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ibuprofenking · 2 years ago

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no grave can hold my body down (i’ll crawl home to her)

an avatrice fic

Beatrice is walking home when she feels it. That prickle - a burning at the nape of her neck, making the hairs stand up.

Unmistakably, she knows. Someone is following her. Watching her. The sun has disappeared and she knows they are lurking in the shadows left behind.

She doesn’t react, immediately. She keeps walking, maintains her pace. Doesn’t let on that she knows. Then, with well-trained speed, she whips around and flings the stranger to the ground before they can react. They hit the ground with a quiet “oof.”

She’s about to start questioning them when her eyes actually settle on the face in front of her. Her breath catches in her throat as she takes in soft brown eyes, a smile despite the wheezing.

“Ava.” The name leaves her like she’s been punched in the gut, and she may as well have been for how she’s feeling.

“I should have known better than to try and sneak up on you,” Ava half-laughs, half-coughs.

Beatrice grabs Ava’s wrists, hauling her up and into a crushing embrace. She puts one hand to the back of Ava’s head, the other clutching at the soft red fabric of her hoodie. Beneath it she feels the gentle heat of the Halo.

Ava’s hair feels soft and clean, her body solid, sturdy. She’s alive. She’s okay. Beatrice can’t hardly believe it.

“Are you real?” she chokes.

“I think so,” Ava says.

They stand that way for a while, holding each other. They’re in the middle of the sidewalk but Beatrice doesn’t care. She would stay like this forever if she had her way.

Eventually, Ava pulls away. “Let me look at you,” she implores. She stares at Beatrice, taking in her jeans and loose hair. She reaches to tuck the strands behind Beatrice’s ear.

“Your hair looks nice,” she says. She runs her fingers over the blue streak. “I like this. You rebel.”

Ava, for her part, looks remarkably unchanged. She’s been gone for six months and three days, and Beatrice can’t say how long that might have been on the other side. Yet Ava’s face is the same, her hair the exact same length it was when she -

When she.

Beatrice can’t think it.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she demands. “Why were you skulking in the shadows like some sort of murderer? I could have seriously injured you.”

Ava chuckles. “I can take it.” And then, almost guiltily, “I wasn’t ready for you to see me yet.”

There’s something hidden in the words, something akin to shame. Beatrice can feel it, but decides to save her questions for later.

“Are you staying somewhere?” she asks instead. There’s a duffel bag discarded on the ground from when Beatrice had flung her down.

“Nope,” Ava says. “Just got here. You know, you’re a hard woman to find.”

Beatrice cracks a small smile at that. “That’s sort of the point.”

—

Beatrice likes her apartment. It’s humble. Comfortable. But now, with Ava standing in it, it feels impossibly small. Lacking. Unworthy of the way Ava’s spirit fills the space.

“This is cute,” Ava says. “Cozy.”

“It’s adequate,” Beatrice says, and she’s surprised to find herself feeling shy.

“Reminds me of Switzerland,” Ava says fondly, running her hand along the coffee table. This comparison immediately lifts Beatrice up, and she doesn’t feel quite so embarrassed anymore.

“It’s cheap,” she says. “Good for a waitress’ pay.”

“A waitress?”

“Try not to look so surprised,” Beatrice says wryly. Ava shakes her head.

“No, I just - it’s just different from anything I’ve ever seen you do, that’s all.”

“The pay itself is… lacking, but the tips are good. The regulars are nice. It’s decent work.”

Ava smirks. “I bet the customers go crazy over your accent.”

Beatrice laughs at that, mostly because it’s true. She’s sure it’s at least 90% of why she got the job.

“Americans are certainly unused to accents other than their own,” she agrees.

“I’ll admit I never pictured you in America,” Ava said. “Even with how well-traveled you are. Definitely not the midwest, either.”

It was to get as far away from the memory of you as I could, Beatrice doesn’t say.

“I’d have pictured you in like, Prague or something. Maybe even back in Switzerland,” Ava continues.

“I wanted to try something new,” Beatrice says instead of the truth.

Ava nods. They stand in silence for a moment.

“Um,” Ava says. “Thanks for… bringing me here. I can sleep on the couch.”

“Absolutely not!” Beatrice shocks both Ava and herself with the intensity in her voice. She clears her throat.

“I only just got you back,” she says. “I’m not letting you leave my sight for even a moment.” She blinks as she feels tears well up, then turns away, ashamed.

“Bea,” Ava says quietly, and the nickname and the tender tone of Ava’s voice tear something open in her, something she’s spent the last six months working so hard to close.

She begins to cry.

Ava closes the distance between them swiftly and pulls Beatrice close, and Beatrice clings to her with the desperation of a drowning woman.

Ava just holds her, rocking her gently and stroking her hair. Beatrice feels a bit like an idiot. Ava is the one who nearly died, who spent God knows how long in an unfamiliar and likely hostile place. And yet here Beatrice is, falling apart.

And here Ava is, comforting her.

Beneath her hands Beatrice feels the Halo heat up slightly with whatever emotions Ava is feeling and she finds it calming, grounding. A reminder that Ava is here, that she is real.

After she’s calmed down enough to stop choking on her own tears, Beatrice mumbles a defeated “Sorry.” She tries to pull back.

“Uh-uh,” says Ava, redoubling her grip on Beatrice. “You have nothing to apologize for. Okay? So don’t even start. We’ll stay here as long as you need.”

Beatrice relaxes into Ava at this, and Ava rubs circles into her shoulder.

After a little while, Ava sighs. “Okay, I know what I said, but I kind of have to pee.”

Beatrice snorts out a laugh, ungraceful and sloppy. They release each other. Beatrice drags her hands over her face, scrubbing, hoping to rub away any signs of weakness as Ava disappears into the tiny bathroom.

She has to be strong. For Ava.

—

“How long was it for you?”

They lay together on top of the blankets, facing one another. Beatrice lays on her side with her hands tucked beneath her pillow, and Ava lays on her back, hands folded over her stomach, head turned to face Beatrice.

Ava turns her head to stare at the ceiling. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Ava -��

“I’m not there,” Ava says firmly, as if trying to convince herself. “I’m here. That’s what I wanna focus on.”

“All right,” says Beatrice carefully. She studies Ava’s profile, searching for any sign of what she might be feeling, but to her dismay Ava’s face is a stoney mask. This is not normal for a woman who usually wears her heart on her sleeve.

“You said earlier you weren’t ready for me to see you,” she probes instead. “Why?”

Ava thinks for a moment.

“I know I look… the same,” she says. “On the outside. But inside I’m… I’m not the same, Bea.” Ava looks at Beatrice then, something in her expression begging her to understand.

Beatrice does.

“I’m not the same, either,” she says.

“I think that goes without saying,” Ava says lightly, and for the second time tonight she reaches out to stroke the dyed blue streak in Beatrice’s hair. She holds the strands between her fingers, admiring them like one might a fine jewel.

“I’m going through a bit of a wild child phase, as you can see,” Beatrice says with a smirk.

“Yeah, I can tell,” Ava says. “What’s next? A tattoo?”

“Maybe,” Beatrice says scandalously, and Ava raises her eyebrows in mock shock. They both giggle.

After a pause, Beatrice asks, “Why didn’t you age, do you think?”

Ava shrugs. “Jillian thinks it might be something to do with the Halo.”

Beatrice props herself up on her elbow. “You saw Jillian?”

“I saw everyone,” Ava says simply.

A flash of anger strikes through Beatrice. “And they didn’t think to send me word that you were back?!”

Ava regards her calmly. “Well, you didn’t exactly leave a forwarding address. Or a phone number.”

As quickly as it ignited, the anger fizzles out, and Beatrice flops back down onto the bed. “Oh,” is all she says.

Ava is smiling fondly. “Why did you leave? I thought you loved being a Sister Warrior.”

Beatrice takes a breath. “I… I did.”

“So?”

Beatrice stares down at the sheets, studying the floral pattern printed there, so she doesn’t have to look at Ava.

“It was… too painful.”

“Oh.”

“I thought you were lost forever,” Beatrice whispers.

Ava huffs out a breath, puffing out her cheeks. “Honestly? Me too.”

Later that night, as Ava sleeps soundly beneath the covers, Beatrice quietly kneels beside the bed, and for the first time since Ava disappeared, she prays.

Mostly just to say thank you.

—

The bed is shaking.

Beatrice wakes confused and groggy. For a brief moment she finds herself wondering if earth quakes are common in Michigan.

She searches the room. The bedside clock reads midnight. The room itself seems still. Finally, her eyes land on Ava, and that’s when she realizes.

Beside her, covers thrown off, Ava shakes. She trembles so hard that Beatrice fears she might be seizing. But beneath her eyelids Ava’s eyes roll, and she’s murmuring something incomprehensible in a broken voice.

Beatrice leaps to her feet and rushes around the bed to kneel next to Ava.

“Ava,” she says firmly. “Wake up.”

Ava shows no signs of hearing her. Instead, her hands come up and she presses her palms hard against her closed eyes. The murmuring becomes more clear.

“It’s so bright,” she’s saying desperately. “It’s so bright.”

“Ava,” Beatrice tries again, with more urgency. “You’re dreaming.”

She reaches out and grabs Ava’s wrists. They’re slick with sweat. She pulls Ava’s hands away from her face. Immediately Ava’s eyes fly open and a single, brief howl of fear rips from her throat. Her eyes look around wildly.

“It’s okay!” Beatrice says immediately. She keeps her grip on Ava’s wrists. “It’s okay. It’s just me. You were dreaming.”

Ava sucks in big gulps of air like she’s been holding her breath. She stares wide-eyed at the ceiling for several long seconds as if trying to remember herself, before she finally turns her gaze to Beatrice.

“Bea?” She sounds very small, and a fierce tenderness claws at Beatrice’s chest.

“Yes, it’s me,” she says softly, releasing Ava’s wrists to instead cup her face. She feels hot, clammy. “You’re safe.”

Ava’s still shaking, but the tremors are smaller now.

“Are you all right?” Beatrice asks, smoothing wet hair from Ava’s forehead.

Rather than answering, Ava asks “Did I yell?”

Beatrice grimaces sympathetically. “Yes.”

Having come to her senses, Ava pushes herself to a sitting position. “I’m sure the neighbors will complain,” she says dully.

“Let them,” Beatrice says.

Ava covers her face with her hands and releases a weary sigh. Beatrice squeezes her knee.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

Ava laughs bitterly. “Definitely not.”

“What would help?”

She thinks on it for a moment. Then, “A shower. I’m gross and sweaty.”

That, Beatrice can handle. “I’ll start the water for you,” she says immediately, eager to do something, anything helpful.

When she returns from the bathroom she finds Ava still seated on the bed, but now with her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them and her head resting atop them. She smiles weakly at Beatrice’s return, but it doesn’t quite light up her eyes.

“It’s warming up,” she says. “Could I… accompany you?”

Ava smirks a little. She looks exhausted. “Very forward, Sister Beatrice.”

Beatrice rolls her eyes. “Just to the bathroom. And I’m not a nun anymore.”

“Details,” Ava waves her off before slipping off the bed. She reaches for Beatrice’s hand, and Beatrice gives it willingly.

Once they’re standing in the bathroom, Ava looks a bit lost, like she’s not quite sure where to start. Her fragility gives Beatrice courage.

Beatrice fingers the edges of Ava’s t-shirt. “May I?” she asks softly. Ava nods.

“Arms up, then,” says Beatrice, all business, and Ava complies. Beatrice pulls the shirt up and over Ava’s head, tousling her hair. They move on to the sweatpants. Beatrice gently tugs them to the floor, and Ava steps out of them.

Beatrice tried not to look, but her eyes are greedy and they slide over Ava’s body with a sort of hunger. Smooth skin, dimples at her hips.

She nearly shakes her head. Now’s not the time.

“I think… I can handle it from here,” Ava says. Beatrice hopes she hasn’t noticed her voracious gaze.

“Yes, right.” Beatrice nods and turns to leave the bathroom.

Ava grabs her wrist. “Wait,” she says, then, shyly, “Stay?”

Beatrice smiles. “Of course.”

As Ava cleans herself up, Beatrice sits on the closed toilet, head in her hands. She’s shaken, she’ll admit that to herself. She can’t imagine what horrors haunt Ava. She’s never seen a nightmare as severe as that. If she’s being honest, it scares her.

And this feeling in her stomach… this evil, sinful feeling. Her best friend is suffering and all she can think about is -

kissing grabbing stroking

Well.

When Ava steps out of the shower, Beatrice is waiting with a fluffy white towel. Beatrice wraps her up and pretends the towel is a shield against everything bad in the world.

“I’m going to make tea,” she murmurs. “Will you be all right?”

Ava’s face is flushed from the hot water and her eyes are a bit brighter. She looks a bit more herself. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine. Um… thank you.”

“No thanks necessary,” Beatrice says and means it, with her whole being.

When she enters the bedroom with two steaming mugs in hand, Ava has already returned to sleep, sprawled on her stomach, the side of her face smushed into the pillow.

Beatrice finds herself smiling in earnest. Ava looks much more peaceful now, her face unlined and unconcerned. Beatrice takes a sip of tea before placing both mugs on the nightstand.

She carefully climbs into bed beside Ava then pulls the covers over both of them.

For a moment she lays on her back, arms at her chest, afraid to move or touch Ava for fear of waking her. Finally, she gathers courage and rolls onto her side, reaching out to gently stroke Ava’s wet hair.

Without opening her eyes, Ava reaches out to grab her hand. Beatrice’s heart leaps to her throat, and she’s about to apologize for waking her when Ava intertwines their fingers. She settles again almost immediately.

They both sleep soundly the rest of the night.

—

When Beatrice hears the bell above the door ding, she thinks nothing of it.

When she sees Ava sitting in her section, she bristles.

“I thought I told you to stay home and out of sight,” she says quietly, through her teeth, setting down a menu and silverware to keep up appearances.

“I got bored,” Ava says, lower lip jutting out pitifully. “Plus, we need to go grocery shopping. We’re out of, like, everything.”

“I’ll go grocery shopping,” corrects Beatrice. “You will lay low like I told you. We don’t know what threats are still out there, who still covets the Halo -“

In front of her Ava has her nose in the menu, and for a minute Beatrice thinks she’s not even listening before Ava says “You know what I covet? The All-American Breakfast.”

Beatrice sighs. Stares into the middle distance. Questions her life choices. Then, she raises pen and pad.

“What sort of toast?”

Later, as Ava shovels forkfuls of greasy American breakfast into her mouth like she hasn’t eaten in days, Beatrice watches from behind the counter, annoyance and fondness blooming inside her.

“Your girlfriend is cute,” says Layla, one of the other waitresses. Beatrice feels the heat rising to her face almost immediately.

“What?” she asks dumbly, straightening up. Layla gestures to Ava.

“Oh!” Beatrice says quickly. “Oh, er, she’s - we’re not - well…”

If you tell a girl you love her before she disappears into an other-worldly void, does that make her your girlfriend? What if she maybe didn’t hear you? What if she’s been gone for potentially centuries?

“It’s complicated,” offers up Layla. “I get it.” She winks and goes to take care of her tables.

Complicated. Beatrice sighs. Across the diner Ava drinks her orange juice like it’s a competition.

Complicated doesn’t begin to cover it.

—

In the end, Ava always gets her way.

“But nowhere is safer for me than with you!” she’d pouted.

“You’re like a child,” Beatrice had complained.

And that’s how she’d ended up here, in the grocery store, trying to decide between what seems to be a million identical yogurt options, while Ava takes a running start with the buggy before hopping onto it and letting it carry her several feet.

“I’m begging you to behave,” Beatrice says.

“That’s like asking a fish not to swim,” Ava says.

American supermarkets are overwhelming. Colors, options, smells, sounds. It’s nearly too much for Beatrice. For Ava, it seems to be a land of wonder.

Every few minutes she disappears and then re-emerges from the aisles with a new cookie or sweet that Beatrice tells her to put back. Eventually they compromise on a pack of Oreos.

“You are like a prison warden,” Ava declares.

“I am afraid to see what you are like with sugar in your system,” Beatrice says honestly. Ava just grins.

That night Beatrice teaches Ava to make spaghetti. There’s a lot Ava doesn’t know how to do. Tie shoes. Hold a pencil properly. Make literally any meal that involves the oven or stove. Or even the microwave.

When Beatrice teaches her Ava becomes so serious, eyes intense. Beatrice knows she’s doing her best to soak in every detail. If there’s one thing Ava hates it’s feeling helpless, like she’s back in that bed, wasting away. Beatrice wishes she could tell her she doesn’t need to be independent to be valuable, that paralyzed or not, she is worth it.

She lets Ava stir the noodles. “You have to keep them moving, or they’ll clump together.” Ava treats this task like it is life or death, never taking her eyes off the pot.

When they eat, Ava has a satisfied look on her face, a sort of pride.

“Damn, I’m a good cook,” Ava says around a mouthful of pasta.

“Language,” Beatrice says reflexively, and then “And I’m the chef here.”

“Ohhh,” Ava says. “My bad, Gordon Ramsey.”

Beatrice frowns.

“Stop,” Ava says before Beatrice can open her mouth. “Do not tell me you don’t know who Gordon Ramsey is.”

She doesn’t, and Ava deems this a tragedy, and that’s how they end up huddled on the couch watching Kitchen Nightmares on the laptop. Beatrice is sure it’s all scripted, or at least dramatized for effect, but it brings Ava such joy that she keeps that to herself.

“It’s fuckin’ raw!” Ava whisper-shouts in the worst British accent Beatrice has ever heard.

“That’s terrible,” she laughs.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you show me how it’s done then?”

Beatrice pauses. Then, cupping her hands around her mouth she does her best Gordon Ramsey impression: “It’s fucking raw!”

The ensuing giggles from Ava are worth it.

—

Beatrice gets home from a shift and Ava isn’t there.

The apartment is small and it takes her no time at all to realize it’s empty.

“Ava?” she calls pointlessly, unsurprised when she gets no answer but panicking nonetheless. She looks in the bedroom. Empty. The bathroom. Empty. She even pulls back the curtain on the shower, but of course, it’s also empty.

She’s gone, she thinks. She’s gone, I left her alone and something happened. Something happened and I wasn’t here.

She doesn’t know what to do. Years of training, of experience in the field, and this is what freezes her. Her heart’s become a fist, clenching tighter and tighter and she’s finding it hard to breathe. The air begins to buzz like a downed electrical wire.

Once again, she waited too long to say I love you.

She sits heavily on the sagging couch, mostly because if she doesn’t she fears she might crumple to the floor. Her breaths come in short, harsh gasps. She feels such dread in her gut she might throw up.

She doesn’t hear the door open for the rushing in her ears. She doesn’t register anything, head in her hands, until she feels gentle pressure on her shoulders. She snaps her head up.

Before her kneels Ava, sweet brown eyes wide and scared. The image of her is fuzzy, as if being viewed on an old VHS tape. She’s saying something, but it sounds like she’s underwater.

Beatrice’s body reacts without her permission and she throws her arms around Ava. She hears someone crying and realizes with a jolt that it’s her.

“Bea,” Ava is murmuring, lips pressed to Beatrice’s hair. “Bea, please try to breathe. Slowly, okay? In -“ she demonstrates by sucking in her own deep breath - “and out.” Ava demonstrates again, breath against Beatrice’s ear.

Beatrice can hear again, and that’s a start. She breathes, like Ava’s telling her to, and slowly but surely she feels less like she’s about to die and more like she’s been submerged in molasses, limbs heavy and shaky.

When Ava senses that Beatrice has calmed down some, she pulls back. Ava cups Beatrice’s face in both of her hands and traces the tear tracks with her thumbs. She’s looking at Beatrice with something indescribable but so palpable that Beatrice feels she might start crying again.

“What happened?” Ava asks softly. For a moment Beatrice forgets how to speak, jaw working uselessly. Then, in a whisper, she manages “You were gone.”

Something in Ava’s face breaks open, realization and sadness and guilt all washing over her at once.

“I’m so sorry,” Ava says. “I went for a walk, I was feeling cooped up and - I thought I’d be back before you got home but -“

“I love you,” Beatrice interrupts in a rush. That makes Ava’s mouth slam shut in surprise.

Beatrice continues, “I said it back, when you went through the Arq. I don’t think you heard. I’ve been waiting for the… for the right moment to bring it up. I thought you were gone and I’d taken too long to say it, again.”

Ava doesn’t say anything for so long that Beatrice begins to regret her entire existence. Needing to fill the silence, she says “I know it’s probably been… a very long time for you, and you might not have the same feelings anymore. I get that. I just wanted -“

Now Ava looks affronted. “What?”

“I only mean, it’s all right if… if you don’t feel the same anymore.”

It’s not, but Beatrice would never dream of putting that kind of pressure on Ava. She wants to give her space, and understanding.

“Bea…” Ava starts, and she’s looking down and Beatrice thinks, here it comes, she’s going to let you down nicely.

“Of course I still love you,” is what Ava says instead. At first, Beatrice doesn’t register the words.

“Really?” she asks, and hates how pitiful she sounds.

Ava laughs, sad and watery. Beatrice realizes she’s crying, too. “You idiot. You… you absolute dingus.” This is a word Beatrice has never been called before.

“Hang on -“ Beatrice starts, confused but offended.

“It’s cheesy,” Ava says, barreling over Beatrice’s protests with no regard. “But… thinking of you… sometimes that was all that could get me through. Thinking about getting home to you.”

Beatrice can’t say anything around the lump forming in her throat.

“It was… bad, over there,” Ava says vaguely, but Beatrice sees the shadow of pain cross her face. “For a while I just… wandered. It was hot, and so, so bright… I healed, and I couldn’t starve or die of thirst, but I could still feel hungry. Thirsty. Tired. Reya either didn’t know I was there or didn’t care. But… thinking about you… that’s what kept me sane.”

Beatrice’s mind races at this information. Distantly she wonders exactly how long “a while” is. Tries to process the idea of Ava, lost and scared and alone, for potential years.

Ava misreads her silence. “Sorry,” she says sheepishly. “I know it’s dumb -“

Beatrice cuts her off with a kiss. It’s clumsy, and hot, and desperate, and so absolutely divine.

Beatrice thinks there’s no way heaven could compare to this.

When they pull back from each other, Beatrice finds Ava’s hand tangled in her hair, and her own hands are on either side of Ava’s neck. She doesn’t remember putting them there. It is as if her body reacted on instinct, as if her hands had longed on their own to settle in that crook between jaw and shoulder.

“I think,” Ava says, breathless, flushed, “that we might both be idiots.”

“I believe you may be right,” Beatrice agrees.

They kiss again.

#warrior nun #avatrice #i spent an unnecessary amount of time on this

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sombreboy · 4 years ago

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the alpha⇢hybrid!pjm

⤍18+ ⤍pairing: wolf!hybrid Jimin x human!female reader ⤍genre: pwp smut, hybrid, stranger fuck ⤍word count: 8.5k ⤍warnings: sub!y/n, dom!pjm, profanity, drinking, blowjob, jimin’s compliment kink knows no bounds, he calls you little lamb a lot, degdrading names, unprotected sex, creampie/knotting, light impreg kink, mating, rough fucking, licking, torrential downpour of cum.

A/N: Co-written with lovely @ppersonna as an rp. ♡

So why were you dressed up like a bitch in heat, entering the exact club you tried so hard to avoid? Because, deep down, it’s all you wanted. You knew that deep down you desired someone strong and powerful, someone superior to you, to take and claim you as their own—their plaything.

The city never sleeps. A saying that has been true for the past century, and it remains true til this day, where humans and hybrids now coexist as equals. Well, as equal as it gets. Hybrids were a superior species with their mixed genetics, gaining attributes from said animals that they have in them. Whether it be stronger bodies, beautiful patterns and physical alterations– they were seen as the greater species. But yet humans managed to keep up, somewhat. It wasn’t that much different. Park Jimin is one of those hybrids. His genetics were intertwined with that of a white wolf, giving his hair a bright blonde color. However, he had it dyed not too long ago, so the color was instead a washed out purple mixed into his blonde curls. His irises were a bright orange, pupils as black as the leather jacket and pants he wore. One wouldn’t think he looked terribly intimidating at a first glance, but his stare could make anybody feel a shiver run down their spine from the sheer intensity of it.

He was the alpha, after all.

Jimin spent every single night at a nightclub that was famous specifically for being dominated by the predatory hybrids. Lions, tigers, snakes, foxes… Wolves. Jimin’s pack was the hybrids that people came for most of the time.For what, you may ask? To get thoroughly fucked without mercy, of course. But that was only possible if you caught their interest, or you’d have to settle for the snake.

Jimin’s pack consisted of three other wolf hybrids… Hoseok, the beta. Which practically means he’s one rank below Jimin, who is the leader. The other two hybrids are Namjoon and Yoongi, who are one rank below Hoseok, making them the deltas. They don’t care, they are content to just follow along with what their leader says, but are often given their own choice to do however they please either way. Together, they form quite the diverse group, and they were notorious and alluring for newcomers and common faces.

Jimin loved it, the dark, crowded underground venue, flashing lights, alcohol… And humans. More often than not, only hybrid women came by. Rich ones. Easy to spot. But what truly had the wolf riled up, was when a human would stumble in. Their scent was an entirely different game. He allowed his pack to separate, but never going too far as they headed to find their own prey for the night, while Jimin himself remained still, leaning against the bar counter with a pink, sugary drink in his hand, straw tightly pressed between his plushy, glossy lips.

It was time to hunt.

You weren’t sure what came over you—what drew you to the idea of leaving your cozy and safe, structured life and entering the dark unknown. The nightclub was somewhere you previously steered clear of, even crossed the street to avoid being next to it when walking by. It was decidedly not your scene, and the idea of the strong, intuitive hybrids sent a chill down your spine.

So why were you dressed up like a bitch in heat, entering the exact club you tried so hard to avoid? Because, deep down, it’s all you wanted. You stayed away from it like a drug. You knew the moment you gave in, you’d sink down the black hole into utter depravity. You knew that deep down you desired someone strong and powerful, someone superior to you, to take and claim you as their own—their plaything. It was hard to be confident in such a stifling environment. Your tight little crop top covered only the barest of your modesty, and the tight skirt accentuated your curves. The confidence you felt in the mirror of your apartment soon dissipated as you walked into the loud club. You could feel the hungry stares, the intense eyes of all the men and women in the place.

You didn’t know who or what you were looking for—rather, hoping they would find you instead. You craved the idea of giving up your power, your control to someone who could hold it over you and force you into submission. The thought made your core burn with need. The bartender slid your simple cocktail towards you with a wink as you settled into the stool awkwardly, trying to appear much stronger than the scared little human you were. You knew they all could smell it on you—the mixture of fear and arousal. So many of them approached you, attempted to charm their way inside you, but none of them felt right. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe you should have stayed home. You can’t help but feel a burn of shame and disappointment as you chug your drink as quickly as you can to make a desperate dash towards the door.

Your nervous eyes skittered around the room, watched as each ravenous alpha eye-fucked you. It was terrifying, intimidating. It cemented just how wrong you were to come here, until— he came into view. Your breath nearly collapsed in your lungs as you took in the vision of the lavender haired man. He was gorgeous. Not just attractive but ethereal in his visage. Your pupils dilated, heart rate increased as you stared at him. You were blatant in your gaze, unable to wrench your eyes elsewhere. He was simply the most captivating man you’ve ever seen in your life, and your body burned with desperate need for him. After moments of desperate staring, you finally shake yourself off and peer down at your empty drink. Was it him? What was so magnetic about the lithe man? Could he be the one to finally claim what you needed to give up? Your cheeks burned with a mixture of shame and need, hoping that he didn’t notice your blatant ogling. Fuck.

Jimin’s fiery gaze flickered to meet yours the very second he felt your eyes on him, straw still tightly sucked between his lips. He crooked a coy eyebrow at you as he pushed himself up from his leaning position to stand upright, no hesitation in his bones in the way he slowly sauntered over to you. His hips swayed in a light strut, mesmerizing in every sense of the word; the predatory genes within giving him these very traits to be alluring for it’s prey. And it seemed to be working, with the way your eyes were glued on him. He stopped when he was right in front of you, giving just enough space for him to be able to observe your fit from top to bottom, but close enough for you to smell his distinct scent. Sweet, calming– arousing. His natural pheromones didn’t leave anybody unaffected, even turning heads on his way, eyes wide with both surprise and envy that the alpha had approached… well, you. “How refreshing with a new face.” Jimin’s canary voice was sweet, yet it had an undertone of a light growl. His canines poked out as he smiled, plush upper lip curling up to showcase his pearly whites further.

Your blush furthered a deeper shade of rose as he approached. Fuck. He definitely saw you staring. The power in his gaze and strut over to you screamed alpha. Hopefully he wasn’t the kind to bite and then ask questions. You’d unfortunately run into that type before.

The blood in your veins pulsed hard, skyrocketing your nerves. He looked so good. It was almost unfair that someone so fucking beautiful existed. You felt small and plain in comparison to the gorgeous man. His whole being exuded sultry command. You nibbled at your bottom lip as he sauntered up to you. Your body was reacting already to his presence, his voice. The entire club was staring at you, curious of the exchange that would happen between the exquisite man and you, the nervous little human. “I-,” you struggled to answer. If he wasn’t aware of how nervous you were before, he would be now—surely. “I don’t really come to these types of places.”

Try as you might, you couldn’t stop staring at the man’s gorgeous pout and terrifyingly attractive teeth. Your heart beat pounded hard in your head, overpowering the loud beat of music.

“D-do you come here often?” You asked, hoping to be polite despite the pooling arousal and growing fear.

Jimin’s smile slowly morphed into a wolfish grin, the apple of his cheeks puffing up until his eyes were shaped like small crescent moons. He almost looked harmless and inviting. “Cute…” he mused under his breath before he took a daring step closer to you, his hand reaching out to gently run his fingers through the piece of stray hair that had fallen forward over your face. He brought the locks to his nose, inhaling deeply. A low rumble vibrated in his chest.. You smelled divine. Even through the shampoo and possible product, he could smell your scent behind it all. “Yeah, I come here, every. single. night…” Jimin winked before withdrawing his hand to let it settle on his hip, his stance powerful and graceful. His dark pupils quivered when he raked down your body for a second time, the wolf ears sticking out from his hair flickering with curiosity. “Why are you here, little lamb?” He cooes at you, licking his upper teeth as he steps closer. He had no problem hearing you through the booming music, but how would you know? It gave him more of an excuse to get closer. “Looking like that?” Of course he knew why. He could smell why. But it was of no news that Jimin loved to play with his prey, ramp up the anxiety until he could practically taste it on his tongue.

Your heart thumped so loud in your chest you were sure all of the club could hear it. If they couldn’t, they definitely could smell the thrum of anxiety pulsing through you. His voice sizzled in your veins, erupting into flames as it enveloped you. Then, he touched you. The simple act of moving your hair had your mind reeling. You could smell him—he was so close you wanted to bury your face in his chest and breathe deeply. His question caught you off guard. Why were you here? Did you even know the answer to that? Your cherry cheeks flushed and you ducked your head, trying to avoid his sultry and tempting gaze. He continued to get closer and it made you tremble with a mix of fright and need. His power was overwhelming, and all you wanted to do was kneel for him.

“I’m—…not quite sure,” you spoke truthfully as you took another sip of your rapidly melting drink. “I’ve never been here before. I think I wanted something… scary.” Your big doe eyes sought out his, so mystifying with their exotic color and shape. He was truly so gorgeous it made your mouth salivate. You squirmed in your seat, suddenly feeling self conscious of your outfit. “My friend told me I should wear something sexy.” Your cheeks were so hot, so embarrassed by how easily you wanted to give into the terrifyingly attractive alpha. “I’m wondering if maybe this was a bad idea…”

Although the music around them was blaring, it felt like a long moment of silence dragged on between the two when Jimin didn’t answer for a hot second. He kept his stare fixed on your face, the small expressions of embarrassment, curiosity, and purity drew him in. He’s truly never encountered a human like you before. One that dared to come here despite being so… weak. It was like you were begging to be eaten, dangling like a fresh piece of the finest meat in front of all these hungry predators. Jimin could hear it, the rumbling growls and groans of men in the room, hoping that the alpha wolf would lose interest and leave a piece for them to get a taste.

“Scary?” He suddenly chirped, his smile more of a smirk at this point as he placed his drink on the bar counter, ice jumping in the glass from the harsh clonk. He bent forward to shamelessly brush his cheek against yours, a subtle way of rubbing his scent off on your skin, knowing it’d avert some of the attention around him– he’s already begun to claim you for himself. His hot breath fanned your ear as he spoke.

“I can smell your lust for fear, little lamb… Do I scare you?” Jimin’s hand softly snaked down the curve of your hip, smoothing his ring-clad fingers down your thigh until he was greeted by your scorching skin. He squeezed the flesh between his digits, cold rings digging into your thigh as he exhaled another hot, quivering breath against your neck, loving the way your scent was slowly mixing with his own.

The man’s simple action of brushing his cheek against your own had your body seizing up. You could smell him as he rubbed his soft skin on yours—a heady mix of something fruity and something naturally luscious. It embarrassed you to know how arousing his simple act had been. You chided yourself internally for feeling your body heat at his gentle action. You licked your lips as he whispered hot words into your ear, making a tingle travel down your spine.

“Y-yes,” you murmured. “You scare me more than anyone h-here.” His hands gripping your thigh made a quiet moan escape your lips. It was desperate. You felt overstimulated and yet so desperate to be touched by the terrifying alpha. Suddenly feeling emboldened, your hands gripped at his sides, slipping under his expensive shirt to touch at the toned skin of his obliques and anchoring yourself to him there.

Jimin’s hand flew down to wrap his fingers around your small wrist, blunt nails digging into your soft skin. His hand on your thigh swiftly withdrew, and the loss of his warmth had you internally whining for more. “Did I say you could touch me?” His voice wasn’t hostile, yet it oozed with the asserting of his dominance. “You’re a daring girl.” He smiles at you, the contrast between his hungry gaze and his softly curved lips was confusing to say the least– but there was no doubt that he was not the kind to simply allow anything without permission.

The alpha’s sudden movement and grip on your hand made you squeal with fright—eyes widening and heart stopping its beat in your chest. Your mouth ran dry. Your terror coursed through you with the distinct tang of need. His dominance made you even more desperate. “I’m sorry,” you peeped quietly, itching to move your fingers away in case it angered him further but also needing to feel his tender skin underneath you once more. “I didn’t mean—..” you stuttered as you felt brave enough to peer up in his enchanting eyes. His smile was comforting but the hungry gaze in his stare had you trembling. Jimin cupped your cheek, hushing you with reassurance– although he seemed way too amused with the way you were practically shaking underneath his touch.

“Breathe. We’re all here to have a good time.” He smoothed the pad of his thumb across your lower lip, noting just how dry it had become. He decided to order another set of drinks, handing one to you that was the same pink shade as the one he got for himself. “Drink.” He didn’t ask, but he commanded you to accept his offer.

You were powerless to deny any demand the man made. Even if he had asked, you’d still be eating out of the palm of his hand like a terrified and starved pet. His thumb on your lips made you ache to open and accept his digit in your mouth, swirl your tongue around it teasingly. Your eyes sought his—hoping you could portray some of the arousal you felt over your innocent fright. You took a sip—a large one in hopes of lowering your frightened inhibitions to open up more to the beautiful man. “Mmm—,” you hummed as your eyes fluttered to close. “This is delicious.” It was sweet on your tongue, but not cloyingly. It warmed you and made your body loose.

“It’s my favorite.” Jimin agreed, already half way through his own. The entire time he kept his eyes trained on your lips, the darkening color on your cheeks from the heat that both alcohol and his proximity provided. When finished, he stretched his back with a light pop, the shirt he’s wearing underneath the jacket lifting just enough for the prominent V-line that snaked down his pants teasingly on display. His visuals were unmatched. He took off his jacket, leaving it unattended by the counter. No one would dare to touch it anyway, the leather oozing of his distinct scent. Only somebody with a death wish would. He combed his fingers through his hair, licking his lower lip clean form the residue sugar from this drink. His ears perked up when the lights dimmed further, and a new song came into play, booming through the speakers that caused a pleasant vibration to pulse through the building.

“I love this song.” Jimin reached for your arm to tug you out of the chair with him towards the crowded dance floor. As per usual, there was no question of whether you wanted to or not, but with a few drinks, and his intoxicating presence, it didn’t seem too bad. For Jimin, this was just part of his foreplay. He brought you into the crowd, tightly packed with all kinds of scents and musks. But the only one he could smell was yours, slowly morphing with his own as he placed his hands on your hips from behind, nose brushing against your neck as he inhaled. “Feel that? The beat?” He growled into your ear, swaying his hips along with the way he moved yours back and forth.

The music, once quiet and unassuming to you, now became loud and matched the beat of your heart. The alpha was dragging you towards the dance floor and in the midst of the hungry crowd, staring at you from where they rubbed up against each other. Just as you were trying to understand where to move, how to adjust your body to the dance, he pressed himself up behind you and gripped your hips. You could feel your pulse running through your veins and the way his touch electrified your skin. “Y-yeah,” you murmured as your hips began to move without thought. They easily swayed with the man’s guidance and you shivered as his nose pressed into your neck. It was like he couldn’t get enough of your scent, your being. The man’s hyper fixation on you had your core drenched—and you knew he could likely smell just how aroused for him you were. You let your eyes close and follow his guiding hold on your body, your ass pressing back against him to rub and grind along his length. It seemed the alphas drink was bringing you ever so gently out of your shell. “Mmm, I feel the beat right here.”

“Fuck, you smell good…” Jimin growled into your ear, his claw-like grip on your hips tightening to keep you in place as he pressed his hips right back against your ass, his cock prominent through the thin layer of his leather pants. It pulsed with every beat of his heart, it was driving him near insanity to practically taste your arousal on his tongue along with the overwhelming smell. “You’re dripping, aren’t you?” He huffed, tastefully biting your earlobe as one hand smoothed down your thigh to tug at the hem of your dress, unbothered to the fact that other hybrids were spying on them. He wanted them to see the way he got to have you, and they don’t. The way you were oozing with lust for the alpha, the pungent arousal of yours surely drove not just Jimin feral, but every single hybrid in the venue. And no one could say a fucking thing.

It was hard to hold back the peeps of surprise and arousal as you felt the alpha’s growing cock against you. Your body instinctively continued to rub and further agitate the hardening length to fully erect. When you felt his hands on you, your body reacted. You knew your cunt was oozing, likely soaking the satin panties underneath your tight skirt and soon to drip down your leg in a sign of utter submission and need to the alpha behind you. “Y-yes,” you whined. “I n-need you.” The admittance was shameless–the alcohol and lowered inhibitions making it easier for you to admit your desires to the man without regret. You could sense that he was showing you off and you complied, allowed the man to present you to everyone in the club who stared with bloodlust for you. “Please,” you gasped, not quite sure of what you were asking for other than him–more him. “Please, take me.”

Jimins wolfish grin grew against your skin before he swiftly grabbed you by your wrist to pull you with him, guiding the two of you towards privacy. Normally, he’d take his prey to the back, or even home… but there was an urgency within him that was too strong to ignore, there was no time– he needed to claim you now. So he pulled you into the bathroom close by, slamming your back against the wall with a thud the moment the door closed behind you. His heavy breaths were laced with small grunts as he crashed his pillowy lips against yours, hands greedily peeling the skirt of your dress up to expose your ass for him to harshly grab onto, squeezing the soft flesh between his ring clad fingers until it protruded between his digits, sharp nails digging into your delicate skin. “Fuck, you drive me crazy, little lamb.” Jimin hisses between hot kisses, the vibrating growl in his chest growing louder as he bites down on your lower lip to draw more innocent whines from your sweet throat. “Every single male in there wishes they could mate with you, shit… the male pheromones were off the roof, they’re all gonna jerk off to the memory of this–” one of his hands cupped your pussy through your soaked panties, dragging his palm to feel the damp fabric stain his skin. “Of how delicious your cunt smells… it’s like a fucking drug.”

Your eyes widened as the strong and sensual man dragged you from the dance floor to the bathroom. The same terror that once pulled through you now flooded every sense. Had you done something wrong? Was he going to harm you? Your worries were sucked up the second he pressed his lips to yours hungrily. Kissing him was like standing too close to a fire. He was hot, so hot, and before you knew it, you’d be engulfed in his hot, licking flames. His hands felt like palpable sin in your flesh and you needed more. “Please,” you whimpered as his hands cupped at your core. You knew you were a mess—dripping with shameless need for the alpha. The kisses turned deeper as you allowed his tongue entrance into your mouth and sought purchase in his own. Your hands stayed by your sides, itching to touch him but remembering his previous warning. “Please, let me touch you. Anywhere.” It felt like you were dying and the only cure was him—any bit of him on you and underneath your fingertips. “Ahh—,” you whined as his hand continued his assault on your cunt. “It’s a-all for you. I don’t want anyone else, only you.”

Jimin’s auburn gaze glowed as he pulled back from the kiss, his pointy canines poking out as he smiled. “You want to touch me?” He purred as he pressed your body harder back against the wall with his own, gliding the pads of his fingers up and down your clothed slit until he feels the swell of your clit through your panties, only to give it extra attention by circling his digits with just enough pressure. Not enough to satisfy, but not enough to not drive you crazy. “You don’t get to touch me until I say so… But don’t worry, good behavior will be rewarded.” Jimin added with his lighter tone of voice, leaning in to nudge your chin to the side with his nose– like a dog would. He softly grazes the skin of your neck with his nose, lips; a deep inhale through his nostrils triggered a vibrating rumble in his throat, and a prominent, heavy throb in his pants. “We’re not in a rush.” He whispered against your neck before placing open mouthed kisses down your skin until he reached the slope of your neck, feeling as his cock grew harder– the more aggressive his kisses became. From soft pecks, to messy sucking, surely painting your delicate skin with splashes of purple.

Feeling the man all over your body and being denied to touch was maddening, but deliciously so. His fingers dipped into your slit and teased so delicately that you thought you might cry if he didn’t give you something soon. Your moans turned into desperate whines and gasps as you allowed him to continue his thorough torture of your clit. Kissing him felt like sin, like heaven and hell. He was everything you wanted—everything you sought after when you stepped foot into the very club you now were being thoroughly debauched in. His cock felt heavy and thick against you and it made you whisper against his lips in arousal and desperation. He trailed down your body and you let out a shaky moan as you felt his sharp incisors suckle and nip at the delicate skin. “Use me,” you begged gently. “P-Please, make me yours.”

Your hips ground against his, rubbing against his hardened length as much as you could to alleviate the burn between your thighs. “Fuck, I want you so bad, please sir.”

“Such a good girl, asking so nicely.” Jimin’s low voice resembled a mix between his natural voice and a growl, the raspyness of it forcing a chill running down your spine, reminding you that he was indeed not human, but a hungry predator. Which is exactly what he was– well, it’s a part of him he only indulges in on nights like these, in a place like this. Who he was outside of these walls, nobody truly knew. His fingers curled around the fabrics of your panties to swiftly rip them off, carelessly discarding them to the dirty floor. Now exposed, your scent was stronger than ever. He shamelessly inhaled through his nose, eyes fluttering in pleasure, feeling the droplets of precum staining his swollen tip underneath the restraining pants.

“Still reconsidering whether coming here was a good or bad idea?” He asks through his breathy voice as he pulled back to look at your needy expression, all while his hands casually reach down to undo his pants, slowly peeling the leather down his hips. His cock sprung up proudly, drooling with arousal down his glistening skin, a content sigh pushing past his plushy lips. “Hm? You like it?” Jimin’s piercing gaze flickered between his cock and your face, grabbing the shaft with his hand. “Want a taste? All you have to do is drop to your knees on the filthy floor…”

Everything about the man radiated power. He mystified you. He even looked beautiful, gorgeous rather, under the harsh fluorescent lights. You were sure you would follow him off the edge of a cliff if he told you to. You didn’t know his name but you didn’t need to, he had you between his delicate fingers. Your breath hitched as he ripped your soaked panties off your body. The cool air of the bathroom was startling against your heated cunt. It made you gasp out loud. “I-I think it was a good idea,” you gulped. Your eyes were big, pleading and needy as you peered into his own. He had you completely under his spell.

Your mouth watered as the man pushed his skintight pants down and exposed his length to you. It was perfect. Thick and long and curved just right that made your core ache for him. You dropped to your knees without hesitation, ignoring the way the wet floor felt against your body. The floor was disgusting but nothing would stop you from pleasing the alpha. You shimmied your skirt up your body, allowing your bare ass and cunt to be exposed to the open air as you knelt before him.

“Please.” The word was becoming your prayer, repeated to the god above you to grant you your blessings. You opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue—an obedient little dog in heat. You wanted nothing more than to take him in your mouth without warning but you knew now to wait. You wanted to please the alpha so badly.

Jimin’s eyes darkened immensely at the gorgeous view beneath him, the fiery color of his irises barely visible for they were practically blackened out. If there was something the alpha adored, it was to look down on his prey, being begged to use them as he pleased. You were the perfect plaything for him. “So pretty.” He cooed, a small smile curling up on his upper lip to expose his pointy teeth. He gave his cock a few lazy strokes, his other hand gently combing through your hair before he abruptly curls his fingers to tug at it. He drew you in closer to his red, dripping length as he kept stroking it, eyes not even blinking once as he stared down at you. “Can’t wait to pump you full of my cum… Fuck, such a slut for my cock already.” His words grew filthier the more aroused he became. His patience ran low, so he guided the tip of his drooling cock to your lips, tugging your hair to draw you even closer to take his length down your throat. “Only good girls can take it all. You’re a good girl, aren’t you? Come on…”

The intensity of the alphas gaze made you shiver on the sodden ground and you could tell your cunt was dripping, likely even dripping down onto the very same floor. The bite of pain in your hair stung as he gripped you, but it sizzled and burned until it added to the overall sensation and made your nipples harden in delight. You breathed in deep, steeling yourself as his length came closer. His salacious words made you tremble and ooze with excitement. You wanted nothing more than to be a vessel, a hole for him to wrench pleasure from. His length was warm and dripping with precum. It felt so thick and heavy on your tongue as he continued to push it in. You audibly moaned as you felt it push past your uvula. He was so thick and tasted like salt and sweetness. You let your lips close and wrap around him as you took him to the hilt. You flicked your eyes up to him, shining with tears of strain from the thickness choking your throat. You wanted to prove how good you were, how well you could take him.

After a moment of holding his length as deep as it could go, you pulled back slightly to begin a bobbing motion as you sucked greedily on his cock. Saliva pooled around your lips as you drew him in and out, and the sounds you made sucking could be heard over the thumping of the bar music. You wanted to prove yourself to the alpha, show him you could be more than just a one time type of girl. You wanted him to claim you forever.

“Oh, fuck yes…” Jimin’s pillowy lips parted in initial surprise, but quickly he bit back his low groan as it rumbled in his chest. He knew you were needy, but he didn’t expect you to be so greedy to suck him off. And being so good at it on top of being eager to please– it was oddly new. Normally, every past experience of his was not like this, but more like him doing every piece of the work for a ragdoll, so watching you work his cock so willingly, attentive to his own reactions and pleasure in a different way…. It hit something in him that only riled him up further than anybody had ever done previously.

“Deeper. Gag on it, make it messy.” His chest heaved up and down heavily, deep huffs through his nose displaying just how good he feels in between the low moans, no shame in showcasing how good it feels. He presses his back against the wall, craning his neck to get a good look of the way your lips stretched around his thick shaft. “I can hear your cunt dripping… Can scent it, god, it smells divine. Your insides must be aching for me.” He murmurs as he drives his hips forward a bit rougher to meet your movements, eager to feel your throat constrict around him when he hits too far down your throat. “Coat your fingers in your juices, little lamb. Show me.”

The praise made you preen, and even more desperate to prove your worth to the man. His cock was so big inside your mouth it was hard to keep yourself from gagging, but you worked against it and continued to suck and slurp down his length. You obeyed every order, and slicked him up until your mouth was squelching with saliva around him and it dripped from your face like a tap. You whined around his length as you obeyed, keeping up a pace as you buried a hand down to your exposed core. You nearly gasped at the feeling. You were absolutely soaked and dripping with anticipation. Your fingers swirled in the wetness and coated you easily. You desperately wanted to touch your clit and play with yourself to bring you to your own end but you knew now it was better to wait for his instruction.

While maintaining your eager pace and swirling tongue, you lifted your dripping fingers from your cunt and presented them to the man above you, eyes still trained on his own in utter submission.

Jimin’s eyes quivered at the sight, pupils shrinking as he zeroes in on the glossy sheen on your fingers. His cock twitched in your mouth once, twice before he decided that he’d been patient enough… He could not wait any longer to claim you as his own. He pushed his palm against your forehead until his length was ripped from your throat, drool and precum dribbling down your chin. A long string of the juices seeped down his cock, another piece of it connected to your lips. It was an absolute mess, just the way he liked it.

“Up.” He growled, but before you were even able to obey his orders on your own, he pulled you up by your wrist, bringing the very coated fingers of yours into his mouth. All while maintaining eye contact, his swollen, pink lips eagerly sucked your arousal clean from your digits, swirling his skillful, rough tongue. Around, in between… He refused to let a single drop go to waste. “Mm..” he hummed when he let go of your fingers with a pop of his lips, the small smirk in the corners of his mouth widening. A light thudding sound caught your attention from behind him, his fluffy, white tail wagging in excitement, hitting the wall with every whip. “It’s a bit hot… Take my jacket off.” He suddenly asks, but his sweet tone was deceptive with the underlying command luring in his predatory gaze. He turns around, lowering his shoulders to allow you to easily slide the leather off, his tail playfully brushing against your thighs.

You nearly whined as Jimin forced you away from his cock—not wanting to remove yourself from the thick length that fit so perfectly in your drooling mouth. But the whine is cut short by his demand to stand and as he sucks your fingers into his mouth you nearly forget everything else around you. “A-ah, fuck,” you breathed—pupils dilating at the sight of the gorgeous man sucking your juices off your delicate fingers. Your cunt pulsated around nothing, so desperate for his thick cock now that the arousal has dripped down the insides of your thighs. “Yes sir,” you whispered as your fingers found the edges of his jacket and pulled it off his body. His tail makes your eyes widen as the soft fur brushes against your legs. You’ve never been with a hybrid before, never been with an alpha hybrid at that, and you’re eager to learn just how he differs in other ways. You couldn’t help but marvel at the muscles on the lithe man. He’s thin, but built and you found you’re desperate to lick up the defined lines of his abs. “You’re so p-pretty,” you whispered without knowing it escaped you, marveling at the gorgeous man.

Jimin’s tail trembled with more excitement at the praise, oddly enough. He’s been called many things. Sexy, scary, hot, alluring… Pretty? He liked it.

“Yeah?” he breathes out a small chuckle through his nose, pressing his lips together in thought. He shook his head to get rid of his mind wandering too far, instead back to indulging in the moment– focused on the aching throb between his legs. Jimin pulls his shirt over his head to expose his full torso, the tattoo on his ribs on clear display along with the faded, scattered scars adorning his skin in the form of striped, claw like patterns. Now with his body freed from the cage that is fabrics, he didn’t waste another second to grab you by the hips, turn you around to face away from him, and immediately push you forward to force you to use the sink as leverage. The large, dirty mirror on the wall stared back at you, clear enough for you to see the two of you in this sinful moment.

“You’re pretty too. A pretty slut, about to get her pretty little cunt stretched so bad you’ll be ruined for any other male.” Jimin’s canine adorned smile grew as he stared you down through the reflection in the mirror, grasp on your hips moving to the flesh of your ass. His foot kicks your feet apart, forcing you to stand wider and spread for him. A quick glance down and he already sees just how wet and dripping your cunt was. He pushed the head of his cock against your slit, coating it with your juices before gently rocking forward, not going inside, instead just rubbing between your swollen lips.

“So pretty,” you murmured as your eyes washed over him. Your mouth ran dry as he pulled his shirt off and exposed himself to the hard light of the bathroom. He looked like sin incarnate and your body ached to touch. Your fingertips lightly trailed the skin of his abs, grazing over the tattoo with the faintest touch. The cold sink countertop felt like ice against your chest, still heaving with need as the man prepped your body for his entrance. “Please ruin me, alpha,” you begged, peering into his own gaze through the reflection of the mirror. Your knees and legs trembled as he teased his cock against your desperate slit. “Mark me as yours, please. I only want you.” His cock felt so thick even at the entrance, prodding and poking through your sodden folds. A moan wrenched through your lips as it pushed against your clit and slicked with your own arousal.

“Fuck me, please!” The teasing was near torture and you were desperate, pushing your hips back lightly to encourage the man to slip in and ruin you completely.

With lips closed, he smiled, eyebrows raising your desperation. It was almost mocking, yet pleased with just how desperate you were for him. Your initial fear seemed replaced with utter submission and desire to be his. “We’ve only been in here for minutes and you’re already pathetically wet.” As he spoke, his hips snapped forward to grant your one and only wish, filling your soppy hole with his fleshy, rigid cock. He had no desire to ease you into the stretch from his generous girth, immediately pulling back until merely the tip was engulfed by your cunt before drilling back into you with another squelching thrust. “Tight… no other cock must have ever stretched you this well, huh? Fuck..” He bites down his abused lower lip, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he had to gather himself. The scent you emitted was incredibly strong, intoxicating to his mind. It was like a high he’s never experienced before, and he knew he was already a lost cause to the addiction that is you.

The feeling of the alpha’s cock filling you completely was unparalleled. You’d never felt something within you so deep, never been stretched so far past your breaking point—and unable to care about the tearing pain. The pleasure outweighed the sizzling burn of pain. He was merciless and your whimpering moans echoed around the damp bathroom. “I—ohhhh fuck,” you gasped as he pushed into you yet again, spearing you nearly in half. It was as if you could feel him deep in your stomach, and you never wanted him to leave your soaked cunt. He was claiming his territory with each torturous thrust inside you that made your throat burn for more. “Only you,” you whimpered as his thrusts became merciless and powerful. “All y-yours now. Oh, god, so good,” you praised. You learned the beautiful man thrived on praise as much as you did on the dominant commands. Your hips moved in time with his powerful purses and the sound of skin slapping on skin filled the small room. “Oh my god, sir,” you cried as fat tears of pleasure rolled down your cheeks. “You make me feel so good. I only want your c-cock inside me forever.” You knew now you would be hopelessly tied to the man, and you desperately ached for him to claim you as his own. “P-please, mark me as yours, alpha.”

The low, vibrating growl that rumbled throughout Jimin’s body would have anybody’s fight or flight instincts kicking in– the latter the most logical response from anyone within their right mind. His powerful thrusts were beyond that of what a human was capable of, the skin on your ass bruising with every loud, harsh collision of your bodies. “Only me?” he snarled through a wolfish grin, lips parting in a moan when your cunt clenched around his length. His sharp, claw like nails drew blood as they dug deep into the fleshy part of your waistline, moving your body like a ragdoll to meet his thrusts, your own attempts at doing so barely noticeable. “You want to be my little cockwhore?” Jimin leaned forward, hovering above you as he pressed his chest against your back, the grip on your waist moving to wrap around your torso with one arm, the other clawing at your jaw, forcing you to stare into the reflection in front of you. He keeps you tightly in place, feeling the way your body jiggles and jolts while he fucked into you with insatiable greed. “The alpha’s bitch?” His fiery eyes meet yours through the reflection, his toothy smile growing. He inches closer to drag his flattened tongue up your cheek, a coating of messy saliva dripping down your sweaty skin. Claiming you in every sense of the word.

The man claimed you roughly, making your throat rip with a desperate and wanton moan. His cock was pushing into your cunt deeper than anyone’s ever gone before, harder and with purpose. It was as if the man wanted to fuse your bodies together, become one. You certainly wanted it. His hands on your skin felt hot, feverish. You wanted him to touch you everywhere, at any time he could. You were hopeless addicted now. “Please,” you cried as the tears of pleasure poured from your face. “Claim this cunt as yours. I’m only yours!” You could feel your bliss piquing, building up to the impossible precipice. You whined as you watched your reflection. Your makeup smeared down your face with your sweat and tears. His fingers held your jaw tightly and your cunt pulsed around his heavy cock at the sight. You could see his heavy and thick length spearing into you and retracting smeared in your juices. Something inside you tells you it’s what you want to see for the rest of your life—only his cock ruining you and coaxing torrential orgasms out of you. “Yes! Breed me like the bitch in heat I am!” You cried out loud, no longer caring about your volume. Everyone in the bar could hear your desperate screams for the alpha and it only made you wetter, more aching for the man. “Fill me up with your seed, alpha! I need it, please! Cum inside me!”

The perked wolf ears adorning Jimin’s head flickered with his excitement, pointed forward to make sure he soaks up every little sound you make for him. You were so loud, shamelessly letting every hybrid in the building know just how good the alpha makes you feel. ‘Breed me.’ The words stuck to him, replaying in his mind whilst stuffing you with his cock over and over, the mix of your arousal and his precum dripping down into a puddle at the filthy bathroom floor. He wrapped his arms around your torso, holding you close as his thrusts changed pace. Still filled with greed and force, but no longer pulling back as much, instead keeping his cock lodged deep inside of you whilst prodding as deep inside of you as he possibly can. Jimin’s cock was on the verge of bursting inside of you, and instinctively he possessively sunk his teeth into the tender skin of your shoulder, shutting his eyes harshly. But just as quickly, his eyes opened back up, staring with wide eyes into the mirror when something he did not expect happened. He knew this was it, there was no going back. With one last, harsh thrust, he stilled his movements abruptly, heavy breathing down your neck as he kept you tightly in place– in case you would panic. “Gonna fill you up with my cum.. Put my little pups inside of you- fuck…” He growled into your skin, gnashing his teeth together. His cock grew inside of you, and he was physically unable to remove himself.

Whether it was intentional or not.. His body had chosen to breed you– to mate with you. “Mine.” He whined, and with that, his cock began to desperately pulsate inside of you as he disposed of his warm cum in heavy, pattern-like gushes. Like a volcano erupting, it didn’t stop, but he kept cumming, holding his hands on your stomach as he felt it start to lightly bulge from the amounts he was able to offer. “Gah…. shit… Look at you.” He could barely hold his voice stable, legs quivering, body twitching with every throb of his rigid length, still snugly wrapped by your cum-stuffed flesh.

Nothing in the world, in your life, has ever felt better than the way the alpha felt as he fucked into you. You barely knew the man, and yet you wanted nothing more than to give yourself over to him for as long as he wanted. You found yourself wanting to surrender your life to him. You felt safe in the security of his arms. As if you were always meant to find him, to be here with him. It didn’t matter that he had you in a damp bathroom, you would have him anyway and place. Your orgasm quickly approached, winding up and throttling you over the edge as your cunt convulsed around him. Your channels tightened and milked him, and you sobbed at the wave of pleasure creating over you.

“Yours,” you whined as your bodies stilled. His cock enlarged inside you, making your eyes widen and whimper as your hands clutched at his arms wrapped around you. You needed to touch him, stabilize yourself as your core widens to accept him and your tummy bulges from the amount of cum he pulses into you. It’s hot, and warm and you can feel it coating your walls thick. Your breathing was rapid, coming down from your high and the minor fright from having his cock widen and remain locked within you as he came.

“So big,” you whispered as a tear rolled down your cheek. “H-hurts… But I can take it. I’ll take it for you.” Your head lolls back and rests on his shoulder, allowing your body to relax around the feeling of his swollen knot. “Anything for you,” you murmured, as if you were in a daze. Your hands held on to his slender arms for support and reassurance, hoping desperately you pleased the alpha enough to keep you forever. “D-did I do okay?” You asked once, quiet as a mouse. Your confidence was quickly diminishing now that your orgasm subsided and your anxieties returned.

Jimin takes a long moment to catch his breath and collect himself, still holding you in his arms as if he never wanted to let you go in the first place. And truthfully, he doesn’t want to. Doesn’t have to…

“You did so well, little lamb.” He purrs as he places a, surprisingly, gentle kiss with his pillowy lips against your clammy temple. His hands roam down to smooth his palms over the swell of your stomach, reassuring you that this indeed did please him to the max.

After another few minutes, his length finally went back to its original size, immediately feeling his cum seep out your hole. He pulls out, and the flood of his cum splattered against the floor. But it didn’t seem to faze him at all, instead his attention was set on you, feeling your stomach deflate with each passing second. He turned you around to face him, brushing the damp strand of hair away from your eyes as his features seemed to display nothing but gentle affection, his eyes almost disappearing into thin slits as he smiled. His tail wagged happily, and he decided to bring you in for a chaste kiss on the lips.

“My mate.” he breathes out as if it was a relief to finally have you. And it was, he’d been looking for somebody that would be his true mate for life, but believed he would simply be a lone wolf for eternity. But then you came along, as if destiny had thrown you (or rather, your friend threw you) into this place at this time, like a piece of meat for the alpha to claim.

#fic: the alpha #jimin smut #hybrid jimin #hybrid jimin smut #jimin x reader #jimin x female reader #jimin x you #jimin x yn #jimin x y/n #park jimin smut #bts smut #bts hybrid smut #sombreboy #ppersonna #hybridbtsnetwork

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years ago

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Promp idea: Jaskier finds a new born Griffin and Griffin thinks Jaskier is the mom. It starts to follow him. Like how hard it can be being a mother of a cute but deadly baby.

hello my dear <3 Ahh I am so so sorry it took me forever to get to this prompt! But better late than never, right? *laughs nervously*

word count: 1877

warnings: none

pairing: Geraskier, pre-relationship

AO3

---

Geralt spent more time than necessary brushing down Roach. If anyone had asked for the reason, he would have told a lie, or more likely just grunted noncommittally. Anything but tell the truth, which was that facing Roach allowed him to smile like an idiot without Jaskier seeing it. If the bard were to see that his ramblings made Geralt drop his mask of gruffness, Geralt would never hear the end of it.

“- really is heart-warming how much you care about Roach,” Jaskier said from where he said on the forest floor, something he would never have done when they had first met – or at least, he wouldn’t have done so without complaining about getting dirt on his breeches. “There’s nothing more charming than a man who takes care of animals, wouldn’t you agree?”

Geralt’s hand accidentally brushed against the braids Jaskier had plaited into Roach’s mane, while Geralt had been away on a hunt this morning. He faltered, but then he gripped the brush tighter, doing his best to pretend he hadn’t reacted to Jaskier’s words at all, when really, he couldn’t help but think that Jaskier was right.

Each winter, when Eskel brought Lil’ Bleater inside the keep to make sure she wouldn’t be cold, Geralt would feel a new wave of affection for his brother. When he saw a pompous lord drop all decorum and posture to bend down to pet a cat, Geralt would feel an unreasonable sort of respect for the otherwise stuffy and unlikable noble.

And when Jaskier snuck Roach treats when he thought Geralt wasn’t looking, he – well. He was glad that his travel companion was someone who got along with Roach. Her liking him was the main reason why Geralt had let Jaskier travel with them. He couldn’t break Roach’s heart by making her leave one of the few friends she made on the Path. Empathy for Roach - that was all he felt as he thought of her and Jaskier together. Definitely.

“Say, Geralt, how would you feel about getting another pet? Hypothetically speaking.”

Geralt huffed, his lips twitching up.

“I have already enough work feeding and cleaning up after you, songbird.”

“Excuse me?” Geralt didn’t need to see Jaskier’s face to know his mouth was opened with indignation. “Well – I have enough work washing and brushing your hair. Between the two of us, you’re the one who gets muck everywhere, wolf.” There was a brief pause. “But…that means you wouldn’t want another pet?”

Geralt’s shoulders sagged as he sighed and finally gave up on his pretence of brushing Roach. He turned, carelessly tossing the brush to the bags sitting on the ground next to Jaskier.

“Careful!” Jaskier squealed.

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Calm down. I didn’t hit you, did I?”

“Well, no, but –“ A strange noise coming from bags made Jaskier stiffen, his eyes widening, before his smile turned painfully artificial. “As I was saying, it is very rude of you to just throw-“

“Quiet,” Geralt hissed, his eyes not leaving the bags.

Jaskier shifted his weight on the ground and it was obvious he was avoiding looking at the bags. “Now really, I know you just love complaining about my voice, but –“

“Jaskier.”

Geralt’s tone made Jaskier’s mouth snap shut.

For a moment, there was utter silence. Then the strange noise returned and the bags began to move.

With slow and silent steps, Geralt crept closer, praying that Jaskier wouldn’t panic and make any sudden movements that would startle whatever was lurking in their bags and make it attack the helpless bard.

With one hand, Geralt unsheathed his silver sword. The other hand he held up in a signal for Jaskier to remain calm.

Jaskier, of course took that as a sign to do the exact opposite. The spiking of his pulse and the sudden scent of nervousness hitting Geralt’s nose were the only warning Geralt got, before Jaskier jumped up. But the bard didn’t run away from the danger into the thicket or to hide behind Geralt. No. He stood in front of the bags, holding up his own hands defensively.

“Geralt, listen. I –“

“Get away from the bags,” Geralt growled, a sudden spike of fear piercing his chest at having Jaskier so close to that unknown thing.

Jaskier only shook his head, a look of determination crossing his face.

“No. This is what I wanted to talk to you about. I…uh… might have acquired a pet? While you were off fighting…that ugly thing with the deadly teeth that I wasn’t allowed to get close to.”

Geralt halted, blinking.

“A pet?” he replied incredulously, lowering his sword.

Jaskier swallowed thickly, his eyes darting to the side, revealing that he was about to lie, even before he opened his mouth.

“Yeah. It’s a cat.”

“A cat.” Geralt repeated deadpan.

Whatever Jaskier saw on his face, he must take it as Geralt believing him, for his own expression flooded with relief. “Yes! A cat.”

“And you kept it hidden from me because…?”

“Because cats don’t like witchers! Or witchers don’t like cats. I’m still not sure about that. But anyway, I thought that maybe, if I got Daisy used to your smell first and talked to you–“

Daisy chose that moment to tumble out of the pile of bags, knocking her small head against Jaskier’s shins in the process.

Geralt and Jaskier both stared dumbly down at her. For once, Geralt was the one who found his voice first.

“A cat, huh?”

“Yes?” A furious blush rose in Jaskier’s cheeks. “In my defence, when I found her I did actually think she was a cat.”

Geralt rubbed a hand over his face, while the griffin-baby that could in no way be mistaken for a cat, began climbing Jaskier’s leg until Jaskier took mercy on her and lifted her up in his arms. He groaned with the effort. The griffin was nearly big enough to obscure the sight of Jaskier’s face. Jaskier’s nose scrunched up adorably – no, there was nothing adorable about an idiot who was snuggling a griffin-baby! – when the griffin’s fur tickled his nose.

“What the fuck made you think that was a cat? Was it the beak?” Geralt lifted a brow, shooting a pointed look at the wiggling beast. “Or maybe the wings?”

Jaskier gave him a decidedly unimpressed look. “It was dark in that cave you left me in! Not all of us have witcher-eyes. And she was alone and happy to keep me company while you were gone on your hunt.”

“Yes,” Geralt said slowly, so that Jaskier couldn’t possibly miss the ‘I-think-you’re-an-idiot’-tone of his voice. “I go on hunts. Where I kill monsters like her.”

Jaskier squawked in outrage, pressing the griffin protectively against his chest. The griffin made a noise not dissimilar to the one Jaskier had just made, but after the shock of being nearly squashed receded, the griffin snuggled contently against Jaskier, chewing happily on the fabric of his doublet.

“She is not a monster! Daisy is a baby and an adorable little darling that would never do anything wrong ever!”

The sound of fabric tearing and a triumphant griffin-shriek disproved Jaskier’s words instantly.

Geralt groaned. He did that far more often since he had started travelling with Jaskier. Life had been so much easier when it had been just him and Roach. No bard who had made it his life’s mission to get in as much easily avoidable trouble as possible.

Life had also been much more boring and lonely without Jaskier. Still.

“She won’t stay a baby forever. Give it two months and she will do more than just tear holes into your clothes.”

Jaskier’s face lit up. “So I can keep her for another two months?”

“I – that’s not – “

“Besides, did you just imply that Daisy tearing holes into my clothes isn’t a bad thing?”

Geralt didn’t dignify that with a response, which Jaskier apparently took as a victory on his side, for he came closer to Geralt, holding Daisy out to him.

“Look at her, Geralt. Look into these eyes and tell me, she isn’t the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.”

Geralt didn’t need to look at her to know that that was objectively untrue. It couldn’t be true, not while Jaskier was standing right in front of him. Still, he indulged Jaskier and reluctantly stared into the little monster’s eyes, glaring at her in the most intimidating way he could. His own eyes reflected back to him from the dark griffin eyes.

An excited noise that almost sounded like purring left the griffin and with her beak, she snapped at Geralt’s hair that had fallen into his face when he had bent down to look at her.

“She likes you!” Jaskier cooed, while Geralt quickly straightened his back and put some distance between his hair and the beak and claws of the griffin. Still, she tried to snatch the strands, not unlike a cat would. Alright, so maybe Jaskier had had a point with that comparison.

That didn’t change the fact that the bard was holding a damn griffin in his arms.

“She’s already practicing hunting,” Geralt said.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “She’s only playing. Tiny adorable griffins are allowed to play, aren’t they?”

“She won’t stay tiny! Don’t you listen to anything I told you about monsters?”

“Of course I do.” Jaskier lifted his chin in a challenge. “Which is why I know for a fact that we have to keep Daisy.” The narrowing of Jaskier’s eyes stood in stark contrast to the gentleness with which he stroked the griffin’s feathers and fur. “Griffins are reliant on their parents’ care until they learn how to fly. And!” Jaskier added, before Geralt could so much as open his mouth to protest, “You can’t leave me to take care of her on my own, because I also know that griffins mate for life and a griffin baby needs both parents to survive.”

A triumphant grin spread across Jaskier’s lips.

Geralt’s brows drew together. “I am not letting you rope me into becoming that griffin’s parent.”

Jaskier huffed. “Oh please, don’t be silly. Of course you’re not her second parent.”

Small mercies. Geralt was already about to release a sigh of relief, when Jaskier added, “That position’s already filled. Her other parent is Roach.”

And Roach, the traitor, took that as her cue to trod over to them and nose at the little creature in Jaskier’s arms that returned the mare’s greeting.

Geralt stared incredulously at the bard and Jaskier…Jaskier’s eyes softened as he watched that display. His fingers buried into the soft fur of the griffin and he pressed his cheek against the griffin’s head, nuzzling into her. He looked…happy.

Something twisted inside Geralt’s chest. He looked at Roach – a last hope of getting the moral support he needed to keep him from making a very very stupid decision.

But Roach payed him no attention. She huffed some warm breath into the griffin’s face, before nibbling on Jaskier’s already ruined doublet affectionately.

Just like that, Geralt’s fate was sealed. After all, Roach seemed to like Daisy and he couldn’t break her heart.

And…well, Jaskier had been right. There were few things more attractive than a man who liked animals.

#thank you for the prompt!#again sorry for the delay #prompt #my writing #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #roach #witcher #the witcher #fic #fanfic

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orange-plum · 3 years ago

Text

So I was commissioned by @andrastesassets to write about the scene in “Satan and Me” where Satan gives his wings away for Natalie, but from his POV. This was kinda a big turning point as a wake-up call in the series for him, as you’re probably aware if you’ve read past that point and seen him be more open with his feelings and such. Anyway, it was a fun little thing to explore (yes, this is canon thoughts of his). I never expected to be commissioned to explore deeper into a canon of my stories that hasn’t been put into words before with the images alone of the updates, but I’m def open to that in the future!

Without further ado, here you go.

The looming presence behind him paled in comparison to the disorienting lurch his stomach gave as he kneeled on the unwelcoming cement floor. Keeping his gaze down, concentrating on the little tremors of his arms holding him upright, Satan struggled to properly see through the fog of stress clouding his mind. Clouding his judgement.

Fuck, this wasn’t the right thing to do, was it? Was he being too hasty? Should he spring up and sprint out the door before he followed through with something he couldn’t come back from? This was definitely one of his more impulsive and reckless decisions he’d ever committed to. Nothing could truly be worth this kind of –

Satan’s hand twitched, starting to rise as nerves got the best of him, when a blur of orange and maroon hovered on the edge of his peripheral. For a brief moment, he found himself vaguely wondering what the smudge of color was in the expanse of drab brown walls and muted trim.

Reality came crashing against him like an unforgiving tide for what seemed like the tenth time this morning. Sweat gathered at the base of his neck and he swallowed.

Satan returned his palm flat against the cement, locking his joints and muscles into place so that he would not stand up. His stomach did another discombobulated lurch.

Right. This was for Natalie. Natalie, who had no right looking so gray, Father, she was like a corpse.

She is a corpse! His mind howled the confirmation at him, leaving his breaths shallow in his welling panic.

Yes, that was true. It had been true for hours now, yet, somehow, the complete depth of what that really entailed eluded him in his denial. How could she be dead when she had talked to him only moments ago? Human’s lives had always felt fleeting, but had any ever felt quite this temporary before?

Less than a year they had been together . . . How had she burrowed this deeply under his skin? When? Satan tried to conjure a memory to pinpoint the exact moment Natalie had become a constant in his life as he bore his back to Death and Pestilence. In the end, it was fruitless. Between his ears remained endless static.

The tension in the air was suffocating. His arms trembled, but he kept his jaw clenched.

He would give them no further satisfaction when taking the last bit of value he still possessed of his former self. They would not see him fall apart at their feet. That could come later, when left in the privacy of this cold, dreary room, where he could lick his wounds and recover in peace.

He was still Lucifer, the Morning Star and omen of destruction to all who opposed him, wings or not.

But, fuck . . . Father, he would prefer to keep his wings.

Somehow, boneless and lightheaded from the trauma of the morning, Satan noticed, with a small sense of intrigue, that his back actually felt heavier now that it was empty. How was that possible?

The long gashes where the trunks had been swiftly carved open spewed boiling trails of lava down his skin, soaking into the hem of his robe and pooling Great Lakes onto the floor. Energy had left in his limbs the moment the numbing kiss of Death’s blade breached his muscles.

On wobbling legs, Satan rose in his shock and joined Natalie at her side. He carefully reached toward her, gliding the tips of his fingers against her ashen cheek, almost afraid to touch, because she looked exactly the same. What the hell? She looked no different than when she had been splayed out like a weathered ragdoll amongst her bedsheets at sunrise, goddamnit.

Before he could garner enough strength to turn on his company and spew venom and vitriol from his lips, Satan froze. Warmth wafted over his fingers under her nose as he lowered his hand. Closer inspection revealed the gentle rise and fall of her chest. The nauseating cramping in his stomach abated so suddenly, he almost keeled over right then and there.

“Give it a few minutes,” Death commented over his shoulder, as if reading his mind. There was no longer a smile in his voice, his face a neutral mask as Satan glanced at him with gritted teeth, the sight of his former pride being folded up and collected like loose laundry too much to bear. “It takes a little while for a soul to acclimate into their body after death. I assure you, her color and liveliness will rekindle when she wakes up.”

Through the haze, Satan vaguely realized he must’ve been making some type of suspicious face when Death suddenly snorted and shook his head, his eyes gleaming. “For all we’ve been acquainted, Lucifer, you should know I’m not one to break my word. Give my regards to little Natalie when she rejoins the land of the living, won’t you. As always, it’s been a pleasure. I look forward to seeing you and your brother again when the time comes for your big day.”

With the room empty, peppered only with the soft sounds of Natalie’s breaths and the distant echoes of Death’s laughter down the desolate hallway, the elephant in the room was no longer avoidable. Satan slumped against a wall, transfixed by the rise and fall of the chest beside him. Even more so as the rosiness began to fill Natalie’s cheeks the longer she breathed life into her form.

His previous adrenaline had left him a hollow puppet, now that there was no longer the turbulent cocktail of anxiety and doubt weighing on his shoulders. Satan allowed himself to drift to the floor, lying beside the only person he had ever met who had compelled him to do something so utterly foolish. Jesus, her daredevil stunts to ground him at his lowest points seemed to have rubbed off on him, and likely not for the better.

Satan’s wounds throbbed at the edges, a constant reminder of the magnitude of what he had just done.

Don’t think about it, his mind lethargically reminded. What’s done is done, so don’t start regretting it now.

“Prophecy child, huh . . . ” Satan muttered, his arm leveraged under his head like a makeshift pillow. The light cascading through the windows almost seemed to light up Natalie’s hair in its luminescence. Amongst the carnage splattered around them from his sacrifice, she was ethereal and without blemish.

He had found out about the Child of Prophecy by chance, becoming enraged at the notion of being kept in the dark so late in the game. Natalie’s existence had changed from an everyday annoyance to one of unbearable burden.

She had the power to sway him? To sway his empire and everything he worked for? A being like that, who would steal his autonomy or cast him spellbound, was too dangerous to fraternize with. There was just too much on the line to risk throwing away for some goofy, loud-mouthed human without an ounce of self-preservation.

And so Satan had done the only logical thing he could think of at the time: He ran away, leaving her with that pitiful, crumpled face as he rejected her in that inconsequential Oregon town. The less time he spent with her, the better off he’d be.

Only . . . That had not played out as he’d hoped. Watching Natalie disappear over the side of a bridge had been like a bolt of electricity coursing through his body. That she would see him as the monster that he was, a grotesque monstrosity that even Michael had recoiled from, and attempt to help him, regardless? Well . . . Perhaps there was more to Natalie McAllister than he had originally considered. He’d cradled her close and winced while he repaid her kindness by accidentally boiling her alive.

Oregon was a wake-up call.

Natalie had piqued his curiosity, her smiling reassurance that she didn’t befriend monsters jumpstarting the heart in his chest that he had presumed stopped functioning centuries ago. Not only that, but he had no way of knowing he would soon find out that running toward the very man attacking her and her cowardly little friend, despite the blatant terror in her eyes, was only the tip of the iceberg.

“Oh,” Satan muttered, something foreign flooding into his chest, emotion catching in his throat as he stared at Natalie’s slumbering form.

Silencing Hell for him at the cost of her soul . . .

Calling him her guardian angel. Crying, not for fear of Hell, but for fear of being separated from his company . . .

As much as he wanted to deny it, the fondness in Natalie’s eyes as she smiled at him was undoubtedly genuine. She really did seem to look at him like he hung the stars above her head.

“I love you, Lucifer. I’m glad I got to meet someone like you.”

Satan trembled, unable to properly sort through the sensations overflowing from his chest as Natalie’s eyelashes began to flutter. Champagne bubbles tickled his stomach, and though not required to breathe to live, he felt so remarkably breathless at once.

So that’s what this is, Satan distantly thought, watching pale eyelashes finally parting to reveal a cognizant gaze, blinking against the trickle of sunlight warming her cheeks. When meeting Natalie’s eyes, he couldn’t keep the smile of relief from his face.

Satan understood that he had never experienced this before, but he somehow knew what to latch onto in his jumbled mind with unquestionable conviction.

I love her.

#satan and me #writing #its not technically but im going to tag it #fanfiction #writing commission #commission #andrastesassets

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leafs-lover · 3 years ago

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If he's lucky I'll let him join

Part 8: Everything's changed

Series Masterlist

A/N: The ending is finally here, don’t hate me too much!

Warnings: Swearing, angst (I think that’s it)

Word Count: 2000

“I uh-“ you bring a hand up to wipe away a stray tear. “I gotta go,” you whisper. Pulling away you practically run to the door.

“He doesn’t want you,” he calls out as you reach the door. Letting go of the handle you turn around, Auston still in the middle of the living room, the exact spot you left him. “You’re going to see him? Fred?” he queries, sensing your next move. Your face contorts and you take a deep breath preparing for his next words.

“I know him, he’s not interested like that, not anymore,” Auston says lightly.

Anymore.

That word stings. When did Fred stop losing interest? Was it when you had the first threesome, or the second? When did he stop wanting you, and how didn’t you notice?

“You’re wrong,” you say yanking the door open and heading down the hall. He is wrong, it has to be. Needs to be.

“Hey,” Fred says opening the door. The smile on his face falls when he sees the devastation written all over yours. “What’s wrong?” he asks, knowing you are more upset than a few hours ago.

He attempts to pull you into his chest but you throw his arms down, stepping around him into his apartment. “Y/N, what happened?” he asks concerned. The large metal door slams shut, the sound echoes through you, the hairs on the nap of your neck standing upright.

“Do you like me?” you ask bluntly.

“Of course I do y/n,” he laughs in disbelief. “I wouldn’t hang out with you if I didn’t.”

“No, but do you like me?” you repeat. “Do you see a future for us? Or am I just an easy lay?”

“You’re not just an easy lay,” he says somewhat disheartened. “You’re a great girl, I love spending time with you.”

That’s not the answer you wanted to hear. That is the answer you have given men before, men have given to you. Normally it’s followed up by some cliché bullshit, “it’s not you it’s me,” or, “I think we’re better off as friends.” It’s the kind of statement used to soften the blow, though it never does.

Sensing there is more you probe him, “but?”

“I just don’t see this being more than what it is,” he shifts awkwardly on his feet, running his hand through his long red hair. With hairdressers and barbershops closed and playoffs approaching, Fred along with a few other players have been growing their hair out. It’s now about an inch and half longer than you have ever seen it before. “I don’t see it…not anymore.”

There it is, that word again. The word that implies you had a future, a potential, but it has been ripped from you. Worse part is you didn’t even know it happened.

“When?” you demand, fighting back your tears. You hear his door gently open, Fred’s eyes snapping up to meet the sound before falling back to you.

“Let’s sit y/n,” he offers. Reaching out for your hand you shake him off.

“No, just answer my question," you plead.

"Y/N," he sighs, eyes flickering over your face.

"When?" You're tone is getting louder, your frustration with the situation, and his inability to explain his feelings, bubbling up. "When did you stop seeing something with me?”

“When you two fucked,” he blurts out, his eyes shifting between you and Auston. “Finding out you two were spending time together, together, just the two of you. I just…I can’t get past it.”

“But it –“

“No, you can’t say it was just sex, or nothing serious y/n, you can’t,” he sighs. Taking a few seconds to compose himself, he continues, “I saw how you both looked at each other at parties last year. I noticed how his breath would catch in his throat when you’d walk in, or how your eyes lingered a little too long on him. It sucked,” he says. His eyes drop to the floor momentarily as if looking at you suddenly hurts, but he finally musters up the courage to meet your gaze once more. Straight faced, Fred’s eyes bore into you with a fear— a vulnerability you’ve never seen before.

“But coming back this season I didn’t really have expectations on us. We hadn’t seen each other much since last March really, we talked a bit but that was it. I didn’t know if we’d kind of pick up where we left off or if it would just be sex. And in the beginning it was just sex, that’s why it didn’t matter when he’d be there too,” he eyes to Auston who is leaning against the door, silently watching the exchange.

“At some point it changed for me and I started to get the idea it did for you too,” his eyes are full of sorrow as they stare at you. “So I ignored the lingering glances when we’d watch movies, or how when we’d make dinner he’d pull you aside for a kiss. I thought it was just a part of the threesomes, and that when he left it was us. Just you and me,” his voice breaks while he fights through the pain.

“I thought you’re mind was solely with me and none of that mattered. Maybe I was in denial, or too blind to see it…But once I found out you two were fucking, that’s when I knew it wasn’t in my head. Some part of you was with him, even if you couldn’t admit it. And honestly if it was anyone else I probably wouldn’t care, but knowing it’s someone you look at that way, I just….no y/n I don’t see a relationship with you, not anymore.”

“I…I’m sorry,” you whine. Frustrated tears trickle down your cheeks as you pull the edge of your hood over your head, wanting to hide your weakness from the room as if somehow it’s judging you.

You have spent the past couple weeks trying to process your feelings for both men, trying to separate them. It’s not an easy task given how you spend so much time with both of them. Internally you have gone back and forth between the two, and you thought it would become glaringly obvious which way you were leaning. Which man your heart was leaning towards.

Hearing Fred, hearing how he doesn’t want you, you realize just how much you want him. How much it is him you want to be with. You realized you never wanted someone as much as you ache for Fred, and it tears you open from the inside out knowing he doesn’t feel the same in return.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he steps forward wrapping his arms around you. “You were allowed to sleep with anybody you wanted, we never talked about it, and we probably should have. Or once I started to feel differently I definitely should have, but you don’t have to apologize, you did nothing wrong.”

That burns. How could you have done nothing wrong, yet you are losing him? If you did nothing wrong he should be yours. Things don’t end if everything goes well.

“Okay,” you croak out, barely managing to find your voice.

He holds you, and for a minute you feel safe. Almost as if the thing you’ve wanted for a year and a half isn’t shattering into a million pieces around you. It almost feels right, you almost feel safe. Your tears scorch your cheeks but pale in comparison to the hollowness in your heart.

He doesn’t let you go, not until you are ready. His heart against your ear calms you down. Each time it thuds, you cry a little less, until finally you have no more tears to shed. Sensing your easing grip on his shirt, he pulls back and places a soft kiss on your forehead. “You two should talk,” he breathes lightly.

Releasing you, he walks away leaving you with Auston. Turning slightly you see him leaning against the wall, having watched the entire exchange. Your eyes sting from the tears but you can still see the despair written on his face.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give you what you deserve.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

How can he ask you that? Right here and now? He can tell you are crushed by losing Fred, how can he expect you to be so willing to carry on with him as if nothing happened? You’re furious— the pulsating devastation inside your chest borderline unbearable. How you’re still standing is a mystery.

Your voice is barely a whisper as you admit, “I don’t know how to give you what you need.”

“I’m not asking for you to, not today,” he steps forward causing you shoulders to stiffen. “I get your in pain right now, but I’m still here. I want to be here. Whether it’s a week, a month, 3 months. I want to be here, with you,” he smiles at you. “I want you.”

“I…I can’t,” you barely manage a whisper. Gulping you feel tears building behind your eyes. “I can’t do this, I’m sorry.”

You catch a nerve. His eyes turn dark as the muscles begin clenching in his jaw, and he suddenly starts rubbing his hands across his stubble. A nervous tick. He always does that when he’s uncomfortable. Pushing past him you reach for the handle when one of his hands grasps your arm. His grip is tight, likely going to leave marks but he doesn’t care. Leaning down his voice is hollow, “you leave y/n and that’s it. The minute you walk out that door, that’s it.”

His eyes narrow at you, waiting for your response, when you don’t, he suddenly lets go of your bicep. “Auston, I-“

“Are you saying no to now, or no to forever?” he asks. Staring up at him you know he knows the answer, the pain in his eyes tugging on your compassion. You’re relationship with Auston was mostly based on sex, but when you actually sat down and talked to him, confided in him your worries and fears, he listened. He consoled you, comforted you, made you laugh to keep you distracted, but it just isn’t enough.

Fred has always had a piece of your heart, a big piece. It wasn’t until you heard Auston admit his feelings, making summer plans, that you realized he wasn’t the person you wants those plans with. But Fred doesn’t want you, you can’t just forget about the mark he left and move on with Auston. Your heart doesn’t belong to Auston, it belongs to the person who doesn’t want it. You just wish it didn’t take you so long to notice.

“You’ll make some girl really happy one day,” you sniffle wiping away the tears from your eyes.

It’s true, Auston is a great guy, an amazing guy. The blow of losing Fred would only be masked if you had Auston to curl up with at night. He could bandage you up, pick up the pieces. Only problem is he won’t find all the pieces. Or maybe he would one day, but it’s not fair to him to stand by waiting to see what person comes out the other side. And once you do come out, would you still want Auston? Or would his purpose be served now that you were whole?

It’s not fair to string him along, especially if you don’t know if your heart will be his in the end. Everything is going to hurt like hell tomorrow, that much you were sure of, but in the long run, this is for the best. Turning away you grab the handle. This time he doesn’t stop you, this time you walk out the door, and out of both their lives for good.

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codex-archives-exe · 3 years ago

Photo

Only A Heated Touch Truly Conveys The Sentiment | Yahari Ore No Seishun Love Come Wa Machigatteiru. Kan. [EP 11] | Yukinon x Hikigaya/Hikigaya x Yukinon [Yukigaya]

Transcript:

(Yukinon and Hikigaya begin walking up the bridge)

Hikigaya: “Sorry to drag you into this.”

Yukinon: “It was inevitable. There’s no way I could have refused in this situation.”

Yukinon: “Seriously, what are you doing?”

(Yukinon, in denial, that after everything, Hikigaya persistently tries to be with her)

Yukinon: “I don’t get this at all.”

(Yukinon slightly ahead of Hikigaya, walking up the entrance of the bridge)

Yukinon: “It actually felt terrifying watching my own family get coaxed along like that.”

Hikigaya: “I wasn’t really doing anything of the sort.”

Hikigaya: “To be honest, I’m terrified by the fact that they just backed down.”

Yukinon: “Good point.”

Yukinon: “My mom and sister definitely aren’t the type to give up that easily.”

(Hikigaya, awkwardly asking if he can move ahead because he has a bike, Yukinon shakes her head in disagreement)

Yukinon: “That look my mother had... It was the same one she has when she looks at my sister.”

Hikigaya: “Do you mean she acknowledged you?”

Yukinon: “She might have given up on me instead.”

[...]

Yukinon: “Why did you say something so absurd?”

Hikigaya: “That was the only way I could stay associated with you.”

Yukinon: “...Huh?”

Hikigaya: “With the club ending, we’d lose our only real place of contact.”

Hikigaya: “I couldn’t think of another excuse to you to come to me.”

(Yukinon stops in her place, as Hikigaya moves up slightly ahead)

Yukinon: “Why would you do that?”

Yukinon: “What about your promise? I asked you to grant her wish.”

Hikigaya: “We could say that this is a part of it.”

(Hikigaya puts the stop on his bike on the bridge)

Hikigaya: “Because she told me she wanted you to be a part of our afternoons filled with nothing.”

Yukinon: “Then there was no reason for you to do all of that...”

Hikigaya: “As if.”

Hikigaya: “Acquaintances, associates, friends, classmates. You can call it whatever you want. But I have no confidence I maintain that kind of relationship.”

Yukinon: “That may be true for you, but I’m going to do this. I’m going to get better at doing this!”

(As Yukinon, walks out of Hikigaya’s way creating distance between them)

[...]

Hikigaya: “This may hurt to hear, but both of us have pretty much zero communication skills, and we make things too complicated.”

Hikigaya: “Not to mention that we’re absolutely terrible at socializing!”

Hikigaya: “I don’t think we can start doing it well now!”

Hikigaya: “Creating any distance between us won’t be the end of it, and I’m positive we’ll just drift apart even further apart!”

(Hikigaya starts to run after Yukinon as she walks further away)

(Yukinon begins to walk faster and further away as Hikigaya reaches out his hand)

(Hikigaya realizing that Yukinon is getting too far away)

(Determined - Hikigaya, begins to gain speed and run after Yukinon)

Hikigaya: “That’s why...!” (as he grabs Yukinon’s hand)

Hikigaya: “If I let you go, I can’t grab hold of you again.”

Hikigaya: “This is extremely embarrassing for me to say, and I’d like to drop dead right about now, but...saying all that stuff about “taking responsibility” was totally insufficient...I don’t feel an obligation to do this...It’s more like I want that responsibility. Or rather ...I want you to let me have it...”

(Hikigaya, finally lets go of Yukinon’s hand, and they blush and look away from each other for a brief moment)

(Yukinon rubbing her wrist and hand, where Hikigaya held tightly)

Hikigaya: “It might not be something you’re wishing for, but I want to remain involved with you. This isn’t about obligation, but desire.”

Hikigaya: “So...allow me the privilege of distorting your life.”

(Yukinon shocked, realizing what he really means)

Yukinon: “What do you mean “distort”? What do you mean by that word?”

Hikigaya: “Well, I don’t mean that I have enough influence to change your whole life or anything. I think both you and I go on to university like normal, reluctantly join the workforce, and then go on to live decent lives. But if we’re involved with each other, we’ll take detours, stay at a standstill, and things like that, right? That’s why I’ll distort your life a little.”

(Yukinon sighs in relief, and then smiles, knowing what Hikigaya means)

Yukinon: “If that’s what you mean, then my life’s been distorted for a while now.”

Hikigaya: “I agree.”

Hikigaya: “We met, talked, learned, and then separated...and at each my life got distorted.”

Yukinon: “But you were already distorted from the very beginning.”

Yukinon: “I was, too, though.”

Hikigaya: “And things are going to get even more distorted. But as long as I keep distorting your life, I intend to pay a price to make up for it. ”

Hikigaya: “Well, I have basically have no assets, so the only things I can give you are time, emotions, the future, a life and other vague stuff like that. I’m not living much of a life, and I don’t have a lot of prospects for the future. But as long as I’m involved in someone else’s life, I have to give something, otherwise it’s not fair.”

Hikigaya: “I’ll give you anything and everything, so please let me be involved in your life.”

[...]

(Yukinon blushing and somewhat upset)

Yukinon: “You’re wrong...There’s no balance to that at all!”

(Yukinon, upset, knowing very well, that is completely unfair for only her to rely on him)

Yukinon: “There’s not that much value in the path that I walk to the future.”

Yukinon: “In comparison, you have...”

Hikigaya: “That’s a relief, then.”

Hikigaya: “As it stands, there’s not much value in my life. It’s an unpopular brand that has so little value it can’t get any lower than it already is. It’s basically bottomed out. In a sense, you could consider it a principal-protected investment. Now’s the best time to buy in!”

Yukinon: “You make it sound like a huge scam.”

(Gently punching Hikigaya’s chest)

Yukinon: “Learn to present yourself better!”

(Yukinon, upset, knowing Hikigaya is worth much more than he always tends to describes himself to her)

Yukinon: “Why are you standing there spouting all this stupid stuff that doesn’t matter? There’s something else you should be saying!”

(Yukinon, knowing full-well he is talking about “love” but does not have the bravery or courage to be upfront about it)

Hikigaya: “I can’t say it. No way. You really think I can put that into words?”

Yukinon: “I think I may be a very tiresome person to deal with.”

Hikigaya: “I know that.”

Yukinon: “In any case, I’ve done nothing but cause you problems.”

Hikigaya: “I’m used to that.”

Yukinon: “I’m stubborn, and I’m not very charming.”

Hikigaya: “Yeah, that’s true.”

Yukinon: “I wanted you to deny that part, though...”

(Hoping Hikigaya would at least deny one thing about her)

Hikigaya: “That’s a tall order.”

Yukinon: “I feel like I’ll only become more useless as I continue to rely on you.”

Hikigaya: “Which means I just to have to become more useless than that. If we’re all useless, then no one is.”

Yukinon: “And also-!”

(Yukinon tries to deny every moment of Hikigaya doing everything for her)

Hikigaya: “It’s fine.”

Hikigaya: “I don’t mind how tiresome you get. Or how burdensome. I could even say that’s a good thing about you.”

Yukinon: “What?”

Yukinon: “That doesn’t make me happy at all!”

(As Yukinon, lightly jabs at Hikigaya’s chest)

Hikigaya: “Ouch...”

(Yukinon, then gently grabs and tugs a small part of Hikigaya’s scarf)

Yukinon: “There’s more than that, right?”

(Yukinon puts her hand down, then Hikigaya grabs her hand, and puts her hand on his heart)

(Surprised, Yukinon looks back at Hikigaya as he does this)

Hikigaya: “It may not be enough compensation for distorting your life, but well...I’ll give you everything. If you do not want it, then throw it away. If it’s annoying, then just forget about it. I’m still going to do it regardless, so I don’t need you to reply.”

Yukinon: “Well, I’m going to say it clearly.”

(Yukinon then grasps part of Hikigaya’s blazer then begins to lean on him)

Yukinon: “Please allow me to have...your life.”

Hikigaya: “That’s stiff.”

Yukinon: “I don’t know any other way to say it, so deal with it.”

(Yukinon completely leaning on him, almost crying)

(Hikigaya, then fully embraces Yukinon, and they hug each other)

Preface

Hello everyone, so I used to have a Tumblr a long, long time ago; 5 years to be exact; but have chosen this time, because on this very site I used to endlessly blog and jot down so many theories and thoughts about the possibilities - the sheer possibilities, of this couple, this ship being a thing.

AND THEN IT FINALLY HAPPENED. 100% CONFIRMED.

THERE ARE NO WORDS THAT CAN DESCRIBE HOW HAPPY I AM.

7 YEARS

3 SEASONS

38 EPS

AFTER STORY CONFIRMED TO BE IN THE WORKS

Sadly, I do not have the receipts or any core theory pieces or fragments from my past blog because it was wiped. Attempting to reconstruct any form of it from past memory, from what I thought from this, solely came from the fact Yukinon and Hikigaya, despite having so many disagreements and dragging each other down almost in some instances - they always watched out for each other. They always did. No matter if it was Hikigaya for Yukinon’s sake, or Yukinon for Hikigaya’s sake even in the some of the most simple scenarios.

I always thought the beginning of S3, was so daunting because the sheer separation of the Service Club caused so much anguish, because each one of them felt for a different desire for another. Although, the entire premise going out of his own way to be there for Yukinon. Is absolutely the cutest and most romantic proactive thing someone could do for someone they ‘genuinely’ loved.

Yes, I did go out of my own way to write the entire transcript of that five minute sequence because it is so incredibly memorable, cute, and heartwarming. As many have claimed from the start, they were absolutely meant for each other, knowing how much they rely, trust, and lean on one another. The writing is just so beautiful and always gets my heart pounding, and I practically cry every time. I could watch this a million times, I could never ever grow tired of it. Protect these two AT ALL COSTS 😭💗💗💗💗 it being well worth the seven years of waiting, was such an understatement, I am so excited for whenever the After Story for these two gets animated. My heart will not be able to handle it.

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ohheyitsokay · 3 years ago

Text

found

pairing: Paz Vizsla x reader

wordcount: 3.3k

warnings: brief mentions of cannon typical violence, the general awkwardness of writing a new character, fluff

summary: you're someone surprisingly good st finding lost things, and you find a Mandalorian - who's looking for home

Trying to get over my need to over explain things by leaving random plot holes. Don’t think about it too hard.

The charred remnants of the base were in tragic, disorganized, smoking piles all around you.

Feet still, you breathed in through your nose and out through your mouth, too tired to be in awe of what had taken place, too overwhelmed to realize that you were unscathed.

When a figure stepped out from behind one of the heaps, only your eyes moved, impressed in spite of yourself that they had managed to stay silent. It was a being barricaded in armor, solid like they were carved from the mountain around you, but blue, shockingly, wonderfully, beautifully blue.

You wondered if you had it in you to fight him.

It hadn’t been so long ago, that you’d met other Mandalorians – their helmets so full of pompous you wondered how they could fly. As he walked closer, you noticed that he did not look like them, did not hold his chin so high it begged to be knocked with the blunt end of a weapon. There was pride in his shoulders still, but no more than was in yours, and he approached you with empty hands.

“What happened here?” his voice had a rumble but he seemed curious, not disbelieving or angry.

“I tricked them,” you told him, and you were surprised to find yourself unafraid of telling him plainly. “I was looking for a missing flock of sant birds, and found them plumping the bellies of imperial troops.” You gestured loosely to a sparse gaggle of silly little beaked creatures tied a string toward the edge of the rubble. “I muddled the communication signals until they believed there was an incoming attack, and their would-be rescuers believed their own troops were the enemy.”

The Mandalorian's back straightened slightly and his helmet tilted.

“You did that for sant birds?”

“I have no love for imps or those who take what is not theirs,” it came out defensive, although he hadn’t belittled your choice. “It was more effective than I expected, but there were not many living who are not anymore, just droids.”

“You are one who finds what it lost?” there was a question there, but not one spoken aloud, and the subtext screamed.

“Can I help you find something, Mandalorian?”

His shoulders rose slightly - just a hair, really - and you couldn’t sworn his helmet dipped.

“Yes.”

Your fingers danced along the buttons and levers of the ship’s control panels, waiting for a command from your mind that would never come. They moved when you thought, searching for a memory – you couldn’t help it.

Next to you, Paz watched, amused as your sharp eyes were unfocused, mouth open just slightly with unspoken words.

“What are you thinking of, little one?” he asked, as quiet as he could manage, snapping you back to the present.

“When we first met,” you turned to him with a smile that made him fidget in his seat. It baffled him, how good you were, and how steady you’d been by his side.

Paz didn’t respond with words, just a thoughtful hum as he watched the stars race by in streaks. You didn’t know, but he was a little embarrassed by it – how enraptured he’d been by you, how quickly he trusted you.

After being separated from his clan, injured and angry, he had spent months stewing and brewing plans for finding his brethren again to no avail. Paz even hitched rides with strangers and picked up less than ideal work, hoping for something of his people to point him in the right direction.

Still healing, he settled on a little planet known for its rumors, known for spreading and sharing information so fresh it hadn’t had time to be twisted. It was there that he waited for words of Mandalorians, met the… other clans, and it was where he heard of you.

On the surface you weren’t remarkable, the whispers said, just a traveler with an uncanny ability to find lost things, and just smart enough to bend the world to your will and just slippery enough to stay one step ahead of genuine trouble. They said you were caring and cunning and clever and had a knack for judging a person’s character. From word alone he liked that, liked you.

The farmer who owned the barn he was sleeping in told Paz that he had asked you to find an old necklace of his mothers. A day later, both the necklace and a long lost sister were joining them for dinner, and you shrugged off both the thanks and the payment with a smile. Paz knew, because he had heard you distantly, through the weathered slats of the barn, and it stayed with him.

The dismissive words reminded him of home - the first reminder that wasn’t painful - evoking moments that were sweeter than the ache of loss. He would have said the same thing, when the Mandalorian’s who were not warriors requested his help. It wasn’t strict custom, but the way, to accept meals instead of money, stories instead of useless metal. Your actions, words, and far-away laughter reminded him of his home.

And when he found you, uninjured, a glint of satisfaction in your eyes and pride in your shoulders as you spoke casually about justice he couldn’t go back. You were almost glowing in the light of the still smoldering embers, gorgeous and determined and he knew he only had one choice – one shot take you with him.

Paz wasn’t in the habit of making promises he wasn’t absolutely sure he keep but he made himself one that day, buried it like a time capsule somewhere in his chest.

And then immediately put it to the test, by testing you.

He looked over at you, your hands now fiddling with your chair, and he fought the urge to mimic the movements. “I evaluated you,” he hoped you could hear that he was smiling.

You snorted, an impolite noise that made want to laugh.

Standing, you widened you stance comically lifting your limbs in an effort to be bigger, mocking him and saying “If I hire you, little one, I must know that I can trust you,” in an exaggerated tone. The exact words he’d told you after his test was over, something you teased him about often. Paz was laughing, but he wondered if you liked how deep his voice was – it was the key change to your mimicry. Looking satisfied with yourself, you settled down again, reminiscing.

The test had been to accompany him on a mission he’d picked up for extra cash – there were plenty of opportunities to be reckless but you gambled with neither his life nor your own. It was one of those circumstances where you were moving and guarding cargo for a rich young diplomat. He told you afterwards he wanted to see if you’d pocket anything beyond your payment, and of course you hadn’t.

“I passed with flying colors.”

The mission had veered left, when a misinformed bounty hunter pressed the tip of a blaster against your throat. At the time you were nearly strangers, but you didn’t give him up, even when you realized the bounty hunter was looking for a woman.

Paz was as in awe of you then as he was now. You agreed to help him the remnants of his clan, and to travel with him, and his promise to himself remained intact.

He nodded.

When he was young, Paz had a sweetheart, a kind Mandalorian girl with whom he enjoyed spending time with. It fizzled as apprenticeships and training were traded politics and responsibilities, and he had always had fond memories of that time.

It paled in comparison to how he felt about you.

You had been searching on your own for something you swore would help your search, and had been gone for days. If he hadn’t been sure before, he was certain now – what you were to him was infinitely more than anything else he had ever known. Still, he felt like a schoolboy, missing you, glancing at the door to the ship with eagerness every time he heard a creak.

He had thought for weeks it was because you felt like home, had been sure it was your ease with mando'a and his culture that made take to you like a duck to water. It made sense, he reasoned with himself. Of course he missed his family, those he was raised alongside, the very people who gave him purpose in life - of course he was looking for any scrap or taste of that wherever he could get it. Nevermind that your smile made him feel like he’d been stunned, it was just because your personal culture fit his like pieces of his armor.

Anyone would have been pleased, half smitten with someone who allowed then onto their ship, especially one as functional as yours. It was perfectly reasonable that he was comfortable with you, since you were always so thoughtful and honest and caring.

And you were talented, useful, that was all. The reason he valued you so highly was that you made his life easier, matched him step to step and balanced out his strength.

But that was all over now. It was special, how well you fit with him, and not to be taken lightly the vulnerability you gave as you shared your space and rations and time with him. All those other things were true, certainly, tenfold the longer you stayed in his company, but he could no longer explain away how much lighter his heart felt when you trotted into the ship, windblown hair and triumphant eyes.

He wanted you to be by his side, preferably if you wanted to be there.

Standing, he moved towards you, wishing he could hug you as you unceremoniously dumped your supplies on the floor. Instead, he picked them up, piling them or putting them back where they belong as you both filled each other in onto the days passed.

Eventually, the suspense overflowed, your excitement bubbling out of you.

“I got it!” your voice did something when you were excited that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it made him smile.

“Got what?” Paz swallowed a cyar'ika.

Eagerly, you produced a small drive and plugged it into the display, saying, “A map!” with pride.

“We already have a map,” That time, he nearly choked on the mesh'la his instincts insisted on, looking at you with genuine confusion.

When you grabbed his gloved hand, he thought he might never let it go.

“Not one like this, Paz.” You turned to the floating miniatures, and he only watched your face under their glow a moment longer before he tore himself away to look as well.

It was distracting, how close you stepped to him as you pointed, but your words were thick with value.

The map had details of Mandalorian sightings and rumors and stories. Even more than that, many of the planets had extra information tacked on, about resource numbers. Paz drank them in, your excitement finally making sense as he realized you were starting to highlight the ones where imported goods didn’t match the populations reported. Your voice was telling him you’d find them soon, that for him, you would do whatever it takes. His longing had become yours, in this little ship half buried in the dirt, under the expanse of the sky.

His hand found your shoulder, gently turning you and carefully, carefully, he hugged you.

The first three planets they chased were driven by pure, unadulterated excitement. He was eager for his brothers, eager to go back to protecting those who raised him and those who were being raised alike. Eager to be home, wherever that may be.

But as the weeks wore on, a realization settled in his mind. Finding home would mean your job was complete – his loss would be you, instead of his tribe.

And he did not like that thought at all.

It became a harsh contrast to his eagerness, as jarring as cool water cracking over heated metal, raising a stink that made his eyes threaten to fill. With each lead the two of you chased, there was a twist in his gut, anticipation suddenly less solid in his heart.

Your ship was nice, cozy and reliable, and he had filled his bunk with anything he found in the markets that reminded him of home. In between searches, you always managed to find the littlest work for the highest pay off – and really, work for a Mandalorian and his lovely, cunning companion was more than available. It was nice, filling your little kitchenette with foods you had introduced to him, and whatever he could get his hands on of the ingredients from his memories.

It wasn’t the same as his old home, with the people and culture who had shaped him, but it was something, and he… liked it, a lot.

He had gotten used to you, the way when his frustration built how you’d match it when he needed to, or lock him in a room with a pile of rations, or slip your hand between the gaps of his armor and rub circles with your thumb. Once he’d gotten in his head about the Mandalore, gone so far he wanted to fight everything that moved, maybe even stop some of them from breathing. You walked right up to him, wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned your weight on him until he remembered to breathe. And he didn’t really think anyone else in the galaxy would’ve done that.

So how could he give that up?

There was an elderly woman, Kori, who had missed the battle. Paz told you excitedly that she was fierce and had fought the armorer for the right to travel, unaware of the trouble that followed his brother-in-arms and the child.

You had set up the meeting at a little cantina you knew, and watched as Paz paced around your ship in his newly polished armor.

The last few months with him had been like a dream – and you had never been more selfish. When you’d met this Mandalorian you had been in awe, despite the previous encounters with the beskar-clad race. More than his formidable size, he cared fiercely, almost seeming larger by the passion that filled his frame.

And the more time you spent listening to his stories, why it all mattered so much to him, and having him listen to you in turn, the more thankful you were that he found you, and continued to let you help him in his search. He didn’t need you, not really. The man was resourceful and intimidating and held himself with the confident grace of a predator - it would have been just as easy for him to take what he wanted and be on his way.

It was strange, how his blood was equal parts humble and proud, but you were drawn to it, intoxicated by him. No one had ever made you feel as protected as he did, as… valuable as he treated you, and you ached for him. You couldn’t bear not to help him as much as you could, but you already knew you would miss your long nights spent talking or the way his gloved hand would grab yours like it was his second nature.

When it was time for the meeting, you had put extra care into your appearance, as if it would matter, wanting to make a good impression. Your companion stopped, and looked you over, and your feet shifted on the bumpy ramp of your ship.

Paz rumbled, as he had the first time you’d met, saying, “What is this?”

It made you laugh, sometimes, that someone so powerful and in control could be so awkward at times.

“Is it bad?” you quipped, trying to sound as though you did not care what he thought. In truth, he was the only one you had ever wanted so badly to think you were attractive.

Paz made a small noise, one you thought you recognized as annoyed, and you turned in time to see his helmet shaking and his shoulders tense.

“Mesh'la,” his voice was lower than normal. Logically you should’ve expected it, but it was amazing, almost overwhelming how his hand enveloped your cheek.

“Thank you,” you whispered, leaning into his touch. It was warm, and you felt selfish for wondering how much moreso it would be without his gloves.

And then a moment later the touch broke and he was hurrying to the cantina with you at his heels.

Kori was there, and they embraced. She greeted you kindly, but you kept your distance as they talked.

You settled at the bar, trying not to mourn a relationship that was hardly more than friendship, as you felt the eyes of someone on the back of your neck. It was a familiar feeling, and you turned, assuming it was Paz – but finding a man making his way over to you instead.

He was handsome, too tight clothes stretched over the muscles of his chest and a sweet, crooked smile. It made you think, maybe a distraction wouldn’t be so bad – and it wasn’t, at first. The guy was nice, attractive and charming and respectful enough that you let yourself actually enjoy his company. You almost didn’t feel the Mandalorians watching you – and you certainly didn’t see your Mandalorian's hands clench on the table.

Paz had hardly said a word to you since he dragged you back to the ship. He knew it was making you anxious, knew you were already waiting for him to start packing, knew you deserved some type of explanation as to what was happened but he just couldn’t.

For the very first time in his life he was petrified of getting the words wrong, desperate to say everything as right as be possibly could.

He wasn’t trained in this – they would say it was the way and move on, or have heated conversations driven by what they knew was right. Mandalorians weren’t … tactful, tentative, tender people, but Maker, did he want to be, for you.

You, in your nice clothes, settled in a crate, watching him and waiting, looking just touch guilty.

It’s not your fault, he wanted to say. It was his, for not being honest sooner. For letting you think he wasn’t head over heels in love with you, for letting you believe he would, could leave you. But he was angry, at himself and at the karking boy for thinking he had any right you make you smile like that.

Angry that it took Kori one look to know what he had spent weeks denying, to unearth the promise he'd made himself about keeping you close.

Angry it took her hand on his fists, and her quite, “Home is where the heart is, adi'ka,” for him to realize.

And when Paz was angry, words slipped past his tongue back down his throat like bitter medicine, and he couldn’t make it stop. He was a man who had spent years of his life in absolute control over every muscle in his body but he always failed with one, the one that seemed to matter most.

In the end, he remembered to do what he wished you would do – he pulled you into him, pressing he forehead of his helmet against yours.

In a moment, he could explain himself, tell you he loved you, ask you to let him stay. In a moment he would thank you for finding him.

But for now, he watched as the confusion cleared from your eyes before they closed and your mouth pulled into a smile, and didn’t run from the pride that filled him from head to toe.

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge

#paz vizsla #paz vizsla x reader #star wars #the mandalorian #maybe i don't know people

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pandoras-princess · 4 years ago

Text

Next Best Thing (Tommy Shelby x fem!reader, John Shelby x fem!reader)

*gif not mine//credit to owner

A/N: Hello my lovelies! 🌸 Welcome to my first ever Peaky Blinders fic, I wrote it ages ago and have just edited it slightly so my apologies if the quality isn’t greaaat but the other parts will be better I promise! 😅 This is an AU fanfic where John never married Martha or had kids before he married Esme and there is no Grace for Tommy andddd the timeline is absolutely wack, I know it’s a lot so if you’re in the market for a traditional by the book Peaky Blinders fic this one is not for you I’m afraid 🤗 also if you’re finding it a bit slow I advise you to hang in there until after the time skip because that’s the better half of this part in my opinion, nevertheless I seriously enjoyed writing this so Happy Reading Peoples! 🥳🥳 as ever I appreciate every like, reblog and follow, feedback is forever welcome 😌

Summary: Being the bestfriend of Jonathan Shelby meant that you’d grown up attached at the hip. And considering you were hopelessly in love with him, life was eventful to say the least. With John marrying Esme you decide it’s high time you got over him. And as they say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else...

Pairing: (OOC) Thomas Shelby x fem!reader, John Shelby x fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing, violence, smoking and drinking, mentions of addiction, mentions of sex but no smut I’m afraid

PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR

━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━

Being John Shelby's best friend was definitely not an easy job.

You and John were the exact same age, born on the same day of the same month of the same year, precisely one hour and eleven minutes apart, and since your family only lived one house away from the Shelby's it was a given that you and John would grow up to be best friends.

You were as good as family to them, so when your father was killed in the war and your mother unable to cope turned to the drink and drugs, you were left officially orphaned at age 10 and Polly arranged for you to live with them, raising you as her own.

Growing up with the Shelby's came with it's challenges. They were all fiercely protective of you but no one more so than John. When you were kids he'd beat up anyone that dare made you cry, or sad or angry or anything other than happy really, and as you grew older and began to date he'd scare away anyone deemed not up to scratch, which seemed to be pretty much all of them, threatening violence known around Small Heath as common behaviour for the Peaky Blinders. This meant that you never really had a boyfriend, or many boys interested in you at all for that matter, and any who were rarely had the balls to act on it for fear of the Peaky Blinders wrath. However this didn't bother you much as there was only ever one boy you truly wanted interested in you, the one boy who never would be interested in you.

Of course being a teenage girl you'd had your silly crushes, Tommy being one of them. But they all paled in comparison to what you felt for John.

Being best friends meant that the two of you spent practically all of your time together, did everything together, went through and dealt with everything together. He had always been your shoulder to cry on, your ear to bend, your hugs and smiles and laughs, your safe place. It was inevitable that you'd fall for him. And fall for him you did, painfully obvious to everyone except John himself.

Shortly after your 16th birthday, you were reading a book by the fire, a woven blanket strewn across your legs and a steaming mug of hot chocolate warming your hands when John bursts into the house loud, drunk and jolly. He often snuck out to join his brothers in their shenanigans - whether it be business or pleasure - and you were all too happy to listen to his stories when he came home.

You watched John intently as he regaled to you his latest night out. You watched the corners of his mouth twitch ever so slightly as he spoke, a smug smile tracing his lips every so often. His eyes glistened from the whiskey and his lips were wet. A cigarette clasped lazily between his fingers, his eyes closed for a split second whenever he took a drag. Deep in admiration of the boy sitting in front of you, you didn't quite notice the change of events in the story.

"-and then she walked right up to me and kissed me!"

It was at that point that your attention snapped back, ears pricking up and heart racing as you go over what he'd just said. But too excited to wait, John didn't give you the chance to work out if you had misheard him.

"Well before I know it she's got me in the back alley dress hiked up going at me like a feral she was. Can ya believe it after all this time I'm finally a man aha!" John exclaims, a goofy, ear-splitting grin plastered on his face.

He spares any explicit details, knowing it was no way to talk with a lady no matter how close they are to you or how drunk you may happen to be. Nevertheless, upon hearing those final words coupled with the look of pure elation on his face, your heart shatters into millions of ice cold shards right before your eyes. The pain that was rapidly building in your chest and the image of John with some tart, skirt bunched around her waist fucking like dogs in the alley was too much for you to bear. A wave of nausea washes over you and you stand abruptly, dashing to the loo before the contents of your stomach emptied onto the carpet.

A few minutes later you hear faint knocks on the door.

“Ye alright in there love?” John asks, concern lacing his words.

“All good” you reply quickly, willing your voice to steady itself.

Wiping the sheen of sweat from your forehead you collapse into a heap against the wall, and a sigh escapes your lips as you wrack your brain for the exact moment you had lost him. While John had never shown any signs of liking you, you were always able to draw hope from the relationship you two had, no matter how blind it may have been. Now though, he had dashed that hope, blind or otherwise, as he had given himself to someone else. He had openly chosen not to be with you.

Not to be yours.

Fobbing John off with some excuse about a dodgy dinner you quickly retreat to bed, going without giving him a hug, unable to bring yourself to touch him. And from that day onwards you lived with the knowledge that your love was unrequited. You lived with loving him, and him not loving you.

For the most part it was rather easy. John wasn't the kind for serious relationships - preferring causal sex to the committed kind - so you never really had to deal with any girlfriends or the lark, just the occasional tart interested in him on the rare nights out you tagged along. Even then, you soon learned not to go on any nights out without Ava or Polly present and so the issue of John and his women quickly became dormant. That was, however, until John agreed to marry Esme Lee.

Tommy came to you before asking John, asking for your help in convincing him. He knew John would come to you with it asking for advice before deciding. Tommy explained his plan, marry John off to the Lee girl forcing them to squash the war and join forces to overthrow Billy Kimber. It was simple enough and since you'd already accepted there was never to be a you and John, you agreed.

The time came and sure enough John came to you, confused and somewhat annoyed at Tommy's rough handed approach, and sure enough you stayed true to your word, telling him it was nothing new, people had arranged marriages all the time.

So on he went to marry her, your true feelings unknown to the man.

[2 years later]

"You shouldn't be working here you know. John certainly wouldn't like it" Tommy said, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched you carefully wipe down the bar surface. He was referring to your new job as barmaid in the Garrison and having just finished your first shift you were cleaning up. Last orders had been and gone and every punter had now left the pub, drunk and merry on their ways.

After John married Esme you spent the next two years much to yourself. You embraced the spinster lifestyle and faded away into the passing days. However it was the turn of a new year and to everyone's joy you'd come to your senses, deciding it was high time you stopped wasting your life moping after John. He didn't love you - that much was clear - but somebody out there must and so it was time for you to move on, you thought. Reinvent yourself. This 'new you' started with marching into Tommy's office and demanding the new barmaid job. Surprisingly he offered no resistance, merely a quizzical look at your sudden determination before giving you the job. So here you were, your first shift done and nobody left in the place but you and your new boss.

"Well it might surprise you to know, Mr Shelby, but I don't abide my decisions by what John would or would not like me doing" you reply. Finishing up you leave the cloth on the bar and make your way over to the table, taking the chair adjacent to his.

"Is that so?" He asks, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours as he offers you a cigarette. You accept, bending down slightly to the offered flame and without breaking eye contact, you light the cigarette and take a drag, exhaling as you sit back up.

"Yes, Thomas, that is so" you reply, the use of his name making clear your exasperation with the questioning.

"Very well then, a toast-" he picks up the bottle of whiskey and pours some into each glass, placing one in front of you and taking one himself "-to your new job, and to your new found freedom" he says, locking eyes with you on his last words and clinking your glass before you both down it. If growing up with the Shelby's had taught you one thing it was how to hold your liquor.

Soon you and Tommy were halfway through the bottle and quite drunk, too caught up in the fun to notice. It was now something past 3 in the morning; you and Tommy had been talking, drinking and laughing for nigh on 3 hours now, going through old stories of your childhoods, stories from before you were born and from afterwards, stories of your parents and stories of his.

"So tell me, what is the meaning behind this sudden change in you then?" Tommy inquired, only too happy to see your old self back again.

Before you knew it the whiskey had gotten the better of you and you found yourself telling him the reason. You told him about John, about your love for him, about that night and about how you'd come to terms with it and decided to move on.

"Besides, it's not like he was the first boy I ever liked, so I'm quite sure he won't be the last" you state matter of factly, unaware of the storm you had just brewed.

See, unbeknown to you, Tommy was fully aware of everything you had just poured out to him. He knew about your love for John. He knew the deepest parts of your heart, your mind, your soul. Every crush and fling you'd ever experienced Tommy knew all about it, thanks to a little book you liked to keep hidden under your mattress. You had been detailing all matters of yourself in that little black journal for as long as you could write. Polly happily replacing it when you found your current one full, it was much easier than finding a shoulder to cry on every time you needed one. When Tommy came across it he had no idea what it was, merely out of curiosity did he open it and start reading.

"Oh, who was?" Tommy asked, lighting another cigarette. Following suit you decide to take a minute to weigh up your options, drinking in the smoke as you did.

"You” your voice remains deceptively steady, not wanting the man watching you so closely, so attentively, to become aware of the raging swarm of butterflies occupying your stomach.

"Is that so?" Tommy pulls on his own cigarette, the smoke rising from his lips as his eyes lock onto yours. "So what changed then?" His eyebrow arches perfectly, a smirk gracing his lips.

"You're 4 years older than me! There was no way you'd ever look at me as anything other than an annoying little sister!” You say in a chuckle, the fiery whiskey encompassing all of your thoughts in a humorous glow.

"And if I told you I do look at you as something other than an annoying little sister?" His eyes flick to your lips for a millisecond before returning to your own (E/C) orbs. If you’d have blinked you would’ve missed it, but your full attention being fixed on the man before you meant that you hadn’t.

"Well... that would certainly change things." The possibility of one of your fantasy's coming true ignited you to your very core.

Silently, Tom rises from his seat and offers his hand to you. You take it, and he leads you to his office with the worst of intentions in mind.

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anonthenullifier · 4 years ago

Text

“I think this one’s going to be it.”

Vision remains unconvinced despite the realtor’s optimism. “We shall have to see.”

It’s the fifteenth town they’ve looked at, the thirtieth house, and nothing so far has been perfect. All the blogs online and the pamphlets at the realty office and the conversations with Mary, his persevering and upbeat realtor, have informed him that perfection can rarely be bought, but if he can find a home with good bones and have a can-do attitude, he can make it perfect. This he does not disagree with, at least when it comes to the house, but the town itself cannot be so easily molded and that has led to the disparaging length of the search.

Mary holds up her clipboard, blocking out the afternoon sun, watching him stare at the town’s main square. “Why don’t I go along to the lot and you just get a feel for the place as you mosey on over?”

“Very well.”

“Okay, take your time.” She gets back into the blue sedan she drove down in and leaves.

There is a particular atmosphere he is trying to find, a homey, old-fashioned quality. The first place he investigated was New Rochelle, the very location of the van Dyke household, and it was charming in its quaintness and soothing in its familiarity but it was also a tourist trap, signs speaking to its history and a handful of people wandering with cameras to see the house from the show. What Wanda deserves is the feel of a small town, not the exact replica and so he hired Mary and they have discreetly traveled across New York and now, growing desperate, have dipped into New Jersey. To be fair to the realtor, he is not an easy client, quick to determine if the feel of the area is off and speaking to her in the only comparisons he can make based on his knowledge of Wanda’s preferences. Some towns were too Gilmore Girls or not enough Bewitched, others only had one corridor that spoke to Family Ties while the rest felt like a modern city. They’d trudged through areas that felt like the Munsters and others where he knew it would turn into the Twilight Zone simply based on the odd stares and eerie feeling from the facade of happiness in towns long past their prime.

Vision surveys the current possibility and is not immediately disappointed. The town square houses a gazebo, well kept and inviting with its lattice work and the shrubbery framing the grass around it -an ideal spot for a picnic or a tea during their lunch hour, assuming they try out true domestication of idle employment. Lining the main road are small shops and little restaurants, eclectic in their conglomeration and relatively satisfactory to stroll beside, or so he tests, hands in his pockets and his disguise reflected back to him as he stares into a clothing shop where a mannequin rests in a red, billowy dress Wanda would adore.

A little spark jumps in his chest as he keeps moseying, the closest approximation to hope he has felt in his search, spurred on by the flower cart overflowing with roses outside a little boutique and the way all the townspeople have either smiled or waved at him when their eyes briefly lock. Vision is not known for his imagination which is why it is fascinating how easily he can picture walking this street, Wanda’s fingers twined with his, an ice cream cone from the creamery on the corner in her hand, her joy bubbling over as she tells him the latest frivolity of gossip in the town.

It’s when he turns down the road where Mary is waiting in her car that his synthetic heart begins to whirr at the trees lining the street, their thin leaves shading the few houses that stand with picture perfect porches for a lemonade in the stifling summer sun or a hot chocolate when fall begins to run its frosty fingers in the air. Curious as to their scientific categorization, Vision studies one, his hand running over the grayish bark that ripples with diamond-esque patterns. Slowly, and as inconspicuously as possible, he leans in and sniffs, cataloguing the pungent odor, one that if he was pressed to describe it would be spicy...not one of heat but of the spice that always filled the compound when he and Wanda baked after going to pick apples. The long leaves are pinnately organized, forming couplings that cling to either side of the branch. The final piece that leads to its categorization is the round green seed hanging below a pair of leaves. It is a Juglan nigra , the black walnut and all he can hear in its swaying leaves is the riotous laughter from Wanda as the van Dyke household fills with walnuts.

Vision smiles, overcome momentarily at the rightness of it all.

But there is one more determination before he commits to this life, before he decides that this is what he wants to promise Wanda the next time they meet. Apprehensively he approaches the car, tapping on the window to let Mary know he is ready. “What’d you think so far?”

The falsity of her grin should be alarming, yet he knows he is to blame for it, having had to inform her of her failure to find him what he wants dozens of times before . This time, however, he is happy to inform her, “It is quite promising.”

A real, full bodied smile erupts on her face. “Good, because I watched every season of that show just to figure out what it was you wanted.”

“It has been successful so far.”

“Come on.” She leads him down the road about ten feet before waving her arms like one of the women on game shows who is in charge of the grand prize. “Here it is.”

“I, um,” it must be some form of humor he has yet to master because there is no actual house, merely a stretch of grass with a lonely sign declaring For Sale! “Where is the house?”

Her laughter does not allay his discomfort at all, “Based on our search so far and how particular you are,” this is said with a friendly needling that no doubt hides some resentment, “I decided to find you the town and let you build the perfect house.”

The words wash over him, cling to his mind until he can comprehend the meaning. And then he can feel his lips curve up and part into a bliss of possibility. Before him is an empty lot, but in his mind he is already constructing the foundation of their future. After all this business with the Accords he simply wants a quiet life and before him it stands, floor by floor he sees the house form, visualizes himself bringing Wanda home for the first time, scooping her up to carry her across the threshold, her arms tight around his neck. They’ll paint the outside together, argue over the best place for the couch and whether the television should be a focal point. He’ll cook for her in the kitchen as she sits at the counter, informing him of his missteps before they happen. At night they’ll sit on the back porch, under the walnut trees and enjoy the silence of the world revolving. It is everything she had told him about, everything she has quietly smirked at while they watch her favorite shows, thinking he did not see her wistful enjoyment at a life of domestic bliss.

“I’ll take it.”

“Do you want some time to think?”

“No.” Vision shakes his head for added emphasis. There is a rightness here, an all encompassing hope for what their lives can be. “It is perfect. You can contact Stark Industries for the mortgage information.” Yes, this is where they can finally be together, where they can experience a life so far denied. This is where they’ll grow old together and never want for anything but each other.

#wandavision #scarlet vision #wandavisio spoilers #slightly #vision #I just have a lot of emotions #and needed to write some fluff #mine

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anotheranimestan · 4 years ago

Text

Asking the Boys to Deal with Mineta for You: Shinsou

Shinsou style revenge + a lil spice for ya at the end

wc: 2.4k

Read the Bakugo ver. here

After hiding in the ladies restroom for about 5 mins you finally got that icky feeling off your body from Mineta and what he did

He was even drooling this time and you had to keep yourself from gaging

You cautiously make your way down the hall to class completely dreading that you’re going to have to see him again so soon

Or ever again for that matter

On your way, you see your crush walking down the hall

Already feeling relieved you call after him

I can’t decide who I want more....Aizawa or his adopted son (that better be cannon or I’m quitting)

Just look at him 😳

“Shinsou!” You whispered loudly at him.

He stopped in his tracks and twisted around looking for the source of the noise. His heart rate increased when he realized it was you, waving him over.

“Hey y/n.” He breezed before seeing the expression on your face. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t even know where to start. How do you tell someone you were just harassed by a hero student. To someone who was wrongly placed in general studies nonetheless. Bumped out by one of your classmates.

“Well...I need your help. If you’re not busy...”

“I was just going—“ he paused with an expression as if he realized he was talking in gibberish. “What is it?”

“It’s...Mineta again.”

He looked at you blankly. You forget that the rest of the school isn’t caught up with class 1-A’s antics all the time.

“Right right. Well he’s the one with the balls—“

“Yea I know who he is but...what’d he do?”

This was painful to squeak out. Embarrassing. Especially to the guy you’d crushed on hard for a long time now. The one you gushed about every day to Mina. So much that she was sick of you.

“Well I was walking into the locker room to change for combat training and he came out of nowhere and bumped into me and...”

He stared at you, holding onto every word. Waiting for the punchline.

“And?”

“And I definitely saw a flash!” You cringed.

“I’m pretty sure he took a picture like...under my skirt!” You said tugging the fabric down at he thought.

His eyebrows flicked up in shock. His face contorted into disgust then annoyance.

“Seriously?”

You nodded. He composed his face back into his normal sleepy, unfazed look.

“So this is what they let go on in 1-A huh?”

Normally you’d bristle at his jabs at your class. But this time he wasn’t wrong. Mineta was a dirty little smear on class 1-A’s reputation. Plus, you really wanted his help. You were so fed up.

“I was too freaked out to you know...do anything.” He nodded in understanding. “But I really wish someone would do something. Go talk to him or something. This is really getting out of hand.”

He shifted around uncomfortably. Shaking his head slightly. Like this was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard all day. The fact that people were just letting this dickhead reek havoc on someone as sweet as you? He’d have ripped his head off by now.

He mumbled something about hero students really getting on his nerves. His usual spiel.

“So...you’ll talk to him?”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “I’ll talk to him. Don’t worry.”

His words were soothing but the grin across his face was definitely not keeping you from worrying.

“Wait—“

“C’mon.” He said turning on his heels and heading in the direction you came.

He always walked with his hands in his pockets and leaning back on his heels like he was never in a rush for anyone or anything. Somehow he always had that calm and collected aura about him, like absolutely nothing you threw at him could faze him. It was attractive as hell and the exact reason why you were following him. You were sort of excited to see this play out.

Mineta v. Shinsou

Finally you rounded the corner to find Mineta still camped outside the locker room facing the door.

You scoffed in disgust. Your eyes zeroed in on the camera in grubby little his hands.

Shinsou gently put his arm out against your stomach to motion for you to wait there as he neared him.

You were nervous, anxious, excited.

“Hey 1-A.” Shinsou’s voice was casual but scarily unfriendly. “How’s it going?”

Mineta turned to him. Not noticing you standing in the background.

“Oh err hi Shinsou.” He said unexpectingly.

“Someone asked me to come find you and tell you something.”

“Really?” His nasally voice sounded pathetic in comparison to Shinsou’s smooth sultry one.

“Yea. But I think they were too nice. So I’m going to embellish a little on their behalf.”

“Uhh—?”

“What the fuck are you doing?” His voice was still so casual if you didn’t see the deadly serious look on his face you’d think he was chatting it up with a friend.

Your heart started racing. He didn’t seem this upset earlier!

“I’m—I’m just uhh...”

He couldn’t possibly be able to admit what he was actually doing right now.

“I should kick your ass man. Maybe report you so you’d never make it as a hero. But instead I think I’ll—”

“Shinsou wait dude—“ he was trembling.

Shinsou hadn’t even moved an inch. And he was still easily six feet away from him, his hands relaxed in his pockets. But he was all dark intimidation. Just his glare was throwing Mineta into a panic attack.

“Okay I’m sorry!! I didn’t mean to do it!” The offender started bawling.

Shinsou chuckled with no humor.

“How does one ‘accidentally’ take a picture up someone’s skirt?”

No response.

“What? Now you forgot how to answer a simple question?”

Mineta had to wipe some snot from his nose before speaking again. “I—“

He abruptly ceased trembling and his eyes went blank.

You gasped. Shinsou was using his quirk on him!?

“Y/n close your eyes.” He instructed you softly.

The alarm was going off in your head.

“What?! What are you—” You whispered loudly.

“Please? Quickly.” His voice was sharply contrasted to the way he’d been scaring Mineta.

You slapped both hands over your eyes. Praying that you weren’t about to hear a murder.

Your heart and your breathing were so loud you almost couldn’t hear them over your own panic.

“Strip.” He instructed his victim. “All the way down.”

Oh my god oh my god oh my god was just repeating in your mind over and over.

You heard fabric rustling. Mineta however wasn’t making a sound.

“Now take your sock and put it on your...”

Shinsou started speaking much lower now but you didn’t need to hear to guess what Mineta was putting his sock over right now.

You shuttered at the thought.

After a few moments of agonizing waiting in silence, dying to know what was going on, you yelped at the touch of a hand on the small of your back.

“Shhh. Keep these closed.” Shinsou urged as his large hand slid over both yours as a reinforcement.

He whisked you away with haste, trying to stifle his laugh as you two shuffled through the hall.

“Shinsou!!! Are you crazy?!” You whisper yelled as you flew.

He laughed more in response. “Probably.”

Just then several guys shrieked loudly from the direction you came.

Immediately recognizing it as Denki and Sero. You heard them screaming a couple “what the fuck”s at whatever god awful sight Shinsou had left them.

“Kaminari!” You said, another wave of panick flushing through you.

But then Denki and Sero’s hysterical laughter filled the halls as Mineta, who must have came to life again, started shrieking and sobbing.

A second later you heard Mina and Hagakure screaming and yelling at Mineta to put his clothes back on.

What the fuck was going on right now!?

Soon they were almost out of earshot as Shinsou’s arm that was wrapped around your waist wrangled you to a hault. Your hands slapped with cold from the absence of his warmth as he took his reinforcement hand away.

“Okay. You can open your eyes now.” He said not at all breathless from fleeing the scene like you were.

You slowly opened your eyes to find Shinsou signature sleepy eyes peering down at you. His face was only a few inches away as you two were tucked inside a doorframe. He was pretty. Even prettier this close.

You felt your cheeks get hot as the corner of his mouth tilted up into a little smirk.

He found the confused wild look on your face very cute. As if you’d never done something this questionable in your life.

You were so busy staring at his smooth looking lips that you’d forgotten to speak.

“Well that was....do you think we went too far?” You asked feeling guilty for some reason.

“No.” He said in quiet confidence. “I just gave him a little taste of harassment. So he knows how good it feels.”

You giggled nervously. He really was crazy. It was so attractive...

“Also...” he went to reach for something in his pocket. The shifting cased his body to lean forward. Bringing your lips even closer to touching. “I think you’ve got some private business to take care of with this.”

He dangled the cheap silver little digital camera by its handle in the air between your faces.

You exhaled. True relief finally washing over you. In all the commotion you’d forgotten about it.

“Oh thank god.” You said on a breathe out.

He flicked his head in the camera’s direction, motioning for you to take it.

It kind of grossed you out, holding Mineta’s perv weapons. But you powered through, powering it on and checking the gallery.

Sure enough there it was. Your indecent photo immediately popped up on the screen. He hadn’t gotten a good shot anything but you were still disturbed nonetheless. You cringed in embarrassment. You looked up to see if Shinsou was trying to take a peek. But you were met with only his eyes scanning every inch of your face intently with a lustful face. He wasn’t interested in looking at anything else.

You’d been so absorbed in the photo that you

didn’t notice he’d shifted his body to shield you from the hall to have this private moment. Nobody was out there but you still felt better knowing he was concerned for your privacy.

This also meant he was leaning an arm against the wall next to you ear. Dangerously close. You could almost feel his warm breath on your cheek.

You were biting your lip. As if he wasn’t already drawn to them enough, there you went pulling more blood to them to make them even plumper and delicious looking.

The thank you that escaped your lips was so soft it barely tickled his ears. But it was enough to make his chest swell with pride and satisfaction. He started to say you’re welcome but as his lips parted to speak yours pressed into them. Molding around his bottom lip and sucking gently.

His hand settled on your cheek to pull you in a little closer. Savoring the moment a little longer. The softness of your skin and the smoothness of your lips sending him into sensory bliss. He’d been waiting to see what you felt like since he first saw you walking by his general studies class. You’d smiled at him. You were probably just being polite but he never stopped thinking about how he was going to make this moment right here happen.

Never imagining it would happen like this.

His kiss was short and sweet. He had to use every bit of his self control to pull himself off of you. He didn’t want to scare you off no matter how damn irresistible you were being right now.

He’d always thought you were pretty but right now, while the adrenaline was pumping, you were beyond that. He was reveling in the idea of being your little unconventional hero right now. Hoping he’d get another chance to do it again soon.

His body was pressed against you and you could feel the camera getting smushed. Sadly he pulled away and your body instantly depressed at the absence of his weight on you.

“Feeling better now?” He asked in his usual calm and collected voice.

“Yes. A strange way to get there though.” He smiled at your giggle.

Reminded of the only task he’d left to you, you raised the camera and pressed the delete button. Shutting it off before you could find out what other things he had on there.

“Can you get rid of it?” You said handing him the camera back. Not wanting anything to do with it. “Throw it in a lake or something I don’t know.”

He took it easily and clicked out the SIM card.

“How about something more fun.”

To your surprise he, with no struggle, bent the SIM card in half. Breaking it and then dropped the camera on the floor.

You choked at the loud crunching noise the metal made as he stomped on it.

“Oh my god.” You said laughing. He was confirmed crazy.

“What? It’s the best way in my opinion. Give it a stomp.”

“No.” You said giggling uncontrollably now as he nudged your ticklish spot.

“You really should. How often do you get to stomp on Mineta’s shit?” He insisted, amused by your reaction to his poke.

“Okay okay.” You caved as you pressed on it with your foot, breaking the glass.

“What?” He said with a disappointed eyebrow. “That was the worst stomp I’ve ever seen. I thought you were in the hero course y/n.”

You rolled your eyes and gave it a better kick, to his satisfaction. He chucked the SD card in a garbage can and picked up the mangled camera.

“Let’s go see if that 1-A phone charger is still laughing.” He said grabbing your hand and tugging you along with him. “Plus...” he wiggled the camera, “I have to give Mineta his property back.”

You snorted. “I don’t think he’ll be getting within fifty feet of you any time soon. Good luck chasing him down.”

He grew a wicked grin at the thought. “Should be fun.”

He whisked you away faster and you both flew down the hall cheesing at what had easily become one of your favorite memories together at UA.

😩👆stop it.

General tags from my masterlist: @edgyb1tch @waywardcowboyllamavoid @ladybeautiful18

Like my masterlist to be added!

#bnha shinsou #fanfic #mha #mha fanfiction #fluff #mha fluff #mha headcanons #mha scenarios #shinsou x y/n #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou #mha shinsou #shinsou imagine #shinsou fluff #shinsou angst

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 4 years ago

Text

Their Book

I finally got enough things crossed off my to do list for my anxiety to allow me a brain break and I was having writing withdrawals so... have some supercharged fluff.

Warnings: love confessions, overwhelming emotions?, honestly it’s just cute shit.

____________________

A book. There was a black, leather-bound book, about the size of Jaskier’s hand laying at the top of his pack. He hadn’t brought any books with him when he left Oxenfurt, nor had he purchased any since. It was too much of an indulgence on the road, too expensive when there were rooms to pay for and the rare fruit to haggle over. But here it was. Staring up at him with it’s embossed ring of laurels surrounding the title on the cover.

Jaskier brushed his fingers over the spine as if to make sure it was real, whispering as he did, “Geralt?”

His witcher stopped unpacking in their tiny rented room and took a deep, warry breath, “You found it?”

“How much did you spend on this?” He gingerly picked up the volume, running a finger over the title page in awe of the soft but sturdy quality of the paper.

Geralt stepped closer, hovering at his elbow, “Do you not like it? Have you read it before?”

Jaskier wasn’t sure if Geralt’s thoughtfulness or the crushing realization of just how hesitant he sounded contributed more to the sore ache in his chest. It was a new ache, very different from the one he was used to. This ache was of an overflow of emotion and reciprocal devotion that made the former pain of longing feel like the prick of a pin in comparison. It was an all consuming and altogether pleasant kind of pain, only soothed by leaning into it or Geralt’s arms.

So he did.

Jaskier turned to drape his arms over his lover’s shoulders and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips as he melted into the embrace, “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“Mmm, you haven’t already read it then?”

Jaskier smiled softly, just as taken aback by the gentleness and unbridled vulnerability Geralt saved for him as he was the first time it hit him, “I have. But I love it.”

Geralt let out a relieved sigh and kissed his forehead, “Good. It was that or erotica and I figured you’d appreciate this more.”

“Good choice,” Jaskier chuckled, “Who needs erotica when I’ve got the hottest,” he paused to kiss Geralt’s nose, “most adoring,” again to kiss his cheek, “thoughtful,” again to kiss his other cheek, “protective,” a kiss on his chin, “and delicious,” one more pause for a kiss on the lips, “man on the continent?”

Geralt hummed into their kiss and ran one hand up between the bard’s shoulder blades, pressing his palm flat against his back and their bodies closer together.

Something within Jaskier slotted into place in that moment. Something he hadn’t realized was missing before it found its home. He had fallen in love before, sure, plenty of times in fact, but nothing ever felt this pure and safe and warm. This safety had very little to do with being held by one of the continent’s most feared warriors. He knew without a shadow of a doubt Geralt was his and wanted him. Not just his body or his notoriety or his flowery pillow talk. Geralt wanted the whole of him and every ugly side that came with him.

And hell if he didn’t crave the exact same thing. He wanted to hold Geralt’ hair when he was hungover and be there for every blood curdling hunt. Not for the stories anymore, but to make sure he had help when he needed it or a shoulder to lean on when it went south. He wanted to start a bar fight over the witcher every chance he got and hold him close when his senses took over and left him shaking and on edge.

He hadn’t realized he was trembling until Geralt pulled back to check on him.

“What’s wrong?”

Jaskier sighed a laugh as Geralt wiped a tear from his cheek, “Absolutely nothing, darling.”

Geralt frowned, his eyes soft and searching, “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Jaskier whispered, tucking his nose into the crook of Geralt’s neck and taking a deep breath as the witcher began to sway gently. He had never been so glad he hadn’t told someone he loved them. If he had already said those three very true, but very powerful words he would have nothing to express to Geralt exactly why he felt he might not be able to stand on his own. Poetry and prose be damned, he couldn’t find different words even if he’d needed to.

He whispered them softly, at the end of a long, shaky breath, almost like a prayer.

Geralt froze and, for a split second, Jaskier thought he might have made a grave mistake. Before he could so much as tense his muscles, Geralt placed a hand at the base of his neck, pressing him ever so gently into his shoulder as he turned to kiss his temple.

“I love you too.”

His warm breath over Jaskier’s ear made him shiver as Geralt resumed his swaying and guided them to lay tangled together on the bed.

“Will you read to me?” he asked, tapping the book still clutched in one of Jaskier’s hands.

The bard nodded and pulled his witcher to his chest, placing a kiss to the crown of his head before opening their book.

#a bitch is soft and full of yearning today #if i have to suffer so do you #geraskier #geraskier i love you #geraskier love confession #geraskier confession #geraskier cuddles #jaskier reading to geralt #the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskier fic #geraskier fan fic #canon universe geraskier #geralt get's jaskier a present #geralt gets jaskier a book #established relationship geraskier #i just want someone to read to geralt as he falls asleep #im v worried he never got bed time storries #and i just want him to feel loved and safe the way it feels when someone reads to you in bed

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rhysismydaddy · 4 years ago

Note

Pre-mating bond reveal Feysand Smut request! Featuring feyre in some lingerie and a whipped Rhys ps. I love your fics

On the long, never-ending list of things I need to be doing right now, this is definitely at the bottom.

I need to find out what Azriel learned from his spies in the human realm, make sure Amren and Cassian haven’t gone to wreck the Summer Court, and pay my taxes.

Watching Feyre shop for lingerie is below the fucking taxes. It’s below everything.

And yet here I am, staring with too much interest as she runs her finger along lacy unmentionable after lacy unmentionable.

I’m mesmerized, desperate to know which one she’ll choose to buy. The simple knowledge that she has it will torture me, but I don’t even care. I have to know.

Five minutes go by, then ten.

I follow her like the whipped little bitch I am as she circles the store once more, making sure my face doesn’t betray my interest in the teal little thing in the corner.

“You know what, I don’t think I’ll get anything,” she announces suddenly, turning to me to analyze me with those beautiful, too-observant blue eyes of hers.

“Alright.”

“I mean, do men--sorry, males--even care about this kind of thing? Or do they just prefer their women to be naked?” She peers up at me, lips curved into an innocent smile. “Which do you prefer?”

“Last I checked, I don’t have any women.”

She shrugs like that’s irrelevant. “You’re buying it. You should have an opinion.”

Before I can even start to respond, she’s closing in on me, putting a hand against my chest and leaning in co-conspiratorially. “Hypothetically, if you were to come home to find me draped across your bed, what would you prefer I be wearing?”

She grabs something off one of the racks, and the feel of lace on my arm makes blood shoot straight to my crotch. “Something like this? Or nothing at all?”

My jaw aches from being clenched so hard, and there’s absolutely no way I can respond, so I just shrug.

Feyre smiles knowingly and flits across the store, snatching up the piece I’d been subtly--at least I thought--eyeing the entire time.

She drops it on the counter and gestures over her shoulder to me. “I’ll take this. He’s paying.”

I roll my eyes but nod when the clerk looks at me, and she makes a valiant attempt at hiding a smile. Once the damned thing is wrapped up, Feyre slips the bag on her arm and gives me a bright smile.

“I’m going home.”

My chest clenches at that word, just like it always does, but I ignore it. “I’ll walk you.”

“No, thanks. I’ve got what I wanted from you,” she teases, shaking the bag in my face. “But who knows? Maybe in... two or three hours when you come home, I’ll be waiting for you.”

Fucking hell, she’s going to kill me.

But the question is... is she just teasing me, or is she serious?

Exactly two and a half hours later, I find out.

She was fucking serious.

She’s...

Ah, fuck.

Fuck.

I’m frozen in the door, staring at her, and I can’t think about anything besides how right this feels.

Coming home to find her in my bed, wearing some wonderfully indecent negligible, looking at me with so much blatant lust it almost chokes me.

It’s so fucking right.

But it’s also wrong, because she doesn’t even know why it’s right.

Because I still, still, haven’t told her that she’s mated to me.

Because I’m stupid.

Stupid or not, I realize I’ve been standing here like some mute idiot for a little too long. “Hello, Feyre darling.”

She smiles at me, a warm smile that makes my chest ache, and I grip the doorframe to keep myself from striding to her and tasting it.

If she knew, she wouldn’t smile like that. She’d probably scream at me and rage and curse the gods for giving her someone like me.

And I don’t want to tell her, because I’m selfish and love the look on her face. Right now... right now she’s looking at me like I’m everything.

With a dramatic flourish that makes my lips twitch, she throws the cover off of herself, allowing me an unobstructed view of the overpriced contraption I bought earlier tonight.

It’d stood out to me because of the color. The bright turquoise is almost the exact shade of her eyes, and it’s beautiful against the pale backdrop of her skin.

The color, however, is not what my mind is focused on.

It’s focused on the way the lace frames the smooth swell of her hips, the way its not exactly solid enough to hide the rosy color of her nipples, the way the thin, feeble straps are slipping off her shoulders.

No longer able to stop myself, I stroll over and brace my hands against the edge of the bed.

I take another long look, starting at her pretty red toenails and ending at the challenging look in her eyes.

“Hi, Rhysand.” She says my name slowly, like a woman who knows she has a man in the palm of her hand. “So? Do you like it? Or would you prefer me in nothing at all?”

“You’ll have to give me a comparison,” I respond, forcing my eyes away from the swell of her breasts for a moment. “But maybe later. Right now, I’m interested in this little get up. It did cost me quite a bit of money, you know.”

Reaching out, I grab her ankles and slide them around until her body’s facing me.

“I’m afraid I can’t see all of it, though.”

She understands and smoothly turn over, putting the rest of the little set on wide display.

And by the rest of it, I mean the tiny slip of blue lace resting above the curve of her backside.

She’s temptation incarnate, a woman designed by the gods to drive me happily to insanity.

“Hm,” I murmur nonchalantly, running my finger along the material softly but not touching the skin I’m suddenly desperate to bite.

She shivers, and the fact that I’m affecting her but barely even touching her does little harm for my ego.

Reminding myself yet again that I should walk out of this room and lock the door behind me, I put a hard boundary in place.

I can’t fuck her.

Not yet. Not while she doesn’t know who I really am to her.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t satisfy the insane curiosity that’s been demanding for weeks I find out how she tastes.

“Turn over again.” She complies, and I lean to press a kiss to the top of her ankle. “Now spread those pretty legs for me, Feyre darling.”

Slowly, her feet slide apart on the sheet, and I trace the movement to look at the apex of her thighs. My hands glide up her skin, and she sighs, the sound so goddamn pretty I have to take a deep breath to calm myself.

I press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, and her hand shoots out to grab my hair and force my eyes back to hers. “I want-”

I know what she’s going to say, so I cut her off. “And while I’d love to give you anything and everything you want, we don’t have time.”

“We have all night.”

“Mm, true.” Another kiss, but this time I dart my tongue out to taste her skin. Holy fuck, she’s perfect. “But when I fuck you, Feyre, I’ll need longer than one night. I’ll need days, maybe even weeks. I’ll need you to be so strung out on me you can’t breathe, so desperate you beg. And we’ll definitely need to be out of the city, because I plan on making you scream my name loud enough to wake the dead.”

It isn’t the whole truth, but not one word was a lie.

It seems to do the trick because Feyre settles back, raises an eyebrow, and says, “Proceed, then.”

She’s trying to play it like she’s so unaffected, despite the fact I can smell her arousal and see the way she’s clenching the bedsheet.

I slid to my knees, bowing before my mate, and pull her ankles until her legs rest over my shoulders. I realize my wings are out, yet another testament to how different this is, how unhinged I’m becoming.

For a moment, I just familiarize myself with the feel of her skin, so unbelievably soft and warm against my palms. She lets me touch her, leaning up on her elbows to watch.

Making eye contact with her, I lean down and press my nose to the apex of her thighs. And inhale.

Even though it’s been teasing me for the past five minutes, the full scent of her hits me like a punch to the gut, and a low, satisfied sound escapes my throat.

She blushes, color blooming high on her cheeks, and I smile up at her.

Mumbling something I’m too distracted to hear, she falls back on the bed and puts a hand over her face.

Is she... praying?

Gods, I’m going to enjoy this. I’m going to drive her crazy, make her feel as undone as I do.

As soon as I can figure out how to get this fucking contraption off her.

Lace and little straps are everywhere, and I mess with it for a minute before giving up and just ripping the bottom half off.

“Rhysand,” she scolds, like I wasn’t the one to buy the damn thing.

I’d reply, say something witty, but now she’s bare before me, and the sight of her thighs spread for me, the obvious sign of her arousal... it undoes me.

My mouth is on her before I can think about it, tongue tasting her and immediately dipping inside for more because holy hell.

She tastes better than anything I’ve ever had. Better than cool water on the hottest day, fresh sweets, ripe fruit, whatever.

A low groan meets my ears, igniting a fire in my blood, but I keep my pace slow, not wanting this to ever end.

Her hips start shifting, desperate for more friction, but I hold them still and keep her exactly where I want her. I run my tongue around her clit, then suck on it gently, and her thighs tighten around my head.

“Rhys.”

The name I’ve heard for five hundred years has never sounded better, and as soon as we’re done here, I’m making it a law that no one but her can say it.

I kiss her slowly, keep going until she’s panting and cursing and saying my name over and over and over.

She comes on my tongue, attempting to strangle me with her lovely thighs, but I don’t stop. I honestly don’t think I can.

I taste her until I’m drunk on it, breathe her in until she’s all I can smell, fill my hands with her soft skin.

I can tell she’s getting close again, so right as release hits her, I slip two fingers inside her and shift my mouth to her inner thigh, sucking on the skin until it’s sure to leave a mark.

I’m trying not to be too possessive, but the thought of her walking around with a little reminder of whose mouth was on her drives me a little crazy. I push my fingers into her again, kissing the other thigh.

Gods, the feel of her around me... her smell surrounding me... it’s almost too much.

She seems to agree.

“Rhys,” she pants, half sobbing. She’s limp on the bed, legs trembling as I kiss them. “It’s too much. You’re too much. I can’t-”

Dropping a kiss to her hip bone, I crawl up her body, bracing myself on my free hand.

The other keeps moving as I lean down to brush my lips across her ear. “You can, and you will. I’ve wanted you for weeks, Feyre darling, and I’m not about to stop at two measly little orgasms.”

I push my fingers into her a little harder for emphasis, and she arches up into me, pressing her breasts against my chest. “I think you’re trying to kill me.”

“I would never let anything happen to you,” I tell her, meaning the words. Hell, I’d mean them even if she wasn’t my mate.

Her head falls back as she gives in to the pleasure we both know she wants, and I drop a kiss the arch of her neck as a reward.

She hums, a happy little mmm sound that makes me grin.

Her hips lift and circle as she rides my hand, and as she breathes my name again in that husky little tone, I can’t hold out anymore.

I kiss her, exactly how I’ve wanted to since the moment I first saw her.

Her head tilts, lips opening for me, and it sends a bolt of pure fucking joy through me at how natural it is.

An entirely different emotion shoots through my veins as she sucks on my tongue. I know she can taste herself, and the thought makes my cock throb. I’m lying further down then she is, so I press my hips into the mattress to relieve some tension.

Not that it helps when I know exactly how she feels around my fingers and how much better she’d feel around a different part of me.

I nip her lip for being so annoyingly perfect, and she wraps her arms around my neck, using her hands in my hair to pull me closer.

She’s kissing me back, kissing me as if she can’t get enough, and it’s like a fever broke out and consumed us, driving us to a frenzy.

I realize I’ve horribly ignored her breasts and shift to tug the lacy blue bralette down far enough to free them. The tips go rigid under my stare, and for a moment all I can do is try to remember how to breathe.

Then I capture one in my mouth, circling the tip with my tongue in time with the movements of my hand.

“Fuck, that feels good,” she murmurs, the words an incentive as I switch to her other breast.

I’m all over her, pressing kisses to her chest and neck and mouth like I can’t get enough.

Because I can’t. No amount of this will ever be enough.

Eventually, her grip on my hair starts to tighten, and I press my lips to her ears to whisper, “Come for me, Feyre darling.”

Probably for the first and only time, she does what I tell her. As soon as her mouth opens to release a sound that’ll probably make me come in my pants, I capture her lips with mine.

I keep going until every last little helpless whimper stops, then pull my fingers out and lift up slightly to look at her.

Flushed cheeks, wide eyes, kissed lips. Beautiful.

For a second, we just lay there and stare at each other, and I swear to gods, the words are right on the tip of my tongue. You’re my mate, Feyre.

Fuck, I want to tell her.

If only for the two percent probability that she doesn’t try to kill me or become disappointed by the news. The thought of that two percent, of what it’d feel like to be loved by her--not just desired--is almost enough to risk it.

But in the end, I’m a coward, drawing away from her and pulling the sheet over her. “Sleep,” I say softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

She reaches for me. “Rhysand, I can-”

“It’s okay, gorgeous. This was about you.” She blinks up at me, blue eyes so godsdamn bright. I brush a finger over her cheek and say honestly, “I wanted this to be about you.”

“Okay,” she whispers back, obviously exhausted enough to not argue, turning on her side and getting comfortable in my bed. I know her smell will be all over my sheets tomorrow, one more temptation I’ll have to deal with. “But next time, it’s about you.”

I get to my feet before I can commence next time. The thought of her hands on me... I could sit still and let that woman touch me all day, and I wouldn’t get bored.

I walk to the door, and stop in the frame to look at her again. She’s already asleep, dark blonde hair bright against the black of the sheets.

Gods, I can’t live without her.

Over five hundred years on this earth, and I’m completely wrapped around the finger of a woman who doesn’t even realize it.

I know I’m not worthy of her, but I also know that if by some miracle she doesn’t run in the other direction when I tell her about the mating bond, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be.

__________________________________________________________

ask and you shall (eventually) receive. sorry this took forever, but thanks for the request!

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