#maws x y/n

[gay-dorito-dust]

Relationship headcanons for Slade Wilson & Clark Kent with gn s/o?

I kinda got carried away with the Clark relationship head-cannons that I forgot that you also wanted Slade…oops. 🦦

Baby girl

Malewife

Certified himbo

Golden retriever energy!

Heart of gold, dumb of ass-

Okay I’ll stop but you get the gist, this man would honest to god, worship you. Look me in the eyes and tell me that he wouldn’t cuz we all know he would.

No thoughts, head empty; just full of ways where he could love on you.

He’s a cutie! And he probably trips over or unintentionally hurts himself because he can’t help but admire you and all of your handsomeness/beauty/gorgeousness.

Hell I bet before you two were dating Clark’s confession must’ve been the most sweetest, heartfelt, and the most adorkable thing ever.

He would probably be on the fence whether or not in telling you he’s Superman because he doesn’t want to put you in any sort of danger but then again being in a romantic relationship with him was already putting you in danger; so he would probably have to sit you down for that conversation, hold your hands within his bigger ones and pray that you understood his reasoning behind the secrecy.

His love languages have got to be one or all of the following;

words of affirmation: he will call you any and every endearing word in the dictionary even if you were only just getting up to start your day. He’s your hype man in every sense of a word and will not allow you to be harsh or look down on yourself. He’s not having it, so he won’t hear it because how can you not see yourself the way he sees you?

To Clark, your phenomenal, exceptional, extraordinary, amazing, incredible, excellent, talented, fantastic, handsome, beautiful, charming, gorgeous and above all else; you. That’s all he wants you to be. Yourself.

acts of service: as I said before Clark lives to serve and with that I’d like to think of him taking on chores that he knows you don’t particularly like doing just so he could relieve the stress of having to do it off of your shoulders. He’d also attempt to make breakfast, but your better off helping him so he doesn’t accidentally breaks the handle off of any appliance you have at your disposal by unintentionally using excessive force.

Clark would do stuff that would be considered small to other people such as leaving out clothes you found most comfort in, neatly folded in your dresser, or bending down to help you in tying your shoes, but to you they were the biggest expressions of love one could ever experience.

Physical touch: this man is a cuddle bug and no one can tell me otherwise. Oh yeah don’t get me wrong but just because he’s stronger then the average man don’t mean he ain’t gonna hold you tight against him -though not too tight- and still be extremely cautious of the usage of his strength. he doesn’t wanna hurt you in any capacity at all. He’s so, so gentle and frequently worried about the consequences that would come if he didn’t handle you with enough care.

Hand holding is a staple in your relationship.

He’s a big spoon and a little spoon in terms of cuddling because he wants to feel as though he’s protecting you in your most vulnerable form and also wants to be comforted by you as he lays his head on your chest. It’s almost a comical sight, you spooning this Greek god of a man but it’s such a sweet and tender moment between the two of you finding comfort in each others presence and being able to be your most vulnerable with them that it completely negates all of that.

back hugs in the morning from either you or Clark because I just adore the idea of this man coming up behind you and hugging you with his strong arms caging you at the waist as his head is buried into your neck as he whispers you a good morning. I also adore the idea of you just going up behind him and hugging him as tightly as you could, not knowing that you couldn’t possibly hurt him physically even if you tried.

Quality time: while unfortunately yes, being Superman is a full time thing. That don’t mean Clark wouldn’t at least attempt in making time just for the both of you and besides you found his deep rooted want to help anyone and everyone extremely endearing and admirable; but sometimes he does need to be reminded that not everyone wants to be saved despite how difficult that maybe for him to understand. But that doesn’t mean he won’t stop trying to help. It’s the one thing no one can change about Clark.

So when you two do get some time together it’s pretty much just spent doing whatever it is that you two like to do together like watch a movie, read books, etc or separate whilst still being within the same room as one another in a comfortable silence. Clark is trying to make up for lost time but it’s the fact that he’s trying is all that matters to you.

Plz hold his face in your hands and squish his cheeks! Plz. He will melt into your hold as he brings his bigger hands up to hold against yours his face as he closes his eyes and visibly relaxes. Precious bean deserves to be pampered with love and affection.

You’d defiantly be stealing his cozy beige/cream coloured jumper. You loved how it made your hulking boyfriend look like the epitome of soft, so of course when he’s away you immediately sift through his things and pull the jumper over your body, where for the rest of the day you would be doing stuff in your shared home whilst in his clothes that were *probably* way too big for you and that you had to face the continuous task of having to push up the sleeves constantly so that they wouldn’t get in the way.

So when Clark comes home and sees you wearing his cozy little jumper, he’s utterly enamoured as though it was the first time he’s seeing you all over again. It’s cute and the soft sappy expression on his face will forever and always melt your heart; his soft blue eyes staring at you adoringly like you were the one to have painted the stars in the sky, the slight blush upon his pinch-able cheeks, and the dopey smile upon his pretty lips.

‘Something catch your eye handsome?’ You’d say one day upon catching him gawking at you from the doorway, taking great pleasure in watching him squirm and stumble over his words as he tries to justify his staring without it coming across as creepy. ‘I wasn’t- I’m sorry-‘ you didn’t let him continue as you walked over to him and moved your arms to hold his face in your hands, your thumbs running across his warm cheeks that only seemed to grow warmer beneath your touch.

‘It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean anything weird or creepy by it. I’m just teasing you, you know I love it when you look at me because when you look at me…I feel more seen then I ever have with anyone else.’ You admitted to him, pressing your head into his tits chest, ‘so please don’t stop looking at me in that way for it reminds me that this is real and not some fever dream.’

[joeloverture]

deadfall | enemy!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | notifs blog | on palestine

pairing: dad’s enemy!joel miller x f!reader summary: joel miller, rival raiders with your father, is the last person you expect to save you from the group that captured you. he’s also the last person you expect to sleep with. [post outbreak] warnings: (mdni) canon typical violence (stalkers, mentions of death), porn with plot, game or tv joel, reader born before the outbreak, reader has a present/loving father figure (HAH), alternate universe — joel never went to boston, implied age gap but how big is up to you, self indulgent humor, quicksand, explicit smut, reader is a biiiit of a peeping tom, close proximity, only one bed, (brief) accidental somnophilia so dubcon, dry humping, degradation, humiliation, mirror sex, unprotected piv (he’s snipped dw), doggy style, manhandling (he fucks you in a headlock), mild breath play & choking, brief hair pulling (reader has hair!), scratching/biting, brief orgasm denial, hatefuck [no use of y/n] word count: 9.5k author's note: pwplot! a joeloverture first. also my first foray into somno! and post!ob joel! lots of firsts here. special thanks to @joelsdagger for taking a glimpse at this for me (and for being the PIONEER that forged joel fucking in a headlock) and @lovesickonmybed for being the best sounding board ever. i hope y'all like this one, i sure do.

There are no infected in the swamp — not this far out. They prefer the slant of buildings or the maw of split pavement. Blood-bloated leeches and black-trunked cypresses aren’t their domain.

You can’t say you blame them. One day in, and you’re already sick of this shit.

A few gnats have flown up your nostrils as you wade through the ankle-deep sludge. Mist curls at the edges of your vision. Your feet keep slipping on the slime covered stones that are half-submerged in the deep. Sweat crystallizes on your nape as your toe catches on a downed branch.

Before you faceplant in the sludge below, a burly hand snags your collar and hauls you up. “You always this much of a klutz?” It’s the first few words he’s said to you in hours.

A scowl buckles your lips. You shove Joel Miller’s arm off your back, splashing up scummy water as you step over the branch this time. You say nothing — don’t even dignify him with a passing glance.

“You’re a real peach, ain’t ya?” Joel says. When he takes his next step, water splashes at the backs of your calves. “Save your ass and this is the thanks I get.”

Joel Miller doesn’t want thanks. Up until he accidentally burnt his thumb with boiling hot coffee yesterday, you’d been convinced he didn’t feel anything at all. As long as his pulse is woven between bullets and stab wounds, he doesn’t give a damn what happens to those around him. His heart, much like the rest of the people at the end of the world, is calcified. Only beating out of necessity.

You’re silent as you footslog forward. The slurp of mud stretches between your shoe and the ground. Your pack jostles against your back. The ache in your bones has proven to be a better company than Joel – at least that is tolerable.

A deadfall lays flat ahead, a tree with cambered branches that droop with moss. Joel cups a hand over his eyes to block out the sun and squints past.

You go to walk past him, around the deadfall.

“Nuh uh,” Joel tugs you back by the scruff. You grunt. “‘S deeper out there. I’d sure like to see you get swallowed up by a gator, but that doesn’t work for me, kid.”

It sure works for you. If you see one of their bumpy snouts protruding out of the water, you’re using him as bait.

You don’t say that, though. Just hitch your foot up over one of the branches in the tree and start to haul yourself up. It’s a nagging ordeal – full of hissing through your teeth and feeling wood tear small cuts into your skin. Your hand tangles in an unoccupied spiderweb before you toss yourself through the other side of the bramble. Water sluices around you as you right yourself, rubbing a bead of blood from one of your knuckles.

Joel’s quick to follow, even quicker to take front again. You’ve learned he likes being ahead of you — unless you’re climbing a ledge or a fallen oak.

The hours wear on. You refuse to be the first to call it for the day. Even when you get stinging salt water into your open cuts, you grin and bear it. When the sun lounges on the chaise of the tree-sketch horizon, he drops his pack on an island of mulch that’s nestled in a grove of dead vegetation. 

You slump down next to him, rifling through your pack for a bite of jerky. Joel’s knees pop. He grunts as he slips down into the dirt and unrolls his sleeping bag. He rolls over, facing away from you. Hand wrapped around his gun like it’s a lover. 

When you do the same, it’s with a barbed insult on your tongue that’s better left unspoken.

At the end of the world, everything is ruleless. But you grew up with exactly one rule: don’t talk about Joel Miller.

You hadn’t been expecting him to kill you.

The Cockroaches, the lesser raider group in Northeast Texas, had captured you. Apparently your dad had some unpaid debts, and in taking you as leverage, they’d intended to get close to him. All they got were bullets in their heads.

You’d sighed in relief when the hatch to your basement confinement had finally opened. A spillage of sun sliced down through the opening, and you were expecting the familiar warmth of your father, an apology, and reassurance that he wouldn’t let them take you again.

Instead, you got Joel. With his hulking gun, broad figure that blocked out the sun, and the scowl that would be the last thing you’d ever see.

You had fumbled against the post you were tied to, feet scrabbling against the floor. You’d winced away when he raised his knife. “Don’t–”

…And cut into your restraints.

You’d rubbed the chafing from your wrists and stared at him, nebulous and delirious. “Get the fuck away from me,” you’d croaked.

“They touch you?” he’d asked. You’d shaken your head. “Hurt ya?” Another shake.

“Good. Now get up and get ready to haul ass.” He turned around, but not before throwing his knife to the ground next to you. The clatter it made against the concrete made your ears ring.

You grabbed the knife.

“Why are you helping me?” you ask him. They’re the only words you’ve spoken since you’d seen him in the cellar. 

“I ain’t,” he says. His voice is gruff. Sandpapery. 

“Looks like helping,” you say, nodding at the pack he’d given you. He’d come out prepared. To get you.

“Your daddy ain’t the only one with debts,” he says.

You stop, booted feet sinking into the mud. Shit. “So that’s what this is. You take me away just to hand me off to some other shitty group?”

“Yeah,” he says with a shrug. He turns around, already mid-stride.

You yank his knife out of your pocket and dive at him.

“Hey, hey, fuck – you little brat,” he spats. He goes off balance before he twists around. You corral him against a tree, leg hitching around his waist as you knee at his thighs, aiming for his crotch. His spittle sprays your cheek as he grunts. His fist wraps around your hand, and the knife splats into the mud. His booted heel slips and he goes sliding back as he shoves you away, hard. You cough as you slam into a tree trunk. The knot that swells out of the bark digs into your head. You drag a branch up off the ground, pushing yourself off the tree as you heft it.

Before you grab it, he slaps you. Hard. Your head goes spinning as you stumble back into the muck. He jams his boot down against your chest, mud smearing across your tank top. “I gotta tie you up, or you gonna fuckin’ listen to me?”

You reach up to grab his ankle, and he just stomps harder against your chest. You wheeze, flopping back in the sludge. “B-bastard,” you hiss.

“Yeah, yeah, shut the hell up. ‘S your dad’s shitty group I’m talkin’ about.”

You give him an incredulous look.

“Your old man ain’t the only one with a coupla debts under his belt.”

“You’re shitting me,” you say. Voice squished in your throat from his tread against your chest.

He shakes his head and finally lets his boot up. You suck in a breath, another cough rattling your ribcage. “Quit being all uppity and pickin’ fights ya can’t win if you wanna learn, dumbass.”

“Why didn’t he just come get me himself?” you grit out as you lean back against a log. You use it to lift yourself, legs feeling gelatinous from being shoved about.

“You didn’t see? Cockroach shot ‘im in the leg.” Your lips tremble, but you straighten them. “He’s fine.”

You scowl. “And you didn’t tell me this sooner?” You march forward. Your arms cross solidly over your chest.

“Figured you wouldn’t take it well.” He looks you up and down. “And I was right.”

You curse under your breath. Dip to grab your knife. Toss it in your hand while you think. You don’t flinch when it slightly nicks your thumb — it’s hardly a poke with all of the scraping you’ve been doing through undergrowth — but Joel smirks. 

He sees you as juvenile. The product of a world that you haven’t earned the right to be in, always cowering behind your dad’s back. 

You’ll prove him wrong.

“How far are we from the nearest city?” you ask. You want to go home. Your arms ache not just from swinging at your side or lifting you up toppled trees, but to wrap around your father. Your bones protest at the thought of being in your skin. Your tank top sticks to your flesh with mud and the parasites that squirm in it.

“I’m not a goddamn fortune teller,” Joel says. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Then we better get moving.” You readjust your pack and jostle him as you march on.

Three days later, and there’s no end in sight to the swamp. Whatever towns you’ve encountered are home to only a derelict gas station and ransacked mom-and-pop stores. They’re no place for pit stops.

You (reluctantly) stay close to Joel, who you’re lucky to hear so much as a murmur out of. Most of the time, he’s redirecting you, tugging you out of the way of half-decade old hunter’s traps or reminding you not to go too far.

“The world isn’t gonna end if I step out of your imaginary line, Joel,” you say. You test your foot on the side of the bank you’re walking on. Nothing happens.

“Ki–” Joel says, brows crunched up.

“See? Fine.” You press more of your weight into the ground. He reaches for you, but your body tilts.

Your foot is sinking.

“You’re a fuckin’ pain in my ass,” Joel says. He pinches his nose bridge. “Shoulda left ya down there.”

You glare at him, bending yourself at the waist so you can try to wiggle yourself with your upper body strength. Your free knee is propped up on the squishy ground. You grunt, palms slipping against the oily, grass-filled mud. “I got it,” you rasp out as he crouches in front of you.

“Uh huh,” he says, frowning pointedly.

“I got it.” You slap his hand away and thresh your leg in the sand. It barely even wiggles. “Fuck.” You strain your leg, huffing and puffing. Dirt fixes itself under your nails.

Joel wraps his arms under your shoulders and you flail in protest. “I said I can handle it!” Instead of listening to you, he tugs at you like pulling a toy from a dog. You keep windmilling your arms.

“Quit thrashin’!” Joel yells. “Any harder and you’re gonna drag me in with you.”

Your face is too close to his. Too close for the uncomfortable heat. His humid breath fans against your sweat-slippery cheek as he groans. Your foot loosens. You prop your calf up on his thigh as he wrests you out of the quicksand. You’re chest-to-chest with him as you tip over the muck, dropping flat against him. “Mmph.”

Joel shoves you off of him, and you fall on your ass in the mud. By all odds, your boot has remained strapped to your foot. He’s already up and moving when he says, “Jesus Christ, you are just like your fuckin’ dad.”

The mud still caked into your shirt has started to flake by the time you reach a city called Monroe. Just off of I-20, you and Joel trek further into what you imagine must’ve been a medium-sized city during its heyday.

You’re bone-weary. Your back keeps popping with every step with how you keep having to sleep on the ground. You’d be thankful for even a mattress of moss — but luckily, you won’t have to settle. Sunset is nearing, which means you can see the blue water (imagine that, blue water) tainted pink and orange below. Houses and the city clocktower reflect into the gentle pull and ebb of the tide.

Joel nods at a half-bent blue roadway sign. “YMCA up ahead,” he says. He wipes the sweat off his brow and clutches his gun closer to his side. “Stay close.”

You keep your hand around the grip of your knife, following him into the city.

It’s quiet as you navigate through a labyrinth of abandoned, rust-gutted cars. At one point, you manage to slip ahead of him, and he allows it for long enough (fifteen seconds) that you opt to take a shortcut through a parking garage. You climb over the edge and dip inside, feet scraping over roots that have grown between concrete slabs. The shade is a brief respite from the scorching sun, but the humidity still wrings the sweat from your pores.

Joel slips ahead of you again, taking long, dragging strides that look as exhausted as you feel. Four days of hiking through swamp and gunk and slapping mosquitoes against your skin has made you grateful to just be walking on solid ground again. Joel steps past a busted, sticker-covered van.

A streak flickers against the dark canopy of the garage. “Infected!” you shout, but Joel falls back on his ass.

His gun flies out of his hand and skids across the concrete. He grunts, shuffling backward, but the stalker’s already on him, its mouth sewn partially shut by fungi. It croaks and slashes at him, blind left eye battering and twitching. Joel throws a hooked punch, but the stalker takes the opportunity to grapple him, snarling in his face.

He’s going to get bit.

You launch forward, knife in-hand. You fling yourself into a tumble with the stalker, legs strewn over Joel’s. Adrenaline plummets through your body. You stomp on its shin and it shrieks. The knife almost slips from your grip as you start to stab blindly. You thrust the blade up through its eye socket.

The thing cackles and caws, its vocal chords clacking with mold and rot. Rusted blood trickles from its nose and down your wrist as you twist the blade further until you meet bone and then whatever is left of a brain is beyond it. You cringe as you drag the knife out and wipe it across your pants. It slumps back in a mound and then falls over.

Your chest heaves as you look between Joel and the stalker. His hands are scraped up as he grabs his gun.

You extend him a hand. He seems to think about it for a second before latching onto you and letting you help him up. He grunts in acknowledgment. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

This YMCA in particular isn’t like the others you’ve stopped at with your dad. Instead of glass windows and tin roofs, it’s brick and mortar. You and Joel climb in through the window, and you almost sob in relief when you see at least a dozen oversized yoga mats. That’s a suitable homemade mattress, you think. 

There’s a basketball court whose court has been warped and fossilized by the leaks in the roof. A peek of sunset dives in through a hole, lighting up the western side of the room. You expect the pool room to still smell of chlorine. It’s a little weird when it doesn’t even though the pool’s been drained for years, you imagine. From there, you two reach the showers.

Before you let yourself get excited, Joel fiddles with the knobs. Water sprays out of it. “Still hot,” he says, absorbed in the droplets that are spraying his hand. He turns it off.

“Fuck it,” you say, tearing your tank top over your head.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Joel says, turning to face the wall.

“You aren’t the one who’s covered in mud!”

“Yeah, you’re right, I ain’t the one who went jumpin’ into quicksand. I also ain’t the one who deserved an ass whooping.”

You glare at his shoulder blades as you unzip your jeans, fumbling out of them. They’re nearly crunchy with the amount of mud you’ve been traipsing through. “They did charity drives at these things, right?” You never really went to any YMCAs before the world went to shit. “Maybe they’ve got clean clothes.”

“Maybe,” Joel says. “Maybe you shoulda thought about that before you turned this place into a strip club.” You roll your eyes and hook your bra on the shower curtain, followed by your panties.

“I didn’t know you were a prude, Miller,” you say.

He bristles at the accusation. “Maybe I should get an eyeful. Being ‘round you is like wishin’ the Lord would strike me down.”

You laugh. Joel made you laugh. First (and only) time, probably. 

“Yeah, right, you’d get struck down for something a whole lot worse before he started getting mad at you for peeping.”

You fiddle with the shower curtain and step in. There’s old body wash in an automatic dispenser on the wall. It doesn’t work, but it’s easy to wrangle open and squeeze the pouch into your hand. The grout is odd under your bare feet, but quickly becomes familiar as you twist the lever. Water spits down at you, and a satisfied sound leaves you. “Fuuuck,” you sigh. “This is nice.”

Joel clears his throat. “I’m gonna go look for clothes. And deodorant.”

“You should shower too,” you say instead.

You can almost hear the face he makes.

“God, don’t be so much of a Holy Joe, Joel. It’s practical. This water isn’t going to last that damn long, and I am not taking a cold shower when the hot stuff is all right here.”

“You’re a real pain in the ass,” he says like he hasn’t already told you.

Eventually, you hear his belt unbuckle.

He strips down a lot quicker than you. Habit, maybe, you think. His jeans slump against the floor, and then he’s in the shower. You hear the other faucet come on as the water warms against your skin. You sigh, lathering yourself with the Dollar General body wash. It forms iridescent bubbles along your body, and it smells faintly like artificial strawberries. You wonder if it ever used to smell stronger than this.

There’s a slit in Joel’s shower that exists between the curtain and the wall. You should look away, but you shouldn’t have plunged your foot into quicksand, either. There’s many things you shouldn’t do that you take it upon yourself to do anyway.

So you watch the dirty water cascade down his sharp, scarred shoulder. You eye how the gnarl of his bone adjusts as he lathers himself with soapsuds. He stretches to get his hair and his bicep tenses with the movement. He’s built, and built well. From years of survival, trekking through swamps not so different from these, and aiming guns in places he wanted to and places he didn’t. The way the sun flits through the rectangular windows makes him look golden.

You imagine how it’d feel to walk up behind him, to massage the knots out of his sore muscles. You don’t even notice it, but your hands are traveling your own body now, fingertips going to pluck at your pebbled nipples. He’d been rough when tussling with you in the swamp. Would he be rough with you in bed, too? In your mind, you run soft, open-mouthed kisses down his back, reaching your hand between his legs to wrap around his—

A clanging noise stops your hand in its tracks. You drop it limp at your side. A wave of revulsion crawls like insects up your back.

“Shit!” Joel says, fumbling around in his shower stall.

The plastic body wash dispenser goes sliding out under the curtain, foamy with soapsuds.

You can’t help it. You snort. And eventually, your snort becomes full-fledged laughter, breaking the seam of your lips as you lean against the wall of the shower.

“Shut up,” he says, but you hear the tinge of a chuckle embedded between his vowels. You hear his half-huff of laughter before you force yourself to stop giggling.

You two stay under the shower streams until the water runs cold and bitter and all of the mud that had banded around your limbs is congealed in the drain. 

You leave the showers first, roaming around until you find a discarded cardboard box that’s brimming with clothes in your size. There’s jeans that should do well in the elements and another tank top suited for the crushing heat. 

When you’re dressed, you call out to Joel that you’ll be in the yoga room. You spend the down time arranging the yoga mats into two separate mattresses. Joel’s feet will hang off a bit, but you imagine it’ll be better than sleeping on the floor.

Footsteps scrape from the doorway, and your head snaps up.

Joel Miller cleans up nice, it seems. He’s kept his boots, but apart from that, looks like a completely different person; his jeans now hug his hips tighter, his raggedy tee from earlier has been replaced with a form-fitting ribbed tank top. Any traces of mud, sweat, or gunk have been washed off his skin and down the drain. His hair hangs in wet stripes, sticking to his crinkled forehead.

You haven’t realized you’ve zone out until he’s waving a calloused hand in front of your face. “Hey, peach, anyone home?”

You clear your throat and replace it with a scowl. “Don’t call me that.” It’s deflection, and you know it. You think he knows it, too.

He gives you a funny look. “Uh huh,” he says. He taps his fingers along his hip bone. “Well, what the fuck are ya doin’?”

You furrow your brows at him. “Setting up camp…?”

“This is a shit camp to set up,” he says. “Stalkers in the parking garage, city I ain’t ever been in before? No, we need a vantage point.”

“And I assume you have one in mind?” you ask.

“Yeah, I do. ‘S a hotel, ‘lil further into town. Got three floors, we probably can block the stairwell from the inside to keep any raiders out.”

You nod and heft your backpack over your shoulder. It’s bulging from the extra clothes you’d stuffed into the bottom, and your arms are sore from the wrangling you’d given it after the collar of one of your new shirts jammed the zipper. 

Joel turns to stand guard at the door while you collect your stuff. You can’t seem to focus much on that, though, not with his ass practically at your eye level. The tighter denim definitely does him favors. You swallow the newfound lump in your throat and stuff your water flash into the side of your pack.

It has to be the lack of human connection. It’s been two weeks since you’ve seen anyone other than your captors, and the majority of this week since you’ve seen anyone other than Joel. Joel, who with every word, breath, movement, flinch, gets a rise out of you. Joel, who stirs the pot with you at every chance he gets. Joel, who almost certainly looks at you and sees a reflection of your father whom he hates.

He’d said so, early on.

This isn’t only one-sided. It’s a living, breathing disaster.

“‘S a hotel’ my ass, Joel, this place looks like a loaf of moldy bread.”

Joel insists on staying on the third floor. Says that the second floor is ‘too low’ and that being on the third floor poses a good choke point for any raiders or infected who might stumble upon your camp. He wants to ‘bottleneck’ any intruders, whatever the fuck that means.

The issue with the third floor? There’s mold. Everywhere. In the days after the outbreak, a leak must’ve happened somewhere in the pipes that bled through the ceiling and all over the top floor. None of the rooms you’ve checked have been left unscathed so far. It’s embedded into the rugs, the walls, the ceiling, all of it. At least it’s a good deterrent for the people that pass through. The infected, however? You have a feeling they’d be just at home.

“Would you shut the fuck up?” he says through his teeth. He pinches his nose bridge – he does that a lot, or maybe you just stress him out a lot – and glares at you.

“No, Joel. I’m fucking exhausted,” you hiss. “I’ve been roughing it with you all week, all you do is give me shit. The only thing this voyage of ours has taught me is that my dad has perfectly ample reason to hate your guts.” You’re closer to him now, knocking him back with your fist to your chest.

“Quit bein’ cute,” he scowls. “I’m the only reason your ass isn’t eyeball-deep in quicksand.”

“Yeah, and you’d be stalker food without me. So I guess we’re even, aren’t we, Joel?” You shove past him. “I’m just a way for you to pay off your stupid ‘debts’ anyway,” you mutter under your breath. He wasn’t protecting you, pulling you out of that damn pit. He was saving his own skin.

The hotel room door at the end of the hallway is slightly ajar. You lift your knife just in case, and step inside. 

It’s lacking the mold that the rest of the rooms have. People have definitely stayed in here before, what with the rumpled blankets left on the bed and a flashlight situated upright on the dresser. The thick layer of dust on the flashlight tells you that they never came back.

The room itself is satisfactory enough. Beige, almost green walls, close in at all sides. A cloudy mirror is hung by the window. Moonlight stipples the room. There’s a busted, corded phone on the nightstand that’s propped up on a Bible, a shattered nightlight, and a small table. You toss your pack onto the quilted bedspread and collapse onto the mattress. For an old, creaking thing with a busted spring or two, it’s still the most comfortable thing you think you’ve ever felt in your life. You sigh in relief and nuzzle into the pillow.

Joel clears his throat from the doorway.

“Find your own room, dipshit,” you say, nudging your pack off your bed with your knee. It thunks against the floor.

“I don’t think so.” He crosses his arms.

“I’m not sharing with you. You snore.”

“I don’t snore.”

“You do.”

You don’t have to look up to know he’s doing that thing where he pinches his nose bridge again. “You’re a fuckin’ piece ‘a work, kid, you know that?” You hear his pack drop against the ground. He drags a chair across the room and you cringe at how it squeals against the floor until he jams it under the doorknob. Then, the mattress dips.

You look at him sideways. “Get off my bed.”

“‘Your’ bed? You just discovered it two seconds ago.”

“Finders keepers.”

“Well I’m takin’ it from you. Losers weepers.”

You grit your teeth so hard you hear the bone scraping bone in your ears. 

“That’s now how this works–”

“We’re even now. You don’t wanna owe me one, and I sure as hell don’t wanna owe you one. So roll your ass over, act like an adult, and go to bed.”

You grouse under your breath, but with Joel, you have to pick and choose your battles. So you roll back over and wiggle yourself under the quilt, tucking your face into the musty pillow underneath you.

You sit in silence for a couple of minutes, staring at how the moon spills milky light along the alabaster ceiling. Then, you roll over again, stretching out the knicks in your back. Despite being the comfiest you’ve been in days, you’re feeling restless. You know Joel wouldn’t hurt you in any substantial way – you’re a bargaining chip to him. Nothing less, and certainly not anything more.

In spite of that, you find yourself drifting off with your face to him.

When Joel first wakes up, he thinks a clicker’s gnawing at his leg

Blinking the crust from his eyes, he realizes nothing’s gnawing on him at all. 

Rather, it’s you.

In your sleep, you’ve thrown your leg over his thigh. Your crotch is angled up against the bulk of his leg, a furnace that sears him through his jeans. Your head has dipped, forehead overheated and angled against the crux of his neck. If it were just that, he’d roll you over (maybe hard enough for you to crash on the floor) and hog the blankets for himself.

But you’re thrusting your fucking hips into him, letting out sleepy little whimpers while you fuck yourself on his leg. That explains why you’ve been acting dumber than a box of rocks. He oughta tan your hide for this. Bitching at him all week and really, you just need to get dicked down. Ironic, ain’t it.

He should still shove you off the bed. Call you a whore and leave you to rub your pussy raw in the bathroom instead of on his leg.

You give a particularly hard thrust, a keening little sound catching in the netting of your teeth. He swears you’re soaking through the denim.

He bites his tongue. The moonlight accentuates your closed eyes, your lashes fan out across your cheeks, there’s a cute little pinch in your lips as you unwittingly try to muffle the sounds coming out of you.

He can’t help himself. He raises his knuckles to your cheek and taps, taps, taps at the bone until your eyes startle open.

When you first wake up, you think you’re dying.

There’s a shortness of breath in your lungs. You feel like you’re being burned alive, your skin hot to the touch. You’re mummified in the crusty, flaky hotel sheets. Each intake of breath is musty and clings to your nostrils. You’re throbbing. Between the legs and elsewhere. Confusion puckers your brows. There’s slick between your legs — and Joel’s leg between your legs.

You tear away from him, making a disgruntled noise as the sheets tangle around your legs. His hand is raised to your face. There’s a moment where all you register is the judgmental squint in his dark eyes.

“What the fuck– you pervert,” you hiss, slapping him across the chest. A queasiness squiggles in your stomach as you inch your way back.

“Oh, no, peach. That was all you,” he drawls. He wraps his thick hand around your hipbone and pulls you back. You kick him in the shin, but there’s no real force behind it.

“Y-you’re lying,” you snarl. But a brief look at his lap tells you he’s not. He’s barely touting a semi, yet you’ve got the entire Mississippi River in your YMCA-issued panties.

Joel shakes his head at you. “‘S why you been actin’ up, you little shit? Just needed to get fucked?” He grips your hip so hard that it stings and hauls you against him. You tell yourself that the moan you let out is more of a hiss.

“I don’t– you’re making shit up, old man,” you say, squirming in his grip. You can’t help the way your hips sway at the tease of friction his knee gives you. You feel lightheaded, a freshly kindled bonfire.

“Am I?” Another squeeze to your hip. “Don’t look like it.” He notches his knee tighter against your swollen cunt, and your head dips forward as you bite into your lower lip. “Look’s like I’ve got a ‘lil slut more worked up than a hornets’ nest that spent all night rubbing her needy fuckin’ pussy on my leg.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and whine.

“Jus’ say the word, peach. I’ll do ya real good. Make that ache go away.” He rubs his thumb in a circle along your skin. The calloused pad of his thumb slips underneath the hem of your tank top, a lit match dragging along your skin.

“I don’t think you have it in you, Miller,” you say. But your voice gives you away. It’s breathy, coarsened by your sleep-stained, lust-stained rasp.

“Yeah? Well I didn’t think you had it in you to be humpin’ this ‘old man’s’ leg, but ya learn something new everyday.” He doesn’t grind his knee into your cunt — more so wedges it up. Pain blurs a watercolor line with pleasure as your back arches. His hand drifts from your midriff to your thigh, arm hooking around it so he can heft you up against his thigh proper. You grunt as you end up chest to chest with him. Your hips rock into his, guided by the North Star of his hands clutching at your hips. “Can feel ya,” he says. “Drippin’ all over me.”

You grind your teeth, digging your fingers into his shoulders. He groans as your nails claw at the skin there. “Shut the fuck up so I can pretend you’re someone else.”

He chuckles. “You can play pretend all you want, but I’m the one you’re soaking, ain’t I?”

You make an aggravated sound. Your left hand drags down his arm, leaving angry red tracks in their wake. Before he can gripe about it, you slap your right hand over his mouth. His eyes flare. Eye for an eye, his teeth sink into the flesh of your palm. You hiss at the sting. It only makes you pump your hips against him faster. The friction of your shorts and panties against the bulk of his leg and the wrinkle of his denim jeans makes your clit twitch against him.

Your flesh stretches as you tug it from his teeth. Your hand plants itself in his hair instead, dragging his head to the side. His eyes flutter, lidded and dark. “Don’t act like you don’t damn near cream yourself when I talk to you like this. You like being told what a nasty. Fuckin’. Slut. You are. Don’t look at me like that. You are. Been cruisin’ for a bruisin’ this whole time — just didn’t know you were after a pussy beating instead of a real one.”

Your eyes roll back. Your hips roll more languidly, only jerking when Joel gives a particularly brutal tug at your waist. You let out a pathetic moan into his neck. You nip at the skin there, tongue laving over the scars and blemishes he’s collected over the years. He reaches down and grabs a handful of your ass, groaning. “Too pretty to be actin’ a fool, baby.”

You dig your teeth into his neck, hard enough to leave cavernous bite marks in your wake. Your tongue digs through the craters your teeth left behind, saliva pulling from your lips to his skin. He smacks your ass hard enough for your hips to jerk, and you almost glare at him as you separate from your throat. Instead, your eyes squeeze shut.

“Don’t wanna look at me, do ya peach? Mmmm, well thas’ okay.” He fists his hand in the roots of your hair and tugs your head to the side. You hear Joel groping at the nightstand in the dark, and then the flashlight ticks on.

Your eyes blink open to yourself reflected in desilvered glass. Mirror rot surrounds your luminescent face, but most of all, you can see your hips and how they rock shallowly into Joel’s leg. “Watch yourself fuckin’ yourself stupid on my leg,” he croons in your ear. When you go still, his thumbs press hard into your skin. You stare at him. “You already fucked yourself stupid or somethin’? ‘S a simple instruction, sweet cheeks.”

“That’s dumb, Joel–” you sneer, going to look away.

He jerks your head back to where he had it and rocks his leg into your clit. You watch your face contort around a ragged moan. Pleasure thrashes through your system. “C’mon, you’re a dirty girl. Watch how pathetic you look while you get yourself off. Pretend I’m your pillow if you have to, but it ain’t gonna change how I’m the one gettin’ you off like this.”

Your thighs clamp around his. He smirks at you in the mirror. Your knee grazes his bulge, and a breathy moan loosens from his lips. “Two way street, Miller,” you say. But you’re weak — and so, so wet.

You give your hips a languid roll, watching yourself in the mirror. You’re a mess, mouth parted, eyes lidded, skin slick with sweat. Your hips shudder and start against him as you start to properly buck yourself against the meat of his thigh. With the shelves of your teeth, you try to smother the depraved noises coming out of you. Joel rolls his eyes.

“Gonna wake the fuckin’ dead with all that whining of yours.” Mid-moan, Joel shoves two fingers into your mouth and pries your jaw open. His fingers are bulky and ridged with callouses against your tongue. His thumb presses a dent into your jaw. “‘S okay, baby. I like ‘em loud.”

“I like you shutting the fuck up,” you say around a mouthful of his knuckles. You can’t help it. You bite at his fingers, not hard enough to hurt, but definitely hard enough to sting. He hisses and presses down on your tongue. You make a sputtering noise.

“You were sayin’?” he asks, tensing his thigh. You whimper against his fingertips. He tightens his grip on your hair, and in the mirror, you see yourself bared raw for him to see in all ways but the physical. You rut into his leg with increasing need.

“Mmmph, Joel–” you say around his fingers. 

“Oh, now you’re moaning my name? What was it I said? Cruisin’ for a bruisin’, peach.”

Wetness leaks down the insides of your thighs. Your swollen clit hitches on a wrinkle in his jeans. You’re shaking, thighs trembling where they’re wrapped around him. Your fingers grapple for purchase and find some anchored in his hair, tugging wildly. You eye yourself in that damn mirror, the way your chest is slotted against his, how your hips pitch into his over and over again in your pursuit of release.

“Ask for it, baby.” Joel grinds his leg up into your cunt. “You wanna come on me, you gotta ask for it.”

You shake your head wildly. You aren’t a beggar — especially not for Joel Miller. You’d rather throw yourself back into quicksand. Jump in front of a clicker. Step on an alligator.

Joel pouts mockingly at you. “Stubborn for a slut who’s willin’ to spread it open all hours ‘a the day.” You rub your knee into his bulge, tenting his jeans, in hopes that it’ll be a suitable distraction. He groans, knee jerking. His thigh rams against you, and your back arches. You see your brows pucker in your reflection, your hips undulating against him.

“F-fuck,” you whine out, bouncing against him.

“You wanna come, don’t you, peach?” You nod frantically. “Wanna soak me, huh?” At that, you grit your teeth and snarl at him. You do you do you do. But you don’t want to admit it.

You squirm on his leg, desperately rocking into him. You dig your feet into the creaking mattress, fisting your hands into the fabric of his shirt. Tremors wrack your body as you work yourself on him. Your cunt flutters, and you almost taste your orgasm.

Joel tosses you off of him.

“You son of a–” you shriek, thrashing and out of breath. Your clit throbs and your hole twitches at the stolen promise of release. You bounce on the mattress, sprawled on your back and twitching.

“I told ya,” he says. “Gotta ask for it.”

“I’m not asking you for shit, asshole–”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll change your tune when I stuff your right full.” He grabs you by the back of your shirt and coaxes you into spinning around. He yanks you onto all fours, forehead meeting the mattress.

You back your hips up as he reaches around your shorts for the button. The zipper squeals as it comes down and he shuffles them down your legs. He nudges your knees apart. You can feel his bulge, insistent and pressed against the back of your thigh. He grips the inside of your thigh, fingers sliding through the slick that’s there.

“Shit, baby,” he groans. “No wonder you were humpin’ me. Just needing someone to take away that ache, don’t you? Jus’ a horny girl wanting to go cock dumb.” His fingers graze over your clit, barely even a brush, and you let out a mangled sound into the comforter. “See? So desperate and sensitive. You’re cute when you’re not a pain in the ass.”

“That makes one of us,” you say.

Joel snorts. “She’s got jokes.” He rubs a circle into your clit, and then another, and all you can do is rock your hips into his hand. Impatient, you brace yourself on your elbow so you can reach behind him and fumble with his belt buckle. Joel laughs under his breath, working at the zipper while you undo the buckle. It chimes as his belt falls loose and his pants slump on his hips. You work the button open. 

You wriggle your hand into his briefs and pull him out, giving him a series of quick pumps. Joel grunts. “Just like that, peach. Fuck, yeah, you know what you’re doin’.”

He teases the tips of his fingers at your entrance. Razor sharp want slices up the insides of your warm thighs as you clench and drip more of your wetness along his hand. “I’ll throw you a bone,” Joel says. Then, with no warning, he slips a finger into your warmth and curls it just right. You claw against the sheets, whimpering.

“Nasty thing.” He hooks his finger and you fully mewl. Heat rushes into your cheeks. “Barely gotta do anythin’ to get you writhing and wanting.”

Warm tears brim at your eyes from the heady, deadly mix of arousal and hatred. Your cunt tightens around his finger, and without warning, he pushes another one in, twisting and hooking them brutally inside of you.

Your fingers fist in the sheets, temple pressed into the mattress. You can see the cocksure look on his face in the mirror, the way his forearm flexes with each thrust into you. “Fuck me already,” you spit. You know it’ll hurt if he fucks you without really preparing you. You want it to hurt. You want it to ache like the tread of his boot stamped on your chest. You want it to sting and simmer like the cuts that the wetlands left in a collage across your arms and legs. You want him to split you open and leave you flayed by your own pleasure.

“Alright, alright,” he says as he pulls his fingers out of you. He gives your clit a light slap that makes you squeal. You almost black out when you see him bring his slick-stained fingers to his mouth and suck. “Yeah, taste as sweet as a peach, dontcha sugar? Such a tasty little cunt for such a smart-mouthed brat.”

You could cry with how bad you want hi— no, his cock. 

“Gonna hurt, baby. But you want it to, don’t you? Wanna feel me all up in here.” He roams his free hand across your stomach, then back around to your ass where he tugs you back. There’s the smack of flesh as your hips meet each other, the whimper between your netted teeth as he nestles his cock between your slippery folds. You nod, head slinging forward. “Don’t gotta tell me. I know ya do. Girl like you, always such a smartass. Yeah, you want it rough.” His voice is gruff, lust-addled. “Act stupid all you want, peach. I got you all figured out.”

He slots his head against your hole and you let out a strangled noise into the mattress. Your vision swims as he pushes into you, thumbs dug into your ass cheeks so he can watch how you take him. You mewl, back arching into and away from him at the same time. Your body can’t decide where to go. If it wants to be further, or as close as possible to him. Joal groans as he sinks into you.

“Tight as a fuckin’ hose pipe, peach,” he says. He reaches around to give your flick your clit — a move that makes your entire body spasm. 

“So about as small as your dick, then?” It’s bullshit — you know it, and he knows it. He’s not even fully inside of you, but the difference is startling. He’s stuffing you to the brim, leaving you to scrabble and claw against the sheets.

He slams into you, a blatant disregard of your comfort. You feel his balls smack against your clit, and hear the same thigh you’d been humping slot against your own. A ragged cry rips from your throat. “Joel,” you whimper, hips trying to writhe against the bed. “Joel, fuck—”

“Feels pretty big now, don’t it?” You whine, petulant, but it breaks off into a moan as he pulls back and then punches back into you.

All you can do is take it, take it, take it as he bashes your swollen cunt with his fat cock. You gasp raggedly, each snap of his hip bringing pleasure-pain tears to your eyes. Joel’s nails dig into the meat of your ass and yank you back on him. The sting is renewed, then, as he props his leg up on the bed and pounds into you. You whimper, helpless to his whims.

Between one thrust and the next, the bite in your cunt turns into a thrum of pleasure. A persistent swarm of heat and your own slick leaking down his cock. “Like I said,” Joel grunts as he fucks you. “A nasty fuckin’ slut with a sloppy ‘lil cunt.”

You whine, squeezing around him. Your head spins. “Fuck,” he spits.

“Joel, please, please, ple–”

“Quit beggin’, it ain’t ladylike.” You prop yourself up on your elbow and reach behind him, tugging his wrist away from your ass so you can slip his hand between your thighs. His pistoning into you falters. “What’d I say?” Joel grunts. His knees adjust over the backs of your calves to hold you down.

“Keep touching me,” you whine. “Please, you asked me to ask for it, so I’m fucking asking for it.”

“Told you to ask permission, not cry at me like a kicked puppy,” he says. “I call the shots here. Like it or not.” He goes to yank his hand away from your clit, but you yank at his knuckle.

Joel scowls, and so fast you might get vertigo, his other arm’s bicep locks around your neck and heaves you back against his chest. You sputter, drool pooling in your mouth. Your hands briefly tug at his arm, but fall limp when he says, “Oh, shut the fuck up, I ain’t gonna kill ya. Gotta keep you on your toes, peach.”

You arguably shouldn’t. But you trust him. Enough to keep you alive, at least.

With another thrust into the warm vise of your cunt, your body’s running hotter than an engine and twice as fast. He squeezes tight enough that your air is in short supply, and with it, everything is amplified. Pleasure crinkles through your body like crumpled aluminum foil, serrated and clinging to you. The crook of his elbow is warm, and you can’t help your head lolling back to give him a look that’s purely salacious. He tips his head down at you and smirks.

“Yeah, that’s my hungry little cockwhore,” he says. With his free hand, he tugs your hair. You seize around him, struggling for what to hang onto. You let out a rasping, strangled moan. With your head tipped back, you can see the tilt to his lips as he moans, feel his scruff scraping at your forehead. “Takin’ it like you were made for it. Shit.”

Joel moans as you clamp down around him again.

Tears might be sliding down your cheeks – you don’t know. You’re too trapped in this, in this moment, in the feeling of his cock slamming into your throbbing, aching cunt. “Mmph,” you whine low in your throat as he fucks up into you. He’s damn near bruising your cervix. Each thrust makes your cunt flitter around him. 

“You look good like this,” Joel grunts against your ear, using the leverage of his propped-up leg to bounce you on his cock. “All quiet ‘n sweet ‘n whorish. Goddamn, never thought a slut could feel this fuckin’ tight.”

Your eyes slip shut, vision spotting behind your eyelids. He keeps forcing himself into you. Making room. Making a mark that you’ll never forget he carved into you.

Your body is limp as he gets himself off, his hand moving from your hair. He gropes at your tits, flicking your nipple in a way that draws a sloping moan out of you. He slides it down your side, each callous bumping against your skin until he reaches your clit. You nod wildly, and he chuckles into the shell of your ear. “You think you’ve earned it? All you’ve been doing is whinin’ like a little bitch, baby.” He taps his fingers against your clit, once, twice, mounting the tautness of the tension drawn tight like elastic through your body. You gasp down air as he ever so slightly loosens his grip around your neck. He keeps thrusting into you, jerking tiny moans out of you as he does.

Your legs tremble. Your brain feels like mush. You wring his cock with each strain of your pussy. “I don’t want you,” you gasp out between thrusts. “I want you for what you can — fuck — give me. So I guess… that makes… us even. Doesn’t it?” Joel’s finger stills where it hovers over your clit, and you almost don’t notice the falter in his hips with how subtle it is.

“Yeah,” Joel pants. “Guess it does, peach.”

He presses his thumb down on your clit and the whole world makes sense.

You cry out as your juices soak his cock, dripping down his balls and thighs. “Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel,” you chant in between moans. He’s holding you up now by the underside of one of your arms, his fingers toying with your nipples. Each touch sends laser hot electricity between your legs.

He slams up into you again and you shriek. “Fuck, you’re a mess,” Joel says. “All stuffed full ‘a me… yeah, that’s how you’re s’posed to be. Sprayin’ your pussy juices all over me while I ram my cock into this drippy little hole.”

You whine, clit twitching against his finger. Tears burn at the edges of your eyes like fire on parchment. “I wanna come,” you whisper, voice tinged with need. “Please, Joel. I–”

“Who do you want to make you come?” he asks as he rolls his hips up into you. An undulating pace that makes you want to scream.

The curdling pleasure in your stomach brims, stews, steeps. You’re drowning in it, in the fire lashing through your body. Fire that he lit and stoked and now, only he can put out. “You, Joel!” you cry out. “You! I want you to make me come, please, I need it, I want t-”

“I got you, peach,” he says. He mashes the pad of his thumb against your swollen nub, rubbing circles, circles, circles. You scream this time, head slumping against him. “Throbbin’ for it,” he growls out. “All swollen and whinin’ like you’re in heat. You needed this. Needed me.”

“I needed you,” you nod, exhaling. You think you’d agree to anything he said right now. “Fuck,” you wail. Your hands anchor themselves on his forearm.

“Don’t fight it, baby, don’t fight it,” he coos. Your nails scratch angry red tracks down his burly arms. “Come on me, see if it gives you an attitude adjustment.”

To your chagrin, that does it.

Your orgasm shatters you. You’re fragile as it tears through your body, tying knots around your racing heart and making your legs quiver. You feel yourself gush around Joel’s cock, gasping for air as your lungs empty. Your cunt flutters around him as pleasured tears spill from the corners of your eyes. Everything’s hot and melting, your arousal dripping out of you in droves. Joel rubs at your clit through it, coaxing in your ear, “That’s it, theeeeere it is. Shit, baby, I’m comin’— squeezin’ me so damn good—”

Joel twitches inside of you, and you whine at his absence when he pulls out just in time. With a throaty, reverberating groan, he sprays the small of your back with his cum. You gasp as it splashes against you, your chest heaving against his hand. 

You sit in the silence, high off of the come down, panting in delirium. 

Joel clears his throat. “You alright, peach?”

“You don’t have to pretend to like me now that we’ve had sex, Joel,” you say. “I get it. We fucked. We got it out of our systems. Hooray. Do you want me to pop some confetti poppers?”

“I was being courteous, goddamn,” he grunts as he stands up. You watch as he tugs his jeans back up. “Clearly ain’t nobody ever treated you gentlemanly before.”

“Says the man who got off on choking me out.”

He shoots back, “The feeling was mutual, if I remember five minutes ago correctly. I ain’t that old.” He buckles his belt up. As he redresses, you toss your own shorts off to the side. He’s already been in your whole pussy — you’d rather not sleep in the denim shorts.

When you’re done, you give him a look.

He pinches his nose bridge and sighs through his teeth. “We oughta hit the hay. Long day ahead. And you should be too exhausted by now to be wakin’ me up again.”

You clench your fists at your side. “Fine.”

You reach for his flashlight and turn it off.

Reunion Tower is the first building you see.

Dallas. Home sweet home, for better or worse.

The skyline slowly eases up and out of the treeline as you and Joel meander up the car-cluttered I-20. Remnants from a life that’s long gone, all but skeletons with the organs of another time.

You and Joel have scarcely talked. Mostly, it’s just him pointing out directions. But he does other things. He helps you through wreckage or rubble instead of leaving you to muscle through on your own. He gives you part of his rations. He tosses you a magazine he finds in a store. He keeps watch.

You had meant what you said. You fucked. That was that. He was still the man your father told ghost stories about. The thoughtless killer. The unforgiving bullet to a skull. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of peoples’ deliverance to the afterlife. The man who’d betrayed your father all those years ago, a story of which you only know the vague specifics of.

Maybe you’ll ask him while he’s on bedrest from that bullet wound. (Or maybe you’ll just ask him. He’s not the sort of man to stay down for long.)

Regardless, as you two cross the exit a couple blocks from your dad’s base, you ask him, “Do you think he sent people after me?”

“Maybe,” Joel says. “Probably went up to Oklahoma instead. Louisiana ain’t famous for bein’ easy hikin’ material. Shocker that them Cockroaches brought you all the way out there.”

You nod and kick a rock with the toe of your shoe. “You think your group’s doing good on their own?”

“Who fuckin’ knows,” Joel says. “Left Tommy in charge of the place, I’ll be lucky if it ain’t burned down by now.”

“Well, you’ve got a whole new world ahead of you. Free of debts and all. Maybe my dad will finally get off your ass. Could skip town, if you wanted.”

Joel’s feet drag on the concrete. You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he scratches the back of his neck. “There were never any debts, peach,” he says.

Your brows furrow as you stop in your tracks. “The fuck do y—”

“Got you of my own volition,” he says. “Your dad and I might be on shit terms, but that don’t mean I don’t care about him. I…” He pauses. “I know what it’s like to lose people.”

“Everyone does,” you say.

“Yeah,” Joel nods. He turns to make eye contact with you. “Everyone does. But I don’t exactly wanna go about losin’ you,” he says.

“That’s a bold claim, Miller,” you say.

“You’re good company. Even if you’re a shitass.” He pats you on the shoulder. His hand slides down your arm to your hand, and he gives it a squeeze before letting it drop. “Now c’mon. Let’s get you home.”

[wrthzell]

hi! Could you write a Vander x male reader where Vander in his werewolf(?)/Warwick(?) form recognizes the reader, and reader also recognizes him, and is so so happy to meet his old lover again

Sorry any mistakes, English is not my first language!

𝐑𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐍 — (Vander/Warwick X Male Reader).

Note: Thank you for the request! No worries; English is not my first language either, and your request was very comprehensible. It turned out a bit short, but I hope it's to your liking.

Summary: The old memories of what could have been and what was haunt you, but after being called to the mines you once used to work on, you find that maybe your life won't have to be filled with regret and longing.

Warnings: Spoilers, don't read unless you've watched Arcane.

Key: (Y/n) — Your name. | (H/c) — Your hair colour. | (E/c) — Your eye colour.

Sickly green neon lights reflect on murky brown water, and a stomach-churning stench rises from the walls of the worn-down building; the grey impregnated itself in any surface it touched, like acrid sulfur. (Y/n) crouched in front of The Last Drop, (e/c) eyes squinting to make out any recognisable feature in what once was a haven to him.

He dusted off the dirt that had collected in the upper part of his pants and inhaled sharply, lungs long accustomed to the poisonous fog of his hometown. He pressed forward. The inside was empty—needless to check; he wouldn't find her inside. The paper felt like lead in his pocket, heavy and foreboding—a reminder of his failures and the grief that followed any Zaunite like a wailing shadow.

He hadn't gone to the mines in years, and he hadn't had to work there in such a long time that he wasn't sure what exactly they looked like after everything. The entrance was falling apart, and wood planks, detached and broken, littered the floor, and glass cracked underneath his shoes. He tightened his jaw and looked down, the pitch-black darkness of the cave illuminating with every step. 

Thump, thump, thump. The impact of his boots against the floor echoed—the caves amplified each sound closer than it truly was—and the faint noises of water dripping reached his ears along with a low rumbling. She was deeper there, had to be. His fingers rubbed the paper note inside his pocket, hope simmering inside his chest.

Thundering footsteps started to come in his direction; something metallic scratched against the walls. He raised his guard, crouching and aiming his gun at the origin of the sound. The walls illuminated in a quick flash, and a dark shadow moved too fast for him to brace himself for it, the thing colliding into his chest and throwing him to the ground.

Mismatched eyes looked straight into his, and a gaping maw with sharp teeth stopped just short of tearing his face apart. Shivers went down his spine, and his lips quivered, tears welling in his eyes as he raised a trembling hand to the creature's face. A sharp set of footsteps entered the place, the light going up again and illuminating the monster's face further. Greyish dark fur coated a familiar face and warped it into something recognisable but not completely. 

“Thought you'd want to see him.” Powder announced, her gun clanking against her belt. 

Vi stepped closer, opening her mouth and closing it before finally settling on explaining it. “It's...”

“Vander.” He held the man's face in his hands, tears falling down his eyes, a thunderous storm inside his heart. The man he loved. The man he loves. He holds him tenderly but strongly, as if afraid that when he lets go, it will all dissolve and morph back into his bleak reality.

Vander softens, resting his head against the crook of the other man's neck. A content sigh leaves his nose and ruffles the hair on the (h/c)-haired man's head. “(Y/n).”

“Sheesh, even he recognised him way faster than you did.” The blue-haired woman jabbed at her sister, the corner of her mouth pulled up in a teasing smirk. Her facade breaks as she sees a hand outstretched in her direction. 

(Y/n) reassuringly squeezes her hand, a wide smile on his lips as he unburies his head from Vander's fur and turns it towards his daughter. “Thank you.”

“You don't have to thank me. You love him as much as we do,” she laughs bitterly. Her hand, albeit hesitant, holds his tighter.

“I do. I don't know how you found him or what happened, but you brought me back to him. I haven't felt like this in so long.” His voice sounds choked, and he looks back at the pair of blue and yellow eyes, his hands caressing the rough skin. He feels Vander's strong arms curl around him, and the fur tickles his neck and arms, warm and comforting. “I love you,” he whispers in the man's ear, loud enough for only them to hear it.

“Love... you.” He answers back.

[aemondapologistfrfr]

His Princess - Pt4

fancast!bloody ben x targ!fem!reader

Pt 1 Pt2 Pt 3

Summary: Vermithor accepts Ben as his rider and he takes to the skies with Silverwing. Y/n teaches him how to strengthen the bond and basic commands. A confession while Y/n gets into an argument with Baela and Jace. 

Warnings: 18+ swearing, oral (m receiving), bathing, fingering, p in v, L word, very short snippet of Jace and Baela in Harrenhal

Authors Note: them riding the bonded dragons together is my roman empire rn, why shouldn’t riding bonded dragons cause a little bit of hot tension between these two? 

Word Count: 5.6k 

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

I study Ben’s features as I look at him in the early morning light. He’s sleeping so peacefully and I can’t help but think about what will happen shortly. He’s brave and fearless and absolutely fucking reckless and I’m hoping these traits will attract Vermithor. He’s been dwelling in the depths of the pits only emerging for food and Silverwing and just maybe he’ll come out for Ben. I straddle Ben and lean down to his neck. 

“Wake up, Ben.” I whisper in his ear as my hair curtains around us. He slowly opens his eyes as they start to focus on me. 

“Beautiful,” his voice gravely from sleep as he reaches up to kiss me while his hands travel up my legs on either side of him. 

“Serve me,” I murmur softly as I kiss him once more. 

“Serve me?” he pulls back breathing heavily. 

“Very good, it means serve me.” I hum as I kiss him once more. 

“Obey me,” I whisper against his lips. 

“Obey me,” he moves his head up as I sit back looking down to him.

“Obey me,” his breath catches at my words. 

“Hello, my fearsome Vermithor.” his eyes lock to mine at the familiar greeting. 

“Hello, my fearsome Vermithor.” Ben’s voice is steady and strong. 

“Hello, my fearsome Vermithor.” I nod my head to him. 

He slowly starts to sit up as a smile begins to form across his face. He pulls me down to his lips as I gasp getting lost in him. He releases me and pulls me out of bed quickly. I shake my head at his enthusiasm, but his high energy will serve him well this morning. As we begin to dress I can feel his adrenaline pouring off of him. 

We walk out of the castle and pick out plump cows before we begin to walk to the pits on the sands. He goes over the commands with me once again as we walk. On approach I hear Silverwings song coming from the depths. She slowly begins to emerge into the light and walk to me and Ben chirping creating a small sandstorm. Ben walks to her with a smile on his face.

“Hello, my beautiful Silverwing.” he smiles up at her as she pushes against his chest. 

A smile spreads across my face at how truly magnificent it is that her and Ben have that connection. I don’t know how I didn’t see the signs earlier and shake my head at my panic last night. The pits begin to thunder as Vermithor reaches his claws out. 

“Daughter,” Rhaenyras voice raised in panic as she starts down the walkway with the dragon keepers close on her heel. 

“Stay back.” I shake my head raising my hands to them. If this is truly going to work it needs to be just us. He needs to show Vermithor no fear and that he doesn’t need a team of people to help him. I always believed it was the bravery and determination that enticed Silverwing. 

Vermithors maw reaches out into the sun as his teeth glisten in its rays. His full head reaches out at his eyes narrow on the cattle. I walk to Ben’s side and grab his hand in mine. Silverwing surrounds us with her legs as Vermithor starts to fully emerge, his claws digging into the sand. 

“Daughter, please,” Rhaenyras choked words come across barely audible over Vermithor and Silverwings grumbles and chuffs. 

He approaches and towers high above us looking down curiously. Silverwing rises to his height and pushes her snout to his. Vermithor chuffs and turns his head huffing his breath down on us. He backs up and lowers his head to study us as Silverwings jaws rest over him. 

“Hello, my fearsome Vermithor.” Ben’s words are laced with wonder and awe as he looks to Vermithor who tilts his head ever so slightly. 

“Serve me, obey me,” he turns as his hand slips out of mine as he extends his hands out to Vermithors snout. “And I shall serve and obey you.” he speaks in the common tongue and bows his head. 

Vermithor breathes out deeply as he looks to Silverwing before looking back down to Ben and me. His head lowers and he pushes his snout to Ben’s outstretched hands with a low groan. My breath catches as Ben’s head snaps up to Vermithor. 

“You honor me, Vermithor.” he breathes out wildly as a smile spreads across his face. 

Vermithor shuts his eyes as Ben begins to bravely pat along his neck. I can hear him whispering soft words of how fearsome and handsome he is as he walks around him. Ben comes back around the other side of his body as I stand there in awe. Ben stands back and looks up to him. 

“I’ve brought you something, give me a moment.” Ben’s voice laced with adrenaline as he makes his way back to the cattle. 

He collects the lead the cattle are tied to as he brings them to Vermithor. He grumbles out as Ben and I step further back as he scorches them. Silverwing stomps around us to feast with him. Once they’re done we walk up to them at a loss for words, I still can’t believe the events unfolding before me. 

“Shall we fly?” I look to Ben and then up at the dragons. 

“Can we? My fearsome Vermithor?” his eyes light up with excitement. 

Vermithor grunts and dips down for Ben to mount. I shake my head as a laugh bubbles out of me in pure amazement. I nod to him as I mount Silverwing. I watch Ben settle into the saddle and secure the clips to him. Ben leans down whispering something to Vermithor. He shakes out his spine as he starts into a run. I watch shocked as I see Vermithor take to the skies for the first time in years. 

Silverwing shoots us into the sky after them as she sings a song to Vermithor. He replies with his own grumbles as I see Ben wildly laughing atop him. My heart soars as I see Vermithor push them further and twist around in the sea. Silverwing chases after them and dips us in the water. 

They fly wing to wing on the breeze around the island until they land outside the pits and walk us inside. I dismount and turn to watch Ben do the same. He pats Vermithor who grumbles and turns to go rest with Silverwing. Once they’re deep in the pits he turns to me with wide eyes. 

“My fearsome Ben.” I smile to him breathlessly as he runs to me. 

He pulls me into a feverish kiss and his arms hold me tight. I drink in his adrenaline as we consume each other. Rhaenyra and Daemon clear their throats from the doorway as we pull apart. 

“Congratulations,” Rhaenyra shakes her head in disbelief as she looks to both of us. 

“You’re actually fucking mad.” Daemon chuckles nodding his head to Ben in approval.

“How was it? How do you feel?” I look to him with adoration holding his face and looking him over.

“It was amazing,” Ben shakes his head. “I feel,” he’s at a loss and I know exactly what’s going through his mind. The power and the connection are still so fresh and coursing through him. 

“Go rest off the adrenaline. We can begin lessons later.” she smiles and looks relieved. 

“Thank you, Rhaenyra.” Ben lowers his head as his hand grabs mine. 

It feels as if there’s pure electricity flowing between us. I pull Ben back up to my chambers and seal the doors behind us. I walk to him as his hands pull me against him. I look up to him in absolute amazement as I offer him a blinding kiss. I pull away breathless before I drop to my knees before him.

“I am in awe of you,” my words barely a whisper as I look up to him. “Benjicot Blackwood. Rider of Vermithor.” adoration dripping off of my tongue as my hands travel up his legs. 

“Y/n,” my name sounds like a prayer as he caresses the side of my jaw while he looks down to me with dark eyes. 

I reach up and begin to unlace his trousers while blinking up to him. I see his chest rapidly rising and falling as my hand slips below and curls around him. As I free him of his trousers I take in his red, leaking tip. I lick around his tip as my fingers dance around his length. I pull back and slowly lick along the underside from his base back up while keeping eye contact with him. 

“Fuck Y/n,” he pants with flushed cheeks.

I swirl my tongue around him and slowly sink my mouth down. Whatever I can’t fit in my mouth I pump with a tight fist. I hear his breath coming out in pants above me as I speed my movements. I bring my other hand up to his balls and his hand tangles itself in my hair. 

“Y/n, I’m gunna-” his words are cut off with a groan as I hum around him while pushing him to the back of my throat. 

I moan as his hand pulls my hair while his hips shutter and I accept everything he gives me. I slowly move my mouth off of him and offer licks to his over sensitive tip until he pulls me back by my hair. I look up to him blinking innocently while his breathing begins to settle.

I rise up to him and kiss him softly. He grunts as I help him back into his trousers and begin to lace them back up. He pulls back as our breath continues to mingle. He lets out a low chuckle and I tilt my head to him. 

“Come, let me fix your hair, my Princess.” he smiles kissing the side of my head before leading me to my vanity. 

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As we enter the library Rhaenyra is sitting at the table looking over old texts. A smile spreads across her face when she notices our approach. We claim seats around the circular table and wait for her word. 

“I must admit I’m still in shock.” she shakes her head at a loss. “I would like explain to you what it truly means to be a dragon rider, especially during times of war.” her words become serious and we sit up straighter. 

“I’m willing to do whatever is needed.” Ben nods his head. 

“I know you are no stranger to battle, but with dragons it’s different. You’ve seen the advantage they offer when they’re on your side.” she nods to me. “But if you find yourself up against another dragon it will be one of the most petrifying moments of your life, if not the last.” her eyes look off as she tries to blink back tears. 

My mind drifts to Luke at this line of talk. Arrax was just a baby and Luke just a boy. I understand Jaces motives, but in those first days I was thankful he was away in the North to escape my rage. My hand reaches out to hers and she offers me a sad smile before she solidifies herself and starts again. 

“It will never be my want to send dragons to battle other dragons, but as of late it seems my wants are simply that: wants. Y/n will be able to assist you with learning how to control and channel emotions during high tense situations. Vermithor is very formidable and with him at Silverwings side,” she shakes her head. “You both may save us yet.” her eyes look between us. 

“We will see you sit the throne.” I nod my head to her, my words a promise. 

“I have had books pulled that I think will help offer assistance in learning High Valyrian. I’ve also had them bring out Visenyas old lessons in hopes that they can offer more insight. Y/n is very smart, use her knowledge to your advantage, learn everything you can from her.” she rises from the table and places her hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Thank you, Ben.” she nods her head to him and leaves us to studying. 

“So you’re going to be my teacher?” he turns to me licking his lips. 

“I hope you’re ready. My lessons are very rigorous.” I hum as I get up to reach across the table to grab a book.

“What do I get if I do well?” his voice low as his hands travel to my backside as I’m bent over the table. 

“Benjicot Blackwood.” I scold grabbing his wrist roughly. “You will get nothing if you don’t stay focused.” I hiss as he smiles at my tinted cheeks. 

“I feel like you could come up with a more creative punishment.” he whispers into my ear once I claim my seat once more. 

I huff and glare at him with a fierce blush. I push a book into his lap and I leave the table to go find him more helpful books and parchments. As return I see that he has actually begun to read the book I gave him and I place more items at his side. I sit across from him and begin to look through what’s before me and begin to jot down important points. 

He continues to read for an hour while I write down notes. I peek at him every once in a while as he looks through the scattered parchments around him. His eyes look up and lock with mine before I look away as I feel a blush creep up my neck. 

“My love,” his low words caress my ears as my eyes shoot to his. 

“My love,” my words barely a whisper. 

“My love, when you blush like that it makes it hard for me not to tease you.” My cheeks heat even more to my distress. “Translate it, please.” he smirks to me. 

“My love, when you blush like that it makes it hard for me not to tease you.” I look to him for him to repeat it. He doesn’t much to my frustration and I fume. “If you’re done torturing me, I have some notes I’d like to share with you.” I clear my throat as he leans back in his chair smiling to me. 

“Of course, my Princess.” he looks over to me his focus attuned to my words and the knowledge I’m bestowing onto him.

“There are many commands that I would prefer to focus on before general speach. Vermithor can feel your intentions and feelings when you speak to him and pat him. I would rather you know what to say when flying than when you’re bringing our dragons food.” I look over my list of important commands and offer it to him. 

“I can keep this?” he asks while scanning over the list. 

“Yes, of course. Although, I should hope you would remember them and not pull out a piece of parchment mid flight.” A smirk plays on my lips. 

“I shall study dutifully, but I can multitask if needed.” he folds the piece of paper slipping it into his pocket with a sly smile.

“Another important piece of information to keep in mind is that your emotions are deeply connected and not just when you’re flying together. Over time you’ll be able to feel it more intensely as you build trust and boundaries. A dragon is not a horse and will not tolerate being treated as one. Vermithor chose you and you must rise to the title he has appointed you.” I study him as he absorbs and listens to every word I speak. 

“I shall be the rider he sees me as.” He nods his head and I can feel the confidence pouring off of him from across the table. 

“You’ve become one of the most powerful men in the realm today.” I stroke his growing ego because the look suits him. 

“I am yours first.” his words float around my heart. 

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Over the last fortnight Ben has learned an astonishing amount. He has his commands committed to memory and begun to focus on learning the language now. We take our dragons out flying everyday along the coasts and float on the breeze around the stoney island in the moonlight. 

Tonight we flew for hours under the stars as our dragons sang to each other. As our boots touch the sand Ben twirls me into the moonlight. We dance together using the waves as our music. He holds me tightly as we continue to sway. 

“You look the most divine in the moonlight.” Ben extends his arms so he can look me over. 

We stroll into the castle he grabs my hand with his. I’ve been so happy and free lately that it’s hard for me to face the reality that Ben and I are going to be sent back to Harrenhal in the morning. Rhaenyra thinks it’ll be best to send us further from the Crownlands so they don’t see we’ve gained a new rider. 

“Thank the Gods,” I sigh as I see my bath still streaming. 

I begin stripping off my gear as Ben follows chuckling. He helps me remove the rest of my clothing before helping me dip into the bath. He pulls up a stool next to the tub to keep me company and offers me soaps and oils. He lathers soap into a cloth and offers it to me. I smile as I hold my arm and look to him. 

He chuckles grabbing my arm and begins to clean me. His rough hands scrape against my skin as he tries to keep his touch light. He outstretches his hand for my other arm and I happily raise it for him. He moves around the bath and continues to clean. His hands dip into the bath to clean my legs as I look to him with heavy lids. 

Every time he trails the cloth up my thigh his fingers trail along my slit. I try to control my breathing and he starts on my next leg. I spread my legs as he chuckles lowly. His fingers linger on my core before he pulls them away again. 

“Ben,” I whine frustrated. 

“Yes, my Princess?” I whimper at his High Valyrian and his teasing fingers that continue on my legs. 

“I need you,” I look to him with pleading eyes. 

“I’m right here.” he chuckles as he pulls the cloth out of the water discarding it. 

“You know what I mean,” I roll my eyes at his smirk. 

“Mm, enlighten me.” he licks his lips. 

I push him back with a wet hand and he topples off of the stool to the ground in a fit of laughter. I rise from the bath and find a towel and begin to dry myself off as he continues to giggle from the ground. I wrap the towel around myself and look down to him before he pulls himself up to tower above me. 

He kisses my furrowed brow as I continue to glare at him. He chuckles lowly as he begins to pepper kisses across my face trying to get a reaction out of me. One of his hands lands on my back and pulls me against him. 

“How long are you going to pout at me?” He kisses the side of my mouth before he starts to kiss my neck while it takes all my strength not to melt into his touch. 

His hand on my back scrunches the towel in his fist and pulls it from my body. I shiver at the breeze and lean into his warmth. I feel him smile against my neck as his tongue dances along my pulse. His other hand makes its way to my wetness and I bite down on my lip not wanting to give him the satisfaction. His fingers swirl around my clit causing me to shutter. 

“How does that feel?” he slowly pumps a finger into me as a whimper falls from my lips as I internally groan. “Yeah, does it feel good?” he purrs as his thumb circles my clit. 

My hands fly to his arms and dig in for support. I rest my forehead against his chest as he adds another finger. He continues to slowly pump them into me as I breathe heavily.  A moan falls from my mouth as he curls his fingers. I focus on my breathing until he starts roughly pounding his fingers into me. 

“Fuck Ben, please,” I sob into his chest giving in. Whimpers fall from my mouth as my nails dig into his arms as his fingers continue. My hips grind against his hand seeking pleasure. 

“Ben,” his name slips from my mouth as my thighs squeeze around his hand as pleasure flows through me. My breathing settles as my thighs spread to release his hand. 

I look up to him and his lips smother mine. His tongue pushes its way into my mouth to slide against mine. My hands begin pulling off his clothes and he brings his own hands to help speed along the process. He pushes me softly back onto the bed and settles between my legs. He grinds against my wetness before sliding in. 

He slowly pulls out and looks down to my squirming body. He dips back into me pulling a whine from my lips. My legs hook around his waist hoping he’ll start moving. I start to jerk my hips trying to get my own friction. 

“Gods look at you,” he growls as he watches me with dark eyes. 

His movements are quick as he flips us while staying inside. He helps me adjust my position so my knees are on the bed and I begin to ride him. His fingers dig into my hips as I grind and bounce against him. I toss my head back as my hands fly to my breasts and tease my nipples. 

“You’re perfect,” he groans before he attaches his thumb to my clit. 

A moan rips through me as my hips grind into his faster as I use him for my pleasure. His thumb quickens its ministrations and I explode around him. My hips shutter as he removes his thumb and brings it back to my waist. I lean down and capture his lips with mine as he begins to thrust up into me. I whine against his mouth as I clench around him. 

“You always feel so good, my Princess.” he murmurs against my lips as he begins to chase his own pleasure. I burry my head in his neck as my hips move to meet his as pleasure begins tearing through me again. His hips falter as he settles inside of me with my name on his lips. 

I roll off of him and cuddle into his side. He turns his head and kisses me tenderly. I sigh into his mouth as I get caught up in him once more. He pulls back chuckling and pulls the blankets over us. 

“Rest, we have an early morning.” he kisses my forehead as I close my eyes. 

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Harrenhal Pov: 

The Lords get jittery as the end of the week approaches as their proper commanders are due to return with news. Jace and Baela have been able to work alongside these Lords and their men. The host works seamlessly together and had no issue integrating Baela and Jace into their everyday routine. 

“How do you think Y/n will be when they arrive tomorrow?” Jace bites his lip looking to Baela. 

“I think you’ll be lucky if she doesn’t pull her sword on you.” Baela chuckles as she continues to pack her bag. 

“Well he lived so I don’t see what the big issue is.” Jace sighs as he claims a chair by the window. 

“Oh she’ll tell you the big issue.” Baela shakes her head at him. 

“I’m actually quite excited to see Vermithor in all his glory. He’s fucking mad for even attempting to claim a dragon.” Jace tries to think of the last time he’s even laid eyes upon Vermithor. 

“I can see why Y/n chose him.” Baela hums tossing her bag by the door. 

“Can you?” Jaces tone playful as he raises his eyebrow at her. 

“You think our sister wouldn’t want the man who is known as Bloody Ben? Who is crazy enough to ride on Silverwing? The man who has now claimed Vermithor? I wouldn’t be surprised if they came back married.” she surmises before tucking her self into bed. 

“Mother would never allow it without us there.” he carries himself to the bed and pulls Baela against him. 

“You truly think they would ask mother?” Baela giggles resting her head on his chest. 

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/n pov:

Silverwing glides along the clouds as I coast my fingers through them. Ben and Vermithor fly below us always watching out for potential hosts. We were lucky not to encounter anyone on the way back to Dragonstone and I’m hoping we have the same luck this early in the morning. 

I sigh in relief as the towers of Harrenhal come into view. Silverwing lands by Moondancer and Vermax while Vermithor circles the castle offering a low song. The towers crumble at the reverberations and he dips and thuds on the ground next to Silverwing. I look over to Ben who gives me a wicked grin. We both dismount and lug our bags with us. 

“How was the flight?” I walk up to him as Silverwing and Vermithor brush each other’s snouts affectionately. 

“Thrilling.” he looks down to me and offers me a soft kiss.

“Y/n!” I hear Jaces voice behind me. 

“You can come save him in one minute.” I whisper against Ben’s mouth as he looks at me curiously before I turn on my heel. 

I walk up to Jace and punch him in his face. I bring my other fist up but before I can land my second blow Ben pulls me back. I glare at Jace who is now cupping his face and I look to Baela wounded.

“How dare you both?” my words laced with hurt. “You could so easily lie to my face? You can see how deeply I care for him and you would so quickly have me fly him into a dragons mouth?” I look to them waiting for their answer. 

“We couldn’t risk you running away with him. Not when we need you, sister.” Baela words are soft as she looks to me. 

“A warning would’ve been nice. Even a hint. Not just oh mother wants to know how the host is and she wants to meet Ben.” I narrow my eyes at her and Jace. 

“Well he’s obviously fine,” Jace drawls wincing as he touches his nose.

“He’s fine!” I tilt my head back and laugh. Ben is still holding on to my arm firmly still not trusting my temper. “Let me not forget that mother told me this was your idea.” anger radiates off of me. 

“Daemon suggested Ben.” Baela interrupts trying to alleviate some of my anger directed at Jace.

“Another piece of information I was denied,” I shake my head at a loss. “We are not pawns you can move about a board. Give us the respect we deserve. We raised this host. We have been holding this castle for mother.” my voice rising with each word. 

“We do respect you and care for you deeply.” Baelas eyes search mine. 

“Then show it. Do not keep things from me that could put the man I love within The Strangers grasp.” Ben’s hand tightens around my arm and pulls me around towards him. 

“Do you mean that?” Ben looks down to me. 

“Ben one min-“ I go to turn back to my siblings. 

“No, no,” he turns me back to him pulling my chin to look at him. “Do you love me?” my eyes lock onto his as I finally realize my words. 

“I do,” I whisper as my cheeks redden. 

“Make up with your siblings and send them on their way.” the promise of what comes after is laced through his words that he whispers to me. I turn to look to Baela and Jace who are smiling at me. 

“I will hear your apology. Make it quick.” I purse my lips and Ben’s hand squeezes mine at my tone. 

“I’m sorry my perfect and amazing sister. I’m sorry I made the man you love claim one of the best dragons.” I roll my eyes at his words and turn to Baela. 

“I’m sorry we’re still lingering when I can tell you two would like to get to,” she clears her throat. “more pressing matters.” Jaces chuckles with her. 

“Apologies accepted.” I nod my head. “I saw no hosts or dragons on the way here so you both should have safe travels home.” 

They smile to me and come hug me as I groan. Jace shakes Ben’s hand and congratulates him. They offer us waves as their dragons chuff before shooting them into the sky. 

“So you love me?” Ben looks down to me smiling widely.

“Do you love me?” I look up to him. 

“I don’t know, I mean, I thought we were pretty casual.” my nostrils flare at his taunting words as he continues to smile at me. 

“Benjicot,” I warn through my teeth. 

“I have loved you for a while now,” pulls me to him shushing me. 

“Well say it then.” I look up to him expectantly. 

“I love you.” his eyes search mine. 

I grab his hand and pull him after me back into the gates. As we try to rush through the main hall the Lords stop us and welcome us back. The energy between us is crackling and I have no idea how the Lords can’t see or feel it. 

“Why is there another dragon here?” one of the Lords towards the back asks. 

“I’ve claimed him.” Ben says looking to all of the Lords. 

“You?” hushed murmurs spread throughout the hall. 

“Yes, now if you’ll excuse us. We’ve had a long flight and would like to rest. We will have a meeting later.” He dismisses the Lords and pulls us up the steps to our chambers. 

He seals the doors and stalks over to me. We pull each other’s clothes off in a rush, backing up in hopes of landing on the bed. A loud groan cuts through me as he walks me back into a table. 

“Ow,” I whine clutching on to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out kissing me once more. 

He lifts me up into the lip of the table and thrusts into me a moment later. The table groans against his rough pace as I whimper clinging to him. His lips kiss and bite across my neck as I toss my head back. 

“I don’t know what it is,” Ben grunts as his hips continue to snap into mine. 

“What?” the word is followed by a loud moan. 

“All I want to do is fuck you, it’s all I think about lately.” he pants as his fingers dig into my hips. 

I come undone at his words as I cry out his name. He continues to pound into me as my back thuds against the table. He reaches down to pinch my nipples. My hands rest over his wrists as he continues to pull and twist. My legs begin to shake around him as I explode feeling him fill me. 

“Ben,” I whine pulling him down to me. I keep him against me as our breathing settles. When we finally pull apart we walk back to the bed with flushed cheeks. 

“I know what you mean about what you said earlier.” my voice hushed as he crawls into bed after me. 

“What?” he looks to me curiously. 

“I think of you all day, like more than normal.” I feel my cheeks flush. 

“Mm, what is the normal amount of times to think about me between your thighs?” he smirks. 

“I’m sure it’s not every time I’m around you. I feel like it could have something to do with our dragons being so closely bonded as we are. I should send word to my mother to see if she can send books,” I ramble as he begins to chuckle. 

“And tell her what? That you think about me fucking you too much?” he shakes his head laughing as his hands slide against my thigh. 

“Ben,” I warn but it comes out more breathy. 

“Really? That fast?” he teases me, continuing to ghost his fingers on my bare leg. 

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

masterlist 🔌 

when this was supposed to be a one shot and now i’m sad at the thought of even finishing this fic 🥲

Part 5

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 14: Don't Be A Bundt Cake

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy, Miscommunication Trope

Word Count: 13.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Talks of Death, DENIAL, Idiots in Love, Pining by the Reader (and SB, but he won't admit it) Depressing Thoughts, Mentions of sexual assault/rape (not detailed at all, really just in passing) Talks about weed, Sexist comments, Ben makes derogatory comments, Threatening Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Spotify Playlist 🪴

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A/N: I am so sorry this one took me a bit longer. The writers block was fighting me the whole way, but we are very closely nearing the end of this series and the moment the reader and Ben stop being so stinkin' stubborn.

Reader POV

You lean your forehead against the cool window, watching the world flash by in a flurry of color. The wooded forests had vanished hours ago and all that was left were the yellowed sprawling fields of corn and grain and family farms that were laid sporadically along the interstate. Each one a little world that caught the flecks of golden sunlight as the sun began to peak above the horizon.

The bus rolled smooth and steady over the weathered pavement towards it's destination and was filled with an odd assortment of people young and old. There was man with a brightly colored parrot that had been singing "It's A Small World After All" since you left NYC, a woman with a little boy playing with an iPad and who refused to turn down the volume no matter how many times his mother asked him to, a group of teenagers a few seats up that continued to pass around a flask, and due to how far back you were sitting on the bus an uncomfortable smell emanated from the bathroom each time the door was opened.

But you didn't notice any of it.

The only thing on your mind were the events that happened almost twenty hours ago. They continued to circle your mind, playing over and over again like a perverted cassette tape making you sink further into the worn cloth covered seat at the back of the bus. The images were haunting, some new and some old, but all the more still horrible to re-live.

The song "Nights In White Satin" floating into the backseat of your family's car, the flash of unnatural light you knew was never lightning, the caskets at your parent's funeral covered in flowers that were much to pretty to lay on something so morbid, Elijah's body succumbing to the poppies that ripped him apart, the proud sneer on your brother's face when he admitted to killing your parents, Darren's broken and bloodied body strewn in pieces over the street with the creature standing over him with a dripping red maw, the ruined building that housed "Please Don't Die" reduced to nothing more than rubble, and the look on Ben's face when you turned your back on him and fled the scene.

For some reason that particular image seemed to cling on to you and refused to fade. You'd never seen him look that way, almost… helpless and a little fearful. In all the time you'd known him, Ben had never looked at you that way. Sure you'd seen him proud, angry, cocky, lustful, mischievous, but never fearful. And you were sure that it wasn't an emotion that he was used to feeling, but that begged the question… why?

Why was he looking at me like that? Why wouldn't he let me go? And what was he afraid of?

The creature curled in your lap snorts something in it's sleep, turning it’s head further into the cradle of your elbow to shut out the brilliant early morning sunlight. It was now the size of a toaster and had warranted several odd looks whenever you got off to change buses, but you didn't care.

You weren't sure about anything anymore. Everything your brother confessed to you made you feel like you were living a lie and the revelation of exactly what your powers could do- take life from plants to heal yourself, create whatever the hell it was on your lap, and speak to plants… it scared you.

You thought for so long that you knew everything about your powers, that you were in control, but now you weren't sure.

You felt different, as if something had unlocked deep down that you couldn't shut up again.

You'd felt different after you killed Elijah, but this was more alive, weaving and twisting in the pit of your stomach. You felt more connected to the earth, to the world outside the bus even though you were divided by glass and metal. You could feel the energy that thrummed through the body of the creature on your lap, bending to your will, the life force of the plants it was formed from molding with you, becoming a part of you.

You felt so different than the person you had been before Darren entered the shop, so uncertain, and there was only one place you wanted to be when you felt like this… home. You couldn't wait to run up the worn front steps of your grandmother's house and into her arms. She always knew what to say in times like this.

And you desperately needed the comfort of her embrace.

The phone in your pocket buzzes again and you flip the screen to see the ridiculous selfie Annie and you had taken on Halloween last year. The one that you'd both spent dressed up as the two brothers from your favorite paranormal tv show. It wasn't the first time she'd called. Annie had called and texted you more times than you could count over the past twenty hours but you didn't answer her. You didn’t want to.

It was the first time that you didn't want to talk to her, but talking to her meant that you'd have to re-live all of it again and you were clawing at the last shred of sanity you had left to keep it together.

The overwhelming waves of emotion kept pummeling you, dragging you deeper beneath the white surf. Each one brought the memories of what happened surging over you and were followed by everything that Darren said to you. Years of taking care of Darren and doing whatever he wished were tearing at your soul, years of giving up little things in your life to make him happy, and years of taking care of a man who you thought cared about you, but hated you enough to kill your parents and try to kill you too.

It made your skin crawl. Each time your brother told you that he loved you was an even bigger lie and now that you knew the truth and saw him for what he was, it felt like you were drowning. The darkness that ebbed just on the edge was begging you to leap into the abyss, but you were resisting the best you could.

The tears had stopped falling miles ago, but you couldn't stop the memories or the emotion that formed a cold ball in the pit of your stomach.

A sigh works it's way up and you pull your legs on the seat underneath you, jostling the creature on your lap that raises it's head for a moment to blink it's black eyes at you sleepily.

It was surprisingly docile right now, especially considering that twenty hours ago it had ripped your brother to shreds. In fact it seemed to understand how upset you were and had spent the better part of the last twenty hours rubbing it's head against your arm as if trying to bring you some comfort. It was settled on your lap, the weight of it a comfort, almost like a weighted plushy that gave you something to focus on.

"It's alright buddy." You whisper, scratching him under his chin. "We're almost home."

The phone in your jacket pocket buzzes again, but when you pull it out to turn it off, you catch a glimpse of the screen, and you hesitate. Because this time it's not Annie who's calling, it’s Ben.

The picture that flashes on the screen under the contact name "Gramps" is the picture of Mr. Fredrickson from Up. It always made you smile whenever he called you and you saw the picture because Ben did often remind you of him. He was certainly just as grumpy as Mr. Fredrickson and just as out of touch, but you thought it was cute.

Your thumb hovers over the answer button and you think about talking to him.

But what would I say?

You weren't sure what to say to him, or why you wanted to speak to him so badly, why you wanted him to be sitting here on the bus with you as you went home, and why you wanted him to hold you against his chest while you allowed yourself to break, but you did. You wanted to feel his awkward shoulder pat and his awkward version of hand holding and you wanted to hear him try to tell you to "buck up" or whatever he thought that a comforting word should be.

He's really not the best at that.

You smile to yourself at the memory of how he tried to comfort you back at the hospital, but the longer you sit there and look down at the picture on the screen the worse you feel.

Maybe that scared you more than your newfound powers, how much you were realizing that you needed him, how much you depended on him when things got too much for you to bear. The memory of him appearing as soon as you needed him back at the shop, another of him grabbing Darren and throwing him into the street as soon as Darren insulted you comes in a flash, and finally followed by the memory of Ben carrying you out of Elijah's office while you curled into his chest. You couldn't remember too much from that moment, in fact you'd thought that Ben had kissed you on top of your head, but you ascribed that to the haze of pain you'd been in from your broken arm.

What you did remember was how wonderfully warm he was after you'd been trapped in that damn freezer and how nice it felt to be in his arms. Another memory of Ben sleeping on the couch at the hospital bubbles up and you feel something in your chest begin to crack open. And you try your best to tell yourself the same thing that you always do when you feel like Ben might care more about you that he was letting on.

Ben doesn't want that. He's made it perfectly clear. He doesn't want a relationship. He's only wants one night, that's why he goes out with all those women-

You hesitate, thumb still hovering over the answer button as you do, the memory of the week you'd spent at the apartment with him flickering in the back of your mind. The week where he refused to leave you alone in the apartment, where he refused to do any jobs for Butcher, where he took care of you the best way he could, when he sat with you on the couch and made you laugh with his ridiculous movies, and the week where he hadn't had one date.

Your finger itched to answer the phone, but you couldn't, because you didn't want to feel this way about Ben, not when he'd told you countless times that you kept romanticizing him, not when he told you that he didn't want a relationship, and not when you could feel yourself beginning to fall for someone you thought was the wrong man.

For just a moment you tried to pretend that it was different, that he was different, but you didn't want to. It only made it hurt more.

The phone stops ringing, but the pit in your stomach still gapes open at you and for the first time in twenty hours you feel tears begin to fall. You didn't know why you were crying about this, why the thought of not picking up Ben's phone call seemed to hurt more than everything that had happened, but something made it hurt.

The bus driver announces over the overhead that you're reaching your final destination as he takes the exit for your hometown. The familiar buildings that line the streets are sheathed in a honeyed glow from the sun, the long shadow of the bus darkening them momentarily as it rumbles down the small streets to the bus station.

When it rumbles to a stop at the bus station you wait for everyone else to get off, trying to summon the strength to stand, and swipe the back of your hand across your face to rid yourself of the remaining tears.

The bus station was about a thirty minute walk from your grandmother's house, and you still hadn't called her. You didn't know what to say, didn't know how to tell her that Darren was dead and that he was the reason why your parents were dead.

The creature crawls up your body to drape it's warm body over the back of your neck as you stand. It wasn't bothering to hide, besides the people in your hometown already thought that you were odd because you were a supe and you'd always welcomed it. You give him a scratch on top of his head and his warm tongue flicks on the bottom of your earlobe as if thanking you before it curls further into the side of your neck, seeking warmth.

The first few steps on solid ground are shaky, but you find the strength while taking in a deep cleansing breath of the outside world, letting the gentle warmth of the sun and the tickle of the autumn breeze pull at your coat. You hadn't stopped at your apartment before coming here, instead you had stumbled your way to the bus station covered in dust, flecked in blood, and demanded the first ticket back to Illinois. It was lucky that the next bus was leaving immediately, because you didn’t want to spend another second in NYC, not when all you wanted was to be home.

Plus you were worried that someone had recorded what exactly happened outside the plant shop and you didn't want to get arrested.

It was self defense anyway. Maybe Jake would represent me in court.

The thought of Jake makes you twinge. You hadn't checked to see if he was alright before you ran from the scene. Not to mention you'd destroyed the shop he'd put all his life savings into after he stopped being a lawyer.

Oh fuck, what if he sues me? He can't exactly sue Darren…

You hear someone call your name and you open your eyes.

Your grandmother is standing in front of the same baby blue pickup truck that she'd had longer than you've been alive, wearing a long multicolored skirt and a pressed white blouse tucked elegantly into it. Her silver hair is loose and long, curling over her shoulders in gentle waves. She looks the same way she looked one week ago when she left, and you've never seen anything so beautiful in your life.

You're running before you can stop yourself, crumbling into her warm embrace, with more tears streaking down your face, but she doesn't mind.

"Shh. It's alright honey." She whispers, rubbing her hand over your back, her embrace steady and surprisingly strong. "Let's go home."

Her home is the same as it's always been. A two story Victorian house painted in a happy yellow shade, with a white wrap around porch and two white rocking chairs sitting empty on the front porch. You'd spent more nights than you could count rocking silently beside her with a crochet project in your lap listening to the rain fall and soak the world outside, while the plants sang praises with every gentle bend beneath the heavy droplets.

You could barely remember the home you spent in your early years with your parents, not when you'd spent most of your childhood spending the night here and after your parents died living here permanently. There was still a large oak tree were a wooden swing swung in the slight breeze on the left side of the yard, a gardenia bush that stretched as high as the second story on the right side of the house and brushed it's soft leaves against the sunshine colored outer walls, a garden filled with both flowering plants and herbs that perked up on both sides of the front yard as you walked up the path, and a cobblestone path that Annie and you had spent hours of your shared childhood covering in chalk art.

Neither of you were good, but when the rain would fall and smudge the clean lines, you'd jump in the puddles that pooled along the walkway singing the lyrics to ABBA's "Cassandra" not quite understanding what it meant.

Standing here outside your house made you miss Annie and feel worse about not calling or texting her back, but you didn't feel like talking about what happened and you were sure that Butcher filled her in. The only thing that you wanted was to collapse in your bedroom upstairs and curl under the comforters.

Despite everything the house was a welcome sight, but at the same time it was different. You could feel the plants calling out to you, asking for you, bending towards you just to touch your shoes as you walked by. You'd never felt so connected with them before, not even when you were in your apartment or working at the shop.  It was overwhelming.

And although a part of you was frightened by it, another part of you rejoiced in it. You didn't feel alone, didn't feel weak, and you knew that you never would ever again.

The creature nuzzled into the side of your neck with a sigh, soaking up the sun's healing rays as you walked up the front steps with your grandmother following behind you silently. She hadn't spoken since she picked you up at the bus station and you hadn't supplied anything in the ten minute car ride back to her house.

You didn't know where to start and you were still trying to process everything yourself.

The inside of her house was just as cozy and warm as it was the day you moved out. There were photos of your parents and you covering the walls (Darren's had been placed in the closet long ago), half-finished knitting projects sorted in different baskets on both the dining room table and the living room coffee table, spools of yarn were strewn over the couch sorted by color, and the fresh smell of gardenia wafted through the open windows on the breeze.

It was home. This was what you'd been missing the moment everything began to crash over you, but as you stood there in the familiar living room it felt like something was missing. Something tugged at the back of your mind, but you couldn't put your finger on it.

There was something or rather someone that should be here, but you didn't know what or who. And your mind supplied Annie, but you weren't sure that's who you meant.

"Let's have some tea." Your grandmother says from behind you and you feel her soft hands come down on your shoulders to steer you through the familiar creative chaos and into the large kitchen at the back of the house.

The kitchen isn't spared from the madness, it rarely was. There are boxes upon boxes of cookies in different stages of being packaged all over the counter, dirty bowls and a measuring cup stacked in the sink, and a large opened bag of chocolate chips spilling over the flour covered kitchen island.

It wasn't unusual to find the kitchen or the house in a state of chaos, your grandmother always said that a house should look lived in and that the mess was part of the fun of any major project as long as you were responsible enough to clean it up.

"Bake sale?" You ask as you sit down in the breakfast nook, uttering the first words that you'd said to another human being in twenty hours.

The next breath that you inhale was supposed to be cleansing, but you can still feel a weight pressing down on your chest, the same one that settled in the moment everything happened with Darren.

You contemplate again how you're going to tell her that Darren is dead and was the reason why your parents died.

Damn it Darren.

"Mhmm." She hums, filling the well used red kettle. "Annie's mother practically cornered me in the supermarket yesterday and begged me to make cookies. I love Annie, but her mother needs someone to pull that stick out of her ass. It's been up there for so long that I'm sure it's rotten."

The creature crawls down from your shoulders and down your arm to sniff at one of the chocolate chip cookies nearest you. It hadn't eaten since…

Darren.

You wince slightly at the thought and hope that you hadn't created something that needed and craved human flesh. The last thing you wanted to unleash on the world was Audry two especially in the wake of Homelander.

Truthfully you were waiting for the guilt at killing your brother to come, but it never had and you wondered if it ever would.

Probably not. He deserved that, he killed our parents, he tried to kill me, he tried to kill Ben.

The thought of Ben again makes a lump form in the back of your throat. You didn't know what was happening to you only that you felt guilty for leaving him like that, for yelling at him to let you go, and just vanishing on him when he probably thought that you were going back to the apartment.

He doesn't know where I am. Maybe that's why he tried to call, because he got back to the apartment and couldn't find me there and he was worried. You press your lips together. Yeah. Worried. Right.

"Honey?" Your grandmother says in a soothing voice

You look up from the box of chocolate chip cookies that you didn't remember picking up. Even the creature is looking at you with an expression that you can only explain as worry.

"Yeah?" Your voice shakes slightly.

She's leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, head tilted slightly to the side, her beautiful grayed hair pulled up in an elegant bun, but in her eyes you can see genuine concern. "Fuck." She sighs after a minute.

You blink in surprise. It was the first time that you'd ever heard her say that word in your entire life.

"I shouldn't have left." She breathes. "I told Ben to look out for you. I told him, that little bastard was bound to show up again and what did he do? He left you at that plant shop alone with no protection!"

You'd only seen her really angry a handful of times in your lifetime. Like you, your grandmother often had a gentle disposition and didn't get angry unless the situation called for it.

I mean, Darren admitted to killing our parents and then got fucking ripped apart. But how does she know about any of that? I haven't told her…

"How did you know that he left me there? Did Ben call you?" You ask putting down the box of cookies.

An odd expression crosses her face, as if she's contemplating something. "No." She hesitates again. "I saw it."

"No." Your grandmother hesitates. "I saw it."

"You saw it?" You repeat, confused.

What's going on?

"Too late of course, but I'm a little rusty. I was able to warn Ben that Darren was coming back. That's how he got there so quickly or rather-" She shrugs sheepishly. "He got there in time to make sure that Darren didn't get you to forgive him. Which you shouldn't have at all, but I know he's always had a talent for manipulating you."

"What?"

Is she saying what I think she's saying?

Instead of explaining further your grandmother walks out of the kitchen, leaving the kettle behind on the stove and you in a state of utter confusion.

Is she saying that she can see the future? Because that would mean that she's a supe and there's only one supe in history that I know of that can do that. A supe that no one has seen in over forty years.

You can hear her open the door to the closet under the stairs and the sound of her sifting through all the junk that the two of you had shoved in there over the years instead of finding the right place to put it.

When she comes back into the kitchen, she's holding a giant cardboard file box that you'd never paid attention to each time you opened the closet to find something. Your eyes shift from the box to her still not comprehending exactly what she was saying.

"I probably should have told you this a while ago, but…" She trails off and nods her head at the box before turning back to the kettle on the stove that has begun to scream. "I kept putting it off."

The box is old, worn at the edges, and theres a musty black fabric beneath a collection of yellowed photographs. You pull out the one on top to examine it.

Ben is standing there in his full Soldier Boy regalia outside of Vought tower and the woman standing next to him is Soothsayer. The outfit she wore was familiar, a black-skin tight suit with a blind fold tied over her eyes.

Soothsayer was a supe who could see the future and who was apart of Payback, a supe that had vanished a year before the mission in Nicaragua and no one knew where she went. There were rumors that she'd died and that she'd been a Russian spy, but you'd never believed them. You'd heard Butcher talk about how he tried to find her when he was trying to figure out what happened to Soldier Boy, but he never had. Said that the trail went cold.

But now you knew where she went, because she was standing directly in front of you.

She's Soothsayer? Holy fuck that's why Ben kept accusing her of cheating in the poker game because he knew that she could see the future.

"You were Soothsayer?" You gasp. "But why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell me?"

She continues to measure the tea leaves. "I didn't tell anyone."

"Grandpa didn't know? But he was alive when you were a supe?"

Your grandfather had never spoken about a history with supes that you remember.

"No." She turns to look at you, a hurt expression crossing over her face for a minute. "Well, I know that I said I was going to have tea, but if we're going to talk about this I'm going to need something a little bit stronger."

Your grandmother opens a cabinet under the stove an pulls out an enormous bottle of scotch. Truth be told you'd never seen her drink more than just a glass of wine, to see her like this was about as shocking as seeing a polar bear sunning itself on a Florida beach.

"Do you still want the blueberry tea or do you need something a little stronger?" She looks back over her shoulder at you as she pulls down a glass for herself.

"I think I need something stronger." You answer honestly.

Learning about everything Darren had done was one thing, but finding out that your grandmother used to be a famous supe and that she never told you about it was another thing. It was like looking at another person. You'd always loved your grandmother's gentle way, her care for her community and her family soft, but now you weren't sure you really knew who she was.

She sits down across from you and hands you a glass of the amber colored liquid. There's a heavy silence that hangs between the two of you as she tries to find a way to start. The photo of her and Ben is laying on top of what you realize is her uniform inside the box and she smiles down at the photo, just a little twitch at the corner of her lips.

"I met Ben when I was twenty three years old." She begins taking a sip from the glass. "Legend 'discovered' me. I had the injection of Compound V maybe two years before that, not when I was born, but I hadn't gotten popular. Other powers were much more flashy and by then there were so many heroes coming out of the woodwork that someone with the ability to see the future didn't seem as marketable."

There's something reflected in her blue eyes, the same eyes your father had, that you can't place. "I had just moved to New York, I had no money, and the way I was getting it was by pretending to be a fortune teller and betting on some sports events on the side. It wasn't hard to prove that I could see the future, the past was more difficult, but Legend somehow stumbled into my shop and figured out that I was a supe. And he didn't think I was too bad looking so he helped me get big."

"You pretended to be a fortune teller?"

She snorts into her glass. "Mhmm. People really will believe anything if they're desperate enough and back then there was so much turmoil going on with Russia that people were scared and wanted to feel comforted. My job provided some of that."

"But why did you walk away from it if you were such a big hero." You ask. "Everyone knew your name, you were-"

Your grandmother raises an eyebrow at you and you fall silent so she can continue. "When I got onto Payback that's when everything exploded for me, the films, the commercials, the ridiculous ads." She sighs. "That's also when I met Ben."

You take a sip from the glass in front of you, sputtering slightly. It was stronger than you were expecting. "And you two were-"

Please don't say dating, please don't say dating, please don't say…

"Friends. Just friends." Diana sits back against the back of the breakfast nook, sinking into the navy blue pillows. "But he is almost as charming now as he was then."

You cringe at the thought of Ben coming on to a younger version of your grandmother.

She taps her glass with her index finger deep in thought. "But I think that I was the only person that Ben actually talked to, the only person that he was comfortable being around."

"What do you mean?" You ask confused. "Didn't he talk to Countess and to Legend?"

Her expression hardens at the mention of Countess's name. "He didn't talk to her the way he talked to me. Ben is difficult, he always has been and I think that most of the people he meet him write him off as this asshole with a chauvinistic look on the world, but he's not. At least, not all the time. There are so many people that he's met that are never willing to take a chance on him. To trust that there is really something beneath all of that bravado."

It was what you had been thinking for the past week, that there was more to Ben than he was willing to let people see, but you were slowly realizing that Ben was letting you see those parts. In the quiet moments at your shared apartment when he sat with you while you read or made you laugh or walked you to and from work you saw another side of Ben that you never saw when he was around anyone else. The guilt rises again when you think of how you ran from him, how you turned your back and left him standing there to clean up your mess.

I shouldn’t have done that, but it was all just so overwhelming and I didn't want to talk to anyone.

"I think that Ben is the most loyal friend I ever had. No one ever seems to believe me when I say that. That we were just friends, but nothing happened between us."

"You didn't date? Or sleep together?" You ask cautiously. It was difficult to imagine Ben being friends with a woman and not having a sexual relationship with her.

Well. We're friends, but that's different.

The last thing you wanted to think about was Ben and your grandmother having sex.

I would need so much therapy after that. You sigh. Yeah, because after all the shit I've been through and found out about my life in the last twenty hours, the knowledge that Ben fucked my grandmother is what's going to push me over the edge.

"No." She shakes her head with a small smile. "About a week after I met Ben, I was running late to a movie shoot and I stepped off the crosswalk without looking. There was a car coming and I didn't see it. Ironic isn't it?" She laughs at herself. "I can see the future and I didn't see a car coming, but your grandfather did and he grabbed the back of my jacket and yanked me onto the sidewalk, saved my life. And the second my eyes locked with his I saw our future. I saw our wedding, our first house, I saw our son take his first steps and I saw how much I would love him and how much he would love me." She clears her throat for a minute, her fingers tighten on the glass, and her gaze drops to the wedding ring on her left hand. “The future is never set in stone, it’s fluid. It morphs and shapes with your decisions, but in the future I saw, I was so happy. And I didn’t want to lose that.”

Your grandfather had passed a few years ago, but you knew it weighed on her everyday. She had spent the week after he died in her room not saying anything to anyone. And sometimes she'd look out the window into the backyard with an odd expression, but you knew that meant she was thinking of him.

Growing up you'd seen how in love the two of them were, more so than your parents. Seen the flowers your grandfather always brought home just because he was thinking of her, watched him do little things around the house without being asked, saw how they never walked away angry from one another, and seen the soppy expression he'd get when he watched your grandmother move around the kitchen baking with a grace that you'd never possessed.

You reach across the table to touch her hand and she takes it gratefully.

"I didn't want to tell him that I was a supe, and at the beginning I thought I could balance it all, but then Ben started dating Countess." She takes another sip from her glass. "She hated me."

"What? Why?" You ask. The creature crawls across the table to sniff at the glass in front of you, before it snorts and falls into your lap, curling into a ball.

"Countess was a bitch." Your grandmother says mirthlessly, her expression hardening. "She wanted to possess Ben completely. Only loved how famous he was, how popular it made her, and he threw himself at her feet, in his own way, not understanding that love didn’t look that way. He’s never had a good example of it in his life. And she never understood that Ben and I were just friends. By then I had been dating your grandfather for a few months and things were getting serious. It was about a year before everything that happened in Nicaragua."

She presses her lips together as if remembering what happened to Ben there. "She was jealous, possessive, and she came to me one night. Ben was out of town for a film so she knew we wouldn’t be interrupted. She threatened to tell your grandfather who I really was and threatened to kill him.” Her jaw sets. “My powers were never really as offensive as hers were. And she said that Ben wouldn’t ever protect me over her because he loved her and would do anything to make her happy. So I left and I never looked back.”

And here I thought I couldn't hate Countess any more than I did for what she did to Ben.

“You didn’t talk to him ever again?” You wonder out loud.

She left without telling him goodbye?

“There was the occasional phone call. Sometimes Ben would ask me to see who was going to win a ball game or something so he could make a few bucks. He stopped by to say hi a few times because he was in the neighborhood. One time he brought your father a baseball glove that was way too big for a one year old.” She snorts, the memory flashing in her eyes. “I always thought Ben would be a good dad some day. But I think seeing your father was when Ben realized how much he wanted to have kids. And I think seeing the way your grandfather treated me made him start to feel conflicted about Countess. But he respected that I walked away, he saw that I was happy.”

“But what about Nicaragua?"

A dark look crosses her face followed by something that looks suspiciously like guilt. “I saw what they were going to do to him.”

“What? But why didn't you tell him what they were planning? Why didn't you-"

"I tried." She snaps, shoulders tense, but then they drop. "I called Ben, but Stan answered. By then your father was turning two, your grandfather had opened up his practice, and Stan threatened me, he knew where we were and knew everything about us. So I kept my mouth shut and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

You could feel your heart breaking for her.

Ben was her best friend and she had to sit by and watch them do that to him. She saw what they were going to do and they were going to kill her for it, kill my family for it.

The anger that surges in your chest makes the creature in your lap stir and grow a few inches, but you tamp it down before it gets bigger than a small dog.

“Does Ben know?” You ask her to distract yourself.

You didn't want Ben to hate your grandmother for this, didn't want him to hate her for something that wasn't her fault.

She nods. “Yes. I told him everything.”

“When?”

“The moment I saw him in your hospital room. I couldn’t keep it in any longer. I wasn't expecting him to be there, but it all poured out of me. I was so surprised to see him there. I hadn't seen a future where he came back."

“Was he mad?”

I mean… he didn't seem mad when I woke up, not to mention he was upset when she left to come back to Illinois.

“Not at me.” She shakes her head. “He knew how much I wanted a normal life and how much I loved your grandfather. He doesn’t blame me for any of it.”

“Good. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

The glass in front of you is still more than half-full but you don't want to risk another sip of what you're sure is gasoline packaged to look like Scotch. Your grandmother reaches to pour herself another glass.

“I didn’t want to until you were ready.”

“And when would that be?”

Your grandmother shrugs. “Maybe on my deathbed.”

You weren't angry for her not telling you, more surprised, but now that you knew everything about her it was hard to see her the same way you had.

 You snort. “And no one knew?”

“Your dad figured it out.”

“How? When?”

“The moment you made that strawberry plant grow from your high chair.” She shakes her head with a smile. “It skipped a generation. Don’t know why, but you got it all somehow.”

“I was never injected?”

“No. That was a lie your father created. He knew that your grandfather didn't know and he knew that I didn't want your grandfather to know."

“Darren thought I was.”

“I know.”

At the mention of your brother's name, you watch her expression harden and she takes another swig from the glass in front of her, not flinching as the liquid goes down her throat.

“Did you see everything that happened?” You ask in a small voice.

You still weren't 100% sure how it was her powers worked, but you figured that she was able to see some of what Darren did and what he said.

“Yes.”

“You heard everything Darren said?"

“Yes.”

You chew the inside of your cheek for a minute hoping that she didn't take it as hard as you did. “Did you know that he killed them?”

“No.” She breathes, rolling the glass between her hands for a moment. “The night they died, I got a vision a few minutes before the car ran off the road. I was the one who called the police and who told them where to look, but I never saw that it was Darren or that it was anyone causing the accident. All I saw was the three of you in the car. I should have known.” Her voice breaks.

“It’s not your fault.” You squeeze her hand.

“And it’s not yours either.” She squeezes your hand back.

The memories are beginning to float up from the recesses of your mind and your teeth clench together as you try to keep them at bay.

“I know.” You breathe. The memory of the ruined shop flashes through your head. “I didn’t know that I could do something like that.” You gently touch your healed right arm and glance at the creature that is nibbling on the edge of the cardboard box with its sharp splinter-like teeth. “I feel so different and I don’t know how to go back to the way I was.”

“I don’t think you ever will.”

"Really?"

The thought was unwelcome. You were hoping that all of this was going to blow over, but you knew it wouldn't. Your powers had changed. There was an energy that thrummed in your veins now, stretching out of the house to the plants that grew in the garden. You could feel them all if you concentrated.

She frowns. “When you told me that you were working for Butcher I was worried about you getting involved in the supe world. I didn’t want that life for you, didn’t want you to suffer the way I did-“

“Was it really that bad?"

“Not all the time, just at the end. But I think that’s why I loved your grandfather so much. Because he was different than all the supes. He was down to earth, not just normal but-“ She shrugs. “I think Compound V does something to our minds, makes them more susceptible and when you’re surrounded by people using their powers and thinking that they’re gods it’s easy to lose who you are. I was glad I left when I did."

“Great." You huff, thinking about how your powers had grown exponentially since you killed your brother. It was scaring you to think that you would reach a point where you acted like Homelander, where you saw yourself as a god and killed anyone who stood in your way.

As tired as the stereotype of you only being able to make the flowers grow, you liked doing that. You liked healing plants, tending to them, and helping them grow. For you it had never been about using your powers the way that you had to kill Elijah and your brother and had always been about spreading a little more joy and love like your grandmother did with her kindness in her community.

Your mind flashes back to the first night that Ben stayed with you in your apartment and he'd asked you why you worked for Butcher and told you that he thought you "didn't fit."

Before you hadn't. You knew that. You weren't intimidating to look at or fueled by revenge or had a bone to pick with supes. You'd joined because you thought it was the right thing to do and because you wanted to be closer with Annie. She had been so involved in the supe world and you'd felt like you were losing your best friend. When in reality being at "Please Don't Die" was the only thing that felt natural for you.

You could feel yourself changing and you weren't sure that you wanted to and you weren't sure if you were changing for the better. Deep down you still felt like you, despite everything Darren had revealed, but your powers were greater than you'd thought they could be.

“No.” She squeezes your hand pulling you out of your head. “I don’t see you losing yourself in this.”

“You’ve seen-“ Your eyes widen.

“The future yeah.” Her lips twitch up at the ends in a smile. “It is what I do.”

“That’s so weird.”

You hadn't meant to say it, but you really didn't want to know too much about your future.

Well, not all that much. Maybe just a little.

“You of all people have no right to judge what’s weird. Not with Godzilla sitting in your lap.”

"Godzilla" yawns, flashing a mouthful of his pointy teeth, before settling back down on your thighs.

You smile for the first time in twenty hours, but then it drops. “I don’t like losing control. I thought I knew who I was but now I don’t-“ The emotions were bubbling up again, chest tightening, and lungs beginning to gasp for air. “I don’t know who I am anymore or what I am or what I can do and-“

“There’s nothing wrong with not being in control.”

“But what if I hurt someone? What if I kill-“ You body shakes as you think about all the important people in your life, Annie, Hughie, Butcher, Kimiko, MM, Frenchie- and then your mind stutters on Ben.

“Your powers are growing and there’s nothing to be afraid of or ashamed of. If you’re afraid of them it won’t get easier for you. You have to embrace the fear to see the lights that line the path through it.”

"I killed Darren, I killed Elijah-"

"Not because you lost control. You did it because you were protecting yourself and protecting your friends."

"But-"

"Who is it that you're scared of hurting? Annie?" Her expression turns sympathetic. "Annie is a supe and understands what it's like to lose control. None of us are in control all the time and it's ridiculous to believe that you won't lose control at least once."

Your throat clenches tightly, because when she asked the question you didn't see Annie's face, you saw Ben's. You knew that it was probably ridiculous to worry about hurting a guy with a nuclear reactor stuffed in his chest or a guy who'd been through every torture known to man, but you were. And you weren't entirely sure if you meant hurting him with just your powers.

Tears crest and fall down your cheeks as you sit there, throat thickening. "I don't want to hurt Ben."

"He's a little more indestructible than us sweetie." She cracks a smile, but you can't smile back and you don't answer because you're unsure how to.

She sits back against the breakfast nook and sighs, examining your face and slowly realizes what you mean. "Ben is complicated. He always has been. I like to think that most of it, is his father's fault. Has he told you anything about him?"

You shake your head.

"He was a dick. Made Ben think that he was a disappointment his whole life. I don't think that Ben has had someone love him unconditionally since his mother died. And loving Countess only made it worse for him. Her love was jealous, possessive, and I don't think that he's really come to terms with what real love should look like." She lets out a breath, tapping her index finger against the glass. "I never saw him as more than a friend, but I do love him. It's not a crime to love him."

"I don't love him." You say it immediately.

"Why not?"

"What?" You sputter. "I don't know what you're-"

"Tell me why you don't love him." Your grandma says methodically, as if she's trying to talk you through it.

"Because I-" The pressure was back in the back of your throat and you couldn't quite meet her eye. "Because-" You scramble for the answer, trying your darndest to keep your heart from clenching in your chest. "I want what you and grandpa had, what Annie and Hughie have, and what my parents had. A strong relationship with someone who sees all my flaws, the little parts, and the darkness and still choses to fall in love with me anyway. I don't want just one night I want every night. I want something real and Ben has said countless times that he-"

"So you've talked about it with Ben?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Only because he kept trying to sleep with me and I told him that I didn't want to have sex with him." You reply exasperated.

"You don't?"

"Gran!"

"What? He's attractive."

"It doesn't matter. None of it does. Because Ben has said that he doesn't have relationships, that he doesn't care about feelings, or emotions." Saying the words that Ben had told you countless times made something inside begin to shrivel up and die. "And I do. And I don't want to manipulate him into being something he's not or force him into a relationship that's doomed from the beginning. Ben is Ben. He's not changing or-"

"He has." She interrupts.

"What?"

"The Ben I saw in your hospital room is not the one I knew." She says it so matter of fact that makes it hard to breathe. "And neither was the one that I saw in your apartment when I stayed with you. I mean he is in essence Ben, but-"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"He is changing. Not completely, but he's acting differently than when he was with Countess. I mean, I saw all the things he did for her. The way he was around her."

"Why does that matter?"

"Because he loved her."

The words make your heart seize in your chest. "Ben doesn't love me. He's my roommate and my friend-" It was the same thing that you kept telling yourself on repeat to beat back the other feelings that you hadn't quite identified yet. "And he's told me that he doesn't want a relationship and that I should try to meet other people."

That last part was a lie, but you honestly didn't know where she was going with this conversation or why it was getting so hard to breathe.

"Have you thought that maybe Ben doesn't want to love you because he's scared?"

"He doesn't love me and Ben isn't afraid of anything."

"He is. It might not look the same way on him as it does on everyone else, but if you pay close enough attention you can catch it." She hesitates. "And I think if you pay attention to you, you'll see what it is that you're afraid of too."

What does she mean? What the hell am I afraid of? Ben isn't afraid of anything, he's practically shouted that from the mountaintops like Julie Andrews.

"I already told you what I'm afraid of."

"I'm not talking about you hurting someone honey. There's something else that you refuse to admit to yourself because you're scared." She smiles sadly at you. "You should though, because when you embrace it, what comes after is really beautiful." There's a far off look in her eyes and you realize that she'd seen something further ahead that she wasn't letting on.

"And it's all I want for you. To be happy." Your grandmother stands from the other side of the booth "I think you need some rest. You drove all night long and I doubt you got any sleep. And I have to package all of these before Annie's mother calls down the four horsemen of the Apocalypse on me."

"Wait-"

"Please sweetie." She lays her hand down on your arm. "I think you'll feel a little better about all of this when you've had some rest." Her fingers raise to push back some of the hair that's fallen forward into your eyes. "Hmm?"

You didn't want to rest, you wanted to talk about this, but you knew better than to argue with her. Not to mention she was right, you hadn't slept.

"And when you wake up I'll make your favorite for dinner, alright?" She smiles, but there's something behind it that you can't place.

"Okay."

And this time you don't argue with her. You go up the worn staircase that you have your entire life and collapse onto your bed, wondering exactly what it was she saw your future hold, and what it is that you won't admit to yourself.

Soldier Boy POV

There was no light in the apartment save from the burning red tip of Ben's blunt and the bluish glow emanating from the tv that caught the dips and sharp edges of his face. But it was nothing more than background noise.

His hand absentmindedly stroked along Bean's back, his eyes focused on the ceiling above the couch. He hadn't moved in hours. It had been over twenty four hours since everything that happened at the plant shop, since you'd summoned a creature from the depths of the store, since Darren had thrown Ben through the plate glass windows of the bakery, and since Ben had last seen you.

He didn't understand why you hadn't let him take you back to the apartment and why it was that you had to leave. Ben hadn't liked the feeling that stabbed him in the chest when you turned your back on him and ran away. He'd felt the urge to comfort you the way he'd watched Hughie do for Annie in the car a week ago, but you hadn't let him.

Instead all he'd done is stood there and watched you run, still covered in dust, rubble, and blood. Worse was you hadn't let him check you for injuries and Ben hated the thought that you were hurt somewhere and he didn't know where you were.

You were so much more fragile than he was. He was realizing that more every day, was acutely aware of it after everything that happened with Elijah. Honestly, sitting there in the hospital with you laying there asleep with nothing that he could do, but wait for you to wake up had been agony. Not to mention that looking at the bruises around your throat, over your eye, and the bright green cast only made him feel worse. He'd never felt so helpless in his entire life and he hated it. Because Ben wasn't some helpless damsel in distress, he was a man and a man shouldn't wait on anyone or feel out of control, or at least, that's what he told himself.

Ben hears someone walk down the hallway outside the apartment and he perks up to listen, hoping that it's you finally coming home. Ben's mind stutters on the word "home." He'd lived many places in his life, apartments that felt more like way-stations, and the drafty cold mansion back in Philadelphia where he grew up, but neither felt like home. And although he hated how small your apartment was, it was the first place that Ben liked living in. He was starting to understand the word home.

But the feet keep moving past the apartment and Ben sinks into the couch cushions. Even Bean seems to be disappointed. "It's alright buddy." Ben mutters. "She'll come back."

But he wasn't sure.

Ben also wasn't used to feeling this way. It was close to the way that he felt when he went to Boston and was sitting in that damn hotel room waiting for something to happen and he still didn't understand what it meant. He didn't understand why he couldn't stand it that you weren't back yet. It made him feel like a woman waiting for her husband to get home from work when he told her that he was "running late." He'd tried to distract himself by looking at some possible prospects on Tinder, but just like the week after you'd come home from the hospital and just like the date he had in Boston, no one held any appeal.

His mind was awake and roaming around, pacing back and forth. The blunt was supposed to help, but it hadn't.

His phone chirps and Ben picks it up to look at the screen, but it's not you, it's Jake.

Jake: I know that I'm not your favorite person, but thank you for what you did.

Ben huffs and turns his phone face down on the couch once more. "What a fucking pussy."

When you left Ben had realized that Jake was still inside the building and as much as he wanted race after you, he understood that you'd be even more upset if you'd killed Jake. So Ben had tromped back through the building and found him trapped beneath some rubble. Jake was okay, just unconscious, but Ben had carried him out and put him on the sidewalk before he high tailed it out of there. The last thing that he wanted was to be caught with a shredded body outside a ruined building.

I didn't do it for him. I did it for her. Ben thinks to himself, looking down at the text message.

As much as he hated the thought of saving your future boyfriend, he didn't want to see what it did to you if you found out that you killed Jake, so he'd done it to avoid watching you cry again.

Ben didn't understand why he hated watching you cry.

Women cry. They're damn emotional all the time. He tries to reason with himself taking a puff from the blunt pinched between his thumb and forefinger. And she fucking cries way too much.

The image of you crying outside of the shop in the wake of everything that happened pricks something under his ribcage. Fuck.

Ben didn't feel remorse for what happened, well, the only thing he regretted was not getting there sooner and getting to fuck Darren up himself. When Diana had called him to tell him that Darren was coming, Ben had practically ripped the apartment door off in his haste to get back to you. He hadn’t wanted to leave you at the plant shop, but Butcher had told Ben, that he had a possible location for Darren, but it came up empty and Ben had been at Butcher's apartment chewing him out for sending him on a fucking wild goose chase.

It only made Ben more angry to allow Darren to speak to you, but he was trying to let you handle it even though he wanted to handle him. But it had brought him an unholy amount of joy to throw Darren in front of that minivan and to watch that creature tear him apart while the final whitish blue pulses of electricity jumped and crackled down the street making the streetlights shower sparks everywhere.

But Ben was more upset that Darren had been able to land a few hits on you before you killed him.

Ben remembered the giant lizard that crawled out of what was left of "Please Don't Die" and felt his lips quirk up into a smile. As much as he hated the entire situation, Ben couldn't help but feel a little surge of pride at what you'd done to your brother. He'd never seen you look so powerful standing there in the street, your eyes glowing a brilliant green, arms outstretched, and the ground trembling around you as the world begged to be unleashed.

Of course he'd been just as surprised as you were at the fact that you'd healed your broken arm. He wasn't sure if you'd noticed it yet, but you looked different too. There weren't as many lines on your face and your hair was more springy, the few silver hairs that Ben had noticed in passing were no longer there.

He wasn't sure what that meant, but there was something that felt suspiciously like hope tingling in his stomach, hope that you weren't as fragile anymore and hope that it meant you wouldn't die.

When Diana had told Ben that her husband had died, he saw the pain in her eyes when she said it, saw her relieving the memory, and for some reason as soon as she said that he was dead, the first thing Ben thought about was you. Ben hadn't considered his inability to age as much in the past, hadn't cared about outliving anyone before. Seeing Countess as an older woman had made him more aware of it. Looking at the woman who he once thought he loved, had showed him what that was like. Not that he had a problem with daring older women, Ben always thought that women really did get better with age, but it was what came next that Ben wasn't fond of.

And for some reason thinking that one day he'd wake up and see the marks of age on your face or one day he'd wake up and he wouldn't be able to annoy you or hear you yell at him made his chest tight.

Ben takes another hit of his blunt. The longer he sat there the more then unnatural feeling stirred in the pit of his stomach, thrumming through his veins, the feeling that he was trying to avoid. He thought that the joint would calm him down, but he found himself jumping at every creak and footstep in the apartment building, perking up each time and hoping that it was you coming home.

He didn't know where you were. You hadn't answered any of his texts or calls and Ben was ashamed at how many times that he had tried to call you.

Get a fucking grip. He'd thought to himself when he typed out another text message to send you, stopping himself from sending it.

But he'd been so desperate to hear from you that he'd actually gone to talk to Annie who seemed upset that she couldn't get ahold of you either. When Hughie and Annie had seen how upset Ben had been, Hughie had laid his hand on Ben's arm and told him not to worry. Ben had yelled at him that he "wasn't fucking worried and to mind his own business" and had shaken off Hughie's comforting hand before stomping out of the shared apartment.

No one else seemed to be as concerned about finding you. Butcher, MM, and Frenchie were all deeply involved in trying to figure out the cover-up for what happened outside the plant shop. By some miracle no one had caught a picture of your face, but there was little they could do about Darren's body that had been strewn across the street. Annie was having to deal with the repercussions at work, trying to handle what the news was calling a "super villain threat."

Personally, Ben thought that since they froze Homelander, the Seven looked weak and Ben believed that the superhero team that represented America shouldn't look weak. Of course before Ben had also thought that they looked like a bunch of pussies and again felt himself sink deeper into the couch when he thought about what his supposed son had become.

He shakes off the feelings he has about it and his thoughts turn back inevitably to you.

Ben wasn't used to thinking about someone as much as he thought of you, but each time he settled back into the apartment and you weren't there he was hyperaware of how quiet it was.

Maybe I should call Diana. She might know where she is.

As soon as Ben thinks that, his phone begins to ring, but Ben doesn't bother to look at who it is before he answers it. 

"Hello?" Ben huffs out a breath of smoke that hangs in the air in front of his face, catching in the bluish light coming from the television.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The voice on the other side of the line yells at him.

"Di?"

"Yes it's me. Who did you think it was? Santa Clause?" Your grandmother snarks.

"Why are you calling me and why the fuck are you so mad? What did I do?" Ben answers slightly annoyed.

As much as you got under his skin, your grandmother had been the same way. He actually thought that it was amusing that even before he figured out that she was your grandmother that he had often compared you to her in his mind. You had the same mannerisms, the same defiant and stubborn attitude that drove Ben up the wall, and you were just as beautiful as she was.

Ben was okay with admitting that he was attracted to you. To him that felt normal, it was the other feelings that he was conflicted about, the ones that he'd never felt before stirring in his chest that made him feel "too emotional" and "woman-like."

Truthfully, Ben was sure that if your grandmother had given him a shot that maybe he would have felt that way about her too. She was the only person that Ben actually trusted in the 80's, the only person that was brave enough to call him out on all his shit. You did that now. But he liked her husband also, so Ben was content with letting her go. He liked how happy that Henry, your grandfather, had made her. He knew that she wasn't happy as a supe and seeing her so happy and in love made Ben feel something that was close to happiness.

And it was seeing the way the two of them were together made Ben wonder if what he had with Countess was the same thing. Because he did have feelings about her that were different, but each time he went to visit Diana and saw your father playing on her lap he felt that there was something missing in his life.

It was the same way that he thought something was missing when you weren't in the apartment, but Ben hadn't realized that yet.

"Because I don't understand what the hell you're doing!" Diana replies and Ben honestly doesn't know why she's angry with him.

"About what?"

"My granddaughter."

Ben sits up the blunt in his fingertips forgotten. "Is she there with you?"

"Yes." Her voice softens for a moment.

Ben relaxes and leans back onto the couch, sighing in relief. "Good.  That's good." Relief swelled in his chest when he thought about you staying with her, safe.

That's what she meant when she said that she wanted to go home. Home is with her grandmother. Ben stopped the next thought before he could go there.

The thought that home wasn't with him.

Ben was trying not to think about that or think about you hating him. He didn't think you did, well, didn't think you did anymore. At first it really was touch and go, but now he was almost eighty percent sure after you'd told him more than once that you weren't afraid of him and didn’t hate him that you sometimes wanted him around.

"No, not good."

"What do you mean? Is she okay?" Ben's grip on the phone tightens so hard that he's sure that he hears the screen cracking.

"No."

"What happened?" Ben's voice is a growl, the feelings of relief evaporating as soon as they had begun to bloom in his chest. He mentally calculated how long it would take him to get to you.

"Her entire life fucking fell apart and where are you? Not here!"

Oh. Ben relaxed a little bit.

"I don't need to be there." He says on an exhale of smoke.

"Yes you do!" Diana presses.

"No, I don't. She a big girl she doesn't need me there, she's-" Ben takes a puff from the joint.

“If you were any denser you’d be a Bundt cake Benjamin!” She says exasperated.

"What the fuck are you talking about doll? I am not-"

“Let me guess." She interrupts and Ben can imagine her tapping her foot. He hated when she did that. "You’re moping around smoking a blunt on the couch probably with a glass of something that you're hoping to numb whatever the hell it is you're feeling."

Ben's eyes shift to the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table that he hadn't touched in a few minutes.

“I’m not fucking moping and stop spying on me!” He snaps back at Diana.

He hated how well she knew him. She was his best friend in the 80's through all the shit, she had seen him at his worst and at his best too many times to count.

“I don’t have to use my powers to know what you’re doing. I know you Ben.”

"Sorry to disappoint you sweetheart.” Ben grits his teeth, temper flaring hot. “But if you know me as well as you fucking say you do then you then you know that this is-“

“You avoiding your feelings by acting aloof and brooding like a fucked up version of Mr. Darcy.” She interrupts.

She certainly hasn't changed.

“I am not avoiding-“

“She needs you here Ben.” Diana stamps her foot, the same way you do when Ben pisses you off, and Ben can hear it.

“She doesn’t need me! She said that she wanted to go home, that she didn’t want to be here with me! I tried to-“ Ben shouts back standing up. It was the exact thing that he'd been thinking for the past twenty four hours, that you didn’t need him and that you didn't want to be any where near him.

That last thought made an uncomfortable sensation prickle in his gut when he thought it, because all it did was remind him of how you acted when the two of you first met, when you didn't want him to live with you and tried your darndest to make him go away.

He didn’t want to and he wasn't sure why that was.

“Try harder.” Diana interrupts him again and frankly it was pissing him off.

Ben clenches his jaw. “I think that you’ve confused me with someone else baby.”

“Don’t you 'baby' me Benjamin! We both know that you’re doing what you always do when things get hard for you.”

“And what’s that?”

“You pretend not to care and shut out everyone who tries to care for you. Not to mention you drown yourself in drugs, booze, and women.”

“She doesn’t care about me!” He spits.

“She does!” Diana snaps back. “And believe it or not she needs you here and she wants you here.”

"But-"

"Ben please." It was the first time that he'd heard Diana sound softer and almost pleading since the conversation started. "Don't do this to her. She's worth more than Countess and all those other women you've fallen into bed with."

"Do you really think I don't know that?" He roars. The answer surprises himself. "Do you think I don't know that she's different?"

Wait what?

"If you know that, then why aren't you here?"

He hesitates.

Everything you said to him the night of the party comes roaring back. You looking beautiful in a dress that made his throat tight, and you telling him that you just wanted to be friends and that you understood that he wasn't the type of guy to have relationships. He didn't understand why it stung a bit when you said that, but it had.

Ben thinks about the week that the two of you spent together after Diana went home, when he tried his best to take care of you, distract you from everything that happened with his movies, and would sit with you and try to make you laugh. He'd never wanted to take care of someone before.

Not to mention he kind of liked the way you laughed. He wouldn’t admit that to anyone, but each time you did, it made him want to laugh too. That had never happened to him before. But he wanted to make you laugh to forget everything that happened with Elijah. His fist clenches when he thinks of exactly what Elijah tried to do to you and it makes him feel so mad that he feels close to spontaneously combusting. Ben might not be the best role model when it came to women, but he couldn’t imagine the type of man who would force himself on someone else.

It had made him angry when he thought that you were suggesting that he would try something when he first moved in, because he wasn't that type of man.

Ben was trying to be better for you. He wasn't admitting that, but he really was trying to be better. He didn't understand why. You'd told him countless times that you didn’t want to be with him, that you wanted to be with someone else like Jake.

Ben frowns when he thinks about the man he'd pulled from the rubble of the shop. And again thinks to himself that you should be with someone different, someone who was a supe and could understand you. Ben had seen how difficult it was for Diana when she was keeping her supe life a secret from your grandfather and he didn't want you to have to do that with someone.

"Because I'm not-" Ben begins to say, but he holds his tongue. It was too honest, too raw, too unlike him to admit this to anyone.

Because I'm not this guy. Because I'm not the one she wants. Because I'm not some knight on a white horse. Because she's everything right with the world and I'm just a fucking asshole who sleeps on her couch.

"Ben." Diana breathes and he can practically hear her pinching the bridge of her nose. "In all the years I've known you, you've never done what you did for her with anyone else. You carried her out of that warehouse, you stayed with her in the hospital even after she woke up, you took care of her when she came home, you protected her from Darren. You can't ignore all those things."

"I'm not ignoring them. She's my friend." The word sours in his mouth as he says it. "And she would have done the same thing for me." He knew it was true.

She's a good person and she wouldn't let me chase her away if any of that shit happened to me and I told her to leave me alone.

"Yes she would. Because she cares about you." Diana sighs.

"She doesn't."

"Why don't you believe me?"

"Because she's told me what she wants!" Ben shouts so loudly he can feel the room shaking. "She wants to be friends-“

"Because she doesn't think that you want a relationship you nitwit!"

"I don't." Ben spits the words before he can stop them, but as he does something tightens at the base of his throat.

"How is it that it's been forty fucking years and you're still able to dance on the grave of my last nerve?"

Ben chuckles. "I missed you too sweetheart."

She sighs into the phone again making it crackle in Ben's ear. "She needs you.” Diana repeats. “And I think you need her too.”

His temper was flaring again, the thoughts that his father pressed into him surging up before he can stop the words. “I don’t need anyone. I’m Sol-“

“If you say that you’re Soldier Boy, I’m going to reach through this phone and slap you silly.” She snaps. “And you do need her, but you’re still just too stubborn to admit it.”

“I-“

“Ben I know that everything that happened with Countess was fucked up, but my granddaughter she-“ Diana pauses before she changes the thought.  “You say that you know she’s different, but right now you’re treating her the same way you treat all those other women.”

“I’m not-“

“My granddaughter has decided you’re important to her and once that’s happened it’s hard to make her let go. You saw the way she was with Darren and that guy was a manipulative asshole. Imagine what she thinks of you.”

“I-“

“Stop making excuses!”

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say!” Ben shouts.

“And I don’t need to! Think what you want Ben but if you’d stop acting so stubborn and so ridiculously blind to what’s right in front of you. I promise that what comes next is worth the risk.”

“Don’t go all fucking mystical on me doll.”

“And don’t go all macho- no feelings asshole on me! So stop being so damn stubborn, get on a plane and get your ass here.” She retorts. “Don’t fuck this up Benjamin because if you do I’ll fuck you up.”

The line goes dead.

Ben sat there for a minute in the silence still holding the phone up to his ear, listening to what your grandmother said to him ring around in his head for a second.

No one ever spoke to him that way. In fact, Ben had never allowed anyone to speak to him the way that she did, well, not until you came along. You reminded him so much of her that it was astounding and he wasn't going to admit that maybe it's why he liked being around you so much.

Ben frowns at what Diana said, thinking about the unusual feelings that were swirling in the pit of his stomach. He felt wrong and the feelings were odd for him. He hadn't felt anything remotely like this ever in his life, not even for Countess.

And although Ben refused to be afraid of anything, the feelings he was having scared him. He didn’t understand and he wasn't sure that he wanted to. He wasn't sure that he wanted to see where this ended up. He felt like he was in too deep.

As much as he wanted to go to you like Diana ordered him to, he wasn't sure that he should. Something was holding him back, digging it's heels in and refusing to budge.

But why do I feel like-

His phone rings and he doesn't look at the caller ID when he picks up, expecting it to be Diana again, yelling at him.

"Di I-"

But it's not Diana.

"Hello Ben. It's nice to hear your voice again." The familiar voice says, sounding calm and collected.

"What the fuck do you want?" Ben snarls.

 "I thought it was time the two of us had a chat.”

A/N: At this point Diana is really just trying to give both Ben and the reader the kick in the pants they need. And yes I know another cliffhanger, but you know you love it. 🤭😉 We are quickly reaching the end of this series, but that means the confession scene is coming and I am so excited about it!!

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, likes, and comments are not required, but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y'all think! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know. 😊

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[n0tamused]

Hi! Could I request Jiyan, who didn't realise he was in love with his best friend!reader until he almost lost them. The moment he held them unconscious in his arms everything just clicked.

Angst with a happy ending, please.

A/n: sorry this took some time to write! I initially planned to write this as some short drabble/scenario but as you can see, things went out of control lol I do hope you enjoy this :) Also a small note - I initially wrote this with you/yours stuff, but I wanted to experiment this method, so I do apologize if there is some mistakes left here regarding that. Do tell me which one you guys prefer more? You/yours or they/them/she/her.

Contents: Jiyan x GN!Reader, they/them pronouns, blood and injuries, angst but turns to bittersweet at the end, fluff? They both live at the end so we can count it as a happy ending.

Words: 3867

'I can't do this without you'

Holding the weight of a body in his arms never felt heavier before. The gradual added weight on his heart and lungs kept getting heavier and heavier by the moment, he was sure it would make his ribs burst from the pressure. And he wouldn’t be surprised if the next time he looked down he saw his own heart beating outside his very body. (Y/n) was pale, bleeding and giving no response to any action he took. “Please..” His lips muttered, but to what extent his plea stretched out, no one could tell. 

His dragon came crashing through the waves of TDs like a storm, breaking apart their limbs and turning them to ash before he himself emerged from its glowing maw, jumping in front of (Y/n) with spear in hand. Jiyan’s face twisted in a fierce scowl, his sharp eyes hooded beneath his knit brows as he plunged into the remaining monsters that lurked around. But not even after he dealt with them did he achieve the quiet that usually followed a concluded battle. The buzzing in his ears did not stop. His heart beat still thundered between his ears, and the sound only multiplied once his golden eyes landed on the falling body of his dearest companion.

There was no time, he told himself, gathering all the courage and patience he found within himself, gathering them in his arms and fleeing from the charred fields as if fire was threatening to lick up his heel. The buzzing sound was deafening, so akin to silence yet it was everything but. He heard nothing else, but he heard it all. As he pushed his way past the soldiers at the front, eyes wide and staring into the void, trusting only his feet to find the path for him. He needs nothing else but to hurry and scold himself for not being able to go faster.

He carried them into the first medical tent his eyes landed on, the flap of the tent slapping out of place and before his form and before he could process the light slap the material did to his cheek, he was placing them down onto one rolled out mat in the corner. He saw the lips of the medical staff move, but no words reached his ears, and for all he knew he could’ve been barking or whispering at them to do something - to help them. He joined in the efforts, plucking out the gauze and the antiseptics from  the corners of the tent and gathering them next to the mat as one healer already began to cut away their dirty clothes to gain better access to the wound. 

The bare skin glistened with blood, the only shade of theirs that could make Jiyan feel sick to the stomach. Other healers in the tent looked at him in bewilderment as his breathing was yet to calm down, labored and ragged, but his hands held utmost care and precision as he started on the gauze, already keeping steps ahead and waiting until the healer next to him peeled the clothes away. Each layer unfolded like a wet petal, revealing the yawning gash underneath. Jiyan’s golden eyes turned a shade darker under the pressure and the light in the tent, turning a shade of olive instead, sick with worry. Were they gone already? He looks at their face, glimpsing their peaceful expression, dotted with splatters of blood and grime. They’re still bleeding, he notes as his fingers become slick with blood whilst he worked on their wound, there was still a beating heart inside of them, and that meant life. His mind spun prayers on repeat, prayers he thought he had long since forgotten the words of, favoring battle chants over putting his hope into something he couldn’t see or touch. How long till (Y/n) wakes?

Long time has passed until his mind has reeled back around to the present. He was alone now, aside from (Y/n), huddled on a small wooden chair in the opposite corner from which he could see them, patched up and under the light. His hands, once so calm and steady, had begun to shake as realization settled within him. How he could have so easily lost them, with so many words yet to be spoken, hurt more than any wound he sustained. Blood caked on his fingers, falling off into dust as he flexed them into a fist before releasing again. All the worry made him angry, and anger never suited him. It made him think badly, irrationally, and in the silence that followed the medical emergency of their state, all thoughts took root deep within his mind and soul, festering like a neglected cut. (Y/n) shouldn’t have been allowed on the front lines, he should have set them back, or even better - he should have misused his position and sent them home, risking to humiliate them for being sent home for seemingly nothing, other than his selfish need to keep them safe on all accounts. 

Sighing, Jiyan shuddered at his own mind’s skilled ways of wearing him down. It played out his image and character in ways he knew he’d never act. He’d never do those things, but in such a state as he was in, he nearly believed it all. Pressing his forehead into the clean heels of his palms he stared at his own boots until the silence became a soft comforting buzz. Sleep had tried to pull himself down his eyelids, but each time he refused it, eventually finding himself sitting at their side again, instead of the faraway corner. Long hours had passed, and Jiyan felt the camp go to bed with the night settling in the corners of the world. But he couldn’t, it would be a disservice to you if he left you alone, but his duty called - and he internally begged for forgiveness as he stepped out of the tent to check up on all the others, cleaning his hands while he was at it. 

There was blood on his hands.

And it was theirs.

And he’d never be able to wash it away, no matter how hard he scrubbed, or how many times he washed his hands. 

Morning came chill and misty, but Jiyan’s body felt none of it. The cold clung onto him like a second coat, greeting him like an old friend and embracing him as the same. He only hoped the cold did not embrace them too. The night was sleepless for Jiyan, and after he had ensured the safety of others and checked in with his Captains, he had found his way back to the medical tent he left (Y/n) in. 

“There’s a lot for me to say, my dear…friend..” Jiyan’s pale lips formed the last word hesitantly, treating it as an impostor instead of the usual warming endearment in which fashion he used it years ago. The word had long since become strange to him, yet he wished not to risk disrespecting them in this state, heavily considering the fact they may not even share in his sentiments.  “Yet you seem so eager to cut your life short.. “ he sneered lightly, not at them, but rather at himself, blame always within reach to be pulled towards himself by his very hand.

“What would  I do without you..? Who would I be without you?” The world around him seemed to quiet down in silent sympathy.  “You mean so much more than you believe, more than you know.. I’ve wished to tell you, but all you force me to do is scold you and weep over you like some child… like when we were kids…” 

A twitch, and then the fingers of (Y/n)’s hand grasped into a fist, making his eyes widen at the sight he barely glimpsed with his head hanging low, staring at the ground. His golden eyes snapped to their face, seeing the corners of their lips curl downward into a pain filled scowl. 

“(Y/n)!-” he beamed with all the softness his surprise would allow him as he kneeled beside them in one swift swoop. His hand came over their eyes to shield it from the light once he saw how their nose scrunched and brows knit together. Relief filled their eyes as the intrusive light no longer tried to pry them open so cruelly. Dizziness was still huge, feeling as if it split their blood apart, making it as light as clouds, and making them float on top of the mat. 

“What’re you.. rambling about…?” (Y/n) muttered, throat dry and voice coarse and wincing, their face once more ended up in a painful twist. Jiyan didn’t need all his medical knowledge to see they were still out of it, his frown deepening, but his heart raced up to climb into his throat. 

“I was saying how reckless you can be..” he whispered, blinking away the nervousness from his eyes. His other hand hovered over them, refusing to touch them in fear of hurting them. But his eyes drank in everything, looking for any anomalies that he may have not noticed before, although the chance he missed something was astronomically low with how keenly his eyes kept vigil over you throughout the night.  “Are you in pain? Tell me, I’ll help make it better” he told them, shuffling as he loomed over their body. 

(Y/n)’s eyes still refused to open after they fluttered shut, their throat bobbing, but swallowing nothing with how parched it felt. “Water..” They croaked, and suddenly light was kissing their eyelids again as Jiyan moved away in haste to fetch a bottle of water. 

He returned as quickly as he left, swift as the wind and helping them drink with one hand stabilizing their head and the other holding the bottle to their chapped lips, watching them carefully as they languidly took sips to drink. The gloved iron claw on his finger faintly scratched against their scalp, tangled between their hairs. Letting out a small sigh, thirst finally quenched, they finally opened their eyes to see just how disheveled and worried Jiyan looked. 

“Jiyan..” (Y/n) called him, watching as his face both hardened and mellowed at the drop of his name in that worn out tone. Their face looked confused to see him like this, not that they ever doubted he’d worry if they got injured, but the tension within this space felt like a maw of a beast, ready to snap its jaws shut. Something was amiss, something they couldn’t quite place.  The aching throb in their side didn’t subside, but they were able to somewhat ignore it for now, worry poisoning them into thinking of the worst - whatever could be worse than their own life nearly being taken away. The question remained unsaid, but it appeared as if Jiyan didn’t need the verbal communication to respond. 

“Nothing- don’t worry about it.. Please, lay down and tell me how you feel” He urged as he placed his palm onto their sweaty forehead, pushing it back onto the small pillow below. (Y/n) blinked, confused and scared and exhausted as he pawed gently at their skin, only pulling away after he ensured there was no rising heat. 

“I’m.. aching.. that’s all.. and sore all over”

“I believe that to be an understatement, this isn’t some small scratch.. You nearly..” Jiyan looks at the bandages, splotches of red already having bloomed through like little poppies in a faraway field. “I’ll get you something for the pain now… Don’t move.” It was a command, that last part, and left no room for any question or rebuttal as he lifted himself away, painfully severing the moment in favor of searching the place for painkillers and herbs. If there was a way to remain glued to their side and heal them in that way, he wouldn’t have ever left, and that option would have done his heart many favors.

“When will you start listening to orders?” he asked as he walked back to the mat, his hand grasping the gorge shaped pill box his mother gave him, his tone now heralding the lesson he was about to drop on them. His eyes refused to meet theirs as he crouched down again, popping the lid of the gorge open and letting two pills fall into his open palm. 

“Whenever you... decide to be less dense..” (Y/n) responded with a small cough that rippled the pain from their wound, and wincing they forced themselves to stay still. He did not take sweetly to the jest, his eyes focusing on them like a target, a beloved one at that.

“You should have called out.. I was there, I could have helped you out. You didn’t need to get hurt, and all because of your faulty sense of independence” Jiyan kept going, urgency for them to understand his side coloring his voice. He helped them sit slowly, apologizing for making them move in a husky and quiet tone, apologizing for making them sit and be here and be in pain, swallowing the big tasteless pills. 

Keeping their silence, (Y/n) looks down, guilt seeping through their veins and weary body which seemed to know no rest now. 

Sore and worried and dizzy and ever forgetful in this half slumbering state they could only grasp at the thin strings of consciousness as Jiyan loomed over them like a hawk, restless in his pursuit to help, yet he remained in the dark as to how else to do so. What else could he do except think of healing magic he had no possession of. His teeth grinded together, golden eyes flickering over them and then up to their face, meeting their bleary gaze.

“I’m sorry…”

(Y/n) whispered, one hand over their chest as they took breaths in, slow and weak, but good - they were not the shallow breaths you took when he was racing back to the medics and other healers with them in his arms. This was better.

Jiyan’s heart stuttered at the low tone that broke under the pressure he had placed upon them, unwilling yet it was no less necessary if he wished to have them understand. Too many times he had sat down with them, told them to be careful, to follow protocol and all the talked about strategies, to value the teammates at their sides, yet it all seemed for naught. What did those conversations mean, they could not heal you now and make you whole again. 

A shaky sigh drops from Jiyan, pulling all the weight from his shoulders and making him sag in his spot, head hanging low and heavy. What was he supposed to say?  He had words too many to share.

“It’s… fine.. What’s done is done, and we can’t change what happened.. It’s alright..”

“You’re mad at me..”

Of course he is. Grief has never bitten him so hard as in the moment he saw them stagger in the field, it made his stomach churn and his sides tickle as if wind passed through the hollows between his ribs. And he grieved as if he lost them while patching you up, so much so it poisoned him and made him mad, angry. 

“I.. I am not mad at you.. ” ‘I love you, why can’t you see?’ - a part of him wanted to say.

Blinking at him, tears bubbled up to their lash line, listening to him huff, unknowing of the inner turmoil he struggled through, the answer to close yet so far, holding you in suspense. Like a word about to be spoken.

“Why can’t you just listen to orders.. You throw yourself into danger as if you have lives to spare” Jiyan began, finding their eyes in a stern glare which mellowed out quickly. “You are not valued only as a soldier to be thrown across the board but as a human, someone’s companion.. (Y/n)..”

There’s a plea in his tone, and another in his eyes, and his fingers itch with the need to hold onto them, to let the venom of his grief seep into them too, to make them see, understand. It’s like a beast he’s hardly keeping at bay. When was the last time he felt so strongly about someone? Anyone? And to the point he’s shedding his general persona to give way to a man desperate to keep the few people he holds dear alive. Jiyan couldn’t name anyone.

“I understand that, but Jiyan.. how many nights have we spent talking about the day of peace? When there’s going to be no wars to fight? I know-” A cough interrupts them, but Jiyan does not jump at that opportunity to cut them off and scold them - he waits. “..I know it’s a childish dream, a hope, but peace is achievable. And if it means getting battered and bruised and hurt along the way, then so be it  - the road to peace is not paved in a bed of flowers..” (Y/n) frowns, nearly pouting, and in some absentminded state, their hand flails in the air in search of his, a purchase he gladly grants without a thought. 

Shaky fingers curl around his gloved ones, a tinge smaller, and more fragile than his own with the state now. They lack the grip they usually possess, yet they grasp and hold and he holds back, squeezing a bit tighter. God knows, he shares their view, their childish hope, but he can’t agree with it, not now.  “(Y/n).. Peace will mean little if you’re dead to see it..” It’s a whisper, as fragile as the wings of a hatchling, and as soft as the summer breeze. 

“That all will mean nothing to me either, it won’t be peace if you’re not with me to see it..” he added, his other hand grasping over their own, thumbing at their soft skin. He swallows thickly, hoping to wish away the tears that threaten to come up to his eyes.  “I lo-... I love …you…” 

Realization is slow to settle, but he sees it in their face, their eyes that fail to blink as they take him in, deciphering his words one by one, failing, at first, to understand their weight from the usual affections they shared before. Parting their lips, they fail to respond, their eyes flickering to the surroundings before they return to him, and it was as if all air had been knocked out of their lungs.  The meaning is written all over him, communicated through all ways but verbal and it was enough. They were children together, growing up and exploring the world, plucking strange berries from nature and sharing them together, they grew up together.

Now they are grown, and (Y/n) focuses on the thought that has appeared in their mind countless times before - growing old together. It was just out of reach, and it was not guaranteed and their actions on the battlefield nearly made it certain that the future would not embrace them together. Trying to blink the tears away, they look at Jiyan, apologetic and ashamed, but where they wished to seek forgiveness was unneeded, as Jiyan had already forgiven it, no matter the hurt. 

“I love you too-” The words were accompanied by a stray tear wetting their cheek. 

Hushed breaths and shuffling of clothes flutter, and in a blur, Jiyan had pulled himself ever closer, sitting at their side and ever so carefully drawing them to his chest. His movements are slow and calculated even in the face of such strong emotion, too fearful to hurt them. 

He lets them rest their face into the crook of his neck, eyes fluttering closed as they both simply hold onto one another, and it was in that moment he felt them squeeze him back, full of blooming life and energy. His fingertips itched for a stronger embrace but he controlled himself. 

“I love you..” he repeated, even more quiet and directly beside their ear. “Please.. listen to me.. I only wish to keep you safe.. alive most of all.. Understand me..” They nod their head against him, their fingers clawing at his back with a little more strength, holding on as if he was a ghost ready to vanish.  “You’re my candlelight leading me through the darkness.. I can’t do it without you..”

“Oh, Jiyan..” They crack their voice over his name, eyes seeing a mosaic of colors through tears ready to be shed. “I only wish to help you.. Under all this armor and uniform, I can see you struggling too.. How can I not become a little desperate when I see all my other attempts to help you have failed?” They sigh, their breath tickling the skin underneath this chin and he shudders to think of this mutual tug-of-war. They can’t win, neither can. 

“You leave my struggles to me.. I do not withhold them for no reason, but I see that has done me, us, more harm than good..” He says but fails to make another sentence, knowing he’d rather not burden them with his own worries, and he’d much rather hear of their own. 

“Just.. promise me this” he begins, pulling away and making them face to face. “You will not jump to take any more blows for me, in no amounts at all. I’m the one that should guard you, and not the other way around” He is firm in his case, and even if (Y/n) had the strength to argue, they wouldn’t. This was final.

Closing your eyes and giving a little bow of their head, they profess their agreement to his words without a word of their own. And sinking back into his embrace felt like sinking into a bed of feathers, soft, warm and welcoming. “Fine..”

“We’ll talk more about this once you’ve healed..” Jiyan muttered, his lips ghosting their brow and feeling them nod against him again. His hand rubs up and down their back, and his lips land on their cheek, lingering there in a gentle expression of his love that knew no bounds.

The flickering light and the sudden silence made his mind wander, and his body began to rock back and forth slowly, hoping to ease you into slumber. He wondered how it would feel to hold them again, when they were healed and not even a scar remained of their injury; how it would feel to kiss their brow and hold their cheek in his palm, to see those lights stare back at him from within their eyes, full of mirth and devoid of pain; he thinks how comforting it would feel to feel you flush against him each morning, holding your warm body close and tucking them under the covers when they shift in their sleep… So many images run through his mind, and he prays he gets to see them materialize in reality. 

For now he was fine with holding them, serving their needs until war reeled its ugly head again, and he had to leave once more. For his people and (Y/n) he’d grow great miles to achieve peace, even if it meant losing his own peace. 

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[thewickedspinster]

Of Eternity (Thranduil x Reader)

pairing: Thranduil x F!Reader

synopsis: Thranduil and Y/N know each other from what seems like a past life; one that both would rather forget. Once secret lovers, hidden from the prying eyes of the Elvenking's court, the two elves' disagreements became too much, their opinions too divided. Y/N departed for Rivendell and sought shelter with her friend, Elrond. But when the Elvenking of Mirkwood comes to parlay with the Lord of Rivendell, he once again meets Y/N, and someone else who looks awfully familiar...

warnings: afab!Reader, pregnancy, elf children, war

Tathrenion = son of one willow-made

requested by @starlight5cat

Of Eternity

In Rivendell, the seasons turned as flowers bloomed; with a sudden burst of color against the greys of winter. They came and went quickly for elvenkind, rising and eddying like the tide, and with them came new wonders and sounds, new flavors. Song.

Y/N could hardly remember a time when her life was not dictated by these rhythms, when time was so magnified as to hear her own heartbeat, to watch the sunlight catch upon a dewdrop. Though, it was not so long ago she was in a place where seasons hardly touched, where time stood still and light lingered in honeyed moments. Where her breath raced in her body, and youth stretched into eternity. Where naïveté was all too familiar.

Here, she had more responsibility. Here, she was unequivocally welcome. When she had fled the confines of her life before in Mirkwood, where she had been daughter of a Ñoldor house descended from Fingolfin, and gone westward into the Misty Mountains, she had only hoped her old friend, Elrond, would grant her sanctuary. He welcomed her with open arms. Here, she sat on his council of advisors. Here, life was warm and full of light once more.

For a short time of twenty-odd years, there was peace east of the Misty Mountains. Though her cousin Galadriel could not believe it, it had appeared the dark servant of Morgoth named Sauron had been vanquished. The grey elves lived in peace with the sons of Durin and helped the wayward man, but kept to their forests and their mountains. All had seemed well, and with the protection of the haven of Rivendell, the darkness of old seemed unable to touch her.

Such comforts cannot last. Not so long as Morgoth and his fell creations plagued Arda.

As soon as word reached Rivendell of a darkness fallen upon southern Mirkwood, Elrond sought Y/N's counsel.

"You know the eastern forests well," Elrond said softly, guiding them both down towards the river. Water fell in a gentle curtain of silver ahead, glinting in the moonlight. "What sort of evil could cause these things?"

The pair ducked behind the waterfall, and the sound of rushing water hushed their voices. There hidden was an alcove, large enough for a small group, with cushions surrounding the burnt-out embers of a fire. Elrond had come here often in the early days of ruling Rivendell, and when Y/N had arrived, had brought her here in her most vulnerable moments.

"The Elvenking's Halls are to the north, but in my many wanderings, I went south," she answered, settling on the floor alongside Elrond. "Mirkwood is vast and its creatures untold, but I have never seen anything that would produce this sort of rot."

Elrond hummed, deep in thought. Elven and human messengers alike had been passing along rumors of dark creatures in the southern Mirkwood, things that walked on more than four legs, with slavering maws and the stench of evil surrounding them. Elves who more often ventured south returned with harrowing stories of voices, of song coming from the dark trees. The canopies had grown so thick that sunlight hardly reached the ground. Some had even reported sightings of Orcs.

"You know what this means," Y/N said, interrupting Elrond's reverie. "Galadriel was right. She was always right. We cannot know that Sauron is vanquished. We burned no body. Isildur brought no head. Only the Silmaril."

"There are no credible rumors of Morgoth's creatures, Y/N."

"There are," she insisted. "They have started calling this force 'The Necromancer.' This is no coincidence, Elrond. All evil in these lands comes back to Sauron. To Morgoth. So long as their discord remains, none of the children of Eru are safe."

Beyond his red head, with his noble face, the silvered water fell in sheets, dulling to a gentle sheaving. Waiting. When he raised his gaze, he said, "What would you have me do?"

Galadriel would have them go to war. Though she had grown less brash since the last age, she had grown no less desperate for Sauron's defeat. But Rivendell was a haven, a place of peace for wandering elves. She could not see amassing forces and marching to Mirkwood unaided. Besides, it was not Elrond's territory to march on.

"You know exactly what you must do, my friend," she said at last.

"You do not like him."

"What of it?"

"He is the reason you fled your home."

It was true enough, though it still gave Y/N pause. Mirkwood had been a home for long centuries, it was true. But before that, she had known the lushness of Beleriand, and the glory of Númenor. She would always be a wanderer. But the Elvenking of Mirkwood brought with him memories too fresh to be painless.

"He is the lord of Mirkwood, and should you wish to do anything at all about this rising evil, you must first confer with him," she said firmly. "Invite him here. Invite his entire court. They will leave Prince Legolas to guard the north, but Thranduil will come."

"I would have you by my side upon his reception."

Y/N caught the glimmer of ancient mischief in Elrond's eyes, and offered him a faint smile in return. "It would be an honor."

~~~

Word came within a fortnight that the Elvenking's party would embark on the Elf-path by the full moon. This gave the people of Rivendell little time to prepare, but showed Elrond and his council how dire circumstances were in Mirkwood.

As Y/N stood at Elrond's side on the dais before the sweeping steps to the city, she knew that in this matter, as all others, that Thranduil would be stubborn, cunning, and seemingly omniscient. It was in his power as king to appear so to his people. But Y/N, he could not fool. She and Elrond would simply need maneuver with tact, to force Thranduil into showing his hand.

In the distance, the royal traveling party rounded a bend and came into view, the Elvenking in his raiment of grey and silver astride his great antlered steed. From here, Y/N could feel his piercing gaze upon them, focusing on her at the Lord of Rivendell's side. Robed in rich, dark green against Elrond's golden raiment, Y/N stood tall. A circlet of gold sat upon her brow, and in it, an opal enshrined. Befitting of her station, she stood to Elrond's left, his wife Celebrían to his right.

Y/N had known true fear in the face of evil, yet facing the Elvenking of Mirkwood after these twenty years turned her chest cold. She could never fear him - she knew him too well, but that was just the problem. They shared a deep past of friendship, of love, forbidden though it may have been. And pain, at the last. Since their parting, she had, for the first time, lived many secrets that she kept from him still.

The party finally arrived at the dais, the great reindeer's feet clapping against the stone as thunder. The Elvenking dismounted, stepped before Elrond, and inclined his head.

"Lord Elrond of Rivendell, you honor me with your great hospitality," he said formally, the Sindarin tongue rolling like quicksilver from his mouth. "And Lady Celebrían, thank you for welcoming my host into your household."

Elrond, Y/N, and the council assembled bowed to the king.

"We are pleased you answered our invitation," Elrond replied, his tone, as ever, one of deliberate lightness, as if he knew something no one else did. "How long shall you stay?"

"A week," Thranduil said shortly. Finally, finally, his silvered eyes shifted to Y/N. She breathed in deeply. "There are matters to attend to in Mirkwood."

"I do hope Prince Legolas is well," she said softly, smoothly.

Thranduil looked momentarily surprised she'd spoken, his eyebrows drawing together at the sound of her voice. "He is taking to his responsibilities well."

A moment of silence passed. The river roared below. Then, Celebrían was taking gesturing towards the king, leading him away into the great wood house of Rivendell.

Formal greetings complete, the rest of the crowd quickly dispersed, and elves moved swiftly in preparation for the feast prepared in the king's honor. Soon, only Elrond and Y/N remained. She watched the sun setting over the vale, eyes fixed on the rushing waters surrounding.

"Will you tell him?" Elrond asked, voice so quiet only she could hear.

"How could I?" Y/N whispered. She felt her fingers tremble.

"It is unfair to -"

"You shall not tell me what is fair or unfair, Elrond," Y/N whirled, suddenly furious. "You know not what it is to have my fears."

Elrond held up his hands. "I only wish to say that truths are better spoken. Deception is the chaos-sower."

"It will put him in danger."

"It will give him power."

"A curse," she hissed. "A bounty upon his head."

"Or a crown."

She stared at her friend, stunned. "You do not mean that."

Elrond only watched her in return.

With no words left between them, Y/N turned and disappeared into the house, bracing herself for the week to come.

~~~

It was the fourth day of the accursed sessions of counsel, and Thranduil had still not admitted there being any disturbance in Mirkwood. He spoke on matters of trade, of agriculture, of relations with Khazad-Dûn, but nothing of the murmurs from the Sutherlands.

Y/N was beginning to lose her patience.

Elrond, blessedly, had more of it to spare. Ever the diplomat, he listened to Thranduil's concerns and complaints of their relations, and constructed plans to fix them. Ever the master of compromise, he kept Rivendell's secrecy and best interests at heard. Ever the more patient of the two, he kept prodding the Elvenking towards revealing his secrets, to no avail.

Y/N sat, posture relaxed, around the dais at the center of Elrond's pubic chambers. The elves around her deliberated, debated, while she kept her mouth closed. As Elrond's chief advisor, her primary duty was to listen. She interjected when Elrond looked to her, and when someone said something entirely ludicrous. Elves tended to take a laboriously long time to come to any sort of agreement in politics, and were reasonable to the point of boredom. Y/N's engagement had thus far been minimal, though she heard all.

They had turned to the topic of weapons, and of Rivendell's protection. They were inching closer to the topic at hand, but she knew Thranduil had a deep well of patience, particularly when it came to dealing with elves. The high noon sun blazed down on the white marble.

"How have you fared in the training of your ranks?" Thranduil inquired, sipping at a goblet of honeywine.

"The archers excel, under the tutelage of Sindarin masters," Elrond said. "The swordsmen, under that of the Ñoldor. Khazad-Dûn has agreed to provide us with weapon designs, and with materials to forge them. Durin is all too happy to help an old friend."

Thranduil scoffed lightly into his cup. "Old friend, indeed."

Y/N sat up straighter at the tone, the scoff. She had heard it many times. "Prince Durin has provided us with an excellent relationship over the years. He is a close friend to Rivendell."

Thranduil looked at her, through her, in her. Before her mind's eye flashed his face, poised over her, abed. Soft candlelight shone from beyond his features, and his face was softened into the loveliest of smiles. Gone in an instant.

Just then, lithe footsteps from just inside, and bursting from behind the curtains came three elven children, small and laughing. A maid reached out, trying to snatch them by their tunics, but too late. They sprinted into the circle, and straight up to Elrond.

"Father, we would like to go the Gates," one boy panted. Elrohir.

"Apologies, Father," the other interjected, suddenly serious. Elladan, his twin. "I told him not to come."

"Our swordmaster is at the Gates, and asked us to join him," the third explained. Y/N sat forward, staring down at the boys.

"Tathrenion," she said severely, hiding the quake to her voice, "you know not to enter this chamber when Lord Elrond is taking counsel."

The third boy, unlike the other two, with (Y/HC) hair and striking grey eyes, paled, bowing to Y/N. Even when he straightened, he kept his eyes averted. "Forgive me, Mother. Elladan and Elrohir wished to go, and I wished to accompany them."

It was only then, as the boys turned to glance around at the present company, that Elrond spoke.

"You are in the presence of Thranduil, Elvenking of Mirkwood."

Shuffling, with a soft gasp from Elrohir, the three boys bowed low to the king. Thranduil said nothing for a moment. Instead of on the children, his eyes were pinned on Y/N, wide with unbridled shock. When he finally did look at the boys, at the one called Tathrenion, he found his own eyes staring back, steady and calm.

Thranduil stood abruptly, setting down his goblet. He opened his mouth, closed it, then said, "We shall eat. Elrond, you shall decide what to do with your sons."

He swept off the dais, out of view, and Y/N was left staring at the spot he once occupied.

"Go after him," Elrond murmured to her, leaning close.

"Tathrenion-"

"Leave the child to me." And an unspoken promise to keep her son safe.

Y/N was up in an instant, following in Thranduil's wake as quickly as possible. But he was moving fast, and kept dodging out of sight, around corners that he did not know. Servants moved out of the way as Y/N passed through an adjoining kitchen at a sprint, intercepting Thranduil as he rounded the corner into the next room.

She caught him by his elbow as he tried to pull from her grasp, but she held firm.

"Thranduil," she said. "Stop. Just... Stop. And listen."

His rage made his jaw tight, his brows drawn low. "I will not stand here and listen to you when you have -"

"I had to leave," she interrupted, holding his gaze unflinchingly. "I could not be your concubine, Thranduil. I would not."

He scoffed, that same sound he made when he thought someone foolish. Beneath him. It hadn't started this way, but as they fell deeper into each other, he'd started scoffing at her the same way. It was part of what drove Y/N away from Mirkwood. "You were not a concubine, Y/N."

"Then tell me what I was to you."

Thranduil bent lower, so their faces were inches apart. "You know exactly what you were to me."

"I know that I was not your wife." And that was venom in her tone, sour and deadly.

A shadow passed over his features. "You were everything she was not."

"And that makes me whore to a king."

"You have never been a whore!" He shouted.

The surrounding house went quiet. Y/N trembled, fingertips numb.

"Tathrenion is your son," she said lowly, practically hissing into his mouth. "Your son, Thranduil. Our place in Rivendell is of your doing. You never recognized what it was to be in my place, with no guarantee of my safety in your court."

"I always would have protected the both of you."

Tears gathered in her eyes. "Our love felt increasingly fragile. I doubted that it even existed any longer. Had we been found out, I doubted you would protect me from exile."

Thranduil was quiet. The house had moved on from his sharp outburst, exhaling as his anger passed. Y/N's grip loosened on his tunic, her truth spoken. But her touch lingered.

"Did you know?" He murmured hoarsely.

"Not when I left your halls. Not until I reached the Misty Mountains."

"And all... went well? With the birth?"

Elven births were rare, and dangerous for mother and child. "Blessedly, Elrond's midwives and healers some of the most gifted, and I healed swiftly. He was born squalling."

He loosed a soft breath, and some of the tension left his features. He had always been beautiful, but it was when he was away from prying eyes that he truly became ethereal. Radiant. Himself.

"You should always have been in Mirkwood, with me." She just looked up at him. "I am sorry, my Y/N. I never meant to make you afraid."

"It is safer for both of us away from you and Legolas."

Thranduil snorted. "My son has proven impertinent. And lacking the character to succeed me."

"He will mature," she said softly. "He is young still."

"He will have to fight soon."

"Then this Necromancer..."

"Is a threat. Whatever darkness lurks in the south of my lands, it is dangerous and spreading."

"Tell Elrond," she urged. "He wishes to aid any fight against Morgoth's darkness in these lands."

"My forces are strong."

"They will be stronger with Rivendell's. Don't let your pride cloud your judgement."

At that, a small smile graced his mouth. "That has always been your advice for me."

"It will always stand. Unless you change."

"Would you come home?"

The question surprised her. "You would have us? So soon after the death of your wife?"

"I would have your company," he said. "And I would have my son raised by the both of us."

Y/N did not have an answer, and she was about to say as much when a smaller voice said, "I would like to go to Mirkwood."

Y/N whipped around, and found young Tathrenion standing behind them. She took a large step away from Thranduil, then lowered herself to her son's level, steeling herself.

"What did Lord Elrond tell you and the twins?" She asked.

"He said we may go to the Gates, but I decided to stay behind." Tathrenion peered past Y/N, to the Elvenking. "I wished to speak with you."

Thranduil could hardly stomach looking at his son's face, the very reflection of his own, untouched by age yet full of a strange wisdom. "Speak, child."

"I know little of why my mother left your kingdom, but I know she has done everything since for my sake. Please, do not ply her with false hopes. If you invite us to Mirkwood, you pledge to keep her safe."

"And you," Thranduil answered immediately. "I will protect you both, and welcome you into my household in places of honor."

Y/N was speechless, her throat swollen around pride for her young son.

"I know you not, Your Majesty, but I would like to," said Tathrenion simply.

Thranduil smiled.

Y/N sent him on his way, leaving her alone once again with the Elvenking. This time, he reached out to her, and against logic, she stepped into him, leaning into his fingers upon her cheek. She had longed for his touch, his kiss, his steadfastness ever since she left the forest. Leaving Mirkwood had been one of the hardest decisions of her long life.

"Let us think about this," she whispered. "And let these diplomatic matters be done first. Speak to Elrond in earnest."

"I will wait for your return to my side, Y/N," he murmured. "I have been waiting since the moment you left."

~~~

Dappled sunlight shone down upon the glade, lighting the page Y/N read. It was a letter, signed in Elrond's familiar hand, detailing the phalanxes marching towards Mirkwood. They would join Thranduil's army in patrolling for evil in the south, just as they had hoped.

Amongst the trees, a young boy laughed, and an older one hollered. Legolas was nearly fully mature, but had taken to playing with his younger half-brother in earnest. Together, they romped through the forest, and Tathrenion adored having someone elder to look up to and learn from. He excelled in archery, now, thanks to Legolas's tutelage.

A hand wrapped around her arm, pulling her backwards, and she fell upon Thranduil's chest. He was stretched upon the grass, feline at ease. She luxuriated in the feel of his body against hers, in his fingers in her unbound hair. In his mouth, pressed to her shoulder.

She had refused to take him to bed since her return, but she had begun to let him back into her heart. He had honored his word, and the loss of his wife had left him in need of comfort, in need of counsel and a tender hand.

Besides that, over honeywine in the candlelight one night in Rivendell, he had finally told her he loved her. Words were the playthings of elves, and though they meant little to some, they meant everything to Y/N. She opened up visions of the future that had ere been clouded.

"Of what do you think, my love?" Thranduil breathed against her skin.

She came back to the dampness of the grass beneath them, the golden green of the canopy above, the laughter of her son in the distance. The warmth of her king at her back.

She smiled. "Eternity."

[kiame-sama]

Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 20

(Jack is a Grey Wolf Werewolf and greatly enjoys both the hot savana and the cold mountains. He is considered to be more of a lone wolf because he grew up outside of the typical pack setting. At Night Raven, he is determined to try and make his own pack structure to fit into, so far Leona is the Alpha of that pack and Ruggie is the second in command Beta. Jack has zero issue taking orders from Leona so long as it is not too morally questionable, he still has his pride as one of the few in NRC with a strong moral compass.)

Warnings: Yandere, yandere relationships, Yandere behavior, platonic intended yanderes and romantic intended yanderes, Raffle-less madness ensues, facing trauma a bit too quickly and a bit too soon, protective behavior, territorial disputes, wishes, most named characters make an appearance, Harpies, Werewolf, Dragon, Nemean Lion, Gnoll, Shinigami, Hellcat, Naga, Genie,

~~~~~~~~

The morning carried on and eventually Idia, Ortho, and your usual Diasomnia guards accompanied you to where another Housewarden meeting was being held. The cycle was beginning over again and apparently Crowley was struggling to decide who would next be your appointed guards. Naturally, you wanted a say in the decision as you had yet to actually get a genuine choice before this point.

Entering the primary room Crowley used for meetings was quite normal for you, but what awaited you was something you didn't expect. Where you had been expecting Housewardens- those you had grown mostly accustomed to, there were several others present at the meeting. Countless eyes turned towards you and it only served to make you feel uncomfortable under such scrutiny. Oddly, you felt more stressed being observed by your classmates than you did when facing the Rat that targeted you.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Malleus growled, looking at the many faces you were now faced with. His tail came up to wrap around your leg, as if holding onto you somehow soothed the great Dragon enough to not snap beyond his indignant snarl.

"This, is a collection of everyone who could be chosen as guards for my dear little chick, (Y/n)! I neglected my duty to do another raffle in favor of addressing the issues of security for the Spelldrive Tournament, so I decided to have all Housewardens choose a student or a few students as their fellow guards. This way I can do the raffle now and everyone is already here."

You looked over the many students, glad you could name a few beyond the Housewardens. Those of Heartslabyul were easy to recognize and name, as you had already befriended the five that were present. Floyd, Jade, and Azul were also familiar faces to you, given the fact that you and Jade had started to form a friendship. Both dorm leaders from Scarabia were present. The several from Pomefiore were mostly recognizable, but you didn't really recognize the almost effeminate looking plant-man with Rook and Vil.

As you glanced over the groups, your eyes came to a sudden halt on the furred figure between Leona and Ruggie. Bright yellow eyes gleamed at you from a seemingly scowling muzzle. White fur and sharp teeth hidden behind a long snout.

The heavy and hungry sound of panting filled your ears as did the echoing and haunting sound of Wolf howls as you stared at the beast in front of you. It felt like you were placed right back in that forest, where every shadow was a Wolf snapping their fang filled maws at you.

Some part of you could recognize the glowing yellow eyes of the Wolf sitting before you, having seen him in the halls before. Unfortunately, most of your mind was reeling in panic as your hand unconsciously gripped at your recently healed thigh. Despite your basic desire to not judge any of these men too quickly, you took a hesitant step back and that small motion was enough to trigger a large response.

Malleus was quick to wind his tail up your body and practically flung you and Grim back into his arms, smoke rolling out of his mouth as he glowered at the Wolf. In response, the Wolf didn't seem aggressive or angry, he simply bowed his head and whined out a short sound while avoiding Malleus' gaze.

"Kingscholar, you brought a Wolf? Haven't the Wolves done enough to harm her?"

"Rich, coming from an overgrown Lizard. Jack asked that damned Crow to be included, I didn't choose him, but that sure as shit doesn't mean you can target my dorm."

Malleus turned an incredulous glare to Crowley who had been watching the interaction keenly. The Crow had indeed allowed Jack to be part of the guarding group to represent Savanaclaw. He had allowed it because Jack himself pleaded with the Crow to prove not all Werewolves were dangerous. Crowley had been dubious to the idea before Jack reminded him that all of Twisted Wonderland was watching Night Raven College and how they immersed the Human in a world of magic. If the Human hated Werewolves here, what would happen when the Human met a Werewolf outside of Night Raven?

To keep his own reputation- and the wellbeing of his little chick- in mind, Crowley decided Jack should be included. Of course, he figured that you would react negatively to the presence of a Werewolf given you were attacked by a pack of them. His hope was that Jack's affiliation with Leona would help sweeten the stress and help you accept the Werewolf.

"I allowed Jack to attend after his inquiry into the matter. If other species known for their conflict with Humanity are allowed, so too should the Werewolves."

Malleus looked like he was about to speak before the beast- Jack the Werewolf, as Crowley called him- spoke first.

"I will leave," he stood, his fluffy ears back and his head somewhat bowed, "I shouldn't have asked. It is far too soon to be pressing the matter like this, especially when it was my kind who attacked her."

Despite the genuine aversion you had to the presence of the Wolf, you felt worse seeing how dejected he looked. It became a battle inside of yourself with the fear of your recent injury pushing you back, and your desire to treat these men fairly pushing you forward.

"Don't," you almost had to gasp out due to your own fear trying to silence you, "don't go. I-" you took a breath to steady your frantic heart, "I don't want you to go."

"(Y/n), he is a Wolf. He is the same thing that stalks your nightmares. Do you truly need me to tell you of your own fears?"

"I shouldn't fear him. The Wolves that-" you held Grim a little tighter as the kit nuzzled your cheek to calm you, "that attacked us... They're gone. They're not coming back. I can't- I can't let myself be afraid of them all because a few bore their fangs. That isn't fair. Not to them, and not to me. It just isn't fair."

Malleus looked like he wanted to argue, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Jack and then back at you. Jack seemed to take this moment to speak up, careful to move slowly around you as you were clearly still wary and skittish around him. When you saw his drooped ears and almost begging eyes the image of the snarling Wolves began to dissolve, leaving behind a whimpering puppy. He was clearly no puppy- standing tall even among the other giants of the school- but he didn't have that same crazed look as the Pack had.

You tried to hold onto that mental image, wanting to treat this Wolf fairly but struggling to actually convince yourself of what you were saying. The battle was internal to see which won for your attention; the snarling Wolves or the whimpering Puppy.

"If... If it makes you feel more at peace, I am Domestic."

"No pride," Leona scoffed, "already rolling over to show your tummy, Jack?"

The Wolf frowned at Leona for this, but what Jack said caught your interest. What did he mean by Domestic?

"What?"

"Right," Jack scratched the back of his head in a stressed way, his ample fur fluffing out somewhat, "Domestics are members of the more beastly species that didn't grow up in their usual environment. Most Werewolves grow up with a Pack, moving when the pack moves and refusing any kind of excessive interacting with other species. I wasn't raised in a Pack. I'm Domestic."

Leona huffed again, his Lion ears angled back as he frowns at the Wolf. From what Jack told you, it helped somewhat to see him as a Wolf-dog, not a pure Wolf like that group had been. It was clear that a few of the others seemed to agree with Jack despite Leona's displeasure.

"... I feel like Jack should stay. He has a right like anyone else does. I won't lie and say I'm not afraid... I'm terrified. The howling... The fangs... The snarling..!"

You had to pause again to ground yourself, Grim doing an excellent job by giving you something to hold and cuddle for comfort. The little kit was clearly unsettled around Jack, but it was likely for the same reason as you due to the rather fresh memories of the Wolves. Still, the kit was of great comfort and you managed to get your breathing back under control, forcing down the tears that threatened to fall.

"I understand that I can't fear every member of a species because of what one group did, but I am still afraid. I think... I think some time around a Wolf that won't hurt me... that won't chase me like those Wolves did... It could be a good thing for me. Of course," you paused and looked back at the somewhat more hopeful Wolf, "only if Jack is okay with it. I don't want him to feel pressured into it if he doesn't want to. I would understand."

"... Truth is I feel like I have to do this, but not because anyone is making me. I know I wasn't one of the Werewolves that hurt you, but I do feel like I have a responsibility to prove not all of us are like that. I want to help, but I don't like that I scare you."

You just nodded mutely and Jack seemed more confident to take his place back with Leona and Ruggie. Despite your still present desire to run, you remained among the group, calming yourself as best you could. If you were going to survive in this world until the Ghosts found you a way back home, you needed to create and gain as many allies as you could. Jack included.

"Now that that's all sorted out," Crowley spoke, clapping his hands together, "let us get this meeting underway so you all can attend your classes. I forgot to do another raffle, so I figure that I can either choose a dorm for this week or we do the raffle now. I can think of several dorms that are more deserving than others- given the recent events- but another raffle is more fair. Thoughts?"

You were almost tempted to just tell Crowley you could choose for yourself, but before you could speak up, another voice cut in.

"The Spelldrive Tournament is soon. Whatever dorm is selected will have to balance having their Housewarden away and practicing for the tournament. Not that there's much competition for anything other than second place, Diasomnia will easily win with Malleus."

This interjection from Azul made the others glance around, but you were mostly lost. You didn't recognize this 'Spelldrive Tournament' and wondered what it was in the context of the conversation. From what Azul said, it seemed like a sports thing that the other dorms participated in and that Malleus was going to win if he played.

"Mr. Ashengrotto makes a valid point. (Y/n), due to the Spelldrive Tournament, you will likely have to stay in whatever dorm is selected so the Housewarden of the dorm can lead their team. I will be continuing my work on increasing security for the time being."

You wanted to yell at the Crow. Once again he was trampling over how you may feel on the matter and just telling you what to do as the situation came about. Despite your annoyance with him, you kept yourself contained as it sounded like the Housewardens were actually needed by their dorms outside of their appointed duty to guard you.

"Fine, but who is going to do all that? Why don't we just let a staff member keep an eye on me since everyone else is busy this week?"

"Nonsense! You should have someone who is a first year to help you in classes. Besides, they want to take guard duties. They wouldn't have all shown up this early if they didn't wish to be selected."

"Or you threatened them to show up-"

"Anyway, should I raffle this one or do you feel like choosing?"

You stayed silent for a moment, frowning at the Crow who seemed oblivious to your annoyance. Grim, however, was not nearly as thrown off as you were by the behavior of the Crow.

"I want to choose!"

"Works for me," you conceeded to the wishes of the little feline, rubbing his forehead affectionately, "why don't you choose, Grim? You've been a very good boy and I think you earned the right to choose."

The little Hellcat purred loudly in response to your praise, rubbing his head against your chin with a purr. You were preoccupied enough with Grim to not notice the many jealous looks he received from the several students stationed around you. Their eyes glued to how easily the small kit gained your attention and affections.

"I want Leona!"

"Really? Any particular reason why?"

"He isn't super nice, but he still saved you and me from those dumb Wolves. And if there's lots of strangers coming in for this spell thingy, I don't want to be by the forest..."

You felt Malleus growl more than heard him, the soft growl more telling than Malleus would ever be of his emotions. Slow rolling thunder caught your attention and you noticed the way the others became tense, glancing to Malleus.

"I think it is a good idea, Grim."

The immediate sound of an almost wounded cry left the Dragon, who now turned to you in stress and worry. He couldn't protect you as easily in the other dorm leader's domain. You would be mostly out of his reach and that thought alone set his own instincts ablaze in concern and fury. Not to mention Leona was clearly interested in you and had been there for you where Malleus had failed before.

It had the potential to drive him wild just thinking of such a thing.

"Malleus, it's fine. Leona can be trusted. He already saved my hide once, there's no harm in trusting him a second time."

"..."

The thunder was rolling angrily outside as a heavy wind hit against the walls of the school, growing louder as you turned your head to stare at him. There was no expression on his face but you could tell from the thunder he was upset.

"Malleus, do you trust me?"

The sudden question caught the Dragon off guard as he looked to you in utter confusion, tilting his head to the side. The thunder lulled to a soft rumble, wind slowing considerably as his blank expression turned to you. He blinked once before his eyes widened slightly, almost as if he were just now registering what you had asked.

"... What?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course, why would you feel the need to ask-?"

"Because you don't seem to be trusting me right now."

A hesitance overcame him as he somewhat pouted, crossing his arms and glancing away sullenly. His tail unravelled from your body and his wings drooped considerably. His expression was overcome with anger before smoothing again and he let out a long sigh.

"Trust you... Yes, I trust you. I am merely a call away, after all. And you will call on me if anything happens. I can... allow it. Kingscholar has proven himself a useful ally."

"Good. It's decided then."

"... Very well."

Malleus still seemed less than pleased, but the storm had stopped and his temper had considerably cooled. He was letting you go willingly and it frustrated him even more. The Dragon did take solace knowing you had the magestone on you, his own magestone suddenly becoming infinitely more useful to him beyond a comforting reminder of his mother.

You were glad to have calmed the Dragon enough to step away from him, noticing the way he seemed to be lost in thought now. The almost unaware way Malleus now behaved interested you, but you tried to not pay too much attention to him now he had calmed.

"Hey, Lion-guy-"

"You know my name is Leona, you cheeky cub."

"Yeah, Lion-a-guy, what is Savanaclaw like? Is there music? Oh! Can you all play the kind of music Mama likes?"

You laughed softly at this, kissing the well intended kit's forehead. A few of those in the room seemed surprised as Grim called you Mama- a newly formed habit of his after he awoke without you that morning- but you ignored the looks and snuggled the kit.

"I wish."

These two words caused an unusual response from two of those in the room. The two you were only vaguely familiar with reacted to your wistful words in usual ways. You had been introduced to them by Lilia when you had asked Silver to invite the dorm leaders of Scarabia the day prior. The Snake was Jamil Viper and the golden glowing one was a Genie named Kalim Al-Asim.

"Wish granted!"

Before you could move, a sudden golden glow came from one of Idia's many floating skulls, seeming to buzz and crackle for a moment before crashing to the ground. Idia seemed rather distressed as his one other skull bot hovered around him, the Shinigami stooping down to pick up the device before a lulling melodic tone came from it. It hummed gently and you quickly recognized the song as one you had listened to often prior to entering this world of monsters.

"Wait," you grabbed the device from the nervous Shinigami with one hand, Grim sitting up in your arm to look at the skull curiously, "I know that song!"

As the song continued, you somewhat felt a wash of relief overtake you. Part of you had mourned the loss of your music, knowing there was little chance this world had the same songs you enjoyed so much before you were thrown into it. Now it seemed this skull-bot of Idia's- which was glowing a gentle gold- seemed to fill that void you had been suffering.

"... One of his wishes worked?"

Jamil sounded completely incredulous as your turned to look at him, holding the device that must have been affected by Kalim's magic. The skull seemed to be intact despite the delicate wiring that went in to making it and even Kalim seemed surprised. That surprise quickly turned to excitement as he jumped up from his chair.

"I knew I could do it! Did you see, Jamil? Look! I did it and nothing bad happened!"

You were vaguely confused by Kalim's response to seeing his magic work to grant your wish and you wondered why he was so excited about it. Lilia had told you he was a Genie, so it would make sense that his wishes would work.

"Make another wish-!"

"No."

Jamil's tail suddenly wrapped around Kalim and cut him off, squeezing the grinning Genie tightly in the scales.

"Just because this one didn't end terribly, doesn't mean it won't suddenly explode later or the next one won't have dire consequences. (Y/n), I beg you, do not make a wish again. There's a reason Kalim isn't allowed to grant wishes and I would rather a wish he grants you doesn't end in your death."

You were surprised to hear the serious request from the frowning snake as he squeezed Kalim again. How could it be so bad when you were holding the result of a good wish? Maybe there was just something different about your wish that let it work this time?

"I'll hold onto it for now in case it does explode."

Idia said, lifting it out of your hand and moved away, despite how you tried to make a grab for it. He kept it out of your reach and you angrily huffed, holding onto Grim as you glared at the tall Shinigami.

"Sorry, HellKitty, I don't want you holding it when it explodes. Okay?"

"But if it doesn't explode in the next few days, I want it back. I already have so little from my home, I want my music."

"Promise I will return it once I make a few tweaks to keep it from exploding."

"... Fine."

Crowley seemed thrilled with this development as he clapped his hands, his feathers somewhat ruffled despite his smile.

"Wonderful! Now, you all should run off to class before they start. Remember, my little chick, you are staying in Savanaclaw until the Spelldrive Tournament, okay?"

You nodded and Leona sent a clear taunting grin towards Malleus as he stood up, resting his arm over your shoulders and began herding you towards the door. Ruggie and Jack followed, Jack keeping a bit more distance for your sake, as Malleus glared at the departing Lion. He had to remind himself that he could keep an eye on you with that Magestone hanging from your neck, and it would have to be enough for now.

Should that Lion try anything while you are in Savanaclaw, Malleus was sure to have a quick response against it. You were just glad to have a break from the ever doting Diasomnia. Maybe this would prove to be a good thing.

[naffeclipse]

Gifts

Reader x Mermaid!Eclipse

Commission Info

Thank you so much to @counterbalance for requesting a darling fic about Y/N and Mer Eclipse learning about gift-giving and then properly celebrating Christmas together! This was a delight to write and I'm always happy to return to Soul Bound to the Astral Sea AU <3

Content Warning: Light angst.

———

Tonight, for once, you find it difficult to drift off into dreams. It’s hardly been an issue before. In the night, while you rest, you visit your dear friend—a figment of him. A memory replaying the last tattered pieces of your home like a wind-torn sail. 

The familiar ache in your heart does not rest. It is a machine, a relentless, chugging engine that does not know what time of day or energy you have to give, it goes on hurting, wondering about the little mer you held in your arms within the shelter of the cove. Where has he gone? Is he safe? Is he growing as big as you dream of?

You calm your breaths. Sliding your eyes close despite the lack of heaviness, excitement clings to your fingertips and toes. 

You’re not a child. Not anymore, but you’re not grown enough to be seen as an adult. Vanessa looks and acts like an adult. The adults talk to her like she is one. She kind of is. You think she’s serious enough to be one, anyway.

A teenager. That’s what you are. Neither baby nor adult. It’s frustrating at times when you’re so furiously captured within a body that has begun puberty but you’re still inclined to have a joy in things the little kids enjoy as well.

Fighting your jumping anticipation, you shift once under the scratchy covers. Go to sleep. Go to sleep.

The mantra works over you, and draws you down, down, down into a dark depth with no sun, only stars. 

The black space is as peaceful as a day with no wind. The stars glittering around you are distant and far, watching you with a cool awareness. You float with no power to propel yourself through the inky sea you float within, and you wait.

He does not leave you alone for long.

Brilliant orange light pierces the darkness. The glow engulfs you until you find his head rearing through the pitch-black like a solar flare across the surface of the sun. 

A warmth spills into your chest. Caressing your heart gently, the echo of a song a child of the sea once sang to you returns. 

Eclipse.

A leviathan—barely grown. His body easily dwarfs you with a long, scaled tail shimmering like pearls under moonlight, burning hot orange. Frills and fins wave through the black sea. His four limbs cut through the emptiness, propelling himself towards you until his two lower hands take you gently in his palms—like a person picking up a cat, you think.

He’s so much bigger now. A sort of growth spurt has taken him this last year,  lifting him out of the tiny minnow you found trapped on the beach and into this vision of a great sea beast that tears down ships and conjures storms. The frills around his face have thickened and are beginning to spread wider upon the crown of his face. His arms are thin but quickly gaining with limber, corded muscle. His colors of brilliant orange, red, and black are beginning to deepen into sharper, mature hues.

There is still so much growing left for him to do if he is to become a true monster of the ocean, as all the stories go. But he is large and he is gentle with you in his hands. 

His maw immediately splits into a great grin. He chirps a gentle sound in greeting. You stare at him, and the familiar ache returns at the impression of his claws handling you so gently.

What a beautiful, cruel dream.

“Hey, big guy,” you say softly. You softly tap the back of his hand cradling your torso. “Sorry, I couldn’t sleep.”

Eclipse grumbles low in displeasure. His wide eyes flare with a familiar concern before his expression picks up once more. His frills flick.

A pulse rings through your core. A question.  The reason for your excitement—not anxiety—that almost kept you from another blissful vision in the night.

He draws you close to his chest. Reclining onto his back, Eclipse lays you upon his heart. You want to laugh. How long ago was it when you cradled the little mer in your arms like a baby? Now he’s holding you effortlessly upon his chest, and you have never been smaller despite your growth spurt. Unfortunately, this is where it ends for you. 

The thought doesn’t scare you: being held in the palm of a giant mer. You knew then when you beheld his little face and his wide, scared eyes, that mers weren’t as bad as the people of the island thought. 

A great, powerful heat rolls through your body in confirmation. Then, a little nudge.

“Right,” you murmur, “Tomorrow is Christmas.”

You concentrate on images of a tree decorated in tinsel and ornament, and little gifts wrapped up underneath. That’s what it looks like for other children when their parents are providing. 

“It’s about gift-giving,” you study the pattern of his shining scales, “and being together with people you love.”

Immediately, your thoughts wander to the feast the island holds for everyone, including orphans like yourself. You’ll get a gift or two provided by the lady who works at the office in the center of town, paid for on behalf of the community, often generic and simple, like a good-smelling lotion or a tiny toy (though you’ve outgrown such desires). Other kids stare at you when you dare to linger far too long, and often loudly wonder if you’re the same one their parents say is strange and possibly dangerous. They know it’s due to a mer.

None of it matters to you. What you care for is the food, the rich smell of mashed potatoes, and the savory scent of a Christmas ham with honey glaze. Oh, you would give your left hand to devour an entire coconut cream pie.

Eclipse trills a curious sound.

“Vanessa will help me steal a pie,” you say, then laugh quietly while you outline a scale on Eclipse’s chest. Sometimes, when he has damaged or worn scales, you try to pick at them but your phantom hands seem to have no effect. “It’s not much, but it’s nice.”

Once, a few years ago, when you had woken up on Christmas day, Vanessa noticed the tears on your cheeks. Another dream of Eclipse left you with a deeper ache than usual. She didn’t even open any of her gifts; she simply slipped a coconut cream pie off of the dessert table they were setting up, and she took you down to the beach. It was cool, but not cold enough for snow. Vanessa told you to dig in. The two of you ate like toddlers, eating with your hands and smearing whipped cream on your chins. 

You looked out to the ocean, a dark gray-blue, and wondered if Eclipse would have eaten pie with you.

A flash of bittersweetness burns through you. Eclipse rests his hand gently on your back and strokes his thumb down your hair.

Eclipse rumbles as you lie on his chest, causing you to still. A terrible coolness floods your middle. You press your palm over his heart. It is not a content sound he often makes or a curious grumble. No, it is a moan of sorrow, something deep swirling within the pit of his stomach.

Again, you feel a sting of salt upon an old wound. Your heart ripples with his anguish.

“Eclipse?” You can’t lift your head from underneath his soothing motions. “What’s wrong?”

He continues to hold you with desperation as if trying to catch the moon by scooping up the reflection of lunar light upon a still, watery surface. 

The strength of this dream of your little mer bears down upon you, and you long to close your eyes. Instead, you turn your head and kiss the firm bone of his sternum.

“Don’t be sad,” you whisper, “It’s okay. It’s alright.”

You’re not very good at easing him. His presence is still downtrodden, but a tinge of frustration burns around it, like fire eaten away at the edges of old newspapers.

Another pulse rises through you, stronger than the rest. Then images begin to emerge in your mind. Ghostly memories of beautiful large seashells, pieces of lost treasure, and even a brass clock spring into the front of your awareness.

It perplexes you all the same, the levels of your dreams. Sometimes they’re sweet and simple, and Eclipse only holds you while the two of you drift away. Others are like this. It makes the ache deeper, widening like a chasm until it’s nothing more than a trench where no light reaches. 

“That’s a lot of gifts,” you chuckle, then add, “If you were here, I’d give you fish. So much fish that you couldn’t even eat it all. Would you like that?”

A soft rumble quakes underneath you. The impression of hunger storms through you as he provides a comically violent rendition of how he would tear apart and indulge in such a feast. 

But he falls quiet, and you have little more to say. 

You smile as his hand gently surrounds you in the form of a squeezing hug. You lay your head heavy on his chest and watch the starlight drift by. The constant heat in your chest is gentle and comforting, but underneath it is a salty sorrow.

He won’t be here to give fish to, and you will go to town with Vanessa tomorrow, and steal a pie.

When you wake, you feel the warmth of the dream fades. It’s Christmas. 

*

The sea is calm on a Christmas day. Last year, it was tormented with storms and raging seas after the harsh season of the sea leviathan attacks. You try to not remember the sickly yellow scales of the monster from the depths, nor its teeth, nor its stomach you were trapped inside. 

Now, you guide the Rustbucket II slowly, aware of the heavy catch dragging along its side. The silver fish struggle within the net. Your old fishing ship might have buckled such a load. Eagerly, you sail deeper into the sea while everyone on the island enjoys a feast, even Vanessa. 

You promised you would see her later. She threatened you with eating all of the coconut cream pies if you didn’t keep your word.

You turn your sights to the horizon. A bright sun shines down despite the cool temperatures. Your thick sweater combats the chill in the air, and you watch the fog of your breath heat up before your red-touched nose. Fixing a strap of your overalls, you search outwards with your heart.

Eclipse?

A resounding ripple in your heart answers back. Slowing down the length of the boat, you step out of the cabin to reach the railing on the deck. The beautiful water settles around you and your small vessel. You search the deep blue. Warmth climbs into your bone marrow. The presence of a great leviathan swirls the surface before gently, he breaks through with a gentle rise of his massive form.

Dripping above you, Eclipse grins, his maw open wide and revealing sharp layers of teeth. None of the jagged fangs frightened you. Instead, leaning your arms over the railing, you gaze back with a smile on your face.

“Hey, big guy.” You incline with your head towards the netting straining with the wriggling weight of your catch. “Merry Christmas.”

His eyes sweep slowly away from you and to the fish. His eyes widen, the pupils dilating in a predator’s hunger. His tongue, shadowy and sinuous, swipes his mouth.

For me?

He lifts a claw to his chest and taps once. The bright glow within his gaze becomes candle-soft.

You nod. “For you.”

His massive form sends ripples against your boat, rocking it in the slightest, but you flow with the bobbing effortlessly. Lowering himself to you, he presents his face close to the edge of your boat. You lean over, as far as you can without losing your footing, and press your face against his cheek. 

A gentle, musical sound leaves him, a sigh and a purr, rumbling into one pleased sound. His eyes close. With the gentle touch of sea foam, he nuzzles you softly before you pull back. You rub your gloved hands together.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Dig in!” You gesture at the net. Eclipse trills. Rising again, his massive claws work the riggings of the net just as you have shown him before, and with delicacy, freeing the netting from your boat. 

The catch of fish is akin to a bag of marbles in his hand. The little creatures struggle and flop about. Eclipse licks his chops once more. Opening the netting, he upends your gift and dumps it entirely into his maw. You make a slight face as he chews and a few slip away from his maws, falling into the sea and escaping.

You wait. A growing anticipation buzzes through your chest, not of your desire, but from Eclipse. He’s already eating his gift. What more could he be excited about?

A twinge of apprehension moves through you. He doesn’t think you have more fish waiting for him, does he?

Thoroughly rushing through his meal, he chews and takes a heaping swallow.

You watch his expression closely. “How was it? Did you like your snack?”

He trills in answer, humming a song that sends musical notes washing against you. A cheer like a great splash from his massive, lower hands follows. His tail whips excitedly down below. The ocean begins to stir before he calms himself and again, lowers himself down to you.

You laugh. His excitement is infectious, and you soon shake away any concern. He likes his gift. This year you had something you were excited to give. Your dear friend gets to participate in a holiday humans celebrate, and you’re not only looking forward to pie this year.

Eclipse finishes with a thick swallow. With a satisfied swipe of his tongue, he grins at you. You arch an eyebrow back. 

A pulse of energy, eager and excited, touches your heart.

“What? What is it, big guy?” You narrow your eyes in exaggerated suspicion when the leviathan tilts his head. A mischief glints in his eyes like a shimmer of stars.

Slowly, he lowers himself to you and gingerly lifts a claw to the top of your head to stroke your hair once.

Wait. Stay.

You dip your chin before Eclipse snaps his tail, and with thick ripples, bordering on crashing waves, he disappears down below. You watch his massive figure before the deep blue swallows up his bright red and orange colors.

What is he planning? Giving you another seashell? You adore the one in your home, sitting close to your bed on top of your dresser. He finds the most lovely things to bring you.

Get ready.

An image flows into your thoughts as the words enter your mind. A knife, like the one you keep in the cabin for cutting through nets. Slowly, you straighten from leaning idly against the railing. What is he going to give you that requires you to have a knife on hand?

Still, you do as he asks. You step away from the waters at last settling from his submergence and locate the little knife. It’s a touch blunt, you need to get it sharpened. Hopefully, it will do the trick.

Venturing back to the railing, you gaze down. A bubbling begins in your chest, clashing now with nervousness amid the anticipation. 

You furrow your brow. There are very few times in your life you have ever felt Eclipse nervous. 

An urge to call out to him almost overtakes you, but in synchrony with your thoughts, the colossal mer arises back from the depths. He stops at his shoulder, floating in the ocean and keeping his gaze level with you before he draws out his hand.

A small bag, netted and knotted, sits on the water-dripping center of his palm. You peer closer as he offers it up. His frills flick around his head, sitting back slightly while his wide eyes watch you. 

For you.

You glance at him before gingerly reaching out and taking the netted bag. You stare down at it, finding a few dozen oysters tied up within. 

You lift your head. Eclipse drops his hand back into the water and presses closer to your boat. He looms in the slightest. You get the impression that if he were anywhere close to your size, he would be watching over your shoulder and checking your expression every other second.

“Okay,” you say softly. You use the knife to cut the netting and carefully set the bag down on the deck before you pluck one oyster.

It’s dark. The meat might taste good, though you’ll admit, you’ve never dined on oysters before. Clams, yes, but not this. 

Open them.

The urge returns. A swirling vortex of enthusiasm follows, and you glance up at Eclipse for a split second of confusion before you remember what oysters are also known for.

You turn the oyster over. Examining in your hand, you carefully angle the blade and break open the shell. A gray flesh collects within, and several lumps sit underneath the flesh.

Lowering the knife, you stare in silent awe. Your lips part soundlessly. Carefully, using your fingertips, you begin to push on the bumps, coaxing the little treasures out of the oyster and into your palm.

Several pale and shimmering pearls, some round, some less so, fall into your palm.

Saltwater pearls.

“Oh, Eclipse.” You lift your head. “These are beautiful. How did you…?”

A hot breath leaves his mouth—as if he were holding it all the while. He dips his head. Impressions fly through your thoughts. He spoke with Vanessa (as best as he could when she cannot hear him the way you can) and she suggested a pearl necklace for a Christmas gift. Eclipse has found no such treasure in his years of collecting, but he knew what made pearls.

Another thought enters your mind. Eclipse longed to crack open the oysters himself but his claws were far too big for such little pearls.

But a gentle warmth fills your body.

Then you feel his thoughts center on you.

Except you.

You make a sound caught somewhere between a sigh and a sob. You shake your head slightly, blinking back the slight wetness threatening to plunge your face. Clutching the pearls, you look up at him.

“Thank you. No one has ever given me something so precious.” You beam and gingerly roll the priceless pearls between your fingers.

He bobs his head, and settles against the side of your boat, carefully to not put any pressure onto its frame, and settles in as you crack open the neck oyster. A warmth radiates from him, filled to the brim with relief and content.

Once you’ve gathered a priceless hoard of pearls, you get to your feet and kiss Eclipse on his sea-slick cheek. A gesture done in gratitude and as a gift.

[ddejavvu]

Animangus reader x Remus where she is a cat and while he sits in the common room asleep on his lap while he readers and Sirius comes in and stops the cat immediately with a "what is that?" In disgust. When Remus responds "a cat?" Padfoot is immediately barking at her and she startals awake digging her nails into Remus before she jumps on top of a book shelf and transforms back and I stuck up there throwing a book at Sirius.

Sirius Black's voice is, perhaps, never melodic, but it's far more grating than usual today when the man stops dead in the doorway and demands to know, "What is that?"

Remus glances up at him, then down to his lap where Sirius's eyes are locked, finding only your little cat form curled up and dozing.

"A cat." Remus blinks, uninterested until he realizes that his explanation hadn't been enough to de-escalate Sirius. Apparently, he should have notified him that you are not just a cat, but that you are, in fact, his girlfriend. Sirius isn't aware of your animagus abilities yet, and before Remus can stop him, he's transforming into his own animal counterpart.

"Sirius, no-!" Remus tries, but it's too late. He finds that dogs' paws are far less gentle and comforting than cats' paws are, only when there are four of them jabbing into his thighs and torso as Sirius vaults into his lap. Fortunately, you'd escaped the dog's snapping maw, but you'd startled awake with a yelp and jumped onto the bookcase behind Remus's head, which means that you're now sleep-deprived, terrified, and stuck.

"Pads," Remus sighs despondently as the dog braces his front two paws on Remus's shoulder to bark up at you. Your back is arched and you're yowling down at Sirius, until you manage to scramble to the top of the bookshelf and find yourself on a steady surface. You have space to transform back now, and you do so while perched precariously atop the bookshelf, eyes just as sharp and unnerving as they were in your cat form when you glare at Sirius.

"You stupid mutt," You accuse, "I just wanted to nap!"

Now Remus has a lapful of Sirius, fur giving way to pale skin and messy black locks. He glares rather unimpressed at his best friend, but Sirius pays him no mind, gaping up at you where you balance on the top of the bookshelf.

"You're an animagus!" He realizes, and you scoff at his inspiring observational skills.

"Well done, Sirius" You sneer, "I didn't know becoming a dog animagus meant you'd retain the same intelligence level even as a human."

"Dogs are very smart," Sirius muses, unphased, "I didn't know you were an animagus!"

"That's because you were too busy collecting sticks beneath your bed," Remus grumbles, pushing at Sirius's chest, "Come on, Pads, off."

"Alright, alright," Sirius whines, pitching himself rather dramatically off of Remus's lap and offering a hand to you where you're still balanced on the bookshelf, "Here, Y/N, jump off this way."

"Absolutely not!" You vow, then with a whirl of limbs and fur, reside in a cat's body once more. Sirius watches as you bat a paw at his outstretched hand, then leap gracefully back into Remus's lap, hissing warningly at him before curling up once more to doze.

"Prissy," Sirius scoffs, and Remus juts out a gentle hand to stroke along your back when you look like you might leap at him. You're placated enough, for the time being, and Sirius stalks away to busy himself with something, hopefully homework but probably his aforementioned stick collection.

"Well I suppose the cat's out of the bag now," Remus muses, a sound between a laugh and a grunt managing to escape his lips when you dig your claws into his jeans at the poor joke, "Alright! Alright, sorry. But don't let him bother you, darling, okay?" Remus strokes a finger between your ears and grins when they twitch, "He's just a dumb dog."

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ His heart is beating just for me (I can hardly breathe). ❞

alpha!Fushiguro Toji x omega!ftm!reader | AU, SOFTDOM!Toji | nsfw, smut, p**n with like a litte plot, mostly fluffy but with a hint of angst | sub. bttm. reader | wc: 2K | NOT PROOFREAD

warnings: omegaverse content, knotting, mentions of prostitution (Toji), disassociation, talks of s*x work, mentions of mpreg, established D/S dynamics, safeword used, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick/cock, use of cunt, pussy, hole),

masterlist:

authors note: save me softdom!toji...save me...(just wanna say, rough sex is great but in the context of this fic Toji has some feelings about it (more so sex work) and that’s it. I’m not policing you on how you wanna get freaky, if you want rough sex my other fics have them ;3 ) * song on repeat: Every Inch by Barlow & Bear (Abigail Barlow & Emily Bear)

“Are you okay?” he smooths a hand down your sides, watching the rise and fall of your chest with rapt interest as you dig the heels of your palm in your eyes. The sensation of his callouses stroking your skin causes your breath to stutter. He tilts his head and places his palm across your sternum, spreading his touch until his thumb rubs against the pebbled surface of your nipple.

“Sweetcheeks,” he sings, grinning slightly as you spread your thighs when he readjusts his weight to lean over you. Toji is patient as you drop your arms onto the bed, those heavy-lidded eyes so hazy as they peer up at him from beneath those pretty lashes. The alpha in him sings his praises to you; pride manifesting itself through the steady rumbling within Toji’s chest and travelling to his throat.

The purr makes you smile, returning it brokenly with your own as you reach for him.

“‘Atta boy,” Toji relishes your embrace. He steadies you as he holds you to his chest and rests your thighs over his hips. The sounds the both of you make ooze contentment in a way that makes Toji chuckle. When he rests a hand on your nape you sigh, melting further into his shoulder as you place lazy kisses up his neck.

The scar of your mating bite makes his scent more biting — a sharp, spicy, aroma that wafts up your nose as he moves his hips. The gasp that leaves your lips simply egg him on. Cunt squeezing him tightly as he fucks up into you.

“Toji,” you squeak out. He says your name in return. The rumble in his chest making his already deep voice go an octave lower as his voice rumbles. It sends shivers up your spine as you lock your ankles behind him.

Flesh spills between Toji’s fingers. He bounces you with his strength. It was a marvel how easily he could. Those years of training had given him such a sturdy build. Those broad shoulders and shapely waist — not to mention, his delectable thighs that are constantly marked up from your own doing.

Toji is obsessed with his strength just as you are. It makes it easier to protect you, to prove to himself that his violence can be used for more than just money and rage.

“Fuh - Fuck, Toji!”

Hearing you moan like that is an added bonus.

He presses his lips to your jugular. Feels it pulse against his teeth when he curls his lips. You toss your head back, digging your nails into his muscly back, and Toji presses your body closer. His dick is splitting you open, the sound of slick and skin slapping skin resonating through the room as you rest down on his knot. It’s teasing you. Nearly getting in yet the angle wasn’t right and he was too big to simply slip in.

It drives him insane how easily you submit to him. As if you’re unaware of how dangerous his mouth is. A mouth full of teeth belonging to a man — and alpha — like him did not deserve such a willing and soft throat.

He’s used this maw as a weapon, a final resort — flashes of memory filter through his open eyes and Toji pulls his head away to kiss you instead. You taste sweet and you moan desperately into his mouth as he closes his eyes.

Your nails are making his shoulders twitch — he focuses on your wet cunt and the way your cock is twitching and peeking from beneath the hood. When you gasp out his name again, Toji snarls and pushes you onto the bed again. You yelped, grasping onto the bedsheets as he crawled on top of you.

He slipped out from the sudden change in position. You’re looking up at him like before, but this time he feels disgusted. So trusting, so open, and pliant.

Weak.

Toji’s brows twitch, a shadow crossing over his expression as he grabs your wrist and brings it to his nose. Your scent is strong here, and he tries his hardest to drown in it.

It shouldn’t be hard. Here he is, in your nest, and between your legs where he can feel how warm you are. Yet. His brain won’t shut off.

The bed turns to cracked stone floors and his mouth is full of blood while his lips sag from how bruised it is and the cut isn’t helping. That day, everything shifted for him; he became a proper unfeeling Ze’Nin despite his hatred for them.

You’re watching as he guides his cock inside of you. Slipping inside and grunting as his knot is flushed against you instead of inside of you. His bangs are swaying a bit, dark locks turning darker with sweat as he braces himself on his palms. But he’s not looking at you. Toji is looking through you as he starts thrusting.

The action causes you to mewl but your forehead wrinkles with worry. You try to pull your hands away from his grip but he tightened it, snarling once again which makes you freeze.

“Toji?”

Your eyes widen as he adjusts his knees, bucking his hips and pushing his knot in. Mouth opening, you moan wantonly, slick gushing out as your hips jerk.

“Shit, shit, shit – Toji!”

He huffs and pants above you, catching one of your curled fingers between his teeth as the knot begins to catch. Your cunt is twitching around it, confused between taking it in and pushing it out. But eventually, with enough pressure, Toji’s cock hits home and you whine in pleasure. There it is, the thing your hindbrain has been practically screaming for these past few days.

It’s weight inside of you, the way it stretches and plugs you up as Toji’s cockhead insistently presses right against that sweet spot within you. It makes your toes curl, overwhelmed with pleasure as your hips raise and buck. He doesn’t even move, because you fuck yourself on his dick well enough. Ass lifting off the bed, desperate rutting and bucking, Toji lets go of your wrist and you instantly bring your hands to jerk off your dick.

He grunts from the vigorous movements, raising a brow when you almost pull his knot out and sink back down with a series of pornographic noises. You do it again. Relishing in the stretch from the middle of his knot, your cunt trying so hard to keep him in and Toji finds it humorous enough to huff out a laugh.

You were a weird omega. Fucking yourself on his knot, chewing on your lip and pleading that it’s too much all while he simply watches because you’re doing so well.

He feels guilty for calling you weak. Pathetic, sure, but only in a sexual setting and only for him. But weak?

No, that was just him.

Him and his own issues.

“Alpha,” you call out. Toji snaps back in, pressing down his larger frame onto you and rendering you immobile as he does so. His chest against yours — Toji looks at you and you feel relief in the recognition in those eyes. The bitter scent that was muddling his signature bergamot one fading away as it mixes with yours.

“Yeah, babe?” his nose bumps into your chin, teeth teasingly nipping on it, before he plants gentle kisses across your face. You wrap your arms around him, syncing your breathing with his own as you liplock.

When he pulls away, you say; “Strawberries.”

Toji does not ask for a second time. His eyes widen for a moment but once it registers, he peels away. You try not to make a noise as he attempts to pull his knot out but a strangled groan slips through, so Toji offers your calf an apologetic squeeze. His knot was not happy, but thankfully, neither of you had cum from his dick just yet so it wasn’t too snug.

You push to sit, watching him as he finds some washcloths to wipe his junk down with and thanking him when he gives you one as well.

“I’ll get us some water,” you nod at him. Your legs were pretty useless at this point anyways. Leaning against your headboard, you try your hardest to recompose yourself enough.

When he returns with two glasses of cold water, you both sit in comfortable silence as you take sips. He waits for you to talk first, patient as you find the words while you swallow down the mouthful of liquid.

“Are you okay?”

“I should be the one askin’ you that, babe.”

You place the glass down on the floor, making your way to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. You’re on your knees, which makes him tilt his head up as he gazes at you.

“You said our safeword,” he continues, “was I too rough?”

There were moments were his strength was incredibly helpful in your bed. But it isn’t exactly something he enjoys abusing when it wasn’t needed.

When he was younger and in need of cash, he used sex as a means to earn some.

It was stupid, dangerous, humiliating in a way he had never quite felt before. He was the alpha, he was the one on top, and he was the service they paid for. Toji never worked corners, he simply offered when he sensed interest — which makes this humiliation feel inane.

If he asked for it, offered it, took the money; what guilt should the other party feel?

It was...complicated. He’s happy he no longer prostitutes himself just to gamble the money away anymore, he’s happy he doesn’t have to let his mind wander while the woman below him begs for him to be rough. While she’s mewling and begging and crying — and all he feels is disgust at himself when she seems so happy at being choked, slapped, shoved around.

It’s all consensual, she told him.

Barely, he bit out.

But to her, to everyone, that was just Toji being Toji. Saying outlandish things in that blunt tone and barely there grin.

His whole life has been rough. Blood and gore and abuse.

So he enjoys this; sex with you. Where he simply needs to nose the top of your head and ask if he could touch. Where you guide his hands to where you ache for him, and his hands that have killed so many, is suddenly a healing salve. He was a dominant man, but he wasn’t violent. He doesn’t want to be.

There were moments where he could be rough, of course, but he just prefers this.

“No, baby, not at all.” His shoulders loosens and you offer a grin. “Okay,” he curls a hand around your waist and tugs you closer.

“...You spaced out,” you tucked his hair behind his ear, reaching to comb his hair back as he hid his face under your jaw. “We can talk about it if you want.”

“Not really,” he mumbles. You’re not pressed about his answer. Simply threading your fingers through his hair with a hum.

“You wanna talk about you fucking yourself on my knot?” You laugh at him, you can feel his smile on your neck. That scar on his lip tracing your skin.

“Hmm, why? Ya’ didn’t like it?”

“Oh, I fuckin’ loved it. Didn’t think omegas liked that shit. Thought it hurt.”

You have some decency to blush. Happy that Toji’s face isn’t looking at yours so he can’t see you —

“You blushin’?”

Damn it.

“Doesn’t hurt when my cock is rock hard,” you reply. “My cunt was soaked too.” Toji snorts, pulling away to lean on his hand, taking another sip of his water.

“Like a damn slip and slide,” he mumbles. You laugh again, shaking your head and kissing the trail of water away from his chin. He chases your lips and you allow him to claim a kiss.

He groans into it, relishing in your softness as you cup his face and begin to climb his lap again. He’s still at full mast and so are you. You place your forehead over his. Taking in his handsome face, tracing the scar on his lip. He kisses your thumb, holding you securely with one arm while he holds his glass in the other.

“You okay, Toji?”

He smiles. He never told you this, but he enjoys this position the most. Looking up at you like this. Adoring you. Worshipping you. Loving you. It feels so natural.

“Always am when I’m with you, sweetcheeks.”

The crinkle in your nose before you laugh. Toji wants to imprint that within his brain. If he ever died and if those sick fucks decided to cut him open, he’s certain that when they sliced his brain into onion-thin slices they would find you there.

Because he doesn’t want it any other way. His life made no sense before you. It won’t make sense ever again if you ever leave him.

He abandons his empty glass and places it vicariously on the bedding so he can hold you properly.

“Can I make you cum around my dick now?” he asks.

“Think you can before Tsumiki and Megumi come back from school?” you challenge.

He huffs, an upside-down grin appearing as he grips onto your ass.

“I think I could even give them another sibling actually.”

“Toji!”

[gay-dorito-dust]

hii there is a lack of maws clark fics imo so im here asking if you could write something like waking up with him and he tries to cook breakfast but his clumsiness takes over him? anw i love your writing sm,, have a gr8 dayyy

Upon waking up to an empty, semi-cold bed that of which Clark usually occupies, followed by a series of noises coming from the kitchen, you were soon enough lured out of bed and dressed in one of Clark’s shirts and some sweats before trudging down the hallway that felt to have continuously stretched out before you and unto eternity for your poor foggy brain.

That was until you had found yourself stood at the entrance to the kitchen, where you were facing down Clark’s broad back as he threw himself headfirst into partaking in the ever so serious task everyone had to face after waking up; making breakfast. It’s cute watching Clark as he cautiously attempts to crack eggs into a pan without getting any shell remnants in the yolk, you didn’t need to get a look at his face, because you could already envision the furrow in his brows and the look of absolute concentration that would’ve been evident within his beautiful blue eyes; Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if the tip of his tongue was absentmindedly sticking out from the corner of his mouth!

You’ve told Clark time and time again that he needn’t worry about breakfast and that you’ll make it or get something while you were out, but you happen to find that Clark is a persistent man when it comes to help making life a bit easier for you, even when you didn’t necessarily need him to. You didn’t believe yourself worthy of Clark’s golden heart but yet he was the one who gifted it to you, with nothing but the sweetest smile upon his face, speckled with the crumbs of the sweets he had prior as he asks for your permission in keeping your heart safe; In regards as to where you were now, it was obvious that you responded to his confession in kind.

‘What’s cooking, handsome?’ You said, your voice cutting through the silence.

‘Ah!’ Clark exclaimed, taken aback by your suddenness but as he jolted, the egg in his careful hand was soon crushed into of bits regarding shell, egg and yolk, whereas the handle to the pan he was once holding so steadily was now easily snapped off from the rest of it; leaving the eggs that were already in the pan to cook on the hot stove without a means of getting it off safely. Clark looked like the spitting image of an upset puppy dog upon seeing how quickly his perfect breakfast suddenly become…imperfect. He just wanted to treat you for everything you’ve done for him but with his powers, even the most minuscule task was a difficultly when having to actively make an attempt in not breaking things. However he was still coming to terms with his powers, but slowly but surly he will one day have a firmer understanding over them to the point where breaking appliances and the like will become less commonplace.

‘I am…well…was in the process of making you breakfast until…well…you know.’ Clark sighed, gesturing with an arm to pathetic attempt at breakfast, his head hung low against his chest. You smiled sympathetically. ‘Hey big guy.’ You started as you walked over to him, holding his face up by the cheeks, stroking your thumbs across the skin there reassuringly, ‘no need to go beating yourself up about these things. For all things considered, it smelt so delicious that it had me getting up out of our warm bed. Which is already a feet worth celebrating.’ Clark chuckled as he burrows his face into your hands as his own took to bringing you closer to him.

‘I guess, but still I wanted to do something nice for you.’ He utters and you couldn’t help but huff. ‘You do enough for me already, Clark. We’re a team, let me help you and do my share of the heavy lifting now and then.’ You tell him, pressing a kiss to his nose, ‘but firstly we should probably clean this up.’ You pull away to gesture to the broken pan still on the stove, alongside the countertops that were a mess with empty egg cartons from Clark’s previous attempts at cracking eggs and possible pancake batter.

Clark’s embarrassed chuckle filled your ears as he was coming to terms that maybe being in the kitchen wasn’t his strong suit to begin with. ‘Yeah. I second that idea.’

[nouearth]

once upon an eggnog.

clark kent x male reader.

summary: there's nothing better than physical touch to sober reader up after a christmas party.

wc: 1.1k. warnings: fluff, holiday!season, drunk!reader, maws!clark, worried!clark, co-worker!au, reader doesn't know clark is superman, non-descriptive mention of reader throwing up, clark has very warm hands and is a simp because he wants to make reader happy.

The groan you let out was feeble. Your shadow trailed behind your sluggish steps as you foraged through neighboring street lights, gravel and pavement, for a stake of its emanating warmth.

“Hey—“ A voice called out from behind you, the blanket of snowflakes and cold dulling the panic in the man’s voice. You rested your body against the lamppost, finding the warmth to be exemplary over your frosted cheeks, but unbearable for your insides.

You let out a deep sigh. The longer you stood under the light, sweat droplets began to frame your face, followed by an overwhelming urge to cleanse your body from the inside out.

“I don’t feel…” You slurred in your speech, holding your stomach as you craned over until you slid onto your bottom, head exposed to the light as you faced the comforting snow.

“Wait up!” He called out to you several more times in midst of his trudge, his panting audibly close. 

You began grumbling incoherent sounds in response as you clumsily whipped off your coat. Your mind was frosted like the windows on the cars lined down the street as you drew in the cold air with a greed to pacify the strange feeling in your stomach. 

“(M/N), keep that on!”

“What are you…?! My mom—“ The constant shifting and turning of your body, all in an attempt to strip yourself of the restrictive wool of your vest and reindeer sweater, churned the bottom of your stomach until it was mush. 

Absolute.

Mush. 

It was funny how the human body worked because even in your drunken state, your natural instinct to find the nearest public trash can surfed through the flood of eggnog and booze, and you immediately emptied the toxins out of your body with several strong hurls. 

“Geez, I told you not to run off…” A messenger bag and a familiar coat dropped near your foot, and the man did not spare a single second to come to your aid. “And also not to drink that much...” He rubbed your back in slow and soothing circles, then in vertical swipes as you coughed out the remaining poison. The strong bass pulsating into his palm as a special way of saying ‘thank you.’

“Clark, it was just a sip—“

“You had six cups….” Clark confessed and your immediate frown was telling in whether you were an innocent bystander, or the reason why the office was running low on drinks. Rummaging through his pockets, he then offered a handful of crumbled napkins that he took from the party.

“The last two didn’t count.” You slurred again, slowly regaining your strength as you stabilized yourself over the rim of the garbage can before wiping your mouth with the napkin. “I needed a drink with my food—“

“You barely touched your plate—“ He cut himself off as soon as he caught you staring at him, the eggnog stupefying you into a dazed state in which crickets and holiday festivities replaced coherent thoughts. 

“We gotta get you home. It’s freezing.” He said, and you swayed in place as if you were a palm tree basking in the summer breeze. Or maybe like a giant marshmallow floating yet sinking in the warmth of hot cocoa.

Clark tried his best to fight the smile that was creeping upon him as he tidied your outerwear for the fourth time tonight, shielding you from the dusting of cold when he layered you with your coat.

His jaw clenched while he chewed back an adoration for your nearly frost-bitten visage, stalling the fixing of your reindeer headband to be closer to you a little while longer.

Though he couldn’t tell whether the deep flush of your skin was caused by the weather or the booze, it didn’t matter in the end because the winter of your skin magnetized a bravery in Clark that stilled you in place. Warmth sprouted over your cheeks like an approaching spring, and you closed your eyes peacefully.

Clark had put his bare hands over your cheeks, cupping them like a delicate bowl of snowflakes until they melted into his skin, until all he could feel was you and your equally delicate skin.

“Better?” Hesitantly, his thumbs followed the trail of your dark circles. It was something you’d always complain about yet ironically, your evident lack of sleep ranked high on his ‘favorite things about you’ list.

“Mhm. If only your hands were a little warmer.” You sighed again, the snowing melting into your hair and skin battling Clark’s warmth.

“Hm…” Clark held your cheeks closer, deepening his palms into you, and he closed his eyes, silently channeling his energy into his affectionate hold over you.

Maybe it was the booze playing tricks on you, or perhaps it was your body shutting down for the night, but you physically felt his hands heat up, warmer than his previous offer. Nonetheless, you gave him a nod of approval, and despite drowsiness approaching, your eyes opened bright to thank him with a smile.

“I’m guessing that’s why you don’t wear gloves?”

“Uh…” Clark laughed, an anxiousness you could point out, but you couldn’t exactly trust your judgement in your current state. “I guess you could say that’s why.”

“Well,” You said before a yawn slurred your speech even more, feeling the muscles in your body losing its strength by the second. “Remind me when you’re nearby so I can use you as a…”

“As a..?” There was a slight push to his palms, a strange sudden heaviness before Clark realized you were gradually leaning forward. “(M/N)—“ 

Gravity pulled your eyelids down, then your body forward, a striking contrast to the graceful dance of snow that dusted the ground. “As…”

And you completely slumped into Clark’s arms. Thankfully, his reflexes were quick to catch you before you could even feel the slightest breeze.

“Let’s get you home…” He smile mirrored the gentle frame of your body as you sunk into him. 

And he held you close, accompanying your deep slumber with a warmth that surrounded and protected your body like a string of Christmas lights weaved through pine needles and tree branches.

A warmth that campaigned against the icier gale, the ego of a higher altitude, during Clark’s flight to take you back home.

And a warmth that was victorious when Clark tucked you into bed, a measly makeshift of comfort and peace you thought during your stir of sleep.

Because Clark’s warmth was a newfound establishment from this night onwards.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[sparrowritings]

seven days to confess

pairing: geto suguru x gn!reader

summary: shoko and satoru give suguru an ultimatum to confess to you by the end of the week

tags: jealousy, not actually unrequited love

word count: 3.7k

a/n: i know this is a suguru x reader but there’s lowk more satoru and shoko x reader LMAO

Shoko has had enough. Enough of the needless pining that she somehow always finds herself in the middle of. 

She was the first to notice, before Satoru even suspected a thing. Lingering gazes and touch, Suguru is always a gentleman around you, opening doors, bringing you food when you are busy with missions all day, and giving you shoulder massages whenever you are stressed from writing reports. He didn’t treat Shoko or Satoru like that, so for Shoko, it was obvious that you were special to him.

When she brought it up to Satoru, he only made the case more damning. 

Shoko and Satoru sat under a tree, avoiding the harsh afternoon sun. A few dozen yards away, you and Suguru were sparring, curses clashing with the multiple light-constructed weapons you had summoned with your cursed technique.

“Satoru, do you know if Suguru like, has a thing for (Y/N)?”

“A thing? He hasn’t told me anything if he does.”

“Really? I feel like Suguru’s so lovesick I feel nauseous just watching them when they’re together.” 

The two of you had stopped sparring, and instead, you were playing with Rainbow Dragon, as if it was a big dog. You created a large ball of light and tossed it into the air, and Rainbow Dragon launched itself off the ground, fetching the ball in its maw and returning it to you, dropping the ball at your feet. You pet the curse’s head, and it bounds around you, playfully nudging you and licking your face.

“Ew. I’ve never seen Rainbow Dragon do that in all the three years that I’ve known it.” Satoru pointed out, placing his hand on his chin as if pondering deeply.

“Speaking of which, I ran into Suguru yesterday in the common room at ass o’clock making ramen. I asked if he was making a midnight snack, and he told me he was making it for (Y/N) because they were hungry.” He recounted, “He’s never made anything for me, no matter what I say and no matter how many puppy dog eyes I throw at him.”

“We should ask him about it later.” Shoko spoke, amused.

Satoru shrugs, still watching you play fetch with Rainbow Dragon.

“Sure, it’ll be fun.” He replies.

The chance comes when the four of you are hanging out in Suguru’s room, a week from winter break. A cheesy romcom plays on the portable DVD player set on the table. You and Suguru are sitting on the bed, while Satoru is sitting against the bed on the floor, and Shoko is plopped down on the bean bag next to him. 

Halfway into the movie, Shoko nudges Satoru. He clears his voice.

“Uh, (Y/N), I left one of my mission reports in your room after we were working on reports the other day, do you mind grabbing them for me?”

“Your mission report? The last time we worked on reports was weeks ago.”

“U-Uh yeah, I-I was, uh, looking through my reports… and I realized I was missing one.”

“Huh.” You raised an eyebrow in suspicion and confusion, before getting up to look for Satoru’s mission report, “I’ll be right back.” 

The door closes with a click after you leave the room.

“What was that about?” Suguru questions, suspicious.

“Sooooo, Suguru,” Satoru starts with a mischievous grin on his face, “Christmas is coming up.”

“Right, like it does every other year.” He answers cautiously. 

“What Satoru is trying to say, is that you should ask (Y/N) to go out because we are sick and tired of your pining.” Shoko continues.

“What? Where did you guys get that idea from?” Suguru deflects.

“We have eyes, Suguru. You guys make heart eyes at each other every time you are within a ten foot radius. You should just ask them out and spare all of our suffering.”

“Okay…? But I’m pretty sure they don’t like me like that. We’re just really good friends.”

“The only person you’re convincing is yourself, Suguru.” 

The room is plunged into a tense silence.

“Fine. I admit it. I like (Y/N) as more than just friends, but there is no way they feel the same way.” 

“So you’re not going to tell them?” Satoru asks.

“No way, especially not now.”

“Fine then, I’ll just tell them for you since you don’t have the balls to.” Shoko deadpans.

“No.” Suguru answers immediately.

“I propose a deal.” Shoko says, smirking.

“I don’t like the sound of that but go on.”

“You tell (Y/N) that you like them within the next seven days, I won’t tell them anything. But if you don’t, Satoru or I will help you, and we’ll make it very embarrassing for you.” Shoko states.

“Doesn’t really seem like I have a choice in the matter.”

“Nope! So what do you say?” Satoru says with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Seen as I don’t have a choice, I’ll have to agree.” Suguru says.

“Great! Then we wish you to best of luck for the upcoming week.” Satoru says as he slaps Suguru in the back.

You return the same moment, pushing the door open.

“Satoru I couldn’t find your mission report.”

“Now that I think about it, I think I didn’t leave it in your room.” You frown, giving him a confused look.

“Okay,” You drag out the word, not fully believing the white haired man, “Let me know when you find it.” Satoru shoots you a double thumbs up.

Of course, Shoko and Satoru did not intend to let the week pass by easily. 

“Here’s the plan,” Shoko says, pointing at a crudely drawn diagram on the whiteboard next to her. They were hidden away in the morgue, far away from wherever Suguru and you were. She points to the stick figure which represented you.

“First, we have to take (Y/N) out on ‘dates’. They can’t be too forward, so that (Y/N) doesn’t suspect anything, but they also have to be believable enough that Suguru gets jealous.” Satoru nods in agreement. Shoko then points to a stick figure drawn with a singular bang over its forehead. 

“Then, we make sure Suguru knows about these ‘dates’. He gets jealous, then BOOM-” Shoko points to two stick figures holding hands, “we get them together.”

“Alright, sounds good to me,” Satoru says, grinning.

On Monday, Satoru asks you to grab dessert with him. You say yes since it was a regular occurrence, but normally Suguru would also tag along. When you met up with him and Suguru was nowhere to be seen, you were surprised.

“Is Suguru not coming?”

“He said he had to work on a mission report so he won’t be coming.”

“Oh, okay. Let’s go then.” 

The two of you visit a desert place in the nearest town.

“Same old?” The owner of the store asks.

“Yes please!” Satoru answers enthusiastically. You take a seat at one of the booths near the window. The owner arrives at your table, placing down a slice of strawberry cake for Satoru and sakura mochi for you. You dig in immediately, and Satoru sneakily takes a photo of you enjoying your favourite dessert.

“We should take a photo.” 

“Sure? What for?”

“To send to the group to show the other two what they’re missing out on.” You shuffle to the other side of the booth, and Satoru wraps a hand around your shoulder. Satoru had always been surprisingly physically affectionate with friends, so you thought nothing of it. 

He takes the photo with his free hand, and as he snaps a few consecutive photos, he smears some of the leftover cream from his strawberry cake onto your face. You retaliate immediately, getting some of the cream from the plate and flicking it at him. Satoru continued taking photos, but at that point, both of you were laughing so hard that you could barely sit up straight.

Satoru sends the photos into the group chat once you agree on a truce to stop assaulting each other with cream. It is a series of ten photos. The first few were normal selfies, you and Satoru smiling at the camera. Then the photos devolved into blurry messes of cream and smiles, as they captured the food fight frame by frame, first showing how Satoru started the fight, then how you got back at him.

They were cute photos, you had to admit. You responded to the photos with a growing heart emoji and “:P”, before making your way back onto campus with Satoru.

On Tuesday, Shoko invites you to self-care night. You knew that Shoko often had self-care nights with Satoru. You were invited sometimes, but oftentimes you chose to hang out with Suguru and they stopped inviting you after you turned them down a few times. 

Suguru was still out with Satoru on a mission, so you had taken Shoko up on her offer.

Shoko had set her room up for peak comfort. She had her DVD player on her table along with a collection of different DVDs to pick from. The rest of the table space was taken up with a variety of skincare products to choose from. She put a movie on in the background, and she began guiding you through her ten-step skincare routine.

You followed her instructions and put a green clay mask on your face. When your face was fully covered in green, you laughed and pulled out your phone, taking a selfie with Shoko, who pouted at the camera.

As the mask was drying, you let her do your nails, coating them in a layer of baby blue nail polish. As the night came to an end, you both sheet masks on, sitting on Shoko’s fuzzy throw blanket on her bed.

“What do you think of Suguru, (Y/N)?” Shoko asks.

“What do I think of him? Well…I think he’s kind, talented, and a really hard worker. I think he’s convinced that he’s not good enough, but he’s the only person who doesn’t see how amazing he is. He’s one of the best friends I have along with you and Satoru.” 

“So what would you say if Suguru asked you out?”

“Huh?” Your mind went blank as blood rushed to your face, “Why would you say that? He doesn’t even like me like that!” 

“So you would reject him if he did ask?” You pause.

“I would say yes, but also he would never ask me out.” You answer cautiously. 

“Okay.” Shoko didn’t say anything else related to the matter for the rest of the night, and by the time you left her room, you had forgotten about the exchange.

When you were back in your own room, you received the photos that you had taken that night, sent into the group chat with the rest of your co-years.

Like the ones you had taken with Satoru, they were cute photos. You replied with a simple “<3” and turned in for the night.

On Wednesday, you were pleasantly surprised to find out that you had no missions or classes. You were also much more surprised to find out that Satoru was inviting you out to dinner, and at a very fancy restaurant at that. He had invited you to a high-end Western restaurant in Shinjuku and had said it was his treat for putting up with him for so long. You had known Satoru to pull weird stunts here and there, but this seemed like a nice gesture so you had agreed.

Wear something nice ;) 

He had texted you that morning. In the end, you chose a going-out outfit that was classy but still showed some skin. You had done your hair as well and wore your favourite makeup look for going out. When you met up with Satoru before the dinner, even he seemed surprised at how good you looked. 

“You look good, (Y/N),” Satoru wanted to add on “Suguru would lose his shit if he saw you right now,” but decided against it before the words slipped out.

You held onto him, and a moment later, you were at the entrance of the restaurant. Satoru had already arranged what foods were going to be served ahead of time, so the two of you waited patiently for the food to arrive.

The lighting of the restaurant was dim, but the candles set on the tables along with lanterns hanging from the ceiling cast a warm glow over your faces. The floor-to-ceiling windows you sat next to provide a front-row view of Shinjuku, countless billboards and signs flashing in a sea of lights. The entire mood of the restaurant was intimate, welcoming, and cozy, and it was almost romantic-

“Satoru is this a date?” You ask suddenly, the gears in your head spinning and clicking into place.

“What." Satoru replies, startled.

“Satoru, I really appreciate you doing all of this, but I have feelings for someone else-”

“I know that you like Suguru.” He blurted.

“What- did Shoko tell you? I swear when I get back she’s-” Satoru cut you off with a sigh, taking his shades off and placing them on the table, rubbing the bridge of his nose. There was no lying out of this one.

“Look. Shoko and I came up with a plan to get Suguru to confess to you by the end of this week. Tonight is part of that.”

“And you intend to get him to ask me out by going out with me and doing it for him?” You ask incredulously.

“No, jeez. The plan is to show Suguru that you’re going on-” He makes air quotes with both hands, “-dates with us, which would make him jealous and push him to confess to you.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out.

“You know he doesn’t like me like that right? I’ve tried telling Shoko but I don’t think she took me seriously.” 

“For the record, I don’t like you like that; I like that we’re friends, and I’d like to keep it that way. Let’s just enjoy this dinner and trust me and Shoko to work our magic. I also wasn’t kidding when I said that this was to thank you for putting up with me. I just have to treat Shoko and Suguru to something similar as well after this.” Satoru offers, holding a hand out as if offering a truce. 

You ponder for a moment, before taking his hand. 

“Deal.”

The rest of the night goes smoothly once the tension between you two diffuses. You had the best steak you have ever had in your entire existence, followed by the best tiramisu that you had ever put into your mouth. 

As you are walking out of the restaurant, you realize that Satoru is no longer beside you. Looking behind you, you realize that he was taking a photo. He jogs to catch up with you, showing you a candid photo of yourself. The photo caught you mid-turn and smiling at the camera, the dim yet warm lighting making your features slightly blurry, making the entire scene look dreamy.

“I’ll put it in the group chat so you can have it,” Satoru says as he taps away on his phone. He also sends another photo he took earlier when you were still at the table, smiling in front of a steak the size of your face. You didn’t reply with a message but reacted to the image with the double heart emoji.

On Thursday, Shoko invites everyone to her room to hang out. Currently, Satoru and Suguru are playing an intense game of Mario Kart, you and Shoko watching from the side. 

“You should let me do your eyeliner.” Shoko suddenly says, “I saw this look in this magazine the other day and I think it’ll fit you.”

“Sure,” You nod, leaning back on the bed. Shoko digs around her drawers for her makeup and sits in front of you. She cups your face with one hand, holding her liquid eyeliner to your eye with the other, resting the heel of her palm on your cheek to stabilize her hand. 

Before the eyeliner touches your skin, you hear the loud rustle of someone standing up from the bed.

It was Suguru. The game controller lay on the bed, the current round of Mario Kart forgotten.

“I can’t take this anymore.” He says, shooting Shoko an accusatory glare.

You and Shoko both freeze, looking over at Suguru.

“You, you’re guilty too.” He points at Satoru, who has also abandoned Mario Kart and is looking up at Suguru from where he is sitting on the bed.

“First, you take (Y/N) out on a dessert run without me. Then, you-” He points at Shoko, “Whisks (Y/N) to self-care night coincidentally when Satoru and I are out. Then-” He looks back at Satoru, “You take (Y/N) out to one of the fanciest restaurants in Shinjuku on a date. And now this?!” He gestures with both hands to Shoko, who was still frozen in the previous position, both hands on your face.

“I don’t know what the fuck you guys have been planning, but seen as you obviously can’t keep your hands off (Y/N), you guys obviously don’t care that I have feelings for them so maybe you guys should date them instead?” He throws both arms up in frustration before leaving the room. The door closes with a slam. The room is plunged into silence.

“I’m going to go after him.” You speak, rushing out of the room. You made a detour to your own room to put on and pick up an extra coat and scarf. You thought for a while where Suguru would be, then quickly decided to go to the lake. He told you about this spot that he frequented when he needed to clear his mind; you went once with him and agreed that it was a great spot when you wanted peace and quiet.

When you jogged out of the vicinity of campus, gentle snow began to fall, muffling all the noises around you.

 As you arrive at the clearing next to the lake, you see Suguru, who is sitting on a flat rock right next to the water, back faced to you. The lake had yet to completely freeze over, and gentle waves lapped at the shore. The soft gurgling of the water was the only thing you could hear through the snowfall, along with your heavy breathing and the crunching of the pebbles underfoot. Puffs of smoke dissipated into the air above him as he smoked a cigarette.

You know he hears you, but he makes no effort to look away from the lake. Silently, you wrap the extra coat around his shoulders, and you sit down on the rock next to him. You turn your head, tracing the sharp slopes and curves of his profile with your gaze.

Suguru took a drag of his cigarette, breathing out another breath of smoke. Still looking over the lake, he hands the cigarette to you. You take it, also taking a drag of the cigarette. This continues in silence for a few minutes, before you inhale, taking a full breath of the crisp, cold air, which burns the back of your throat.

“I…like you too, by the way. You could’ve just asked if you wanted to date.”

“How long have you liked me?”

“Since the first year. I didn’t want to ruin the friendship. I didn’t think you liked me like that.” You chuckled at your own blindness in hindsight.

“I didn’t want to ruin the friendship either.”

The quiet murmur of the water against the shore and your own breathing were the only sounds you could hear.

You inhaled, ready to speak, but hesitated at the last moment.

“Sorry, by the way, for last week.” You pause, “Apparently, Shoko and Satoru came up with a plan to get you jealous. I found out yesterday when I was out in Shinjuku with Satoru.”

“You what.”

“I played into it ‘cause I thought it wouldn’t affect you. I was convinced you didn’t like me like that.”

“Well, it did affect me.” Suguru finally turned to look at you, his mouth twisted into a pout.

“I know that now, that’s why I’m apologizing.”

Silence enveloped you both once again, like the soft blanket of freshly fallen snow on the treetops.

“Shoko and Satoru found out I liked you last week” It’s Suguru who breaks the silence this time, “She said something about not being able to handle all this pining and threatened to tell you if I didn’t confess by the end of the week.”

“Sounds like a Shoko thing to say.” You giggle, “Well? We’re not at the end of the week yet.”

Suguru takes your hands in his, his hands surprisingly warmer despite being outside longer. 

“(Y/N), I’ve liked you since we were in first year. Just didn’t want to admit it because I was scared.”

“Well, there’s nothing to be scared about ‘cause I like you too.” Suguru moves a hand to caress your cheek, and you lean into it.

“I know that now.” 

Suguru leans in and kisses you gently. You feel the butterflies flutter their delicate wings in your stomach as your heart beats against your ribcage. You part for air briefly before Suguru presses your lips together again, this time more confident and hungry, as if making up for lost time. He tangles his hand in your hair, pushing you towards him and deepening the kiss. A warm buzz filled your head as all you could think about was Suguru.

When you part once again, you are out of breath. You could see the quick puffs of condensed breath against the cold air. Suguru cups your face with both hands and pecks you on the lips again before getting up.

“We should go back before they think we’re dead.” You stand too, intertwining your fingers with his, and return to campus, hand in hand.

[thelurchinghound]

Female hunter x M! Werewolf reader x Male hunter

[Request info]

Idea: Werewolf M! reader gets captured by two monster hunters, but instead of getting killed or sold like he thought would happen, the two hunters take turns getting fucked by the reader

Kinks/Warnings: Teratophilia, Breeding, Threesome (female x male reader x male), knotting, dub-con(?), belly bulge, cream pie, unprotected sex, words used like pussy and cunt (not for reader), inhuman genitalia.

A/n: The reader is bipedal/anthro. They are NOT a wolf. Based on art from ShrewHub on twt. This is the first time I wrote with a female character so lmk if anything can be improved. First fic on this account so I hope it's not too bad.

Ocs used: Dylan and Rose (Married monster hunter duo) | Words: 481 | Proofread? No

By hitting 'keep reading' you are accepting that you're 18+ and are fine with reading dark/sensitive content (Don't like? Don't read.)

"That's it. Come on, boy."

Dylan says while gripping the metal chain connected to the spiked collar clamped around your neck. His hand runs through your tousled cheek fur. Licking at his dripping cock, your prick drove deep inside Rose. Pushing up into her tight cunt, her hands wrapped in your chest fur for stability. Your cum dripping out of her from previous orgasms making a small puddle under her.

A bulge on her stomach appears and disappears with each thrust you make. One of Rose's hands moved to rub over the area, a moan slipping from her lips.

"Dylan, he's fucking huge!"

She moans out, feeling you pumping into her. Your cock was kissing her walls perfectly. Hitting all the right spots. Dylan makes you focus on him as he shoves his cock farther in your maw.

"There we go, such a good boy for us. Let her use you."

He whispers in your sensitive ears. They swivel around at his words. Ears perked up, a tiny shiver running up your spine at the praise. Your cock twitching inside Rose, balls tightening as the feeling of another upcoming orgasm swells up.

"Come on, fill her up with your pups."

Dylan says while leaning down to kiss your forehead. Enjoying the diminutive grunts and groans coming from you as you fill up Rose with your cum. Your knot locks into her, keeping your cum trapped inside her pussy. His cock twitching at the sight of you fucking his partner. He thrust inside your mouth for the last time, sending his seed down your throat. His hands tightened around the metal chain. He tugs on it to pull you closer so he can wrap his arms around your neck.

"Oh fuck- Attaboy!"

He shouts out, fingers seizing onto the large spiked collar. His face pressed up against your velvety neck. He regains his breath before pulling away from you, crouching to look at Rose.

"You alright?"

He questions with a tilt of his head and raises his eyebrow. At witnessing Rose panting there against the frigid concrete of their basement. Your massive cock still buried inside her, knot locking you two together. A combination of the two of yours cum mixed on the ground under her from previous sessions. Her chest rose and fell in fleeting but resounding gasps. The three of you had an oily layer of sweat-slicked upon your skin.

"Y-Yeah 'm alright."

Rose slurs out her words in a drunken state of pleasure. Her hands clutching at any part of you she could reach. Hearing her confirmation, Dylan ties your chain up to the wooden beam. He leaves to grab some supplies to clean the three of you up. Later, he comes to help clean up you and Rose once your knot has deflated.

"Y'know, Rose, perhaps we should keep him? I've been begging for a puppy since forever."

Again this is my first fic on this account so it might not be the best and advice/criticism is always appreciated! Also, feel free to request!

[aquatic-armageddons]

HAVE A SEAT

MICHAEL MYERS X FEM!READER

[CW]: body dysmorphia, mature/sexual themes, not thoroughly proofread

Planning an eventful evening with close friends was supposed to be fulfilling, something worth looking forward to. That also entailed the anticipation of showing off the sexy, little numbers everyone's got on.

But in this instance, Y/N felt nothing short of a shameful and discouraging body.

Shedding as much weight in quick succession (before the aforementioned event) wasn't something that could be done. It wasn't as if there was anything wrong with Y/N, she just had some extra meat on her bones. Though her friends tried to reassure her that weight was just a number and nothing to be shallow about, it still didn't change the fact she felt insecure, and it especially didn't stop her from cancelling last minute.

Y/N continued staring at herself in the mirror, expressionless. As she tried to wrack her brain for a reason to let go of her insecurities, and finally focus on something other than groping her rolls, a large figure slowly approached from behind.

"Jesus Christ, Michael! You scared the mess outta me!" Y/N jumped, turning around with a cute scowl on her face.

Michael tilted his head to the side, as if to ask about her depressed state. Y/N begrudgingly let out a sigh of slight irritation, not wanting to rope him into her superficial dilemma.

"Do I look...fat?" She squeaked, shrinking into herself. God, this was beyond humiliating.

Y/N was greeted with the usual head tilt and blank stare combo. Why had she even bothered to ask?

"Sorry, I guess I'm just being dramatic..."

After what seemed like forever, Michael shuffled past her, laying himself in their shared bed. Pulling his mask over his head, he stares lazily into her e/c eyes.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. Although this wasn't her first time seeing his natural features, she'd never get past it. How can such a ruthless, cold-blooded killer be so striking?

"Um, Michael? What are you-"

Then it hit her like a ton of bricks. He surely wasn't going to have her do that, right?

"Michael, there's no way I'm trying that kind of thing! I don't wanna be responsible for breaking your neck!" She exclaimed.

Michael huffed in frustration. Leaping from the bed, he clutched the knife sitting on the bedroom drawer. In several swift motions, he cut Y/N's clothes off of her, exposing her every curve, every stretch mark, the whole shabang. Grabbing her bottom jaw, he pulls her towards the bed and lays himself down to his previous position, but with her also straddling his waist.

Grunting, he glared daggers at her, silently not accepting no for an answer. Y/N's face burned with embarrassment, her eyes prickling with tears.

"P-Please, Michael...I don't want to-"

She felt his strong hands grasp her thighs hard, and forcefully pull her towards his face. How does he have the strength for that??

"Hey don't- oh fuuuck!"

Y/N felt a white, hot pleasure envelop her stomach as Michael's tongue breached her lower regions. She tried with all her might to scoot away, but his grip on her legs held her still on his face. Y/N didn't want to allow her moans to escape her mouth, as she knew the slightest sound would only further encourage the bastard.

"Goddammit, Michael...!"

Fighting him was a wasted effort at this point. Y/N shifted and rolled her hips on Michael's lips, prompting him to growl in pleasure, the vibrations sending shock through her pussy. Moans finally escaped her maw, tears streamed down her cheeks and she gave in to her pleasure at last. Trying to chase her high, she continuously grinded on Michael's face, faster and faster. The climax was quickly coming to a head, as a wave of shock ran down her body.

"Ah, Michael~!"

Her hips shook as she came violently in Michael's mouth. His tree trunk arms still held her firmly in place, him not wanting to waste a single drop of her essence. Y/N was spent, head reeling with what just happened.

Michael soon pushed her off of him and laid Y/N to his side, her snuggling his arm on instinct. He may act like he's not the 'cuddle after sex' type of man, but he couldn't help but think she was adorable for doing just that.

Regardless, if this was his way of reassuring Y/N that she is perfect the way she is, who was she to complain?