#just so you know.. i have an unfinished fic about him. only a matter of if i finish it lmao
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Do you think Theraprism would bring back certain memories to Bill of his "eye treatment" back at Euclydia?
#haha give this man trauma#gravity falls#book of bill#spoilers#bill cipher#just so you know.. i have an unfinished fic about him. only a matter of if i finish it lmao#i want to torture this triangle#blab
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For you? Anything.
lando norris x fem reader
summary: Even during the worst week of you life, and no matter how tired he is, Lando would do anything to make you feel better. (2.6k words)
warnings: fluff, established relationship, language.
a/n: And we are back to our regular schedule! Kinktober is officially over (kinda, more context here) so it's time to post regular fics. So, I wrote this sometime last week before the shit show of yesterday's race so that's why there are no mentions of it, but I do have some planned about that so we'll see when I can work on them. Anyway, this is for me and all the girlies who have been feeling stressed about work, let me know what you think!
âş back to navigation â send me a request!
What a week it has been for you. You had done nothing but work on a stupid project your boss put you in charge of. It was very short notice, and the due date was creeping up on you faster than you wouldâve liked.Â
The good thing is Lando had been away for weeks due to his job; not that you didnât want to see him or that he was a distraction, nothing like that, but you always preferred to be with him instead of working, which isnât something you would be able to do this time due to the amount of things you had to go over, but with the house all to yourself, you had the chance to get tons of work done.
It was finally the day of the presentation; you were supposed to pitch the finished project to management and honestly, you werenât 100% confident in the job you had done. Usually, you were never too harsh on yourself, but with so little time to work on it, you knew there were some parts here and there that couldâve used a little more of your attention, but it was either use what you already have or show up with an unfinished project, so that would have to do. It wasnât terrible; you were sure of that, but these people always found something to complain about.
You were there for only a few minutes before you were dismissed. What a fucking joke, you thought.
You didnât even get half the presentation done, and the old dudes sitting across from you were already attacking you with questions, questions that didnât even make sense or barely fit the theme of what you were trying to talk about.Â
Your boss was the one to send you out, saying something like âYou have another week; we hope youâll be more prepared next time,â before standing up and leaving the cold conference room, followed by the rest of the men that were surrounding him.
Only minutes after going back to your office you saw him come in, giving you notes on the things he thought you should work on. As the polite girl that you are, you just nodded and wrote down whatever he was saying, apologising for not turning it up on time, but as soon as he left, you couldnât stop the tears from falling down your face, ruining your make-up in the process. You still had half of your day ahead of you, so you calmed down, washed your face, and went back to work like nothing happened.
At the end of the day, however, thatâs a different story. You went back home completely devastated. All those sleepless nights you spent with your nose buried in your laptop felt like a total waste.Â
As you drove back home, you tried your best to hold the tears, but it was getting harder by the second, especially with each step you took down the hall that led to the door of your apartment, and when you made it there, you started crying as soon as you closed the door behind you.
You instantly got rid of your uncomfortable clothes and got into one of Landoâs shirts, curling up in your bed and letting all that consuming and irrational feeling of failure sink in. You knew you werenât a failure; you were well aware of your worth, but you couldnât help but feel like that after miserably failing the presentation you worked so hard on.
Suddenly, the front door opening pulled you out of your thoughts. You let out a loud sigh as you left the bed. You knew it was Lando coming back from his last race, and any other day you wouldâve been happy to see him, running to the door to greet him with a hug like he deserved, but right now, you didn't want him to have to see you in that pathetic state.
You stared at yourself in the mirror for a moment, sighing again when you realised how obvious it was that you had been crying, so youâd just have to avoid eye contact.
âHi baby,â Lando greeted you with his usual pretty smile as he entered your room.
"Hey,â you replied, immediately turning around and walking towards your desk, sitting facing away from Lando as you opened your laptop.
âDid you sleep okay last night? How did your presentation go?â He walked closer to you and wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug, kissing your temple.
âIt was okay.â He stopped when he noticed your heavy mood.Â
"You alright, love? You seem down." His brows were slightly furrowed as he tried to make eye contact.
ââ"Yeah, fine. I think Iâm just gonna work on it a little more; there were some things missing that I need to include," you replied, clearly lacking energy.
âHey now, letâs not do that." Lando turned the chair over to make you face him. He looked down and noticed your glossy eyes, a worried feeling growing inside him. âTalk to me, please. Whatâs wrong?â
You just shook her head briefly, a lip-tight smile covering your face. âEverythingâs fine.â
âY/NâŚâ The slip of your name past his lips made you want to cry again. Of course you wanted to be comforted by your boyfriend, but you didnât like the thought of him having to pick up the pieces anytime you messed up. As a tear rolled down your face, you realised that you didn't have the energy or even the desire to push him away âOh baby, come here.â
Lando took your hand as he sat on the floor next to you, pulling you onto his lap. Your face was now buried in his black hoodie, the tears wetting it instantly as he brushed a hand softly up and down your back.
âItâs okay, Iâve got you." He would understand if you didnât want to talk about it but would still like to know what was happening. If there was anything he could do to help, he would gladly do it. âDo you wanna talk?â
âI just-â A sob cut you off, âI- I couldnât do it, even after everything I did, it wasnât enough.â
âIs this about your presentation?â He asked, his voice softer than ever, and you simply nodded. âItâs alright-â
âNo, Lando, itâs not alright. I worked hard to get it together, to get it ready for days and nights and I still failed, Iâm so stupid-â
âHey, baby, look at me," he interrupted you, pulling back a bit and gently lifting your chin to look into your eyes. âYou know thatâs not true; youâre so smart, and I've always admired your beautiful mind. You gave it your best, like you said, you worked really hard, and even if you didnât get the reaction you deserved, you know Iâm right here.â You simply nodded at his words as the back of your hand wiped some of the tears. âWhy didnât you wanna tell me?â
"Because I don't want you to be disappointed in me like I am right now." You looked down to your lap as more tears fell from your tired eyes.
âYou should know that I could never be disappointed in you, Y/N. You are so intelligent and kind; Iâve never met anyone with such a beautiful soul, so I don't ever want you to feel down about yourself because you are perfect." You felt both of Landoâs large hands caress either side of your face, bringing it up so he could look into your eyes again as he swiped at the tears that had managed to escape from your eyes.
The slight smile that had formed on your tear-stained face told Lando that his words meant something to you, and they did. âYouâre only saying that because youâre my boyfriend.â
âNo, Iâm your boyfriend for all those reasons." You giggled slightly. âAnd Iâm sure that no one would disagree with me.â
âMy boss would.â
âWhat does he know?â That made you laugh again, making Lando smile, a smile so sincere that told you he believed everything he just said.
"Thank you, baby, even though youâre being a little biased." You sniffled as you gently stroked the hand that was still on your cheek, keeping your eyes locked with his âI love you.â
âI love you more,â he smiled, pressing his lips to your forehead. You took a deep breath, feeling a lot calmer than you did five minutes ago as you looked at your laptop briefly.Â
âI should probably get back to work, though; I have to basically remake the whole thing and meet with them again next week.â
âWhat? Right now?â
âYes, right now. Iâm sorry.â
âAre you sure you donât wanna go to bed? You look pretty tired. We can cuddle, I know we both need it.â
âI would love to,â your gaze fell on your bed momentarily; it looked so comfortable, and it was literally calling your name, âbut I really need to get this done, and I have to do it right this time. I donât wanna be embarrassed again in front of a bunch of old dudes.â
You stood up from his lap and sat back on your desk, focusing on the screen in front of you as you began to analyse what you should take out and what you needed to add.Â
Lando just sighed. He knew there was no way he would get you to stop working if you already set your mind to it, but honestly, he thought he would get to spend every second with you once he got back home, so needless to say, he was a little disappointed that wasnât the case.
He got it though; your job was important for you, and you would never settle for anything unless it was perfect. What made his blood boil was the fact that your boss had the nerve to make you feel like you weren't worth it.Â
âDid you eat something already?â He asked you, getting up from the floor and wrapping his arms around you once again.
âUh- Iâm not really hungry.â
âWhy donât I cook something for us? What do you say?â
âItâs okay, baby, you should go to bed.â You tilted your head to look at him and give him a quick kiss. âI know you are tired, the triple header couldnât have been easy.â
You started collecting your things so you could take over a different part of the apartment. He had been travelling for weeks; it wouldnât be fair to keep him up just because you needed to get work done.
âWhere are you going?â
âTo your office, if thatâs okay. I really donât want to bother you.â
âYouâre not-â
âLan, Iâll be okay, I promise. Just go to bed, donât worry about me.â Taking a few steps closer to him, you gave him a loving hug, âI love you.â
You left the room, holding everything in your hands as Lando just stood in the same spot. There was no way he would go to bed without you, not when you were feeling so down and it was clear you just needed to take a break.
Taking a deep breath, he started to make a plan in his head. He took the quickest shower of his life and got into something comfy, praying there was food, or more specifically, ingredients to cook you something that he wouldnât mess up and that you would enjoy.
Everything seemed to be on his side when he found everything he needed to make some Alfredo. Everything was pretty much premade, so he knew he wouldnât ruin it. He happily got to work, setting up a nice dinner as he hummed one of the songs that had been stuck in his head for who knows how long.Â
In the office, you were nearly breaking your head as you read the information you had over and over again. You kind of knew what it needed to be since your boss gave you a few specific notes, but then again, you werenât feeling completely confident in your own ideas.Â
You didnât realise you had been locked away for over an hour, your eyes getting insanely tired as you typed away. A break was needed and well deserved, and you were aware of this, but somehow it didnât feel like you were making any progress, even though you had been working non-stop and you had already readjusted about half of the project.
A loud sigh escaped your lips as you abruptly closed your laptop, your face falling to your hands as your eyes felt wet yet again. That was it; there was no way you could keep going. You needed to grab a quick snack and head straight to bed. You did have an early morning the next day after all.Â
Just as you were gathering all your strength to get up, you heard the door open, making you jump a bit.
âFuck, you scared the shit out of me.â You laughed as your hand fell on your heart.
âSorry, love. Didnât mean to scare you,â he giggled, walking towards you.
âWhat are you doing still awake? I thought you went to bed.âÂ
âI couldnât sleep without you. Are you almost done here?â He looked at your closed laptop, celebrating internally as he assumed you were done working for the night.Â
âYeah, I guess. My brain stopped working, so I thought my future self can worry about the rest tomorrow.â
âGood. Come here.â He extended his hand out to you, which you happily took. âPlease stop overworking yourself, you know this isnât healthy.â
âI know,â you let out a sigh as you accepted his embrace. âIâm seriously thinking about quitting. Who knows, maybe Iâll find something that doesnât make me feel this stressed all the time.â
His hand was caressing your back softly as he pulled away to look down at you. âYou know you can, right? And I really think you should. I make enough to support the both of us and even a family in the future... Baby, you donât have to keep working there if you donât want to.â
His words made a smile appear on your face. Not because he was offering to basically support you for the rest of your life, but because he brought having a family with you. âYou know Iâd never let you do that-â
âBut if you do want to quit and just take a break, you can do that too,â he interrupted you. You nodded, seriously considering it, but that was something you would have to think about and have a serious conversation in the future if you ever did decide to do it.
âWeâll see. Right now, I just need something to eat and some sleep. I have to get up early tomorrow.â
âSpeaking about dinner, I made something for you.â
He took your hand and guided you to the dining room, a big smile on his face as he proudly showed off the beautiful set-up and the (hopefully) delicious dinner he managed to cook. He looked back at you expectantly, but his happiness quickly turned into a worried look when he noticed tears falling from your eyes again.Â
âWhatâs wrong, baby?â He asked, a hand softly falling on your cheek as he leaned down.Â
You were out of words; you truly didnât know what to say. This is just what you needed, and the fact that he went out of his way to do it for you meant a lot more than he could ever imagine.
âI- Lando, this is-â you cut yourself off when you couldnât find the right thing to say, so you just jumped in his arms and gave him the tightest hug ever. âThank you for everything. And I mean everything.â
He let out a sigh of relief, hugging you back as he buried his head on the crook of your neck. âFor you, my love, Iâd do anything.â
#lando norris#ln4#lando norris x reader#lando norris fanfic#lando norris imagine#lando norris x you#lando norris fluff#f1#formula 1#lando norris x y/n#lando norris oneshot#lando norris one shot#ln4 fluff#ln4 fic#ln4 imagine#giannaln4 writes
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just one day / yoon jeonghan
⢠Jeonghan x fem!Reader
⢠word count: 4.5k
⢠fluff // angst // nonidol!au // brother's best friend // fake dating!au // they're idiots lmao // not edited nor proofread so pls bear w me lol // cursing and. two? kissing scenes.
⢠A/N: this has been sitting unfinished in my google drive since... either last year or the beginning of this year lmao. i have always wanted to write brother's best friend and i had this sudden urge to finish it earlier so i did. been some time since i posted a proper fic so, enjoy~
He must be dreaming.
He must be.
âWhat?â Jeonghan says just for the sake of saying it.
âI like you.â
âNo, you donât.â
You blink at his firm voice, wondering what kind of situation this is. Sure, you shouldnât be confessing to your brotherâs best friend, but you feel like youâve been obvious enough and you donât see why you shouldnât confess when itâs been eating you inside out.
And, yeah, you didnât expect him to do anything about your confession (or even say that he likes you back), but you didnât expect this either.
âWhat do you mean I donât?â you frown, looking at him accusingly. âI like you.â
âYou donât, kid.â He sighs, already feeling a headache coming. Heâs not stupid, alright, he has enough sense to gather that his best friendâs little sister probably has something on himâa crush, perhaps, but heâs never thought it was real enough for you to feel the need to confess.
It doesnât help that he is attracted to you, has always been since youâve gone back from Sydney after finishing university a year ago. He admits heâs always thought youâre attractive, and if heâs being honest, he wouldâve asked you out first if not for the fact that youâre literally Joshua Hongâs little sister.
As if itâs not enough that not dating his best friendâs little sister has always been a code he follows, Shua has always been a little too protective as a brother. Heâs seen firsthand how the guy scared off some who had the guts to flirt with you, seen how for two decades only two guys had ever been declared good enough to date you (he couldnât do anything about the flings you had when you were abroad, but at least youâve always been appreciative of his protectiveness and you never missed to inform him of some guys who were actually trying to get it on with you).
Long story short, Jeonghan does not wish to be on the receiving end of Shuaâs scrutinizing eyes regardless of how much heâs actually into you.
âLook, you know me,â he starts when he realizes youâre not backing down. He looks away, pretending to be frustrated, though itâs really just because he thinks heâll relent if he looks into your eyes a second longer. âIâm not gonna make a good boyfriend and Iâm literally your brotherâs best friend.â
You donât seem to care about the first part of his sentence, irked by the fact that him being best friend with Shua would be an obstacle in your way. Shouldnât it be easier for him to get a seal of approval if heâs already close with your brother? But, then again, Shua probably knows Jeonghan inside out and knowing too much is never a good thing.
âSo what?â you say anyway, because if thereâs any word that would describe you perfectly, itâs âstubbornâ. âWhy does it matter that youâre his best friend?â
Jeonghan sends you a look, and you pout because you actually get what he means. You know Shua, after all, and as much as you want to condition yourself to believe that Jeonghan would be the person Shua approves of with all his heart, you also know that even if your brother actually approves, he would put him through hell just for the fun of it.
Anyway, this doesnât tell you at all where Jeonghan actually stands about you.
âSo, you donât like me?â you shoot straight to it, as if Jeonghan wouldnât be able to hear your heart beating like thereâs no tomorrow if he takes even one step closerâas if your ears arenât hot from saying it out loud. Jeonghan does not need to know how flustered you actually are.
And it works, because he seems to be taken aback by your boldness and you try your best to hide a victory grin at that. You should probably be more grateful that he canât stand to look at you for more than three seconds; if he had, he wouldâve seen the tip of your ears turning red and the speck of blush on your face, which means he couldâve easily taken control of the situation and turned it against you.
His silence encourages you, because if he really doesnât like you then he would tell you so. As much as Jeonghan is a master of tricks and heâs great at acting, heâs never been good at hiding his feelings.
Jeonghan bites his lip, trying to get a way out of this. Why canât he just say no and be done with it? Sure, heâs not in love with you or anything (yet?), but itâs a straight out lie to say heâs never seen you that way.
After all, thereâs a reason why heâs been avoiding you the past few months.Â
You just have to be more daring these days, and as much as he wills himself to behave, there are times when heâs already flirting with you before he knows it. Heâs just lucky Shua has never caught you two.
Plus, youâve taken a liking to wearing a crop top and itâs the absolute death of him.
âTell you what,â you say before he does. âDate me.â
Jeonghan chokes on nothing, violently coughs that his shoulders are shaking and you actually need to pat his back so heâll calm down.
âAre you okay?â You ask worriedly, and heâs terribly conscious of your hand on his shoulder and the other on his arm, of the way your brows furrow in concern, of the way your lips are a little ajar and if he moves forward just a littleâ
âYeah.â He shakes his head despite the word, then clears his throat and squares his shoulders before he looks the other way around. He doesnât step away though, and itâs so fucking stupid that he frowns when you do. âSorry. You were saying?â
âDate me.â You repeat anyway, though you know this is Jeonghanâs way of giving you an out in case you want to pretend like you didnât just say that earlier. He opens his mouth, and you can hear what heâs going to say even if he hasnât said anything so you cut him yet again. âJust for one day.â
âKidââ
âStop,â you say firmly, something akin to determination flashes through your eyes that heâs actually taken aback. âStop calling me that.â
He sighs out your name, but youâre not hearing it because if you back down now you know you wonât have it in you to say this out loud again. Youâre fueled by nothing but impulse and youâre not going to let Yoon Jeonghan himself slow you down.
âHan, I see the way you look at meâyouâve gone past seeing me as a kid since I came back from Sydney and itâs been a year since then. Iâm not stupid.â
Itâs hard to describe the way he looks at you, and heâs not blaming you because he is confused. The mixed feelings bursting in his chest is much too complicated for him to explain. Let alone through words, even his consciousness does not know how to register what heâs feeling.
Your face falls at his silence, and whatever courage that drives you up to this point is starting to ebb little by little. Youâre so goddamn stupidâdid you really think confessing to him would lift the weight off your shoulders? What made you think Jeonghan would be able to treat you as usual after you confessed?
Didnât you confess only because itâs heaving you down? Because you thought youâd regret it if you stayed silent?
Then what is this weight on your chest?Â
What is this disappointment looming all over your body?
Why the fuck are your eyes pricking with tears?
Still, you stand your ground and square yourself up in front of him. Youâve gone this far. If youâre going to be embarrassing, might as well do it for a reason.Â
âOkay,â he breaks his silence, his tone defeated for whatever reason. Itâs not discouraging though, more like unsure and maybe a little hopeful, and when you look up, heâs biting his lip in contemplation. âJust one day, right?â
âBut you have to actually treat me like Iâm your girlfriend.â You push, heart beating both in excitement and fear. Because what if he backs out of nowhere? Heâs not that kind of person, but this situation is nothing sort of normal and his consciousness just might get to him if you donât push him already.
Jeonghan bites his lip, looking at you like youâre a bad idea that heâs caving into. And heâs starting to think that itâs true. But if heâs being honest, heâs not against this at all. He also wants to know how itâd feel like to hold your hands and just listen to you talk without thinking about Shua and whatever that will follow if he ever finds out.
Frankly, one day wouldnât be enough, but thatâs better than nothing, right? And he would never have the guts to propose it himself, he admits, so this is a chance that he knows he wouldnât get his hands on ever again.
He sighs, praying to every god up there that this wonât backfire on him.
âOkay,â he whispers, more to himself than to you, and then repeats it once again, this time firmer, looking at you straight in the eyes. âShuaâs going on a business trip next week, right?â
You nod.
âIâll see you next Saturday?â
You bite down your lip so hard that you taste blood to stop yourself from smiling like an idiot.
Tuesday, 26 July
[14:32] Yoon Jeonghanđ : beach or amusement park
[14:50] ?????
[14:50] its not a surprise?
[14:54] Yoon Jeonghanđ : just pick one, kid
[14:55] đ beach ig
Thursday, 28 July
[01:11] Yoon Jeonghanđ : festival or night market
[01:12] ?????? sir?? go to sleep??
[01:12] didnt you choose a place alrd???
[01:12] but night market
[01:13] Yoon Jeonghanđ : you go to sleep
Yoon Jeonghanđ is typingâŚ
âŚ
Yoon Jeonghanđ is typingâŚ
[01:17] Yoon Jeonghanđ : good night, kid
[01:18] nightttttt
Friday, 29 July
[22:20] Yoon Jeonghanđ : wear something light tomorrow, but bring a jacket just in case it gets cold at night
Saturday, 30 July
[00:03] k, boyfriend đ
[00:03] sorry, i was on the phone with chaeyoung earlier
[00:07] Yoon Jeonghanđ : i really cant with you
[00:07] Yoon Jeonghanđ : and chaeyoung as in vernonâs cousin? your friend from high school?
[00:07] Yoon Jeonghanđ : you still talk to her?
[00:08] yes!! surprised that u rmb her :0
[00:08] and i actually just met her by accident earlier today and we decided to catch up thru the phone bc i had to go somewhere
[00:09] apparently, sheâs dating choi seungcheol or smth đ
Incoming call from Yoon Jeonghanđ - 00:11
Call ended - 02:27
[02:27] Yoon Jeonghanđ : you fell asleep. night, babe 𤪠see you
You bite your lip in giddiness as you keep on rereading Jeonghanâs text, like youâre not giddy enough already at the prospect of today.
You fell asleep last night while on the phone with Jeonghan, but whatever curse you were about to dump into yourself for falling asleep during what might be your only chance to be on the phone with Jeonghan during ungodly hours was immediately wiped out when you saw his text.
Yes, youâd flirt with each other from time to timeâbut never through texts, and the prospect of having a message from him that you can read over and over again some time in the future is both delightful and⌠sad.
The sudden tug on your heart and consciousness is a little heavy, a reminder that heâs doing that because you asked him to. That whateverâs happening in the span of today is an illusion, one that Jeonghan agrees on creating.
Why, you donât want to dwell on it too much.
That should be your motto for the day: fuck it.
So what if it was an illusion? Jeonghan agreed and youâre going to make the best out of it. If youâre never going to be Jeonghanâs girlfriend, might as well be shameless and live your teenage (and adult, if youâre being honest) dream and be his girlfriend for the day now so you can stamp it in your memory. You only have today and youâre not going to spend any second thinking about the technicality of it.
As far as you know, Jeonghan is your boyfriend and heâs taking you out for the day.
You jump when your phone pings, the notification on your lockscreen rids you of whatever negativity that was in your mind literally seconds ago as you grin and make your way out of your apartment.
[09:17] Yoon Jeonghanđ : am in the lobby. get ur pretty self here, angel.
For all you know, the world is plenty unfair. But seeing Jeonghan looking like that with a simple white tee and a faded pair of jeans reminds you just how unfair the world actually is. Like itâs not unfair enough already because heâs not your actual boyfriend.
âCome on, let me take a picture of you,â he says as he softly takes your hand, pulling you up from the mat. âThe wind isnât too strong and youâre looking particularly pretty today.â
You scrunch your nose as you mock annoyance, a failed attempt to mask your blush. Hopefully, Jeonghan would think youâre simply flushed because of the sun and not because of him.
âI donât like taking pictures.â
âHow dare you lie to me.â Jeonghan says without missing a beat. âI know you make Shua take a ton shit pictures of you when youâre out somewhere.â
You pout at this, and as much as you know Jeonghan doesnât mean anything by it, the mention of your brother isnât exactly welcome today because his name just reminds you that this isnât real and heâs a big part of the reason why.
âCan you not talk about my brother?â You say softly, which Jeonghan easily catches even if heâs not sure you mean for him to hear or not. The sadness in your voice is genuine though, and he makes a mental note to stop mentioning Joshua for the rest of the day. Heâs starting to question once again if this is the right thing to do even for a dayâafter all, Joshua is his best friend, and this particular conversation is the exact reason why heâs not supposed to do this.
But heâs promised you heâll treat you like his girlfriendâperhaps another personal agenda of his because he does want to experience being able to be your boyfriend even for a day. He shouldâve thought more before okay-ing your proposal instead of thinking about it right now when youâre in front of him, in a simple white shirt and a black skirt that stops just below the middle of your thigh but somehow still the prettiest heâs ever seen.Â
He wonders if this is how you usually dress up for your dates, and something bitter makes it to the tip of his tongue as he thinks about someone else taking you on a date.Â
âSorry. Come on, letâs take a picture together.â His fingers wrap around your wrist to pull you closer before eventually linking them with yours. âYouâre very pretty today, have I told you?â
âYou have.â You scrunch your nose and pretend to roll your eyes at the sudden sweetness he basks you in even though youâre liking every second of it. âLiterally one minute ago.â
âWell, you really do look very beautiful and I want you to know.â He lowers his voice an octave and stares right into your eyes before he eventually bursts out laughing.
âStop!â You giggle, knowing that heâs doing this on purpose to annoy you. âThatâs too fucking cheesy and you know it.â
He laughs along with you, then tightens his fingers in yours like theyâre not interlocked already.
âI mean it though.â He whispers one last time, not looking at you this time around because his heart might fucking burst to say it to your face without the faux of messing with you. âYou do look beautiful.â
At least you share the sentiment, as you quietly duck your head to hide your smile, whispering a thanks thatâs only meant for the two of you.
Jeonghan keeps his end of the bargain, youâre happy to know, as you donât even think about your brother and the pretense that is your relationship for the rest of the day. You freely flirt with each other, cheeky smile and winks being thrown here and there. His hands never seem to leave you, and you gladly cling on to him even if you donât need to.
You get ice cream, insist that you want the plain strawberry one only to eventually switch with Jeonghanâs cookies and creams because his looks better. He plays hard to get before giving in to you, but not before swiping ice cream from the side of your lips and licks his thumb like that shit isnât going to give you a heart attack.
Itâs around seven when you both get to the night market not too far from the beach, and youâre both even gigglier than earlier which you didnât think was possible. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, but youâre the furthest thing from complaining as you continue at whatever dumb jokes Jeonghan throws your way.
The night market isnât as crowded as you think it would be, but it still is crowded and Jeonghan makes a show of throwing his arm around your shoulder because he âdoesnât want to lose youâ and you seem a little cold (which you kinda are).
You elbow him at this, shake your head and pretend like youâre not internally dying from the closeness between the two of you.
âThatâs so lame.â You snicker. âJust say you want me close and go.â
âI do want you close.â He whispers unexpectedly, catching you entirely off guard that you trip on your own foot you almost fall on your face. He doesnât seem to realize you tripped because youâre flustered, which works good for you, and he flicks your forehead as he scolds you to be more careful and goes back to holding your hand.
âSeriously. How are you still so clumsy?â
You donât like being reprimanded by Jeonghan, because it awfully reminds you that youâre younger than himâthat youâre his best friendâs little sister. And as much as you know Jeonghan definitely does not see you as a sister, the implication that he has to see you as one because of the association is very disheartening.Â
âWhy are you frowning?â He copies the gesture, and you shake your head, telling him itâs nothing. The night is ending, and you donât want to waste more time thinking about stuff that you can think of tomorrow when youâre not in a time limited relationship with Yoon Jeonghan. âNo, tell meââ
âJeonghan?â
The both of you turn at the call of his name, and your frown deepens as you see Jisoo in front of you, Jeonghanâs ex that he amicably broke up with. The one ex that has always made you feel like shit because sheâs everything youâre not and they were such a picture perfect couple that youâre sure theyâd go back together someday.
It does not feel good to see her today of all days.
âOh, hi!â She kindly greets you, her smile way too genuine for you to think sheâs just being polite and secretly hates you inside. Gosh. You need to stop watching too many TV dramas. âJoshuaâs sister⌠right?â
There it is again. The reminder that youâre his sisterâsomething you really donât need to hear today.
âHi.â You smile awkwardly, and only then remember your hand is still pretty much joined with Jeonghanâs. You don't know how to feel about the fact that his reflex is not to let go of your hand in front of his ex who obviously knows your brother. You try to let go of his hand, but Jeonghan holds on tighter, as if telling you itâs okay and thereâs no need to worry about Jisoo.
They share a small chat for a bit before eventually parting, and Jisoo wishes you both a good night, which makes you hate yourself so much for being jealous of the girl when she doesnât even have an ounce of bad energy towards you.
You try to enjoy the rest of the night, but Jisooâs appearance just reminds you that this whole thing is pretty much fake. That someone out there is going to be in your place for realâable to hold his hand and just be with him all the time without having to wait for your brother to go on a business trip to even hang out with each other. Without some stupid request and guilt eating them inside out because theyâre not supposed to do this.
Trying to be subtle, you put on an act of wanting to visit every stall in the festival and pretend to be tired after about thirty minutes or so. Youâre surprised Jeonghan isnât already tired to begin with, this guy has the battery of a five-years-old phone, you didnât expect him to actually bring you around until night if youâre being completely honest.
Jeonghan complies when you tell him youâre ready to go home, and you donât even realize heâs also being weirdly quiet because youâre too deep in your thoughts. And itâs once his car is parked on the parking lot of your apartment building that you finally open your mouth trying to say somethingâanything.
You want to thank him for today. To thank him for making a memory that youâll dearly hold on to, for giving you a standard of what a boyfriend is supposed to be even for a day. For fulfilling your dumb request when he doesnât even have to.
But what comes out of your mouth is something entirely different and you almost want to bash your head against the door of his car right after.
âWhoeverâs going to be your girlfriend is very lucky.â
You can hear Jeonghan takes a sharp breath, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from crying because youâre just so fucking stupid like that.
You try to remind yourself that you asked for this. That Jeonghan is doing you a favour and owes you nothing. That you should be thankful youâve even gotten the chance to play girlfriend with him when he couldâve just embarrassed you and walked away after your proposal.
The deafening silence inside the car is very loud, and you feel like youâre suffocated by things unseen that you just want to get out of the car and take a very deep breath. So you do just that: reach for the door of his car because you canât take being so close to him anymore.
Itâs your fault. You shouldnât have asked for this. Shouldnât have asked for a taste of heaven because surely you would want more and youâll die of thirst right after. Now youâre just going to be awkward with him until god knows when and youâre regretting it already. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
You shouldâve been satisfied with your close friendship with him, with loving him from afar. Now youâve ruined things between you and him and who knows when things will get back to normal? Heâll fucking think of you as pathetic and itâs just going to be pity in his eyes everytime he looks at you now.
âHey!â Jeonghan jumps in alert the moment you step out of his car, quickly follows through and catches you before you take another step away from him. âWhatâwhy are you in such a hurry?â
You look down to your shoes, because you canât stomach looking at him right now just in case youâll see what you fear will be reflected in his eyes.
âHey⌠Look at me?â He tries once again, tone getting a little helpless. But you shake your head, because youâre sure youâll start crying if you do and you want to preserve the little dignity you still have in front of him. But Jeonghan doesnât stop there, he whispers a âplease?â and lifts your chin gently so youâll look at him, his heart breaking when he sees how close you are to tears and his throat closing at how heâs the reason behind all this.
âThank you.â You brave yourself. Itâs the least you can do, because as much as youâre going to grovel for the next few months, you know that this particular memory with Jeonghan will always be dear to your heart and youâll treasure it forever. âIâm sorry for taking your time andââ
âAh, fuck it.â You hear him say before he dives into your lips, not minding the way youâre frozen in place out of shock. He hums against your lips, and itâs then that you finally kiss him back, your hands settle over his shoulders and your whole body relaxed under his touch.
When the both of you pull away, youâre a little out of breath and your thoughts all over the place. But thereâs a small smile in Jeonghanâs face that gets you mirroring the gesture. He closes his eyes as he places his forehead on yours, and you follow suit, feeling the warmth of his breath on your face.
âItâs⌠okay for me to do that, right?â He asks, albeit a little too late. You still donât know what the whole things mean, but you find yourself chuckling, because you honestly would let him do anything to you. But he doesnât need to know the kind of power he has over you, so you simply nod and let him have his peace.
âHan?â You say after a while. âWhat does this mean for us?â
Jeonghan stares into your eyes, deep in his own thoughts as if heâs trying to rearrange his words so they donât stumble out of his mouth like a trainwreck.
âLetâs see where this takes us?â
âBut ShuaâŚ?â
He presses his lips together and wraps his arms around you, pushing you into his neck as he breathes in your scent.
âWhatever happens, happens.â He decides, already resigning that he canât possibly let you go now that he knows how it feels like to have you like this. Heâll make your brother understand somehow, but right now, he wants to be with you and savors the little time he has with you before your brother comes back, not even minding the way his phone has been vibrating in his pocket.
[Joshua sent a picture.]
Joshua: heard from Jisoo youâre on a date w my sister??????????????????
Joshua: did you finally get out of your ass and stop being in denial lmaoooooooooooooo
Joshua: just pls be safe
Joshua: sheâs still my sister
Joshua: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Šwonwoonlight â all rights reserved. I donât allow any reposting, translation, and any other kind of redistribution of this fic. Please tell me if youâre aware of anyone doing this without my permission.
#jeonghan angst#jeonghan scenarios#jeonghan fic#seventeen scenarios#seventeen angst#seventeen fluff#seventeen fic#seventeen au#jeonghan fluff#jeonghan imagines#khione.fics#jeonghan au#seventeen scenario#seventeen x reader#seventeen imagines#jeonghan oneshot#seventeen oneshot
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Inspiration (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)
-> in which you struggle coming up with new designs for the Nine, and the Lord of Gifts helps you overcome your creative block
Warnings: smut (p in v, cockwarming, tease and denial, dom!Annatar vibes), reader hesitates at first because sheâs surprised by Annatarâs advances but sheâs on board with it, manipulation cause she doesnât know Annatar is Sauron, small discrepancies with the canon timeline for the sake of the ficâs (very little) plot, unrealistic(?) method of solving artistic blocks (the irony is that I wrote this fic to get out of writerâs block with another one and it workedđ)
Mature content below the cut - minors DNI!!!
âHow fares your progress?â
Lord Annatarâs voice nearly startles you when you see him approach. You thought you were alone in the forge room, with nothing but your thoughts and the unfinished Ring designs currently staring in defiance up at you from a piece of paper.
âWell enough,â you say, reflexively. Then sigh, letting your pencil fall on the table. âWell, in fact... it is slow,â you confess, glancing at Annatar as he walks towards you. You wince internally when he looks over your shoulder at your sketches. âMy skills are no match for Lord Celebrimborâs, and even he has had difficulty finding the right designs.â
âAnd yet he chose you alone to carry on with the efforts in his absence,â he argues, even when faced with what you deem to be your far-less-than-satisfactory attempts. Looking up, you find him offering you a sympathetic smile. âYou sell yourself short, my friend. It is a real pity.â
You avert your gaze, attempting yet surely failing to conceal your fluster. His compliments, however small, always have a sincerity about them that touches you deeply.
Lord Celebrimbor had, quite literally, worked himself into oblivion after one too many failed attempts at crafting the Nine, and more hours without rest than even an Elf could endure. He had refused to retire to his chamber for some much needed sleep until he had fainted upon his own worktable, and even then, he had refused for anyone but you to even attempt to create new designs for future tries in his absence. He had been odd, of late, mistrusting and, dare you say, even irresponsible at times. But you were his oldest and most trusted apprentice, and that seemed to earn you some of the good will he still had left.
Not that you feel he has made you much of a favour, leaving you to labour alone on such an intricate task. You are not exactly freshly rested yourself, and you have seen so many Ring designs in the past few weeks, you seem to have been drained of the ability to come up with any fresh ones.
There was only one idea you had that might help you, and you had risen from your seat and sat back down two or three times already, changing your mind about whether you should seek out Lord Annatar or not. Whether it would be appropriate. Now that he has come to you, however...
âI was wondering...â Your eyes wonder about the room, hesitating to meet his. âIf it isnât too bold to ask...â
âBe at ease,â Annatar intercedes with that same gentle smile, and it isnât so difficult to look at him anymore. âMy very purpose here is to aid you in your endeavours. You need not hesitate to ask for my help.â
All of a sudden, you feel quite silly for ever doubting you could speak with him openly. He has been most willing to share his knowledge as he worked closely with you these past few weeks. Itâs just that now, he has taken on Celebrimborâs duties as Lord of Eregion as well, and you hate to feel as though you are keeping him from more important matters simply because you cannot seem to handle your own given task.
âItâs just that I feel so... utterly uninspired,â you confess, casting a dismayed look to the sketch-filled papers in front of you. âThe proportions, the aesthetics... I cannot seem to get all the elements right at the same time and the more I try, the farther I stray from the desired result.â You raise your gaze to Annatarâs. âMight you spare a moment to assist me, if only with one design? Iâm sure itâll be inspiration enough for me to finish the others whilst you tend to the affairs of the city.â
âOf course,â he says, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. With the other, he picks up the piece of paper, and you are now grateful that his attention is solely on the drawings, for the sudden contact has made you rather flustered. âYou see,â Annatar says, contemplating the sketches, âsometimes the artistâs mind, though creative as ever, tends to... restrict itself, in the most frustrating way. So great is the desire for perfection in the end result, that it stifles the natural flow of the precious ideas without which no result may be reached at all.â
You resonate with the wise words, but you are not sure you understand the advice they carry.
âAre you suggesting I... draw whatever design I like first and worry about the practical aspects of it later?â
âI am suggesting,â he says, putting the paper down, âthat you do not worry at all.â You frown. With that, you do not resonate at all. But your main focus now is that Annatar steps behind you, this time placing his hands on both your shoulders. Your heartbeat quickens as he speaks, at leisure, âThat you do not even... think about the task at handânot entirelyâand that you simply... give in to your most natural instincts.â
âI am... not sure I understand,â you say quietly.
After a momentâs silence, Annatar asks, âMay I show you?â
You knit your brow, unsure. You had expected him to help you by simply completing one of the sketches, or even just discussing some new ideas. These cryptic words, along with the physical contact, is all quite peculiar.
But you do trust him. You more than trust him, if youâre being honest. That is why the sudden closeness feels rather nice, though you do not wish to make a fool of yourself by showing it.
In the end, you give a small nod.
âVery well,â he says, and you hear the pleased smile in his voice. âFor that, you need only resume your work, and trust me.â
Failing at producing quality designs right before his eyes doesnât sound exactly ideal, but you put your faith in his methods, whatever they are. You pick up the pencil once more, bring a fresh sheet of paper before you, and begin your fumbling attempts anew.
You noteâhow could you not?âthat Annatar has yet to remove his hands from your shoulders. Because of that, you sit more upright than you usually do, but you doubt changing your posture is his sole purpose. Slowly, he begins to move, thumbs brushing your skin, then softly pressing down onto it in a languid rhythm.
You are grateful that he cannot see the wide-eyed surprise on your face as it dawns on you that the Lord of Gifts himself is giving you, a common Elf, a massage. His thumbs come to knead the flesh at the base of your neck on either side of your spine, and the slight pressure feels divine, especially when you have spent so many hours hunched over the table. You bite down an audible sigh, willing your hand not to waver while you work. You still do not feel particularly inspired, but if he meant to bring you relief from the constant stress of the past few weeks, his efforts are most certainly appreciated.
You mean to offer him a polite and rather bashful thank you, when one of his hands begins to stray. His fingers leave a tingling trail across your skin as he draws them up your neck, softly cupping your jaw from behind. You are quite stunned by the gesture, and find yourself retracing the same pencil line a few unnecessary times before you move on. His fingertips graze their slow way up your jaw, straying briefly through your hair before they reach your earlobe. Itâs almost as though he is drawing his own intricate pattern along your skin, and your hand slows in its movements as your heart races in your chest.
Surely, he would notâ oh, but if only he didâ
And he does. His fingers take their sweet time tracing the shell of your ear, and finally, they reach the tip, where they catch the pointed bit of flesh between them, tugging ever so gently.
Your breath catches in your throat, shivers rain down your spine, and your hand freezes on the page. Because your kind do not touch one anotherâs ears in such a manner unless they are, or wish to be, courting. The simple reason is that, as you are now vividly reminded, those pointed tips are quite sensitive to touch, erogenous in nature for most Elvesâincluding yourself.
You do not question Annatarâs wisdom or the grace with which he has assimilated into your ways of life, but perhaps he is somehow not aware of this particular intimacy-related aspect? Should you let him know, as courteously as possible? But then how would you explain that you had felt his intent, and despite having been given all the time in the world before his fingers had reached that most tender spot, you had done nothing at all to prevent such a caress?
Before you can decide, his hand returns to your shoulder, any movement halted.
âIs something the matter?â he questions, concerned.
You cannot tell him. You simply cannot. In truth, you miss the touch already.
âNoââ you clear your throat, willing the waver out of your voice. âNo, my lord.â
âThen, why have you stopped?â
He sounds genuinely curious, as though he could not fathom what had affected you so. You give no answer, other than to put pencil to paper once more. The moment you resume your work, his hands resume theirsâmassaging, caressing. He does not touch your ears again, though his fingers do come dangerously close to doing so as he runs them through your hair, and you berate yourself for hoping each time that they would find those sensitive peaks again, catch them in their delicious hold.
So distracted you are by the prospect of it and the images you strive to continue creating, you do not even sense Annatar leaning down. Not until you catch a glimpse of long, blonde hair at the periphery of your vision, and then there is the soft graze of his lips over your neck. You draw in a sharp breath as your skin is set alight, and the pencil slips from your fingers.
âMy lord!â you gasp, chest heaving as you whip around to fix him with a most alarmed look. There is no misinterpreting the intent behind that particular gesture, and he knows it very well.
But he doesnât seem fazed in the slightest as he stands to his full height, seeming to you more majestic in appearance than ever as you look up at him.
âKeep drawing,â he instructs calmly. âUnless you wish for me to stop.â
Your brow furrows even further, your confusion growing, and thenâ
It all clicks in your mind.
The rules he has demonstrated thus far are simple enough: you stop, he stops. Itâs both a condition and a reassurance. You do not have to outright refuse him. You need only refuse to continue drawing, and he shall leave you be, and all will return to the way it was before. But if you do pick up the pencil, it would be tantamount to confessing to the desire you have held secret within your heart for weeks, and that would change everything. Not to mention it would be unprofessional. Most inappropriate.
Your skin still sings where he has touched it.
Be it courage or folly, you turn away from him, pick up the pencil, and draw.
You think you can feel a smile on his lips as they return to your neck. This time, you close your eyes, finally able to savour the sensationâonly for a moment, though, for the blissful touch depends on your ability to keep forming shapes on the paper, so you open your eyes and do your best to conjure some semblance of a coherent design as Annatar peppers your skin with unrushed, tender kisses. His lips are even softer than you had imagined, and you tilt your head lightly to offer every inch of skin within his reach. Now that the door has been opened, there is no more use pretending like you do not crave his affections.
Before long, his fingers ghost along the neckline of your dress, then his hand ventures below, to the swell of your breast. You do not make the slightest move to stop him. In fact, you pray to the Valar for the ability to keep your hand drawing at least somewhat relevant lines on the page. For you keep reminding yourself that if you stopped, so would he, and you cannot fathom the loss of his delicate grasp of your soft flesh. He easily finds a stiff nipple, peaking through the fabric of your dress, and tugs it between his thumb and forefinger. You shudder, holding back a whimperâbut to your embarrassment, the beginning of one does escape you when his hands and lips suddenly leave you.
âDo you need a respite?â he says with a tinge of admonishment. Youâve abandoned your efforts on the paper without even realizing. You shake your head, not trusting your voice, wishing for nothing more than to feel his touch again, and resume scribbling lines on paper.
âVery well,â he says, and his hands return to you.
Itâs increasingly challenging to keep drawing through each graze of lips, each brush of your ears, each tease of your nipples through your dress. Itâs already so much, so fast, and yet it only makes you long for so much more. Youâve given up biting back the soft moans in your throat, lacking the power of concentration to spare for that purpose as well. And you certainly cannot help how your thighs press together in a futile attempt to ease the ache growing between your legs.
The sketch of one Ring is already finished, but you donât even stop to consider whether itâs satisfactory before you begin another. His method shall be most efficient in increasing the quantity of your work, if not the quality. Would he do this with any other smith, you wonder, simply as a means of encouragement? Is this what he has been doing to Lord Celebrimbor on the late nights when the other smiths have gone to sleep, and they alone remain to carry on working in the forge? The thought stings, but the only question on which you can truly focus at the moment is how much further will he go with you, right here and now? As if in answer, his hand begins a most tantalizing descent, over your stomach, down to your navel, and you desperately repeat to yourself to do not stop drawing, no matter what, as you part your legs to receive him without shame.
When he cups you intimately through the fabric of your dress, you truly do not know by what force you are able to keep the pencil on the page, let alone keep wielding it. But thanks to the muscle memory acquired over many years of training, you do, even as you whimper and rock your hips into Annatarâs hand, even as he massages the throbbing bud which had longed for his touch on the shamefully many nights you had stroked it yourself while thinking of him. You wonder if he can feel how wet you have grown for him even through the fabric of your dress, wantonly hope that he doesâ
He stops. Even though you havenâtâyou are so sure of it, youâve been so careful. You only cease drawing when he lifts himself from you and you turn to him with a questioning, pleading look.
âStand,â he instructs simply.
You nearly protest. But you remember yourself, that you are meant to be putting your trust in him, and do as you are told. You are hyperaware of the wetness between your legs as you stand, leaning against the table for support. The haze of desire has left you pleasantly weak.
Annatar steps towards you, facing you fully for the first time since he has begun to touch you intimately, and it is both relieving and electrifying to see that desire darkens his gaze as well as he takes in your breathless state. Taking gentle hold of your chin, he lifts it so your eyes meet his, and not a moment later his lips are upon yours, soft and tender. Itâs barely more than a short peck, just enough for you to melt into the kiss only for him to pull away before you can fully savour it. This teasing of his is so maddening, like a game to which the only rule you know is that you either submit to his rules, or forfeit altogether, and you can only hope he will not leave you wanting in the end.
Stepping back, be pushes his robes to the side, and proceeds to unfasten his trousers with relaxed, steady movements under your longing gaze.
He pauses whilst he is still decent, and patiently asks, âWill you welcome my flesh?â
Welcome it? You could think of little else for weeks.
âYes, my lord,â you murmur.
Only then does he bear himself to your gaze. He is a masterpiece, hard and swollen and glistening at the tip. The state of his cock denotes much more impatience than he demonstrates as he gracefully seats himself in your chair. Your cunt clenches around a gnawing emptiness at the mere sight.
âReturn to your seat, then,â he invites with a cheeky little smile.
You find it strange that he has not pulled the chair away from the table, sitting in it as though he means to work there himself, rather than receive you in his lap. But you obey either way, a daze of elation coming over you. Itâs such a foreign, illicit feeling, pulling up the skirts of your dress with trembling fingers as you step between the chair and table to face Annatar, ready to straddle him.
Before you can lift one knee onto the chair, he stops it with a gentle but decisive hand.
âI do not believe you have finished the designs,â he says. âHave you?â
Frowning, you give a slow shake of your head. His tone nearly makes you feel like a chastised student. Disoriented, you are nothing but pliant as his hands guide you into turning around so that you are now facing the table. Surely, he cannot mean for you to keep drawing once he is inside you? You could barely manage to control your pencil strokes whilst you sat relatively unmoving with his hands upon you, you could not even manage to find the paper if you begin to ride him.
You are about to ride him. Lord Annatar. The thought banishes any such concerns from your mind, leaving nothing but blinding lust in its wake. He adjusts you so that your legs are bracketing his thighs, pulls your garments out of the way to expose your soaked folds, and guides you down so that the tip of his cock is only just breaching your entrance.
That initial stretch alone pulls a small whimper from you, and you plant your hands on the arms of the chair for support, trying not to make any rash downward movement that might hurt you both. But his hands are strong and so safe on your hips, and you surrender to their guidance as he eases your joining. He slowly teases the tip of his cock in and out of your cunt, each time reaching a little deeper than before, until you cannot take it any longer and and sink onto his length completely.
The stretch pulls a mewl from your throat as you finally settle in his lap. You strive to catch your breath, looking down as if to reassure yourself that this is, indeed, real. Your dress covers the place where he has disappeared inside you, but you are so heavenly filled by the length and girth of him, you fear the sight alone might cost you your sanity. You whine, your eyes falling shut as Annatar pulls you to his chest, one hand pressing down on your belly whilst the other gently wraps around your neck, and he whispers in your ear, âHow does this feel?â
Your voice is no more than a trembling whisper, âWonderful.â
You cannot bear to wait a moment more. You try to circle your hips in his lap, moaning as his cock begins to prod at all the most delightful spots within youâ
He plants his hands on your hips, trapping them in a firm hold.
âBe still,â he demands. Itâs no easy feat, but you settle down, awaiting his direction. âGood,â he purrs in your ear. âGood. Now...â he pauses, letting you quiver with anticipation, âyou shall remain still until you have finished the designs.â
Your eyes shoot open, wide and confused as you twist your head to look at him. There is no trace of jest in his eyes. Even the pleasure he feels in the warm embrace of your cunt is a faint glimmer beneath the surface of his determination, subdued with utter discipline. You realize he truly means his words, and you despair.
âBut...â You cannot even make a coherent plea. So dreadful is the thought of enduring the pleasure of having him inside you without pursuing it, you are reduced to little more than a pitiful whine, âMy lordââ
âShh,â he coos, tenderly kissing away a tear that had slipped down your cheek, aiming to soothe you as if he is not the very source of your torment. âI know,â he murmurs. âI feel it too. This all-consuming ache to reach fulfillment, this longing for release... the wonders of your mind crave the very same. Open the door to set them free, as you have opened yourself to allow me in. You managed well enough before .â
âYes, but you were not...â You grimace, clenching around him without meaning to in your anguish. âItâs so deepââ
âAnd you are so warm. So tight,â he breathes out, hoarse with want. âYet I shall wait, patiently, for as long as I must. For your sake.â
His tone leaves no room for argument, which only worsens the ache between your legs. But you know by nowâeither play by his rules, or stop the game altogether.
You sigh, defeated, and nod. âAll right.â
Annatar presses a light kiss to your temple, a gesture so sweet and chaste, it makes your head spin as much as his praise. âGood girl,â he rasps out. âGo on, then.â
He offers some support as you will your limbs into cooperating and begin to lean forward, towards the table. The movement jostles his cock within you ever so slightly, and you groan as you withhold from moving your hips in search of any further friction. The position is somewhat awkward, with you leaning over the page from a slightly too high angle, but you plant your elbows on the table and get on with it, determined to see this through.
If someone had told you this was how you would finish the designsâseated in Lord Annatarâs lap, his cock buried snugly inside you, so perfectly stretching you out that it drives you to the brink of insanityâyou would have called them a most impolite adjective, and slapped them for good measure. But even less probable, even more scandalous, is that itâs almost easier this way. After a few moments of adjustment, you no longer scratch out attempts before theyâve even begun to take shape, or overthink each stroke of the pencil to the point where you forget what your overall intention had been in the first place. The wonderfully torturous stretch of Annatarâs cock within you takes over that part of your mind, and what is left of it is high on the thrill of it all, the anticipation, the graze of Annatarâs fingers as they trace the occasional languid line along your spine, so tender and encouraging.
The practical knowledge is there, deeply rooted in your mind from years of practice, and the creativity is a gift thatâs never truly left you. But it is only now that you finally understand how to let them intertwine without trying to control it, to give in to the flow of inspiration the same way you are giving in to him.
And he keeps his word, sitting silently until the last stroke of your pencil, his hips never once giving the lightest stir. Only when you sit back to show him the finished sketches does he lean forward slightly, taking the paper from your hand as you take deep breaths to cope with the new stimulation.
You plant your hands on his knees for support, nerves filling you now that the creative haze is over. You are left only with great unfulfilled lust, and the creeping doubt that, perhaps, your work is no more adequate than it was before. Youâd found a way to push through so far, but you are not sure you could manage such a feat a second time if he asked it of you.
But you would try. You would try anything, if it allowed only the sliver of hope that your Lord Annatar would finally take you, unrestrained and to sweet completion, at the end of it.
To your great relief, when you turn your head, you find him studying the paper with a most appreciative smile.
âSee what you can accomplish when you give yourself permission to do so?â he says, caressing your thigh as if in reward. âThese are splendid.â
âThank you, my lord,â you murmur. Before, you would not have dreamed to ask for more than such words of praise. Now, you bite your lip and entreat, âMay I... May I, please...?â
âSeek your pleasure?â His voice is knowing, teasing, as if he is not furiously hard within you this very moment. Even after all this, a bout of shyness makes you avert your gaze briefly as you nod. âNo,â he says seriously, and your eyes snap to him in alarm. âNot in this manner,â he goes on. âI wish to look upon your face.â
You have no doubt he meant to have your heart lurch in your chest. There is a wicked side to this messenger of the Valar, a shadow hidden within the light with which he surrounds himself. It only arouses you further.
Annatar helps you stand, and the emptiness left behind as he slips from within you would render you an inconsolable mess, if it werenât for the promise of soon-to-be-found relief. You canât help but eye his cock, drenched in your arousal and bobbing enticingly as he rises to his feet as well. He sets the precious sketches on the table with care, then turns to you with, at last, unveiled hunger, and reaching to the back of your thighs, hoists you in his arms in one swift move.
You wrap your legs around his waist, cling to his shoulders, and gasp as he carries you to the nearest wall, pressing your back against it. He holds you up effortlessly, even as one hand slips between you to touch your clit directly for the first time. The bundle of nerves has been helplessly throbbing for so long, it only takes a few firm strokes of Annatarâs fingers to have you fall apart with a brisk whimper, burying your face in his neck.
âHow sensitive,â he muses, quite content as you pant through the sudden burst of pleasure. âYou have craved my touch for a long time, have you not? I admit it has been quite distracting.â
There is the slightest hint of accusation in his voice, and you know he doesnât just mean since he first touched you today. You must have failed, in all those weeks you worked together, to withhold the lustful thoughts he invoked in your mind from showing in your eyes. And so you had distracted a messenger of the Valar from his work on the crucial task to save all of Middle-Earth.
âForgive me, my lord,â you whisper into his hair.
âWhatever for?â he asks as though youâve said the silliest thing. Cupping your face, he tilts your head up so your gaze meets his. âHave you forgotten my name?â he speaks softly. âI am here to give.â
And give, he does. He slides inside you to the hilt, gladly welcomed back by your still-aching cunt, and this time, finally, finally, he withdraws and sinks back in once, then again, thrust after thrust until he builds to a quick rhythm that has you drowning in the pleasure after which you had thirsted for so terribly long. A string of âpleasesâ leaves your throat, unbidden, even though you can hardly ask for more than the stretch of him inside of you, the relentless press and drag against places so sweet and deep within, the ceiling is filled with all the stars in the night sky as you throw your head back against the wall with abandon. Annatar leans in to kiss your neck, his tongue setting your skin even more ablaze. Your sole remaining ability is to moan and cling to him, receiving the pleasure you are being given.
Sauron is deeply satisfied as he takes his own. He has been aching as well, though the Maia is far more skilled at mastering the urges of his flesh. You had been quick to obey, eager to follow his commands, even without his influence nudging at your mind to suit his purpose, which in itself was as pleasurable as having your tight cunt wrapped around him as you worked. And now you are so pliant in his embrace, moaning in sweet submission as you reap the reward he most graciously offersâthe very picture of the peaceful surrender he seeks to accomplish through the Rings. If only every being in Middle-Earth would accept the blessing of his authority as easily as you have, they would spare themselves so much wasteful bloodshed.
Perhaps he will keep you safe from it. Perhaps he will keep you to himself.
But you donât know what is to come, nor would you care as your pleasure crests towards its peak, and you cry out with the force of your release, clenching around Annatarâs cock.
âThank you,â you mindlessly gasp in between whimpers as he generously fucks you through it, âthank you, thank you, thank youââ
With one last, brutal thrust that pins your hips to the wall, Annatar groans, long and deep as he throbs and spills inside of you. It occurs to you that he has barely made a sound besides his laboured breathing throughout your coupling. Before he even slips out of you, spent, you wonder if you might have the privilege of hearing more in the future.
He is gracious enough, as your high subsides and you catch your breath, to carry you back to your chair. You doubt your legs would support you this very moment. He sets you down, fixes his robes, then stands before you as poised as ever. If it werenât for the spark of mischief in his eyes, one would think you had done nothing but discuss Ring designs over a cup of tea.
âThank you, my dear,â he says, retrieving the sketches from the table, âfor your most valuable work.â He admires them for a moment, then gives you a knowing smile. âDo not hesitate to ask for my aid, should you need it again.â
With a polite nod, he leaves you sitting in your chair by the table, much as you were when he had found you. Only, at that time, his spend had not been pooling between your legs, and it was hard to imagine it ever would be.
You smile to yourself. What an unconventional emissary, and how lucky you are that the Valar have sent him to guide you in your endeavours. For indeed, you are sure you shall require his assistance again quite soon.
Sequel -> Further inspiration
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Follow You Anywhere 4
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary:Â Youâre online existence threatens to leak into your real life.
Characters:Â Captain Syverson
Note: back again.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. Iâm trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I havenât forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting 'part 2?' is not feedback.
Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. đ
You sit at the dining table with your laptop, hiding behind the screen as you try to figure out what to do. How do you get this man to leave? Better, how do you do that without making him angry?
You stare at the unfinished project in front of you. You're not going to get paid for blurry pixels. Work is the least of your worries.
You peek over the top of the laptop and blanch as the subtle movement catches his eye. He grins and sits up, âneed something, sweetie?â
âUh, nope,â you put your eyes down and the screen goes fuzzy.
âHm,â he hums into a grunt and heaves himself up, âyou havenât made any videos yet. What about your shopping trip huh? You gonna edit some of that.â
âErm, maybe later, I have work stuffââ
âYou know,â he nears and stands across the round table, looming menacingly with his hands on his hips, âyou could probably quit all that if you committed to your streams. Lotsa people wanna watch a sweet girl like you.â
âThatâs nice but I donât even have ten followers,â you chuckle.
âMm, maybe, but⌠I could help you,â he offers.
âReally, itâs fine,â your voice trembles, âitâs⌠itâs just a way to get my thoughts out, that's all.â
He clucks and clears his throat, looking around, âwell, I guess Iâll go get my stuff.â
âUm, sure,â you look at him again then peek at the keys hung by the door.
He whistles, âAika, come, you probably needa go.â
The dog rises from beside the couch and follows him to the door. You get up, heart flipping. You need to just lock the door. As long as he doesnâtâ
He grabs the keys and shoves them deep in his pocket. He hooks the leash onto Aikaâs collar as she stands obediently before him. He grins over at you, âdonât worry, sweetie, wonât be long at all.â
He turns and unlocks the door, swinging it inward as he lets the German shepherd lead the way. You deflate and fall back onto the chair. Holy shoot! What are you going to do? Nothing you can think of makes sense. He doesnât make sense. Itâs as if he really believes you know each other. That this is his home.
You bend over your lap and hold your head, rocking as you let out a drone. The panic is so bad you canât hold it in. The noise escaping you is inhuman. You know youâre too weak, too afraid to do anything. So what? Youâll just let him take over your home?
You quiet and stay as you are, hunched over your legs. Are you going to let him do whatever he wants? To you?
Your blood runs cold and you sit up slowly. Youâre dizzy as the silence rings in your ears. You stare across the room, only able to see a glimpse of the door frame.
You donât know what youâre going to do.
Youâre paralysed. You hardly believe it yourself, you donât think anyone else will either. The thought of explaining it is embarrassing on its own.
Youâre being stupid. You need to tell someone. Anyone.
You hear him before he enters. He opens the door, pausing as he lets Aika off the leash. She sniffs around as the door shuts heavily.
Sy appears, a large bag of kibble balanced on one shoulder as he carries a military duffle in his other hand. He drops the latter and brings the former into the kitchen. You stand, hollow as you make yourself move. You go to the doorway to the kitchen and watch him search your cupboards.
âLadybird needs a bowl,â he says, âsheâs hungry.â
âOh,â you utter dumbly and blink. Youâre stuck where you are.
His cheek dimples and he returns his attention to his search. He takes out the pink plastic bowl you use for salad and he uses a measuring cup to scoop out the kibble. You just watch as he puts it on the floor for Aika as she sits patiently.
He stands and she does too, eagerly scarfing down the food, flicking slobber all over your salad bowl. Sy faces you and you flinch as he comes near, reaching for you. You back away.
âSweetie?â He says, âwhatâre you doing?â
âI⌠IâŚâ you rub your arm, âhow long are you planning on⌠staying?â
He scoffs, âwhat? Ah, come on, sweetie, youâre funny. â
âIâm⌠Iâm serious,â you quaver, âI didnât⌠we just met.â
His face falls and so does your heart. His expression turns dire and he crosses his arms. Aika seems to notice his shift and quits her loud chomping. She raises her nose, letting out a low growl. You gulp. He has that same glint in his eye as in the truck when he nearly rear-ended that other driver.
âSweetie, I told you, I've been watching you all this time. You know, I was your first follower,â he takes a step closer and you take one back. âI know you.â
âRight, uh,â you push your hands together and bend your fingers back, âI understand, itâs justâŚâ you can hardly breathe, âI guess I misunderstood. Of course you can stay, but⌠you know, I only bought enough groceries for me and⌠and itâs a small place.â
He considers you. He runs his hand over his beard and exhales loudly. He drops his other arm and tilts his head side to side, cracking the bones, âso we can get nice and snuggly, sweetheart.â
He nears you again, quickly, before you can elude him. He catches you around the back of the head and urges you close. He leans in and kisses your hairline. You freeze and let him. He purrs before he draws away.
âRight, Iâll get cleaned up,â he lets you go, âyou can finish your work or⌠get cozy.â
You nod and stare past him. Aika once more chews loudly as your eyes settle on her straight back. Youâre trapped. Your home is now a prison.
You stay like that until you hear the pipes whine and the shower buzzes to life. You glance over, the bathroom door slightly ajar. Mortified, you retreat to the table and sit behind the computer. You know the excuse wonât hold up much longer but you can at least pretend to be busy.
Aikaâs claws tap on the tile as you hear her lay near the door. You canât even run. His loyal guard dog isnât just keeping people out, sheâs keeping you in.
You put your hands on the laptop as you hear the faucet crank off. The scented steam seeps out and dampens the air with the scent of your strawberries and cream soap. You shudder and minimize and maximize the window.
You listen to him. He opens and closes the cabinet several times as he lingers in the bathroom. The door opens and your ears tinge as you focus on the laptop. He steps out as you swirl your fingers on the touch pad.
âI feel better,â he sighs, âhow about you, sweetie? Maybe you should have a nice long bath?â
âIâm good,â you utter dully.
âHope you donât mind, I used your hairbrush,â he crosses the room.
âNo, itâs fââ your eyes flick up on instinct. You swallow as your eyes round. He has only a towel around his waist, the rest of him brazenly bare. âFine.â
You rip your gaze away and accidentally exit out of the editing software. You try to wipe the image of him from your mind. His thick muscles, the dark hair across his chest and stomach, and over his thick thighs. Thereâs little left to the imagination or doubt. The sight of him confirms his unbeatable strength.
âWhatâs wrong?â He asks.
âN-nothing,â you insist.
âYouâre being all shy. Whatâs going on, huh?â You shake your head as he comes around the table. He presses the laptop shut until you retract your hands. You sit back and look at your hands. âYouâve been working long enough. Come on, sweetie.â
âI⌠I have a project to finishââ
âAnd thatâs more important? How long have I waited to be with you? Over there in the shâ in the chaos?â He says, offering his large hand, âI got you something. I wanna show it to you.â
âIâŚâ you rasp and peer up at his face, too afraid to look anywhere else. âOkay.â
You give in. Your surrender. Heâs a soldier and heâs won the battle. You take his hand and stand up.
He takes you into the front room and leads you to the couch. He stops you in front of it and gestures you to wait. You do and he disappears around the other side of you.
He returns with his duffle bag and puts it in the chair. He keeps his back to you as he unzips it. You peek up and your eyes cling to the scars along his burly back. Just beneath his shoulder and another along his side. Through the fear, you feel a pang of sympathy for him. He must have been through a lot.
âI bought you something,â he says, âwhen I was driving up.â
He turns and shows you a dainty piece of fabric hanging from his index fingers. You gape at the pale pink bodysuit; flowers in a darker shade trim the corset and the tops of the cups are subtly scalloped. You love the colours but you would never dare to wear anything like that.
âUh, wow,â is all you can get out.
âJust you know for a special occasion,â he smiles, âitâll look real nice on you. Itâs your colour.â He steps closer as he holds it out to you, âI showed the lady your picture and she said it would be nice on your skin tone.â
You feel like youâre going to faint. Is he really giving you a piece of lingerie? You take it and examine the thin material.
âObviously, not tonight since weâre settling in and all that,â he chuckles, âbut you know⌠if you wanted toâŚâ
âIâm⌠Iâm going to put this away,â you croak.
You move past him, slowly as if wading through water. You go to the bedroom and cross to the dresser. You stand before it as you stare at the fabric. Your chest aches as you hold a breath inside.
âAh, still pretty tidy in here,â Sy comments from behind you.
You pull open the top drawer and hide the bodysuit. A shiver rolls through you as you shut it and turn to the intruder. You watch helplessly as he invades every inch of your life.
âYou did such a good job, sweetie,â he praises as he nears the bed and plops his bag on it, âwatching you clean⌠itâs admirable how determined you are.â
He reaches in his bag and takes out a stack of folded clothing. You blink as he strides over to the dresser and pulls open a drawer. You sway as you resist the urge to ask what the heck heâs doing. He makes room beside your clothes and shoves his inside.
As he stands, he adjusts the towel hanging lower on his waist than before. You turn away. As much as you donât like him touching all your things, his nakedness is even more off putting. Most disturbing is his lack of self-awareness. Frankly, itâs frightening.
He unpacks, bit by bit, and rolls open the closet to put his empty bag inside. He goes back to the dresser to shut the top drawer he left open but his hand curls around the top. He dips inside and lifts out a pair of your panties; the ones speckled with printed on bows.
âI like these,â he says, âtheyâre cute, like you.â
âThanks, IâŚâ you murmur. âIâŚâ Your mouth is dry and chalky, âI need some water.â
âAw, sweetie, you look faint,â he drops the panties and approaches you. âWhy donât you sit down?â
He urges you onto the edge of the bed, his hands on your shoulders. He looks down on you as you tilt your head to peer back at him. He looks so big. He keeps his hands on you, gripping tighter, and for a moment, youâre not sure what heâs going to do and you think he is even less certain.
He pulls his hands away and shakes them out, âIâll get you some water,â he says, âyou had a long day, huh?â
âMhm,â you hum and lower your chin, your hands shaking in your lap.
You did this. You welcomed this man in. More than letting him drive you home or cross the threshold of your apartment, you put yourself online, exposed yourself to the public. You heard the horror stories before, the true ones, but you just never thought it would happen to you.
#captain syverson#dark captain syverson#dark!captain syverson#captain syverson x reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#series#sandcastle#follow you anywhere
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TAKE US BACK || ZOMBIE AU || KYLE âGAZâ GARRICK X GN!READER
Word Counter â 6.4k words
Summary â The new world was rotten, and you rotted away with it.Â
Tags/Warnings â Zombie AU (heavily twd coded, donât expect some l4d type of stuff /lh. Death and turning after the bite ARE slower, however. For the sake of drama. obviously), gore, blood, gn!Reader, established relationship, heavy angst, major character death.Â
A/n â So, this fic is my contribution to the spooky season! Special thanks to @mockerycrow for helping me with the pictures for the header, you're the best, pookie!!! I have a playlist for this fic too, so in case you want to read this with complete immersion Iâll link it here. Enjoy <333
also available on my ao3
upd. if you saw that unfinished paragraph you didnât see anything, move along đď¸đď¸
âKyle, I thinkâŚI think Iâm bitten.â was all it took to shatter him into millions of tiny pieces. Just like that. Nothing mattered anymore, even that you promised each other to stay alive, no matter what. In the back of his mind, he knew all those promises muttered into his lips while he feverishly kissed you were empty, shallow attempts to silence his mind, to make him sleep in peace, thinking youâll be there no matter what. And of course, he didnât doubt your words even for a split second.
Kyle knew he was a fool to believe that. To think the two of you were inseparable. In a world like this, how could one even think of something staying forever untouched by decay that spread far beyond the horizon? Rot overtook everything, and if something was still untouched by it, soon enough that wither would find a way to slither inside, spoiling it forever. It would even find its way into peopleâs minds, ruining humanity in a manner no physical disease could ever hope to damage them. Kyle and you have seen it happen far too many times, and his only wish was for you to meet your end together, peacefully. But nowâŚhe only wished he had the strength to go on, he truly did.Â
Because you needed him. Now more than ever.Â
And so, he kept trying. If he didnât then both of you would be done for. You didnât deserve that, not when all he wanted was for you to be safe and well, not caring much about himself. You were the one who saved him when all the shit went down, now it was time to return the favor. So, he pushed himself through every agonizingly slow day. But he was starting to feel the already feeble remains of his strength slipping away from him. He wouldnât give up, however. Never. Not when your life depended on it.Â
Thatâs why while you were bedridden, weakness setting in your body as a permanent, bitter resident, Kyle was scouring the old town for fever and cold medicine, trying to be as quiet as possible, not to attract any undead. He had a gun, but he did not use it â too loud and bullets were a luxury, not a commodity. Kyle only had one bullet, following the advice of a nice older man with mutton chops he remembered meeting in one of the survivor camps a long time ago.
âAlways save the last bullet for yourself or your loved ones. You never know whoâll need it moreâ
Methods aside, recent days were spent wandering abandoned houses in attempts to find at least some food for the two of you. Only when the darkness started to settle, Kyle would head back, throwing his backpack over the fence and barely managing to climb it, sore muscles and empty stomach sending jolts of pain all through his body. Even then, he was restless, sitting by your side, wiping your forehead of sweat, and taking your temperature. Your breathing was strained, chest rising and falling under thin blankets that barely kept you warm. And each time he looked at you for more than a minute at a time he felt his insides twisting in pain, eyes getting white-hot with tears, and throat closing, barely letting him take a short breath just so he doesnât suffocate in his misery.
And then the sun rises, warm rays painting the room in a variety of colors, falling over your face, morning birds wake up Kyle from his nightmare-filled sleep. He jolts awake from the dreams, filled with the image of you, dying in agony over and over, crying out for help, begging him to do something. You get torn apart, your intestines spilling out on the damp floor, pulled out by a crowd of the undead who devour you with vigorous hunger, biting into your flesh until he canât recognize your face from the bloody and mangled pulp that rotting hands and jagged teeth turn you into. Your raw, pained screams haunt him even when heâs awake, observing you lose your life all over again. Much slower and in a much more painful way.Â
The sun rises. And so does Kyle. Your desperate pleas that drag from the dream are muffled as soon as he sees you sleeping. Forgetting, that you were getting weaker with each day that passed. Choosing to bask in your tranquil glow, in the way your eyelashes fluttered while you slept, choosing to neglect the worry clawing on the back of his mind just to stay like this with you for a little longer. Kyle knew he couldnât delay the inevitable, but he still decided to make the best out of the short amount of time he had left with you. Hoping that some miracle would happen and you wouldnât succumb to the decay. That the bite would turn out to be a bad dream you both had on the same night, waking up from it in cold sweat, searching for the comfort of each otherâs embrace, while letting out relieved sighs, realizing that youâre safe.Â
That would be great, wouldnât it?
Instead, he shakes you awake with a gentle hand, almost not wanting to wake you up from your slumber. You blink up at him, looking even more tired than before you went to sleep. Circles under your eyes are even darker than the previous night. And Kyle is in pain once again. He wants to help you up, throwing your arm over his shoulder, to lead you through the long, silent halls of the school where you were staying, full of dust and damp, moldy smell, to have breakfast together. Like good old times. But he sees that in your eyes, youâre too weak to pull your weight up and stand up. So, he brings the heated-up cans of beans here, putting one on a stool in front of you, helping you to sit up before he even thinks of touching his food.
âKyle, thatâs twice what I usually eat.â You mutter, watery eyes rising to him, sitting on the mattress in front of you with his legs crossed. He raises his eyebrow and his head shifts to the side in a questioning motion.
âWell, you have to eat plenty to recover.â He said, matter-of-factly. You stay silent, unwilling to have that debate right now. You barely managed to stay awake as it is. Let him think that youâll get better, despite everything you saw together. Despite every rule that youâve discovered. Let him live in the illusion, in the waking dream that all will be well if he tries hard enough. âWell, what are you waiting for? Itâs growing coldâÂ
You didnât realize that youâd been drilling the can of steaming beans in front of you with your glassy gaze for the past several minutes, submerged in your thoughts deep enough to suffocate. You pick up the spoon with a weak, shaky motion. Then your eyes fall on the can. Somehow, you knew that you wouldnât be able to pick it up. Failing at something so simpleâŚyou knew itâd hurt your pride even more. So, you opted to push the tin closer to the edge of the stool.
Kyle glanced over at you, beads of sweat glistening on your forehead. He sensed the fatigue from you, lacing the air that surrounded you and leaving dark, oily traces over anything your fingers lingered on. You breathed sickness. Your hands, which were able to easily bash an undeadâs head on the wall just several days ago, now could barely hold a spoon steady without it trembling and threatening to fall, spilling all the contents over the moth-eaten blanket. He felt his heart squeeze in pain, and he swore that something shattered inside of him once again.Â
âLet me help you.â Although it sounded like an offer, Kyle didnât look like he was going to let you debate it, shuffling closer to you, taking the spoon from your hand in a swift motion. You purse your lips, knowing that protesting that would be stupid. If it wasnât for how weak and sick you were, and for a lot of other circumstances, it would be a cutesy moment. Your dear spoon-feeding you something? Please, oneâs teeth would rot from how sweet it is. But now it was just another deep, bleeding gash on your pride. Kyle blows on the food, cooling it off and promptly moving it towards your mouth with his hand cupped just under the spoon. You obediently clamp your lips around the spoon. âThere we go.â He gives you a small smile, but you see the melancholy in his eyes when Kyle wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb. He means well, yet you canât help but feel like youâre a burden to him.Â
You loathed being like this. Being this weak. Fragile. You were able to fend for yourself, you had resilience and strength, but now you were just rendered useless, only dragging Kyle down, depriving him of the freedom to go on.
Heâll die if he continues like this.
You knew it. He was exhausted, and youâve been like this for a little over a week. Survival wasnât about skill anymore, it was about luck. You lost yours already, the moment rotten, jagged teeth sunk into the flesh of your forearm like it was butter, drawing the first blood. But Kyle, heâŚsooner or later he will lose his luck too. And it was apparent that it was coming sooner than you anticipated. A bullet he wonât be able to dodge. An infected scratch. An undead that he simply didnât notice because of how tired he is. A bear trap in the vicinity of someoneâs camp. Something will get to Kyle. Or someone. And thankfully, you wonât be here to witness it. Hopefully.
 âWhat are you doing? Where are we going?â You barely managed to mutter out, clinging to him with all the strength you had, which, to be fair, wasnât a lot. He could feel the cold of your hands clasped around his neck even through several layers of his clothes. Kyleâs hands carefully held you under your thighs as he went up the stairs, not showing any signs of exertion except for beads of sweat on his temples.Â
âJust thought we might watch the sunrise together, like good old daysâ You could hear the soft smile that tugged on his mouth when he said that. Another reminder for you that he probably loathed the way you lived right now and would prefer to go back to the way things were. With you not being hisâŚburden.
You didnât need to be reminded of this. Of the âgood old daysâ. Finding that abandoned farm, deep in the buttcrack of the countryside was what saved the both of you when the world started going to shit. You and Kyle met each other years prior, but it didnât matter anymore. Not when everything as you knew it was gone.
Hiding there gave you a sense of normalcy you missed so much, after having to live for months, years like an animal. You didnât feel like the world as you knew it was falling apart beyond that fence with cracked white paint. Deserted fields full of dead crops, empty house with a bunch of stuff forgotten or thrown around messily - it was obvious the owners wouldnât come back any time soon. Snooping around gave you too much information - you couldnât help but feel a bitter burn on the back of your throat when you picked up a framed family photo from the fireplace, five tan faces staring back at you with perpetual smiles etched into the glossy paper.Â
You didnât have the gall to throw away or burn everything personal the previous family left behind. Photo albums, children's clothes and toys, diplomas, drawings, letters, posters, and even something as small as shopping lists on the fridge, five life stories were packed into several boxes, taped and put in the attic. Kyle didnât understand your wish to preserve something that wasnât even yours, but he didnât interfere, choosing to give you a hand instead. If it helped you to sleep in someone elseâs bed calmer, replacing the presumably dead strangers, he was willing to indulge you.
Despite how far away from the civilization this farm was, seeing an undead roaming around wasnât a very rare occurrence, but at least you could handle the occasional walking corpses. You wake up, you go on patrol. You finish patrol, and you meet the sunrise with Kyle by your side, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, with a blanket thrown over the both of you, sitting on the front porch, right on the creaking stairs. These fleeting moments felt so right. Like home.
Eventually, you had to continue moving. Started to run short on supplies ever since then. Running into all sorts of different people, relying on strangers, leading a nomad way of life. It wasnât unfulfilling, since you only needed the company of each other to keep it together. In a variety of groups that youâve been through it was always a known fact that youâll stick by each other before someone else.
All he needed was your loving hug when you came back from a supply run. A soft kiss that you would put on that scar right on his cheek. Or to hold your hand under the table when you sat down to eat with whatever group you were with this week, like your love for each other was a secret meant only for the two of you. All you needed was his warmth, his comfort, his mere presence, that would light up your shitty day like a damn light beam. He managed to take your breath away each time he looked at you with such gentleness and softness that sometimes you didnât think you deserved it. Youâve found the world in each other. A purpose.
So what is Kyle going to do when youâre gone?
The morbid thought suddenly crosses your mind, while the man carefully sits you down on a worn lawn chair with a soft grunt, plopping down on the ground by your side, warm palm reassuringly resting on your thigh. Bringing you down to earth. Gusts of frosty wind brush through your hair, nipping at your cheeks, nose, and ears. You missed the outside, despite it being quite cold and unwelcoming this time of the year.
âI think the herd's close. See that dust?â Kyle taps you lightly on your leg and points towards the horizon. And true to his words, there is a fine dark line separating the sky, burning up in a mix of reds and yellows, from the earth. âTheyâre moving weird.â
âWhat does that mean?â you croak at Kyle, not able to peel your eyes from that sheet of gray, bunched-up dust that sat on the edge of the horizon like a shadow.
âMeans if weâre lucky theyâll pass the school.â Kyle mutters, trying to reassure you, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze.
And then it clicks.
When he came back from the supply run you were nowhere to be found in the wind-torn building. There were no traces of you in the old cafeteria on the first floor where the two of you would heat up the canned food that your taste buds got used to over the long months the end of the world stretched over. Before you got bit.
He felt his heart sink to his stomach, so nauseous from the mere thought of something happening to you. Kyle fought himself not to double over, press his forehead against the wall and throw up everything you two had for breakfast until he feels the acidic burn on his tongue and cries his damn eyes out from the pain. You knew that the herd was getting closer, why did you have to disappear right now? You two were supposed to wait it out together, by each otherâs side. What were you doing, and more importantly, what were you thinking? Nothing made sense. Nothing at all.
Kyle felt the wall with an awkward, stiff motion of his hand, before putting his weight on it and sliding down, he felt like his legs could not hold him anymore. You barely had the strength to sit upright, where would you go in your condition?Â
The only place he could think of that was close enough for you to get to was the motor inn down the street. Of course.
The herd was already here. Kyle had no time to spare, he needed to act now, to get you and run away as fast as possible. He remembered there was a car in that old motor inn, so that could be your getaway plan, sure thing he could figure something outâŚand to get thereâŚHe can use that old trick that another group of survivors taught you two. âIf you smell like them, they wonât notice you, simple as that. Just make sure not to bump into anyone, or theyâll get real friendly with you.â Of course. It was that easy. You never resorted to that trick, preferring to avoid or dispose of the undead on sight. But desperate times call for desperate measures.
Kyle cringed at that sinking feeling in his stomach, but not at the thought of having to walk through the herd and probably be eaten alive, no. The possibility of you not being in that motor inn was what made that hollow pit inside of him grow. The fact that he might never see you again. Or that he would find you already gone.
He moves with calculated precision. Catch the undeadâs attention, yellowish whites are dull under the daylight. Let it get close enough, it groans with each movement, joints snapping and clicking. Make the undead lose its balance, kick it in the knee, and the rotting leg almost falls off under the force that Kyle unintentionally applies. Destroy the brain, put a hunting knife right to the forehead, and let it thud to the ground, finally at rest. Heâs thoughtlessly going through the motions, every step ingrained into his consciousness, almost like second nature to him. Rips through the stomach of the undead, black, resinous blood oozing out. Sinks his hands in the intestines, they smell so strong Kyle tears up and gags, hands shuffling around clothes caked with dirt and grime, swiping putrid, nasty mass all over himself. But itâs nothing. Itâs alright. It will be worth it when he finds you.
After that, everything he remembers is under a thick blanket of haze, accompanied by the smell. You never get used to it. He feels nauseous, his insides twisting in worry, gnawing and biting at his heart like a terrified, desperate dog. His eyes grasp onto anything, but all Kyle sees is the sea of rotting flesh all around him, groans and moans of the undead so echoing in his ears loud all he wants is to tumble to the ground and end it all. He barely breathes with how tight his chest is squeezing his heart, it feels like in a split moment his insides will collapse onto themselves, capturing him in this meat cage. He has to remind himself that heâs not doing it for himself, heâs doing it for you, only for you. Kyle has to let his thoughts travel to your voice, to the way your nose scrunched when you laughed, to the frown between your brows when you slept in his arms just so he doesnât go mad. Stares from decomposing, milky white eyes with yellows, blues, and reds here and there felt like stabs right through him, each could be the last if he gave himself away.
He could be grabbed by any of the half-rotten hands with sickly yellowish bones sticking out like spears of the cavemen, bitten, dragged away, or devoured. But he pressed on through the seemingly endless crowd of the undead. He would be lying if he said it didnât affect him. That abandoned motor inn was like a beacon right now, but his imagination still ran wild, his hope growing more and more dim with each minute spent away from you. He didnât feel like any hero. Kyle was scared. Mostly for you, but he could feel the tremble in his knees at the mere thought of any undead in the crowd recognizing him as an impostor. If that happens, he wonât be able to mutter even a single word. Rotten fingers will dig into his flesh, tearing it apart and Kyle will meet his end like this, on the damp ground, abandoned and scared out of his damn mind.
When Kyle pressed himself against the closed door of the motor inn, he finally could breathe in again. It wasnât the time for a break, however. He still needed to find you. He wanders through the dusty, ransacked rooms in a daze, fixated on finding any traces you left, noticing the old rusty car in passing. The getaway plan. If the two of you are lucky enough. Footprints in the dust. They look new, and similar to the ones on the soles of your old boots. He follows. Your thin blanket lies forgotten on the stairs. Kyle practically flies up to the second floor, picking up the blanket, while heâs at it. More footprints in the dust, door to some old office is left ajar.
First, you felt the smell. Then you heard him cry out your name in surprise. And then you finally saw Kyle. Heâs a blur of red, black, and brown. Covered head to toe with blood, guts, rotting flesh, and dirt, you presume. A sad, heartbreaking sight. Kyle, however, doesnât mind it and immediately runs towards you, falling on the floor with a loud thud, and youâre sure he mightâve scraped his knees with how hard he landed. His arms cage you in a tight hug and you hear him let out a shaky exhale. Tears start to sting your eyes when you feel him pressing your head into his shoulder, stroking you with a gentle motion. You werenât sure if he was trying to comfort you or reassure himself that youâre real, and not a fragment of his imagination. Regardless, you manage to reciprocate the hug, raising one of your arms and wrapping it around his back.
All of these days you saved up your energy for the last push. You needed to get away from him. You couldnât trust yourself to remain near Kyle anymore. Any moment you could turn. You felt it in the way your bones ached with every gust of wind, how your blood boiled under your veins and your vision turned even more blurry. And in that case, youâd be a threat to Kyle, possibly getting him at his most vulnerable. It didnât matter that youâd be long gone by then, you would still never forgive yourself if there was any possibility of it happening. Because, deep down you knew. No matter how skilled and ruthless Kyle was with handling the undeadâŚhe didnât have it in him to bash your head in. So, you only had one choice to ensure his safety.
Yet he finds you. Here. You could feel your cheeks burn from being so angry at him, for his lack of acceptance that you were on the brink, and all it would take for you right now to fall into the abyss would be a light gust of wind or a slight shove. But you couldnât blame him. You thought a lot about what you would do if the roles were reversed. The scenario brewed in your mind, haunting those short hours you were awake and trapping you in restless dreams.
You would want to live in illusion too.
âThere you are.â You could practically feel something inside of you crack when you catch his smile beaming at you. Kyle just went to hell and back to get to you. And he still finds it in himself to smile at you, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders with hurried, but soothing movements. You were so weakened by the bite that you couldnât even find any strength to go down the stairs and get the blanket when you dropped it. Humiliating. âCome on, we have to go, now, we canât stay here.â He tries to scoop you up in a warm hug again, but you dig your heels into the ground. âAre you alright? Are you hurt?â he looks at you again, trying to catch what is wrong,
âNo.â Kyle looks you over, eyes open wide, expression of confusion and sadness on his face. Of course, he doesnât understand.
âYou donâtâŚhave anything on you. Then how, how did you evenâŚâ You didnât have any grime on you at all, looking like you just walked through the herd of the undead without any preparation. But then his eyes trail lower and he sees it. Your left hand, cuffed to the rusty radiator. Suddenly the wave of terror cuts through him, like a fine, thin string through a block of fresh clay.
You came here to die.
âThey stop paying attention to you once youâre far along enough. SoâŚI guess thatâs it.â He hated you for saying that. God, he hated you so much, he wanted to cling onto your body and suffocate you, arms wrapped around you in weak, pathetic attempts to shield you from any harm. âIâŚI donât have any time left.â Kyle felt like he got punched in the gut. Air squeezed out of his lungs, wheezing in pain that he felt for you, because of you, chest aching, tearing apart, and baring his heart under the cage made of bones.Â
âNo. No, no, no, no, you canât say that! Why are you saying that?â And for the first time, since Kyle saw the bloodied, ragged teeth marks on your flesh, he broke down into minuscule, fragile pieces right in front of you. His voice trembled, frantic and exerted, refusing to believe you even dared to make peace with the inevitable. He grabs your shoulders firmly and his fingers dig into you so hard he can feel how cold you are through your clothes.
Key. He has to release you from the handcuffs. The herd was here, the way the floor vibrated under his feet, and the way gargled moans and sighs echoed outside made Kyle even more agitated. Where did you get those handcuffs anyway? It only takes a moment for him to remember. One of the supply runs that feels like a lifetime ago. Police station. Searching the bodies, or rather, what was left of them, for anything useful. You take out the handcuffs and show them to Kyle, telling him some kind of joke. He canât remember what it was or the way you smiled, only that you made him laugh.Â
He wished instead of quiet rasping he could hear your laugh again.
âWhere is the key from the handcuffs, where did you put it?â Kyle jumped to his feet and started looking over the room in a hurry, suffocated by the fear of losing you. He was wishing, hoping that you would show him where you hid the key, somewhere, anywhere, Kyle needed to throw you on his back and run right this moment.
âFuck, listen to me, listen. To me.â you tried to snap him out of his delirium, with your harsh tone, freezing palms digging the bloodstains Kyle left on your blanket âYou know what you have to do.â He shook his head wildly, looking at you like were mad for even suggesting something like this. âI donât want to become one of them! You have to make sure I wonât come back.â
âHave you lost your damn mind?! I-â Kyle didnât understand you. How can you say, make a request like this? Something was fundamentally wrong and the bite, the illness were to blame.
âHave you?â you interrupted, pouring all of your strength into this yelling match. You didnât care anymore. You felt your fingers going numb, black, inky spots dancing on the edges of your vision, taunting you in their vicious dance macabre. You did not have time for his lame excuses and whatever it was he was trying to be right now. âIâm asking you one thing, and you canât even do that! What the fuck is wrong with you?!â You couldnât feel the way tears burned your cheeks.
âListen to me, please! Iâm not putting a bullet in your head; do I look like a fucking murderer to you?â Kyle pinches his brow in frustration, not even able to look at you right now. Every single suggestion and comment from you stings, fucking hurts and tears him open once again. Because youâre talking nonsense. Absolute bullshit. And you donât even realize it, he thinks, blinded by your sudden chase after death.
âIâm fucking dying and youâre worried about not being a murderer? Are you being fucking serious right now?â You couldnât believe your ears, quite frankly. It was the only thing that you had asked of him. The only thing that you wanted. To be finally released. You couldnât bear it anymore. Your body working against you, living with the constant threat of turning any second, massacring and desecrating Kyleâs corpse as a bloodthirsty, disgusting creature, that will have your face, your body, your hands, and your voice, but not anything that makes you â you. No memories. No love. No inner strength and compassion. Just hunger and urge to slaughter, destroy, and ravage everything in your sight.
âYou know thatâs not what I meant! Why are you doing this right now?â Kyle felt like he was about to collapse into himself from despair. He couldnât just do what you were suggesting. And you knew it, yet you chose to ignore it and refuse any acceptance? You always listened to him, even if you didnât quite agree. You always were patient with him. Whatâs gotten into you now, what happened?
You donât have any more time. Thatâs what happened.
âOh, so I run away, trying to keep you safe so you live another day and see another one of these stupid sunrises, cuff myself here just so I donât harm anyone and you canât even do what Iâm asking you to?!â Your voice rises to a volume you didnât even know you had in you right now, after dragging yourself through the imitation of your former life for a little less than a week. To think your suffering so far lasted less than a week, yet you were ready to end it all right this moment.
Because you could feel it in your bones. You were close.
âWell, tell me, whatâs the point of me living if youâre dead?!â You can hear the way his voice breaks in the end. Desperate. Pleading.
The silence rings in your ears with how loud it is.Â
âIâm sorry.â You croak at him after a short while, eyes trained on the dirty floor. Kyle chuckles, the sound that you love so much, but then itâs followed by a muffled sob. He kneels in front of you once again and your eyes rise to meet his. You canât help but think that he looks even more beautiful covered in rotting guts, with his eyes full of light and love for a doomed failure like you.
Itâs almost impossible to breathe from how hard your heart aches. God, you love him so much. You want to take all the pain from him with you, into the vile, putrid abyss. Kyle takes your hands in his. Youâre terrifyingly cold. And heâs too warm. You feel tears rising to your eyes, prickling at them, as you fail at your attempts not to break down right now.
âI canât stay mad at you when you make that face.â Kyle says with a small laugh that breaks into dry sobs, as his shoulders shudder violently with every single one, before he clings onto you, seeking comfort and reassurance, that youâll be here. With him.
His embrace feels suffocating. Itâs so tight you think any more pressure from him will break your bones into yellowish sharp daggers and fine dust. And youâd forgive Kyle if that happened. Youâd forgive him for anything, quite frankly. Funny, how now you have the answer to what you would do if he was the one turning. Youâd let him devour you wholly, in the ultimate show of love. Youâd let him bite into you, whatever he wanted â neck, arm, a leg, he could have. Youâd lay in the pool of your blood, muffling your pained cries by stuffing that worn blanket into your mouth. Youâd slowly slip away into oblivion, letting your undead beloved gnaw on your bones and taste the love that would seep out of your flesh. You would probably turn a lot faster if that happened too. And then youâd be together for eternity. You knew Kyle always wanted you two to be together. Both in life and in death.
âIâll wait for you. I promise.â You barely manage to squeeze a smile out of yourself to comfort Kyle, feeling your strength leaving you. Succumbing to the weakness that spread a dull ache over your body, to that festering rot inside of you, that was finally overtaking. You felt cold, thin digits of terror sink right through your chest, sweat prickling once again on your forehead and temples. There was no use clinging unto something that was unsalvageable. Your body and your mind were beyond repair. You knew it. Only he kept you here.
âPleaseâŚdonât leave me.â Kyle couldnât feel anything besides the pain and hot needles jabbing his eyes. Your touch almost felt unreal, how weak, subtle it was. He tore away from you only for a moment, bloody palms cupping your face. His lips pressed against yours in a quick, feverish kiss, and even more pecks like this followed â to your forehead, eyelids, corners of your mouth, and nose. As if this would save you from inevitably losing the remains of your strength. As if you werenât clinging to your last seconds with him as it is. âPleaseâŚplease.â He whispered against your skin. His tears glittered like gemstones in the dim glow of the sunset. Kyle looked so beautiful like this. Yours.
He missed the moment when he stopped feeling short, warm breaths on his neck and your body started to get cooler to the touch. But he wasnât ready to let you go just yet. A little more time, thatâs all he needed. So, he lays your head across his lap, carefully, gently. Like heâs trying not to wake you up from a peaceful dream about places far better than this world. Kyle desperately tries to find that strength to make sure you wonât come back, to grant your last wish, but he justâŚhe canât. Now when you were right here, beside him, getting your well-deserved rest.
But you started stirring back to life unexpectedly, and just when Kyle wanted to say something, he realized, that it wasnât quite you. The glazed-over eyes with a milky white cloud over them looked right through him, the blood that was dripping down from your nose, ears, eyes, and mouth after your brain finally shut off from the illness. The strained rasp, full of pain and hands that started grabbing and clawing at Kyle with crooked fingers, contorted into bizarre figures.
Kyleâs heart leaped down to his feet again in fear and he forced himself to push away your undead form, reaching out to him, pleading for something he no longer understood, as he crawled away, still facing whatever you turned into. If his heart wasnât pumping blood through his body as fast he wouldâve felt the small cuts from scraping his hands on the dirty floor. But his eyes were on what was left of you.
There were no traces of what he was searching for in this hollow shell, stolen from his love, stolen from you. Crimson trickling down from the mouth, the creature in your shape bares its bloody teeth and lets out a gargled moan, stretching the trembling hand towards him, demanding flesh, demanding sacrifice. And in Kyleâs mind, this isnât you. This just canât be. Absolutely not.
Kyle thought about the way you held him in your arms, while he gripped his shoulders in a tight hug. He thought of the way your thumb brushed over his knuckles. His thoughts traveled to the distant past, when you met him years ago in that summer camp, even before the world started rotting, only to be reborn a sick copy of itself. He remembered your smile when you sat near countless bonfires. The way fire played in your eyes. Your old leather jacket, the tent in your old survivor camp, the older man with mutton chops.
It wasnât long before a bullet was between his fingers, being drilled by his sharp eyes. Kyle sat there, silent, eyes trained on the gun in his hand, unable to even look at your cuffed undead. Contemplating. Letting his mind stir around, thoughts sticking to the inside of his skull, brewing and bubbling there, like heavy resin. Kyleâs heart sent waves of dull, ringing ache all over his body. His eyes were on fire, burning and raw from tears.
Nothing made sense anymore. Kyleâs endless search through his mind landed on another memory again. Survivor camp in the forest. Ring of mountains to the west. A woman with dark, brown eyes and a shaved head.
âTurning is not the end. They still harbor the memories of their former selves. Theyâre just prisoners in their own bodies. I know that itâs not the end for them, it canât be.â
Right now, Kyle wouldâve clung to any lie that would explain to him your state. He wouldâve believed any tale. You canât just be gone in an instant, just shedding all that made you yourself like a snake sheds its skin, or a bird picks out the old feathers. How could he ever accept that you were gone, like a puff of smoke on the wind, leaving no visible trace, only the gaping, bloody hole in his heart and yearsâ worth of memories in his head?
All he ever wanted was to be with you. In life and death.
A minute passes. Another one follows.
A single gunshot echoes through the valley, drowned out by the rumble of the herd.
Taglist - @mockerycrow, @stridersdiner
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#cod mw2#call of duty#call of duty mwii#cod mwii#call of duty x reader#modern warfare ii#mw2 2022#cod#mw2022#kyle gaz garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick x gn!reader#gaz call of duty#gaz mw2#gaz modern warfare#gaz cod#kyle gaz garrick#gaz x reader#kyle garrick x reader#gaz x gn!reader#kyle garrick x gn!reader#gaz#my earnest apologies to gaz nation#i love gaz <33#thatâs why iâm writing angst with him
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Rain
Muriel x Reader
Warnings: Rain, Fluff, Muriel is needy for physical contact and keeping you warm.
Summary: Its cold and wet outside, but you don't seem to mind. Muriel on the other hand, worries. Partly about the possibility for sickness, and partly about what it means to be loved by you and how he loves in turn.
[a/n]: I wrote part of this when it was still a rainy season where I live (It is now horrible sweaty hot season aka summer) but I was inspired by @iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia's thunderstorm headcannons to finish the fic so here ya go!!
(I sill kinda feel like it's unfinished tho. Maybe I'll write a part 2? No promises tho đ
)
Masterlist | The Arcana Masterlist
Word count: 2,821
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Under the grey curtain of rain, you dance in the puddles. Running and jumping and laughing, splashing mud and water into the air and onto your clothes. To anyone else it'd look like a mess, but to him? You're dancing. It's a more beautiful dance than the measured steps in Nadia's ball rooms, and filled with a deeper beauty he could never explain. You're relishing in the coolness the summer storm brings, and with every step and twirl, and smile towards the sky, he feels your relief and glee. It's infectious. You're infectious.
A cruel irony, he knows, and yet it's true. When you're calm, it calms him, when you're sad, he can't help but follow suit. And when you're happy...
If he closed his eyes, your laughter alone would be enough to spread your glee. You're bright in every connotation, and while the sun's light is dulled as it hides behind clouds you only seem to glow brighter. He loves you. So much. He loves you and he respects you so he takes care not to look at you as water seeps through your clothes, making them translucent, clinging to the planes and curves of your body. No matter how much he wants to, he doesn't look... Not directly at least. He stares at your rippling reflection in the puddles you run through, catching glimpses of your smile before they're warped into obscurity beneath the water's ripples. It makes him feel so distant from you all over again. It makes him feel closer to you than ever before. Like he's watching a secret unfold behind closed curtains.
Another splash and the image of your laughing face, your clothes wet and clinging to your body. Even if he can't see it from the angle the puddle provides, he's sure water clings to your skin, dots your lashes and your brow, trickles down your cheeks like tears... He wants to join you, cradle your face in his hands, swipe rainwater from your cheeks as if they were tears, brush water from your lips with his own... He wants to join you, soaking wet under scrutiny of the rain, even if he knows you'll both fall sick in the end. He wants to join you running very nearly bare around the forest, mud clinging to your legs.
And he wants to hold you, soaking wet under the rain.
He wants you, so badly, so fiercely. He wants you in any way he can have you. Even simply glimpsing your reflection in muddy puddles. He'll take that. As much as he wants more, he'll take that. He always wants more anyways. When it comes to you, he'll always want more of you.
The splashes still for a moment, and you grace Muriel with an almost clear and bright reflection of your brilliant radiance though still only slightly disturbed by the rain. He can see how your arms lower from the way it was once open to the sky. He can see how you turn to follow your attention, face it with your whole body and stare at... Stare at...
At him.
"Muriel," you call, and instinctively, he looks up.
He can't help it, not when you call him and stand awaiting so expectantly for his attention. He'll... He'll just skim over your body, drag his eyes up quickly to meet yours. He'll skip past your legs, all wet and muddied, past your thighs splattered with mud, covering you more than the translucent fabric... Or the way your hips are so much more visible now that the fabric clings all the more tighter to your skin. Or your stomach and chest, the curves and planes of both almost clearly visible under the wetness of your clothes, allowing him to delight in just looking at your beautiful body and...water clings to the columns of your throat, dripping down from your face and feeding the wetness of your shirt, and... And he was right, falling from your lashes, and dripping down your cheeks, rainwater runs rivers down your face like tears. Though, the trails of water dripping down your eyes stand out no more than the rest of the droplets of rain, caressing your face on their trip down to the ground.
His face is flushed red by the time he can manage to reach your eyes. He knew what he had done, and from the delighted glimmer in your eyes you knew what he had done as well. You know, but the delight all the same remained. Smiling under his scrutiny, stepping closer towards him, you reach out towards him. Open, inviting. Warm, even from afar. Even amidst the cold rain.
"Care to join me Muri?"
And you say it in that voice, a voice that you only ever use for him, all sultry and soft and inviting and patient. Curious and wondering rather than demanding and expectant. It's an open invitation that he's welcome to deny, and that only makes it feel harder to ever deny you anything.
His eyes dart down, following the trail of water pooling momentarily by the collar of your shirt as it seeps into the fabric, or even under the fabric andâ
Up, up, up. His eyes snap up, higher and higher until he's staring at the stormy gray clouds through the deep green trees that loom above and around you. Trees that have hidden him far from the hands and eyes of anyone else, and trees that, right now, kept you hidden from everyone but him. A fat dollop of water, falls from the tree that grows over his humble hut, landing flat against his cheek. It makes him flinch and step away, but it also makes his attention snap back to you. Makes him meet your gaze, already softer than the pillows and beds at Nadia's palace, somehow growing softer still, threatening to swallow him up whole.
"You're going to get sick," he says. "Standing out in the rain like this is going to make you sick."
He wants to join you. So badly. So, so badly. He wants to keep you warm out here in the rain, press his hands against your waist, and let you feel the warmth of him protecting you from the cold winds, only heightened by the wetness. He wants to trace his lips against the rivers that run down your throat and chest, drinking from your skin. He wants... He wants...He wants you. He always wants you. He wants to join you.
And yet....
You smile, all tender all gentle and he can feel himself already beginning to sink. Sinking as he leans forward and steps out into the wetness. Sinking as his arms begin to rise, already ready to conform to the shape of your waist.
And yet....
"That's fair. I suppose if we're both sick..." He was about to relax, welcome you into his embrace, where it was warm and dry, and you weren't practically naked under the water's ministrations, but your eyes light up with a glimmer worse than Asra's and Muriel finds himself hopeful rather than worried in the face of it. Hopeful that you'll drag him out there with you. Hopeful that this wouldn't be making you sick. Hopeful that he'd be able to enjoy this with you. "Well, if we're both sick we could just spend the day in bed together... couldn't we?"
That.. that was a good point. You could. And you could work together to cook maybe? Or maybe before you went to sleep tonight he could cook a big stew in the cauldron, make sure you have enough for tomorrow. The coldness could help it keep and you did recently buy salts at the market so....
"Plus," you continue, unaware of how deep he has already sunk, how pliable he had already become, "if we dry ourselves off well and warm up by the fireplace before we get too cold, we shouldn't get sick, right?"
Muriel remembers that reasoning from somewhere before, whether from Asra or his own mind he can't tell, and even more, he can't remember whether or not that had worked. He feels like it did, but you could say nearly anything with that tender look on your face and he could suspend his disbelief for however long you wanted.
So, even if you'll get sick, even if you're practically bare for his eyes to see, he nods and hums, and sinks deeper and deeper with every step he takes through the mud, and when his arms settle against the familiar shape of your hips he finds no hope of escaping again. He settles his face against the top of your head, and for the first time since you had begun to prance around in the rain, Muriel can finally breathe.
You sway around him stepping to an unheard rhythm to the sounds around you. Following your lead, he finds himself taking familiar steps along your muddy dance floor. It's a waltz of sorts, or, he thinks so at least. One similar to the one you danced with him at the winter festival and at the Masquerade all those years ago. It's sloppier than the other dances you've shared before. It's better.
Up, up, up, his hands trail against you, brushing water soaked clothes from your body, to trace patterns directly against your cold skin. Ice cold really. Telling by the shudder that wracks your body, and how you melt against him quickly after, his warmth is more than welcome against you, and so he allows himself to indulge a little more. Higher, his hands rise until it's pressed against the flat of your back, between your shoulders and pressing you closer to him. It makes your shirt to ride up a little in the front, letting your belly press against his, skin-to-skin. The feeling makes him greedy. Makes him want to have your shirt off entirely, and press your cold bare chest against his, skin-to-skin. In his own mind he reasons feebly that he needs to keep you warm. As desperate and hungry as he is right now, he still recognizes the idea as the unreasonable thought it is. So he only raises his hand a little higher, just enough that his fingers can trace the bottom of your nape, and so he can cradle you in a way that gives him access to those rivers he's been longing to drink from.
His hair is soaked now, wet enough to stick to his skin, and wet enough to stay out of his face if he sweeps it back, giving him full unobstructed access to your tender throat. He acts before he can even think, licking a hot stripe up against the coldness of your skin, and finds, several kisses later, that you've stopped moving.
Worry guides him to retreat from his haven against your skin, check your own expression and your own thoughts on the matter. Are you feeling cold? Sick? Do you just want to stop? Or are you....? He's met with a half-melted expression adorning your face, lips parted, and eyes half-lidded, leaning in close and just about to kiss.
Despite the coolness of your skin, your breath is still warm as it fans against his lips.
Despite the closeness, and the tenderness of your expression, he still wants to be certain.
"We..." You sway closer for just a moment, and Muriel can't tell if you're teasing, or you're already dizzy from the rain or the clash of warm and cold around you. "...We stopped dancing."
You hum drowsily, and press your lips against his. It's wetâboth your lips and the kissâand under the cruel grasp of the elements it feels colder than it should. A lock of hair slips from behind his ear and gently smacks your cheek as he melts against you, but with the taste of your lips so sweet on his tongue, Muriel finds every error and every twinge of discomforting cold drowned out by the warm feeling of you against him, pressed wetly against his skin, your warmth highlighted in the cold that surrounds you both.
And then you pull back, smile, and confess, "I...I think my legs stopped working when you brushed your fingers against my neck."
Muriel checks, momentarily, even knowing that you were over exaggerating. But it's a reason to look at your hips , your thighs and muddied calves, trace the shapes highlighted by the cling of your clothes. Greedily, he'd take any excuse you give, any chance you'd offer. Still under the guise of checking your legs, he traces his free handâthe one not caught under your shirtâdown your hips to rub warmth into your trembling thighs. He'd never confess it aloud, but most of the time, his worrying checkups are just an extra excuse to feel you or look at you, all while also ensuring that you're okay. You roll your eyes and shake your head at his worrying, and seem so oblivious to his wandering eyes or hands. No knowing smirks or coy grins, that make him burn bright red, just his hands and your body. It lets him appreciate your body without worrying that he'd need to explain something to you somehow, or make him feel like he's trespassing into your space. There's a perfectly good reason why he's holding you.
And, of course, you rewarded him every time with your tender sighs, and soft kisses trying to dissuade his concern.
Perhaps if you didn't want him to worry so much you could stop rewarding him for it? Maybe....? Who knows? He's certainly never going to bring it up to you.
He slips his hand lower, feeling your flesh grow colder the further he got from your chest. He thought you were cold as ice before, but your legs, beneath the mud, felt almost frozen. His eyes flicker up, worried and concerned but the path to your face is blocked by other enticing sights and Muriel finds himself having to tear his eyes away before they linger far too long.
"You're cold," he mutters eventually. "We should get inside. You'll freeze if you stay out here any longer."
Up, up, up, your hands catch his before they slip away, leading his eyes to the points where he had held you, along your waist and your neck, and to the sight of your body under pouring rain.
"but you're so warm... just stay, hold me. Tighter, like this." your cold hands snake down his warm body, wrapping tightly around his torso to pull him flush against you. His body becomes warmer at the touch, through of no control of his own. Burying your face against his skin, what once was a waltz takes on a new form.
Beneath the hiss of the rain, and surrounded by the forest, shuddering violently under the downfall, you and Muriel take languid steps from side to side, idly dancingâif he could even call it that. All you were really doing was swaying side to side, trying to keep your body warm through the movement.
For a moment, Muriel was tempted to compare the little sway to your ballroom dance once more, he wanted to say that for whatever tiny little steps you were making, the both of you were dancing better than any dance he's seen in those extravagant masquerades. He'd say that it was the best dance in all of Vesuvia, it was probably better than dances in Prakra, or even in Nopal, and it was all because you held him in your arms, and he got to hold you back.
He could praise your little dance for eternity within the safety of his own mind, but in truth, he didn't really care about the dance. He's never really seen enough dances or danced enough to make the comparison meaningful in any sense, and if he got to dance with you, he didn't need to dance again anywhere else, let alone see some other strangers dance.
All that mattered in the freezing cold, as you stepped side to side, was you, warm in his arms, and the ever so slight shift of his steps luring you closer and closer back to your home.
Home. Your home.
If he were not already melting in your embrace, under the scrutiny of your stray kisses and wandering hands, Muriel would have begun to melt at the thought alone.
Little by little, in a way he hopes is subtle he lures you back inside. Small steps angled towards the golden light that spills from the cracks and crevices of your shared home, he begins to bring you back. Back where it was warm, back where it was dry. He could probably lift you up and carry you home, but you had wanted to dance and enjoy the rain, and enjoy the feeling of him holding you.
He wants to let you have that. As much as possible.
#Muriel x reader#Muriel#the arcana#x reader#reader insert#Muriel the arcana#the arcana muriel#the arcana muriel x reader#muriel x mc#muriel the arcana x reader#muriel the mountain man#muriel of the kokhuri#muriel the hermit#Paper Tells Tales
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mi amor: george x reader
request: I just read the accent kink anon and now I need something like that in my life, because all I can think about is George groaning while you whisper something to him in Spanish and he just canât control himself đ Whenever you have the chance could you whip something like that up? a/n: ive had this in my drafts for the longest time oops. i acc have so many unfinished fics in my drafts oopsies. smut: smut, nothing out of this world word count: 733
It all started out as an honest mistake. Really, truly, just a mistake. You had accidentally closed the cabinet door on your finger and had loudly sworn in Spanish as you held your finger tightly. George had popped into the kitchen with a look of concern.
"What was that, darling?" he had asked.
You had continued grumbling in Spanish about how it hurt, clearly unaware of what language you were speaking in. Or the effect it was having on George, completely unaware of the way his face changed into a devilish grin.
He went to stand behind you, head peering over your shoulder as you placed your finger under a steady stream of cold water, still muttering complaints in your native language. His chin rested on your shoulder and only then did you notice him and - with a quick look behind you - his grin.
Then, maybe - and just maybe - did it morph from an honest mistake to a playful mistake. You changed your voice, getting rid of the annoyance and replacing it with a much lower and slower tone. You remained focused on your finger, which no longer hurt, in order to not give yourself away.
And then, to top it all off, you called him Jorge; his name in Spanish.
He couldn't control himself then. He spun you around, strong hands on your waist, and turned off the tap. Your injured finger was long forgotten. The way he looked down at you made you shiver. That look of pure hunger for you.
"Hmm?" he asked, his fingers drawing gentle circles on your exposed waist.
"ÂżQuĂŠ?" you replied, almost a challenge.
George quirked an eyebrow and stepped even closer to you. You bit your lip to hide your surprise at his boner and raised both eyebrows, feigning confusion.
"ÂżQuĂŠ pasa mi amor?" you raised your hand and brushed his hair away from his face, tucking it safely behind his ear.
"I think you know que pasa." he said, completely butchering the pronouciation.
You giggled, you couldn't help it, and clearly, he couldn't either.
He picked you up, making you squeal, and took you out the kitchen. You fought back a grin, excited at the prospect of a riled up George. He took you to the bedroom and dropped you on the bed, immediately climbing on top of you.
His lips were on yours in an instant. He started bucking his hips against yours, pressing himself where you needed him most. You wrapped your legs around his waist and kissed him back, sneaking in Spanish words between kisses.
Each word made him groan more and more, it didn't matter what you were saying. He was quite literally feral, couldn't control himself. He pulled your pants and underwear down in one motion and freed himself from his pants.
Just as quickly as he had gotten both of you exposed, he slipped himself into you. It hurt a bit at first but his kisses and moans were making you hornier by the second.
"Fuck, darling, I love it when you talk like that." he groaned into his ear, slamming himself into you.
You moaned his name in Spanish again and smiled at the way you felt his body shuddered against you. You never knew why he reacted like this but you didn't care, it was just another weapon in your arsenal. Another means to get whatever you pleased.
You slipped your hand into his shirt, dragging your nails down his back, and called him sweet names in Spanish, one after the other. George couldn't stop moaning.
"I'm gonna cum." he said.
You encouraged him in Spanish, and soon his movements became erratic. You squeezed your legs around him, moaning as you felt your own high coming.
You continued whispering in your native language in his ear as you both came down from your high. George fell onto you, his weight welcoming and comforting.
"Holy fuck, love." he finally huffed, head resting on your chest. He kissed your exposed breasts, you could feel his eyelashes against you as his eyes fluttered closed.
"Did you like that, mi amor?" you asked as you played with his hair.
He lazily rose his head from your chest and raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?"
"No se, por algo pregunto."
And even though it was just a random sentence, George's eyes mischievously lit up at the sound of your voice.
#george harrison#george harrison fluff#george harrison fic#george harrison x reader#george harrison x reader fluff#george harrison x reader smut#george harrison smut#the beatles#the beatles smut#the beatles fluff#the beatles fic#the beatles x reader#the beatles x reader smut#the beatles x reader fluff
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Blurb #59- Halloween Special
I'm going to try to share 70 blurbs from my WIPs and unfinished fics to celebrate reaching 70 posted fics! To help with this endeavor, please feel free to send me a word or a fandom you know I write for, and I'll share the blurb. IDK if I'll get 70 prompts, but let's try it! Send as many as you want!
Astrid had grown up on the isle of Berk. Born and raised on its cursed soil. She knew the best trees for climbing, she knew every name in the five hundred or so people that roamed the village. She swam its waters, explored its caves. She knew not to eat the dark purple berries on the thorny vines, and she knew not to make fire from black wood. She knew it was bad luck to wander into the bonefield, and that only people with a death wish went out at night. She knew that the trade ships that came in refused to stay more than one night on their soil, and that no âblood of the islandâ was able to leave the isleâs waters.
And she knew not to approach the Pale Rider.Â
Life on Berk was not really all that different from life on any other island or village. There were a few things to get used to, but all things considered, life was fine.Â
Almost idyllic.Â
They had farms, they had a baker, a blacksmith/butcher/dentist, a tailor, and a medicine woman. There was a large field of wildflowers. And the cliffs that overlooked the ocean offered beautiful views.
What was odd was that they didnât have a mayor, or chief, or any kind of ruler. And the land was cursed. Oh, extremely cursed.
The extent of the curse was not fully known. It had long been set into the island for many generations. The inciting event had wiped out a large amount of the population, that included the witnesses.Â
Thus the boneyard and the forbidden, crumbling castle on the mountain.Â
Besides a few stray quirks of the island, the main effect of the curse was that no one born of the descents of the original village was able to leave. The curse feasted upon the life of its inhabitants and leaving the waters a few miles out would find one drained of energy before they perished.Â
Thatâs how her father died.Â
A fisherman, out alone on his vessel, just trying to go out a little farther to look for a better spot. The medicine woman stated that he had succumbed to the curse before he could even turn around. That was of course several days after he hadnât come back and his ship finally floated back.Â
So if you werenât the adventurous or vacationing type, it wasnât that big of a deal.Â
Oh right, there was also the Pale Rider.Â
When she was a child, stories of the Rider would instill fear into the children of the village. He was responsible for the missing livestock, for the trails of blood, and piles of bones. It was only a matter of time before his hunger would turn to those who he cornered in dark alleys at night.Â
Things changed a few years ago. Whereas the Rider had only ever been talked about, and stood as an urban legend of the town, he was still a mystery. Parents made up what he looked like, how he acted, what he wanted. There was occasionally a sighting. Someone would come ranting and raving in the village square that they saw the rider running across the ocean or some other flight of fancy. Others still swore they heard the whinny of his horse. Although when asked to describe it, they ended up mimicking the sound of a bear or a mountain lion.Â
But one day, the village Blacksmith/butcher/dentist, an eccentric man named Gobber, gifted with a backbone made of steel, decided he had enough. He called everyone together in the village square and announced, âI have invited the Rider to come to my shop tomorrow, and he accepted.âÂ
Horrified murmurings fell over the crowd.Â
âYou did what?âÂ
âAye! You heard me! I got tired of the creature snagging my chickens! Pickinâ them off one by oneâŚterrified them out of laying eggs!âÂ
ââŚso you invited him into the village.âÂ
âYes!â Gobber exclaimed. âBut youâre looking at it all wrong. I invited him to come and run his errands like a normal person, instead of him stealing like a horrible raccoon!âÂ
âHeâs no horrible raccoon! Heâs worse! Heâs a demon!âÂ
âAn abomination!âÂ
âThe curse that walks!âÂ
âDeath incarnate!âÂ
âNow now,â a voice called out among the crowd. This belonged to Dagur, son of the richest man in town, Oswald. As the richest family, the Berserker clan had some power, and opinions. âIâm sure Gobber didnât mean any harm in invitingâŚan eldritch monster into our sweet little village.âÂ
âItâs jusâ as much his village as everyone elseâs. Heâs been here longer than all of us. A little goodwill wonât hurt nobody.âÂ
âYou better hope it wonât, old man.â Dagur poked him in the chest. âOr Iâll make sure you suffer.âÂ
Astrid remembered the day the Pale Rider came to town for the first time. She was only 13, still a child. Her father was still alive. That day was sunny with big pillowy clouds. Many folks would claim that he arrived on a gray, rainy day, but that simply wasnât true. It was sunny, and lovely.Â
The caws of ravens preceded him. A flock of five swooping in. Then a horn from the watchtower alerted an intruder.Â
The black shadow appeared at the edge of town, opposite to Gobberâs forge. People screamed and ran inside, while others coward in alleyways, terrified but curious to see what would happen.Â
Astrid had been pulled into her house by her father, but still peered out the door to watch.Â
The Pale Rider made his way through town, the clacking of horse hoofs and the calls of the ravens the only thing to show life in the village.Â
He was not what she was expecting, but much worse. His horse, if you could call it that, was a black beast with leathery wings. It had tusks and fangs and its hooves morphed into talons. Its eyes glowed an acid green and it breathed fire from its nostrils. Its shape was unnatural. The neck looked like it was made of only bone, and its joints were spindly and narrow.Â
The Rider himself was tall, too tall. His neck was elongated, as were his black and blue fingers. He wore an animal skull mask over his face, but his own violent green eyes still burned through the sockets. He had antlers like an elk, and wore a long, draping black cloak that fell open just enough to reveal his chest.Â
His heart was on fire inside of him, and the flame illuminated it through the skin, only obscured by the form of his rib cage.Â
Astridâs home wasnât too far from Gobberâs shop, and she slipped out to watch the Rider arrive.Â
Gobber waited for him, hands on his hips and smiling. âThere you are! I wondered if yaâd show. And ah, sorry âbout the cold reception! I told the other folks that you were cominâ and well, maybe one day theyâll come around.âÂ
The Rider didnât respond.Â
âRight, so come on inâŚâ Gobber beckoned him into the forge.Â
The Rider ducked his head, entering the forge, horse and all. His antlers scraped against the doorframe.Â
He stayed for about an hour. Then, just as he came, he left. Silent, slowly, just rode out of town, leaving everyone behind to deal with the aftermath.Â
That was three years ago. Every day since then, without fail, the Pale Rider would arrive at noon. For the first year, the guard sounded the horn at his approach. But after a while, he went unannounced.Â
People still halted in the streets and let their conversations go silent. They watched him go, no longer terrified, but cautious.Â
No one said it, but everyone agreed one day heâd snap and kill them all.Â
Not Astrid though. She had come to see the Rider as a part of village life. Just as the rooster signifies dawn, so does the Rider declare noon.Â
Each day, he went to the blacksmithâs shop, taking his horse in with him. Some days he left with a paper package, and some days he left empty handed.
#fanfiction#httyd#hiccup#hiccstrid#how to train your dragon#Currently unnamed fic#kinda like a beauty and the beast au#70 for 70 celebration#astrid hofferson
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Yoo do u have fics that has the plot where peter gets send out in another universe because everyone is dead in his and in the universe he gets send out is everyone is alive but peter doesn't exist or they don't know peter at all I've seen one fic like this ( it's was Mysterio that killed everyone) and it made me want to read moređĽš
hello, are these close to what you are looking for? Theyâre unfinished but still worth checking out âşď¸
Home for Christmas by richieisgayforeddie
Peter Parker doesn't exist any more, well, no one remembers that he exists. After spending his first Christmas utterly alone and without any of his friends or May, Doctor Strange ask Peter for help to fight Wanda. Peter has nothing to lose, but getting accidentally thrown to a different Universe wasnât on his holiday list The universe seems like his own at first but he soon comes to realise that the Universe just lost his Peter Parker in the final Battle, snapping in Tony's Place. Tony, that seems to be his biological Parent here. Will Peter find his Place in this Universe, or will the Parker Luck continue once again?
Broken Mirrors and Fragile Things by EvieNyx
(I am Peter Benjamin Parker, and I exist.) - - - Three months after his existence was erased, Peter Parker was not doing so well. His solace came from knowing that at the very least he had managed to save his city in the end. Apparently, though, Peter realized as Doctor Strange explained to him that he had to give up even more, losing everything-and-then-some just wasn't enough. OR The multiverse continues to collapse in on itself. Doctor Strange discovers the source of the problem as Peter Parker. The only viable solution is to remove Peter from his original universe so that no more entities will be drawn to his presence there. Peter is sent to a world that lost its Peter Parker, and finds himself lost in a sea of people he'd grieved who had all grieved him in kind.
Welcome To Mysterio's Marvelous Multiverse by Grace_d
[Endgame compliant, Far from home AU (probably)] NO FFH SPOILERS âWoah.â Spider-Man breathes. âTrip Advisor did not mention this.â In the middle of the room hangs a flat circle of energy, kinetic electricity twisting from the edges into the centre. Green smoke swirls around it. It's definitely creepy enough to be a portal to another universe. Peter Parker's trip to Europe was supposed to cap off his recovery from the traumatic events of the past (5?) years, kick off his summer vacation and celebrate his decision to return to friendly neighbourhood crime-fighting. Instead, Nick Fury recruited him for some avenging. Not ideal, not relaxing, and definitely above this web-slingers pay grade. (Was he even getting paid?). So when Quentin Beck AKA Mysterio suggests an alternate universe field trip, it's a hard pass from Spider-Man. He's sticking to the mission. He's got responsibilities at home. Even if it means giving up the chance to see Tony Stark again. Too bad he didn't have a choice in the matter.
Theyâll think of me kindly, when they come for my things by Ihearturdadtbh
âA year, nearly a year since he died and youâre trying to tell me he what? Didnât? Who is doing this to me, who is trying to trick me, who? Who! I know fine well I was the reason for that kids death and so who is tormenting me with his fucking corpse!?â Peter opened his eyes blearily as the imagine of a man settled into view, one he recognised in an instant except for one thing. There was something terribly, terribly âoffâ about the man made to look like Tony Stark. (Peter accidentally travels to a universe where he died in his battle with the Vulture on the beach, leaving Tony guilt ridden)
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Got any campfam aus or ideas in the works?
hey anon! I wouldnât say I have any ideas in the works, because I have what I like to call commitment issues when it comes to writing fic.
This means that while I have an abundance of ideas, outlines, and wips in my Google docs for the fandoms Iâve been in. Iâve never actually finished a fic and posted it.
In fact, the only single time I have, (diff fandom!) I am not counting properly, because it was a collab with a close mutual, and a lot of the legwork was them. I had the initial plot bunny and was going to leave it as a one off tumblr post, but my mutual rlly liked the idea and we bounced drabbles and such back and forth. We wrote a bunch of snippets and put them together in a doc, until we had cohesive chapters, as we filled the empty spaces with more and more work, ending up to a total of 18 chapters. It took us a year and a half to post it, and that was mostly my fault, as where my mutual had finished most of their allotted sections, different hyperfixations kept pulling me to other unfinished works. This is why I wonât promise anythingâI donât want to disappoint anyone.
But, that being said. I do have ideas, hcs, and aus! One that is currently consuming me, was actually inspired by this one other post I saw recently. (When I find the post ima link it dw!) OP of the post was saying that there should be a Carmen Sandiego au for CC and I jumped on that SO fucking fast anon. I LOVE Carmen Sandiego, and have since it first aired when I was in HS.
So. Hereâs some of the Carmen Sandiego au thoughts copy/pasted from my Google docs. (Yes I do always write out my outlines as if Iâm taking to someone but thatâs bc i sometimes end up sharing the doc link with some friends)
JWCC Carmen Sandiego AU:
Yâall know Kenlynn is my JAM and so is RedCrackle. So obvi I thought of mixing the two right? But hereâs the thing. While I love Carmen/Gray, I am also in love with Carmen/Ivy and Carmen/Julia.
So with that in mind. Kenlynn is going to take a backseat for a second (meaning tho they'll become a thing and obvi they will bc they are a constant to me, theyre not the center of this), and my fave girls YASAMMY will be at the forefront of this au.
Iâm thinking. Carmen Sammy. But Iâm not entirely sure about whether or not thatâs what I want? It could be argued that Sammyâs love for her family is a core driving force in her character, and Carmen doesnât KNOW her family. But alsoâa huge plot point is that sheâs looking for her mom. So. Tentative Carmen Sammy.
MANTAH CORP AS VILE MANTAH CORP AS V.I.L.E MANTAH CORP AS V.I.L.E
So I figure not everything is going to be one-to-one. This means I am placing Kenji in the role of Gray/Crackle. His story is going to be different tho, bc whereas Gray was a recruit, with MANTAH CORP AS V.I.L.E that means Daniel is already on the board. So kenji trying to make his dad proud? More likely than you think.
(I just wanted my Sammy&Kenji besties. Bestie betrayal can be just as good as romantic betrayal)
Iâm sure you know where Iâm going with this if weâre not going the redcrackle route. Thats right. YASMINA JULIA.
I considered at first, YASMINA CARMEN and SAMMY IVY, but in the end the need for Sammy Carmen was too great.
So I also considered Dave and Roxxie as Chase and Julia but, I decided to scrap that idea for now. You know me, at some point I might revamp most of the au anyways lol, now is not a time for fine tuning itâs just a tentative starting point.
Torn between DARIUS as Player or Brooklynn as Player. I considered Ben of course, but I think we need to put him on an island at some pointâhe needs a Bumpy, no matter the universe.
WAIT. REVISITING BEN AS PLAYER. BECAUSE DARIUS AND BRAND AS ZACK AND IVY. This means no Carmen/Ivy vibes but since we ditched the Gray/Carmen as well in this au I think itâs fine.
Ben still has to end up with Bumpy somehow tho? Original Ben plan, when Darius was a Player candidate, was Ben is also a V.I.L.E recruit.
V.I.L.E having a faction that deals with genetics and cloning (in addition to like. Kash and his robots) and ending up with a dinosaurâBumpy! And that being Benâs flip to the other side/Team Sammy. He defects and steals Bumpy on his way out.
Okay Iâm a little too attached to that, so yeah. V.I.L.E recruit Ben, so Brooklynn as player??
Oh! She doesnât have!!! IRL friends!! Brooklynn being an Internet famous vlogger as in canon. So we get that running gag of Sammy and Brooklynn always being in contact and Brooklynn being a big part of the heists through investigative work and such, yet sheâs constantly on the other side of the globe? Sammy needs to be in Sydney but Brooklynn is in New Orleans. That kinda stuff.
Works with Brooklynn having traveled all over the world, she can also do those factoids player doesâsheâs got the deets.
Oh!???? THATS HOW WE GET MY FAVE DUO OF DINOSTAR BESTIES!!! They both love their facts. Theyâre nerds.
Mae as shadowsan? Tentatively?
Okay. Player Brooklynn. Except instead of being home most of the time, sheâs usually on the go. Sheâs talked to kenji a few times during Sammy and Kenjiâs V.I.L.E recruit era.
Kenji as the Gray of this au. heâs a V.I.L.E legacy. he became friends with sammy his recruitment year, and he'd talked to brooklynn a few times, due to sammy introducing them because kenji was curious about whether or not sammy has friends in the outside world, and sammy noticing brooklynn feeling a little left out/jealous that sammy had friends she was hanging with in person rather than over a phone call.
kenlynn kenlynn kenlynn
does he recognize her voice from her vlogs? does he even watch them? i dont think hed be a brooklander, guys got a lot on his plate and thats impressing his dad
ben is a V.I.L.E. recruit. maybe a bit of mime bomb, in that he was. not as close? with the other recruits. i do think having ben come in as a recruit the year sammy defects would be cool tho. so he doesn't know her as "black sheep" or whatever code name V.I.L.E refers to her as. he'll first meet her as Sammy.
yaz as JULIA!!!!! a junior agent? a former athlete. trying to make it make sense, but i think it fits.
omg. yaz. is alex rider basically holy shit
was thinking of dave as chase, and decided that i was going to keep it.
roxxie as the Chief.
mae as shadowsan.
yes. it IS because i want a roxxie/mae/dave love triangle and that need's final form was ot3
DARIUS AND BRAND AS ZACK AND IVY. i dont want their mom to be dead. but i dont know WHAT happened to her and why theyre involved in this life of crime? i love the og carmen&ivy&zack meeting. and i love that they were involved with racing. trying to find a way to incorporate it and make it make sense
important question.....is darius and his dad's great shared love still dinosaurs?
OR IS IT CARS? RACING?????? BRAND BEING INVOLVED IN THE RACES BC IT WAS IMPORTANT TO DARIUS AND THEIR DAD AND DARIUS CANT DRIVE YET
AND. SAMMY. AS CARMEN!!!!!!
okay so carmen's dad was a former V.I.L.E. agent who left it all behind for the woman he fell in love with right? well. obvi this au isnt a one to one. like there clearly have been changes in characters and dynamics. but i think involving elements from this could work. lemme map it out to make sense
okay so in cc sammy spies for mantah corp despite her parents not wanting her to. meanwhie carmen's dad defects from V.I.L.E., i think shadowsan was there and so was the chief and he dies.
okay so--sammy's dad was a V.I.L.E. agent, fell in love, defected. V.I.L.E. catches up with him, and does A.C.M.E. and in the fallout, the house collapses. A fire? an explosion? they think sammy died. (im not killing off sammy's dad bc damnit she needs a happy ending)
yaz losing faith in the system and having her hot girl summer being romanced by the pretty thief she's supposed to be catching
ben ditches VILE/Mantah Corp with Bumpy and meets Darius at some point--oh!!!
mae/shadowsan joins Team Sammy at the end of s1 i think? okay, so, when she joins, she brings ben, a fresh defector with her.
obvi ben left after he stole bumpy from them
at some point during their occasional talks, kenlynn became friendly with each other. then The Train scene happens. and kenji is promptly deemed a disappointment and dealt with the way gray is.
brooklynn ends up coming across a memory-wiped kenji during one of her vlogs. he doesnt know he knows her, just that something about her voice seems familiar.
brooklynn brings it up and the other are Concerned but also have a lot on their plate rn/dont truly trust him again or are unclear on whether or not they should. darius/brand bc their experiences havent been good so far, and sammy doesnt want to risk them. but he was still one of her first friends. shes torn
brooklynn making contact with him. smth smth she ends up needing a camera man for one of her vlogs and kenji volunteers. they grow closer during her sporadic visits. he asks her out.
DANIEL KON HAS ENTERED THE CHAT. SAMMY NEEDS BROOKLYNN TO DO HER THING. SHE MISSES THE DATE.
Meanwhile, that entire interactive ep??? of carmen sandiego with the julia/carmen??? THAT. THAT HAPPENS. YASAMMY DANCE AND WE GET THAT SCENE YOU KNOW THE ONE
#answered ask#anon ask#jurassic world chaos theory#jurassic world camp cretaceous#jwcc#jwct#kenji kon#kenlynn#daniel kon#sammy gutierrez#yasmina fadoula#yasammy#ben pincus#benrius#carmen sandiego au#darius bowman#brand bowman#bumpy jwcc
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Death Of Me
An unfinished fic I wrote because my brain refuses to decide where to go with it. Enjoy the scraps! If you've got any fic ideas you'd like written please shoot the my way. My brain is refusing to come up with ideas.
Just some platonic Loki fluff with romantic undertones and a flirty Loki.
You didn't really know how it happened.
Loki hated everybody for the most part. Hell, he even tried to kill his own brother on multiple occasions! So why did he act so differently towards you? The truth was that you and pretty much everyone around you knew the answer. You were the only one who showed him unconditional kindness.
Whether it was making sure he got a cookie out of the batch you made or asking about the book he was reading, you were just kind. You were always that way, with pretty much everybody. And you found it unfair how the Avengers treated Loki. He was doing his best to change! Maybe you were naive to think that or to get close but it didn't matter. Everybody deserved someone in their corner, right?
So that's how you found yourself in this position, laughing with him on the loveseat in Stark towers enormous library. You were both reading a book, well, he was reading and you were using the excuse to lean over and be close with him. As you peered over to make out the faded words on what had to be the original copy of The Odyssey with how did the book looked, you couldn't help but smile to yourself. Even if Loki didn't return your feelings -the ones you were even lying to yourself about- you still enjoyed being with him like this. Getting to see his smile and hear his genuine laugh made your heart swell and pride grow knowing he was comfortable enough around you to relax a little.
"What are you so happy about, darling?" Loki raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk resting on his annoyingly handsome face. Doing your best to come up with a quick lie you managed to embarrass yourself further.
"Nothing! I'm not happy at all! Wait, I didn't mean that. I mean, of course I'm happy, I'm around you! But not like that either. Not that you don't make me happy! I just-" You gave up on trying to get your brain to work and simply buried your face in your hands and groaned. Sometimes, you think it would be easier to just curl up into a ditch for the rest of your life.
Loki found much more humor in the situation than you did, and he chuckled at your flushed face.
"I know I'm irresistible darling but you don't need to fluster yourself just thinking about me," A proud and teasing smirk slid across his features and you gave him a playful punch to the shoulder.
"Oh shut up, Lokes," Rolling your eyes, you turned your attention to the book in his hands, nudging your head forward to prompt him to read again.
"Like the sound of my voice that much, love?" His gorgeous eyes never lost that teasing glint. He was going to be the death of you, and you wouldn't have it any other way.
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exerpt from a post-my hero fic i gave up after writing two scenes:
ââŚEven now, those voices encourage me. If sparing a thought for someone else is the first step towards herodom, then on that day, everyone was a great hero.â
Bakugou placed down the last page of the manuscript, scowl creasing his features into familiar lines.
âThatâs your ending?â he asked, eyes narrowed in on Izuku, sitting opposite him at his kitchen table. The mid-morning sun showed dust motes lazily floating in the air, Izukuâs dark hair glowing the faintest green. âBit weak, donât you think?â
âWhaââ Izukuâs eyes bugged out. âWeak? Do you really think so?â
Bakugou shrugged, leaning back in his chair. In the kitchen, he could hear Kirishima running the tap for the dishes (too long, always running the tap instead of filling up the bowl, hating the feeling of sticking his hands in the dirty water), and Kaminari and Sero arguing in the living room over a game of Mario Kart. Bakugou breathed in the sounds, growing ever more familiar the longer he lived with them, their rookie pay checks barely covering the rent.
âWhat are you even tying up?â
âHuh? I mean â me, Kacchan, Iâve tied up my story with One For Allââ
âYeah, but what else?â Bakugou knocked his knuckles against the stack of papers. Heâd been reading Izukuâs book for the last week â a memoir as All Mightâs heir, a long-awaited story since All Might was still hemming and hawing over writing his own tell-all book about his life. âWhat about you and Round Face?â
âWhat?â
âOr, hell â what about you and me? What about the fact that the story is unfinished?â
âWell, itâs a memoir, Kacchan. We do just keep living after itâs written.â
Bakugou waved a hand. âYou spent so long talking about your useless crush on Cheeks, on our rivalry or friendship or whatever-the-fuck you want to call itââ
ââI prefer friendshipââ
ââeven on my desire to be number one. And you just⌠end it. You donât even tell the reader what youâre doing now.â
Izukuâs face twisted. âWell thatâs because I donât know what Iâm doing now. I know Iâve got the apprenticeship at the HPSC, but I donât know if thatâs what I want to be doing forever, and I donât know if I should be finishing the story with, like, a resolution of being a badly paid assistant after having been briefly the strongest hero on the planetââ
ââDebatableââ
âAnd thereâs nothing to say about Uraraka because nothingâs happened thereââ
ââWhich is your own faultââ
ââand I donât know what I would say about any of this, us, and whatever mess we make of ourselves.â Izuku sighed, slumping back in the chair. It creaked, rocking onto the shorter leg. âDo you think the book is that bad?â
Bakugou was tempted by that age-old desire to knock Izuku down about fourteen pegs. Heâd worked hard over the last few years, since Shigaraki and All For One and the League of Fucking Villains, to develop new habits and not fall back into old ones. Itâs why he called him Izuku rather than Deku, why he allowed him into his apartment with only minimal complaining rather than exploding him the minute he knocked on the door. Itâs why, when Izuku texted him and said heâd written a book and he wanted Bakugou to be the first one to read it, he didnât laugh him out of the fucking country.
Bakugou took a deep breath, shoved away any disparaging comments, and said, âNo, itâs not bad. Itâs just not finished. Youâre telling a story, yeah? That means you gotta tie up the endings.â
âAnd if the endings havenât happened yet?â
âThen you gotta change the story.â Bakugou shrugged. âA memoir isnât a normal story. Itâs a narrative connected by a theme. You donât need to talk about every person youâve ever met, the reader doesnât need to know about every little thing that happened â you gotta make sure the stories youâre telling are ones you can finish, and ones that matter.â
Izuku twisted his mouth into something like a smile, and Bakugou looked away. Izuku always had those big eyes, filled with way more emotions than Bakugouâs daily quota allowed.
Before Izuku had the chance to say anything else, Bakugou shoved over the manuscript and said, âTake out the dorm room competition, too. That was fucking stupid.â
#mha#bnha#deku#bakugou katsuki#izuku midoriya#bnha spoilers#mha spoilers#talk#deku literally says in the text that he is WRITING the story which always makes me question WHAT FOR#are you writing a memoir? a diary? what are you writing#i also guess this might be canon compliant because there's now 8 years to play with?#and writing/publishing takes a LONG time
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Amethyst Haze preview
shinsou x gn!disabled reader
this is just a scene i just finished writing and would like to share bcos.. i think im funny in this. it also establishes shinsou and bakugou's friendship in my fic !!!! this scene is from chapter 6 and the sneak peek is 1.1k words of banter between two idiots about health
Shinsou barely moves the door handle before itâs being pushed open by none other than the number two hero, Dynamight. Miscellaneous titles also include friend, colleague, former classmate and, son of his landlord.
Bakugou storms into the apartment and before Shinsouâs even let go of the door handle again, slams it shut, pulling Shinsou with him. Shinsou whistles at the agitation as he watches his friend pace the hallway. âOh sir, I promise that I paid my rent on time. Please, have the heart to not kick me out,â he jokes with a deadpan voice, follows as Bakugou groans and throws open his fridge to take out a bottle of tea, grabbing the convenience store meal inside the fridge now that heâs at it, too. Shinsou knows that this is Bakugouâs former apartment, but he doesnât enjoy how much at home he feels now that Shinsou lives here. His eyes follow Bakugou through all the motions, propped up against the door frame. At last, Bakugou sits himself down on the couch.
His couch. In his hero-suit, dirty from todayâs patrol. His couch. Inside his home.
âSince my rent isnât due, to what do I owe this honour, my lord?â
Bakugou neither opens the tea nor the food container to eat, just sits down, fuming in his own anger.
âIâm losing my fuckinâ hearing.â
Ah. Shinsou doesnât move still, only raises an eyebrow.
âYouâve been losing it since high school. Are you losing memories, too?â
Bakugou mocks out a fake laugh, âyou know what I meant, dumbass.â
Shinsou makes a thoughtful grimace and gives it a moment before he tries another reply, âyou already wear hearing aids⌠if you hadnât noticed.â
âFuckinâ hell,â Bakugou groans and throws his head into his hands. Shinsou shouldnât derive this much pleasure from his suffering. He might be a bad person, after all. He sighs and sits down next to Bakugou, but on the armrest, socked feet on the seat. âWhat about those ear protectors that support made you once?â
Bakugou sighs and rips open the container of food, some fried chicken with rice. After thoughtfully chewing for a moment, Shinsou expects Bakugou to answer about the protectors.
âThis tastes like shit. You never do your own cooking âround here?â
Shinsou snorts, âI do so apologize that the food that I did not buy for you isnât to your liking.â
Bakugou grins and grabs the bottle of tea, âthis shit is bussinâ, though. Good call.â
Shinsou hums, âyouâre changing into your winter suit in a few weeks, right? Add the ear protectors then.â
Bakugou rolls his eyes, as if he wasnât the one barging into Shinsouâs apartment to discuss the issue at hand.
âDonât wanna. Fans are gonna notice.â he grunts, like itâs common sense. Shinsou rolls his eyes, âthis again? Come on, youâre almost thirty. Itâs not cool anymore or whatever, to not care about your health.â
Bakugou half-heartedly throws the food container back onto the coffee table, only picked at and unfinished. He gulps down half the tea, âwhy the fuck are you so calm?â he asks angrily then, wiping the drizzle of tea on his chin with his sleeve. Shinsou barely makes a face, âbecause youâre not. Someoneâs gotta be, you know.â
âBut Iâm going fuckinâ deaf and you donât even care?â
âAdd the protectors, you dingus, or Iâm snitching to your maâ.â
Bakugouâs eyes widen for a split second before he grumbles and fall back on the couch, âIâm afraid Iâll need to retire. Donât wanna fuckinâ retire.â
âLots of heroes retire before 30.â Shinsou states matter of factly, and Bakugou sticks out his tongue at him, clearly not getting whatever comfort he needs. He sighs then, âthe ear doctor fucker wasnât happy about the acceleration of my hearing loss. Says it wasnât calculated to go this bad by this age. I know heroes generally retire young, but thatâs from injuries or disabilities or what-fucking-ever.â
Mister Twister tries to covertly reach the chicken on the table, but when Shinsou claps his hands together, she flinches and jumps back down. âLovely surprise for you, then! Being deafâs a disability, too.â
âOh, fuck off.â
âFuck off yourself. Katsâ, Iâm being serious, add the protectors. Technologyâs become so advanced they can probably hide them perfectly now than back when you were 17. Or donât hide them, become an advocate for quirk setback consequences or whatever. Hearingâs a pretty important part of your work.â
While Bakugou mulls over his reply, Shinsou picks up his phone from the coffee table, fearing this emergency visit take most of his day.
Shinsou: might or might not need to cancel. im so sorry but friend emergency came up, ill keep u updated
He feels bad sending such a vague message to maybe cancel your plans, but he would feel even worse not prioritizing a friend feeling bad. He locks the phone and drops it onto the couch, âyour armâs still fucked from the war, and your leg from that raid a few years back, I feel like you donât need to add an unnecessary badge to the list of injuries youâve contracted through the years.â
Bakugouâs puffs up his cheeks to a pout, âmy armâs fine.â
âThatâs like saying your diabetes is cured because you take metformin every day. If you stopped the metformin, your blood sugar would rise again.â
âI donât take metformin-â
âI know. Itâs an allegory.â
Bakugou groans again, âI shouldnât have come to you.â
âWell, who else? Youâre too thick headed to admit this to Izuku or Eiji. Youâd rather pass away than give these updates to your parents. Your mom says hi, by the way.â
âStop talking to my mom more often than me, man. Itâs weird as hell.â
âYou shouldnât have let me sublet your apartment when you moved, then. Sheâs my landlord, so of course I need to have contact with her.â Shinsou smirks, before he gets up to take the food container out to the fridge again, before Mister Twister actually succeeds in stealing the chicken. He picks up another tea from the fridge for himself but before heâs back in the living room, Bakugouâs gotten up.
âWhereâre you going?â
âback to work. Only had the lunch break after the appointment.â he explains curtly. On the way to the front door, Shinsou clicks his tongue, âcould you stop coming in through the main entrance? Iâm tired of all the rumors about what mistress you might be visiting every time you come here from work.â
Bakugou barks out a loud laugh and raises his middle finger towards Shinsou, âplease. Youâd give anything to be my mistress.â
He doesnât get to make a witty reply before Bakugouâs already slammed the door shut again, leaving in just an explosive fashion as he arrived. Shinsou rolls his eyes and goes back to the couch.
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20 Questions of Writers đ
I was tagged by @frenchiereading @avastrasposts and @maggiemayhemnj (Bless the three of you. You know a dissertation is coming đ¤Łđ¤Łđ¤Ł) đ
1. How many works do you have on AO3?
I have 81 works on AO3. There are some that are there and not on Tumblr yet. As to why, some of them are other series I havenât finished or Iâm not sure if I should post them here.
2. What is your total AO3 word count?
As of today: 351,908 words (updated for a new chapter of one of my works)
3. What fandoms do you write for?
Currently: Pedro Pascal, Oscar Issac, Garrett Hedlund and might dabble in Call of Duty (maybe)
No longer writing: Marvel
4. Top Five fics by kudos: (some of these were written long ago, when Nerdie was a wee one in fandom)
Sardâika Sessions (the most in kudos and hits- it tells me yaâll like Din being a soft dom and using several different tools, maybe at the same time?)
Our Journey Across the Star Ocean (people enjoy the way I write Din maybe?)
The Viper Longs for Foliage (the one fic I have about Oberyn Martell - I donât feel I write him well but people feel differently I suppose đ¤)
The Best and the Worst Day (AO3 only - Chris Evans fix it was a phase đŤŁ)
I want him to see me (AO3 only - I had to look up what this was lol Sebastian Stan fic)
5. Do you respond to comments?
Yes! I make sure to go through my inbox to reply to anyone who was nice enough to leave me one. âşď¸
6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
Bold of you to assume I finish fics regularly đ
Scarlet Stains and their Echoes Such angst with a Backstreet Boys joke thrown in. đ
7. What is the fic you wrote that has the happiest ending?
This is a three way tie (cheating because Nerdie is not above it) between Sardâika Sessions, The Lake Between Us and Parts of you Mr. Morales. Each fic has a different Pedro character - Din, Ezra (I had to give him something happy đ) and Frankie.
8. Do you get hate on fics?
Not that Iâve seen. I totally thought I would and thatâs why something stay on AO3 or in the WIP folder but so far I have not. Itâs like waiting for the other shoe to drop.
9. Do you write smut?
I used to. I used to write a lot and enjoyed it. I find now that when I write smut itâs awkward and takes me at least a month to finish a smut scene because despite watching and reading reference materials (porn and other awesome smut fanfic here and on AO3) I donât have the same mojo when writing it any more. I feel a bit sad about it, but thereâs nothing thatâs worked. Itâs not like I donât have thots. I just canât get them in a fic. đđ
10. Craziest Crossover?
I havenât really done many. One m/m fic where Din and Poe crossed blasters (pun fully intended), one sandwich with a female reader, Lucian Flores and Benny Miller, My Tim Rockford series where Dieter is his brother and thatâs about it I think đ§
11. Have you ever have a fic stolen? Not that I know of. So happy Iâm in my small weird little box đŚ
12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Not that I know of.
13. Have you ever co-written a fic? Nope I would be open to it but I dunno how the process would work.
14. All time favorite ship? The Razor Crest, it has room for passengers. đ
15. Whatâs a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?
Such heart ache đŁ My first series that I started was with Dave York (he was done so dirty dammit!) and it was pretty smut filled. Felt with him and the OFCâs messed up dynamic as well but because of all the smut and how I canât seem to write smut to save my neck now, it will likely go unfinished. đ
16. What are your writing strengths?
Honestly, Iâm not sure. Maybe just the weird plot ideas I can make and dialogue. Thatâs about it.
17. What are your writing weaknesses?
Finishing a fic, SMUT, weak comedy (I canât resist it though), fixating on small details that donât matter and everything that wasnât listed as a strength. What is writing really? Can I make the words go together? đ¨
18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?
Pretty cool, just make sure you ask a native speaker in that language to look over things before posting. I have found that some of my Spanish is too literal and no native Spanish speaker is actually going to say that. Plus each language always has little nuances you need to take into account.
19. First Fandom you wrote in? Marvel đ Look it was a phase dammit! 𫣠Leave me alone. đ
20. Favorite fic youâve written?
Nerdie will cheat again, because this is her post! đ I enjoy all my fics. Otherwise, why would I write them? But one stands above the rest. It gives me all the feels, giggles, some funny banter, smut that took a damn month to write and inspired @soft-persephone to tag me in a meme that @boliv-jenta made, Weddings 101 with Dieter.
If thereâs one fic that I feel has the majority of my writing (all styles and facets) in it, Weddings 101 would be it. My humor, agnst, attempt at making a villain and sub-plots, slow burn romance with a goat as Dieterâs ride or die. đ¤ That trash panda gave me a lot so I wrote him a wild ass series. đ
NPT: @tinytinymenace @megamindsecretlair @perotovar @pedroshotwifey @lady-bess
@djarinmuse @alltheglitterandtheroar @inept-the-magnificent @lotusbxtch
@jeewrites @rosecentaur1916 @westside-rot @jessthebaker @trulybetty
@rhoorl @musings-of-a-rose @saturn-rings-writes @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @magpiepills
@secretelephanttattoo @morallyinept @goodwithcheese
#fanfiction#20 questions#20 questions for writers#getting to know your nerdie#writing#ao3 writer#ao3 fanfic#ao3 author
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hi!! how are you? do you know any cherik with a secret or forbidden relationship?
Here are some of my favourite secret or forbidden relationship fics! Please remember to check the tags before you read :D
By Faint Indirections by kianspo
Erik is in his ~50s, and lonely and bitter. He survived the Holocaust and was only ~14 when the war ended; and even ~40 years later, living in a country that helped to end WW2 and the Third Reich, homosexuality is still a taboo topic. Then one day, he stumbles over Charles, who is young(early 20s) and bright and smart and cheeky and full of energy and beautiful. And moving in the same street where Erik lives.
Fool me once, fool me twice by musical_emjayÂ
Charles Xavier is sixteen years old the day his mother dies, leaving him parentless, temporarily penniless, and at the mercy of an inexplicable will. Shortly thereafter, his life takes a very drastic, entirely unexpected turn.
Sent to live with his estranged father â a man named Erik Lehnsherr whom heâs never met, and knows next to nothing about â Charles soon finds himself completely out of his depth. What follows is a bitter, obsessive, destructive battle of wills that sends both Charles and Erik sliding dangerously into something neither of them are prepared for, and may not be able to stop.
As to whether they want to, thatâs another matter entirely.
 Make a list of everything thatâs ever been on fire by cm (mumblemutter)
We're brothers, you and I. We want the same thing.
Give me your stars to hold by pearl_oÂ
Charles returns home from college and figures out why Erik has been so distant since heâs been away.Â
Beneath Me by Magnetism_bind (Unfinished)
Charles is a young lord staying at his familyâs estate for the summer. Erik is his familyâs stable-hand.
Ritual Self-Torture by TurtletotemÂ
Shaw is King, Charles is his royal consort and Erik is a Knight/Lord. Shaw is sterile but his kingdom canât find out, so he asks Erik to impregnate Charles.
He doesnât know Erik and Charles are in love.
Your Heart Just Couldnât Wait by Pookaseraph
Charles and his BFF Tony Stark have the life - theyâre co-valedictorians at the most prestigious high school in the city, they have their own condo in Manhattan, and they get to go to all the awesome parties. Charles just wished he understood relationships and sex as well as Tony does. His theoretical bisexuality starts to feel a lot less theoretical when he and Tony end up in Professor Lehnsherrâs Physics III course at Columbia University, but Charlesâ decision to take their relationship further leaves both student and professor with more than they bargained for.
Iâm a bullet by IsoleeÂ
Since mother - since the house - since Cain - Heâs adapted. He can do anything. Now he wants something, and he suspects he might even deserve it.
Or - Charles is sort-of a sex addict, and Erik is his married-with-family supervisor at Uni.
The Weight of a Crown by sebastian2017 (series)
Erik is second in line to the throne of Genosha. Heâs also gay. The two donât always work together very well.
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