#disappeared right before i needed her most.

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐃𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: I know I've written about Daryl x reader in a relationship, but I'm rewatching The Walking Dead and UGH I love him...

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ISTP

Hufflepuff

Chaotic Good

Taurus Sun, Scorpio Moon, Aquarius Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・The perfect example of your marriage is that scene from Yellowstone at the bar. Here's the link. Warnings: Violence :)

・Yes, so you and Daryl have a very close relationship - it has taken you a long time to get to this point.

・But marriage meant you two would be staying together for life. And Daryl knew that. No one was taking you away from him.

・You two met at the very beginning; in the camp with Lori, Carl, Carol, Dale, Andrea, Shane, Glenn etc.

・You abhorred Merle and gave him as much as you could - cussing him out, calling out his actions etc. You were always right but Merle was Merle.

・And you grouped Daryl with his brother; although he didn't say much.

・When Merle wasn't around, you actually got the time to see Daryl differently.

・He was really growing on you.

・You had no idea that he was wrestling with certain feelings as well.

・Your relationship was ... a slowburn to say the least. But you always looked out for each other. Made sure one another had enough food and water.

・There developed a constant between the two of you. Where one went, the other wasn't far behind. Especially when the group would split up

・You always found your way back to each other

・And yet, neither of you could see how much the other cared. Even though the whole group - even the new members - could see it.

・Though he comes off as rough and gruff to most, Daryl would have a soft spot for you. You’d be the only one who gets to see his gentler, more vulnerable side.

・

𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑹

・Daryl was anxious all day, you even saw his hands shake before he saw it and shoved them in his pockets.

・You were worried; he never kept anything from you. Not even when you were just best friends.

・So you went to Carol, she shrugged her shoulders and gave you that knowing look. It calmed your own nerves down, because when Daryl is anxious; you are tenfhold.

・That night you were getting ready for watch, but a knock came at the door.

・It was Michonne.

"Hey, you wanna come in? I'm gonna start my shift soon but I can make us something tea?"

"It's okay, and don't worry about your shift; I have something for you to do."

"Oh okay, sure."

・You followed Michonne past the gardens, the crops and up to the doors of Alexandria and out into the nearby forest.

"We ugh, made sure the area was clear. You don't need to worry about a thing."

・She gave you one of her knowing smiles and you knew something was up...it made you nervous.

・Once Michonne disappeared, you heard the crunching of leaves.

・Quickly you whipped out your knife and swiped as you turned, only to be met by a large hand grabbing your arm.

"Thought I taught ya better than tha'" Daryl said, letting go of your arm and giving you a smile

"You did. I knew it was you. Heavy boots were giving me a heads up."

・It was then that you noticed his appearance; washed, with a clean black button up shirt, and a fresh pair of jeans.

・You quirked an eyebrow.

"What is this Dixon?"

Hesitating, Daryl rubbed the back of his neck with his calloused hand, eyes darting briefly to the ground before meeting yours.

“Been thinkin’,” he started, shifting his weight between one leg to the other. “’Bout us… and all the shit we've gone through...”

You stepped closer to him. Closing the gap. And your heart started pumping a whole lot faster.

"-You know I ain’t good with words,” he muttered in a low voice. “Specially ain’t good at all this… romantic stuff. But you—you’re the best thing...that has ever happened to me. Hell, you're the only thing that makes sense in this goddamn world.”

・Your cheeks started to redden but you let him talk

From his pocket, Daryl pulled out something small and clenched in his hand, his fingers trembling just slightly.

You let out a soft, "oh." Thinking this day would never come.

When he opened his hand, there it was—a simple, gold ring.

“I know it ain’t much,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It's perfect," the tears had started to fall now. You didn't even notice you had begun to cry.

Daryl sniffed, not realising he had shed a few tears as well. "...I just want you to know… you’re my family now. Always have been.”

He held the ring out to you.

"I don't know how long we have in this world. But I know I wanna spend it with you."

There was a moment of silence. One you let hang in the air, not truly believing this was happening.

"So… what d’ya say?”

・The look on his face was pure and full of love.

"God I love you Daryl Dixon."

・Slipping the ring on your finger, you realised how comfortably it fit. You gave Daryl a knowing look and he gave you a sheepish one.

"...measured your finger when you were sleepin'...also had help from Carol..."

You couldn't help but laugh.

"You know I'm getting you one, right? I want everyone to know you're taken. That Daryl Dixon is mine."

"Wouldn't expect anything else."

・Then he kissed like it was your very first and last kiss.

The kiss was unlike anything you’d ever felt—raw, deep, and so full of emotion that it left you breathless. His lips claimed yours with an intense passion.

His hands trembled slightly, and cradled your face. Holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the world; well, to him you were.

Pulling apart, he rested his forget against your own and whispered:

“Ain’t never lettin’ you go.”

In that moment, the world outside could have crumbled, and it wouldn’t have mattered. All that existed was you and him.

𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑹

・Being married to Daryl Dixon meant having someone completely and utterly loyal to you.

・He calls you his family; and when he does so, you know it comes from a place of deep sincerity and respect.

・Instead of grand romantic displays, Daryl shows his love in quiet ways, like fixing something for you, preparing food, or just staying by your side during tough times.

・Daryl would be the ultimate protector, keeping you safe at all costs.

・You have your own place together. Not too far from everyone but secluded enough that you feel independent

・A common part of your nightly routine is cuddling up together on the couch and eventually falling asleep. (Daryl already having locked all the doors and has weapons around the house - just in case. He's not leaving anything to chance.)

・You've both shared everything you know about survival with one another.

・One of your ideas was to make a book about it. How to survive in this mess of a world; Daryl has fully encouraged it. He said it would come in handy for the next generations...

・Daryl thrives in the quiet moments of your marriage—sitting together by a fire, riding his motorcycle with you behind him, working on something side by side in comfortable silence.

・He also has a way of surprising you with such tenderness. E.g., brushing hair from your face or resting his forehead against yours in silent appreciation.  

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

"Look at that stupid dumbass man, ha! Oh shit that's my dumbass-" (Daryl)

Short & bossy x Tall & follows them around

"Think they'll try us?" x "Fuck I hope so."

"Why Are You Babying Me?" (Daryl) x "'Cause I Know You Like It" (You)  

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Forced Proximity

Strong Feelings (Thinking It's Hate - WRONG It's Love)

Enemies to Lovers  

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Sex On Fire by Kings of Leon

Into My Arms by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

One More Hour by Tame Impala

[thursdayinspace]

ficlet: quarantine

I needed fluff, so I wrote some. Perhaps a little messy, but definitely fluffy, post-Firewalker. They're in quarantine and Scully is bored. Mulder isn't.

She expected him to get restless and irritable before the end of their first day in quarantine. It’s been five days now, and although he’s been pacing a lot and at times talked for fifteen minutes straight about random cryptids she’d never heard about before, he does seem to be handling this a lot better than she is. Most of the time, he seems almost content.

She can’t say the same about herself. There’s simply nothing to do and she’s bored out of her mind. Standing still gives her too much time to think, and that’s the last thing she wants to be doing right now.

“Are you even listening to me?” he asks, and when she looks up at him from her seat on her uncomfortable chair and meets his eyes across the tiny table they use for their meals, the corners of his mouth are twitching with a barely held-back grin.

“No,” she admits. “Sorry. What were you saying? Something about… banjos?”

“Banshees,” he says. “It doesn’t matter. What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing.” She sighs.

“Come on.” He leans forward, arms folded on the table. “You can talk to me. There’s… actually not much else to do here.”

“Yeah.” She leans back with another sigh. “That’s exactly the problem.”

“You’re bored?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Well.” He shrugs. “Yeah. Of course I’m bored. We have nothing to do and nowhere to go and there’s absolutely nothing good on TV.”

“And we’re gonna be stuck here for several more weeks,” she points out, pushing herself up out of her chair to walk over to their single window. It’s completely dark outside. Time has lost all meaning. It could be late evening. It could be past midnight. It doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

“It’s not so bad,” he says, and she twirls around to him.

“Mulder, there is nothing to do here. Nothing.”

“So we’ll come up with something,” he suggests, getting up and making his way over to her. He stands so close she has to lean her head all the way back to look up at him. She’s in her socks and he’s so tall. And he’s smiling. Something aches deep in her gut.

“Like what?” she asks.

“I don’t know.” He bites his lip and seems to think about it.

He’s so beautiful it hurts her heart. Being stuck here is bad enough. Being stuck here with him is torture. Ever since she came back, he’s been so attentive, so careful with her. She can feel him looking at her when he thinks she won’t notice. And he’s always there. All the time. As if he’s afraid she’ll disappear again. And she doesn’t know what any of it means. She knows he wore her necklace when she was missing.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he says at last, and that makes her laugh out loud.

“We can’t,” she reminds him. “We literally can’t, Mulder.”

“Sure we can.”

He takes her hand and places it in the crook of his elbow, eyes sparkling as he grins at her widely.

“What are you—” She shakes her head. “What are we doing?”

“I told you,” he says, “We’re going for a walk.” And then he’s leading her across the small room into the tiny hallway separating their bedrooms, where he starts walking them up and down the same few feet of space. She can’t help it, she dissolves into a fit of giggles after the third turn.

“Nice weather we’re having today, don’t you think?” he says, and she holds his arm with both hands and leans into his side, the sensation of laughter unfamiliar in her chest.

“You’re crazy.”

“So I’ve been told. Many times. By you, actually.”

“In the best way. I like it.”

“Oh,” he says, sounding pleased, and a little surprised. “I haven’t heard that before.”

She stops them in their tracks and steps in front of him. “You know I mean it like that every time, right?” she says. “If I ever—”

“I know, Scully,” he promises, and the smile in his voice convinces her that he’s telling the truth.

“Good. Okay.”

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks. “I’ve been told the view doesn’t change at all the further you go. Might be worth exploring.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” The words slip out before she can stop them, and the happiness in her voice makes her blush. She didn’t mean to reveal that much.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I know the feeling.”

She lowers her eyes and doesn’t know what to say. It’s a new problem. They’ve always had an easy back and forth, even their arguments often comforting in a way she never properly understood. Suddenly, everything seems filled with too much meaning. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking on her part. It’s just that she remembers the look in his eyes when he visited her in the hospital after she woke up.

“Hey, Scully?”

She nods, reluctantly lifting her head when he puts two fingers under her chin. “What is it?”

“I just want you to know…” He pauses for a second. “I just want you to know that I’d rather be in here, bored out of my mind with you, than healthy and having fun out there without you.”

“I, um.” She frantically searches for something to say, but he’s standing here, his fingers caressing her cheek now, and he is so warm and smells so good, and she simply can’t remember how language works for the moment.

“It’s okay,” he assures her. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”

“No,” she says quickly. “No, I understand. I… guess I feel the same way.”

“Oh.” There’s something so hopeful in his expression, and she gives him the tiniest nod, hoping he’ll understand.

And he does, of course he does.

She can’t remember any kiss ever feeling like this. His lips just rest against hers, lingering, unmoving, and she feels it all the way down to her toes. Her hands come up to cup his elbows and he takes her face firmly between his large, soft hands, and by the time he pulls back, the world has rearranged itself around them.

“Was that okay?” he asks, and she puts one palm over his rapidly beating heart.

“I think I just thought of a few things we can do while we’re stuck here,” she says.

“Yeah?” He slides his arms around her waist and pulls her closer. “Like what?”

She rises up onto her toes to kiss him again, and finds that another three weeks of this doesn’t sound quite so bad anymore.

[skyfallscotland]

Time for another outlandish Onyx Storm theory! Ba dum tiss! 🥁 This one is quite frankly, wilder than all that have come before. This time, I figured I'd tell you all about how I think we might have already met Xaden's mother. Let's dive in!

Oh boy here goes...

So...here's what we know about Xaden: his mum left when he was ten (or disappeared!) under mysterious circumstances and he's still hung up about her (he kept the blanket she made him!) and he has a fascination with Violet's silver-tipped hair.

I honestly cannot believe I'm saying this (it's almost fucking Oedipal, is what it is) but people have suggested the two are related. I shrugged it off, but now I have this weird, unsettling feeling that they might be right...I think there's a possibility that the venin who teleports in chapter two of Onyx Storm could be his mother.

Her long silver braid swings free of her hood as her attention whips in our direction, and her eerie red gaze jumps to mine and widens slightly under a faded tattoo on her forehead. My blood chills when a smirk tilts her mouth, distorting the red veins at her temples, and then she…disappears.

· Firstly, she has a mysterious faded tattoo, potentially a Tyrrish rune, on her forehead, I'll let you connect the dots there. (Really what I mean is I haven't fully fleshed this out yet, I just need to get it off my chest lol sorry)

· She's a sage, based on this information from Drake: Sages’—those responsible for initiates—eyes are permanently red, their veins perpetually distended toward their temples, expanding with age. Which presumably makes a lot of sense given the timeframe (14 years since Xaden last saw her).

· What I think is the most important piece of circumstantial evidence here: she left the room right before he entered it, before he could see her, even though she's probably more powerful than all of them, especially with backup.

· Sages are responsible for initiates. Jack is an initiate and he called Xaden brother. Yeah, this could also be because Xaden is an initiate too, of course, but it's also a little piece of twisty foreshadowing to throw in there and I wouldn't put it past Rebecca to have thrown it in at all given she'd presumably already have known what she planned to do with his mother.

So uhh yeah. Just a thought, pls don't cancel me 🫣 I hope it's not true either, I promise! Just the thought of that hair obsession coming from there... 🥴😭😩 but I thought I'd throw out a whacky one, just to liven things up 🤣

[bgwlsmahf25]

Redemption Road

Natasha x reader

Genre: angst; fluff

Warnings: mentions of alcohol; kissing; suggestive themes but no actual smut; mentions of trauma; Red Room; Natasha cries

a/n: way longer than I intended haha and probably not totally canonically correct whoops

Norway, 10.00pm

Natasha shivered slightly, wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders as she sat hunched over her laptop. The code she was tracing was proving tricky but she knew she was close to the source. Her breath fogged in front of her as she tapped out a line of code, delving deeper into the rabbit-hole she was exploring. “That’s not right,” she murmured, a tiny frown pinching her forehead, as she tracked an offshoot of numbers. Her shoulders tensed as she prepared for a trap, but it appeared she’d taken the right route. She bit her lip, satisfied that she’d made the right call.

Outside, it was dark, a waxing moon casting shadows over the scrubby ground around her cabin. Natasha had felled most of the trees nearby, preferring to see any adversaries approaching, rather than be taken by surprise. She’d carefully set a few traps, keeping them obscure enough to be hidden, but powerful enough to hold a man down until she decided what to do with him. An owl hooted, the quavering note hanging in the air before another answered it from a few miles away. With soft wing-beats, it took flight, gliding into the darkness.

Natasha sucked in a breath as the final line of code went through. The cursor flashed lamely on the screen then someone other than Natasha started typing.

Hello, Natasha

Natasha kept her expression neutral as she typed out a reply, the clicking of her keyboard the only sound in the tiny cabin.

Hello, y/n. You’re a hard person to track down

The conversation picked up speed. On the other end, you frowned, wondering why Natasha was contacting you after a long period of silence. You didn’t trust her, and it had been a long time since you’d last seen the spy and you wondered what she was after this time.

Not always. For you, there’s no price - this time. What have you got yourself into this time? I’m not doing siberia round 2

A chuckle escaped from Natasha’s lips, she couldn’t help herself. Siberia had been an interesting but dangerous mission, and one of the last times she’d worked with you. Although your name had been one of the first to come to mind, Natasha hesitated about working with you. You were savage in your missions, never holding back on an opponent and you trusted nobody, especially not Natasha. It would be a hard conversation to get you on board, but Natasha knew she was one of a handful of people left who could facilitate that conversation and form a partnership with you, however uneasy it may become.

I need your help with a job. Something to do with home. Are you in?

I need more details. Usual place?

I can’t go there anymore. Vigeland sculpture park, 72 hours, 8.15pm. Natasha quickly ran an encryption on her message, to save it from anyone who might be reading the conversation, but she knew that you could crack it in seconds. Suddenly becoming fearful, she encrypted the entire conversation, ensuring its destruction once she typed the word ‘goodbye.’

See you there. 72 hours. Don’t be late this time.

I’m never late. Goodbye

Her screen turned black and the conversation disappeared. In its place, she was left staring at a tourist website for the Vigeland Sculpture Park in Oslo, Norway. Natasha rolled her eyes, this was your way of telling her you’d be there.

72 hours later, Vigeland Sculpture Park, Oslo, 8.15pm

Natasha pulled her hat down further over her ears and carried on strolling through the park, every so often stopping to read an inscription by the base of a statue. She knew she hadn’t been followed, she’d employed every technique to throw anybody off her tail. It had taken 2 hours but she was satisfied.

Glancing up, she noticed a statue of a crying baby, one foot raised, as though it was about to stamp it into the ground. Snow was piled on the statue’s head, making it look like the baby was wearing a hat. A figure was standing in front of the statue, gazing at it but not taking it in, and Natasha carefully making her way over.

“Good evening.” Natasha knew no Norwegian, thankfully most Norwegians spoke English so if this wasn’t you, she could pass it off as a mistake. She only hoped that you weren’t somewhere else, watching her get fooled by an innocent bystander.

You turned around, a faded black cap pulled firmly down on your head. Your face was impassive as you looked at her, instead you only frowned slightly. “Natasha.” Reaching out, you brushed snow off her shoulder. She jerked back, unsure of your movements, and you bit back a smile. “You never liked personal touch, did you? Now remember, you called me for once.”

“You chose to call me last time,” she pointed out, looking warily at you. She began walking, choosing not to wait, and knowing that you’d fall into step alongside her. She adjusted her hat and took a sideways glance at you. You were not dressed for the Norwegian weather, choosing to wear a light bomber jacket, jeans and black sneakers, the black cap completing the look. “I have a job to do.”

“You always have a job to do,” you fired back immediately, “and you always need my ass to come in and save you from whatever crap you’re stuck in.”

“I’m never stuck,” she growled, “how dare you insinuate -”

“Insinuate?” you hissed, stopping and staring at her. “What about Siberia, Nat? What about Greece, for heaven’s sake? What about -” There was a knowing glint in your eye as you rattled off locations where Natasha had required some extra assistance. Deep down, you knew that she never really needed your help and it irritated you that you were considered a last resort.

“Alright, you’ve made your point,” she snapped. Natasha carried on walking, remembering why she’d stopped calling you. She bit her lip, wondering if she was making the right call with her current mission. “Any news from back home?”

“It wasn’t my home,” you snapped back. “And no, I haven’t heard a thing.” Your voice was bitter and she knew you were hurt by the lack of contact. You had been imprisoned inside the Red Room for far longer than she had. She could only imagine the treatment you’d received, the brainwashing that had been conducted. “What’s your point? Why am I here?”

“Where were you?” You scoffed and she knew that you weren’t going to answer her question. Not for the last time, Natasha wondered if she was right to bring you on board. “The Red Room. I’m taking it down.” You burst into startled laughter, clapping a hand over your mouth and immediately dropping to the ground, one knee dug into the snow, your eyes scanning your surroundings. Once the Red Room had you, you never stopped looking over your shoulder, even if you had broken contact with them. Natasha sighed, crouching beside you. “Y/n, you know that it can be defeated and you know that I’m going to be the one to do it. Now get up and carry on walking, there’s a couple behind us and we need to blend in, not to stand out.” She grabbed your arm, yanking you to your feet.

“You can’t take down the Red Room, Nat,” you panted, standing a few feet away from her. “You know that’s a dead mission before you’ve even started. And what about -?” You stared at her, eyes wide with fear and your heart racing. Natasha had set herself apart from the other Widows a long time ago and it had sent everyone into the shadows whilst the attention - the spotlight - had been focused upon her.

“I know, I know,” she whispered, twisting her fingers through one another. “I know she’s out there, she keeps leaving me messages then disappearing when I try to read them. Listen, you’re the last person I wanted on this, but the first one who came to mind.” Natasha stepped closer. “Are you in?”

“I’m not coming all the way with you.” You shook your head, scuffing your sneaker in the snow, tracing an unintelligible shape. “I don’t believe you’ve got a chance in hell to make this work but I’ll listen.” Natasha started walking and you grabbed her arm. “The minute you pick your plan, I’m informing them.” You walked past her, carrying on through the park, knowing that Natasha’s gaze was boring into your back.

Natasha’s Cabin, Norway, 10.00pm

“Heaters don’t cost much.” You kicked the snow from your shoes and pulled the door shut behind you, watching as Natasha pounded her fist against an ancient light switch. There was a crackle then a hum and weak, yellow lighting flickered throughout the cabin.

“Heaters make noise.” Natasha pulled her hat off, her vibrant red hair tumbling down her back and you hastily averted your gaze. She sat down on a worn leather sofa, placing her hat and gloves firmly on the coffee table in front of her. Leaning back, she crossed her arms and glared up at you. “Tell me again why I thought this was a good idea.”

“I’m a good fighter, occasionally we make a good team. You want to take down the Red Room, but you can’t do it by yourself and until you find - well, her, you need me to assist you.” You chewed your lip. “Neither one of us likes this plan but it’s the best we’ve got.” You leant against the wall, mirroring her pose and crossing your arms. “This is going to take everything, have you even thought about that?”

“Everything?” Natasha hissed, leaping to her feet. “Do you not think that I’ve given everything, dedicated everything, to my career?” She pushed her hair out of her face and you looked at the ground. Looking at Natasha’s hair led to places you didn’t want to visit anymore. “I’m asking you to listen to me. Nobody else is going to hear me out.” You stared at Natasha, then laughed bitterly. “Oh yes, that’s true, Widow. Nobody will listen to your crazy ass plan. You’re going to get yourself killed staying in this business. You left, and they stayed, and that’s all there is to it. You don’t have to eliminate them to prove a point - joining SHIELD was a big enough move for you.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes, sinking back onto the sofa with a huff. As much as she hated to admit it, there was some truth to your words. Natasha wanted an out, an escape, something like the domesticity that her friend Clint had built for himself. She knew, however, that finding someone who could tolerate her was tricky. Turning away, she took a deep breath, holding back a rare wave of emotion, tears pooling in her eyes. “I’m proving a point.” She looked back at you and if you noticed the tears in her eyes, you chose not to comment on it. “Drink?”

“As long as it’s not laced this time.” She let out a short laugh at your words, opening a cupboard and pulling out a bottle of vodka. Removing the cap, she took a swig then offered you the bottle. You could taste her chapstick on the neck of the bottle and bit the inside of your cheek hard, drawing blood, as a sudden wave of arousal rushed through you. “I haven’t forgotten Greece,” you said, offering her the bottle. “I’m not going to forget Greece. That was a low move.”

“Oh come on, you followed me to Siberia and then back to New York.” Natasha raised an eyebrow at you. “If you hated Greece, you had an out, you just chose not to take it.” She watched as you slowly sat down on the floor, drawing your knees up to your chest. “Greece was bad for both of us,” she whispered. You laughed and snatched the bottle out of her hands. “What happened in Greece was the perfect opportunity for you to push me down. You chose to act like a complete bitch simply because I was there.”

“Not true,” she fired back. Natasha couldn’t help but think about her behaviour in Greece. It was a dangerous mission - most of them were - but this one was especially so. She had to infiltrate a gala and assassinate a high-ranking SHIELD official who was attending. She still remembered the look on his wife’s face when she turned around and saw her husband lying dead in the middle of the ballroom, a pool of blood beneath his head. Natasha had blended into the background, in awe of what she’d done but also fearful. “I know you’re thinking about him,” you taunted, your voice bringing her back to the present. “Be quiet,” she snapped, “I didn’t bring you here for your criticism.”

“Oh Natasha.” You got to your feet and leant towards her, resting your hands lightly on the shabby wooden box that counted as a coffee table. “We both know that you didn’t bring me here, you had no choice in that matter.” You smirked, eyes falling to her lips briefly. “I came because - well, we both know why you really wanted me here.” Without warning, she reached out and slapped you across the face, your cheek stinging from where her hand had made contact. “You don’t get to talk to me like that,” she growled, standing up and pushing you backwards so that she could move into the open space of the cabin.

You let her push you, ending up on the floor, resting on your elbows. Her show of dominance had sent another wave of arousal through you and you realised that she knew exactly what she was doing. Turning, Natasha pulled out another bottle of vodka and you let out a loud laugh, amusement playing across your features. “Oh darling,” you mocked, “are you trying to get me drunk so that I’ll agree to your stupid plan?”

“It’s not stupid.” Natasha took a long drink from the bottle and stuck her hand out, offering you a crutch to stand up. You took it, wrapping your fingers through hers and watching a faint blush appear on her cheeks. She pulled you to your feet and you took a step towards her, so that you were in touching distance. Locking eyes with her, you reached out and softly plucked the vodka bottle from her grasp. Never breaking eye contact, you took a drink, the spirit burning your insides as you swallowed. Natasha’s eyes briefly flickered down to your neck and then up to your gaze again and she bit her lip, knowing she’d been caught. “Tell me you want this,” you whispered, still refusing to break eye contact.

With a deep breath, Natasha pulled on some inner resolve and took a step back. “No.” Her reply was surprising, but you’d expected it. “No?” You raised an eyebrow, holding the bottle just out of her reach. “Natasha. Look at me.” You waited until she made eye contact. “Baby, your plan is stupid. You cannot take down the Red Room, they are far too powerful against one Widow. I know you want to find Yelena Belova, and I admire you for that, but if she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be. You are one woman and as powerful as you are, one woman is not going to topple the Red Room. Uh-uh,” you said, as she tried to reach for the bottle, “I’m not finished speaking.”

“Yes you are,” she growled, hands reaching out to grab your jacket and pull you against her, her lips crashing onto yours. The force of the kiss took you both by surprise and you stumbled, Natasha’s back hitting the cupboard with a thud. Your hands threaded themselves into her hair and you moaned into the kiss, before she pushed you away suddenly, chest heaving and her eyes blown with want. “No. No, y/n, I cannot do this again.” Natasha took the bottle and you let her, watching her throat bob as she drank steadily, draining what was left in the bottle. She slowly put it on the counter, looking at you with a flustered gaze, but her eyes were steady and you realised she wasn’t going to sleep with you.

“Why?” The question hung in the air. There was a sadness to your voice and Natasha could hear it. She stared at you, wanting nothing more to pick you up and throw you onto the bed in the far corner but knowing that it wouldn’t help either of you. “Because…” You sighed, already knowing the answer and threw your hands up, running them wildly through your hair. “You know that I’m going to talk you out of going after the Red Room if we sleep together.” Natasha took a step towards you. “You’re already trying to, so y/n, I think it’s best that you leave.” She reached for the door and you reached out too, putting a hand on her wrist and stopping her movements. “Natasha, if you do this, just know that it will be the last time you see me.”

“What?” Her eyes met yours and she halted, shoulders tense, scanning your face for any sign that you were teasing her. “Why would you -?” You cupped her face in your hands. “I have rules to follow, orders I can’t disobey any longer. I’m not going to be an excuse for you anymore to hear what you shouldn’t do when you devise a crazy idea.” You rested your forehead gently against hers, taking in the green in her eyes. “This is the last time I answer your call. Next time, there’ll just be silence.” Natasha gripped your hands in hers, resting her head in the crook of your neck. Her breaths tickled against your skin and you sighed, hating what you were saying but believing every word of it. “Watch your back out there, Widow. The world’s not as kind as me,” you whispered, pulling back and planting a soft kiss on her lips. “You too, soldier,” she replied, kissing your cheek. You knew that she’d worked out who your orders were from but you were grateful that she didn’t push you on it, or question it.

At the edge of the clearing, you stopped and looked back. Natasha was framed in the doorway, her red hair framed around her shoulders. You took a long look at the woman, knowing you’d never see her again, then setting your shoulders, you turned towards your truck. Climbing inside, you rested your head on the steering wheel, thinking about the work ahead of you and trying desperately to put the Russian out of your mind. A tap on your window startled you and you looked up to see Natasha, gesturing for you to roll down the window. “What do you want, Widow?” you said, your voice soft. Her eyes met yours and your breath hitched. “One last time,” she said, her voice steady.

Natasha rested against you in the back of your truck. She was silent, tracing shapes on your arm mindlessly. “I don’t regret any of it,” she quietly admitted. “I know that it was dangerous and questionable, but I’d do it all again.” You smiled, kissing her forehead. “I know.” You sat up, pulling your clothes back on and adjusting your cap. “I’d better be going. It’s a long drive back to Oslo and my flight leaves in three hours.” Natasha sighed, pulling herself away and quickly getting dressed too. She left your truck, pulling you close for one last kiss. “Look after yourself, soldier.” You leant back, eyes roving over her face, committing it to memory although you knew you’d never forget it. Natasha was one in a million. “You too, Natasha. When you get there, say hello from me.” She smiled, but it faded quickly as she remembered the task she’d set herself.

As you drove away, fingers quietly drumming on the steering wheel, you thought about Natasha, her face clearly in your mind. She wasn’t going to be easy to forget, but you weren’t sure you wanted to. Time would let her fade from your mind, but the memory of her was etched into your heart. Similarly, Natasha was pacing up and down her cabin, unashamedly crying, tears dripping onto her shirt. She’d never let herself love anyone but she thought that she could have loved you if you’d had more time. Your paths had crossed when they needed to and she knew that as much as you’d pretended to hate her and reject her, your affection was as deep as hers. Her laptop lit up and she sighed, her attention once again turning to the task of finding Yelena, her sister and the destruction of the Red Room.

A breathy laugh left her lips when she read the message you’d left, the cursor still flashing.

Good luck with your stupid plan. If anyone stands a chance, it’s you. y/n.

She watched your message self-destruct, the last trace of you leaving her cabin for good. Natasha reached for another bottle of vodka, taking a sip and beginning to plan in her mind how she was going to carry out her ‘stupid plan.’

[pocket-vvardvark]

WIP Wednesday

Ty for the tag @skyrim-forever @thequeenofthewinter <33

I'd like to tag: @aviel-the-trans-bucket @hircines-hunter @fangsandsoftgrass @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @scholarlyhermit @sanza-17 @sulphuricgrin @changelingsandothernonsense @progmetol @varlaisvea @yansurnummu @yewphoric @lucius-the-sinful no pressure as always!! ♥️♥️♥️🥰 Love ya'll with my whole heart

I've got a new chapter in the works for sweet decay 🤪 so, here's the WIP under the cut bc it's sorta long

Rivenspire is cloaked in the warmth of the sunrise. Blooming across dry earth, it softens the land’s foreboding appearance into something habitable. Having been awake for far too long, Verandis palms his sunken eyes as the soft glow filters in through open windows behind him. At the very least, the weather was somewhat pleasant in favor of the most recent heatwave. His body is no longer among the living, but the heat still drove him onto the edge of exhaustion just as easily as it would to a human. Voyage to Lillandril would be a pleasant escape to the lingering heat, and a part of him missed Summerset. Among the cities in Summerset, he supposed Lillandril was the fairest. Cradled upon the sea, the wind which swept only the most beautiful flowers was tinted with a satisfying chill against the heat. His thoughts shift to Angelica; briefly imagining her time on the island. Yesterday, she mentioned her distaste for Altmer culture, which was fair in its own right. No matter how hard a half-breed attempted to live up to their purpose, no full-blooded Altmer would label them anything but an Ephem. As saddening as it was, this was the way of his people. Thumbing over a groove on the hardwood of his desk, Verandis mulls over his relationship with the pesky minx. It was growing, that's unfortunately true, but to what extent? It had been an incredibly long time since he called another his lover, and oddly enough, Angelica didn't seem the type. She seemed content to toy with him, refusing to acknowledge him as anything other than good fun. Although, her gentleness from the other day did start to confuse him. The whole situation vexed him; feeling like a bumbling idiot left in the dark of some grand plan. Years of building House Ravenwatch softened him, and maybe that was why he was far too slow on the uptake. Regardless, the job needed to be completed, and he supposed he should use her…talents she so dramatically bragged about. The sun rises above the trees, signaling it was time to move. Verandis does so, gathering the bare essentials and finally roaming the halls until he reaches Angelica’s room. Raising a hand to knock, his knuckles fail to reach the door as it's opened before he can. 

She smiles. It's surprisingly bright for how strangely she acted the other day. Another facade? He'll see in time, Verandis assumes. 

“So…it's time?” Casting red hair aside, she tugs it into a messy bun of locks, then pats her leathers down. Ah, another surprise; that she's actually wearing proper clothes this time.

Prepared to suffer by her hand from whatever acts of mischief she'll no doubt drum up, Verandis answers with the utmost exasperation, “Yes. Bring along what you need.” Squinting, he watches as she disappears back into her room to procure a satchel.

“I do hope that's necessary.” 

Laughing as she peeks into the standing mirror, she makes one final adjustment to push her breasts up. “Oh, hush. We're taking a trip to the market, right? I'll need gold for that…among other things.”

‘Among other things’, that little remark did not inspire much of anything in him but annoyance. She hoists her arm into his, linking together as she bats her lashes. “I’ve been waiting for a chance like this; to come along on some grand adventure with the Count of House Ravenwatch. My sister told me all about you, you know.” 

He's pulled along with her, walking a stride slower due to their height differences. It would seem her younger sister had a bit of a loose tongue. Thinking about Alethia softens his expression, though, he knows there was no ill intent behind her excited story-telling. She couldn't keep a secret, that much he knew.

“Did she, now? I can only pray she had good things to tell.” They pass the doors, already walking down the rough, cracked path to shornhelm. 

Making a sound rivaling that of a disgruntled guar, he’s bewildered enough to glance down at her. She sticks her tongue out once he does, “That's what I think about your stupid attempts at being posh. Or…maybe you're shy. Are you shy, count?”

She snorts, tugging at their linked arms with an impish grin. 

“You-” Verandis scoffs, but he makes no move to wriggle away, only yielding to her kisses placed on his cheek. “I'm not shy. You're just…too overzealous for me. Not even Gwendis is this tiring, I should have you know.” 

Gasping dramatically, she feigns a sniffle, “Breaking my heart so soon? How could you…I thought we shared something special.” 

“Special? Hm, I had the distinct feeling I was but only a tryst to you, Angelica.” Their footsteps halt on the barren path of dirt as Verandis stops. He grazes a knuckle over her cheek, relishing in her sudden speechlessness. There's a hint of intrigue in her eyes, but something much less distinct; embarrassment. 

“Tsk, tsk…” the pad of his thumb strokes the tip of her cheek bone, “Projecting, are we?” 

Life spreads back into her features, moving her lips as her expression excites, “Projecting? No way, now you've got to buy me something like you promised.” 

Nothing gets past her, he's sure of that as she reminds him of what foolish words he uttered last night. It almost worked, if she hadn't been so perceptive. No matter, it would prove useful in the next days they’d spend together 

“A shame you hadn't kept your promise, then.” She blinks, fascinated by the ethereal hue his carmine eyes take against the bright sunshine. It steals her breath away, causing the briefest stirring deep in her belly. Truthfully, she was beginning to fluster at the sight of him like this; gazing down at her with such a romantic expression, like he could dip her back any second for a kiss. There was no love lost between any number of her trysts and herself, as the fickle emotion only served to complicate things. It stood in the back of her mind, though, as if it tempted her into taking that step. Oddly numb, she couldn't make sense whether she even wanted love. Sure, she'd never stayed quite this long with any of her romps, but it felt strange to just up and leave like they never met. Perhaps it was as her mother said, that one day she would want to settle down, to be with the one man who stole her heart. A flush does make its way to her cheeks, so light a dusting that Verandis nearly mistakes it for the sun on her skin. She takes her own embarrassing reaction in stride, smiling to him so lovingly that they both falter in each other’s grasp. Unlike the night they shared, it is him who concedes first, his grasp brushing away so softly she misses it. Clearing his throat, they continue down the path until Shornhelm can be peered at in the distance. The blob grows until she can see the roofs, the people, and of course, the market. Angelica observes the sights, its fairly different from both of her homelands from what she can recall from both Summerset and Western Skyrim. Hard times have clearly claimed most of Rivenspire’s goods and, frankly, the morale, too. Most shopowners looked more like they were proud owners of shacks rather than appealing homes; it went double for their wares, unfortunately. The only exciting things left were the rare pieces of jewelry she spotted along the way, and the occasional sneak she took of the count’s face while he was deep in thought. A local apothecary catches her attention, drawing her closer until several ingredients greet her eyes. The woman looks only to be a few years younger than herself, smiling but ragged after whatever turned shornhelm into turmoil. Hopefully, after her sister’s little adventure here, things would get better. Nevertheless, Angelica wasn’t entirely heartless, so she took what little ingredients were left and paid a little extra. She winks, and tugs the count along before the young woman can argue against the generous amount of coins splayed across the worn market stall.

“Well…I believe that’s all I’ll be in need of. Never hurts to pack a few poisons.”

If he noticed what happened, which she realizes he must, it doesn’t earn her a conversation. Either perturbed by her shocking display of kindness, or their recently shared embarrassment, Angelica cannot tell beneath his seemingly aloof gaze. 

“We should get a move on, then. Rivenspire lacks ferries, so we’ll have to carriage our way to Glenumbra.” She wants to kick herself for feeling disappointed he doesn’t thrust his arm out for her to hold, but makes due with this new development. It’s not like they were close, but she was finding herself longing for some type of…praise from doing good. Divines, did whatever happened last night really affect her that badly? She hadn’t thought so, until her thoughts soured from every woman which passed their way to ogle Verandis’ human disguise. A part of herself swelled in pride when they sunk back down upon her appearance by his side. That feeling was only doubled when she realized they would never know his secret, and such an intimate secret it was. Jealousy wasn’t her style, but she wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to swathe the Count in her perfume before exiting the castle next time. He certainly smelled better in it than whatever ancient perfume he wore beside her. Curious, she peeks over to marvel at his disguise. Honestly, she preferred how he always looked; with eyes as red as rubies and alabaster skin. It simultaneously enthralled and got her feeling rather heated. Such raw and dangerous intent was no longer evident in his now honey-colored eyes, and that left her feeling quite bored. Although…she could make due with those amber eyes if they watched her with the utmost adoration; that would be her goal for the day.

Grinning, she’s back to her confident self, looking as mischievous as a nixad. He realizes she snickers like one, too.

“Do I dare ask what you’re conjuring up behind me? I fear you, at times.”

Prancing back to his side, her fingers curl into his own, forcing him to slow his stride once more.

“Nothing much, just admiring the view.”

He snorts, “Of my backside? How quaint.”

Nudging him, he gains an eyeful of the sweet little twist of her lips, “It's a very disarming backside.” 

Sighing, he can't help but chuckle at that, “Whatever shall I do with you?”

His eyes jump between her own, searching for the reply her lips twitch with. Angelica settles for a gentle peck on his nose, laughing when he wrinkles it from the tickle. 

“I'm sure you'll dream up some elaborate plan to keep me quiet, darling.” 

[facilitatingmyaddiction]

I need to be honest: I really hope Byler is endgame because Byler makes me hate Mike less.

This is a long rant, and this whole post is gonna sound full of vitriol, but BEAR WITH ME, I HAVE A POINT.

I hate Mike's character so much, the show does him so dirty, S3 was THE WORST and S4 was only better because of the Byler implications, because otherwise he still sucks

Allow me to rant after the cut before you guys jump onto me, ok?

He used to be the leader of the party, and in S3 he does NOTHING, and seasons 3 and 4 seem to go out of their way to show DUSTIN (my pookie, this kid is the GOAT, no one say NUTHIN' bout him) as the leader instead of Mike, which like, makes Mike kinda disappear into Mileven? He goes from leader of the party to El's only safe haven, and that bothers me so freaking much. It's a disservice to both their characters IMO. El gets stuck being the only one who can do anything to save the day, and Mike gets stuck being the only one who can be there for her. I don't think it is a coincidence that they get separated for most of S4, because I think if they were together the whole time, the plot would stop moving. Mileven in canon feels like being in a relationship just because you don't know what you would do if both of you weren't together, not because you actually like each other.

Now if Byler IS endgame, everything feels more cohesive. Mike is an asshole, yes, but not because that's who he is - he is an asshole because things are changing and he is hurting his best friend and he is really bothered by that but he doesn't know how to fix it. He avoids saying stuff not because he doesn't want to, but because it feels wrong and he doesn't understand how. He didn't want to play D&D with Will in S3, and he said it was because he was maturing, but as soon as he enters high school, he finds a D&D club and is super dedicated towards it. Lucas has his big game and Mike doesn't even think to negotiate with Eddie to move the last session around so they could all watch the game AND have the finale of the campaign - clearly D&D is, still, a huge priority for him, despite him being technically older and more mature now. Yes, he is still a dick for replacing Lucas at the last session, but this assholery puts his previous assholery ("Did you think we would be in my basement playing games the rest of our lives?") into a new perspective. He STILL cares about D&D, it is STILL super important for him. So why was he doing all that in S3? Makes you question, and that's good! Also very interesting how this priority only comes back once El is not around anymore. It's like he is back to his little bitchy S2 self, maybe trying to get back to the way he was back then.

S3 Mike is overprotective of El because, according to him, he "loves her and doesn't want to lose her". But, if my interpretation of Canon!Mileven is correct, he might be actually scared of what not being with her means for him. If Dustin is more of a party leader than he is, if he and Will are not on good terms, and he doesn't play D&D anymore, that means he's not Leader Of The Party Mike, nor Mike The DM, nor Will's Best Friend Mike. That leaves him as Protector of El Mike. So, he's overprotective, because that's who he's supposed to be, now, right? That's what having a girlfriend means, right? Lucas and Max are always together, and they are dating. So Mike should be there with her and for her, always. If El breaks up with him, who is he then?

So he fights to get her back. And since he's fighting to get her back, that probably means he loves her, right? When someone breaks up with you, and you still want them, no, NEED them back, that means you love them, right?

But then she leaves, and he can'tdo anything about it. And Will leaves, too. And suddenly, he's not missing the time he spent with El. Something feels wrong, and he's still a little bitch to everyone around him, but it's not because of EL. He talks to El, he writes her letters, they keep in touch. And he doesn't miss her. He should, because she's his girlfriend, and he's supposed to be missing her, so he complains about not being able to call her on the phone, but he doesn't try to solve that problem like he did in S2 when he didn't even know for sure if El was alive. S2 Mike would move the Earth to be able to talk to El. S4 Mike thinks just getting on a plane to see her in the summer is enough. A letter every once in a while instead of a phone call is enough. "From Mike." is enough. S4 Mike didn't implode while not having El, like he thought he would, so things change. He's not as protective anymore because he doesn't need to be. The last year was enough proof that he could still be who he is without El, so he has another angle to self-reflect.

If Byler is endgame, then S4 Mike being an asshole to El after she defended herself in the rink is less of him just being a shitty boyfriend and is instead him being mad at himself for neglecting his friends and his own self to take care of her when she truly doesn't need him, even without her powers - and then taking it out on El. He understands that he is pissed, he is prompted to make amends (iirc he didn't go talk to El out of his own volition, he just did it after he saw how Will was reacting to how bad he was treating El) and he can't. But he CAN make amends to the one he thinks he actually wronged: Will.

I hope we get to see a healthier (platonic) relationship between Mike and El in S5. I'd love to see Mike stop being the little asshole that he is after understanding himself a little better. It would put a nice bow in things because GOD MIKE YOU ARE SO ANNOYING AND SUCH A JERK RIGHT NOW.

[sv-npc]

Aria's words hit Jack like a slap and for a moment he was too stunned to react. Sat at the table with? What fool did she take him for? He pried the tip of the dagger from the wooden counter and spun around right as Aria had turned to speak to Brasmeag and was once again hit with a wave of shock that froze him in his place.

He looked her over with what must have been a dumbfounded look across his face. He instantly recognized her. It had been ten years since he last saw that face - and even then he had only seen it a handful of times - but her face was unmistakable. Suddenly he was brought back to that night, ten years ago, when he had stood proud in a large ball room. He had been younger then, his face less gaunt, his skin paler - his clothes finely tailored and were not the tattered, stitched together garb that most Rovers wore. Time and travel had leathered him in a way that hid his Northern Features well. He had bought his way into this Rover Family by selling not only the last of his possessions to the former Chief, but himself as well so not even the pride he once held was left. And yet, she had seen through it without even seeing his face.

Brasmeag was too intrigued by the phrase 'old world forged' to notice him, thankfully. The Purrserker perked up and his beard frizzled outwards in anticipation as he looked the weapons over.

"Ol' World ye say? Well now!" Brasmeag laughed. Despite the look in his eyes, his voice sounded doubtful. There was not much Old World steel left in the world, and those that had survived were cheap, flimsy, and not actually designed for combat. The only 'Old World' weapons that anyone sought after were useless now as they needed to be loaded with copper containers filled with Gun Powder - there weren't even any slots on them for Enchantments. There were far better ranged weapons nowadays - bows with craft-able arrows that can be fitted with Enchanted 'Ability Stones' that could utilize 'Future Sight' or 'No Guard', for example, were much more preferred nowadays. So when she said they were 'infused' his first thought was that somebody had shoddily tried to attach an Ability Stone to an old, possibly frail, Old World Weapon...

His eyes immediately lit up when he saw them though. He didn't see any Ability Stones forced into the bindings on the axes or ground into the shafts. He could sense the aura from them though - they were certainly infused, but not in a cheap 'knock-off' way.

Images flashed through his mind, "Ack, Aye can guarantee that any weapon that be forged here won't smash so easily, Ma'am." He continued as if muttering to himself, "Th' handles will hafta be replaced. Aye cu'd replace 'em wi' th' last o' me Aggron horn? Acke - t'is a pitty aye can't be gettin' mah hands on some Nidoking Horn."

He suddenly seemed to remember that this was a customer commission and he cleared his throat before looking back up at Aria with a 'business-like' look, "Aye, Heldrouth is ma brother. He will bring ye th' weapons th'morra. Now then, aboot th' weapons - it would be easy t' make ye an alloy wi' this that will be as hard as a Shuckle's Shell... but keep th' handles?" He scratched his head. His eyes narrowed on them. He could sense the aura in them and then he slowly nodded. It wasn't often he came across weapons that were infused with energy, "Acke- nah, it will work. Ye will be havin' yer weapons back th'morra. Same hilts, same stones."

He started to bundle up the weapons in his large hands, and as he did he caught sight of Jack and paused for a moment, "Now if ye'll be excusin' mae, aye must be gettin' started." He paused for a moment, "Besides, I be feelin' like ye two have much t' talk aboot."

And with that, the Purrserker carefully hopped off his stool, walked back around the counter until he reached the front door and locked it. He quickly flipped the 'open' sign to 'closed' and hobbled back to the counter where he snatched an armful of the weapons Aria was leaving him before disappearing out back.

Jack watched him go with a silent look - almost as if he was mentally cursing the Purrserker for leaving... but at the same time, he did not blame him. He felt the sudden silence settle down in the room like a thick, heavy blanket and as if he was eager to break that silence he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, "Princess Aria? That Princess Aria." The first part of the sentence was formulated like a question, but the second was a statement. He then added, rather sheepishly, "You look well."

"You think 10 years is enough to make me forget a man I sat at the Alderbrands' table with? Discussed trade agreements between our Kingdoms with?" She snorted at the thought and shook her head. She was watching him and reading his on edge energy.

Aria couldn't fault mortals for being fooled by the passage of time. But then again, maybe that wasn't what was going on here. She was being a bit careless about throwing his name around. Even though 10 years had passed the man probably didn't want to be found alive by those that might still want him dead. He was Alderbrands' right hand man after all.

"Thank you. I'm no expert in smithing so any adjustments you need to make in the design to improve it is very appreciated." She nodded and then moved to take one of her hand-axes and unclip the leather sheath from it.

"The thing about these and my sword is that they're made from old world forged steel that is attuned to my energies. Do reuse the stones the hilt and that should make sure the new metal wont shatter when I go to weild it." She felt comfortable mentioning this to Brasmeag. He already could sense she wasn't completely human, even if she was shielding her Divine identity.

"I trust you can make that happen. And you shall have the price you name..." She put her hand on the pommel of her sword. Of the weapons it was the newest. And then her eye lit up with her power for a second. As well as a smile.

"Heldrouth is your brother! Oh, I would be pleased to meet him in person. Very pleased indeed!" She couldn't exactly tell him that SHE herself would need her sword for the end of the tournament. That wouldn't be fair to spoil the surprise at the end.

[pandorashearts]

every time your birthday starts getting close, it hurts. i miss you so fucking much. i hate that all i can do is sit here and just. hope and pray even that someday ill get to wake up to you again.

[cuteniarose]

Me: *creates an OC*

Me: *heavily implies OC will meet a bad fate*

OC: *meets bad fate*

Me:

(Alternatively, I may have started it, but @katkastrofa enabled me and now I’m losing my mind)

[quietwingsinthesky]

Hiiiii! So, a few days ago you were talking about the whole thing with Amy, Rory, and River. And when I saw those posts a thought arose in my head and I wish to share it with you.

Since River grew up with Amy and Rory as Mels. And Mels was Amy's best friend do you think that they ever talked about children? Since I know that it can come up when talking with friends, and like... do you think that Amy might've ever expressed whether or not she wanted children?

And if she didn't, that Mels would've had to listen to her mother say that she doesn't want children? The idea is so heartbreaking and sooo interesting.

What do you think about it?

no, no, see, you're so right and this drives me wild.

because, the way i see it, i don't think amy wanted children. she's somewhere on the 'hasn't thought about it' to 'vaguely negative feelings about it happening' range to me, which falls sharply into 'Not Happening Ever Again' post-s6. (specifically, in terms of having a kid herself, even if she could, i really don't think she would. i do love that she and rory end up adopting a kid later, because that does make sense, for amy pond who grew up alone in one universe with her family swallowed by cracks in time before the doctor helped her set it right again, for her to want to make sure another child won't be alone in the world like she was. getting off-track here.)

and that's so. because the first real memory river/mels has of amy is of amy shooting at her. and depending on how well the silence fucked up the rest of her memory, it might be one of the very first memories she has at all. that's how she met her mother, crying for help and getting a bullet instead. her mother tried to kill her, so of course, you have to think. she must have needed to hear that she was wanted, right? even if she was taken away, even if amy shot her, at some point, melody must have been wanted?

river is good at getting people to do what she wants, but she is very, very bad at subtlety. and mels is younger, has less practice, so when she wants to know this, she's just going to ask. blunt and quick, easy enough because amy's used to the way mels will open her mouth and you just have to be ready to roll with what comes out if you want to keep up. it's why they're such good friends (like mother, like daughter.)

they're nine, and mels asks if amy wants kids, and amy wrinkles up her nose and says she won't have time for children, obviously, once her raggedy doctor finally comes back. they're fifteen, and amy and rory dance will they-won't they in a way that makes mels twitchy to watch, and taunting amy about wanting to have rory's babies is a good way to get on her nerves. but amy calls her gross, tells her she's got more life planned than children would leave room for, and besides, imagine her, a mom? it'd be a disaster.

mels does. a lot. she looks at her mother and just sees her best friend instead. she's not even sure what she wishes was there, but. maybe amy's right. and besides. imagine her, a daughter, instead of the ticking time bomb she really is? it'd be a disaster.

they're sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, and on. mels stands on the outside of a love story that births a universe. and her. how do you compete with that? not that she would know, not yet, she hasn't been there. but it doesn't make her feel any less alienated when amy and rory talk in whispers about a half-remembered world that's bled through to this life, about roman soldiers and boxes and the big bang of belief.

all these memories, they never mention children. on amy's wedding day, she's different, not like someone remembering a dream but someone who lived it. rory stands straighter, won't leave her side, and they're both so much older than they were yesterday. maybe now, right? a wedding's as good a time as any to decide you want kids.

mels not being at amy & rory's wedding is such an obvious lazy way of them trying to explain why they totally didn't just throw this plot twist together at the last minute that i'm not even going to acknowledge it. of course she was at their wedding. she's their best friend. there's too many people around the doctor, and she wasn't ready today of all days, so despite this horrible burning need under her skin to strike, she stays her hand. doesn't let him dance with her because she might just tear his throat out if he gets too close. stays with amy and rory as the maid of honor should. she must have been there for the awkward questions that always gets asked, 'so, any plans for a baby?' 'when am i getting grandkids?' 'oh, you two are going to have gorgeous children together.' standing a few feet from amy in her wedding dress and watching her mother tense and grit her teeth and brush off the questions. watching her look nervously at rory but never ask if he means it when his mom asks him if he'd prefer a son or a daughter, and rory answers 'either one, some day, not anytime soon.'

god i'm just going on and on, aren't i. but really, what's it like to know that amy never changed her mind. the next time she sees them, she's already been born and stolen. i don't like let's kill hitler for. so many reasons. but there is something compelling about how recklessly river lashes out at the world, at the doctor. even her sacrifice at the end is almost suicidal, throwing all her regenerations into this man without knowing if that will even work or if it might kill her to do it. but it makes more sense in the context of someone who has reached the end of a long, long wait for some kind of indication, any kind, that her mother wanted to have her. and finally been told, no. she didn't choose melody.

[paranoxia-333]

Oop…the most divisive two?? Slowly starting to realise maybe I have more of a strange taste in men than I thought XD

I’ve played through up to the fall performance since I wrote the original post (currently on the day before the fall performance) and I DEFINITELY like him more now. That part where Suzu and Sou start arguing and then Sou snaps at Suzu…the voice acting gave me CHILLS during that..the way he started screaming at him really caught me off guard. I really liked his development through that arc too, I felt bad for him the first few times but after the 70th time of Sou going ‘I’m never gonna be as good as Suzu or Kisa…….i can never stand next to her on the stage…’ I think the development was needed fast or he was about to get reallyyy repetitive. But yep, definitely like him a lot more now.

With Neji I probably wouldn’t have liked him as much if my first exposure to him was his romance route since that ‘Tachibana…I’m scared of females’ defenitely made me reconsider for a second lol. I really enjoyed his voice acting as well as Sou, Daisuke Kishio did a really good job giving Neji a dynamic and interesting voice, a lot more than other characters I’ve seen with similar personalities to Neji.

This one might be a bit controversial but I actually appreciated him accepting that offer with Onyx and Rhodonite to transfer Kisa if she couldn’t get an individual award. The way he had that much faith in Kisa’s talent as an actor really impressed me, I’ve played a few otome games before which I had not-so great opinions on, and one of them was always how they always downplay the main character and her skills to fit her into a stereotypical female role, it always just stood out to me how the main character never seemed to be portrayed as talented or strong (I’m sure there’s better otomes out there, I was probably just unlucky) so seeing Neji put so much faith in Kisa because he believes so much in her talent really made me like him, even if it’s under the guise of Kisa being male.

I also…just found him kind of entertaining in general 😅 him being relatively unpredictable compared to other characters just made me a lot more curious to what his interactions would be like, so I end up choosing him a lot more over other characters. I think they’re defenitely going to have to play their cards right for his route though, I’d probably still enjoy his character because of his voice acting and entertainment value but if they don’t resolve his fear of women well later on Sou will probably rise higher than him for my favourite character lol.

I defenitely like Fumi too. I really like his design with the more feminine look too plus the piercings. I still haven’t seen too much of him though so I’ll trust you and keep him for one of the last routes I do. My plan was to start and end with characters I liked the most while keeping the ones I didn’t like so much in the middle, which for me would be Kai and Suzu in the middle. I actually like every character so far, they just happen to be my two least favourites. I’ve played 2-3 events of their routes and both had a big emphasis on Kisa’s Jeanne-ness so far (Suzu ‘I can’t kiss you you look too much like a girl’ and Kai ‘your hands are so small’) which just isn’t my style which you might’ve guessed by the original post lmao. Defenitely still characters I like though, Suzu’s determination is really admirable and Kai’s tendency to say absolutely nothing and also disappear out of nowhere was pretty relatable lol. I also really liked Kai’s talk with Kisa when she was struggling to play Mukai since she thought she was too feminine for the role, when he told her that she doesn’t need to try and be more masculine to play him because she is already suited for the role enough as she is, that really stood out to me and made me like him a lot.

I haven’t really seen that much of Mitsuki to form an opinion on him, since he’s been pretty quiet so far and the 2 events of his I’ve played so far didn’t really tell me too much about him apart from his mother. Definitely still interested in him though, and I defenitely wanna lean into the transmasc vibes lol.

Originally my plan was to play through the routes in the order Neji, Sou, Kai, Suzu, Fumi, Mitsuki but I did read the link you added, it was very helpful! Im gonna keep Neji and Sou where they are but I’m defenitely a big fan of the CGs and a little less concerned about the lore (although I still like it) and since Sou is my second I’m gonna swap those two around so I can have the Sou-Suzu synergy and also delay Kai’s CGs more. I’ll also take your advice with Fumi last and swap him and Mitsuki around so now it’ll be Neji, Sou, Suzu, Kai, Mitsuki, Fumi! I also realised reading the link that my chronic rhythm game addiction has come in clutch with the SS scores and I’m accidentally on my way to the bad end so thank you for the warning😅.. I’ll probably squeeze the bad end in somewhere between Suzu and Kai so it’s not my first impression and I also don’t end on a bad ending. Defenitely enjoying the whole game so far so I’ll probably be commenting on whatever other things stand out to me as I play. Thanks for the advice though! I really appreciate it

Why is this woman targeted otome game making me feel seen in a way no overtly transmasc media ever has (Jack Jeanne on Switch)

For context the MC (Kisa Tachibana) is a girl crossdressing as a boy to go to an all boys drama school called Univeil, since it’s all boys some of them play girls for the plays, the ones who play boys are called Jacks and the ones who play girls are called Jeannes

I was guessing since it was a female protag they would make her a Jeanne for the whole game as not to alienate their audience but for her second performance she’s given a male role as a Jack, she struggles with the role at first and has some lines that resonated HARD with me when looking at them through a transmasc perspective:

I’m sure I don’t need to explain much how a transmasc could relate to this, but it was such a nice surprise to have this nuance in a game I really wasn’t expecting to touch on gender this much; I’m not an avid otome game player so maybe I went into it with a lot of bias as I though it would be targeted towards a straight female audience but it was really nice to see them explore Kisa’s gender expression like this. There are more examples I could talk about with the gender commentary but I don’t want to spoil it too much. If you’re interested in the game I should also mention half the guys look like girls it’s literal transmasc bisexual heaven

Overall I’m really enjoying this game so far, I know the community for it is kind of small but if any other Jack Jeanne fans are here I’d love to hear some more opinions too. I’m only up to around the end of the summer holidays/hotel training camp and when they’re moving into the fall performance practice, so I’d appreciate if you could avoid spoilers past then.

[reignpage]

Lying To Himself

Content: in which toji is left alone and how he deals with your temporary absence

You have to leave for two weeks, something about a mission in another city. Your boyfriend, Toji, swears it'll be okay, even insists that time will pass by in a blink of an eye. 

“‘m not a fucking child, ma. I’ll be fine. Just take care, yeah?”

And so, you peck him on his lips and wave goodbye before you get in the car. Then you’re disappearing in the distance. Toji shrugs, going back in feeling pretty excited to have the house to himself for two weeks — this has never happened before. As he sits on the couch, bottle of beer in one hand and tv remote on the other, he thinks about all the things he can do now.

The toilet seat can stay up, the bins will be full for longer, same goes for the dirty dishes in the sink, and he can watch whatever he wants; no more of those sappy romcoms with predictable plots and cheesy lines. 

“’s gonna be fun,” he mutters, a growing grin on his face. 

A couple days pass in relative silence, he stays out late, sleeps till noon and eats all the junk you’ve banned from the house. Toji cooks all the steak he wants and leaves the beer bottles to collect dust on the coffee table. And he accepts every invitation from his buddies to go out for drinks, watch basketball at the bar, and plays a couple games too.

He stays up all night, on the evenings he's not getting stupid drunk, playing videogames -- the violent ones you cringe at. During the day, he walks around the place in just his boxers, sometimes not even that, and it's liberating. All a man needs is to be free to be balls naked in their own kitchen.

"You're not missing her at all?" Shiu asks, smoke blowing in his face as they stand in the back alley, leaning against the wall of the bar.

Toji snorts. "What am I? Five years old? I can last a couple weeks without being sappy."

His friend gives him a look, half amused, half disbelieving and a hundred percent smug. None of them miss the death grip he has on his phone, the way his knee is bouncing, and how he isn't even looking at the hot chicks that sway their asses as they walk by.

It’s been great. Really fucking great. 

You haven’t been texting much. Sure, you check in here and there, letting him know you’re alright, you’re safe, and making sure he’s watered your plants. However, there are rarely any opportunities for phone calls longer than five minutes, no FaceTime either, and sometimes he goes to sleep without a ‘goodnight’ from you. 

It’s fine. 

At least, he can sleep at whatever time he wants without you whining about needing cuddles.

More days pass just like that. 

And now he’s rarely leaving the house, finding his drunk friends boring, obnoxiously loud. It’s like he's suddenly realised they’re kinda fucking stupid. He starts to get sick of all the steak and fried chicken and takeaway, and instead he’ll text you for the recipe of your lasagne or that smoothie you make him in the mornings that’s always greener than the last. 

His feet tap on the floor when you don’t reply straight away. And when his phone lights up, he practically dives for it and grips it tight in his palm, screen threatening to crack when it’s not from you. 

“God fucking dammit, Shiu. Don’t fucking talk to me if it’s not important.”

The movies he’s been dying to watch are pretty shit. There’s no depth, no proper pacing, and the dialogue’s cheesy as fuck. Usually, you’d throw popcorn at the screen and complain about all those things, but he finds that he has to mutter them to himself for white noise. Even smirks when he thinks he got it exactly right, guessing what you’d say as if you’re yapping right in his ear. 

“She’d totally find that shit stupid. And that blood looks fake as fuck. What was the fucking budget for this shit?”

Most of the phone calls on his history log are from him, more reds than greens. What the fuck have they got you doing over there anyways? 

When you do reply to his ‘g’night’ and ‘hey, sleep well?’, he’ll have a go at you for taking so damn long. It’s just fucking ridiculous that you’re clearly sleeping well when he has to hit the gym and tire himself out to even get an hour of shut eye nowadays. Sometimes, he can’t even get any and he just paces the length of the living room waiting for a notification from you to pop up. 

“Fucking come on! Y'r phone better be dead or something.”

Toji hates having dinner on the table; the seat opposite him is empty, the placemat bare and he feels a freaky fucking soreness in his chest. When that happens, he never finishes his dinner. Must be a symptom of early heart disease. Gotta talk to the doctors about that. 

Instead, he eats on the sofa or in his car.

Eventually, you find time to speak to him for an hour, recounting all the crazy things you’ve seen and had to do. He doesn’t interrupt, he just grunts here and there, not even really listening but he urges you to keep talking when there’s a pause, like you���re unsure if you’re talking too much. And when you try to turn the conversation on him, asking about his day, he gives one word answers and then throws you another question. 

“Yeah?” He grunts. “What else? Speak up, ma. Wanna hear ya. D’ya go to that shop? Yeah? Y’ buy anything? Send me a picture.”

He gets two nights of decent sleep after that.

But then…

The guys at work know better than to open their fat mouths around him when he turns up with an extra wrinkle and a ticking in his jaw. Toji is somehow even more sadistic and violent and eager for blood. Even finally accepts their invitation to go out for drinks and drowns himself in the extra strong shit. Assuming he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, they don’t question his sour mood. 

But what they don’t know is that you texted, just a day before you’re set to come back, to let him know you’re staying another week. 

Fucking texted. 

Didn’t even get to hear it from your own voice. 

He buries himself in more work and stays at the gym for even longer, pushing his body so far, his mind quiets down and he don’t gotta think about the fact that he’s started sleeping on your side of the bed, that the house is losing your scent, and that divot on the couch where you always sat has flattened out. 

Everyone knows he’s losing his mind. They can tell by the dark circles under his eyes and the fact that he’s started snapping at women who are either flirting or just doing their jobs. And sometimes they even have to block his view of couples practising PDA. That’s the closest to hell they ever want to get around Toji. Suddenly, everyone’s hoping you throw the guy a bone and send a nude or something. Literally anything to rein him back in.

The day comes, though, when you’re finally returning home. 

“Y’ sure? Not gonna flake again? Be fucking sure, ma. Alright, get back safe.”

Toji throws all the rubbish out, washes the dishes and dries them, double checks that the toilet seat is down, and he’s followed your recipe for beef stew to the letter — it’s cooking in the oven, and it looks fucking great. Even exfoliated in the shower like you’ve been asking him to, almost took off an entire layer of skin. He doesn’t want to admit he feels pretty fucking fresh. 

The door handle rattles. 

He sits up. And then stands. Walks over to the front door, arms crossing and then uncrossing. 

You’re here. 

“Hey, Toji—“

Your greeting is smothered in his chest as he threatens to suffocate you with the hardest bear hug in the whole world. And though he’d never hurt you, if you weren’t a sorcerer, you’d have been in big trouble. 

“Y’ hungry? Or y’ wanna shower first?”

His hands are all over you, lifting your chin to search your face for any scratches, even squishes your cheeks to be sure, and he’s patting you down for bruises or just to make sure all your limbs are intact. There’s a frown on his lips and it’s pretty darn cute. 

“Aw, Toji, baby. Did you miss me?”

“No.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re not a child, blah blah blah.”

Walking past him to take your shoes off, hang your coat and roll your suitcase to the side, you’re inhaling the air and moaning about the delicious food in the oven. Oh, God. You’ve been craving homemade food for so long now. You might actually die if you don’t eat. 

“Come here.” Your eyes dart to him, still standing by the doorway, fists clenching and unclenching. Toji looks furious. You look closer. No, he looks…embarrassed? “Said come here, ma.”

“Why?” You ask, head titling in curiosity and slight suspicion. 

He grunts. “What? I gotta spell it out for ya?”

Laughing, you tap your foot on the ground and retort back, “Yeah, you might because you need to have a good reason from keeping me from both a good shower and a warm meal.”

Toji rolls his eyes and stalks over to you, yanking you back to his chest so he can wrap his arms around you and keep you still. It’s much softer than before, but you feel the same sense of passion, something that verges on desperation.

It’s almost like…

No. 

It can’t be. 

Oh, but when you feel his face bury itself in your neck and you hear that long inhale, followed by a deep groan vibrating through his chest, you’re absolutely sure. 

Toji missed you. 

An overwhelming feeling of love fills you, so does a sense of victory, and you just hug him back, inhaling deeply too. He smells like home, like reluctant cuddles, pats on the ass, and early morning sex. You thought you’d have the most trouble in the two weeks, which turned into three, but as it turns out, he didn’t fare much better. 

Though he’d never admit it with his own mouth, his body betrays him.

Toji doesn’t let you get very far without a hand on you somehow, whether that’s a hand on your thigh as you eat dinner side by side, instead of across from each other, or you sitting on his lap as you watch the movie you want to watch. He even waits on the toilet lid as you shower, though that only lasts a couple minutes before he’s stripping and joining you. 

“Y’r not washing y’r hair right,” he tuts. 

Getting into bed is even worse because he’s practically lying on top of you the whole night, still sniffing your neck, and with his hands exploring your body. Not really in a sexual way, which is odd for him, but as if he just wants to feel you. He wants to feel your warmth, your softness, and reassure himself you’re home. 

Soon, he’s out cold and you mumble a goodnight against his forehead.

He wakes up feeling completely refreshed, like a newborn, stretching and grinning about getting ready with the day, and frowns when you’re still fast asleep. Part of him wants to make sure you’re getting your rest, but that part doesn’t win for very long and the much bigger part is shaking you awake.

“Come on, ma. Fucking bored here. Wake up, yeah? Let’s get some breakfast. Wanna talk to ya.” 

And when you do wake up, grumbling at how loud he’s being, he ignores the glares you’re giving and the swatting of his hands. Toji gives you a rare, wide, toothy smile and he says, 

“There’s my gorgeous girl. Good morning, baby.”

Yeah, this man totally missed you. 

[velvetydream]

꒰ :🥀 [ Till death do us part ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

Summary : What if Alastors dear little darling wife, his partner in crime, the person he thought he'd never see again, turns up with Mimzy on the day of the visit of the big boss of hell.

Pairing : Alastor x fem! Reader

Word count : 1899 Words

Genre : Fluff , Drama , Angst

Warnings ➵ Mentions of death, you're shorter than

Vaggie, possessive Alastor, swearing

Prequel -> > The radio star lost <

a/n : I love this trope ngl, tried to not make him to much out of character, hope it worked.. T T

Also I'm rather new to Hazbin Hotel, so I say sorry if anythings seems wrong or out of character! ><

┌───────────────────────── ·  ·  ·  · ♡

The whole hotel was a bit chaotic right now, Lucifer himself would be visiting in just a bit and Charlie wanted everything to be perfect. Colorful decorations were hanging everywhere, a banner was hung up for welcoming the king of hell, how does one even welcome the king of hell into their hotel? Charlie was probably the most stressed of all, but Vaggie did her best to calm her nervous wreck of a girlfriend down.

The moment Lucifer stepped into the hotel was meant to make everything go down, Alastor and his Ego had somehow always a snarky remark against Lucifer. Charlie tried her best to keep them apart, introducing her other friends, before she announced how she would be needing his help. And again the banter between the king of hell and the radio demon started all over again. As if throwing insults at each other before wasn't enough already, now they were pulling at Charlie left and right, like two babies fighting over a toy.

But all things come to an end, which Charlie was thankful for right now, as Mimzy, apparently a friend of Alastor, which was interesting to know he even had any, came barging in with a grand entrance. As the woman now settles down at the bar, talking with the others, Alastor and Charlie took Lucifer on a walk around, Husker disappearing for a second too, but soon joining them at the bar again, a scowl on his face, but something else, undescribable behind his eyes.

A bang was heard through the whole hotel as the entrance door was slammed open and heard could be an angry voice. "MIMZY! You little bitch!" A demon, a slight bit shorter than Vaggie probably, walked in. A scowl evident on the face, as her eyes scan over the place, before falling on the woman she was looking for. "How dare you leave me in the shit like that?! You've got it coming if those sharks don't kill you, I certainly will!" Ignoring the questioning looks of Angel and Husker, you stomp over to the blonde, ready to yank at her hair, when suddenly a bit of debris was thrown through the window and landed beside you, barely missing you by a hair. "The fuck?" The demon's head craned around, looking out the window and there they were, those fuckers Mimzy was in debt to.

You didn't really have time to react much, as three people stormed into the entrance hall, all you could catch was a glimpse of red before the person ran outside, screams of the sharks could be heard, at least those were finally taken care of.

The loan sharks were gone and fought off quickly by that person, his voice now directed to Mimzy, your own eyes on her yourself with a scowl. She and that red demon apparently knew each other quite well, as Mimzy was walking to the door, you finally really looked at the demon. He had short red and black hair, ears sat atop his head, despite scowling Mimzy he was smiling, though a sinister smile it seems. His attire was almost completely red too, a cane was clutched in his hands, as he watched Mimzy walk off, you could only make out a small part of his face. The man seemed so familiar as if you had known him for a long time.. Your heart was running a mile right now, it was getting hard to breathe, and then...

"Thank you Alastor, really.." The long-haired blonde spoke up.. That name, it couldn't be right? Mimzy would've told you, she knew him, she would've definitely told you.. right? You must be mistaken right now.. Your eyes were fixated on the man called Alastor, the voices and sounds around you were all a mush, drowned out as your brain was going all around. Now that you could see his face, he definitely had some resemblance to him.. to your late husband, who had died before you. You were his assistant, his partner in crime, when the news hit you that he was shot, it broke your heart, but still, you continued on alone, killing. That's probably what also got you to hell, well sooner than later you were figured out and soon arrived here in hell.

"Yo smiles, this girly is gawking at you for minutes now." Slowly voices were coming back to you, the white spider beside you talked, pointing his thumb at you, the red-haired now meeting your eyes, his ears straightening and standing alert like the ones of a deer caught in headlight. What irony if he was your Alastor, the irony of dooming him with deer-like features, after getting shot assumed for a deer while hiding one of the many bodies. That day you decided to let him go alone, oh if you just hadn't done that, maybe you both would be alive or you would've at least arrived together in hell.

Alastor was taking slow steps to you, the smile on his face looking strained, yet it never disappeared, his hand was reaching out for you but stopped. Eyes moving over your form, taking in everything. Resemblance to his wife evident, but.. how did he never notice you before? Had he ever met you, walked past, maybe even taken a second glance but dismissed this feeling he has right now.

Swiftly he grabs your wrist, dragging you behind him, ignoring the calls of his name of the other residents, his mind plagued by one only thought, more like one only person.. you.

Stumbling behind him, his grip rather firm on your wrist, yet it felt comforting as if you knew he would never hurt you. Not in your lifetime and also not now in your afterlife. Eyes watching the back of his head, you were wondering what expression his face harbors right now. Was he happy? Was he confused? Disappointed? Maybe he knew where you were all this time but didn't want to meet you. No, he wasn't like this. He may have been distant sometimes while alive, but in the end, he was always a darling to you. Taking care of you, just as he vowed on your wedding day. A distant memory, yet one of the most beautiful ones you have.

A door was opened and as you were pulled inside, the door closed. Steps echoed through the room, you noticed a forest on the other side of the room, but that didn't rather faze you, eyes on him again.. and him only. "Al-" You were interrupted by laughter, the man before you was hugging himself, his arms around him, yet you still weren't able to see his face. "D-Do you know.. How often have I thought about you?!" His voice was loud, a static sound like from a radio accompanied it. One of his hands was tearing at his hair now. "That bitch never told me... I'll make sure to kill her for that.. She kept you from me.." The laughter got even louder, as if the man before you was going insane.

This behavior was nothing new to you, he used to be like this, high on adrenalin when another murder was successful.. Or when he was close to being figured out by the police and detectives, yet he always slipped away right through their incapable fingers.

"I always wondered what happened to you, if you grew old with someone new.." If you were able to see his face right now, you would be able to see the sinister yet possessive smile on his face, his eyes darting around the room.

This all ended in a second when he felt a soft hand on his. He knew this hand, he also knew the person it belonged to like the front of his pocket. "I would never, I carried on alone in your memories, yet I was never as skilled as you darling, so sooner than later they connected all the dots to me." A low chuckle could be heard again, the static radio sound calmed down again too. The tall man slowly turned around now, his hand engulfing your own, his fingers softly running over your own, before he linked them together. How he had missed this feeling, despite having a distaste for people touching him, you were different. Your touch felt warm, like the summer sun kissing his skin, it felt comforting.

"I've missed you mon amour.." His voice was soft, probably the softest it had ever been since he had arrived in hell. His hand guides yours up to his lips, as he closes his eyes and presses a soft kiss to the back of your hand, a smile, now softer, on his lips. He was never one for kissing you on the lips, he definitely favored kissing your hand, like the gentleman he has always been. "I figured with how you were talking seconds ago my dear.." A soft smile was creeping up onto your lips too, mirroring his own one. Red eyes open again, your hand still pressed to his face, but now he was rather holding your hand to his cheek. "Oh how I wished I could've stayed with you my darling, we would've been so successful.." Giggling at his words, with him at your side, you probably would have been going for a long time. "But who says we can't be successful now?" A smirk etched its way onto your husband's face, oh how he loved your daring little mind, always thirsting for blood. With you by his side again now, he would definitely be able to get everything done that he wanted.

"Shall we go back? I want to meet your friends properly." Wanting to pull away your hand, he softly gives you a tug, your head landing on his chest now. Wide eyes look the the side now, as you weren't really able to move, his arms having snaked around you and his chin resting on your head. This was unusual much physical contact, but figured that you hadn't seen each other for multiple decades he yearned for your touch just a slight bit. Your arms lying around him, embracing the hug. "Let's just stay here a few minutes more, we got enough time to introduce you to everyone down there but for now.. let me have you for myself." Nodding softly, your head rests on his chest, as your eyes close and you simply enjoy the presence of your dearly beloved husband.

"What do you mean 'married to smiles'?!" Angel, as he was introduced to you, shouted from his place on the couch now, staring at you flabbergasted. "We've been married for quite a few years before his death." Smiling you answered his question. Alastor didn't like all the attention you were getting, but sooner than later he would have you all to himself again when you two go back to his cozy hotel room or the radio tower. "So you two fu-" Angel wasn't even able to finish his question before he shut himself up as he noticed the look on Alastors face. This time he would've been dead for sure if he finished that question.

Overall everyone invited you happily into their little hotel family, it was amazing. Charlie immediately took a liking to you and if you're being honest she quickly was viewed by you like a daughter.

[rafesbabyg1rl]

Private Session

Part one, Part Two , Part Three

Summary: Rafe likes to watch reader while she works as a stripper. He asks for a private session in which he'll pay a large amount for her time. Rafe takes her home and uses her however he pleases.

Pairings: Stripper!Reader X obsessive!Rafe

Warnings: Rafe is obsessive of reader. Reader is a stripper. Mention of drugs (Rafe does coke), Rafe's an ass, choking, p in v, unprotected sex, bondage, language, slight degradation, slight praise, oral (both m and f receiving), fingering. SMUT SMUT SMUT!

Word Count: 5.9k

Author Note: Hey babes! I got this idea from this GIF , like just imagine he's sitting in the strip club throwing dollar bills at you like that. UGH I need him so bad. But anyways, this fic is NOT fully proofread for errors, and I was a little fried while writing this and it's literally almost 3 am right now, but I wanted to get this posted. If you see any errors please feel free to correct me kindly! Thanks!

I promise I will work on The Watcher; I just got a bit stuck. Thank you guys for reading, I hope you enjoy! I love you all and stay freaky!

Credits: GIF from this post

You don’t hate your job, but it’s definitely not the most respected profession out there. You can’t really hate the one thing that makes you money, pretty damn good money too. What can you say, you’re good at your job. You do however hate the assholes who come in nearly every night just to get on your nerves, well more like asshole. 

Rafe Cameron loves to come in and watch you. He’ll stare for hours, just admiring you. Sometimes he’s with a few other guys from figure eight, but usually comes in alone. Honestly it’s when he comes in alone that he’s really bad. Since he can direct all his focus on you shamelessly. Rafe’s especially awnry when Barry, your boss, comes to hang out with him. Your boss is normally quite fair when it comes to his dancers; always making sure they’re not being mistreated by customers. But Rafe? Rafe has a free pass to do whatever the hell he wants to whoever. And unluckily for you, you seem to be the only one of Barry’s girls that he’s interested in. He never does so much as look at any of the other dancers when you’re around, he only cares about you. You thought it was flattering at first, but now it’s just weird.

When you see him come in tonight you sigh, still keeping up your performance on stage. God, it’s definitely going to be a long night. You’ve already had enough crap for the day, now for Rafe Cameron to waltz into the club when you’re only halfway through your shift, this is just great. God must really have it out for you.

Rafe hadn’t known you were working tonight, so he’s pleasantly surprised when he sees you on your stage as he walks to the back room to find Barry. Once he disappears into the back room with Barry, you forget about him and continue on with your routine per usual. 

A while later, you see Rafe finally emerging from the back room, making his way back through the crowd of horny, drunk men and topless women. You see him shove a small bag into his pocket as he walks into view. His demeanor is different now; even cockier than before, if that’s possible. And his eyes are bloodshot, pupils extremely dilated. 

Just keep walking. You think to yourself as you collect bills from your stage floor. Just keep walking.

But of course, Rafe stops near the front end of your stage, taking a seat. He gets comfortable, slouching back in his chair, his legs spread wide and his arms crossed over his chest as he stares up at you.

You try not to let your annoyance show as you continue dancing. Rafe watches you silently; occasionally tossing $1’s and $5’s onto the stage; only sticking to the small bills for now. Not because he’s cheap, but because he likes to take his time; build it up over time. He only throws a few at a time, so he can watch you bend over and pick up the cash however many times he wants.

You lean down to pick up the newest bills he just tossed down for you. You look at him, flashing him a flirty smile as you do with all paying customers. He shoves his wallet back into his jeans and looks up, making eye contact with you. He flashes a smirk that’s almost…charming? But, you know better than to fall for that. No matter how pretty he is, you know better.

A bit later, you take a short break from the pole to make your rounds around the club and see if you have any customers interested in your services. You hate it when it’s busy. Well, stripper you loves it when it’s busy because it means more money. But you, you hate the loud crowds of drunken perverts and frat boys; you felt so exposed. Which, you should because you’re hardly wearing anything. But, you just feel too vulnerable. You liked the calmer nights when the crowd was smaller; you feel more in control that way. And fuck is it packed tonight. You can barely move through the people, and you can hardly hear anything besides the loud music and obnoxious cat calls. This is why you don’t usually work on saturday nights; you’re just doing one of the other girls a favor and covering her shift. 

Accidentally, you bump your shoulder into somebody while on your way back to the stage. You don’t think anything of it and just keep walking until you feel a hand on your wrist. Immediately you turn back, pulling your wrist away. You’re not surprised to find that it was Rafe you had bumped into you. 

“Hey, y’think I can get a private show?” He asks, his emotions unclear as he steps closer so he can hear you. 

“Sorry sir, no rooms are available.” You say with a sensual laugh and a bright smile, no matter how badly you want to just roll your eyes and walk away. But you can’t. You must remain professional. Rafe bites his lip, taking yet another step closer. He leans in to whisper into your ear. 

“That’s not what I mean.” He keeps his mouth next to your ear.” You can hear his breathing as you think of a response. 

“Can’t, sorry. I don’t do that, I’m not a fucking hooker.” You bite back, beginning to walk away again.

But Rafe quickly retorts, “doesn’t matter, both mean you’re just a fucking slut. Fuckin’ whore.” He spits. He tries to grab your wrist again and fails, grabbing your hand instead. He lets out a jagged breath, tugging you closer. “Come on. I’ll give you one thousand for two hours.” You’re shocked at his generosity, but like you said, you’re not a hooker. You don’t sell that part of you. Especially not to this asshole. 

You don’t get the chance to respond before Barry is walking over to the two of you. “There a problem?” You sigh a breath of relief when Rafe drops your hand. But when you look at Barry, you realize he’s not asking you.

“Yeah, this fuckin’ bitch don’t know how to listen.” Rafe gestures to you.

Barry nods, taking in Rafe’s words. He steps over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder and leading you a few steps away to talk to you. “What's he want?” Your boss asks, trying to gauge the situation. It doesn’t help that he’s also been doing some lines in the back room.

“He wants to take me home. I told him I’m not a hooker.” You explain, hoping he’ll side with you.

“Well maybe for tonight you are. You know why that is, sweetheart?”

You look down as you speak. “‘Cause we listen to what Mr. Cameron says.” You recite his rule. 

“One night, just go with him. I bet he’ll pay big.” Barry pleads, not really giving you much option. 

You argue, “Yeah, and you’re just gonna take 50%.” 

“How ‘bout this. You listenin’?” You nod, looking up at him as he speaks. “You do this, you get to keep 75%.”

You think for a moment before responding. “Seventy-five percent of all my earnings.” You demand, causing Barry to chuckle. 

Barry knows you’re stubborn, and he knows he can’t legally force you to go with Rafe. So hesitantly, he gives in and accepts your deal. “Fine, fine ‘aight, seventy-five percent of everything you make.” 

You reach out to shake his hand. He holds onto it for a moment longer than is necessary, looking into your eyes, smiling a grimy smile; his gold tooth shining as the low club lighting hits it just right. “Now go get to fuckin’”, he laughs, letting go of your hand. You roll your eyes and as you turn your back to him he gives you a slight nudge back towards Rafe’s direction. 

Re-approaching Rafe, you compose yourself. “One thousand for one hour.” You negotiate, your expression making it clear that you won’t be taking no for an answer. You know he has the money, and he’s clearly willing to spend it on you.

Rafe takes his bottom lip in between his teeth, attempting to contain his amused smile. “That wasn’t the deal.” He takes a step towards you. Your demanding expression doesn’t falter as you continue to stare at him silently. He huffs out a chuckle, nodding his head and licking his bottom lip. “Okay, fine. One thousand for one hour of your time. But, anything that goes over an hour is free. And trust me, you’re gonna be begging for more.” 

“Right, sure I will.” You say sarcastically.

Rafe ignores your words. “So do we have a deal?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Deal.”

Rafe wastes no time in taking your hand, leading you to the back room. You pass by the private rooms, seeing that one had opened up. You stop walking, making Rafe look back at you with a confused expression, waiting for your reason.

“There’s a room open…” You speak, looking over at the open door.

“I already told you, not here. That’s not what I’m paying for.” Rafe turns, pulling you behind him. He leads you into the back room, waiting for you to get your stuff from your locker. You slip some clothes over your lingerie, not wanting to go outside nearly naked. After grabbing your bag, you follow Rafe out the back door and to his truck. 

His demeanor seems to be more neutral now, rather than being plain mean. Nervously on the drive over to figure eight, you spew out words. “I don’t usually do this.” You say, looking over at Rafe. Rafe doesn’t bother looking at you, he just stares straight out at the road in front of him. You can tell he doesn’t believe you. “Really. I never go home with random guys like this. I never even have se–”. You cut yourself off, already having spilt too much. You curse yourself. 

When you’re working, you can keep a strong, dominant attitude and be more confident because it’s all just a part of your character. You can be anyone on stage, you don’t have to be yourself. But as soon as you’re outside of the club, you’re just an anxious fucking mess. Which probably has to do with why you hardly have a sex life. 

Rafe looks over to you, occasionally glancing back out at the road. His expression almost makes it seem like he’s actually listening to you; like he cares. You shake that thought out of your head and try to remind yourself that he doesn’t care about what you’re saying, he’s just paying you for sex. 

“Wait, so you’re saying that you’re a stripper and a virgin?” He asks, his eyes narrow with confusion, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

You laugh. “No! I never said I was a virgin.” You explain.

Rafe smiles when he hears you laugh, not being able to keep his eyes off of your beautiful smile. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard you laugh before. A real laugh, not the fake, flirty ones you flash to the guys at the club while working. It’s one of the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard.

“So, what then?” He genuinely asks. You’re shocked with the amount of effort he seems to be putting into this conversation, you never took him for much of a talker. 

“I don’t know…I just don’t get many chances I guess.” You say honestly, unsure why you’re sharing this with him of all people. You hate him.

“Bullshit.” Adds Rafe. “You’re a stripper.”

“Okay yeah, I’m a stripper, but that’s ‘cause I need the money. I don’t go home with the guys from the club, well…usually.” You pause for a moment. “...that’s just my job. Outside of the club I get to be myself…and I don’t know, it’s just different.”

“You’re afraid people won’t like who you really are?” His words take you by surprise, making your words get stuck in your throat.

You eventually manage to choke out a response. “Yeah, I…I guess so.” Rafe just nods. Not wanting to admit it, but he gets what you mean. You both sit in a comfortable silence the rest of the way to his place.

Arriving at Tanneyhill, Rafe parks the truck in his driveway and he quickly hops out, rounding the front of the truck and opening your door, allowing you to step out. He leads you up to the front door, grabbing his keys from his pocket and unlocking it, following you inside before shutting the door behind you two. 

You take a few steps down the hall, observing the room around you. Now that you’re seeing his home, you wish you tried to get even more money out of him. “C’mon”, he mumbles from behind you. Rafe grabs your duffel bag from you and walks in front of you, leading you upstairs to his bedroom. He sets the bag on a small couch in his room, turning around to look at you. He looks you up and down, admiring your body. His skin crawls with anticipation of what’s to come. He’s finally gonna get to do all the things he’s been dying to do to you since the first time he saw you at the club.

Rafe moves to sit on the bed, patting his lap without saying another word. You know what he wants. Slowly you make your way over to him, straddling his lap so that you’re facing him; your knees on the bed on either side of his legs. For a brief moment, you both stare at each other, getting momentarily lost in one another’s eyes. 

Carefully he places his hand on your face, cupping your jaw. His movements are slow and calculated as he leans in, enveloping your lips with his own. The kiss is slow and tender, everything you weren’t expecting. 

You pull back just enough to look over at the clock on his nightstand, noting the time in your head. You breathlessly mutter to him, “your hour starts now.” You can see him staring at your lips and without warning he leans in, kissing you. This time, he’s not being so gentle. 

Things escalate quickly; clearly he doesn’t want to waste any time with you. Rafe stands up, holding you while not breaking the kiss, he turns the two of you around and lays you on your back, crawling over you. His lips leave yours as he starts to kiss and suck at your neck, eventually finding your ear. Rafe takes your ear between his teeth, gently nipping at it. The feeling of his teeth grazing your skin sends a chill throughout your body. 

He gently whispers, “I’m gonna do what I want, but you just tell me if it’s too much, alright? Let me know if you want me to stop.” He presses a soft kiss to your ear as you nod.

“Mhm.” You mumble, acknowledging his words.

“No.” He shakes his head, “Say it.”

You oblige, looking at him as you speak. “I’ll tell you to stop if I need to.”

Rafe smirks. “Good girl.” He wastes no time before his lips come crashing onto yours again; somehow even more passionately than the last. 

A soft moan escapes your lips, only making him get even rougher. He kisses you sloppily, his tongue making sure to explore every bit of your mouth. He hovers over you, one hand pressing into the mattress beside your head, holding himself up. And with his free hand, he begins to slide off your shirt. 

You try to help him get you out of your shirt by maneuvering yourself around as best you can underneath him. Once your shirt is off, very little is left to the imagination in your work top, which is just a very lacy piece of lingerie. His hand then works at the button on your shorts, once he’s got that undone he starts tugging them off of you, tossing it to his floor. Once you’re in your little work ‘outfit’, he takes a moment to admire you up close. 

He’s seen you in skimpy little things like this before, he needs to see the rest of you; all of you. He starts to try and get you out of your lingerie, but there’s too many straps and clips, he can’t get you out of it quick enough. He starts to get frustrated, pausing your kiss as he leans back trying to get a good look at what he’s working with. Rafe’s impatience gets to him and he mumbles a quick “fuck this” just before ripping the thin fabric right off of you. 

You let out an involuntary gasp, causing him to look at your face which has an annoyed expression. This was one of your new outfits for work and he just ruined it. 

He leans in and presses a soft, wet kiss to your slightly parted lips. “Calm down, I’ll pay for it.” You don’t get a change to respond before he’s pulling the damaged fabric off of you, tossing it onto the floor as well. “Fuuckk, baby.” He mutters, running his free hand down your bare skin, tracing the shape of you as he admires your bare body. “Oh my god,” he whispers, almost inaudibly. “So fucking beautiful.” His mouth finds your chest, immediately latching onto one of your nipples; he sucks at it until he eventually pulls off to give attention to your other breast. His eyes are trained up on you, watching as your head tilts back in pleasure. 

Rafe pulls his mouth off with a pop! He stands up from the bed, walking over to his dresser. He opens up the top drawer, taking something out and coming back to you. You see a bundle of rope in his hands, your eyes widen in surprise. You hadn’t expected to be into all that. He really had this planned out. Your excitement builds; the wetness between your legs growing. Rafe sees the thoughts going on in your head.

He tries to reassure you, “relax, it’s fine, m’gonna take real good care of you baby.” He instructs you to scoot up towards the headboard of his bed. Quickly and skillfully, he ties your wrists to the bed, making sure it’s not tight enough to cause pain and not loose enough for you to slip out. You’re not sure how you feel about being tied up and against your will, it definitely leaves you very vulnerable; very out of control. However, for some reason you feel like you can almost trust him. Because so far, since leaving the club, he’s been very tentative and reassuring, even gentle at times. Which is not at all what you had expected from Rafe Cameron. 

Soon, his mouth is on you, his tongue lapping up your arousal. You struggle against your restraints, feeling like you need to grip onto something. Your hips try to run from him, only causing him to grab ahold of your thighs, keeping you in place. 

“F-fuuck…” You whine.

Rafe mumbles against your cunt and you can feel the vibrations in your core. As his tongue fucks you ruthlessly, you find it hard to keep quiet, a sea of moans escaping from your lips.

“Feel good, hm? You like that?” You pout at the loss of his mouth on you, causing him to chuckle before resuming his actions. His tongue circles your clit, only stopping to suck on it. The heat is building in your lower stomach, almost getting unbearable.

“Ohhh…shitshitshitshitshit” You almost scream. “Fuck! Oh fuck Rafe. Please, please don’t…don’t stop.” Rafe pulls back, “told you you’d be begging.” Your hips buck up, chasing after his mouth, missing the feeling of his tongue. But ultimately, Rafe obeys, his mouth continuing its ministations on you. He adds a finger to the mix, slowly tracing up and down your entrance as he sucks at your clit. He slides his long digit inside of you without warning, thrusting it in and out, curling it up to hit the spongy spot deep inside you. “Fuck,” You cry. “I…fuck. G-gonna cum, Rafe!” Your wrists tug against the rope; hurting just a bit, making you whimper in pain. Though you’re distracted by the feeling of your orgasm creeping in. 

Rafe hears your cry and he can tell it’s different from your other moans. His head snaps up from between your legs, making you miss his warm, wet mouth on you. He continues his earlier actions, adding a second finger in you, trying to stretch you out as much as he can; to prepare you for him. Your legs wrap around his head as the barrier in your stomach finally breaks, letting your excruciatingly good orgasm wash over you.

He slowly works you down from your high, pulling his fingers out from you, making you squeeze around nothing, your body hating the absence of him. His tongue continues to lap up all your juices. Then he begins to kiss his way back up your body. When he meets your lips, he kisses you tenderly again, letting you taste yourself on his lips. While kissing you, his hands work on freeing your wrists. He sees the red marks they had left, feeling proud yet also feeling a bit bad for causing you pain. “You did so good…” He praises.

You tug his shirt up over his head and run your hands down his toned chest, still attempting to catch your breath from earlier. Then you work at his belt, tossing it aside and pulling off his pants, also tossing them aside. Now that he’s left in just his boxers, you sit up. You get Rafe to lay down where you had been. Using the same rope to tie his wrists to the bed; though you’re not too confident in your knot-tying abilities and you’re unsure if it’ll be able to contain him. 

“W-what are you doing?” He asks almost nervously. Rafe hadn’t been expecting for you to take charge of him, usually that doesn’t happen to him. He pulls against his restraints a bit, quickly finding out the pain that comes with. 

“Shh…relax, it’s fine.” You recite to him. He smirks, recognizing his own words.

“Fuckin’ brat.” He spits, trying to seem upset, although he really just thinks it’s the hottest fucking thing ever. 

You travel down his body, straddling his legs as you start to slowly pull his boxers off of him. Rafe’s hard cock springs out, shooting up into the air. You gasp at the sight. You can see why he’s always so cocky now, it’s because he’s got the means to back it up. 

Your hands find him, gently stroking his cock. Rafe’s head tips back, his eyes shutting in pleasure for a moment. Quickly, he’s watching you again, not wanting to miss the sight of this. Slowly, you put your mouth onto him. Rafe tries to remain in control by bucking his hips up off the bed, shoving his cock deep down your throat, making you gag in response. You pull off of him for a moment and he chuckles. Knowing he has a limited time with you, you don’t wait too long before sinking your mouth back down on him. As your confidence builds, so does your pace. 

“Shiiitt baby, feels so fucking good.” He groans. Already, you can feel his dick twitching in your mouth, causing him to whine. Big, tough Rafe Cameron whining underneath you, completely at your mercy. He doesn’t seem so threatening now that you’ve seen him like this. “W-wait, wait baby, wait.” He manages, his words just spilling out. He struggles against his restraints some more before continuing. “Not yet; I don’t wanna cum yet.” You understand, pulling your mouth off of him. You move to undo his restraints, his mouth finding your tits as you lean over him to untie the rope. 

The second he’s free, you’re already somehow on your back with him on top of you. Rafe leans over you and you press open-mouthed, wet kisses all across his chest as he does so. He grabs something from his nightstand and when he pulls back you can see the small, shiny wrapper in his hand. Smart, a condom. You hadn’t even thought of that, but it was probably a good idea.

You place your hands over his, taking the condom from him. As fast as you can, you open it and reach down between you two, rolling it onto his cock until it reaches the base. He leans back down on top of you, kissing your neck and jaw. He whispers, “can I?”

You respond jokingly, “that’s what you’re paying for, isn’t it?” Rafe just stares at you, his expression showing his annoyance and frustration with you. Before he asks you to ‘say it’, you add to your previous statement. “Yes, Rafe. Fuck me.”

Rafe doesn’t need any further permission as he lines himself up with your cunt. He wishes he could feel your wetness on his skin, but he knew wearing a condom was the smart thing. Slowly, he presses in. Only entering you about two inches, letting you adjust to him before adding a few more inches. Slowly; inch by inch, Rafe enters you, eventually bottoming out. Rafe stays still for a couple moments until you give him a small nod. He moves his hips slowly, rocking in and out of you at a comfortable pace. Your hands wrap around him, hooking underneath his biceps. Your palms grip onto his back, your nails only slightly digging into his skin. His pace begins to pick up, getting loud moans and whines to come from you. 

“Mmmnn…nnhhgghh f-fuuckk, Rafe!” You cry out, a tear rolling down your cheek. 

The sight of your tear only turns him on more, in a dark and twisted way. He uses his thumb to wipe away your warm, salty tear off of your cheek. 

Despite his gentle touch, Rafe is now drilling into you without regard for your poor cunt. Shamelessly fucking you with a condom on. He looks at the sticky, white mess leaking from your perfect cunt; creating a slick film that coats his entire cock. He reaches out to grab you by your hair, forcing your neck down so that you’re looking at where you and him connect, “See that? That’s all you baby.” 

When you’re greeted with the sight of his entire length buried deep inside of you, your eyes begin to roll back as your next orgasm approaches. Rafe clicks his tongue at you, pulling entirely out of you. After a few moments without him inside of you, you immediately start to pout. A whine escapes your lips, “Rafe…”, your hips buck up, as if trying to draw his attention back to your needy cunt. 

A small, cocky grin spreads across his face at the sight. His grip tightens in your hair as he begins to tug, directing your gaze right where he wants it, on him. “You gotta fuckin’ see this, baby.” Rafe says proudly, looking back down at your messy pussy. Quickly, he thrusts back into you with force and you watch as your cunt swallows him whole. “See that? See what you do for me?” Rafe speaks in a tone that sounds as though he’s praising you, but he knows that your body has no other option than to take him. “See how fuckin’ well you take me? This pussy was fuckin’ made for my cock.” 

Rafe groans, pre-cum now leaking into the condom as his pace becomes sporadic. Still going through the aftershocks of your most recent orgasm, your cunt continues to squeeze tightly around him.

“Holy f-fuck.” Rafe stutters, his fingers moving to your clit, rubbing it in circles. His movements are getting sloppy, arithmetic as he tries to draw another orgasm from you before he finishes. “God fucking damn.” Rafe’s head tips back, you lean up to kiss his neck, occasionally nipping at it, your moans being muffled by him.  

Your third orgasm approaches, your entire body trembling as you shriek. “Rafe! Fuck, fuck, I-fuck!” Your screams become muted when he kisses you, shutting you up. Rafe’s own orgasm starts to creep in, his thrusts getting harder for a moment before he stills inside of you. You can feel his cock twitch, followed by the feeling of his hot cum as it fills the condom. He slowly moves, easing you both back down from your highs. Eventually, he pulls out of you, rolling off to the side and laying on his back beside you. 

You work on catching your breath as you turn your head to look over at the time; you have about fifteen minutes left with him. You don’t know what he has in store for you now, he’s already succeeded in making you cum three times within forty-five minutes. While he takes a moment to rest, you decide to get on top of him. You pull off his condom, tying the end of it in a knot. Without giving him any kind of warning, you put your mouth back on him, sucking his warm, sticky seed off of his dick. One of his large hands shoots up to hold the back of your head, pushing your mouth all the way down on him. You can feel his semi-hard cock already growing harder again. 

“S-shit, babe.” He groans, pulling you up, bringing your face to his and meeting you with another kiss, as if to thank you. 

You stand up, your legs shaky. You half walk, half stumble into the adjoining bathroom, tossing the condom in the trash. You make your way back to the bed, laying next to him. You turn your head to look at him. “What else can I do for you? Time’s almost up.” You ask softly. 

Rafe huffs, pissed off that you had to remind him that this isn’t real, he’s paying for this, for you. Without a word, he flips over on top of you, his hand wrapping around your throat. There’s something different about him now. His eyes; they carry a bit of darkness, his movements now rough and aggressive. He squeezes your neck lightly, making you gasp in surprise. “Rafe…”

“Shhh…you’re gonna take what I give you.” He squeezes tighter, making it harder for you to breathe, but not impossible. He leans down, kissing all over your neck and chest, leaving bites and bruises in his wake. You let out a small whine involuntarily; you can feel his touch throughout your whole body, like a jolt of electricity. “Shut up, whore.” 

Suddenly, Rafe’s thrusting into you again. But wait, he’s not wearing a condom. In your surprise, this way feels so much better. You can feel the warmth and smoothness of his cock as it easily slides in and out of you, making the most lewd noises. You try to speak, but his hand tightens around your throat one final time, actually making it impossible for you to breathe. He stares into your eyes, watching as your face turns red and your panic sets in. You put your hands on his arm, hitting and tugging on it. Just as your vision starts to go dark, he eases his grip. You gasp for air, taking in as much as you can while he continues his attack on your pussy. 

You’re about to see stars again for the fourth time tonight when he suddenly pulls out of you. You whine at the loss of him, frustrated that he denied you of your orgasm. Rafe rolls off of you, making your brows furrow in confusion. “What the fuck?” You question.

He looks over to the clock on his nightstand and you follow his gaze. “Time’s up.” He says plainly. You knew what he was doing. This sneaky motherfucker. He purposely got you to your climax right as the hour ended so you’d prove him right and beg for more; beg to let you cum one more time. As much as you wanted to prove him wrong and just leave, you need this, you need to feel him fill you up.

Before he can protest, you straddle his lap, sinking yourself down onto his cock. Immediately he groans, taking hold of your hips. He holds you still, not letting you move yet. “Knew you’d want more.” He says, now guiding you to grind on his dick, this new position lets him hit a new depth inside you. “M’not paying for this now.”

You don’t respond, instead using your energy to bounce up and down his length. Your climax is already near, your entire body shaking and spent from the past three orgasms he gave you. Rafe helps you out, his strong hand gripping onto you as he holds you up, drilling up into your cunt at a god-like pace. How is someone this talented, this fucking perfect, paying for sex? Surely he could get any girl he wants. Although you’re not complaining, four orgasms and a thousand dollars? How could it get any better than that? 

You yell out as the band in your stomach snaps, the pressure being relieved as a stream of your liquids squirt out of you, splashing onto his stomach, dripping down to his sheets underneath you both. You’re just as shocked as he is when this happens. You didn’t even know you could do that.

“Fuck,” Rafe growls, continuing to fuck up into your shaking body. Rafe doesn’t warn you before shooting his load into you. But the warmth and fulfillment of his seed feels too fucking good to be mad about. Slowly, you pull yourself off of him. He has to help lift you off of his cock since your body is completely spent. “You’re fucking amazing.” He presses a long, soft kiss to your head. 

After helping you clean up a bit, you change into your own clothes. Rafe drives you back to the club, the ride awfully quiet, both of you being too exhausted to talk. When you get there, he pulls his wallet out, grabbing out a large wad of cash and handing it to you. You quickly count it, and then recount it, when your results don’t change, you look up at him with furrowed brows. “That’s for being so fucking good.” Rafe had given you two thousand instead of one. This boosts your confidence a bit, an hour of sex with you is worth two thousand dollars? God, you should’ve fucked Rafe sooner. You get out of his truck and walk towards the club. Rafe speeds off out of the parking lot. 

It’s late, but Barry’s still here, though the crowd has definitely shrunken in the last hour. You walk in and find Barry in the back room. He laughs as he takes in your disheveled appearance; your hair and makeup are disastrous. 

“Looks like someone had a good time, huh? Now where’s my money?” He asks. You pull out the cash, counting 500 and tossing it to him. 

“There. That’s seventy-five percent of what I made.” You start to walk out. But his voice calls you back.

“Shit, you made two thousand in one hour just for fuckin’ him? You got some magic fuckin’ pussy or sum?” He laughs. “I might have to start sellin’ you out more, don’t I?”

Too tired to argue, you walk out. You don’t want to admit it, but you wouldn’t hate having to do that again with Rafe, whether it’s paid or unpaid.

Thank you for reading! I greatly appreciate it! PLEASE feel free to leave Rafe x reader requests!! I LOVE getting them!

[sacredsorceress]

Scars / Logan Howlett

pairing: dofp!logan howlett x mutant!reader summary: every person has a soulmate. after settling in the future that he saved, logan starts to consider his next mission when a suspicious mark appears on him. word count: 3.2k a/n: good ol'fashioned soulmate AU. this is the first actual fic i've written in a long time so please have some grace. reblogs and replies are super appreciated! warnings: general mentions of logan's past, scars, self-doubt, alcoholism, reader smokes a cigar, mentions of razors, scars, wounds, two uses of y/n

logan masterlist | inbox | full masterlist

It had been a week since Logan woke up in his healed timeline.

For most people, the change would have been dramatic. But Logan was far unlike most people. The initial dreamlike state he was in when he first walked through the mansion- seeing the ghosts he had once known returned to the flesh, unscathed- quickly subsided. Logan had always been a man thrown onto a new path- how he lived life constantly changing to best fit his interests. Now, with his newfound peace he found the most complicated mission of all: what to do with the life he was now free to live?

Even before the sentinels, the battles, the wars- he had always been a man on the run. He was solo, strategic, concise. For a man who was gifted with infinite regeneration, he had solely concerned himself with staying alive. He ate for sustenance, sought shelter for safety, and nursed a bottle to find enough peace of mind to sleep at night.

The professor had once told him that for a person to reach self-actualization they first had to have all of their needs met. Logan had scoffed at the time, assuring the professor that he knew himself just fine. But now, with his problems so solved that they had ceased to ever exist, he wondered if maybe the professor was right.

Who was he? Where did he go from here?

The answer was found in the form of a scar on his hand.

"Well, everything seems to be just fine."

Logan scoffed at the blue man in front of him

"Well it's not." Logan said. "Check again."

Two days after he had come back, a large, circular scar had appeared on the palms of each of his hands. When they hadn't disappeared after two minutes, he rushed to the bathroom and nicked himself with his razor, watching as the wound healed with only blood dripping down his scruff as a remanent of it. Thirty minutes after that he found himself in the lab with Hank, Jean, and the Professor hypothesizing his miraculous marks.

"Logan, the tests came back clear." Jean assured him, leaning against the wall. "Maybe it's time to consider that it's something else."

Logan quirked his head towards her.

"I haven't had a scar in over two hundred years," he reminded her, his voice laced with irony. "I get not one, but two and you... what? Think it's a coincidence?"

Before Jean had a chance at rebuttal, the professor moved to face Logan.

"That's not what Jean's inferring, Logan." Charles reminded him. "We're simply asking that you consider other options. Less... dire options. It could, after all, be a good thing."

"Yeah?" Logan scoffed. "Like what?"

A silence hung in the air.

When Logan had first come to them with news of his scar, the thought had been on all three of their minds. Still, there were a plethora of things that could have caused that. Though, when the tests came back clear and his skin continued to heal from all sorts of abrasions, it felt as if there was only one answer for his seemingly magical scars.

However, none of them were keen on sharing this diagnosis with Logan. One wondered whether he'd handle the idea of his body failing him over fated love.

Hank was the first to speak up.

"Like a soulmate."

Oh that was rich, Logan thought.

Logan wasn't unfamiliar with the idea of soulmates.

Around the time that two fated lovers were destined to meet, there would be a sign for each of them. In some cases they were eyes changing colors, feeling the other's pain, finding their names everywhere they looked. In other cases they were new birthmarks, tattoos, scars.

In some way, the two were inextricably connected.

In his long life he had seen others experience it dozens if not hundreds of times. When the first thirty years of his life rolled around with no one, Logan accepted that he was one of the outliers. He considered it for the best and by now, with everything that he had gone through, the concept of soulmates almost seemed like an old wives' tale.

Logan glanced at their faces. When he realized they were serious, a deep laugh escaped from his gut. There was a lack of light in his eyes that admitted his insincerity.

"So I disappear for a few decades and you all start believing in fairytales?" Logan pulled the needles from his arm, the heart rate monitor going flat as he did. "What a bunch of bullshit."

Jean laid her hand against his chest, urging him back into the seat.

"Logan." She soothed him. "This is a good thing. Scott and I-"

Oh this was real rich.

"Scott and you are... what, huh?" Logan urged. "Soulmates?"

Logan scoffed, swiping Jean's hand from his chest.

"Bet you're so happy with your 'soulmate' and that's why you lead me on, huh? That it? You're happy?" He taunted, a dark laugh escaping him once more. "Spare me-"

"Logan, that's enough!"

The professor's voice echoed against the linoleum walls of the lab, reverberating off of the medical equipment throughout.

"If you want to wallow in your own self-deprivation, be my guest, but spare the rest of us your grief." Charles continued. "I think it would be best if you go back to your quarters and consider the future the universe has offered you."

The energy in the air was thick.

Jean and Hank avoided Logan’s eye contact while the professor’s nearly burned a whole through him.

Accepting defeat, Logan threw his hands up in the air and pushed himself out of his metal chair.

“Fine.”

Soulmates. Logan thought. Who would believe in a thing like that?

-

"It's a pleasure to see you again."

The atmosphere in the mansion was a stark contrast to the lab Charles had been in days before.

Now the school day had commenced: children skipping from class to class, students chatting with their friends in the hallway, teachers grabbing coffee between lessons. Amidst the organized chaos, Charles had arranged to meet you in the foyer: the replacement history teacher for Logan's class.

"You too, professor." You smiled, reaching out your hand. "I was so glad to hear from you."

Your hand hung in the air briefly, awaiting his return. Charles examined it for a moment- a twinkle in his eye- before taking it. His thumbs brushed against the newfound scars between your knuckles as he did.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you didn't always have these scars, did you, Y/n?" Charles asked.

You had not.

You had woken with them a few days before. Despite your powers rooted in chaos magic, it wasn't uncommon for blemishes or wounds to etch themselves into your skin. However, you often knew why. These marks, scars, were not faint, but instead quite profound. Three thick, healed over wounds patched together like a stitch on the back of each of your hands.

"No professor."

He closed his eyes, a soft smile gracing his lips. Though you knew he wished to ask more questions, the moment was broken by Logan.

"Ah, the man himself." Charles beamed. "Logan, I'd like you to meet Y/n. She'll be covering your class."

You had seen your fair share of news stories about the Wolverine. Who hadn't? Though the television had never prepared you for just how tall, or broad he was.

"It's nice to meet you, Logan."

"You too." He nodded, taking your hand.

His hand lingered in yours for a moment. Charles cleared his throat.

"We were just discussing the most peculiar scar on Y/n's hand." Charles said. "Appeared just a few days ago out of nowhere."

Charles nodded his head in the direction of your hand, leading Logan to squint. As if a light bulb had gone off over his head, Logan glanced between Charles and yourself and with your hand still in his, he turned it examine the back.

Three scars between your knuckles. Right where his own claws would be.

Though he liked to imagine himself as the patron of remaining suave, Logan's eyebrows shot up at the recognition. He traced his view from your hands, up your torso, to your face where you eyed him questioningly.

He thought back to the way that he woke up in the seventies, wrapped in the arms of another woman. If times had been different and Logan hadn't undergone all the so-called character development in the last forty years, he was sure that a face like yours would have gotten him in a lot of trouble. You were beautiful, and your demeanor highlighted your strength.

Your face radiated kindness, warmth and most of all, sincerity- a trait that was difficult to come by in a trade such as his.

But then Logan recalled that this wasn't the seventies and you weren't at some bar leading him on the entire night: your hand was in his and, according to everyone else, he was yours.

The idea almost couldn't register in Logan's brain.

"Interesting, isn't it, Logan?" Charles asked, breaking the silence. "Almost identical to where your claws are, hmm?"

Oh the professor thought he was quite funny.

Logan pulled his hand back from your grasp and shook his head.

"Not that easy, Charles." Logan commented before turning to you, a spiteful tone in his voice. "See you around, bub."

Before you had the chance to open your mouth, you watched as Logan stomped down the nearest hallway, his boots squeaking against the floorboards as he did. His fists clenched and released at his sides as he disappeared from view.

His reaction had come so far from left field that if it hadn't given you whiplash, it would have hurt your ego. Instead you turned back to the professor.

"Was it something I said?" You asked.

The professor shook his head, patting your hand gently.

"Logan's quite a complicated man." He assured you. "I'm sure you'll come to know that more than the rest of us. Now, to your classroom..."

Glancing over your shoulder to the void-like hallway that Logan went down, you considered the professor's words.

-

A storm had taken over the mansion by nightfall.

As you padded down the wood panelled hallways, the lightbulbs shook in their glass with each thunder clap- wind swatting at the window panes every few seconds. The pitter patter of the raindrops, although harsh, was comforting. It was almost as if the mansion had been engulfed by the storm, trapping everyone inside, while consequently making the outside world feel a thousand miles away.

When you found Logan's door, tucked in at the end of the hallway, you knocked.

"Yep."

The weight of the door fell against the palm of your hands as you pushed it open.

Logan's room was dark. The only light in the space had been from the embers of the cigar that hung in his mouth, cradled between his thumb and forefinger. Despite the darkness, you could make out his figure sitting at his desk chair by the window, feet kicked up on the sill.

Logan only gave you a quick glance over his shoulder before turning back to the view.

"What d'you want?"

His voice was thick and rough around the edges.

"I came for your textbooks." You replied, tiptoeing against his floorboards. "The professor said you'd have them."

The hand of his that held the cigar waved around. Minuscule ashes fell to the floor as your eyes remained trained on the light and the faint glow of the moon that illuminated the side of his face.

"Be my guest," he said. "Don’t have a clue where they are."

The professor had given you the lowdown when he saw your scars.

Charles told you that despite everything that you had learned- the history that you had known- the Wolverine you'd meet was not the same person. He was a man from a different time with far different, darker memories and enough baggage to weigh down dozens.

Amidst the silence, you cleared your throat.

"Must be hard to wake up in someone else's life."

By now you had reached his desk, your fingertips tracing the lines in the dark, lacquered wood.

You could smell him and the cigar from this distance- aftershave mixed with smoke.

"The professor tell you that?"

"Mhm."

The chair creaked as Logan flicked his hand towards the window, ushering you to come closer.

Watching your step in the dark, you maneuvered around the furniture and sat beside Logan on his desk- pushing loose papers to the side.

"He give you his whole spiel on soulmates too?" He asked, eyes trained on the rain outside.

Soulmates.

Now that was the last thing you expected to come from the Wolverine's mouth.

You'd heard of them more times than you could count. You once wondered whether every repetitive coincidence was a sign that your person was coming. But, when that never happened, you lost hope.

Who got to tell you who you belonged to anyway?

Leaning over, you gingerly took the cigar from his grasp and replaced it with your own fingers. Sitting back into the desk as lightening struck a tree in the distance, you took a puff.

"So that's what the scars on my hands were all about," You thought aloud.

The window fogged as you let the smoke leave from your mouth in a breathy sigh.

Logan tapped his fingers on his thighs, counting the seconds between a lightening strike and its consecutive rumble of thunder.

"Listen, I'm no prince charming if that's what you came here looking for."

Logan's chair creaked again as he leaned back in his seat. His arm draped against the desk as he met your gaze.

You chuckled and held out his cigar, offering it back to him.

"I came here looking for textbooks." You laughed. "You're the one who keeps talking about soulmates. I think you're more of a romantic than you let on.”

His fingers brushed against yours as he took the cigar back into his own hand. Another lightning strike met the ground in the distance, a clap of thunder following moments afterwards.

"You don't buy it?" Logan quirked his eyebrow. It was a teasing question, one he was curious to hear your answer to.

You shrugged.

"I don't think the universe gets to tell me who to love," you said. "If I fall in love with you it's because I love you, Logan. Not because some mark told me to. I just think of it as... a little shove in the right direction.”

The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile for the first time.

"A shove?"

"Like a... blind date." You finished. "Ever been on one of those?"

A congested laugh escaped him.

"Sweetheart, do I look like the type of guy to go on a blind date?"

You bit the inside of your cheek at the name.

Rolling your eyes, you swatted at his arm. You wouldn't admit how much it hurt your knuckles to do so. You'd have to make a mental note to remember his adamantium skeleton.

"Gosh, you're cocky!"

Logan shrugged, "You're the one who likes it apparently."

You felt yourself grow hot at his accusation.

Even though he had a mark signalling his future affection for you, you couldn't help but feel embarrassed by Logan's knowledge of yours. You felt like a child who's crush had just been exposed to the whole class. Was he noting ever glance that you gave him? The way you didn't move when his arm brushed against yours?

A brief pause hung in the air until another thunder clap reverberated against the walls.

"So what's your mark?" You asked.

Logan shoved the cigar into the corner of his mouth. The biting motion forced him to flex his jaw in a way that you would refuse to admit made you start to realize that maybe the universe was right.

And that maybe his cockiness was justified.

He laid out his hands for you. The room was still dark, making the ability to discern the details of his scar impossible. Taking Logan's hands in yours, you summoned your magic into your hands, watching as they glowed gold.

Logan had two large, circular scars imprinted into his palms. It was a clear indicator of your own magical power that surged from your hands.

It left a feeling you couldn't describe in your chest to know that someone else was marked for you. They were destined for you. To be with you. You had a future written together before the two of you had met. Even if he rejected you, there was a sign etched into his skin that bound the two of you together in some fateful way.

Gently, you traced your fingertips against the mark, feeling the warmth that radiated from his palms.

When your eyes flicked upwards, you noticed how close the two of you were now sitting. You could feel his warm breath against your lips as the lingering smell of the cigar drifted up your nose.

Although he wouldn’t admit it, Logan was enchanted by the energy radiating from you. Whether people hated or loved him, his ability got a lot of talk. In his mind though, he would never be a hero. He was just some guy who got lucky.

You, though? He didn’t need you to tell him that you were an Omega level mutant. Logan had heard about you from the professor: you could cast spells, read minds, reconfigure reality- to name a few. You didn't need a reason to fight for what's right, you just did. Again, and again, and again. Even here, now, you were picking up Logan's history class when he knew very well you could be on the other side of the world sipping pina coladas if you wanted.

What the hell was the universe thinking putting you with him?

Logan admired the reflection of the magic on your cheeks and the way your eyes stayed trained on his palms. Your touch was so gentle he could have sworn he was in a distant dream until your eyes met his.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, gaze locked.

Then another clap of thunder shook the mansion.

You quickly leaned back, pulling your hands from Logan's touch.

"I should... I should go." You said, pushing yourself off of Logan's desk. "It's getting late and I have my first class in the morning."

Logan leaned back in his seat. He said nothing but eyes remained fixed on your form as you made your way towards the door.

Looking back at him with your hand on the knob you made a mental note to remember the image of him with his feet kicked back on the window as he smoked his cigar.

A soft smile remained.

"Good night, Logan."

When you didn't leave immediately, he nodded.

"Night, sweetheart."

Mustering up the courage to shoot him one last smile, you pulled open the door and stepped outside.

Now, Logan didn't know how much he believed in soulmates, but he could be inclined to consider that it was one good wingman.

Leaning back in his seat, Logan sighed and closed his eyes, letting himself drown out his worries with the sound of the rain.

a/n: my inbox is open for more requests! thank you for the request @welcometochilis585

[verstappenverse]

Knight of My Heart

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: After one too many drinks, a protective Max arrives right when you need him most.

1.7k words / Masterlist

It was nearly 2am when Max’s phone buzzed on his nightstand, dragging him from the edges of sleep. The faint light from his screen illuminated the dark room, and he reached for it with a groggy hand, squinting at the text that appeared.

“She’s drunk. Like realllly drunk. Can you come get her?”

Max sat up, his heart already sinking. The message was from one of your friends, someone whose name he only half-remembered from the countless times they’d insisted they’d “watch out for you.” Max knew better by now. He sighed, ranking a hand through his messy hair, before throwing the blanket off and quickly pulling on a hoodie and jeans.

The drive to the club was quiet, but Max’s mind wasn’t. He hated these nights. It wasn’t just the thought of you being drunk and vulnerable; it was the idea that you were so carefree and beautiful, and people always noticed. Too many times Max had seen guys try to get too close, their smiles too slick and intentions too obvious.

When he finally pulled up outside the club he saw you almost immediately. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

You were leaning against a lamp post near the curb swaying slightly in your heels, a dazed smile on your face as a man hovered beside you. Max’s chest tightened at the sight. The guy was too close, his body angled toward yours as he spoke animatedly, gesturing with his hands. You laughed softly at whatever he said, your voice carrying over the low thrum of the music spilling from the club’s entrance.

Max killed the engine and climbed out, his jaw set. His strides were purposeful, closing the distance between you in seconds.

“Maxie!” you squealed the moment you spotted him, your arms flinging open in delight.

“You’re here!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around his torso and nearly toppling yourself over in the process.

The guy looked over at Max, not at all intimidated, but Max didn’t care. His jaw tightened, his fists clenching by his sides as he stepped closer.

“You good?” Max asks you, his voice a little rougher than usual.

The man gave Max a once-over, clearly sizing him up. “She seems fine to me,” he said, his tone too casual for Max’s liking.

Max’s eyes narrow, the jealousy coursing through him now unmistakable. He took a step closer to you, brushing his hand lightly against your shoulder. “Oh because you know her so well, right?” he asked the guy, voice clipped.

With a taunting smirk, the guy raised his hands in mock surrender. “She was just telling me about her night. She looked like she needed some company.”

Max wasn’t having it, he stands tall, his body blocking your view of the man now. “Right, I don’t think you understand,” Max replied dryly, placing a firm hand on your waist. “I’m her boyfriend, she's mine. Thanks for your concern, but I’ll take it from here.”

The man’s lips twitched, as though he wanted to argue, but something in Max’s gaze seemed to convince him otherwise. With a tight nod, he muttered a quick, “Whatever man,” and walked off into the crowd.

As the guy disappeared, Max’s frustration didn’t completely fade, but he focused right back on you. Guiding you towards his car, hand never leaving your side. You leaned into him, your cheek resting against his shoulder the alcohol making your limbs feel heavy.

You looked up at him, your face slightly flushed, your eyes half-lidded. “You okay?” you asked quietly.

Max’s lips press together tightly, trying to ignore the flare of jealousy still lingering. “I’m fine,” he said, even though he’s anything but. "Just... I want you to be safe, alright?"

You nod, though your head wobbles slightly. "I know... just wanted to have fun."

Max exhaled slowly, his tension only easing slightly as he turned to you. You were beaming up at him, clearly oblivious to the small confrontation that had just unfolded.

“I get it,” he said softly, his hand steadying you at your waist. “But where are your friends?”

“They’re inside,” you mumbled, waving a hand vaguely toward the club entrance. “Or somewhere. I don’t know. I came out to get some air.”

Max sighed, scanning the area for any sign of your group. Just then a few of your friends emerged from the club giggling.

“Max!” One of them called her tone far too cheery. “She’s all yours.”

Max’s brows furrowed, his frustration bubbling over. “Why did you let her get this drunk?” he snapped. “Anything could’ve happened to her out here!”

Your friend blinked, her smile faltering. “She’s a big girl Max. Besides, we knew you’d come.”

“That’s not the point,” Max said, his voice sharp. "You should’ve made sure she was safe.”

Your friends exchanged glances mumbling something, he exhaled heavily running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m glad you've all had fun, but next time just… watch out for her yeah? She’s very important to me.” He gazed down at you.

Your friends exchanged glances, some looking sheepish, others visibly annoyed at his tone.

“We had it under control, Max,” one of your friends said, her tone defensive. “We weren’t going to babysit her all night.”

Max’s jaw clenched. “Being there for your friend isn’t babysitting, it’s just what you do.”

Another friend, the quieter one of the group spoke up “Okay Max. We’ll keep a better eye on her next time, promise.”

“Thank you,” he said simply, looking back down at you. Your eyes were half-closed, a lazy smile on your lips as you mumbled something unintelligible against his chest.

Max shook his head, a mix of exasperation and fondness crossing his face. “Alright,” he said to the group, his tone a little lighter now. “I’m taking her home. Get back safely.”

“We will,” the quieter friend said, giving him a small, apologetic smile.

Max turned to you with a sigh of relief. “Let’s get you home.”

Max guided you to the car, his hand never leaving your waist. You leaned into him heavily, giggling at every little thing—the way his hand steadied you, the low muttering under his breath, even the way he opened the car door for you like you were royalty.

“You’re so nice to me, Maxie,” you said, settling into the passenger seat with a content sigh.

“I’m always nice to you,” he replied, pulling the seatbelt across your body and clicking it into place.

“You are,” you agreed, your voice soft and dreamy. “You’re my favourite person, you know that?”

Max froze for a moment, sure his heart skipped a beat, before he shook his head and closed your door.

The drive home was quiet, save for your occasional hums and mumbled comments about the pretty city lights. Max glanced at you every so often, his hand gripping your thigh, your eyes fluttering shut for brief moments.

When he finally pulled into his apartment’s parking garage you stirred, blinking sleepily. Inside you clung to him like a lifeline, your arms looped around his neck as he guided you to the bathroom.

“You’re so tall,” you murmured, your head resting against his chest. “Like a tree. A strong, handsome tree.”

Max chuckled despite himself, shaking his head as he set you down on the bathroom counter. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you like me anyway,” you said, your grin lazy and smug.

He didn’t respond, instead reaching for a makeup remover wipe from the cabinet. You watched him curiously as he carefully cupped your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Taking your makeup off,” he said simply.

You stared at him, your expression unreadable, as he carefully wiped at your face. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, and he avoided your eyes, focusing instead on the task at hand.

"You take such good care of me." You whispered, reaching up to touch his hand. “You don’t have to, you know?”

“I know,” he said with a slight frown, his eyes finally meeting yours. “But I want to. You deserve it.”

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Max carried you to the bedroom, letting you climb him like a koala as you giggled into his shoulder. He set you down gently, pulling the covers over you before crouching beside the bed. You blinked at him sleepily, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“You’re like a knight,” you mumbled, your voice thick with drowsiness. “My very own knight in shining armour.”

Max chuckled, shaking his head. “A very tired knight,” he replied, brushing a stray hair from your face. “But you’re going to hate me in the morning if I let you go to sleep without water and something for your hangover.”

“I don’t hate you,” you slurred, blinking up at him with glassy eyes. “I could never hate you.”

His chest tightened at the sincerity in your tone, “Stay awake for just a few more minutes okay? I’ll be right back.”

You made a soft noise of protest as he stood, but you didn’t try to stop him. Max moved quietly through the apartment, grabbing a glass from the kitchen and filling it with cold water. From the bathroom he grabbed a pack of paracetamol, the domesticity of the routine bringing a faint smile to his lips.

When he returned you were still half-propped against the pillows, your eyes fluttering open at the sound of his footsteps.

“Here,” Max said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He handed you the glass and pressed two pills into your palm. “Take these and drink some water. Trust me, you’ll thank me in the morning.”

You squinted at the pills like they’d personally offended you. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Max replied firmly, his lips quirking upward. “No arguments.”

“Bossy,” you muttered, but you popped the pills into your mouth and swallowed them with some water. “Happy now?”

“Very.”

You handed the glass back to him, and he set it on the nightstand before leaning forward to pull the blankets higher around you.

“I’m so lucky you’re my Maxie,” you sighed.

“Sleep,” he said softly, stroking your cheek.

“Stay,” you murmured, your eyes already half-closed.

Max hesitated, his heart twisting with adoration, before nodding. “I’ll be right here.”