#apparently there was nothing to fear! it is fine

[sunshineram]

lil plant update, i got more houseplants :D

ive been looking for a n'joy pothos for a little while now and i finally found this little guy!!

look at these new little leaves!! i love this little guy so much <3

and my sister let me pick out another plant so i got this little guy aswell!

peperomia citrus twist! so very pretty, its got really thick leaves that makes seeing when its thirsty really easy! i just touch the leaves every once in awhile to see(and man this fella is thirsty)

it also has some new little leaves growin :)

[adhdo5]

We talk about "aw my mutual changed their URL and profpic and now I don't recognize em on the dash" but can we talk about "I assumed this person on my dash was a mutual who changed his URL and then I clicked on their blog and they are just not him whatsoever this is a completely different person I don't remember following"

[martyrbat]

batman #227

[ID: Batman rescuing Alfred Pennyworth's niece, Daphne, from a castle. He's standing outside and is looking up the tall stone walls before throwing his grappling hook at the only window with a light on. His body is a silhouette against the dark, blue sky as he swiftly climbs the line. The narration reads, "Almost as though he were weightless, The Batman rises up the smooth stone tower..."

He perches upon the windowsill as Daphne bangs against the locked door with her fists. She begs to be let out, not realizing Batman is there until he speaks up, "You have no cause for fear, Miss Pennyworth!" She turns around in shock and proclaims, "The Batman-!" He nobly stands and reassures her, "I've come to take you far away from here, Daphne!" END ID]

[29121996]

.

[perfectly-uncapable]

rlly only realizing now how spoiled ive been with receiving texts lmao... she doesnt reply for *checks clock* 7 hours while on a trip to the sea and suddenly i feel like im 17 and spiralling again

[avocado-writing]

hi!! I read your fics and I love your writing style! I was wondering if you could do something with a human reader, maybe she works in a bookshop or she’s a teacher? And it’s all cute because he finds her genuine??? Maybe some angst because she finds herself in danger? Idk sorry I’m rambling I just wanted something with a human reader 🧍🏻‍♀️💐

the place where the pages meet

logan howlett x bookseller!reader

4k words, rated explicit.

cocky!logan; awkward!reader; excessive book references; threat of physical violence (quickly averted); anti-mutant language & sentiments; smut (oral - reader receiving, penetrative sex). minors dni. thank you @saradika-graphics for dividers!

The sky is heavy with the promise of rain, and you suck your breath in through your teeth. It’s fifty-fifty on days like these: either people will seek shelter in your little store, or they’ll scurry away with the fear any purchases they make will get soaked and ruined.

God damn it, what kind of fool opens an independent book shop in New York?

You’re the kind of fool, apparently. Still, it’s your home, both figuratively between all the old paperbacks and literally with your tiny apartment on the top floor. Barely more than a studio, but enough for you. A piece for yourself carved out of this world. 

Outside it starts to pour. You sigh. Well, at least you know you’ll get one visitor today.

Charles, your dear friend and long-time financial supporter of your store, had called earlier to let you know that the usual face wouldn’t be coming to grab his order. It’s a shame, you like Ororo, enjoy sitting and sharing a pot of oolong with her on quiet days. Also she could have chased away this terrible weather for you. Ah well. 

“Who can I expect?” you’d asked. 

Charles had laughed, a warm and friendly sound. 

“Ahh, you’ll know Logan when you see him.”

You don’t know what you’d do without Charles. Between orders of rare books for his personal collections and en-masse copies of classics for the kids, he pretty much keeps this place running for you. Bless that man, honestly, because you’re not sure where you’d be without him. 

The sound of someone pulling up outside has you putting down your book and turning towards the shop window. 

A pickup truck parks up by the kerbside and you watch the man in the driver’s seat emerge into the rain. He cuts a fine figure, tall and strong, but you don’t get a good look at him until he walks through the front door. 

Oh no, you think, he’s handsome. 

Leather jacket now pocked with raindrops, very obvious white vest beneath it showing off his broad chest. He shakes like a dog to get the moisture out of his hair as he stamps his boots on the doormat, pausing only briefly to scrutinise its no admittance expect on party business slogan. 

“Logan?” you ask. He looks up and when his eyes first meet yours? Oh, a fire is sent down your spine. 

“Yeah,” he confirms, looking around to take in the place. You can’t tell if he’s impressed or not. He has a remarkably neutral face, careful, the sort of man who doesn’t want to give anything away about himself. 

“You’re… here for Charles’ books?”

He’s sauntering over to the counter now. Cocks an eyebrow. It goes right through you. Fuck. 

“That’d be me.” There’s a beat. “Why, you think someone’d try and steal them?”

“People can steal books!” you say, defensively. 

“People named Logan who you’re clearly expecting?”

You bristle, because he’s got you. Something flickers over his face for a second: a smile. 

Oh no, you think, he’s handsome and he’s an asshole.

Huffing, you fish the box out from under the desk and groan with effort as you lift it up. Logan takes it from your grasp as if it weighs nothing at all. Your fingers touch as you do. You try to ignore it.

“Thanks,” he says, easily.

“Mm. Mind the rain. It’d be a shame if you slipped.”

A proper smile crosses his face then, but he turns away too quickly for you to let it sink in. The bell on the door chimes as he heads back out into the rain.

Well, you hope you never see him again.

By the same time next week, you’re really hoping you see him again.

You’ve sort of not been able to get him out of your mind. He was kinda prickly, sure, but a welcome break from the mundanity of your life, and pretty good looking to boot. It’s probably just a pipe dream. You’re sure it’ll be Ororo again, and you can go back to the easy pattern of seeing your dear friend. That’s okay. You’re fine with it. Who needs a handsome man? You have your books, you have your store, you’re happy.

Yeah. You’re happy. 

Imagine your surprise, then, when you hear a motorbike outside your shop.

You must be blessed with street parking, because Logan pulls up right outside again. Same jacket, same well-worn jeans. He catches your eye through the window and you’re sure they glisten. You pretend to be engrossed in your book but it’s not fooling anyone, the words swim into soup on the page as you see him approach.

The door goes; he approaches the counter. Closer this time, you can smell him. Tobacco and leather. Fuck it’s good.

“You should wear a helmet,” you say, trying to be flippant. Logan lets out a single, solitary note of a chuckle from deep in his chest.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks for your concern, though.”

You feel your cheeks heat up and try to hide it by looking for Charles’ order again. It’s a single book, a first edition you had to go through the backwater book depositories to hunt down. You’re the best at what you do, though, so it was no real problem. It’s why he always comes to you.

“Here you go. Let him know I’ll try and find the sequel if he’s interested, too.”

“Sure.”

Once again your fingers touch as you hand the book to Logan. No. No, this is too quick! You want to keep him here for a little while longer. He looks so out of place between the wonky shelves and hanging plants, it’s just perfect.

Your mouth tries to say two things at once: can you tell Charles I’ll have his other order ready same time next week, and, do you like to read often? 

Instead what comes out is, “can you read?”

You must wince when you ask the question, because Logan stands there transfixed. Baffled, just for a second.

“Can I… read?” he repeats slowly. 

I’ve failed you, I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t stop your mouth in time, says your brain.

“I didn’t mean… of course you read… I just… I didn’t want to assume… maybe you didn’t like books… erm…”

“Yeah, I read,” he says softly, as if you are an old dog and he is putting you out of your misery. You fucking wish he would. Jesus Christ, it’s like you’ve never spoken to another person before.

You can’t find a way to recover this. Your cheeks are on fire. You’re going to explode and burn down your store. Oh authors, you are so sorry for using all these works as kindling.

You expect Logan to turn on his heel and walk out but he… doesn’t. Instead he takes a step back so that he can look at the shelf nearest to the desk. Runs his fingers across the spines before picking one. It’s slim, no more than the width of his finger; he puts it on the counter and fishes his wallet out of his pocket.

In the Miso Soup by Ryū Murakami. You ring him up, punching the price into your old cash register, give him his change. His palm is soft as you drop coins into it. 

“See you next week,” he says, stashing both his book and Charles’ inside his jacket. 

“Okay,” you say, amazed you’re able to get any words out, and watch him walk away again.

He does see you next week.

The sun’s out, so he’s sans jacket, and oh fuck you can see how his arms are like treetrunks. The way this man has you reacting is unhealthy. You try and focus on the hardback in your hands but all you can picture is those veins which are bulging on his biceps, begging you to come and get to know them better.

“You’re always reading huh?” 

His voice makes you jump a little, you’re not expecting him to be so close. You look up. He slides his sunglasses up into his hair. Fuck it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Would you trust a bookstore owner who didn’t read?” you ask, bristling with the need to defend this little shop and your place in it. He holds his hands up in the universal sign of peace.

“Not an insult, just an observation.”

You sink back from attack mode, walls still a little high, but definitely coming down.

“How did you get on with the Murakami last week?”

Logan takes a moment to consider this, trying to piece his answer together in a way which won’t offend you.

“I liked it until the last chapter.”

You sit up in your chair. 

“Yes! A lot of people say that. It feels like it ends sort of abruptly, but if you just appreciate it for what it is, it’s a good book.”

He smiles a little as you speak. You fucking love talking about books, to a degree some people find absurd. You don’t want to babble though, so you force yourself to end your observations there.

Logan nods at the book in your hands.

“What are you reading now?”

You lift up your book so he can see the cover: A. S. Byatt’s The Djinn in the Nightingale’s Eye. 

“It’s very good! Byatt has such a wonderful way of writing. I love fairy tales and there’s such a wonderful voice in this one. They made the titular story into a movie a couple of years back, it’s quite good actually, it has Tilda Swinton in it.” You’re floundering. Don’t stray too far from the normal lines of conversation. Mouth, for fuck’s sake stay on course, begs your brain. It doesn’t. Instead you ask, “do you… like Tilda Swinton?”

Logan raises an eyebrow and you know this is a man who has never once had to consider the question of whether or not he likes the actress Tilda Swinton. 

Mouth still talking. MOUTH STILL TALKING, your brain screams. It’s true. It is. You were too busy being horrified to notice.

What your mouth says while being unchaperoned is, “There’s a little single-screen theatre nearby doing a showing of it this week, actually, do you wanna come with?”

DID YOU JUST ASK HIM OUT. DID YOU JUST ASK HIM OUT?!

Logan doesn’t seem to know what to make of that. He seems just as shocked that you’ve asked as you are. But then, just as you want to cast yourself into the street so that a passing garbage truck might take pity on you and sweep you away, he smiles. It’s slow, but it makes him look so much hotter.

“Sure, why not.”

Oh mouth you genius. I shall never doubt you again.

“Oh, okay, great! Uhh, are you free Friday?”

“I can be. What time’s the screening?”

“Seven. Meet me here at six-thirty?”

“It’s a date.”

Fuck, it is a date, isn’t it. It’s a date!

Logan stands there, awaiting something. You’re confused for a beat, then go up on your tiptoes, aiming your mouth towards his.

“As much as I appreciate the gesture… Charles’ book, honey.”

Hmmm, okay. Still time for the earth to just swallow you whole then, actually.

You sort of don’t expect him to turn up. You wouldn’t go on a date with you, all awkward edges and uncomfortable words. And he’s… the coolest fucking guy you’ve ever seen. 

Of course he won’t turn up. Of course he won’t. 

He turns up. 

He’s waiting for you outside the store, leaning against a lamppost, dressed in flannel and smelling like subtle cologne. You can’t help lighting up when you see him and hope you’re dressed suitably - your nicest pair of dungarees and a tight-fitting jumper. 

“Hey! You made it,” you say. 

“‘Course I did,” he replies with a little smile. Oh, you’re giddy. 

“C’mon, it’s not a long walk. It’s a nice night too.”

He lets you chatter as the two of you make the brief journey, content to have you talk his ear off about business and books. He’s happy to answer any questions you ask him about himself: what he does for a living, how he knows Charles, if he’s got anything else on his to-read list. The two of you skirt around the most obvious thing: if he lives at the mansion, he’s definitely a mutant. You can’t quite get the courage to ask him about it. Seems easier to just let it lie, so you do. It’s not that important anyway, you think, you like Logan, with or without any extra bits. 

When you arrive at the little hole-in-the-wall cinema, he gets the tickets and the popcorn and the drinks. You do your best not to feel absolutely pathetic by his side. Surely everyone here knows you’re punching above your weight with this absolute grade A specimen of a man? You’re so busy looking around the foyer to make sure nobody is staring that you almost don’t realise when he takes your hand in his.

“You with me, honey?” he asks, soft, low. You swallow thickly and nod because for once, you can’t find the words.

It’s not a very full screening, which is just fine, because you’re happy to be alone with Logan in the dark. You share a bucket of popcorn and a secret little thrill runs up your spine every time your fingers brush together. When that’s finished, he puts his arm around the back of your chair and you snuggle up against his side, cursing the damn plastic cupholder in the middle forcing you to keep a distance. 

One hundred and eight minutes. They’re not enough. You want to be here forever. But eventually the credits roll, the lights come up, and Logan has to pull his arm back; you hope the reluctance in the withdrawal of the gesture isn’t just your imagination. 

“What did you think?” you ask, standing up and stretching. Logan follows suit, mulling over the question. 

“It was… cute,” he decides. “I can see why you like it.” 

You beam. 

“I can lend you the book if you want. It goes into way more detail about the main character’s life at the start, it’s very stream-of-consciousness but I really enjoy it? It’s different to the other stories before it but definitely worth reading. I think that…”

You’re outside now, under the streetlights, fingers tangled easily with his, and when he stills you’re pulled to a stop too. 

“Hmm?”

He drops his grip on your hand so that he can put one under your jaw, tilting your head to get a better look at you. Your heart beats violently. He can definitely feel it. He knows. You don’t care. Fuck, he’s so near. 

“You talk a lot, huh?” he asks. It’s not unkind, the smile on his face is one of fondness, and all of your skeleton turns to jelly as you fucking melt under the affection in his gaze. 

“Please shut me up,” your beg comes out as a whisper, and he does. 

His lips are rough against yours, guiding, but sweet. The hair on his face tickles your cheeks. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bring him down to kiss him with more enthusiasm. This is not a public-appropriate display of affection, and someone honks their car horn at you both, but it just serves to make you laugh against his mouth and keep going. His hands slide onto your hips and hold you tight against him. Possessive. Wanting. Covetous. 

“You know,” he says when he pulls back for air, still running his lips along the line of your jaw to the hinge beneath your ear, “when Charles told me I should go and get those books, he said I’d like the person who runs the store. Didn’t expect you to be such a gorgeous little thing, though.”

You, gorgeous! Logan thinks you’re gorgeous! You could do a fucking cartwheel in celebration. You don’t though, you’d probably give yourself a concussion. 

His hand goes to his pocket and his brow furrows and, for a second, you panic. Has he started regretting kissing you already? Another quick kiss calms that down though, settling the simmer of worry in your stomach. 

“I think I left my wallet in the theatre. Hold on, I’ll grab it, then I’ll walk you home?”

“Only if you come in with me,” you breathe, and once again your mouth has taken the reins on that one. Logan huffs a laugh, a little incredulous, but mostly pleased at your gumption. 

“Okay, sweetheart. Okay.”

He leaves you standing there, feeling all tingly. This is happening. It’s fucking happening! Sometimes the stars align for a book nerd and a handsome guy wants to come up to their studio apartment. You thank Jesus, Buddha, Arthur C. Clarke - whoever is listening, they fucking deserve it. 

“You gonna fuck that mutant?”

The voice sends a chill down your throat. 

The trio of guys standing behind you do not look friendly. The biggest one, the one standing in the middle, sneers at your panic, crossing thick arms over a broad chest.

“Well? I asked you a question.”

You screw your courage to the sticking place, puffing up a little. 

“Don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you spit back, hoping that vitriol will deter them. It does not. Instead, they close in, hyenas around a cadaver. 

“Never had a human dick you down good enough, huh? Need a little help? C’mon baby, we’ll show you.”

He reaches out to grab your arm. You let out a noise of panic. 

At the same time, Logan’s fist collides with his face. 

The guy is sent stumbling back, spitting out a globule of blood. His friends step away with panic in their eyes. Logan moves in front of you, his bulk your shield, three metal claws extending from between his knuckles. 

Yeah. Mutant, huh?

“I think you were just leaving, pal,” says Logan in a voice which doesn’t bear messing with. The man bares his reddened teeth. 

“The fuck do you think you are, mutant scum--?!”

He lunges for Logan and the breath is sucked from your lungs when you see he’s pulling out a fucking knife, but another punch sends him flat on his ass. The blade clatters across the street and into the gutter. His friends grab either one of his arms and half stand him up, half drag him away.

“Shit, it’s not worth it—!” is their conclusion as they disappear into the night, shouting back expletives, blood trailing from their leader. Logan shakes out his fist, flexes his fingers; claws retract. He turns to you, slowly. 

“You okay?” he asks, hurriedly checking you over. You nod. 

“Y…yeah. Shaken.” you confess. 

“C'mon. Let’s get you home,” he sighs, and from the cadence of his voice you can tell he’s worried the night has been ruined. You place your hand on his bicep. 

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you still… will you still come up?”

He softens. 

“If it’ll make you feel safer, sweetheart.”

It does. 

And that’s how you find him sitting on your well-loved couch in between your needlepoint pillows, looking around your tiny home as you make a pot of coffee to share. 

“Jesus, you’ve got more books in here than in the store,” he mutters. 

“Well, some of them I couldn’t part with. I like them too much. And, as you pointed out, I am always reading.”

You look around at the shelves stuffed into your flat, the dozens of them holding hundreds of novels, plays, poems. You love them all dearly. They all hold a special piece of your heart, you can remember where you were when you read most of them. (Downstairs while manning the desk is often the answer). 

“Oh, even this?”

You can hear the smile in Logan’s voice. He’s holding up a copy of Fifty Shades. You scoff, rolling your eyes. 

“Christ, I read that as a professional courtesy to the art of bookselling. Got it for fifty cents at a thrift store. It’s crap. If you want some good erotica I can recommend…”

The sentence lingers unfinished. Logan raises his eyebrows. 

“You can recommend what, huh?”

The coffee is ready. You can smell its rich scent enveloping your little apartment. An idea forms. Creates a heavy anticipation on your tongue. Your brain screams at you. 

Locked. Loaded. Fire, mouth, fire!

“… then I’d recommend you take me to bed,” you say.

Logan stares, eyes wide. You’ve had an immediate effect on him. His pupils dilate. 

“I… honey, after earlier, I’m not sure if you should…”

You cross the room and sit on his lap, an easy feat when his legs are so thick and inviting. His sentence stops as you press your mouth to the pulse in his neck. Kiss. 

“I’m a consenting adult,” a kiss on his cheek, “who’s invited you into their home,” a kiss on his brow, “and is asking you to take them across their painfully tiny apartment and fuck them. If you don’t want to, that’s okay, but Logan? I’ve been game ever since you first walked in from the rain.”

He looks up at you to double check that you’re telling the truth, then kisses you with such ferocity that you squeak. 

You do not make it to the bed. 

He undresses you there on the sofa in the middle of your bookshelves, between Brontë and Austen, beside Carter and Rushdie. Your clothes end up in a messy little pile on the coffee table. It gets kicked and the pile of literary magazines slide to the floor as Logan moves to take off his shoes, letting you drag his jeans down and off of him, cupping his cock in his boxers.

Fuck. Thick, heavy, large, you want all of it. All of him. 

He leans you back against your kitschy little pillows with book quotes on them and pulls your dungarees off, an act both ridiculous and endearing. He catches your knee in his hand and begins to kiss up your thigh towards your underwear.

“Fuck,” you whisper as he presses a kiss to your sex over the fabric. He grins up at you from between your legs. 

“That was the plan.”

He fucks you with his mouth like a man starved, luxuriating in the little sounds you make for him, pressing fingers inside you without any effort at all. You cum all over his knuckles embarrassingly quickly. He looks sorta smug. 

“Baby, when was the last time someone took care of you…?” he asks, licking a stripe along your sex to taste what he’s done. You huff. 

“Too long. You gonna fix that?”

It’s a challenge and he takes it as one. You strip off his shirt, making sure to get a good feel of his muscles as you go, kissing his pectorals and abs just because you can. He slides inside you with one thrust, one of your legs in a crook at his hip; the other with its ankle resting on his shoulder. He starts moving and the couch shakes but all you can do is cling on for dear life to the crocheted blanket. 

“Holy shit… so fuckin’ tight… aren’t you just the most gorgeous thing…” he hisses. You reach up enough to tangle your fingers in his hair and drag him down for a kiss, sloppy and charged with heat. His hand moves in between your legs and you cum for the second time that night, hissing with satisfaction as he spills inside you. 

You collapse onto the sofa together, your heavy breaths harmonising. When he pulls back to kiss you this time it’s softer. With intention. With reference. 

“Uh, you know, they’re showing To Kill a Mockingbird next week. Maybe dinner beforehand, if you’re interested?”

He laughs affectionately and you can feel the rumble in his chest.

“Sounds good. You’ll have to lend me the book first.”

Fuck yeah. You’re never doubting your mouth again. 

Taglist: @falsewordz@malfoys-demigod@belilwen@mildly-salted@tvwebs@childeslegstrap@getmeoutofhell@s1eep-o@just-a-beatlemaniac69@yrthr@momopad@sugarplumz100@captainjinkx@madspads@acrosstheunivcrse@yeethaw13@na-is-salty@florduarte@hunterispunk@starfleetteddybear

[wishful-sinful-9]

consider…….lumberjack logan taking care of you when you’re sick and the heat/ac in your apartment went out

more lumberjack!logan here!

October is approaching and there's a chill in the air. On your walk to work, the sun is barely peeking over the mountains and a crisp breeze makes you draw your little red swede jacket closer together, Bob Dylan style. You hum “Blowin' in the Wind” to distract yourself from your blocked nose and tickling throat.

Your slight sniffling and paling face fails to escape Logan's radar. “Comin' down with a cold?” he grunts as you place his coffee down in front of him.

“Nothing that won't right itself in a couple days.” You reply, though you're not as certain as your words suggest.

Your fears manifest when you arrive home to an apartment with no heating. You cocoon yourself in blankets, but it's no use; an occasional cough intensifies into fits, and your sniffling evolves into sneezing. Worst of all, you've come over with a bad fever.

He picks up the phone to your meek little voice down the line, a simple: “the heating's broken” and there's a Logan-shaped hole in the wall.

“It's the whole floor,” you explain when you let him in. “It won't get fixed for a few days, it looks like. I was gonna order food.”

“We'll order food from my place.”

You turn to look at him, baffled. “Logan-?”

“Get your stuff, you're staying with me until it's fixed,” he says firmly. “Living in the Arctic won't help a cold. Now c'mon.”

You don't dare protest further when he looks at you with that firm expression of his, instead busying yourself with packing a bag.

The drive to Logan's makes it apparent that his daily visits to the diner must not be for convenience; he lives a few miles away from the town, the site he works on being on the other side of the hill where his lonely cabin overlooks the mountains. You know you make a mean cup of coffee, but you wonder if it could be something else attracting him...

You find yourself on his couch, The Grateful Dead playing on the radio as he gets the fireplace going. He'd made you soup and hot lemon and honey tea for your throat. Any attempts to lift yourself from your seat were sternly thwarted.

An indescribably warm feeling blooms in your chest at the sight of him rushing about attending to you. Only once the fire is lit he stops, turning to you to ask if there's anything else he can get you, something from the store, an extra blanket...

He freezes when you take his arm, blinking up at him sweetly, “I'm fine, Logan, thank you. Please for the love of God, sit down.”

He huffs out a fine, although his heart flutters at the proximity when he takes a seat beside you.

-

You're asleep on his shoulder. You're sitting right next to him and you're asleep on his shoulder.

The two of you had been watching a movie, you having insisted he take some of the blanket. Outside, the sun was slipping down the sky, bathing the cabin in syrupy sunlight, casting over your drooping eyelids. It's early to sleep, sure, but now you're completely warm and comfortable after suffering in the cold of your apartment, an exhaustion had settled over you.

Ever so slowly, Logan reaches around your back and under your thighs to scoop you into his arms in a bridal hold. He carries you to his bedroom and gently settles you into the sheets, arranging them over you - tucking you in.

He falters for a moment, looking over you: the peaceful look on your face, your body curling into the warmth. A slight smile lifts on his lips.

Tentatively, Logan leans down, brushing a stray strand of hair that threatens to bother your eyes - and dares press a kiss to your temple.

He hurries out the room.

[endless-ineffabilities]

Chemical Override (bonus chapter 2) - August!

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: this sweet one is set just before they broke it off (or rather, before the reader stomped all over his heart) in part five!

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

August! (... slipped away into a moment in time)

It's a fine morning, albeit lazy, you and Ewan having done nothing but lay in bed and talk and cuddle.

Granted, you did a lot more than talk over the course of the night. And this continued in the morning, with Ewan gently coaxing you out of sleep in need.

He's been insatiable, not that you can blame him. You two are finally together, after months of dancing around each other, your friends in eager anticipation to see how the 'will-they, won't they' dynamic will culminate.

They'll be pleased to know that it all led up to the best date you've had so far, followed by a night of bodies burning for the other, marking their territory in the throes of pent-up desire.

Ewan was sure he would remain the gentleman, merely driving you back to your hotel and calling it a night.

But you had invited him upstairs for a nightcap. Maybe some tea, as the Brits do. Needless to say, the tea was quickly forgotten, along with any reservations he might have about simply having you.

The haze of it hasn't subsided. Clad in nothing but undergarments, your limbs are tangled with his under the sheets as you watch the newly released New York foods video he did with Tom a while back.

"Baby?" you say, running your fingers through his hair as he has his head propped on your thighs. The screen plays on, showing the lads thoroughly enjoying some New York City hotdogs.

"Hmm?" he responds, his voice hinting at how soothed he feels from your touch.

"You're such a baby."

"What?" He twists his neck to shoot you a look of betrayal. Adorable.

"I bet those chips weren't even that spicy," you say, rolling your eyes. "I would have devoured those jalapeño chips."

"They were spicy!" He leans against his forearm, which he quickly positioned on your thigh without thinking, causing your muscle to spasm from the sudden weight.

"Ahhh, Ewan!" you wriggle your legs. "Get off, get off..."

"Shit!" He bolts upright, immediately kneading the flesh with his palm. "Sorry, baby. Here, where does it hurt?"

You sigh audibly. "Oh, you." You narrow your eyes at him playfully, trying to look all tough, but apparently he takes it as a cue to press his lips to yours.

It's warm, a bit sloppy, your breaths stale from wine drank over the course of the night. And you don't mind at all.

He croons in your ear, "How do I make it up to you?"

"It's fine, I was only kind of messing - "

"Come now, darling, anything."

He gazes at you, awaiting an answer. In the background, you hear his voice saying, The Fuegos... I didn't like them, as the video comes to a close.

I saw your eyeballs sort of pop out your head a little bit, Tom says in response.

This is going to be fun, you think, smiling evilly to yourself.

Rising to your knees on the bed, you loudly declare, "Today, my love, you will conquer your fears and eat my favourite spicy food."

"Nooo!" He shakes his head right away, already plotting how to get out of this predicament. "Baby, please make me do anything else. I can't handle my spice!"

"My mind is made up."

"What if I do that thing that made you scream last night? When I buried my tongue insi - '

"Ewan!" Your face reddens, but you carry on. His face will soon have the same reaction, but for different, more savoury reasons. "I mean, I would like that but - "

"Alright, let's go baby, spread your knees - " he nods, desperate to placate you and your challenge, but also eager to get down to business.

You shuffle away when he tries to pry your legs open. " - I said I made up my mind! We're eating spicy food. We gotta eat anyway, I'm starving."

He groans, collapsing back on the bed. He runs his hand tiredly over his face, mulling it over. As if he actually has a choice. He wants to do this for you, seeing as how excited you're getting.

"Get up, ol' sport," you crawl on top of him, perching above his stomach. "We're gonna go get the goods."

"Hmm," he sighs contentedly, one look at you more than enough to quell his worries. For now.

"Okay, darling," he relents, then his eyes flash in mischief. "But before we get out of bed... how about I do that thing anyway?"

There is not a single chance in the seven hells that you could ever say no to that.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

An interesting spread is laid out on the round dining table in your hotel suite.

Your stomach growls in anticipation, while Ewan is stiff as a board as he sits beside you.

"I'm hungry, aren't you?" you nudge him, but he only moans, throwing his head back in his chair.

"What if I'd already eaten? I can skip this?" he tries.

"And what the hell did you eat?"

He smirks, and even though his answer won't save him from what follows, it renders him gleeful all the same. "You," is his reply.

That prompts an eye roll, but you shake your head at him fondly. "What should we start with, baby?"

"Water."

"Come on."

"How about the strawberry milk?"

"Okay, then I'll pick." You clasp your hands, surveying the options. "Let's start with something easy." You settle for the bowl of Flamin Hot Cheetos and place it right in front of him.

You help yourself to a few pieces, before noticing that he hasn't moved a muscle, so you take one and bring it to his lips. "Open up, handsome."

"Mmmm," he tilts his head away on instinct, but he gives in after a second. He makes a face as the snack crunches in his mouth. "Not... bad, I suppose.... Urghhh - " he coughs a little, making you snicker at him between bites.

"That's not spicy at all," you say. "At least, it's nothing compared to what we'll have next."

The chicken wings are an unnatural bright red colour, covered in hot sauce and dotted with flecks of chili. You lean down and take a whiff, your nose scrunching as the strong hint of spice hits your senses.

Your placating smile does nothing to ease Ewan, who only looks like he is regretting his life choices on the spot.

"O-kay, dragonblood. Time to breathe fire," you remark in an attempt to inspire some confidence in him. Didn't he take pride in playing a Targaryen dragonrider? Surely some part of him would want to overcome the big, bad opponent that is known in our world as spicy wings.

"Breathe fire?" he exclaims. "That does not make me feel any better!"

"Do it for Vhagar, my love. Do it for Vhagar."

"I'm doing this for you," he corrects, before gingerly taking the smallest bite of a wing. He waits for the impact, confused when nothing unpleasant occurs.

So he bravely takes another, heartier bite.

Big mistake.

His hand gravitates to the glass of water, and he chugs it down like a lifeline. His once pale face becomes the same hue as the fiery culprit.

"Fffuck, ba...by," he hiccups. "I didn't like that at all."

You have a bite, wincing just a little when it hits your throat. It wasn't too bad, so you tell him to calm down.

He complains anyway, "I think I just saw my life flash right before my eyes."

You chortle at that, which unfortunately makes some of the spice travel up your nose. "Oh god!" You instantly take a huge gulp of milk. "Don't make me laugh!" you say, when the heat dies down.

"See?" he cries out in vindication. "Why must we torture ourselves, darling?"

"The food's tasty," you counter.

"Yeah, but is it worth the price?"

You grip his shoulder, dramatically saying, "We have to keep going, soldier."

"No."

"Yes."

"You won't break up with me if I refuse, will you?"

You pause, making it seem like you are seriously deliberating it. "Maybe."

"What?!" His expression takes on a more real sense of alarm.

"I'm kidding," you giggle, nudging his leg with yours. He leans his head against your shoulder, responding with, "You're mean."

"And you're dating me. What does that say about you?"

He lets out a weary laugh, "That I'm just really in love, I guess."

That almost makes you give up on the challenge entirely. You could just let him eat the pepperoni pizza you have saved as the actual meal. But it wouldn't hurt too much to tackle the grand finale. The final boss. Maybe it will even get his taste buds to crack and cross over to the dark side.

"Baby?" Here goes everything.

"Hmm?"

"It's time for the spicy ramen."

He sighs a true sigh of defeat and acceptance. "If I survive this, you have to swear you're never letting me go."

"That's your bargain? Easy, baby."

His blue eyes bore into yours. His cheeks are still red and he's still sniffling from the spice, but his sentiment holds weight. He shrugs, before his arm reaches out for the bowl of ramen, making it known that he has already accepted his fate.

You slide the glass of milk closer to him.

"Try not to get it on your lips as much as possible," you advise him, growing worried as the ramen pack did warn that it was '2x Spicy'.

You cringe inwardly as a forkful of noodles enters his mouth. He drops his arm, chewing slowly, and finally the food gratefully slides down his throat.

"Mmm," he clears his throat, trying his hardest to remain calm. His forced, blank expression is even more alarming than the alternative.

"Ewan?" He turns his head toward you, slowly. And you see the full extent of the damage. His eyes well with tears, and his breathing is shallow from an even more congested nose.

"I'm okay," he wheezes, trying to maintain a show of boldness for your sake. "I can do this."

"You don't look okay." You shake your head at him, as his face takes on an even deeper shade of red.

A pained grunt escapes him. "Maybe a kiss will make it better."

A cursory glace at the ramen sauce staining his lips compels you to protest without a second thought. "How about no? You've got it all over your lips."

"Darling, who cares? You're going to eat them too!" he says, scandalised.

"But I've got a technique. I don't let it touch my lips so it doesn't burn!" You inch away as he leans in.

"So you won't kiss me?" He uses his baby blues against you, eyes bright and shimmering as he pouts in disappointment.

"You don't need a kiss." He tries to grab you, making you stand from your chair to get away. With your palm outstretched, you implore him, "Baby, just drink your milk."

"Then I get a kiss?"

"Fine. Then you get a kiss."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Tom calls you a few days later, his tone animated from the moment you pick up. "Would you look at that! I didn't think I would get a hold of you lovers. Thought you'd be busy doing somethin' else, if y'know what I mean."

"It's noon here, Tom," you reply matter-of-factly, stretching your legs out on the bed.

"So? I reckon Captain Big Balls over there has got it in him."

"Wow," you let out an amused exhale. Tom always did have a way about him, being a Manc and all. "Well, he's in the shower right now if you wanted to speak to him."

"I'm surprised you're not in there with him, love! You guys are all over the news, bloody hell. Even out here, everyone's buzzin' about the hot new couple from House of the Dragon. And no, it's not Matt and Fabien."

You smirk at his last remark, "Are you sure it's not Matt and Fabs?"

"Positive," he says. "But we never know what could happen. Anyway, how in the hell did you convince him?"

You rack your brain for what exactly he could be pertaining to. "Convince him to do what?"

"To create a bloody Instagram profile, that's what!"

Your mouth falls open, and you quickly put him on speaker so you can scroll to the aforementioned app. Sure enough, it doesn't take long for you to sift through your new follower notifications before you find him.

His username is on brand - straightforward and no-frills - just ewanmitchell . Already verified with a hundred thousand followers and counting. In his following list, however, there is only one - your profile.

If the papparazzi pictures and tabloid stories and fan encounters hadn't convinced everyone yet, likely this will.

Ewan, notorious not only for his charisma and pure talent, but also for being steadfast in staying off social media, has sent the entirety of Ewan Nation into a tailspin with his profile.

Icing on the cake - he only follows you.

"You see, this is what convinces the public that you two are not PR," Tom says. "Because Ewan would never, ever get on the socials for just anyone."

"I didn't even know he made this. I haven't been online in quite a bit."

"Been busy, huh?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"Doin' a lot of stuff out there?"

"I guess."

"Like Ewan?"

"Tom, I'm going to lynch you when I see you."

He only laughs, having gotten his desired outcome from prodding at you.

The bathroom door slides open, and Ewan steps out with nothing but a towel haphazardly wrapped around his waist.

"Who's that?" he mouths at you.

"Tom," you answer loudly, prompting Tom to greet Ewan from the speakerphone.

"Aemond the Fierce!" he bellows, the long-distance call doing nothing to stifle his personality. "I always knew you had it in ya. Ever since you laid eyes on her during the table read, I knew it was only a matter of time."

Well, isn't that a revelation. You had thought it was just you harbouring a crush in the beginning. "The table read, really? I just remember being so nervous," you say.

"I thought you were attractive," Ewan admits, scratching the back of his neck. "And you were reading your lines with such passion that I... "

Tom interrupts, "He ran over to me and told me to show him your social media."

"Not just that, I - "

"He wanted to see whether you had any pictures with a boyfriend or something."

"Alright, alright." Ewan snatches the phone from your hand, as if that will keep Tom from exposing him even more. "How are you, mate?"

"I'm good, lad, and yourself?"

Ewan glances at you, seeing that you've gone back to reading a script, your brow furrowed in concentration.

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

"I'm great. I'm happy."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

"Over here! Over here!"

"How's your evening going, you guys? How are you enjoying LA?"

The papparazzi needlessly try to make small talk and they flash their cameras in your face. You and Ewan barely have time to grimace at each other once you get inside his car. The restaurant where he took you to dinner hadn't been crawling with paps when you arrived. Someone must have tipped them at some point.

Ewan instinctively reaches for your hand when you've driven some distance away from the restaurant, a breath of relief exiting his lungs.

"That's Hollywood for you, baby," he says amusedly, putting on his best standard American accent.

The car speeds through the streets of LA. Heading to Mount Hollywood, you have the famous Griffith Observatory set as your destination.

You have always wanted to go, and it only took one mention to Ewan before he planned it for your next date.

It doesn't take long before the observatory's iconic structure comes into view. Its white domes seemingly gleam under the night sky, a sentinel watching over the city of Los Angeles.

Stepping out of the car, you take in the scene in awe. The resulting look on your face lets Ewan know he made the right choice in taking you here. He'd take you here everyday if it meant seeing you in a spell of childlike wonder.

The observatory itself is just a bonus.

The outer balcony stretches like a vertice into the vastness of the city, a sea of lights glistening down below. It seemed to sprawl on endlessly, a labyrinth of hopes and pains and dreams.

You stand there, drawn to the view like a moth to a flame. The evening breeze dances through your hair, and your face is aglow from the illuminated city.

Smiling widely, you turn and find Ewan lingering just behind, watching you.

"Come and look at this, my love," you wave him over.

He wants to capture the moment, so he does. He subtly points his camera in your direction. Your profile is partially visible, with your face turned out into the horizon. Your silhouette stands before a mosaic of the shining city.

But it's you that has his attention. You that pulls all of his focus into the frame.

He never thought he would have much use for a public social media profile like the one he created on Instagram, but hours later, as you're sound asleep beside him, he finds purpose for such a thing.

He uploads the first ever photo on his profile - the one he secretly took of you at the observatory.

Too conscious to think of a caption, he doesn't type in any, content to let the photo speak for itself.

Putting his phone away, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead and falls into blissful slumber.

Ewan hadn't been aware of the phrase breaking the internet, and he's in for quite the rude awakening.

Even so, he doesn't let it faze him.

You're in shock when you discover the amount of comments under the photo, well past the twelve thousand mark when you wake up. Positive, negative, and everything in between.

Almost unheard of for an Instagram debut.

His reaction?

"At least everyone knows that you're mine now. What's wrong with that?"

You can vote here on the reader's hotd character name!

Taglist: @sprinklesprinkle888 @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @hotdismylife @vyctorya @wildrangers @livcookesgf @dracaryxzs @aemondwhoresworld @aisselasstuff @onlyrealjoy (continued in comments)

The sad, angsty bits will be saved for the next proper chapter! What happens to Ewan's Instagram then? What happens to him?? 🥲💔

I was going to include the double date idea, but alas, my ideas ran dry.

I've got nothing but love for all of you that have followed this story to this point! If you've got scene requests, just let me know!

[kingkatsuki]

— for you

Based on this gorgeous art that I still can’t stop thinking about by @rabbbitseason. You’re single-handedly feeding Togame nation, lovely. Please don’t stop💕

Pairing: Togame Jou x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, dirty talk, blowjob, cum swallowing, not proofread soz.

Word Count: 2.2k.

The Shishitoren jacket should have worked as a vibrant yellow strip of warning tape wrapped around you, paired with red flashing lights to alert anyone in the vicinity to danger. Keeping you out of trouble as you sat on one of the high tables with your girlfriends as Togame lingered not too far behind, sitting beside Choji in a booth as he kept one eye on you across the room. 

Stealing glances at him between your conversation as you’d wave over at him as though you’d just seen each other for the first time, Togame doing the same as he tipped his glass towards you. He’d give it at least another thirty minutes before you were making your way back over to him to plant yourself on his lap, legs draped over his thighs to lean your body against his. 

But apparently the jacket alone wasn’t enough.

Just as you raised your drink to take a sip through the straw, you were caught off guard by a guy inviting himself into your circle and intruding on the conversation. Shifting in your seat as you pulled Togame’s Shishitoren jacket a little tighter around your frame when you felt the guy try to steal a glance down your top, irritated that he was blocking your line of sight so you couldn’t signal across the room to Togame or Choji that he was being a bother. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” 

“I’m not interested.” You purse your lips, holding back the insult that sits on the tip of your tongue as he takes a step closer.

“Why not? It’s just a drink—”

“My boyfriend already bought me a drink, thanks.” You reached across the table to sip it for emphasis, wondering if Togame would buy you another if this one ended up all over this guy. 

“Boyfriend?” The guy scoffed, “Then where is he—”

But this guy must have been either very drunk, or very stupid when he chose to approach you. A cocky, confident smile on his face as he slung an arm around the back of your chair, leaning close so you could smell the liquor on his tongue as he tried to introduce himself. Asking to buy you a drink as you shifted back, feeling his hand press against your side, dangerously close to the curve of your breast. 

And before you had a chance to tell him to fuck off or throw your drink all over him, your boyfriend stepped up behind him. Reaching out to grasp the wrist of the hand that was touching you as his green eyes darkened menacingly. 

“Did no one ever tell you not to touch things that don’t belong to you?” Togame glared before his features softened when he turned to face you, “Is this guy bothering you, baby?”

But he already knew the answer. With the way the guy had been touching you, he’d be lucky to get out alive. Swinging a fist as he made contact with the guys nose, a horrid crack sounding over the bustle of the dingy dive bar as he shrieked back in horror.

It hadn’t taken many punches to leave Togame bloody.

Your eyes widened in fear when you looked down at his bruised knuckles, the vibrant crimson glistening against his skin as he assured you that none of it was his. The man’s cheek now bleeding onto his t-shirt as he fled the bar, Togame’s links to Shishitoren were the only reason that you hadn’t been kicked out for fighting as you led him towards one of the back rooms. 

You’d intended to find a first aid kit, much to Togame’s annoyance with the insistence that he was fine. Your entire body felt warm over the blatant display of possession over you, and it had your cunt pulsing around nothing between your thighs at the sight of him like this for you.

“I gotta say, sweetheart,” Togame cooed, “I didn’t think this was how my night would go.” 

He groaned as you pressed hot open-mouthed kisses along the length of his half-hard cock. Circling it with your palm as you followed the forking veins that littered the underside of him, following a map until you met the curve of his balls. Looking up at him with faux innocence you mouthed at the middle of his scrotum.

“Are you complaining?” Your lips curled into a grin as you licked a stripe back up his length, pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock as he shuddered under your ministrations. 

“Me? Complain? Never—” Togame groaned when you took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip as you began to suck gently. 

“This is what he wishes he had isn’t it, baby?” Togame drawled, “Your lips around his cock.”

You moaned in response, your tongue following the line of a prominent vein that travelled along the underside of his cock. His chest caved at the motion, his shirt pulled up just enough to expose his Adonis belt and the curve of his pelvis. A deep scar settled against his right hip that travelled towards his inner thigh as you reached up to press your palm against it, letting your fingers card through the messy hairs that littered his skin.

“Fuck, baby.” He leaned back in his seat, thighs spread as he watched through half-lidded eyes. His tongue peeking out to wet his lips as another low groan rumbled in his chest, “Prettiest damn mouth there is.”

“Just showing my appreciation.” You murmured around the tip, swiping your tongue against it sloppily before delving deeper.

“That’s why everyone wants you huh?” You keened at his praise, hollowing your cheeks to suck harder as your hand reached up to squeeze his balls, running your thumb along his taint as you drew another desperate moan from his throat. 

Togame really was pretty like this. His head was thrown back in ecstasy, as you got the perfect view of his chiselled jaw, the three-day-old stubble casting a shadow against it as you took a moment to breathe. Pulling back from his cock to press a glossy kiss to the swollen tip of it, gliding the tip of your tongue along his slit to gather the fresh pre that leaked out. 

“Luckiest fuckin’ guy in the world.” He hummed, stroking his thumb against your cheek before moving his hand to the back of your head. Cradling it gently as he let you set the pace, choose the movements as he basked in your attention. 

The metallic tang of blood permeated the air as blood began to dry against his skin, most of it from the guy who had dared so much as glance at what was his. Togame’s rings pierced his skin when he swung, hearing that disgusting crunch when his fists connected with bone and cartilage. 

“I feel pretty lucky now too,” You hummed, pulling his cock from your mouth as you tapped the underside of it on the flat of your tongue, “Had my big, strong boyfriend there to protect me. That was so hot—”

Your words of praise had a deep timber groan rumbling at the back of his throat, eyes rolling back as his cock pulsed hot and heavy beneath your warm palm. You’d coaxed Togame into this back room under the guise of ensuring he wasn’t hurt, despite his insistence that something was perhaps wrong with you. As though the guy had harmed a single hair on your head and this was enough to declare gang warfare. Rolling his eyes when you sat him down on a rickety old chair in the corner before slipping down onto your knees. 

“Fuck, I’ll always protect you,” He rasped as you took him back inside your mouth, rolling your tongue along the length of his cock as the swollen tip hit the back of your throat causing you to gag slightly, “Ain’t that right? Everyone wants my girl.”

Spit began to pool in your throat as you bobbed your head along his length, drooling down your chin and onto his balls as you soaked the front of his sweatpants. Feeling him begin to give slow, shallow thrusts into your mouth as you continued to stroke your tongue around his girth, your fingers squeezing each of his sacs gently as Togame continued to sing your sweet praises. His jacket began to slip from your shoulder as you changed the angle, tilting your head as you leaned forward on your knees to take him even deeper inside your mouth. 

“The fucker should’ve known better.” He leaned forward, shifting position to pull his jacket tighter around your shoulders, “You’re wearing my jacket after all.”

You hummed in response as you looked up at him from under thick lashes, watching his Adam’s apple bob as you sent delicious vibrations through his cock as Togame groaned. Tightening his grip on your head as his fingers weaved through your hair to tug at the root, his knuckles throbbing from earlier impact as the blood began to dry against his skin. 

You pushed forward, feeling the head of his cock hit the back of your mouth as you took him in your throat. Drawing another debauched groan from his chest as he watched your nose pressed into the messy hairs at the base of his cock, feeling a slight pressure on the back of your head as he held yourself down on him until the desire to breathe became too strong. 

Wet tears began to clump in pretty pearls in your lashes, blurring your vision as you tried to blink them away. Your throat started to constrict with the desire for air as your nails pressed half-moons into the muscle of his thigh, feeling Togame’s grip loosen as you pulled back. The wet smack of his cock leaving your lips sounded in the room as silvery lines of spit and pre kept your bodies connected.

“F-uck,” The word rolled off his tongue as you moved your lips to take the entirety of his cock in one go, deliberately palming his balls at the same time as Togame’s grip in your hair tightened. His hips bucked as you drew him closer to the edge of his climax, setting a constant pace as you sucked hard. 

“My pretty baby is so good at sucking cock, huh?” Togame groaned at the debauched sight of you on your knees for him, listening to the lewd sounds that slipped from your mouth as you squeezed your thighs together to try and give your neglected clit some slight relief. 

“Is that poor little pussy feeling left out?” He cooed knowingly, flexing his fingers against the back of your head as his other hand reached out to palm one of your breasts through your top, “Bet those pretty panties are drenched.”

You whined around Togame’s cock at his crude words, feeling the persistent throb between your thighs as you continued your pace, bobbing your head as you rolled your tongue around his head with each upward motion. You could tell he was close from his laboured breathing, his grip on the back of your head almost painful now as his fingers curled into your hair to tug at the root. The sensation had you moaning around him as you moved your hand to jerk the base of his cock to work him towards his release. 

“Oh fuck, baby.” He swallowed thickly, sandals clacking against the floor as he spread his thighs further apart, “That’s it, that’s it—”

You cupped his balls, feeling them begin to tighten in your palm as he teetered on the cusp of his climax. Holding your head down on his length as he found his end, spilling his release into your mouth as you felt hot ropes of cum paint your tongue and splash against the back of your throat. Giving a few sloppy ruts of his hips as he wrapped his hand around yours at the base of his cock. Letting you see his bloodied knuckles as he increased your movements, milking his cock of every drop of spunk he had to give as he rode out his bliss. The heady taste of it settled on your tongue as you made a show of swallowing it all for him before leaning forward to clean the last beads of it against his spent cock.

“I dunno what I ever did in a past life to deserve you, sweetheart.” Togame groaned, chest heaving as he came down from his high, “I must’ve been a real good guy.”

“You’re still a good guy now,” You smiled, reaching up to stroke his cheek, “You always look after me.”

“I’m not sure about that, baby.” Togame stroked his thumb over your glossy lips, catching a stray drop of cum as your tongue instantly slipped out to lick it off the calloused pad. Groaning when you wrapped your lips around it as his spent cock fought to come back to life. Dragging your bottom lip downwards when he pulled back, muttering minx beneath his breath. You leaned into his touch as he cupped your cheek in a warm palm, leaning down to meet your gaze as he sighed, “I think I’m a pretty bad guy.”

Togame closed the distance to bring you into a languid kiss. Not caring that he could taste his release as his tongue pushed past your parted lips, grazing your teeth as it stroked against every crevice.

“But no matter what happens I’ll always be there to protect you.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

Will you do a scenario of how we’d meet Bill for the first time and what he would be like if you were sort of “friends”? 🙏

You were minding your business while walking through the woods of Gravity Falls, just needing a change of scenery and finding the woods to be the perfect place to do so with it’s mushrooms, flowers and the wildlife that crossed your path.

Everything was seemingly fine and not out of the ordinary until you started to feel like you were being watched from somewhere, you looked to see if you could spot anyone, but all you could see were birch trees that had markings on the bark that suspiciously looked like eyes. You were just about thinking of leaving until you heard a voice from somewhere.

‘Hey kiddo!’

You looked to the left, nothing

‘Other way kid.’

the to the right, nothing

‘Colder.’

Up? Nope, nothing.

‘You’re practically an human popsicle at this point.’

How about looking down? Still nothing. Now you were getting confused, scared and annoyed.

You heard the voice sigh and say ‘you’re starting to make me feel sad, here I’ll make this a little easier for you.’ Then before you could say anything, a small yellow triangle with one eye wearing a top hat and bow tie appeared before you.

‘It’s great to finally meet you y/n.’ It said and immediately you were freaked out.

‘Who are you and how did you know my name?’ You asked, uneasy.

‘The names Bill Cipher and I know lots of things, lots of things.’ Bill replied, shrugging. ‘Wanna see what I can do?’ He adds after a brief pause but before you could answer him, he held his hand out to a nearby deer as its teeth were taken out of its mouth and into his small hand in a neat pile. ‘Deer teeth for you kid hehe.’ He then chuckled as he dumped the pile of deer teeth into your hands.

You on the other hand didn’t find this funny and fought the urge to vomit as you offered Bill the deer teeth back. ‘Mind giving the deer its teeth back? I’m sure it has more use for them than either of us.’ You ask as Bill did as you asked and gave the deer its teeth back as it galloped off elsewhere, leaving you alone with the weird triangle in the woods. Everything that had happened within the past five minutes had been overwhelming for you, too overwhelming that you had to sit yourself down on the trunk of a fallen tree and put your head in your hands, muttering to yourself.

‘This isn’t real, this is all some weird fever dream or I’m tripping balls. There’s no other explanation.’

Bill only chuckled as he floated next to you and patted you on the shoulder. ‘There, there human I can reassure you that what you just saw was very much real.’

You looked at him from your hands, unamused. ‘You fucking suck at comforting people you know that?’

‘I think we’ll get along great!’ Bill chirped gleefully.

‘We absolutely will not.’ You replied but you had an inkling that your opinion on the matter didn’t matter.

Now onto how bill would be if you were sort of ‘friends.’

He’s got a weird way about showing his feelings in any capacity.

The little shit put rats, dead rats outside your door, spelling out your name on random ass occasions that made it look like to others that a) you were haunted or b) had a weird stalker who liked to form your name out of dead rats.

He doesn’t want you having friends outside of him because and I quote ‘I’m the only friend you need, why bother with anyone else. So don’t even try cuz I’ll be watching you.’

Will leave sticky post it notes anywhere and everywhere saying to get more silly straws or else he’ll find a way to possess you and make you do embarrassing shit. Ie: walk through town in your underwear, make you speak backwards, kick a child-

Bill was a brat and his pranks were often traumatic but apparently they were ‘light’ in comparison to the stuff he did to his other meat puppets. You didn’t ask any further questions about what he meant by that in fear that he’d show you one as an example.

You are probably the only person who bill has told about his secret technique with mascara and eyeliner, even seeing him do it once when he insisted that you had a ‘sleepover’ at your place. He even points the mascara brush at you warningly as he threatened that you were to never tell people about this or else.

His version of jealousy when he sees you spending time with others is to trash your house and try to act cute when you catch him in the act. You don’t fall for this and give Bill the silent treatment for the rest of the day as he practically lost his shit over your lack of attention.

Probably air horned you awake once.

Bill Wouldn’t tell you this but he make your enemies do stupid shit that resulted in their deaths, for fun he claims but he didn’t want his favourite meat sack to start leaking water from their eyes every time something went wrong in their life. So he just cuts them out in the most brutal way possible.

Bill was stuck to you like glue and there’s was no way to hide from him as he would ultimately appears where you are, even if you’re in the fucking shower, he don’t care.

Bill: *appears in shower* my favourite meat sack have you- stop screaming it’s only me, have you seen a king cobra anywhere, I must’ve dropped it somewhere here-

He probably once threatened you with the whole ‘steal your eyes’ thing like he did with Ford but you had witness enough of Bill’s behaviour to know that he was joking about that, to which he was proud and would magically make a cake filled with worms, bugs and other unpleasant things appear in celebration.

You may or may not have been sick that day.

Your and Bills friendship was weird, probably not the healthiest in all honestly and you should seek help and or maybe therapy for the shit he’s out you through.

You were his property, you were his pet, HIS MEAT SACK and you wouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere without him knowing and or being nearby in hopes of catching your eye.

Just a yellow triangle with one eye and a top hat and bow tie floating ominously in the background was enough to unnerve anyone.

You had no freedom as far as you were concerned in this ‘friendship’ but bill likes to claim that he has given you the most freedom out of anyone who has ever existed.

[coralinnii]

❋ Accidentally ignoring him ❋

feat: Floyd ⭑ Vil ⭑ Ace ⭑ Leona genre: fluff, humour note: no pronouns used with reader, established relationships, reader is kinda oblivious and scatterbrained. 

Ooff, someone’s gonna get squeezed

Not you…probably. Not until you explain yourself. 

Floyd is used to being avoided. He’s tall, strong, and not afraid to give someone a beating should they get too annoying. 

You have special privileges, though. Afterall, you’re his Shrimpy. His one and only thing that makes his day better, no matter his mood. A smile or wave from you would send him from 0 to 100 as he rushes to give you a swinging hug. 

But that day when he yelled out for you from across the halls, you didn’t even give him a second glance. In fact, you just walked past him as though you didn’t know him. That’s not very nice, you know. Eels are very sensitive. 

He came to the most logical conclusion (to him), someone did something to you and you’re too upset to acknowledge anyone, including him. Why else would you ignore Floyd, your lovable eel boyfriend? 

Even after threatening questioning everyone who may be close to you, all he got was nothing as everyone said that nothing was out of the ordinary and you were fine when they last saw you. As scared as they were of the tall merman, they were sure that you were the same as always. 

But if you were alright…then why did you ignore him? 

The crowded hallways suddenly split like the Red Sea, making way for the unhappy sophomore as he made a beeline to where your next class was supposed to be. Sure enough, he saw you making your way there. 

“Shrimpy!” He yelled out to you like he did earlier but like deja vu, you didn’t even raise your head or even turn to his direction which irritated Floyd, but he had another emotion, fear. Were you angry with him? So much so that you wouldn’t even look at him. 

Getting close to you, he grabbed your shoulder and turned you around to finally make contact with you. If he wasn’t so sad, he would have thought your surprised face was cute. 

Before he could question your silent treatment, you beamed with glee with that smile that Floyd loves and his worries dissipated just like that. 

He watched you pull out one of your earbuds and greeted him brightly. You instantly wrapped the tall student in your arms, blissfully ignorant of the situation “Floyd, I haven’t seen you all day!” 

Apparently, you finally saved enough money to buy a pair of earbuds and have been excitedly using them before and after classes. They work great as you can’t hear anything not coming from your new airbuds. 

Floyd didn’t say anything, choosing to instead let his body melt into your hug, arms around you as his head rested atop of you. He’ll be mad at you at a later time but right now he’s letting this sense of relief wash over his previous worries. He’s secretly glad you weren’t mad at him or anything. 

“Shrimpy is such a meanie, scarin’ me like that. Don’t do that again or I might just squeeze ya”

Offended. 

Him? Vil? Being ignored? And by his beloved of all people? That’s inconceivable. Be it admiration or envy, Vil was always the target of everyone’s attention.

But there you go, hurriedly walking to wherever you need to be and rushing past him. Not even a small hello or a wave, he was absolutely ignored by you. 

Vil’s not that petty (pfft!) so he wasn’t gonna make a big deal out of this incident but when he decided to meet you during lunch, Vil was stunned in his spot as you rushed out from the cafeteria the moment you were done with your meal. You didn’t give a passing glance his way as you exited the room. 

This beautiful man searched through his memories for any clue to your odd behavior, but he couldn’t think of any reason for this sudden change. He knew your schedule so there weren't any urgent assignments or projects, and as far as he knew there wasn’t anything he did in particular that would make you avoid him like this. 

He was aware that to many, his personality can be hard to approach with his unwavering expectations for others and himself. He’s cutthroat with his comments and he’s not afraid to give his truthful opinions of others, be it criticism or praises. Vil thought you were understanding of his critical tendencies, perhaps even appreciative of it. But maybe, he has gone one step too far. Maybe, you’re now afraid of what he might say to you so you’re avoiding him because of it. 

However, Vil is not one to leave this to assumptions so he texted you if he could meet you as soon as possible. He’s pleased to hear that you’re willing to invite him over to your dorm that night. At least you’re not absolutely cutting him out. 

The blonde senior reached your dorm, standing just outside the front entrance. A rare sensation of nervousness rushed through Vil’s body as he knocked on the door. Would he see you with a sad look on your face or worse, a look of fear as you’re scared of what he’ll say to you. These thoughts left an unpleasant mark in Vil’s mind as he waited for a response. Whatever the truth was, he refused to let this ruin what he has with you. If he wills it, he will make sure that he can work to fix this. 

“Come in” he heard you call out which he doesn’t like. Do you not even want to see him until it’s absolutely necessary? 

Steeling his emotions, Vil walked through the door with determination to get to the bottom of this, but his indifferent facade broke as he was bombarded with streamers as you screamed out with all your energy 

“Congratulations!” You grinned from ear to ear as you were happy to surprise your lover with a surprise party for two. “I heard your recent movie got nominated for a huge award and you’re nominated for ‘Best Supporting Cast’” 

You just heard about it from Cater and you wanted to congratulate your boyfriend before he would most likely be busy getting ready for that important award show so you wanted to plan an intimate surprise party as soon as you can. You were rushing all day, using all the free time you had to make all the preparations. 

“I’m so happy, Vil. Your hard work is being recognised!” You’re so drunk in your happiness that you didn’t notice the conflicted look on the man of honor. 

Vil wanted to pinch you so hard right now. He almost got stress wrinkles because of you and you were clueless on your effect on him. To think, the perfect Vil Schoenheit getting frazzled by this dumb potato. 

But the blooming warmth in his heart that replaces the previous feelings of anxiety won as he chose to pat your head affectionately, looking over you with a look of bemusement. 

“To think that a little spudling like you could work me up like this. Good grief”

Ace is dumbfounded, flabbergasted even. What could he have possibly done to have gotten the cold shoulder from you? 

He texted you as usual, a casual “good morning” to start the day but he never received a text back from you. Though at this point, he shrugged it off thinking maybe you overslept. 

This was one of those days where your schedules didn’t match with his so he could only text you before meeting up with you during lunch. But so far, he hasn’t heard a peep from you since that morning. 

“What gives, man” the redhead thought as he kept an eye on his phone, hoping for a notification from you, almost getting caught by Professor Trein for using his phone in class. Whoops. 

Ace still has a level head at this point so instead of freaking out, he planned on grilling you during lunch about the ghosting. He ignored Deuce as he scanned through the crowd. His spirits lifted when he finally saw you, but that disappeared when you walked out from the cafeteria with Ortho. 

Ortho? Why leave your best friend and best boyfriend (both being him) for that tiny robot?? His voice could pass through the loud chatter of the lunch crowd so he tried desperately to text you again…only to be ignored again 

Ace is stubborn and unappreciative of being put into the doghouse so he’s quick to visit your dorm the moment school is done. What could he have possibly done to deserve this? Did you find out he ate the last dessert in your fridge? Or maybe you realized he copied off your homework without your permission? Oh, he did accidentally break that nice pen you got…

Ok, maybe he might have done something to deserve this but heck he ain’t going down without a fight anyway.

It was that stubbornness that surprised you when you opened the doors to see a pouty redhead staring at you. 

“Why have you been giving me the silent treatment, huh? Isn’t that a little immature?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“You haven’t texted me all day!” Wow, now who’s calling who immature?

“That’s because I was getting my phone fixed,” you crossed your arms, annoyed by all this accusatory nonsense, “Remember? When we hung out yesterday and I dropped my phone while trying to run away from Riddle with you?”

Oh.

You went on to explain that your phone got real messed up since that day and you managed to convince Idia to fix it with the help of Ortho. 

Ace felt his body hit the floor as a wave of relief hit him like a tsunami. All his bravado was gone just like that and all that was left was the solace he felt knowing you weren’t mad at him at all. 

“Man, I thought you found out I ate your last dessert in the fridge” 

“That was you?!” 

“Sheesh, warn a guy next time would ya? Thought I was in real trouble or something”

Offended part 2. 

You got some nerves ignoring him like that. This would be an insult to the Royal family if this were back in his home country. 

Usually before the day starts, Leona would wake up from your gentle nagging and on occasion he could convince you to give him a few more minutes before getting up from bed, even longer if he could also convince you to snuggle with him. 

But it’s past the typical wake up time and he doesn’t hear or smell you anywhere close to his room. It’s not like you to forget and he doesn’t recall anything unusual that would cause this sudden change in routine. 

But Leona is as prideful as well…a lion so he’s not going to be the first to call you to see where you are. Nah, he’s not gonna be the clingy one that needs to know why you’re not here with him right now. 

But soon, hours passed and you haven’t visited him or even text him which dampened the prince’s mood significantly. He doesn’t even entertain the idea that you were mad at him or that you were ignoring him. All he’s thinking is that you better have a good reason why you’re not with him right now. 

Getting grumpier and hungrier, Leona finally decided to get up and leave his bedroom after taking the hint that you’re probably not gonna be coming in anytime soon. Every Savanaclaw student with half a brain knew to stay clear of their Housewarden as he looked ready to bite someone’s head off. 

He would never admit it, but he kept his eyes and ears out for even a glimpse of you as he walked through the hallways, subtly scanning the crowd for your face. He won’t ask if anyone has seen you or act like he was looking for you but even he can’t stop the twitch of his ears anytime he thought he saw you from afar. 

He was almost ready to tear into a poor student due to his bad mood until he finally heard you calling for him from across the hall. His mane-like hair whipped in the air as he quickly turned to the direction of your voice. 

“Leona, there you are!” 

“What, miss me already?” This man with his undeserved smugness. 

Ignoring his quip, you hurriedly grabbed your lover’s hand before pulling him into the direction of the headmage’s office, “There are some important figures visiting the campus today and Crowley is calling for all of the Housewardens to meet in his office” 

Leona groaned at the idea of meeting some stuck-up geezers but willingly let you pull him around, relishing the feel of your touch he’s been craving since this morning. 

In your rush, you pushed some papers into Leona’s free hand, containing short biographies of certain people. “These are some info I found on our visitors today so you’re not going in empty-handed. Seriously, this is why you need a vice Housewarden. This took me all morning to compile” 

Well, that explains your absence. The lion beastman would say that’s a justifiable reason for skipping out on him this morning. His bad mood disappeared as though it never was and soon he was replaced with a new sense of pride over you. Seeing you acting all responsible and assisting him with his duties…

Makes him think you would be perfect by his side in the royal family. 

“You got some guts makin’ me wait. But I’m in a good mood now, so I guess I won’t eat you this once”

[imfinereallyy]

“The demon is back.” Eddie pokes into Steve’s side to wake him up.

“Babe, please go back to sleep.” Steve shoves his face into the pillow, making his voice muffled.

“Steeeeve.” Eddie whines, “It’s really there I swear this time. And I locked the door so I know it’s the demon again. Nothing else can get inside.”

“Eddie.” Steve squishes his face even deeper into the mattress. “You do this at least once a week. I love you; I do. But I never look because there is no demon. And every morning, you wake up fine. So please, go back to sleep.”

“What if I promise never to mention it again if it’s not really there? Will you look then?” This time Eddie’s voice wavers, his actual terror showing.

Steve sighs and shifts his head to look at Eddie, “This is really freaking you out, huh?” He says it kindly. Steve can tell this is serious to Eddie. So even if he doesn’t believe it, Eddie does. And what’s important to Eddie is important to Steve.

Eddie nods back furiously.

“Okay, I’ll look.” Steve shifts his head towards the other side, where the chair by the window sits. There, sitting in that corner is a dark shadowy figure. “Oh.”

“See! I told you! Demon! Oh god, it’s gonna get us.” Eddie throws his hands up. Even though he’s terrified, he’s accepted defeat.

“No.” Steve says calmly. “It’s just El.”

Eddie pauses his rant, “What?”

“It’s just El. In the corner. She does that sometimes, watches people she cares about until she falls asleep. To make sure they’re safe.” Steve looks at Eddie.

“The door was locked! How are you so calm about one of the kids just watching us at night?”

“Honey, she has mind powers. I don’t think a flimsy lock from Home Depot is going to stop her.” Steve deadpans before shrugging, “And it’s El. She could ask me to kill a man, and I probably wouldn’t even ask questions.”

“What if she asked you to kill me?”

“I’d be conflicted.”

“I want to be mad, but honestly I think I’d hand you the knife.” Eddie sighs, looking down at Steve.

Steve scoffs, “Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t stab you. I’d obviously sneak some kind of poison into your honeycombs. Way less messy.”

Eddie goes back to nearly shouting, “Why have you thought about this?!”

“Honestly, I have a lot of intrusive thoughts. I just don’t speak them out loud.”

Despite the fact they are actively talking about his murder, Eddie can’t help but get all gooey with Steve in their bed. “Is this why you don’t get mad when I think aloud? Another reason why you just get me. Adding that tally to the ‘why we are great together’ column.”

“Yes, we’re pretty amazing. Can we go back to sleep now?” Steve smiles.

“Yes—wait, no.” Eddie corrects himself, getting himself back on track. He loves this man, but he is a sneaky little minx. “Why did El never say anything? I mean, this is not the first time I accused her of being a demon. Hell, we’ve been talking for literally five minutes, and she still hasn’t said anything. Also, what if she walked in on us doing, ya know, adult stuff?” Eddie blushes at the end. He’s acting like he hasn’t been whispering way worse things in Steve’s ear every night.

“First off, she won’t walk in on that. Apparently Max taught her about happy screams a long time ago.”

“Gross.”

“Yeaaa. Second, I’m pretty sure she’s asleep right now.”

Huh, now that Eddie thinks about it, he does hear soft little snores. Which is weird since neither he nor Steve snores, and they are both, ya know, awake.

“And I don’t think El speaking in a dark corner would have helped your fears. Like imagine just hear her soft “Hello” at 2 a.m.” Steve raises an eyebrow.

“I—okay I got nothing.”

“Fantastic can we go back to sleep now?”

Eddie gives one last shout, “You’re not going to stop her?”

“Are you going to tell her no? And make her worry?”

Eddie slinks down into the covers, “...no.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Eddie curves his body into Steve’s, seeking him out. Steve wraps his arms around Eddie, securing him to his chest. “Thank you for indulging me.”

Steve hums. “Anything for you baby. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Eddie kisses Steve lightly.

“I love you both as well.” El’s voice suddenly speaks into the silent room.

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie screams.

Steve can’t help the giggles that come out of him. He tries to smother them into Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie can’t find it in himself to be mad.

———

some people seemed interested in more el + Steve sibling energy. And they are a sibling-like duo I love. So here’s a little something but more steddie involved. I think all three of their relationship would be very sweet. Both Eddie and Steve would protect el. I hope you enjoyed :)

[woewriting]

cherry lips

pairing: wednesday addams | reader warnings: mdni! ooc wednesday/soft wednesday, established relationship, implied sex at the very end, no pronouns used but the word 'girlfriend' is used once. word count: 1521 a/n: i'm late for wdw, i know, but i couldn't let y'all and @wesstars down... better late than never, right?

masterlist

When you moved to the small town of Jericho and started working at the only coffee shop around, you didn’t expect to get anyone’s attentions, especially from the local “freaky”. Wednesday Addams was full of surprises and secrets and, apparently, everyone here knew a bit about her.

Gossips followed you around like fog in the morning after a raining night, the eccentric Addams always being the subject that echoed inside the brownish walls of the café.

“I’ve heard she eats raw meat,” a high school student dressed in black and blue uniform said to her friend, no caring enough to at least whisper.

The other just nodded, not paying attentions to her surrenders, not even when the little bell above the entrance door jingled.

“My father told me her dad killed someone in Nevermore when he was a student… imagine being the daughter of a killer.”

“Imagine being the daughter of a former police officer who was expelled from the police force for not being able to solve a simple case that happened more than 20 years ago.” The tranquil voice caught your attention, causing you to turn on your heels behind the counter.

Wednesday was standing next to the table where the two students sat, arms crossed and a deadly shine in her eyes. You smiled.

“Miss Addams, please stop terrorizing the small girls, they know nothing about life,” you spoke once you saw the reddish color in the girls’ cheeks.

“They better learn fast; life is not gentle.” She turned her head to you. “And neither am I.”

“Oh, should I fear for my life?”

You tilted your head, trying to get Wednesday’s attention in order for the girls to go back to the other students of Nevermore. The raven girl redirected her body towards you, taking steps until she was standing in front of the cashier.

“You most definitely should.”

Head motioning for the girls to leave, you placed both of your hands on the icy, black marble that covered the top of the counter.

“If I die, who’s going to make you your favorite cherry muffin?”

“Before I met you, I survived just fine without the sweetness of it in my daily life, I’m positive I can do it again once you’re gone.” She lifted her chin. “Now stop staling and bring me a double espresso, no sugar and a cherry muffin before I start terrorizing you instead.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes as she turned to sit on the costumery table.

Putting the cherry muffin in a plate, you turned to the Italian coffee machine with an empty white mug in hand and freshly brewed coffee in the other.

As the bitter liquid slowly filled the porcelain, flashes of the first time you were face to face with Wednesday took over your memory. She was so small in her black and white Nevermore uniform, looking like an old school cartoon, disappearing behind the other students as she patiently and quietly waited in line to order. She stared at you, taking two steps ahead when the last person in front of her moved away with their order in hands, taking a seat with the others, black eyes that didn’t blink and looked dead, the pale white skin didn’t help either. Not a single mark on it, you noticed, except for the adorable freckles that spread over her small nose bridge and covered the surrounding area of her cheek bones.

She was polite and calm, unlike the others, speaking in a monotone voice that actually surprised you.

Wednesday ordered a small size espresso with no sugar. You offered her a muffin, freshly out of the oven and still warm. She was reluctant in saying ‘yes’ at first, but something in you convinced her.

Once the mug was filled, you placed it side by side with the muffin, smiling and murmuring a small ‘I hope you like it’, to which she replied with: “Thank you,” extending her hands to take the plate and mug of the counter.

She looked at the red-blood muffin before looking at you, giving you a small nod of her head before walking to an empty table.

You watched as she sat herself down and stared at the small cake in front of her, you licked your lips, curious to know if she would like it or not; it was your favorite, after all.

Wednesday tilted her head to the side, analyzing the sweet in front of her, internally admiring the color of it and how the powdered sugar on top of it reminded her of snow covered in blood.

Taking the wrap of it, she hesitantly took a bite of it, slowly chewing it. You bet your lips, anxiously standing behind the counter. She then took another bite, and another one, and another one, rapidly finishing the muffin.

You smiled to yourself, finally changing the focus of your attention.

Now, almost 7 years of the first interaction, you still secretly admired Wednesday as you waited for the coffee to fill the small sized mug. But now was different, she started drinking a double espresso to maintain her brain awake and cherry muffins became a part of her daily life.

But only if it was made by your hands.

Once the porcelain turned bitter black, you left your place from behind the corner and sat them down in front of the goth, taking the empty seat in front of her.

“Thank you,” Wednesday said simple, eyes focused on the yellowish pages that had all her attention.

“A new case?” You asked, curious, taking a look around the nearly empty coffee shop.

“A runner found two dead bodies in the woods on Saturday, the captain assumed I’d be interested and gave me the case this morning.”

You pursed your lips, a tight knot in your stomach as your eyes analyzed the super graphic images that decorated the table. Pushing the images away from your point of view, you wondered how Wednesday could eat the red-blooded muffin while looking at actual blood.

As if she could read your mind, black painted nails reached for the small cake, her eyebrows sewing together once she saw what you did, “Care to explain what this is?”

You pursed your lips, containing a smile. On top of the sweet, a white skeleton’s head was drawn, black, deep-hollowed eyes filled with dark chocolate chips with a sewed-like smile under and dark red blood dripping from its eyes.

“I made it for you, Halloween is near, and I figured you’d like it.”

“I can see that. What I want you to explain is why there’s blood coming from its eyes. Bones can’t bleed, there’s no tissue that can carry blood vessels or veins, it's just bones.”

You rolled your eyes, “It’s a cupcake, Wens. Just eat it.”

“Fine.”

When she took the first bite, dark red filling dripped onto her hands. It was a mix between the sweetness of sugar and the sourness of cherry combined that only you could do it perfectly.

“So… did you like it?”

Wednesday chewed and swallowed everything, licking her lips to capture the remained syrup, missing a small drop on the corner of her mouth. The tip of her fingers covered in the cherry liquid.

“It’s too sweet, next time don’t add any sugar to it. It’s not healthy. And it’s also too sticky and messy. I need a napkin.”

Reaching out for her hand, you sucked the tip of her fingers, closing your eyes at the sweetness that filled your mouth.

“You don’t need a napkin, you have a girlfriend to clean it for you.”

Wednesday widened her eyes at your action, looking around to make sure nobody saw that. The coffee shop was empty as it was almost noon and everyone was either at work or at school, only the two of you occupying a space inside.

“That was unnecessary.” She said with an affected tone.

“It was very necessary, I needed to see if it was too sweet.” You stood up, taking the empty plate in hands. Before returning to the kitchen, you leaned into her personal space, noses touching and the smell of her perfume filling your senses, that small drop being the only thing you saw in front of you. “You have some here too.”

The moment the tip of your tongue licked the red syrup, so close to her lips, Wednesday grabbed the mug near her hands, squeezing it hard enough to break if it was made of fragile material.

Before standing up properly, you pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, tasting the sourness in it.

“I’ll make sure the next ones aren’t too sweet for you, cara mia.” You winked, rapidly walking back to the counter to start preparing the muffins for the afternoon clients. And for your bitter girlfriend that cursed you under her breath for fogging up her brain with your tongue, taking away all the concentration she needed to solve this murder case. One that would need to wait after she locked the door, turned the open sign to ‘closed’, and dragged you by the hand to the supply closet.

[sansaorgana]

benny saving you from abusive bf or dad :(

hello, love! thank you for your request 🥰 I was self-indulgent and chose an abusive dad lol proceed with caution because there is lots of physical violence / domestic abuse in this fic

requests for benny are open 🥺🎀

You were dolling yourself up for the date with Benny in your room upstairs – putting makeup on, brushing your hair, spraying perfume and singing along to the rock and roll songs you played. Perhaps a little bit too loud because you couldn’t hear the rapid footsteps approaching your bedroom. When the door opened, you got startled as you turned around to see your angry father.

“What is it?” You asked, irritated already because he didn’t knock.

He looked you up and down with contempt and pointed at the record player.

“Turn that shit down,” he barked at you. “I’ve just come back from work, I want to fucking rest, I can’t even hear the goddamn TV because of this crap! I’ve told you already that if you want to listen to this sort of music, you’re free to do so when you’re home alone!” He raised his voice and you sighed.

“I didn’t hear you coming back home, gee,” you rolled your eyes and you approached the record player but you didn’t turn the music off, just slightly decreased the volume.

“You would have heard if you weren’t listening to this! And what are you, deaf now? I’ve told you to turn that shit down,” your father grabbed you by your arm and then pushed you away.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. Perhaps at this point you should be used to him being like that. But you couldn’t. To some things you just couldn’t get used to, no matter how many times they’d happen. You would never understand why your dad couldn’t treat you like his precious princess. Why was he raising you the way some other men raised their sons – some bastards, of course. Because not every son was treated like this by their father. And you were a girl treated like dirt.

The way he treated you was much more than the constant stress at home – no, that you would survive. It was going deeper. It was about the way you had this feeling deep down inside that no man could ever love and protect you because your own father couldn’t. Yeah, you were dating Benny now but you weren’t sure what his feelings towards you truly were like. Benny was not a man of many words and he wouldn’t open up – especially about his feelings.

“What are you doing, by the way?” Your father asked when you finally turned the record player down and hid the vinyl away. “You’re going out?”

“Yeah! Do I need your permission?” You snapped and he clenched his jaw.

“What’s going on here?” Your mother peeked inside the room with widened eyes, already fearing her husband’s tantrum.

“She’s going out to waste away all the money again,” he pointed at you.

“She’s an adult, it’s just a date,” your mother stood up for you.

“And I spend my own money. I work!” You reminded him angrily and went back to brushing your hair in front of the mirror, pretending everything was fine.

“Why can other young people save their money to be able to move out of their parents’ house and you just want to go out and spend money on parties all the time because apparently being a parasite is not a problem for you?!” Your father yelled and your mother started to shush him.

The accusations were so wrong. You weren’t even partying much. It was just a date with Benny and how much would you spend? Nothing, really. A few pennies for the milkshake maybe but the chances were Benny would pay for it anyway.

“She’s just going out on a date,” your mother explained to your father, trying to calm him down but it had the opposite effect. His eyes widened as his fists clenched.

“With that… That dirty… That dirty punk?!” He asked as his booming tone echoed through the walls. “Haven’t I told you, you stupid girl, I don’t want to see you around him?!”

“Dad, stop!” You hissed at the feeling of his grip on your arm again. This time he didn’t let go, no, he was squeezing and squeezing, trying to twist it.

“Stop it!” Your mother tried to intervene but he pushed her away.

“Dad, you’re hurting me!”

“It’s nothing compared to what that bastard will put you through! My daughter won’t end up like a common whore!” He was yelling and you saw the blind rage in his eyes – he was gone now, completely out of common sense, driven only by his rage and fury.

His yelling, your squealing and your mother’s crying were so loud that you didn’t hear the sound of the motorbike’s engine parking outside. Benny jumped off of his bike and leaned on it, waiting for you. But when he reached for the cigarette, he froze for a moment as he realised that the yelling noises came from the room upstairs inside your house. He glanced up and noticed that the window to your room was half open.

He hid the cigarette away and furrowed his brow.

“Dad, let go of me!” You squealed and Benny saw your silhouette in the grip of your father as he slapped your face.

“I’ve told you to shut the fuck up, both of you!” He yelled. “Congratulations,” he addressed another woman inside your room. “Your daughter is now a whore just like you, hanging out with those bums and punks and dirty fucking bikers…” He looked at you again. “You stink of them! The rotten stench on you, you’re a whore!”

Benny’s blood boiled at the scene he was witnessing. You had mentioned earlier that your father was “an asshole” but he had never expected this sort of asshole. He thought he was just mean and grumpy.

He wasn’t thinking straight anymore. He approached the front door and tried to open them but they were closed. So, with one kick of his boot, he broke inside. He couldn’t care less about the fucking door.

You didn’t even hear that. All you could hear was your father’s yelling and your mother crying. Your arm in his grip, your cheeks wet from tears and stinging from his slaps. It was one of those moments when you didn’t even care whether you would live or die anymore. In fact, you wished he would just kill you and make it all stop.

You saw his hand raising again to hit you once more when the door to your room opened rapidly and you all froze, turning around to see Benny himself.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him but your father’s grip tightened even more. He blinked a few times with his mouth half open and Benny was breathing heavily with his face reddened from anger.

Before your father could act, Benny approached him and punched him in his face so hard that your father let go of you completely.

“What are you doing! Stop!” Your mother squealed and grabbed Benny’s sleeve but he ignored her to deliver one more punch – this time in your father’s guts.

He fell down to the ground and Benny was kicking him without even saying a word. He was like an animal, you thought. And your mother still cried and squealed and begged – pathetically, really. How could she defend your father suddenly? And he… He was only grunting as his face was getting bloody. You saw it all in slow motion.

Benny delivered a final kick and spat on your father before pushing your mother away gently, with a shrug of his arms.

“Touch her again and I’ll fucking kill you,” he drawled through his gritted teeth at your father and finally turned around to face you.

“You okay?” He asked, a hint of worry in his face as he visibly softened. You were standing there, petrified and trembling slightly. But his question finally brought you back to reality.

“Let’s get outta here,” you only whispered and grabbed his rough hand to lead him downstairs as fast as possible.

You noticed the broken door and looked at him as if he was crazy.

“Sorry,” he shrugged his arms and your heart filled with love.

No man had ever protected you like that before. No man had ever made you feel safe either. You would marry him right away if he asked.

“Don’t be,” you only said and went outside to approach his motorbike.

You both jumped on it and drove away as fast as possible. You didn’t even care where he was taking you. If you’d never go back home – you were okay with that.

But Benny took you to the club. He led you inside gently and some of the boys widened their eyes at you.

“What the fuck happened to her?” Johnny asked and squinted his eyes at Benny as if he was accusing him of something.

Benny didn’t answer and just walked you to the bathroom. He closed the door behind you and you saw yourself in the mirror. Oh, now you understood why they were giving you funny looks. You had a bruise on your cheek, your makeup was smudged from crying and your hair was ruffled.

“You okay?” Benny stood behind you to put his hands on your arms. “Hey, doll, look at me,” he asked and you looked up as you turned around.

Now, when it was just the two of you and you finally felt safe, the tension left your body and you sobbed as you clung to him. Benny wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer as he hid his face in your hair. 

“I’m sorry, kitty, I had no idea he was like that…”

“It’s not your fault,” you mumbled between the sobs.

“I just can’t understand… How can a father treat his daughter like that? A little dollie like you?” Benny was in genuine disbelief. “Hey, listen, let’s fix that, hm?” He moved away slightly and started to brush your hair with his fingers but it was only making it look worse. “Ugh, shit,” he chuckled. “I’ve an idea. I’ll take you to Johnny’s. Betty will know what to do,” Benny proposed and you nodded shyly as you sniffed and wiped your cheeks from the remaining tears. “And, hey,” Benny grabbed your wrists gently to move them away from your face as he leaned in, “I won’t ever let anyone hurt you again, do you hear me?” He was serious about it and you nodded.

He joined your lips together in a sweet and delicate kiss as if you were made of glass. Benny had never kissed you like that before but now he thought you needed that more than anything – the gentleness.

“I can’t offer you much, kitty, but I won’t ever do you no harm,” he promised in a whisper. “I wanna take care of you.”

His words were healing the broken pieces inside you and you felt like sobbing again. You wrapped your arms around him and pressed your chest to his to feel his heartbeat.

“You’re already offering me enough, Benny,” you assured him and he kissed the top of your head, feeling the tears pricking his own eyes now but he sniffed them away.

MASTERLIST || BENNY MASTERLIST

[fanwarriorfictions]

Not Again- Part Three

Azriel x Rowaelin daughter reader

Summary: The inner court has many questions about Y/n and her world. Missing home even more, all she wants is to fly and clear her head, luckily, her babysitter indulges her

Series Masterlist

-Part Three-

Azriel knew this was going to be a long day from the moment he woke up. Surrounded by his shadows who would not shut up for three gods damned seconds. She’s awake, awake, awake, upset, won’t eat, upset. The little busybodies had snuck off while he slept, and apparently they were very concerned about the state of the female next door for whatever reason.

He found himself dressed and in the hallway waiting for any sign of her, when he didn’t receive one in the ten minutes he’d stood there he’d finally crossed the hall and knocked three times on the door.

She was still in there, he knew that from the way his shadows kept trying to slip through the cracks towards her. And he could feel the shield of air she’d placed around the room, hiding the sounds of her approaching footsteps.

The door swung open and Azriel couldn’t explain why his breath caught in his chest. The house had gifted her new clothes, the traditional night court style that Amren preferred to wear, in the deepest darkest night court black. The silk cropped shirt hugged her curves, and the flowing high waisted pants left a small sliver of skin on display. Beautiful, pretty, black suits her. His shadows whispered again and again and again, he was about ready to lock them away for a moment of peace.

“Here to take me to the dungeons yet?” She asks, lifting her arms towards him as if expecting cuffs, amusement glittering in her eyes as she watches his eyes lift from her waist, “what’s on the table today? Just some light interrogation? Maybe a bit of torture?”

“Breakfast actually,” he replies dryly, “the others will be here shortly.”

“Well that’s no fun,” she pouts, dropping her arms to her sides, “lead the way then, shadowsinger.”

The title rolls off her tongue, that accent swirling and dripping with charm. A small smirk on her lips as she notices his hesitation, turning his back on her still felt like a bad idea, even though he didn’t glimpse a single dagger on her, he’s sure she wouldn’t need it.

She seems fine, less tense than the night before, a mask of cool amusement and charm, yet his shadows seem concerned, upset, they’d whispered all morning. As they walk he keeps one eye on her, taking in the way she examines every surface, every turn, every nook and cranny. She was mapping out the halls in her head, memorizing the ways out, smart. If she wanted to she could shift into that magnificent hawk form and fly through the halls and off the balcony before he could even try to catch her.

They turn into the dining room, Rhys and Feyre already sat at the table. The table set for several people, Azriel assumed the rest of the court would be here soon, Cassian flying them up from the River House. Elain would stay back with little Nyx, her mate there to protect them both.

“Good morning,” Feyre says, voice reserved yet kind, “I’m Feyre.”

Y/n grants her a small smile, bowing her head slightly in greeting. She doesn’t say anything, opting to examine the room around them like she’d done in the halls, nervous. She didn’t let it show on her face, but Azriel could tell, could see the tension in her shoulders.

“Please, sit,” Rhys says, gesturing to the seats across from them, “the rest will be here shortly.”

“Should I be worried about that?” Y/n asks, her tone is light, that cool amusement hiding the faint look of panic that flashes through her eyes.

Azriel’s shadows writhe at his sides when he sees that look, something about it settles wrongly. She had nothing to fear from them, but how would she know that? Strangers who had found her vulnerable, who had tried to look into her mind, who she knew next to nothing about.

Feyre laughs lightly, “no, no, of being talked to death perhaps, but I swear, no harm will come to you.”

That seems just good enough to Y/n to coax her to sit across from Feyre, her eyes glance warily at the foods laid out between them and instead of filling her plate like the High Lord and Lady across from her she simply leans back in her seat and watches. Azriel takes the seat beside her, pointedly filling his plate with mounds of eggs and bacon and bread with jams.

She won’t eat, eat, eat, eat, she needs to eat. Shadows angrily whisper in Azriel’s ears but he forces them away as he hears the sounds of his family grow closer down the hall, Cassian’s booming laugh echoing into the room. He can see the moment Y/n tenses, her body readying for a fight that would not come.

“A rambunctious lot you’ve got here,” she says coolly, that mask of indifference slid into place.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Rhys sighs.

Cassian is the first to come through the door, followed by Nesta who rolls her eyes at her mates back.

“Is this the female who handed Azriel’s ass to him?”

The tension in Y/n’s shoulders slip every so slightly and Azriel feels himself relax too. He was prepared to leap inbetween his family and her, to protect which one he wasn’t sure.

“You say that like it’s such an impossibility,” Mor says as she and Amren step through the doorway, “I’ve seen plenty of females hand you your ass, Cassian.”

“But it’s Az,” Cass laughs, “Mister dark and broody spymaster caught off guard by the second female falling on his lap.”

“She did not fall into my lap,” Azriel sighs, “she was in the-“

“Whatever,” Cassian interrupts, waving his hand, “close enough.”

Azriel rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics, recognizing them for what they were, a way to break any tension, to make this seem like a simple breakfast instead of the interrogation it was sure to become. One glance at Y/n told him she wasn’t buying it for one second.

Her eyes travel over them all, stopping briefly on Nesta as their eyes lock. Both females had that cold stare that could freeze oceans. Though she’d given back a majority of the cauldrons power, it still lurked behind Nesta’s steely eyes, that silver fire rolling in warning. Y/n looked just as lethal, those cold eyes almost glowing with the power lurking below her skin, wether it was ice or fire, Azriel wasn’t sure he wanted to find out which she’d use first.

Nesta seemed satisfied with whatever she saw in Y/n’s eyes, grabbing her mates hand to drag him to their seats beside Feyre. Mor slipped into the seat beside Azriel, Amren taking the seat beside her.

“Well,” Rhys says with that charming grin, “now that everyone is here I’d like to introduce our lovely guest, Crown Princess of Terrasen, Y/n Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius.”

“Now that’s a mouth full.” Mor whistles as she piles her plate full of sweet pastries and fruits, “lovely to meet you, Princess.”

“Y/n will do.”

“Wow, you weren’t kidding about the fangs,” Cassian says when her sharp canines peak through her lips.

Azriel keeps one eye on the female next to him as he pretended to be interested in the food on his plate. Her arms were crossed over her stomach, her mask not slipping despite the eyes weighing her down.

“What is this place?”

Rhys raises a brow at her, “would you like to eat first before we get to the nitty gritty?”

Y/n nods towards the food, “I’d like to know exactly who and what I’m dealing with before I accept food from fae I don’t know. Didn’t anyone ever teach you stranger danger?”

Eat, eat, tell her to eat. Azriel tries to quiet the shadows, getting annoyed with how insistent they were. As if she heard them, Y/n glances at him, frowning at the little wisps that stray to close to her.

Rhys looks ready to give her a sarcastic response but Feyre rolls her eyes and butts in, “you are in Velaris, the heart and soul of our territory, the Night Court.”

“You’re the leaders of this place,” Y/n states more than asks.

“High Lord and Lady, few of many on this continent,” Feyre nods, “how’d you know.”

“I’ve dealt with plenty of royals,” Y/n shrugs, “Queens and Kings, Lords and Ladies, Emperors and Empresses.”

That peaks everyone’s interest, Azriel can feel the curiosity in the air. When Quinlann had arrived, she’d been at war with the Asteri, the ruling power of her world, despite having kings and queens, they all answered to the immortal, intergalactic parasites, as Quinlann had put it. She and her mate had succeeded in ridding their planet of the monsters, but who knew where else these creatures lived.

“What is your home like?” Mor asks, the question seemingly harmless, but depending on the answer could bring a whole world of consequences.

Y/n examines her, not missing the hidden question beneath is your world a threat to our own, “much like your own it would seem. We’ve been at peace for the last 25 years. Until a gate opened up and ripped me away from my family.”

There’s the briefest change in her then, that mask slipping just enough that Azriel recognizes it, grief. She’s upset, homesick, won’t eat. It made sense now, she’d said she’d been with her father when the gate had taken her, when she’d been dumped onto a foreign land surrounded by strangers she couldn’t understand. She must have been terrified.

“Before you ask, I have no idea how or why the gate opened, or why it took me,” she continues, “it shouldn’t have been possible. None have been opened since the lock was forged during the war.”

“War?” Cassian’s brow raises in question, “what lock?”

It seems to set her back into a memory, her eyes not entirely focused on the male who’d asked, “the war against the Valg. Demons from another world who liked the taste of ours. The fight against them spanned over centuries, over multiple wars, my ancestor was able to lock the King away with a stolen object not meant for her to use, but for that there was a price demanded from the gods who’d made the lock in the first place, an heir of her blood to forge a new lock, to open a gate and send them to their true home, my mother. Queen Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, she almost died paying their price, and in the end they betrayed her anyway.”

Anger simmered in her eyes, Azriel could feel heat radiating off of her, that fire under her skin wanting to come out.

“What became of them?” Rhys asks.

She takes a moment to rein that fire in and then she meets the High Lord’s eyes, “she killed them all.”

A silence ripples through the room, her mother had killed her world’s gods. Were they like Midgard’s asteri, Prythian’s daglan, or maybe their own kind of nightmare.

“She locked the gates, fell through time and space, through hundreds of worlds, guided back by my father who would not let that mating bond slip through his fingers. When she’d come back, she had a fraction of her power left, the power that could end the valg Queen and King and save them all.”

“How did they win?” Nesta asks in the quiet that follows.

A smile, not a smirk finds Y/n’s lips and Azriel’s shadows dance towards her. He barely keeps them in check, one resting on the edge of her chair before it was reined back in. He catches the curious look sent his way by Rhys. He’d surely hear more of that later.

“My Aunt Yrene,” she says, “a healer, the valg were vulnerable to their touch, she took the evil shriveled soul of the valg King and turned him to nothing but a black stain on the floor. We put a rug over it.”

A surprised laugh slips out of Mor, “please tell me it’s hideous.”

“The tackiest thing I’ve ever seen, they let me paint on it as a child. It’s covered in bad stick figures of my uncles.”

They’d asked her questions until it was nearing lunch time. Cassian had about fallen out of his chair when she’d told them of the witches and their wyverns. From the look in Amren’s eye, Y/n knew that if she’d ever met Manon, the world would tremble in fear.

Rhys had been particularly interested in her mother’s journey through worlds, he had an uncanny feeling about it that he couldn’t quite explain. Feyre and Nesta had been shocked to learn that her mother was half human. Mor had asked her millions of questions that she could barely keep up with.

During it all, Azriel had been silent at her side. No questions on his lips but she could see the wheels turning in his head, could almost hear the whispering shadows that danced closer and closer to her every chance they got. She’d felt one drifting over her elbow for a moment before Azriel had glared right at the curious little shadow and it flew back to his side.

They’d slowly stopped their questioning and then they left one by one, Amren had left to look into this worlds knowledge on Wyrd markings and gates, Cassian and Nesta had said something about a training session, Rhys and Feyre needed to go relieve the third Acheron sister from babysitting duty and Mor had desperately wanted to see her nephew.

And just like that, it was down to Y/n and Azriel. She assumed he was still on babysitting duty, despite their apparent trust in her. She didn’t blame them for being cautious, Wyrd knows she’d not let a single one of them out of her sight if the roles were reversed.

Y/n stood stretching out her sore muscles, an involuntary groan slipping past her lips as she lifted her arms above her head. They’d been sitting there for hours and her body still aches from the events of yesterday.

“You didn’t eat anything,” his cool voice startles her, deep and slightly gravely.

She glances down at him, noting the way his eyes drag up from that small sliver of skin at her waist. The clothes we’re comfortable, yet much more revealing than anything she’d been used to. She can’t help the smirk that rests on her lips as she looks down at the handsome male, she could get used to clothes like this.

“I’m not hungry,” she shrugs, moving through the room, glancing towards the huge windows that showed the vast city far beneath them.

“You haven’t eaten since you’ve been here,” he says, eyes tracking each of her movements.

“Oh? And how would you know that,” she looks pointedly at the shadows, “I thought I told you to keep wandering eyes to yourself.”

He simply shrugs, “they do what they want.”

“Clearly.” She turns towards the door, “are you to play babysitter all day? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

She’s out the door before he’s has the chance to reply. The place was massive, she’d memorized the walk from her room to the dining hall, but the amount of halls that laid around told her she’d only seen a small portion of what the place had to offer.

“Would you care for a tour?” Azriel’s suddenly standing to her side.

“Babysitter and tour guide,” she snarks, exploring down the hall, “A double threat.”

“I’ve been told to keep any eye on you.” He looks down at her, “and that’s what I plan to do.”

“Oh I have no doubt about that.” She turns into a large living space littered with comfortable looking couches and chairs, a doorway leading to a balcony against the far wall. “I’m sure you’re a male who takes his duties very seriously.”

She moves towards that door, towards the open air beyond, Azriel following close behind. She could feel the wind beyond, begging to caress her wings, she’d shift and fly for hours and hours, maybe she could fly home.

“You could make this easy for both of us,” he says, letting a shadow block her path, “and quit trying to run away from me.”

“Now who said I was trying to run away,” she flashes an overly sweet smile over her shoulder, one that she can tell gets under his skin.

“You’re not a prisoner,” he almost growls, “but if you choose to make this harder than necessary, I have no problem tying you to a chair.”

She snorts, “Kinky, but no thank you, I’m not interested.”

He doesn’t respond, that carefully crafted expression not shifting an inch, though his shadows give him away. They writhe around him, reaching for her and pulling back over and over, like he was trying not to strangle her.

“Tell you what,” she says, “I’ll stick around you like glue if you let me go for a quick flight.”

She doesn’t hide the longing glance she gives the balcony, whenever she was stressed or upset her and her father would go flying, they would fly until she was ready to talk about what was eating at her, or until she tired herself out and he would take her home and tuck her into bed just to go fly the next morning. Y/n couldn’t think of a time she’d been more stressed than now, stuck in a foreign world with no way home, surrounded by powerful fae who she didn’t trust not to bury a dagger between her shoulders the second she turned around, depsite how kind they had been.

“Fine.”

Her eyes meet with warm hazel, surprise not hidden on her face. She would’ve thought he’d fight back harder, keeping her here, where she couldn’t fly away was safer, easier. But he’d agreed, and she gives him the first genuine smile she’d had since she’d arrived and says, “Thank you.”

He nods once, “after you.”

She’s out the door in seconds, shifting with a flash of white light, and diving over the edge of the balcony towards the city far far below.

Azriel was regretting his choice to let her fly, simply due to the fact that she was so damn fast. Despite the chill in the air, she flew over Velaris with such speed, the air biting his wings as he tried to keep up. She zigzaged over the city, following streets up and down, from the cliffs of the house all the way to the open mouth of the Sidra. They flew over the bridge into the Rainbow, the artists quarter and almost like an invisible string tugged her towards it, they ended up at one of the many amphitheaters.

Music of practicing artists flowed out, preparing for a concert later that evening, there was no single melody, a mesh of different tunes that somehow melded together into a new song of its own.

Y/n landed on a high wall of the amphitheater, that flash of light, and then she was sitting precariously on the edge, as if there wasn’t a steep drop directly behind her to the streets below. Azriel landed next to her, carefully sitting down with a comfortable distance between them. It felt wonderful to rest for a few seconds, letting the sun warm his wind chilled wings.

He watches her, the way she leans towards that music as if she couldn’t help but be drawn to it. There’s a longing look in her eyes, a sadness that cracks that carefully constructed mask to pieces. Azriel wants to comfort her, he’s overcome by the sudden need to fix whatever is wrong, but he was never good at that, so he just sits beside her, mouth firmly shut.

“One of the first things my mother did after the war was rebuild the theaters,” she says quietly after several minutes, “my earliest memory is sitting in the Queen’s box, they’d written a symphony about the final battle, it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. I can still hear the horn that signaled my mothers arrival.”

Azriel listened carefully, “Your mother seems to be a brave warrior.”

“She didn’t have a choice but to be,” Y/n whispers, “Most of my family didn’t.”

“You seem to be a warrior yourself,” he says, “were you given a choice.”

Her eyes don’t stray from the players below, “Yes and no, my parents insisted I train, they wanted me to be prepared for anything, I wanted to anyway, mostly because I wanted to grow up to be just like them. My father is one of the strongest fae warriors in the world, Rowan Whitethorn, soldiers talk about him around camp fires like he’s a myth. He and my uncles, his cadre, oversaw my training. My mother too, she’d once been a renowned assassin, I’d begged and fought with her to teach me everything she knew until she got sick of me and relented.”

He could see that, the way she struck fast and quietly during their first encounter, she moved with the grace of a dancer, struck with the strength of a warrior.

“Quite the family,” he says, searching for anything to lighten the mood, something Rhys or Cassian would say, “I’m sure bringing home boys was interesting.”

She laughs, and he can’t help but enjoy the sound, “you have no idea, not only do you have to impress my parents, but also the kings and queens of several nations. I made the mistake of bringing a boy home when Manon was visiting from the witch lands. She tried to introduce him to Abraxos, I don’t think I ever saw him again.”

From what they’d heard of the witch Queen, Azriel hoped the boy had just fled the kingdom, instead of becoming dinner.

She goes silent, and a shadow whispers in Azriel’s ear, she wants to go home, sad, very sad.

“Would you care to eat now?” Azriel asks, raising to his feet, “I know flying works up my appetite.”

She flashes him a saccharine smile, one that does its best to hide the pain but it can’t hide her eyes, “are you asking for a date? I thought I told you I’m not interested.”

He rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the slight twitch of his lips, “Trust me, Princess, you’re not my type either.”

She climbs to her feet, and Azriel finds that stretch of exposed skin at her waist as she turns to him, the scent of pine, snow, and embers drifting towards him on the wind.

“I’m everybody’s type.” Her tone lowers, dripping with charm, the kind that could make men and women crawl on their hands and knees. “Think you can keep up this time?”

Without warning she jumps off the back of the tall amphitheater. Azriel has a brief moment of panic, shadows whipping out to try and catch her, wings flaring as he goes to dive after her. Then, brilliant white light blinds him for a second, and that red tinged hawk shoots past him, letting out a cry that sounds suspiciously like laughter.

He swears, jumping off that ledge and shoots into the sky behind her.

[feralforfrank]

── EVERYTHING WILL BE JUST FINE.

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X FEM!READER

summary the aftermath of the mission that almost causes the loss of your life.

cw description of a panic attack (reader has one), canon codmw2 violence & mentions of it, feeeeeeelingssssss, hurt/comfort, atp mutual pining & idiots in love. NON-DESCRIPTIVE READER. TELL ME IF I MISSED ANYTHING!!!!

note some people asked for part two, sooooo!!! i delivered :)

1,5K | masterlist

When you opened your eyes, it was because of the horrid images that haunted your eyelids. You woke with a gasp and a ripple of pain spreading through your whole body. The room was dark and cold, but you felt the soft mattress underneath you begging to swallow your exhausted body. 

It all came to you slowly. The mission, the men trying to escape with your team's hidden car, you leaving your post and sneaking behind them, fighting them, and managing to get stabbed two times. The pain in your side was becoming more and more apparent now.

A flash of Ghost holding you in his arms makes you tense. He'd come to your rescue. Called you darling. Held you in his arms and reassured you that you'd be okay. You're fine. Nothing that can't be fixed. I can fix it.

Your heart fluttered, and your gaze blurred with tears. It wasn't right to have a crush on your superior, but you couldn't help yourself. Everything about Simon Riley fascinated you—from his continuous silences and intense glares to his very attractive build. You didn't need to see his face to know he was drop-dead gorgeous. The mask was one of the things that made Ghost even hotter. 

But it was wrong. Ghost's your lieutenant, your superior, and there was no way he'd ever feel the same way about you anyway. You doubt he could feel love sometimes. He cared for his team, that's for sure, but this line of work didn't allow deep and romantic sentiments. 

The jiggle of the door handle snapped you out of your thoughts. You jumped, causing your wounds to throb. A poorly contained whimper escaped your lips. Your heart sped up in fear, and your left hand tried to look for the knife strapped to your left thigh.

Fuck, it's not there. 

The silhouette slips in, and you swear your heart feels about to leap from your throat. A tear slides down your cheek as the man approaches your side. Shit, he's here to kill you. Finish you for what you did to his companions.

In your panicked haze and blurred gaze, you don't hear Simon calling your name. You see him set down a tray next to your head, and fuck—he's going to torture you first? Where the fuck is Ghost? Soap? Gaz? 

"K-Kyle?" You try, but your voice is hoarse and not as loud as intended.

Your gaze falls to the door, and you call Johnny's name. Then Simon's. You plead, but it's still not loud enough. More tears slide down your face, your ears ring, and your body shakes under the blanket.

"—ocus! Focus on me, Owl! You're safe here!" The man calls your name. "I'm not gonna hurt ya, darlin'."

Darlin'.

Darlin'. Darlin'!

Ghost.

And suddenly, the ringing in your ears subsides, and panic isn't bubbling hot in your blood. You feel his hands now, touching your bare shoulders—cold fingers touching scorching skin—shaking you to pull you out of your living nightmare.

"It's okay, lovie. S'alright. You're alright." He shushes you, sitting next to your feet.

"Help me up," you whisper.

Ghost reluctantly helps you sit up, gently touching your wrists. He towers over you to adjust the thin pillows on your back. Your gaze never leaves him. He's rid himself of the tactical vest, only wearing his tight-as-shit shirt, pants, and of course, his balaclava. Thank fuck, it's not the skull one. You melt at how he cares for you, despite you having fucked up the whole operation.

He grabs a bottle of water from the tray, and you have to remind yourself that it doesn't carry torture devices. The man in front of you is Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley, not the enemy. You gulp the water greedily like you've been walking in the desert under the scorching heat for hours.

"Want another one?" He asks. You shake your head.

There's a pause. The silence isn't tense but not comfortable. The nagging guilt—from both of you—holds you back from being truly open with each other. 

You should've never left your post. The team would've been able to escape without the car anyway. Your thoughts are never-ending.

Simon wants to punch himself. He shouldn't have had to carry you to the car. The guilt of letting you get hurt punctured a hole in his chest. 

A sniff brought him back. "I'm sorry."

He looks at you. Stares at you with those emotionless eyes, and you hate it. You hate that you can't guess what he's thinking. You'd fucked up that much is true.

"Fuck—" You hiccup and look away from him. "I didn't mean to. I panicked. I thought—I don't know what I thought. I'm sorry, Ghost, truly—"

"What're you sorry for?" His hard tone startles you.

You look at him, confused more than ever. "I fucked up the mission. Got hurt in the process too. We would've been in base by now had it not been for my fuck-up."

"You protected the team."

"No, I put my team and this mission in jeopardy."

"You took care of a threat, Sargeant." His tone was final. "You did your job. Greatly."

You inhale deeply, your eyes meeting Simon's. His gaze is like stone, but you can see the glint of pride he has for you.

"I was so scared." Fuck you for tearing up again. You felt weak.

You look down at your hands. The light slipping through the open door allows you to see the dark colour they have. Your blood—God, you hope it's yours—stains your palms and reaches up to your wrists.

"I told you I'd fix it," Simon says, and you melt at his words. "Fixed you up pretty good, all things considered." 

It makes you laugh. The timing isn't great, but the chuckle escapes before you can stop it.

"Thank you, Ghost. I owe you big time."

He shakes his head. "Don't mention it. I'm your Lt. I'm supposed to keep you safe and alive."

Lt. 

I'm your Lt.

It stings. You want him to call you darling and lovie again. You purse your lips and nod your head, feeling awkward thinking such thoughts with him present.

"Thank you." You pause, looking for something to ask Ghost—so he doesn't leave. You can't be alone right now. "Where are we?"

"Deep in the woods. They can't find us here."

Pursing your lips, you nod, feeling relieved. The silence returns, and Ghost exhales. "That's soup and meds for the pain. Not much, though. I don't want you passing out."

He stands to leave, and you jump, completely forgetting about the stitched wounds. "Where are you going?" Simon stills at the fear in your voice.

"Leaving?"

It comes out as a question—not what he'd intended. He was fighting the urge to show you how scared he'd been—and still is—after almost having you dead in his arms. The sentimental feelings toward you are growing stronger every second he spends with you, and it's dangerous. He has to stop permitting himself to feel. To hope that one day you'll feel the same for him. God, he feels like a teenager just thinking these thoughts.

But how can he not hope? When you look at him with wide, terrified eyes, swimming in unshed tears. When you're gripping the bowl of soup, he made carefully just for you, silently pleading with him to sit a tad bit longer.

He can see your lips tremble, but you hide it well by pursing them. The words are on your tongue, but you can't bring yourself to ask him to stay because fuck. How much more can you ask from this man? He saved you, patched you up, made you food, and now you wanted him to stay, purely out of fear. It's embarrassing to request this, especially in your line of work.

So, Simon decides to do it for you. "Unless you want me to stay?"

Your expression is shocked, but you eagerly nod before he can change his mind. You scooch to make room for his big frame on the small bed, and he actually manages to lay next to you, a hand draped on the bedframe to pull you closer.

You feel safe. Simon tends to make people feel this way. It's not only his large frame but how he carries himself and shows affection to the people he cares about. It doesn't matter if you talk or stay silent—he prefers silence—Ghost's presence is relaxing enough for you to eat your soup and drink your meds.

And when you finish, he grabs the bowl and places it next to him. When you start to drift off and snuggle closer to steal his warmth, he forces his tense shoulders to loosen and pulls you closer. He kisses the top of your head, and your hair tickles his cold nose even through his balaclava.

He knows his back will ache from the uncomfortable position he's sitting in, but he doesn't care because you're alive. Alive and safe. In his arms. And it's all that matters right now.