#idk this is more long-winded than i meant to be

[revasserium]

Hey, can I request zoro x reader (established relationship) where the Strawhats end up going to reader’s home island (unknown to anyone in the group aside from reader), and the reader is super nervous and refuses to leave the boat, so the crew goes out and walk around and they find a missing/wanted poster of the reader and find out she’s a run away princess that needed to be. Later they coke to find out that reader ran away cause her parents and the servants mistreated and was about to marry her off to a violent prince

opla requests are: open

lips on every cross

opla!zoro; 5,989 words; fem!reader, semi-established?? relationship, posessive!zoro, strawhat!reader, no "y/n", reader gets kidnapped, fluff and angst, very brief! mentions of past familial abuse and trauma, nicknames ("Princess"), slow-ish burn???, more plot than not

summary: zoro has never thought himself a holy man. but he'd kiss every cross if it meant finding his way back to you.

a/n: idk why every opla fic i write is like... more plot than i bargained for but here we are. literally, this fic was just supposed to be "zoro calls the reader 'princess'".

01. when love arrives

(“Hey Princess —��)

The nickname starts, as almost all things do on the Going Merry, as a joke. And, as with most jokes made amongst the rag-tag crew, it sticks. He’d said it because he’s sure you’d mentioned your name once or twice already, but he’d been napping or eating and he didn’t feel like looking like an asshole right that moment.

The ribbon in your hair had caught the light in just the right way, pale pink satin — such a strange, soft color amidst the careening, careless ocean, and the word just… slipped.

“Why’dyou call her that?” Luffy asks, lounging back against the main mast as Zoro works through the umpteenth rep of single-armed pushups.

Zoro puffs out a breath and switches arms.

“Dunno. Seemed like it fit.”

Luffy slates you a long glance, blinking owlishly.

“Really? Eh — I guess… well, she is really pretty.”

Zoro only grunts, jumping up and stretching both arms over his head with a long, steady breath. His eyes flicker towards you as well, laughing with Nami on the foredeck, sipping on cocktails, Sanji probably simping somewhere nearby.

He thinks back to where they’d found you, hood pulled low over your eyes, the tell-tale signs of distress carved into every line of your body, from the curve of your spine to the bend of your shoulders.

Luffy hadn’t asked questions, so Zoro hadn’t either.

Curiosity, the fatal flaw that runs so sharp and obvious through the entirety of Luffy’s being, hasn’t always been rewarded well in Zoro’s experience. And he’s learned by now that “truth will out”, or so they say.

(“C’mon, Princess, I thought you said you could drink.”)

Caution, on the other hand, is Zoro’s oldest friend. You are cautious, if nothing else, and the first time he sees you relax in his presence, he wonders to himself if there’s a drug in this world strong enough to induce this feeling.

Later, he would learn that this is simply called falling in love.

He isn’t the only one who notices how you casually dip a silver fork or knife into every single drink before you take a sip, or that sometimes, you blurt out the word “no’ like a promise to yourself, and “sorry” like a plea for help.

And he’s spent long enough being a hunter to know what being hunted looks like. So he doesn’t ask, and you don’t answer, and somehow, you still manage to make yourself a home in the dark caverns of his chest, curling up there till he can’t count his heartbeats without it sounding like the shadow of your name on the midnight wind.

02. a study of light and dark

The drinking game starts off innocently enough (and don’t they always), but it takes half a round for the questions and subsequent answers to devolve into loud laughter and debauchery, delirium and debasement.

“Alright, alright —“ Sanji holds up a hand, tossing back his shot to raucous cheers, “worst thing you’ve done in a closet. Go —“

Zoro rolls his eyes and takes the shot, foregoing his answer. Nami simply grins, catlike, swirling her own drink around her glass.

“In your wildest dreams, cook,” she says before taking her shot as well. Sanji lets out a contemplative whistle, followed by a good-natured wink.

“Define worst, cause… I mean, I’ve puked in like… most of them back in Syrup Village,” Usopp says. Sanji only chuckles, shrugging.

“We’ll take it, we’ll take it.”

Luffy hums, frowning for a second before smacking a fist into his open palm, grinning, “I took a nap!”

Everyone laughs, helpless and buoyed up by the casual effervescence of a night like this — when the moon is dark and the stars are bright and thin wisps of silver clouds mar the sky like tendrils of lost daydreams, caught on the wrong side of sunset.

When the laughter settles down, everyone turns to you.

You purse your lips, feeling the weight of your answer pressing down on the tip of your tongue — I hid. And I waited. And I tried not to listen.

As the silence stretches on, Zoro leans forward and uncrosses his arms, reaching out to nudge a full shot glass towards you.

“Times up, Princess — drink,” and though there’s nothing soft or even forgiving in his voice, but you feel yourself relax as everyone boos and you take your shot.

The heat of Zoro’s gaze only lingers on your skin for a moment longer before he leans back again, that familiar almost-grin tugging lazily at his lips as he turns half-lidded eyes towards the rest of his crew.

(“Talk to me, Princess.”)

When you find him later, fumbling in the dark of the hallway just outside his room, you kiss him without saying “thank you” and he doesn’t question it when, pressed beneath him on the rough linen of his sheets, you ask to keep the lights on.

03. etymology

Princess — it’s a nice word, Zoro muses to himself. The light pop of the ‘p’ rolling into the warm, round ‘r’, thinning out into the sensual layering of the double ‘s’s, till you’re left with nothing but a hiss, a shadow, a memory.

It’s a regal word; a pretty word. Though its origins might be anything but.

From the Latin primus “first” and cept “catcher”, or so Robin had told him over the pages of an ancient book he hadn’t bothered to ask the name of, because Princes and Kings have always obtained their powers through taking, and never asking. Reaping, and never sowing.

Zoro thinks then that this, too, is a form conquest — you over him. The totality of your power stunning to behold, if only because he has to let you take it in the first place. And he does so willingly.

He wonders if you, too, are as multifaceted as his nickname for you — delicacy and desire wrapped around a darker something, lace laid over a knife’s unforgiving edge.

The first time he dares to kiss you, he feels you kissing him back, the sharp canines of your teeth catching on his lower lip, drawing out a soft grunt from him. You’d paused, and then you’d bitten down harder just to hear him gasp into your mouth.

He knew then, without ever having to ask, that you are.

04. tip of the iceberg

It is winter when they arrive — but then again, it is always winter here. Here, the cold runs so deep it drives frost crystals into the marrow of your bones. Here, the wind howls like a wounded animal and the night falls with a savage, carnal vengeance, all black velvet and a blood-tinted moon.

Here, the snow storms turn living, breathing heroes into song lyrics and poetry rhymes.

You inhale a single breath before turning and heading back below deck.

Zoro frowns, and at a single look from Luffy, he follows you beneath, only to find you rummaging around the kitchen, tugging a bottle of moonshine out from under the sink.

“Whoa,” Zoro says, reaching out to stop you from uncorking the bottle, an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t miss the way you shiver, “bit early, isn’t it?”

“Bit rich, coming from you,” you snap, eyes sharp, voice stinging.

Zoro only cocks his other eyebrow in tandem and pulls the bottle from your hands before turning and grabbing two glasses from the cupboard. He takes his time filling them both with ice, and then pouring a finger into each glass.

You don’t meet his eyes as you reach out for your glass, but he catches your wrist.

“A drink for an answer,” he says.

You pause, your lips pressed into a thin, white line. And he knows it’s unfair, to turn this game around on you, because he can tell from the hard set of your shoulders that this is so much more than a drinking game but if this is what it takes to get the truth — then so be it.

“Fine,” you say, glancing away, voice clipped.

You move to take a sip, but Zoro pushes down your hand again.

“No lying.”

You scoff, narrowing your eyes, “Obviously.”

He eases off, picking up his own glass and clinking it against yours before taking a light swig, “You know this place.”

This time, you’re the one who turns around with a cocked brow.

“Got a question in there somewhere?”

Zoro’s lips twitch, “Yes, or no.”

You sigh, tapping a finger against the edge of your cup, “Yes.”

Zoro hums, “Your turn.”

You chew on your lips before taking a sip, “Why do you care so much?”

Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth, “Stupid question. Next.”

You huff, “That’s not how this game goes.”

Zoro swirls his glass before setting it down on the counter with a loud clack, “Because I care about you.”

You pause with your own drink halfway to your mouth and look up. Zoro doesn’t shy away from meeting your gaze and for a moment, time statics to a halt around you.

Then, Zoro sighs, unclenching his jaw as he attempts a lopsided smile.

“Hey, talk to me,” he reaches out to trail a finger along the high of your cheekbones, up to the shell of your ear.

The ‘please’ hangs silent in the air between you; the ‘Princess’ is implied.

And for the first time, he thinks he sees you flinch. He makes to pull back but you tug his hand forward, pressing your cheek against his palm.

“This island,” you say, finally, the tremor in your voice like a hairline fracture snaking through a porcelain vase, “it’s… well, it used to be… my home.”

05. the secret history

It is the most beautiful place any of them have ever been.

The castle is made entirely of ice, the cold winter sun refracting the light into a million and one unseen colors. Giant ice-carved sculptures dot the crystal-flower gardens, and it takes them all a few minutes to realize that the gorgeous, delicate blooms are made of glass, blown and shaped to mirror real-life snowflakes — each unique, glittering, and eternal.

“Dude… how long do you think all this took to make?” Usopp asks, his head turning as if on a swivel, his jaw hinging off his face in awe.

Robin sighs, “Too long, perhaps.”

Zoro stays quiet, and beside him, so does Nami.

You’d insisted on staying back, to guard the ship, you’d said. But the space you usually fill in the group hangs solid in the air, a gaping hole of lack when there should be none.

Luffy hums and he marches out in front of them, ever the dubious, fearless leader. Though most of the crew has now come to terms with the fact that “courage” and “sheer bull-headedness” are often two sides of the same coin for him.

It’s Sanji who pauses first, causing Chopper to ram into the back of his knees.

“Ouch! What’dyou do that f —”

“Look,” Sanji says, pointing at a poster pasted to the slick outer wall of the castle gates.

And they do, leaning in, crowding too close. Zoro grunts as Chopper jumps and scrambles up his back to peer over his shoulder at the face plastered on the dew-soaked poster, the words LOST PRINCESS: 120,000,000 FOR ANY INFORMATION THAT LEADS TO HER WHEREABOUTS printed in giant, familiar block letters along the bottom.

Beside him, Zoro can feel Nami swallowing. Hard.

“A hundred and twenty million berry…” she murmurs, her breath going shallow as they all stare, dumbfounded at the poster of what is unmistakably you.

You, with your exquisite features schooled into something like solemnity, your usually wind-swept hair twisted up into a tight braid across the crown of your head, a diadem of ice-white silver and light-cut jewels jutting up from your severe updo like so many broken teeth, sharp and unforgiving as stalagmites.

If none of them had known, it’d be impossible to reconcile you with this cold, distant portrait, your eyes rendered lifeless and dull by the depthless black ink.

Luffy, however, only blinks and turns to stare at Zoro.

“Did you know?”

“What?”

Luffy continues to stare, “When I asked why you always call her ‘Princess’.”

Zoro sighs, turning his eyes back to the WANTED poster before shaking his head.

“No. Like I said… I thought it just… fit.”

06. eternal day

Zoro is itching to get back to the ship. There’s a fish-line sliver of worry tugging at the place behind his chest where his heart should be, and he knows implicitly that something is wrong.

“Don’t worry, she can take care of herself!” Luffy says, smiling bright, his confidence unwavering.

“No Luffy, Zoro’s right — someone should be with her. What if —” and here, Nami glances at Zoro before turning her attention back to Luffy, “— she might need the backup,” is what she finally settles with. And to Zoro’s great relief, Luffy agrees.

And then, to everyone’s horror, off in the distance, your voice rises over the wind in a blood-curdling scream.

07. endless night

By the time Zoro makes it back to the ship, you are already gone.

08. torn asunder

Gone, gone, gone. The word echoes like an ill-fated alarm bell, ringing through Zoro’s entire body as he catapults himself through the ship, slamming open every door, checking every nook, corner, and crevice. Signs of a struggle, that much is clear, scuffs on the freshly waxed planks of the aft deck, nail marks along the railings, and —

Zoro’s breath freezes in his chest.

A smear of blood that drips over the side of the ship, trailing down the ladder.

A flash of pale pink catches his eye.

Your satin hair ribbon lies abandoned on the wharfs’ boardwalk, the faintest splatter of red soaking its ends.

He picks it up between gentle fingers and tucks it deep into his pocket.

His vision blurs red as he thinks about the things your captors might’ve done to you before dragging you off. He’s seen you fight and it wouldn’t have been easy to bring you down.

And by the time the rest of the crew reach him, he’s already sprinting back towards the castle, his jaw set, his teeth gritted.

It takes the combined effort of Sanji, Luffy, and Robin to stop him from charging through the castle gates and tearing the whole place down.

“Runnin’ round like a headless chicken’s not gonna do her any good, mate,” Sanji says, a smoke already caught between his teeth. A pre-fight ritual of his.

Zoro jerks his arm out of Sanji’s grasp, stalking down the street with a huff.

Robin strolls after him, somehow keeping pace, looking unhurried as Zoro tamps down the blind urge to slash the entire island in half.

“We’ll find her,” Robin says, her voice level, even as her sharp eyes scan the white-specked horizon, the usually amused half-twist of her lips laid flat by worry, “and she’s stronger than you think.”

At this, Zoro whips around, “I know —” but he bites down the venom threatening to surge up the back of his throat with a sigh. Robin doesn’t flinch, and Zoro attempts a steadying breath before repeating himself in a slightly softer tone, “I know… I’m just…”

Robin nods, and Zoro is thankful that he doesn’t have to finish his sentence.

09. the tower and the throne

The cold greets you like a scorned lover— a spiteful, savage mistress. Tendrils of frost creep along the walls of your old bedroom to caress your cheeks. You shiver and wrap your arms around yourself, sitting on familiar satin sheets.

“Dinner is soon, darling,” your mother’s cool voice calls from outside your bedroom door, “and make yourself presentable — we’ve got guests.”

The sadistic lilt of her voice as she says the word ‘guests’ makes you jerk your head up, staring at the door as if you might be able to bore through the thick wood with nothing but your eyes. And, almost as if she can feel you staring, you hear your mother’s cold, tinkling laughter.

“Hurry now… I had your favorite dress put out for you. It should still fit — and we don’t want to keep them… waiting.”

The slow, sanguine pause before her last word makes you want to rip out your hair and scream into the wind till your voice gives out.

Instead, you push yourself up and reach for the dress laid out at the foot of your bed with shaking fingers.

The dress fits you like a second skin, the delicate lace trim barely sweeping the floor as you adjust the bodice, grimacing at your reflection in the large, floor-length mirror. It is as if the last ten months had never happened, as if you’d never escaped this terrifying hellscape of a winter wonderland. As if you’d simply dreamed every single sun-filled afternoon, every star-strewn night spent laughing and singing amongst your new-found crew.

Here, in the fragile glass reflection, you are once again a girl trapped behind her own ribcage, with a destiny carved into stone and ice, with no hope of summer in sight. You take a long breath and tighten the ribbons of your dress.

You are still and silent as the maid slips in through the door after a single knock and begins to twist up your hair. Tighter and tighter, till it sets your teeth on edge. When she pins the crown in place, it takes everything inside you not to fall apart, to shatter at the weight, the sight of it sitting on your head. You swallow as the maid dips her head and backs out of the room with a murmured dinner is served, Princess.

For the first time, you wince openly at her words.

10. waiting for the rain

The hall is just how you remembered it, huge and cavernous, gaping like the empty maw of some petrified monster, the ceiling hanging with so many cold, sparkling chandeliers, ice-carved statues jutting up from the floors like teeth.

You’re marched in like a show animal, the great marble doors swinging open before you as you step forward and feel your breath freeze in your chest.

There, strung up on a massive statue of some long-forgotten saint, is Zoro, cuts and bruises marring his already scarred and puckered torso. But he smirks as he sees you come in, his eyes bright as he spits a mouthful of blood onto the seemingly endless white floors. Around him, the rest of your crew sits, tied and slumped over in chairs like so many sleeping mannequins.

“Hey there, Princess. Just in time for dinner.”

You nearly wince at the raspiness in his voice, the faint trickle of blood that leaks out the corner of his mouth.

“Silence,” your father’s voice echoes out from the high-backed chair at the head of the ludicrously long table. You don’t have to see to know his face is as smooth as just-applied plaster. But Zoro only has eyes for you — and he continues to talk as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

“If you’d told us we’d be welcomed like this, we might’ve packed differently.”

You bite down on your bottom lip so hard you almost taste the metallic tang of blood.

“Our daughter has always been a skillful liar — though it’s a habit we tried to… rid her of in her youth. The lesson never seemed to have stuck.” Your mother this time. And now, you can see the muscle ticking in Zoro’s jaw as he scoffs.

“Really? And here I always thought she was shit at lying.”

You swallow down a whimper as the maid wordlessly leads you to the far end of the table, where Zoro is still tied. You drop into the seat between a snoring Luffy and an eerily still Nami, and it’s all you can do not to turn around and retch onto the silk embroidered rug.

“Be that as it may…” your mother’s voice drops a few degrees — an admirable feat, as her voice is usually just on the other side of frigid, “it’s bad luck to kill on the eve of a royal wedding.”

At this, Zoro’s head snaps around and you shrink back in your chair, your eyes fixed on your fists, clenched in your lap.

“Mother,” you grind out, finally forcing your head up so as to meet her piercing, blizzard-bright gaze, “I’ve told you, I’ve no intention of getting married. At least not to the mongrel you’ve decided to set me up with.”

You spit out the last sentence, trying to remember all the snark, all the confidence that’d built up inside you over the past weeks and months. Away from this dreaded castle and on the sun-soaked bow of the Going Merry, it was the first time you’d begun to discover who you are — the things you liked, the ways of life that you yearned for.

Your father slams a hand on the table at the same moment that Zoro lets out a bark of laughter.

“Insolence!”

“Damn, Princess — you never told me you could bite.”

And, to your horror and perhaps deep-seated pleasure, a blush works its way into your cheeks at Zoro’s words. Your eyes snap towards him, catching his gaze as he smirks at you. And even though his shirt is slashed, his sword hilts hanging woefully empty at this hip, his hands twisted painfully behind him on the statue, he still manages an easy, condescending air.

You seize at this tiny tendril of normalcy as you force a wane smile.

“I might be persuaded to do more than that… if you ask nicely.”

Zoro’s snicker is drowned out by your mother’s sharp gasp. But you don’t look away, holding Zoro’s gaze for as long as you dare — in it, you find an entire abyss of barely concealed rage (and is that… amusement?), his entire body straining against the shackles that hold him. Then, his eyes slip from you to a point just over your shoulder.

It’s then that you realize: Luffy’s not snoring anymore.

11. to reap and to sow

You’re never quite certain of how the Merry’s crew seems to always just wriggle out of frankly gruesome and untimely deaths, but here you are, racing for the docks like your lives depended on it. Because, well, it kind of does.

“Remind me —” you shout between pants, one hand clutched firmly in Zoro’s, the other doing its best to lift the ridiculous dinner dress they’d put you in — a confection of lace and tulle, the bodice laced with pale pink satin ribbon, “how the hell did you guys manage to trick my parents into thinking you’d eaten the spiked food?”

Sanji flashes you a toothy grin, “Ah love… you know how it is — ask us no questions, and we’ll tell you no lies!”

Luffy, however, whoops as he launches himself from a pair of solid brick buildings, catapulting himself over your sprinting crew.

“We just — pretended to eat! I mean — I did kinda actually eat a bit — but — it wasn’t that bad!”

You resist the urge to pinch your nose bridge at the nonchalance with which Luffy is talking about consuming poisoned food, but you’ve only got two hands and both are equally occupied at the moment. You settle for an exasperated sigh.

“That was — really stupid! — What if — they’d — poisoned the food — with something — other than — sleeping medicine?!” you ask, forcing air into your lungs as finally, you all round the bend onto the bustling pier, the Going Merry’s unmistakable shape silhouetted against the misty horizon.

“We can talk when — we’re all back — on the ship!” Nami calls as she sprints passed you, reaching out a hand for Luffy, who’s elongated arm grabs her and slings her onto the deck of the ship. You barely have a second to breathe before Zoro’s arm loops around your waist and you’re being pulled tight into his side.

His breath is hot against your collarbone as he smirks, “Hold on tight, Princess.”

It’s all you can do to listen as you’re suddenly whipped through the air like a doll on a drunken marionette’s string. A bright peal of Luffy-tinted laughter later, you thud onto the deck of the Going Merry, the breath knocked clean from your lungs as the world spins and spins. You’d expected to hit solid wood, or maybe even the railing or the mast but —

Zoro groans beneath you, and it takes you a long second to realize that he’d cushioned your fall, your bodies pressed chest to chest, hip to hip, your arms still wrapped around his shoulders, his still steady around your waist.

“O-oh! Sorry —” you try to pull away but Zoro’s grip on you only tightens.

You freeze as he blinks up at you, eyes slightly narrowed.

“Crown’s crooked,” Zoro finally says, that tell-tale smirk twisting the edge of his lips as his gaze flickers upwards. Your hand jumps to the crown, somehow still clipped into your now disheveled hair, lopping to one side as the braids start to come loose. You purse your lips.

“I never liked it anyway…” You make to tug it out but Zoro reaches up to right it, though he lets his hand linger as he falls along the side of your face.

“Nah, looks good on you.” His voice is so low, and suddenly, air is such a language that you’re certain you’d forgotten how to speak. Slowly, he pushes up till you’re both sitting, you still pressed against him and him still pressed against you. Distantly, you can hear shouting, Usopp’s voice raised high over the wind as the Merry careens out of port and towards the open sea.

But strangely, no one makes to pull you away from him, or him from you.

“I should’ve told you guys…” you say, eyes casting down as you rest your palms against his chest. Beneath it, you can feel his heart — pounding, pounding, pounding. There’s a light sheen of sweat glimmering on his honeyed skin as you swallow, looking back up even as he chuckles.

“Sure, but we should’ve asked.”

You bite your lips, “I think you did.”

Zoro grins, shrugging as he helps you up, somehow managing to keep his arm slipped around your waist.

“Well. Should’ve asked better, then.”

12. lost stars

It takes you a while to tell them the story — the real story, the whole story. And there’s drinking involved, but it’s mostly just you clutching at your half-filled glass, Zoro’s knee pressed comfortingly against yours, even though his eyes are closed, his head leaned back, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

You tell them about the dark underbelly of royalty that everyone knows but no one wants to talk about — the blood and teeth beneath the silk and silver. You tell them about being raised a bargaining chip, of being sold and promised like a prized heifer on auction day.

You tell them about the moonless nights when the only thing you had to keep you company was the cold, about the “lessons” your mother would teach you, about how the maids would be instructed to hide the bruises just so, about the Prince who you were set to marry and the rumors that plagued his castle —

“They say that he’d take the prettiest girls from the surrounding town as his maids and that none of them ever walked out of his castle again,” you say. The moonshine burns on its way down your throat as you finish your drink.

Wordlessly, Zoro reaches over to pluck the glass from your hand and set it on the table. It’s only then that you realize your fingers are white and trembling.

“Did he hurt you?”

Zoro’s voice is not loud, but everyone turns to look at him. You shake your head, clasping your hands in your lap.

“No. I only ever… met him once, at a dinner party. It was after that that I… ran away.”

Zoro hums, leaning back again, “Good.”

Across the room, Sanji blows out a series of smoke rings and frowns.

“Were you about to offer to hunt him down?” Robin asks, sounding amused.

Zoro shrugs, “Wouldn’t have offered — would’ve just done it.”

“He sounds like the kinda guy we should hunt down anyway, no?” Luffy asks, cocking his head as he looks back at you, “I mean, I’m glad he never hurt you but… he’s still hurting people!”

“Luffy’s got a point,” Sanji says, stubbing out his cigarette.

“For once, I agree with Sanji,” Nami says.

There’s a light squabble during which Sanji makes an aggrieved noise and Nami rolls her eyes, and then everyone is laughing and chatting and more drinks are being poured. Next to you, Zoro reaches out to wrap his arm around your waist again. It’s something he’s been doing more lately, and you can’t honestly say that you mind it much at all.

“We don’t have to,” he says, leaning forward, almost as if to brush his lips by your ear, “if… if you don’t want to.”

You shiver at the base rumble of his voice, at the way his eyes are so warm and full of some uncertain promise.

“No, I… I do want to. It’s just…”

Zoro’s fingers trace small, absent-minded circles into the skin of your waist and you fight down another shiver.

“I don’t plan on letting you get kidnapped again, Princess.”

Your gaze snaps up to meet Zoro’s, and there’s a faint smile kissing the line of his lips. And suddenly, the lightness of his touch doesn’t feel so thoughtless as heat curls out from the place where his palm meets your skin, radiating out till you’re breathless with it.

“Oh?”

“Never liked people trying to take what’s mine.”

And the dark possessiveness with which he says mine leaves little room for interpretation, even as you lick your lips and try to think of something witty to say.

“I don’t remember agreeing to be yours.”

It’s the best you can come up with; Zoro’s only response is a soft, contemplative grunt.

“What’s that saying? ‘Actions speak louder than words’?” he flashes you a satisfied grin as you narrow your eyes at him, swatting at his chest as he laughs.

“I meant it though,” he says, a moment later, as the rest of the crew all chatter around you, “about calling it off if you don’t want to. But…” he reaches up a free hand to tug a strand of your hair free from the ponytail it’s tied up in.

“Figured you might sleep better at night knowing he’s gone.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t been aware you were holding, your whole body softening as you lean into him, pressing your palms to his chest as he looks at you.

“Yeah… I think I might. And… like you said… it’s not like I’m gonna get kidnapped again.”

You smile, letting your eyes flicker down to Zoro’s lips. His smile is pleased and just a little jagged as he tugs you up by the hand and the pair of you slip from the room.

Above deck, the sun is setting, and the warm, slanted light casts the entire ship in a glaze of gold that looks almost gilded. You lean against the railings, closing your eyes and letting the warmth of the sun seep into your skin, chasing away the chill that’d been lingering at your fingertips since you’d all made your spectacular escape from your home island.

You feel rather than hear Zoro join you. You take your time breathing in the salty tang of the humid sea air before opening your eyes and slating him a side-long look.

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

“For coming after me.”

Zoro scoffs, turning away from the roiling waves to lean back against the railings, his head cocked as he looks you over.

“Like I said… I don’t like it when people try to take what’s mine.”

But this time, you laugh, nodding, “So you’ve said. But still… thanks.”

“Hn.”

Zoro closes his eyes, seemingly enjoying the last vestiges of the setting sun as it sinks ever-lower along the horizon. Then, he opens one eye to peer at you.

“Though I’ve been meaning to ask —”

“Hm?”

“What’s this about doing more than biting… if asked about it nicely enough?”

You try to duck your head but Zoro catches your chin in his fingers.

“I — I just… knew it would piss off my mother if she —”

“Mm, sounded like more than that to me.”

Your breath hitches as Zoro’s thumb traces a rough line along your bottom lip.

“How about… I show you?” and the offer is barely out of your mouth before Zoro is kissing you, his mouth seeking out yours with a soft groan that betrays all the lightness in his touch as he trails his free hand down your arm to pull hard at your waist.

And it’s not the first time you’ve kissed. It’s not even the first time a kiss with Zoro has become more than just a kiss, though you’d always been careful before to make sure that he knew (though thinking back, it might’ve just been an ill-fated attempt at lying to yourself) that the pleasure shared between bodies was just that — pleasure and bodies.

But this — this kiss becomes, and becomes.

It becomes breath and heartbeats, pleasure and heat. It becomes truth and promises and the tantalizing taste of fairy-tale endings.

“Z-Zoro…”

“Yes Princess?”

You hiss as his teeth grazes along your pulse point and your fingers fist in his hair.

“Y’know…” your voice comes out as nothing more than a soft pant as Zoro tugs you over to one of the reclining chairs beneath the orange trees and pulls you over his hips, “I’ve never liked being called that but…”

“But?” his thumbs inch beneath the material of your shirt, circling your hipbones as he smirks up at you.

“I don’t mind it when it’s you.”

Zoro’s grin goes wide and wolfish. Above him, the first stars spark into being as the sun finally sinks beyond the far horizon. For a second, his smile softens as he reaches up to toy with the end of the pale pink ribbon in your hair. Then, he gives it a single, solid tug, and your hair falls open around your shoulders, tumbling down in waves.

Zoro leans up to press a light kiss to the blood-stained satin before letting it flutter off in the wind, twisting into the rapidly darkening night.

“Good… cause I ain’t about to let anyone else call you that either.”

[entishramblings]

Watcher of Wanderers [Legolas/F!Reader]

A.N: this was intended just to be a mini one-shot to get back into writing. although, I will admit I got carried away. oops. heh.

Pairing: Legolas X F!Reader

Song Inspo: Mountain Meditation by Chantress Seba

🌬️ I highly recommend listening while reading

Summary: Legolas senses a presence following the fellowship on their journey and it seems to be particularly fond of him.

Disclaimer: all mythology related to the reader was made up for plot purposes lol. not canon.

Word count: 5.6k (once again, idk why I’m like this)

Warnings: comfort, fluff, loneliness, flirting, suggested sexual innuendos, stalking sort of (yes, again, I know. you’re just gonna have to read it I can’t explain it)

Additional Content: moodboard linked here

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

When you are nothing but a breeze that passes through the travelers’ bending hair. When you are nothing but a tickle that brushes upon the vagabonds’ breaking skin. When you are nothing but a whisper that hisses upon the wanders’ deaf ear. When you are nothing but alone, you too are a voyager.

That’s what (Y/N) was, wasn’t she?

She sailed through the years, watching every war and every battle. She observed every lover as she observed every enemy. She attended to them all, from their start and to their end. She perceived them hunt—first for food and drink, the simplest things, then for more. She witnessed them build—smaller creations in the beginning, then large structures that reached deep into her sky. She gazed at them as they grew, in mind and body. They began as little screaming balls of flesh, then sprouted into large beings that walked and talked. They produced more of themselves. They multiplied. Families, they had called it. She saw each one of them go by, twisting with desire as they did with age. Each was sneaking to find something—riches, power, hope, love, safety—but it didn’t really matter. She just bore witness. She bore witness to the happiness and to the dread. Yet, even when it was dark and desperate, she did nothing. She was silent—as she was meant to be.

Cursed to ride the winds for all of her immortal years.

Cursed to guide them and bend them.

Cursed to behold them.

Cursed to be them.

Alone.

A Watcher of Wanderers.

She was unescorted, unattended, and unchaperoned. She was unaccompanied as she wove through the desolate lands of Arda. Through the oceans, through the deserts, through the mountains, she bent and bellowed. But (Y/N) didn’t need anyone to accompany her, for she simply didn’t exist—at least not in the way one would think.

But after so long in solidarity, watching and observing, (Y/N) wondered what it would feel like to be more than what she was. She wondered what it was to taste and touch, to smell and see, to live and breath.

She thought how pain must feel. How did it bring red to the surface of their skin? How did it bring tears to their eyes? How did it bring screams to their throats?

Still, she wandered more.

She thought how laughter must feel. How did it bubble in their chests? How did it bring water to their faces? How did it bring glee from their mouths?

Still, she wandered more.

She thought about how love must feel. How did it soften their gazes? How did it bring drops upon their cheeks? How did it bring proclamations to their lips? How did it feel to welcome in another soul? Was it safe—not that she would know what safety felt like.

Still, she wandered more.

As each day passed and each traveler followed, she continued to question, guess, inquire.

Some of these creatures were more in tune with the natural currents of the word. It was the immortal beings, distinguished by the pointy ears that lent them an air of otherworldly grace and their lightning-quick reflexes. They were not just any immortals, but those whose lineages stretched back to ancestors who had walked among the Valar themselves. At times, (Y/N) entertained the fantasizing notion that they possessed the rare ability to hear her, though she recognized that this belief was nothing more than wishful thinking. As a watcher of wanderers, she liked these ones best.

Yet that did not mean that others did not catch her eye, for she was curious of anything unusual from the regular patterns of life. And when nine—born of various blood—walked together, her curiosity peaked.

So, she followed them.

One was a Maiar, but not like her. He shared the same celestial origin, shaped as one of the spirits meant to aid the Valar in their worldbuilding endeavors. However, his form differed greatly from hers—a form (Y/N) yearned for. She had seen him many times before, puffing his pipe. He had many names, but most knew him as Gandalf.

Two more figures accompanied him, mortal beings aging like the rolling seasons. Burling and tumbling they went, with their countless heavy weapons. One emanated kindness, his heart a wellspring of warmth. She had seen him before too. But the other, he was….troubled.

Another was one of the immortal, graceful, pointy-eared race—elves, she recalled. He was fluid and elegantant. He was observant and evaluating. He was tranquil yet vigorous. (Y/N) liked this one. She always had liked the elves.

From the mountainous regions of unyielding stone came another companion—a burly and gruff figure. His anger resonated in the sharpness of his words and the boastry of his laughter. (Y/N) could feel his temperament through the earth's vibrations. It wasn't always pleasant

Next, matched four more. They were stompers and stumblers, in a clumsy sort of way; yet, it was evident that they held no desire to ravage the earth. If anything, they seemed to harbor deep affection for it. The sad one broke her heart, the kind one warmed her soul, and the last two made her giggle….and sometimes she thought the elf could hear it.

See that was the thing.

Initially, her fascination led her to accompany them, drawn by their sheer otherness—such a strange assembly of beings walking in unison. But as she ventured alongside them, she felt connected to them. She got to know them, and one seemed to know her….sorta.

The first time she noticed such a thing was when a sound of joy escaped her being.

The two silly ones, which she found out to be named Merry and Pippin, were cracking jokes at one another and performing a game of riddles. As they did so, they ended up breaking into an argument. The most ridiculous words they called each other: mushroom murderer, squash squisher, beet beater…..

She couldn’t help but release a whisper of amusement, and when she did, the elf—Legolas—abruptly halted. His eyes brimmed with uncertainty, and he swiveled his head, as though searching for someone.

But he couldn’t….

No…

He couldn’t have heard her….could he?

Of course, occasionally, all could hear her. In moments of anger, she would unleash her fury with deafening howls and piercing screams, causing gusts to bellow and trees to tremble. Her yell created a hollow sound as it funneled through the rest of the world—echoing upon mountains, bouncing off houses, riding along hills, drifting through the farmer’s mills. It took much frustration to create such a ruckus of vibrations. However, just a faint breath of joy? There was no way the elf could hear that….right?

…..

The second time that a strange encounter occurred was when the group stopped by a deep river. Legolas had wandered a little way away from the group where the trees were denser and the light was less, and oh of course (Y/N) followed.

There, the elf stripped off his clothing, letting the moonlight bend and dip upon his muscled form. The cool night air played gently against his bare skin as he ventured into the water, welcoming the invigorating sensation. With his hands, he meticulously scrubbed away any lingering grime, running his palms across his arms and fingers through his damp hair until no trace of dirt remained.

Gently, he laid upon his back, floating at the surface of the smooth river.

(Y/N) watched as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply and repeatedly. Meditation, she recalled the elvish creatures of the world calling it.

Eager to draw nearer, (Y/N) gracefully glided closer, brushing ever so lightly upon the surface of the ripples. She circled him, her gaze drinking in every detail of his form slightly obstructed by the water—his elegant facial features, his sleek hair, his sculpted biceps, his toned abs, the sharp v-line of his lower abdomen, and, she couldn't help but notice his rather large…

A soft giggle escaped her lips, her warm breath brushing against his cheek.

Instantly, Legolas sprang upright, his feet finding a place upon the rocks beneath the now turbulent ripples. He swiftly pivoted, calling out, “Who’s there?!”

(Y/N) was still, shock and uncertainty shrouding her.

Legolas' cerulean eyes darted anxiously from side to side, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He moved with haste, continually spinning around in search of…..something.

“You…you can hear me?” (Y/N) whispered.

He did not respond and his state did not change. There was not an ounce of any recognition across his features.

…..

The third time that Legolas was startled by the curious enigma that appeared to be haunting him was when the fellowship had set up camp for the night.

Gandalf and Legolas were on watch, their attentive gazes shifting from the crackling fire to the perimeters of their camp. Mithanduil contentedly puffed on his pipe, releasing wisps of smoke that ascended into the night sky. Legolas was methodically sharpening the tips of his arrows, preparing for the inevitable fight. The ambiance was strangely peaceful, with the imminent dangers appearing to be held at bay, at least for the moment, even in the face of the dread.

However, this serene atmosphere suffered a sudden intrusion, initiated by (Y/N)'s ever-present curiosity.

She loved watching the creatures of Arda. It was her favorite pastime over the eons. Well, her only pastime. After all, she was a watcher of wanderers. For, as her shapeless form, there was nothing more she could do with her existence.

Therefore, when the elf began to draw whetstone upon the tops of his arrows, (Y/N) wanted to observe. She crept closer to him, becoming entranced by the rhythmic and tranquil nature of his movements. Drawn into the spectacle, she leaned in further and further until, unintentionally, she brushed lightly against his form.

His hand instinctively reached for his shoulder as his wide cerulean blues initiated their frequent and fervent scanning of the dim surroundings—a routine that seemed to be occurring with increasing regularity nowadays.

Gandalf’s gray eyes drifted upon the elf curiously, his bushy brows lifting in questions.

“I swore…” Legolas began, still peering about the campsite. “I swore I felt…something.”

The wizard’s inquiring gaze only deepened, imploring the elf to add more to his rather empty statement.

Noticing Gandalf's unspoken request for more information, Legolas continued, "My apologies, Mithranduil. Lately, I've been sensing a presence. Yet, when I search for it, I'm met with nothing but emptiness and confusion."

Gandalf huffed before pressing his lips to his pipe again, his gaze drifting away in a dismissal of danger. “It is probably just (Y/N).”

“(Y/N)?” He questioned, still puzzled.

Gandalf glanced at Legolas, and with a nonchalant hum, he spoke again. “The spirit of the wind. A Maiar with a form that knows no shape.” He rolled his eyes as he gruffed out an additional mumbling sentence. “She has a particular fondness for elves.”

Legolas, still flushed with adrenaline, only stared at him. “I—I do not understand.”

The wizard’s gray gaze drifted back to the elf, who was clearly seeking answers. “(Y/N) is one of the Maiar, tasked many ages ago by Manwë to help shape Arda. She still lingers in this realm, often stirring up her usual mischief as she follows wanderers on their adventures."

Legolas frowned. “If she wanders this earth, why can I see her not?”

Gandalf drew another puff from his pipe before responding, "She was cursed to be without form, unlike myself."

“Cursed? But why?”

The wizard raised his bushy brows once more. “Her mischief irked many—especially Manwë.”

“What sorts of mischief do you speak of?”

Gandalf shrugged. “Inconsequential pranks and harmless tricks. Quite frankly, an annoyance to us all, but not dangerous.”

At that very moment, a gust of wind swept in rather forcefully, causing the wizard's beard to billow and lifting his hat into the air, sending it spiraling down to land by his feet.

Legolas's lips parted in surprise as the wind subsided, and Gandalf let out a string of curses and grumbles.

"I believe you might have offended her," Legolas remarked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

The wizard snorted, his irritation obvious, as he picked his hat up and placed it atop his head once more.

….

As the weeks continued on, Legolas took notice of (Y/N)’s subtle presence.

It seemed she was indeed traveling with them. On scorching hot days, a refreshing breeze would rise and caress them gently, offering some much-needed relief. As the autumn months settled in, that coolness transformed into a warm breath flowing through the air, comforting them. When they kindled fires, little gusts rushed forward, providing oxygen and nurturing the flames. If an item of clothing or a parcel were dropped, it would be delicately carried toward a hand ready to collect. It was as if the wind—(Y/N)—was assisting them along their quest.

It was particularly noticeable to Legolas that she often lingered in close proximity to him. Her presence seemed to envelop him frequently, becoming unmistakable and distinct.

When Legolas would be tasked to collect firewood, a gentle breeze would follow him. It would brush leaves out of the way to reveal dry wood and small sticks, perfect for kindling. The wind murmured songs among the soil, almost as if it were beckoning him to dance.

When Legolas would be hunting for food, a calm drift would search alongside him. It would twist through the brush, startling small prey to reveal them to him. The wind breathed wordless encouragement to him, as if challenging him to impress her.

When Legolas would be walking upon hard terrain, a playful gust would walk with him. It would blow his hair away from his face to reveal his features. The wind sent flirtatious laughter upon his elvish ear, chasing shivers along his nerves.

When Legolas would be changing out of mud or blood covered clothes, a devious wisk would linger behind him. It would push his tunic and undershirt upwards to reveal his muscled form then make his extra clothing scatter. The wind whispered sultry glee to him, teasing him in efforts to show more.

This mischievous presence that shrouded him seemed to flirt with him—challenge, play, and engage. Of course, Legolas recalled Gandalf's earlier assertion that the wind spirit held a particular fondness for elves, but the true depth of this fondness had only become apparent as her companionship persisted. He couldn't deny that their ongoing interaction held a certain allure, for he would be lying if he said their little game did not entertain him.

When the fellowship was in Moria, however, silence reigned. The usual gusts and breezes that had accompanied them were absent. It was as if the very air mourned with them. Yet, as soon as they exited, with grief heavy upon their soul, a quick adrenalized wind came to find them. It seemed to brush around the rocks, taking in the pain of the travelers and trying to process what it meant. Though, as the wind noticed one was no longer there, she took to sending warmth their way in hopes to soften the sorrow—shrouding Legolas for just a moment longer than the others.

When the fellowship was in Lothlorien, (Y/N) came too. Rustling up trouble among the elves with flirtatious gusts, lifting skirts and sweeping away cloaks, fostering much annoyance and embarrassment among the immortal elven folk. However, those brushes of wind often struck Legolas more than any other.

When the fellowship—or rather the three that remained—took to sprinting across Arda, the wind ran alongside them. It pushed them forward with encouragement, almost too eagerly and too persistent. It was as if she was whispering ‘hurry hurry’ in their ears—as if she possessed knowledge they did not. Though Legolas suspected neither Gimli nor Aragorn noticed the subtle guidance of the wind.

A watcher of wanderers indeed.

As the group arrived in Rohan, their hearts brimmed with renewed hope, for they had gained the knowledge of Merry and Pippin’s life and the presence of Gandalf.

Following Mithranduil's expulsion of the sorcery that had ensnared King Théoden, the weary travelers were ushered to various chambers where they could refresh themselves and find much-needed rest.

Legolas opted to bathe immediately, determined to liberate himself from the accumulated dirt and grime that had clung to his body through the arduous months of travel. He eased into the in-ground basin, the soothing warmth and enveloping steam creating a cocoon of comfort. He tended to his skin and hair with meticulous care until he finally felt rejuvenated. Elves did not like to linger in grime.

Emerging from the bath, he stepped into the adjacent bedroom, where his gaze was drawn to the open windows, allowing the cool breeze to waft in. The wind seemed to recognize him instantly, rushing forth with an almost mischievous enthusiasm. It nearly yanked his towel from his waist! It was only through his quick reflexes that he narrowly avoided a less than modest reveal.

Legolas ground his teeth. “(Y/N),” he mumbled in a chastising tone.

In response, the wind seemed to giggle, as if playfully toying with him.

He rewrapped the towel and hastened to close the windows, yearning for a night of undisturbed peace. Normally, he would tolerate (Y/N)'s whimsical outbursts, but on this night, his weary body and mind craved respite and tranquility.

Legolas changed into more comfortable attire and settled into his bed. He allowed his heavy eyelids to drift shut, for he craved sleep. But after a brief moment, they snapped open.

He watched as the curtains shifted ever so slightly, followed by the tapestry on the wall and the drapes above his bed. The blanket beside him rustled gently, and then, there was no movement in the room.

She hadn't left when he closed the windows.

She was still here.

Though he couldn't see her, he was acutely aware of her presence…right beside him.

The elf couldn't help but blush, a warm crimson hue creeping up upon his ears and cheeks. Oh, if his Ada knew he was flirting with the wind….

In an effort to divert his thoughts from such matters and avoid giving (Y/N) any indication that he was dwelling on them, the elf shifted onto his side, turning away from the playful Spirit whose home was the sky.

…..

Legolas took notice of (Y/N)’s presence among the battles at Helms Deep and the Fields of Pelennor; although it wasn't until the latter that he knew for sure she was actively fighting alongside him.

Amidst the relentless chaos, the elf wielded his two silver blades, using them with deadly precision to cut the throat of one orc and immediately behead another. He swiftly pressed on, eliminating as many of the enemy forces as he could.

The men around him were growing weary, their energy dwindling, but Legolas continued to stand firm, even though he too felt the drain on his strength.It seemed the dark forces had taken notice of the relentless devastation he was causing among their ranks, as they began to single him out. Hordes of orcs began converging on him, and Sauron's archers took aim. However, the arrows meant for him didn't find their mark. They veered off course, curving with an unexpected gust of wind, plunging directly into three orcs nearby.

Legolas whipped his head around in astonishment, but it took only a moment for him to grasp the source of this unexpected intervention: (Y/N).

As he continued to take down orc after orc, she remained by his side, using her ethereal presence to force the creatures back into one another, granting Legolas a distinct advantage and a brief moment to catch his breath. She deflected arrows aimed at him and extended her helping hand when he faced the Oliphaunt. She even lifted him up with a gentle drift when his footing faltered. (Y/N) followed Legolas throughout the battlefield, her commitment unwavering, even after the war had drawn to a close.

Exhausted and burdened by grief and relief, the mortal, battle-weary soldiers sought solace and took to rest, heal, and eat.

Legolas volunteered to wander the battlefield in search of any survivors.

He tread carefully, his feet moving softly over the blood-soaked and red-stained earth. The ground seemed to bear witness to the agony, uncertainty, and hope that had marked their strenuous journey. Legolas had never anticipated surviving the trials that had befallen him, yet here he stood, alive and persevering against all odds.

With a heavy heart and the absence of survivors to be found, Legolas, fatigued and drained, decided to make his way back to his comrades who were attending to the wounded and offering peace to those in need.

In a sudden fierce gust of wind, Legolas found himself surrounded by an unexpected swirl. Swiftly, he whirled around, his keen elven senses alert, just in time to witness an orc raising an axe menacingly above his head, poised to strike.

However, Legolas was not met with such a gruesome fate. The wind seemed to rise against the approaching beast, as though an invisible force hindered its advance. However, that force began to no longer be invisible. A strange, translucent figure began to materialize into the opaque form of a woman. She stood, her back pressed against his chest and her front pushing firmly against the would-be assailant. With her arms raised high, she held the axe at bay, preventing the deadly blow from falling upon the elf.

Legolas' lips parted in astonishment, his eyes widening as he struggled to comprehend the event unfolding before him. But everything transpired too swiftly for him to intervene. The figure solidified, to the point that he could feel her against him, and the axe came down at an unusual angle, slicing into the woman's side.

A cry escaped her throat, and she collapsed to the ground, her pain echoing through the air.

Suddenly thrust back into the harsh reality of battle, Legolas swiftly grasped the knife strapped to his belt. In one fluid motion, he drove the blade into the orc's heart. The creature gurgled for a moment, blood pooling from its mouth, before finally collapsing lifeless.

Without hesitation, Legolas fell to the unconscious woman crumpled at his feet. His heart clenched with dread as he noticed the crimson stains spreading across the delicate, iridescent fabric that cloaked his form.

"No, no, no," he murmured, his hands pressing against the wound in a frantic attempt to stop the bleeding. Panic tinged his voice as he glanced at her face, his voice rising in desperation, " (Y/N), you foolish Maiar. Why did you intervene? Why did you put yourself in harm's way?" His bloodied hand gently cupped her cheek. "Wake up. Come on, wake up!"

She remained unresponsive.

Swiftly, Legolas gathered her into his arms, keeping one hand pressed against the bleeding wound, and hurried towards the makeshift infirmary.

Pushing the doors open, he called out in a voice laced with fear, "Aragorn!"

Immediately, the urgent tone drew the attention of those nearby, even in the midst of the ongoing chaos of the healing ward. The Ranger, alerted by the distress in his friend's voice, swiftly moved past the curious onlookers, with Gimli at his side and Gandalf following not too far behind.

“A-an ax to the side. She’s bleeding heavily,” he sputtered out. “Please.”

Pointing to a makeshift bed, Aragorn commanded. ‘Get her on that cot! Quickly now.”

Gimili, entirely bewildered by the unfolding events and his friend’s frantic behavior, called out, “Laddie, who is that?!”

Legolas, gently placing her form on the cot, didn't even bother to look at his dwarf companion as he replied. “(Y/N).”

The dwarf shook his head and raised his hands in confusion. “Who the fuck is (Y/N)?!”

The elf sent Gimli a quick, almost exasperated glance. "The wind!" he snapped back, a bit too sharply.

Gimli’s eyes drifted around the room, his confusion turning into concern for his friend’s well being. “The wind?” he questioned. “Did ya happen to get knocked in the head, tree boy?”

It was Gandalf that chimed in. “(Y/N), a Maiar, the spirit of the wind. She has been with us throughout our journey.”

Aragorn shot the wizard a brief look as he swiftly cut away the mysterious, translucent fabric cloaking the woman and began tending to the deep, bleeding wound.

“With us the entire time?!” Gimli bellowed. “Then why haven't I seen her once?"

Gandalf peered over Aragorn’s shoulder. “She doesn't have a corporal form. At least, she didn’t. I’m afraid this is the first time any of us are seeing her.”

Legolas ran his bloodied hands through his hair, his fingers trembling with anxiety as he stepped back. His chest felt constricted with worry while his eyes remained fixated on the woman as Aragorn worked. “Can you do it, Aragorn? Can you save her?” he implored, his voice quivering with a mixture of desperation and hope.

The man met Legolas' gaze. His determination to save her was unwavering, even in the face of this strange reveal of a profound connection between a force he didn't know existed and his dear friend. Seeing Legolas’ pain, he responded firmly, "I will try."

Gimli, moving to stand beside the wizard, watched the scene with a mixture of concern and curiosity. He couldn't help but murmur, "I've never seen him so frazzled before." His words were filled with a deep sense of empathy for his elven friend, for this had clearly shaken Legolas to his core.

Gandalf let his gaze shift from the elf to Gimli, offering the dwarf a knowing look in response.

The watcher of wanderers had now become a wonder to the wanderers themselves.

……

Legolas sat in a chair beside (Y/N). He was quiet and still as he watched her chest rise and fall steadily. Aragorn had successfully treated her wound, preventing infection, though she remained unconscious. She rested soundlessly, her expression peaceful—despite Legolas’ bloody handprint, now brown, dried, and cracking, that lingered upon her cheek. Her features were graceful and elegant. Each curve and bend of her face accentuated her beauty. He wasn't sure what he had expected her to look like, though how she appeared made sense with her temperament. He could see her flirtatious streak, her mischievous tone, and her protective aurora. She was exactly what wind would be: strong yet gentle, fierce yet calm, emotional yet stern.

He watched over her, just as she had watched over him. So intently, that he didn't notice one behind him until a hand pressed firmly upon his shoulder.

"Legolas," Aragorn began, his expression filled with gentle concern as he inquired, "How do you know this woman?"

Legolas sighed, keeping his gaze on her. "She has been traveling with us," he explained.

The sound of wood scraping against stone told the elf that the Ranger pulled a nearby chair over to sit next to him.

“So Gandalf said. Though I do not understand,” Aragorn admitted.

Legolas shifted. “I started to notice strange occurrences—unexplained events.”

Aragorn raised a brow, “Strange occurrences?”

Legolas felt his cheeks heat as he cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, but more importantly, I noticed something helping us. Consistently.” He paused, “I asked Mithranduil about it and he told me of her.” He shook his head. “He said she was cursed to watch us—us inhabitants of Arda—and not be able to walk among us.”

“Then how is she here now before us, like this.”

Legolas glanced at his hands, a hint of nervousness in his expression. “I asked Mithranduil that too,” he admitted. “He said her sacrifice must have ended her limbo.” He then let his eyes land on his friend and he spoke once more, his tone almost fearful and definitely shy—something Aragorn had never seen from the elf. “If she doesn't survive, because of me, will Arda have wind no longer? I haven't felt a single breeze since she fell.”

Aragorn sighed. “I do not know, my friend. I do not know.” He reached forward and placed his hand upon his shoulder. “Please go clean up and rest. You are no good to her like this. I will take care of her, I promise.”

Legolas hesitated, “But what if she wakes?”

The Ranger sighed again, “If she wakes, I will send someone to—”

He was interrupted by a soft groan escaping from the lips of the Wind Spirit.

Instantly, both Legolas and Aragorn turned to look at the woman.

Her eyelids lazily blinked open, and she gradually became aware of her surroundings. A frown creased her face as she emitted another groan. Her hand moved slowly, making its way down to her bandaged side.

"What... what is this feeling?" she murmured to herself, puzzled by the sensations.

To her astonishment, Legolas responded, “Pain.”

She scrambled to sit upright in bed, the pain surging through her body but the sheer force of adrenaline propelled her actions. “You–you can hear me?” she whispered, eyes wide.

Legolas moved closer, taking a seat on the edge of the cot. In a gentle tone, he answered, "I can hear you. I can see you." He tenderly raised his hand to her cheek, resting it on the dried bloody mark already there. "And I can feel you."

A hushed gasp escaped her lips as she reached up to touch his hand. "It's... it's warm," she remarked, her voice filled with surprise. "I didn't expect it to be warm."

The elf smiled gently in response.

A mischievous smirk then graced her lips, and her gaze, rather unmistakably, wandered down his figure and briefly settled upon his pants. “Is everything this warm?” she inquired with a teasing tone.

Taken aback by her words and her brazen gaze, he cleared his throat. A noticeable flush crept across his cheeks and ears as he broke eye contact. With that, Legolas turned to face Aragorn, who stood behind him with raised eyebrows and a playful grin forming at the corner of his mouth. “My apologies, Aragorn.” He glanced back at the Wind Spirit. “(Y/N), this is—”

She interrupted him, her eyes on the other man. “I know who he is,” she said with confidence. “Aragorn, son of Arathorn the second, also called Strider or Wingfoot, Chieftain of the Dúnedain, and the Uncrowned King of Gondor.”

The expressions on both men's faces contorted, morphing to sheer astonishment—how did she know all that?

(Y/N) grinned sheepishly. "I am the wind," she confessed. "I see and hear a great deal."

…..

The Minas Tirith Castle was cloaked in the deep shroud of a late moonlit night as Legolas walked through its ancient halls. The soft flickering of torchlight painted wavering shadows on the weathered stone walls, lending an atmosphere that resonated with the weight of its history. His footsteps were silent as he moved, and his thoughts followed suit, meandering through the corridors of his mind.

However, up ahead, a figure bathed in a gentle glow caused Legolas to abruptly halt in his tracks, his thoughts instantly converging on the woman.

“(Y/N),” he called out, approaching her. “What are you doing away from the House of Healing? You shouldn't be out of bed. You should be resting!”

She let out an exasperated sigh, not appreciating his chastising tone. "I am a watcher of wanderers, Legolas. Therefore, I too am a voyager. It is not in my nature to stay still."

Legolas released a heated breath through his nose. “That may be true, but you now have a corporal form. No longer are you just a breeze.”

She rolled her eyes, shifting her feet to hide the persistent pain emanating from her side. “I may not be a breeze any longer, but I still control all the winds of Arda. I could knock you on your ass in seconds, injured or not.”

Legolas chuckled lightly. “I never would have gotten involved with the wind if I knew she was so temperamental,” he teased.

(Y/N), suppressing a grin, responded with a snarky retort. “Oh, so we are involved, are we?”

The elf sent her a look, trying to hide his expression of amusement. “I would be naive to think that all the times the wind flirted with me, it was just a ploy.”

“Maybe I enjoy a ploy from century to century, Legolas,” she replied.

He laughed lightly at her jest, then took a step closer, his demeanor shifting to one of seriousness. Gently, he pressed his hand to her bandaged side. “(Y/N),” he began softly. “Why did you do it? Why did you get in between that orc and I?”

She looked up at him, her eyes gleaming with sincerity. “You know why.”

“Say it,” he commanded.

“Because,” she began, her tone becoming shy and soft. “Because, I—I love you.”

Instantly, Legolas wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her close to him. He pressed his lips fervently against hers. As their mouths met with equal intensity, he tasted the essence of the wind. And oh, it tasted of adventure, suffering, and joy. It tasted of warm bread from the north, bitter nuts from the east, clear water from the south, and fresh fruit from the west. It tasted of eons and eons of wandering, yet still, she tasted of home. Her hands found their way into his golden locks of hair, twisting and tugging it lightly. He allowed her to siphon off his heat, for the wind was often cold and bellowing. Though, he could tell she was taking more than just his warmth—she was taking his love; and oh, he gladly gave it to her.

…..

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[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

Coming Home

thought i was about to write dirty dirty things then this super fluffy sex came out idk what happened

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x reader description: fluffy sex when Miguel comes home, NSFW MDNI! word count: 1k

You’re hanging out in Miguel’s quarters, lying on his bed, scrolling through your tablet. You’ve been sleeping here a lot lately. It unfortunately didn’t always mean you got to be with him; his schedule was completely unpredictable, and there were many nights when he never came back, working through them or having to go on missions. But you loved to revel in his space, in the fact that he let you be there, that he wanted you there. And the nights when he did come home, well, those made it more than worth taking the chance.

When you hear the door opening, excitement rushes through you at the fact that tonight was one of those special occasions. You’d get to sleep wrapped up in his warmth, to the feeling of his surprisingly gentle caresses.  

He leans by the door casually, watching you intently. “Not gonna say hello?” you ask after a moment. 

“Just admiring the view.” His eyes travel the length of your body. “Not every day you get to come home to the most beautiful woman just lounging on your bed.” “Well you could. If you came home every day.” You meant it to be teasing, playful, but it comes out more sincere than you intended, a hurt longing lacing your voice. His face softens, and he makes his way over to you. He crawls over the bed until he’s half on top of you. Leaning on one strong arm, his other hand coming to caress your side. “Perdóname, preciosa. You know I want to.” He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. “Fuck I want to. I’d rather be right here than anywhere else.” He kisses your neck. [Forgive me, beautiful.]

Your hand winds its way into his curls, scratching lovingly, holding him close. 

“Miguel, I know. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry, baby. I know.” You kiss his forehead. “Fate of the universe and all that,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood. You hadn’t wanted to make him feel guilty; you know how much he carries around already. 

He pulls his face back to look into yours. He hums low. 

“Pero tú eres mi universo.” He kisses you lightly, and now you hum deep in your chest, melting at his words and touch. [But you are my universe.]

You kiss him back. It’s slow, deliberate. He brings his body fully on top of yours. You let your hands roam it. His travel yours too, gripping here and there, as your mouths move against each other’s languidly. 

“I love coming home to you,” he whispers between kisses. “You’re the home I come back to.”

“Te amo,” you whisper back, and he smiles. You wrap your legs around his hips and pull him to you. 

The longer you make out, the longer your bodies rub against one another’s, the easier it becomes to feel his firmness resting between your legs. You rut your hips up into his, and he groans, returning the movement with his hips. His cock starts dragging on your cunt as he grinds into you. Without breaking your kiss, you reach down and pull on his pants. He obliges, pulling them the rest of the way off, as you pull your own down.

Miguel repeats his grinding motions, no clothes between you now, coating his cock in your wetness.

“Please, baby,” you plead. He nods, rests his forehead on yours, eyes boring into yours, as he brings one hand down and guides himself into you. His mouth opens in a silent scream as he slowly pushes in. Hands on either side of his face, you pull him into a messy kiss, continuous but broken by pants and moans as he takes his time bottoming out. 

Once he’s fully seated inside you, he pauses. You squeeze him, and he moans into your mouth, thrusting into you even though there’s no deeper to go. It’s warm and rousing, and you move your hips against him, wanting to keep feeling that. 

Still kissing you, Miguel finally moves his hips back, taking his time, before pushing back in equally slowly. You whine at the sensation. 

He does it again and again until he’s fucking you languidly, lovingly. Every second of it is charged, intense, delicious. It builds slowly until the steady buzz is interspersed with electric waves. 

You give a strangled whimper. Miguel, ever-attentive, brings his hand to his mouth at your sounds, your shudders. He licks his fingers then brings them down to where you’re connected, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts. You whimper even louder and chase his hand with your hips. 

He moves just a bit faster, pushes harder, keeps it up till you’re tight and whining. And when he feels your body tense, he pistons in and out of you, his hand vibrating perfectly to pull your orgasm out of you. You whine into his neck as you cum around him. He slows his motions but keeps them up, and you keep cumming for much longer than usual. It’s strange, the intensity drawn out for so many seconds, and when you finally finish, your whole body shakes. 

“Fuuck, nena, can I — can I keep —“ 

Miguel’s choking on his words, but you nod and pull him tight with your arms and legs wrapped around him. “Yeah, baby, keep going,” you pant. “Keep going till you cum, Migue.” He groans at your words, picks up his pace. It’s almost too much for your now very sensitive body, but it instinctively pulls him in as he chases his own release. 

When he finally gets there, he smashes his lips on yours and kisses you ardently as his hips stutter. He empties himself inside you. He stays above you, inside you, panting with his lips still grazing yours.

You look into each other’s faces, caressing here and there. You don’t need to put words to the feeling encapsulating the both of you. When Miguel finally moves off of you with a peck, it’s easy to push down the disappointment knowing that in a matter of minutes you’d be wrapped in him again, entangled in each other for another perfect night.

~~

thanks for reading!

Miguel masterlist

[fhrlclln]

I don’t usually do ask but I DESPERATELY need a qimir au smut😭 idk about what but I just know I need it

in the darkness | qimir

SUMMARY -> abandoned by her own family and order due to her curse and having no husband, they leave her on a remote planet surrounded by water and grey clouds, as said in her cruel prophecy that her supposed betrothed awaits for her there to take her. but this husband of hers is no ordinary man as he always wears a mask.

qimir x fem! reader

masterlist

GENRE -> nsfw/smut

WARNINGS -> eros & psyche inspired au, unprotected p in v, mutual masturbation & sensory deprivation

WC -> 6.09k

a/n: hope this satisfies your req, anonzz!! sorry it took so long for me to write!!

likes, comments and reposts are greatly appreciated !! <3

enjoy !!

the waves thrash against the rocks as the harsh winds blow across your face.

you clutch your cream scarf tight around you, the grey clouds loom above you menacingly and you can smell a storm coming. you blink wetly, your chest feels heavy and you feel somewhat terrified and betrayed. your father had forced you to wait here, leaving you behind with only a few words of a sorrowful goodbye. you couldn't blame him really... you knew you were cursed, as said by the elders in your order your family is apart of.

"you would never know love with that darkness inside you."

you could not understand what that meant. you were a normal child growing up, always following your family's footsteps and obeying the order. what darkness shrouds inside you? that it would forbid you to love or be loved.

"but someone will want her darkness and they will be waiting for her in a place surrounded by endless water and shores filled with grey sand. her betrothed awaits there, that is her destiny."

you thought for a moment that your supposed prophecy was just a means to make your family usher you to find a husband, for in your age you were supposed to be married by now. all of your sisters were bethroted and you were the only one without any prospect. your mother had been disappointed that you being the eldest was unwedded and you were the shining beautiful daughter she prided in, putting a lot of expectations in you. yet, after the elders had announce your cruel oracle, none of the possible suitors wanted your hand anymore which made your mother's frown deepen.

and you, in-fact, were more displeased in yourself more than anything. you had wished that you were born different... born normal. alas, you couldn't change your life. and here you are, waiting by the grey rocky shores, standing by the waters crawling up to gently touch your sandaled toes. you breathe in the sea air, anxiousness clouding your mind.

who would want you?

or instead... what would want you for you and your darkness?

the anticipation lingers as you watch the sky slowly turn more greyer. was night falling? was that how long you have been waiting on this deserted planet? the hurt inside you grows, and you shiver at the coldness of the weather. your lips tremble, and you curse yourself for being this way instead of living a perfectly normal life in coruscant. you look to the horizon of endless oceans, you had to accept you were either going to die alone on this planet or suffer the loneliness if you will yourself to make this your new home. you now stand up, opting to walk by the shores before the night captures the dull grey sky.

"are you her?" a feminine voice suddenly asks from nowhere. you halt from where you stand at the sudden presence of another person. "are you the wife my master was promised to?"

you turn your head around to be met by a young woman dawning a dark purple cloak and a wool black and grey gown underneath. her hands are clasped in front of her, you look up to her face but you are only met with her eyes that were slightly covered by her hood and her braided hair. the half of her face down is concealed by a bandana similar in color to the clothes she wears. you blink, registering her question and throwing away the curiosity in your mind about how she managed to appear in thin air moments ago.

"...yes." you merely answer with a soft and slightly questioning tone. her eyes do the talking and she seems relieved. you wait, curious to know who is she and what she is to the supposed "betrothed" of yours that she calls her master.

"come, he's waiting for you." she gestures her head to the caves up the island's hills. your gaze follows there, and a chill runs up your spine when you see the dark opening of a cave. someone is watching you. you look back to the strange woman and nod. she walks first and you follow. the gravel is rough underneath your feet in each step you take. you stay quiet, not knowing what to ask of the mysterious woman.

the path to the cave opening was an easy one. You should have noticed a dirt path when you first walked around the shores, and you wonder why you hadn't turned your attention to the rocky hills then. You look beyond the mysterious woman's shoulder and see that you are almost nearing the cave. you let out a tiny sigh of nervousness, and your mind conjures scenarios of what may lie ahead when you meet your husband-to-be.

will he be kind?

would he hurt you?

would he be neglectful?

"my master awaits for you in here." the mysterious woman's voice snaps you back to reality. your breath hitches, and you nod as you look ahead to see only darkness in the cave. she steps aside for you to enter and you step forward. before she could leave you behind, you stop her for a moment.

"I didn't catch your name." you said, and she halted her departure.

"mae, you can call me mae." she answers, her tone light than before. you nod and offer a small smile in response.

"thank you, mae." she nods at you and leaves you alone to face the prophecy of what lies inside. you almost wished that you had asked mae to stay for a while until you entered the vast darkness in front of you.

enough stalling now. your mind scolds you, and you finally take a step in despite the pounding rhythm your heart is doing. The darkness envelops you for a moment, but as you take small steps forward towards the little light at the end, you are met with an unexpected sight of a well-furnished room. the interior walls were of the caves,' but the interior looked like what your home used to look like in coruscant. it felt... nostalgic in a sense. you stand in the middle of the supposed living and dining room, waiting as you look around.

"hello?' your voice echoes throughout the home. you wait for a response, but your eyes catch an unusual object on the wooden dining table. you walk towards it, feeling an unexplained sensation of something pulling you to it. your gaze is attached to the peculiar object and once you near it, your mind is curious to see a saber of all to catch your attention. the saber was like the elders' in your order, similar style, yet somehow this one had a gravitating and oddly weird aura. you lift your hand to touch it, yet a voice scares you.

"you are a curious thing, aren't you?" a deep modulated voice interrupts your curiosity. you jump at the sudden presence of another. you swiftly turn around, clutching your hand around your scarf. you were met with the sight of a masked stranger dressed in black robes. a poncho-like robe concealed most of his stature, but the peek of his arms made you feel relieved that he was human.

this is your betrothed, then.

strange he's wearing a mask.

"forgive m-me." you meekly say and step away from the table. you hear him walk towards you and your heart skips a beat.

"welcome, wife." he greets you, and you look up at him.

"thank you, husband." you nod and your eyes roamed to examine his mask. it was eerily scary seeing how it had multiple lashes, and the design made it seem that it had teeth. but... you can't help but feel more comfort than fear for this mysterious husband of yours. this was entirely different than what you were dreading when you were alone by the shores.

"are you hungry?" he asks, and you shake your head. your fingers fiddle with the hem of your scarf, feeling shy all of a sudden. despite his mask, you could feel a smile creep behind it. he takes a step to you, and you avert his gaze even if you can't see what lies behind the mask.

"do i frighten you?" he cocks his head to the side, curious about your reaction. you momentarily glance at his masked face, wanting to question why he doesn't let you see his face yet you look away, not wanting to offend him.

"no, j-just... nervous." you confessed.

"why?" he asks, and you shrug.

"not to you! i mean, i'm nervous about what lies ahead... about all of this. it's baffling to think i already have a husband that i haven't met or known yet." you sighed at yourself, fearing you have ruined your first impression towards him. "sorry."

"you don't need to apologize. i completely understand your reasons." he assures you, and your shoulders drop at the sudden relief.

"what about you? isn't this prophecy of mine baffle you? that you would want my..." you try not to say that word that has been thrown around on your face.

"it doesn't." he suddenly holds his hand out, and you glance down in curiosity. "i am looking forward to knowing you, wife. whatever the prophecy might say."

you don't have words for that. even though his voice is robotic and you can't tell if it's genuine, you know he speaks the truth, somehow. you slowly raise your hand and place it on his waiting palm, and sparks ignite when the rough callous of his hand touches yours. it felt warm inside that this mysterious person had accepted you despite what was said.

and you feel like this is the start of a life you always wanted now.

・゜゜・．

the days passed since you have been living on the remote planet with your husband. you have grown a tenderness for the mysterious man even though you both barely know each other. he was kind, that was given, caring in a way you never expected, yet he was secretive for the most part. he would always go out, but he would still remind you before he departs, yet he never tells you what he does. in the days that you have been adjusting in his home, there were unwritten rules, or rather what he implies, that you have followed as you got to know him. you two did slept in the same bed, but for the first few days, he gently told you that he'd let you sleep alone for comfort. once you had told him that you were fine and you two were technically married in a sense, he did agree yet he strictly had said the lights had to be turned off.

that was one rule. you never should turn the lights on once he lays with you. and the second was mostly obvious...

you aren't supposed to see his face.

you always wondered why and you did ask him this night as you two readied for bed.

the room was pitch black, you were snuggled in the shared blanket as you felt his body near yours. the sheets shuffled, and you bit your lip if you should ask him the question repeating in your mind. your heart thumps as you hear him let out a relaxed sigh; you wish to see him, yet you know better than to not respect his one wish.

"why do you wear a mask?" you asked, feeling nervous, but eager to hear his voice than the modulated one.

you hear him chuckle; it makes your chest feel tight and how deep and raspy it is. "many reasons."

"can you tell me one?" you ask again, feeling courageous. his voice was beautiful to hear the first time you heard it. and it made you even more curious to see his face that matched his voice.

"why do you ask? are you eager to see me?" he teases you and you pout. he chuckles again, and you wonder if he can see your reaction despite the darkness. you are about to turn your back to him, yet you are surprised when an arm wraps around you, pulling you close to his body. your hands instinctively go to where his chest is, and you are met with the touch of smooth, warm skin. you feel hot all of a sudden as you feel his chest rise.

"for your safety, you can't see me." he merely says, and you blink at that. "i don't wish to put you in any harm."

"why? are you... ashamed of your face?" he laughs at that, a heartful one, and you are pleased to hear it. his hand caresses the side of your waist, and you shiver at the feeling; your legs rub against each other, and you wish to see his smile. the warm feeling of his body against yours, with the shame you can't see his face, is starting to get to you.

"on the contrary, i am not ashamed of my face, wife." his raspy tone makes you squirm for a bit as his hand caresses down to your hip. his touch wasn't foreign to you this moment; he had been respectful the first night when you two slept together, opting for distance. but as the days passed, you two had grown to entangle with each other. you both are technically married, and you knew at some point that this would become normal. but you can't help but mourn the fact that this came with the obstruction of the pitch-black room, even though it brought you comfort still. you loved it, the feel of his body to yours.

"i understand." you say to him as you lay your head on his chest. you sometimes hope you'd catch a glimpse of him in the morning but he always woke up before you. you dismiss the other questions in your mind you want to ask him, you need to show him that you wholeheartedly understand his reasons, no matter how vague they are.

"what do you want to eat for supper tomorrow?" he casually asks and you nuzzle your face against his skin. "will you be cooking?"

"mhmm, can you pick up a couple of cooking herbs? I'm hoping to make a stew for you." you respond, eating times were also a big disappointment for you. you always would eat first, and he would eat after, but you still cook for him, knowing he loved your meals from how he would always if you would cook again.

"alright." you feel his face nuzzle against the top of your head. this affection you two had made was astounding to think that you both were already acting like a married couple in mere days. even if you barely know what he does, you do know small things about him. he often bathes in the lagoon, since he would always smell like the sea. he likes to walk along the shores, and sometimes you'd join; you know that he was like a teacher to mae, saying that she's a student of his. you also know that he apparently is a heavy drinker, judging by the bottles of alcohol you'd see by the counter. and that he's also been living alone on this planet for a long time, and he apparently hates the rain.

"good night, qimir." you yawned, saying his name sleepily. and you also knew his name. the name was unique, and somehow, you felt like you heard it before.

"good night." he whispers softly as sleep takes the both of you.

you wake up suddenly from a strange feeling that's poking against your bum. the darkness still is blinding your sleepy eyes but you squirm at the strange sensation. qimir's chest was pressed against your back, and his arm was lazily draped across your torso. his breath tickled the nape of your neck as you unconsciously push your hips back, wanting to get rid of the object poking your rear. did he forget to take off his belt? you thought as you sleepily sighed, still squirming in his hold.

an elicit groan from him fully awakens you and you freeze in place. qimir's arm tightens around you, his hips suddenly press against your rear, and the poking sensation makes you ponder for a moment if you should wake him up. you close your eyes, still wiggling your bum until a tingling sensation on your neck stops you.

"stop moving." he whispers in your ear, hoarse and... agitated? you're confused for a moment until he softly traces his lip on your neck again. your eyes widen at the realization of the moment, and you suddenly feel embarrassed.

"sorry." you whisper back as you lay your free hand on his arm. "h-have i awoken you?" you try to mask the quiver in your voice of how close he is and the thing of his poking your bum.

"no." he answers, but there's a beat. "...maybe."

you're about to apologize again, but his lips suddenly trace from the nape of your neck to the side wherein he hovers above a particularly sensitive spot.

"you've been moving in your sleep." he says. "bad dreams?"

"not really." you confessed, and he suddenly kissed the sensitive spot on your neck. "q-qimir!"

"do you want me to stop?" he hoarsely asks as his hand softly traces the plane of your stomach.

"no." you immediately answer without much thought than to feel more of his lips and his addicting touch. his hand moves downward to where your ache is, the ache that has been pestering you for the past few days since you had been living with him. your mysterious husband, one you desperately want to see his face than his mask. the one that you have been imagining day and night since he welcomed you into his home despite the cruel curse that has been placed upon you.

"i have been holding back from touching you like this out of respect... but it seems like i have deprived you, my wife." you gasped when his hand gripped your nightgown as he scrunched it up to your waist. your grip on his arm tightened as his hand delved down to the center of your thighs slowly. "i did, did i?"

you could only nod slightly as he nipped your soft flesh. "please..."

"you sing so sweetly for me." he groans as his fingers are met with your wetness. your legs open slightly and you could feel him grind his crotch slowly on your rear.

"husband..." you whined when he rubbed soft circles on your pulsing clit. you wondered how he managed to do this in complete darkness. you let go of his arm, wanting to do something for him. he continues his ministrations as his other hand moves to fully embrace you since you were still laid sideways from him. his hand gripped the soft flesh of your breast while the other pleasures your core. your back was flushed against his hard chest whilst he grinds his hard cock against your ass.

you let your one free hand touch him from behind, it was a little uncomfortable that you had to find the prize you were seeking, but once you felt the tent of his crotch touch your fingertips, accompanied by his low groan, you immediately palmed his clothed cock slowly. the darkness of the room was making your senses sharp. even though you mourn not seeing his mouth open in pleasure from the way he is breathily moaning against your ear due to your hand palming his cock, it did make everything feel more heightened. his scent envelops your senses with his warm body heat has you letting out more noise with the way he's rubbing circles on your clit.

"want you inside of me." you moan out as your hand massaging his prick searches for the hem of his wool pants. your hand glides down from his abdomen to be met by the warm flesh of his cock. you grip him, and he bucks his hips toward your hand with a breathy moan. qimir removes his hand from your dripping cunt while you pump his aching cock.

"open your legs." he suddenly says, and you squeal when he suddenly grips the underside of your thigh and lifts it up. you obey him as you spread your legs slightly for him. you remove your hand from his crotch when you feel him shift in his position to lower his pants down. your heart is beating loudly and the anticipation gnaws you. the act of marital duties wasn't unheard of you from your sisters, your mother would always put on a strict lesson for them of what to expect on the night after their marriage.

a prodding sensation touches your wet entrance and you brace yourself, not entirely sure what to expect. you almost expect qimir to fully take you, but you are surprised when he rubs his cock slowly, making you let out a pleasurable sigh.

"you smell so sweet, so pretty, so beautiful..." qimir huffs as he positions the tip of his cock to your entrance. "and all mine."

you let out a moan when you feel him enter you finally. he's gentle and slow in the process, ensuring you were comfortable. he wraps his arms around you tight, as if you were going to leave. you feel your breasts spill out of your top as the cool air hits the skin of your chest. he cups one and pinches your nipple as he fully sheathes in you. you grind back, feeling full. the darkness of the room is a pleasant sensory sensation, you thought you would be disappointed at the aspect of not seeing him. but he made it pleasurable, which makes your heart skip a beat for him.

he thrusts into you at an agonizingly slow pace that has you pushing your hips back to him. he alternates gentle bites and sweet kisses from your neck down to the slope of your shoulders. you close your eyes, wanting to feel all of him as your free hand finds its way to his hair. you want to touch him as well, and you feel satisfied when you interlock your fingers with his soft hair.

both of you don't know how much time has passed. you both were too into the heat of the moment, not wanting to rush things but to just feel each other. your walls clamp around him as qimir's thrust went from being slow to now setting a steady pace. your moans and his groans fill in the void of the room. you could feel his thumping heart from your back and he could feel your heartbeat under his hand.

your mouth hangs open in pleasure. you feel yourself nearing your high as his other hand dives down to rub your clit. you call out to him, and he calls out to you. he fastens his thrusts, cock hitting that spongy spot in you, and you soar high. he lets out a moan of your name when you squeeze him tight with your orgasm. he shakily thrusts into you, and with a loud groan, he follows through, fucking both of your orgasms into completion. his cum spills on your walls, painting you with his seed. your wetness coats his cock entirely and he halts his thrusts, feeling spent like you are.

a moment of silence transpires, heavy breaths are only heard. his cock is snuggled inside you, and you feel exhaustion and sleep taking over. he loosens his arms around you, still holding you close. you hadn't realized that a small smile graces your lips as you feel him kiss your neck, soothing the intense aftershock. you caress the side of his face, and his lips touch your fingertips. nothing else is said other than sweet caresses and kisses on the skin. sleep seems to take both of you as you let exhaustion null you to sleep.

・゜゜・．

you feel like a whole new person waking up after that night. you were only disappointed to see your husband not by your side when you had awoken. but the sweet soreness of your legs and the dampness of your core were enough to rectify your displeasure of him not being beside you in the morning after. you wobbly did your morning routine and dressed yourself in one of the dresses he had gifted you, a black dress that matched his clothes and your own jewelry, and draped your cream scarf around you since it was cold.

once you had properly dressed yourself, feeling a little giddy when you looked in the mirror to see marks on your neck from his doing. you went out of your shared bedroom and were surprised to see mae sitting by the dining table. qimir was by his workbench, wearing his mask as usual but dressed in clothes you knew he would be going somewhere.

"good morning, mae." you smiled at her, and she nodded at you in greeting. her scarf that concealed her face the first time you met her was gone. you could now see her truly, which made you happy. if only your husband would do the same.

"good morning."

"do you want something to eat?" you asked her, going straight to the kitchen to prepare something for yourself.

"no need. i already ate..." she says, yet there's a concern in her voice as she looks at you. "are you alright? you look tired."

your cheeks heat up all of a sudden. "y-yes, i'm alright. why do you ask?"

"you're walking funny." she points out, and you hear your husband let out a robotic chuckle. you feel embarrassed as you shoot a glare at qimir from his workbench. mae stays silent, a little confused, but you change the topic, noting that they both seem dressed for something.

"are you two heading out?' you ask, and mae nods.

"i'm preparing a lesson for mae in euda. it shouldn't take too long as she will need to learn it herself." qimir answers you as walks towards where you stand. you nod in understanding, finishing up your breakfast.

"will you be here before supper?" you ask him, since sometimes he'd be late.

"i will." he promises as he caresses the small of your back, knowing you ache below. mae watches the both of you with subtle curiosity, and qimir seems to sense this. "wait by the ship, mae. we'll leave soon."

mae nods. "yes, master." you wave goodbye to her as she heads out. only the two of you are alone at last. he presses himself against, and it makes your heart beat loudly at what he's doing. you tilt your head to see his masked face, but you can feel his tension.

"come back safely." you softly say to him as you turn around, and his hands drop to your hips. he squeezes them as your hands caress his chest.

"always." he assures you. the way he's touching you makes you want to kiss him. and you suddenly realize you still haven't kissed him yet. you already had him inside you and the thought of you two not sharing a kiss baffles you. before he could leave, you stop him.

"i want to kiss you..." you pout and his grip on your hips tightened. "for luck."

you see his chest rise and you smile at that. his other hand lifts his mask up slightly and you watch in anticipation to see a peek of what he looks like. he holds his mask up and you are met with the sight of his pink lips surrounded by facial hair. you thighs clench, knowing that those lips were the cause of the marks that are on your neck.

"are you just going to stare at me, my beautiful wife?" a grin spreads across his pink lips. you roll your eyes as you tiptoe up, wrapping your arms around his neck to finally kiss him. his lips are soft against yours. you let out a noise when his hand gripping your hips pulls you close, and he deepens the kiss. you moan, almost wanting to pull him inside the bedroom, but you let go, and he seems to chase after your lips, which makes you laugh.

"go, mae's waiting." you could see him pout before he adjusted his mask to cover his entire face. you feel a little disappointed he has to hide again. he lets go of you, and you watch him leave, feeling happy. but the gnawing curiosity of what he looks like still itches you now, even if everything is perfect.

・゜゜・．

in truth, you knew in yourself that the one forbidden rule he had said would come to you. you feel guilty that you are still thinking about it... but how could you not? you lay beside him in the darkness again, your head laid on his naked chest and your body pressed against his. you convinced yourself you can live like this with him, that you can learn to love him even if you would never see him for what he is until you die. qimir made everything perfect despite there being clear flaws. you can't sleep, you feel restless, and the desire to see him is strong, but something else bothered you.

"you would never know love with that darkness inside you."

those were the first words the elder had said to you when she prodded into your mind and future. you were terrified... would you know love with qimir? you haven't spoken to him about what your prophecy truly is. and it frightens you to think that maybe this would all fall apart because of you. your brows furrow and a dark feeling encapsulates your chest as something calls out to you.

you lift your head gently, feeling through the room, careful not to wake your sleeping husband. the strong hum of the force calls out to you, so familiar that you cannot place what it is, but you know where it is. you quietly detach yourself from qimir, trying your best to make as little noise as possible as you guide yourself to stand up and let the force guide you. your feet walk on its own and you are pulled to somewhere in the dark room.

your hand stretches out, and you feel cold sweat envelop your whole body when your hand grips a metal object. you let out a shaky breath, and your fingers grip it as your thumb presses against a button. your eyes widened as a red glow enveloped the pitch-black bedroom. you gasped, you were holding a saber. a lightsaber with its color that was forbidden in your order, for it tells a story of its connection to anger, hatred, vengeance, and all things that were forbidden. you freeze in place, seeing that the hilt of the saber is familiar. it was qimir's-

"my love?" you turn around quickly to hear your husband's voice, still holding the illuminating saber. you watch in horror as the red glow reveals his face.

he's beautiful. his face is chiseled, his skin is smooth, and his messy black hair matches everything. even if red illuminated his face, his dark brown eyes are a wonder to stare at.

and you recognize him.

"qimir-" you were cut off when the saber in your hand suddenly flew out and landed on his outstretched hand. his black hair is messy, and his eyes shine a pain of betrayal towards you. your heart stops, and guilt washes over you for what you have done. he switches the saber off, and the darkness meets you again.

"wait, qimir!" you call out to him as everything happens so fast. In the blink of an eye, the bedroom door opens with light, filling the dark room again. you watch your husband without his helmet leave hastily and the one thing you feared most comes to you.

he's going to leave you.

your eyes water as you rush to follow him. a sudden gush of harsh winds makes you falter when you see that the front door of the cave has been opened. you follow still, desperate to make this right for him. you huff, stepping out to see the blue hour of the day. your eyes scan down to see him walking hastily towards where the lagoon is- to where his ship might be. your chest feels heavy as you quickly ran to get to him before he leaves.

stupid, stupid girl. the cackling noise of one of the elder's taunts you in your mind. always playing with the darkness.

tears stream down your face. how could you do that to him? the one thing he asked for you not to do, and you completely disobeyed him. your feet ache as the gravel wounds your bare soles. you see his figure near your line of sight, you had to make this right. you love him-

"qimir! p-please! i'm sorry." you sob out. he suddenly halts in his steps, his grip on his saber tightens and you fear for the worst. will he kill you? now that you have seen him. you stop in your steps as your chest heaved with utter sadness and guilt.

"you can't see me. you're not supposed to see me- why did you..." the hurt in his voice pains you.

"i'm sorry." you bowed your head, ashamed.

"i-i..." you aren't sure if you should say something. you knew his face back in the order, one of elder vernestra's students in her stead. the one that disappeared one day without any trace. rumors that he went rogue on the order, communing with the dark side of the force. and rumors that the order threw him out. while you were by the sidelines, doing your duty as the eldest daughter, you had seen him around years ago in the temple in coruscant. he was a knight and you remembered when one of your sisters gushed about a handsome knight coming out of the temple. tall, black hair, a charming smile, and a skilled warrior. you never once dallied with your sisters' hushed talks about handsome men. but he made everyone stare at him when he entered a room. it's a shame you can't remember his name back then, but all is pieced together now.

"and now you know where i fleed. you must have a lot of questions." he sighs as he finally turns around to you. your heart still beats loudly, seeing his face now. you stay silent, unsure of what to ask him.

"i don't have any." you decided, and that surprised him. "i'm sorry i did that."

his brows furrow. "that doesn't matter now. don't you understand? i am the one the elders of your order who warned you all about-"

"i don't care. you're my husband." you cut him off as you step towards him. his chest rises when you near him as you shakily place your hand on his where he still grips his saber. "they don't matter anymore, qimir. i haven't been in contact with them since i've been here."

"really? did you know that they threw you away as well. haven't you wondered why they suddenly placed a prophecy upon you?" he asks, and you think about that momentarily. he was trying to let you see the seriousness of it.

"i know..." you nod, deep-down you knew why they carelessly threw you away. maybe your own insecurity had taken over when they had said that to you, and you believed them.

"when i heard about your ridiculous prophecy, i knew they were using you to find me." he confesses, and you frown at that. his other hand lifts up to caress the side of your face. there's a tenderness in his eyes, and you understood why he chose not to let you see his face.

"but it seems like i find myself not caring about that anymore."

he looks deep into your eyes and you feel the weight on your shoulders lighten. "i love you, my beautiful, beautiful wife."

"i love you too." you say to him as you pull him down for a kiss. the morning sun shines between you both, no need for hiding now. qimir happily reciprocates the kiss, dropping his saber to the ground as he scoops you up in his toned arms. the salty breeze of the planet is a nice touch to this tender moment, wherein all are finally coming to peace.

and you were right, this is the life you always wanted now.

[inkedinshadows]

Calanmai

Day 28: Breeding kink — Tamlin x f!reader

Warnings: oral (f receiving), p in v, rough sex

Word count: 1.507

A/N: sorry again for the delay in posting this one. I’m not sure about how this turned out, I honestly don’t know what to think of it. It's not exactly what I wanted it to be, but it also is what I wanted? Idk, I have no idea lol

Tamlin had warned you about Calanmai. He explained what it was and what he was required to do, and he made sure you knew you didn’t have to go if you didn’t want to. But you had stood by each other’s side since the day you met months ago, and you weren’t about to abandon him now.

Especially because you knew he hoped you would be there, even if he never said it and left the choice to you. And you wanted to be there. You wanted to see this part of him, too, and love it as much as every other part.

You stood among the faeries lining the path that led to the cave where the ritual would take place. They were all female, all waiting for Tamlin’s arrival and hoping to be chosen.

Would he choose you? You had no way of knowing for sure. It was the magic flowing through him tonight that would make the choice, not him. But you pushed the thought away, unable to stomach the idea of him with some other girl. Even more so because he had told you he needed to “complete the rite inside the chosen one.” You needed it to be you.

The drumming picked up rhythm and volume until it was an almost deafening frenzy. Swaying on your feet alongside the others, you resisted the urge to cover your ears and instead focused on the other end of the path, where every faerie—lesser or High Fae—had gone utterly still.

You felt the thrum of power before you saw him, and when he appeared, he looked like a god.

Tamlin wasn’t wearing a shirt, his muscled chest painted with swirls of blue ink that shimmered in the light of the bonfires. His hair was unbound, and a crown of golden leaves rested on the top of his head. His back was rigid, his stride long and unhurried as he surveyed every faerie gathered just for him. A part of you swore he was looking for someone specific.

But what if you were wrong? What if he wouldn’t pick you? The question crawled its way into your mind, and this time, you couldn’t shake the concern—not when you heard the girls next to you sigh dreamily. You couldn’t blame them, but something churned in your stomach.

Suddenly, Tamlin stopped in his tracks. He seemed to smell something in the wind, and then his head snapped in your direction, his eyes immediately locking on yours amidst the crowd. You held your breath as he stalked closer, and only when he stood in front of you did you realize what he meant when he said he wouldn’t be himself tonight.

His pupils were blown wide, his short fangs exposed, just like his claws. Even his beautiful features seemed more animalistic than usual—sharper. There was nothing soft in his face, nor in his voice, as he snarled, “Y/N. Come with me.”

Every worry disappeared the moment he grabbed your wrist and headed for the entrance of the cave, not bothering to glance back to check if you were keeping up.

You followed silently as he led you deep into the hillside, the rock walls illuminated by only a few lanterns casting long shadows. Tamlin stopped after a turn in the tunnel and pointed to several blankets laid out on the ground.

“That’s where I’m going to take you,” he growled.

The sound trembled down your body, a shiver of anticipation and excitement coursing through you at this new version of him. He pulled you closer until your chest pressed against his. The paint smeared on the front of your dress, but you were too caught up in his eyes to notice.

You caressed his cheek as you normally would, and something softened in his gaze, if only slightly.

“I’ll try to be gentle,” he said, but there was a light tremor in his voice that revealed just how much he was struggling against the magic of the land.

You smiled, shaking your head. “Don’t.”

As if the word were a trigger, the softness you had glimpsed disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving behind only that feral, lustful gaze. His mouth descended on your neck, and he bit the tender spot where it met your shoulder, not hard enough to pierce the skin and draw blood, but enough to make you yelp at the jolt of pain. Yet, there was a sort of tenderness to it all—the way he soothed the spot with his tongue before he pulled back, how his claws retracted until they were nothing more than sharp nails so he wouldn’t hurt you.

Tamlin was already panting, a victim to whatever greater power flowed through him. His cock was straining in his pants, and you reached for it, palming him through the fabric. He flinched, as if not used to being touched in such a situation.

“Let me,” you murmured.

He bared his teeth in another growl. “Later.”

He was on you again, kissing you with such hunger that a moan escaped your lips. He dragged a short claw over the laces at the back of your dress and the fabric soon slipped off your body. You shivered as the cold air of the cave hit your skin, and a guttural groan came from Tamlin at the sight of your peaked nipples.

For a moment, you caught another glimpse of your beloved High Lord in his eyes when he helped you lay down on the blankets. But soon, his clothes joined yours, and he was back in the grip of the magic-induced frenzy.

The male that would normally murmur sweet nothings and soft praises as he pleasured you was gone. This Tamlin kept silent while he spread your legs and lowered his mouth to your cunt. His thumb drew tight circles on your clit, making sure to use just the pad and avoid scratching you with the sharp nail. Your eyes closed as he lapped at you, but he stopped shortly after—once you were wet enough for him to slide in effortlessly.

He thrust into you with a single roll of his hips and you cried out, the sound swallowed by his mouth when he kissed you again. He immediately set a punishing rhythm, fingers digging into your thighs, and you welcomed the slight twinge of pain, relishing in the knowledge that he would leave little marks on your flesh. By the time the night was over, you hoped there would be many more all over your body.

Tamlin looked like he couldn’t get enough of you. He was nibbling on your neck one moment and sucking on your nipples the next, and then his mouth was on yours again. Yet his pace never faltered, pounding into you relentlessly as if his very life depended on it.

“Tam,” you whimpered. You held on to his broad shoulder, your hands smudged with the blue paint that was now also smeared on your breasts. “Gods, this is—”

“I’m not stopping,” he interrupted you with a snarl. “I need to come inside you to complete the ritual.”

His words were accentuated by a deeper thrust that had you almost screaming, but concern about him stopping was actually the last thing on your mind. You knew that already and you wanted him to come inside. A primal, hidden part of you wanted—needed—him to breed you.

“That’s not what I—” you tried again, but Tamlin was too lost in the magic.

He growled and kissed you, teeth slightly sinking into your lower lip. His hips slammed into you faster, harder, and you were soon arching beneath him as you neared your climax.

“I’m about to come, princess.” His voice was barely recognizable. “I’m going to fill you up.”

“Yes… yes, please,” you whined. “Breed me, Tam. Put a baby in me.”

His grip on your thighs grew tighter, his thrusts became frantic and he came with a roar that echoed off the cave, spurting hot seed inside you. The sensation pushed you over the edge and you reached your own orgasm just a few seconds later. You clenched around him and as you did, you felt a wave of power shake the ground beneath you and expand all around.

“The ritual,” Tamlin muttered. He sounded more like himself now, though the animalistic growl lingered, along with the unnatural glint in his green eyes.

You went limp beneath him after coming down from your high, but Tamlin was still moving, slowly dragging his cock in and out of you, pushing his cum deeper inside you.

“We’re not done yet,” he warned you. His hands let go of your legs to roam up your body and cup your breasts. “That was just the bare minimum we had to do.”

You were still panting, but you offered him a smile. He had told you that too. The Great Rite could take hours, if not the whole night.

“Then keep fucking me, High Lord.”

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[runningfrom2am]

leveling the playing field IX

summary: with nowhere else to go after getting caught cheating to help lucy gray, you both make some desperately stupid decisions.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.6k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows (we do, kind of). implications and mentions of abuse, so read with caution!! also a little bit of swearing but that's neither here nor there

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a/n: here we are!! 'season' two!! thanks so much for reading it and I'm SO so glad lots of people seem to love it :) if you do, please reblog it or leave your thoughts in the replies or in my inbox! i love hearing from you and talking about it so don't be a stranger !

without further adieu,, enter buzzcut coryo <3

next part

Coriolanus's stomach twisted as he could hear your screams from the hall, even though by then he was all the way on the other side of the school. He thought that was unsettling, only for them to abruptly stop just before he left. The silence that followed was so much worse. He didn't get any sleep, sitting on the roof in Grandma'ams rose garden with Tigris all night, wondering if you were dead.

He was just sick about it, even as he left the following morning, so early that the sun was yet to rise. It was a long, painful ride, and he spent the entire thing certain that you were dead. It was his fault, he had only wanted you to come with him, so he wouldn't be alone, but now he truly is alone and he won't even have you to write to back home. Regardless, he would try.

Rather than sit with the idea that it might even be pointless for him to live another day, especially with this unflattering haircut and a uniform that challenged the discomfort of the academy one, he decided to write to you on a paper he had found bunched between the train seats to ease his mind.

Y/N/N,

I hope you're reading this. I hope this gets back to you at home and finds you safe and sound, and you're sitting over your desk with a textbook open getting ready for university in the fall. That's not what's happening though, is it? You're probably dead. I probably killed you. If you are reading this in your room, or your library, or over my shoulder as I write this because you are only alive in what's left of your spirit, I hope you know that I am sorry. I did it because I wanted you with me, because in the moment I was so sure you'd be better off with me in the districts than you would be at home with your father. I think I was wrong. But I still miss you. You meant more to me than I ever told you. I guess, more than I ever told myself either until these last few weeks.

I think I heard them kill you after I left you with the Dean. If they did, boy, did you go out fighting. I always knew you would. I can't stop writing in case I never get to speak to you again. But again, maybe you're not dead, right?

Please tell me you're not dead.

Yours,

Always yours, your Coryo

He smoothes out the wrinkled sheet as he writes, hand shaking through most of it. He doesn't know if he should even bother sending it, or if he should just fold it up and throw it out the window in hopes that the message will find its way to your ghost. No, he has to send it. Otherwise he'll definitely never know, at least not for twenty years, and he couldn't bear that.

The wind hits the trees into the windows of the train as it rolls along the tracks, demanding that the branches be heard against the glass. It reminds him of you. Then again, what doesn't these days? Maybe it was just you letting him know you had read his letter, and that you forgive him. That would give him a semblance of peace for the rest of the ride.

When you woke up, it was impossible to tell what time it was. You only knew that it was dark, and your bedroom door was locked from the outside when you got up and carefully tried to open it only to be blocked by the mechanism.

"I have half the mind to agree with you on the Avox thing." You hear your dad sigh, his voice echoing from his study just down the hall. Your eyes widen and you try the knob again. Yep, still locked. "But we could always send her to Nine or Ten as a nurse. She's not staying here, that's certain."

"I don't want to push your decision, here, but she was saying she would tell everyone. She knows more than we thought, more details." Highbottom was here too, great.

"No, that's impossible. What did she say?"

"She knows we're selling, likely that you're storing it all here somewhere, and she knows it's enough to be treason. I don't know what else she knows, but it's risky business ever letting her out of that room again. The procedure might be our best option, here." You've heard enough, quickly making for your window instead. It's locked as well, but draping your old uniform over the lever gives you enough freedom to crush it with a particularly heavy, hardcover textbook without making much noise.

You change quickly, grabbing a few essentials that you could fit into your book bag, then climb out the window and slide down the back porch column before making as quiet of an escape as possible. Adrenaline carried you a few blocks away, but now, you were unsure what to do. You couldn't return, and you couldn't be seen, and you had a tragic shortage of friends at the moment. You find your feet carrying you toward the building you know Coriolanus lives in.

You're not particularly excited to see him, but with no other options, you're sure you can find it in yourself to be forgiving just this once. You could go to Sejanus's family home, but it's not far enough away, and you're not sure what his father would say. He'd probably call your dad in a second and it would all be for naught- you couldn't risk it. So, Coryo's it was.

You enter the building, walking straight for the elevator. He was in the penthouse, so you just have to hit the very top button and figure it out from there. You've never been to his home before, but he's talked about it plenty. Enough that you could find your way there, at least.

You groan when you quickly realize the elevator doesn't work, looking over at the stairs. It's a tall building, so you've got a long way to go. You wonder how he does this every day as you climb up set after set of stairs, taking note of how the walls are basically crumbling around you.

You knew he didn't have money, that he couldn't eat, but you didn't think he lived like this. No wonder he was so thin, and no wonder he still had any muscle left on his body. It was these damn stairs. That couldn't be it though, that wouldn't explain how his shoulders just seemed to go on for miles- maybe he had some kind of workout routine you never knew about.

You're drawn from your thoughts when you reach the top of the last staircase, hesitating to open the industrial looking door in front of you. Just beyond that was the front door to the Snow penthouse, and now that you're here, you're not sure what to do. Do you knock? You don't even know what time it is.

You sit by the door, deciding to think it over for a bit. It doesn't take you long to fall asleep leaning up against the wall where it meets the dusty floor.

Waking up, you're met with a gasp. "Y/N?" You blink open your eyes, seeing Tigris crouched in front of you, forehead creased with worry. "Are you okay? What are you doing here?"

"Tigris, hello." You mumble, gathering yourself to stand up as she helps you. "I, uh, I didn't know where to go, so..."

"Okay, okay. Come in for a second." She nods, holding your shoulder as she guides you back into the apartment. You squint at the sunrise through the large bay windows, she must have been on her way to work. "Can I get you anything? Some tea? You must be freezing..." She says, immediately shuffling into the kitchen.

"No, no. It's fine. Thank you, though." You insist, trying not to stare at the state the apartment has fallen into.

"Okay, well, please, take a seat. Tell me what's going on."

You nod slightly and move to sit down at their dining table where she joins you, reaching out for your hand which you gratefully take. "Did Coriolanus leave already?" You ask and she nods, giving you a sad smile.

"I must admit, I'm relieved to see you." She says, taking you by surprise. "Coryo thought you were dead. He was just so torn up about it, he said it was his fault but he wouldn't tell me why. I was expecting to see your passing in the papers this morning."

"Well, my days are numbered." You sigh, looking out the window again. The view was stunning. Maybe you would prefer a penthouse to your own large, empty feeling home. "My father and Dean Highbottom were discussing turning me into an Avox as a pity punishment, and I don't doubt that my father would rather bury me than have that on his name. I didn't stick around to hear their decision."

Tigris listens intently, squeezing your cold hands between her own. "And now, I don't know what to do. I had nowhere to go, I'm so sorry to intrude-"

"No, my goodness, please. You are always welcome here." She assured you. "But... what will you do?"

"I have to leave." You nod to yourself. "I have to leave and I can't come back, can I?"

"One day I'm sure it will be safe for you to return." She says, notably trying to put a positive spin on it. "I'll tell you what-" She stands quickly, going over to a hall closet and pulling out a large fur coat. "Take this, it can hide you and keep you warm. Take the next train to Twelve, that's where Coryo went." She places the coat in your lap. "He'll be ecstatic to have you and see that you're well."

You nod, standing up and pulling it on in a hurry. It was a beautiful coat, you could tell it was real fur. This must have belonged to one of their mothers. "Thank you, Tigris."

"There's another train headed there in about twenty minutes, if you rush you can make it. I had to check the schedule last night for him. Don't buy a ticket, just climb in a transport car from the opposite side, not the platform." She instructs you hurriedly,

You dig in your bag as you both head for the door, pulling out a handful of money and rifling through it to give some to her. You'll need some, but she will too.

"Here, Tigris. Take this." You say as she holds the door for you, and she instantly is shaking her head.

"No, no. I couldn't." She smiles awkwardly, waving a hand at you. "You'll need it more than I do, Coryo will be sending us cheques."

You smile at her understandingly, holding it out to her again. "If not for your help, then for this lovely jacket. Please take it. I insist."

Tigris sighs, taking it from your hand before pulling you into a hug which you gladly return. "Tell him we love him, okay?"

"He knows," You say, chin resting on her shoulder. "But I will."

It was dark again when your train reached its final stop, and you were curled up under the coat trying to sleep. You scramble to get up, having to bolt from the train before anyone came to unload the car.

Unfortunately, you didn't get the privilege of having a place to stay when you arrived, so once you're out of sight of the train, the best you can do is wander.

You don't have to wander long before you hear music. You didn't realize people were happy here, so the sounds of laughter and shouting and dancing coming from inside what looked to be an abandoned building made you tilt your head at the idea. Maybe you would just sit outside, around the side of the building where you won't be seen and you can listen.

You don't even get the chance to sit before you hear the singing start. It's Lucy Gray. You mentally scold yourself for not thinking of her sooner as you stand again quickly, finding yourself quite lightheaded. You must be hungry. Maybe there will be some food inside, or maybe you can find talk to Lucy Gray and maybe she'll let you stay with her. Just until you get yourself situated here.

Clutching your new coat tightly around yourself you walk in after attempting to dust off and salvage your clothes. Your favourite skirt and shoes took quite a beating throughout the day, and you're disappointed, to say the least. Hopefully Lucy Gray has a washing machine, but you doubt it. Did these people even know what a washing machine is? By the look of everyone in the room, the answer was a definite no.

Sure enough, Lucy Gray was on stage, singing her heart out. You had never seen her smile so wide, of course, and the kids surrounding her onstage were just as talented as she was at all their instruments. You've never seen live music like this before, only classical or opera where everyone sat quietly and listened until the end. This environment was entirely new to you.

Not wanting to interrupt, you wait until Lucy Gray steps offstage and her spot is replaced with a little blonde girl who couldn't have been older than ten.

"Give it up for the amazing Lucy Gray Baird!" The girl shouts into the mic, gesturing to your friend before more music started to play. "She'll be back, she's just taking a little break, but until then, you lot are stuck listenin' to me."

This is your chance. You push through the crowd and step into the hall you saw Lucy Gray go down. "Lucy Gray?" You call out hopefully, watching your step as to not roll a heel. In hindsight, these shoes were not ideal for the journey you took, but your options were limited by a time crunch.

"Lucy Gray?" You ask again, turning a corner and peeling into a large open room. It's a few moments before your eyes land on her, and she turns to face you having heard you walk in.

"Oh my days, I thought I recognized that voice!" She smiles, opening her arms and running up to you. "Y/N, my word, what are you doin' here?" Her excitement fades quickly into concern as she drops her arms from around you.

"Long story..." You chuckle nervously, pulling at your coat again as she nods for you to continue. "We got caught, for the compact. And the snakes, somehow. Coriolanus put our handkerchiefs that you used in the tank so they wouldn't attack you, I guess. I didn't know. Then they pulled us out of class the next day, he told them it was me, so then I put up a fight and they sedated me. When I woke up I was at home and they were talking about having my tongue cut out and turning me into one of those servants but I'm sure my dad would rather have me dead. So," You sigh, trying to summarize it as quickly as possible. "I ran."

Lucy Gray shook her head, mouth agape in shock at all the information she just took in. "Okay, wait... So they were going to kill you?"

You nod.

"But that teacher of yours seemed so nice."

"Sorry?"

"Yeah, he gave me some money and escorted me into the train himself."

You scoff, shaking your head. "He's never liked either of us, but that's only because I have dirt on him. I don't know what Coryo did."

"Well," Lucy Gray sighs, rubbing your shoulders gently. "I'm glad you're here. That you're safe."

"You too." You smile. "Can I just say, too, we were so proud of you. We were so lucky to be your mentors."

"I count myself the lucky one." She grins. "Let's move on, shall we? On the up and up."

"Yes, sounds lovely." You grin at her.

"Can I get you some water? Liquor? What do you need?" She asks, turning at that and going over to a bench in the middle that had a few water bottles.

"I would love some water." You breathe out, joining her and sitting down as she hands one to you.

"Lucy Gray, could I ask you for a really big favour?" You say after taking your first sip.

"Please." She nods.

"Can I stay with you?"

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[therantingsage]

Because I promised this, and I really wanted to do it anyway, here's a really really long-winded rambling dissertation on:

Why N and Uzi secretly dating since before episode 5 is genuinely super plausible and also stupidly hilarious /pos

Under the cut cuz it got obscenely long oops-

Idk where to start, so I'll just cover my bases: why people think they've been in a relationship already in the first place.

We all saw this scene:

And legit it can only be implying one of two things. Either A: this is his confession of feelings for her. Or B: this is him admitting that they've been dating for a while at this point. With the hearts it's pretty clear that this statement is meant to be romantically interpreted, and Nori's aghast reaction confirms that that's how it's being interpreted.

Obviously no matter the interpretation, N only writes that because he can't think of anything else to snap Uzi out of it and thereby stop this confrontation from ending poorly. And it works obviously so good on him for the quick thinking.

Two things that make me lean towards the 'we're dating' interpretation over 'confession' interpretation, though: firstly, he's not writing this to tell Uzi something, he specifically calls out to Nori before writing it. "Hey btw I'm dating your daughter" makes more sense than "Hey btw I like your daughter romantically" because if it was the latter, Nori has far less reason to be mad at Uzi about it rather than N. It's not like Uzi can control how N feels. But if they're dating, that means Uzi is partially to blame for that and Nori can get upset at HER.

Secondly, the awkward wording. Like it's really vague and without the hearts you'd have no reason to assume anything but platonic meaning. But these are words we, and him, have heard before:

...from Uzi, in response to a question about who she is and, by proxy, the nature of their relationship. She says it defensively, follows it up by telling N to shut up. N repeating her wording which, again, is a description of the nature of their relationship....but this time implying something romantic with it, it suggests the idea that it had romantic implications the first time.

I don't think it's far-fetched to say Uzi at least has feelings for N at this point in the story. I don't think anyone's arguing that that's not true. But the idea that 'hang out' means the exact same thing both times is what I'm arguing here. They're dating, but this version of N is a stranger to her. A cute stranger, as she says, but a stranger nonetheless who she isn't comfortable admitting to that she's dating him in the future to his face.

Backing up a bit, Uzi's reaction to Nori's reaction:

This is a clear and obvious parallel to the previous episode, when 'Tessa' says "Don't date my robot, please."

In both instances, someone gets on her case about the idea of them dating, and in both cases she doesn't deny it but instead defends both his and her own agency in the matter. No one is allowed to tell them what to do and Uzi refuses to let anyone try.

When Nori says it, though, she does seem to try and deny it for a moment. "I'm not-" She cuts herself off so we can't say for certain what she was going to say (if anything. it's entirely possible she started that sentence with no plan how to finish it, I do that a lot personally). But that's also because, like, she's Uzi. If this was meant to be a secret relationship, it would probably be her who made that decision. And like with butler N, she has no reason to disclose that kind of information to a stranger. She'd probably try and deny it whether its true or not.

As for when it would've started, after camp is the only big timeskip where we don't have much clue went on during. Cabin Fever is a big episode for them, and the three episodes that come after it are all back-to-back-to-back. The only time it makes sense to have started is sometime between eps 4 and 5.

And guys. Guys.

This, more than anything to me, paired with the idea that they've been dating for a while by the time the most recent couple episodes happen.....doesn't this seem so, so romantic? You could easily call this a love confession! So easily! It sounds like one much more than 'we just kinda are hanging out a lot idk' at least.

Like, rephrase that even a little: "Being with you makes scary things fun. Being with you makes me feel brave. It makes me feel safe. So I want to keep being with you."

And Uzi agrees with that sentiment. He promises to stick with her. And she laughs and smiles with him as he makes the scary thing she's been dealing with into something fun, something they can laugh about. The together line gets repeated in the most recent episode, directly calling back to this scene as well.

Like, just...AGH. In Cabin Fever he says it once as they're falling and a second time once they're grounded. The second time its a question, and one she eagerly answers with physical affection, which is super rare for her. In Mass Destruction its a statement, because he already knows her answer. Its a repeated promise. A vow.

Backing up again. Let's assess some interactions under this context. Assuming they're dating in secret. Because it paints so many things in a different light and basically nothing contradicts it which is fricken wild. This:

Isn't a sheepish Uzi trying to hold her crush's hand in a moment of fear. This is an Uzi who wants to keep their relationship a secret but is so in need of comfort right now she's willing to risk exposing them to get it.

This:

Her being so relieved because she almost watched him die but he's alive he's ok and she doesn't care who sees it because she needs to hug her boyfriend rIGHT NOW GUYS I DON'T CARE I'M HUGGING MY BOYFRIEND-

This whole scene. Uzi interacts with him so gently here. She's not gentle with anybody else at all. She sees him stressed and uses his own "you good?" on him and it's just so dang tender when you think about it. Because no one else can hear them talking to each other. It's just these two sending face texts and everyone else's focus is on the Sentinal so they can afford to be as couple-y in this conversation as they want.

And after:

Blushing because they like each other so so dang much.......sweating bullets because the other two can see them do this. Suddenly without either of them really thinking about it they're being romantic around other people and wow! That's nerve-wracking! Peak young love early-in-the-relationship behavior they ain't slick.

His tone of voice in this scene is gentler I think than we've ever heard from him before (Michael Kovach you are so damn good at your job). His loss-filled fury is cooled in an instant when he realizes how close he came to hurting his girlfriend. It's heartbreakingly gentle before 'Tessa' cuts him off.

And when she cuts Uzi off:

He looks like genuinely pissed at her. "Did you really just interrupt my gf while she was talking?? She's scared and you're disrespecting her tf is wrong with u??"

And like- the fact he was genuinely willing to off Tessa for her. Like he realizes there's a possibility she tried to get his gf killed for no reason and upon her not even trying to deny it he just kills her instantly. Because it's no longer a question of the universe or Uzi. It's a question of Tessa or Uzi, and its a choice his heart has already made before this point.

But here's like. The thing about all this that gets me. This is meant to be a secret relationship, right? Like nobody but them is supposed to know about this. And the fact that we the audience didn't have any reason to assume them to be an established relationship without heavy headcanoning means they did a decent job at that, right?

Guys. Guys.

N is terrible at keeping secrets. Like. Horrendously bad at keeping things on the down-low. Every single time in the series he's supposed to not spill info he like. Fails. It's wild. And because the relationship happens after "Inclusive reflexes!" that means that Uzi damn well knows this and still trusts him to try.

But based on V's reaction to the handholding in Dead End:

I'm honestly willing to bet she knew. She doesn't sound surprised, just annoyed that she has to see it. Which means N probably like, heard her badmouthing Uzi or something and got like way too defensive about it and she clocked him instantly. Because he's bad at keeping secrets. And she doesn't bother mentioning it during any of these episodes out loud because she doesn't care what these idiots do in their free time.

Can you imagine how many hundred close calls they must've had? How many times Uzi must've had to aggressively shush him or cover his mouth because he was going to say something slightly too sappy in public? The only reason we don't get to see the time period between eps 4 and 5 is because it would've been painfully obvious that these two dating is the worst kept secret in the entire bunker. I'm going insane.

Uzi fell in love with a proud himbo and they both know it. It's genuinely a miracle they didn't clue the audience in sooner.

[heliads]

whilst requests are open I have an idea to put forth after years of us discussing this man. Harry Hook x reader based on 'the way I loved you' by taylor swift. Childhood friends to lovers, to strangers to lovers again mayhaps? idk babes. Love you though, I hope your requests don't get out of hand again so you can stay stress-free!

eva i love you for sending this in, please let me talk about harry hook. he's insane and i cannot get enough of him

masterlist

You are lying on your bed in a dorm room in Auradon Prep, and if you close your eyes, you can almost convince yourself that you’re somewhere else entirely. Your roommate hung a lantern in the window, and with the glass pane cracked halfway, the light sways back and forth on the ceiling, painting shifting golden silhouettes on the perfectly painted ceiling. If you let the present world fade into the corners of your consciousness, you can pretend there are flaws in the endless pristine magnificence. You could even pretend that you aren’t on the continent at all.

No daughter of a princess should ever be anywhere but in Auradon. That’s the way it should have been, but you ran the second you got the chance and ended up amongst criminals and sons of thieves instead of with other prettily polished girls. Is it a terrible thing to admit that you miss it more than anything?

You shouldn’t, that’s the worst part. You left them willingly. As time passes, though, you’re starting to think that what you thought was one great fight with the so-called lowlifes of this world might have been the greatest time of your life. It’s like fording a raging river; while you’re in the thick of the waves, you think you might drown, but when you’re safe on the dry shore again, all you can think of is the coolness of the water, how the flood had sparkled like a thousand sapphires.

You shut your eyes and then you’re back again, just a kid, happier than you’ve ever been and twice as free. It had been easy to leave, actually, easier than it should have been. In your family, there were enough siblings and cousins and relatives that just one girl could go unnoticed. It’s not that Ariel intentionally tried to blur all of her daughters together in her memory, but it couldn’t be helped. She was one of seven daughters, and you were one of many as well. It wasn’t her fault, no, but it was your excuse anyway.

It turns out that nobody bats their eyes at a mermaid’s daughter when she’s running headlong towards the surf. You dove into the waves and came up to shore miles away. Your mother was terrified of losing any one of her children to the endless sea just as her father lost her to land, so none of you were allowed to stray that close to the beach. Of course you would see how far you could go the second you were unsupervised. Of course you would push the limits just to learn where you would break.

You ended up scaring the daylights out of a boy in a small sailing craft not far from the limits of the Isle of the Lost. You hadn’t meant to go that far, but you were giddy with the feeling of doing something wrong and he was trying to escape as well. He’d offered for you to hitch a ride with him so long as the wind was good. You thought that suited you well enough, so you took the hand he gave you and listened when he introduced himself as Harry Hook.

He said his name the same way you did, emphasis on the first name and not the last. It’s the exact opposite way any child of a prince or princess does, and you think that might have been why you liked him from the start. The sun shone overhead, and you talked to him about running away and taking to the sea and all the things you wanted to do if you just had time.

Neither of you wanted to leave, not really, but of course all good things have to come to an end at some point. You watched the sun sink lower and lower in the sky with all the dread of a doomed man going to the gallows. You must have looked seriously unhappy, because you remember Harry laughing and saying that you could meet him tomorrow, if you wanted. You wanted that more than anything, as it turned out, so you eagerly agreed.

Harry took you as far as he could towards Auradon again, and watched as you dove into the water. You can still remember how he’d watched you go, the way his eyes had tracked the water as if he could look at you forever, even after you disappeared from view. He stayed there for a long time before finally forcing his ship to turn around again. You’d know; you stayed there on the ocean floor watching him back until he was gone.

The next day, you slipped away to meet him again, and the next day, and the next. When you were caught trying to go out to the sea sometime in the second month, you fought until you could find a suitable excuse. Your mother was perfectly fine to let you go to some private school by the coast, it would mean one less child to keep track of. The papers were signed and agreements made before you could so much as blink.

You, of course, never went to that school. Instead, you showed up on Harry’s ship just like usual and told him that you wouldn’t be going back. Harry had been talking about a friend of his, Uma, and how she was forming a crew of her own larger pirate ship. You wanted in, and he couldn’t be more delighted to take you home.

You think you replayed the memory of him introducing you to Uma about a thousand times over in your head, and you’ll do it again tonight. The slats of the dock had been slippery under your feet, but you knew that so long as he was by your side, you would never once fall. Uma had looked at you questioningly, blue-green hair cascading down her shoulders, but Harry had hardly been able to tear his eyes away from you.

“This is Y/N,” he’d said, “she’s my friend.” He’d imbued the word with all the hope and grief and joy you could ever possibly attach to such an idea. Harry smiled as he said it, took your hand, let his eyes open comically wide so you’d know he was just joking when he mentioned that he’d jump overboard if Uma didn’t take you on.

Luckily for him, Uma had no problems with you. She saw something in you, the same sort of restless troublemaking spirit the rest of them had in spades. Before you knew it, you were quite literally learning the ropes of how to help out on Uma’s ship.

From there on out, everything was perfect. You watched the sun rise and set from the deck of a ship you could call home. When the weather was good, you spent all night and day out in the grasp of the world, and when the storms raged on, you hid belowdecks with the best friends you’d ever had. They wanted you, not your mother in a younger form, but you. Just you. It was wonderful.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that you would end up falling in love with Harry. You were hurtling towards that fate as fast as you could, running and sprinting towards the inevitability of it all. No one compared. No one had half as much influence over you as him. And, when he finally managed to tell you how he felt, you thought you might be able to take over the entire world with the sheer force thrumming through your veins.

Perhaps you should have taken that as a warning. The universe doesn’t care much for happy endings, you’ve learned, even for its fairytale heroes. Princesses grow old and fade into obscurity. Princes forget how to save the day. Villains live out their days with fantastic dreams that will never be achieved. You learn how to deal with adequacy, and pretend that it is enough for you.

You loved Harry because he was wild, your untamed, brilliant boy, but then you hated him for it, too. Just once, you wanted to walk into a room and know what he was going to say before he said it. Every word from his mouth was a dagger in your chest. Some days, he was a hopeless romantic, others, he was mad and uncontrollable. He never hurt you, but at least the pain of a blow would be something you could depend on and understand.

Your mother tried to find you about a year or two after you took to the sea, and you used that as your excuse to break up with him. Harry found out you would be returning to Auradon at the exact same time as the rest of the crew. You think he might hate you for it still. You think he would have reason to hate you for a lot, actually, most importantly that you were never quite enough to match him.

So you slipped away from the ship with the worst kind of goodbye, one that you did not mean, and you never looked back. You greeted your mother and agreed when she said that it was time you took up your studies at Auradon Prep. You joined the endless number of would-be princesses and princes and pretended that it was all you had ever needed in life. If you woke up sometimes with the sound of waves crashing in your ears, or felt the steady rock of a ship beneath your feet as you dreamt, you ignored it. Such illusions only belong to the past, and they will never be yours again.

You still have a jacket of his in the corner of your room; you brought it all the way over here, anywhere you go. You never had the heart to give it back. You don’t know that you could if you tried. It still smells like saltwater and laughter and sun-bleached him, and you have absolutely no idea what you will do when that familiar scent fades.

Still, you weren’t able to completely erase his influence on you. Children of villains arrived at Auradon Prep, and instead of running away from them, you befriended them as quickly as you could. Mal thinks like you do, her and the rest. You laugh like them– not quite as polite as you should be, but loud and beautiful and real. You hang out with them all the time and, when they talk about how much they wish they were back on the Isle of the Lost, you lie to yourself that you do not agree.

You never told them the full scope of your exploits, but they know part of it, enough that one day Mal knocks at your door and tells you that she needs your help on a pirate ship. She needs to get something from the Isle of the Lost, a mysterious ingredient for a spell, but they have to keep it a secret so they can’t use the bridge. The next best option, then, is to sail. It’s not a far destination, so it would work.

A thousand memories of sun and surf flash through your head, and you find yourself agreeing before Mal can so much as finish trying to convince you to go along with her plan.

Mal blinks in surprise. “Really? You’re sure? I thought you would have mixed feelings about that time in your life.”

You breathe out slowly, trying to calm yourself. “Certain things scare me more than others.” Certain people, that is.

Mal winces as she leads you out of your dorm and back into the hallway. “Actually, we might have a problem with that.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Mal casts you a nervous glance. “Before I continue, remember that you already agreed. I’m not letting you leave now.”

You laugh. “I’m starting to get worried. No, Mal, I’m not backing out. Just tell me already.”

Mal holds up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. Never doubted you for a second. It’s just, well, we don’t have a ship at our disposal, obviously, so we’re borrowing one from Uma.”

You shrug. “I have no problem with that. Uma’s great.”

“Yeah,” Mal says, drawing out her syllables in an attempt to buy herself time, “but she insisted on having a skeleton crew present. You know, to make sure we wouldn’t run aground or something like that. That includes her first mate.”

Your head snaps up. “Harry’s going to be there?”

You can feel Mal’s gaze on you, but you refuse to look at her. Instead, you’re scanning the hallway, every door you pass, sure that he’s going to be waiting for you, leaning casually against a wall or peering out of a window or somewhere you could find if you just looked hard enough.

“He is,” Mal confirms, “is that going to be an issue?”

Yes. “No, I’ll be fine.”

You can’t really tell if Mal believes you or not, but then you’re rounding the corner and the rest of the VKs are in front of you, and the conversation must be dropped as Mal explains her plan. You’re going to join the four of them and Uma’s guys in piloting the ship over to the Isle of the Lost, where you’ll search for a talisman hidden somewhere on the island. Once the talisman is secured, you’ll head back. Easy as that.

Mal leads your group to a boathouse on the southern part of the shore. You take up a position in a corner of the room, hidden by the shadows. You suppose that’s why the pirates don’t see you immediately when they come in a matter of minutes later. You suppose you chose that place on purpose so you could get a good look at Harry without him seeing you.

He looks just the same. You don’t know why you thought he would change, that he would have to look different to explain how different you feel, but he’s the same. It makes a soft smile rise to your lips at the same time as the weight of all your memories pierces you through the heart.

Uma’s talking to Mal, doubt lacing her every word. “I hope you have a good idea of how to run a ship, because I don’t think any of your friends have the slightest clue what to do on the sea. That’s my territory, in case you forgot.”

“I know,” Mal says, temper just as strong as always, “that’s why I brought a friend.”

Harry arches a brow. “What friend?”

“That would be me,” you say, and step out of the shadows to face him.

For a moment, you swear that time stands still. Harry’s breath catches in his chest as he looks at you for the first time in months. He has never been one to show off weakness, always laughing off injury or claiming not to feel pain, but in this instant, you can see the shock lancing through his eyes, wracking his frame until he has no choice but to stand there and stare.

Uma breaks the silence, wrapping an arm around your shoulders with a grin. “Y/N, good to see you! I take it back, Mal. Y/N could captain a fleet of ships with her eyes closed.”

It’s easy, after that, to pull yourself together. Uma’s friendship is something familiar, a rock you can stand on. “I appreciate your confidence,” you reply, “good to see you too, by the way.”

“Of course,” Uma says dismissively, then adds somewhat unnecessarily, “Hey, Harry, look who it is!”

Harry swallows hard when Uma addresses him, tries to pretend he’s just like normal. “Yeah, I saw. Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey yourself,” you say quietly.

Evie looks at you nervously, then quickly speaks up. “So, should we get to the ship? We only have so much time before people start looking for us.”

Uma rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you guys are too popular, I get it. Ship’s docked outside.”

Harry takes this as his excuse to bolt out, and you watch him go with wide eyes. Evie heads over to you as soon as everyone’s attention is off you again. “Hey, is everything alright?”

“Perfectly fine,” you whisper back through gritted teeth. Of course it is a lie. You couldn’t be more affected by this.

You avoid Harry the entire duration of the trip over to the Isle of the Lost. It’s difficult, especially when you push off from the shore and the wind is on your face again and everything is just like you remember. You tug a few lines into place, tie them down with the knots he taught you, and race to the bow as soon as you’re free.

You forgot just how wonderful it is to sail. You laugh delightedly as the ship picks up speed, skipping over the waves as the wind snaps the sails almost to bursting. This close to the surface of the water, you can’t hear anything, but you sense something anyway, and that’s how you know to lean back up and look to your side to see Harry standing there, smiling as he takes in the sight of you.

Your laugh dries up in a moment and you feel frozen there, trapped in this moment with him. Someone calls your name a second later and you’re able to spirit away to safety, but you can still feel his gaze burning like a brand into your back every moment until the ship docks at the Isle.

Mal announces that you’ll be splitting up in pairs so you can properly canvas the island for the talisman. Before you can look at her or Evie, Uma suggests that you and Harry work together, and the rest are already partitioned into pairs before you can fight it.

Fine, then. You’re certain he’s put her up to this, but you won’t give him a scene if he wants it. Instead, you march resolutely towards your assigned location, and pretend that you’re just really invested in finding the talisman so you can’t hear him when he tries to talk to you.

Eventually, Harry has enough and puts his hand on your arm, trying to get your attention. You spin back around by reflex, dagger in hand and held to his throat before Harry can get so much of a word out. The Isle has always brought out a different part of you, more of a villain than any princess’ daughter.

Instead of looking afraid, Harry just laughs. Usually, this is the time at which you’d join in, but you narrow your eyes and hold strong.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he says when he’s finally able to get his laughter under control, “I don’t think your friends would like it very much if you killed someone on your little vacation to the island.”

You glare at him. “We’re not friends anymore, sweetheart, or have you forgotten that already?”

“When your knife is to my throat? Couldn’t forget that if I tried. Out of curiosity, why are we enemies again? I seem to remember you liking me very well just a couple of months ago.” Harry says, reaching up to tap your forearm where you still hold your blade.

You pull your dagger away but stand there still, thrumming with the urge to run. “We’re too different. You’re a villain, and I’m a perfect angel, obviously.”

Harry grins. “What, just because you’re the daughter of a princess? You’ve never let that come in between us before. You’re not Ariel, you’re Y/N, and I have always loved that about you.” Something like doubt flickers across his face. “Is that why you left? You thought you had to become more like her?”

You glance away from him, suddenly unable to look him in the eyes. “I left because I had to. We weren’t working out.”

“Why not?” Harry asks, and suddenly he’s the one in control now, he’s the one stepping forward until your back hits the wall and you have nowhere to run, “What was so wrong with us, Y/N?”

Your hands are shaking. Harry takes the knife from you, carefully sliding it back in the holster on your side. His hands linger there a second longer, and when he finally takes them away, you can’t tell if you’re glad of it or deeply unhappy that you can no longer feel him.

“We could never work,” you insist.

“Why not?” He replies, “Show me we could never work. Prove me wrong.”

Harry Hook has always been somewhat of an enigma to you, just as unpredictable as the sea that both of you love, but somehow you know it’s coming when Harry leans forward and kisses you. For a moment, you consider pushing him away, and then you realize that you do not hate this, not him, not in the slightest, not at all.

Surrender is not the worst thing in the world. Sometimes it’s like the release of a sail to the wind, the acceptance that even though you let a person go, they will always come back to you. You surrender the last of your inhibitions and you kiss him back. It is everything you missed, the fighting and the laughing, the good times and the bad all in one. It is all that you love about him and more, what you didn’t realize you held most dear until you were gone.

Harry breathes quietly against your lips and you breathe back, one small circle of in and out and together. He grins, says, was that really so bad? And you laugh and tell him to shut up, so he does, but only by kissing you again. The island can wait, the talisman and the life waiting back for you at school. You have your boy back, and you could not care about anything else.

requested by @thatfangirl42, i hope you enjoy!

disney tag list: @rogueanschel, @lovesanimals0000, @/thatfangirl42, @amortensie

[peterparkersnose]

Two Ghosts

pairing: kylo ren x queen!reader 

word count: 2.6k

warnings: neglect, arranged marriage, dislike of s/o, reader has children, descriptions of periods, domestic abuse, old values (women are dainty bullshit), guys kylo isn’t nice remember that, fertility issues, stopping of a period due to stress, reader lives for her children basically, reader obviously has anxiety, reader is basically breaded for heirs, kylo is awkward (the dude doesn’t have social skills. at all. whatsoever), even though he still has some rizz (call him kylo rizz if you would), a good ending? idk guys remember kylo just isn’t a great person and the first order isn’t a good organization too

a/n a long warning list 😬. anyways i never get notes on kylo fics but i simply do not care. i love writing new content for this man. he deserves it all.

summary Kylo tries being the husband Y/N always wanted him to be

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read time: 9 mins 40 seconds

Watching you felt almost wrong. The neglect he’s given you through the years- the pain you’ve felt and him not caring about you for as long as he’s known you.

He didn’t deserve to watch this beautiful sight of his family, the family he didn’t even want. The family he wasn’t even apart of. You two were an arranged marriage, married for political reasons. He needed an heir, your father needed peace on your home planet. You and your children had always been a nuisance to him. 

You had given up on the romantic attempts years ago. But something in this sight, something about you right then made him sick. Something made him click taking in this view from the balcony on the hill.

For weeks he had longing feelings of sadness. He hated admitting it and rejected it as much as he could, but light was seeping into the cracks. His moods began to lighten softly, not enough for you to notice but enough to scare him. Now looking down and feeling this, it was just a confirmation of what was really happening to him.

The sun shown down on your beautiful yellow dress that was layed out on the grass. Your hair was up in intricate braids due to the heat on Naboo, the tiny loose strands were swaying in the wind. The field you sat in was just off a short cliff, the beautiful rural city and coast were just feet away. The perfect escape between the busy city and the old city. The mansion sat atop the hill, separating the two separate terrains. You were on a vacation and had begged him to come for the sake of his children.

Your oldest son ran around you in circles, playing with a TIE one of his father’s assistants bought him for Christmas. Kylo couldn’t be bothered to celebrate, let alone give gifts. Henry was just shy of his sixth birthday. His blonde hair was messy and in need of a cut sometime soon. His gray tunic and black pants matched his father’s aesthetic a little too much for your liking. Running around, he made engine sounds as the ship would like a typical 5 year old.

Your youngest daughter sat in front if you, playing with some wildflowers she had plucked into an array of ‘jewlery’. She was three. Unlike her brother, she had beautiful strong brown hair. Unbeknownst to you, it completely mirrored her grandmothers. You had her hair in your hands, coming through it with your fingers trying to decide what design to attempt today. Amala squirmed as she attempted to join her brother, but you kept her in place in your lap. She was to learn to be a lady as you were. Her dark pink dress was spread out in front of her.

Kylo watched you as the pit in his stomach felt odd. It had always been empty, but this time something ached inside of it. He had never had any interest in you. The times you ever had sex were intended and resulted in children, exactly what he needed. He cared more about Henry than Amala. Henry was the oldest and the heir to the First Order. But work called. He was never a family man, he was never meant to be a family man.

These feelings continued to conflict him throughout the night.

As the sun set you came in with the children. The nannies took them upstairs and readied them for bed. You took your place at the long dinner table. On the opposite side sat your husband- legally.

Over the years you obviously lusted for other men. You didn’t even dare act on your thoughts, or barely thought the thoughts at all. You knew Kylo would have their heads within seconds. With an absent husband emotionally and physically it was hard. In the first few years of your marriage, you struggled with fertility problems. Life was so lonely without the children. He grew angrier and angrier with you each time you got your cycle and your anxiety got so bad that it soon stopped. Your doctor moved you to separate chambers and eventually Henry was conceived after years of trying.

You felt like a failure before your son was born.

After copious amounts of treatment during your pregnancy, Henry was born. And then a while after that Supreme Leader Snoke granted you permission to have another. An heir and a spare.

You and Kylo sat silently eating your dinner. Over the years, you had perfected your etiquette. No slurping your wine, no scratching of the fork on the plate. At dinner you would mostly go over your thoughts from the day. The tuition papers you had to sign for Henry’s first school next year. Amala refusing to listen to her nanny and requesting her mommy really warmed your heart. The beautiful memory of that day you had spent with the children. The fact that you were doing it alone and was so good at it.

He listened to your thoughts. You knew he did. No datapad, no work bot giving him constant coded updates you didn’t understand. Tonight it was just the two of you. Two strangers eating dinner together. The show, the facade had to go on. Media wise you two were the loveliest couple in the galaxy. In reality, you spoke maybe once a week.

“R-80!” you called from the dining room. Kylo’s head shot up from his plate of food to see you waiting on the cleaner droid. You had finished the meal and was waiting to leave this awkward encounter.

The droid came around and you began to exit the room. His hand deliberately reached out for yours as you walked past him to get to the door.

A tiny gasp escaped your lips. You stopped and pulled your hand back, a concerned look was on display.

You were begging in your mind for this to had been an accident.

“It was no accident,” he said strongly. His deep voice boomed through your ears. You forgot how powerful it could be sometimes.

For the first time in years Kylo was feeling anxiety. Over something so minuscule, speaking to his wife. His eyes met and darted over your face. He recognized the braid pattern in your hair. You had worn it on your wedding day. Rarely he had seen it on you, depending if he even noticed you on the daily. His eyes were drawn to your dark lipstick on the lips that were slightly pursed.

“Your hair-” he said. Your eyes flicked up to the window, looking for any sign of a reflection.

Did he hate it, was he about to tell you to never wear it again? Was a strand so obviously out of place? Hell, why was he even speaking to you in the first place?

“It’s how it was on our wedding day, if I remember correctly.”

You nodded your head. Heat rose to your cheeks. This is the longest conversation you two have had in months.

He stared into your eyes. He forgot just how beautiful you really were. They were still the same as always, but this time with a few unnoticeable lines around them. You refused to meet his gaze, staring forward at the distorted mirroring of the room in the window.

Ten years in with two kids, you had managed to keep up with yourself and your appearances. For what, you really weren’t sure anymore.

“May I be excused? I would like to go check on the children.” you asked, avoiding his eye contact.

“Yes, one moment.” he said, his hand reaching out for yours. You hesitantly took it.

Kylo took a deep breath. Even though he seemed calm and composed, inside of his head the red alarm was going off. The urge to even ask you this went against everything he believed in. The twist in his stomach snapped. He gave in to the light feelings, begging for more after how good he felt after asking you a simple question.

“May I sleep with you in your chambers tonight?”

Your brows furrowed. “D-did you talk to the Supreme Leader? Did he give you permission for another?” you asked him, worried. You loved your children but you had no say in having them. The Supreme Leader could make you give birth to an army if he willed.

“No, no. This isn’t about sex.” he assured you. Of course you assumed it was about sex. It was the only time he ever really spoke to you. A slight relief flew off your shoulders.

You sighed, taking your hand from his. “I’m going to check on the children.”

Your heels clicked down the empty hallway. Something in you secretly hoped that he would follow you to see the children, but you knew your husband.

You were baffled in his sudden change of heart. He hadn’t shared a bed with you since- well, since Amala was conceived. You didn’t deny his request, but neither confirmed it.

Your thoughts kept you company as you walked down the many corridors and hallways of the mansion.

The large door was cracked, left like that by the nannies. They knew your routine better than anyone else. Amala was sleeping closest to the door. The canopy above her bed was swaying from the wind of the open window. Henry was laying on his stomach in a deep sleep, his limbs all sprawled out over the large bed.

A smile rose to your face as you quietly closed the door. Your heart was full once again. No more doubt plagued the poor, confused thing from dinner.

You made your way to your chambers. You passed what you knew was Kylo’s. Shockingly, the door was open. You caught a glimpse of him working at his desk. He looked too large for the thing, trumping the tiny chair in size. The patio was open and the moonlight rushed in, lighting his room ominously.

He caught a glimpse of your flowing yellow dress passing his room. He wanted to finish up a few papers before bed, but in his heart he knew he had to neglect his work for one night.

He mustered up enough courage to knock on your door. A sweet “Coming!” came from inside. Within seconds, your door was open and he was met with your fresh face. You had changed into your night robes and had your natural hair down on your shoulders. The bathroom light was on and he noticed the fresh mint scent coming from your breathe.

Your night maids hadn’t been around yet, he presumed.

Something in your look, your energy died a bit when you saw him.

How had he never noticed? How could all these feelings, these guilt trips be plaguing him now, suddenly? What changed?

“We’re you hoping for a maid?” he asked, following you into the large room. He locked the door behind him.

You sat down back at your vanity, pulling your brush out of the drawer.

“No.” you replied. He knew you were lying.

The bed creaked as Kylo sat down. His dark grey dress pants were perfectly ironed and didn’t crease at the contact. He itched at his black turtleneck, swiping the cuff with his finger. He could hear his watch ticking from his wrist. The room was cold.

“May I ask why you wanted to be here?” you asked, a certain confidence in your voice had occurred. Turning now to face him, you finished brushing your hair and placed your hairbrush back in the drawer.

“Honestly darling, I’m really not sure.”

Darling?

If you weren’t so poised your jaw would have been on the floor.

“Today I saw a sight. You with the kids in the field.”

“Oh Kylo, there children. There’s nothing wrong with them playing in a field if this is what this is about-”

“No. I-”

Kylo Ren had never felt himself speechless before, yet again choking up at the sight of his family he used to despise.

Your tucked your chair back into your vanity. Now standing infront of the cowardly man, you waited for his response.

His hand cradled his forehead as he stared at the floor, watching your perfectly manicured feet come into frame.

That’s when he let his first sob out in years. You quickly embraced him in your arms, his forehead finding a resting place against your stomach. Your hands sprawled over his back in a cautious way. Peeking over ever so slightly, you checked if he had his lightsaber on his belt. Thank the gods he didn’t, you were afraid he would cut you into two.

Nobody had ever seen Kylo Ren cry.

“I don’t understand what you are getting at.” you whispered to him. Another sob came out, you began to rub his back.

“I-I am such a fool.” he managed to speak. His eyes looked up into yours, finally making contact for the first time in forever.

The look on your face was baffled.

“What have I been doing? I have a family- a wife? So much neglect, so much hate. How are you still here, my dear? How have I not driven you away, or driven you to worse? I-I have two children. Two beautiful children I don’t know and such a beautiful wife that I’m strangers with. So many years wasted. How did it take me ten years to see this? How did one small instance make my life come crumbling down around me?” he asked, bawling out his words.

You were speechless.

“I want to learn- please. How do I have such an amazing person with me and I don’t know the slightest thing about her? Tell me, w-what’s your middle name?” he went on, now holding you by the hips and eagerly speaking.

And that’s when it really hit you. You two were strangers.

“Amala,” you muttered out. “Oh! T-that makes so much sense—in our daughter. Her name,”

“What are there names, please tell me.” he seemed to beg.

“Henry Cornelius Benjaq Ren, Amala Charress Bryneri Ren.” you answered, a smile emerging on your lips.

Was this too good to be true?

Kylo was stunned of Henry’s middle name. Benjaq. There was no way you knew of his real name. The coincidence hurt him even more.

“Cornelius and Charress…” he pondered. “They sound so familiar are they…”

“My parents.” you answered him. “King Cornelius! How could I forget? Oh Y/N. I have neglected you for so long. How could you ever forgive me?”

His voice sounded genuine. “It’s definitely going to take time.” you sighed. Suddenly the years of loneliness and suffering flashed back in your mind. You broke away from his embrace and walked to the open balcony, giving him an invitation to follow.

“I will try. Please Y/N, let me.” he begged, following you outside.

The warm air brushed against your cool skin. You sighed, wishing you would wake up from this nightmare and your husband would be back. Did someone poison his food?

The yearning for anyone’s touch seeped into your mind. Watching all the other royal couples around the galaxy, they all seemed to love eachother. Hands touching almost constantly, sneaking a kiss or two at events. It was rare that you even got a photo with Kylo at the parties you would attend.

“I know,” he sighed, taking your hands into his. “I wish I could make it all go away.” he said with remorse.

The waves crashed against the sand. The wind was beginning to pick up. Your hair began to sway in the slight breeze. “Make it then,” you whispered, grazing a hand against his cheek. You dared giving him any sign of affection. You were half expecting him to pull his lightsaber out and cut you in half, just as you thought before. Something felt so wrong, but so right.

You kissed your husband for the first time since your wedding day. His lips were slightly chapped and you could taste the negroni he was drinking at dinner. The moon show down on the both of you, and the feeling he felt seemed to pass on to you. Force sensitive or not, the force was in your favor tonight. You felt the remorse and the pain he had been harboring for years. All the sleepless nights over work and heartache over his past life. You seemed to dilute all of that inside of him. You were the missing piece he was looking for all along. The thing he wanted the least was now his prized possession; his wife, the mother of his children, his Queen, his Empress.

All of that love came back. The feeling of when he was a little boy and still had light into him entered his heart once again. Ben Solo seeped through the cracks of his dark, broken heart.

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @mandoloriancookie @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean @avengersfan25 @nyotamalfoy @milly-louise​ 

[cupidddd-d]

hi! I was wondering if you could write something about a shy remus noticing he developed feelings for slytherin!reader (she's in their friend group) after they come back from summer break? she always sat next to him and was kind and lowkey feels the same towards him but he's just an insecure lil guy

i'm on it bro 🫡 idk if it's a little more angsty than you'd want but yeah i hope it's how you imagined it !

cupid's chokehold

what was it about you that made his heart beat so quickly? why did the very thought of you dilate his pupils to the point that they swallowed up the usual honey color of his eyes?

was it the way that your slytherin tie complimented your skin so well? you never judged him for being a werewolf the way your housemates surely would.

he loved the way you would sit next to him during meals, the way you'd casually press your shoulders against his. you'd lean into him as if it meant nothing to you, but it meant everything to him.

you would express affection with him so nonchalantly, playing with his hair and interlocking your arms with his. even the slightest touch would cause his heart to leap up into his throat.

"how was your summer, rem? i didn't hear from you at all. i was worried, y'know." you nudged him, looking up at him with that affectionate gaze he loved so much.

oh. oh. he loved you.

"i was busy with babysitting my younger cousins, sorry. i didn't have time to respond to your letters-- i was too tired from dealing with those kids all day." the lie sounded fake even to his own ears, but he hoped that you'd believe it.

your eyes flickered for a moment, your smile faltering before you quickly fixed your expression. "i know you're lying, but i'm sure you have your reasons. just let me know if you ever need to talk, okay? i'm here for you."

what else was he supposed to say? that he was trying so hard to deny his feelings for you he avoided you all summer? that he wanted to prove to himself that this was just a phase, and that the next school year he could be friends with you? just friends? nothing more, nothing less?

the very thought of that stung like salt on a fresh wound, but as long as you were in his life, he didn't care how. he didn't even care if you would one day grow to hate him. no matter what words spilled from your pretty lips, as long as they were directed at him, as long as your attention was faced towards him, his longing for you would be satiated.

but it didn't work that way at all. every waking moment, you had consumed his thoughts. he would smell your perfume in the wind and turn around, only to see no one there.

he had never met anyone who had bewitched him in such a way, made him feel so yearning. he would ask you out one day, once he was sure you felt the same.

but until then, he'd stand behind you like a loyal dog, content to stare at your back.

[demonslayerunhinged]

Unhinged yap/headcanon

What happened after?

In the context of SaneGiyuu, Sanemi's inferiority complex is really sad because as he's feelings for Giyuu develop and get stronger, there'll probably be that voice at the back of his head that says Giyuu wouldn't want to date someone like him.

Giyuu calling him beautiful must have hit him like a bus. He's used to people being afraid of him, calling him ugly or scary, so to have someone not only think he's worthy of attention but to call him beautiful???

Well....

Giyuu on the other hand struggles with his own esteem as well. He has to deal with depression over losing his sister and Sabito, his first love then, his imposter syndrome thinking that he's not worthy of being the water Hashira.

In his mind, he thinks that the second strongest Hashira wouldn't really think much of a guy like him. Sanemi is cool and badass, he says what's on his mind and isn't afraid of nobody, and Giyuu wishes he could be like that.

...

Giyuu wasn't sure what to think of the wind Hashira at first. They were tasked on a mission together along with a small group of junior slayers. Even though Sanemi had piqued his interest at his introductory meeting in the Master's mansion, right now he was much more focused on just getting the job done and going home.

The demons turned out to be a lot more than they initially thought and Giyuu was unsure that he would be able to fight and keep the junior slayers safe, but as he's cutting them down, he sees Sanemi rushing towards the hoard with a wide smile on his face.

"Come on! I'll take all of you bastards!"

Wind breathing, fourth form: Rising Dust Storm

This leaves the demons in shreds, drenching Sanemi in a shower of blood and guts.

Giyuu dealt with the rest of the hoard, and after he decapitated the last demon, Sanemi came up to him, his katana resting lazily on his shoulder. He had his usual grumpy look, but he said

"You're strong, that's good"

He then turned abruptly and went to check up on the civilians.

Giyuu stared after him for a minute before going to check in on the junior slayers and the civilians. Throughout the time, Sanemi's words were still ringing in his head.

You're strong, that's good

You're strong

They didn't go on any more missions after that, as their status as Hashira meant their had to head separate teams of juniors on missions. Giyuu tried to forget about Sanemi and his words since that day, but he couldn't.

Not seeing each other was good because it meant Giyuu was able to put away his feelings, he didn't know what to make of them. Why had the words stuck to him? What had his feelings meant?

At the next Hashira meeting, he watched as Sanemi sidled beside Rengoku with Obanai on his right, for a brief moment they locked eyes, and then Giyuu knew. He knew, he knew, he knew, he knew.

...

(This is the night after Giyuu called Sanemi beautiful. Muzan's visit to the Ubuyashiki mansion was delayed because his dry-cleaning got lost in the mail, idk)

Giyuu sat on the edge of the well, lost in thought, when he felt a slight rush of wind. He didn't have to look to know who it was on the other side of the well.

There was a brief moment of silence between them, Giyuu was the first to speak, he made an attempt to apologize

"Shinazugawa...I-"

"Did you mean what you said?" Sanemi's voice was gruff, but his words were a soft whisper.

His first instinct was to lie, but honestly he was exhausted. What did he have to lose?

"Yes"

There was silence again. This one stretched for so long, Giyuu for a silly moment thought that Sanemi had fallen asleep.

Then he heard the crunch of gravel as Sanemi stood up straight.

"The final set of trainees left for Gyomei's mansion this afternoon" he whispered

Giyuu eyebrows furrowed in confusion, he turned to the other side of the well. Sanemi's back was to him, Giyuu wanted to ask why he told him this but was cut off as Sanemi continued.

"The next set would be coming in tomorrow morning"

Then he was gone, leaving Giyuu in a state of confusion. What had Sanemi meant by that? What was he trying to say? He pondered for a moment, then a soft, sharp gasp left his lips as his eyes widened in realization.

Giyuu knew. He knew, he knew, he knew, he knew.

[himasgod]

Tartaglia x Reader

(Maybe angst? idk as canon as i could. 0.8k words)

Where even though you know that Tartaglia only brings pain and chaos, you always go back to him, and he always comes back to you.

Tartaglia was a storm that never stopped. The cold of Snezhnaya enveloped him, but his presence always radiated warmth, an intensity that you couldn’t shake from your mind. At his side, the shadows seemed darker and the wind sharper. And yet, you always came back. There was something about him that drew you, like the inevitable pull of an abyss you knew you couldn’t escape.

At first, you thought it was all an adventure. Every mission with him, every battle shared, was a story to tell, a stolen moment amidst the chaos that followed him everywhere. Tartaglia always looked at you with that carefree smile, as if the entire world was nothing more than a game to him, a distraction. But behind that cheerful facade, there was something darker, something that made you uneasy, even if you never mentioned it.

“I told you that you didn’t have to come,” he said, his voice filled with that carefree confidence that so frustrated you.

“And I told you I won’t stay behind,” you replied, with more force than you felt.

Every time you fought beside him, you could feel the weight of his actions. For Tartaglia, battle wasn’t a means to an end, but the end itself. There was something almost beautiful in the way he fought, with a lethal precision that left you breathless. But behind every blow, every calculated move, you could feel it.

That emptiness he never mentioned, but that was always present.

There were nights when you found him alone, sitting in silence, his gaze lost in nothingness. In those moments, Tartaglia wasn’t the unstoppable warrior of The Harbinger, but just a young man trapped in a cycle of violence he couldn’t break.

“Do you ever wonder if all this is worth it?” you asked him one night, when the darkness and cold seemed to devour the outside world. He looked at you, surprised by your question.

“It’s not a question of if it’s worth it,” he replied after a long silence, his voice softer than usual. “It’s who I am. There’s no other option for me.”

You knew he meant it. Tartaglia saw no other life outside of chaos. To him, battle was the only real thing. And sometimes, you wondered if you were real to him too, or if you were just another part of the conflict he so longed for.

There were days when you would walk away, trying to distance yourself from him, from that storm that always threatened to sweep you away. But, in the end, you always came back. Something in his gaze, in those moments of vulnerability that only you could see, kept you tied to him. Tartaglia never spoke of his past, never told you about the abyss that had shaped his soul, but you could feel it in every unspoken word, in every broken smile.

One day, as you walked together on the ice, in one of those rare moments of peace, he spoke first.

“You know, sometimes I think this life… all of this, doesn’t have an end. It just goes on and on. I fight, I win, and then I fight again. But with you…” Tartaglia paused, as if he was searching for the words he had never said before. “With you, I wonder if there could be something more. Something beyond war.”

Your heart stopped. You didn’t know what to answer, because even though those words gave you hope, they also filled you with fear. Tartaglia was a lone wolf, someone who couldn’t escape the chaos around him, and as much as you wanted to, you knew you couldn’t save him from himself.

“What if there was no war?” you asked him, wanting to hold on to that small possibility.

“Then I wouldn’t be me,” he replied, his smile bitter like the ice beneath his feet.

The silence that followed was painful, because you both knew the truth. Tartaglia would never stop being what he was. And even though his feelings for you were real, they would always be tainted by that endless struggle he lived in.

There was no happy ending for him, or for you. Only an eternal cycle of battles and desolation.

And yet, on that freezing night, you reached out to him, placing your hand in his. Because even though you knew the storm would never calm, even though you knew Tartaglia would always be Tartaglia, you couldn’t leave him alone in his fight.

“Then I will be with you, wherever that takes you,” you whispered, heartbroken but determined.

Tartaglia looked at you, surprised by the sincerity of your words, and for the first time in a long time, you saw something resembling peace in his eyes.

But you both knew that peace was as fleeting as the warmth in the frigid air of Snezhnaya.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[bettyfrommars]

Might be too much in line with I'm on fire.. but what about classic a classic motorcycle riding drifter.. that is more than meets the eye... maybe more monster than man and that's why he drifts... idk if that's enough maybe he's drifted into small town USA and he meets reader at like a Truckstop/ Diner that's across from the one hotel in town and over days of her waiting on him (EDS) they strike something up... spicy.. if you will.. maybe he finds her delectable and she finds him mysterious & charming idk just spit ballin

The Drifter

missed connections

out on the highway

blurb 1 blurb 2

monster!drifter!Eddie x dinerWaitress!Reader

18+ONLY, smut, blood, oral (f receiving), mention of drug and alcohol addiction, mention of physical abuse by an ex, mention of PTSD, emotional trauma, 2 lost souls finding each other, a killing, monsterfuqqing, but it’s also a really sweet, fluffy story if that makes sense. wc: 4.2

A/N: I was so excited to get this ask! I had to really pull back on the length of this story because I could've kept writing it forever and will most likely bring back Eddie The Drifter again in some oneshots. I did a quick re-read, but sometimes I just need to post these before I obsess over them for too long.

(Also, when Eddie is thinking about how "damaged" they both are, that is his perception, not mine. I think they are both perfect.)

Eddie had been drifting for a while.  He didn’t want to know anyone, and he didn’t want anyone to know him.  He hadn't been the same since the physical and emotional trauma he’d suffered in The Upside Down.  Steve took him by the arm once and told him he understood what he was going through—that they all understood—and that he wasn’t alone.  Eddie knew Steve and the rest meant well, but they couldn’t understand, and he was convinced no one ever would. Trauma affects everyone differently and for Eddie, it started to turn him into his father, and that was what scared him more than anything.  Dark and brooding with a short fuse, there was a beast living inside of him that had not been there before the ordeal with Vecna; or perhaps, it had just been sleeping.  

He lost his temper with Dustin once, and at the time, he thought he was having a very normal reaction to the situation.  It wasn’t until he recognized the fear in his younger friend’s eyes–the way he backed away from Eddie and put his hands up as if he needed to protect himself—that Eddie knew he had to go.  After years of silent struggle and becoming a hermit more and more, he decided to hit the road.  

He started out in his van, sleeping in it, getting odd jobs wherever he went, staying in town just long enough to make some money, and then he was in the wind again.  He called Wayne from payphones and sent postcards back home to Hawkins once in a while, but not often.  In his mind, they were better off without him.

The second year he was on the road, he ended up getting involved with a biker gang and doing some jobs for them that paid well but were on the wrong side of the law.  Before the Upside Down, he’d been more of a lover than a fighter.  Sure, he had to defend himself a few times, especially from his old man, and he never took shit from people without giving it back, but ever since he almost died, he’d acquired some type of superhuman strength.  There was a transformation that happened in him now, fueled by the adrenaline of his rage, and in the past decade, he’d been paid to hurt more people than he could count. The problem was—he’d started to like it. 

Eventually, he was able to trade in his van for a Harley FXS 80, and he carried most of his early possessions with him.  He put the rest of what he owned in a storage unit in Oregon, and he’d planned to circle back there again one of these days to get it all when he decided to settle down—but years later, he was still on the road.   He’d been using his bedroll to sleep out under the stars the past couple nights, but the clouds told him it was about to rain, and he decided he could use a shower and a real bed for the night.

Red River Junction was less than a dot on a map, a truck stop town with a place to eat, a place to sleep, and a place to pump your gas, set right plop in the middle of nowhere.  You’d grown up in a town not too far down the highway, and you were still there, in the same trailer your mother left to you when she passed.  You worked at both the Sundown Motel part-time, and at Margie’s Diner, and in your free time, you dreamed about leaving town and never coming back.  

You heard the rumble of his motorcycle before you saw it; chrome pipes growling to a stop as the rider found a place for his bike in the lot.  A motorcycle, or even an entire MC, pulling into the junction was nothing new.  You were the only stop for gas and food for a good fifty miles.

You were staring for so long out the window as he dismounted and took his helmet off, that you overflowed the coffee cup you were refilling and the elderly customer scoffed at you.  He had long, curly hair tied back in a ponytail and bangs that had grown out just long enough to tuck behind his ears.  Black leather jacket, and leather chaps over his jeans. Your attention was immediately drawn to his jewelry: the small hoop piercing in his ear and the chunky rings across his knuckles.  My Boyfriend’s Back by The Angels played softly from the jukebox while you made your way to the front to greet him.  The kitchen was slammed with only Big Joe behind the grill, and Leslie was the only other waitress, but she was on a smoke break.  

You fumbled the big plastic menu in your hand when he took his sunglasses off to nail you with those star-flecked eyes.  “Just one for lunch?”

He tucked his sunglasses into the front of his shirt and looked around.  “You still serving breakfast?”

“All day long,” you assured him.  Seats at the counter were all full, so  you offered him a booth, and he slid in without another word or glance in your direction, taking the menu from you with a grunt. You tried not to stare at his scars: the angry, purple one on his neck, and the deep white slash across his chin.  His hands were also flecked with scar tissue from various fights, and punching through mirrors every time he hated his own reflection.

50 year old Leslie was tying her apron and chewing gum when you moved behind her to grab a cup and saucer for his coffee.  “Another grumpy one,” you whispered over the sound of clinking silverware and scattered conversations.  

Leslie raised her eyebrow a few times, resting her elbow on the counter.  “Hell, he can get grumpy with me any day.”

Eddie didn’t say much while you waited on him, and you didn’t think he was paying any attention to you, but he saw the way you splashed a bit of vodka into your soda can behind the counter.  He also caught the way you used that same liquid to toss back a couple pills you scooped out of your apron pocket just before you turned to grab some hot plates from the kitchen hatch.  He didn’t judge you for it or think it was odd being that he’d spent the past ten years trying to find ways to dull his pain.  

He thought you were too beautiful for this deadbeat town; too sweet, too kind.  He noticed the bruise on your forearm and the vacancy in your eyes and he felt an instant kinship with you: the damaged recognizing the damaged.  

When you came to clear his empty plate, he asked you if the Sundown Motel was a decent place to stay.  It was the only motel for miles and he didn’t care how decent it was, he just wanted a reason to keep talking to you.

“Sure, it’s great,” you shrugged.  “If you like bedbugs and carpets that look like a violent crime took place recently.”

He met your eyes, and there was a moment of levity there that lightened both of your spirits if only for that moment.  

“I’m cool with bedbugs,” he brushed his tongue between his lips.  “It gets lonely on the road, it’s nice to have some company.”

He told you his name was Eddie after he read yours off of your name tag, and when you came back from seating a table full of seniors who were on a bus tour to the casino, he was gone.

He left you a generous tip, though, and after hours of getting tipped in quarters and loose change, it felt good to have some solid cash in your pocket.  His motorcycle was gone too, and you wondered if he’d decided to hit the road or stay the night.  

You told yourself to forget about him, that he was just another drifter you’d never see again, but the evening had other plans for you.  

You were supposed to have the night off from both jobs, but Susan at the front desk of the motel begged you to come down and work the check-in desk for an hour while she went to pick her kid up.  You wished you could say you had some big plans, but that was absolutely not the case, and so you rolled your car up to the back lot behind the dumpsters and changed out of your orthopedic shoes and into something less drab.  

You thought it would be an easy hour to space off and read a book, but ten minutes after you clocked in, two guests locked themselves out of their room.  It was a two-tier motel, and as you made your way up the concrete steps with the husband and wife in question behind you, fumbling with the keys, you caught sight of Eddie a few rooms down, and your heart jumped into your throat.

He was sitting in the plastic chair in front of the door to his room, smoking a cigarette, stripped down to jeans and a wife-beater.  His hair was still wet from his shower, hanging down his shoulders, showcasing the patchwork of scars that covered his flesh.  

He didn’t make eye contact, but he saw you. In fact, he knew you were on your way a few minutes before that, because he heard your voice, and it made him stay and light another smoke.   He flicked his ash and waited for you to let the couple into their room.  

On your way back to the stairs, the soda and snack machine blocked your view, but once you rounded the corner, there he was again.  

“Is your room satisfactory, sir?” You put the keys in your pocket and stood tall, pretending to act professional.  

Eddie met your eyes then, staring up through his lashes, and one side of his mouth lifted in a smirk.  “Disappointed I haven’t found any bedbugs.”

You coughed a laugh, swaying on your feet.  “Give it time. They come out at dark.”

Eddie didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he’d also learned never to miss an opportunity with how transient his life was.  His attraction to you was not purely physical, which was a rare occurrence for him. 

He shifted in his seat, a silky curl of gray smoke passing from his lips.  “Are you free later tonight? Can I buy you dinner?”  

Suddenly shy and baffled as to why he’d have any interest, you lowered your chin and shuffled your foot. 

 “I-I’ve got a boyfriend,” you cringed as you said it.  Tony had cheated on you and left you more times than you could count.  He took off a couple days ago after he knocked you around, and you had no idea where he was, but you continued to hold onto this strange sense of loyalty for him.  Perhaps it was because you were convinced he was the best you could do.  

“Did the tough guy do that to your arm?” Eddie asked in a low mumble, his eyes lingering on your bruises.

You covered the marks with your other hand, reflexively.  “He’s been under a lot of stress lately,” you always felt like such an idiot when you defended that loser, but you didn’t know how to stop.  

“Well,” Eddie smashed the butt in the ashtray by his chair and stood up to full height. One nipple under his white tank was hard, but the other one seemed to be missing.  “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

You were too stupefied to move, you just stood there holding your arm, waiting for him to go back into his room.

But Eddie paused in the doorway and turned to give you one last look.  “You deserve a lot better, sweetheart. If he puts his hands on you while I’m around, I’ll fucking kill him.”

—------

You thought about Eddie’s words for the rest of your shift.  When it was over, you drove the ten miles back to your trailer, took a shower, and found yourself driving back to the motel, as if your will was no longer your own.  

“What are you even doing?” You hissed aloud to yourself as you parked behind the Sundown in your usual spot.  It was dusk now and you accepted the possibility that he’d probably invited a different woman out to dinner by then, but any amount of reasoning couldn’t stop you.  You checked the scene first, looking up from the main parking lot to catch the flicker of the tv in his room to let you know he was, indeed, still up there.  His motorcycle was safe in its place, too, and you realized you hadn’t even prepared what to say.  You were an anxious mess, but you were also hungry for him in a way that was foreign to you.  

You hadn’t known much comfort or safety in your life, but you felt those things when you were around Eddie.

After standing at his door for a good 5 minutes, you finally found the courage to knock.

Eddie opened the door while your knuckles were still on the wood.  His eyes looked you over, offering a buck of his chin in appreciation. “Well, well. You are a gorgeous bedbug.”

Your cheeks burned hot at the complement.  “I had some free time, so I thought I’d just check and see how you were doing, if you have everything you need.”

Eddie braced his shoulder against the door jam, giving you a squint. “So, you came to check on me while you’re off the clock? Damn, that is good service.”

You flexed your hands, forcing a laugh, trying your best not to just turn around and run away.

“Are you hungry?” Eddie raised an eyebrow.  “Do you want to come in? Cause we can —”

“I’m not hungry.” You answered, bolting inside of his room when he extended his arm as an invitation, before you lost your nerve.

“Neither am I,” Eddie agreed.  But, he was craving something else.  

He locked the deadbolt and made sure the curtains were closed.

—-----

There were very few words left to be spoken as your lips collided with his, meeting with equal levels of urgency.  You kept trying to kiss him deep and desperate while your hand palmed him through his jeans, but he held you off a bit with soft pressure.  He cupped your face and caressed your cheek with his thumb while he kissed you, giving individual attention to your top lip and then the bottom one.  He kissed down your neck, flicking his tongue out every so often to taste you, making you gasp—you’d never been worshiped with someone's mouth before.    

Breathing heavy, he started to unbutton your shirt.  “Is this okay?” He asked, wondering how far you wanted to take it.

“Yes,” you gulped.  “Please.”

Once you had his shirt off, you bent down to kiss and lick his scars—it was an unspoken act of acceptance that made Eddie’s cock twitch.  You weren’t used to being cared for in bed, and Eddie could tell by the way you hurried to push your jeans down and bend over so he could take you from behind.

“Not like that,” he whispered, using strong arms to lower you to the bed while he shimmied your jeans off.  He got on his knees and scooped up your hips, nudging your pussy through your underwear with his nose, and then he planted kisses across the wet spot and along your inner thigh.  The animal inside of him loved your scent; he wanted to bury himself in it, and he couldn’t help the growl that escaped him.  

You fell back on the bed and covered your face with one hand.  “Wait, I’m—not many people have done that—I’m not sure how to—”

Eddie finger pulled your underwear to one side, exposing your slippery lips for his tongue to flick.  “Do you want me to stop?”

You arched back at the sensation of his mouth on you.  “No, no, please don’t stop,” you urged, putting your hand on his head to gently cup his ear, the one with the silver hoop.  

He moved away just long enough to pull your underwear all the way down your legs and off, maintaining eye contact with you.  He didn’t rush, he took his time, and kissed his way back up your legs to the prize.  

The gentle and precise way he swirled his tongue on your clit had you stammering his name with a few curses in between.  As his attention to your bundle of nerves built your arousal and it spilled down your slit, he dove his mouth down a few times to taste it and drink you, shivering at the pleasure it gave him.  He couldn’t help it, he had to reach down to grab his cock so he could fist it while his mouth brought you closer.  The taste of your hormones in your slick had pre-cum wetting his tip already.  

Tony had only gone down on you a few times, and he never really seemed to enjoy it.  But Eddie was one of those who could eat a peach for hours, as they say.

“Right…there…” you hushed, startled as you felt the wave of an orgasm rise.  Eddie zeroed in on that spot with just the right pressure, fluttering his tongue as he sucked.  His other hand milked his cock in long strokes, taming the beast from cumming too soon, moaning warm breath against your cunt.

“Eddie!” You cried out just as the release took you and wracked your body, like a spring popping out of a tight coil, unraveling.  Eddie pressed his mouth closer to lap you up, feeling your body vibrate as he held your hip in place.

He only broke the seal made by his mouth once you were too sensitive, and your limbs dangled off the bed for a minute, unable to move. 

It didn’t take long for you to start coaxing him up on top of you, spreading your legs out, begging for him to be closer.  He met your kiss with deep, soul-searching need, and you whined at the sensation of his tip sliding up and down your slick.  But, then he hesitated, and pulled up to meet your eyes.

“Inside of me,” you begged, nodding.  “I need you inside of me.”

And yes, that was what Eddie wanted too, but now there was another problem.  

Eddie’s ears pricked at the sound of footsteps outside the door.  He sniffed the air, trying to identify the presence.  He slid off of you and stood, watching the door while he pulled his jeans up and zipped his stiff, aching cock into place behind the denim.

Shuffling up onto your elbows, you were about to speak, to ask what was wrong, but Eddie silenced you with a finger to his lips.  He tossed your jeans over and motioned over his shoulder for you to put them on in the bathroom.

There was something about the whole situation, and Eddie’s sudden silence, that unnerved you, and so you scampered off the bed as quietly as you could and did as he asked.

There were no lights on in the room, except for the infomercial on the mute TV, but the bright moon illuminated the walkway outside enough for him to catch sight of someone pacing out there.  

Finally, there came a heavy knock and a voice.  

It was Tony, and he shouted your name.  “ARE YOU IN THERE? HUH? You fucking whore!”

You buttoned your jeans and all of the blood ran from your face.  Eddie turned his head to look at you.  The adrenaline of pure fear pumped through your body as you froze in place. 

Eddie put his hand out, motioning for you to stay right where you were, behind him.  

Tony pounded on the door again.  “YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME! One of my guys said he saw you go in here with some fucking dude.  IF YOU’RE FUCKING SOMEONE ELSE I’LL KILL YOU, you goddamn bitch!”

By “one of his guys” Tony meant one of the other drug dealers in town, who were generally crawling all over the motel, leeching off of the clientele.  Eddie looked deceptively calm as he stood at the end of the bed, breathing slow, and you walked over to grab his arm, to warn him that Tony was a crazy motherfucker, and you’d just go with him so Eddie wouldn’t get hurt.  

But Eddie motioned for you to hide, so you did.

“Hold up, man,” Eddie was moving now, heading to undo the deadbolt and you cringed, pushing back as tight as you could between the wall and the bathroom door.  

Once the door was unlocked, Tony stood there heaving, looking Eddie up and down.  Tony was big in a stocky way, but not big like Eddie, and he enjoyed that flash of fear that lit over his adversary’s eyes at first glance.  Sure, the guy had some obvious prison ink, but that didn’t mean shit to Eddie.  

“Where is she?” Tony demanded, pushing in.

“Where’s who, man?” Eddie was being so casual about it, and you were  trying not to scream.  

Eddie shut the door and quietly locked it behind him

Tony’s eyes darted around the room, and then he spun on his heel; his eyes were pinned and doped-out.  “Don’t act dumb, man.  My fucking girl.  Someone said they saw her come up here.”

Tony walked up to Eddie and started poking him in the chest.  “Tell me where that fucking whore is before I make you my bitch.”

Nothing could have prepared you for what happened next—for the transformation and the carnage.  You witnessed it all through the crack in the bathroom door as if you were watching a horror movie. 

Eddie changed, in an instant; the muscles in his shoulders and arms bulged, the teeth in his mouth turned jagged and sharp, and his eyes went completely black.  His massive, clawed hand wrapped around Tony’s throat, lifting him up so that his feet no longer touched the ground.

You muffle a scream with your hand, watching Tony gargle and spit, his limbs flailing.  

Eddie’s lips stretched to speak around his fangs.  “She’s not your girl anymore,” he growled.

Eddie strangled Tony with one hand  until he lost consciousness, and then he threw him to the bed like a rag doll, pouncing on top of him.  He proceeded to rip his throat open with his teeth; blood squirted on the wall and across the door where you were hiding, misting you in the face.  

When he was finished, you made your way out of the bathroom.

Eddie was still a monster as he got off the bed at the sight of your approach.  His clawed hands twitched at his sides, his hair dripped with blood, and his skin from nose to chest was bathed in crimson.  His black eyes assessed you, waiting for you to scream or try to run—-but you didn’t.

You got close enough to touch him, to run your hand up his chest to feel the blood between your fingers, and then brush some bloody hair behind his ear.

Eddie frowned, wondering why you weren’t afraid of him, wondering why your desire for him didn’t seem to falter.

You parted your lips, watching the red drool drip from his teeth.  “Are you okay?"

Your mouths found each other again, tasting the tang of your own blood as one of his fangs pricked your lip.  You each did frantic work of unzipping each other’s jeans as Eddie scooped you up to lay you on the floor.

While the last few pumps of blood shot from Tony’s artery, monster Eddie spilled his seed inside of you, throwing his head back with a howl.  

Now, there really had been a crime committed in that room, and Eddie would need to be on the road again, gone by daylight.  

Maybe this time, you’d be going with him.  

[forecast0ctopus]

Any advice on drawing McCoy? I’m not used to drawing ancient wrinkley bastards (affectionate) and it’s surprisingly tough v-v

FOR SURE lmao i made. a diagram. just a warning that i am going to be irritating and long winded because u just hit a topic i really like sorry lmao

so first off i did some traces just to show whats there vs redraws to show my interpretation

ive said this on other asks but again jsyk, tracing isnt bad!! its a tool. theres some stuff with intellectual property and whatnot but using tracing to study shapes and forms is a really valuable practice.

also just taking some time to learn facial structures and anatomy is super useful, reading what bones and muscles are where and how they interact with one another. taking this info and staring in the mirror and moving your face around and thinking about it. just really furthers understanding of how the face works. trying to sound normal about this but i love anatomy and motion and physics and whatever

anyways im going to go through all the numbered points so there's no confusion. 1. forehead lines - self explanatory. more prominent when brows are raised 2. crows feet - at the outer corners of the eyes, more prominent when smiling or squinting 3. nasolabial folds - the folds that go from the corners of the nose to the corners of the mouth. more prominent when the mouth is wide, like smiling 4. brow furrow - self explanatory, most prominent when brows are furrowed. mccoy tends to have two right next to his eyebrows, kirk has one in the middle. everyones face works different lmao 5. chin crease - caused by how the chin and lower lip interact. 6. nasojugal groove - start from the inner corners of the eye and can extent over the cheeks. everyone has these and idk why people dont like them i think theyre really cool!!!! but Society. i guess. :/ 7. eye bags - caused by the skin sagging beneath the eyes. mccoy isnt even that old in tos i think hes meant to be mid 40s by the end of the 5 year mission, hes just got really prominent eye bags lmao 8. idk what the name is for these, but when the mouth is wide and pushes the skin to the sides, these folds sometimes form outside of the nasolabial folds 9. philtrum - the groove above the upper lip. i dont usually draw this but mccoy's struck me as prominent enough that i usually draw it on him 10. masseter - the muscle that moves the jaw up and down. its a pretty rugged muscle and while i wouldnt say mccoy's is especially prominent, it kind of extends that nasojugal groove from certain angles/positions 11. orbicularis oris - mouth muscle, usually easier to see when lips are pursed or frowns are pulled. mccoy's is pretty prominent from 3/4ths or side, his mouth tends to protrude in profile 12. this isnt a muscle but more of a line defining the planes of the face, but since i drew it i felt i should explain lmao

a few points:

im an animator i tend to exaggerate and emphasize certain things so i usually make him more square.

i like to combine eyebags and crows feet for brevity/flow, same with nasojugal grooves, eyebags, and masseter lines. my approach is always subject to change based on pose, expression, reference image, etc.

i take out details that i deem redundant or cluttering and keep what details i need to make things feel Right

all this info is applicable to any character of any age, its just in how you apply it and facial proportions that willl change how old a character is perceived to be

there's a lot more with drawing a Character rather than an Actor, just because the features are there doesnt necessarily mean things will feel correct? its very much in the mannerisms and poses and expressions

i only went over my approach to his likeness but not really body type or posing or anything idk if u want that i could always try to answer that later haha

_______________

anyways all that info kind of exists nebulously in my brain while i draw its not like im sitting there thinking Must Draw. Nasolabial Fold...... i jsut do what feels right with the visual info i have. also i love specificity in faces.... i dont like to be a hater but when every character is drawn the same it pisses me off a little lmao. so

also dont take my word as The Only Way to do anything i just draw how i like to draw and no one should feel like these are things that Must be done to be a good artist or anything do whatever the hell u wanna do

[unicyclehippo]

Imodna, #46 "…out of envy or jealousy."

ok so. idk what happened here but it’s gay & bloody. enjoy!

//

the chatter blurred around her. she couldn’t bring herself to care, to pay attention. she was bored. she’s been bored for what feels like centuries, every second of her life a year and every year a fucking boring one. gods. what she wouldn’t give for something interesting to happen at one of these events. what she wouldn’t give for—

‘presenting her honourable lord temult.’

her.

laudna’s eyes caught on her hair first. it was practically loose around her shoulders—she hadn’t bothered to braid it, even, and everyone gasped and tittered like the little fucking fools they were and bent their heads together, idiot birds, to chatter about decorum and whatever else inane thing that stirred the puddles of their mind but laudna, oh, she couldn’t turn away. her hair, you see. it lay in lazy curls across the bare skin of her shoulders and it entranced her.

was it true that it could be blamed on decorum? on the difference of culture? in a group somewhere to her right, laudna could hear one of her lady’s needling laughs—poison tipped—and a snide comment on marquet, what passed for a lady there. laudna would deal with her. she would eat her alive and relish it. later.

the other option—more dangerous. this lord, this temult, had arranged herself on purpose. to tease from anyone who glanced her way the thought, the fervent desire, to see her in their bed the next morning. to see the sun kiss those sun-kissed shoulders, to count her freckles, to see the natural tousle of her curls against shoulders, bedsheets. did she smell of lavender? or was the likeness in colour alone?

laudna had to know.

her entourage squealed—idiots—when she stirred.

‘my lady,’ aurelia gasped, eyes prey wide. her hand flung to her chest in shock; laudna let her eyes dip to the red line of her necklace, the red line of her gown. the pale line of her throat. of the three, her throat and the rabbit-quick pulse bounding just beneath the skin, was the more enchanting. ‘you startled me!’

laudna arched a brow. she turned away, searching for the lord in her hall—the way was filled with dancing bodies, musicians, ivory-clad wait staff but every now and again she caught a glimpse of purple hair. she tracked her through the hall. temult’s path was slow and winding, as if she had all the time in the world.

did she know she ought to greet her host? that it was the first and only vital task of the evening? hunger licked behind her teeth, over the bonerasp of her jaw.

‘tell me,’ she purred, curling a hand around aurelia’s wrist, ‘what do you know of my guest?’

‘your…guest?’

the girl didn’t know who laudna meant. fool! another one for the pile. she knew well the slice of laudna’s displeasure and rushed to make herself useful, pressing up onto her toes in soft useless slippers. temult was wearing boots. she hadn’t more than glanced at her outfit—attention caught in the net of her hair, the gleam of her eyes—but she had seen that.

‘you mean the newcomer! yes? the - lord temult?’ aurelia leapt on the flicker of her interest, breadcrumb of a lure, and bobbed her head. ‘yes! i know of her! she hasn’t been here long—is staying in the city.’

‘the city? she is not a guest of one of my court?’

‘no, my lady.’

laudna stroked a pale thumb across aurelia’s wrist, her winsome pulse. ‘good. what else?’

‘i- i- oh, my lady, she’s frightfully dull. she never goes out and never invites anyone in. she has a small staff, no more than five, and they won’t say a word. ignatius thinks she’s some kind of charlatan—‘

‘ignatius is an idiot,’ laudna scolded.

‘yes, my lady. it is as you say.’

a pout touched laudna’s lips. ‘i don’t ever want to hear his name again,’ she said. behind her, pate scribbled down the decree. ‘and if he insists on coming to my parties, he must wear a mask. a different one each time.’ the pen nib scratched against the paper, and he murmured under his breath that it was done.

aurelia trembled so sweetly. when laudna finally let her go, she would flutter off and let everyone know—her whims were final, fantastic. there’s nothing fair at all about our fair lady.

laudna shivered in delight. it had been so very long since she’d played with the birds; she felt like a cat, stretching after a nice long nap. how had this temult done this to her? she felt…awake. alert.

‘what else?’ she asked, and dragged her thumb down that pulse again. the sharp point of her nail came to rest wear it was thinnest; with waking came such hunger.

aurelia stammered. ‘m-my lady, she does nothing. i have nothing more to tell you. she declined every invitation from every house.’

a rush of heat.

every house but mine.

laudna’s fangs pushed and pressed and slid free from her gums in a gush of blood and lust. with a groan, she lifted aurelia’s wrist to her mouth—spared a moment for the memory of the girl’s mother who had begged her not to feast on her, who hadn’t known how very sweet it was to break a promise—and sunk her teeth into soft soft flesh.

the first touch of blood was glorious. she was so thirsty—how long had she been waiting there? hunger bubbled in her throat, a laugh, a groan, and she was so so gentle she was a dutiful lady she was a kind lady to pull her teeth from broken skin, there, gentle, no tearing, and laved her tongue across the wound, swept each gush of red into her mouth, suckled at it until aurelia made a noise like she was going to faint. shock and hurt had drained her skin to white, and pleasure returned the pinkest flush to her cheeks. her eyes two dark dark bowls for feasting.

laudna licked her wrist one last time, then her fingers as she let the girl go. an attendant kept her on her feet.

‘food and wine for lady aurelia. medical attention if she should need it.’

the attendant bowed. laudna assumed they dragged her out, or called for another to help but she didn’t bother to wait and watch. she turned away—temult, where was she—and felt her veins alight to see her at the edge of the crowd that had stopped to watch her feed.

what was she? witch? warlock? laudna was hungry again. the blood she had drained from that girl curdled to ash on her tongue, tasteless, at a look from this stranger—she had to speak with her, had to know her, taste her.

‘lord temult.’

she stepped forward neatly with a nod. her dress was…fine. three seasons out of fashion, and a coarseness to the fabric that even a human—was she?—could feel. but what did that matter? it was nothing it meant nothing. it was just another skin around the power crackling inside. the lord was a storm, prowling through her dance hall.

‘lady br—‘

‘laudna,’ she interrupted, extending a hand for the lord to kiss. she didn’t bow, she didn’t curtsey, she sounded as though she barely cared for the honorific. enchanting. laudna wanted to sink her teeth into that neck and drink from her until she begged her, lady lady lady please.

something told her it would be easy.

there was blood on her hand. lord temult didn’t flinch. she stepped closer, took her bloody hand. hers was gloved and the realisation resonated, loud, in her chest. a wolf howl, lonely, lonely, calling.

lord temult’s eyes flickered down to the blood and to somewhere behind. lightning—real lightning!—licked behind her eyes. gorgeous, gorgeous, phenomenally dangerous. Laudna’s breath caught; the storm pressed in on all sides like a mighty hand.

was she showing off? it was a funny little game if she was. maybe she wanted laudna to beg for her. my lord? she would say it if this stranger asked. but no, her eyes flickered again—behind laudna, and who could possibly have captured her lord’s attention? laudna twisted, followed her gaze to—aurelia?

oh.

jealousy.

laudna pressed her hand harder into temult’s hold. shivered when a gloved thumb pinned her in place, helpless little butterfly.

‘kiss my hand,’ laudna said.

‘what?’

‘you’re new to this land. you don’t know our customs. that much is…’ laudna let her eyes trail the bare shoulders. her bare neck. her loose, lovely hair. ‘obvious.’

irritation was lovely on temult’s face. the mulish set of her chin begged for someone to grasp it, flay it, drain the marrow and defiance out of her. what a pretty thought.

‘i am the lady of the castle,’ she continued. ‘you must kiss my hand.’

temult glanced down at it, blood spattered up to the wrist. her eyelids fluttered—there, laudna had been right, she knew it—and she bent her head. pressed a branding kiss against her knuckles. heat burned, seared into her skin. when she lifted her head, laudna saw it—the red lash of a burn, already welting. how bold! how miraculously stupid! how exciting!

‘do you feast on all your ladies?’ temult asked, tone burned dry. her eyes dragged across laudna’s face, lingering on her mouth, her chin.

she wondered how much red she had wasted; she’d never been particularly neat.

‘only the ones who have pleased me.’

‘and what of lord’s?’

‘not yet. but one has recently…caught my attention.’

temult smirked. ‘i thank you for your invitation,’ she said. the words tasted rote, quickly learned. ‘it is most gladly received.’

‘i thank you for your attendance. the moon would not be a more welcome guest.’ behind her, pate gasped. he scribbled in his book.

temult did not know the formalities. what did words matter to a storm? what did castles matter? they didn’t, not at all. but for whatever reason, she had accepted the invitation and kissed laudna’s hand. and stared hard at the blood flaking her chin as though she wished fiercely it were gone. or that it were her own.

‘any other customs i should know about?’

laudna smiled. wide. ‘oh yes. you must stay with me all night. you must dance with me.’

temult rolled her shoulders. they were still holding hands. laudna let the slight move draw her closer; she felt like a feather in those violent winds. she would go anywhere, as far as temult wished. let her be flung into the deepest sea!

‘i can manage a dance or two.’

‘marvellous.’ more demands cluttered her tongue. she had to follow her to her throne. had to let laudna peel back the skin on her throat—what were those scars? gorgeous! a map just for her!—and let her feast, drink. the thought of her, what she would taste like, filled her mind. laudna could think of little else. except,

‘you must tell me your name,’ she whispered as temult let herself be pulled out onto the floor. ‘you must, you must.’

what was this creature? heat beneath her skin, red in her scars, her veins. white power behind her eyes.

a smile curled her lips. what would they look like, coated in blood? laudna groaned at the thought of her blood on these lips. oh what a creature she could become…

‘imogen,’ she said.

‘imogen. imogen, yes. yes.’

‘i think it’s about time you showed me—yeah,’ she cut herself off with a gasp, as laudna pressed her head to the side, dragged her hand down the column of her throat. ‘oh gods, yep.’

‘you wanted to be in her place.’

‘fuck. the second i saw it happen.’

laudna laughed. dipped her head. ‘gorgeous. gorgeous creature.’

power, powerful arms curled around her. they were not dancing. they merely stood on the dance floor as the music struck up and glimmering couples spun around them. laudna’s lords and ladies were good for something. to be pretty. to be obedient. imogen was not those things.

‘are you here for long?’ laudna whispered.

‘only til the solstice.’

‘and then gone.’ oh longing, that wolf-toothed howl.

imogen stepped closer still. the warmth of her neck, so close. the thump of her heart. powerful.

laudna’s teeth pushed from her gums. it hurt so sweetly, a tiny nip they were so sharp and then the hungry press as her fangs dropped and—oh oh power and lightning and the burn of it was right it was good she had never tasted blood before not like this, a curse on every other ugly creature she had drunk from, worthless worthless things they were maggots they were ash they were nothing compared to this, to her. my lord, my lord! how imogen hissed as her fangs sunk in, butter soft and smooth, how her blood rushed and rushed how it filled her mouth like it was begging to be drunk, how imogen begged to be drunk, her words cloying and sweet and starting to slur at the edges, rasped smooth, how she clung to launda’s shoulders, how she shuddered in her arms, oh what a dance it was.

laudna drank until imogen’s knees buckled. when her girl, her storm, her love sank to the floor laudna followed, the wine red of her gown pouring over imogen’s legs, her practical boots.

‘hell of a first kiss,’ imogen drawled, as an attendant pressed a cloth into laudna’s hands and laudna pressed it, in turn, to the side of that perfect neck.

[mostlyghostlyy]

just watched longlegs. could u write a lil something abt longlegs being creepy and weird towards someone hes got a lil crush on. unwanted touches and incorrect social cues. just talking to him makes u feel violated.

Oh, he would be the WORST! 

I would imagine his crush would be fast acting. Like idk, you work at the hardware store, or local market where he does his shopping. He would interact with you once, then immediately develop an obsession with you overnight, if not that very moment. You’d start seeing him more. What turned into a once a week visit has become often an everyday occurrence.

I think he would immediately seek you out whenever possible. At first it wasn't uncomfortable, you could make small talk with him, even if he was a little unsettling. Although he seemed to be getting worse with every interaction. I'm not even sure if it's the inability to read social cues, or the complete apathy he holds towards them, but they would be scattered to the winds whenever he is talking with you.

Communicating with him would be hell. Tell him “Well, I really should get back to work.” or “have a good rest of your day” or subtle hints that you want him gone don't work. Turn away or start walking and he is following right beside you. Cross your arms and look disinterested and he will keep talking.  He is also a very touchy person, he will just grab you where he wants when he wants. Then pout if you slap his hand and yell at him. Multiple times he has reached to pet your hair. Sifting his fingers through and cooing about how soft and nice it was. He tries touching you whenever he can, grazing your arms, or occasionally touching your hips and sides.

He has started to stand close to you, way too close. Close enough to smell your shampoo. Which you can audibly hear him do. Long awkward pauses carry many of your conversations, this is unfortunate because you can hear everything he does. His heavy breathing, mainly through his mouth when he is not inhaling your scent. Huffs coming out in raspy blows, you notice that he starts breathing more and more heavily around you. 

The way he looks at you, you can tell he is fucking you with his eyes. His cold blue eyes roaming over your body, not caring if you knew. He is constantly staring at your tits, licking his lips before going back to smiling at you. If you were wearing anything other than a crew neck shirt, anything that even hinted at possible cleavage, or godforbid a plunging v-neck and he wouldn't be able to peel his eyes away.

He would make weird ass comments too. “You’re so pretty, you should come work for me instead.” or “You have such a nice voice, Angel. You should show me what else that mouth does.” Or just something that he blurts out and you don't know if he meant to say it aloud like “What color are your nipples”  or something of that nature. It is becoming harder for him to control his arousal with you, getting a boner multiple times throughout your conversations. I don't even think he would try to hide it because he's just that degenerate.

Kobble stalks around the store. Practically looming over you until you’re alone. And once you are, he's pretty much on top of you. Shuffling up to you and asking about your day, you keep moving away from him, walking backwards until your ass hits the corner wall. He's putting his hands on your waist now, pushing you further into the wall. “Please, dont. There are other people in this building, I-” He swiftly mocks your cries “We’re all alone in this corner, Angel. And besides-” You try pushing past him. He grunts, grinding his teeth. Shoving you back into the wall, he gives you a cautionary glare. “I’ll make you feel good.”

He slides his hands up to grope at your breasts. Pawing at them and playing with them through the fabric. You turn your face away from his sour breath as he chuckles. Soon he trails his hands under your shirt, under your bra. No barrier protecting your tits from his adventurous touch. You’re still squirming. “Do you like that? What's the matter? Don't want to talk to your old friend Dale? Oh but we are friends right?” He hums, mouth right against your ear. 

You feel something wet and warm pressed against the side of your face. It doesn't take you long to think “Oh god that's his tongue” You let out a little sob, which seems to encourage him. He's dragging his tongue from the corner of your mouth up to your ear. Then you feel the wet muscle probe your ear. He's lapping at your ear for minutes. Moaning into it, pushing his tongue as far down your ear canal as he possibly can.  Swirling around the lobe and biting. He’s biting so hard, trying to make your earlobe bleed. All the while still groping at your tits, squeezing them and running his thumb over your nipples. 

He pulls away, a string of spit connects him to your ear. your ear is damp with saliva and probably blood too. Kobble wipes his chin, and lewd smile on his face. He promises to come back tomorrow for round two.