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notjustjavierpena · 2 months ago

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Dream

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: A little Acacius piece to jumpstart my brain again!

Summary: Out on a war campaign, Marcus wakes up in the middle of the night to a dream of you. Oh, how hard it is to be apart.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18, YEARNING, kisses, piv sex, emotional and passionate sex, slight breeding, creampie

Word count: 2.6k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60742789

Dream

The Roman encampment lies quiet underneath the starry sky as Marcus startles awake, his legionnaires long ago having extinguished fires with dirt, downed the last goblets of drink, and found rest in their cots. It is in the middle of the night, the general judges by the silence around him that’s only disturbed by the hoot of an owl somewhere. Along with the warm sun, early mornings also bring the sound of a bustling camp - its soldiers chatting and preparing for the day’s march across the country - but right now, all is still.

Marcus also deduces that it is way into the night because the moon hangs high and silent on the horizon, its pale and beautiful light shining into his tent. With sleep still clinging to him, he realizes that he has been woken up by a warm breeze catching the flaps of the tent, the entrance repeatedly opening and closing with a whipping sound.

His first instinct is to reach for his dagger, sure of the fact that he secured the entrance to his makeshift bedchambers before falling asleep, but the second he wraps his fingers around the hilt, he sees you standing there with the moonlight bathing you from behind in a bluish glow that makes you seem almost ethereal.

You approach his cot, and he lets his hand fall from the dagger and drop onto the chest of his tunic. You are so beautiful, radiant in the same nightgown that he saw you in the night before you parted ways and he went to war. It is a memory that keeps him going even through the hardest of days; the way you had kissed him so deeply, sprawled out beneath him. This was while you had looked at him pleadingly and with tears on your face that he tried to catch with his thumbs before they rolled down into your hair. The way he had made love to you is burned into his mind, keeping him warm when temperatures outside drop along the seaside. He promised you that he would return to you as soon as he could but here he is in your company much sooner than he anticipated, and he knows it cannot be real.

Your gown flows around you with each step you take, draping so perfectly along the curves of your body as if you’re the personification of Venus herself. He knows what the white fabric hides, even if it weren’t for the rounding of your breasts being outlined or the peaks of your nipples poking against the front. You perch yourself on the edge of his cot, leaning over him and smiling tenderly down at him.

“This is a dream,” he says quietly. He reaches out to curl his fingers into your dress, wondering if you’ll evaporate into thin air if he touches you. He doesn’t think he can handle it if you disappear from his grasp.

“If this is a dream, then I wish never to wake," you declare and the sound of the melody that is your voice has Marcus’ heart nearly leaping out of his chest. You stay with him as he tugs you down for a kiss, solid against him and nowhere like the mist surrounding the tents in the morning like he had feared, “Yet some say that we must be thinking of one another at the same time to be meeting like this.”

“I am always thinking of you. I miss you more than I can bear,” he says weakly, a lump having formed in his throat, scratchy from sleep. You rest your forehead against his, the both of you sighing softly in relief at being so close. Then you place a hand on his cheek, and Marcus feels a whole universe of emotions inside of himself, expanding so fast that he can’t breathe, that it threatens to overwhelm him.

“You have me,” you reassure gently, opening your eyes to look at him even as you kiss him softly on the lips. Your scent envelops him, jasmine flowers - his favorite - from the garden where he took his first stroll with you. And there his heart and mind go once more, feeling relief yet longing, happiness yet sadness.

“This war,” he whispers and his gaze is fleeting, “It feels meaningless if I cannot be with you, beloved wife. We are parts of the same soul, you and I. What good am I here if I am merely a puzzle missing its pieces?”

“Shh, look at me, my love,” you soothe and it’s like his body is draped in the warm blankets of your shared bed, hearing the sound of his home bustling with happiness. You brush your fingers across the stubble on his cheek. He leans into the touch, knows that his eyes are wide and pleading as he returns them to you. You scratch his beard again, “You are whole, Marcus Acacius, even here. You carry me with you, just as I carry you.”

“My clever wife, yet again you are right. It is my weary heart that speaks. Of course, you are always with me, always in my thoughts even when it feels like the skies will tumble down upon me and the world will end,” he replies, taking in the way you look to the version of him that dreams. He wonders if the picture before him will etch itself into his mind, so deeply that his thoughts will conjure up fresh images tomorrow during broad daylight.

“Those skies are skies we share, always under the same sun and moon,” you smile, and he sighs, closing his eyes as you trace his face with your fingers. You draw invisible lines across his features, gently over his cheekbones and carefully down the length of his nose, fingertips dancing across his eyelids with featherlight touches, “Do you remember nights spent under the stars? You love that spot close to the river back home.”

“Tell me of home," he asks of you, a bead of desperation rattling around in his chest, "Tell me of the river, the fields, and the stars, of the songs the birds sing at dawn."

“The river flows like it always has, my love. The fields stand golden and the wind makes it seem like they are one with the water surrounding them. Can you see it?” You sound like a lullaby.

Marcus nods, the sight is painted on the back of his eyelids. He knows each hue of blue and golden, each curve of the bending riverbanks, and he can almost feel his heart beating slower at the mental image. He finds peace in the idea that nothing has changed back where you are waiting for him, the familiarity more soothing than any draught or potion. For a moment, he is home with you and all is well.

You peck his lips while brushing his cheek with the back of your hand, “And the birds. Can you hear them? The way the larks greet each morning?”

“I hope the Fates are not so cruel as to keep us apart for much longer. I want to hear them again soon,” he murmurs, opening his eyes to find himself staring into yours. He reaches up to cup the back of your neck, feeling how warm you are despite not actually being here.

“Sleep,” you encourage gently.

“I can’t, not with you so near,” he whispers and draws you nearer to his mouth again. He captures your lips in a longing and deep kiss, a quiet urgency rising in his chest when you sigh the way he loves. As you thread your fingers through his graying hair, he reaches for your waist and guides you to sit on top of him.

Your dress pools around your thighs and him like the mountains and valleys he crosses each day. He pulls back to drink you in, committing you to memory as his eyes dance over the curves he had noticed beneath the fabric as you entered his tent.

"Then touch me," you let out a little breath of desperation, a fire having ignited in your eyes while you stare into his. He feels the flame within himself too.

One of his hands moves slowly up your bare arm, the other tracing the length of your spine on top of your dress until you shiver. He lets both hands grab at the straps of your gown, guiding them off your shoulders until your chest is bare to him. You lean down for another kiss but he grabs your soft shoulder to stop your advances, his thumb resting against your pulse point. He marvels at how real you feel, can feel your heartbeat underneath the tip of his finger as if you are truly here.

"Marcus," you plead him quietly and he doesn’t hesitate. He sits up slowly until your breasts touch his chest and then he finds your mouth again, his fountain of youth. He slips his hands underneath the skirt of your gown and feels that you are already ready to welcome him if he wants. He touches you there for only a moment but you still beautifully furrow your brow with pleasure from how much desire Cupid has sent through your veins. However, he decides that he has no time to prolong this moment with you because only Somnus will know when he’s going to wake up.

“Lift your arms,” he guides after hearing you make a feeble noise when he removes his digits from your slick core.

You do as he says and he lifts the waves of fabric over your head, throwing the discarded gown onto the ground with a smile on his face. In return, your hands find the hem of his tunic, sliding it up and over his head. The tunic joins your gown on the floor, the both of you finally touching each other’s naked bodies with soft chuckles. There’s something euphoric about simply being naked in each other’s arms before making love, something so vulnerable and private that it’s reserved only for each other.

Your palms roam over his broad, strong chest and your fingers thread through the coarse hairs there. His hands mirror yours but instead, they feel the softness of your skin that prickles his with warmth. He skims them over the swell of your breasts, the touch full of worship while he buries his nose in the crook of your neck.

“My beautiful wife,” he murmurs while he showers you in kisses from neck to collarbone to the top of your breast.

“Make feel whole,” you moan and cradle his head, holding him against your chest while his mouth trails across the valley of your breasts. He doesn’t need to be commanded twice, already helping you to sink down on him to the very hilt of his length.

The connection has the both of you gasping and chuckling further in relief, none of you moving as you get used to having him so deep within you. He stares up at you as you’ve elevated yourself slightly to sit down on his cock, blown away by your beauty that’s enough to make him twitch inside of your pulsing heat.

"I love you immeasurably, my wife.”

"And I love you, my husband.”

You move against him for the first time and he groans low in his throat, already feeling the stirrings of pleasure. With his hands on your hips, the two of you slowly begin moving together, your bodies finding a rhythm that is instinctive and familiar. He finds that he doesn’t need to intervene in your sinful ministrations on top of him; he knows the pattern of your hips’ movements like the back of his hand, knows when to leave you to do as you please and when to help you. Right now, you are an expert in driving him to madness.

His hands are everywhere as you take what you need from him. He touches where he can reach - your thighs, your hips, your back - as if he cannot figure out where he wants to hold you the most. Eventually, your hands find his to anchor him, entwining your fingers together to ground him in his longing for you.

However, Marcus is not a man of restraint when it comes to you. He needs you in ways that make him yearn for you even when you are on top of him.

“Faster,” he brushes his lips against your jaw, kisses your chin when he was supposed to find your mouth. You hold his hands and oblige, the rolls of your hips quickening to a pace much faster than how you’ve been imitating the waves of the sea. Your skin is glistening in the moonlight coming through his tent, sparkling like you are a goddess descended from the heavens and into the arms of him, a mere mortal.

You’ve closed your eyes as you near your crescendo, your lips parting in a breathless moan while the world outside is lost to the both of you. He can feel you choking his length, tightening around him like a fist. In his belly, heat is tightening like a rope about to snap in two. He feels it within you too, both of you teetering on the edge of unmatchable pleasure. He wishes it was real and not in the realm of dreams, wishes that this was the moment he created a family with you and made you his entirely. There’s so much to look forward to in his return.

“Let go, my love,” he says in an almost commanding tone, “Let your general feel you.”

And you do. Your peak hits you like a bolt of lightning to the point where he has to keep up your pace, his hips thrusting up to meet yours while you lose yourself in the sensations running through your veins. He drags your entwined hands to his chest, placing your palm on his pounding heart, and mirrors his own hand on your chest too. Your hearts beat in unison and he can’t take it anymore, can feel his control slipping from his grasp.

He comes with a quick intake of air and then a growl, his hips stuttering before he spills inside of you. His body tenses up for a moment before it relaxes thoroughly, chest heaving and head swimming with the intensity of it all. You say his name and he finds himself saying yours, repeating it like were they prayers for the Gods.

Eventually, your body slumps against him and he slips out of your spent heat. Your breaths are synchronized, even as they slowly start to calm down in your bliss. He holds you close to his chest, feeling you stick to him but he doesn’t care. He’ll take anything you have to give when his body and soul miss you so thoroughly.

“Sometimes I wonder if the Gods are punishing me for loving you so deeply,” he murmurs with a trail of kisses along your shoulder. A loud, satisfactory sigh leaves him when you slide your fingers through his sweat-damp hair.

“Your ability to love wholly and completely is yours alone. Do not let the Gods take credit for what belongs to your heart,” you whisper back to him, stealing a kiss when he looks up at you.

“Stay with me,” he begs of you, “Don’t ever go.”

“I will stay as long as the night prevails,” you reply gently, “But come dawn, I have to go.”

It is unbearable but it makes it more precious. He reaches to brush a strand of your hair from your forehead as it has fallen into your face during your intimacy. He smiles as he takes in the sight of you, how beautiful you look with heated cheeks.

“Tell me about home again,” he requests, “Please.”

And so you do.

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leclsrc · 1 year ago

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wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day.

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes.

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading.

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka.

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward.

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed.

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control.

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time.

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.”

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.”

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

#f1 #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader

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wileys-russo · 4 months ago

Text

pretty little mornings II f.rolfö (18+)

part of the colourblind universe pretty little mornings II f.rolfö (18+)

your eyes fluttered awake as you felt a body settle down on top of you, warm and soft with a mess of blonde hair obstructing your vision, the smell of roses invading your senses from her shampoo.

with a small chuckle your hand snuck its way up her shirt to rub her back, the other entangling itself in her golden locks, nails scratching softly against her scalp as you felt her weight bare even more into you as she settled with a content sigh and a lazy kiss to your shoulder blade.

"good morning solsken." you mumbled with an amused smile, closing your eyes again and feeling her exhale tiredly into your neck with only a small grunt sounding in response to your greeting.

the defender had stumbled through your front door not long before midnight last night, having been away in the states for barcelonas pre season tour for the week and insisting you wait for her at home rather than meet her at the airport given their late flight time.

knowing she was jet lagged you did your best to stay up with her, but fingers carding fondly through your hair as she rambled on about everything she'd been up to (that you already knew given whenever she wasn't busy she was on the phone to you) it didn't take long before you were out like a light and fridolina was carrying you to bed.

"and here i was thinking you were the early riser in this relationship min kärlek." you teased, feeling her fingers pinch your hip in a silent warning before she slowly lifted her head a little more and you cracked one eye open.

"this marriage." your wife corrected and you melted at the tired rasp to her voice, the girl poking your nose with a sleepy smile and flopping right back down on top of you making you let out a laugh.

after what felt like years being engaged, you and your long time lover had finally said i do and tied the knot during the off season.

you'd gotten married in sweden at the same little vineyard that the two of you had met at, ironically also at a wedding, surrounded by your closest friends and families.

and not long after you disappeared off the grid to bali for a two week honeymoon where not a single second seemed to pass that you and your wife couldn't keep your hands off of each other.

"mm now i get to tell people my wife is finally home." you hummed happily, wincing a little as her cold hands sought out the warmth of your bare sides.

"if i had to wake up alone in bed one more day i might have retired." fridolina grumbled, words muffled against the skin of your neck where her head was tucked away.

"baby you were gone for a week! we used to do months apart when you were first playing in germany." you laughed again, moving your hand from where it sat tracing circles up and down her back for all of a millisecond before you heard her huff indignantly and wiggle herself in a silent demand you continue.

"i was scratching my nose fånig." you chuckled, short nails again soothing up and down her bare back as the taller girl settled.

"well vacker you weren't mrs rolfö then, and i still used to miss you like crazy. i miss you when you're just in another room." your wife confessed and you melted significantly at the tired but soft admission, the blonde always at her most mushy at the start of the day.

"fridolina!" you whined as suddenly a finger invaded your nostril, craning your head back and smacking her hand away, spoke too soon.

"you are such a child sometimes." you huffed, pulling both your hands away from her body as she was quick to catch them in her own, wrapping them back around her as your eyes rolled.

"did you just roll your eyes at me?" of course she'd know without even having to be looking at you, it was as if she had a sixth sense when it came to you, especially when you weren't doing what you knew was expected of you.

"...no." you lied, smiling innocently as her head popped up, golden blonde hair falling around you like a curtain and water colour eyes bore down into your own, puffy from the lack of sleep but still narrowing.

"jag älskar dig." you puckered your lips expectantly, flashing the cutest look you could muster this early in the morning, watching as the older girl faltered for just a moment, and you could almost hear the cogs turning in her head about where she wanted to go with this next.

"don't do it again." with that she dropped back down on top of you, and foolishly you thought you'd gotten away with it.

but then you felt her shift a little, left arm sneaking up her jersey which covered your top half, and you smiled turning your head to kiss her.

but your lips never touched, a gasp instead leaving your mouth as her thumb and forefinger tweaked your nipple, large hand palming your breast as your head pushed back into the pillows.

you blinked and suddenly she was on top of you properly this time, strong toned legs caging your smaller body beneath hers as they squeezed your hips, her hair pushed to one side of her head as pearly white teeth grinned down at you knowingly.

you tried to speak but the words died in your mouth as her assault on your chest continued, the jersey quickly pushed up to pool in the column of your throat as you saw a flash of blonde hair and felt her tongue flatten against your sternum.

any attempt to protest was shut down in an instant at the intoxicating feeling of her tongue circling your nipple, sucking your breast into her hot mouth had your hips bucking up and a moan ripped from you instead.

one hand fisted the soft silk sheets of your shared bed, knuckles white and a guttural groan dropping from your lips, while the other entangled itself into her mane of golden blonde hair, the short sharp tug against her roots only spurring your wife on further.

"oh!" you managed out as her mouth remained switching between both of your breasts, hot and sensual as she sucked marks into your chest reveling in the fact that she would be the only one to see when they no doubt turned varying shades of red and purple.

you felt three long fingers drag slowly down your stomach, touch feather light but leaving goosebumps scattered across your skin in their wake.

your eyes fluttered closed when she reached her final destination, teasingly pressing against your covered sex, tracing circles atop your panties and you heard her groan feeling just how wet you were already.

it was almost embarrassing how desperate you were for her to touch you now she’d started, an entire week without her having been a cruel torture after you’d both just spent the last two weeks fucking like rabbits.

"more!" you just managed to demand quietly, eyes flying wide open as everything came grinding to an abrupt halt, every trace of her touch stilling bar from the feel of her thighs pressing against yours where she sat on top of you.

your wife never found you looked more gorgeous than when pink with a needy flush, squirming and writhing and making the most pretty little noises beneath her, ready and willing to do whatever she wanted.

"oh baby." the blonde chuckled cruely, mouth inches from your own as she leaned down, lips ghosting yours as her bright green eyes drunk you in, sharp as a hawk.

fridolina refused to remove the now soaked material of your panties, only tugging on the waistband a little to hoick them up as the way they rubbed made you whine.

it allowed her to stroke up and down the swollen lips of your pussy, but stopped you from actually feeling the pleasure you craved from the slender fingers of your blonde lover.

"i know i indulged you on our honeymoon älskling, but i thought i'd trained you to be patient above all else." the older girl tutted with a mocking pout, hand still continuing its torturous ministrations against your clothed clit.

"oh i missed waking up like this more than you know sötsaker. hearing your pretty little moans and whines, watching your body squirm and jolt at every little touch." sure enough your hips bucked as she slipped one single finger under your panties, pushing it in and pulling it out as you whined at the loss.

"mm i had to touch myself instead, but always thinking about you. about taking you apart piece by piece like a little puzzle, watching you wait oh so patiently for me to put you back together, to give you what you need. because who knows best what you need älskling?" you knew the question was rhetorical but she expected an answer anyway, lips curled into a cruel smirk you'd grown to be infatuated with.

"you. only you, always you." "exactly."

"did you touch yourself while i was gone? våga inte ljuga för mig." she warned sharply, and as always the way she switched so quickly from soft to stern had your head melting, and putting you right where she wanted you.

"no! jag lovar." you barely managed out, her lips attaching to your neck with a satisfied hum, immediately seeking out every little spot she knew drove you wild.

"oh such a good girl. min duktiga flicka." your cheeks somehow grew even redder at the praise, breathless and scrambling to cling onto anything as your wife nipped at your neck, skilful fingers still rubbing circles over your panties which were practically ruined with your need for her.

foolishly again you thought with the promise that you’d not touched yourself in over a week that she might properly fuck you now, giving you the release that your body was begging her for without you even needing to open your mouth.

this thought was helped by the fact you knew your wife had been waiting to, proven by the countless detailed and downright pornagraphic texts she’d send near daily while away, about where her filthy mind often wandered to when not occupied with football.

but no, again, you were dumb to think you’d get off that easily with how much pleasure she gave herself in making you wait.

after all your wife adored nothing more than the control she had over you, and your orgasms. seeing just how far you’d let her bend you without breaking, touching you and toying with your body like she owned it, with false pouts and insincere coo’s as you’d call out her name dripping with need.

and evilly you knew she got the most pleasure from prolonging your eventual release.

making you hold eye contact with her as she ruined you, one little glance away all it would take for her hand to wrap around your throat and have you seeing stars.

despite knowing the answer until fridolina was ready would be no you’d beg for it anyway, your wife drunk with power that the only person who could give you what you needed was her, and she was in full control of when and how and if that happened.

you withheld the urge to scream as once more her touch disappeared all together, whatever discontent noise you did make swallowed by her lips engulfing yours.

her hands then fell to your cheeks, deepening the kiss as her tongue returned home shoving its way into your mouth, tracing ever little bump and dip as if mapping it out in her own head.

you exhaled shakily as her teeth clamped down on your bottom lip, sucking it into her mouth and pulling back causing it to stretch and snap back toward you with a pop.

“don’t forget to breathe sötnos.” her tone was teasing and light as her lust filled eyes raked over you, lips curling into a smile of utter satisfaction at the fresh love bites and bruises littering your tanned skin.

“good girl.” the blonde praised as you took a deep breath, near floating as her thumbs stroked the curve of your jaw and a few much sweeter kisses were dusted along your now swollen and plump lips.

“would you like a coffee?” and there it was, the dismissal of your current state as if you weren’t laying beneath her bright red, clammy and panting, body burning with a desire for a release that felt as if it may never come.

all you could manage was a nod but the slight raise of her eyebrows was all the reminder you needed that she expected verbal responses, forever warning you to use your words especially when she was midway through stealing the very breath from your lungs.

“yes please.” you sighed as she nodded with a much softer smile, thumb tugging down your bottom lip and eyes glimmering at the way they parted for her, expecting her fingers to slip past them and into your mouth.

but to your surprise her digits never came, instead you watched as she sucked the remenets of you off of her own fingers, even daring to give you a wink at the way your chest deflated beneath her.

“du ser så vacker ut på morgonen.” the blonde smiled, a more tender look across her face as she shuffled off of you, allowing you to pull yourself into a slightly more seated position with a wince, the uncomfortable but undeniable wetness coating your panties dripping down your inner thigh.

something which of course did not go unnoticed by your eagle eyed lover. “stackaren. let me take care of that for you.” she cooed, leaning down to kiss you and you felt her smile against her lips as her hand trailed downward again, hips bucking but this time her touch was gone as quick as it came.

your soaked thong hanging off of her pointer finger she was up and off of you in a blink, feet hitting the floorboards she was half naked and stretching out with a grunt as you heard her back click.

“you should take a shower älska, maybe a cold one?” she grinned wickedly and it took all of the self control she’d drilled into you over the years not to roll your eyes at the cockiness which radiated off of her at your dishevelled and dissatisfied state.

“i will go make breakfast and coffee, but neither will taste even half as sweet as you min ängel. now go clean yourself up, snälla.” and with your jaw hanging open and a tender kiss to your forehead she was gone, footsteps thumping down the landing.

you groaned and flopped back down in bed, tugging down her jersey which was still sitting against your neck with a huff.

when you were wed and both agreed until death do you part, you should have known that each day your wife would test just how much she could be the eventual death of you.

#woso x reader #fridolina rolfö x reader #frido rolfö #fridolina rolfö #woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs

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yanderefarm · 3 months ago

Note

Hihiii

Nephite when an other follower/ omega tryed to get with us?

yandere omega cultist nephite

cw;; religion, cults, omegaverse, violence

nephite is the least physically violent of the ocs ive posted so far but that doesn't take away from how scary he can be. he's so loyal to the church he has a lot of power for an omega.

y/n: do you know what happened to him?

nephite: he received divine punishment ^.^

y/n: right. i forgot you're crazy again.

nephite can't even breathe when he sees one of the slightly younger omegas flirting with you at a potluck. you're completely unreceptive to the advances of course. but he can't help but hear these words in his ears.

"alphas always prefer young omegas"

right now you were ignoring this harlot but for how long? how long before he became old and undesirable? nephite chewed his thumb nail until he broke the skin, only actually stopping because his mother pulled his hand away. she scolded him gently as she cleaned up his booboo but he couldn't look at her, he couldn't hear her. his sister noticed and teased him a little for getting so worked up over a random omega.

they were right. it was silly. he stuffed it down but he still spent the whole night attached to your hip.

it was fine.

but that omega didn't stop. if you left the house that omega would come find you and immediately start talking to you. his hands would press against your chest, his arms would wrap around one of your own, he would lean his body into you every chance he got. nephite's usually bright eyes would go dead the moment he saw the younger omega. what was he supposed to say? that filth never did it when he was right next to you, always waiting for you to be alone. and its not like it got more suggestive than just flirting. but it was driving nephite insane.

one day nephite was holding a sacred texts study group for omegas at your home. he had been so excited to be the host for this meeting, he spent the whole day making snacks for it! only to find, to his horror, that omega also arrived. you had decided to stay out of the living room while his group was going on but that just meant that horrible harlot could really get you alone! nephite had tried so hard to watch him like a hawk but he'd also gotten too into the discussion with the others. he never even realized when that omega disappeared from the group.

after everyone left he headed to your shared bedroom, excited to tell you about how it went. his hands pressed the door and his eyes immediately went dead. you were sitting on the bed with that omega, just talking. you had been showing him a book you'd been reading recently. his hand was on your knee. his shirt was unbuttoned. nephite felt dizzy, delirious with all the dark emotions bubbling in his stomach. he thought about killing that harlot right here, cutting off the filthy hands that dared to touch you.

you snapped him out of it, asking if group was over and then saying that harlot should leave. you escorted him to the door like a real gentleman. you asked him what was bothering him, if his group had gone poorly. nephite had practically tackled you into the bed, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his head in your chest. he cried well into the night about all his insecurities and worries about you leaving him. and with every tear there was your reassuring hand in his hair, soothing him gently.

but that wasn't enough. the next day he went to confession with a pair of his frilly underwear stuffed in his pocket. he told the pastor the truth. mostly. he exaggerated the amount of adultery that harlot had really done so far. the pastor seemed to know he was being lied to but he trusted that nephite would only be bringing someone to his attention if they were a filthy sinner. the frilly underwear were icing on the cake. he told the pastor that he found them in the sinner's home along with a plan to seduce you.

they made a big show of dragging that sinner through the compound. wherever he was going he would never be coming back from. he caught nephite's eyes as he was dragged crying and screaming through the street. nephite held your arm tighter a wicked smile on his face just long enough for that foolish sinner to catch.

#top male reader #dom male reader #male reader #yandere ideas #yandere x male reader #sub yandere #yandere oc #replies #yandere cultist #alpha reader #yandere omega

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rosescarlette · 5 months ago

Text

Right so zhongli hates sea creatures right?! So how about his s/o turned into a sea creature? How would he react?! Hm?👀

---------------------------------------------------

-> Zhongli takes care of the reader.. with a plot twist.

-> Fluff.

Zhongli loves to take care of you. No matter what or how busy it is.. he would always like to take care of you and check up on you.

Until one busy day when he came back from work.. to find his beloved missing. He searched for you everywhere. When he checked your usual spot where you would normally be.. he found something weird.

"..."

He stared at the round glass bowl for a good minute. And then he picked it up and then started staring at it again. He still wasn't sure if it was you.

"[Y/N]..?"

"[Y/N] is it you..?"

He asked while being dumbfounded, flabbergasted, shocked and many more emotions which.. he could not describe all at a time. There was a nice gold fish which minds its own business swimming around.

Zhongli however was shocked. Who did this. Who made his beloved turned into a fish?! Whoever did this was going to pay. He was never the one to like sea creatures. The slimy, weird texture.. and the foul order it has.. he hates them. But now how could he hate his beloved? He would do anything for you.

He would then later clean the fish bowl neatly, buy you a ton of new decorations that would make the bowl environment look nice. When he realized he bought too many that there was no place for in the bowl he would just buy a bigger tank. If even that wasn't enough he would make an entire lake so that just you would be comfortable in your fish form while he finds out how to revert you back.

In the meantime he goes out and buys the decorations and a bigger tank. Then later he would just sit there after assembling everything and worry about how to bring you back to your human form.

He then hears the door bell ring, so he goes to open the door. Surprisingly he finds you outside IN your human form, perfectly fine.

"..."

"What? Is there something on my face?"

"..."

He then stared back at the fish tank and then at you.

"Zhongli? Are you alright?"

"You.. are.. perfectly fine."

"Excuse me?"

"Ahem."

"It's just that.. you know what never mind. As long as you are safe and sound."

"Something tells me something happened here."

"Nothing. Really now please step inside."

You then later went inside to check up on your new pet fish.

"Aw.. you took care of him?? Thanks li. Though.. you didn't have to go too far.."

"Anything for you, my dear."

"Though.. I'd say... Why does it all have my favorite stuff in the tank?"

He took a great pause to tell a lie to you. He desperately did not want you to find out that he totally didn't mistake you for the fish.

"I thought.. that.."

"You thought what?"

"That... It would be nice."

"I does say it looks nice li. Thanks again"

You gave him a peck and went back to open the bag which you had bought along. And then there's another pet fish.

"See? I bought a friend for him just in case he gets lonely."

"Very well. As long as you don't disappear and turn into a fish that's fine with me."

He mumbled that last part to himself.

"As long as I what?"

"Ahem. As long as you're happy and alright with it."

---------------------------------------------------

Note: AM BACK!!! ACADEMICS NEARLY MADE ME QUESTION MY ENTIRE EXISTENCE BUT ITS OK!!!

#zhongli #genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli x y/n #zhongli x you #genshin characters x you #genshin impact #genshin morax #rex lapis x you #zhongli fluff #rosescarlette's diary #rosescarlette check in #genshin fluff #genshin x you #genshin imagines

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chickennugget755 · 29 days ago

Text

theory time (basically things I noticed from ava 11)

spoilers btw

Victim is not coping well

After Mitsi died, Victim completely disappeared from the company, and the stock prices drop on Rocket corp. As shown by the article: Where did he go? Rocket Co. Founder Remains elusive as share prices plummet. He says that the article told lies also.

Victim is already thinking of ways to counter Chosen, he puts ice as an option( also if anyone knows whats written here plz tell em, i thought it said flight but im not sure)

As Victim becomes more and more obsessed with revenge, tons of the workers quit, with Vic calling them cowards. Also it seems as if they calling the event The Decimation (which is basically another word for gen0cide)

Here he puts ideas and designs for weapons to take down chosen.

And now for the interesting part:

It seems to me that the people of stick city don't realize that cursors are real, that they were created from mouses on computers. Victim of course knows this and tries to figure out how to track Alan's location.I'll break it down in a second

"What lays beyond our world?" Flat-earthers rejoice. The world of sticks is indeed flat.

Idk what is on here, maybe Victim is questioning how humans are born and what their life cycle is?

Here Victim is looking at the menu for right-clicking. The circled one is "Convert to Symbol" I think??? and someone plz tell me what the question mark one is ( Might be "Free Transform" based on AVA 2)

Here he is looking at the naming, pretty standard.

Lots of things to look at here, firstly it seems like they know thst if you keep flying up you will reach a tile ( I dont think they know it represents a computer) " How do Sky Tiles affect our understanding of weather?" They also mention "Green Life Particles" which is the thing that appears when a stick figure is born or teleported??

It might seem as if they are referencing animators here? The person at the desk. And based of off green's QNA and on the short "Feel Better", stick figures can see through the screen, but its not very clear.

Here again, questioning their origin

These pictures show in the montage and on the wall, they are all questioning whats in the sky. Got some real Alexanders here.

Thats all I can really provide on, I really enjoyed this episode!

#animator vs animation #animator vs minecraft #alanbecker #ava victim #ava 11

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netherfeildren · 2 months ago

Text

Busy, Dying. Part 2;

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: In an in-between place called his life, Joel Miller is alone. In search of a cure. In need of a miracle. In want of God.

Can I interest you in a cure for loneliness? She'd asked him in a language without words. Taking it is the easy part. Letting her go is impossible.

-OR-

an a/b/o soulmates AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No Outbreak AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Soulmates AU, Infidelity, Cheating, They're behaving badly and doing things they shouldn't be doing idk, HEA!!!!!, Angst, Fluff & Smut, Scenting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Group Therapy, Social Experiments, Explicit Sexual Content, Dom/sub Undertones, Complicated family dynamics, Discussions of self harm, Depression, Existential Angst, He’s a loser your honor!!!

Word Count: 6.3K

Read on AO3

Part 2;

It is your own conspiracy that if you say the words three times in the mirror—I am so alone I am so alone I am so alone—the feeling will go away. Banished ghost.

You commit yourself to this practice religiously for three weeks before you feel you must absolutely return to the meetings held in the basement of the Emmanuel Episcopal Church or you might just die.

The first Friday back, you watch him. He blunders around the crowd, struggling to find a seat when he rushes in late that evening, trying to sit as far away from you as possible and, to his great misfortune, ending up right behind you. Squashed between two old ladies, his big body comically trying to fold itself into the tight rows. You laugh at him the whole way through the meeting.

He’s like a raging bull after that. Scowly and unapproachable as the omegas in the group inevitably make their meager attempts to talk to him. It makes it all the more irreconcilable, a man like that here in a place like this—all the while with a wife at home.

You wonder about her.

“That one has a bad temper,” Maria warns as the two of you watch him. They seem to know each other in some way outside of this church, and it takes everything in you not to beg for details. “Big and hairy like a bad, lonely dog.”

You say, “I think he’s shy.”

She watches you very peculiarly after that, and tells you, “You’re lost, girl. Joel Miller isn’t what you need finding you.”

But you know this, you assure her, and you continue to avoid him.

The following Friday, he’s the one playing the disappearing act. The next week, as well—no show. You start to dread even your own shadow, wondering where he is, wondering if he’s ever coming back, if he has children and how old he is. Wondering if he wonders about you. Wondering why you’re so obsessed.

Too full of curiosity for your own good, you hover when he finally appears once again. Circling him and Maria, desperate for any sort of information.

His wife had been sick, he says. He’d had to take her to the doctor.

You wonder if her sickness might be his baby—sick to your stomach at the thought of it yourself.

Finally, the week after, the two of you break your fast from one another.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he says, coming up from behind, ambushing you once again at the dessert and coffee trough. This is supposed to be a safe space, yet it feels anything but with him near.

“No I haven’t.”

“You’re not supposed to tell lies in church. It’s a sin.”

“I don’t believe in sin.” You turn to face him, and your stomach hurts.

He’s got on a dark green fisherman’s sweater—well worn but knit sturdy. A thing that looks as if it’s been his for years.

You’re feeling thin-skinned and unable to face him today, and for no good reason. You don't know this man. You have no right to punish him with your silence, no right to be angry, to wonder about him. But that sternness from before, the one that looked too heavy for him to carry, has been wiped away from his face now, and in its place he only looks very earnest, like he really wants to talk to you. And it’s only that, well you don’t know him, yes, but you’d felt that you needed to, or that you would. That you were meant to find him in this place, and you’re angry at yourself and at him at how wrong you’d been, still even after all these weeks of radio silence while he’d been busy caring for his sick wife.

“Me either,” he gives a small huff of laughter, shoving his fists into the pockets of his dark jeans.

Setting the donut in your hand back on the table—rude and gross, but it’s an afterthought—you wipe your sweet sweaty palm against your hip, appetite all gone now. The basement is suddenly unbearably hot, your heart beating in your throat.

“Anywho, I gotta run. Somewhere to be—” you mumble, brushing past him. There’s a sudden rush of itching heat burning its way up your chest, your throat, ants crawling over your scalp. The room is stifling, your limbs leaden and too many bodies; so many disgusting, clashing scents: pheromones, and desperation and such terrible loneliness, and him at the center of it, ambrosial.

You’ll have to recite your mantra more faithfully in the mirror every night, not a single miss. Remind yourself, I am so alone, so that the feeling might go away, and you’ll forget him and the way he smells and his eyes like amber green river stones, more quickly.

“Whoah, hold on,” he calls after you, following to the exit and up the steps to the world outside of this church. You’d brought a coat today, unable to enjoy the cold the way you usually do, uncharacteristically chill, aching limbs, miserable in the biting morning air. He calls your name, and you clutch the wool against your chest, trying to hurry away from his much longer legs and pace as he catches up.

Suddenly, though, you change your mind. Whirling around to look up, you stop your running, and he’s right there, so close. “I haven’t been ignoring you. You were gone.” Mind changing again, your gaze falls, unable to hold his eyes. You watch his left hand flex like he wants to do something with it.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

A scoff. “What are you apologizing to me for?”

“You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met in my entire life.” He says it quietly by way of explanation, like another apology.

“You must not have met very many interesting people.”

It feels hot and cold at the same time out here. Your stomach still hurts. Your eyes ache as if you could cry, which is ridiculous because you have absolutely no reason to cry.

“Maybe not,” he says very low. It seems he’s drifting closer, like you’ll float away. A car honks its horn loudly somewhere in the background, and you still can’t look at his face. His own coat is clutched in his fist and now the honker is shouting too, expletives and God’s name being taken in vain.

“You should go back in there,” you tip your chin at the depths you’d just fled from, stealing a quick glance at his face, “Find someone else who’s interesting.”

He grunts once, a wordless no and lifts his coat to drape it over your shoulders—you decide you’re even colder now, you don’t think you’ll ever be warm again—and takes yours from your listless grip, draping it over his elbow.

This man. “Aren’t you here to get to know people?” You demand, finally looking up at him angrily.

“No,” he shakes his head. “Let’s go for a walk.” His palm at your bicep urging you towards Arlington and the garden sends all sound skittering out of your ears. He reminds you of your earlier words, that he might like to walk, and you can hear yourself agreeing while you look up at the muted light of the late November afternoon leaching through the cloud cover. Through the wool and cotton you feel your skin sucking heat from that singular point of contact, warming you entirely.

It had been blisteringly cold last night, the alluring taste of incumbent winter in the air, and a vicious frost had ermined all the tree trunks within the Boston Public Garden, roughened the surface of the grass.

Joel chooses a quiet spot by the pond, the willow weeps above your head and all around the two of you the sharp autumn air is lightly laced with the fragrance of leaf rot. An elderly couple floats serenely in a lone swan boat at the center of the pond, not a ripple in the surface, as if they weren’t really there.

Helping you to sit, he gently pulls his coat from your shoulders, laying the garment for you to rest on protected from the frigid ground and carefully looping your arms through your own coat now, he pulls the excess fabric of his up, draped over your shoulders once again, leaving you securely enveloped from the cold.

“Here, let me help you,” he says, and the sudden gentleness in his voice makes you want to burst into tears. His character, that of some matryoshkin sort, one embedded in another in another, never knowing which is the realest one, the truest one, which will come next. Angry snarling dog one day, a gentleness that burns the next. You have the sense that a person could know him for decades and still never reach the center, never cease to discover more.

Sitting before you—you perch alone on the island of his given coat—he tilts his head, leaning back braced on thick arms to look up at the swaying vines with just an impression of brilliant yellow-green, as if that were the color of the air. A sudden breeze stirs the softness of his hair, lifting a stubborn cowlick, and at that exact moment, the cloud cover parts on the face of the sun. In the brilliant shaft of buttered sunlight, his dark curls glint with specks of purest silver, leaving you wishing you could touch the fan of fine lines at the corner of his eyes, feel his age with your fingertips.

“You’re angry with me,” he finally says, head still tilted towards the sky. You watch him very closely, learning. His voice is deep, quiet. He looks tired, the violet shadows beneath the brilliant hazel eyes. Still beautiful, the full, slightly sulky curve of his mouth surrounded by dark beard. He is everything, all of him, masculine.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Finally, he looks at you, too. He’s got a big head, proportionate to his big body, that falls back heavily. You can’t help smiling at him, it feels too natural.

“Now you’re honest.”

“I wouldn’t tell a lie here,” you say, and he sighs like you’re a supremely difficult little omega, too impossible to be reasoned with. But turning back to the sky, eyes closed now, there’s a smile across his mouth also, and you wish the two of you could sit here and laugh forever in this moment.

The silence between the two of you is marvelous enough to be unnerving. Settled beneath his great coat, you’d never believed you could feel the cold so little—learning every fine detail that makes up the man. Even inches away from him, he seems utterly unattainable, each of the two of you existing on your separate islands—you trace the woolen edge of his coat against the ground—some twenty years your senior and married. But the cold has given you such a feeling of grounding buoyancy. You’d awoken angry, miserable, so full of despair you would’ve been sick with it if it were possible. And now—you hadn’t felt this alive or awake in years, perhaps your entire life. He is a marvel, and there are bubbles in your head threatening to take you floating away, and yet, your feet are firmly melded to the ground in reality.

How attractive, how delicious the prospect of intimacy is with someone who you know will never grant it. It fills you with something ferocious or hungry or snapping, something pathetic that makes you want it all the worse. And he, with a gravitational pull too strong to even think of escaping.

Yes. You hadn't felt so happy in years.

“How old are you?” Breaking the silence, you ask him.

“Forty three.”

“You have a brother.” He nods. “I have one too.”

“Do you speak to yours? I don’t.”

“He calls me once a month. It’s all he can bear of me.”

“Mine won’t speak to me.” He sounds sad saying so.

“Why not?”

“I hurt him. Scared him.”

“My brother, he says my whole life is papier-mâché. My values are all wrong, I’m a crowd-pleaser. It’s probably true.” You’d felt it impossible to better yourself, and yet still, you tried for him. “How did you hurt him?”

“You can’t change a man, only make him more secure. Depending on his character that may then bring happiness or strength or success. Tommy’s failure of this in me was more than he could bear, also.”

The willow becomes your confessional. “I spiked my own drink once just to see what it would be like. A doctor told me afterwards that I have self destructive tendencies. I want to hurt myself, but I don’t want to actually feel the hurt, which makes me all the more addicted to it. A supernumerary on the stage of my own life, too afraid of hurting and hungry for it at the same time.”

The heel of his left hand, you notice, is bearing down on an old acorn burr, and yet he seems not to feel the pain.

He’s looking at you very intently now. Some glimmering streak in his eye. It almost looks aggressive, and a muscle flutters madly at the edge of his jaw. He straightens, sitting up to face you. The acorn burr is left flattened and disfigured in his wake.

“The last doctor I saw told me I was depressed. I never went back after.”

“Are you?”

He laughs surprisingly full of humor and then instantly serious again. “Probably. I’ve been watching my life, scratching at it trying to get in. I can’t. It’s right there.” The matryoshka shuffles, locked in his melancholy one moment, spilling brightness the next.

You want to understand him so badly your hands shake with it.

“What’s your favorite thing about your work?” You ask him.

Where does his wife think he is right now?

“That’s a nice question. Maybe…” he thinks a moment, “Getting to make things that’ll go in people’s homes. The idea that something that came from me will be surrounded by a family.”

You can’t help yourself. “Why aren’t you at home?” You ask him imploringly, unbearably sad for him, sick with need, desperate to understand what it is he’s doing here, and all at once, utterly certain of what it is you are. “Don’t you love your wife?” The question is posed with no bravery, and yet it still comes out into the world demanding.

He clicks his tongue, taken aback, a shocked breath, maybe even a small, reproving smile. A hundred different emotions coming to life across his face in that single moment.

“I don’t know,” he finally answers. “I remember loving her. Maybe. At best? She’s a stranger. At worst? An excuse?” But he says it like a question. He’s asking you, not telling, for he isn’t even sure of it himself. You’ve caught him off guard.

“No…” the click of his tongue snapping you to attention, “That's too generous. We’re trapped in a box together, but completely strange to one another.” It suddenly feels like he shouldn’t be telling you this—about her. You’re sure he shouldn’t be.

“Do you hate each other?” You ask anyway. There’s something…your only example of love and marriage being two people who had always hated one another and filled the home where their children lived with more hate. It’s difficult to fathom something different than what that had looked like.

If you were truly brave, you’d ask if he has children, too.

“No,” he says immediately, a non option, his brow furrowed. “That would take too much effort.”

Now you understand. He’s alone anyways. The feeling of urgency within you mounts. You’re frightened by this moment of discovery.

“You’re Southern. Your accent…” You can’t discuss this anymore, needing to change the subject.

“Texas.”

“When did you leave?”

“Long time ago.”

“Do you miss it?”

At his, he laughs like the question is ironic. “No. Where are you from?”

“Sometimes it feels like I can’t even remember.”

And as if he’d pulled the feeling straight from your mouth, he tells you that he understands what that’s like, and you can’t help it when you reach for his hand, being as careful with him as you would any shy creature, needing to hold him.

“I’ve never been in love,” you tell him, childish look of recklessness and valor coming across your face as you pick up on the earlier thread of conversation you’d frightened yourself with. “It seems too daring, even grotesque.”

He thinks he wants to capture that look in a bottle and take it everywhere with him. His entire body throbs with a heartbeat and the shape of your hand fits his as if every joint and muscle and soft ligament had been specifically designed for him to hold, filled suddenly with a terrible sense of foreboding. Looking at you, one just knows there’ll be a broken heart.

Your small thumb smooths gently over his large one, and he marvels that such an exquisite creature would touch him. God, but you’re beautiful. Your touch, soft and enticing and painful all at once. No one had ever been so gentle with him.

“Won’t you tell me a secret?” You beg.

He will. He might give you anything in this moment. In the weeks he’d been kept away, he’d desperately counted the days and minutes until he could return to that place of worship and honesty.

“I think about you,” voice hushed, the shaking of the leaves not loud enough to mask the soft breath you suck in as he gives you his confession. He maps the architecture of the small hands in his grasp, fingers tracing fingers, uncured clay fragile before the heat. He feels tired and strangely spent, almost drunk on your touch. His thumb slides upwards, marveling at the softness of your wrist, and then there, beneath the shivering distraction of your pulse and his disturbing search, the unlocked fragrance of your scent gland. It drifts towards him slowly like smoke rising from sleep.

The air seems to pulse between the two of you with heat and premonition. That singular moment before everything goes terribly wrong, he can see it in your eyes. Such vibrancy, excitement, recklessness turned danger.

“We should…” you feel him begin to pull away, grappling to hold on to the moment and his hand, “We should fuck.” He takes himself back, letting you go. Where else was this being led?

He cringes away from you. “Excuse me?”

“Sex. You’ve had it before.” His mind reels. His body’s reaction at hearing your mouth say these things, the way it shapes them, the soft, full lips wrapped around the words.

Looking away, he watches the pond’s couple help each other out of the swan. In his periphery, he can see you begin to bristle at his silence.

“Don’t be peevish. It’s unbecoming.”

He can’t help feeling angry. “I’m not. I’m old enough to be your father.” And you laugh at him. You’re deviating paths now, going opposite ways and angry at one another for it.

“We could pretend that—if that’s what you want,” you say, voice husky and seductive. A small palm smooths up his thigh and his gaze snaps fire at you, hand clamping painfully at your wrist, fingernails digging at your gland, disturbing more of that gorgeous scent into the air.

You make a pained sound. He needs to leave. He needs to never see you again.

“Don’t be disgusting,” he shoots back, hot everywhere.

“Don’t be a prude.” He flings your wrist away, and you cradle it against your chest as if he’d hurt you. The heat turns to guilt pulsing through his limbs.

Warring to wounded then, your eyes. You wrap your fingers around your discarded wrist. “What if we lose everything? What if tomorrow’s the end of the world? What if we’re so thoroughly cured of our loneliness after all this is done, we never feel like we need another person this way again?”

His muscles tense with the need to flee or attack, the thought of you needing him, of being needed in such a way—he’s like some creature coming upon its mate.

Despite his age, he had never tried to truly seduce anyone. He had never truly wanted anyone. Not in any real and base sort of way. Desire for him had been a mute and ordinary thing. But he could have you now, turned into a thing he’d never been before, he could mount you and rut you into the dirt like an animal. Never so much a product of his designation as he feels in this instant.

He can’t even form word, and your body seems to pulse against his with embarrassed heat and indignation.

“Have you ever even fucked an omega?” You spit at him meanly.

“We shouldn’t be talking about this.” Voice carefully restrained, each syllable off his tongue is measured with his tenuous control.

“Tell me anyways,” you demand, shoving his coat off your shoulders being the thing that almost makes him lose it.

“It’s cold. Put that back on.”

“Tell me.” And he shouldn’t. You should have no sway over him. No demand of his honesty or anything else that belongs to him.

“Once. Only because I wanted to know what it was like.” He’s man enough to admit to himself the embarrassment he feels telling you this.

But it seems to quell some tremor in your eyes, and you sit back, palm petting at your throat as if you’re trying to soothe yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you say, gaze averted, glassy, delirious look there. “I’ve always gotten my feelings hurt easily. I’m—” you shake your head quickly, sucking on your lip. “...too sensitive. Sometimes I feel like I’ll float away if I don’t find anyone to hold me down.”

He should tell you that you’re not, wants to, but the image of you weak and pinned beneath him churns in his mind. Whole body aching suddenly, needing his hands on you before he does something truly heinous—he straightens abruptly, abandoning your reassuring warmth. Feeling suddenly cold despite the sweat dotting his spine.

Without another word he turns to leave you there, alone, while the swan pair watches from across the pond as the two of you part ways.

The next morning he awakens stiff and burning, his cock a brand of heat against his stomach. And works his entire day in a static haze, lavender spots at the edge of his vision where all he can think about is how you smell and the way your hand feels in his. By five o’clock, his fingers ache, spasming painfully from gripping his tools too hard. Breaking his weeks-long habit, he decides to attend the Saturday night meeting, full of constrained energy and sullen moodiness. Reasoning that a pretty, young girl like you wouldn’t waste her weekend in the basement of a church abandoned by God.

And is sick to his stomach with equal measures elation and dread when he spots you sitting amongst the crowd of metal folding chairs—wearing his coat. He doesn’t hesitate even a little when he claims the seat next to yours.

The two of you sit in strained silence the entire meeting, the other alphas and omegas surrounding throwing alarmed and intrigued glances your way as the tension brews hotter and more frenzied.

His body hurts. This is a painful kind of lust.

He listens to the speakers tonight with only half an ear, instead, occupied with the memory of what you’d looked like the other week eating a jelly and cream filled donut, imagining what your mouth would look like smeared with his blood and come. He can smell your body, how hot and trembling nervous you are. So unlike all that blistering, innocent valor from yesterday.

The omega with the cruel husband turned sick one is taking her turn again tonight. Now that he looks at her, she has hair that at one time was vibrant red, now turned a softened copper threaded through with white. Time is such a painful, slow thing, Joel thinks.

“Have you ever been with someone you knew you were too good for?” The omega asks the room, while the one beside him begins to shake, knee jolting nervously.

You’re anxious, and it makes him angry that you should be made so by his actions.

Too rough for forbearance, his palm clamps down tightly on your knee, holding it still, and you make some supplicant whimper at the back of your throat. Almost imperceptibly, you draw away from him, the line of your shoulders growing rigid, and a wild, irrational sense of loss steals his breath.

He’s been so busy lately, distracted. He’s hungry, overstrained, anxious himself. He doesn’t mean to be brusque with you. He just can’t help himself.

Would we be here if we had? Someone lost in the crowd pipes back.

The woman laughs, she has a kind face. “Me either.” You shove his palm off your leg as if it burns. “But there was someone… once. A chance, maybe. Someone I didn’t choose but should have. We were friends. We came very close to being happy.”

And he suddenly feels a wave of desolation so overwhelming wash over him. He turns to look at you, your vibrating profile, so pretty, and he’s gentle this time when he touches your knee. Just to feel you. How terrible, he thinks, to only come very close to being happy.

The speaker changes, and then it’s Maria’s voice talking to them all. Joel still can’t look away from you as you, in turn, refuse to look at him. “Stop, Joel,” you whisper. But he can’t.

“At the start of this, we usually discuss a second option for those of you who aren’t able to find what you’re looking for in this. Sometimes it’s not so simple,” Maria tells them.

A miracle move on drug, she calls it.

The group’s coalition is sponsored by a pharmaceutical company, one testing a cure for loneliness. Something they think of as pilled perfection, something to numb the pain of loss. Any emotional wound, now with the potential to be a thing of the past. The young omega handing out the pamphlets had promised an easy cure, it seems this is what he’d been referring to. And if the potential side effects included an inability to hold on to any sort of emotional attachment afterward, well, the encounter groups they’d targeted thus far were grateful for it in the end anyway. They were all alone after all.

“It’ll help you let go of everything you can’t let go of,” Maria tells them. “Help make you forget. Help make you un-lonely. We’ll be holding a session Wednesday morning for anyone who’s interested in being part of the trial. Our sponsor company, Firefly, is very happy to welcome as many of you as possible.”

Beside him, you whisper, “Only a coward would take that option. What a cheat.” He hesitates, perplexed and wounded by your words.

“You’ll never have to grieve or miss something you can’t get back, ever again. I know that for many of you, this is the ultimate fantasy,” Maria says.

“I think it sounds like something to help let go. Like what I came here for.”

You exchange cards. Now it’s your turn, the wounded look.

When Maria’s through, bidding the group goodnight and setting them all free to mingle, you’re up and out of your seat before he can get a word in. He watches you go as if he were some sort of abandoned lapdog, only for a second, before he’s once again, striding after you.

You weave almost drunkenly through the crowd, first heading towards the exit, then to the beverage station, then correcting and veering towards the back hall where the restrooms and catechism classrooms are.

Gaining on you, he takes you by the elbow, pushing you deep into the darkness of the long hallway. Going far enough the din of desperate socialization turns a quiet murmur. You’re really in the belly of the beast now. So quiet and dust infused it feels as if it’s been years since a soul stepped through here.

“What’s wrong with you?” Your face glows with fevered sweat.

“I’m sick,” you mumble on the tail end of a whine when he shakes your arm into responsive compliance. “Let me go. Stop,” you fight, trying to claw away from him.

“No you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. I threw up all night. And you have the personality of a snarling dog more than a man. Has anyone ever told you that?” Shoving at his chest now feebly.

Ignoring your caterwauling, he takes you in entirely. “You’re not sick,” he says again, sure now.

There’s a timeless hunger gnawing at his gut. Joel suddenly feels more himself than he think he’s ever felt in his entire life.

Dragging you high against his chest by the collar of his own coat, he brings the tip of his nose slowly to the valley of sweet fragrance at the side of your throat. Inhaling deeply at the flushed, swollen scent gland there. The sound of your toes scuffing against the floor excites him even more.

“You’re not sick. You’re going into heat,” he says slowly; gathering the overwhelmed, shivering creature as gently as he can in his arms.

Your fingers claw at his own throat in return, as if digging for his own answering scent. “No. But it’s not time. I had one not so long ago.” You sound on the verge of tears, and he makes a deep, soothing sound in his chest. “My blockers...I— I can’t be. It’s not time yet.”

“It’s a breakthrough heat.” His other hand comes around to the small of your back and ever so slowly, he presses your hips closer to his. “It’s mine. Because of me.”

“No.” You shove back with renewed strength suddenly, spinning around to scurry deeper down the dark hall and then careening on weak legs into an abandoned classroom.

Heart beating madly at the prospect of the hunt, he takes a singular calming breath before he’s prowling after the sound of your crying.

“You need to not run from me right now. It’ll make my rut come faster,” his deep voice comes from somewhere in the dark unknown.

You scramble around the children’s desks, weaving your way clumsy with disorientation to the far end of the classroom. You don’t want to go into heat right now. You can’t. Not with him. You need to be safe and alone in the confines of your warm, comfortable bedroom, far away from the temptation of him.

His heavy, panting breath sounds closer and there’s a shriek in your throat like a struggling kitten.

“You want me to lose my self control. That’s what this is, isn’t it?” There’s a loud crash as he shoves one of the little desks out of his way, followed by your answering shriek. And then he’s here, coming up behind you but finding mercy enough to hold himself back at the last moment, panting as if he’d just run miles fighting against himself.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry. Come here, baby. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s okay.” He takes a step closer, and the slowing of his breath and soothe of his voice calms you in turn. “You’re only going into heat, that’s all, sweet girl. I’ve triggered it for you and I’m sorry. Let me come to you.”

You let out a high and harried sound, palm smoothing over your throat over and over again. “Joel,” you say once.

“I’m here. It’s okay.”

“It’s only that—”

“What is it?”

“I have to tell you something.”

“Tell me.”

“I’m embarrassed.” A helpless tear spills out over the edge of your eyelid.

“You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about with me. Ever. We understand each other, you and I. Don’t we?”

And he’s right of course. You’d picked his face out of the crowd in instant recognition, after all. “I’ve had heats…but I’ve never—never had a, a heat with someone. With an alpha.”

He’s utterly silent and you feel deranged enough you’re almost certain you can hear the pound of his heart inside his chest.

“You’ve never had a knot take your cunt?”

“No.” You swallow. “Never.”

You hear a muttered fuck, and his breathing goes quick and shallow and then even again. He has better control over himself than you do at this moment.

“Then how?”

You flush full of heat, embarrassed. “T—toys,” you stutter. “Medication to help ease it.”

When he steps closer, only calm accompanies him. All is suddenly quiet. You want him. Your disjointed mind, overwhelmed by too many confusing emotions had gone into overdrive for a moment, but now, with the scent of hot, aggravated alpha surrounding you, it’s obvious this was all you’d needed to calm down.

You can feel his hot breath against your forehead, the wash of heat on each exhale and the lingering scent of sweet musk at his inhale. You touch his cheek with shaking fingers and feel him turn ever so slightly into your palm, and then he’s bending slowly.

First, it’s a soft, wet nudge of his mouth, your bodies held apart. Then his strong nose bumping into the side of yours, the splendor of inexperience turning to knowing, a nuzzle. Coming in again hungry, with the slick of tongue now, and the deep inhale of shock at first taste. Your breaths rush through one another, and you feel yourself backing away in maybe fear, more likely overwhelm, but his mouth follows your retreat and then his palms are at your waist, tugging you into himself, pressing you tightly to his body with a ragged groan.

“Your mouth…Your mouth is so beautiful,” he says.

Everything in your lower belly cramps in painful agony, and you scratch at his arms and neck without much strength, trying to climb higher and take more of him into your mouth. Oh, you want this so badly. You want it to be everything you’ve dreamed of so obsessively the past weeks. Nothing else in the world exists except for your two mouths pressed together.

His lips burn a wet path across your cheekbone, sliding to the side of your neck to suckle at your scent gland. “Fuck.” His scraped teeth along the patch of sensitive skin. “Have you had sex before?” The question is gentle, understanding, his tongue tasting your sensitive earlobe, head ducking suddenly to give a sharp bite at your breast.

“Yes.” His erection is pressed firm at your belly, hot even through his jeans and your sweater. His large body radiates heat. At your back, his palm finds the edge of your top, sliding underneath to make first contact, blistering skin against blistering skin.

“But not an alpha.” He says it smugly, the bastard. Palm sliding down to your rump, tucking you more tightly against his hard cock. You shake your head at the crook of his neck, fingertips twisting in the back of his hair. Your breath comes in wet little pants that sound too pathetic to bear.

“It’s going to feel so good,” he promises, rubbing slow circles low on your back with that wide, strong palm. “It’s different. It’s…” That palm slides lower, squeezees the curve of your ass. “It’s ordinary if it isn’t with someone…special. If there’s not the possibility of—”

You tell him you understand what he’s trying to say.

“I think it’ll be so good between us,” he finishes.

At the waist of your skirt, his fingers press between your skin and the stretch of your tights, forcing his large hand into their confines. Your breath skips into his open mouth, panting into one another he cups you between your legs and suddenly all you can focus on is the tight ache there, the nylon soaked obscenely between your thighs. His arm around your back squeezes you tighter to his chest and his fingertips are pushing past lace edge to feel the slick swell of wet cunt.

“Oh, Joel. Not here,” you moan. “Someone will come in.” He’s circling your clit, so sensitive and so swollen it hurts. You tug him impossibly closer, and he presses you back into the cold stone wall. “We can’t in a church.” Your protestations sound weak even to your own ears as you spread your legs wider for him.

“I don’t give a fuck.”

He takes your mouth again, sucking deeply, groaning even deeper when he presses inside of you to the first knuckle. “Tight, baby,” he breathes into your neck, his hips slowly grinding into your pelvis.

He feeds you more, then presses a second finger, holding still for a second, then another. Panting like a rabbit caught in a trap with three of his too thick fingers stuffed in your overstretched cunt. The sound of popping seams moves up your spine.

“Can feel your little cunt shaking around me. Jesus—” he groans. It’s all mine, whispered into your hair.

Suddenly, there’s the open and close of a door nearby. And then the sound of someone’s voice calling your names. Joel huddles you further into the dark corner, confined by the protection of his body, his fingers still moving in and out of you, stretching you well enough to burn as he presses as deeply as he can and with the utmost gentleness, pets lightly at the painfully sensitive mouth of your cervix. Humming in satisfaction at the feel of you.

“Right there?” He hums.

You’re crying, clutching at him even more tightly. Your name sounds again, being searched for, like a warning.

“If I fuck you, nobody else ever will.” His voice is so dark it’s menacing. It’s recklessness, verging on a lie. Maybe it’s hope.

Pressing lightly again, petting, petting, he pulls his fingers back a little, the loud sucking sound of your cunt trying to hold onto him, and you’re coming for him, crying into his neck, sucking on his scent gland so that the taste of him floods your mouth. The sound of a door opening, and you hear him growl at someone to fuck off in a very scary voice, his fingers never ceasing their steady thrust inside of your clenching sex, and the frightened slam of a door.

“It’s alright. You’re alright. That’s my good girl,” he pets and soothes at you, pressing a kiss to your temple, your eyelids, your mouth again and again.

Part 3;

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venxomi · 2 months ago

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Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun Chapter 120 - Yugi Amane, Minamoto Kou & the Red House

This is my first time making this type of thread, so I hope you will bear with me ^^ I'll talk about the important bits.

Yugi Amane

Chapter 120 explains Yugi Amane's situation in the new present. Even though Nene tried denying it, Yugi Amane was incapable of finding happiness, even if he got to live a little longer. It confirmed he died in his late 20s, and that his soul is but a prisoner to the Red House, forced to obey its orders.

That he's been killing multiple people without him even realizing, as he is unable to defy the House...

And ultimately revealing that, while possessed, Amane had killed both Kou and Sousuke in the aftermath of chapter 118. The Kou we saw in chapters 119 and 120 is nothing but his now trapped soul.

As Kou explains everything, we come to realize the following: It's not just Yugi Amane who is a prisoner of the House, but Tsukasa, their parents and the souls who warned Mitsuba as well. That they're all unfortunate victims that were eaten alive by the House and forced into servitude.

Minamoto Kou

Kou is not immune from the Red House's possession- He is now one of its servants, just like Amane and the other people killed. Just like Amane who forcefully dragged Kou and Nene to the well through the black door, so did Kou lure Nene through the same door.

Finally possessed by the House, he tries to drag Nene down the well, to make her a victim just like the others.

It is then when Teru comes to rescue Nene, but not realizing that the Kou he sees is nothing but his soul, he accidentally exorcises him while snapping him out of the possession.

It is important to note that Kou didn't feel any sort of bitterness towards Amane killing him or towards Teru exorcising him.

After Amane killed him, he just lamented his fate.

Not only did he lament his fate, but also asked Nene to change the world back to how it was. Not only because he and Mitsuba are long dead, but because he now knows how truly messed up the new present is. How no one is truly "happy" here. How it goes against his motivation, which is to bring everyone actual happiness.

That's why he brought Nene to Amane in chapter 119. To make her see how this world actually looks like, to make her want to go back. To make her see that even if Amane lived longer, he was way more miserable than he ever was in the original timeline.

When his big brother exorcised him, he only felt glad. Glad that he couldn't harm Nene, and glad that he doesn't have to suffer the same fate as Amane. Glad that he hasn't succeeded in killing anyone against his will.

Even while disappearing right before her eyes, Kou tries to comfort her. If she succeeds in rewinding the world, they will be able to meet again.

He even compares this new world to a "bad dream", contrasting himself from chapter 118, who considered the old world to be the "dream", then not knowing how truly wicked the new present is.

His last words confirm that Mitsuba has died together with him.

The Well

Teru, shocked by the events, immediately heads over to the well and looks inside.

He falls limp, only supported by the well, in total disbelief. Due to the implications throughout chapter 120, it is safe to assume that in the well lies the corpses of all the Red House's victims, including Kou and Sousuke.

This is further evidenced by Akane's reaction, who is repulsed by whatever is seen inside.

It is then when Akane concludes that this timeline is not stable, as he was tasked to check. The well is enough evidence to back up how twisted the world is.

Conclusions

I'm not sure whether we will see the contents of the well. We see the series through Nene's eyes, and Nene being stopped from seeing what's inside the well meant the readers are stopped from seeing aswell. The implications are evident enough to prove that within it lie numerous corpses, including Kou and Sousuke's.

Akane ended the chapter with a resolution to change the world back to how it was, but they still aren't aware of when to go and what to change. So they will stay within the Red House for the next few chapters for sure.

I'm not sure if the Red House will let them leave. All 4 living humans are all right next to the well where the Red House supposedly eats them alive. It's too good of an opportunity for it not to ambush them in the next chapter.

Teru and Nene, but especially Teru, will 100% go some under serious character development. Not only does Teru exorcising Kou somewhat parallel Amane killing Tsukasa in the original timeline, but Teru sacrificed his entire childhood to protect Kou, only for it to end like this in the New Present. Truly tragic.

Amane reacted to Yashiro calling Hanako for help. It may be that in the future chapters, Amane will get his memories from the original timeline and help Nene and the others find out what to change. Though I have a feeling, given that he's susceptible to being possessed by the House, that he will take himself down along with the House in order to let them leave. Although again, this is just a random prediction of mine...

This is the first time Nene's hairclip slips from her hair. The shape of her hairclips symbolize good luck, and it was truly good luck. If it weren't for her hairclip falling off, Aoi wouldn't have found her and Teru wouldn't have saved her in time. Albeit this can be also interpreted as limited good luck, as it slipping off would mean that Nene won't benefit from the same luck again.

This was truly the most heartwrenching chapter in the series, but also one of the best written in my opinion, being a huge pay-off for the other chapters of the Alteration arc. However, I have a feeling we're only going downhill from here.

Kou was likely already doomed from chapter 116, when he was first possessed by little Tsukasa. Because he was then sent to the Red House with an envelope that had nothing inside and with circumstances he himself doesn't remember, and as per Kou's words in chapter 120, the Red House uses the souls it captured to bring new victims from the Near Shore. He was fated to die the moment he came into contact with Tsukasa. Mitsuba could've escaped, but he wanted to save Kou and died together with him instead.

I hope you enjoyed my post!

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aventurineswife · 19 days ago

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I HAVE ANOTHER IDEA

AVENTURINE X READER THEY MARRIED THEY HAVE A CHILD (or children idk) AND LIKE YEAH ITS CHRISTMAS AS A FAMILY AND AVENTURINE GETS EMOTIONAL

A Family of Our Own

Summary: You and Aventurine, now married, are celebrating Christmas as a family. Your life together has evolved beyond the high-stakes gambles and manipulative games that once defined Aventurine’s world. As you enjoy the holiday with your child, Aventurine becomes unexpectedly emotional. He reflects on his past, his trauma, and the family he never thought he'd have. In the warmth of the holiday and the love of his family, he grapples with feelings of gratitude, guilt, and the realization that happiness may finally be within his reach.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Winter Special, Family Fluff, Christmas Celebration, Emotional Vulnerability, Hurt/Comfort, Character Development, Domestic Life, Love and Healing.

Warnings: Mentions of past trauma, Emotional moments, Brief references to violence in Aventurine’s past, Light angst (in Aventurine’s emotional struggles).

The flicker of golden lights from the Christmas tree cast a warm glow across the room, reflecting off the delicate glass ornaments. The soft hum of holiday music played in the background as your child giggled, unwrapping presents under the tree. Aventurine, dressed in a velvet green robe that matched the festive decor, sat on the couch, his usual confident smirk softened into a serene smile.

The air was filled with the scent of cinnamon and pine, a reminder that you had finally managed to convince Aventurine to let the holidays be about more than just the game of life he so often played. This year, it was different.

He leaned back, watching the scene unfold before him: your child holding up a glittering card-shaped ornament, exclaiming about how it was "just like Papa's lucky charm," and you, laughing softly as you adjusted the tree's golden star.

"Careful with that," he teased, his tone light but carrying a flicker of concern. "That ornament's as fragile as the odds in my favor when I first gambled on you."

You turned, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, you mean the safest bet you ever made?"

He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine, far removed from the sharp laugh he often wielded to mask his emotions. "Safe? Hardly. I was convinced I'd lose you the moment you realized what a mess I am."

Your child, curious and full of energy, interrupted with a wide-eyed question. "Papa, what's a gamble?"

Aventurine's eyes sparkled with amusement. "It's a game of chance, little one. Like when you open a present—you never know if it'll be something you love or something silly."

"Like socks?" they asked innocently.

"Exactly," he replied, his grin widening. "Except I don’t gamble on socks. I gamble on life. And your parent," he added, glancing at you, "was the highest-stakes game I've ever played."

You rolled your eyes playfully, settling beside him on the couch as your child became engrossed in their new toy. "And yet, you always seem to win."

His smile faltered for just a moment, his gaze growing distant as he reached for your hand. The weight of his past—the lies, the betrayals, the scars—lingered in the unspoken spaces between his words. "Not always," he murmured, his voice quieter now. "But this… this is a victory I never thought I'd have."

You squeezed his hand, grounding him. "You're here, Aventurine. With us. That's all that matters."

He exhaled slowly, his usual mask slipping away completely. "Do you know how terrifying it is? To love something so much, to have something to lose?"

Your child’s laughter filled the room again, and his eyes flickered toward them, shimmering with unshed tears. "I never thought I’d have this—a family, a home. It scares me, because it feels… fragile. Like if I blink, it’ll all disappear."

You rested your head on his shoulder, your voice steady and sure. "It’s real, Kakavasha. You’ve built this. We’ve built this. Together."

His name—his true name—spoken in your voice always unraveled him. He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You’re too good to me," he whispered.

"And yet, here we are," you replied, smiling. "Aventurine, the great gambler, finally learning that not every win comes with a price."

The night unfolded with warmth and laughter, the three of you sharing stories, unwrapping gifts, and basking in the glow of the season. When your child finally fell asleep under the twinkling lights, Aventurine carried them to their room, his steps careful, his expression softer than you’d ever seen.

Later, as you sat together by the fireplace, his arm draped around your shoulders, he spoke again, his voice thick with emotion.

"Thank you," he said simply, his eyes meeting yours.

"For what?" you asked, leaning into him.

"For showing me that some gambles aren’t about winning or losing," he replied, his smile small but genuine. "They’re about what you’re willing to risk. And for this—for you, for them—I’d risk everything a thousand times over."

You smiled, brushing a hand through his hair. "Merry Christmas, Aventurine."

He kissed your hand, his voice soft but steady. "Merry Christmas, my love."

For once, Aventurine didn’t feel the need to chase the thrill of the unknown. This was enough. This was everything.

#x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #winter special #family fluff #christmas celebration #emotional vulnerability #hurt/comfort #character development #domestic life #love and healing

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creepsterdreams · 2 months ago

Note

touchstarved hc/mini scenario: LIs notice MC likes sitting closer to them when its colder ft. the intense desire to touch Vere's tail and spending prolonged periods of time sitting in upright fetal position

Before I begin, I just wanted to tell you that I love your mind for this!

But I fully believe that all LI's would love it if MC wanted to sit closer to them whenever it was colder outside!! (^-^) and honestly, Vere would probably hate me for constantly asking to pet his tail

Touchstarved mini scenarios: MC sitting closer when it's cold

Content warnings: mention of blood in Mhin's part, a little suggestive in Vere's part, Vere being a little shit, could be read as platonic or romantic, not proofread

Leander

The bustling sound of the Wet Wick was echoing through the upstairs hallways. The sound of laughing, glasses clinking together, and talking all ran through your head as you sat in the room Leander had given you all the while ago. And even though it was beginning to get much colder in Eridia, that didn't seem to slow business down, in fact, it feels as if it's grown even, probably due to people needing a warm place to stay. And in somewhere like Lowtown that's a luxury so few can afford, especially due to its frequent flooding from bad storms.

The sound of boisterous laughter coming up the stairs quickly pull you out of your thoughts. And before you could even question who it is, you already know it's Leander, probably coming to check on you after your sudden disappearance from the bar.

His laughter settles down as he gets closer to your room, before coming to a complete silence as he knocks on the door.

"Hey MC? I'm coming in."

The door opens and he walks in, turning around for a split second to close it before walking towards your figure that was currently resting on the bed, curled up with your head resting on your arms.

He suddenly gives you a look of concern, wondering why you were in that position and why you hadn't acknowledged him yet. Eventually, he reached the bed, sat down next to you and gently tapped his knee.

"You...okay?"

You didn't respond to the question, instead, you scooted a bit closer to him, maneuvering around so that your head now rested on his shoulder. Peaking your head up enough so that your mouth was visible, you whispered in a tired voice

"It's cold."

Leander's eyebrows raised in surprise, taking notice of your shivering figure before letting out a breathy laugh and deciding to wrap his arms around you, making sure you are secure and gently rubbing his thumb on your back.

"Don't you worry....I'll be right here, keeping you warm."

Ais

The loud whistling from the wind is heard echoing throughout the sea spring, making it more obvious that the colder seasons were here.

You were currently resting in the "bedroom" part of the temple that belonged to Ais. Although it was more of an empty space with some furs, pillows, and a futon that he found and scattered along the floor, it was still comfortable enough to sleep on, so you couldn't complain.

Princess was also with you, lying next to you and letting out some soft chirps and purrs. You were in the middle of petting her before she suddenly jumped up and ran towards the entrance, signaling to you that Ais had returned.

He took a moment to crouch down and coo at her, rubbing both sides of her head and pressing a soft kiss on it. Getting up again with princess trailing behind him, he comes towards the room and immediately his eyes are met with the sight of you lying down on his bed with at least three blankets curled around you.

"Comfortable sparrow?"

You lift your head up and tiredly stare at him. "As comfortable as I can get." You say with a raspy tone, watching him chuckle as he makes his way over to you and sits down, setting the bag of whatever he got from the market next to him.

Almost immediately you sit up and wrap your arms around his midsection, cuddling closer to him and sighing happily upon feeling his body heat.

"Your so warrrmmmm." You say breathily while snuggling into his side. Ais lets out another chuckle, taking one of his arms and wrapping it around you

"Getting a little brave, are we?"

You didn't respond, instead humming and keeping your arms around him, letting his warmness take over you and lure you into a nice, deserved nap.

Kuras

You and Kuras were both sitting down in the kitchen of his clinic, he was reading a book while you were face down in the middle of drinking some hot chocolate you had made earlier.

Looking up from the cup you were holding, you stared. at Kuras who was still reading the book, eyes racing across the pages. He eventually did take notice of your intense staring and took off his glasses before setting the book down and placing them on top of it.

"Is there something you need MC?" He asks inquisitively.

You continue staring at him, taking another sip of the hot chocolate before dragging your eyes away from his gaze, choosing to look down at the floor instead.

"It's nothing...."

"Are you sure? You look like you have something on your mind."

Curse him and his amazing sense of reading others.

Some time ago you noticed that Kuras had a concerningly low body temperature, almost damn near freezing most of the time, especially his hands. And you knew this thought was childish but you couldn't help but think maybe if you sat closer to him again, you and he could warm up once more.

Setting down the cup of hot chocolate, you rub your hands together before sliding them underneath the seat to start scooting closer to Kuras.

He watches you with a raised eyebrow, rightfully confused about your actions.

Eventually, you get close enough to where you are shoulder to shoulder with him, automatically feeling the coldness of his own body.

Kuras quickly took notice of this, letting out a soft chuckle before putting back on his glasses and picking up the book yet again, still keeping his shoulder connected to yours.

"If you wanted to warm up a bit, you could've said so."

Vere

Although the wall you were sitting on was cold as all hell, it was the least of your worries at the moment as you were doing your best to get away from the festivities that were currently going on in the Wet Wick. The Bloodhounds had an intense battle earlier today with some soulless and other monsters that were terrorizing parts of Lowtown. So in celebration, Leander ordered a bunch of drinks and food and let the Bloodhounds indulge in anything they wanted. While it was fun at first, it was quickly becoming overstimulating as they got increasingly louder and more reckless, most likely due to the alcohol.

Which led you to your current position, curled up against a wall in the alleyway next to bar, freezing your ass off but not wanting to return to the party.

"I thought I smelled a little rabbit. Not enjoying the fun?"

You quickly tilt your head up, latching your gaze onto the fox that is standing over you with a mocking smirk. He laughs seeing the shock on your face, stepping over to your side taking a sheet from the ground, and then putting it on top of a box, probably not wanting to get his clothes dirty.

"So, you're trying to avoid him too? I wouldn't be surprised, he's extra annoying when he's wasted" Vere continued on, wrapping a lock of his hair around his finger while putting one leg over the other.

You decided to stay silent, too fixated on watching the way his tail sways back and forth.

Has it always been this fluffy?

Vere catches onto your silence, wondering why you weren't responding to his snide remarks. He stops talking and stares down at you, clicking his tongue when he realizes you were staring at his tail.

"See something you like?" He says with a teasing tone.

You still say nothing, opting to keep a steady gaze on the fluffy appendage. You then slowly lift a hand up, inching it close to his tail.

"Can I?..."

Vere's eyes for a moment go as wide as saucers, a bit caught off guard from your sudden question. But it quickly returns back to a smirk, choosing to lean down a bit closer to you.

"You're going to have to beg a little harder than that if you want to touch me."

You send him a small glare, in which in response he falls back laughing, enjoying your reactions to him.

"Well, since I do...somewhat like you, I guess I can entertain your request. But do be careful, I would hate for you to lose your hands."

The threat at the end of his sentence sends a light shiver down your spine, but you understand it nonetheless. Now having his permission, you scoot closer towards him and gently grasp his tail so it wraps around your body, offering you warmth in the cold weather. You gently pet the end of it, smiling to yourself at the feeling of the fur running through your fingers.

Vere on the other hand is trying to ignore that soft feeling slowly rising within his heart. Seemingly enjoying seeing you using his tail as a makeshift blanket.

"Hmm...I guess I can allow this..once"

Mhin

It had been a while since you had seen Mhin, a part of you slowly becoming worried about their whereabouts, but another part of you felt that they were okay, just taking a bit longer on their nightly hunts for soulless in the city.

You were finishing up getting ready for bed, doing your best to find something comfortable enough to keep you warm through the night. After finishing your nightly routine, you eventually lay down in your bed, pulling the covers up to your chest and snuggling into the pillow.

That's when you hear the sound of shuffling coming from the window. It at first sends you into a panic but then you calm down, realizing it's most likely just Mhin returning.

You hear the sound of boots landing on the wooden floor, and then the irritated mumbling coming from Mhin, obviously irritated from whatever blood and other disgusting things got on their clothing.

You peak your head up at them, slowly sitting up while watching them do their best to wipe everything off.

"You were out there for that long in the cold?" You say with a hint of concern in your voice.

Your sudden question makes them pause and turn to you, slightly surprised by the fact that your still awake.

"Of course I was, someone has to get rid of those damn things."

You continue staring at them as they take off their cloak and boots, assumingly wanting to stay with you for a bit before they jump up again to look for some jobs. They trudge over to the bed and lay down, draping one of their arms over their eyes and sighing heavily.

You do your best to hide giggle wanting to leave your chest, finding humor in seeing Mhin so relaxed despite their usual tough exterior.

They huff again before a small scowl reaches their face.

"I know your cold as hell so get over here."

What they said caught you off guard. Mhin? Of all people wanting physical contact?

"What are you talking about?" You say with a voice of pure confusion

"Don't think I don't notice you sitting closer to me whenever it's cold."

.....well shit

You thought you were a bit better at hiding the obvious stealing of their body heat, but you guess you can't really hide anything from someone who hunts for a living.

You decide to not argue against it and get closer to them, lying down on their chest and sighing at the feeling of warmth. They click their tongue and use their free hand to set it gently on your back.

"Try not to enjoy it too much."

Author's note: I hope that was what you were asking for!! I apologize if it seems rushed or too fast-paced! (T_T)

#Touchstarved x reader #Touchstarved imagines #red spring studios #Touchstarved fanfiction #Touchstarved hcs #Leander x reader #Ais x reader #Kuras x reader #Vere x reader #Mhin x reader

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comfortless · 1 year ago

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Deep Water

nix! König x fem! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. no.. intentional harm done to reader but there are sporadic mentions of murder (drowning), König is kind of a creep here do you guys forgive me (say yes), implied sex; dubcon everything. König is wearing a fishing net rather than the usual hood because. it made sense to me sorry.

notes: yet again, i have found that i can not manage to write anything except for silly fantasy nonsense… bear with me this will pass (it will not). if you’re uncertain of what a nix is, i recommend skimming over this (or tl;dr— a shapeshifting water spirit).

You’ve always been told to beware of the river, especially on nights like this. When the singing starts up you were to run, as far and as fast as your feet could carry you. It would be the most beautiful sound you had ever heard, as well as the last. Whatever beast lies in wait along the silt of the riverbed luring people in with its haunting song isn’t kind. The drowned bodies resurfacing bloated and paled are enough for the townsfolk to assume that assuredly, a monster lies in wait someplace within the glassy water.

For all of the fear, town myths were just that— myths.

As always, there’s no singing when you seat yourself on smooth, mossy stones by the river’s bank. The moon hangs low, casting its brilliant reflection on calm, dark water. The air is alive with the buzzing of cicadas clinging to the trees at your back and night birds calling out to the wind. Nothing is amiss; it’s only peaceful, and that’s why despite the warnings, you often find yourself here when the temperature is favorable.

There are nights when the river isn’t calm, and currents are the most reliable reasoning for the deaths from past summers. The water is full of large rocks with sharp corners, teeming with plants that could so easily snare an ankle, and when the water is frothing and cruel it’s no surprise that one could be thrashed to unconsciousness if they weren’t careful.

You didn’t come here to take your chances on swimming, anyhow.

If anything, it’s a mere reprieve from the bustle of the town. No one wanders here any more since the myths gained traction, passed from mouth to listening ears time and time again, leaving this place entirely untouched. Occasionally the obnoxious teenager would cross your path on the walk here, declaring loudly to their friends about how they supposedly saw some slimy beast, eyes like moonbeams and scales like razors lying on the bank.

During your little adventures here, you often carry a snack with you, but not for yourself. Tonight, it’s just a small package of vanilla flavored cookies. In truth, they were awful— dry and near flavorless, but you suspect your friend here wouldn’t mind too terribly much, and if it got them out of your pantry without wasting it was a win for the both of you.

When the large dorsal fin crests over the water mere meters from the bank, you gratuitously crush the treats in a closed fist and toss the crumbs into the water. Time and time again, you’ve fed the large animal, watching as it thrashes about just below the surface before disappearing back into its depths. You’ve never gotten a good look at it, either, but you imagine it must stretch out past your height or further; some sort of gar or sturgeon.

Just as many times before, it glides further in, fin entirely out of sight now. The only evidence of it ever appearing at all were the small waves rippling in its wake. All is quieted once more as you embrace the placid bliss, readying your small flashlight and losing yourself into the book perched in your lap.

The next night, you’re greeted by a large snake basking over the rock you typically sat upon. It lies still, coiled into itself as it regards you, forked tongue flicking out for several moments before it simply slithers off, hiding itself away beneath the moss and stone.

“Best to leave you alone, huh?,” you ask to it’s retreating tail, feeling a bit silly for speaking to the reptile at all. It doesn’t respond, of course, nor does it bother to come out of hiding either.

You opt to seat yourself on the hill overlooking the water instead.

You find that after a day occupied by tedious tasks, there truly was no greater place to abandon your woes than here. Everything was peaceful; wild yet simplistic. Even with all of the death that seemed to haunt this place, you never feared the thought of ghosts. You’ve even entertained your imagination a time or two, that if you ever did meet one, you would only ask it not to disturb the wildlife you have grown so fond.

There’s a freedom and a mystery to places like this, places without the foot traffic of other people. It brings with it a sense of whimsy, especially when you glance towards the water and see the surface reflecting every twinkling star above.

The fish doesn’t appear, even as you listen to the water in wait, your head tilted as you lie back on soft grass to watch for ripples, for the swell of a large fin moving beneath. Nothing. You read your book as the night progresses, nearly completing it entirely before you make your way back home.

Weeks pass by like this— work, river, home and repeat. Occasionally it’s the same large snake that greets you when you wander there, more often it’s the large fish circling about waiting for crumbs of whatever treat you choose to bring. The bank and the small hill overlooking it have become a separate home to you, one where you can be away with the fairies, talking to your animal friends that never seem to stick around for long.

When the weather grows warmer, you even dare to take a swim.

You’re stood on the slick stones of the bank, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of underwear. It’s not proper swimming attire, but you reason that you’re not at the beach, not a soul is around, and it doesn’t really matter at all that you might look a bit silly. The prospect of swimming along that behemoth below is a tad terrifying, but you wouldn’t dare to wander too far in. Maybe the fish would even be intelligent enough to not attempt to eat you after you’ve been so kind to it.

It’s hot, and with a sticky layer of sweat glossing your skin, your worries seem minuscule in light of an easy way of cooling off. You toe at the calm water for a moment, testing its temperature before willing yourself to take a step forward, then another before you seat yourself in the vibrant expanse of darkened blue. Here, you realize, is the best place to stargaze, too; they shimmer all around you, within reach as you tap at the surface of water, watching it undulate beneath the pressure of your fingertips.

You could reach the moon, too, if you swam further out. A few meters from the bank and you would be directly beneath its reflection, bathed in that ethereal glow.

You watch for your friend for a time, trying to prioritize your wariness over your whimsy. When the fish doesn’t tread by you, the water remaining calm, you rise to your feet and take slow, metered steps as the water parts and flows against your shins.

Though the river is disturbed no matter how gently you stride forward, nothing slides out from its depths in pursuit of you. Nothing happens at all when you reach out to splay your hand out against the reflection, the water now gently lapping against your stomach rather than your legs.

You hadn’t expected any sort of shift in your reality, that would be ridiculous, but perhaps some sort of clarity; a further calm for a weary mind. It doesn’t come, and with a disheartened splash you wade your way back towards the shore.

This has been your sanctuary for some time. Excusing the snake, there’s not been any sort of threat to you, not here. A safe water world all your own. Though, that peace is shattered the moment that you make it to the bank and hear the water shift some small distance behind you. Turning your head, you’re met with the sight of a man, the bulky muscular silhouette towering in the patch of moonlight you had just stood in. Bright blue eyes catch the light, reflecting like an animal’s as you scramble back to where you’ve left your shorts.

He stands there, silent and unmoving like an obelisk even as you hastily dress yourself with a thundering heart and breaths that sound more or less like gasps, senses heightened by your panic as you turn tail to run.

No one had been there. You were sure of it when you sunk into the water. There was no sound when this person had swam over to take your place. He was just there, as if he had been the entire time and you somehow failed to notice.

You make your way into the woods framing this place, hurried steps and untied shoelaces. You don’t even bother with your flashlight.

Finding your way back home with aches in every muscle, the desperate rampage you had taken to get away finally coming to a close when the door slams shut behind you, you quickly shower and mull over what’s just happened. A ghost, perhaps. It had to of been. Any other person would have made noise in their approach, especially being that big. The mind could play its tricks; what you had seen was likely not even there at all— a terrifying figment of your imagination. That sets you at ease, somewhat, but not enough.

You don’t sleep well that night, tucked beneath your blanket and staring at the filtered moonlight through your curtains. Work isn’t on your mind at all come morning until your phone chimes with a notification from your manager, questioning your tardiness. A languid crawl out of bed follows, another shower, an unsatisfying breakfast, all before you opt to send a text back to let him know you won’t be in today.

It could be excused, you’re reliable and decent enough at the job; not one to boast, but far more eager to please than the rest of your coworkers. You would be entirely useless if you went in on no sleep, you reason.

You don’t want to go back there, not under the veil of night, but you find yourself horribly curious the longer that you bide your time indoors. You had to know if the thing that you saw was really there, had to calm your nerves. What if he had always been watching each time, and you simply hadn’t noticed? The forest bordering the river is terribly dark at night, anyone could crouch behind the shield of a tree and remain undetected until they willed the courage to drag you in, cup a palm over your mouth to silence your cries.

Maybe it was the monster the people in town rumored about.

The thought of some strange, silent thing living beneath the water waiting for an opportune moment to take you by the neck and drag you down to the silty floor to watch you drown horrified you. Yet, that’s the one conclusion that sticks. Those eyes… so lurid and haunting, no human being had eyes like that.

You inhale sharply, steeling your nerves as reach for a pocket knife for defense, toss it into the bag slung over your shoulder, and storm out the door.

The trek there is nothing short of dull.

No matter where you look, what shadows rise up beneath the dim glow of a falling sun, there’s nothing out in the woods. The river is equally tame. The water babbles over rock, cicadas buzz off in the distance, and not a thing seems amiss. Your search for footprints that don’t belong to the soles of your shoes turns up empty. The only thing that suggests just maybe it wasn’t all in your head is the book you had neglected to retrieve in your fear the night before.

The cover, every page within, now warped as though it had been pulled into the water and spit out to dry. You pick it up, peeling through damp pages, running your fingertips over the smeared ink. It’s possible that a particularly aggressive splash could have sullied it, but something tells you that that isn’t the case. Either way, it’s unreadable now. You sulk a bit as you slip the ruined thing into your bag and step towards the smooth stones to watch the water instead.

Night creeps in slowly with you there, and you’re on high alert for a time before you begin to relax as usual. Even giggle to yourself at how silly it was you believed you saw a ghost at all as you entertain yourself by skipping small stones across the water.

No large snake, no massive fish, no titan of a man appears before you, only a calming crescent moon and a few wandering wood ducks, gliding down from the bank to splash about. A thought comes to mind as the calm emboldens you: what would happen if you got in just one more time?

There’s nothing to suggest that you’re playing with fire as you leave your shoes neatly in the dry sand. If the ducks could swim unbothered by fish or men, then surely you could, too. You watch the little creatures a distance away as they dip their heads beneath the surface and chitter away amongst themselves while you take your first step in.

You don’t dare to go as far this time, stopping when the water brushes over your knees. You wait there while time seems to slow to a crawl, expecting the absolute worst, glancing further down the river, dipping your hand below the glassy surface until your fingertips brush the sand beneath.

It’s horribly hot and you’re still exhausted from the sleepless night before. The water feels nice, and you feel as though you have some sort of claim to it as you’ve been here more often than anyone else would dare to. Ghosts and monsters be damned, you seat yourself and let the water lap over your shoulders, tilting your head back to watch the stars.

When the singing begins it takes a moment to register just what it is that you’re hearing. It’s not beautiful, not like the myths have said. It’s hissed, a low whisper, a mockery of what a human song would sound like. The voice is rasped, lilted yet cold. The realization that it sings words from your book of poetry is what terrifies you the most, the warped pages all making sense now.

Your eyes dart to either side of you, forward, before realizing the voice is coming from behind you. Cold spreads through your veins as you try to force yourself to stand, but in your fear you find yourself petrified, rooted in water that would surely become your grave.

You can’t bring yourself to turn around, to inevitably find your eyes locked onto the shadowy frame of a man far too large, his eyes glistening and pale like the moon hanging above.

The voice pauses when it finds you unmoving, and you can hear the rustle of the creature shifting its weight where it’s stood on the rocks lining the bank. You’ve no clue how deep the river gets, where the opposite side leads, but your only chance of escape seems to be swimming through in the hopes that this thing doesn’t choose to chase after you. A part of you knows that he would, that that is exactly what he expects you to do, goading you to flee deeper with his eerie song so that he can drown you just as he did the others.

You do the opposite as you squeeze your eyes shut and crawl back towards the bank, making sure to keep some distance despite your willful blindness. You wouldn’t look at it, wouldn’t talk to it, you would just go home and never come back.

“Best to leave you alone, hm?”

You still as your fingers brush against wet moss, the voice no longer a whisper but loud, loud as it echoes your words from days past just above you. Beating back your own curiosity proves futile, because you look up at the damned thing then, expecting to see an impossible terror before you, sharp fangs wet with blood and appendages too spindly reaching out for you. Instead, you see only a man.

He’s crouched, only a meter or so away, and you immediately recognize his broad figure. The same as the night before. From this distance you can make out the finer details, the length of net covering his face and neck, the webbing between each finger. Still a scary sight, but only in the way it’s unfamiliar and imposing rather than instilling any sort of primordial fear.

“Excuse me?” You pull yourself fully out of the water, rising to your feet and taking a tentative step back. You’re prepared to run, a coil pulled too tight on the verge of snapping.

The man, creature, whatever he may be just tilts his head, lets the silence hang in the air for a moment before he has the audacity to laugh whether to himself or at the strange, bewildered expression on your face.

His stare is assessing as he sucks in a breath, follows suit in rising to his full height. From the size of him alone, you know you’re not getting away. A mere stride for him would be two or more for you, a deliberate tug of your wrist from him could snap it in an instant.

Yet, he doesn’t reach for you, only gestures toward your bag lying on the ground with a subtle flick of a finger. You give him a quizzical glance in turn, not bothering to retrieve it. You could come back during the day with a friend, gather it and never return. Only, your knife sits somewhere inside, the only protection that you’ve got. The realization spurs you to bend over and toss the strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll… I’ll be going now.”

The stare remains fixed upon you as you take another step back, blinking slowly every now and then as you both remain in some strange stasis.

It takes you a moment to put the pieces together. The reciting of words from the book, the mimicking of the words spoken to the snake, the hint at your bag… he’s expecting something and it’s not to steal away your life, only to be fed and have your company. It’s not charming, it’s awfully strange and eerie, but you find yourself giggling at the prospect of taming some murderous, shapeshifting monster with subpar treats and poetry.

You pull open the bag, searching for anything you may have brought along that he could eat, eventually prying out a small package and offering it out to him.

“Is this what you want?,” you ask, voice hushed and trembling.

He shakes his head, rustling the net cloaking him in the process. So, he understands, he’s just been willfully ignoring every other thing you’ve said prior. You store the package away with a perturbed expression crossing over your face.

“Then what?”

Any relief you had felt seems to dwindle when the giant takes a half-step closer. His skin is cool and wet as the river as he brushes his hand over your forearm, curling a set of fingers around it. The touch is gentle, but there’s a promise of violence lurking somewhere in the depths of his eyes.

“Come with me,” he urges in that harsh whisper from before, delicately squeezing as he pulls you towards him, leading you back to the river with a tight grip and a step back over the stones. Though his touch is passive, there’s a frightening strength lurking someplace beneath his flesh, tacked to bone, and as your gaze trails lower to rest to rest at your feet, the space between you two, the evidence of a life prone to violence and strength is laid bare before you.

You don’t fight the hold as he leads you to water so deep it caresses the base of your neck, right below the milky glow of a waning moon. Deeper still, as you’re pulled below, pressed down to the very bottom with his body lain over you. You can only hold your breath so long before an involuntary gasp leaves you, and a wave is funneled straight into your lungs.

Panic is fleeting, but the adrenaline stays ever-present. You claw, push, kick, to no avail. Pinned down by a hand weighing like an anchor you feel your vision flooding and hazy as his head knocks against your jaw, mouth sealing tightly over yours. It’s not a gentle kiss, the net fashioned into a hood digs into your skin, teeth scrape over your lip until you feel the sting of blood drawn.

All at once, your vision darkens and it’s over.

You find yourself lying back on the shore as the morning sun warms your face, causes your dampened shirt to cling to your skin. Disoriented, but alive, brushing your thumb over your lower lip as you sit up to stare at the subtle waves lapping over moss and rock.

Just a dream, you tell yourself, knowing full well you hadn’t fallen asleep.

Just a dream, even though you avoid the river entirely now. Your route home from work changes too, avoiding even a glimpse of the path that leads down to that place. You don’t even replace the book, you toss what remains of it after fishing through your bag, murmuring something about it surely being cursed and entertain yourself with film at night instead.

Sleep remains tentative, you wake with every sound, and your dreaming is filled with visions of a figure pushing you down into deep water, his weight bearing down upon you so heavily that you can not move until you wake with a start, eyes searching your bedroom.

Several weeks, and the fear does eventually fade.

The morning that the rain begins to fall, you realize you haven’t even thought about the river in days. There’s no monster prowling your nightmares anymore. You lived through what may or may not have occurred, and that was the end of it, simple as it may have been.

A late shift at work has you wandering out into the rain, umbrella in hand. You’re grateful that you live close, that you’re not entirely soaked to the bone when you step inside of the mundane building. Your coworkers notice your change in demeanor immediately, chirping about how glad they are that you’re finally feeling better, looking more yourself as the hours pass you by. It brings a smile to your face, a real one that you haven’t had in place since that last night.

Even in the summer, there’s a chill to the air in the late afternoon as you hurry home from work and make your way inside, stripping out of your wet clothes and setting your umbrella aside. It’s darker outside than it should be, even more so indoors. Reaching for the switch to turn on the lights proves useless— the power’s out.

You light your way with your phone, ignoring the way your pulse quickens and your heart flutters with the fear that something just doesn’t feel right. Your skin prickles with the thought of some unseen pair of eyes watching you, blue and cold. You only relax when you slam your bedroom door shut, locking it and pressing your forehead to the wood as you sigh. The puff of breath that escapes your lips is not the only in the room, you find out when the light of your phone illuminated your bed. Crouched beside it, a towering figure with a face veiled by fishing net. Words don’t come when you open your mouth to speak, and your heart stutters in your chest as you stand shaking but otherwise petrified.

“You didn’t come back.”

Of course you hadn’t.

Most people wouldn’t have.

“No. I’ve been… busy,” you choke out the excuse, hoping to pacify whatever emotion you imagine lurked beneath his tone, undetectable through the hiss of his voice. “I’ll visit soon, promise,” you lie, back pressed against the door as your fingers curl over the knob.

Your fear seems almost unwarranted. He doesn’t move toward you, only stands to wander back to the window where he must have broken in.

“Tonight?,” he asks in a voice so soft, the voice he must use as a lure because tugs at your heartstrings immediately, makes you want to follow despite the threat this thing poses merely by existing, despite everything.

“It’s cold— I’ll get sick,” you murmur. “How did you even find me..?”

“I will keep you warm.” The question goes unanswered.

You find yourself stifled again as he lumbers towards you, brushing cold fingers across the side of your face. It’s not a mockery of a kiss you receive next but a firm bite where your neck meets shoulder, not yet hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make you shiver, to grip at the wall of muscle that makes up his chest.

There’s a desperation to his movements as he herds you towards the window, pushes you toward the path leading back to the river. You’re soaked to the bone in seconds, hardly able to keep your eyes open past the weight of dampened eyelashes. The rain is so heavy it feels as though every step is like the first you took into cursed water, your feet sinking into the mud along the path with each tentative stride. The realization that you’re there doesn’t even hit you until you’re chest-deep in the chill, violent waves pushing against you, each carrying the threat of toppling you over entirely.

The palm splayed out against your bare back keeps you upright, leading you to a smooth rock jutting out in the midst of what seems a sea of frothing white and blue. The sea above is just as dark, angry clouds roaring as you’re pressed down onto your back, shivering terribly.

He keeps his promise though, a tight grip on each thigh as he pries your legs apart, sinks in between them and blankets you from the rain. Even with the cold pressed to your back, you feel the warmth of a summer sun above you, scorching from inside, just as blazing as the look in his wild eyes. The last of any resolve slips when you’re pulled beneath the violent waves, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses coaxing oxygen into your lungs. Each roll and pull no less tumultuous than the waves overhead. A placid end when the rain comes to an impromptu halt, just as he stills over you. Hands rush to cup your face with one final, desperate and biting kiss.

When the morning sun pulls you from sleep, cool moss against your back and the weight of his head resting over your middle, the shallow water lapping lazily at your figure, you find that you no longer fear drowning.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #könig x you #konig x you #könig #konig #cod fanfiction #cod fanfic #konig fanfiction #i have been mulling over this for an eternity sorry it needed to be extracted from my brain #he is absolutely more lycanthrope coded to me but whoosh whatever nix König be upon ye #also apologies to everyone for not writing much lately and the fact this is hardly a real fic #cursed by the sleepy i just need a 10yr long nap #<- in my ‘in denial about burnout’ era

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heresan · 1 year ago

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When you're perched so prettily on his lap with your arms loosely coiled around his neck, Wriothesley truly wonders what he's done to deserve this一to deserve you and your love and your affections.

There's an endearing boyish smile on his face as you lay only the softest and sensual kiss after sweet kiss on either side of his cheeks, the small scar just at the prominence in deserving of a little extra attention from you. His thoughts become addled when the warmth of your lips spread from his jawline, neck and the corners of his mouth before the long-awaited blissful exchange after enduring all your teasing.

When you draw back slightly, your boyfriend's face is stained all over by the lipstick you'd been wearing since the morning. But there's a reason behind this gesture of tenderness, a greater purpose that lies with all the women in Fontaine in hopes of developing a long-lasting and transfer-free beauty product, or so that's what you like to tell yourself.

Sigewinne had asked you to test her newly formulated cosmetic and provide her with your honest feedback in her survey, while mentioning that at her recent beauty lecture a few audiences had brought to her attention if there's a possibility of such a product. And so, here you are testing how the lipstick wears after food and drink, with a personal experiment of your own for its kissing-proof capabilities.

"Perfection. Would you believe me if I said you look much more handsome this way?" You're almost admiring your handiwork as you do a once-over, but remember that the product doesn't hold up to its original purpose. The lipstick checks out on moisturizing long-wear while still being relatively low-maintenance, but you'll just simply have to report your findings back to the Head Nurse to improve the final product. "I suppose I'll have to let Sigewinne know that there's a bit of transfer."

"More handsome with all this lipstick smear? It might just be because I have someone so beautiful to kiss me." Wriothesley chuckles, as his thumb wipes the slight smudge overlining your bottom lip that’s already begun to fade after doing a number on him. "Perhaps she only needs a little more practice in making a product that can survive our kissing. But a little lipstick stain isn't going to hurt anyone."

You offer a content hum, agreeing with him as you lean forward to press a peck to his lips that he more than gladly returns with a fervor of his own. Wriothesley brings you closer to him by the waist and his tongue runs along the seams of your lips for entrance, deepening the kiss in a heavenly traverse and you instinctively clasp your hand gently into the back of his hair. The pigment spreads and stains upon his lips once more before what's left connecting you both is a string of saliva, and the sound of soft panting for air fills the silence in the room.

Your cheeks feel warm and your heart impossibly full as your head rests comfortably on his shoulder, your fingers fiddling and twirling with his maroon tie as you revel in this feeling of giddiness. "Thanks for letting me steal you away from your work again. I was afraid you wouldn't have time for me between managing the prison and your scheduled uninterrupted tea breaks."

Wriothesley laughs softly at your teasing and plants a chaste kiss to your temple. "Don't worry about it at all, sweetheart. You shouldn't be surprised that I always have time for you. Besides you're not doing anything but letting me have my fun."

He then peers at the swell of your messy lips, a playful smirk gracing his features with a quiet craving behind his gaze. He only wants to feel more of you, like his hands and mouth can't stop wanting to search for every last part of you. And you can’t really blame him for finishing what you started. "Perhaps I should kiss you again and again until it's all but disappeared, hm?"

#wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley fluff #wriothesley #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines

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aerynoakenshield · 2 months ago

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[Thorin Oakenshield] - Until The End

♫ - Falling - Harry Styles

Middle Earth was a sight. There were so many different landscapes, so much flora and fauna surrounding you each moment. You discovered things in the wild areas that you otherwise may not have known existed if you kept to your own home, or at the very least never seen with your own eyes. The grounds of this world were made for exploration, but admittedly, in small doses.

It had been a grueling trip to get to Rivendell, and still you had yet to arrive. Long nights paired with exhausting walks meant that tensions had run high in the company. Petty arguments that were over by sundown sprung between members of the party, even those who otherwise had no business being angry with each other. It was simply exhaustion taking over.

On Thorin's recommendation, which was more of an order, you had all stopped for the night in a cave, well out of the sight and smell of any orc packs that may be lurking above ground. Going against Gandalf's better judgement due to Thorin's inability to listen to the wizard, and anyone else for that matter, a fire had been started and food was on its way.

Taking some time away from the bustle of camp being set up, you sat away from everyone else and closed your eyes, entering a small state of meditation in order to try and relax. Despite your love for adventure and being very used to always being on the move, this journey thus far had even started to get to you.

"You alright there, hey?" A familiar voice broke you out of your rest, and you turned to see Bofur, stood with a bowl of food in his hand. "Here, get this down ya."

"Thanks, Bofur. I'm alright."

Lies. Bofur knew it. You hadn't been fine for some time. When this journey had started, when you had all met at Bilbo's home, you were excited and spry. You couldn't wait for the adventure that lay outside the door. Now, it was different. Now, you were not even sure if you wanted to continue.

"Aye, you'll excuse me if I don't believe ya, right?"

You chuckled, a look of defeat on your face. You had become close to Bofur on this trip, him and Balin had become almost father figures to you. They were always trying their best to keep your spirits high as you did for everyone else. Much to your dismay, Bofur could now read you like a open book.

"I will," you sighed, shaking your head and beginning to eat as the dwarf joined you with his own food. "Sometimes I fear you know me better than I know myself."

Bofur bumped arms with you and laughed. "Go on, tell me what's wrong."

You thought for a second, pondering whether or not to lie again or just talk to him. Realising that he was actually there to help you, and lying to him seemed futile, you began to talk.

"Thorin."

Bofur nodded, not wanting to interrupt whatever flow you may get into, but acknowledging what you had said. He knew how tense things were between you and Thorin.

"I just don't know why he hates me so much, Bofur. I have been nothing but kind to him and I get his temper and anger in return. I cannot help who I am, but I harbour no ill-will to any of you. I do want to see you all finally have a home."

Your voice had cracked at the end, a sign of high emotion from you. Bofur placed a hand on your knee, he had not been blind to Thorin and his attitude towards you.

It had been like that from the start, and you knew it was because you were an Elf. As a child, you grew up surrounded by those of your own kind, but as you studied and read texts from other kingdoms, adventure had called to you. Gandalf came to you with the opportunity of helping the dwarves reclaim their homeland, and you were all too quick to join him. What you hadn't expected, was for the head of the company to seemingly want you to disappear.

Nobody else had ill feelings towards you, and you got along with everyone; even Dwalin, who was grumpy most of the time, but after he had saved your life a few days back, it seemed as though his heart had opened up to you more. It was just Thorin.

Balin took you aside two nights back, after he saw you crying as you rode through the forest. That day, Thorin had shouted at you, telling you that 'an Elf does not belong on a trip to reclaim a home that they helped destroy.' For some reason, that stung you deep down. You were not there that day, nor was it your kin on that battlefield either. You were not to blame, and Balin had told you that. He brought you a drink and sat with you, explaining why Thorin acted the way he did and of his past.

From that night until present moment, you had been kinder to the dwarf than ever before, and it still hadn't been enough. That's what had led to you sitting here with Bofur now, silent contemplation and comforting words filling the air.

"Listen here," Bofur began, collecting your bowl from you and taking your hands in his own. "You are an asset to this company, believe me. I've never seen someone fight so well with sword and bow. You and Kili work like a charm with those arrows. You've saved our lives multiple times, you keep us cheery when you can. We appreciate ya, we really do. And deep down, I think Thorin does, too."

"He certainly has a funny way of showing it."

"Aye, he does," Bofur agreed. "He certainly does. But, I think you should just talk to him. As I came down, he was on his watch, so if you're lucky maybe you can take him his food and sort this out?"

You shuddered thinking about it. The last thing you needed tonight was to be barked at for merely existing from him. It had been a long day, but as you looked at Bofur before you, you nodded.

"Alright, I'll do that."

Giving you a hug, Bofur placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Standing, you both made your way back to the party and you met Balin by the fire.

"Can I take a bowl for Thorin, Balin?" you asked, voice low so only he could hear. The last thing you wanted was for anyone, namely Fili or Kili, to make any jokes or remarks right now. Balin's eyebrows raised, but he smiled kindly, handing you a bowl with the spoon.

"Here you go, thank you for taking it." Balin always had been kind to you. Before you could leave, he leaned in to your ear and whispered.

"And good luck." Balin pulled back with a friendly wink, and you could feel that he was trying to calm your nerves. You shook your head with a smile and left.

You had reached the outskirts of the camp and peered around the trees covering the entrance of the cave your company were in, wondering where the young dwarf was for his watch. Normally, he walked up and down, but this time you found him leaning on a rock, gazing out into the planes before him.

You took a second to look at him, face aglow in the pale moonlight. He looked like a King. He looked beautiful. This wasn't a new thought for you, you had realised that when he turned up at Bilbo's door. There was something different about him to the others. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, or the way his face was a perfect balanced of harsh and soft. Either way, the view before you was something to behold.

"I know you're there, you know?" Thorin's deep voice pulled you from your thoughts, and his head turned, bright blue eyes meeting yours as you swiftly pulled your away. You couldn't hold eye contact at the best of times, let alone now.

"My apologies, Thorin, I did not want to make you jump. I thought you might want some food, you need to eat."

Thorin continued to look at you, and if you were looking back you may have noticed his gaze had softened. Taking some steps aside, he made room for you to lean with him on the rock, inviting you over with a wave of his hand.

"Thank you, if you wish to join me, you can."

You couldn't process that for a second. He wants me to stay? you thought.

Taking a seat on the grass, you handed him the food and drew your weapon, resting your bow across the length of his sword. Thorin spoke before he had started to eat, looking at you with care.

"Have you eaten something?" the dwarf asked, concern hinting in his voice.

"I have, thank you. Bofur brought me something not too long ago. I just wanted to make sure you had eaten, too."

Thorin nodded, and began eating his food. Silence fell around you, but it wasn't uncomfortable for the first time. It was soothing. You were in each others company and not fighting, which was a first. As you both sat, Thorin let his mind wander as his eyes roamed the fields.

In his heart, the dwarf knew he had been unfair to you, that his actions had been irredeemable, and overall he had been less than pleasant with you. Truly, he had no bad feeling toward you. It was quite the contrary.

When Thorin had entered Bilbo's home, he saw his kin before him, but off to the side something else had caught his eye. The last thing he was expecting was an elf to be present, considering the longstanding history between your races. His eyes met yours, and Thorin couldn't deny the feeling he got. He couldn't deny to himself, he thought you were very pretty. A thought Thorin never assumed he would have towards an elf, having had nothing but disdain for them since the incident with King Thranduil. Still, his heart could not deny no matter how hard his brain may try.

Through the meeting, his eyes darted to you often, finding himself unable to keep them from you. Somewhere inside, there was a small part of himself angry that he would allow such thoughts, especially because the whole reason they were there was partly down to elvish actions.

Thorin never wanted to be harsh with you, and he never meant for it to go so far. But, in his mind he was battling those feelings that conflicted each other and it was weighing down upon him. He wanted to feel worthy of his ancestors, and perhaps he thought harboring any form of love or admiration for an elf was the worst thing he could do.

Bringing himself back to the present, he placed his bowl aside, and took a small glance at you. In the night's low light, your features lit up and you appeared more ethereal than normal. In the day to day, you always had an air of grace about you, and you always seemed to glow with a natural beauty. But the moon enhanced that, and Thorin found it hard to tear his gaze away.

"Look," the dwarf began, and you hummed but kept yourself still, unmoving. "You know I don't think of you harshly. I know my actions haven't made that clear, but I do mean it."

You sighed. "I don't know what I did to deserve that treatment, Thorin."

Mahal, he loved the way you said his name. Never had it been so soft. But now was not the time for those thoughts, as he replied to you as honest and open as he could.

"You did nothing, I was acting out of grudge. There are elves I have a right to hate, but I know you are not one of them. I let my worst side take charge with you, and I hope you can forgive that. I am sorry for how I have treated. You have shown nothing but kindness, you have saved lives in this company, and I have still treated you horrendously. If you couldn't see past that, I would understand. But, I just wanted to let you know."

Now, your eyes fell upon the dwarf, and he seemed sorrowful. It seemed so genuine, a very rare glimpse into the vulnerable and unguarded side of Thorin Oakenshield.

"If I could not see past that, I would have been gone long ago."

Thorin's eyes met yours, and you had a kind glint in them. Your smiled, only half way, and glanced at your hands as you fiddled with your knife holster, idly playing with the loose leather pieces. You talked again, low and personal, making sure he knew every word was for him and hoping you could be as transparent as he just was.

"I want to see you on that throne, you know? I do wish to see you all reclaim your home. I cannot imagine what such a thing must feel like, as I have always had a home. But, you had yours taken away, and I took this task before I had met any of you. I think your company are a wonderful set of people, I have become very fond of all of them."

Thorin smiled too, thinking of his party back in the cave.

"And," you finished off, slightly hesitantly. "I think they have the best leader they could in you. You are the rightful king under the mountain, and I will not stop at anything until I know you sit where you should."

"You really think that?" Thorin sounded almost unsure.

"I would not have said it if I meant otherwise."

For a moment, you both sat without talking, simply taking in the ambience around you. For the first time ever, there was no malice in the air when you were in each other's company. As your hands looped and twisted the leather still, a bigger hand took one of yours and rested in your lap. Shocked at the gesture, you looked over to Thorin, whose eyes were firmly ahead. Taking a step of your own, you shuffled into him closer, your legs and bodies touching. You could swear you felt him relax.

"I must confess something," Thorin's voice broke the air. "I thought you were beautiful when I first saw you."

"Oh?" you replied, seemingly surprised. "Me?"

"Yes, you. I could not take my eyes off you for that entire meeting. You have been in my thoughts ever since we left The Shire. It would seem I cannot get you out of my mind."

Your hand tightened around his, turning to entwine your fingers in with his own. It was then you noticed just how big his hands really were; they were almost twice the size of your own. Your other hand traced the rings he wore, your gentle touch sending a feeling through his whole body that he failed to describe.

"I have thought of you often, too. Even after all the fights, all of the arguments. I have thought about the dwarf that may be hidden under all of that, the kind Thorin that I am convinced is in there."

He let out a hearty chuckle, one that seemed less of humour and more of a tension relief. Finally, he was cleared of this weight on his shoulders.

"Then perhaps you should find that out for yourself."

Before you had a chance to answer his playful remark, Thorin's hand lifted to hold your face, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. His hand came to rest on your jaw, and as he leaned in he stopped just before your lips, waiting for your permission to carry on. Without hesitation, you closed your eyes and pressed your lips to his. Knowing you were fine with it, Thorin pulled you closer and deepened the kiss, though still remaining soft.

You both knew your guards being dropped like this was not good, but in the moment, neither of you cared. It was only a minute or so, and the company were safe. Pulling back, Thorin rested his forehead against your own as you regained your breath. Say what you will, he is an excellent kisser.

"Thorin," you breathed out, not wanting to ruin the tender moment.

"Are we friends now then?" he asked, a smug tone lacing his words as he smirked at you.

"I think we are a little more than friends right now."

You had laughed and Thorin followed suit, and as you continued watch with him, his arm came to rest around your shoulders, occasionally playing with a loose strand of your hair. Your head leaned onto his shoulder.

"What do you think the future holds, Thorin? After you reclaim Erebor, what then?"

You heard him sigh, and his gaze fell upon the sky as he rested his head against the rock.

"I would think a focus on building back homes, creating a safe place for people to work and live among each other. Once word is sent to the other dwarves, perhaps then we can create the community that once was there. But in truth, I do not know."

Thorin was uncertain, mostly of the future just ahead, never mind the future that far in front.

"But," he began, now looking down at you as your eyes met. "I do know that I would quite like you by my side through it all."

You said nothing in reply, choosing instead to lean into him and capture his lips in a gentle kiss. Thorin's hand wound itself into your hair as he deepened the kiss. Without thought, you pulled him closer and you both got lost in each other for those few moments. Right here, nothing else mattered, nothing else was real. It was you and him, in each other's embrace and for the first time in so long, at ease.

You spent the rest of the night with each other on guard, allowing the company some decent rest, and from that day on you had vowed to always be there with Thorin Oakenshield until the very end.

Thank you for reading! <3

#thorin oakenshield #thorin #thorin x reader #thorin imagine #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin oakenshield imagine #the hobbit #the hobbit imagines #the hobbit x reader #x reader #imagine #one shot

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venusswhite · 29 days ago

Text

A Thousand Years | Arcane Vi x Fem Leitora (Part. 4)

After losing everything, [Name] tries to rebuild her life. But what happens when a ghost with pink hair returns?

notes: English is not my first language, and I initially wrote this fanfic in Portuguese. With the help of online resources, I rewrote it in English.

Part. 3 Part.5

“I love you the first time, I love you the last time […] I love you forever, I love you forever.” - Lana Del Rey

“Vi?” Jinx says when the mist clears, and she realizes that, like everyone else, her sister has disappeared.

“Jinx…” I approach the younger girl.

“No,” she screams, pulling at her own hair. “She wouldn’t do that.”

“Hey… it’s okay. Look at me!” I turn her face toward mine.

“Traitor!” she yells, pushing me. “You’re going to leave me… just like she did!”

“No, Jinx. I would never do that.”

“Yes, you would. I know you’ve always loved her, and now that she’s back, you’ll go crawling after her.”

“I love both of you,” I say calmly. “You’re everything to me…”

She grabs her hair again, shaking her head in denial. Then she stops and looks at me:

“[Name],” she speaks softly, her eyes filling with tears. “Promise me… promise me you’ll never leave me.”

“I promise. Of course I promise,” I approach her and hug her. “I’ll fix everything, Jinx. I promise everything will be okay!”

Jinx trembles in my arms, murmuring and battling the voices in her head.

“They won’t stop,” she whispers, her voice breaking.

“Don’t believe what they say. They’re only telling lies,” I feel her tighten the hug.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Vi was alive.”

“You should’ve told me, but I understand why you didn’t. It’s okay now.”

“I just wanted to protect us,” she pulls away slightly but still clings to my arms.

“I know…” I brush her bangs away from her tear streaked face. “Let’s go home, okay?”

She nods, and we start walking toward the stairs to leave the building when I notice blood staining her pants.

“You’re bleeding.”

She scoffs.

“It was one of those dumb Firelights.”

“Let’s get you patched up,” I put one of her arms around my shoulders to help her walk.

We enter Jinx’s room—or rather, the place she calls her room. I sit her down in front of the broken mirror and grab a box from the small table.

“Shut up, damn it!” she yells.

I pull her pants up, revealing a small cut.

“I’ll clean it and put a bandage on, okay?”

She looks at me and nods, turning her gaze back to the mirror.

“She doesn’t care more about the enforcer than she does about us…” she says, squirming.

I clean her wound with cotton and saline.

The enforcer… What was Vi doing with her?

I grab a cloth and wrap it around Jinx’s leg, securing it with tape.

“She came here for us,” she shouts, pulling at her hair.

“Jinx,” I hold her hands, making her loosen her grip. “I’m sure Vi has an explanation for being with that enforcer.”

“She better have,” she says, irritated.

“Rest for a bit,” I put the items back in the box and return it to its place.

“You’re going to go after her, aren’t you?” she asks, annoyed.

“I have to go. I finally have a chance to have you both back.”

“I don’t like this idea,” she gets up.

“I know, but I need to figure this out.”

“You’ll come back, won’t you?” she looks at me with insecurity.

“Of course I will,” I turn to face her, feeling my heart ache. In these moments, I could only see Powder. I sigh. “Do you want the medicine?”

Most nights, Jinx had trouble sleeping. So, Silco and I created a sleeping aid for her, but she only took it when she had gone many days without rest and really needed it.

“No. I want to be sure you’ll come back,” she replies hesitantly.

“Alright. I promise I won’t take long,” I place my hands on her thin shoulders. “Make sure to rest, okay?”

I arrive at the Firelights’ hideout and find Vi and Ekko standing in front of the mural.

“Powder is still in there. I know my sister,” I hear her say as I approach.

“You don’t know her anymore,” I say, startling them. “Jinx is still Powder, just like Powder was always Jinx. She was just hidden.”

They stare at me, surprised.

“It’s been hard years for everyone. It’s easy to judge her when you didn’t see Jinx emerging.”

“Powder would never do what Jinx does,” Ekko retorts.

“Of course, she wouldn’t. She was a child who had people who loved and protected her.”

“I went through similar things and didn’t become a monster like her… like you.”

“Ekko,” Vi whispers.

I feel tears stinging my eyes.

“That’s not fair. I did all of this not just for Powder but for you too.”

“Working for Silco didn’t help anyone,” he says angrily.

Ekko never liked me working for Silco, and it was the subject of most of our arguments.

“It seems you forgot that much of this place” I gesture around “was only possible because of resources I stole from Silco. I do everything I can to keep him from finding this place.”

“So now you’re throwing that in my face?”

“No, Ekko. But I had no choice. There were two kids depending on me, damn it!” I shout. “I needed some way to make money, to find a home for you, to protect you…”

“We could’ve managed without him,” he says, starting to calm down, realizing what he had said.

“How? By me prostituting myself while you and Powder searched for food in the trash?” they both look at me, shocked.

“No, [Name], I didn’t mean…”

“We’ve had this argument so many times. I’m not proud of what I do, but it was necessary to take care of you two, so I regret nothing.”

He swallows hard and steps closer.

“I’m sorry… I was a jerk again.”

“You know it’s hard to leave Silco now. Especially now that Vi’s back…”

“He’ll go after her,” he concludes.

“Of course, he will. He knows what this means for everyone.”

“Then we need to prepare… join the Firelights. Fight with us! Let’s take Silco down…”

“It’s still too early; we need information from Silco, and Jinx wouldn’t agree to betray him. Let’s take it slow…”

“You’re right. You always are,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry again. I spoke without thinking. You’ve been a crucial part of all this, and I’m eternally grateful to you.”

“It’s okay, little man. Sorry if it seemed like I was throwing it in your face. I don’t regret helping build all this,” I hug him. “You’re my greatest pride, you know that?”

“Thank you,” he whispers, returning the hug. After a moment, he looks at Vi, who watches us with wide eyes.

“Looks like you two have a lot to talk about,” he steps back.

“Seems like it,” Vi says.

“I’ll check on the enforcer,” he leaves, leaving us alone.

“Let’s go somewhere more private…”

Entering the room, I lock the door and turn to the taller woman.

My heart was racing.

I dreamed of this every single day.

I just want to hug her.

So I did. I threw myself into her arms and felt hers wrap tightly around me.

I hadn’t felt this good in years. It was as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

Emotions exploded within me: happiness, confusion, hope, fear…

“I thought you were dead,” I feel the tears I’ve held back for years finally escaping.

“I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through,” she squeezes me in her arms.

“It was so hard, Vi. I was so scared,” she nodded, and I felt her hand finding my hair, pulling me closer. I follow her lead and bury my face in her chest, listening to her heartbeat. “I should’ve been taken in your place. Then things wouldn’t be so messed up.”

“Don’t say that. You did what you thought was best. The important thing is that you’re all okay, and I’m here now. We’ll fix all of this, together.”

“It won’t be easy,” I sniff, taking in her scent. Still the same one I remembered.

“I know it won’t, but I’ll do anything for you three. I’ll do whatever it takes to bring back a bit of what we had before.”

“Thank you for coming back.”

“If I could’ve, I would’ve come back much sooner.”

We stay there for a while, just catching up and enjoying some time together. Until I gather the courage to ask:

“And the enforcer?”

“She’s the one who got me out of prison,” she steps back, looking at me. “She’s different from the others.”

“I doubt it.”

“Give her a chance. She could be a big help.”

“An enforcer, helping?”

“A deal with Piltover will be crucial, [Name]. She’s our way to that deal.”

Vi was right. A new deal would be extremely important for us, once we manage to take Silco down.

“You’re right, but first we need to take Silco down.”

She nods.

“So, are you working for him?”

“Yeah… I know it sounds crazy, but he took good care of both of us, Vi. Jinx got attached to him.”

“Well, I can’t blame her,” she says, lowering her head.

“We also need to be patient with her. Since the accident, she’s been having… depressive episodes. The trauma was too much.”

The tears she seemed to be holding back fall.

“Thank you for taking care of her.”

“I never would’ve done it any differently. You two are all I have, and I’d die for you.”

“Don’t even think about that,” she presses our foreheads together, her beautiful blue eyes staring into mine. “You look beautiful.”

“Don’t lie,” I smile.

“I’m not,” she smiles back.

“Vi or 6?” I ask, looking at her tattoo.

“Vi.”

“It suits you,” her eyes shine. “You’ve changed a lot.”

“I hope for the better,” she jokes, and I nod.

“Seems like prison food wasn’t so bad,” I step back, eyeing her muscular figure, visible even under the jacket. I run my hand over her toned arm.

“I needed this to come back and take care of you,” she laughs egotistically.

I shake my head, laughing with her.

“Did you think about us while you were in prison?” I ask.

“Us?”

Damn it.

I feel my face heating up.

“Hey,” she lifts my face gently, forcing me to look at her. “I thought about all of you, but mostly about us.”

“I did too. I spent years thinking I’d never see you again. Thinking you were dead.”

She presses our foreheads together again.

“I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“I missed you so much,” I say, letting the tears escape once again.

“I missed you too. More than I can put into words,” she says, wiping my tears with her fingers. “We’re together now.”

I rest against her chest again, and for the first time in years, I feel like things might finally get better.

#vi x reader #arcane vi x reader #vi league of legends #violet arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane x reader #vi smut #vi arcane x reader #arcane league of legends #arcane #vi x you #arcane X you

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