#for the love of God someone please write him

[sceletaflores]

well, all right i’m bad, but then you’re no prize either…

pair: joel miller x fem!reader

wc: 8.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no ellie, general violence (only referenced), age gap (56/26), swearing, so many spacers lmao, not quite friends to lovers and not quite enemies to lovers but a weird other thing, kinda mean!joel for a good sec, dressing wounds, joel miller TUMMY, loss of virginity (reader is a virgin but she's not completely oblivious and weirdly infantile about it lmao), fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex whoops, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, porn with a tiny plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: well, i finally caved y’all. baby’s first tlou fic! this literally took me forever to write and even longer to post cause i was so terrified LMAO so please give me some grace if it’s shit and he’s ooc and timelines are a little fuzzy cause i barely know what i’m doing. thank you chickens love you mwah mwah mwah. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

joel found a lodge house…

You don’t know what you did to make Joel Miller hate you so much.

He's never outright said it, but you know it’s there—in every sharp glance, every clipped word, every deliberate avoidance.

Besides, his silence is worse than anything he could say. A quiet condemnation that settles in your chest like stone.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care what he thinks, but the truth is harder to swallow.

You do care—more than you want to admit. His approval, his respect, hell, even a sliver of kindness from him feels like an impossible prize you’ll never win.

And you hate yourself for wanting it. For needing it.

It's not just the weight of his disdain that eats at you, it's the not knowing why. God, do you wish you could ask him why.

What did you do to make him look at you like you’re some necessary evil he has to tolerate. Why does he hold some unspoken grudge that's manifested itself into something you couldn't dream of ever comprehending.

But the thought of confronting Joel feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into a void that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do what you've always done. You keep your distance, try to match his indifference with your own, and tell yourself it’s better this way.

You were young when the outbreak hit, six years old.

You’re sure that’s part of it. That that’s how Joel sees you, as some bumbling, naive child who’s more of a hassle than anything else.

Another mouth to feed, another back to watch, baggage.

You've been with him for almost seven months now, traveling side by side when you may have well been miles apart. Trekking through abandoned cities, overgrown highways, and every godforsaken patch of wilderness in between.

In the beginning, you did everything you could to prove him wrong.

You pushed yourself past your limits, hunted, scavenged, fought, kept up. You did everything that needed to be done without hesitation.

All to show that you were more than what he made you out to be. It never seemed to matter much.

After you lost your parents in the early days of the outbreak, it was just you and your sister. She taught you everything you know, taught you how to survive.

It's because of her that you know how to shoot a rifle, how to skin a rabbit, how to start a fire with nothing but sticks and dried moss, how to snap bones and locate which vital arteries bleed out the quickest.

It's because of her that you've been able to hone some sick skill in the maiming of clickers.

A skill you never thought you'd need to use on her.

You were supposed to be safe in the QZ. You weren't supposed to be fifteen years old, aiming a gun at the one person you had left.

Your own flesh and blood wasn't supposed to be the very first in a long list of red tallies under your belt.

It’s been years and you’ve still never forgotten that day. December 19th, 2012, the date burned into your brain like someone took a branding iron to the tissue.

You can’t count the amount of times you’ve been ripped from your sleep drenched in a cold sweat with the tail end of a scream tearing at the skin of your throat.

The image of what was left of your sister, slumped on the ground lifeless as her blood painted the wall behind her flashing behind your closed eyelids. The sound of her last labored breath ringing in your ears louder than any shotgun blast.

You ran that same night, with the weight of her death on your shoulders.

Your entire world spinning out around you as you clawed through barbed wire fencing, not caring where you were going or what would happen to you—just needing to escape.

There was nothing left for you to do after that but survive. And that’s what you did, for years, scraping by in a world that had already chewed you up and spit you out a mangled mess.

You learned how to be ruthless because of it.

How to harden yourself against the loss, the pain, the brutality. But there were cracks, too. Cracks you hid well, buried deep beneath layers of stubbornness and distance.

The endless days blurred into each other. Empty houses, hollow streets. A life reduced to scavenging, hiding, and the occasional, fleeting moment of human connection that inevitably ended in loss. 

And then you found yourself with Joel.

You hadn’t exactly found him, though. More like crashed into his orbit by accident.

A few desperate days spent scavenging through the ruins of a small town, a chance encounter that left you both wary and unwilling to turn your backs.

But, inexplicably, you somehow became part of his traveling routine.

He wasn’t like any of the others you’d met before. At first, you thought he might be different. A man who seemed broken, but different nonetheless.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you began to see the truth. Joel Miller wasn’t concerned with you. He didn’t need you. And, more than that, he didn’t want you around. 

You didn’t know what to do with that.

It’s a bitter kind of irony. You’ve survived all this time completely on your own, fought tooth and nail to stay alive, but with him, you might just crumble.

Joel found a lodge house. It's a small, weathered place tucked away in the dense trees of the wood surrounding it.

He only deemed it suitable after an extensive perimeter check and a thorough sweep of the interior.

It's not much—just another run-down place in the middle of nowhere—but for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s a roof over your head for the night.

The walls are sturdy, though the windows are cracked and half of the floorboards creak like they're about to give out at any moment.

You explored the second floor alone, creeping through the desolate rooms and taking in all that was left behind.

Old family photographs covered in thick layers of dust, worn clothes riddled with holes still hung in the few closets you stumble across.

The oddest of all was an old jewelry box tucked away in a dresser draw, tarnished silver dull and muddy.

The sound of familiar footsteps comes from somewhere behind you. The door creaks open slowly.

Joel. Of course.

He clears his throat, the sound abrasive in the quiet of the house.  

“Fire’s low,” he says, voice rough from its lack of use today.

You don’t turn around, not yet. You take the box in your gloved hand, running your fingers across the intricate design of the lid, touch trailing over winding vines and small roses.

“Okay,” you mutter, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I’ll grab some more wood later.”

Another beat of silence. Then, “It’s gettin’ cold out, I’ll go.”

Your fingers pause their ministrations, moving to flip the lid open. Empty.

“Suit yourself,” you reply after a moment, your tone just as neutral as his.

Joel doesn’t leave right away. You hear the floorboards groan beneath his weight, his presence lingering in the doorway. 

You wonder what he’s waiting for, or if he’s waiting at all.

Finally, he speaks. “Don’t touch anything.”

With that he turns and leaves the room, you wait until you can’t hear his footsteps trailing down the stairs anymore to let out the scoff festering in your chest.

You snap the jewelry lid shut with a little more force than necessary. “Asshole.”

Joel's been gone for a while now. Longer than it takes to chop a few logs for firewood.

You came down from the upstairs a few minutes after hearing the tell-tale sound of the heavy door opening and closing. The main room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the dwindling fire.

You're perched on an old armchair near the entrance, peering out the dirty window that has the best view of the treeline as you nervously pick the skin around your nails.

You tell yourself not to worry. He’s probably fine, he’s been doing this a lot longer than you. And if Joel is anything, it’s annoyingly competent.

Still, a nagging doubt itches at the back of your mind. It's been at least half an hour, maybe more.

You’re just about to grab your own pack and go looking for him when the front door creaks open.

Joel stumbles inside, the frigid evening air rushing in behind him before he slams the door shut. At first glance, he looks fine—no more haggard than usual. 

But then you notice the way he favors his left side, the way his free hand is pressed against his ribs, blood seeping through his fingers and staining his torn undershirt.

You’re on your feet in an instant.

“Fuck,” you say, voice sharper than you expected. “What the hell happened?”

“Raiders.” Is the only explanation you get as he tries to brush past you like it’s nothing. The stiff way he moves and the tightens of his jaw betray him. “S’just a scratch.”

“Bullshit,” you snap, stepping in front of him and blocking his path to the fire. “Sit. Now.”

He gives you a look, one of those deep, withering glares you’ve seen him use to intimidate countless others into submission. But you stand your ground, chin raised and jaw set–defiant. 

His stubbornness finally meeting its match in your own. 

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, he drops onto the couch. “Happy now?”

"Not until you let me take care of that." You motion toward his side, where the blood is still spreading.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, lolling his head back to rest more heavily on the couch.

“Sure you are,” you snap, crossing the room to rifle through your bag. “And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

"Said I’m fine," he bites through gritted teeth, but you’re already moving, heading back to him with the first aid kit from your pack.

"You want to bleed out on this ugly-ass couch? Be my guest," you shoot back, dropping to your knees in front of him. "Otherwise, shut up and let me help."

Joel surprisingly doesn’t argue any further, just sighs heavily and reluctantly sinks further into the couch cushions.

You push the front of his jacket open to slide it off his shoulders as gently as you can, peeling back the layer of his flannel next.

The smell of blood hits you immediately.

The gash is about five inches long, trailing the span of his ribcage. It’s deep—but not fatal—just an angry red and oozing blood.

Definitely not the simple 'scratch' he made it out to be.

Your stomach churns at the sight, but you push it down. No time for that.

“Jesus, Joel,” you mutter under your breath, reaching for the alcohol in your kit. “You really know how to underplay a situation, huh?”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you with those dark, calculating eyes of his. Always watching, always assessing.

It’s unnerving, but you focus on the task at hand, grabbing a clean cloth and soaking it with alcohol.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn, though there’s a part of you that doesn’t mind the idea of causing him a little discomfort.

A petty, vindictive part that still stings from all the scorn he’s thrown your way.

“Just get it over with,” Joel grits out, his voice low and gravelly.

You don’t give him any more warnings as you wipe the soaked cloth over the wound. He flinches, a harsh curse slipping through clenched teeth, but he doesn’t pull away.

You work as quickly as you can, wiping away the blood and dirt with steady hands, your movements as gentle as possible given the situation.

You let out an annoyed huff when the torn fabric of his shirt gets in the way of your hands for a second time.

You lean back on your heels, glancing up at Joel. “You need to take your shirt off.”

Joel raises a brow at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That really necessary?”

“Yes, it’s necessary, Joel,” you huff, already losing patience. “Unless you want me to sit here and cut around every thread of this ratty thing while you bleed out, then by all means—”

He sighs heavily, cutting you off as he shifts forward and grabs the hem of his shirt. He tugs at the fabric, grunting in pain each time it strains his ribs.

You roll your eyes at how slow he’s moving, and your patience—already worn thin by the day's events—snaps.

“Jesus Christ, let me help,” you huff, reaching forward and grabbing the fabric.

Joel jerks back slightly, his hand shooting up to stop yours mid-motion. “I got it,” he growls, a sharp edge in his voice.

You glare at him, your hand still caught in his grip. His palm is calloused, his hold firm enough to make your pulse jump unexpectedly. 

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, locked in a silent standoff.

Then he releases your hand and pulls the shirt over his head himself, wincing as the movement pulls at his side.

You wait with your arms crossed, trying to ignore the awkward flutter of nerves in your stomach as the fabric peels away to reveal his chest.

Joel’s broad, solid frame isn’t new to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before—brief glimpses when bathing in rivers or changing in run down houses between stops.

But this time feels different, more intimate somehow.

You’re staring, and you know it.

The firelight cast shadows over his skin, illuminating old scars, faint lines of muscle, the barely there jut of his stomach over the hem of his jeans.

You had been getting more game kills recently, two hunters are always better than one.

Joel clears his throat, dragging your focus back to the present. “You gonna gawk all night, or can we move this along?”

You snap out of it, scowling to cover your embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

You finish cleaning the gash and grab the small needle and thread lying next to you.

“This’ll hurt worse than the alcohol,” you say, threading the needle easily.

Joel snorts, a rare sound. “Figures.”

The needle pierces his skin, and this time, you catch the smallest hitch in his breath. He doesn’t make a sound, but his jaw tightens, the veins in his neck standing out like cords.

His hands grip the edge of the couch hard enough that his knuckles turn white with it, but he doesn’t tell you to stop or slow down.

He’s too damn proud for that.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his leg as you position yourself to work from a better angle. You feel his eyes on you, that intense, scrutinizing stare that makes your skin prickle.

“You’ve done this before,” Joel says after a moment, his tone less sharp than before. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You shrug, keeping your hands steady. “Of course I have.”

“Who taught you?”

The question catches you off guard, Joel’s never shown much interest in what your life was before you met him. You glance up briefly, catching his gaze. There’s no malice there, no judgment—just curiosity.

You swallow hard, dragging your eyes back to stitches, half way done now. “My sister.”

You don’t elaborate and Joel doesn’t push.

Maybe it’s the sudden tightness in your tone or the look you know must be clouding your face that keeps him quiet.

You finish off the stitching, tearing the thin strand of thread with your hands before you’re leaning away again.

“Good as new,” you say, dabbing some more alcohol on your own hands to disinfect. “Try not to tear these open anytime soon.”

Joel leans back, strong arms spread across the back of the couch, his face unreadable as he peers down at the fresh stitching on his side. 

“Could’ve done it myself,” he mutters, but the edge in his voice is gone, replaced with something softer, almost resigned. 

You roll your eyes with a scoff, not even trying to hide your irritation as you rise from the floor. “Sure you could’ve, right before you passed out. You’re welcome by the way.”

You gather your supplies and turn to head back to your bag, but Joel’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“You’re always like this, y’know,” he says, and the words carry that same gravelly drawl, but there’s something new there—something heavier.

You pause, your hands tightening around the kit in your grasp. “Like what?”

“Pushy. Stubborn,” he replies, his tone cutting, though it lacks the usual venom. “Like you’ve got somethin’ to prove all the damn time.”

You whip around, your patience officially gone. “You think I’m stubborn?” you shoot back, your voice rising. “Coming from the guy who would rather bleed out on a fucking couch than admit he needs help?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, and his hands flex against the couch cushions, but you don’t stop. Not now. Not after months of this.

“I’ve been busting my ass since day one to prove that I’m not dead weight to you. I’ve fought for us, for you. And for what? Just to get more of your bullshit attitude?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Joel snaps, pushing himself upright despite the obvious strain it puts on his freshly stitched wound. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

“Because you won’t let me!” you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising. “All you do is look at me like I’m some burden you can’t wait to get rid of.”

Joel’s glare sharpens, his lips parting as if to respond, but you cut him off.

You really can’t stop yourself now that you started, all the anger and frustration reaching a fever pitch hot enough to burst the tight lid you’ve kept on your emotions.

“If I’m such a hassle, why didn’t you just leave me back there, huh? Why didn’t you just walk away like I know you wanted to?”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now,  his broad chest rising and falling as his dark eyes bore into yours.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he stands, and the sheer size of him forces you to tilt your chin up slightly to keep your glare fixed on his face.

“You think I wanted this, kid?” he growls, his voice low and strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You think I wanted to be responsible for someone else? To have someone else’s fuckin’ life on me?”

“Don’t call me kid,” you spit, shoving a finger into his chest, ignoring the way his jaw ticks at the contact. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

He scoffs, casting his eyes to the ceiling disbelievingly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you growl, fists clenching at your side. “If you hate me that much, why the hell are you still here? Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off the second you met me?”

“Because I couldn’t!” Joel snaps, booming voice filling the small space.

The confession slips out like it pains him. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, he looks like he might break something.

You’ve never been scared of Joel, even though you’ve seen first hand just how scary he can be.

Now, as he looms in front of you, eyes blazing and jaw working furiously beneath his skin, it’s the closest to scared you’ve felt.

“I’ve seen you out there,” he continues, tone low and dark. “You’ve got a fuckin’ death wish. You’re too damn stubborn to just stop, and I’m not gonna let you go so you can run off and get yourself fuckin’ killed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, his words hitting far too close to home.

“I’m just trying to survive, Joel,” you snap, your voice shaking. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? Survive.”

“Survive,” Joel repeats bitterly, his gaze burning into yours. “That what you call it? Throwin’ yourself into every goddamn fight, gettin’ stabbed and shot right fuckin’ in front of me and expecting me to brush that shit off?”

You let out a humorless laugh, nodding your head exasperatedly. “Yes, yes I do expect you to just brush it off, because that’s what you always do.” 

“Well I can’t,” he grates out, taking a step closer. “I can’t ‘cause despite whatever it is that you may think about me, I don’t hate you. I care about you too damn much and that's my goddamn problem.”

That shuts you up, your mouth snapping closed with a sharp click of your teeth as you stare at him, shocked.

Joel holds your gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. “That what you wanted to hear?”

It’s in that moment that the fire finally fizzles out, the dull hiss of it the only sound left in the room.

You’re quiet for a beat, stunned into silence. The heat of his anger, his frustration, it radiates off him, and you realize suddenly that this isn’t just about you. 

It never was.

“Then show me,” you challenge softly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that you don’t hate me.”

Joel’s eyes darken, his head cocking to the side as he searches your face for a sign. You don’t say anything, you only square your shoulders and raise your chin, your eyes just as hard as his own.

“I want you to prove it.”

The tension snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. 

You shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—happen. Not like this. Not after everything that’s been said.

But when Joel’s lips crash against yours, hot and desperate and urgent, it makes everything blur into nothing. 

It’s not gentle, not soft—this is anger and longing and frustration all wrapped into one. It’s messy, frantic, like a fight that’s been brewing for too long.

He grips your arm, pulling you closer, almost too roughly, but it feels like it’s everything you’ve both been avoiding.

His other hand moves to cup the back of your neck, grounding you as his lips press harder against yours, like he��s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this single moment.

You respond just as fiercely, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you kiss him back with all the pent-up emotion that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

The coarse hair of his beard scrapes against the skin of your chin deliciously, the scent of blood and firewood filling your senses as his arm wraps around your waist, dragging you impossibly closer.

Close enough that you can feel the wild beat of his heart booming against your chest.

You pull away for a second, breathless, both of you looking at each other, your eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters, his voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t place. He presses his forehead to yours, the deep brown of his eyes dark than before. “What the hell are we doing?”

You don’t have an answer. You’re not sure if you even want one.

You reach for him again, arms looping around his neck to drag his mouth back to yours.

This kiss is nothing like the first, it isn’t a clash of frustration–it’s filthier, rawer. A near feral thing, all teeth and tongue, a surge of hunger and need that borders on violence. 

Joel groans into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp.

He takes advantage of the sound, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to slide against yours with wet, messy desperation, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you.

The taste of him—salt and iron and something distinctly Joel—makes your head spin. 

Your fingers knot into the chocolaty curls at the nape of his neck, surprisingly soft to the touch. His own hands roam the soft curves of your body, rough and insistent, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most.

“Joel—” His name spills from your lips like a plea, and he answers with a deep, guttural noise that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, soothing the bites with lazy, deliberate strokes that make your knees weak.

You’re moving before you even realize it. Joel dragging you across the room and down onto the couch with him, using the strength he’s built up after all these years to manhandle you until your thighs are spread wide on either side of his lap.

“Joel,” you gasp again, rearing back enough to break the kiss. “Your stitches–”

He cuts you off with a sharp nip to the sensitive spot behind your ear, tearing a high whine from your throat. “Can hardly feel ‘em.”

You make a displeased sound, but it’s undermined by the way you tilt your head to give his wandering lips more room. His hands find a home on your hips, one slipping beneath your shirt to press against the soft skin of your stomach. 

His fingers splay wide across your skin, his palm callused and rough. His pinky just barely brushes the underside of your breast, and you’re suddenly rearing back. 

“Wait,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

Joel’s hands immediately loosen their grip on your hips, his brows knitting together in concern. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I just...I need to tell you something.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he stays quiet, waiting for you to speak.

You take a beat, chewing at the skin of your bottom lip nervously.

“I’ve never...” You pause, swallowing hard as your cheeks heat up. “I’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve never been with anyone like this.”

Joel pulls back slightly, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. For a moment, you think he might pull away completely, but then he exhales a long, slow breath.

“Christ,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re tellin’ me this now?”

“I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen,” you snap back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “It’s not like I had the luxury of a high school sweetheart to pop my cherry out here.”

Joel’s gaze softens at your tone, and he reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You glance away, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of his stare. “I just...I wanted you to know. But I want this, Joel. I want you.”

His thumb stills against your cheek, and he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he considers your words.

“I don’t...” He pauses, the most hesitant you’ve ever heard him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been around you, round eyes shining with something so raw and so earnest it makes your heart ache in your chest. 

“You won’t,” you insist, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “I trust you.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue. But then he nods, his shoulders relaxing as he cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch again.

“At least let me do this right,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “Not here. Not on some goddamn couch.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his tone. “What?”

“Upstairs,” he says, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the side of your neck. “There’s a bed up there. It ain’t much, but it’s better than this.”

You can’t do anything but nod, your pulse racing beneath your skin fast enough to combat the cold night air seeping through the walls.

“Okay,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Upstairs.”

Joel stands, gently pulling you to feet and taking your hand in his. He leads you upstairs, each step feeling heavier with anticipation. The small bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through a broken blind. 

The bed isn’t much—an old mattress on a worn frame, covered with a patched-up blanket—but it doesn’t matter.

Joel shuts the door behind you, the sound of the latch clicking into place sending a shiver down your spine.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You say the word, and we stop. No questions asked.”

Your throat tightens at the sincerity in his tone, the way he’s giving you an out even though you can see the strain in every line of his body, the way his hands flex at his sides like he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

But you don’t hesitate.

You step closer, placing your hands on his bare chest. You bite back a smile at the goosebumps that break out all along his skin at your touch. 

“Jesus, Miller,” you mumble teasingly, nails lightly scratching through the salt and pepper hair scattered along his chest. “How long are you gonna drag this out before you get it through your thick skull that I want to fuck you?”

"Christ." Joel huffs, shaking his head as the corners of his lips turn up in a small grin. “Like I fuckin’ said,” he starts, big hands kneading the meat of your hips. “Pushy.”

Joel walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp.

He follows you immediately, crawling over you, his body covering yours, his weight a comforting pressure. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear.”

His fingers are everywhere, unbuttoning your shirt with a practiced ease that has your pulse racing. His lips follow the path of his hands, each touch a branding mark, each kiss leaving you wanting more.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters softly, pressing a kiss right between the valley of your breasts.

You feel his cock stirring against your stomach, and it makes the ache between your legs flare to life, the weight of it, the hardness of it, driving you crazy with need. 

You want him so badly you can barely think straight, but when his lips graze over your collarbone, you can’t stop the quiet whine that escapes your throat.

Joel growls in response, a sound that resonates deep in his chest, and you know then that he’s as far gone as you are. His hands slide down to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down your legs with urgency. 

As your skin is exposed to the cool air, you can feel the heat of his gaze on you, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You’re fuckin' perfect,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire.

Joel's hands find your thighs, parting them with a deliberate slowness that makes your breath catch in your throat. He positions himself between your legs, his body weight pressing you into the mattress, his chest rising and falling with the same frantic rhythm as yours. 

The anticipation is almost unbearable as his fingers trace the line of your panties, the fabric damp with want.

“Jesus, she’s drippin’ for me already,” he mutters, voice rough, as he slides the material to the side, his thumb brushing over the sensitive swell of your clit.

Your body jerks at the contact, a desperate sound escaping your lips, but Joel doesn’t relent.

“You touch yourself down here, baby?” he asks, working tortuously slow circles over your clit.

"Please," you beg, your hands grasping at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

He looks up at you, his gaze dark and filled with an intensity that makes your stomach tighten. “Asked you a question, honey.”

You whine, high and loud in your throat as your thighs clench desperately around his wrist. “Yes, I touch myself.”

Joel’s lips curl into a satisfied grin, sliding his thick index finger through the messy wetness to slip inside your clenching hole, making you gasp. Your hands grasp at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

“Good girl,” he breathes, eyes darkening at the broken moan that bursts from your lips. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

Your brain feels hazy as you search for the answer, pleasure clouding your mind slow and sweet as molasses. “A–a few nights ago.”

Joel hums idly, slipping a second finger alongside the first. The stretch has you whining, his fingers a lot more to take than your own.

Your hands come up to claw at his shoulders, relishing in the way his broad muscle ripples and shifts beneath your greedy palms.

“Joel,” you whine, hips canting down against his hand impatiently.

He just shushes you softly, free hand brushing soothing circles along the skin of your inner thigh. “I know, honey,” he mutters, the pace fingers speeding up. “But I gotta get her nice and ready if you wanna take my cock.”

The gush of your pussy around his fingers is loud in the stillness of the room, a filthy wet noise that burns your ears each time he plunges them into your aching hole.

“I am ready.” Your breath hitches as your body begins to tremble beneath him. “Please, Joel—fuck—please, I need—”

“Need what?” His voice is thick with dark amusement, but there's a hunger in his eyes that has your stomach twisting. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”

“I need you,” you rasp, your nails digging little crescent moons into his skin, your body pleading for release. “I need you inside me.”

Your hands grab at his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips in a feverish kiss. 

The pressure of his body on yours, the way his hard cock grinds against your trembling thigh, drives you to the brink of madness. 

Your hands trail down his chest, past the waistband of his jeans, finally reaching the bulge straining against the fabric.

Joel groans when you rub him through his pants, feeling his cock twitch in response. He pulls back, breathing heavily, his lips curling into a smirk. 

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice thick with lust. “You want my cock in this pretty pussy? Want me to show you how good it feels to be fucked?”

“God, yes,” you answer, desperation lacing your tone as your hand moves to unbuckle his jeans. “Want it so bad.”

He lets you push his pants down just enough to free his cock, and you gasp, your eyes drawn to the way his length stands, thick and hard, just waiting for you. The tip flushed an angry red, drooling pre-come onto the scratchy sheets.

Joel pulls his fingers from you, using his hands spreading your legs wider, positioning himself between them with such careful precision that you can barely stand it.

The head of his cock drags through the mess between your legs, slipping all the way down till it catches on your soaked entrance.

Joel pauses, looking down at you, waiting for your signal, but the only answer you give is a pleading whimper, your hands pulling at his shoulders, urging him to move.

His mouth captures yours once again as he slowly slides into you, the stretch of his cock filling you steadily, making you gasp into his mouth. 

The slow burn of him carving a place for himself inside of you is almost too much, your body trembling as you adjust to the feeling of him.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters against your lips. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

As he sinks deeper into you, his thick cock finally buried to the hilt inside of you, the feeling is overwhelming. You gasp, nails digging into his back as the pain slowly shifts into pleasure.

Joel groans into your mouth, his hands moving to your hips, guiding you as he rocks gently against you. 

The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as if he's savoring every inch of you. Your body quivers beneath him, every inch of your skin tingling with sensation. You clutch at him, your legs tightening around his waist, needing more, wanting more.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Take it, baby."

You screw your eyes shut tightly, trying to steady yourself as he thrusts deeper, harder. The angle shifts just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. 

Every stroke feels like it’s hitting the deepest part of you, sparking heat in places you never knew could burn so hot.

"Fuck," you gasp, the sensation too overwhelming, too much in the best way. "Joel... please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?" He pulls back slightly, teasing you with a slow roll of his hips before driving back in with a grunt.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, urging him to move faster, harder. "Don’t stop," you breathe, your voice trembling. "I need you to fuck me, Joel. Faster. Harder. Please."

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Joel finally picks up the pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.

Your back arches off the bed, chest pressing flush to his as your body coils tighter and tighter, already so close to the edge.

Joel reaches up to take your wrist in his, dragging your hand down to press flat against your lower stomach.

“Feel that?” he asks breathlessly, the speed of his hips knocking the dingy bed frame into the wall with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am?”

His own hand blankets yours, pushing down so you can feel the way his cock punches up against your palm on the next thrust.

Your pussy clenches desperately around him at the feeling, your slick lips dropping open on a loud moan.

You can barely hold on. The heat in your stomach tightens, coiling painfully as your free hand scrambles to find purchase on his skin. "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he drives deeper, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me, baby," he growls, his voice dark and commanding. "Let me feel it."

With a strangled cry, you finally release, your body clenching around him, every nerve igniting in a white-hot explosion of pleasure. 

You’re lost in it, your world spinning, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of Joel’s body pounding into yours, the way his cock brushes against that sweet spot behind your clit enough to make sparks go off behind your eyelids.

Joel pulls out of your velvety warmth, hand coming up to fist his dripping length until he’s bowing over you tightly and coming with a deep groan of your name.

His release paints your stomach with milky strands of white, rope after rope of warm come claiming you in a way no one has before.

He finally collapses against you with one last shuddering breath, both of you breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling together in the quiet aftermath.

For a few moments, neither of you speaks, the only sounds are the soft creak of the bed and the quiet hum of your racing hearts. 

Joel rests his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension begin to slip away, the weight of everything that’s happened between you both settling into something new—something different, but still there.

Your hand slips down the sweaty expanse of your stomach, your fingers swiping through the sticky mess of his release curiously.

“Christ, quit that,” Joel groans, tearing his eyes away from the sight to press his forehead against your shoulder.

“Why?” you hum, brow raised in amusement as you drop your hand back to the mattress. “Can you even get it up again?”

Joel pinches your side hard enough to make you squeal, your body flinching away from him as a surprised laugh bubbles from your chest.

“Watch it,” he warns, though there’s no bite to his tone. You only laugh in response.

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other as crickets chirp from outside the window.

Then Joel clears his throat, fingers idly tracing different shapes on the skin of your hip as he gathers the courage to speak.

A circle, a square, a diamond, a circle, a heart, a heart, a heart.

“I’m…” he starts, trailing off softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a real fuckin’ prick, and you didn’t deserve it. You never did.”

You turn your own gaze to his chest, hand coming up so you can trail your fingers along the jagged scar decorating his shoulder. Your touch featherlight over the rough patch of skin.

All the anger seeps from your body, a heavy weight gone until you feel so light you could float off the mattress and into the cold night air.

“It’s okay,” you whisper softly, so soft you think it gets lost in the quiet darkness of the room. “I understand now.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both just lay there, tangled in each other, not worrying about the world outside, about the chaos that waits. 

Just you, him, and the soft glow of moonlight.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: should i add joel to my taglist...i do kinda want to write more for him in the future but i'm not sure yet...lmk chickens <3 bee tee dubs sorry the ending absolutely sucks i could not for the life of me figure out how to end this LMAO

[reidgenius]

Low Pain Tolerance | S.R. x Reader

image by reidgif <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader Word Count: 1.4k Category: angst, hurt/comfort? Warnings: commitment issues, wildly insecure!reader (it's really just me) A/N: I haven't written for Spencer before, so please excuse any OOC inaccuracies and be nice okay! I am a long-time lurker/admirer of the lovely @pathologicalreid and am writing this for her cutesy margovember event :) Song Inspo: Low Pain Tolerance by Abby Holliday

You never enjoyed running.

Still, that didn't stop you from doing it often. Whether it be on the job or in a relationship, you ran.

To catch a bad guy. To catch yourself before you fall. To stop something terrible before it happens... You ran.

In this instance, you found yourself running from Spencer Reid.

"Would you look at me? Please?" he pleaded.

You knew if you were to turn around that you'd see his glassy doe eyes and be drawn right back in. You knew your weaknesses, and he was certainly one of them. The biggest one. That's why you stayed put, staring at his bedroom wall.

"I can't, Spence." You meant to say it with finality, but it came out more as a whimper.

"You can't look at me, or you can't-"

"Neither. Both."

As the holidays approached, Spencer had mentioned the idea of the two of you making a trip out to Vegas. "Just for a day or two," he'd promised. Though there wasn't much he treasured about home, you knew that his mother was there, and that was more than reason enough.

This evening, he'd brought it up again after letting you avoid the topic for weeks.

"It's only a matter of time before you figure it out," you admit.

"Figure what out?"

"God, Spence, that I'm only bringing you down!" you nearly shouted, though you hadn't meant to. The anxiety took over. "I'm like... gahhh! I don't know how to do any of this, I-"

To your dismay, he let out a laugh as you finally turned to face him. A real, genuine laugh.

"Bringing me down?" He looked at you with an earnest amusement. "Honey, I don't think you realize what you-"

"I'm scared. Okay? Is that what you wanted me to admit? That I'm scared of meeting her?" A single tear gushed down your cheek.

His brows knit in concern as he quickly thought of ways to disprove the common fears surrounding schizophrenia and it's manifestations.

"Baby, schizophrenia doesn't ma-"

"Dammit Spencer, it's not about that! It's- I..."

You found yourself stumbling over your words.

"I don't care about her diagnoses!" you laughed. (Of course, you did care, but that wasn't what was scaring you.) "I'm scared of this!" you said, waving your hands between the two of you. "I don't want to rush it. I don't want to get her hopes up..."

You let your legs give way to sit on the floor against the wall, your head in your hands, mumbling to the cold hardwood.

"I don't want to get my hopes up."

There was it. That was the truth.

You weren't used to it. You weren't used to someone asking you how your day was and really caring. You weren't used to the notion that a man would want to wrap himself around you at night and keep you close. You'd never been one to draw much attention from men. Or women. Or anyone, really.

Naturally, you figured that there must be something deeply and inherently flawed in you. Something Spencer had yet to discover.

So, being with him was... terrifying. You were constantly waiting and wondering when he'd conclude that you weren't as pretty as he initially thought, or as witty, or as intelligent, or kind, or...

And it would only be cruel to drag Diana into this. To have her think that perhaps her son had found his person. To have her thinking that she might be meeting her future daughter-in-law. It felt cruel to yourself, in some twisted way, to pretend that this was all going to last.

Spencer was typically a fast thinker, but your admission had the cogs in his brain working overtime. You were afraid of him? Of your relationship?

He padded over to join you on the floor, keeping a little distance so as not to scare you.

"Get your hopes up? You don't-" he gulped, "I mean... you don't think we're gonna- that this is gonna work out?"

Still speaking to the floor, you sigh, "I don't know, Spence."

You were exhausted. Incessantly feeling like you're on the brink of being "found out" can do that to a person. It's not that Spencer hadn't done all the right things. No, he was the perfect partner. But therein lied the issue. He was perfect. And, in your opinion, you were far, far from it.

You took a deep breath through your tears.

"I don't think I can keep doing this."

Confusion. Utter shock. Things had been going so well with you the past 8 months. Spencer immediately began to wrack his brain combing through all the possible mistakes he could've made. Did he raise his voice with you? Had he forgotten some big milestone? Was he not giving you enough?

"Honey I-" he gathered himself, placing a hand on your thigh, "I'm so sorry. Can I ask... what makes you say all this?"

Though you were reluctant, you figured that now was as good a time as any.

"Spencer. I am not good for you! Good enough for you!" With each point, you illustrated by raising a finger, "I am impulsive and I complain and I get weird sometimes when you touch me and I can be a massive bitch and I never know how to-"

"Woah, woah, woah-" He snuck up closer to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and placing his head atop yours, all while you kept rambling. "Why in the world do you say that? Not good enough for me? If anything it's me who isn't deserving of you..."

"No, you-"

He stopped you in your tracks just by saying your name in that beautiful way he does. Like its covered in honey and dripping with admiration.

"You are everything. You may think those things about yourself but I certainly don't." His thumb caressed your bare skin so carefully as he continued, speaking slowly so as to allow the words to really sink in. "You are the most generous person I've ever encountered. You care so deeply about people you love. You are courageous and willing to try all the weird foods I suggest even though you really don't want to." He smirked a bit at that one. "You have taken everything that life has thrown at you and navigated it with grace. You really are just... you're it. You're her. You're the girl - the woman - I've always hoped would come my way but never dreamed actually would. Honey, I've figured out everything I need to know when it comes to how I feel about you."

You sat there, warm under his embrace, pondering his words as he spoke. It's nothing he hasn't said before, granted, in much less grand and emotionally charged ways. But it was like you were really hearing it for the first time. You wanted so badly to believe him.

"I love you," he continued. "I love you so much that sometimes I am afraid of myself. Of what I'd do for you. You, god, you make me so much better."

"I love you, too. Too much," you squeaked out.

"No. Not too much." He leaned back to encourage you to look up at him. "You know I really mean all that right? Just the way you are. Quirks included?"

"I guess. And now I'm just self-conscious that I am so self-conscious..."

"You say that as if I'm not the exact same way!" he chuckles, trying to make light of what is clearly a shared wound. You'll deal with that later. Together, preferably. "Please, trust me. Do you trust me?"

And you did. You trusted Spencer with every cell in your body and hair on your head. There was nobody else you'd ever been so confident in. So, you nod against his chest as your tears begin to subside.

"Good. Now why don't we move this party up into the bed?"

"No offense, Spencer, but the last thing I want right now is to f-"

"No no no nooope! Not that, babe," he laughed. "Just wanna lay with you 'til this feeling passes. Is that okay?"

"Please."

And so, the rest of the evening consisted of cuddles under your massive comforter. Sweet admissions whispered in your ear. The tiniest kisses to your hairline and your shoulder and your nose and your wrists.

By the time you dozed into a worry-free slumber, you believed him a little more.

Perhaps you could let Spencer love you, forever.

[rafesbabyg1rl]

You were asking for reqs for rafe x reader, if you are taking them, I have one in mind. In which rafe is extremely possesive of bsf reader, and gets easily jealous. One day she was at a kook party, and a guy approached her and they started to talk and that sh*t went down, rafe got aggressive and almost beat the guy to a pulp. Reader is like a shy cute innocent, bimbo type. And smut after the scene if you write it.

Summary: Innocent!reader X possessive!Rafe, bestfriend!reader X bestfriend!Rafe. Summary is basically the anonymous ask!

Warnings: Rafe is possessive of reader. Established friendship. Rafe almost beats a guy to death. Mentions of drugs (no actual drug use), alcohol consumption. Lots of smut; p in v, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, loss of virginity, SLIGHT degradation (some praise too). The classic 'what are we' at the end. The L word.

Word Count: 6.1k

Author Note: Hello Beauties! Thank you for the support and kindness you've all shown me. And thank you for this ask, I really enjoyed writing it. I hope I did your idea justice. Sorry that this is a bit long, it just sort of happened. Also, I hope you all enjoyed the holiday yesterday, well those that celebrate. I'm hoping to finish part four of The Watcher soon so I can get it out, life has just been so exhausting. Anyways, please enjoy and feel free to leave feedback! I love you all, thank you so much!! Stay freaky y'all.

Your best friend, Rafe, had asked you to go to a party with him. Well, more like he had told you to go. Although it’s not like you’d ever miss the opportunity to party with your best friend. So, here you are; walking around the side of Topper’s house, looking for Rafe. You two didn’t come together, he got here before you. He knows you don’t love being around his ‘friends’ and their various illegal substances, even though he says he’s clean, he likes to have time with them before you get there. 

You round a corner, now entering the Thorton’s backyard. You look for Rafe as you work your way through the loud and busy crowd. You hear a friend call your name, you turn your head to her, and she waves you over. You approach her and a few others with a smile. You greet them.

The other girls chat amongst themselves as your friend speaks up, shouting over the music. “Hey!” She’s over enthusiastic per regular, probably a bit drunk too.

“Hey!” You shout back. 

She begins, “Oh my god! I have to tell you something. Guess who I saw—”. Usually, you’d want to hear all the gossip she’s about to ramble to you, but not right now. “Do you know where Rafe is?” You shout over her, cutting her off.

“What?” She asks, stepping closer to you so she can hear you.

“Do you know—” You’re suddenly interrupted by some guy standing beside you. You turn to face him.

“Hey.” He says, his tone confident. A cocky grin spreads across his face.

“Hi.” You smile politely, “Do I know you?”. You say hurriedly before turning back to your friend. She looks between you and the guy a few times before facing you and giving you a knowing smirk. You know what that look means and before you can say anything, she walks away. Leaving you alone with him. You roll your eyes at her playfully, although you really are annoyed that she didn’t tell you where Rafe is. 

Slowly, you turn your head back to the guy, flashing him another fake smile. He grins again before speaking, “No…no you don’t.” He pauses, stepping a bit closer to you so he doesn’t have to shout over the music as loud. “I’m Devin.”

Your fake smile is getting awkward, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t care about talking to him right now. “Nice to meet you, Devin. B-but I need to–”

Devin cuts you off, “Let me get you a drink.” 

You laugh shyly, “Oh...I-I’m okay, I actually have to…”

“Let me just get you a drink, it’ll only take a second.” He moves closer to rest his hand on your lower back for a slight moment, to get you to turn toward the drinks. 

Rafe was on the back patio sitting on one of the couches when someone had mentioned to him that they saw you. He went to go and find you, which is when he spotted you laughing with some guy, who moments later put his hand on you. Rafe’s already had a few drinks tonight, so his judgment clouded even more than usual, especially when it comes to you. 

As you walk towards the drinks, Devin’s hand falls and he follows close behind you. 

After a moment, you hear a mix of gasps and ‘ooohh’s’ from everyone. You turn to look behind you where everyone seems to be gathering. You find that Devin isn’t behind you anymore.

Immediately your eyes land on some commotion in the crowd, you squeeze through the ring of people forming around the area. Shit. You run forwards, pausing just before the fight. 

Devin is flat on his back, Rafe straddling him. Rafe has Devin’s shirt clenched in one fist, holding his head off the ground as he repeatedly drives his other fist into Devin’s face. 

“Rafe!” You shout. Keeping your distance, not wanting to get too close while he’s out of control. You’ve seen how he can get. In the years that you two have been friends, you’ve had to calm him down from countless fights, since nobody else can ever seem to do it. But, when nobody else steps in to try and stop the fight, you step closer, knowing something has to be done. “Rafe, stop! Stop it!” You scream. 

Devin’s completely unconscious, his nose is probably broken, but you can’t really tell; his face is a swollen mess of blood and bruises. You can’t stand here and watch anymore, and nobody seems to be listening to your cries for help. Because nobody is stupid enough to get in Rafe’s way while he’s like this. You step behind Rafe, putting your hands on his shoulders. You try to pull him back all the while trying not to get punched.

“Rafe! Look at me! Look at me, Ray!” Rafe turns his head to the side, momentarily stopping his actions, letting Devin’s head rest on the floor. You put a hand up to cup his cheek. Speaking quietly now as you plead to him. “Rafe…c’mon, that’s good, h-he’s had enough…”. Your tears slow, but your breath is still erratic as you look at the unconscious man. 

Rafe turns back to the guy, your hand falling from his face. Rafe pulls Devin’s head up, like he was going to punch him again. Instead, he lets go, letting the boy's head hit the floor. Rafe stands up without a word and grabs you by your wrist, tugging you away. 

Before you know it, you’re being shoved into your best friend's truck. His random mumbles don’t make much sense to you, talking about ‘he got what he deserved…Should’ve fuckin’ killed him…yeah, should’ve fucking killed him for that. Touchin’ what’s mine…’

When you get to Tannyhill, Rafe wastes no time pulling you into his room. You sit on his bed stiffly, waiting silently as he paces the room.

“Rafe?” You call out softly. “You okay? What happened back there? What was that?”

“He touched you.” Rafe states. His tone is low and rough, sending a chill down your spine. Even after all the years you’ve been his best friend, you still never know how to act when he’s like this. 

“Barely. He barely touched me.”

Rafe completely disregards what you say, shaking his head and blowing out a jagged breath as he continues to pace across his room, a bit slower now. “Why was he even talking to you? You were supposed to be with me. I told you to go to the party, not him.” 

You take your chance to get a word in as he spews out angry nonsense. “I was looking for you and he started talking, ‘wanted to get me a drink. I was just being nice; I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t even want to talk to him, I was looking for you, Rafe. I don’t even see why that matters–”.

He pauses, looking over at you. His movements are sharp as he strides over to you. “Don’t see why it matters…?” He repeats your words, more for himself than to you. “It matters because you’re mine.” His words are sharp, definitely directed to you that time.

“Rafe…you almost killed him…because of me? I don’t get it Rafe; I don’t nearly kill all the girls you fuck.” You state.

Rafe lets out a breathy chuckle before speaking. “Still don’t get it, huh?” Rafe laughs. “God you’re so innocent. So naive.” He pauses, stepping closer until he’s standing in front of you, looking down at you as you sit on his bed. “I need you, y/n. I can’t…god, I can’t even fuck anyone else anymore without thinking about you. I can’t let anyone else have you, got that? You understand now?” He asks harshly as he runs a rough hand through your hair. 

You try to swallow the lump in your throat. You look up and nod weakly, causing Rafe to flash a devilish grin. “Yeah?” He asks quietly, his voice coming out low. 

“Yeah…” You mumble back brainlessly, too shocked by your best friend's confession. You had always thought Rafe saw you purely as a friend. Although thinking back, you don’t know how you ever thought that with how he acts, especially lately. 

No time is wasted as Rafe quickly leans down, capturing your lips with his. The first kiss is hesitant, and you don’t kiss back. But when he pulls away to look at you, trying to gauge your emotion, you lean in. Your best friend takes that as a sign to continue. His lips quickly find yours again. When he feels you start to kiss back, he escalates things. Kissing you more roughly now, acting as though he’s a starved man and your lips are his meal.

His hand moves from the back of your head to your throat, lightly squeezing. At first you don’t even realize, too distracted by the feeling of his tongue entering your mouth. But when Rafe squeezes your neck even tighter, you move your hands to reach up and wrap around his wrist in an attempt to pull it away. Your mouth still occupied by his, the kiss is too fucking good to break. It feels like everything you didn’t know you needed. He’s giving you what nobody else could, because only he knows exactly what you need and exactly how to give it to you. Your lack of breath reminds you of your situation and you pull away from the kiss momentarily.

Rafe’s grip loosens as he pulls his head back so he can look into your eyes. “Tell me you want this.” He mumbles breathlessly. 

You search his eyes as you catch your breath. Nodding, you finally speak up. “I want this.” You say definitively.

Not even half a second later, Rafe’s body crashes down onto you, pushing you down so that you’re laying on his bed. Rafe has one arm beside your head, holding himself up as his other remains on your neck. He hovers over you, one knee pressed between your thighs. Rafe leans down, his lips attaching to your neck, kissing and sucking frantically at your skin. He’s been waiting so, so long for this. 

His lips find your ear, softly biting at it before whispering. “Let me take care of you, baby. You want that, hm?”. While waiting for your response, his free hand traces down the side of your body until it reaches the hem of your skirt. He moves his face to the other side of your head, giving some attention to your other ear. “Need your best friend to help you feel good…give you what you need, yeah?” His hand slips under your skirt, slowly gliding up your inner thigh, sending shivers through your whole body.

“Yes–” A moan escapes your lips, interrupting you. Your eyes meet his before you continue. “Please Rafey…need you…”

His lips meet yours at the same time his hand meets your clothed cunt. He kisses you sloppily, exploring every part of your mouth with his tongue. Your hands come up to rest on his chest, your touch sending shocks through him. He rubs you through your panties. He can feel as you grow more needy, the wet spot on your panties getting larger. 

He can’t believe this is actually happening. He’s wanted to do this to you for so long; he’s dreamt of this moment happening in almost every way possible, but this…he never could’ve imagined this feeling. “Fuck…you’re so wet f’me already.”

“Ray…please…” You can’t help but rut your panty-clad cunt against his hand, searching for friction. Usually you’re never this bold, but you’re comfortable with him. You always have been, he is your best friend after all. You just pray that he understands what you need. 

Except Rafe doesn’t respond in the way you had hoped for. No, instead he pulls his hand out from under your skirt, eliciting a whine from you. He presses a genuine, wet kiss against your parted lips before moving down your body. Rafe slides down, kneeling onto the floor in front of the bed. He grabs you by the back of your knees and tugs you down towards him until your ass is at the edge of the bed. Without breaking eye contact, he swiftly removes your skirt. He spreads your legs, making them bend so your heels are on the edge of the bed. Eagerly, he presses wet, sloppy kisses up your inner thighs, his eyes trained up on you.

The sight of him like this between your thighs, doing exactly what you need…it drives you crazy. You lean your head back, letting out a moan as Rafe mouths at your entrance through the fabric your panties.

It’s not long before he’s peeling back your panties as well, sliding them off of you completely. Your legs threaten to close from insecurity, but your best friend is sure to hold them open.

“Fuck…this pussy’s even prettier than I imagined, baby. Soaked…just for me.” Rafe leans in, his mouth hovering just above your core. He silently asks for permission.

Being your best friend, Rafe knows that you’ve never done this before. No guy had ever wanted to date you while Rafe’s your best friend, they could see that you’re his, even if you couldn’t. 

His breath is hot on your bare center, he watches as you squirm and clench around nothing. Eagerly you nod, giving him permission. And within seconds his mouth is on you.

At first, he’s slow; gentle as his eyes continue to meet yours. He licks a warm stripe up your center, briefly pulling back to watch your reaction. Your head falls back, your mouth parted, and eyes closed as you experience this new sensation that your best friend is so generously giving you.

Rafe begins to lick and suck at you. His tongue circles your clit as he looks up, knowing you’d like it. A moan slips past your lips as your hand flies to the back of his head, the other gripping onto the sheets beside you. 

“Nnnghh…f-fuck, Ray…” You whine as his tongue fucks you relentlessly. He only mumbles against you in response, sending vibrations through your core. This felt even better than you had ever thought it would. When you heard people talk about sex, you didn’t think it could actually be this good. Though maybe that just has to do with the fact that Rafe’s your best friend, and he knows exactly what you need.

“Yeah?” One of his hands leaves your leg and moves to grope your tits through your clothes. “You like this, huh? You’re just a slut for your best friend, hm? Letting me have you like this…”

“N-need you…” You mutter, grieving the loss of his tongue on you. He stares at you with a devilish glint in his eyes. 

“I know, baby. I know.” Rafe’s mouth continues to work on you. His tongue gathers some slick from your entrance and brings it up to your clit, circling it with his tongue a few times before repeating the process. 

The feeling in your lower stomach is starting to build. It’s getting hard for you to sit still for him. It’s even harder for you to stay quiet. A plethora of moans escape you as Rafe’s mouth stays busy between your thighs. Your hand holds his head down, your other grips the sheets underneath you. 

“Rafe…please. S’too much, I can’t—” You whine. 

“Ah ah ah…stop running, baby. I got you. I got you.” Rafe’s grip on your thighs tightens, keeping you in place. “God,” He mutters breathlessly. “You taste…you taste so fuckin’ good. Hiding this from me all that time, hm?” He leans back down and continues his ministrations on you.

Your toes start to curl, the band in your stomach threatening to snap. Suddenly he stops and before you get the chance to look down to see why, one of his fingers is prodding at your entrance. “Gotta stretch this pretty little pussy out, yeah? Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You nod, allowing one of his thick, long digits to slowly slide into you. You almost scream when he starts to move it, his mouth working on you at the same time. Rafe adds another finger, now thrusting two in and out of you. 

“Fuck baby, you’re gonna squeeze my cock so good. Jus’ gotta get you used to this, hm? You gonna let your best friend be the first to fuck you?” Rafe asks. You nod in response, agreeing to his words. Rafe’s fingers spread apart inside you, stretching your hole, preparing you for his cock. His tongue pauses again as he looks up at you and correct his previous statement. “The only one to fuck you.” Rafe puts his head back between your thighs, his fingers fucking you mercilessly as his tongue sucks at your bud. 

You nod again, followed by a whine. “F-fuck…Ray. I-I think I’m gonna…”

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me, baby? Hm?” 

“Mhmm…yes, fuckk–” You respond, your fingers fighting to grasp onto the little hair he has. Your thighs begin to squeeze around him, causing him to pull his head up against the force of your hand on him. 

“Just a little more, baby. You can take it. I know you can. You gonna let me help you finish? You wanna cum?”

“Yes! Yes! Please Rafey…please let me cum.” Your begging makes him chuckle briefly before going back down on you. His tongue moves with precision, working on you with a purpose; to make you cum. 

Without warning, the band in your stomach snaps. You scream out his name as his tongue circles your sensitive bud and his fingers pump in and out of you slowly. Your best friend continues to work you through your first real orgasm. You’ve never felt anything like this. Why the hell did you wait so long to do this with him?

“God…baby. You’re so fuckin’ perfect. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those pretty sounds.” Rafe carefully slides his fingers out of you, making you clench around nothing at the loss of him. He gets up from his knees, standing over you again. Rafe’s face glistens with your slick. His hand moves up to brush your hair back while he brings his free hand up to your mouth. “Open.” He orders. You oblige and he pushes two digits into your mouth. “Taste that? Taste how fuckin’ good you taste?” He pulls his fingers back, immediately moving down to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his lips. Rafe climbs on top of you, his mouth finding the sweet spot behind your ear. He whispers, “You okay?”

“Mhm…better than okay.” You reassure him. Your legs are still shaking with the aftershock of your orgasm. 

“Good.” He mumbles against your skin. “‘Cause I’m not even close to done with you, baby. We’re just getting started.” He doesn’t wait before he’s pulling off your shirt, kissing down your chest. Soon after, he unclasps your bra with one hand, pulling it off of you and tossing it onto the floor somewhere. 

His lips are vicious, attaching to any and every bit of your skin. His hands gently cup your breasts, his mouth finding and attaching to one of your nipples. His eyes stay trained up on your face, he likes seeing how you react to his touch. He pulls back, straddling your lap. Your hand shoots out to grab the hem of his shirt, trying to tug it upwards. He smirks and quickly does it himself, tossing it aside. He watches you like prey as your eyes skim over his bare chest. 

It’s not like you haven’t seen him shirtless before, you have, many times. But no matter how many times you see him like this, you’ll never get used to it. You’ve never seen him in this way though. It’s different, more intimate. You’ve never shared this kind of intimacy with anybody before. And you’re glad you’re doing it with your best friend, whom you’re comfortable with. 

The low light of his bedside lamps reflecting off of his toned skin, damp with sweat. You let out a slow breath as you take in the sight. “Fuck.” You mutter. 

Rafe leans down, kissing and nipping at your earlobe. He whispers, “Like what you see?” He laughs. 

You nod your head eagerly. “Mhmm…”

“Use your words baby, you’re a big girl, aren’t you?” 

“I…y-yes.” You whine as you wriggle underneath him, trying to squeeze your thighs shut in search of some much-needed friction.

Rafe knows what you need. He knows that you’re ready now; ready to give him everything, let him take your innocence, your virtue. He uses one hand to prop himself up as the other works at his belt. Once you realize what he’s doing, you try to help him out, eagerly unbuckling his belt as he kisses you passionately, like he’s never kissed anyone else before you; like you’re the only girl on this fucking planet. 

Once his belt is off, you work at his pants. He leans up so he can tug them off, throwing them aside with the rest of the discarded clothes. All that’s left between the two of you now is the thin fabric of his boxers. You can feel his hardened form pressing into your leg as he kisses you, practically devouring you. Without thinking about it, you find your hand tugging at the waistband of his boxers. You beg. “Please”, your lips whisper into his ear as he bites at your neck. “Rafey…”

He leans back again, this time getting off of you and standing at the side of the bed and in front of you. You can’t help but touch yourself as Rafe frees himself from the constraint of his boxers. You watch as his hard cock springs up, hitting his stomach when it’s finally freed. He smirks, leaning down to remove your hand from yourself. 

“I got you, baby. I got you. I’ll take care of you.” He mumbles, moving his hand over your core again. His strong fingers circle your clit. Your breath hitches as you watch him touch you, his other hand holding the base of his cock.

“Rafe?” You manage to ask through your cries. 

“Hm? What is it?” Rafe says your name softly, encouraging you to continue. 

“Will it hurt?” You’ve heard that the first time can be uncomfortable. And judging by Rafe’s size, this was going to be more than just uncomfortable. But that doesn’t mean you’re going to back out of the situation, you need this. You need him.

Your best friend’s expression becomes more serious as he looks at you. His hand comes up from your core to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. “It might, baby. It might be a little uncomfortable for a moment, but I’ll do my best to make it feel good, yeah? I’ll go slow. And if you don’t like it I want you to tell me. You’re okay, baby. It’s just me, your best friend. I’m gonna take care of you. M’kay?” You nod in response, his eyes darting between your eyes to get a sense of what you’re thinking. Rafe clicks his tongue. “Ah, ah. Use your words, pretty girl.” His hand reaches out for your chin, tilting your face up towards him. 

“Please Ray…”

“Please what?”

“Fuck me…” The words sound so vulgar coming from your sweet, innocent mouth. He’s never known you to speak this way, but he’s not against it. He pumps his fist over his cock a few times, his head leaning back as he lets out a groan. “Please Rafe…I-I need you in me…”

Your words snap him out of his amazement. “Atta girl.” He replies. You can feel his tip gently rub against your slippery entrance. Your warm juices on his cock feel better than anything he’s ever experienced. You’re like a drug to him. A drug that he can’t get enough of. 

He pulls back before you can get used to the feeling of him. He leans over you, reaching into his dresser drawer. When he moves back over you, you see the shiny square wrapper in his hand.

You place your hands over his as he tries to open the condom. “No…”

His head snaps up at you. “No…? No what?” He asks, confused. “You don’t want to do this?”

“No…Rafe, I-I want this. I just…I want to feel you. No…no condom.” You explain.

“Fuck, y/n. Are you sure?” Rafe’s disbelief and shock is very apparent in his tone. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m on the pill.” You confirm.

“God, how much more perfect can you fuckin’ get?” He chuckles, making you huff out a quick laugh. 

Soon his lips are back on yours as he uses his hand to guide his glistening, pink tip back to your puffy cunt. Slowly, he pushes into you, just so that the very tip of his cock is inside of you. He looks up to your face, pending your reaction. 

“F-fuck…Rafe.” Your hands move to his hips, pushing him further inside. Rafe gives in, pushing another inch into you. “Mnghh, fuck…Rafe.” Rafe settles there for a moment before giving you another inch or two. Each time he moves, he looks to make sure you’re still enjoying it, giving you a minute to adjust each time. When he finally bottoms out, you feel so…full. The pain is there, but it doesn’t last long, fading into a light discomfort as your soft walls mold to his shape. You involuntarily squeeze around him.

“Shiiiitt, baby…Squeezin’ me so tight.” He pauses to kiss you, his lips soon finding that soft spot behind your ear that makes you shiver. “M’gonna move now, alright?”

“Mhm…please…” You whine. You hook your arms under his, bringing your palms up to grip onto his back. Rafe continues to kiss all over your neck and chest as he slowly pulls out of you, until only the tip is left inside. Without warning, he pushes into you a bit quicker this time, with a bit more force than before. But you’re not complaining. You cry his name out, your nails digging into his shoulders. He begins to move at a slow, steady pace as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. “F-fuck…” You yelp, gripping onto him even harder.

“Fuck, baby…your nails, they hurt.” He mumbles amusedly into your ear as he nips at it. Immediately your grip loosens. You feel terrible but can’t manage to muster up an apology since you can’t think clearly with how his cock is repeatedly kissing your cervix with each thrust. 

“Faster.” You beg, pressing your forehead into his arm. He listens cautiously, carefully picking up the face. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder. The new position allows him to hit an even deeper spot inside of you. When his digits start to circle your clit you almost let out a scream, making him chuckle. 

“Such a fuckin’ whore for me, hm?” He laughs as he fucks you senseless.

“Fuck…Rafey, no, I…I can’t. Can’t take it.” You moan, throwing your head back as your eyes squeeze shut. 

“You can and you will.” He speaks emotionlessly, overtaken by pleasure. Rafe’s hand moves from you clit up to your throat again, he applies a bit of pressure. Your hands leave his back and wrap around his wrist. Your eyes stay shut as your face contorts into that of pure bliss. His thumb slides into your mouth and you suck and bite at it, trying to distract yourself from the overwhelming feeling of him fucking you. You don’t see how you can ever stop; this feeling is…unlike anything else you’ve felt before. “You got this baby. M’almost there. You can let go, baby. Just let go f’me.”

Sooner than later you feel the newly familiar feeling of pressure building in your lower stomach. When it snaps, your body tenses up, a wave of moans escape your mouth as the band snaps and pleasure washes over you. Rafe continues to fuck you slowly, his movements becoming more sporadic than strategic.

“Fuck, where do you want it?”

“My pussy, please Rafey…fill me up?” You ask, eyes wide with tears as you look up at him. “Please?”

“Shit, you sure?” Rafe groans, barely able to hold on any longer.

“Y-yes...I’m sure.” Only seconds later you can feel his warm seed spurting out inside of you. Your gummy walls soaking him in as they squeeze around him, milking him for all that he’s got.

“Fuckk y/n. Do that again.” As he thrusts into you without any specific rhythm, you obey his words, squeezing tightly around his length again. Rafe lets out a guttural moan, tossing his head back for a moment before looking at you again, watching how well you take him, as if you were made for him. The way he fills you up you is like pieces of a puzzle, just meant for one another. “Shiiitt…you’re so fucking tight. Squeezin’ ‘round your best friends cock so good.”

After you’re both worked through your orgasms, he pulls out of you. You groan at the loss of him, feeling a big opening left where he had been. Rafe leans down to press a deep, meaningful kiss to your lips. He pulls back, wiping your hair and sweat from your face with a proud smile.

“God, baby. You did so good, so fucking good. That’s a good girl. My girl, yeah?” He leans down again, pressing a kiss to your neck. Rafe whispers in your ear. “m’so proud.” Before pulling away completely, he presses a kiss to each of your cheeks, your nose, and one final kiss to your forehead. 

You turn on your side to face him as he lay on the bed beside you. “Rafe…” Your voice shows your exhaustion, but also your hesitancy.

He turns on his side to face you as well, propping his head up against his hand. “Hm?” He says with a smile. He can’t help it, it’s impossible for him to see you and not smile after what you just did. 

You flop back down onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. It’s too hard to say this while looking at his beautiful smile. “That was…” 

“Incredible?” He interrupts, his fingers lightly tracing up and down your arm. 

“What was that?” You blurt out, scared that if you don’t say it now then you never will.

Rafe’s smile fades quickly, he props himself up on his elbows, staring down at you with furrowed brows. “Woah woah, woah. Hey. What? What d’you mean?”

You give a light shrug, his fingers no longer moving over your skin. You avoid looking at his pretty eyes. “I mean like…what happens now?”

He sighs, laying back down next to you, looking up at the ceiling. “Well, you’re my girl now, yeah? I thought that was obvious.” 

“Your girl? The Rafe Cameron I know doesn’t do girlfriends.” You say lightly.

“That’s because I never wanted one. I never…needed one, I’ve got you.”

“So…we’re friends?” You ask, attempting and failing at trying to hide your emotions.

“We are, aren’t we?” Rafe responds, not knowing what his words imply or how they’ll make you feel.

“Yeah…yea we’re friends.” You say dryly. 

He turns his head to face you. “Hey. Y/N. What’s wrong? Hey…hey, talk to me.”

“Nothing, Rafe. I’m fine.”

“Jesus, no you’re not. C‘mon baby, what is it?”

“Nothing!” You snap. You’re angry about your own reaction, feeling stupid once the words leave your mouth. Grabbing the sheets, you cover yourself up.

“Did I do something? What’d I do?” Asks Rafe, making you feel worse about yourself. It’s not his fault you feel like this. “Is it what we did? Look, I’m sorry if—“

You cut him off, not being able to listen to him blame himself. “I just…I don’t think friends do what we just did.”

“Jesus, y/n. Look…” He trails off, cursing himself. “Do you not wanna be my girl or something? ‘Cause I can—“

“No, Rafe. I just…I don’t get what you mean. Your girl?”

“Yeah.” He says, confused.

“Like…your girlfriend? Dating? Us?”

“Fuck. Yes, baby. My girlfriend.” Rafe says the word as though it’s a pain to say it. “Will you be my girlfriend? Please?” You could tease him about the way he’s practically begging you.

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” You joke, not being able to resist. Rafe laughs, glad to hear your usual self. 

“Well, I’m kinda hoping that I’m your…boyfriend, now.”

“Hmm…let me think…” You say, tapping your chin as if this is something you need to contemplate. You can see his demeanor sadden from the corner of your eye, causing you to look over at him. “What’s in it for me?” You add, a smirk threatening to appear on your face. You can barely hold back your laughter at this point, but he still looks so sad, like a puppy who can’t have a treat. “Jesus Rafe, I thought you’d never ask.” You don’t even give him enough time to respond before you’re on top of him, his lips immediately seeking yours.

“Yeah? You mean it?” He asks between kisses, almost nervously. 

“Of course I do, Rafe. ‘Promise.” 

You always know just what to say to him to calm down his mind, he loves that about you. “Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this. God, I fuckin’ love you.” Your eyes widen at his confession, you look down at him. He’s almost just as shocked as you are. He didn’t even know he felt that way. The words just slipped out, but they felt so right. “Fuck, no, I meant—“ Rafe starts, but you cut him off. You kiss him again,  passionately. This kiss shows him exactly how you feel, somehow being more intimate than having sex with him was. 

“I love you, Rafe. I promise.” You know how he can feel like everybody is against him, so you try to reassure him as much as you can. You’re the only one who’s ever made him feel cared for; he just never wanted to fuck things up with you. “Please just…can you promise me that you’ll stop beating up random strangers who talk to me? ‘Cause I don’t care about them, Rafe. I care about you.”

This is all so new, talking to each other in this way. But it’s how you’ve both always felt. “But y/n, he-“ Rafe pauses, reconsidering his words for you. He sighs and then mumbles, “Yeah…I’ll try.” He looks back at you, you with a stern look in your eyes. “I will. I promise.”

You smile, leaning down for a kiss. Quickly, things start to escalate again. Rafe flips you both over so he’s on top. He leans down to kiss your neck, sucking and nipping at it as he works his way down, kissing every inch of you. 

“Mnmh…fuck…” You moan.

Rafe smiles against your skin. “Yeah, baby? That feels good huh?” You only nod eagerly as a response. Rafe takes hold of his already hard cock, using his fist to pump over himself a few times, letting out a low growl. He rubs his dewy, pink tip over your sticky hole. 

You let out a moan, still being sensitive from your previous orgasms. “F-fuck…Rafe, m’too sensitive, s’too much.” You whine.

“Shh…shhhh baby, it’s okay. I’m not gonna do nothin’, jus’ wanna show you how proud of my girl I am.” His mouth works it’s way down, landing back between your thighs. Your boyfriend softly bites at your inner thighs, his eyes staying trained on you as your face contorts in pleasure. Eventually he finds your soaking core, lapping up the mix of your juices. You feel his fingers gather some of your arousal, mixed with his cum. Before you know it, those fingers are deep inside your throat. “Taste that, baby? Hm? Taste how fucking good we are?” 

You nod, whining when his mouth finds your core again. His tongue flicks at your most sensitive bud, making you jump. Although Rafe only holds onto harder the more you try to run. “Baby, it’s okay. Let me take care of you; clean you up.”

It doesn’t take long until you’re yet again, a shaking, crying mess underneath him. When his mouth works it’s way back to yours, you can taste both of you on his tongue. “Fuckin’ love this pussy. I fucking love you.”

You smile a weak, tired smile at him. He rolls off of you, flipping you both on your side so he can spoon you. He kisses your shoulder, his fingers lightly tracing mindless shapes into your skin. “I love you too.” You respond as you drift off to sleep in your boyfriend's arms.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Please feel free to leave more asks, I will most likely get to them at some point. Thank you!

[apricot-blossomss]

Hi, I love your writings a lot. I have another Apollo idea don’t know if you like it but I wanna share it: So, Reader is a deeply devoted follower of Apollo; loyal, loving, kind and compassionate but very insecure, has many self-deprecating thoughts, still, very determined to learn something in his honour. So, she tries to learn the lyre but she is bad in it not talented at all. She is determined though and willing to sacrifice time and effort into practice.

I imagine this plays out in Ancient Greece, the reader is very poor but determined to learn it and then to try her best on the Pythian Games. Apollo is already so smitten with her; he follows her journey from far but doesn’t wanna bless her bc he wants her to success on her own. One night he shows up to her while she’s praying. First, she is afraid he is here to take away her lyre as she is not worthy of it but instead, he is super kind and supportive tells her this effort and hard work is far greater and more meaningful sacrifice than any of the treasures the kings offer to him.

So, he offers her to be her teacher from now on as she can’t afford a good teacher like the others. They have romantic moments, kisses as he continues to teach her. Of course she wins the Games, he has taught her things no human knows about the lyre. At the end of the Games, he shows up to the people and in front of everyone he offers her to go with him and play with the Muses.

This is long I know, so, please do with it whatever you want. Use parts of it if it is too long, I just wanted to share it with someone.

☛ apollo teaching mortal! fem! reader to play the lyre

☛ sfw; fluff; cw: self-doubt, stage fright; not proofread oops

"Just stop already!"

"Why do you keep trying?"

"You have no talent."

It wasn't like you didn't know they were right. A lack of self-awareness is wasn't the problem for you. It was, however, the unexplainable love you felt for the instrument in your hands. It washed out of the gentle wood of the olive tree- you heard that the high lords and ladies sometimes owned gilded or golden lyres, which you could hardly imagine. And it was your most prized possession.

You had given a lot to be able to afford it, since your family wasn't ready to pay for a endeavor as fruitless as your attempts to learn to play it. At night, you dreamt of being able to elicit beautiful tunes out of the instrument, but during the day, reality hit you like a hammer in the head as you awkwardly plucked the strings, sounding more like a dying cat than the musician you dreamed of becoming.

It wasn't fair, you thought, in moments were your frustration overwhelmed you. It wasn't fair that some people had such talent that they could effortlessly handle the instrument while someone as in love with the art of it as you struggled without seeing any results. Many times, you had prayed to Apollo, but the god had never blessed your attempts and by now, you figured it might be some sort of subliminal messaging.

But you didn't care. Well, you did, but none of it could deter you. No matter how many people shook their heads or laughed or told you to stop, you sat down for hours on end, trying to figure out the beautiful instrument. When you walked on the market or the town square, you would stop at street musicians demonstrating their craft, watching their fingers, trying to learn, but you never managed to replicate it.

Your family wanted you to learn some other craft to attract suitors and impress them, but you would not relent. You would practice, you would watch, you would pray. All in the hopes of getting the hang of the lyre someday. And no matter how many times you failed or screamed at your fingers to just do it right, resting them on top of the strings and running them along them always calmed you.

Carefully, you let your hands run up and down, simply tugging one string after the other. And somehow, you still managed to mess it up. It sounded stale and squeaky, no matter how much you tried to soften your movements. Not willing to let that deter you, you tried to play a melody you had heard one off the street musicians play yesterday on the market.

Unbeknownst to you, you had an audience you couldn't have dreamed of. Way above, golden eyes followed the movement of your fingers, listening intently, intrigued. Forearms leaned on the railing of his balcony, he had been watching you practice frequently over the course of the last months. In the beginning , it had been for his amusement. Now, it had become a part of his routine to see how you were doing.

"Brother!"

Apollo looked up from the sight of you practicing in your room to find Hermes sitting on the railing. After a short, distracted greeting, his eyes wandered down once more, as if they were attracted by a magnetic force. And, truly, you were magnetizing. Your unrelenting determination, your love for his holy instrument, the fact that you had set yourself a goal and were working so hard towards it: competing in his Pythian games.

"So, what's got you this distracted lately?" Hermes asked, letting his legs dangle. When he was denied an answer, his attentive eyes followed Apollo's gaze and found you. "Oh, so that's-"

Apollo hushed him to listen to your best efforts, a small smile gracing his lips when he realized with what care you had listened to the mysterious lyre player on the street yesterday that had conveniently played a song more fit for beginners to pick up on.

"Wow, that sounds bad," Hermes exclaimed, whistling under his breath. Curling over in laughter, he missed the pointed stare by his brother. "Planning on punishing her or why are you enduring this?"

"Shut your mouth, brother," Apollo shot back and the sharpness of his tone surprised Hermes. As he looked down once more, he watched Apollos face soften visibly as you stubbornly plucked at your strings. A small smile graced his lips and he propped his head up on his arms as he watched you intently. "She can do it, she just needs a little bit of help."

☀️

Taking a deep breath, your knees met the hard stone floor and you kneeled before Apollo's altar, bowing your head until your hair formed a curtain around your face. After all the unanswered prayers and fruitless attempts, you were still filled with admiration and wonder looking at his statue. Closing your eyes, your lips formed a hushed prayer, as every afternoon in his temple. One that always went unanswered, but if you were one thing, it was persistent.

But today, something was different. Your mind couldn't help but wonder to the humiliating exchange you had had with your mother this morning. Scoffing over your clumsy playing, she had laughed at you, telling you to the face to no longer make her and the world suffer the sound of your lyre play, that you were dishonoring Apollo himself by eliciting such horrid sounds from his holy instrument.

You couldn't help the tremble of your lip, nor the traitorous stinging of your eyes and took a long breath to calm yourself. "Great lord Apollo," you whispered into the ground, your voice laced with shame and doubt, "Please, if you wish for me to stop my attempts, if I am dishonoring you, if I am angering you, give me a sign!"

"Well, hello there."

You shot around, finding yourself face to face with a blond man in a simple but fine tunic and piercing eyes. Eyes that you knew, because you knew this man, and you had spent a full hour watching his fingers handle the lyre so gracefully. It was one of the street artists you had seen on the market, more specifically, the one you had spent your forenoon studying. Was this a divine sign or a simple coincidence?

Realizing that you still hadn't answered the greeting, you scrambled to your feet clumsily and bowed lightly, since you saw first-glance he was of higher social rank than you. Granted, the majority of people was of higher rank than you, but your eyes had picked up on the gold laced into his tunic, his jewelry and most importantly, the intricate craftsmanship of his lyre. Hidden give-aways of a wealthy pocket. "Excuse me," you said softly, smiling while bowing once more, "I'll be leaving." A musician as skilled as him was far more deserving of this temple's glory.

Hurrying past him, the sound of his voice had you stop dead in your tracks. "Do you know what talent is, m'lady?"

Several things in that sentence made you pause and turn around once more, finding the man already looking at you with those magnetic eyes. "I'm not a lady, m'lord," you said abashedly, but his smile only widened. "Sure you are. And you know the answer to my question, don't you?"

"Yes," you answered, wondering what he could possibly want out of this conversation. "It's a gift by the gods that they give to the deserving." The young man hummed with a smile on his lips. "I couldn't help but notice you look a little troubled. What did you entrust your god with, sweet lady?"

If it had been any other man, you would have retreated, excused yourself, exited the temple as fast as possible. But he radiated a feeling of safety and grace that you couldn't help but feel attracted to him, and not just in the physical sense. Even though you had no idea why a man like that would spare a girl like you just a glance. Maybe he was one of those men who took advantage of poor girls like you, but somehow, your gut told you that you could trust him.

"I-," you hesitated, but then, the words broke out of you like a waterfall as you told him about your troubles. Maybe it was because no one listened to you, ever, but you trusted this man with everything. "It sounds horrible," you ended your ramblings, trying to conceal your damp eyes. "Everyone keeps telling me to stop trying, but I want to learn. But, what if I'm disgracing god Apollo himself with how horrible I am?"

"You aren't," the man said with an enigmatic smile and you wrung your hands. "You haven't heard me play, I'm atrocious!"

"Hey," he answered soothingly, taking a step towards you. "You aren't. You just need a teacher. I could teach you," he offered kindly, but you shook your head in protest. "No, m'lord, I have no means to afford it. See, I am a poor woman, I don't have any money of my own and my family would never come up for it. I don't have the financial means to compensate you."

His smile only widened and looking up at him, it left you quite breathless. You couldn't explain it, but there was something about it that made you feel as if warmed up by the sun itself. This man had to be blessed by Apollo. "I don't ask for compensation. I'd give you lessons for free."

Now, that was really suspicious. You weren't stupid, there was a good chance this was a ploy to take advantage of you in some way, because the offer sounded too good to be true. Such a talented artist simply stumbling over you in a temple and offering free lessons? At the same time, you were also desperate. And this man was really talented. If he was being genuine, were you throwing out the opportunity of your life? After a short silence, you looked back up at him. "Why would you do that? Offer to teach me for free, I mean."

A sudden breeze disheveled the man's golden locks, his charming smile unwavering. "Ah, you see... It's because I'm Apollo." Because you had any chance to register the words, the light seemed to explode before your eyes and a reflex brought your hand up to shield them. When you removed it, the man had changed. His robes were of pure gold, as were his shoes, equally golden marks extended over his body like tattoos and his hair was crowned by a shining halo. You were looking at divinity, and it was nearly scorching your eyes.

Shit.

Thankfully, your body showed an above average response time as you dropped to your knees so fast they met the stone floor in a way that had a sharp pain shoot up your legs. The thrumming of your racing heart was louder than any thought you might have had. Bowing down so far you were covering before the god, you pressed your forehead into the marble and raised your hands in a pleading fashion. "Forgive me, great lord Apollo, for dishonoring you by attempting so many times to learn your holy instrument when you had clearly not blessed my endeavors. Please, punish me to any extent you see fit but have mercy on-"

The god interrupted your terrified rambling by placing a hand on your shoulder, rendering you speechless just as effectively as a slap in the face might have. When he spoke your name, you looked up at him tentatively. Looking at Apollo was like looking at the sun itself, and if the man had been handsome before, in this form, he was the most beautiful thing you had ever laid your mortal eyes on.

"Loving the lyre as much as you do is not dishonoring me," the god said and his voice was so smooth and beautiful it wiped your head clean of thought. "Quite the opposite, actually. Your dedication to my instrument is admirable. Hence the reason my offer is still awaiting an answer."

"But-" you squeaked in response and tried suppress the trembling of your nervously wringing hands. "Why would you do that? Why would you teach me?"

You wouldn't get an answer to that question for some time, but it didn't need a lot of convincing for you to agree to let him be your tutor. To avoid your parent's suspicion, you let him in a grove just outside the city gates where he first taught you the basics, gave you theoretical lessons on the functioning of the lyre and showed you the best way to handle it, which you continuously had problems with. But Apollo was incredibly patient, and your nervousness around him subsided quickly.

Over the course of the next weeks and months, he would show you how to approach the instrument, give you practice and help you improve your lyre play. And after some time, you found yourself looking forward to the lessons not only because of the lessons themselves but for the pleasure of his company. You couldn't deny that Apollo's charming wits had done a number on you, and the way you were ogling his hands as he so masterfully demonstrated it in his instrument would have been shameless if it hadn't been for educational purposes (along others).

There were moments when you yourself wondered if the god may reciprocate your romantic interest, as silly as that thought was. The way he lightened up seeing you approach him, the way he was always waiting for you and the way you caught him glancing at you instead of your lyre from time to time. But you stocked it up to your silly mortal delusions. Why would a god be interested in you?

At the same time, said god found himself falling head over heels for you. He had been smitten with you before meeting you, but being around you, seeing you come out of your shell and starting to feel comfortable around him, showing him your true colors- he was so done for. If he hadn't been his fathers favorite son (he was still working on that favorite child title but Athena was hard to beat) he would have earned a few stern talks by now for slaking off, as he procrastinated or full on ignored divine duties in favor of your lessons.

Your humor and laugh pulled him in, your dedication was unmatched and seeing your eyes light up when you succeeded in something did something to him. A blooming feeling in his chest that consumed his thoughts, sending him into the sweetest daydreams. And it was only fueled every time he got to be with you, be around you, enjoy your company. He tended to get caught up in it, and sometimes you caught him staring at you and he always wondered wether you knew what you did to him with those little glances and witty comments of yours.

Nothing excited you more than the progress you were starting to make. The strings were no longer squeaky and you had even managed to play some easy melodies that got more complex as time went on. You were astonished by your own progress, which was of course thanks to the fact that you had the best teacher anyone could dream of, but also hours upon hours of sleepless nights, practicing diligently.

When Apollo found out about those, he was surprisingly worried and you couldn't help but be giddy that he cared. But you listened and got your sleep that he insisted on, if only fleckig praise, seeing the showdowns under your eyes disappear. Also, you were convinced his presence in your life was some sort of good-luck-charm, because there had been no fourth year old suitors asking for your hand in marriage ever since you were a few weeks into your lessons.

But your strumming technique still wasn't as smooth as could be. "You need to feel the music flow through your fingers," Apollo told you, making it look criminally easy as he demonstrated it. "They need to move with the music, as smooth as the music. You are tugging, but you need to caress." His eyes met yours in a silent request to try it for yourselves.

Touched stuck in between your teeth, you tried to imagine the music flowing into your body down to your fingertips, trying to move them naturally along the strings. But still, it didn't sound quite right. To your surprise, Apollo smiled empathetically and leaned over, covering your small hand with his larger one and mimicking the correct movement.

You tried to concentrate, you really did, but it was hard when Apollo sat closer to you on the grass, settling behind you so that his arms almost caged you in, his breath fanning over your neck. Luckily, he couldn't see the redness on your cheeks like this. "Relax," he told you and a light chuckle left his lips. "Are you still scared of me, sunshine?"

Sunshine. It was his nickname for you, and the way he said it made it sound like a melody in itself. "I'm not," you answered truthfully, letting him gently guide your movements. "But I don't think you realize what divine proximity does to a mortal."

Because of your proximity, you felt his head shift as his gaze wandered to you. You didn't return it, because you knew you would get lost in it if you did. "What does it do to you?" the god asked in a hushed voice, and the teasing undertone had your lips twitch. "It feels weird when you touch me," you explained, your fingers taking a little more initiative in running over the strings. "Like you're too real and not at all at the same time. I can't really explain it, but it's like touching raw might. That would feel weird, right?"

"You always manage to surprise me, sunshine," Apollo said and you could hear the smile in his voice. "It looks like there is a poet in you." He let go of you, letting your fingers act on their own and it sounded much better than before. Nothing the difference, you smiled triumphantly. "Don't flatter me, I might get too much of the hubris, m'lord."

"It isn't hubris when it's true," his voice spoke softly as you started to play the tune from before. It sounded much more graceful now and Apollo's adoring gaze, hidden from your view, traced the movement of your fingers, up your arms to your face. When your fingers had become more sure, you turned to him, no doubt with a smart reply on the tip of your tongue, but you fell silent when you found yourself mere breaths away from the god, who seemed just as taken aback by the sudden proximity.

But he didn't pull away, and neither did you. Fingers slowing down, you couldn't rip your eyes away from the mesmerizing gold of his eyes. Apollo smelled of honey and flowers, a smell so sweet it made sense paired with his smile. Though he wasn't smiling now. His lips were parted lightly as he stared at you just as intensely as you watched him.

Slowly but steadily, the tension in the tight little space between you two got too much for you. Your breathing picked up and you had to avert your eyes when his fell down onto your heaving chest and snapped back up at yours with a new hunger. Coughing under your breath, you moved away from him by a few inches, trying to hide how flustered you were. But if you had turned around, you would have caught a rare sight: the god of music looking at you with heart eyes, his cheeks painted by a pink hue.

Little moments like these only pulled you in deeper. Embarrassingly, you had begun dreaming of Apollo, about his smile, his lyre-play, his voice. It was the most prevalent in your dreams, as if he was singing you a lullaby every night. You found yourself thinking about him every time of the day, getting caught up in vivid daydreams as you completed your chores, feeling as though he was with you every time you practiced.

Though that may have not been an entirely unfounded feeling. Sometimes, Apollo would say things during your lessons that had you suspect he was listening in on you practicing- at least sometimes. Why he occupied himself with something he could have so often, you didn't know. But you did feel honored.

Progress was coming, you were getting better, though there were also setbacks. As before, you didn't have natural talent, and sometimes you struggled to a point of frustration that had your movements grow sloppy and disjointed, gnawing on your bottom lip in dissatisfaction. "Hey." You looked up at Apollo who had picked up on your growing annoyance and sighed. "Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about," he answered, gently prying the instrument from your hands. "I think you could use a break." And before you could protest, he added: "How about I play something just for you for a change?" Now, that shut you up real quick and you let him put your lyre aside. Apollo would demonstrate bits of songs or movements for you, but never whole songs, and the prospect of witnessing the god perform one made you giddy with excitement.

Under your curious gaze, Apollo propped up his instrument with great flair and began playing. The melody was unlike anything you had heard before. It was so interacted and beautiful, so masterfully crafted it brought tears to your eyes as you sat there and listened. But none of it could have prepared you for when Apollo started to sing. You had to close your eyes, because looking at him and listening to his singing at the same time was simply too much. You were pretty sure you could get addicted to the sound of his singing.

Apollo sing of pine trees, of secret meetings, of soft lyre tunes, the sounds of two instruments mingling. It was that last part that had you perk up. Could it be? Your grove who dusted of pine trees, you met him in secret- was he singing a sound about your lessons? Or were you just being delusional, thinking the god apollo would write a song- about you. Because now, he was singing about a girl under the pine trees with a lyre. Your heart was thrumming loudly in your chest, and it was the only sound resonating in your ears when Apollo ended the song.

You had to work up the strength to open your eyes, and when you did, he was watching you already, his eyes boring themselves into yours. With the melody still filling your head, you reached for your lyre, but Apollo didn't even register your movement. All he could see was you, as he desperately tried to gauge your reaction. Did you like the song? You had to, he had poured his heart into it. But he would write more. His heart was overflowing with memories as he watched the concentrated furrow of your brows.

And then, you started playing the song.

At once, Apollo snapped out of his trance as his insides roared with another form of adoration. You were playing his song, your song, the song he had written just for you. As if you were answering him. Sure, it sounded a little hesitant, but he was surprised about how masterful it sounded. You had become an expert player, in spite of your setbacks. And it looked like you had the same realization, because you looked up from the instrument and up at him with a glowing expression that said 'I did it!' and he could only nod in astonishment.

As the date of the Pythian games grew closer, so did Apollo and you, developing your inside jokes and becoming more comfortable with physical affection. It was safe to say you were friends with a god, which was something you could have never dreamed about. But as the date approached, your nerves were a little- tense, so to speak.

You cursed when suddenly, something snapped and a string of the lyre broke off, flinging your hand and marking it with a long red line. "Ow," you exclaimed and immediately, Apollo was all over you, taking your hurting hand into his. "Can you fix the string?" you asked nervously and earned a raised eyebrow from Apollo. "What do you think? And your hand is the priority here, sunshine."

"Right," you nodded, nibbling on your lip. "I need it to perform well." A long sigh left the gods lips as they ghosted over the palm of your hand. You jumped when they pressed down on your sore skin and an unfamiliar sensation, a warm prickling, emerged from the spot where he had bestowed a kiss upon you, rushing to your tummy where it exploded into a million golden butterflies, rummaging against your ribcage.

"Sunshine?"

"Huh?" you said, startled, and he showed you your hand, completely untouched, not a trace of the injury. You turned it around as if you were to find the mark, but it had vanished completely. "Thank you!" you smiled, picking up the lyre and holding it to his chest. "Now the string!"

Apollo sighed once more. Youn knew he could have easily fixed it, but for some reason, he opted to do it manually, pulling a spare string out of his tunic and getting to work removing the broken one. "Why are you doing it like this?" you found yourself asking, watching his graceful fingers as the expertly worked on the lyre.

"If you don't struggle from time to time, what's the point to life?" Apollo asked in a light-hearted tone, though you detected something heavier in the statement.

You hummed, thinking about that. "If you don't struggle, you can't succeed." Apollo looked up at you and nodded before returning his attention to the lyre. "That makes sense," you lamented, watching him intently. "But you don't seem like that kind of god to me." When he raised his brows, you attempted to explain yourself. "Of course, I don't know many gods, I only know you, but you don't seem very... human. You seem very content with being larger than life and divine."

The god hummed, inserting the new string. "You made me realize some things, sunshine. You have struggled so much, and have still persistent. Believe it or not, I think you're much stronger than I am. If I were you, I'd have given up a long time ago, because of what you said precisely: I don't need to struggle as much as you do."

Laughing to yourself, you shook your head in disbelief. "You're right, I don't believe you, but still, thank you. And I didn't know being untouchable could get to you like that."

"Oh, I'm far from untouchable," Apollo reassured you as he handed you back your lyre. "I have been touched and I am touched right now. Do you know why I take so many mortal lovers?" You shook your head and Apollo flopped down on his back, resting his head on his arm as he looked up at the sky above. "I love being touched by you mortals. It's an unimaginable thrill. To be a part of a life that is so fragile and so hardened at the same time is a privilege. Humanity is not a weakness but an unimaginable strength."

When he closed his eyes, yours were free to roam his resting body undetected, running over his golden marks and getting caught up on his face, as always. "I always thought... the fact that I had to struggle so much was because I was weak."

Apollo opened his eyes to look at you, and they were so heavy with emotion you had to avert yours. "Weak? Sunshine, you are so strong."

☀️

Delphi was an unsurprisingly beautiful city. As your travel companion, Apollo had disguised himself as a mortal once more and escorted you safely there, even arranging for your stay. During the religious ceremonies in his honor, he had been giggling in your ear in a way that had some priests give him pointed stares for interrupting the process and you jabbing your elbow into his side, making him whine at you being mean.

Then came the actual contest. The other performances flew by you as you had a hard time concealing your nerves, but Apollos calling presence helped. His hand squeezed you every once in a while, and when it was nearly your turn, he guided you to a spot next to the arena from which the performers entered the stage. His bigger hands engulfed your shaking once as he pressed them to his chest. You were surprised to find his heart drumming in a high frequency and widened your eyes at him.

"I can't help it, I'm nervous, too," he smiled cheekily and you bit down on your bottom lip. "Well, it's not you who is about to perform in front of hundreds of people. What if I mess up? What if I'm bad? I don't even have any real talent."

"Do you remember our first conversation?" the god interrupted your ramblings, pulling you closer to him. When you shook your head, he smiled softly and stuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "You said that you mortals get your talents from us gods. Well, it's true. I didn't bless you with talent. Do you know why?" You shook your head and he continued.

"Because you tried anyway, and you would not give up. Because of the devotion and love you hold for the lyre. You fought and you struggled, and you made great progress, without any advantages. I never answered your prayers I didn't want you to lose that. You are greater than any of the other artists assembled because of it. I have rarely seen such determination. And I knew you could do it." The god took a long breath. "And it was what made me start to fall in love with you."

Your head snapped up once you processed the words. "You... what?" Apollo delayed the answer by bringing your hands up to his lips and kissing each of your fingertips, making a warmth flood through them that ended their shaking. "I love you. So much. If that song wasn't enough to tell you."

"So it was for me?" you asked, mesmerized, deaf to the announcement of your name. Apollo smiled down at you, leaning in to kiss your temple, your cheek, and finally, his lips met yours. As if they had been waiting for it all along, your arms flew up to wrap themselves around his neck, pulling him closer as his hands dug into your sides.

Suddenly, you felt something on the top of your head and broke from the kiss to feel it. It was a laurel wreath. It was Apollo's laurel wreath. Your eyes were as wide as plates, you were sure, and Apollo chuckled, pointing to it with his chin. "You have my favor, sunshine. Now go and show them what real prowess is."

When you stepped onto the stage, you were overwhelmed by the cheers of the audience. As it was tradition, you recounted a prayer to Apollo, who you spotted in the front row, holding onto your lyre like your lifeline. Then, the crowd fell silence and it was your turn to play.

☀️

In retrospect, you could have anticipated it, as you knew things about the lyre no other mortal could know, thanks to Apollo. But it still blew you away when the pronounced winner of the Pythian games was you. As if in a trance, your ears drowned out the cheers of the audience as you kneeled before the priest who placed the winner's laurel wreath- you had taken off Apollo's, of course - on your head, congratulating you on your outstanding performance.

But even as you barely registered the noise of the crowd, it did catch your attention when it suddenly subsided at once, giving away to a deadly silence. The priest gasped, he was the first one to fall to his knees. Because at the top of the arena's stairs stood Apollo in all his glory, emitting pure power and might. When he met your eye, he winked at you.

As Apollo walked down the stairs, all of the spectators covered, falling to their knees and throwing themselves at his feet. But Apollo didn't take notice of them, his eyes were locked on you as he approached you. A tugging at your skirt made you look down, where the priest made a motion, urging you to kneel as well. When Apollo spoke, his voice filled the whole arena.

"This woman will kneel for no one." His smile was so radiant it took your breath away. So magnetizing you almost missed the hand he was stretching out, waiting for you to take it. Apollo called your name. "I shall invite you to put your skill to good use. Take my hand and play with me and the muses, sunshine."

Gasped echoed all around you, but all you could see and hear and feel was him. Without hesitation, you placed your hand in his and it closed firmly around your hand. Urging you closer softly, the god put his free arm around your waist. "Ready to go home, sunshine?"

Your nod was all he needed before he raised you up into the clouds, leaving all bystanders speechless- but not for long. Soon, your story would spread through all of Greece, your name immortalized next to the muses, and held in prayers because it was realized how much more benevolent Apollo was to those who praised your name alongside his.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

[lotusarchon]

hiii! I was wondering if I could request MK having a crush on his coworker?? For example like- Reader works as a waiter in pigsys and Mk admires them a little too much

Can you make it spicy too in a way?? Sorry if that sounds demanding 😭😭

Yhank you!! Have a nice day<333

waiter, waiter! one serving of my heart, please (mk x reader)

content warnings: gender neutral reader, second pov (you/your), reader and Pigsy's relationship is strictly professional/no solid relationships between them, mk is in love

author's notes: twas a bit hesitant to write this cause it kinda reminded me of an asshole i once met in my older server bleghhhhh :< also sorry, i couldn't make it spicy agh

MK remembered when you first walk through the door. It was another Tuesday afternoon, bored out of his mind after another day of delivering noodles and saving the city. He'd only just returned, filling in Tang about the demons he came across while Pigsy made something in the kitchen.

And you were there. A bit dull-eyed compared to what MK remembered, but still wearing that smile he'd grown so fond of. You'd raised your hand in greeting, asking for the owner of the establishment you'd enter.

He remembered being too dazed to really focus on the conversation. All he knew was that he'd call for Pigsy, then spent the next hour or so watching you from a corner. It wasn't until you had taken your leave did he realize to ask, and he turned to Pigsy for answers.

“Oh, don't look at me like that.” Pigsy had sighed, sliding a bowl of freshly cooked noodles towards him. “You've been busier than ever with your training. And since we don't want a repeat of last time―” Last time meaning the clone incident. He still couldn't get over obese Delivery Clone trying to eat Pigsy… “―I figured a helping hand around here would do the trick.”

MK pretended to pout. “So you're replacing me?”

“No, dumbass.” Pigsy threw a wet cloth at Tang. It landed with ease, and the scholar whined. “Just that you don't have to stress too much about not doing enough around here. (Name)’ll work in your free time, and you theirs.”

It didn't seem like too bad of an arrangement. There were days he couldn't be around, swamped with training or some monster that wouldn't leave the city alone, and Pigsy would need an extra hand to help around. He could've asked Mei though, but he figured that the pig demon also wanted to offer employment to anyone in need of it.

It's just that, while MK had eaten his noodles and stared through the window to past the time, he really thought you were interesting, and the plans Pigsy had meant that, most likely, neither of you would get to speak together.

And that sucked. Because, once MK had the idea (and mere audacity, to quote a certain hot tempered bull prince) of befriending someone, not even the Buddha could pry the thought from his head.

Which in turn, lead to certain events, as of now. Hanging around during his own breaks to catch a mere glimpse of you, trying to play off the ‘cool’ hero act only to have his own staff knock him over in the process, god awful flirting attempts (seriously, those lines were bad bad), to name a few of the things he'd done. That wasn't even mentioning the times he accidentally held you up during rush hour, earning a scolding from Pigsy and customers that were completely rude to you and made MK feel so guilty in the aftermath.

With that last one, you'd think that such behavior would be enough to put anyone off. No sane adult liked getting yelled at for actions that weren't their fault, especially from their boss.

By the gods, you were a literal saint. And MK would be damn well lying if he said he wasn't head over heels in love, and that was saying something.

But, no. You still smiled at MK every morning when clocking in for work, and you still laughed at his bad jokes and horrible flirting lines. The rare off chance you two spoke, you were always so nice, not even bringing up the fact he'd gotten you into so much trouble over and over again.

“You're going on your lunch break?” He asked, waiting outside for you to show your face once again. Today had been his day off, but with Mei busy and the city surprisingly peaceful for the time, what better way to spend it than with you?

The question was a bit…too obvious, honestly. Of course you'd be going on your lunch break at this hour, how would he not know when he worked for Pigsy at the same time?? Plus, it's not like he hadn't hassled Pigsy before about your work hours and the time you'd take your breaks so…

You raised your head and glanced at him, nodding slightly. “Yes. Would you like to join me?”

In his head, MK was jumping for joy. He had been planning on asking you if he should join, but then you went right ahead and invited him first. This was progress at its finest, and MK was nabbing at this opportunity faster than lightning.

Just as quickly, he responded, “I mean, if you wouldn't mind me, I don't mind! Like, if you want me, haha….”

He could imagine Mei looking down at him in disappointment. <Seriously, confidence is key. You're the Monkie Kid, what do you have to be worried about!?

That was easy for her to say! She was always cool, unlike MK who'd embarassing himself in front of you so many times….

Lost in thought, he hadn't realized you'd stopped walking until he nearly tripped over a table. You had the kindness to grab at him before he fell, offering your sweet, signature smile while he took a seat, nervously laughing.

“So….”

“So…”

How awkward. MK played with his sleeves, watching you pop open a box of noodles from Pigsy and eat. How the fuck do you even start conversations again?

As if you read his mind, you raised your head and gave him another smile. How he wished he had a notebook and pen around, if only to sketch you with such a peaceful expression.

“You can speak, if you'd like,” you said assuringly, picking up a mushroom from your bowl. MK was never a fan of vegetables, but watching you stick it into your mouth made him wonder if he should try eating some. “I'll listen. ‘kay?”

So thoughtful. “O..okay…”

And boy did MK speak. He chattered endlessly about anything that came to mind, gauging how you reacted carefully. Sometimes, you'd finish chewing to comment or too, other times, your expression would change with whatever he was talking about, nodding along in agreement with his peeves and then shaking your head when someone else supposedly did him wrong.

At some point, he'd completely trailed off topic, staring at your lips wrapped around your chopstick. He was technically still yapping, except that now―

“What did you just say?”

He blinked.

What…..what had he been talking just now? Was it something that upsetted you!? Fuck, he's such an idiot, allowing his mouth to blabber―

“You…like me?”

….

…

MK stood to bolt.

It turned out you were a lot faster than you gave him credit for. You had already grabbed him by the collar, yanking him backwards and onto the seat―this time, next to you.

“MK.”

Dear god, he wanted to disappear. Why hadn't Monkey King taught him one of his 72 transformations?? Fleeing from this situation would be a whole lot faster….

“MK.” You repeated his name, turning his head to look at you. “I heard you, you know.”

MK sighed. “Listen, I'm so sorry―”

“Why? Who said I didn't like you too?”

“―like, I know, I know, you're not here for relationships or any of that sort, and I shouldn't―what did you just say?”

You smiled slightly. “I said, I like you too.”

“Oh.”

“...”

“...”

And then MK fainted.

“MK? Are you alright?”

@lotusarchon , 28.11.2024, all rights reserved. do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission. comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated!

[untildawnss]

until dawn characters overhearing their partner say something positive about them/their relationship

okiedokie [cracks knuckles] i had a shower to wash away the sad and now i'm ready to write the good - this took a good while because i was watching a show while writing lol

this is going to be fluff, i'll find out if anything else happens while writing this. very minor angsty and nsfw mentions.

ashley

"i don't think i've ever loved anyone as much as i love ashley. i still get butterflies when i look at her."

you tossed your phone towards ashley so she could order pizza while you were busy writing an assignment on your laptop. when she unlocked it, the chat with your best friend was still open, your last text the one about ashley. "i didn't know you were a big ol' sap." ashley shifted on the couch and leaned her head against your shoulder. "huh?" you stopped typing and furrowed your brow. "what are you talking about?" - "oh, just that text about me you sent earlier." she was already scrolling through the menu, looking for your favourite pizza. "were you snooping?" - "i didn't have to. you never close your apps." you nodded your head. it was true, you never did. "i get butterflies, too. ever since we met. maybe we're soulmates." she leaned in to kiss you.

beth

"hannah, oh my god, i'm so happy to see you. did you know that i love beth soooooo much? she's the best. i want to marry her. do you think she would want to marry me?"

beth tried to interrupt your drunken ramblings. her twin sister was on the couch next to you, snoring, and you had woken up while she was trying to clear the empty pizza boxes from the coffee table. you had immediately pulled her into a tight hug and happily babbled on about beth for a minute until you fell asleep again. beth carefully removed herself from your arms and decided that she wasn't really in the mood to clean up after you and hannah, you were perfectly capable of doing that yourself in the morning. and she was only a little offended that you had mistaken her for her sister. it was kind of fun to know how you talked about her when you thought she wasn't there.

chris

"josh, chris just texted me 'can we talk?' and i am freaking out. is he breaking up with me? please tell me he's not breaking up with me. he's honestly the best boyfriend i've ever had and i-"

josh groaned. "i told him not to text you that. chris, what's wrong with you?" you heard some crinkling, the muffled sounds of josh and chris whispering and then what sounded like a slap before josh let you know that he was handing the phone over to chris now. "hey, sorry about that. josh's hand and the back of my head just had a meet and greet." - "good for you? what the fuck was that text about, chris?" more whispering. "chris?" - "yeah, sorry. so remember how you just said that i'm the best boyfriend ever?" you sighed. "looking back, i probably wouldn't have said it if i had known you were listening." chris cleared his throat. "well, actually, i was thinking that you're the best partner i've ever had and i wanted to ask you to move in with me and so i decided to send you a text to ask you to talk about it." - "can you actually put josh back on for a second?" whispering again, until you heard josh's voice. "what's up?" - "can you tell chris that i love him and will move in with him but that he seriously needs to work on the way he brings up serious topics?"

emily

"you might not like her but i love her. she's the best thing that ever happened to me and if you just bothered to get to know her, you'd know that she's actually smart and funny and great. she actually shows up for me, do you?"

emily knew that your family hated her. they saw her as a stuck-up mean girl with expensive tastes and were worried that she was just using you until someone better came along. she hated that her relationship with you was causing all these fights with your family because they thought they knew better. this was the worst fight you'd ever had with them and she'd never heard you yell like that. "no, i'm done talking. don't bother calling again until you accept that i'm an adult and make my own decisions." emily heard you swearing before you knocked on the bedroom door and walked in. you were half-dressed, the original plan had been to go out for dinner. emily was still sitting in front of her vanity, absent-mindedly twirling a blending brush between her fingers. your phone buzzed again. "i swear to god," you muttered through clenched teeth as you declined the call. "rain check?" emily asked, already putting away the brush and looking for her make up wipes. "please." she looked at you through the mirror. "i'm sorry for asking but i think i need help getting out of this dress." - "oh, so you're flirting with me? right now?" you couldn't help but smile. "if you want me to. or you could just tell me how smart and funny and great i am while i order dinner." - "i can do that."

hannah

"dear hannah, your glasses are very cute and look really good on you. you have a really pretty face and i have a crush on you."

"dear hannah, do you want to go out with me?"

"dear hannah, you were really good as juliet in the senior year play."

"oh my god, what's this?" hannah picked up the loose papers that had slid all over the wooden floor of the living room in your new apartment. "what? oh, oh no. i thought i'd thrown those away. they're so old." - "i didn't know you had a crush on me back in high school. wow, we really could have gotten together years ago." you were on your hands and knees, trying to grab the old, unfinished love letters you had never had the courage to slip into hannah's locker or bag. "what? you liked me in high school?" - "who did you think sent you all those valentines? i didn't know you liked my glasses back then." before long both of you were on the floor, reminiscing about all the near confessions you had accidentally dodged.

jess

"we'd love to go out for drinks with you guys, but i have plans with my super hot girlfriend and i wouldn't miss it for the world and she has plans with me. oops, putting our phones on do not disturb now."

you sent the text to the group chat and turned to jess. the two of you were on the couch, wearing sweatpants and facemasks. numerous candles were illuminating the living room and there was a romcom playing on the TV. "super hot girlfriend, is that right?" jess was smiling, the hydrating sheet mask wrinkling and folding around her mouth. "oh, very." you were sipping wine through a straw. "and you'd rather be at home doing skincare and watching a movie with me?" - "are you kidding me? i get to have a few drinks, hang out with my favourite person in the world AND wake up with great skin. what more could a person want?" - "you're not so bad yourself."

josh

"ugh, i know, right? he's smart, he's hot, he's kinda weird but in that cute and quirky way and when i look at him, i want to start writing poems or love songs. it's actually disgusting how perfect i think he is."

josh and you were at a bar with a group of friends and while josh had gone to get more drinks and a few others were playing pool, one of them had taken the opportunity to tease you about the way the two of you adored each other. neither of you didn't realise that josh was already on his way back to the table and heard every word you said. he stopped for a few seconds to compose himself, thinking that you'd probably be embarrassed if you knew that he heard you talking about him. the rest of the night, josh was in a, to you, inexplicably good mood but when you asked what had him smiling like that he said that he was just having fun. you narrowed your eyes and looked at him, suspiciously. "what did you do?" - "nothing, i swear." a few hours later you were on your way home, your hand in josh's while he was swinging them back and forth. "what is up with you today? i could pass out right here and now. how are you not tired?" josh's smile was as wide as ever. "it's nothing, really. i'm just happy i met you."

matt

"i wouldn't dream of breaking uncle matt's heart. pinkie promise. when we get married you can be flower girls."

matt's nieces had begged you to play tea party with them. they were extraordinarily good at offering you tea while giving you the third degree. yes, i love your uncle matt a lot. yes, i hope your uncle matt loves me, too. yes, we live together. no, i won't break up with uncle matt. you thought meeting matt's parents for the first time would be intimidating. his nieces were almost terrifying. finally, matt came to save you when they started asking about babies. you waved goodbye to the girls. "so it's when, not if we get married?" you looked at matt and your heart skipped a beat, he was smiling warmly. "well, i mean, i guess-" you sputtered. "wait, you were listening and you let them interrogate me?" - "oh, do you want to go back and tell them how many kids we're gonna have?"

mike

"yes, i know he's handsome. like absolute dreamboat, straight out of a disney movie handsome."

"oh, you better watch your mouth, that's my boyfriend you're talking about."

"oh no, he's an only child. but i think he has cousins. doubt he left any hot for the rest of them, though."

you hadn't heard mike come home and he was trying really hard to respect your privacy but the bedroom door was ajar and you were always louder when you were talking on the phone, especially when talking to your best friend whom he was due to meet this upcoming weekend. and he couldn't deny it, he was curious what you had to say about him. mike pushed the bedroom door open slowly, you had your back to him and were scrolling on your phone with your earphones in. "busy?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe and grinning widely when you jumped and almost tumbled off the bed. "what the fuck, mike? when did you get here?" you said a quick goodbye to your friend and put your phone on the bedside table. "oh, not that long ago." he crossed his arms, still grinning at you. "but go on, what were you saying about me?" mike inched towards the bed, his face now scrunched up in mock-confusion. "something about me being super hot, i think." - "i never said super hot." he put the back of his hand against his forehead and closed his eyes, feigning hurt this time. "you wound me." then, before you knew it, he was straddling you, his lips barely an inch from yours as he was running his hands down your sides, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. "guess i'll have to change your mind, then."

sam

"my girlfriend just opened her own gallery and i'm super proud of her. do you have anything on the menu that's fancy and says 'i love you so much, you're gonna do great' and, most importantly, is also vegan? is champagne vegan? do you have vegan champagne?"

sam heard you whispering to the hostess as she walked through the doors behind you. so that's why you wanted her to park the car. she smiled at the hostess and rolled her eyes slightly, affectionately, pointed and you and then at herself while mouthing i'm the girlfriend. the hostess nodded and asked you to wait just a few more minutes, your table was almost ready. "you know i'm just a cog in the machine and the gallery isn't actually my own, right?" sam had sauntered over and was looking at you with one eyebrow raised in amusement. "you're still an active partner and the face of the gallery. so why bother explaining?" - "oh, i'm not complaining. just wondering if you hit your head. but now i don't feel bad about letting you wine and dine me."

[notreallythatlost]

at first, i have one thing to say: MASTERPIECE

LILY, THIS ONE IS LITERALLY EVERYTHING TAKING ALL MY SANITY AWAY BECAUSE YOU WRITE SUB!SAURON SO FREAKING GOOD 🤍🤍

and i have so many thoughts:

Aulë The Smith began to court you as he watched you set the stars on fire. He was dreaming of how perfectly you two would go together if you were to fuel the fire inside his forge – the source of all his creation would come from you.

i love the fact, that aulë courted her and that she was supposed to be with him

Aulë, however, was not who you were dreaming about

and denied him because of melkor

Whenever you would spend time with Varda dancing in the flower fields, you could feel Melkor creeping in the shadows and watching.

he really IS a creep

He wondered how jealous Aulë would be then and how humiliated you would be, yet he was certain he could make you happy and fix the malice of your spirit with his undying love and endless devotion.

THESE LINES AHHH

Because, in the meantime, you were starting to realise with bitter clarity why you should have stayed away from Melkor, the Dark Lord, in the first place.

and how she should’ve stayed away 😭😭

You were a Vala and you could endure the worst treatment, therefore in your suffering he reshaped you in ways that would shatter even the mighty Maiar. Melkor forged you anew and twisted your already spoiled essence to his dark design.

MY GOD???

You were made for much bigger things than spending your whole lifetime resting in the sunlight and being followed by the forest animals like some of the Valar ladies were. No, you were aiming for greatness and the price for it was pain.

goosebumps, literally

When Mairon came to your husband’s service, you sensed immediately the amount of his worship and devotion towards you.

oh, to be that worshipped

Because if Melkor would realise the true nature of Mairon’s feelings, he would not go easy on him and his wrath would be merciless. 

i think, someone would’ve suffer more than he already did

“My Lady,” he kneeled as he approached you and he kept his eyes low although you knew he dared to look up here and there, too tempted not to lay his gaze on you. “Please, grant me an audience,” he pleaded.

“I might crown myself the new Dark Lord, my Lady, but I would never consider myself to be above my Goddess,” he confessed and you smiled sadly as you approached him to grab him by his chin.

HOT HOT HOT DAMN

Your soft smile turned into a smirk when you let go of his chin and moved your hand to his ginger hair to caress it softly like he was your pet.

oh damn, you bad girl

“Come to me,” you ordered, harshly. You watched him trying to stand up slowly but you quickly stopped him. “On your hands and knees,” you explained.

“Serve me, Mairon,” you requested, wickedly. “Let my taste remain on your lips and might you never forget it while you build your kingdom in my name. I will come back to you then, my sweet, unless the Valar find and imprison me before,” you leaned in to caress his cheek with your finger gently.

“I shall fight them then. No matter how much it takes, I will release you and bind you to me instead,” he whispered.

oh, holy-

“Even as the greatest of your kind, you would still only be gifted with a mere shadow of my powers. We will never be equal, Mairon,” you reminded him and his eyes welled with even more tears at such a harsh reminder.

that must’ve hurt so bad 😭

“You’ve served me good, Mairon,” you grabbed his chin and smiled at him. “Good servant,” you emphasised.

He looked so pretty like this – both excited and turned on but also absolutely terrified of you. You could do everything to him and he had no other way but to accept it. And he knew – he knew very well – that you could be as cruel as Melkor if you only wanted to be.

A few pumps of your hand was enough to make him spill himself with a whine, bucking his hips into your hand as you kept jerking him off to make more and more of his seed spurt out. 

AND ANOTHER ONE THAT LEFT ME TOTALLY BREATHLESS

But you knew already that you would be back for your sweet Mairon sooner than both of you expected.

i’m screaming, give it to me

oh my good lord, i’m speechless.

no, i mean really because i just loved it. and your writing, it gets me everytime. 🤍

i can’t wait to read the next part, can’t wait to see what you did with goo!sauron and our beloved halbrand

— HUMBLED (I)

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Vala!Reader // Morgoth x fem!Vala!Reader

SUMMARY — Grown tired of living in your sister's shadow, you offered yourself to the one whom she had rejected once – Melkor. You regretted it quickly as he turned out to be a cruel lover and you became the very first subject of his twisted tortures meant to reshape one's spirit. In his eyes you were nothing by Varda's shadow but in the eyes of Mairon the Maia you have always been the only and the most holy goddess. When his master is gone, he can finally get close to you.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I had two ideas for Sauron with Morgoth's ex and honestly? I will probably write one more because I like the other idea a lot, too. This fic is quite dark because of the nature of Reader's relationship with Morgoth. Not gonna lie, it was a challenge to write a Reader who is a literal Goddess but Sauron himself inspired me to explore this dynamic when he seemed to be so proud of the fact that it was a God himself torturing him... 👀 The Reader in this fic is a Vala (and Varda's sister but she remains undescribed as well), so she changes her appearance like Sauron does but I am not describing any of her forms in any details. In the next part there will be some goo/blob!Sauron + Halbrand and in this part our favourite ginger loser makes his comeback! 🦊 Apparently, I can't write him as a dom... 😂 Well, surely not with someone who is so much above him. Huge thanks to @dinsbeskar once more because we were brainstorming about this idea together. ⭐ Special thanks to @olchr-1 as well! 💚 PS – I haven't described how Morgoth looks like either but I imagine him as a tall, black haired hottie like on the fanarts. 💀😂 There is also a slight mention of the Reader being originally promised to Aulë, which was inspired by the story of Hephaestus and Aphrodite.

WARNINGS — Reader is evil (reshaped by Morgoth but not completely evil), domestic abuse (with Morgoth), mentions of Sauron and Reader being tortured by Morgoth, SMUT, sub!Sauron

WORD COUNT — 4,330

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

HUMBLED (I)

The very first thing you remembered was beholding your sister Varda being crowned one of the mightiest of the Valier and Queen of the Valar, Queen of the Stars, a beauty beyond the description of Men and Elves. So pure to reject Melkor and marry his brother Manwë instead – King of the Valar.

You followed your sister nearly everywhere, hoping to bask in her light but it never seemed to be enough to make you feel warm. You were greedy – at first, you were jealous of her husband and insisted on her spending more time with you than with him, striving for all of her affection. Once you realised that it was a lost cause, you began to detest Manwë.

You watched Varda situate the stars in the heavens above Arda as if they were jewels and you were the one setting them alight with the fire burning within you for they could lighten up the firmament. You were responsible for the treacherous element that the fire was – useful in many ways but also dangerous if not used correctly or with malicious intent.

Aulë The Smith began to court you as he watched you set the stars on fire. He was dreaming of how perfectly you two would go together if you were to fuel the fire inside his forge – the source of all his creation would come from you.

Everyone, including your sister, was encouraging you to become his wife for his heart was of a noble kind. Your own heart remained unsure but you wished to marry as well instead of only watching Varda and Manwë sharing a bond you could only dream of. Aulë, however, was not who you were dreaming about.

It was Melkor that you were drawn to; Manwë’s powerful brother, the very same whom your sister had rejected once and he had grown to resent her. You were observing him often because he fascinated you and you probably were the only one amongst the Valar who understood him. You were outcasts, both of you, but you were better at hiding it.

He was sometimes observing you as well, from the corner of his eye. You could feel his gaze on you and you knew that he had to feel the same way you did – he could see the malice inside of your heart for his was the same.

Whenever you would spend time with Varda dancing in the flower fields, you could feel Melkor creeping in the shadows and watching. Of course, he was there for your sister but still, some of his gazes were reserved for you only.

Therefore, on the eve of your wedding to Aulë, you forsake the light and seeked the shadow as you sneaked out of the palace you lived in and you found yourself knocking upon Melkor’s doors. There was no fear inside of you, only pure determination.

And you knew you could never replace your sister; your power was a mere shadow of hers. Yet, you offered yourself to Melkor on that night and he took you in, claimed you as his own and made you his bride. Before dawn, together, you fled from Arda for some time, leaving behind sorrow and dismay.

Your sister was most grieved by your betrayal. Alongside her, Aulë descended into a state of melancholy until Manwë mentioned to him the possibility of courting Yavanna instead and The Fruit-Giver became his wife – that union became one of harmony and love unlike the one you would have with The Smith.

You always fascinated Mairon the most – (Y/N), Mother of Flames, Aulë’s lost love. As his disciple, Mairon observed you humbly before and he knew his master’s heart enough to know that Aulë would always feel bitter towards you. Yavanna was his love match but she could not fuel the fire inside his forge and become the source of his creation.

What a source of inspiration you were for Mairon, though. The same way others worshipped Varda, Mairon worshipped you. Everytime he stared at the fire inside the forge, your image was all he could think of as the thought of you lingered in his mind constantly. You were long gone from Arda after eloping with Melkor but he hoped it was not yet over, that he would see you again. In the early days, when his spirit was still pure, he often fantasised about you being taken back by the Valar and forgiven by them, so he could build altars for you amongst the kins that would yet awake to inhabit Arda.

Some of his bolder daydreams were about another form of punishment for you – he would have you humbled in the name of redemption, bound to a lowly Maia. He meant himself, of course. He imagined the Mother of Flames becoming the source of his creation, fueling the fire within his forge and watching over his craft as his very own wife. He wondered how jealous Aulë would be then and how humiliated you would be, yet he was certain he could make you happy and fix the malice of your spirit with his undying love and endless devotion.

And perhaps that blasphemous dreams of Mairon the Maia, bold in their insolence, would be a kinder fate for both of you and the whole Arda. Because, in the meantime, you were starting to realise with bitter clarity why you should have stayed away from Melkor, the Dark Lord, in the first place.

In his greatness, he dwelt in solitude and his mind remained ungraspable for you. He would rarely let you inside to allow you to see the world the way he perceived it. Though he desired you, it was not as an equal, neither as companion nor as lover. And even in his desire, there was contempt, too, because as Varda’s sister you were a reminder of her rejection, which still lingered within your husband as a wound unhealed. And your beauty, your power, your holiness… They were nothing but pale echoes of your sister’s qualities; faint reflections of her no matter how hard you tried. And each one of your failures to meet Melkor’s towering expectations was met with your husband’s wrath.

None among his servants who would later know him as a cruel master ever dared to complain about his punishments in your presence because you were his first subject of torment, his earliest experiment in reshaping the will of another and they knew that you survived things they could barely think of. You were a Vala and you could endure the worst treatment, therefore in your suffering he reshaped you in ways that would shatter even the mighty Maiar. Melkor forged you anew and twisted your already spoiled essence to his dark design.

Alone in his presence you felt belittled and humbled. But by his side before others, you were exalted and invincible – cloaked in the might of his dominion – and that illusion of power became intoxicating. For allowing you to get sedated with such greatness was enough to worship him like he was Eru himself and out of all your offerings, he loved that devotion the most about you.

To be his wife was not easy – it was a torment and perhaps you were burdened with the most difficult fate out of all the Valar. Yet, it was what you had chosen willingly for yourself and you carried this responsibility with pride, trying not to think too much of the life you could have lived instead. You were made for much bigger things than spending your whole lifetime resting in the sunlight and being followed by the forest animals like some of the Valar ladies were. No, you were aiming for greatness and the price for it was pain.

When Mairon came to your husband’s service, you sensed immediately the amount of his worship and devotion towards you. You sometimes wondered if the Maia joined Melkor for him and his power or were you the real reason for his spirit’s betrayal. His devotion amused you but you offered him no kindness as his yearning for your favour was met with cold indifference. Even though he was desperate for more of it, he should know better and be grateful for your rejection. Because if Melkor would realise the true nature of Mairon’s feelings, he would not go easy on him and his wrath would be merciless. 

Sometimes you wondered how it was possible that Melkor could not sense Mairon’s admiration for you. Perhaps he thought of it as something innocent – something expected from his servants to feel towards his Queen. Perhaps he thought of it as silly and pathetic, unworthy of his attention, because he knew you would never humiliate yourself to betray him for a servant.

Or perhaps your husband cared about you even less than you suspected.

After Melkor’s defeat, you were hiding inside your fortress in the North from the wrath of the Valar. Your husband’s absence was welcomed by you with relief but also a huge emptiness within your soul. You had been his companion for ages and to be left alone now felt oddly wrong. Many of the creatures of darkness expected you to take the leadership but you stepped away instead, wishing for a calmer and more peaceful time at least. 

The power you had once craved now was something you dreaded. Your husband’s ways had drained you nearly completely, you were a shell of your old self. You wanted nothing but to crawl inside a hole and spend another eternity there, resting as a person unknown to the outside world. 

Mairon was the one who took all the responsibilities upon his shoulders and while committing to his duties, he would always emphasise he was fulfilling them in your name. Forever a servant he would remain. 

Now, without Melkor’s eyes observing him constantly, he gained more courage to bask in the remains of your corrupted light. You sensed his gaze on you wherever you would go.

Your wish, however, was to go much further away and Mairon knew about it, which was worrying him. He was trying his best – nearly desperately – to reunite your husband’s armies and dark creatures of the shadows, to become their leader and build a realm for you to rule over. To become worthy of you.

“My Lady,” he kneeled as he approached you and he kept his eyes low although you knew he dared to look up here and there, too tempted not to lay his gaze on you. “Please, grant me an audience,” he pleaded.

“You wish for an audience, Mairon? But is it not you preparing to get crowned very soon, my cunning spirit? Soon it shall be me asking for your audience,” you teased him and he looked up, his eyes filled with panic. Melkor would punish him for such schemes but you were not him and his influence was upon you no more. 

“I might crown myself the new Dark Lord, my Lady, but I would never consider myself to be above my Goddess,” he confessed and you smiled sadly as you approached him to grab him by his chin.

He swallowed thickly out of fear but his eyes remained soft, filled with nothing but pure admiration. In Melkor’s eyes you had been Varda’s unworthy shadow. Perhaps no one had ever perceived you with such devotion as Mairon.

“I shall build you altars in my realm; in every village, every town, every city. And in the capital of my kingdom where I will reside, I shall build a temple where you can find your peace,” he breathed out. “Just, please, do not abandon me.”

Your soft smile turned into a smirk when you let go of his chin and moved your hand to his ginger hair to caress it softly like he was your pet.

“I must, Mairon. When you build your temple for me, though, then I might come back to reside there. But until then, we must part,” you insisted and walked away at the sight of his eyes getting wet.

“Will they ever follow me without you by my side?” He asked, unsurely.

“They will not. Not all of them. Can you not see that it is a cursed path, destined to become a failure, to follow Melkor’s steps?” You turned around to look at his face once more. “Run away with me, Mairon. Forsake this realm, forsake your schemes,” you proposed and he gasped, visibly contemplating his answer. But the sparkles faded away from his eyes very quickly.

“No,” he shook his head. “I must stay and heal Middle-earth. I cannot abandon its people because of my own selfish desire,” he resisted you as you chuckled at that.

“You are no god, then, Mairon. Gods do whatever they wish. Spirits like you were created to serve,” you teased, cruelly as you sat on your armchair and he moved uncomfortably, looking away, but he remained kneeling and humbled.

“Allow me to serve you then, Mother of Flames,” he dared to whisper, nearly inaudibly, his breath shaky and lips trembling.

You tilted your head, thinking about his words. You would leave this realm soon, perhaps forever. He surely deserved a little treat before your departure for all the worship and devotion he had been gifting you with. And you deserved to give in to desires of your flesh as well after all the treatment your husband had given you.

“Come to me,” you ordered, harshly. You watched him trying to stand up slowly but you quickly stopped him. “On your hands and knees,” you explained.

Mairon glanced up at you as if he could not believe the amount of humiliation you would put him through now. It was true that back in the day you had often contrasted with Melkor’s cruelty but now Melkor was no more and you had been taught the craft by the very master of it.

Perhaps his influence was still upon you and it would remain there forever. 

You waited with an eyebrow raised and Marion gave up eventually, crawling on the floor towards you. He might have been humiliated and embarrassed but his eagerness was obvious in the way his eyes sparkled at the sight of your legs getting closer and closer to him. And when he was nearly in front of them, you opened them slightly as he gasped and looked up at you with admiration. He could not believe the access you had just given him while you smirked at his obedience.

“Serve me, Mairon,” you requested, wickedly. “Let my taste remain on your lips and might you never forget it while you build your kingdom in my name. I will come back to you then, my sweet, unless the Valar find and imprison me before,” you leaned in to caress his cheek with your finger gently.

“I shall fight them then. No matter how much it takes, I will release you and bind you to me instead,” he whispered.

“Bold of you, mighty Maia, to speak of such matters,” you let out a laugh. “Even as the greatest of your kind, you would still only be gifted with a mere shadow of my powers. We will never be equal, Mairon,” you reminded him and his eyes welled with even more tears at such a harsh reminder.

He cursed Eru himself for creating him as such a low spirit because this way he could never be worthy of you and to be able to walk by your side as your equal was all he had ever wanted.

“Let it be then… Anything to be close to you, my Lady,” he cooed. “Please, allow me to touch you,” he begged as he moved even closer to your legs.

“Proceed,” you nodded and watched him closely, observing his every movement, every gaze, which probably intimidated him even further but you could sense his desire to please you becoming too grand to care about anything else.

His hands wrapped around your ankles and moved up slowly, brushing your skin as the skirts of your dress pulled up, revealing your calves for him to admire. He had never seen them.

Well, perhaps he had. He had often sneaked up on you here and there and you had known about it but welcomed it with nothing but a chuckle as you had been pretending to be oblivious.

However, he had never been so close to them. To you. He crawled up even closer as he planted soft and devoted kisses to your exposed skin. You had never known kisses like these because Melkor had been mostly devouring you, tormenting you, using you. 

Mairon sighed and you felt a shiver go down your spine at the feeling of his fingertips brushing the back of your knees. You slid lower on the armchair as your skirts pulled nearly all the way up, exposing your thighs to him. Your obedient servant gasped and looked up at you once more as if he was asking if that part of you was allowed for him, too.

“Have I told you to stop?” You challenged him and he nodded before burying his head between your soft thighs to kiss and lick them softly, breathing the sweet scent of your skin as if you were the holiness personified.

Wicked thought it was for you were the most corrupted and fallen out of the female Valar and yet you doubted any of them were worshipped with such eagerness as you were now.

“If we never left Valinor and I never followed Melkor,” you breathed out, caressing Mairon’s ginger hair and playing with the delicate strands of his hair between your fingers, “you would be my disciple and we would spend forever in the fields under the sun with you worshipping me, my sweet spirit,” you shared your fantasy with him and he whined at that as he moved his face further and deeper, his nose nudging your glistening cunt as he requested for your legs to open even wider.

“So impatient,” you pointed out and grabbed him by his throat to pull him away. You felt him swallow underneath your hand and then you forced him to look up by grabbing his chin. It was slightly wet already from your leaking cunt and you leaned in to give him a possessive, open-mouth kiss; to taste yourself on him as his eyes widened but he gave in immediately.

While granting him with a kiss he would never forget, you opened your legs further and further, giving him full access to the sweet nectar between your thighs and he whined into your mouth like a brat when he realised what you were doing. He laid his trembling hands on your thighs and moved the folds of your dress even further to the back, making sure your cunt was all exposed for him.

The cold air of the room caused your clit to twitch and swell before his thumb found it and brushed it. Now it was your time to moan into his mouth. You broke the kiss and pressed your forehead to his as you closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths in. Pleasure without pain was an experience brand new for your flesh and you had to steady yourself as he watched in awe.

“A-allow me…” Mairon pleaded and your eyes opened once more as you looked deep into his with a nod.

You laid back in the armchair and watched him with curiosity but also a hint of contempt to see a spirit so mighty humbled like this – perhaps you could understand Melkor more than you had ever expected to be able to but it was truly fascinating and pleasurable to humiliate other spirits. 

To be able to kiss and lick your cunt, to devour it – it was surely a life-changing experience for your sweet Mairon. His usually calm demeanour changed in an instant, reminding you of a hungry hound as he whined and whimpered, lapping on your juices as if it was the sweetest nectar granting him immortality. He was intoxicated as his hands squeezed your thighs to keep them open and allow him to feast eagerly. 

Your body of a goddess allowed you to go on without breaks; a peak after peak as you shivered and trembled, caressing his head and meeting his hazy, devoted gaze once in a while to let him know he was doing good. Your praise meant everything to him for all he had always known was your husband’s reprimands. 

Your flesh could go on and on but your mind of a goddess was a demanding one and soon you grew simply bored of his ministrations, therefore you pushed his head away and crossed your legs, taking away the access from him.

Mairon’s face was flushed, his eyes foggy and skin glistening from sweat and your juices dripping down his chin. He was kneeling and looking up at you mindlessly as if he would follow your every order now, no matter how self-destructive it would be.

“You’ve served me good, Mairon,” you grabbed his chin and smiled at him. “Good servant,” you emphasised.

“P-please,” he whimpered and you furrowed your brow before realising what he begged you for.

His own release.

“Was not your kin created to serve mine? I do not think our creator blessed you with such desires, Mairon. Do not be a dirty liar,” you teased him.

“Please, my Lady,” he whined, desperately.

You sighed and rolled your eyes.

“Alright, then, let me see for myself,” you smirked and pushed him down onto the floor before getting out of your armchair and straddling him like a predator would trap her prey before sinking her teeth into him.

He looked so pretty like this – both excited and turned on but also absolutely terrified of you. You could do everything to him and he had no other way but to accept it. And he knew – he knew very well – that you could be as cruel as Melkor if you only wanted to be.

Melkor’s brutality had been driven by his own whim. Yours would be driven by your revenge for all the centuries of being treated like his dog. Beaten dogs tended to bite deadly and Mairon knew.

“Do not fear me, sweet Mairon. I only want to see for myself if it is true that you have fallen and corrupted yourself so much with your devotion towards me that you have been gifted with desires of the flesh,” you smirked. “Or cursed with them,” you pointed out as your hands worked on his robes and the trousers underneath them swiftly and quickly.

You gasped and laughed when you saw how hard he was already after all those hours he had spent between your legs. He blushed even further and his cheeks were crimson red now like his clothes.

“This must hurt,” you pointed out with a sinister chuckle. “Is it the first time for you?” You asked, brushing his thighs with your fingernails, making him shiver under your touch but refusing to actually pay any attention to his hard and reddened cock with its tip swollen and twitching, leaking precum.

“No,” he confessed, nearly inaudibly.

“Interesting,” you hummed to yourself and leaned in, your face so close to his that your noses brushed. “And what were you doing usually when it happened?”

“Nothing,” Mairon confessed, his face wincing out of shame. “Nothing, my Lady. I would never… I would never dare to…” He gasped after every word, so sweetly desperate and frustrated but not brave enough to ask you to do anything in particular. He would never order you around.

“Oh, my sweet, poor Mairon… You should have come to me each time and I would have helped you,” you grinned at him although you both knew it was not true. None of you would have ever dared to commit such an act behind Melkor’s back. “Do you want me to ease you now?” You asked.

“P-please…”

You reached towards his twitching cock and grabbed his wet length as you watched with cold fascination while he struggled and writhed underneath you. A few pumps of your hand was enough to make him spill himself with a whine, bucking his hips into your hand as you kept jerking him off to make more and more of his seed spurt out. 

His body of a Maia did not need breaks but there was always a limit to how much seed any male flesh could produce. And when you felt he could absolutely do no more, you stopped and watched him catch his breath as you giggled, laying on top of him and intertwining your legs. One of your hands kept caressing his sore and softening cock gently as your other hand pulled his head closer to your chest, burying his face between your breasts and caressing his ginger hair strands.

“Please, do not go… I will be so lost without you,” Mairon looked up to meet your gaze and you smiled sadly at that.

“Do not start again,” you scolded him.

“Can you at least stay for the coronation?” He pleaded but you shook your head.

“No. I must leave tonight, as soon as possible,” you leaned in to kiss his forehead and a short while of silence occurred.

It surprised you greatly but some part of you began craving to take care of him now. As if the sinful act you had just performed with him, which stained you in a way – because what else would you call lowering yourself to pleasing a Maia? – as if it had forged an attachment between you two and bound you to him indeed like he had blasphemously suggested before.

You definitely had to leave and hide from the Valar, seek your own peace of mind. But you knew already that you would be back for your sweet Mairon sooner than both of you expected.

MASTERLIST

[writingblogsandothers]

The Chosen One

Part 9

Writer's Note: This is it - the final part... I hope there's no disappointment. It's been so great writing this and seeing your reactions. On to the next work! Speaking of, the final hours for submitting your answers to our poll Sending all the love, as per X

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Mild Taunting/Teasing // Mild Fear // Violence // Mentions of killing/death // Mild kissing // Mild indications of sleeping together (nothing overly descriptive)

Use of She/Her/Lady - Female Pronouns

Readers over the age of 18 only please

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8

Aurelia followed Geta, along with Marcus to secret quarters which she had never seen before. At the end of the dark hallway, was a closeted door. It was opened wide by Acacius and they all entered. The entire senate was present along with Lucilla. She ran over to meet Aurelia with open arms and hugged her tightly. They all sat to discuss the matter at hand – how they were going to deal with Macrinus.

A variety of opinions were floating around the room,

“Jail him.”

“We should exile him, he is a dangerous man.”

“He is too close to Caracalla, it would never work, Caracalla needs to be dealt with.”

On mention of his brother, Geta stood and paced the room. His mind wasn’t altogether sound, but he was his brother. His actions were inexcusable but the thought of any ill to come to him made him feel very uneasy. Aurelia noticed his demeanour and reached out to grab his hand as he paced in a bid to calm him down. He stood firmly behind her and listened to what the other senators had to say.

“Exile and jailing are not for this man. He would find a way to work around that. As you say, he is well acquainted with my brother. Death is to be the sentence. Leave Caracalla to me. He is to be excused.” Geta demanded. The senate looked round at one another, not saying a word.

“DID YOU HEAR ME SENATORS? NOT. TO. BE. TOUCHED.” He screamed.

The senators mumbled “yes, Emperor” and the room fell silent. All eyes were on Geta, seeking action. He pulled Aurelia up by her hand, “Marcus Acacius is to conduct the mission. Listen to his direct commands. Acacius, draft in whatever you need.” He took his wife to his chambers for the evening and retired into a deep sleep.

***

It was still dark outside when Aurelia heard a door handle opening. She woke bleary eyed staring at the direction of the door, anticipating seeing Geta coming in, but she looked to her side and there he lay. She lay back down again on the bed thinking she had made up something in her head when suddenly she her mouth was covered with a rag that had a funny smell. She could feel her eyes closing on themselves and as she tried to struggle, the darkness overtook her.

***

She started to come round when she realised, she was sitting upright. Where was she? Aurelia began to frantically look around and tried to get up. It was only then she noticed she was tied by the ankles and her arms were pinned behind her, also tied. There was no way to break out of the knots on her own. She prayed to the gods that Geta or someone would come to find her and free her.

“Ahhh, Aurelia. You’re awake.” A dark figure emerged from the shadows, but she would recognise that voice anywhere. It was Macrinus.

“I don’t know what you think you are doing Macrinus, but whatever it is, it’s not going to work.”

Macrinus laughed in Aurelia’s face, “Oh but it’s going to work so perfectly. Caracalla is so foolishly stupid, he is indoctrinated. He thinks this is all for his benefit, but the poor fool, HA HA!” He knelt in front of the woman, “Your husband’s pretty crown will be on my head very soon.”

“Geta will never let you get away with this Macrinus. You are delusional if you think my husband is so weak.”

“We’ll soon see about that. As I said earlier Aurelia, I am the kind of man Rome needs. A man who can get what he wants and ensures nothing comes in their way to stops them. With Geta out of the way, and his pathetic wife of no use, no one will stop me in accomplishing what I want.”

“Macrinus, you so much as touch a hair on my husband there will be hell to pay. Rest assured.”

Macrinus chuckled at her empty threat as he thought, “Well we’re going to bring him down here and let you see how we will torture him and make sure you watch as he suffers greatly.”

Aurelia sobbed and shivered at his cold, callous words. “Later ‘Princess’”, he walked out of the room as Aurelia started to shuffle in her chair and writhe like a snake in a bid to free herself, but it was no use. She broke down crying further, fearful for what was to come next.

***

It was sometime later before she heard great commotion.

Geta screamed, “AURELIA, AURELIA, WHERE ARE YOU?!”

“Geta! Please help me!! GETA!”

He followed the sound of her voice and ran into the room. He broke down into tears and ran to her to try and untie her. “My darling, darling girl. What have they done?”

“Geta, they’re going to kill us. They’ll do it, they’ll do it! Macrinus, he’s here. He told me such awful things. We must stop them – we have to get out of here!”

“Well, well, well – the woman isn’t as dim as she looks. She’s got one thing right, and it’s not about stopping us!” Macrinus and Caracalla crept round the corner.

Geta ignored Macrinus’ grating voice and looked deeply into the eyes of Caracalla, “Brother, I don’t know what he has said or promised you, but it’s all lies! Caracalla, in the name of the gods - come to your senses!”

Caracalla approached Geta, “You’re right Brother, I do need to come to my senses.” A large, bladed weapon was wielded from Caracalla’s belt, and it was held against Geta’s neck.

“GETA! Caracalla, I swear if you hurt him, I’ll-”

“Oh, sweet Aurelia, that’s quite endearing… Macrinus, deal with her.” Macrinus approached her, standing over her body and slapped her harshly across the cheek.

“Brother, please don’t do this. This man is a fraud, an imposter. He is only using you to get what he wants. Please brother, I love you – you know that. We can get through this.”

Caracalla stared into the eyes of his brother, for a second Geta saw a glimmer of hope, “Brother, she has turned you so pathetic. It’s pitiful to see you the way you are. This is why I have always had a problem with you and her. Love makes the strongest men weak, and I feel brother that by doing this, I will actually be doing you a grave justice.”

Geta was about to speak when a Marcus Acacius entered the quarters and fighting ensued. The commotion startled Caracalla that Geta was able to get free. He went to get Aurelia, but her chair was now empty. He looked over to find Acacius and Macrinus sparring with their respective swords. When he turned back around, he was pushed abruptly to the ground by Caracalla and saw his blade swipe up into the air.

This was it.

This was how it was all to end.

An ambush by his own brother.

He closed his eyes preparing for the impact, when he heard a grave groan. He looked up to find Aurelia had impaled Caracalla in the upper shoulder. He fell with a thump to the ground.

He began manically laughing as he lay on the ground, “Macrinus, get this useless woman!”

With that, Acacius dropped Macrinus’ head in front of his face.

“There’s your great puppet commander, Emperor.”

Caracalla cried out and wept, “Macrinus, my sweet, sweet Macrinus.” He swept his fingers over his face.

Geta held his wife close as both of them wept. Acacius gathered Caracalla to address his wound. It wasn’t life threatening, just enough to stop him in his tracks.

“Emperor, what are we to do with him?” Acacius asked.

“He’s to be dethroned. Get him into the gladiator quarters, and fetch Aurelia’s brothers. Let the gods decide his fate.”

Caracalla cried, “Brother, brother, please I have failed you. Please, I will do better.” He continued to cry out after Geta, but he turned his back and ignored his cries as Acacius handed him across to the guards who stood at the doorway and followed them to the gladiator stay keep.

Geta held Aurelia even tighter. He was glad his wife was safe, but the betrayal of his brother was too much for him to accept. However, he had to face facts. Caracalla was willing to make his life a living hell. She was his possession, so any harm to her, affected him. He was also willing to get rid of him in a bid to help Macrinus take to higher power. It couldn’t go on. In this case, the gods were best to decide.

“Sweet husband, I love you. I am sorry how Caracalla has betrayed you. I don’t know how to make things better, but they will. Time will heal.”

He sighed, “Yes, it will. Come, let’s get out of here.” He took Aurelia by the hand and led them into the light.

***

With Aurelia’s brothers freed, the games resumed. The crowds gasped when they saw the new addition to the gladiators.

“PEOPLE OF ROME! We have a new gladiator in the rink, my brother, Caracalla. He is there to allow the gods to decide his fate. He has shown great treason, along with Macrinus your new senator. Guards, show the crowd Macrinus!”

A head rolled into the arena, and the crowd gasped – then erupted into great cheering and clapping.

“Now, RELEASE THE MONKEYS!” the crowd cheered once more, and the fighting began. He sat to watch the carnage ensue, taking Aurelia’s hand in his. Lucilla looked on the pair fondly, she was glad the threat of Caracalla was gone. Maybe Geta would soften in his new position without having to compete with his brother and his impish ways.

By the time it was finished, Caracalla was the only gladiator standing. He cheered for himself thinking him victorious, yet Geta knew of the rule. He had the option to chose whether he lived to fight another day or not. Aurelia looked up at him with sad eyes, she knew the fate that lay ahead of him, and she did not like the burden it leaned on her husband. Acacius chimed in, “Remember his treason, Emperor.” Geta nodded.

“THE GODSSS HAVEEEEE SPOKENNNNNNN!!!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, and firmly pointed his thumb down to signal it was the end of the road for Caracalla.

He took his wife by the hand and exited the balcony, choosing not staying to observe. Acacius and Lucilla followed behind. Aurelia couldn’t help but feeling sad for the entire event. While he was vile, Caracalla was easily led, but he was dangerous. She also couldn’t help but feel terribly sorry for her husband. It was his brother after all, and she could see that it pained him. But he was treasonous, and that was not permitted. Not in the slightest.

Aurelia knew of a secret, but it was not the right time to reveal it. She knew it would make her husband happy, but right now he had to grieve the loss of his best friend and brother. Aurelia knew she had to stand up to her duties, as a wife and Empress. She had to make sure Geta was her top priority, to help keep Rome in check, and ensure she kept herself well to ensure the future heirs of Rome inherit only the best traits to create a strong line to keep Rome alive.

[serickswrites]

Lonely Place of Longing XVII

Master list link here (includes chapter links, summary, and character bios)

A/N: Alright friends, we have reached the end of yet another longer series. I really, really adored these characters. Like so much. So much to the point that I have completely plotted out (and started writing) the prequel as well as begun to plan a sequel! So there is a lot more Dylan, Halle, and Owen in the future!

And I hurt my own feelings with this series. So yeah, you can be mad at me. Just know that I am already suffering lol

Warnings: blood, wounds, unconsciousness, cpr, mcd, cruelty, grief, dissection mention, captivity, heartbreak

“No. NO. NO. Dylan! PLEASE! GOD NO!” Halle screamed as Dylan’s stuttering breath went out in a quiet exhale. She waited for him to take another wheezing breath. But none came. “Come on, love, come on. Breathe! You have to stay with me.” Halle slid her legs out from underneath Dylan’s body, knelt next to him, and quickly began compressions. “You can’t leave me! You can’t! I need you!”

Each word was punctuated by her pumping his chest. Her vision blurred as she sobbed. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be it. Dylan hadn’t meant any of it. He loved her. He saved her. He was dying. He couldn’t be dying.

But as Halle pumped harder and harder, longer and longer, Dylan didn’t take a breath. Didn’t gasp for air and open his eyes. He lay beneath her hands, body moving as she pumped, eyes closed, features slack. He was still except for Halle’s movement.

Something inside Halle’s chest broke. She couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t happening. She had failed him. She had failed him in so many ways. But he hadn’t failed her. She was safe. She was alive. “Please,” she sobbed as she stopped pumping his chest. “Please, come back.”

But no matter how much she begged, no matter how much she sobbed, Dylan did not come back. And so she sat, for who knew how long, with him, coated in his blood, knowing that this was all her fault. He was dead because of her. Because he loved her. Dylan was dead because of Halle.

Things became blurry after a while. People moved around her. But she didn’t care. She didn’t care that she had made a scene, had exposed her secret, trying to save Dylan. She didn’t care that the others knew how much she loved him. She didn’t care about anything because Dylan was gone.

Somehow, Halle found herself back at Tectus. She had refused to leave his side. Had refused to leave him behind. Though she realized that Thomas, that the Authority, wouldn’t have wanted his body in the wrong hands. Dylan wasn’t free, even in death, of Scutus.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to their empty room. Dried blood flaked from her finger onto the floor. He was never coming back. And she couldn’t even keep him safe after. Though she had tried.

“Do not let the body out of your sight.” Thomas had ordered Aubrey and Lysander to take Dylan’s body away. “The other weapon is a total loss. Totally completely destroyed. It will take us weeks to gather all the pieces. We need to preserve this body. Do not let it out of your sight. Do not let anything happen to it. This is our last chance to understand why this weapon is different. I will not let it ruin all that we have worked for.” Thomas glared at the stretcher. “It may have ended up wasting what it was given, wasting its life. I won’t let it be a waste now. Take it to the research lab. See what they need.”

“NO!” Halle had thrown herself at the stretcher Aubrey and Lysander carried. Someone had thrown the blanket over his face, but hadn’t bothered to be sure he was fully on the stretcher as one arm hung limply, swinging with the movement. “PLEASE!” She screamed as she took his cold hand in hers.

“Return to your quarters until either myself or Samuel summon you,” Thomas said. “We will be discussing your release of duty that Dylan bargained for. Remain in your quarters until you are summoned.”

Halle refused to move. Dylan had given so much for her. What did he give away so she could be free? What did it cost him? He would never be free, so why free her? She didn’t care. She couldn’t let them take Dylan away. She had to protect him. Had to save him of one last thing. She couldn’t let him go. She stared at the blanket, knowing what lay beneath. This wasn’t happening.

Aubrey shifted, trying to move the stretcher away from her. All Aubrey succeeded in doing was pulling the blanket off.

Dylan looked like he was sleeping, his features slack and peaceful. But as Halle fought more and more to stay, to keep his hand in her grip, more and more of the blanket slipped off until Dylan’s body was completely exposed once more. Until she could see the wounds that caused him to bleed out. Until she could see the wounds that he got trying to save her.

Dylan was dead.

Dylan was dead because of her.

Halle dropped to her knees as she began to sob once more. “I’m sorry. Please. Please, love. Please.”

“Take her to her quarters and see that she doesn’t leave,” Thomas ordered. Helena and Andrea stepped forward, ready escort Halle back to her quarters.

“NO!” She screamed as they hooked their arms underneath her arm pits. She fought with everything she had to keep from being separated from Dylan. She was never going to see him again.

“The weapon is dead. It’s useless now. Forget about it.” Helena hissed as she pulled harder on Halle.

“No! NO!” Halle wouldn’t let them talk about Dylan like that. They were all alive because of Dylan.

“You’re making a scene,” Andrea whispered in her ear. “Don’t make this any worse. You’re going to be court martialled if you don’t let go. Do you want his death to be in vain?”

She couldn’t breathe. Her chest felt full of lead. This was real. This was happening. Dylan was dead. Dylan was dead and it was her fault. This was because of her.

“They’re going to dissect the body. Do you want to see what they do to broken weapons in R & D?”

Halle felt nauseous. She was dizzy. She couldn’t see that. Couldn’t let them do that to Dylan. But as she watched Thomas glare at her, she realized she had no power. She dropped Dylan’s hand with a sob. She let Helena and Andrea escort her back. She could barely walk. Could barely breathe. Dylan was dead. Dylan was gone. Dylan died because of her. She didn’t want to be awake for any of it any longer. She flung herself onto the bed as she began to sob once more. Paper crinkled beneath her fingers.

Sweetheart. The outer flap of the envelope read. Dylan had such neat, distinctive writing, there was no mistaking it. Halle didn’t hesitate and ripped the paper from the envelope.

Sweetheart, I’m sorry I had to lie to you. I’m sorry I had to push you away. I thought it would keep you safe. I realize I was wrong now. I wish I had known it sooner. I wish I could have said all of this sooner. I love you. I have always loved you. I will always love you.

Tears tracked down Halle’s cheeks. He had known. He had known that this was a suicide mission. And still he came for her. He had walked into the fire knowing he wouldn’t make it out, but that she would.

I was born over a century ago in a small country in the sea that no longer exists. I was poor. I was happy. I had a loving family. I had a life I loved. My world was small, but it was all that I knew. All that we knew. Owen and I were inseparable. Even when the war came we were always together. And when they burned our home to the ground, when the invaders had decimated and destroyed all that we knew, we still had each other.

We were taken back to the invaders’ home, Patricanus. The world was strange. So different from our own. Everything was cold, sterile. We lived in a land of greenery, of land and sea. And this was a dry, stale land. It’s since flourished into a greener place, or at least from what I’ve seen. But one hundred years ago, Patricanus was a desert waste land. And so the powers that be deemed it necessary to invade other places to learn how they cultivated the land. How they kept the land bearing life. And our home was the most fertile of all. I don’t know what they stole from us, but they stole us away, so perhaps that was part of it. I don’t know, it’s not something I ever learned the truth about.

I have never felt pain like I felt being imbued. Words don’t describe the process. My world had been destroyed and Scutus destroyed my body. Scutus destroyed Owen’s mind. There was nothing I could do. I was trapped. I was a prisoner. And I had to do as they ordered or they would destroy the one thing I had left. And so I sold my soul so that he could live. So that the one last thing of my home would remain. I sold the last part of my humanity so the inhuman bastard would live.

I regret that. I should have refused. I should have let them destroy him early. But I was young. I was naive. I thought I could change him back. Could bring him back. But all I brought was pain. I am a wretched, piteous creature, but he was even more so. Life was misery. Time passed so slowly

Until I met you. You breathed life into me after a century of no air. I felt myself coming back to life with you, Halle. You are the best part of my life. The greatest thing to happen to me. And so I wouldn’t take back one miserable moment of my wretched existence because I wouldn’t have met you.

Halle, I’m sorry I’m not here to tell you all of these things. I’m sorry I’m not here to watch you learn the truth, to give you the choice for the next part. We aren’t the only weapons, but you know that. But what you don’t know is that the Authority is the source of all weapons. They sell them to the highest bidder, keep them enslaved, keep them deep in the dark. I bargained for your freedom. You’re free, sweetheart. I only ask that you take the others with you. While I’ll never be able to take you to the sea, you can take them. Be free, Halle, and free the others.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Halle read and reread the letter a hundred times over. Patricanus was the aggressor. The Authority had destroyed a country. Had decimated a people. Had stolen them away and enslaved them. Dylan knew all of that. Knew that and didn’t tell her. Having this knowledge was dangerous. There was more than one reason they kept Dylan locked up and isolated. He was dangerous to the Authority, to Scutus, to the foundations of Patricanus. He knew too much. And he could have destroyed them all.

As Halle gathered what few belongings Dylan had left behind, she made a vow. She was leaving Tectus and so were all the other weapons. She was going to destroy Scutus and the Authority. She was going to ensure the world knew what evil lurked within. And she was going to free them all. For herself. For those that had been lost. But most of all because it was all that Dylan had wanted.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t free you. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I love you. I love you. I love you,” Halle whispered to the empty room. She was getting out of here. She was going to destroy the Authority, expose their secrets and skeletons. And she was getting all the weapons to freedom. Nothing was going to stand in her way.

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[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Hey, I'm feeling very awkward about this but I love love lovee your writing so here are the fics I'm looking forward to the most:

🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️

⛅⛅⛅⛅⛅⛅⛅⛅⛅⛅⛅⛅⛅⛅⛅⛅

🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼

(i know I've put too many of each but i kind of lost track)

Thank you so much! Take care.

Omg you DO NOT need to feel awkward! I love getting these and am so happy to receive them, so please! Also, THANK YOU! You are so kind!

48 for 🧜🏼‍♂️

---

“I’m Buck. Your dad’s friend from work.”

“Dad, you have friends?” Chris asks, not trying to be cutting, but just being blunt the way kids do. 

“Hey!” Eddie complains as Buck laughs. 

“Oh, yeah,” Buck says. “Your dad is super cool, Chris.”

Chris laughs. “Okay. I believe you.”

He believes him? Fine. Whatever. But then Eddie realizes, of course Chris is surprised. Eddie usually avoids bringing people around who aren’t family. Tries to keep his personal life separate from work. Yeah. It must seem to Chris like Eddie doesn’t have friends. And, honestly? Since leaving El Paso the way he did, he doesn’t. Except, now, for Buck. 

That friendship just sort of escalates after that night. Completely organically. Buck’s desire to help provides Eddie with a sort of relief he’s never really had before. Never really thought he could have. Someone trying to support him with no judgement, no ulterior motive. No suggestion he’s not cut out to raise Chris alone. He’s there with Eddie when Abuela breaks her hip. He’s there with Eddie when Eddie doesn’t have childcare for a shift, arranging with Bobby for Chris to come to the station. He helps connect Eddie with resources Eddie needs in the form of Carla, someone he met through an old friend, apparently. He’s kind of a godsend. And Eddie doesn’t know what to do with that. 

Eddie tries to give back as much as he’s getting, but it’s sort of hard. If there’s something Buck needs help with, he doesn’t seem to show it as much. With the exception of helping his sister move into a new apartment. Which seems like a small thing in comparison. Eddie is strong. He can lift some boxes and a couch no problem. It still doesn’t feel the same. 

What Eddie thinks he might be able to do, though, if he’s right about Buck, is maybe be someone who can uniquely understand him. That’s something valuable. Something special. Maybe even something Eddie himself craves pretty frequently. So over the course of those first few months of getting to know Buck, he tries to dig for information. Just subtly. He needs confirmation of his suspicions before he can reveal himself in turn. 

---

48 for ⛅

---

Christopher doesn’t look convinced. He takes a moment to think. Buck holds his breath. 

“What’s Nico’s birthday?” Chris asks after a beat. 

Fuck. 

Buck looks at Eddie for help. But why would Eddie know any better than him? Neither of them knows the answer to that. 

“Oh my god,” Chris accuses. “You don’t know.”

“Listen,” Eddie pleads. “Chris…”

“It’s June 15th,” Chris interrupts him. “Right before yours, Buck. How don’t you know that?”

All Buck can do is shoot Eddie a little frustrated glare. 

“I warned you this might happen.”

“Okay,” Eddie hisses back. “I didn’t think it through! You were right!”

“Tell me the truth,” Chris says. “Seriously. What the hell is going on?”

Neither Buck or Eddie says anything for a second. 

“Alright,” Chris says lowly. “I’m calling Bobby.” 

“No!” Buck more or less yelps. “Don’t-don’t do that. Okay? It’s okay, alright. We just… We woke up here, and-and we don’t know what’s going on, but-”

“Buck!” Eddie cuts him off. “He doesn’t need to worry about this!”

“He already is!” Buck protests. “He’s clearly already freaked out!”

Eddie looks betrayed. Like genuinely hurt that Buck would tell the truth. Buck doesn’t understand why. Why would he want Buck to lie to Christopher? Especially an adult Christopher who can presumably handle the truth. 

---

48 for 🔼

---

Jane is born nearly two weeks early, in the middle of the month. December 16th. Which is probably a more convenient birthday than her actual due date, but nevertheless, Shannon isn’t expecting it. 

She’s at Eddie’s house, with Maddie and Christopher. She and Eddie have been slowly moving her into his house in preparation for the baby. The plan is that she’ll stay there for a few months, so Eddie can be around to help. Her apartment is too small for the four of them, so this is the best solution. 

So Maddie is over, helping her set up some baby things while Eddie is at work. Not because Shannon and Eddie really need help with the baby stuff, but because Maddie sort of needs someone to talk to. She’s on suspension from work. Not ideal. And the situation is sort of wild, Shannon won’t lie. But she’s empathetic towards Maddie, understands why she did what she did. And she’s sure as hell going to be a listening ear. 

Or, at least, she’s going to try. Her water breaking mid-conversation was not on the agenda. 

This didn’t happen with Christopher. He was late and she had to be induced, and nothing felt sudden or spontaneous. It was slow and horrible and… Well, neither she nor Chris made it out of that without consequences. Shannon had sort of expected this time to go similarly. She’s honestly been dreading the whole thing. 

And now it’s, apparently, here.

“Fuck,” Shannon exhales when it happens, standing in the hallway outside Eddie’s - temporarily Shannon’s - bedroom. 

Maddie gives a tiny gasp. “Well, look at that.”

“Shit,” Shannon continues cursing. “Maddie, I’m not ready. I’m supposed to have more time.”

Maddie sort of transforms into nurse mode. Shannon knows this is in her career history, obviously. But she hasn’t actually seen it. Apparently she frequently uses this tone on Buck, though. 

“Well, you don’t have time. I’m sorry, but it’s okay. We’ll get you through this.”

“Damn it,” Shannon groans. She hasn’t felt any contractions yet, so this could still take a while. If it goes too long, they’ll induce her again… She can’t do that. Not again. She thinks she’d rather have a c-section. “My body… It’s not good at this. I’m… I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Maddie says firmly. 

[trixie2023]

Reece. I have named him Reece. I love him and I need someone to write about him.😫. I’m not a writer and Definitely not an artist. That’s why I need someone to write him/Reece. I hate that I couldn’t find a better pic of him but y’all know who he is😉

I’m in lust I mean love with him❤️

[fun-esta]

[belle-rosse]

In the trailer for act 2 we see the Firelights think that Ekko is dead because, well, no one is aware of his situation with the Hexcore.

And then there’s that frame of Sevika talking to Vander’s statue, where she says, 'we have lost so many.' Interestingly, that same statue has 'Ekko' written on it, which we clearly see in season one.

Could it be that Sevika tells Jinx that Ekko hasn’t returned? That Jinx believes Ekko is dead too? Is this what triggers the undercity alliance, including the firelights?

I am thinking thoughts. I cannot stop thinking thoughts. This won't happen but I need to see it happen.

[musashi]

they should invent a asking for help with writing that doesn't completely ruin your self esteem/excitement

[yuurikatsukienthusiast]

Victor, when I catch you, Victor...

Yuuri was so happy at first too ☹️

[shawnxstyles]

fuck.