#a thousand distant worlds how dare you

[cleo-fox]

Okay, I love all of this, but let me yell about this line in particular:

“Loki glanced over at you again, his green eyes sparkling as if a thousand distant worlds were burning up inside them. He had an unparalleled mysterious aura around him, like the weight of the entire world was resting on his broad shoulders.”

MA’AM?!? EXCUSE ME? How dare you describe this man so perfectly!? A thousand distant worlds burning up??? I am feeling emotions and would like to speak to your manager.

Also: this fic has further cemented my most fervent belief that we need more TVA Loki fics. We especially need more TVA Loki fics where he is wearing this suit. Cee, thank you for doing your part, I shall require 635 more by the end of the week.

In conclusion: go read this fic immediately.

Against the Wall {TVA!Loki x Female Reader One-shot}

Cee's Loki Fic Masterlist / AO3 Link

Pairing : TVA!Loki x Female Reader

Summary : The first interrogation of X-5 doesn’t go as planned, and Loki needs to blow off some steam. He returns to 1977 for a drink, and discovers that not only have his actions have left you abandoned by your date to his movie premiere -  but it’s also your birthday. 

Thankfully, Loki knows just how to solve both of your problems. 

W/c : 4.4k words

Content Warnings : Smut, p-in-v, semi-public sex, strangers to lovers, ruffled tuxedo appreciation

Author's Note : This one is dedicated to my beloved and beautiful friend @infinitystoner as part of our Glorious Birthday Bash. Our ask boxes are open, so get those questions in!

18+ Only - Minors DNI

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Loki was absolutely seething. The Hunter X-5 - Brad, or whatever he wanted to be called, was not just uncooperative in answering their questions about General Dox’s plans - he was a complete asshole about it. And even though they knew he would be, it was still impressive just how quickly he managed to rattle all three of them and completely derail the interrogation. 

It was enough to make Loki afraid that he was losing his touch, that his edges had softened too much. But after the catastrophic events he’d endured over the past few months, what else could he expect?

After leaving the interrogation room with Mobius and B-15, Loki had stormed away, his eyes blazing with fury and his fists clenching until his knuckles were white. He just needed a moment to calm himself down, to regain control of his emotions. 

Truthfully, what he needed was a break, to relieve some tension and come back to his problems with a clear head. If only everything would just stop trying to implode for five minutes, he might be able to do that. But the weight of everything he needed to fix was slowly crushing him to death instead. 

And that asshole thought it necessary to throw the death of Frigga in his face and call him a villain - all in the same breath. The audacity, the nerve of that man to speak to him like that - when genuinely, truthfully and in every sense of the word, Loki was only trying to fix, not harm. 

Loki pushed himself further down the endless corridors of the TVA, and the anger radiating through his skin alerted the unassuming TVA employees to continue minding their own business as they slinked past him. Loki’s heavy footsteps echoed off the pristine floors and elegant walls, and he foolishly thought that maybe they’d take the hint and turn around to take a different path towards their destination. But just as soon as he would find himself alone in the hallway, another one would appear, and Loki’s rage would elevate just a little bit more. 

Norns, was there nowhere to even think in this place?!

Soon, Loki found himself in another alcove with another elevator, that inevitably led to another floor with even more corridors and TVA employees who were just trying to do their jobs in the face of a Temporal Loom meltdown and total destruction. It wasn’t their fault; it was the only thing they knew how to do. 

There had to be an exit around here somewhere - a courtyard, or a sidewalk, or something - any place Loki could go and not be reminded of all of this. But how long would it take him to find it? 

Too long. And more likely than not, a new crisis would emerge before he could even reach it. 

As he paced back and forth across the granite floor, Loki’s hands alternated between raking through his hair, clenching at his sides, and resting on his hips. His mind raced uncontrollably, and his chest heaved to keep enough oxygen mixing with the blood flowing through his veins. He was starting to feel trapped, doomed, cursed. 

Loki took a deep breath to steady himself, and as he closed his eyes, his thoughts shifted to the beautiful woman he’d seen earlier that evening. Her stylish dress, pale amber and loosely cinched around her waist, had been far too enchanting to be wasted on a date to a silly movie premiere. She was much too good to be on Brad’s arm for the evening, and Loki wondered if he had even bothered to learn her name…

But ultimately, it didn’t matter. Loki didn’t have the time or the space to clear his head, and he certainly didn’t have the time to waste on thoughts of a woman he’d never see again. He was just going to have to carry on, to power through the stress and brain fog and dread, like he’d always done. 

Resigning himself to return from where he came, Loki shoved his hands in the pockets of his pea coat and turned on his heels to head back to Mobius and B-15 and the interrogation of Brad. But he stopped as his fingers brushed against something, and his brow furrowed as he pulled the TemPad out of his pocket. 

Loki couldn’t remember how or when it got there. He turned it over in his hands carefully, running his fingertips across its smooth edges and polished wood grain as he considered his options. 

With this, he could easily find a place to think, and he could return just moments after he left the interrogation room. And with the branches of the Sacred Timeline already diverging wildly out of control, no one would ever know he had left.

Loki quickly glanced over his shoulders to make sure he was alone, and he flipped the top screen of the TemPad open. The previous coordinates were still typed in, still active.

All he had to do was press a single button and walk through the Time Door. In another moment or two, he could return to the Zaniac premiere and finally have the drink he so desperately needed. 

And maybe Brad’s date would be willing to share that drink with him…

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This was not how you thought your birthday would turn out. 

Dressed to the nines, after hours in the salon chair getting your hair done and days of planning your outfit down to the perfume kissing the insides of your wrists - all so you could be abandoned by that jackass before the showing of his film even started. 

What made it worse was you didn’t even want to be here tonight, with this Brad Wolfe - a man no one had ever heard of before six months ago but was suddenly basking in the spotlight of directors clamoring to hire him and starlets begging to be seen with him. 

You could have been out with your friends celebrating your birthday, but your agent had insisted that this would be much better for your career; he was definitely going to be getting a very unpleasant phone call in the morning. 

After Brad disappeared, you sat yourself at the bar and ordered a drink; it was less humiliating than the press seeing you alone inside the theater, which would have surely been the only headline in tomorrow morning’s paper. 

You briefly thought about calling your friends to meet up at The Roxy, which had been the initial plan for the evening, but ultimately decided against it. Nothing could salvage the evening now; maybe you’d have better luck next year. 

The ice from your second drink had all but melted, and after the leftover contents were consumed, you were ready to get out of there. The exciting climax of the movie would be happening soon, and once again the lobby would be swarming with press and London’s finest celebrities, not to mention Brad - who had probably found another woman to have clinging to his arm during the film. You didn’t need to see that. 

As you thanked the bartender with a warm smile and placed a generous tip in his jar, your thoughts returned to the two men Brad had been talking to just before he disappeared. One of the men, the older gentleman, seemed pleased as punch to be there, but the other one - the tall, dark and devastatingly handsome one - seemed like he’d rather be literally anywhere else; it was exactly how you felt about this ridiculous event. 

And God was that scowl on his face sexy; but then again, everything about him was positively delicious. His piercing green eyes had threatened to set the room ablaze as he looked around the room, and when he wasn’t scowling, he was smirking. 

It was a very confident smirk, and he deserved to have it. He certainly knew how to wear a tuxedo, and you were sure he looked even better underneath it. 

Just thinking about it was enough to make your heart race, and the warmth of arousal was beginning to unfurl itself in your core. It was too bad the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen had left already; perhaps you would head to The Roxy after all, to find someone to take you home tonight…

“Leaving so soon?” 

Your breath faltered as you turned to see him standing next to you. He looked exquisite - casually leaned against the bar, one ankle crossed over the other, and one hand in his pocket as he raised an inquisitive eyebrow in your direction. You couldn’t believe this was happening, that he had appeared so suddenly and he was looking right at you. 

“I suppose that depends on whether something exciting is about to happen here,” you replied with a shrug and met his inquisitive expression with one of your own. 

The man chuckled and cleared his throat as he turned his attention to the rows of liquor displayed behind the bar. “And I suppose you wouldn’t think helping me decide on a drink would be very exciting…”

His voice was smooth as silk - polished and refined, and it made everything he wasn’t saying so much more intense. You could see his eyes in the mirror behind the bar, hungrily roaming up and down your form as he paused, and you knew he was thinking about all the things he wanted to do tonight. 

And when he turned back to look at you, it was like you were the only other person in existence, like you were the only thing that mattered. “…or would you find that exciting?” 

That look was sinful, intoxicating, teasing. It made you forget all about wanting to get out of there before the movie ended. It made you want to do anything to keep his attention, and so you sat back down on the barstool and crossed your legs as you leaned closer to him. 

“Surely a classy man such as yourself knows what he likes to drink?” you replied, hoping he enjoyed being teased as much as he enjoyed teasing. 

The man laughed again and shook his head with a charming smile on his perfectly-crafted face. If you didn’t know any better, you would have believed a God had sculpted his features with a careful and delicate hand, that only something majestic could have styled the dark curls on his head. He was perfect, and you were dying for him to ruin you. 

“Well, I’ll be honest - I just wanted to know what you were drinking, so I could invite you to have another with me.” 

He didn’t wait for a response, and immediately unbuttoned the jacket of his tuxedo as he sat down next to you. His long legs were splayed wide as he gazed at you, and he had the kind of thighs you wanted to sink your teeth in. 

The white shirt underneath the jacket was stark white and perfectly pressed, save the ruffles running vertically from his throat to his waist. There weren’t too many men that could pull off that look with the same confidence and charm, and you found yourself wondering who he was and what he did for a living. 

He had to work in the entertainment industry - fashion, maybe? Another actor? You wanted to know everything about him, from where he grew up to how many different ways he could make your toes curl. 

“What a clever, classy pick-up line. I’m truly impressed,” you murmured playfully as you beckoned the bartender over. 

The man narrowed his eyes, and his perfect lips curved into a teasing smirk. “I believe it worked, did it not?” 

You shrugged innocently, bringing your fingertips to fondle the necklace dangling around your neck. His gaze followed your fingers with a hungry expression, and he opened his mouth to say something else when the bartender interrupted to take your order.

“Yes, me and my new friend…” you paused and tilted your head at him, a silent plea for the man to finally introduce himself. 

His expression shifted briefly to uncertainty, as if he wasn’t sure that he wanted to give you his name at all, before resuming his confident demeanor as he met your gaze once more. “Loki. Pleased to meet you.”

“A pair of Slow Screws for me and my new friend, Loki,” you smiled at the bartender before returning to your new companion for the evening. “That’s quite an interesting name, Loki. Scandinavian?” 

“Something like that. And you’ve got quite an interesting drink order,” he replied, leaning closer and sliding his arm along the back of your chair. “Tell me - do you usually share Slow Screws with complete strangers?”

His voice was low and husky, vibrating at all the right frequencies and sending shivers of excitement down your spine. It took all of your willpower to not mount him on the spot. 

“Only when it’s my birthday, and I’ve been abandoned by my jerk of a date,” you answered, though truthfully you were glad he disappeared if it meant you got to know this man a little better. 

Loki’s brow twitched and he looked away; it was an odd reaction, one you hadn’t anticipated. Did Loki know something about why Brad had left, and was he not expecting you to bring it up? 

The bartender returned with your drinks, and you were grateful for something else to focus on for the moment. Freshly-squeezed orange juice and gin swirled around the tall glass as you brought it to your lips and took a not-so dainty sip. 

Loki glanced over and smiled as he followed suit, then set his glass down and began tapping the bar-top with his long and surely skilled fingers. “You know I, um…was speaking with your date earlier, and I promise he didn’t ditch you. Something very important had come up, and…”

Loki glanced over at you again, his green eyes sparkling as if a thousand distant worlds were burning up inside them. He had an unparalleled mysterious aura around him, like the weight of the entire world was resting on his broad shoulders. 

“If he sent you here to keep me company in his stead…” you interrupted, brushing your fingers across the back of his hand as he tapped mindlessly on the bar-top. “…then I’m glad he left.” 

That seemed to be enough to make him forget about all of his earlier troubles, and a confident smile graced his features once more. “Well, I couldn’t leave a beautiful woman all alone on her birthday, now could I?” 

Loki rotated his hand underneath yours, and his fingertips lightly traced along your inner wrist, sending your heart rate skyrocketing. He leaned closer to whisper against your ear. “So how does the birthday girl want to celebrate then, hmm?” 

Your breath hitched, and it felt like the rest of the world stopped except for the two of you. You wanted to spend your evening dissolving into pleasure, screaming his name, breaking your bed - but this man clearly loved innuendos and teasing; it was foreplay for him, just as much as it was for you. 

“Well, I’ve always wanted to try…a Slow Comfortable Screw Against The Wall,” you answered softly, knowing he would understand that you didn’t necessarily mean the drink. 

Loki’s arm slipped around your chair once more, dragging his knuckles down the back of your arm. “Is that how you like it?”

Your eyes widened, and your heart thudded painfully in your chest. But it was worth it if it meant he’d do it, so you nodded as you bit your lower lip. 

“Slow…and comfortable?” Loki continued, whispering softly and letting his lips brush against the cartilage of your ear. 

Swallowing back a moan was the hardest thing you’d ever done. Your thighs pressed together, squeezing them against your already wet cunt and nodded again. 

“What about against the wall? Do you like that too?” Loki brought his other hand up, tracing the angle of your jaw with his fingertips and turning your face closer to his. 

Your lips parted as your nose brushed against his, and you silently pleaded for mercy. Your pussy was already throbbing and clenching around nothing, and if you didn’t get out of here soon, you were going to explode. 

A simple yes was all you could manage, and Loki immediately took action. He pulled a few bills from his pocket and tossed them on the bar as he stood up, and you absolutely could not believe your luck - that he came back, that he wanted you, that he was going to take you exactly the way you wanted. 

You quickly followed him to standing, and your knees almost buckled underneath the weight of the adrenaline and hormones carving their way through your veins. Loki placed his hand on your lower back and guided you swiftly through the crowd that had returned after the movie’s end. 

And you didn’t even turn your head as you passed by reporters milling about in the lobby, wondering where the hell Brad Wolfe was. 

As you stepped outside, Loki’s hand slipped from your waist to grab your hand and pull you after him. You thought he was going to lead you to a cab, but instead, he turned down the alleyway beside the theater. 

“Wait - where are we going?” you giggled in anticipation as he squeezed your hand. Did he have his own vehicle parked somewhere back here?

Loki turned around and yanked you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist as he continued backing down the alleyway. “I’m giving the Birthday Girl what she asked for. Remember?” he murmured against your lips as his hands splayed wide on your hips. 

You couldn’t take the wait any longer and crushed your lips against his. Loki’s groan was deep and powerful as he eagerly returned the kiss. His lips tasted like gin and lust, and his hands gripped you tightly, pulling you all the way against his body. 

Your hands found the lapels of his tuxedo jacket, pulling on the material as you parted your lips around his. He eagerly slipped his tongue between them as he started to walk you backwards.

Loki towered over you, even with your heels on, and soon his lips were moving down to your neck, sucking on the delicate skin as his hands slid down to squeeze your ass. You gasped, and immediately started to unbutton his tuxedo jacket. 

He hummed an approval against your neck, and his hands grasped your ass harder, making you grind your hips against his. “I thought the Birthday Girl wanted it slow and comfortable, hmm?” 

“Changed my mind,” you whispered breathlessly, opening the jacket and untucking his shirt from his pants. “I need you now…” 

Loki grinned as he pushed you against the wall, trapping you between the firm, cold bricks and his firm, warm body. “Ah, so you’re an impatient Birthday Girl,” he growled against your lips.

This new tone, so wild and animalistic compared to the opulent and sophisticated one he had used back at the bar, was more than enough to make you forget that you were in public, that he was a stranger, that if anyone saw this then your career would be over. But you were being driven by pure lust at this point, and nothing else mattered anymore. 

Your lips met again, moving frantically against each other as your tongues and hips writhed together. It was incredible that your bodies and minds were already so in sync with each other - when you moaned against his lips, he’d groan against yours, and when you gasped, he’d exhale in a deep hum that threatened to drive you insane. 

He pulled the strap of your dress down as you untied the knot of his bowtie and began to loosen the buttons of his shirt. Loki kissed his way down your neck and you arched into his touch, even as your hair snagged on the bricks behind you. 

You quickly slipped your arm out of the strap, and Loki slid the top of your dress down to your waist, exposing your breasts. Your nipples hardened from arousal and the cold evening air, and Loki leaned down to take one between his lips. You moaned out loud in response, encouraging him to keep going as you spread your legs to grind against his thigh. 

His tongue flicked against your stiff nipple as he sucked, and your fingers curled tightly in his hair as you hooked a leg around his waist. Your hips gyrated wildly against him, soothing your aching clit as you chased a release. 

“Oh, yes. Keep going, love,” Loki groaned against your skin and shifted his hands to keep you balanced on one leg, gripping your hips tightly as he brought his face back up to yours. 

He pushed his leg further between yours, watching eagerly as you continued grinding against his thigh. You gasped and moaned breathlessly, each one louder than the last as the alleyway faded away and all that remained was the stranger bringing you ethereal levels of pleasure. 

“Yes, that’s it. Come for me, dear,” Loki rasped as he brought his lips over to your ear, and his teeth nipped at the cartilage as he spoke. “I’ll give you more - as many as you wish…” 

You could barely hear him as blood pumped frantically through every vein and every nerve ending prepared to fire off, but it seemed as though he was getting as much pleasure out of this as you were. What a blessing this was - it was your birthday, and this man only wanted to make you come. 

You gasped as your orgasm washed over you, sending endorphins and molten lava through your veins. Your fingers dug into his neck and shoulders, and your leg shook and wobbled as you died and reborn anew. 

Loki moaned with you as you came, his hands grabbing your hips to keep them rolling against his thigh. Your eyes rolled back into your head and unintelligible whimpers of pleasure tumbled from your lips. And just as the orgasm started to fade, his hands slipped around the back of your thighs to lift you up. 

Somehow you managed to lock your arms around his neck as he held you in the air, and he hooked his forearms underneath your knees as your bare back scraped against the brick. It hurt so good, and you buried your face in his hair, breathing in his scent and savoring the way he was going to ravage you. 

Loki grabbed your ass as he rolled his hips against yours, both of you moaning in unison at the skin-to-skin contact. His heavy exhales washed over your skin as he panted against your jaw, and you were still trembling from the aftershocks of the first orgasm when his cock slid inside you. 

He groaned in pleasure as he pushed deeper within your soaked cunt, and your toes curled inside your shoes. You hadn’t even seen his cock yet, but you could feel just how perfect it was, how perfect he was - and you couldn’t help but squeeze as he bottomed out inside you. 

“Such a tight and lovely little thing,” Loki hissed as he started to thrust, slowly at first but quickly increasing his pace. His hips rocked back and forth, and your fingers scratched at his scalp to beg him to keep going. 

He held you in the air, easily supporting your entire weight as he drove himself into you over and over. It was like magic, he was like a benevolent God of Pleasure, and you would forever worship the ground he walked on as long as he continued doing this to you. 

You buried your face against his shoulder to muffle your cries of pleasure as he filled you up, and his lower back arched as his thrusts became frantic. You moaned his name and he moaned yours, and his fingers gripped you tightly as yours dug into his neck. 

“Yes! Come for me, darling!” Loki growled against your ear as he adjusted your hips, pulling them away from the wall. His thrusts became urgent, and this new angle allowed him to move deeper, pressing against the most sensitive flesh that other men could only dream of reaching. 

You crossed the threshold again, coming even harder than you did the first time. Loki grunted like an animal as he made his final pushes inside you before following you off the edge. Your thighs shook as his hips bucked, and your muscles squeezed every ounce of pleasure out of him. 

The sounds he made were sinful, and it was almost enough to keep you going. Neither of you were on Earth anymore; floating in the cosmos, higher than you’d ever been before, your hips writhing and mouths gasping for air as you came together. 

You don’t know how long you stayed like that, but eventually your bodies became still, and you could feel his lips pressed lazily against your jaw and his eyelashes fluttering against your cheek. “You have no idea…just how much…I needed that…” he murmured breathlessly. 

You could feel the gravity of his words bringing you back down to the ground, and while you didn’t know what he was referring to, you wished that you could. “I’m glad you convinced me to stay for that drink then…” 

Loki chuckled to himself as he pressed his forehead against yours and carefully pulled the strap of your dress back to your shoulder. His fingertips were delicate as they traced along your collarbone, and as his eyes traveled up to meet your gaze, you could see a thousand lifetimes of sadness hiding behind them. 

“Thank you…for the drink, and the birthday present. Maybe we can do this again for your birthday…” you continued with a smile, hoping to be able to see him again soon. You didn’t know if he needed the reassurance, but you wanted to give it to him anyway. 

He didn’t respond at first, and you gently caressed his cheek. This evening was too magical to not let it happen again, and you prayed that he felt the same. 

Loki’s expression was one of anguish as he turned his head to kiss your palm. He let out a heavy exhale, and forced himself to look at you again. 

“Yes. Maybe we can…” Loki smiled as he gazed into your eyes, and your heart ached as he leaned down to kiss you once more. 

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[simpingland]

Req: Can you write something with Ewan Mitchell and his co-star (pronounced feminine) where they are on the set of season 2 and how he is surprised by every performances that fem gives (Fem's character is bad and perverse), since since the recordings of season one he was already staring at her surprised by her actings and now with Season 2 he wants to spend more time with her, plus he likes her.

The Rehearsal// Ewan Mitchell x Fem!actress

Summary: Ewan is a method actor and it has been working fine for him. But he regrets this decision when season 2 of HOTD starts with a love scene, being partner with a lovely talented actress who propaply hates him and his mathods. But nothing is better than asking for help when one needs it, right?

|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|

Ewan watched from the monitor, patch removed but wig still on, your close-up was impressive. One look at you and you could see all the ambitions that were going through your character's mind, and he himself regretted not having told you yet. The good news was that filming for season two had just begun, and in this new season, Ewan had the opportunity to do scenes only with you.

They shouted cut, and you immediately broke into a smile, laughing after such an intense scene. You received compliments as you were photographed to keep the raccord straight.

"Congratulations, that's a good start," the director said to you. "Remember you have a special sequence tomorrow, get a good rest."

Yes, you remembered. And Tom (who played your brother Aegon) smiled mischievously at you. It was a kissing scene with Ewan, with whom you had barely exchanged a word since the moment you were confirmed as part of the cast, a year and a half ago. You only spoke a little at the audition, which was a chemistry test, and he was a sweet, unassuming guy. When he was announced as the official actor of Aemond... it was something different. You didn't interact in the scenes in the first season, his scenes were shared more with Fabien and Tom, while you had shared scenes with Olivia and Phia (Alicent and Helaena). The chemistry your characters were supposed to have was only hinted by the placement of you both in the scene or montages of shots that you only saw once the series was released. And in the meantime, Ewan had stayed away from all those with whom he didn't share any dialogue, with the excuse of staying focused on his character. Tom had already told you numerous times that Ewan thought you were a fantastic actress, but you always responded the same way.

"If he does, let him tell me so. Then I'll be flattered.”

When the script for the second season came, both of you, in your respective homes, had your hearts skipped a beat. Your character would approach Aemond in the throne room in the middle of the night. And there they not only talk, but share a kiss that promises to go further in the following seasons. Aemond confessed his love for your character, and being that it was a story taken from the world of Game of Thrones, it was sure to end in much more intimate scenes. Normal for actors and comfortable for a cast that was so friendly and close. But with Ewan being so distant and serious? It was difficult. You didn't even dare to call him. Nor did he call you. What you did do was call Tom.

"She hasn't spoken to me once since we started filming. I've seen her look at me sometimes, like she's trying to talk to me but then, before I could say a word, she's gone quiet again. Tom...I don't think I should take being a method actor so seriously," he said to the other actor.

"It amuses me immensely to be the connecting point for both of you. Don't worry, Ewan, she's a sweetheart, and very understanding. She knows that everyone has their own procedure. So if she has respected your method, you should respect hers."

"And what is her procedure?"

"According to Phia, she loves to walk back and forth repeating her lines in a thousand ways."

Right, Ewan saw the video Phia sent around the group so everyone could see how lunatic you looked. And even there, after discovering you were being filmed, you smiled tenderly at Phia asking her to stop. What else would he have missed since you weren't talking?

You had already taken off your wig, your hair was loose and your dress had been off for quite a while. You were waiting to take off your make-up when your trailer was called. You were expecting anyone, happy to have any interaction with the wonderful team around you, but when you saw Ewan, the smile must have dropped a little.

"Sorry if I'm intruding. Is it late?" Ewan asked you as he saw your friendly greeting getting lost in the air.

It wasn't dark yet, and the next day's filming was starting early, so you genuinely didn't know what to say to him.

"Well... I have to finish off some of the lines for tomorrow.’

The lines you had to say with him, and he knew that. But since that wasn't an invitation, Ewan understood instantly and nodded.

"Well, I just wanted to tell you...it's been an awesome first day of shooting for you. It's no wonder you're a fan favorite."

That made you blush.

"Well, that means a lot coming from you."

He smiled sheepishly at you, you were taller than he was, standing on the trailer and he was on the grass a few stairs down. And yet he seemed way too big.

"I promise I'll be on time tomorrow so we'll have plenty of time to rehearse," he said, trying to get out of the strange conversation he had started.

You nodded and watched as he walked away, the patch in his hand and taking off his seatbelts. Did he come with the intention of chatting? My God, you'd had a chance to talk at length with your fellow cast member and you'd wasted it? You needed to go over the scene as much as possible!

"Ewan!" You called out to him, hanging almost on your doorstep, he turned with that agility that is so engaging on screen (and in person). "Are you done for the day?"

"I've got to get out of my costume. But...yes, I'm done."

"Would you mind..." you mumbled in an exaggeratedly loud voice for him to hear. How embarrassing. "Would you mind dropping by again to rehearse?"

Ewan stood still for a second. He watched you from afar, so affectionate and shy, totally contrary to your character, and felt a deep tenderness.

"I'll be back in half an hour," he promised you.

You looked forward to it, and you'd be lying if you didn't say that you'd put your make-up back on a bit. Ewan, on the other hand, was hurrying more than usual to remove his own clothes, forgetting to remove his fake scars in the rush that followed him. He was punctual, and in thirty and a half minutes, he was knocking on your door again.

"I really appreciate you doing this, Ewan," you said as he climbed into your trailer.

"Don't worry, it's going to be fun."

You looked at each other for a second, smiling, kind of gawking, which was nothing like the scene you had to recreate.

"How do you prepare for a scene?" You ask.

"I listen to some music. But I want to try what you do. "

He looked at you expectantly, and you suddenly felt embarrassed. Like the girls at the school function.

"So... I close my eyes, and I create a map where everything looks a little bit like the set."

"And what do we choose to be the throne?" Ewan smiled, which made you blush even more.

"Well... "There was a fully finished teacup, with the inelegantly squeezed bag next to it, dripping. You'd forgotten to clean it up completely. "That cup itself."

Ewan frowned slightly, teasingly, and nodded. The next step for you was harder to explain.

"Now, Ewan, I need some space."

He sat down on your couch, script to one side, the bastard having already memorized it all. And from there he watched live what he'd been craving for months, watching you pace back and forth. You read the annotations and your lines.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did," Ewan replied, intoning in the silky voice he gave Aemond.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." though you paced, your hands and gestures maintained theatricality, and you repeated the phrase three more times, all with trapped deliberation. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me."

"What pantomime do you mean?" replied Aemond.

Then your character stopped looking at Aemond to stare at the Throne. In this case you stopped to stare at the ugly teacup. You had to hold back a smile. Ewan looked at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been." Ewan got up from the sofa and approached you, as Aemond does with your character. "It is a crude, chaotic and ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

Then the laughter you'd been holding back escaped, unable to think of the mug as anything else. And Ewan laughed with you, all the tension disappearing instantly. Now he could understand the affection with which everyone spoke of you.

"I'm sorry, really," you said, getting serious again. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise, this is fun. I'm going to try your method. Shall we close our eyes?"

"That's right."

You closed them at the same time, thinking about the huge room, illuminated by a silver light that simulated the moon. And after a few seconds, Ewan opened his eyes to look at you. Although you didn't have your white hair, or the elegant dress, your eyes were the same, as beautiful and bright as they were behind the cameras. And he had the privilege of being the focus of your attention and having them in the foreground.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered close to your lips.

"That you tried at least" you whispered back.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as sharp as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

Then came the kiss. You looked into Ewan's eyes, up his nose and down to his lips. What was there left to throw yourself? Not much, but with him being so reclusive, with that being one of the few times you spoke to each other, it felt strange to pounce on him without consent. So you walked away, leaving the scene there.

"We can work this out with the director and the intimacy coordinator, if you like," Ewan suggested, a little flushed and extremely sweet.

You poured him a cup of tea while you discussed the romance that your characters might have developed over the years that the series skips. You imagined romantic scenes that might have led up to that kiss and concluded that they were a toxic couple, but possibly better than Rhaenyra and Daemon.

"You know, I love the way you act and I love that I discovered your process," he confessed. "I think the admiration part is not going to be too hard to act out."

"Oh...my process is really ridiculous, everyone laughs at me. I'm glad it at least works. But it gives me a hard time at auditions," you laughed nervously.

"Well, it's true that it's fun to watch. But it's certainly worth it. I don't think you have anything to envy the others, you're...magnetic." He said it with a seriousness that moved you, adding to his intense gaze. "I'm sorry I wasn't smart enough to tell you sooner, because I've been thinking about it since the day they put me in the same room you were in, back at the audition.”

You froze a little, so you just said what you felt in the simplest way and with the most honest smile.

"Thank you."

Ewan took the last sip of his tea and before he left you remembered one of the thousand questions you had for him.

"Is there a reason you haven't removed the scar? Something to do with method acting?"

"Scar?"

You touched his cheek, where the scar began, and Ewan understood instantly.

"Ah, gee, I completely forgot to go through makeup. I'll get a telling off tomorrow."

"Not if you sleep on it until tomorrow" you joked. "Let me help you, I love fake wounds."

You stood next to him, towering over him a little, and lifted the thin layer of silicone with the delicacy you had seen in make-up artists. You were envious of the woman who was in charge of characterising a person as curiously attractive as Ewan. He also smelled exaggeratedly good.

When you took it off, you threw it into the creepy teacup from earlier.

"I've almost run out from, the costume department before," he justified himself. You took the opportunity to wipe that part of her face with a makeup remover wipe. "I usually do this part myself..."

"I know, but I like it..."

And while you were stroking his face with the excuse of cleaning it, Ewan was watching your lips, and didn't notice that you had noticed. You pushed the wipe away, stroking his chin, and at the same time, you both pressed your lips together. A strange kiss, something special, sweet and soft. You stretched it out, standing almost still, afraid of what would happen if you broke apart. When you finally did, you looked at each other with a look of confusion, though neither you nor Ewan pulled away.

It was a dangerous idea, he was your partner, and you had been unprofessional. You broke away.

"I think you should rest. I've distracted you too much." Your tone came out agitated and Ewan rose slowly.

"No, it's all right. I liked it. I liked everything. Didn't you?" He had emphasised the word 'everything' and was looking at you with lambent eyes.

"Yes...I loved being with you."

He said goodbye with a smile of his, and you bowed at your door like a little girl. Most of the team had already gone to rest and you barely noticed.

You had to put on more concealer than usual the next day because of the lack of sleep you'd had from that strange kiss. Ewan had kept his promise and had arrived a good while earlier to re-rehearse the scene. You did it without the kiss or the lights, just with the director's instructions and with your cheeks flushed as you exchanged glances.

"Did you practice with the kiss?" the intimacy coordinator asked you.

You were completely silent. Ewan answered for you.

"Not really, maybe it's better to give a first kiss at the moment of the shot. More realism."

"Well, then I guess you've worked out the sexual tension and dynamics of your characters."

Ewan nodded and smiled, which made you smile. Had he put hours of sleep into your little meeting yesterday? Yes, he had, and he told the woman who was putting on his scar who asked him who had removed it the day before. When you returned to the set, lights on, costumes on, cameras rolling, Ewan looked at you in the distance, asking you with his eyes if you were ready. You nodded with a shy smile, and began to act when they shouted action.

Aemond, still dressed and coming from the castle library, walked into the empty throne room to watch you. You walked behind him, in a smart dressing gown, your hair loose and trying uselessly not to make a sound. Aemond then spoke aloud.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did."

You approached Ewan, who still wouldn't look at you.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." You leaned into him a little, as the director had recommended. He was so tall and so tense that you felt as safe as if you were leaning against a stone pillar. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me." Then Aemond would look down to see you out of the corner of his eye, which made your character - and you - nervous.

"What pantomime do you mean?"

Then you looked at the throne, now there was no laughter to disturb you, only the terrible seat of swords before you. And Aemond was looking at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been. It is a brutish, chaotic, ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

After a pause, he turned fully around to look at you, his height becoming primordial in that short distance. In that low light, Ewan's visible eye looked into your eyes, dropping to your lips subtly.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered in his velvety tone.

"That you tried at least" you replied trying to keep your composure. If they knew how hard you were struggling not to fall to your knees at that moment they would have nominated you for an Emmy by now.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as clever as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

He stroked your face gently, something that coming from Ewan was tender and expected, immensely pleasing, but then you remembered that Aemond could never be so gentle in the face of his urges, and you let your own out. You pressed yourself against him, pressing your lips together with all the assurance you had longed for the night before. You could feel Ewan intensify your kiss even more, placing his hand on your neck. All the possible kisses that had been going on in your head during the night were now dwarfed by the kiss that was happening right there. As fierce as your characters, with the longing you had just discovered that you and Ewan had shared for a year and a half.

It was only when they shouted 'cut' that you broke apart, catching your breath and barely breaking away. Some applause, chatter and comments from the team, you could hear little of what they were saying. You pulled away flushed, laughing at the sudden intensity. You looked at the director as Ewan smoothed his jacket.

"Let's look at the shot, I think it was simply perfect, congratulations."

Another round of applause, and you felt Ewan brush your unruly hair out of your face, stroking it as he ruffled your hair.

"What a pity not to have to repeat this scene..." He confessed.

"That's the thing about being so talented," you joked.

"Obviously..." he removed his patch and turned back to you to ask in a quieter voice, "although I'd love to have more private acting classes with you..."

You smiled at the hint.

"I'll give them to you if in exchange you let me remove your fake scars again."

"Deal."

[cntloup]

can't stop thinking about toxic!simon and how he absolutely destroys you :'(

the pad of your fingers softly brush against simon's cheek ever so slightly so as not to wake him up. you'll be damned if you disturb his peace.

and soon, you feel tears well up in your eyes. he's been distant lately, much more than before. and you can sense him pulling away more and more each day.

even though you've always known he's not yours, it still hurts as a thousand knives being plunged into your heart every time he comes back with the smell of a foreign perfume lingering on him or the shade of red, slightly purple on his skin.

and you feel hatred and disgust bubble up inside you, mostly toward yourself because you let him do this. you always let him do these horrible things to you. you just can't help the way he has you wrapped around his finger.

and you feel nauseous as you recall all the empty promises of commitment and a long-lasting love he makes as he thrusts deep inside you and brings you over the edge of euphoria.

oh how lovingly he holds you as though you’re his entire world as he makes love to you. how he whispers his honeyed words into your ear as you come undone beneath him and he chases his peak, using you for his own satisfaction, he thinks to himself.

but as soon as his balls are empty, he's back to being the cold and distant hardened soldier you know all too well.

he always has a protective hand on your back when you're out together and glares daggers at the creeps who dare to even take a glance at you.

he feels his heart shatter into a million pieces in his chest every time he leaves you, and every time he sees the pained look in your eyes as they fall on the hickeys on his neck, or the times he hears your muffled sobs when you think he's asleep and you bring your hand to softly caress his cheek.

he fights so hard not to melt right then and there under your touch, not to break down and spill out a thousand apologies and beg for your forgiveness.

he just can't go further than that and fully commit to you. every time he feels those three words spill out, he bites back his tongue. and every time he feels his walls crumble down and himself becoming vulnerable in your presence, he builds them back up only to be stronger and more impenetrable.

he's not yours, yet he can't be anyone's but yours. he knows that. he feels it deep in his heart. but he takes ten steps further away from you when you take a step towards him.

yet he comes back. he always comes back. only to shatter you into pieces again and again.

and you wonder why he is so cruel yet so loving. why he keeps pushing you away when you complete each other like pieces of a puzzle.

and you think this 'why' might kill you one day as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

[feenoire]

Heartfelt Veils I. New Dawn

stepdad!joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ minors dni

word count: 3.8k

warnings: slow burn-ish, age difference (18/50), brief sexual tension, sexual acts.

summary: moving to a strange, quaint little town isn't so bad after all, especially after meeting your soon-to-be stepdad, who’s very handsome and nice to you.

a/n: i never knew what it felt like to have a dad or father figure in my life. that’s why i wrote this silly little fiction to fulfill my fantasy. i use the character Joel because he’s my comfort character, and i see him both as a father figure and a lover. please read it with caution, as i know this kind of story is not for everyone. i’m currently writing the next chapters <3

series masterlist

A piercing ring shattered the surrounding silence, echoing in your ears. You don’t remember how you here sitting on the ground. But you can’t see anything, everything is black like the whole world goes dark. You struggle to open your eyes but it’s hard, but you persist until it opens.

You begin to breathe faster as you examine your surroundings. You’ve been here before, but you don't exactly remember when and what happened. All you know is that you can feel an unsettling fear creeping over you in this place, and you begin to cry.

You find yourself encircled by towering trees, as you sit on the cold, damp grass. You feel like someone is watching you, but there’s no one. As you attempt to bury your face in your hands, you notice a bruise on your wrists.

What happened to me?

From the fear, your hands begin to shake. As you try to stand, you hear footsteps behind you, but you don’t dare to look back. Your heart races, and despite the cold weather, you start sweating. Everything else is silent except for your own breathing until a deep and familiar voice speaks from behind you.

“You think you can run away from me?”

You close your eyes tightly. The voice starts low, then gets louder until it speaks directly into your left ear. Leaving goosebumps tingling across your skin.

“I’ll always find a way to get you. No one can stop me.”

There’s a faint, distant voice calling your name over and over until a hand touches your shoulder. You wake up with a gasp, finding yourself in a moving car, your lungs heaving with ragged breaths.

“Are you okay, flower?”

Your mind is still processing the nightmare and trying to make sense of where you are right now. You can feel the sweat clinging to your skin.

“W-where are we?”

“We’re almost there,” your mother says. “We’ll be at the house soon.”

“Oh… right.” Of course, you are.

It all makes sense now as you start to remember things. You admire the buildings, trees, and pleasant views of the small town that will be your new home, from the backseat, with your mother beside you. With a population of just three thousand, it feels almost like a ghost town. People walk here and there, stepping on fallen leaves amid the October fall.

You check the time on the car’s radio display, it reads 4 PM, but the foggy and cold weather makes it feel much later. Meanwhile “Just Like Honey” plays softly on the radio.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” your mother asks.

“Yeah, I’m okay. It was just a nightmare,” you reassure her.

The car starts to enter the small neighborhood on the edge of the town. Most of the houses already have jack-o-lanterns on their porches, seems like this town loves Halloween so much.

“I’m excited,” your mother says with a smile, holding your hand on the seat.

You smile genuinely. “Me too, Mom.”

“A new dawn, a fresh start,” that’s what your mother had said when she told you about the move a month ago, to a quaint little town called Silvervale in the middle of Montana.

It came out of nowhere, and you still think about it. You miss your friend from your old school. But with your mother’s enthusiasm, you can’t say no to her, and you want to make her happy. And you like the idea of a fresh start. Why refuse it when you have the chance to begin anew?

A few minutes later, the car stops in front of the house. It radiates a cozy charm that you immediately appreciate. What you didn’t expect is that the backyard is a dense forest, with trees stretching as far as the eye can see. It would be easy for a wolf or serial killer to attack you, but you hope that won’t happen. Your mother told you that the neighborhood is safe.

The house is a two-story structure with a classic, early 20th century architectural style, a white-painted structure with a metal gabled roof and a chimney. It features a large wraparound porch supported by columns.

“Come on, flower.”

You and your mother get out of the car and grab your things from the trunk, with the cab driver helping to place them on the porch. After giving him a tip and thanking him, the driver leaves.

The two of you stand on the porch, with bags and suitcases on the floor. You tighten your jacket around your body to ward off the cold, realizing you shouldn’t have worn a dress above your knees. Meanwhile, all your other belongings are still on their way and are expected to arrive tomorrow.

“Where is he?” you ask.

“He’s not home yet, but he told me we could come inside.”

“Wait, are you sure?”

“Yeah, come on.”

You take your bags and go inside with your mother. Now all the stuff is in the living room. You take a look around the place. It’s cozy, with many books on the bookshelves beside the fireplace. There are guitars on the wall and some wood carvings on the table. You draw closer and touch them carefully, they’re beautiful. There’s a bear, a deer, a wolf, and a cowboy sitting on the horse.

Lost in a trance, you don’t hear another person enter the house until your mother calls your name.

“Yeah?” Your eyes are still trained on the carvings as you turn around until you see the man in front of you beside your mother, his arm around her shoulder. “Oh.”

Your mother, with a beaming smile, says, “Flower, this is Joel.”

Joel.

Joel is your mother’s boyfriend and one of the reasons she proposed to move here, to his house. He might’ve asked her to marry him after two years together. And she wanted to start fresh, away from your hometown. However, you have never met Joel. Your mother met him at the local bar in your hometown, Phoenix, when he was on a road trip with his brother. The rest is history.

You only recently learned that your mother dating him, she never told you about it or even mentioned anything about dating. Your mother was single, that’s all you knew since you were a kid. She was always busy working, so she never had time for a relationship. Until a few months ago, when she finally told you about Joel.

She said she wanted to make sure that Joel is a good man for both you and her, and that she wants to protect you. Now you understand why, sometimes every few months she would leave for like a week, over the past two years. She told you it was for work, and you believed her.

She said Joel’s the one, she never really went on a date with anyone since your father. Joel is a good and kind man, and she said she fell in love with him. It was kind of shocking when you heard the news, but you accepted their relationship. Actually, you’re kind of happy for her that she finally met someone she could spend her life with and who will take care of her. You’re almost eighteen, and you won’t be living with your mother forever.

It's the first time you’re seeing Joel in person.

You’ve only looked at pictures of him that your mother showed you or seen him during Facetime calls with her, when she told you to say hi to him.

You know Joel is a good-looking man from the pictures you saw, but you didn’t expect him to look this good in person. His salt-and-pepper hair suggests maturity. He has beautiful features: a rugged handsome face with tan skin, a strong jawline, warm brown eyes, and a sharp nose. Unbelievably handsome. He’s tall and broad, so you have to look up at him. His big arms stretch the charcoal flannel he wears.

In return, he looks at you, inspecting your face as if lost in a trance.

“Joel, meet my daughter,” your mother introduces.

“Hi, Joel,” you say, your voice a little breathless as you extend your hand.

Joel shakes your hand warmly. “Nice to meet you, sweetheart. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

You smile. “Nice to meet you too.”

“I’m so glad we’re all finally together,” your mother says.

“Me too, Daphne,” Joel says as he kisses her temple.

It’s kind of strange to watch the scene unfolding in front of you, you’ve never seen your mother this affectionate with anyone before. But you are happy for her.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I thought I’d made it on time. I bought your favorite cake, tiramisu, right?” Joel says to your mother, gesturing to the large paper bag he’s holding.

A soft blush tints her cheeks. “Oh my god, thank you so much, Joel.”

“I planned to surprise you with it before you got here, but my car broke down on the way.”

“It’s okay, Joel. It’s perfect,” she says as she hugs him.

“Okay… so, are we gonna eat the cake now?” you say, trying to ease the awkwardness of witnessing their intimate moment.

Joel and your mother laugh at your remark, breaking the embrace with a shared smile. Then, he leads you to the dining room. The table is full of delicious-looking food, and your stomach grumbles at the sight.

“This is amazing, Joel,” your mother says.

The three of you finally sit down and enjoy the food on the dining table. You can’t believe Joel actually cooked all of this, and it’s kind of sweet. You’ve never had someone cook for you, not even your mother, because she’s always busy. So, you either cook for yourself or buy takeout. Joel mentions that he has always loved cooking. Everything on the table is flavorsome, especially the ravioli with spicy cream sauce.

You’re too busy eating your food to notice Joel looking at you until you catch him. He quickly averts his eyes back to his plate, and you can feel a flush rising to your cheeks. But you quickly push the thoughts aside.

“Oh, yeah, mom. I was wondering how I’m gonna finish high school. You haven’t mentioned anything about it yet.”

“Don’t worry, flower. I’ve already taken care of it,” your mother says. “You start next week, but there’s no high school in this town, so you’re going to the one in Lakewood.”

You furrow your eyebrows, you have no idea about anything in this town. “Where?”

“Lakewood, it’s not too far from here. Twenty minutes tops,” Joel says. “Don’t worry, I can take you there and pick you up.”

It’s such a dad thing to say, you thought. You never knew how it felt to have a dad before, and the thought warms your heart and also your cheeks. You must be blushing right now because you can see a hint of a smirk on Joel’s lips, though he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Thanks, Joel,” you say.

Joel smiles warmly. “I rented A Nightmare on Elm Street on VHS from the store. I thought it’d be nice to watch it together tonight. It’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

Oh god. Wait, but how does he know? Uh… your mom must have told him, of course. Stupid you.

“But why?” you ask, puzzled. “We can just watch it on Apple TV or something.”

He smirks playfully. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You chuckle. “Right, okay.”

The two of you share a smile, locking eyes for a moment before you finally look away and return to your food.

“That’s very thoughtful,” your mother smiles and holds Joel’s hand on the table.

After everyone has finished eating, Joel leads you upstairs to show you to your room, carrying your bags. Meanwhile, your mother is having a phone call with her friend. As the two of you walk, you pass a wooden door adorned with painted blossoms and vines, with an “S” initial in the center, but you don’t ask about it. He leads you to the door on the left at the end of the hallway and turns on the night lamp.

“It’s your room, I hope you like it,” he says as he puts the bags on the floor.

It’s such a pretty room, it’s cozy with a vintage ambiance. The walls are covered with floral wallpaper, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere. It’s very Joel but in a feminine way. The windows have white lace curtains, allowing you to see the forest. All the furniture is made of dark wood, including the bed frame, bedside tables, dresser, chairs, study desk, and vanity table. There’s a floral carving around the mirror. He placed some unlit candles around the room. The bed is full-sized, and you touch the soft pink bedding with your fingers, feeling the little flowers on it. It’s pretty, soft, and you. What you didn’t expect is the painting of “Fallow Deer with Fawn” above the headboard—your favorite painting.

You gasp at the sight of it and turn around to face Joel, who’s already looking at you. His pupils dilate as he looks at you. But there’s a warmth in his gaze that makes you feel safe and comfortable.

“Joel, how did you—”

He smiles warmly and looks back into your eyes. “I asked your mom if there’s something you like. She told me that you’re crazy about that painting, and even wrote an essay about it for school. So I found a very similar one and got it for y—”

You stride to him and hug him before he can finish his words, burying your face in his chest with your arms around his torso. You feel his arms enveloping you, holding you in a bear hug, and you can feel his face resting on your hair.

You feel emotional from the gesture, unable to believe that someone actually cares about you and your interests so much. It means a lot to you, even if it might mean nothing to Joel. You try to hold back the tears that are threatening to fall, closing your eyes tightly and taking a deep breath, the masculine scent of Joel fills your nostrils.

“Thank you, Joel,” you whisper. “It means a lot to me.”

He caresses your hair with his other hand. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Joel’s deep voice is like music to your ears. After a few seconds in what feels like heaven, you realize what you’re doing and quickly break the hug, stepping back. Overcome with embarrassment, you don’t have the courage to look him in the face. You bow your head and focus on your socks.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you say.

Joel takes a step closer to you and caresses your soft cheek with his big hand. “Hey, it’s okay, sweetheart.”

His gentle voice soothes you, but you’re so embarrassed that your cheeks must be red. You still don’t dare to look at him. After waiting for a few moments and seeing your resistance, he takes a step back.

“Makes yourself comfortable, okay?” Joel says warmly. “If you need anything at all, just tell me. I’m gonna help your mom carry her bags.”

You nod, and Joel takes it as a yes. He leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

You curl up in your bed, quietly crying for almost an hour. Why did you do that? You feel so embarrassed and stupid about the moment earlier. Lost in your feelings, you didn't think twice before hugging Joel. Now, you can’t find the courage to face him. You just want to sleep and hide under your blanket forever.

But you still can’t believe Joel prepared all of this for you. The pink bedding, the flower-patterned details everywhere, the candles, the painting—all your favorite things. Not that you're ungrateful, but this is far better than your old space. You love this room Joel made for you.

You remove the blanket from your head and rest your head on the pillow. There’s a little something you didn’t notice earlier—a beautiful wood carving, much like the one in the living room, but smaller. It’s a wolf and a doe and is placed on your bedside table. You smile at the sight. Not long after that, you fall asleep, dreaming about resting on the forest floor with a big wolf hugging you.

The sky is dark outside when you wake up a few hours later. You change into your soft pink nightgown, which is sleeveless with a round neckline. Three small buttons run down the front, with small embroidered flowers beside them. You tie the delicate ribbon at the waist into a small bow. As you brush your hair, you hear a knock on the door.

You put the brush down and go to open the door, finding Joel on the other side. You don’t open the door all the way, keeping your hand on the handle. He looks so handsome, his curls falling into his forehead. He’s wearing a faded black t-shirt that hugs his frame, paired with flannel pants.

“Yeah?” you whisper.

In return, he looks at you. His once-brown eyes darken and dilate as he gazes from your right eye to your left, lingering on your lips. You notice him wet his lips, and then his eyes roam over your body, making you feel self-conscious. His intense gaze sends a hot sensation through your core.

“Joel?”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head slightly as if realizing what he is doing. “Uh… I’m sorry, sweetheart. I came here to ask if you’re still up for the movie night.”

“Oh, right. Um… yeah, sure,” you stutter.

“Okay. Uh, are you alright?” he asks.

You immediately know what he’s talking about.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m sorry, Joel, about earlier,” you bow your head.

“Hey, please don’t be sorry, sweetheart. You can come to me anytime you want,” he says, his voice sincere.

You nod.

“Alright, why don’t we head downstairs now? Your mom’s in the kitchen making popcorn. Or do you need more time?”

“No, I’m ready.”

You open the door and step out of the room.

“Do you want a chocolate or something? Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he says as he walks down the stairs in front of you.

Your heart warms at his offer, and you smile softly. “Um… could I have hot chocolate and Oreos?” you ask shyly.

“Of course,” he replies with a smile. “Why don’t you sit on the couch and let me make it for you?”

“Okay.”

Joel walks to the kitchen and joins your mother. Meanwhile, you sit on the couch in the dim living room, waiting for them. You grab the VHS, still inside the box, and examine the back cover. It says, ‘If Nancy doesn’t wake up screaming… she won't wake up at all!’ and you smile as the words send a shiver of excitement down your spine.

A few minutes later, your mother shows up with Joel. He brings a steaming cup of hot chocolate with Oreos and two bottles of Corona beer. Meanwhile, your mother puts a bowl of chips and popcorn on the coffee table.

You can’t help but grin at the sight. “Thank you, Joel, Mom.”

Joel grins. “Excited?”

“Flower, why don’t you change into something a little more appropriate? Don’t you get cold dressed like that?” your mother says, her eyes looking sharply at you.

You furrow your eyebrows, puzzled. “But it’s my nightgown.”

“Just change, alright?” she says, her tone brooks no debate.

“Okay,” you say quietly.

Your smile fades as you stand up from the couch. You catch a glimpse of Joel’s face—his eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks confused as he glances at your mother. Quickly, you go upstairs to your room, holding back the urge to cry.

“Please don’t cry, please don’t cry,” you whisper to yourself like a spell as you look for more appropriate night attire in your suitcase.

You’re confused because your mother also wears a short nightgown too, with tin straps. So why is she upset with yours?

So you opt for your winter pajama set: long-sleeved button-up top and long pants. It’s light-colored with a pattern of small bear figures scattered on the fabric.

After changing, you take a deep breath, go downstairs, and sit on the rug with your hot chocolate in your hands, avoiding their eyes.

“I’m ready,” you say softly.

You’re glad your voice isn’t shaking because you don’t want to look vulnerable in front of them. Joel stands up from the couch, puts the VHS in the VCR, and plays the movie. You can feel his eyes on you, but you bow your head and focus on your hot chocolate.

The atmosphere is not as exciting as it was before your mother scolded you, but you try to enjoy the moment. A few moments into the movie you can’t help but giggle and blush at Glen Lantz's appearance, you’ve always had a crush on him.

“You sure your cheeks don’t hurt now, little girl?” Joel says with a smirk on his face, catching you smiling for not the first time.

Embarrassed, you lower your head and take a bite of your cookie. “No…”

Joel chortles. “Your cheeks got redder, sweetheart.”

You put the cookie down, curl up, and bury half of your face in your knees at his teasing. If your ears could work like a chimney in a cartoon, you are sure there would be fumes coming out from how warm your cheeks are right now. Damn Joel.

Near the movie’s end, you catch a glimpse of your mother kissing Joel’s face and neck—not the peck kind but the longing kind. You feel deeply uncomfortable and don’t want to look. You try to focus on the movie but can’t. You hold yourself together until the closing credits appear, and then you quickly stand up.

“I’m tired, I’m gonna go to my room,” you mutter before leaving and going back to your room.

Why did they have to do that in front of you? Are they drunk? You throw yourself onto the bed and turn off the night lamp, allowing the natural light from the night sky to illuminate your room as you try to sleep.

After what feels like twenty minutes, just as you doze off, you hear thumps and muffled moans coming from the other side of the wall behind the headboard. And you know exactly what they’re doing, which pisses you off even more, and you feel like you want to cry. So you clutch your pillow and blanket and go to sleep in your closet with your earmuffs on. You didn’t expect your first night here to be like this—sleeping on the closet floor. It takes a while to fall asleep again.

[thatscarletflycatcher]

Thinking again about the darknesses that lurk underneath the surface of Sense and Sensibility (I have talked before about how Edward despite being the eldest is subjected to what we can argue is emotional and financial abuse by his family for years, and how the Dashwood women are disinherited on a whim of their great uncle), and this time specifically about the Brandons.

We get so little about them, and what we do get about them is all bad:

This lady was one of my nearest relations, an orphan from her infancy, and under the guardianship of my father... At seventeen she was lost to me for ever. She was married—married against her inclination to my brother. Her fortune was large, and our family estate much encumbered. And this, I fear, is all that can be said for the conduct of one, who was at once her uncle and guardian. My brother did not deserve her; he did not even love her... I have never told you how this was brought on. We were within a few hours of eloping together for Scotland. The treachery, or the folly, of my cousin’s maid betrayed us. I was banished to the house of a relation far distant, and she was allowed no liberty, no society, no amusement, till my father’s point was gained... My brother had no regard for her; his pleasures were not what they ought to have been, and from the first he treated her unkindly.

Mr Brandon Sr is shown to us as being a greedy man, a bad administrator of his estate, and a cruel father. His first son seems cut of the same cloth, and his pleasures were not what they ought to have been is one of the most, if not the most sinister line between all the Austen novels. But there's more about him!:

Her legal allowance was not adequate to her fortune, nor sufficient for her comfortable maintenance, and I learnt from my brother that the power of receiving it had been made over some months before to another person. He imagined, and calmly could he imagine it, that her extravagance, and consequent distress, had obliged her to dispose of it for some immediate relief.

The Brandons were married for two years; the colonel returns to England and starts looking for her 3 years later. Young Eliza was then a 3 year old toddler. We are obliquely told that Brandon cut all ties with his brother:

It was a valued, a precious trust to me; and gladly would I have discharged it in the strictest sense, by watching over her education myself, had the nature of our situations allowed it; but I had no family, no home; and my little Eliza was therefore placed at school. I saw her there whenever I could, and after the death of my brother, (which happened about five years ago, and which left to me the possession of the family property,) she visited me at Delaford.

Eliza is now 17, so the eldest brother died when she was 14, which is 16 years after his marriage with the older Eliza. In that period of time, he managed to squander the whole of her fortune, and put the estate in debt again, as we are told earlier on by Mrs Jennings:

Poor man! I am afraid his circumstances may be bad. The estate at Delaford was never reckoned more than two thousand a year, and his brother left everything sadly involved. I do think he must have been sent for about money matters, for what else can it be? I wonder whether it is so. I would give anything to know the truth of it. Perhaps it is about Miss Williams and, by the bye, I dare say it is, because he looked so conscious when I mentioned her. May be she is ill in town; nothing in the world more likely, for I have a notion she is always rather sickly. I would lay any wager it is about Miss Williams. It is not so very likely he should be distressed in his circumstances now, for he is a very prudent man, and to be sure must have cleared the estate by this time. I wonder what it can be! May be his sister is worse at Avignon, and has sent for him over. His setting off in such a hurry seems very like it. Well, I wish him out of all his trouble with all my heart, and a good wife into the bargain.”

We know the Bennets, with five daughters, and without a saving mindset, still manage to live very comfortably with 2000 a year, and if they had had any mind to save money, they could have provided all five of them with decent dowries/money enough to keep them out of poverty when their father died if they were single. It is clearly not that the money isn't enough, or that Delaford is an unproductive estate; in fact, it is described to us as almost paradisiac:

Delaford is a nice place, I can tell you; exactly what I call a nice old fashioned place, full of comforts and conveniences; quite shut in with great garden walls that are covered with the best fruit-trees in the country; and such a mulberry tree in one corner! Lord! how Charlotte and I did stuff the only time we were there! Then, there is a dove-cote, some delightful stew-ponds, and a very pretty canal; and every thing, in short, that one could wish for; and, moreover, it is close to the church, and only a quarter of a mile from the turnpike-road, so ’tis never dull, for if you only go and sit up in an old yew arbour behind the house, you may see all the carriages that pass along. Oh! ’tis a nice place! A butcher hard by in the village, and the parsonage-house within a stone’s throw. To my fancy, a thousand times prettier than Barton Park, where they are forced to send three miles for their meat, and have not a neighbour nearer than your mother.

One interesting character, though forgotten because only mentioned in passing, is the Brandon sister. On one of the quotes above we get that she's in Avignon for her health, and we know her husband is wealthy (and probably abroad with her) because it is his estate that the planned picnic is for:

A party was formed this evening for going on the following day to see a very fine place about twelve miles from Barton, belonging to a brother-in-law of Colonel Brandon, without whose interest it could not be seen, as the proprietor, who was then abroad, had left strict orders on that head. The grounds were declared to be highly beautiful, and Sir John, who was particularly warm in their praise, might be allowed to be a tolerable judge, for he had formed parties to visit them, at least, twice every summer for the last ten years. They contained a noble piece of water; a sail on which was to form a great part of the morning’s amusement; cold provisions were to be taken, open carriages only to be employed, and every thing conducted in the usual style of a complete party of pleasure.

It is implied that Brandon and his BIL are in very good terms (and we know he's not afraid of cutting ties with bad relatives), and one can safely guess that at the very least he cares enough about his wife as to have her travel for her health. Another guess can be made about her getting married about 10 years before the events of the book. Whether she lived at home before that, or was at school or somewhere else, it isn't said.

But this way you can feel there's a parallel in a way, between the Brandons and the Tilneys: a greedy, cruel father, a son that follows on his steps, and a younger brother and sister managing the toxicity as best they can. Talking about this with @bad-at-names-and-faces, she brought up the idea that in that scheme, Cathy would be Eliza (if it wasn't her not being an orphan, or a rich heiress, and how that connects with Austen's line about Cathy not being born to be a heroine at the beginning of Northanger Abbey). Certainly part of it is the romantic gothicness of the Brandon backstory, united with NA's commentary on Gothic tropes, but to me it drove home with even greater force how such a situation would break a man; losing Cathy that way would have definitely broken Tilney, and if we had met him 14 years down the line, would he have appeared to the unacquainted much different than Brandon appeared to the Dashwood sisters?

[soleilceirinen]

Rainy nights and secret fights | Tyler Durden x fem!Reader

Summary: it's late and it's raining like it will never stop. You have nothing to lose so you call Tyler to pick you up. Little did you know he needed to recieve that call more than you.

Warning: it's a Fight Club fic, so there are mentions of blood and wounds but nothing graphic. Tyler Durden here is kind of soft and needs a hug.

Words: 1.5k

A/N: English isn't my first language, there might be mistakes. Sorry about it and thanks for reading!

MASTERLIST

During the exam period, your university’s library remains open for the whole night. During the day it is absolutely crowded with desperate students high on caffeine who will bark at you if you dare breathing too loud for their liking. But in the night time, everything hits differently. Besides you, there are only five other people studying. Almost every table is empty and the silence is kind of eerie. You like it though, it makes you feel like you are not here or there but in a liminal space.

This feeling grows every time the neon lights in the ceiling crack with their soft and constant buzzling, like a swarm of flies. The rain sounds are a plus. It helps you concentrate, like a distant and rhythmic background noise. 

About three hours after the last remaining guy left, leaving you completely alone except for the lines of shelves filled up with thousands of books, you decide that you’ve had enough. There’s no point in trying to fit more information into your head when your brain is half burned by now. If you were to keep studying, probably your mind would collapse. 

After placing all your notes and the books that fit into your backpack, you grab the biggest one and hold it against your chest with your arm. This one is heavy. You check your phone, it’s almost 4 a.m. 

You walk through the now empty library in the exit direction, only to stop right in front of the double clear doors. It’s still raining. No, more than that. It seems that the skies have opened and the water is pouring like it's the end of the world. There are going to be floods if it keeps raining like that, you think. 

No one is there to hear you but anyway, you curse softly, under your breath. The walk to your flat will take you at least twenty minutes and with this weather you’ll have no chance to get there without turning into a drenched mess. The moment you set foot out of the building you’ll be soaked. You check your phone again. It’s 4 a.m. now. Should you call Tyler?

He might be awake. You don’t know exactly what it is that keeps him awake almost every night. He’s not allowed to talk about it and you won’t ask. So you have no doubts that he won’t be sleeping at this time, like normal people should. After all, your boyfriend wasn’t like any other person you had ever met.

You press the calling button and bring the device to your ear. He answers after a few seconds and remains quiet, but you can hear him breathing at the other side of the line. 

“Ty, are you busy right now?” Your voice sounds weird in your ears, it breaks the peaceful silence surrounding you. 

“Are you alright?” Tyler sounds tense and there is a lot of noise behind him. He’s perfectly awake. You bit the inside of your cheek, regretting calling him with every passing second. 

“I’m fine, nevermind. I’ll call you tomorrow”. Before you can end the call, his voice calls your name louder, in a way that isn’t aggressive but sounds authoritative enough to make you return the phone to its previous place next to your ear. “Yes?” 

“Tell me. You wouldn’t have called if it were nothing”.

“Well, it’s raining like hell and I don’t know how to get back home without becoming a soaking mess. I’m at the library, by the way, I don’t remember if I told you before. You must be busy, I can hear a lot of noise, it’s okay Ty…” 

“Wait there,” he says and then the call is over.

So you wait sitting in one of the benches in the lobby, from where you can see the street outside. It’s uncomfortable and your back hurts, probably not just because of the rigid surface of the bench but also because you’ve spent the last hours leaning over your notes and books. 

It’s 4:30 a.m. when Tyler’s car stops in front of the library building. The engine is on, he’s waiting for you to get in. You try to run to the passenger door as fast as you can without slipping and falling, which would be quite pathetic, while holding the book close to your body in an attempt to protect it from the rain. 

The inside of the car is dark and smells like cigarettes and leather, as well as Tyler’s scent. It is hard to describe but is inevitably characteristic of him. Is the same smell that lingers in your bed sheets long after he’s gone and in the t-shirts that you steal from him. 

He doesn’t lean over you to give you a kiss. Instead, he stays stoic as he stares at the pouring rain, almost as if he didn’t want you to see his face, while he waits for you to get settled. The only thing that you can see of him is his profile and damn him, he looks like a god. Probably not a good one. 

Tyler drives in silence to your flat. It’s not in the best part of the city but it isn’t in the worst part either and the rent is cheap, although it makes kind of sense. Your flat is fine but the building itself looks like a horror movie set. 

When he stops in front of your building, it doesn’t seem that he’s going to say anything so you move your hand really slowly and touch the skin of his wrist with your fingertips, right where the sleeve of his red leather jacket ends. You don’t know it but your touch is the softest thing he has felt that night. Tyler turns his head and looks at you in the darkness. 

“Do you want to come inside?” You ask him, not sure of what he’s going to say, but he nods. 

He follows you inside the building. You only know that he is behind you because you can hear his heavy footsteps, as well as the always present smell of his cigarettes. When you look over your shoulder out of habit and catch a glimpse of his face, you can’t help but let out a surprised gasp. 

It’s not like you’ve never seen Tyler all bruised and covered in blood. Actually, that’s kind of normal with him. But this caught you by surprise, you understand now why he didn’t even want to look in your direction in the car, so you couldn’t see his state.

His face is covered in cuts and the old bruises are hard to tell apart from the new ones. Even his t-shirt under the jacket is drenched in red. The shitty lights of the building hallways don’t help, it casts strange shadows to his face, making him look sickly dead. He just gives you an impassive look and keeps smoking. 

Once inside your flat, you drop your backpack and the book next to the living room side table and turn around to face Tyler. “Why don’t you take a shower?” 

He shrugs but listens to you, tossing his clothes on the floor as he walks towards the bathroom. The shower doesn’t last more than two minutes but that’s enough for you to pick up his bloodied clothes and put them in the washing machine. The blood stains are not going to disappear but at least he’ll have clean clothes to wear later. You also grab a bottle of alcohol and some gauze.

Tyler comes out of the bathroom smelling like your favourite shampoo. He’s wearing your bathrobe, which is too small for him but he doesn’t seem to care. When he sits in one of the chairs around the kitchen table, you can see his balls and dick poking out of the robe. 

You stand between his legs, and as carefully as you can, you bring a piece of gauze soaked in alcohol to his face. Now that he has washed away most of the blood you are able to see the open wounds better. He flinches slightly at first but then he relaxes under your delicate hands.  When you finish cleaning all the cuts, you caress the skin around them, feeling a knot in your stomach when he closes his eyes and leans his face on your hand. With your other hand you brush your fingers through his hair and he lets out a long sigh. 

You don’t know what to say. Usually, Tyler is nothing like this. He’s energetic and never shuts his mouth, always talking about things that are beyond your understanding. So you say nothing and simply hold him, caressing his cheekbones, his hair, his shoulders. 

He grabs the back of your thighs and pushes you a bit closer to him if that’s even possible. His hands are calloused and only a couple hours ago he has used them to beat the shit out of a few guys. But the way he touches you is different, he’s gentle and soft. He promised himself to keep you out of all the violence, to keep you safe. 

Tyler has never told you and probably never will but you are the nicest thing in his life. Suddenly, he opens his eyes, the left one can’t be open all the way but it doesn’t matter. He leans his chin against your abdomen and stares at your face. There’s no need to say anything because when your eyes meet, you can feel how much you mean to him. 

It’s unspoken but it’s there.

[bored-storyteller]

Ok this is totally self-indulgent that's off the canon, but I wrote that and now you can find it here. It is related to this and the continuation of this. Of course you are free to ignore it.

Sally Face, Sal Fisher x Reader

The sun in the night

"It's me."

If you hadn't noticed how much his fingers were shaking, now you surely heard it in his voice.

"It's really me." Sal insists, because he doesn't know what else to do.

You are there, in front of him, illuminated only by a cold artificial light, the road is empty except for you two, and you hold three large sunflowers in your arms.

"Don’t be afraid." He keeps telling you, because that's what he expected to find in you: amazement, fear, disbelief.

Yet he sees none of this in your gaze, or maybe he does, but not in the sense that he - people - would expect.

You are motionless in front of him, he almost thinks that you are not breathing, and perhaps he fears more than you the consequences of his reckless gesture, of having sought you out.

"I ... I'm back ... if you can say so ..."

Oh, how much he would like to ask you not to cry. But what right does he have? And why are you crying? For him, or for the wounds he inflicted on you? How much he wished things had been different between you two, a trip to the underworld is not enough to start all over again.

Your tears are silent, they slide down your cheeks, on your expressionless lips. And you're looking at him like you're waiting, waiting to see him disappear, maybe.

"Please ..." he finally begs, in a whisper. Sal knows he cannot expect anything, but he feels cold, cold and lonely in being so distant from you. He felt your pain, he felt it inside of him, and he would pay any cost - more than he has already done - to hold you in his arms.

Now, a word would be enough for him, just one, even a sigh.

But you don't speak, you just stand there looking at him, with wet eyes and clenched teeth.

And then, as if you were a dream, he sees you reach out to him; extend your arm in the direction of him. He doesn't hesitate in his moves, he hardly thinks when he approaches you.

Your palm is now on his chest, he holds it gently over his heart, his living heart beating in his ribcage.

"I'm here ... it's me ..." he repeats again, like a broken record, without daring to look up at you.

Even just your passive touch is a refreshment to him. At least you are there, at least you are in front of him, at least you know that he really is there.

And there would be so many things he would like - no, he should – to tell you, but like a raging river in a too small crack he can't get anything out. Everything is too important and nothing is enough. He has the distinct feeling that one wrong word can make you go away, forever, and a thousand deaths won't be enough to bring you back to him.

But he has to tell you something, he has to talk to you, he can't drop everything out of cowardice, he can't.

"I love you."

They are not his words, they are yours. The first words you say to him after his return, the first time he hears your voice.

Ba-bum.

His heart is heavy and light at the same time, it sinks into his bowels and rises until it becomes tears in his eyes.

He looks at you now, his lips parted so he can breathe under the mask. And you cry with all the emotions painted on your face as your hand squeezes against his ribs.

And if you have managed to stop the world, it is still you with a sweet whisper to recall everything, again.

"Believe me ..." you beg him. It is a desperate prayer full of all the pain you have felt. “Believe me please, I love you. I've never stopped doing it and I won't be able to stop, please ... "

And he believes that you could continue forever, in that frightened plea. You don't ask him to reciprocate, but to believe you, because he didn't.

"I know it." He interrupts "God, I know ... I know and ..." And he's so sorry he didn't believe you. How many times he would have taken back this words, while he was thinking of you, while he perceived in his own soul your suffering, your remorse for not having been able to make him understand it in time, for not having made him feel loved enough.

He would like to tell you all this, he would like to tell you that he was wrong to trust himself more than you.

But your hand on his chest is now gripping his sweatshirt in a feeble attempt to hold him, as if he could disappear at any moment, and who guarantees otherwise?

He has already left you.

And you're not even expecting him to really stay, you just want him to know that you love him, and you love him with a sweet, tender, strong love that goes beyond even death itself.

"And I love you too." And it is the only important thing he has to say to you now, when he sees you collapse under the weight of an excruciating sadness that you have endured without perspective.

"Sal ..." His name in your cry sounds like the lament of a puppy left alone, and you finally come back to your home. You are against him, in his arms, your wet face hides against his neck, his blue hair softly covers your head.

And he holds you tight, he finally protects you, feels you real, in flesh and blood.

"I have so many things to tell you ... to explain and ..."

"I don't want to know ..." you whisper, never leaving your shelter "I don't want to know how you did it, or why ... if it's a dream, I don't want to know. Just stay with me. "

He understands, and he accepts it.

Your head is resting on his shoulder like when you were sitting together by the lake years ago. Your hand looks for his, and caresses it, like the last time you met, and like the first time you met, the sunflowers shine among you.

[drjholtzmann]

Hob’s eyes follow the curving, liquid grain of the wood. It reminds him of lava, folding over itself and cooling, making layers upon layers of warping lines collapsing into each other, a mass spilling outwards as it grows, melting into the landscape. 

He glances to his right just as the shadow draws near. Somehow he had seen it weaving between other passersby. Morpheus steps up beside him, hands in his coat pockets in the searing sunlight. 

“It’s nice,” Hob looks from his friend back to the tree. “I know I’m not the oldest thing in the world but, still. Sometimes it’s nice to be around things that are older than me. Especially something living. Feels…normal.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Mm, old as the universe, are you.” Hob teases, tilting his head as he takes in the dappled shade falling on the trunk. 

There is a distant roll of thunder muffled by heavy clouds. A laugh that is clamped down in the back of Morpheus’s throat. “Several.” 

“Yeah, you look it.” Hob buys in, rolling his eyes and swaying an elbow towards Morpheus’s side without making contact. “They say it’s four thousand years old,” he says, finally turning to face him. 

Morpheus shouldn’t look so comfortable in the sun, he thinks. Not because of his heavy coat, double-breasted and fully buttoned. But because he looks like an alpine flower. A delicate, sharp pointed edelweiss, built for thin air, meant to be bathed in blue snow-tinted light. He is, in many ways, quite literally a creature of night. Yet here he stands, swathed in the heavy gold Mediterranean light like a stone sculpture, like he belongs there. Like he’s always been there. 

He is looking at the olive tree, as if trying to read something within the bark of it. 

“I believe I once came by here, with my son. I confess I did not think to commit the place to memory in any fine detail. There was, perhaps, a sapling there.”

“Son.” Hob repeats, a weak echo, as he watches the stoic profile of his friend. He thinks he sees his eyelashes twitch. Hob takes a deep, and hopefully silent, breath. Forces it into his stomach, down to his toes. He looks back to the olive tree, following Morpheus’s unerring gaze, as he asks, “So, how old's he now?” 

And truly you would think after six centuries Hob would have developed anything approaching a frontal lobe, but apparently not. He bites his tongue as the words fill the air between them, wishing he could reach out and snatch them back. 

The sun itself seems to dim. “He is not.” Morpheus intones. His chin raises slightly, but Hob doesn’t dare look over. 

Hob's stomach is hollow and leaden. “It doesn’t, uh,” his hands flex at his sides hopelessly. "It doesn’t ever really go away, does it?”

“No. No, it doesn’t.”

Hob isn’t sure if the contraction is intentional. The words sound like they stick in Morpheus' throat. 

“It is beautiful,” he says, addressing the tree. As if finally having seen enough to pass judgement. 

“It still produces fruit,” is all Hob can think to say. 

“A wonder.”

“Sounds exhausting, personally. Amazing though, right? Thousands of years and it’s still providing food for people.”

Morpheus looks at him.

Hob meets his eyes. “I know it sounds like I’m trying to make some kind of metaphor here, but honestly, I just really like the tree. I swear.”

Morpheus swallows, his Adam’s apple a sharp thing in his throat, struggling against the motion. But some of the tension eases. And he smiles. An impossibly small thing. Fond and drifting somewhere between the corner of his eyes and the curve of his cheek. “Wonders never cease.” 

“Tell me you haven’t ever been moved by the beauty of a tree, then mock me. In the meantime – what say you to finding some little hole in the wall that will serve us some truly ancient vino? I mean something that tastes like dirt and blood.” He looks at Morpheus’s unimpressed expression and shrugs, “You know, in a good way.”

There is a breath of silence between them, in which Morpheus does not retreat, and Hob takes heart that this means he has not overstepped, yet. Maybe one day there will be time for them to talk more about this. Maybe it'll take hundreds of years. But in the meantime there is good wine waiting for them somewhere around the corner.

[ao3]

[to-the-stars8]

Twin Flames

Asra x MC Summary: The final argument that results in Asra leaving, and you all alone.

“There is a ship leaving in an hour,” Asra said, eyes panicked and pleading. “Come with me, it is all I'll ever ask of you again. For me.”

At one point, Asra could have asked you for the world, and you would have given it to him. Now, as you looked at him, you decided not. There had been too many lonely nights thinking over the same broken promise, and you would not fall deeper into his pit of distant love. 

Yet, you knew that, if you came to it, there would be no worry. Asra would take care of you, and the two of you could lay under a tree in a foreign land in each other's arms. You felt dread at the thought. It was a tragedy that all the hope in the beginning had come down to disappointment and frustration. It exhausted you, wearing your mind thin. As it did his. You could see it, the way the weight of your distance and separate desires carried him down. 

Sucking in a breath and averting your eyes, you listened to the silence of the city. It once bloomed with excitement, and it had been so loud that it made you feel alive. Then, the plague had swept through so fast, killing it. It made you want to stay despite your love’s cries to run. Whether you desired to save the constant excitement so you would feel a little less alone, or the good nature you liked to think you had, you did not wish to know. 

“Leave if you must,” You said. “But do not ask this of me.”

Asra’s eyes were filled with tears, but he refused to acknowledge them. He shook his head. “Please, you have to—For me. You forget that you promised to always be with me.”

Anger tore through you. He dared to say that when he left you alone so often. Scoffing, you stepped away from him as you were afraid of what your rage would make you do. You began to cry, and a thousand curses passed through your mind. You wanted to hate Asra, to be able to cast him aside, but he had loved you so well and deeply despite the shortcomings. 

“You—” You sucked in a breath. “You cannot expect me to uphold a promise you never kept.”

“I have asked for your forgiveness a thousand times, and will do so a thousand more if you wish.” Asra looked ready to beg on his hands and knees. “You must come. People here are dying like flies, and will die before I let you suffer the same!”

“Then I hope we burn on the same pile of bodies so we will never part again,” The words did not feel like yours. They were heavier, darker. 

You regarded one another silently before Asra could no longer hold himself up. He collapsed onto the couch, head in hand. You did not move toward him. 

“Please,” Asra whispered. “For me.”

“You are selfish,” You said. 

Asra looked like a kicked dog, but your sorrow and anger would not allow any pity. No, you almost felt justified to hurt him, as nasty as it felt to admit. Either way, he did not deny your words. “You are not the only person in this city. I can help people here—I have the means to.”

Asra stood again, rushing to you with arms out and palms up, confused. “And what then, hm? If you find the cure do you think Lucio would let you be regarded as the hero?”

“No! How can you not understand?” You faced him now, eye to eye. “These are our friends! People that have been part of our lives for years—”

“Damn them all! None of them matter if they are not you,” He cried, grabbing at you desperately.  

“You would say that of Muriel? ” You yelled. 

Asra scoffed before turning his back on you. On his shoulders Faust curled tight around him, unused to her master’s anger and yours. “You know I did not mean that. I have offered for Muriel to come with us, but he is safe outside the walls of the city.”

You did not wish to say he was right, so you quieted. Wiping your eyes, you let your anger finally resolve and reach for him. When your hand met his shoulder, Asra jerked away, eyes turning to narrow onto you. 

“Asra,” You said. “I am going to stay. Leave, it will give me comfort to know that you are safe. My heart will always be with you. Please know that.”

His face was like stone. Unchanged from the hate that was plastered on his face from the moment he turned to you.

“I wish I had never met you,” Asra gritted out before rushing out the shop door. 

Your love for Asra gnawed painfully at your stomach. It yearned to call out for him. Beg for his forgiveness. Forgive me, you wanted to say. Forgive me for the choices I want to make, and do not hate me for it. 

You didn’t know how long you stood there staring at the door. Though, by the time your senses had returned the night had turned into day by then, an orange hue coming into the shop through the stained glass window.

Still, you did not move as the sun's rays poured into your corner of the world. Compared to before, it seemed so small. Almost suffocatingly so. And, now the shop was quieter than you thought possible.

[gogogodzilla]

Chapter 16

Summary: You and Connor deal with his newfound freedom and your romantic feelings for one another. Note: Finale time!!! Thank you to everyone who's taken the time to read this story, and I hope you enjoy the ending!! Warnings: Smut, oral (m receiving), afab reader, connor is a bottom ✧ masterlist ✧ ao3 ✧ wattpad ✧ ✧ Previous Chapter ✧ Tease ✧

The next few hours passed in a blur. You stood idly by, patiently waiting to take Connor home. If you told yourself a week ago that you’d be watching an android give a speech to thousands of other androids about human rights, you’d laugh and institutionalize yourself immediately.

Reporters watched from the fences with hungry eyes, not daring enough to come closer. They held their mics as close as possible, straining to catch Markus’s speech. You could hear the faint sound of their cameras clicking wildly, despite being nearly a football field away. 

If things were normal, you’d be freaking out about just how public the stunt you pulled was. The whole country, maybe even the world, knew just how you felt about Connor. You weren’t usually this open about your relationships, especially your romantic ones. But, for some reason, you didn’t really care how the world viewed you.

Snow fluttered gently through the air and landed on your shoulders. You stood shoulder to shoulder with the androids to watch Markus give his speech. The crowd watched, captivated by his calm but firm words. You were slightly unsettled by just how quiet it was.

Connor stood on top of a storage container with Markus and the rest of his inner circle. You recognized the blonde android from earlier, and the corners of your mouth quirked up. He looked so proud. 

You felt the same flush of pride surge within you as you watched Connor. He deserved to be with his people. He deserved a happy ending. 

Connor swayed slightly and winced. You furrowed your brows as you observed him. Something was wrong.

Your thoughts were confirmed when Connor slowly brought his gun out from his waistband and held it securely at his front. You shifted to look at the other androids surrounding you. All of them were paying attention to Markus. 

Shit.

You had to be smart about this— causing a panic would only make things worse. But, you needed to get to Connor. Now.

You slowly navigated through the crowd, hoping that you could get to Connor before he did something rash. You didn’t know what you’d do once you got to Connor, and getting up on the storage container would definitely get everyone’s attention.

You just needed to take a few more steps, and then you’d be at the front. Connor began to slowly raise his gun. Why wasn’t anyone paying attention?

You pulled your own weapon. Maybe you could shoot the gun out of his hand. Markus was still continuing his speech, and your gaze remained glued to Connor. 

Suddenly, Connor shuddered and blinked rapidly. He looked at the gun in his hand and furrowed his brows. Then, his eyes met yours. You raised your brows slightly, asking if he was okay. 

He nodded, and it felt like you could finally breathe again. You returned your gun to your waistband and listened to the rest of Markus’s speech. You snuck a glance at Connor, and he occasionally caught you. You flushed and quickly shifted your eyes to look anywhere else but him. 

 After Markus’s speech, Connor made his way down to meet you. He slid his hands over your hips and pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

You ran a hand through his hair, “Are you okay? What happened up there?”

“Amanda.”

A shudder ran through you. Your time at Cyberlife was a distant memory, but you recalled the demand made by Elijah when the idea for Connor first arose. The only requirement was that he had to be obedient. 

And he was… For a little while. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. 

He shook his head, “It’s not your fault.”

You gave him a small smile. Connor was kind, even when you probably didn’t deserve it. You looked around at all the other androids rejoicing. Connor grabbed one of your hands. 

“Let me drive you home.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek, “You should be with your people. Don’t worry about me.” 

“I want to be with you,” he argued, pulling you closer to him. You pursed your lips. You knew he wasn’t going to take no for an answer; he was programmed to be persistent, after all.

“Fine.” 

He smiled, victorious, as he dragged you towards the direction of your car. You weren’t going to question how he knew where your car was, you were just happy to have him in your arms once again. 

When you arrived at your apartment, you made a beeline for the shower. You hissed as the warm water ran over the spot where Not-Connor hit you with your own gun. Asshole.

Steam billowed from the bathroom as you exited, pulling your towel closer. Connor was sitting on your couch, flipping through the various newsreels. He muted the TV and turned to look at you. His gaze flitted over your bare shoulders and then to the small gash bordering your hairline.

“How’s your head?” he questioned, a slight frown pulling at his features. 

You absentmindedly touched the spot and winced. “I’ll be fine. It’s better now that I cleaned it,” you replied before heading into your bedroom to get changed. 

You joined Connor on the couch after changing, sitting on the opposite end and focusing your attention on the newscaster. A shaky video of you running across the plaza toward Connor played, and you flushed. Is that really what you looked like when you ran?

You were glued to the TV as you watched yourself crash in Connor and then to him putting you down and pressing his hand against yours, revealing the white plastic underneath. You watched as your form pressed your lips to his, and your cheeks burned. 

“The whole thing was very cinematic,” you commented, fighting off a grin. 

He shifted in his seat to face you, “Your phone hasn’t stopped ringing. I think people are worried.” 

You frowned, turning to look at him, “Worried?” 

Connor avoided your gaze. “Well,” he began, “you did run into what could be classified as a battlefield, and…” 

“And?” 

“What we did could be seen as inappropriate,” Connor murmured, rubbing his palms against his thighs. He still wouldn’t look at you. 

“Connor,” you began, scooting closer to him. 

He stood, his gaze planted firmly on the cushion in front of you. “They’re right,” he asserted. 

It was your turn to stand, pushing away the anger that rose like bile in the back of your throat. “What are you saying?” your heart was hammering in your chest, and you wondered if he could hear it.

“We can’t be together.” 

You stiffened. Your stomach churned, and you clenched your fists. “Is that what you want?” 

“I… I don’t know,” he admitted, sitting back down. His LED circled yellow, and you sighed, sitting down next to him. You wanted to be angry. To scream that  it wasn’t fair. To break down and beg him to stay. But you couldn’t.

You slowly took his hand in yours.

“You should be with a human,” he murmured.

“I want to be with you.”

“What about Detective Reed?”

His question caused you to snort, and he looked over at you.

You sighed, “Gavin and I... don’t work well together… We did for a while, but not anymore.”

He was silent for a moment before he squeezed your hand in his. “You should get some sleep, you must be exhausted,” he suggested, meeting your gaze.

He was right, of course. You could feel exhaustion weighing on your shoulders and causing your eyelids to droop. 

You couldn’t go to sleep. You couldn’t let him out of your sight. Fear wrapped a cold hand around your throat, and you couldn’t breathe. He’d leave you once you were unconscious and you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. 

He must’ve noticed your hesitation because he added, “I’ll be right here when you wake up.” 

You nodded, not fully convinced. You wanted to ask him to lay with you, just like he did after the Stratford Tower. You forced yourself to stand and not look back as you made your way to your bedroom and shut the door behind you. 

You’d like to say that you couldn’t sleep, purely out of spite. However, your body betrayed you, and sleep overtook you almost as soon as your head hit the pillow. You were restless and woke up at around noon. 

You dragged yourself out of bed and fixed your bedhead as you padded into the living room. Relief flowed through you when you realized Connor was still there, right where you left him. 

He rose from his position on the couch, offering you a small smile, “How did you sleep?” 

“Fine,” you answered, eyeing him. 

He swallowed hard and shuffled on his feet. “I… I owe you an apology.” You raised a brow, but he continued, “I recognize that my behavior was incongruous. I’ve never experienced anything like this before.” 

You rounded the couch, inching closer to him. The corners of your mouth turned up, giddiness flowing through your veins, “Like what, Connor?” 

He squeezed his eyes together and his LED circled yellow. You closed the gap between you and rested your hands on his shoulders. His eyes snapped open, and he looked down at you. 

“Like I’m going to combust every time you touch me,” he replied, clenching his jaw as you let your hands drop to rest on his chest. His thirium pump hammered in his chest, nearly matching the pounding of your own heart. 

“What do you want?” you questioned, tracing your hands down his torso. 

He grabbed a hold of your hands, and brought them to his lips, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. He kissed the back of your hands, attempting to catch his breath. He released your hands, and wrapped his around your waist, bringing you impossibly closer. 

He leaned in, close enough that your lips were just a breadth away from touching. You wrapped your arms around his neck, attempting to bring him closer, but he held firm. 

“I want you,” he whispered, his gaze never leaving yours. 

“Then have me.” 

That was all he needed, and he was rushing forward to encase your lips in his. You ran your hands through his hair as you moved in tandem. Connor’s slid down your body to the backs of your thighs, and you jumped into his arms. He caught you effortlessly, tightly gripping the underside of your thighs as he carried you to your bedroom. 

He pulled away, panting, as he laid you down on your bed and hovered over you. He hesitated, an artificial blush dusting his cheeks. 

“Let me take the lead,” you suggested, tapping your fingers on his ribs. He nodded, scooting back and laying in the spot next to you. You couldn’t help but wonder if Cyberlife had given him a certain appendage, but you figured you’d find out soon enough.

You grinned as you moved to straddle him, hands splayed over his chest. You ran your hands across the smooth fabric of his button-up, and his bioregulator thrummed against your fingertips. You leaned down and kissed him slowly, sweetly. Connor’s hands ghosted over your hips as your lips moved in tandem. You cupped his face, your featherlight touch bringing both of you impossibly closer.

You pulled away, panting, and drank in the sight below you. Connor’s lips were swollen, and he was gazing up at you like you hung each and every star in the sky. You leaned down and pressed one last kiss against his lips. You dipped your head down to brush light kisses to the column of his throat, and your fingers fumbled to undo the buttons of his shirt. You grinned against his flushed skin as you successfully undid the last button, and nipped at the tempting expanse of newly exposed skin.

“You’re perfect,” you whispered as your fingers danced against the bare skin of his ribs, and he shuddered against your touch.

“Cyberlife designed me t—”

You cut him off by sliding down and dotting his torso with kisses and lovebites. Connor’s breath gets caught in the back of his throat when you rub a hand over the dent in his pants, and he instinctively juts his hips into your palm. That answers that question.

“So eager,” you hum, slowly unbuckling his belt. Connor gripped the sheets as you slowly, agonizingly pull down the zipper to his dress pants. You were definitely enjoying teasing him. 

“Please,” Connor groaned, arching his head into the pillow beneath him.  An artificial blush spread across his cheeks as he begged, and gazed up at you through his lashes. 

You grinned and leaned forward, just close enough that your breath tickled the shell of his ear. “Use your words, darling,” you purred before pulling away and slowly tracing your fingers down his chest.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard and replied, “Please. Touch me, Doctor.”

You finally granted him and yourself mercy and slip your hand under the waistband to his briefs, immediately finding what you were looking for. You release his length from its confines, allowing it to spring up in front of you. 

You nearly groaned at the sight. His head was dripping, and you leaned forward to pepper kisses and featherlight touches along his length, eliciting a hiss from the android below you. You leaned closer, allowing your mouth to fully envelop him and swirling your tongue around the pink-hued tip. Connor groaned, shuddering underneath you. He bucked his hips, moaning as he pushed himself deeper into your mouth.

“I need you,” he whimpered as you bobbed your head, steadily taking more of him. You ran your hands along his inner thighs as he grabbed the hair at the nape of your neck and brought you closer to him.

You pressed your tongue against the underside of his shaft, evoking a gasp from Connor as he arched his back. The sounds he was making had you clenching your thighs together, attempting to alleviate the ache between your legs. 

You pulled away, licking your lips, and Connor whimpered from the loss of contact. He was so needy, and you loved it. 

You got off the bed, just long enough to rip off your clothes, and you thanked your past self for wearing clothes that were easy to remove just in case. 

You were back to straddling him in an instant, and Connor pulled you into a kiss, running his hands along your bare flesh. His hands found the supple flesh of your ass, and he squeezed. You gasped against his lips as you ground against his length. 

“Fuck, Connor, need you so bad,” you whined, your thoughts running together. You brought your hand to where the two of you met and aligned him to your entrance. 

The moan that escaped you when you lowered yourself down onto his cock was sinful. All you could think about was how perfectly he filled you. Connor’s hands roamed your body, urging you to move. 

You rolled your hips, driving him deeper into you and watching as his eyes rolled back. You grabbed his hands, which had latched onto your hips, and pinned them above his head. 

“Keep them there,” you commanded before moving your hips once more. You rode him like your life depended on it, lifting yourself almost completely off him before plunging back down.

“Ah!” Connor whimpered your name. “Just like that.” 

You leaned forward, resting your hands on his biceps as you moved your body up and down, desperately chasing your high. Connor’s hips rose to meet yours as he pounded into you, and you gasped, fully letting him use you. 

You reached down to where your bodies met and started rubbing circles on your clit, feeling the familiar heat pooling in your belly. 

“Don’t stop,” you begged, resting your forehead against Connor’s shoulder as he thrusted deeper into you, reaching the spot that had you seeing stars. 

Your release hit you like a semi-truck and you squeezed against Connor’s cock, causing him to groan. He came soon after, rutting into you as he pulsed inside of you. 

You attempted to catch your breath as you slumped against Connor, your breaths intermingling. “Are you okay?” you ask, fingers carding through his hair. 

“Yes,” he replied, breathless. “I think I like being deviant.” 

You chuckled, lifting yourself off of him. You liked him being deviant, too. You laid your head on his chest, listening to the comforting whirring of his biocomponents. He ran a hand through your hair, wrapping a strand around his finger. All that mattered right now was his arms wrapped around you; you could worry about everything else later.

[starkidsonnets]

space orphans (looking ahead because i have you back to back)

edward nashton drabble

| contains : light angst

| word count : 1772

| note : i like to think edward likes space. i lowk hate this but i havent posted in a minute so yk ! ! listened to Drifter by Mook and Space Oddity by David Bowie on repeat while writing lmao. not proofread !

Shadows clung to the inky slick of the stormy city, the chill of an approaching winter soaked into the air, piercing his delicate skin and coiling around his bones. Edward curled in on himself, under the thin and tattered blanket with his arms tucked into his shirt, hands cupped over his mouth as he tried to thaw his frozen fingers. 

The orphanage had received a generous donation of books from a nearby elementary school, a gesture sparked by the “Education for Orphans” campaign that had recently captured the community’s attention. After the death of Thomas Wayne, local mothers of schoolchildren had concluded that nobody else was left to care – or even pretend to care – about the poor children, so they took it upon themselves to do what they could. Which included one shipment of twelve books, and four pairs of clearly worn, but still usable shoes. None of them fit Edward, but he was okay with the pair he had, even if the soles were peeling and the aglets of his laces had long since vanished. 

The books ranged from picture books to novels, of which had weak spines and one of the older kids who took an interest in one had it immediately fall apart in her hands as soon as she opened it. 

Edward, truly, had no idea which book he had snagged, just wanting one for himself before they had all been claimed. Sharing was not a commonality here. He couldn’t imagine it being common anywhere – at least not in this city. He had hidden it away, beneath his bed, waiting for everyone to be asleep until he read it. He reached for the volume, its cover faded, title embossed in gold: Oddities of Space: Journey’s of the Infinite. As he opened the pages, a galaxy of words unfolded before him. The prose danced like constellations across the sky, weaving stories of celestial wonders and cosmic mysteries.

“Out beyond the reach of sorrow,” it whispered, “lies a vast and shimmering expanse, where stars are born in clouds of gas and dust, and dreams drift freely like comet tails.” Edward’s heart had quickened as he read. With every line, the weight of his solitude began to lift, replaced by a sense of awe that sparked a flicker of hope within him. He learned of the Sun, a blazing orb that cradled the planets in its warmth, and for a moment he dared to wonder if he could have been cradled by a similar warmth. He read of distant worlds where storms raged and seas of liquid methane shimmered under alien suns, zero gravity which allowed everything out of the atmosphere to float in ways peculiar to the laws of physics… His imagination soared beyond the rooftops of this city, past the smog and sorrow, into a cosmos where anything was possible. Each star, he discovered, was not just a point of light but a beacon of potential, a reminder that even the darkest nights could be punctuated by brilliant glimmers of hope. He wondered how they looked up close. 

“Look up,” the book urged. “The universe is a canvas painted with dreams. Each twinkle a story, each planet a promise waiting to be fulfilled.” Edward imagined his own story, the narrative of his life intertwining with the grand tapestry of the universe. He imagined himself as an astronaut, floating through space, exploring uncharted worlds, the loneliness of Earth fading behind him like a distant memory. He could discover new planets and alien lifeforms, and everyone on Earth would cheer for him, one hundred-thousand miles below. He would walk across the moon, hold a star, and let the sun hold him. He was smart – good at maths and science, and he could learn to build his own spaceship, design his own suit… In a flurry of urgency, Edward dashed to the grimy window, nearly stumbling over himself in his haste. He pressed his forehead against the cold glass, breath fogging the surface as he peered out into the night. His heart raced with anticipation, but instead of the celestial tapestry he hoped for, he was met with an overwhelming expanse of inky blackness. The sky seemed to mock his yearning. No twinkling lights danced above him, no constellations whispered their ancient stories. Just an endless void, heavy and oppressive, stretching infinitely in every direction, the lights of Gotham shining brighter than the stars in their proximity. Edward felt a knot tighten in his chest. It was as if the universe had drawn a curtain, blocking out the beauty, the world away from his own, that he longed to see. Longed to be in. 

Until he saw it. A single star. Flickering dimly, but still visible. Moving.

A shooting star, perhaps? His book had explained these celestial wonders – how they were nothing more than burning streaks of light produced when a meteoroid collided with Earth’s atmosphere, a fleeting moment of brilliance in an otherwise dark sky. But there was a myth that enveloped these phenomena, a whispered belief that they granted wishes to those lucky enough to witness their fleeting dance. Edward couldn't quite bring himself to embrace the idea of wishes; it felt too childish, too fragile in the face of his reality. Yet as he gazed up at the vast, empty canvas above him, the thought lingered in his mind like a glimmer of hope.

If a star like that – blinking and journeying slowly across the desolate sky – can be seen by him tonight, then what else is possible? He felt a flicker of longing ignite within him, a whisper of possibility that brushed against the edges of his heart, just beyond the reach of his frozen fingers.

Edward remembers that night vividly, the way he gazed at the dark sky, longing for the brilliance of stars. In the months that followed, he immersed himself in a world of imagination, spending countless hours drawing spaceships and swirling planets from the pages of his beloved book. Each sketch was a labor of fascination, lines and curves taking shape as he meticulously copied the diagrams, even though the complex mechanics eluded him. Yet, amidst the excitement of discovery, there was a persistent longing that fueled his nightly ritual. Almost every evening, when the world went quiet, he would find a quiet spot by the window, peering into the vast expanse, wishing upon the fleeting trails of light that cut through the darkness. Each shooting star became a silent confidant, a flicker of hope there was something more out there, something bigger than himself, than this orphanage, than this city, carrying his dreams into the cold, unforgiving night. He wished something, anything, for the courage to reach for the stars he had only begun to understand. However, with each wish, there came an embarrassing realization that settled over him like a heavy cloud. Many of the lights he had wished upon were not the celestial wonders he had hoped for, but rather distant planes or helicopters, their blinking lights traversing the sky. The teasing comments from the other children rang in his ears, their laughter echoing off the walls of the orphanage, especially when he was scolded for lingering too long at the window when he should have been sleeping.

Having long given up on ever being employed at NASA, much like a burning star his hope was nothing but a flickering ember in the depths of his cold, hollow heart. The weight of practicality settled on his shoulders, tempered by years of responsibility, rejection… Yet, the yearning to escape – just to leave Earth behind for a moment, to find something worth dreaming for – living for – was as disgustingly potent as ever. With every passing day he spent tethered to the ground by the relentless pull of gravity, a sense of restlessness gnawed at his insides like an insatiable beast. The weight of his surroundings bore down on him, each tick of the clock echoing in his mind like a relentless drumbeat. The screams of agony – his own and those of others – reverberated against the edges of his skull, mingling into a cacophony of garbage noise that felt almost tangible. It was a discordant symphony composed of the bitter complaints and desperate lamentations, the bitching and moaning of every sorry fucker trapped in this godforsaken hellhole, each individual a mere cog in a machine that seemed to thrive on suffering. Their voices blended together in a chaotic chorus, a haunting lament that underscored the bleakness of their existence. They were groveling at an empty sky, a vast expanse vacated by God and wishing stars, pleading for some semblance of compassion or even the faintest hint of pity. The sky above felt like a cruel joke, a reminder of all that was out of reach. Out of his reach. 

He knew he’d never see the inside of a spaceship, or walk across the moon. He knew he’d never hold a star, or be held by the sun. It’s impossible. Delusional. Childish. 

He knew. He really did. 

Shadows clung to the inky slick of the stormy city, the chill of an approaching winter soaked into the air, piercing his clammy skin and coiling around his bones. Edward curled in on himself. Staring at the fuzzy shape of his bookshelf, hazed by the darkness and his own poor vision, he stared at the book. He knew exactly where it was; able to picture the frayed edges of its spine and its pages as thin and delicate as the leaves fallen from their branches, the cover almost completely blank and the golden title reduced to blank indents of letters. 

It was never about taking that giant leap for mankind, not really. Beneath the lofty rhetoric and grand ideals, the mission of venturing into space had always been personal for him. It was about leaving this awful place, a world that felt increasingly suffocating and devoid of joy. As he navigated the harsh realities of life, that ambition shifted into a more primal urge: the desperate need to be free. In his mind, he envisioned what it would be like to drift among the stars, to leave behind the world that wouldn’t notice nor care if he never returned. The thought of floating weightlessly, free from gravity's oppressive hold. It wasn't about achieving some monumental feat for humanity; it was about belonging somewhere.

Somewhere, where the moon would shine just for him, the stars would whisper songs and praises, and the sun would never leave him on a cold doorstep. 

It was about abandoning a world that had forgotten how to dream, the same way it abandoned him. 

[rayshippouuchiha]

Great! You watched it so that means I don’t have to hold back! Mwahahaha you activated my hidden trapcard 😈

Jk jk but anyway LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR RIGHT??

Like, first they HAD to reinvent the whole Bible Genesis story to make him as freaking sympathetic as possible. I mean, a little dreamer whose ideas were dismissed? Who falls in love with a woman because he admired her “fierce independence”, then freaking gifts humanity in general and Eve in particular with FREE WILL? (I have so many headcanons about them btw; Adam being the way he is I think he and Lilith wanted Eve to have the chance to make decisions regarding her own body, relationship, and future that a life under Adam’s thumb as heaven had inteded would’ve denied her. I think they were very good friends once upon a time., and it kills me that we never see Eve again. Did she blame them for being kicked out of Eden? Or was she grateful to them? I’d love to know, I hope we see her next time). That’s all so freaking good already as a backstory, but then they add this:

At this moment my mind just, imploded with the implications. He gifted humanity with free will presumably because, as a joyous dreamer, he had firmly believed that they would create wonderful things and bring about a better world if they were allowed to think for themselves, but gradually over hundreds and thousands of years seeing only the absolute worst that humanity had to offer he seems to think that it was a mistake, and that’s so sad 🥺 He never got to see the good that came from his actions and became depressed as a consequence, probably blaming himself a bit for every ill-action and sin committed.

I was already primed to love him after that backstory right? But then they imply that he’s a neglectful, distant father to Charlie and she is such a good, pure girl that I started thinking maybe I was wrong to start liking him, maybe there was something off about him that the intro had left out since it was Charlie telling her parent’s story. But then we meet him and he’s just:

A cute, awkward little man? One who clearly loves his family to death if the ring still on his finger (after SEVEN FREAKING YEARS OF ABSCENCE, dear god) and the multiple, gigantic family portraits strewn about his room say anything?

Also, he seems like 2 steps away from an anxiety attack at any given time, especially when asked to speak over the phone. He just like me fr fr

And that, along with the fact that he says “this is the first time she’s called you in YEARS”, and that he seems so freaking happy and excited at even the insinuation that she wants to spend time with him,

Leads me to believe that his absence from Charlie’s life was caused by a mutual misunderstanding born of a similar thought process (namely “what if I’m bothering them? What if they think I’m annoying by calling when I don’t need anything? I should wait until I have a good reason to call, or until they call me”) or willfully by someone (Lilith does seem to take Charlie away from her father awfully quick during that one flashback, right? It’s not just me?). I mean, ^that’s not the face of a father who wants to stay away from his daughter because she reminds him of her mom, or even the face of a father who stayed away on purpose for some time and is now willing to reconnect. That looks more to me like the face of someone who has been eagerly awaiting even a single hint that he’s wanted before daring to appear before his daughter, and has now finally been given that chance after a long time and is ECSTATIC. And even then, it seems that even through his self-deprecation and depression he does do his best to reach out, at least more frequently than Charlie does (he called her 5 months ago, she hadn’t called in years, etc etc).

And then he gets to the hotel and he’s so small and cute and awkward and good with animals and I thought I couldn’t love him any more than I already did but I COULD. HOW DID THEY MAKE A CHARACTER SO APPEALING TO ME SPECIFICALLY THIS IS UNFAIR

Which leads me to my other big headcanon: I firmly believe Lucifer tried to get to know sinners in the beginning, and that he tried some kind of “redeem sinners” effort at some point, just like Charlie’s doing - Perhaps for hundreds of years. But he failed, time and time again, until his dreams were absolutely crushed and he ended up giving up on them for good. I mean, those lines:

“You invite people in and offer them everything and they just bring violence and chaos to your doorstep. It doesn’t matter how well-intentioned you are. They’re always gonna disappoint you!”

“Sinners are violent psychopaths hellbent on causing as much pain and destruction as they can. There’s really no point in trying”

^They all sound not like something he’s saying to rub it in Charlie’s face that he was right (which would be cruel and out of character for someone who seems to love his daughter so much), but more like a cautionary tale coming from a deeply ingrained experience, or like things he’s repeatedly told himself before.

And then during More Than Anything he says this:

“You didn’t know that when I tried this all before *gestures around him with his arms as if gesturing towards the hotel as a whole* my dreams were too hard to defend”

That just cemented that belief for me.

On another note, MORE THAN ANYTHING IS SO FREAKING GOOD?? I CRY EVERY TIME GODDAMMIT AFTER THAT SONG I WENT FROM “AW I LOVE THIS LITTLE MAN” TO “I’D DIE FOR HIM, IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO HIM I’LL KILL EVERYONE IN THE ROOM AND THEN MYSELF”. HE’S JUST So- asfgctrdhfdg

AND I HAVEN!T EVEN TALKED ABOUT HOW BADASS HE IS FIGHTING ADAM OR HOW CUTE AND SWEET HE WAS COMFORTING CHARLIE DURING THE FINALE LOOK AT HIMMM

Or about Radioapple (aka DuckieDeer lol), the ship that has had me in a fucking chokehold since I watched episode 5. There are so many things I love about it that I’d need like 3 whole pages to explain but for now have all this absolutely fantastic fanart instead ❤️

Once again thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. Btw any thoughts on Radioapple?

Oh oh Lucifer is such an interesting character and he absolutely makes me eager to see and learn more about the verse and the finer points of what is/has happened in it.

Personally, RadioDust grabbed me by the heart more than anything, since Alastor is my favorite with Angel Dust as a close second, but I do hands down see the appeal of Radioapple.

[theonlyonesora]

Chapter 1: Echoes of a Broken Bond

.

The night air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and rain-soaked leaves. A low mist curled around the towering trees of the forest surrounding Jujutsu High, casting ghostly shadows under the pale moonlight. The world seemed to hold its breath as though the universe itself mourned what had been lost. Yuna stood at the edge of the clearing, her heart pounding against her ribcage, her feet rooted to the ground.

There he was—Suguru Geto. The boy she had once loved so fiercely, so deeply, stood before her. His silhouette was as familiar as her own reflection, yet he felt like a stranger. His dark hair spilled over his shoulders, framing a face that was heartbreakingly unchanged. The soft curve of his lips, the gentle arch of his brows—it was all the same. But his eyes... they were different now. The warmth they once held was replaced by something cold, distant, and haunted.

"Yuna," he spoke her name softly, almost reverently, as though it was a prayer he dared not utter too loudly. His voice was the same as she remembered—deep, steady, and reassuring. But the words that followed shattered the fragile illusion that this was the boy she once knew.

“Are you here to ask me to rethink my decision like Satoru did? Maybe to ask why I did what I did?”

Her breath caught in her throat as he stepped closer, his hand brushing against her cheek. The warmth of his touch ignited a thousand memories—of shared laughter, stolen kisses, and whispered promises. Her mind screamed at her to pull away, to reject the man who had betrayed everything they stood for, but her heart clung stubbornly to the remnants of what once was.

“What were you thinking, Suguru? This isn’t you.”

The words escaped her lips in a trembling whisper, raw and heavy with anguish. She searched his face desperately for a sign, a glimmer of the boy she had fallen in love with. Instead, she found only sorrow.

His hand slipped down to take hers, his grip firm yet tender. “Yuna,” he began, his voice wavering, “do you think of me differently now? Do you perceive me as someone evil? As a curse user?”

Her lips parted, but no words came. How could she answer when she didn’t know the truth herself?

“I don’t know what to think,” she admitted, her voice cracking under the weight of her confusion.

He moved closer, his hand settling on her lower back as he pulled her into an embrace. She felt the steady beat of his heart against her chest, and for a moment, it was as though the world outside their small bubble ceased to exist.

“I’m still your boyfriend, right?” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.

Her body betrayed her resolve, melting into his arms as tears spilled down her cheeks. “Suguru, why did you do this? Why?”

He sighed deeply, his grip tightening as though afraid she might slip away. “Because those people were evil. That village was evil. They hurt sorcerers, Yuna. They would have hurt you if they could. I couldn’t stand by and let it happen anymore.”

“You should have talked to us, to Yaga,” she argued, her voice rising with desperation.

“What would it have changed?” His tone grew colder, frustration seeping into his words. “Yaga and Satoru would never have understood. They still believe in a world that doesn’t exist—a world where sorcerers and non-sorcerers can coexist peacefully. But I’ve seen the truth, Yuna. I’ve seen the ugliness of humanity.”

Her hands balled into fists against his chest. “And what about the higher-ups? They’ll come after you, Suguru. They’ll kill you.”

“Let them,” he said with a bitter laugh. “It doesn’t matter to me anymore.”

“It matters to me!” she cried, her voice breaking. “And it matters to Satoru.”

His gaze softened as he cupped her face, his thumb brushing away her tears. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

The sincerity in his voice cut through her anger like a blade. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips—a kiss filled with all the love and sorrow he could not put into words.

“I love you, Yuna. With all my heart.”

“I love you too,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she clung to him.

They stayed like that, locked in an embrace that felt both eternal and fleeting. His lips trailed down to her neck, leaving soft, lingering kisses that spoke of his desperation.

“Run away with me,” he murmured against her skin. “Please. I can’t live without you by my side.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with longing and despair.

“Where would we go?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

“Anywhere,” he replied, his tone fervent. “We’ll cross the ocean, find a cabin in the wilderness. Just the two of us. We can start over, Yuna. We can be happy.”

Her heart ached at the sheer vulnerability in his voice. “We’re only seventeen, Suguru. This is crazy.”

“I know,” he admitted, his shoulders sagging. “But I love you more than anything in this world. I’ll give you everything, Yuna. Just say yes.”

Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head. “I can’t leave my family, my friends... I can’t leave everything behind.”

He pulled away, his expression hardening as the weight of her words sank in. “I see,” he said, his voice cold and distant. “I was stupid to think you’d choose me over them.”

“Suguru, please don’t do this,” she pleaded, reaching for his hand. “Let’s talk about this. Let’s figure it out together.”

His gaze softened for a brief moment before he nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go somewhere quiet. We can talk.”

As they walked toward the nearby hotel, her heart felt like it was being torn in two. She wanted to save him, to bring him back to the boy she had fallen in love with. But deep down, she knew the Suguru she had known was already gone.

The night stretched on, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on them. And as they entered the dimly lit hotel room, Yuna realized that the man standing beside her was no longer the boy she had once loved but a ghost of what could have been.

.

[daybreakrising]

@resolutepath in response to x

Do you need it? My forgiveness? Neuvillette asks. Desperately, the voice inside Vautrin's head answers. The betrayal he committed against the other was one so foul that he carries the weight of it in his heart - will forever carry that weight, even if Neuvillette does grant him the forgiveness he seeks. The look upon the Iudex's face in that courtroom haunted him throughout the days and nights he spent within the Fortress, haunted him still during that long, long swim in that ancient sea.

It was a knife to the heart, a thousand times over.

He hadn't known just how much he was giving up that day until it was too late - not that it would have affected his actions, of course. Nothing would have changed his mind on what needed to be done, not even the tug of his heart would prevent him from making that necessary sacrifice. If anything... if anything, it would only have encouraged that sacrifice. He would have carried a thousand life sentences if it meant the man he.... if it meant his friend could fulfil his purpose here, could preside over justice and protect the people of Fontaine. Even as he fell down that dark, foreboding hatch, even as he sank into the sea, he stayed firm in his belief that it was all worth it.

And now, here he stands, witnessing the truth: it was worth it, because Neuvillette remains the image of justice, presiding over a Fontaine that is much changed from the one he remembers - changed for the better, a Fontaine that once only existed in the optimistic dreams of a kind-hearted Melusine.

That he is here to witness it is nothing short of a miracle, of course, and one he still cannot understand. The moment he learned of the passage of time, he had been struck with sudden despair - everyone he knew was dead, gone, and this world he found himself in was strange and unknown. The moment he learned Neuvillette was still the Iudex, that despair had twisted into a confusing blend of delight and agony - delight, that his old friend still lived, that his sacrifice had done what he'd hoped it would; and agony, that Neuvillette had believed him dead, grieved him, so soon after the loss of Carole, that he had believed, for all this time, that he had hated him. Their last words together, so filled with anger and betrayal on his part...

He did not deserve forgiveness, but he asked for it anyway, because the moment he had set eyes upon the Iudex after all this time, his heart had filled with the kind of painful yearning he had carried for so long without even knowing it. There had been a flicker of hope, a voice in the back of his mind that dared to dream the two of them could pick up where they left off 400 years ago - Neuvillette was much the same, but he had changed. He was less distant, more open, had spent centuries learning and growing amongst the people of Fontaine. Is it possible he could-

Vautrin has always been a perceptive one - and he is even more so now that he possesses this primordial tether. He is yet to make sense of it, yet to learn how to fully control these new abilities, but he can feel the emotions that run beneath the surface. This regret he feels from Neuvillette now - regret, sorrow, shame - is just a piece of a puzzle he is slowly putting together.

He has heard, sensed, the fondness in a voice that speaks of the Iudex, recognised it from his own voice centuries before. He has witnessed the brief brightening of expression upon the mention of Neuvillette, watched the flicker of concern in wintry eyes as the reality of his return came to light.

As a garde, he had committed his life to seeking truth. It is impossible to miss this one: Neuvillette has moved on. Whatever lay between them, unspoken and unresolved, is scattered to ash in the wind. And what hope he might have clung to, in desperate need, is dashed away with brutal force as Neuvillette delivers now what can only be a dismissal.

Be safe, Vautrin.

There is something so final in those words that Vautrin feels something snap within his chest. Deep melancholy permeates the air around him as his head bows, his jaw tensing as he fights back a tide of sorrow.

But of course, he thinks, what did you expect? Your hands are stained red, you committed terrible sins. You abandoned him, lied to him, betrayed his trust. Did you really think you could simply walk back into his life without consequence?

Another voice pipes up: he doesn't need you anymore. He has the Duke at his side. You've been replaced, with someone more honourable, someone who doesn't have blood on his hands. Someone more worthy of his affection.

"Of course, Monsieur." He utters, stiff and formal, more akin to the Vautrin who first stood before Neuvillette on the day he became Captain. "I understand." The words sound hollow, empty - because if he allows even a scrap of emotion to filter through, the dam will break.

He bows, as stiff and formal as his voice, and turns for the door. "Thank you... for your time." It is only what he deserves, he thinks as he walks away - each step feeling like a walk to the gallows. Whatever his place is in this new world, it is clearly not at the side of the Iudex.

He finds his way to the shoreline, wades out into the sea - to his knees, his waist, his neck. He sinks below the surface, down, down, until he comes to rest upon the seabed where he sits, drops his head into his hands, and weeps.

[2baddiesfanfics]

Rescue Me

Pairing: Nami x Robin

Tags: Love Confessions, Confessions, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit, Post-Enies Lobby Arc, Comfort

Summary:

After the crew rescues Robin, Nami has some time to think about what the archeologist means to her. Now that she's finally back where she belongs as a Straw Hat, will she keep her feelings bottled up inside, or navigate the inner workings of her heart to confess how she feels?

Read on Ao3

It had been a solid week since the Straw Hats had saved Robin from the clutches of the world government. The physical injuries of that day had finally started to fade, but everyone knew the mental toll the event took on each crew member would not be so easily overcome.

Their new ship, the Thousand Sunny, waited to welcome them aboard. After escaping Garp’s attack and bringing Usopp back where he belonged, it was time for them to set sail for their next adventure.

Nami stood on the deck looking out over the water lost in thought. So much had happened at Enies Lobby that she hadn’t really had the time to process it all fully. She turned around and leaned on the railing as she scanned the deck. Her eyes stopped when she glimpsed Robin, the newest crew member, talking with Chopper.

Her heart fluttered at the sight of the archeologist. Over the time she had gotten to know her, she could always tell there was an unspoken something between them. She had ignored her feelings until they had almost lost her. Now that she was with them for good, she still couldn’t decide whether to tell her or leave it be.

Feeling a familiar set of amber eyes on her, Robin looked in Nami’s direction. With a warm smile, she waved before heading toward the cabin they now shared. The navigator smiled in return, her cheeks warming as she watched her saunter away.

“So you going to talk to her, or what?” Zoro asked.

“Ah! Where the hell did you come from?” Nami responded.

“Don’t ignore the question. You just gonna stand here gawking at her, or do something about it? You were an emotional wreck when you thought we were gonna lose her.”

Nami rolled her eyes. She hated it when he was right.

“You’re worse than Sanji, you know…at least he’s transparent about how he feels.” Zoro chastised as he crossed his arms.

“Don’t you dare compare me to him. It’s not like that. It’s…different.”

“Just go talk to her,” he instructed while nudging her in the right direction.

She reluctantly made her way to the women’s cabin, her mind racing all the way there. There was no combination of words that would be able to convey how she really felt. As she approached the door, a part of her said a silent prayer the archeologist had decided to go read in the library.

When she entered the room, Robin looked up from her book to see who her visitor was. With a nod of acknowledgement, she carried on. Nami took a seat next to her and nervously fiddled with her hands. The two sat in an uncomfortable silence as the navigator tried to determine how to best move forward.

“R-Robin…can we talk?” Nami stuttered.

Marking the page she had stopped at, she set the book aside and turned her attention to Nami. “Of course. Is everything alright? I feel like we’ve been distant since…everything that’s happened.”

Of course she’d notice. She’s too damn perceptive.

“Yes, everything’s alright. I just want to talk about the situation, if that’s alright?”

“Sure,” Robin said. “You’ve all gone through so much to ensure I was safe. It’s only fair.”

The navigator took a deep breath before continuing. “I was a mess when I thought you’d abandoned us. I couldn’t understand what we did wrong or why you didn’t confide in me. At one point I even thought I was the reason you left.”

A look of concern swept over Robin’s face. “I’m so sorry…I never meant for any of you to feel like it was your fault. I was doing what I thought was best for the crew. I simply wanted you to live and continue pursuing your dreams.” The archeologist placed her hand atop Nami’s and gave it a squeeze of reassurance.

“Well, as they say, hindsight is twenty-twenty. We know the real reason behind why you did what you did. But when I was running around trying to get the key and then trying to get to you on the bridge, I realized...” Nami paused, afraid of how the woman might react to what she was about to say.

“Go on. I’m not going to bite you, I promise.” Her wry sense of humor calmed the navigator and gave her the encouragement she needed.

“I realized I didn’t just see you as a crew member or sister. I was so upset because…I love you. More than I’ve ever loved any other person.”

“You…what?” Robin asked, confused. This was not something she was used to hearing. She’d been told many things and called many names, but no one besides her mother had used that word in reference to her.

Nami’s words were now infused with courage. “I love you, Nico Robin. All of you. I don’t care who comes after me because of it. I’d go to war with the world government for you. Oh…I mean…I guess I already have, kind of, but…you get what I mean!”

With a warm smile, Robin responded, “I love you, too.”

“I understand if you don’t fee- wait…what? You do?” Nami asked shocked.

The archeologist couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yes, I do. While I love the entire crew, it’s not the same kind of love I have for you. The whole time I was captured, the one person’s face I kept seeing was yours. I wanted to keep you safe. When you all came to rescue me, I couldn’t help myself from hoping it was you who would get to the bridge first.”

Nami could navigate many things, but this was not what she had expected. She felt like her heart was going to explode out of her chest. Without thinking, she leaned in and kissed her.

Immediately realizing what she had done, she quickly pulled away. “Oh, gosh! I’m so sorry! I should have asked before-“

She was silenced by the archeologist’s finger on her lips. “It’s quite alright. I liked that.” Nami visibly relaxed now that she knew it was ok to proceed. Again, their mouths met, only this time, their kiss was far more heated than the initial peck.

The sensation was overwhelming. This was the first time they had given themselves over to their desire, and the experience made them both lightheaded. Robin paused to catch her breath. “Would you mind if we moved to the bed?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Nami practically jumped off the couch and onto the mattress, pulling Robin with her. Sitting on the edge of the bed, they eagerly undressed each other before lying down.

“You’re gorgeous, Robin…” The navigator gawked as she took in her naked form beneath her.

“You flatter me, but…thank you. You’re quite beautiful yourself,” she chuckled. Nami kissed down her jaw to her neck, sucking at the smooth skin. A dark patch bloomed at her intensity, causing Robin to moan in response.

Her lips trailed to Robin’s chest, her tongue slipping out to lick her nipple. The archeologist let out a quiet gasp of pleasure to urge her on. As the rosy bud raised against the hot wetness, Nami gently rolled it between her teeth.

“Ohhhhh, fuck…N-Nami…”

Ensuring the other breast got the same treatment, the navigator dropped her hand between Robin’s thighs. Gently propping one of her legs up, she coaxed her to give her space to play with her clit. Her hips bucked in response to the feeling, and she groaned for more.

“You like that, hmmm? I’ll happily give you more.” Robin’s slick already coated her hand and dripped down her fingers. She eased them into her and her head flung back into her pillow. Still concerned she’d be making too much noise, she turned to bite the cushion.

Nami was determined to get her to be more vocal. Slowly pumping her fingers in and out of her, she watched as the woman’s face contorted in pleasure. There were so many details she wanted to etch in her mind forever: The unique shade of pink in her flushed cheeks, the small wrinkles at the corners of her eyes shut tight as she rode the feeling, her mouth agape as she continued to please her.

She picked up the pace, her fingers moving in a variety of patterns. A fire raged in Robin’s belly and it only burned hotter when Nami whispered to her, “Love, it’s okay. It’s only us here. I want to hear how good I’m making you feel.”

The archeologist’s sapphire eyes snapped open to meet her auburn ones. Robin was so used to taking care of herself - being seen and not heard - that having someone longing to have her be open was entirely foreign to her.

Tears built on her eyelashes as she tried to control herself. Nami kissed them away before interlocking her fingers with hers, a wordless affirmation she was safe to be herself. Robin moaned out her lover’s name as she came, her walls clenching around the navigator’s fingers.

The younger woman held her close as the fog of what they had just done lifted from the archeologist’s mind. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so cared for. So needed. So special. Looking over at Nami, the genuine smile plastered on her face was something she would never forget.

Afraid to speak and ruin the moment, Robin went in for another kiss. The action conveyed a promise of more. She wanted her just as badly, and the navigator could feel it in the way she gently coaxed her tongue between her lips. Nami moaned into her mouth as she felt her capture her bottom lip between her teeth.

Robin’s hands roamed, mapping the shape of the other woman’s face, the curves of her breasts, the tender skin of her hips. If this was a dream, it was one she’d never want to wake up from.

“What’s the matter, love? You’re not saying much…” Nami looked up at her with concern dimming the light in her eyes.

The archeologists snapped out of the trance she was in. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just…this feels so right. I’ve done many things in my life that were required for survival. To be here with you like this…I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

Nami cupped her face in her hands. “Robin, listen to me. Nothing you do could ever disappoint me. I didn’t think we’d ever even get to this point anywhere but in my wildest fantasies. Please…make me yours.”

This was entirely foreign to Robin. She was always the one longing to belong to someone, anyone. And now, lying underneath her was a stunning woman waiting to be hers.

“Gladly. But only if you promise to be mine forever and always,” she whispered against her neck.

“I’d be…ah…crazy not to.”

“It’s a good thing you’re not crazy, then,” the archeologist chuckled as she continued her descent. Her tongue dipped along the contours of her lower half, Nami whimpering under her touch. Sprouting an extra pair of hands, she carefully pried her legs open and held them steady.

“Is that ok? I won’t use my powers if it makes you feel uncomfortable…”

“I bet we can think of some fun ways to use them even better. You’re fine,” she answered suggestively. Robin laughed at her brazenness. Now she was even making her love her devil fruit abilities. Was there anything she couldn’t do?

“I’m very much looking forward to that,” she murmured before taking a long, lingering lick across her slit.

“Oooooooh…Robin…fuck that feels good…” Encouraged by her reaction, the archeologist took her time making her moan. With a steady finger, she toyed with her opening. As she sunk in deeper, she felt the navigator’s hips jerk upward.

“Where the…fuck…did you…learn this…?”

“Darling, books are the best teacher one can have,” she said between laves. Pursing her lips against her clit, she sucked in light pulses, driving a final loud screech out of her lover.

The two snuggled next to each other, the sound and feel of the waves rocking the Sunny relaxing them even more.

“Robin?”

“Hmm?” The archeologist turned to face Nami.

“Is it too soon to try out those other ideas I had about your powers?”

[koukouture]

Script for a comic I don't think I'll ever make LMAO

Context: This is sort of Emet Selch's monologue about Azem during Shadowbringers. Yeah. That's all you need to know.

"You don't know me at all. So shut up" that's what you said.

You were dying. I could see it- the light infecting you, seeping into your head, heart and very soul. You were no longer a distant star but a blinding supernova. Hot to the touch, dangerous, dying, faded- but in a way- beautiful.

You always did shine brighter than the rest.

So how dare you say I don't know you?

Know you?

You are my other half; I am nothing without you. You are all I know.

I knew you across thousands of years, across hundreds of incarnations, across a dozen and some worlds.

Know you?

I am you.

Everything that I am now is because of you. All of it! I traveled far and wide and every single time I cannot stray from your light. Every single road I took went back to you. Every single path, alleyway, staircase every labyrinth- you were at the end of all of them.

Sometimes we are lovers, sometimes we are friends, allies, enemies... sometimes we are strangers.

Do not accuse me of ignorance. I am under no delusion that I know you- I know you better than anyone.

And you know me too.

Don't you?

Azem

Lucifer

You know me... right?

You can feel it surely- this is fate! You know me! I'm your soulmate! Can't you feel it!? Can't you feel me!?

WHY WON'T YOU LOOK AT ME!?

okay i think that's it lolol. bye