't on you, its not".

The brandy on your tongue wears old, the solace of it going stale.

'I'm with you'

His embrace is a furnace, a delicate purging. A new opening of the world.

"Thank you Marvin".

[gumnut-logic]

The Awards (Part 1)

This is @womble1 's fault :D Writing all that Sweetapple while I floundered around without a muse.

It's a new one. Not intended to be hugely long or anything, maybe two or three parts (since when have I had control of these things?) But it is Sweetapple and a scene requested by some of you who read the first Sweetapple Talk. So here you have it :D I hope it lives up to expectations.

This is m/m fic. If this isn't your thing, this isn't your fic. Alexander Sweetapple is an original character that was prompted by @flyboytracy , created by me, and then let loose in Thunderfam to evolve into who he is today through several different writers. I don't think Virgil minds, the two of them are a pair of lovey dovey goofballs and the majority of this series is them just being fluffy and goopy sweet :D Many thanks to all who have written, contributed and egged this series on, it wouldn't exist without you.

Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight for the read through this morning.

Anyway, bit of fic, first in ages.

I hope you enjoy.

-o-o-o-

“I still wish we could have flown in with the Tracys.”

His mother’s voice was wistful. It could have been interpreted as callous self-interest, but Alex knew better.

“Mum, Virgil apologised at least six times.”

She held up a hand. “I know, I know, and it’s not their fault.” She smiled softly. “I just know how much you were looking forward to this.”

He rolled his eyes as the city of Gisborne flashed past the car’s windows. The Tracys had sent them a chauffeured limousine, along with a security guard, currently staring at them cooly in the seat across from them.

She was an interesting choice. She appeared to have only half her hair and what was left was an assortment of colours enough to excite Erica. The tattoos and piercings…yeah, Iz and Erica would get on fine.

Yet again, he wished Erica was with him. But the venue was only so big and Alex’s mother was…his mother.

Erica and his sisters were watching the live stream apparently.

That didn’t make him nervous. No, not in the slightest.

There were going to be screenshots and clips galore in his future.

A touch to his cheek. “He’s going to be okay.”

Mum was looking up at him with a tenderness in her eyes.

“I know.”

Stupid volcano had to erupt today, didn’t it.

A sigh. The logic centre of his brain acknowledged that this was all part and parcel of dating a Thunderbird and that he would have to get used to it. It wasn’t Virgil’s fault that Sumatra needed him more than Alex did.

Way to compete with the rest of the world for your boyfriend’s attention.

Boyfriend.

Despite everything, the whole concept, as always, brought a smile to his face.

Virgil would be here as soon as he could.

And Alex would love whatever parts of Virgil the world could share with him.

“I’m okay.” He shared his smile with his mum.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

The car drew to a stop in a line of vehicles in front of the War Memorial Theatre. The structure, like everything in Gisborne, was showing the remains of repairs. Most of the glass had been replaced, but there was a section still boarded up on one side. But unlike the rest of the city, this piece had been turned into an artwork. It showed an artistic rendering of Gisborne’s skyline, and amongst the buildings flew Thunderbirds.

There were no words on the piece, but it screamed pride and gratitude.

God, he wished Virgil was here.

The car moved forward into a crowd of people. Reporters babbled and holocams hovered as if it was the Academy Awards or something. Police stood solidly, manning the barricade keeping the press back.

Alex swallowed. They weren’t here for him. The Prime Minister was attending. And so was International Rescue.

He was only Virgil’s boyfriend.

He swallowed again.

Social media was still buzzing about the kiss. It had died down, a lot, but chances were that these people knew who he was.

Kayo had warned him of this possibility. This was why Iz was with them in the car. She was part of Kayo’s team and Alex had no doubt she knew how to do her job.

She was almost as scary as Kayo herself.

When the car finally stopped, Iz held up her hand. “I will exit first. You are to follow when I say so.”

Alex’s eyes were a little wide, but he nodded. Yes, ma’am.

His mum squeezed his arm.

The door opened and noise rushed in along with flashing cameras and the buzz of holocams. Iz climbed out of the car fluidly, six inch heels and clinging black dress, no hindrance.

A moment later, her hand signalled that they follow.

Alex ushered his mother out of the car. She may have stepped out less smoothly than the security guard, but no less elegantly. She looked amazing in her deep burgundy evening dress. His mum had gone all out for tonight, hair curled, dress purchased, she even dragged out the necklace his dad had bought her for their last wedding anniversary.

Dad would have loved to see her like this.

As if thought could make reality, a large hand appeared just outside the door, offering to help his mother from car.

Alex blinked.

Frowned.

And, as he followed his mother out, realised that the hand belonged to none other than the tall and domineering figure of Mr Jeff Tracy. Dressed in an elegant silver suit, he was smiling down at Alex’s mother, grey eyes twinkling.

Alex’s eyes widened as the cameras and reporters went absolutely nuts.

“Mr Tracy! Are you dating again?”

“How long have you been together?!”

“Ma’am, how long have you known Jeff?”

Alex straightened his tuxedo, still standing on the gutter.

Mr Tracy was addressing the crowd, a suave smile on his face and Alex’s mother’s hand on his arm.

Okay.

Kayo appeared beside them in a short, satin green evening dress, her eyes all business and, no doubt, her six inch heels just as deadly. She stood next to Mr Jeff Tracy. A glance in Alex’s direction came with a small smile before she turned back to the paparazzi.

Iz touched his arm. “C’mon, let’s go inside.”

“But mum-“

“The Chief’s got this.” She looped her arm in his. “C’mon.”

He was walked up the red carpet before he could protest further.

It was quieter inside the foyer, but that was a relative statement. The hall was large, but very full of people, all dressed to the nines.

Iz’s eyes were everywhere and she did not leave his side, navigating him through the crowd.

Alex glanced back towards the entrance, still worried about him mum.

Consequently, when the roar outside swelled beyond human capability and into rocket territory, he was able to catch sight of the silver body of Thunderbird One, lit up by holocam lights, as she touched down on the street outside.

The crowd swarmed back towards the entrance, taking Alex and Iz with it.

But the Thunderbird was only on the street for bare moments before launching up into the sky and disappearing, leaving chaos in its wake.

Beside him, Iz swore under her breath. “The Chief’s going to kill them for that.”

The spark of hope that went beyond the innate thrill of seeing the primary Thunderbird swelled in Alex’s chest…and burst into flame as Virgil Tracy, dressed head to toe in an immaculate black-tie tuxedo, hurried into the building.

His suit cut a beautiful line on his fit frame and Alex couldn’t help but stare, open mouthed, as his boyfriend caught sight of him and strode over. “Alex! I am so sorry.”

Alex was still staring.

“Alex?”

Now Virgil was closer, and fiddling with his suit as if it wasn’t sitting correctly, Alex could see that it had been put on in a hurry. Virgil’s hair lacked its usual perfection, attended to, yes, but obviously rushed, and there was a smear of dirt on his ear.

Alex reached up and gently smudged it off with his thumb.

Virgil was staring up at him and frowning, his eyes darted to Iz. “Everything okay?”

A small smile forced its way onto Alex’s lips. “Yeah.” And as he was want to do after every rescue, he drew Virgil in for a hug. A whisper into his ear. “Thank you for coming.”

“Sorry I was late.” Virgil pulled away, still frowning. “Did I miss anything?”

Like a switch was flipped, Alex relaxed. “Oh, only our parents escorting each other on the red carpet.”

“What?”

Of course, that statement demanded the culprits make an immediate appearance. Alex’s mum and Mr Jeff Tracy appeared out of the crowd. Her arm was still linked in his and Alex eyed it suspiciously.

He wasn’t the only one. Mr Scott Tracy, equally dressed in a suit, hair perfect as always, and standing beside his father, was eyeing him with a raised eyebrow.

Jeff played it innocent. “What?”

His mother giggled.

She giggled.

Like a teenage girl on a bus.

Oh, god.

Fortunately or not, that was the moment the crowd began moving into the theatre. Virgil had a suspicious smile on his face, but that smile soon turned towards Alex as he offered him his arm.

Alex took it and all the advantage of pulling his boyfriend in close as they filed into the theatre.

-o-o-o-

TBC

[roguishcat]

WIP Sunday

Thank you for tagging me @anacdoce and @justabiteofspite! 💖

I am working on three fics atm and got a bit (a lot) stuck, so started writing this just for the sake of writing something and ended up quite enjoying it. So here's a bit from a Halsin x Reader (Durge) one-shot where my batty Durge is down bad for the druid.

Rating: Mature (no smut, just Durge/Reader wanting to climb Mount Halsin)

You looked at his arms. His gorgeous, beautiful arms. You bet if he flexed his muscles for you that leather thing that he wore round his biceps would snap. What was it exactly? You weren't sure, but you wouldn’t be against having it around your neck. Just a little tighter than was comfortable.

Prior to meeting Halsin, battling the urge meant fighting the voice in your head that dictated you to kill.

Kill, kill, kill.

Now, it was not throwing yourself at a certain druid as the voice commanded you to have your way with him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

But there was no way in hells you would proposition him again. Not after last time. It was embarrasing enough to put yourself out there and be rejected once. You wouldn’t be able to bear it twice!

And the worst part was that you had to see him every day. Now usually you would just kill the person and be done with it. But the thought of him bleeding out, his beautiful eyes going dull as he drew his last breath, almost made you cry.

You sighed and looked at him. Halsin was sitting near his tent, talking to Astarion in a low voice. This made you scowl. They looked so gorgeous together it was maddening. You weren’t really sure if there was something going on between them, but you wouldn’t be surprised if they eventually got together.

You pouted and threw a stick in the fire. Life sucked. If it wasn’t for all those enemies to murder, you would probably go mad by now. At least the hoardes provided a somewhat acceptable distraction. Although you wished that you would get over this ridiculous crush. Slaying wasn’t fun when you were constantly wondering what someone thought of you.

You wondered what was it about you that Halsin found unappealing. You supposed that your murder-happy ways would have made many run the other way, but Halsin had many a battle in his years, so he didn't seem to find that off-putting.

You were not ugly. At least you had plenty proposition you, though you took few lovers. In the past, you pretty much focused on being Bhaal's chosen, which made dating near impossible.

Could it be that he found you ugly? Or perhaps you just sucked at flirting. Your pathetic attempts at seducing Halsin, admitedly twirling strands of hair around your fingers as you giggled at something he said was not the best choice, earned you a chortle from Astarion and an eye-roll from Shadowheart.

If he found you ugly, you wouldn't be against him just putting a bag over your head. All you wanted was for him to fuck you senseless against a tree. The rougher the better. The fuck, not the tree. Getting splinters out of your ass for days did not make for pleasant memories.

Ah, you were lying to yourself again. Because you didn’t just want a glorious fuck. As insane as it sounded, you actually caught feelings. The thought made you shiver. You! Feelings! Out of all disgusting things to have happened to you, this was the worst.

No pressure tags: @clazberryk, @lanafofana,

@marlowethebard, @honeybee-bard,

@preciouslittlebhaalbae, @pinkberrytea,

@silent-words, @fangbangerghoul and anyone else who has something to share! 💖

[eternaltae7]

Move In

Fox of BTS | BTS 8th Member

The day had finally arrived. After months of training and anticipation, Hani was officially moving into the BTS dorms. Excitement bubbled inside her, but so did a wave of nerves. Being the first female member of BTS came with its fair share of controversy. Fans were unsure of how to react, and the media buzzed with speculation. Some welcomed her as the eighth member, while others questioned if she would fit in. Big Hit, being a smaller company at the time, hadn’t been able to afford a separate dorm for her, so they decided she would stay with the boys, at least until they could make other arrangements.

Hani had spent the earlier part of her training living at home with her family, allowing her to balance her new life with the comfort of familiar surroundings. Her parents had been supportive of her dream, encouraging her to pursue her passion for music and dance while keeping her close during those crucial early days. However, now that BTS was solidified as a group and their schedules were packed, it was time for her to take that leap and move into the dorms.

As she stood outside the building, her heart raced. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that she was here for a reason. She was a talented vocalist, dancer, and songwriter—she had earned her place in the group. Hani pushed the door open, and the first thing she noticed was the distinct smell of ramen wafting through the air.

“Hey! You made it!” Jin exclaimed as he spotted her, his face breaking into a wide grin. He was cooking in the kitchen, surrounded by pots and pans. Hani felt a wave of relief wash over her.

“Yeah! I’m here,” she replied, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

The other members soon emerged from various corners of the dorm. Namjoon, with his warm smile, welcomed her with open arms. “We’ve been waiting for you. It’s finally complete,” he said, giving her a reassuring nod. Hani felt a flutter of gratitude; their warmth helped ease her tension.

“Welcome to the family!” Jungkook added, his youthful energy infectious. He was busy setting up a gaming console in the living room, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Make sure to beat the hyungs when you play!” he teased, which made the older members roll their eyes playfully.

As Hani settled into her new room, she couldn’t help but glance around. The walls were painted a soft shade of gray, and the room was cozy, filled with just enough space for her belongings. She had her own private sanctuary, something she was grateful for given the circumstances.

After unpacking her things, she joined the other members in the living room, where they were lounging on the couch. Hani was initially hesitant to jump into their banter, feeling like the newcomer in a well-established family. But they quickly drew her in.

“Do you know how to make ramen?” Jin asked, a teasing smirk on his face.

“Of course! But I might need your help to make it as good as yours,” Hani laughed, trying to play along.

“Deal! You can be my sous-chef,” he replied, motioning for her to join him in the kitchen. The others cheered, and she felt a warmth in her chest as she moved closer.

After dinner, the group settled on the floor, snacks scattered around as they watched a variety show on TV. Hani felt more at ease, laughing at the silly antics of the cast. The members joked with each other, the atmosphere relaxed and full of camaraderie.

Suddenly, Jimin turned to her, a playful glint in his eyes. “So, how does it feel to be the only girl here?” he asked, teasing but genuinely curious.

Hani laughed lightly, feeling the weight of the question. “It’s a bit nerve-wracking, honestly. I’m still getting used to everything,” she admitted, looking at each of them. “But you guys have made it a lot easier for me.”

“Just be yourself,” Yoongi chimed in, his tone serious yet encouraging. “We’re all just here to support you.”

As the night progressed, they moved to a gaming session, and Hani quickly found herself swept up in the competitive spirit. She was surprisingly good at the game they played, much to the amusement of the others. Hani felt a sense of belonging she hadn’t anticipated.

After a couple of hours, the chaos died down, and they decided to call it a night. Hani made her way back to her room, the sounds of the boys still echoing in the hallway. She sat on her bed, staring at the walls that surrounded her. It was quiet now, but a soft smile crept onto her face. She could hear muffled laughter and the occasional shout from the living room.

As she lay back on her bed, she felt grateful. Yes, there was controversy, and yes, she was nervous about being the only girl in a house full of boys. But in this moment, she felt like she was part of something special. Hani closed her eyes, the laughter of her new family still ringing in her ears. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, but for tonight, she was exactly where she belonged—home with BTS.