#not tagging tha obscure ones

[fujimousee]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO USOPP!!!!!!!!!

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty One-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Angst, SMUT, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Degradation Kink, Fingering, Teasing, Multiple Orgasm, Corruption Kink, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Sadism, Gagging, PIV, Semi-Public Sex, Fighting/Bickering, Hatefucking(slightly).

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

The burden of Dumbledore's trust pressed down on your shoulders, a weighty responsibility that only seem to intensify as you and Mattheo emerged from his office. The meeting had been long and painstakingly detailed, each word etched with the gravity of the situation as you finalized all the details for your first ever mentorship, an opportunity you’ve been waiting fucking years for.

You should be excited about this arrangement, you should be completely fucking ecstatic to finally be given the chance to truly prove yourself, but as Mattheo pulled ahead of you; a heavy, unspoken tension hung in the air as you trailed behind him, your footsteps echoing like distant thunderclaps in the quiet corridor. Mattheo's brisk, determined stride, while partially obscured by his usual arrogance, mirrored the barely-restrained, silent fury that simmered within him. The annoyance in his demeanor was tangible, a seething anger that could be felt even from a distance.

Anxiety coursed through your veins, the weight of responsibility pressing heavily on your shoulders. This wasn't just about Mattheo's future (one of which you did have a genuine care for, if you were being truthful with yourself); but your own credibility as a mentor was intricately woven into this journey as well.

Dumbledore's words reverberated in your mind, emphasizing the need for patience and compassion, urging Mattheo to embrace your guidance with open arms. However, his response was nothing more than an irritated eye roll, a silent rebellion that contrasted sharply with Dumbledore's hopes for cooperation.

Casting a fleeting glance at Mattheo's back, you couldn't ignore the stark contrast between his outwardly confident posture and the storm of emotions undoubtedly churning beneath the surface. It was evident that this arrangement had ignited a furious turmoil within him, even though he had begrudgingly agreed to it for your sake. The palpable displeasure he felt was impossible to overlook, a tension that hung in the air, threatening to shatter the fragile balance you both were attempting to maintain.

It was then, that you knew, the second you two finally decided to speak to each other, it was bound to be nothing other than completely fucking nuclear.

Entering the bustling Great Hall, you continued to follow timidly in Mattheo's wake, nervously clutching your books to your chest as though they were a impenetrable shield that could save you from this mess. An uneasy anticipation settled within you, bracing for the awkward stares and confused glances you were certain to receive from his housemates as you followed him to his table. But all to your surprise, the usually lively space resembled a ghost town at this early hour, thankfully devoid of his friends for the time being.

Taking a deep, shallow breath, you hesitantly settled into the spot on the bench beside him, feeling entirely like a fish out of water. The clatter of cutlery and distant murmurs of conversations taking place at the other tables filled the hall, yet an oppressive silence gripped you and Mattheo like a vice. His eyes, usually sharp and commanding, now held a darker, more guarded shade. A momentary glance flickered toward you before he locked his gaze onto his breakfast, his jaw clenched with a stubborn resolve.

Only a few weeks, you reminded yourself, trying to muster the courage to face what lay ahead. Surely, you could endure that, couldn't you?

"Look, Mattheo," you began cautiously, your voice a fragile whisper amidst the bustling ambiance. "I understand you're not happy about this, but it's just for a few weeks...I-"

"Don't bother, Raven," he interrupted with a low, dismissive growl, his tone laced with bitterness. "Don't concern yourself with my feelings. Just go on and conduct your experiments like I'm some little fucking lab rat, alright? I'll even lie down and make it easier for you."

His words struck you like a physical blow, leaving your chest constricted, the air escaping your lungs. The already palpable tension between you two seemed to tighten, intensifying the daunting challenge that lay ahead.  You knew nothing about this arrangement was going to be easy--as the only time Mattheo ever seemed to open up to you, was when he wanted you to open up to him, physically.

"Gods, the only thing comparable to a lab rat is your fragile fucking ego," you grumbled, your voice laced with frustration and irritation. "And I'm not sure if you're aware, but the only bloody reason I'm here right now is precisely to concern myself with your feelings."

"Oh, spare me your noble intentions," Mattheo retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The only reason you're here is for yourself...Dumbledore isn't around, you can drop the fucking act."

You released a long, heavy sigh, Mattheo's words striking a chord within you. The snark that had initially fueled your response halfway dissipated, leaving behind a sense of resignation.

You gently shifted to face him. "I'm fucking sorry, alright? Is that what you want to hear?"

"Sorry for what, Raven?" Mattheo's piercing gaze met yours, his fingers clenching the fork in his hand with a dangerous intensity, his eyes narrowing slightly as he spoke. "Huh? What exactly are you fucking sorry for?"

You paused, taking a moment to contemplate your response. You understood that the mess you both found yourselves in was entirely of your doing. If only you had kept your mouth shut, refrained from provoking Berkshire so fiercely, perhaps neither of you would be entangled in this chaos. But there was no reversing the clock now; you were here, and there was no escaping the consequences. This was the defining point, the test that would determine whether you and Mattheo were destined for more than whatever the fuck you currently were, or if this really was all just some crash and burn type of secret fling.

"Sorry for yourself? Sorry for me?" He snarled, impatience colouring his tone as he shot the words at you like daggers. The veins in his hands bulged, revealing the intensity of his frustration. Your heart pounded, acutely aware of the boiling anger he exuded. "Or perhaps you're sorry for being unable to keep your mouth shut for longer then five goddamn seconds?"

"Be an asshole to me all you fucking want, Mattheo,"  you snapped, your tone cutting through the tension like a knife. "But I'm on your side here...I won't back down just because you're too bloody stubborn-"

"Give me a fucking break, Raven." Mattheo snarled, cutting you off abruptly, his voice dripping with cynicism. "You act like you're some divine oracle, dispensing wisdom to the masses."

"Men mock the Gods until they need them," you countered, your voice unwavering, meeting his cynical gaze head-on. "But even the greatest Gods can learn humility when faced with the consequences of their actions."

"Oh, now the perfect little princess wants to lecture me on humility, does she?" His eyes darkened, the clatter of his fork against the plate reverberating in the tense atmosphere--an echo that would have made you flinch on any ordinary day, but your anger shielded you from the noise. Your stare bored into his as he shifted, fully facing you. "I might be the black sheep of my family, but I've seen enough to know that some of those supposed white sheep aren't as fucking pure as they pretend to be..."

Your heart pounded fiercely, well aware of his underlying intentions. Steely determination set your shoulders rigid, refusing to let him chip away at your resolve. His attempts to manipulate the conversation only fueled your determination; you wouldn't allow him to twist the narrative in his favour. This was a battle of wits, and you were more than ready to hold your ground.

"Appearances certainly can be deceiving, can't they, Riddle?" You leaned closer, voice dropping. "How about we skip the mind games, and you answer me this...is a monster born a monster, or is it created?"

"Why don't you tell me, Raven?" He said, jaw clenching as he lowered his voice to a deep grumble. "I think you'd know a little too well how monsters are made, wouldn't you?"

You squinted at him. "Care to elaborate?"

A malicious grin curled on Mattheo's lips, his eyes narrowing with malevolence as he swiftly surveyed the room, ensuring the shield of privacy around you both, before fixing his gaze back on yours. Your palms turned clammy, a sheen of sweat prickling your skin, your heartbeats echoing like war drums in your chest. An unsettling anticipation hung in the air, as if Mattheo teetered on the edge of revealing something, something you were far from ready to confront.

“No,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion. “I don’t.”

“Of course you don’t…” you grumbled, running a trembling hand through your hair as you tried to steady your heart rate. “Gods, you’re going to be the fucking death of me.”

A long, exasperated sigh escaped your lips, your eyes never leaving Mattheo’s profile as he turned away, his attention refocused on his breakfast. Anger churned beneath your skin, a turbulent storm of frustration and confusion.

"I can't fathom what twisted events in your life turned you into such an asshole," you continued, your voice seething with frustration. "You're deflecting, like you always do, but this isn't about me, Mattheo. This is about you…I struggle to imagine who the fuck could have made you this way.”

Mattheo’s face immediately whipped back to face yours, the tendons in his hands tightening, like a noose prepared specially for your neck.

"No one made me, Raven. I made myself," he hissed, his eyes ablaze with a fierce determination, as if he was challenging you to understand the depth of his struggle, as if he figured you’d never, ever be able to relate. "When you're not fed love off a silver fucking spoon, you learn to lick it off knives."

His voice held a bitter resignation, a raw emotion behind his words, as if born from years of resilience in the face of hardship. Your contemplation was evident, your eyes scanning his face, picking up on the subtle hint of emotion behind his angry facade. His words struck a chord, hitting a little too close to home, but you’d never let him know it, not when he’s being like this.

After a moment of silence, you responded, your tone sharp. "Right...but I think you fail to realize just how quickly the blade becomes you, hm?"

“I wouldn’t expect the rich little princess to understand,” he muttered, his voice a low growl, contorted with annoyance. “You’ll never know what it’s like to have to claw your way through life, Raven...to not have everything handed to you on a silver fucking platter…”

“You have no fucking idea what I’ve gone through…” you hissed, teeth barred as you tried to suppress your irritation. “Don’t you dare mistake my empathy for ignorance.”

Mattheo's intense gaze lingered on your lips for a moment before flickering back to your eyes. His voice, barely audible, was laced with a mix of curiosity and a still seething frustration.

"Why don't you tell me then?" he whispered, the words hanging in the charged air between you. "Why don't you fucking tell me what you've been through?"

You blinked, searching his face for a trace of sincerity, but found none. His expression remained unyielding, a mask of stoic resolve. His eyes, however, burned with a furious energy that left you unsettled, forcing you to question the authenticity of this conversation. A whirlwind of conflicting emotions surged within you--anger, frustration, empathy, and a profound desire to understand him.

You felt torn between conflicting impulses. One part of you longed to grab him, to shake the truth out of him, to make him see that you were on his side. Another part of you yearned to envelop him in a comforting embrace, promising that things would get better, that he didn't have to carry his burdens alone. But the reality was stark. Mattheo's resilience had become a fortress, impenetrable and unyielding.

You wanted to help him, to ease his pain, but every attempt to reach out seemed to ricochet off his emotional armor. The frustration boiled within you, making you want to unleash your own pent-up emotions.

"Why would I tell you anything, Mattheo?" you whispered, your voice edged with a mixture of bitterness and disappointment. "Why would I open up to you when you’re still treating me like I’m your fucking enemy? You can't expect me to break down my walls when you're the one building yours higher with every bloody word…”

Mattheo’s gaze flickered with a blend of frustration and resignation as he absorbed your words. He let out a frustrated sigh, his tensed shoulders slumping momentarily before he met your eyes again.

“So, where do we fucking go from here, Raven?” he asked, his voice tinged with weariness. “If neither of us are willing to lower our guard, if all we’re destined to do is fight, how are we supposed to endure weeks together like this?”

You paused, your eyes examining the complicated boy before you, capturing every detail like an artist studying their muse. Mattheo’s hair, perfectly tousled in its disarray, seemed to hold secrets of its own, a testament to the storms that raged beneath the surface. His lips, plush and enticing, had the power to both infuriate and enthrall, a dichotomy that left you perpetually off balance. But it was the scars that adorned his skin, each one telling a story of battles fought and won, that drew your attention most. You had come to know and appreciate these marks, understanding that they were not just physical remnants but echoes of the struggles he had endured.

This complex boy had become an enigma you couldn’t unravel, a puzzle that intrigued and frustrated you in equal measure. He had managed to ignite a storm within you, a tempest of emotions that you had never experienced before. Anger, desire, frustration, and a strange kind of empathy blended into a tumultuous mix, leaving you unable to tear your eyes away.

As your gaze traced the contours of his jawline, your fingertips ached to explore the texture of his skin. Your eyes traveled lower, lingering on the strength of his shoulders, admiring the resilience that lay beneath the surface. A warmth spread within you, a contradictory feeling of tenderness and yearning, as you allowed yourself to be consumed by the depth of your emotions.

Finally, your eyes met his once more, locking onto his with a fierce intensity.

“Business as usual, Mattheo,” you whispered, a teasing smirk dancing on your lips. “Time to put all this pent-up energy to better use before we fucking tear each others’ heads off…” you said, turning away from him and gathering your books off the table, grabbing your bag before returning your eyes to his, noting his subtle confusion. “Meet me in the bathroom. Same one as before.”

Pushing up from the table, you strode out of the great hall with purpose, a tempest of emotions raging within you. Infuriation, irritation, frustration, and anger churned inside, seeking an outlet. You seethed at Mattheo for his obstinance, berated yourself for caring so deeply, and raged at the inevitability that all this effort might lead absolutely fucking nowhere.

You weren’t naïve enough to simply forget about the mountains looming between you, insurmountable obstacles casting shadows over any potential future. The weight of it all felt bone-crushing, yet despite the turmoil, a desperate longing remained--to kiss that infuriating boy's face, even amidst the chaos he so eagerly fucking caused you.

In the intimate confines of the bathroom, the soft glow of the overhead light illuminated your way as your textbooks found their place, haphazardly strewn across the counter, your bag slumped against the floor--all before Mattheo, his eyes ablaze with desire, stepped into the room alongside you. With a swift motion, he turned the lock, ensuring your seclusion from the outside world.

The air crackled with tension as Mattheo’s urgency consumed him. His hands, possessing a rough yet sensual touch, claimed your skin--wasting absolutely zero fucking time as his fingers traced fiery patterns over your hips and up your sides, moving expertly to undo the buttons of your uniform shirt. It was as if he were a wild beast, untamed and hungry, tearing apart its prey with both hunger and reverence. In response, your own hands, guided by a mix of passion and ferocity , mirrored his movements, exploring the firm contours of his bare chest as it came into view.

“Fuck, I’ve absolutely ruined you, haven’t I…” Mattheo growled, his eyes dark pools of intensity, holding you captive. With deliberate purpose, he discarded your uniform shirt, letting the fabric cascade to the floor in a whispering descent, finding its place along with his. “You never could resist me…not even when you’re fucking furious with me…”

“Gods, Mattheo…you’re such an arrogant bastard…” you spat out, even as you clung to him desperately, his lips attacking your neck as he bunched your skirt between his fists, his tall frame pressing you against the wall with hungry force. “I’m just sick of the arguing and bickering over nothing…let’s just shut up, fuck, and get this bullshit out of our fucking systems…”

“I’ll shut you up alright…but you might fucking moan a little…” Mattheo groaned, fingers slipping under your panties and quickly teasing over your clit, forcing a loud cry from your throat that he quickly silenced with his mouth.

You both were breathless, the intensity quickly reaching its boiling point, the anger palpable between your bodies as Mattheo’s lips pressed against yours with a fierce urgency, the collision of your teeth a tangible echo of the raw desire between you. The air seemed to vanish, leaving your lungs gasping for the oxygen that eluded them, as if consumed by the fervor of your connection. Mattheo’s fingers were relentless, quickly building you toward climax without mercy as his other hand kneaded your chest, groping your tits, pulling down you bra to tease your nipples, pinching the hardening buds between his rough fingers.

As you moaned, far louder than you’d intended, he claimed your bottom lip between his teeth, his growls resonating with a furious energy that matched the fervent tempo of your bodies. Your response was instinctual, a desperate squirming under his touch, your nails finding purchase in the supple flesh of his back, grounding you in the intensity of the moment.

“That’s it,” Mattheo growled, the pace of his fingers increasing as he sensed your impending climax. “You want to cum for me, don’t you, little slut…you might hate me but this little pussy will always fucking crave my touch…”

"Gods, you're bloody insufferable," you managed to gasp, your words tinged with exasperation. Yet, your body betrayed your irritation, responding to his expert ministrations despite your verbal defiance. "Always so fucking smug."

“Yeah?” Mattheo’s chuckle resonated through the charged atmosphere, a dark, smoldering sound that sent shivers down your spine while his fingers remained relentless in their pursuit, pushing you closer to the precipice of ecstasy. “And yet here you are, about to let me fuck you against the bathroom wall…”

“Oh-fuck…Mattheo…” in the face of his undeniable truth, your snarky retorts faded into nothingness, overpowered by the overwhelming force of desire that gripped you. “Fuck…fuck-y-you…”

Mattheo’s touch was a symphony of urgency, his free hand exploring every inch of your skin as if he sought to possess all of you at once. His mouth captured yours in a fierce, devouring kiss, leaving you breathless and gasping for air, refusing to allow you to pull away, to separate from him for even a second. With hardly two more quickly swirls over your clit, he forced you over the edge, your climax rippling through your body, your moans caught by Mattheo’s mouth as he continued to work his lips over yours, groaning in response to feeling your body break for him.

As your pleasure peaked and began to ebb away, Mattheo’s own desire surged to the forefront. With a low growl emanating from his chest, he withdrew his fingers from your slick heat and then forced them relentlessly into your mouth, pressing them past your lips and deep into your throat. He spun you around with urgency, thrusting you against the wall as his free hand worked to free his pulsing erection. It was an exhibition of pure dominance, a physical manifestation of his unapologetic hunger.

Pumping his fist furiously over his length, he thrust his fingers further into your mouth, eliciting moans of both pleasure and pain as you gagged on them. Without hesitation, he aligned himself with your core and slammed into you with all his might, driving himself deep inside you with a violence that left you shaking and screaming out against his fingers. Every inch of him stretched and filled you in a way that made your eyes roll back in your head, you fingers digging into the wall as fought to steady your breathing.

And as he began to pound into you, fucking you like you deserved the pain, you could almost feel the tension melting away, replaced by a deep satisfying heat that left you gasping for more.

"Shit, you're such a fucking bitch," Mattheo cursed between gasping breaths, pulling his fingers from your mouth and gripping your jaw as his free hand dug into your hip. "But fuck, this tight little pussy is perfect for my fucking cock, isn't it?"

"Ah-fuck…you know," you spat out, rolling your eyes as his fingers dug into your skin. "…I hate that you're so fucking good at this."

Mattheo sneered cockily, the sound echoing off the tiles of the bathroom, mingling with the rhythm of slapping skin and breathless moans. "Fuck, Raven…you’re a pain in the fucking ass, but at least you know how to take a good fucking..."

“Oh-fuck…barely…” you retorted, wincing as your body shuddered from his deep thrusts, Mattheo’s grip on your jaw tightening, his pace entirely animalistic. “Why do you have to be so fucking big? You--ah--you’re going to fucking break me…”

Mattheo’s eyes flashed dangerously at your words, and he pushed harder, deeper inside you. "That's fucking right…I told you I’d be the ruin of you Raven…” he growled, his voice torn with pleasure. “You fucking love it when I fuck you like this, don't you? You love the way it feels when I'm balls deep inside this tight little cunt…”

"Mmm…you're such an asshole," you groaned, your vision blurring and your lungs reaching for air. "But-fuck-I…I guess you have your uses..."

Mattheo’s grip on your body was unrelenting as he pounded into you with a ferocity that took your breath away. His fingers dug into your flesh, leaving imprints that burned with the heat of your pleasure. His sneer only made you all the more aroused, the way he spoke to you with such condescension ignited a fire deep within you that you wished you could fucking ignore. With each thrust, your body jolted with sensation, building up until you were practically vibrating with need.

"Oh, yeah?" he spat back, sweat glistening on his forehead as he pressed you harder into the wall. "Well, I guess you're not completely useless either…you do a perfect fuckin’ job at being my dumb little slut…”

“Oh, fuck-Gods…you’re-…” you gasped out, feeling Mattheo’s fingers graze over your hip and descend towards your core. As his skilled digits made contact with your clit, your body jolted with pleasure, your eyes rolling back in ecstasy. His touch was quick and frantic, tracing tight circles over your clit that felt like they were set to push you to the brink of madness. “You’re such an asshole…”

Your pussy clamped down around his length in response to his ministrations. Your mind was awash in a sea of sensation, each touch and thrust sending waves of rapture coursing through your body. Mattheo only smirked, his lips finding your neck as he continued to pound into you with an intensity that left you breathless.

"You love it," Mattheo grumbled, burying his face in your hair as he thrust into you again and again. “You fucking love it…”

"Do not," you protested weakly, your voice cracking with pleasure as you felt your orgasm building inside you at a dangerously fast rate. “I-I…oh-fuck-fuck…”

Despite your bravado, you found yourself getting swept up in the raw intensity of your love-hate situationship, feelings of bliss and fury intermingling as Mattheo continued to pound into you, his fingers working your clit with experienced precision. You couldn't help but think how strange it was--that this same person who drove you so insane could also be the one who pushed you over the edge on the complete other side of the spectrum, all with his cock and fingers.

“Yeah…yeah that’s right…” Mattheo’s breaths were hot and ragged against the back of your neck as he pounded into you mercilessly, overwhelming you with the sheer force of his carnal need. “You’re going to cum on my fucking cock, princess…it’s inevitable, just let it happen…”

As Mattheo’s breaths scorched your neck, his words sent a shiver down your spine, and you could feel the orgasm edging closer. You snarled back at him, your voice dripping with sarcasm, "oh, Gods--fuck…let me just fuel that f-fucking ego of yours some more…”

But even as your walls tightened around him, you knew it was true. Your body was building to climax, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. All pretense of control and decorum had been lost, replaced instead with raw, unfiltered lust. You were nothing but a vehicle for his pleasure, a way for him to sate his burning desire, but he was that exact thing for you as well.

Even while the two of you were pulsing with anger at each other, he couldn’t resist the urge to give you the most pleasure out of this possible, reducing you to a mere pile of putty at his feet.

And you couldn’t hold off any longer. “Fuck-Mattheo!”

Your walls clenched around his cock, waves of pleasure washing over you, threatening to drown you entirely as Mattheo’s fingers swirled furiously against your clit, his free hand leaving your jaw and clamping over your mouth to muffle your screams as you shattered against his cock, your pussy milking him for every last ounce of ecstasy possible. Mattheo seemed to fucking love this, letting out a deep, predatory growl as he continued to fuck you through your high.

His fingers never stopped their assault on your clit, working you relentlessly as he thrust deeper and harder. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your skin, his lips brushing against your ear.

“There we go…let it all out, baby…” his words sent shivers down your spine as your orgasm continued to pulse through your body, making it hard to think or or breathe or speak. “…you were made for this fucking cock, no one compares to you…”

His words sparked heat in your veins, gasping for breath beneath his palm as he finally pulled his fingers from your clit, bringing them up to your chest, groping your tits as he continued slamming into you, his pace erratic, his hips sputtering as he veered closer to his high, holding you firm to his chest, fingers digging into your cheek with intense possession.

“Mm…fucking hell…” Mattheo growled, the sound of his groan reverberating through your entire body as he breathed it directly against your ear, the words torn with lust. “I knew you’d be a good fuck but I didn’t know you’d be this fucking good…shit-“

Mattheo’s hips stalled for a moment as he let out a low, guttural groan--finally reaching his own aggressive climax. The sensation of him filling you up set off another wave of pleasure, and you moaned softly under his palm, your walls involuntarily clenching around him as he pumped you full of his release, his muscles contracting and breath sputtering against your neck as he finished.

For a moment, Mattheo remained there, his cock buried inside you, his hold on you still tight and unyielding as you both worked to catch your breath, his hand slowly sliding away from your mouth and travelling down to cup your jaw, directing your head to the side to meet his lips, capturing you in a feather soft kiss.

“You can tell me all your secrets Raven…I promise they’re safe with me…” he murmured against your mouth, his voice a soft breeze carrying the weight of his sincerity. “…but you won’t get anything out of me...it’d be wise if you stopped trying.”

The impact of his words hit you like a heavy blow, settling in your chest like a fifty-pound brick. Gathering your strength, you steadied your breathing as he finally released his grip, pulling away from you. Frustration etched across your features as you spun around to face him, your brows knitting in impending irritation as you watched him deftly fasten his belt, the metallic click echoing in the charged silence of the room. With a swift gesture, he reached for your shirts, discarded on the floor, and passed you yours with a stoic glance.

“Why?” you whispered, your voice laced with vulnerability, almost scared of his answer. “Why do you insist on being so fucking guarded…so fucking cold? You know this mentorship is literally all about working through your issues, right?”

“You said you wanted me, Raven…” his voice was low, almost a whisper, and he didn’t dare to look at you.

Your confusion grew, the anxiety pooling in your chest grew too. “I-I do…”

“Then take what you fucking get.” He snapped, his head whipping toward you, anger rekindling in his dark eyes. “You’re already in my head…I can’t let you get any fucking further…”

Your lungs stalled, your breath hitched. You could hardly blink. “Mattheo-“

“No--see, this is your fucking problem, Raven, you just don’t know when to fucking stop…” he hissed, the fury evident in his every word. He snatched his bag from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder in one swift motion before closing the distance between you. In just two determined strides, he bridged the gap. “You’re just like my fucking brother…you have to excel at everything, fix everything, everything needs to be fucking perfect for you…

You braced yourself, shoulders tense with anticipation, acknowledging the anguish etched across his face. It was a silent plea urging you to put aside any disputes. This was a time for quiet surrender, a moment demanding your undivided attention.

“You know yourself that monsters are fucking created, Raven. They’re made…” his words dripped with disdain as he spat them out, his gaze piercing into yours, dissecting your reaction. “I’m not guarded, I’m not fucking cold…I’m a fucking result…”

Behind his eyes, you could almost hear the gears turning, processing the impact of his words on you. A deliberate, slow breath escaped his lips, carrying the weight of his frustration and disappointment. He took a deliberate step back, his head shaking in a mixture of disbelief and resignation, as if acknowledging the futility of the situation between you.

“I’m not sure what you except from all of this…but you know yourself, just as I do, that this fucking thing between us is nothing other than a goddamn dead end…over the second that graduation rolls around…” he raked a hand through his hair, his eyes briefly flickering towards the door. “Let’s not make the inevitable hurt any fucking more than it has to, yeah?”

Your breath caught in your throat, the air around you suddenly suffocating. Deep down, you acknowledged the truth in his words, but hearing him say it out loud felt like a punch to the gut, the pain far more intense than you had anticipated.

“Right, no…you’re totally right, Mattheo,” you forced the words out, swallowing the hurt that threatened to consume you, your hand reaching for your bag. “I…it just feels incredibly unfair to me, that your veins are full of ice water, while mine are fucking boiling…”

Mattheo locked eyes with you from his position by the door, the emptiness in his gaze almost tangible from across the room. With a steadying breath, you squared your shoulders, mustering the strength to approach him.

“I know you’ve done bad things…I don’t judge you for them, I’m not perfect either…but I am not your fucking brother, and I am not against you…” you said, the words slipping past your teeth before you could even think to stop them. “Sure, you’re an asshole--and sure, perhaps it’s warranted, considering you’ve clearly been through some shit..but your worst sin yet, is that you are destroying your chance at finding peace, for nothing…”

The weight of your words hung in the air, palpable and charged.

“If you don’t want to help yourself, then fine…I won’t push you,” you whispered. “But you’re stuck with me for three weeks. Wether you enjoy my continual presence next to you, or not.”

With a resolute resolve, you pushed past him, the echo of your footsteps fading into the silence, leaving him alone to grapple with the truth you had laid bare.

————————-

Chapter 22->

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Just a little turned around.

Honestly, it wasn’t as if Y/N was defenceless.

It just so happened that on this one damn day, some asshole had managed to pickpocket her pouch. Not her wallet (that was back at the hotel), not her phone, just her money pouch, which contained the currency of the foreign country she was in. Being prepared and somewhat responsible, Y/N had only put in a day's worth of money into that pouch. In fact, it amazed her how he hadn't gone for her passport or even her phone. No, just the thing that would be most inconvenient for her.

Staring a hole into the ground, she pressed her fingertips to her forehead in an attempt to calm herself down and gather her thoughts. She had chased this slippery bastard all the way to this street where he turned the corner and into a dead end. Then he-, wait.

Y/N straightened up and her eyes darted around frantically. Where was she?

Nothing was familiar. A cafe on the cobbled stone street, a flower shop and a bakery. None of which she had seen before.

Wonderful, now, as well as having no money in a foreign country, she was bloody lost.

“Fuck me dead and sideways till Monday morning.” She huffed, while once again rubbing her forehead with her hand. Honestly, at this point, nothing could particularly get worse.

“That coul’ be arranged!” An accented voice called out from behind her. Scottish perhaps?

“Has a mouth on her.” Another replied in amusement while another voice just grunted in acknowledgement.

Y/N turned around to spit back a witty retort that quickly died on her lips.

“Uh..” She stuttered out intelligently.

Three men, each a prepossessing sight. One was wearing a cap, a blue denim jacket and some black jeans. He was brown eyed and dark skinned, nothing short of a model. His friend was leaning on him, crossed arms, a short mohawk, blue eyes, scruffy looking beard and a cheeky looking smirk. He donned a biker jacket with the small Scottish flag where his breast pocket would be and seemed to be wearing dog tags over his grey t-shirt. The last of them was a hulking man dressed fully in black, his face was obscured with a face mask akin to those of celebrities, however his presence was less of a star and more intimidating. Almost menacing. Maybe he was their bodyguard?

Y/N shook her head and replied,

“Yeah no thanks mate, I’ve got a bit on my plate at the moment, maybe in another life?” She nodded at the three before turning back around and walking towards the coffee shop.

“Oi, Bonnie, we can help ya if ya need. Besides, yer lookin' a bit peely wally.” The man with the mohawk called out.

“What the bloody hell are you on about mate.” Y/N asked, bewildered clearly not understanding the Scottish man's accent.

“ He thinks you look pale.” The large figure behind him rumbled helpfully.

Y/N blinked,

“Is he saying I look sickly?” She turned around and glowered at the man.

“No love, what we mean to say is, you look like you need some help?” The man with the baseball cap stepped forward carefully, as if not to spook her.

“Well, unless you’ve got a tracker dog, a body bag and a large metal pipe, I don't think you’re going to be much help to me.” She crossed her arms defiantly.

“Tha’ can be arranged bonnie.” The mischievous looking man grinned, stepping up while the man behind him followed while giving a non committal grunt.

“I’m Kyle, the annoying one is Johnny and that’s-”

“Simon.” The masked man grumbled while the other two threw a quick look at the third man.

She wrinkled her nose.

“Y/N, pleasure to meet you.” She nodded at the men before sighing, “Alright, I’m here for a holiday, trying to feel out if I wanna move out here for work. I was just takin’ a look around when some asshat came up and fell on me and grabbed my money pouch.” She spoke quickly, somewhat embarrassed that she was admitting to three strangers that she had been duped so easily.

“Ah lovie, unless you remember what he looks like or what he was wearin’ s’ gonna be hard for you to get it back. Do you remember how much you had in there?”

She shrugged, “It was meant to get me lunch and dinner before I checked out of my current hotel to find another one. The rest of the cash is in my hotel room.” She hung her head and sighed.

“Honestly I just need to find my way back and then I can sleep over things. I can skip a meal or two.”

“Gonny no dae that!” Johnny exclaimed, “Yer look like yer already skippin’ meals lass. We’ll take you to lunch and dinner! We got nothin’ ta do anyways!”

The one dressed in all black, Simon was it? Grunted out an agreement.

“You ain't gonna find much around here. You’re not far away from the military base.”

“Whaddya you say love? Let us show you around?” Kyle hummed, cocking his head akin to a begging puppy.

Y/N quirked her lips in thought. Would it be a smart move to let these strangers escort her around? Was she hungry enough to make a questionable decision?

“Well…”

“We’re not strange men, we promise miss.” The taller Brit offered.

“That's exactly what a strange man would say LT.”Johnny quipped, earning a light bonk on the head from the taller man.

Y/N shoulders relaxed when they saw the playful display of banter between the men. Surely this meant they were safe. Right?

[bravo4iscool]

Some suggestions for your Old Man Simon series! :

- Reader accidentally stumbles upon Simon doing an old man thing (i.e stopped to watch some local construction, feeding pigeons, watching a telenovela/soap opera, etc.)

- one of them talks the other into trying a new food/cuisine

- they both happen to meet Price and really ham up Reader's knee injury. Simon uses it as an exaggerated excuse/tool for guilt. Reader is smugly gleeful to Price's face because he did this to himself

- they go to a museum/historical landmark and bounce obscure facts back and forth

- Reader shows off some fancier parkour moves that have Simon feeling faint at the height/danger/risk involved

Thank you for writing this! It's such a fun, sweet series! Would love to see more, and I hope these help!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS AHHH!! THESE ARE AMAZING IDEAS (i will do them all hehehe!)

i’m happy you like this series so much😭. it has a very special place in my heart🥹

platonic ghost x reader, retired!simon, retired!reader, fatherfigure!simon (?), prolly ooc simon, reader is inspired by those house climbing parcour people lol

readers call sign is 'kid" :)

(masterlist | old man masterlist | join my tag list!)

tag list - @yazt09 @blackhawkfanatic @bumblebeesfromvenus @tomcatgirl

REQUESTS/ASKS OPEN!!!

“simon, i‘m home!“ you shouted as you shut the apartment door. you were out getting groceries and simon decided to stay home, quote ‘i‘m an old man that needs rest‘. when you don‘t get an answer you frown and carefully set the plastic bag down. “simon?“ you call out again but you’re left without an answer.

with quiet steps you sneak along the hallway, confused about where simon was. you‘re about to call out for simon again but then you see him sitting on the couch, a cup of tea in his hand, his full attention on the tv in front of him.

you furrow your eyebrows while you try to identify what he‘s watching. he still hasn‘t noticed you, which is new because normally he could even smell your from miles away.

“oh c‘mon! that‘s bollocks!“ simon‘s voice suddenly bellows through the room and you flinch. “ya don‘t clear a room like tha‘, who thaught ya that shit!“ he throws his hands up in the air and lets out a groan.

and that‘s the moment you can‘t keep in your laughter. you snort and hide your smile behind your hand. at that simon spins around, eyes wide. “since when are ya’ere?“ he wants to know, setting his tea down and decreasing the volume.

“are you really watching ncis or am i dreaming? what‘s next? seal team, or bones?“ you laugh, pushing yourself off the doorframe and walking around the couch to sit down beside your old lieutenant.

simon only huffs and rolls his eyes. “ya can‘t let me enjoy a thing, can‘t ya?“ there‘s a faint smile no his lips and you laugh again.

“you really are an old man simon.“

“i know kid.“

[polskasroka]

Something something Melinoe/Odysseus/Moros, anyone?

A Once-In-A-Lifetime Chance

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Hades (Supergiant Games Video Games)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Melinoë/Odysseus (Hades Video Game), Melinoë/Moros (Hades Video Game), Moros/Odysseus (Hades Video Game), Melinoë/Odysseus/Moros (Hades Video Game)

Characters: Melinoë (Hades Video Game), Odysseus (Hades Video Game), Moros (Hades Video Game)

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Masturbation, Kissing, Lots of it, Possessive Behavior, od may find that moros doesn't necessarily spoil the fun he has with mel, Quite the opposite actually

Summary:

Melinoë is well-aware that Hecate wouldn't condone the way the young goddess spends her pastime with their tactician. The Titaness wouldn't condone it twice as much if she knew that Melinoë's invited Doom Incarnate himself to join her and Odysseus' time together.

AO3 link

Hecate is nowhere in sight after Melinoë’s finished yet another run down to the Underworld and it means only good news to the young goddess.

Especially when combined with Dora’s absence from their tent and Odysseus’ presence on his usual spot, at his trusted table with all the papers full of tactical maps and scribbles.

The victory against Chronos has filled Melinoë with energy, one she usually buzzes with after a successful run, no matter the direction. The majority of the Crossroads’ inhabitants like seeing her in high spirits – there’s only few exceptions, and even then it’s not certain whether some would prefer to see the Princess in a more dour mood or not.

But it’s not Melinoë’s concern right now. In fact, she’s more than pleased with the Crossroads being all peaceful and quiet at this hour, whatever it may be. Apart from Hecate probably off to her own duties somewhere else, Eris and her trash are gone and Nemesis is most likely doing her own run, attempting to reach Chronos and slay him. As Melinoë glances at Retribution’s favourite spot, she briefly wonders if Nemesis could ever let go the idea of getting to the Titan herself and beating him to a pulp as Melinoë does.

Nemesis can be left to her own devices now, if she so desires. It only makes it easier for Melinoë to bring her current plans into existence. If Retribution is not there, she won’t cast any accusatory and judging glances at Melinoë. And she won’t comment on anything later on, either. At least once in a blue moon, Melinoë thinks, she can have some rest from Nemesis’ thoughts and conclusions.

With lightness in her step, Melinoë approaches Odysseus and stands behind him, her hands intertwined in front of her, a bright smile plastered on her face.

“Just a second, Goddess,” Odysseus says, raising a hand and a finger to emphasise his point.

Made to wait a couple of seconds, Melinoë doesn’t reply. She only rolls her eyes and as soon as she’s done with that, Odysseus is turned towards her, that crooked smile of his contagious as always.

“What is it this time, then? Because judging by that grin, I daresay you’ve succeeded in beating the Titan once more. Congratulations.” Odysseus bows, a bit too pretentiously. As always.

“That’s the case, indeed, sir!” Melinoë beams, sparkles of mischief dancing in her eyes.

Odysseus notices them and furrows his brows as he’s figuring out what it is that Melinoë is plotting. Something nudges him to glance in the direction of Hecate’s cauldron and then he puts two and two together. He can swear that once he looks Melinoë straight in the eye, that innocent gaze of hers appears as only a façade, a veil meant to obscure her genuine wants.

He has seen it before. The alleged innocence. He knows what it’s brought before and the scattered memories flash through his mind, causing a spark to run down his spine.

Both Melinoë and Odysseus are aware of the effect that the young goddess has on the tactician. And it would be unfair to say that Odysseus doesn’t have an effect on Melinoë because he does. For a while, she’s been drawn to that particular shade like a moth to the flame. And oh, how simple it was to get burnt! If only Hecate saw them together, she’d have none of that. In fact, neither of them knows whether it would be Melinoë or Odysseus getting the worst of it. They wouldn’t like to find out, ever, but they also can’t help but risk it all whenever there’s a chance to do so.

Even now Melinoë can barely keep her hands to herself – she’s so excited because of the fight with Chronos, because of the adrenaline, because of…

“Do we have a guarantee that Lady Hecate will not return to the Crossroads when she’s needed here the least?” Odysseus wonders, careful as he is. The voice of reason in a situation like this.

“I’m quite certain about that. When she leaves, she leaves for a long while, Od. You know how it is and yet,” Melinoë sighs, “you’re still asking. Every time.”

“Goddess,” he says firmly, stepping forward. “Your great enthusiasm flatters me. Yet, we must remain careful at all times. Too much is at stake and I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if you had to face the consequences because of us… spending time together the way we do.”

“Oh, Od,” Melinoë whines, since anything she’s just had on her mind disappeared the moment Odysseus grabbed her chin with his hand. “You can’t expect me to…” She pauses again, melting into the rather cool hand cupping her cheek and jaw. “… Just leave you be when you do such things!”

“Is that so?” he has the nerve to ask oh-so innocently.

“Yes!”

Melinoë grasps his scarf with both of her hands and pulls him closer, so that their lips crash in a rushed kiss. It feels as if they hadn’t seen each other for ages and it’s one of Melinoë’s favourite feelings. She closes her eyes and nibbles on Odysseus’ lower lip to then playfully lick it. It earns her two huge palms grabbing her butt and traveling down onto her thighs. She’s picked up in no time, a little squeal leaving her mouth as she wraps her legs around Odysseus’ waist.

A chuckle rumbles out of the man’s lungs, sending vibrations all over Melinoë’s body. Amused, the goddess brushes her nose against Odysseus’ and then hides her face in the crook of his neck. As she peppers his skin with tiny kisses, he picks up the pace because he can’t wait to sit her on the table in her tent and shower her with proper worship.

“And I thought I was impatient,” Melinoë comments cheekily once she’s sitting on the edge of her table with Odysseus standing between her legs.

“I’ve been learning from the best, Goddess,” Odysseus purrs and leans in to catch her lower lip between his teeth and pull on it.

It elicits a whimper from Melinoë and she snakes her arms around his neck. When he lets go, she chases his lips in a dire need to kiss him again. All the while, Odysseus is holding her by her thighs, his thumbs rubbing her warm skin, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh more often than not. On Gods, Melinoë is praying that he’ll leave marks now or later, for she’d love to wander around with them on full display. The ones he leaves on her neck aren’t enough, for they’re always hidden by her gorget.

Odysseus moves to kiss the corner of Melinoë’s lips and then the line of her jaw until he reaches the underside of her ear and then the lobe. He licks it, nips on it, effectively disturbing Melinoë’s dismantling his scarf and cloak. She even stifles an ‘annoyed’ groan as he bites down on the tender flesh, sending shivers down her spine.

The two articles of Odysseus’ clothing fall to the ground as his hands on the goddess’ thighs travel higher, crumpling her dress, exposing her heated core to the chilly air of the evening. She blushes immediately and Odysseus feels the feverish red on his own cheek as he continues his assault on the shell of Melinoë’s ear. He releases a groan from the depths of his chest, squeezing her thighs between his fingers.

“Ah, blast it, Od…”

“Too much?”

The bastard.

“Never, you…” Melinoë doesn’t manage to finish when she hears a familiar voice calling out to her from the outside of the tent.

“Princess?”

“Lord Moros?” she addresses back, her voice only a tad shaky because Odysseus doesn’t stop his ministrations and is currently kissing his way down the column of Melinoë’s neck.

When did he even undo her neckpiece?

“I don’t want to disturb you, Princess, if you happen to be busy at the moment!”

“You’re very busy at the moment, Goddess,” Odysseus mutters into her neck, tickling her, his breath adding fuel to the fire burning in the pit of her stomach.

“Bold,” she comments and then comes up with a, “would you mind if Lord Moros… joined us?”

Her heart skips a beat at the sole concept and she shivers, feelings Odysseus’ canines graze her skin.

“It’s your decision to make,” he rumbles lowly in an answer and leaves a wet stripe up her throat.

“None of that. Tell me, please.”

He stands upright and their eyes meet. Melinoë’s hands cup his face.

“I don’t mind.”

Melinoë smiles and pecks Odysseus.

“Please, come in, my Lord!” she calls and gasps, baffled, when Odysseus resumes his caresses.

And enter Doom Incarnate does, indeed. The utter shock and embarrassment that paint on his face once he sees the scene before him is a sight to behold and Melinoë knows it was the right idea to let him in now.

The pale flush on Moros’ cheeks is adorable. His mouth hangs slightly open and his eyes are wide, his throat dry as a bone. He gulps around the dryness a couple of times but it brings no effect whatsoever. Instead, he wills himself to avert his gaze. Yet, when he hears the breathy sigh that Melinoë makes, he can’t help but look. Watch. Observe how closely Odysseus is pressed to the Princess, how firmly he’s gripping her thighs, how fixated he is on sucking a mark on Melinoë’s exposed neck.

If Moros said that he wouldn’t like to do the same thing, he’d be a blatant liar.

“I… I… I should leave, I really should’ve waited and–” he tries, all flustered, his hands clenching behind his back.

“No, no, my Lord!” Melinoë soothes, sending him a warm smile. “You can stay. We’d love you to, actually. As long as this is what you desire too. We don’t want to pressure you into anything, Lord Moros, but we’d be delighted if you stayed.”

“It could be a once-in-a-lifetime chance, Milord,” adds Odysseus, peeking at Moros over his shoulder.

There is some snark in Odysseus’ comment and it does bite Doom’s flurried ego. There are butterflies in his stomach all of a sudden and he feels dizzy for a second there but he handles it sooner than he expected. He thinks for a moment, unable to tear his eyes off of Melinoë and Odysseus together, like this.

And, in addition to that, Melinoë whines so prettily when Odysseus’ hands slip up her back and unlace her dress, so that the straps can be shoved off of her shoulders and the shade can plant kisses there.

“Don’t worry, it will all stay here in this tent. No one will know.” Melinoë reaches one of her hands out to Moros in an invitation to come closer.

Her own mouth stays open and little mewls leave it once in a while – usually when whatever it is that Odysseus is doing causes her actual pain. The way she shivers doesn’t go unnoticed by either of the men and it’s what beckons Moros to finally approach the couple and grab Melinoë’s hand. It is a bit calloused but he couldn’t care less – not when she pulls him closer to rub his cheek with her hand.

“Please, don’t do anything that you’re not comfortable with… promise?” she asks so sweetly and Moros swoons, more blush rising onto his cheeks.

“Promise, Princess,” he answers and follows the hand that guides him nearer, so that his lips brush against Melinoë’s.

She kisses him then, all tenderly, so as not to spook him. The meeting of their lips is almost chaste, for it’s so easy for Melinoë to draw a whine from Doom that she’s a bit confused by it herself. He only laughs nervously and pulls away. He catches the sight of the goddess’ bare chest and looks to the side immediately afterwards, which has Melinoë and Odysseus snigger in unison.

It may seem that Odysseus treats the situation as some kind of a challenge, so, all unceremoniously, he slides one of his hands even higher up Melinoë’s thigh until it reaches that sweet and heated finish line. Once his fingers make contact with her wet centre, Melinoë jolts and leans her forehead against Moros’. He lets out a small grunt of his own as he can’t tear his eyes off of Odysseus’ hand, working miracles between Melinoë’s legs.

The Princess whimpers and mewls, grabbing Moros’ hair tightly each time she feels a rub or circling over that sensitive bundle of nerves. She shivers and mutters Odysseus’ name as she kisses Doom again, biting his lip and making her tongue meet his. Pleasant warmth is beaming off of him and he knows that it’s not only Melinoë who is making him feel so hot and bothered.

He both wishes he was doing to the Princess what Odysseus is doing to her now and wants the shade to play with him in a similar way as well. There’s that soft spot that Moros holds for the man, which causes a sudden wave of arousal shoot down to his own groin. It then has him cup Melinoë’s cheeks, which also shortens the distance between him and Odysseus. He actually wishes he could also now give the shade a kiss.

Moros groans as he swallows the moan that leaves Melinoë’s throat when she feels Odysseus slide two of his fingers inside of her warmth. It’s not the first time he’s done that, so it doesn’t hurt, but it still takes the goddess by surprise. A very welcome one at that.

Odysseus places one last kiss against Melinoë’s shoulder and then lifts his head up to watch her shiver and let her jaw hang loose while he’s working her up. The sight of her kissing Doom Incarnate angers him to a certain degree, even though he knows that the goddess doesn’t belong to him. She’s not his property but he growls dangerously anyway, making her eyes fall upon his face showing slight discontentment.

“My Lord,” she whispers to Moros, “anything you’d like to do with us in particular?” she asks and licks his lip.

“Who am I to choose, Princess?” he murmurs back, aware of Odysseus’ heavy stare on him. “I wouldn’t dare disturb more than I already have.”

“Moros!” she whines somewhat annoyed as one more finger enters her dripping slit. It doesn’t matter that the mewl wasn’t caused by Moros’ actions.

“I’ll make do just… watching this time. If that’s alright with you, Princess.” He himself doesn’t know whether he should address Odysseus too or not.

“Perfect.” Melinoë smiles against Moros’ lips and then draws back, making eye contact with him again. ���Why don’t you sit over there and take care of yourself, enjoying the views?”

Her tone makes both the shade and the god shudder.

“Of course, Princess.”

Obediently, Moros takes a seat where Melinoë can still see him and her eyes don’t miss a chance of glancing at him and observing him while she’s once more busy with kissing Odysseus. Relishing the sensation of three digits being buried inside of her, moving in and out and occasionally rubbing that sensitive spot inside, she watches Doom dropping the articles of his attire one by one. Soon, his body is revealed to her and if it weren’t for Odysseus’ handsome face in front of her, she’d have her gaze glued to Moros.

Melinoë shifts on her spot, sighing sweetly right into Odysseus’ mouth, as she reaches behind her back to undo her belt and throw it onto the ground. With a little bit of manoeuvring, her dress is off of her in a while and she’s all bare, sat on the table. Helping the shade get out of his own clothes, she steals his headband and puts it over her head, eliciting a laugh both from him and Doom Incarnate.

That particular chuckle draws her attention and she gets stuck, hypnotised by the way Moros’ large hands roam over his chest and tease his nipples. Her throat grows dry at the sight and she gasps at that and then does it once more as Odysseus’ hands grip her thighs again, dragging her butt closer to the edge of the table.

As if out of instinct or habit, Melinoë wraps her legs around Odysseus’ waist, encouraging him to do what they’ve both been craving for for a while now. That sweet relief comes as soon as he enters her with the help of his hand that he then once more lays on the flesh of her leg. The man pets the smooth skin, dragging his hips back and forth in a lazy manner.

Melinoë’s on cloud nine and she throws her head back to allow Odysseus to lick a wet stripe up the column of her neck. He groans at the action being combined with the warm and wet sensation embracing him.

The two of them look divine from Moros’ position. He can’t help but let one of his palms travel lower down his stomach, scratching his blunt fingernails against his abs and his hipbones. With his mouth agape, he wraps his long fingers around himself and begins to work his loose fist up and down the erect shaft.

On gods, how he’d love to be in Odysseus’ spot now! Marvelling at the continuous roll of the shade’s pelvis and the sounds and faces it pulls from the Princess has Moros pump himself just as rhythmically. His pre that’s leaked from the tip already makes for a great lube and maybe Doom doesn’t engage in such activities too often but he still knows the ins and outs of this, at least in the basic sense.

So he matches his pace with the couple’s, catching Melinoë’s blissed out gaze every time she looks at him. Her pretty face draws deep moans from within his chest, ones that vibrate both inside Melinoë and Odysseus. They weren’t expecting to hear such sounds leave Moros’ lungs but they’re more than pleasantly surprised. Somehow, the low echo causes their insides to flutter and at some point, it becomes so intense, that Melinoë lies down on the table.

Odysseus’ broad frame covers her whole and the new angle punches out guttural grunts and pants from him. His hands are now pinning Melinoë’s ones on either side of her head and her whole body quivers and tears well up in her eyes as the shade hits that special spot inside of her. Her little cries become breathy, making the pit of Moros’ stomach burn and tighten dangerously. Since it’s been a while, he barely manages to stop himself from finishing right then.

The choked out groan of his doesn’t just fly past Melinoë’s or Odysseus’ ears. It especially drills itself into the latter’s head and imagination and he spares a while to think how it would be to be the reason for such sounds in a more direct way. It also encourages him to add more intensity to his motion, which has Melinoë move along with it more. Her throat gets exposed to Odysseus once again and he hides his face in it, breathing in her scent, planting kisses and sucking a love mark or two on the pale skin.

The scene is almost overwhelming for Moros and his wrist strains but his moves don’t falter. He can’t let himself stop now, not when Melinoë’s falling apart under Odysseus and his own rocking becomes more and more uncoordinated and sloppy. The shade’s breathing heavily against Melinoë’s neck, while it’s covered in Odysseus’ bites and spit. The low grunts of his creep into Melinoë’s ears and she feels dizzy, gripping his hands tightly, digging her nails into the upper sides of his palms.

He bears it well – it sends more and more waves of feverish pleasure down his spine and into his loins. Sweat’s beaded on his temples and rolled down onto Melinoë to mix with hers. Despite that, his whole body is still colder in comparison to hers but maybe it’s exactly what leads her to her own blissful peak.

“Blast it, Od, I don’t think I can hold it, I–”

“Then don’t, Goddess,” Odysseus purrs, “let go.”

Once it happens, she shrieks and digs her heels into Odysseus’ lower back, burning him in the process. As he curses in Greek, she comes undone underneath him, her body quivering and her chest heaving while countless spasms attack her muscles. The heat spreads all over her, reaching her toes and the tip of her head and she mumbles Odysseus’ name in an unstoppable chain of babbling.

And if that isn’t what topples Moros over his edge; a raw moan rips itself from his throat and his back arches as he releases the tension that’s coiled deep in his gut. His eyes snap shut as pleasure floods him in white hot waves that spread all over his whole being. He covers his eyes with his forearm and mumbles Melinoë’s name, and, with little to no care about anything or anyone, lets Odysseus’ name slip past his lips in a breathy whimper too.

Upon hearing it, Odysseus swears again, louder this time, prolonging Melinoë’s climax with the vibration of his voice and the ragged snapping of his hips against her. Relentlessly, he’s chasing his own high and internally thanks Melinoë for being so vocal about her own bliss, and worships her body for tightening around him so perfectly.

“Come on, Od, do it,” Melinoë rasps out to him as softly as she can, her voice breathy and hitching on itself.  “Allow yourself to feel good, let me see it. Let Lord Moros see it too.”

There’s smile in her tone and it tears a raw moan out of Odysseus. He also nearly stills inside of her then, his pelvis still jerking back and forth as he empties himself deep in his young, beautiful goddess.

“Goddess, please…” he whimpers, letting go of her hands, not exactly knowing what he’s asking for.

But Melinoë knows.

She slides her hands up his sides and embraces him, keeping him close as he’s shivering and groaning into her neck. Melinoë may have fallen apart underneath him but he crumbles there, atop her smaller body.

“Good, very good,” she soothes, revelling in the sticky warmth spreading within. Rubbing her hand against his back, she feels the muscles shifting under her fingers and she’s loving the sensation. “Oh, you always please me so, sir” she adds once he’s calmed down and released a long exhale.

“So do you, Goddess. So do you…”

While Melinoë keeps hugging Odysseus, Moros sighs at the sight and the whole scene that has just unravelled in front of him. He has to admit that the moment when Odysseus reached his peak set the after-aftershocks through Doom’s body. Or maybe was it a newly ignited spark of arousal? Moros doesn’t dwell on that – he only knows that he enjoyed it, despite the little pain that it caused his already sensitive self.

His attention is then caught by Odysseus lifting himself up together with Melinoë who’s still clinging onto him. He pulls out and she blushes and looks away oh-so sheepishly as the wet mess flows out of her. A chuckle leaves Odysseus’ mouth and he plants a kiss on the goddess’ cheek. Her eyes then meet Moros’ and he feels a bit hotter.

In a rush of courage, Doom stands up and walks over to the pair, in spite of his legs bordering on giving in. He stops right behind Odysseus and leans over to kiss Melinoë’s forehead. It doesn’t satisfy her, so she draws upwards and the two share a kiss on the lips. Odysseus watches it with his eyebrow raised and turns a bit to the side to catch Moros’ jaw in his hand and hold it there, so that he can crush his lips against Doom’s too.

Melinoë gasps at that and her eyes widen in wonder. She finds herself unable to tear her eyes off of the two men who deepen the kiss only to pull away a while later. A whine of discontentment almost flies past Melinoë’s lips but she manages to smile brightly at Odysseus and Moros as they look back at her.

“Does this mean that you’d like to join us some other time as well, Lord Moros?” she can’t help but ask.

“I won’t reject your invitation, provided that Master Odysseus here also entertains the idea.”

“I certainly won’t be opposed to it.”

The spark in Odysseus’ eye tells both Melinoë and Moros all they needed to know.

Sharing the fun Odysseus has with the Goddess of Nightmares suddenly isn’t as bad of a concept as it seemed at the beginning.

[thegnmsolution]

Your Face Is Being Scanned in Public, Here’s How to Stop It

Your Face Is Being Scanned in Public, Here’s How to Stop It Sydney Butler ** @GendoWasRight Jan 20, 2022, 8:00 am EST | 4 min read Facial recognition performed on a crowd on a city street.Trismegist san/Shutterstock.com Today it’s easy to recognize faces from camera footage taken in public. Whenever you leave the house, your movements can be tracked whenever a camera sees your face! Luckily, there are some ways to avoid this—at least for now. How Is Public Facial Recognition Possible? Thanks to a branch of computer science called “machine vision “, it’s possible to create software algorithms that quickly match a face in a photo or video to one on file. Since modern cameras are so good and computers are incredibly fast, this can be done in real-time, even in large crowds. Wait, how do they have a photo to match your face? Well, if you’ve ever put a photo of yourself on social media or a friend has tagged you in one of their photos, then it’s simple to scrape the internet for photos that have already been identified. Most likely by you! The technology is so good, that you can pretty much assume that whenever you’re in sight of a camera in public, there’s a chance that your face could be tagged and logged. It’s a scary thought, but we also use this technology for more mundane uses every day. You Already Use Facial Recognition When you use a Snapchat filter that puts a funny mustache on your face, that’s the same type of technology used in facial recognition in public. The same goes for biometric unlocking on your phone. Apple’s Face ID uses sophisticated algorithms and depth-sensing cameras to match your face with the data on file, making sure that no one else can use the phone. The point is that facial recognition technology isn’t good or bad, it all depends on how it’s used. Concerns about public facial recognition are mainly based on private and government surveillance using the technology. Most existing privacy laws around the world say that you can be filmed when in public, as long as there isn’t a reasonable expectation of privacy. If that weren’t the case, the paparazzi couldn’t do business, after all. Unfortunately, those laws could not foresee that mass-tracking of people could be done by simply pointing a camera at them. Wear a Mask The simplest way to avoid getting your face scanned in public is to wear a mask. At the time of writing, plenty of people are already doing this with face masks worn for pandemic reasons, which is why biometric face unlocking doesn’t work when you have one on. It is possible to get identify a face with a mask on that only covers half the face, but it’s much harder to do it using, for example, public security cameras. A full mask is more foolproof, but many parts of the world have anti-mask laws that may make this impractical. Hats, Sunglasses, Makeup, T-shirts, and Hair A person wearing a mask, hoodie, and sunglasses.Alejandro Ivan Suarez/Shutterstock.com A wide-brimmed hat makes it harder for cameras mounted above to see your face. Sunglasses, especially when worn with a face mask, is another effective method to stop your face from being scanned, and shouldn’t run afoul of mask laws. There’s also a new style of makeup that’s designed specifically to confuse machine vision systems trying to recognize your face. Another clever hack that’s been discovered is the practice of wearing clothing with printed faces . While this doesn’t stop your face from being scanned, it can make the system scan the wrong face. You can also obscure your face with long hair (or a wig) to make it harder for facial recognition systems. Although obviously, it makes it hard to see where you’re going! Specialized Privacy Glasses These are all passive ways to prevent facial recognition systems from getting a good look at you, but there are ways to actively interfere with facial recognition as well. One interesting idea is to use special privacy glasses that can detect when a camera is looking at you and then blind them without damaging anyone’s equipment. One company, Reflectacles , makes a variety of these glasses that are aimed at defeating different types of facial recognition. They do this with infrared-blocking lenses and reflective frames that blind the camera. Historical Facial Recognition One worrying aspect of facial recognition is that it can be applied to old footage. So, assuming the fidelity is good enough, footage from the past can be run through a facial recognition system and your movements can be tracked after the fact. Unfortunately, you’ve probably been captured by hundreds of cameras over the years and there’s no way to prevent that from being analyzed. It is however a good cautionary tale about how future technologies can unravel privacy retroactively. Recognition Technology Is Advancing While most of the ways to defeat facial recognition in public here still work, the technology is advancing quickly. As the algorithms get smarter, many of these mitigations aren’t going to be effective anymore. For example, the “dazzle” makeup method has already been defeated. Already, it may not even be necessary to see someone’s face to ID them. For example, gait recognition technology can analyze the way someone moves and walks and match them to a record. So you could look at footage of a protest , where people are often fully masked, and then find them when they are in public again by matching their unique gait. The future advancement of public biometrics like these means that it’s probably more effective to outlaw the use of such technologies to breach privacy, rather than trying to directly defeat the tech in the wild. Pushback Against Facial Recognition Technology Public awareness and dissatisfaction with facial recognition have already led to it being halted in some cases. For example, Microsoft has banned police from using its facial recognition technology  and will not sell it to them. In Canada, facial recognition using Clearview AI has been declared illegal . Facebook is also shutting down its facial recognition plans after a public outcry. More US states are passing laws restricting government use of face recognition technology , too. READ NEXT * › Affective Computing Could Change the Future of Computer Interaction * › What Is a Faraday Bag, and Should You Use One? * › How to Use Windows Hello Webcam Sign In on Windows 11 * › Online Privacy Is a Myth: What You Can and Can’t Do About It * › What Are Discord Raids, and How Do You Protect Your Server? * › The Google Pixel 7’s Magic Eraser Is Coming to Everyone (Who Pays Up) * › Razer’s New 15-Inch Blade Laptop Is Here for Work and Play * › Samsung Is Also Working on Satellite-Based Texting Profile Photo for Sydney Butler Sydney Butler Sydney Butler has over 20 years of experience as a freelance PC technician and system builder. He's worked for more than a decade in user education and spends his time explaining technology to professional, educational, and mainstream audiences. His interests include VR, PC, Mac, gaming, 3D printing, consumer electronics, the web, and privacy. He holds a Master of Arts degree in Research Psychology with a focus on Cyberpsychology in particular. Read Full Bio »

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[kiatheinsomniac]

Ooh your requests are open! Please could you write Jacob Frye as a pirate and the F!Reader as the noble women he kidnaps for a ransom. But Jacob is really taken by her and they fall in love. I’m writing a story like this and I’d love to see another authors take on it.

Thank you!

I'd love to be tagged when you publish it and I love the art! I've kept the request short with a time skip so we get the sense of the before-and-after. Hope you enjoy!

You were attentive to every little noise and sensation around you with the cloth bag covering your head and obscuring all sense of vision. You swayed from side to side as you were dragged over floors that felt and sounded wooden under your feet. The air around you was salty and there were yells of men, scuffling about and the sloshing of water. You had undoubtedly been dragged out of that carriage after hours to be put on a ship.

Your wrists were bound in front of you and two sets of hands had a firm grip on each of your struggling arms. Suddenly, it grew much darker than before and the smell changed as the wind disappeared and the smell of salt gave way to tobacco. You figured that you had been taken into a cabin of sorts.

Suddenly, your eyes were scrunched to protect them from the intrusion of light that came with having the sack unceremoniously torn from over your head. Soon enough, you opened them and allowed your vision to adjust to the cabin around you. It was cluttered. Maps were upon all walls except the far one which was a long, leaded window. There was a main desk in the middle that was also covered in maps, small piles of coins, writing equipment, compases and sextants and the like. You spotted two chests to the left that were just about to spill over with gold and jewels and there was a four-poster bed in the near right corner that had one of the curtains drawn back to show the messy, unmade state that it was in.

Hands pushed down on your shoulders and forced you into a chair that creaked under the force of you being pushed into it. A new figure walked around you from the left and you glared at anyone in your sight. You were far from happy to be in such a position.

The man had cropped brown hair and a slight beard at the sides of his face. His jaw was strong, sharp and accented by a scar, as was one of his eyebrows. His eyes were dark but alight and he held a cigar between his fingers. His peasant shirt was green with a holster, void of a gun, strapped across his chest. A red sash was at his waist and he wore dark trousers with even darker boots that climbed up to his knee. He reached up to remove his tricorne hat and place it upon the desk as he sat on the cushioned seat on the opposing side from you. He lounged back and set his feet upon the corner of the desk, crossing his ankles.

“I suspect you’re wondering why you’re here?” He questioned.

“If Winston has slept with your wife, I’m sure he cares too little about his fiancée for him to come here so you can restore your honour or whatever.” You quipped and the man before he raised a brow, looking up to the two men who stood guard behind you.

“Fiery, this one.” He smiled, “I like it.” He looked back down to meet your eyes, “I have no wife for your fiancé to bed. But he has an outstanding debt to me and I’ve decided that I’ve been patient enough and some… interest is due.”

“Am I this ‘interest’ or a means of luring it out?”

“The latter.” He replied and you assumed that he always must have this laddish air around him. You could see why he was captain: he seemed very charismatic.

“You would have done better to kidnap his dog then.” You replied dryly and he tilted his head, bringing his feet down from the table to lean forwards, elbows propping him up.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean: he hates me almost as much as I hate him - I’ll emphasise almost. Our marriage is an arranged one so that his family can get some money and mine can get a title.” You paused for a moment, “If anything, I’m glad to be away from him. Had I been told that I wouldn’t have to see his face at all on this journey, I wouldn’t have struggled to get away so often.”

“So what you’re telling me is that he won’t come for you?”

“It’s likely that he won’t and if he does, it’ll be to kill me and blame it on you.”

“You really think he would kill you?!” The man exclaimed, jumping up from his seat.

“He’s already tried beating me, what difference does it make? Men like him are all the same, they want to ruin the women in their lives but will have them neither as they are nor as they make them.” You leaned back in the chair, looking down at your bound hands and wishing they were free as the rope was biting into your skin.

“So I’ve wasted my time?” He sighed his head falling down before looking up at you through his lashes as though he were wondering what to do with you now. You bit on your lip as you looked back down at your hands. Here you were with a group of people who were owed something by the person you hated the most and certainly weren’t afraid to fight dirty about it considering they had resorted to kidnapping his fiancée.

“There may be a way to take this debt for yourselves…” You suggested. “I know the routes that his merchant ships take, he works in silks, cotton and sugar mostly but he’s recently invested in some jewellers across London too…”

“Are you really willing to let his life sink under like that?”

“I’d say ‘eager’ is more suitable than willing. He’s a despicable man and I’d love nothing more than to watch his life fall out from under him.” You shrugged, “It’s less messier than feeding him an amanita mushroom soup anyway.”

The pirate’s brows furrowed as he looked over you: muddied pale blue dress with its white bows and ribbons talking so easily about plundering and murder.

“You don’t strike me as a killer.”

“The best of them hide in plain sight and cry the hardest at the funerals.” You tried to relax your jaw that had become tense from thinking so deeply about your hatred, “And the best liars always establish themselves as terrible ones.” You held your arms outwards. “Untie me, give me a place to stay and we have a deal.”

“I don’t like freeloaders, you’ll have to pull your weight, duchess.” You frowned at the use of your title, knowing he only used it to express that he thought you would be incapable.

“Then it seems this is a perfect deal.” You quipped back and he smiled a little at your determination before he flicked his wrist and a blade shot out from one of the bracers on his arm, slicing through the rope at your wrists.

》》》》》◆《《《《《

You hissed as the cotton met your open wound, the gash going from your right ribs down to your left hip. You were lucky that the sailor’s sword had not been a centimetre longer or else your guts would have been spilled all over that deck.

“Stop being a baby.” Jacob muttered, cleaning the wound.

“Says you, I nearly got kicked in the face once, getting that debris out of your leg.” You spat back, gritting your teeth to try and withstand the pain. You were laid across his bed that was no longer messy as you had taken to making it when the both of you got up in the morning.

“Ok, duchess, my apologies.” You narrowed your eyes at him, having learned from him that your stare intimidated him deeply. He only ever used your title to tease or annoy you: if anything it had become more of a pet name that only he ever used for you.

“I want a nap after this.” You sighed, putting the back of your hands across your eyes.

“Then I’ll leave you to it.” He spoke, knowing he needed to let you have your way for you to calm down a little.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’ll be joining me.” You heard him laugh lightly.

“Your wish is my command.”

“How ironic, captain.” You smiled before it quickly became a scowl, the fresh alcohol on your wound making it sting tenfold. “Has Evie sent any new letters?” You asked, knowing that your lover’s older twin had been keeping tabs on your ex-fiancée. The engagement hadn’t been officially called off but you had decided it for yourself the first time you had grabbed Jacob by the collar and pulled his lips down to yours for a searing kiss.

“Apparently he lost a load of money gambling recently. He must be getting desperate with how often his ships are getting attacked.” There was a pause as he reached for some bandages to dress your wound with. “Not that anyone will do anything about it because it strangely seems like he is the only merchant being seriously harmed by piracy. I wonder whatever could be the cause of that?” He laughed. You smiled at the little comment and felt him pull your shirt back down over your torso, climbing over you to lay beside you. You carefully turned on your side and buried your face in his chest, smelling tobacco, salt and gunpowder. His arm carefully wrapped around you and held your close, hand coming up to run through your hair.

You relaxed against his body with a sigh.

“I don’t thank you enough.” You murmured and he tilted his head down a little to try and get a look at you but your face remained buried against his tattooed chest.

“I wouldn’t want anyone else to tend to your wounds before-”

“Not for that…'' You whispered, hands gripping his shirt as you tried to hold him impossibly closer, “For saving me, for bringing me here.” He let out a quick breath that you sensed would have been a laugh if he weren’t so confused.

“I do believe that I kidnapped you for random?” He spoke amusedly, “I didn’t expect to be thanked.”

“And I didn’t expect to be grateful for it but I’m finally free from that suffocating aristocratic world where I’m like an actress on a stage every second of my life.” You sighed, “Do this, do that, wear this, say that, no don’t say that, you can’t have an opinion, like this but not too much, that’s for men, don’t speak of that.” You mimicked, “I get to make my own choices here, live how I please.” You looked up at him slowly, hand coming up to caress his jaw, fingertips tracing over the little scars on his face. “So I thank you.” You shyly traced the shape of his cupid’s bow. “Thank you for bringing me here or else I would have been stuck being someone I’m not with someone I hate. Now I can be who I want with the love of my life and I’d never, ever, trade that for some stupid money or a make-believe title.” Jacob craned his neck towards yours and your lips met sweetly.

“And even despite my original intentions, I’m happy that we were brought together too.” Another kiss, followed by a hum, “But, even if you’ve been freed from your corseted dresses and boring parties…” There was that mischievous look, “You’ll always be my duchess.” You slapped his arm, trying to hide the smile.

“Don’t push your luck, Frye.” And soon enough he was cupping your cheeks in calloused hands to smother you in kisses.

[anyotherwriter]

Skipping Town [3]

Previous Chapter / Masterlist

*Daryl Dixon AU*

Here’s Part 3. There’s like 14 parts btw. I’ll be trying to keep on an every-other-day posting schedule leading up to the last part on Christmas/Christmas eve.

Credit for the gif to whomever made it. *Continue reading this series at your own risk*. Feedback is always welcome!

Okay, love you, bye.

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The temperature had dropped drastically overnight and Daryl's fingers weren't cooperating as well in the garage this morning. The sun had finally crested over the horizon, streaming a warm inviting glow over the Dixon compound, a thought that made Daryl chuckle dryly. The only warm thing about being here was the space heater a few feet away that was keeping his legs warm as he bent over into the trunk of the second car to work. He'd already been there for a couple hours and it seemed like he barely even began.

He heard a car door slam shut and lifted himself up and walked to the cracked garage door. He regretted lifting the large door when all the heat that he did have inside promptly escaped, only to see that Shane had decided to make a visit. He was in uniform, the headlights from his patrol car acting as spotlights on Daryl. 

"Long time no see." Shane had called with a smirk on his face. Daryl could tell he had no intention of being civil. This was the same face he used to give Daryl before he'd tried to clock him in school. 

"Not long enough." Daryl said as he wiped his hands on a rag he pulled from his back pocket. "There a problem?"

Shane only laughed. He started to peek around the sides of the building, and then inside. He took a few steps forward, prompting Daryl to pull the garage door down, obscuring everything from view.

"Lookin for somethin'?" Daryl asked as he shoved his hands into the pocket on the front of his sweatshirt. He could hear the rattle of Dog's tags inside as he shook the way he always does when waking up from a nap and moved towards the door that still remained open.

"I know you're up to something, Dixon." Shane said, taking another step forward. "It's odd timing for you to come back into town just as your shitbag brother gets locked up. Unfinished business?"

"Got'a warrant?" Daryl asked. Before Shane could answer with the smart remark that Daryl could see him ready to spit, they both heard the distinctive low grumble of Dog growling for the open door. Shane made a quick movement, placing his hand on the grip of his gun. 

"Place." Daryl called calmly and Dog immediately sat in the doorway. His ears still indicated that he was on alert and only needed one command, but he stayed put. 

"There's a leash law, you know. I'm gonna call animal control." Shane said as he started to reach for the radio at his collarbone. 

"Tha's fine. Remind 'em it doesn't apply ta private property an' they're not allowed here without my permission." Daryl said as he started to walk back towards the open door and head back inside. He didn't plan to get into a petty spat with Shane the way he used to when he was younger. Shane dropped his hand back to his belt.

"You don't belong here, Dixon." Shane called to him before he had the chance to walk inside. Daryl laughed.

"Yer right," he turned back to Shane. "I don't."

"Then leave. Your family has done nothing but ruin this town." Shane pointed an accusing finger. Daryl couldn't find it in himself to disagree. He shook his head in agreement, which made Shane's nostrils flare in anger.

"If ya leave me the fuck alone, I can get the hell outta here faster." Daryl finally said, ushering Dog back inside the musty garage, and slammed the door behind him. He didn't move from the door once inside, making sure he heard the sound of Shane getting back into his patrol car and driving away. He wouldn't put it past him to rummage around the property while Daryl wasn't looking and plant a reason for him to actually arrest him under reasonable suspicion. 

When he heard the sound of the car fade away, heading back towards town, he took a deep breath and grabbed at his coffee that sat on a tool bench across the room.

It was too early for this shit.

***

Filling in for a late afternoon shift today seemed like a good idea until you went to leave. You placed your small bag of snacks you'd bought yourself for a Christmas movie binge, party of one, onto the passenger seat before cramming your key into the ignition. When the car fired up, a plume of white smoke came from the exhaust pipe and obscured your vision out of your rear view mirror. It was a recent problem but you had been ignoring it getting worse the last couple weeks. The car still ran and got you from place to place… you just kept forgetting to ask Rick to look at it for you.

A small knock came at your window.

And there was Daryl, with a brown paper bag in his hand, and a Dog leash in the other. You rolled down your window slightly.

"Hi." You said quietly, earning a small smile from Daryl. 

"Turn it off." He told you as he motioned with his hand for you to get out. He took a big step back so you could open your door. You were confused when he handed his bag and leash to you in exchange for your keys. "Ain't stealin' it, promise." He quipped, knowing it would be the townies first assumption. He reached in the door and pulled the lever to pop the hood, just as Dog pawed gently at your ankle for attention. 

You didn't hesitate to drop down and start petting him, his tail flying around excitedly. You peeped at his tag and chuckled.

"Dog?" You asked Daryl, who was now poking and prodding around the engine. 

"Don't." He shook his head as he kept his eyes forward, his voice demanding to some but you could hear the humor in it. 

"Well, Dog," You said loudly, turning back to the dog who was sitting nicely beside where you knelt. You slipped your hands around the backs of his black velvet ears and started to scratch. "It's nice to meet you, too."

It was quiet for a bit after that. You watched as Daryl continued to look around, open some things up, and then turned on the flashlight on his phone to inspect further. It was starting to get dark out, the street lights along the road flickering on one by one as you waited patiently. Eventually he sighed, and closed the hood.

"It's bad, isn't it?" You asked from your spot on the ground. Dog was resting his head on your thigh, fast asleep, as you curled into your sweatshirt for extra warmth. You looked at him expectantly and Daryl had to take a moment to recoup, because the sight in front of him seemed too right, too natural. 

"Your head gasket is cracked." He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"So, yes." You sighed as you ran your hand through your hair. Dog's eyes opened and he peeked up at you. 

"I wouldn' drive it righ' now, unless it's to'a shop." He said, watching as your fingers began to fidget. "I can wait with ya while ya call a tow."

As much as you deeply appreciated Daryl's offer, you could only feel yourself growing anxious. Sitting on the ground off to the side of the parking lot, with Daryl and his dog, wasn't the issue. It was the idea of calling a tow. 

It was a number you were familiar with, and one that was also blocked from your phone. There was only one place in town to take a car for repair and, on a daily basis, you wished it would burn to the ground with the mechanic still inside. 

Daryl noticed the shift in your mood and initially assumed it was his offer of waiting with her, until he noticed her fingers tangling deeper into Dog's fur. It took him a moment to remember a time you had ever seemed afraid, seeing as it didn't happen often growing up, but he could see it again now. It didn't settle well with him. 

"I got a guy tha' owes me a favor." Daryl offered, toeing at a few loose pieces of gravel. 

"Really?" You nearly whispered as you looked up, some of the growing anxiety ebbing. 

"I's a couple towns over though. May take a few days." 

"Yes." You nodded. "That's totally fine."

Daryl only nodded as he gave you a chance to relax. He heard you take a few grounding deep breaths the way you used to when anyone would start shit with him in school so that you didn't lose your temper. He would have laughed at the memory if he wasn't still caught up on why you were doing it in the first place. He had many questions, all of which would go unanswered for now. He reached his hand down toward you. You handed him Dog's leash and he chuckled, sticking out his other hand for you. 

The idea of grabbing onto his hand, even if it was just to help you up, was daunting. The last time you had held his hand was in the alcove under the steps at school after a fight. His knuckles were busted and bleeding that time, as was his nose. You ran to the bathroom for paper towels and sat there with him for two class periods getting the bleeding to stop. They looked different now; still calloused and grease-stained, but not broken or bloody or angry. They seemed calm and supportive and strong when you finally latched on and he pulled you up. 

"Can give ya a ride home, if ya need it?" He asked quietly. You only nodded before grabbing your things from your car and pulling yourself into the passenger seat of his truck. When Daryl got in and shut his door, the silence grew louder until the engine started up.

 "It's a left out of here." You pointed with your finger and you settled deeper into the seat.

"I remember." He said and your ears burned. Of course he remembered. He may not have been inside, or barely even around your house, but he spent a lot of time out of sight waiting for you there. 

He'd found a down tree about 50 feet into the woods that he stretched out on and carved up small branches with his pocket knife while he waited for you. You remember sitting in that same spot nightly for almost two weeks after he left, hoping that he'd come back. Eventually the tree trunk rotted away and collapsed early one spring after a brutal winter of constant weather changes. It was one of the last existing places that allowed you to think about Daryl without judgement. The trees and wind didn't judge, just carried your frustration for you when you needed help.  

Soon, he turned onto your street and promptly pulled onto the shoulder. You looked at him curiously.

"Don' want no one t'see ya with me." He said quietly, keeping his hands on the steering wheel. 

"Daryl-" You started, turning in your seat to look at him. 

"I know wha' they're all sayin' about me." He said, "Don' need none of it said 'bout you, too."

You sighed, knowing he wouldn't change his mind. It wasn't much of a surprise that he was still as stubborn as he used to be. You shuffled through your bag and pulled out an old receipt and a pen. You leaned against the center console and wrote down your number. You held it out to him.

"Wha'sat for?" 

"Whenever my car is ready? Or an update, at least." You smiled when he exhaled heavily. He took the slip of paper from you and tucked it in his pocket. Pulling the handle of the door and pushing it open, you reached back to give Dog a final chin scratch before hopping out. The grass beneath your feet was a little mushy from the dew as you began your walk home in the glow of his headlights.

Daryl stayed put as you walked home and he almost missed the small wave you sent him before you slipped inside. And then he started his journey back to his motel, pulling his phone up to his ear and calling that friend that owes him a big favor.

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Next Chapter

[forever-rogue]

In Name Only - Part 20

A/N: Hello, my sunshines! We’ve come to the second to last part. I hope you and enjoy and I think this is what we’ve been waiting for... As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: none

IN NAME ONLY SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

One Year Later

“Sunshine?” as soon as you heard his voice, a sense of panic settled into your bones as you quickly hid the items in your hands in the trunk beneath your bed. There was just enough time to push it back under the golden frame and obscure it with the blanket before jumping to your feet. 

Oberyn pushed open the door and poked his head in, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth, “I was wondering where you were - the children told me they hadn’t seen you all morning save for a few moments at breakfast.”

“Indeed, they tell you the truth,” you agreed with a tight lipped smile and a raise of eyebrows, “I’ve been...quite busy.”

“Just what are you hiding, my dear wife?” he came into your shared chambers and shut the door behind him, crossing his arms over his broad chest with a look of amusement on his face. Mimicking his posture, you tried to put on a neutral expression before scoffing lightly at him.

“You are bold to assume something of that nature, dearest husband,” you swallowed the lump in your throat and tried not to steal a glance back at the trunk, “I have a household to help run, multiple children to keep after, and a husband that always seems to require my assistance. Has it ever occurred to you that I might be simply busy?"

"It has indeed," he took a step closer and rubbed his chin in mock thought, "but I also know that is not the case right now. What are you hiding, pretty girl?"

"Nothing," you insisted as he raised an eyebrow. He stepped even closer and put a finger under your chin and turned your face to meet his, "you're not playing fair now!"

"Am too," he whispered as he leaned close enough to brush his lips against yours, "it is not my fault you can't say no to me."

"Oberyn," you tried to be firm, you really did, but you were no match for your husband's charm. His large, warm hands found purchase onyour waist as he pulled flush against his body. Instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck as you crashed your lips against his. 

And just as always, he kissed you like it was the first time, like he was still madly in love with you (he was, of course), like it was the only thing in life he craved. Kissing him always managed to be such a blissful, saccharine thing, and you never seemed to get enough, even when you were left breathless.

Reluctantly, you pulled back to catch your breath and rested your forehead against his. Oberyn, feeling ever so cheeky, stole a few more kisses, "are you going to tell me now? Come on, Sunshine."

"Nice try," you offered him one last kiss, as he playfully pouted, "you're not getting anything from me. And even if I was hiding something, my lips are sealed!"

"Sunshine-"

"Oberyn," you walked out of his delicate grasp and headed for the door, "let go of this silly notion! But for now, help me round up the children!"

"I will find out-"

"Umm…" the door to your chambers opened after a loud knock, followed by a nervous faced Asha, "I hope this isn't a bad time...I feel like I've always got the worst timing but I need you both to come with me…and before you ask, the children are all well...its ummm….just come with me. Quickly."

Exchanging a worried glance with Oberyn, you held out your hand, which he quickly took before the two of you followed after the young girl. She was practically flying to the kitchens, casting a look backwards here and there to make sure you were still following.

"Asha? Why such haste? Are you sure everything is alright?" you tightly squeezed your husband's hand as you tried to figure out what could possibly have happened. It hadn't been long since you'd left breakfast and gone to tend to your little project before Oberyn found you. It was hard to imagine what could have happened in the short amount of time.

"Its-"

Before she could another word, you could hear soft, insistent cries coming from the other end of the kitchen. Your hand fell from Oberyn’s as confusion muddled your features. He appeared just as confused and awestruck as you as the cries continued. 

“A baby?” you whispered as you turned to your husband momentarily. He shrugged, suggesting that he had no clue what was going on either. Turning back to Asha, you could see had paled lightly, “is that a baby? Who's had a baby...how? When?"

“Yes,” she whispered, reaching for your arm and dragging you into the kitchen. Your eyes immediately landed on a small, golden bundle all wrapped in a basket on the counter. Some small movement came from the blankets as the cries seemed to turn to soft coos, “i-it’s a newborn, I think anyway, he’s so tiny. Someone left him outside the delivery gates a little ago.”

“A newborn babe?” you asked softly before taking a step closer, wondering if it was the right thing to do, “did anyone see anything? Was there a note? Anything at all?”

“I’m afraid not...he was by himself,” she confessed, “i-it’s not uncommon...well in other parts of the kingdoms for mothers, or parents that can’t keep their babies for whatever reason to leave the newborn babes at the homes of those more fortunate, hoping they’ll take them in or find them a better home.”

“Has this ever happened before? Here?” you turned to look at Oberyn, who simply shook his head at you, “so there’s nothing as to his origins? He’s just...alone?”

“Yes,” she answered, “I just...I panicked and I didn’t know what to do. He's so small and he's going to need someone to care for me. S-should I....should he go to the orphanage?”

“No,” you answered quickly, surprising both of them in turn as they cast curious glances at you. Oberyn was already working at suppressing the grin that threatened to erupt on his features, “not yet, anyway. M-may I see him?”

“Of course,” she bowed her head lightly before stepping to the side, “I’ll get back to my duties. When you need me, let me know and I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“Thank you,” Oberyn’s hand found your shoulder as you look at him with a worried expression on your face, “what’s wrong, my love?”

“Nothing,” you whispered, “not yet...it’s just...I can’t help but to worry about him....”

Walking over to the counter, you hesitantly looked into the sea of blankets and found a curious pair of brown eyes looking at you. His small pouty lips formed a blubbering smile as he flailed his little arms. A smile worked its way onto your face as Oberyn stood behind you, a hand settling on your hip, “he’s beautiful.”

“He is,” slowly, tentatively you reached hand towards him and stroked his little chubby cheek. He had a light shock of dark hair already, and you couldn’t help but think of Oberyn, “how old do you think he is?”

“I’d wager that he can’t be more than a month old,” Oberyn whispered as he looked down at the small boy, “he’s young, so small still.”

“Oberyn…” you looked at your husband with curious eyes, watching as he looked at the little boy in awe. He was still a stranger, but seemed to trust you already, as if he'd known the two of you before. His hand reached for your finger, curling around it in amusement.

“What are you thinking, Sunshine?” he whispered as he studied you in turn, “tell me.”

“I don’t want to send him to the orphanage….” you felt your eyes well up with the familiar sting of tears, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with a wash of emotions, “I...I don’t think we should.”

You looked at the small baby and your maternal instinct seemed to kick into the overdrive. You loved all of your children, and had enjoyed getting to call the twins your own for the last year, and forever more of course, but there was something about the opportunity to raise this baby that caused you some pause. It didn’t mean that you loved your children any less or anything of the sort, but it was just a different experience. Oberyn must have sensed what you were thinking because he reached up and tenderly cradled your face, stroking over your cheek, “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“What if we...what if we kept him?” you whispered softly as he wiped away the tear that had pearled up and rolled down your cheek, “what if there’s a reason someone left him here - if he was meant to find us? We could raise him as our own...I know it’s a lot, Oberyn, but I think we could do it…”

“As I have always said, I’ve found that things always work out how they’re supposed to, that they play out as they were intended to,” he agreed gently, “perhaps there is a reason we were lucky enough to be the ones to find him. There is always more room in our family for another member, more than enough love to give. You are a wonderful mother, and any child would be lucky to call you theirs. I love you more than you will ever know.”

“Oberyn…” the corners of your mouth quivered in a teary eyed smile, “I love you so much. There is no one better I could have ever asked for - not a better friend, father, husband, or lover.”

He leaned in and pressed gentle kisses to your forehead, cheeks, and only stopped at your lips, gently brushing his against yours. But before you could steal a final kiss, your ears were met with a few gentle, excited sounding coos from the basket. Pausing for a moment, the two of you broke into a fit of giggles. Oberyn pressed a kiss to the side of your heading before nodding towards the baby. 

Turning back to him, you slowly reached into the basket and picked him up, holding him securely in your arms before bringing him to your chest and gently rocking him. Once he calmed down and stopped squirming, you cradled him so you could get a better look at him. He was a chubby little thing, so young and new still, but his eyes were already so bright and curious. There was something about the way he looked at you and wrapped his hand around your index finger that made your heart melt and you knew that you were making the right decision.

“He’s lovely,” you said softly, “we’re going to need a name for him, Oberyn. We can’t just call him...him.”

“Priorities, priorities,” he chuckled as you stuck your tongue out at him, “I think I will leave that up to you, my Sunshine. Whatever you come up with will be perfect. Just like you and our family.”

“Not perfect,” you slowly, ever so gently, passed the baby to him, letting the Prince get to hold his new son for the first time. Ever the expert, he had the little one nestled in his arm in no time; the sight was enough to make you want to cry all over, “not perfect, but filled with a lot of love and good things. Just like this.”

“Just like this,” he agreed with a small smile, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Oh Nym - no, no, no, my love,” your eyes winded in panic as you watched your son clutch at the robe you had abandoned for a few moments. He looked back at you with wide, innocent eyes as he giggled and waved his chubby little fists. You walked back over and pulled the almost six month into your lap as you released his grasp on the fabric, “silly little one, that’s for your Papa! Can’t go on slobbering all over it just yet - that’ll be after we give it to him!”

You wrapped the delicate, silken fabrics back up before tucking them back into the trunk at the foot of the bed. After almost six months of work, six months of slow labor, your Name Day gift for Oberyn was finally ready. You were glad you’d had enough forethought to start planning for it so early and make sure you would have it ready in time. Scooping the babbling baby back into your arms, you set him on your hip as you left your chambers. The sounds of laughter and screaming children had been pouring in loudly from the gardens, and you could spy that they were setting up for Oberyn’s name day celebration. 

“Let’s go find your brother and sisters,” you grinned as you kissed the top of his head; he already had a mop of curls starting that surely would rival Oberyn’s one day, “everyone should be here soon, and your Papa will be back just in time for his big celebration!"

Ever the cunning planner, you’d arranged for Doran and Oberyn to attend to business outside of Sunspear for the last couple of days. And luckily for you, Oberyn hadn’t suspected a thing; you’d never sneaked around in such a manner before and on top of it all, Doran had easily gone along with your little ploy. He’d promised to keep his lips sealed and offered to help however you needed. Luckily, between yourself, Ellaria, and all the children, it had practically been a breeze to plan it all. It was a privileged thing, you realized, to be surrounded by such love and generosity, but you always took full advantage of it all. 

“Mama!” Saria’s excited voice reached your ears as soon as she ran up to you and wrapped her arms around your waist, “did you see all the people? There’s so many people all here for Papa!”

“And you, and your brothers and sisters,” you promised her, gently ruffling her dark curls, “have you all been helping getting everything set up?”

“Mhmm,” she nodded eagerly, “and so many berries and fruits! Papa always shares with me, do you think he will this time too?”

“Of course, my sweetest little bee,” you promised, “your Papa would give them all to you if that’s what you wanted. And before you ask - of course he’ll share cake with you and everyone else too!”

“Yay,” she clapped her hands as she jumped up and down.

“My love,” Ellaria smiled warmly at the two of you before putting her hands on Saria’s shoulders, “why don’t you go and find your brother and sisters and all get changed for the big party? I expect that all of you will be clean and dressed before the sun starts to set? Do you think you can do that for us?”

“Of course,” she adopted a serious expression before displaying a wide, gap toothed grin, “I’ll go and get everyone ready!”

You looked at Ellaria and offered a thankful smile before moving a silent thank you at her. She shot a quick wink before holding her arms to you to relieve you of the baby in your arms. You kissed the top of Nymeros’ dusting of curls before passing him to Ellaria.

“He grows more handsome everyday,” she cooed at him as she peppered his cheeks in kisses, “and you - more beautiful every day. Motherhood suits you, it has always suited you, sweet girl. You’ve really become the backbone of this household. Seeing how he is now, I don’t know how Oberyn survived without you.”

“I think my husband has managed quite well without me,” you laughed lightly, “I just help him remain more organized and on track. It’s not much, but I think we’ve fallen into a nice routine.”

“I’ve never seen him better than with you,” Ellaria insisted as he bounced the baby on her hip, “he’s madly in love with you, you do realize that right?”

“Ellaria...you...I’m not you, and I know it doesn’t matter, but I think about that sometimes,” you admitted softly, brushing your hand over the linen cloth on one of that tables that was slowly becoming laden with food, “not in a bad way, but I...I’ll never be you.”

“Exactly,” she simply smiled at you, putting her hand on top of yours, “that’s what he loves about you. We had many happy years together, sweet girl, and we share daughters that we love more than anything. We were in love back then, but that was a different time and we were different people back then. But you are the one he’s in love with, not me. And that’s okay, you must always remember that. His heart belongs to you, and yours to his. Just like it was meant to be. You have never seen the way he looks at you, when you’re not looking at him. I’ve never seen him look at anyone that way before. And don’t even try to argue with me - I know him better than anyone...except for you of course.”

“I love him madly as well,” you bit your lip shyly as you caught her eye, “he’s...everything to me. He’s given me so much and I can only hope to mean a fraction to him of what he means to me.”

“You mean everything to him,” she insisted softly, “trust me.”

Before you could say anything, a loud commotion wandered into the courtyard as you turned around to find Oberyn standing there with a surprised look on his face. 

“Speak of the devil,” Ellaria nudged you lightly in his direction as his eyes found you, “go to him, sweet dove.”

“Oberyn,” you practically beamed as you dashed over to him, throwing yourself into his outstretched arms, “my moon and stars, you’re home!”

“Sunshine,” he grinned as he effortlessly picked you up and spun around before pressing a hungry kiss to your lips, “I’ve missed you.”

“It’s only been a few days,” you grinned at him “could you really have missed me that much?”

“Of course,” he whispered softly, “what’s all this then? So much commotion and calamity...I daresay I believe you have been up to something.”

“And you, dear husband,” you gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze,”are home much earlier than expected. Of course you’ve come along and ruined your little surprise. Ever the perfect timing, my love.”

“What surprise?” he raised his eyebrows as you sighed and nodded in jest.

“Don’t play coy with me, Oberyn Martell,” you playfully pushed him, “it’s your Name Day celebration, my love. So I suppose I should just say it now, Happy Name Day! I love you more than you will ever know.”

“You’ve planned all of this for me?” he asked in awe as you nodded lightly, “it’s just a Name Day.”

“Your Name Day,” you insisted as you grabbed the front of his lapels before kissing him deeply, “and I wanted to do something special for you. The children helped me plan it of course. They’re been eager for so long...let’s just say that we’ve been planning this for months. Forty-five is something to celebrate, Oberyn!”

“You make me sound so old,” he teased as he wrapped his arms around you and held you against him. You scoffed lightly before laughing at him as he peppered you in kisses, “I love you so much, my Sunshine. Thank you for this, truly. I couldn’t imagine anything better.”

“I would do it a million times over to see that smile, even if it would be once more,” you promised as Ellaria walked over to you. As soon as little Nym saw his father, he blubbered excitedly and made grabby hands at him. Oberyn’s face lit up as he reached for his son and clutched him tightly to his chest, but not before kissing him and cooing at him softly.

“Hello love,” Ellaria pressed a kiss to his cheek, “you’re looking well. We’ve all missed you.”

“Ellaria,” he bowed his head at her, “radiant as ever, and ever the welcome sight. Thank you for coming.”

“I wouldn’t dream of missing it,” she insisted, “we’re family, Oberyn. We always will be. Now why don’t you two go and get dressed and get ready for the celebration. I’ll handle the rest of the preparations.”

“Come on then, my little love,” he brushed his nose gently against Nym’s before reaching for your hand, “come on, my Sunshine. Let us go and get dressed. We have a party to attend it seems!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

You were sat at Oberyn’s right hand side, watching as everyone carried on chattering happily as they ate and drank and danced to music. It had been a long feast and the children were slowly growing tired and weary; Oberyn had Alistar and Loreza on his lap as he told them all sorts of stores, while Nym slept soundly in your arms and Dorea was on your lap. The others were running around and dancing. His hand held yours almost the entire time, fingers brushing over your soft skin, a reassuring squeeze here and there. It was a glorious thing to watch him, so animated and happy as he chatted away with the children and everyone that stopped by to bless him. 

He was handsome as ever, his dark curls adorned with a simple golden circlet that glittered in the firelight, a never ending smile on his face, and a lovely twinkle in his chocolate eyes. A few times he had caught you simply staring, and mouth a quiet what? to which you’d simply responded with a small nothing. He was wearing new robes of golden and bronze, cut and tailored exactly to his proportions and complimenting him perfectly. It was hard to believe that you were just as in love with him now as you had been back when you first started falling for him. 

Before the night could get too far gone, you handed the children off to Arianne, who was more than happy to be of assistance. Standing to your full height, you picked up the knife and slowly tapped against your wine goblet to make enough noise to gather everyone’s attention. It wasn’t long before all eyes turned to you and you reached for Oberyn’s hand, delicately taking it in yours. The way he looked back at you was enough to make you melt then and there.

“First of all, I want to thank you all for graciously accepting my invitation to come here and celebrate my husband’s Name Day with us,” you bowed your head slightly at the multitude of guests that were milling about the table and courtyard, “although I’m sure that no one needed an excuse to drink and have fun.”

After a bit of laughter, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to Oberyn’s soft lips; he responded as he normally did, by gently pulling you into him and letting your touch linger. After a moment, you playfully swatted his hands away, realizing that all eyes were still on you.

“Anyways,” you smirked at him, “I want to thank you all for coming and I want to give the biggest thank you of all to my husband, Oberyn Nymeros Martell. You are the love of my life, my best friend, my partner, and the best father to our children. A few years ago I could not have imagined this life - a life filled with so much laughter, love, adventure, and joy. You have given me everything I could have imagined and more. I never thought it was possible to love someone so much that it still manages to take your breath away every time - until you. I know things aren’t always perfect between us - we’re both stubborn and bullheaded at times, but there is no one else I’d rather spend my days with than you, no one I’d rather go to bed with in the evening. Thank you for loving me and letting me love you in return. And on this, the happiest of name days, I wish you nothing but happiness and many, many more to come, my moon and stars.”

By the end, you were speaking only to him, your eyes locked on yours as you spied his glistening with a few tears. He took your hand in his and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, “and to my lovely wife - a big thank you.”

“Cheers,” you raised your wine glasses and took a long drink of it. You motioned for everyone to restart their festivities as you sat back down next to him and he pulled you closer to him, “happy Name Day, my love."

»»————-　♡　————-««

"I think he's finally asleep," you whispered as you looked in the small crib that was across your chambers, where Nym was finally sleeping. He'd been fussy all evening and getting him down was a challenge, but miraculously you'd managed. Stroking his little you cheek, you grinned at him, "good night, my little love."

Oberyn was already posted up in bed, watching you with interest as you flounced back over and dove under the bed, "what are you up to?"

"I'm afraid I have one more surprise for you," you pulled the trunk out from under the bed and slowly opened. You bit the inside of your cheek before grinning at him, "its nothing much, but I hope you like it."

Standing up slowly, you displayed the sunset orange robe that you'd spent months working on. It was embroidered with golden suns and snakes, along with a few bees here and there, but the touch you cared about the most was the smallest detail. On the inside of the lapels you had sewn each of his children's names, starting from oldest to youngest. 

"Sunshine," his breath hitched in his throat as he slipped out of bed and over to you, "did you make this?"

"I did," you grinned as he took the robe and gently ran his fingers over the delicate fabric, "I've been working on it for some time...you've almost caught me several times! What do you think? You don't have to wear it if you don't fancy it of course."

He quickly cut you off by pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, one hand on the back of your head as he held you close, "I love it. It's beautiful - this is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me. I can't believe you'd do this all for me."

"I wanted to," you promised, "besides, what do you get a Prince that has everything? Look at the lapels...personally they’re my favorite part.”

And so he did, slowly running his finger over the dainty gold embroidery that spelled out each of his children’s names, starting with Obara and ending with Nymeros. He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat before turning back to you. His mouth opened and closed a few times before finally managed to come up with some words, “this is amazing. I will treasure this in my heart forever, just like you. I don’t think there are quite the right words to thank you for this, or adequately convey how I’m feeling.”

“A simple thank you was more than good enough,” you promised as you stroked his cheek tenderly, “I would do anything to see that smile grace your features, my love. I wanted you to have something special, just for you. I’m so glad you like it. I love you more than you know, Oberyn.”

He was silent as he took your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm and pulled you into him. How easily you molded against his body, just like you had been made to fit there. He rested his head on your shoulders as you played with the curls at the nape of his neck. He hummed in content as you held him, lightly swaying with him in your arms. 

“I have a small surprise for you too,” he whispered when he pulled back and you offered him a lot of curiosity. This was supposed to be about him, but of course, he’d find some way to make it about you too - that was the beauty of Oberyn Martell. He gave and gave and gave and asked for so little in return.

“Oberyn! You absolutely should not have! It’s your day, not mine,” he offered up a cheeky shrug before walking back over to his bureau, gently playing down the robe, and reaching into the top drawer, quickly pulling out something that glinted brilliantly in the candle light, “Oberyn?”

“I had these made,” he opened up his large hand to display a small necklace, intricately designed from the look of the gold and silver. As you reached up to touch them, you realized it was a sun and moon, perfectly nestled together, “sun and moon - a perfect balance and harmony. When we’re together, they’ll be together, but even when we’re apart, we’ll have a piece of each other.”

“You are a fool,” you whispered as a few tears welled up in your eyes and threatened to spill over, “an absolute fool of a man. But I am madly in love with you. You had these made?”

“I did,” he laughed lightly at the sweet look on your features, “just for you - and for me.”

You ran a hand over the pendants, admiring the craftsmanship of them; they were small but so well made and it was easy to see how much love and effort went into them. When you met his eyes, he motioned for you to turn around. Knowing exactly what his intention was, you lifted your hair and let him clasp the small moon around your neck. It set perfectly, and left warm against your skin. You took the other one and repeated the motions on him, but wrapped your arms around his waist once you were finished and pressed a few kisses to the bare skin of his shoulder, “I can’t believe you did this. There are some days that I still think this must all be some sort of wild fever dream. Surely in no life did I ever do anything to deserve you.”

“I assure you, it’s all very real,” he promised, taking a hand and bring it to the spot just above his heart while you listened to its steady beating, “do you hear how it beats so? It beats only for you. Do you feel how it calls for you? My Sunshine - even on the darkest days you bring light into my life. I would do anything for you. You are my heart, my home, my family - everything.”

“Oberyn,” a few tears had rolled on his golden skin and he quickly moved to wipe them away, “I…”

“At no point did I think I would fall in love with this wild, young girl that seemed to heed no one,” he admitted as he cradled your face, “never did I expect you to love a man like me. Two very different people from different worlds, so alike and so different. But then I saw that smile and heard that laugh and I knew that I was a goner then and there. You proved yourself so kind and gentle with such an open and pure heart, so different from this hardened and weary man. But I knew I could never force anything you did not want upon you, you did not deserve that. If this had been in name only forever, then I could have lived with that, albeit less happily, but getting to call you my wife would have been a privilege either way. I do not know if words could ever be an accurate summation of exactly how much you mean to me.”

“No?” you asked softly as you looked at him with trembling lips from your efforts not to cry completely, “because they’re pretty damn good. How am I supposed to compete with that? It’s your Name Day and yet you are the one whispering such honeyed words to me. I do not...Oberyn, my love...I...every day with you, even our worst days, days we might argue or not agree on everything, are the best days because I have you by my side. You have shown me nothing but love and compassion and...everything since the day we met. I couldn’t ask the gods, the universe, whatever it is, for a better person. I will love you until the end of time, in this lifetime and the next.”

“Those words are pretty good too,” he kissed your forehead, “I mean, they could use a little tweaking, but they’ll do.”

“Oberyn!” you broke into a fit of giggles before clapping your hands in amusement, “very well, my love. You must feel very proud of yourself for that.”

“It’s up there,” he agreed, “but I meant it - every word of it.”

“I know,” you bit your lip and nodded, nuzzling your nose against his, “I know. Why don’t we-”

Before you could say anything else, the sound of a few soft cries met your ears and you both turned to look at the cradle. 

“Go on into bed,” he gave your bum a pat, “I’ll get him settled down.”

“Bring him,” you insisted as you slipped under the soft blankets. Oberyn quickly made his way across the room and had Nym resting again his chest as he made his way back. While you definitely had a way with your son, Oberyn was like a magic charm; no matter how fussy or upset the baby was, he always managed to get him settled down in time. 

“There we are,” he got in next, resting against the headboard as the Nym slept on his warm, tan chest, and you instantly wrapped yourself around him. It was hard to imagine that so much of your heart, so much of your world, was right there, within two people, “alright, Sunshine?”

“Yes,” you promised softly, gently resting a hand on Nym’s back, “I’m perfect.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[just-more-trolls]

-=A Reckoning=-

Somewhat long under cut. Let me know if it needs tagging.

The sound of motors filled the air, revving and peeling through the neighborhoods accompanied by the cacophony of whoops and hollers. A new sort of terror has made itself known and trolls trying to live their lives go about it by ignoring the noise and simply staying inside when they ride around.

Unfortunately for one hemoanon troll they didn’t get inside fast enough. The doors were locked to them. The sound of the engines were drawing ever closer towards the lowblood. Even with fear pumping through their veins they just resigned themselves to their fate..moving into the middle of the street hoping they would be quick.

Wheels slowed to a stop, covered in all sorts of colors. The bikes themselves various shades of purple and black save for one, which was sheer metallic black with purple trim. A large blade lowered to the side of the troll riding this bike, face obscured by a helmet but his unique style of dressing made him the easiest to identify. The color drained from the young troll’s face as they seemed to recognize the purpleblood of a lowblood’s nightmares. Tears pricked the corners of their eyes as they shakily covered their face. No mercy was going to be shown to them, they knew, as the purple’s engine revved before speeding forward.

As the purple’s blade came swinging around as he moved to pass the hemoanon. The thing the troll didn’t expect was arms wrapping around them, and upward motion as the troll that had them, quick on their feet, bounced off the broadside of the oncoming blade as well as the purpleblood’s helmet before landing in a crouch on the other side, both her and the anon unharmed. 

The bike’s tires came to a screeching halt as Adrian stared blankly at the ceruleanblood across from him, unreadable but one could assume he was surprised. 

“... should’ve known it’d be a cerulean betraying her own caste..her right as a highblood for filth ...”

“~Cv~ Yeeaaa well.. Suppose I just like trollkind in all their hues..” she retorted, standing up straight with the other troll held in her arms bridal-style. She turned and flashed Adrian a small but smug grin. “..So sue me..”

Before he could rev his engine and go back at them, the woman in question turned and sprinted off, making quick use of the tree-line as she made her escape with the young troll in her arms.

The purple sat there, unreading before a soft snarl emanated from the helm.

“... if you see her or that little worm she took off with..no mercy ...”

More whoops and hollers before the Carnival’s Angels rode off, leaving the cerulean woman watching them as she sat up in one of the trees with the other troll.

“Yo~u didn~t hav~e t~o d~o tha~t. Yo~u could’v~e bee~n kille~d!”

“~Cv~ Nahhhh s’alright. Look I’m perfectly fine, see?”

“...Ca~n I kno~w you~r nam~e?”

“~Cv~ ..It’s Kanisa~”

[commander-diomika]

(Click to Read From the Beginning) Part 5 - Fandom: Rusty Quill Gaming Pairing: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde, literal background Barnes/Carter Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~2500 Additional Tags: Slow Burn, 18-Month Time Gap (Rusty Quill Gaming), Opposites Attract, Masturbation, Accidental Voyeurism, Pining, oh there's yearning in this one lads,

Summary: With the quarantine cell still under construction, it's not quite as soundproof as it ought to be.

It was remarkably easy to keep busy in the business of saving the world. Wilde made it his mission to get to know every face in town, and in turn have them know him, and like him. He made friends easily, the locals charmed by this tall man with his fluent Japanese and endless supply of entertaining stories. For the sake of the job - not just his own lingering fear - he was meeting every person on the island and building a solid network of people who would let him know the moment a new face appeared. The wider his web, the less he found himself reaching for the scar on his face.

Zolf won people over not by charming them, but by helping them. The gruff dwarf at the inn became known as someone the locals could go to when someone fell and broke something, or to use magic to help Stone Shape the stumps of houses that were slipping into sodden earth.

He also worked on supply lines. Trade was still relatively lively, but he and Wilde were in the market for more esoteric items than bread and booze. They needed adamantine for the cell, they needed anti magic equipment, and it was certain Barnes and Carter were going to return having depleted the stock of healing potions they’d taken. Strangely enough there wasn't a steady supply of any of those items on the island.

As much as Zolf wouldn’t admit it, Wilde smoothed the way when it came to trading. He charmed the locals and when Zolf appeared with increasingly obscure demands, he was seen as a friend by association. Zolf knew he wouldn’t have achieved that so quickly.

They both oversaw changes to the inn. Many rooms were separated with nothing but thin paper walls on slides, making the whole space quite modular. Wilde sequestered one of the few solid, seemingly defensible rooms on the ground floor and turned it into an office-cum-sitting room. Before their gentle takeover it had probably been a private dining room for special, or at least rich, guests. Zolf took the time to install a proper bed frame in his room, since his legs made climbing down to the floor-level futon bedding difficult.

On another continent, sentient creatures went wrong, turned on their loved ones, fought, died. Cities were turned and abandoned, and storms ravaged places that had never seen more than a light drizzle. But even knowing that elsewhere things were coming apart at the seams, there was a touch of peace in their little corner of it. For a few weeks they slipped into a routine.

Zolf rose in the mornings before Wilde, wordlessly depositing a coffee in front of the bleary man when he appeared. In the evenings that Wilde wasn’t out liaising they took to Wilde’s sitting room and read, or drank, or talked. Frequently about the mission of course, but there was only so much hashing and rehashing they could do. When things got too heavy, or nothing had changed, topics wandered. Zolf’s stories from the navy. How Wilde became a journalist. Small things. Easy things when they both just needed to put it down for a while.

Wilde would never do something so gauche as ask for forgiveness, or understanding, but some days when he reported another success, it sounded like I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.

Some days when Zolf poured coffee into Wilde’s mug it looked like you don’t have to apologise.

And on the rare mornings when some watery sunshine peeked through the clouds, as Zolf practiced in the yard with his glaive, Wilde followed to idly spectate over the paper and his breakfast, and the action felt like I don’t know why but it’s easier to be around you than not.

Barnes and Carter returned in good enough spirits and got started on their isolation in the mostly-complete cell. As soon as they returned, Zolf felt himself get itchy for action and movement again. He couldn’t even scratch the itch by properly debriefing the returnees yet; the newest information from Curie posited a hive-mind connection between those infected by the blue veins. Still, this was just the way it had to be. Zolf tried to soothe his agitation. Things were just going to move slow for now. He only had to look at Wilde’s scar to help quiet any feelings of angst. A little bit of frustration was something he could cope with if it meant what befell Wilde never, ever happened again.

Four nights after Barnes and Carter returned, Zolf sat in front of the fire attempting to read the Dwarvish tome Wilde had picked up in Damascus. It wasn’t exactly riveting stuff, and his Dwarvish was rusty, but he promised he’d at least make a dent in it. Wilde came in fresh from the bath, his hair wet and wearing the yukata he’d been gifted by one of the locals. As he passed the back of Zolf’s chair, Wilde placed a hand on one of Zolf’s shoulders and leant over to inspect the page.

This close, Zolf could smell him. There was a soft, flowery note that Zolf couldn’t identify, probably whatever he washed his hair with. And then there was the warm, familiar smell of the man himself. Zolf kept his eyes on the page in front of him.

Pointing with his other hand, Wilde spoke. “This character here- the translation guide I was using didn’t even have it. Brought the whole lot to a screeching halt. How are you getting on with it?”

Zolf, nose full of Wilde’s scent and nearness, opened his mouth to reply. “I – er, it’s fine. It’s an older script but I can read it- don’ quite understand what they’re gettin’ at, but, er.” He looked over to Wilde’s face again, profile lined in firelight. His face was so close that Zolf could lean and place a kiss on the man’s unscarred cheek, if he chose.

Wilde glanced up from the book. Their eyes met for the briefest moment before Wilde straightened, letting go of Zolf’s shoulder with a small squeeze.

“Wonderful. Let me know if anything useful comes up, will you?”

Zolf simply grunted in reply, still feeling off-kilter. This wasn’t the first time Wilde had touched him like that. As Wilde started to settle into life at the inn, started to feel a little safer, some of that old comfort was returning. Zolf didn’t mind the touching. He got the feeling Wilde was lonely. He was probably used to a lot more physical contact than he was getting now. For all he had been ingratiating himself with the locals, it was clear as day Wilde couldn’t trust them. If Zolf was the only person Wilde could reach out to…

Zolf shook his head a little and tried to focus back on the text. Wilde collected his own evening reading material, some piece of Japanese fiction, and settled in the other chair. The silence, but for the ever-present sound of rain, was comfortable enough. Their new lot in life involved a lot of waiting, and they were both doing their best to try and make peace with that.

Time passed and Zolf, already struggling to focus on the dull history book, realised he’d read the same sentence three times over. Some essential part of his mind had shifted, noting a change in the soundscape. Previously, there had been nothing but the rain and slight crackle of fire, but now there was a new element in the mix.

Zolf stared blankly at the page, listening hard. It was… conversation? Perhaps, but the innkeeper and his wife had rooms all the way on the other side of the building, and Zolf couldn’t usually hear them. It was… the wind? No, for all it was raining, it was the usual dreary patter, no strong winds to explain the slow rhythm or hint of a moan in those sounds.

Zolf’s heart beat slowly. One, two, three… and suddenly he knew what he was hearing.

Zolf looked up from his book to see if Wilde had noticed. Obviously, whatever he was reading was much more riveting than Zolf’s dry historical facts, because he was still engrossed in his book. Despite his close attention to the pages, Wilde could sense Zolf’s regard. Without Zolf even clearing his throat, he looked up.

“What?” he asked mildly to Zolf’s raised eyebrows.

“You hear tha’?” Either it had gotten louder, or Zolf’s ears had adjusted to picking out rhythmic moans and whimpers.

Wilde slipped a finger in his book to mark his place, cocking his head. With his attention drawn, he contextualised the new sound quickly (much faster than Zolf) and his eyebrows started climbing. When the brows couldn’t get any higher, he straightened in his seat and placed a hand delicately on his chest in feigned shock. “Well, we didsay that Barnes would look out for him, but that’s not quite what I had in mind.”

Zolf tried not to roll his eyes.

“And we knew that Howard would struggle with the isolation period,” Wilde continued, voice artificially prim. “I’m glad they’ve found a way to pass the time.”

Zolf’s efforts to not roll his eyes failed, then he glanced around, puzzled. “How is the sound even…?”

Wilde’s eyes were bright; his expression screaming this was the most fun he’d had in weeks. “The trapdoor. The one in the Teal Sitting Room. It’s still under construction, so…”

“So, sound is travellin’ through it.” Zolf finished the thought, voice level despite the blush he could feel rising in his cheeks.

Barnes and Carter were slowly increasing in volume. Zolf could finally make out the timbre of Carter’s voice specifically, though he’d never heard him make those noises before.

“I didn’t know that Barnes had it in him,” Wilde murmured. “Or, had it in Carter, specifically.” With that puerile comment, Wilde moved. He folded the corner of a page to mark his place and stood, checking the ties on his yukata as he did.

“Where are you going?” Zolf hissed.

Wilde smiled wickedly. “Why, to the Teal Room, of course.”

“Wilde!” Zolf said, flushing angrily. He was trying to formulate a scolding regarding privacy and eavesdropping, but the scoundrel had already stridden off. Zolf’s thighs tensed and relaxed as he went to stand then aborted the movement, debating with himself. Carter voiced a particularly sharp cry and Zolf decided that anything was better than sitting here by himself.

I’m just gonna stop Wilde from doin’ anything inappropriate, he told himself as he stood and followed.

Inside the room, Wilde leant against the doorframe, body languid as if he attended a mere dinner party. There was a tarp covering a half-constructed hole in the centre of the room. When Zolf came to hover beside him in the doorway, any lingering mystery about what was happening downstairs was dispelled.

“Fuck, James, please,”Carter sounded utterly desperate. This close, Zolf could even hear the slow rasp of movement, skin-on-skin. Barnes’ voice was harder to make out, as he responded with something quiet and urgent. There was a breath, then the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and Carter making a choked noise that pulsed straight from Zolf’s ear to his crotch.

Wilde was delighted. He looked sidelong at Zolf and mouthed the word “James?” wrapping his lips around it in impish joy, as though first names were the controversial thing about this situation.

There was a grunt from downstairs that was undoubtedly Barnes

Wilde spoke sotto voce, keeping his voice under the sound of the rain. “I knew he’d be the strong and silent type.”

Zolf didn’t reply. He didn’t know where to even start. He would hate to be overheard like this, but there was something thrilling about it. Fuck, Wilde’s a bad influence on me. He knew he should leave, just walk away, but…

The pace downstairs changed. What had previously sounded like a languorous tease picked up energy. Carter literally wailed as the thump of a cot knocking against a wall started up, one, twice, three times, continuing, not rushed but steady. Carter’s whine cut off in a muffled ermf and Zolf could see in his mind’s eye, agonisingly clear, the way that Barnes had just put his hand over Carter’s mouth.

Zolf’s eyes had been locked, unseeing, on the rough tarp, but at Carter’s stifled moan, he looked up at Wilde. He was gazing back, and Zolf was shocked to see something hungry in those eyes. Mere moments ago, the energy from Wilde had been lewd and juvenile. Something had shifted.

Wilde’s scent was still in Zolf’s nose and suddenly the image in his mind changed.

His hand, hooked behind one of Wilde’s knees, pushing it up toward his chest… fucking him open fluidly, pace keeping time with the rhythmic thudding from below. Wilde’s face flushed cheek to cheek, eyes half lidded, awash with the pleasure of it.

Zolf shut his eyes, hard, hot with shame. When he opened them, Wilde was still staring him down, a touch of that imagined flush now true in his cheeks. There was something knowing in his expression as well, as though he could see straight into Zolf’s mind and the images that lay within.

They had been so in tune with each other lately, after all.

Wilde’s mouth worked as if he was seeking words, but he was interrupted. “Heavens above, James, faster please, I’m going to-”

Wilde sucked his breath in hard as Carter came. The words died on his lips and he half-shoved past Zolf to leave the room, taking long strides and disappearing down the corridor.

Zolf stumbled. If the two men downstairs were in any state to be paying attention to their surroundings, they would have heard Zolf’s clumsy footsteps, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He went to follow, but by the time he’d caught up to Wilde, the bedroom door was shut.

There was no lock. It was only a barrier in that it was one that Wilde chose to put up. Zolf wasn’t about to go barging in where he wasn’t wanted. He lifted a hand to knock. Paused. What exactly was he here to say? To tell Wilde off? To apologise? To say, Look at me like that again, I’ll be ready this time? He lowered his hand.

Later that night in bed, for the first time in months, Zolf found himself firming a spit-slick hand around his cock, breath unsteady. He kept his mind cautiously blank. Every time he was tempted to dwell on the sound of Carter’s whimper, or Barnes’ low rasp, or that ravenouslook in Wilde’s eyes, he drew himself back to sensation alone, pleasure coiling in his gut. He certainly wasn’t thinking of Wilde’s hand on his shoulder, the relaxed set of his body as he listened to Barnes and Carter fuck downstairs, the salacious delight in his eyes.

Zolf pumped his fist faster, definitely not thinking of the thud of the cot against the cell wall downstairs as his hips rolled and breath hitched. Hanging on to awareness by a thread, he remembered the thin walls, and bit his lip to stifle his groan as he came.

His eyes closed, he listened to his hammering heart, breathing slowly. It had been a very strange night. From the buzzing post-orgasm haze, a thought emerged, unbidden.

Lavender. Lavender was what Wilde’s soap had smelled of.

[imtryingthisout]

I’ll cut away me Bonny hair, let no man ever think me fair

Fandom: Descendants

Ship: Fem!Harry Hook x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,415

Content: It’s a self insert fic inspired by @descendantofthesparrow check out their series and art if you like this. I’m not sure about any warnings, but there is references to British Imperialism and just The Isle of The Lost in general. Ask me to tag anything if you come across it.

———————————————————————-

It was a calm night.

The push and pull of the tides was a mighty sight, but their temperament was overall sedated. Waves of drowsy titans swaying on their feet. There were ships that lined the shore, vessels of varying shapes and sizes and degrees of being intact. Some had their ribs ripped open by thieving hands, cannibalized by their captains and left to rot tethered to their anchor. All empty husks of rot wood and former glory, that rocked like cradles in the breeze. Dipping lower and lower till their cheeks brushed the ocean, before rising upwards to repeat the cycle once more.

Pirate’s Port was a town that was seldom silent, in fact it had quite the reputation to the contrary, yet as the fog rolled in from the sea, sinking low and to the ground, reaching its long and heavy hands around the bases of driftwood shacks and other buildings, not a whisper could be heard amidst the streets. The few people who lingered in the Night Market took one good look at the creeping white mist and quickly fled into their houses. Curious children who mustered the will to stick their heads outside the window frames or from the corner of doorways were hastily ushered inside by their guardians. One young girl nursed a busted earlobe, that her Mother had yanked so fast and hard to get her to move indoors, that it now sported a dark red bruising.

A single man walked along the streets. Stumbling along the cobblestone path till he came to the end of the seaport. He stood there for a breath, as fog swirled around the old wooden pole beside the street. The remnants of a great mast, now left to crumble by the sidewalk. Old barnacles, moss and other things stuck to the sides of it poked against his back as he rested his weight beside its frame.

The clothes he wore, if they could be called that, were tattered and ragged and hung off his frame in great sheets of cloth. They might have fit a different man, once. Grains of salt stuck to his beard and hair, catching the reflection of the water like stars in a blackened and oily sky. His fingers were wrapped in stained cloth and bound with a myriad of dirty copper and golden rings.

Those fingers were wrapped around an old harmonica, silver, clean, with the likeness of twisting vines and waves etched into the frame. Hours of craftsmanship decorating its borders. His grip around it was so tight, it drew the skin around his knuckles white, as he held the instrument to his cracked lips and let out a mournful tune. His song the only echo in the darkness.

“I dreamed a dream the other night, lowlands, lowlands away, my John. I dreamed a dream the other night, lowlands, lowlands away~”

There was no moonlight on the Isle of the Lost, even now, for on the rare occasion that the moon dared show her fair face, the omnipresent storm clouds that plagued the land marred her, obscuring her smiling figure. There was no moonlight on the Isle of the Lost, nor was there starlight, or streetlamps.

Night time was an abstract shadow here, where reality seemed twisted and fearful. The only thing illuminating the dark streets and alleyways, was the light emitting from the crevices and cracks of house windows, as well as the occasional fire pit, but tonight the windows were shut, the cracks stuffed with cloth, and every barrel of flame doused with water and ash. There was no moonlight on the Isle of the Lost.

But the sea, who so loved the moon and her light, would never deny her glory, so for the lonesome ship who drifted, not by the shore, rather in the heart of the tide, their deck was basked in a pale luster. As well as the two figures who sat beside each other.

You have one hand burrowed deep into the inky black curls of Harry Hook and the other on the handle of a knife. The shine of the blade catches the silver light burning from the moon above the two of you, the silent observer whose gaze watches as you move the blade closer and closer to the flesh of the neck. A flash of heat runs down your spine as you-

“Hurry it up would ye, I’m starting to get a crick in me neck”

-slice upwards through your handful of hair. Watching absentmindedly as some rogue strands flutter down and are carried to the sea by the breeze. “This would be a lot faster if I had proper scissors” you mutter low beneath your breath. Not low enough apparently, because the next thing you hear is Harry replying “It’s not me fault I got hair growin’ thicker than tha soup at Ursula's Slop”

You angle your knife and get to work cleaning up the final few edges. “It wouldn't be so hard if ya didn’t insist on cutting it every time it gets longer than a butter knife’s blade. I swear- would it kill ya to grow it a bit longer? Let ya curls show?”

“And let people compare me more to me Da? Walking around like some great fop, nah, me name is bad enough, don’t wanna be walking around lookin’ like a pale shadow of that bloody English fool”

“Oi watch it” you say, bringing your blade playfully closer to nicking him before correcting it at the very last moment, “Don’t forget my Mother is of English blood”

“Ha! And you’ll ne’er catch a englishman claimin’ her!” Harry exclaimed, kicking a foot out to mark the punctuation” I swe’r the day that Elizabeth Swann is called a sassenach is the day the barrier breaks”

Her movement causes you to accidentally slash a bit too close to her skin, making the hair fall awkwardly. You bite your tongue to keep from scowling, and get to work correcting the cut. “Quit squirming- I still have to clean up this last bit fore’ ya can be back to moving about”

“Ughhhh- whyyy, I’ve been sittin’ he’re for ages” Harry groans, you can practically hear her pouting expression. Even so she stops, reluctantly, sullenly, she keeps her body as still as the statue, not even twiddling her thumbs.

“You know, when someone has a knife to your neck, you could stand to talk to them a bit more politely” Harriet Hook, whose name invokes such wrath that even her own father calls her Harry, turns to look at you. The grin that sails across her face is nothing short of wicked. “Of course, how rude of me to forget me manners. After all, it isn't every day one gets to rub elbows with royalty” She says, drawling out the word royalty with a flourish. You would be lying if you said that something in your heart didnt flutter at her voice, but you would be damned if you let her score an easy victory over you. You roll your eyes to the moon and back. “Oh stop that nonsense Hook'' you say, giving a stray lock of hair a quick tug. “Ain't no royalty on the Isle, no matter how The Fair Folk of Bargains Castle want to pretend otherwise”

“Aye but that's where you’re wrong Miss Swann.” You snip away the final strand. “The way I see it this ship has got not one, but two! Two whole members of royalty gracing us with their presence” Harry slides away from you like water in a strain, spinning around your waist and forcing you to turn around to follow her movement. Her voice is loud. Loud and full of delight, the very definition of boisterous. “First off we have our very own Captain- The Queen of The Sea!” she laughs with her arms extended upwards and to the sky. And something, you cannot say what, in you relaxes. Harry’s love for Uma was a familiar sight. It was a eternal spring that you could feel laced around every word that fell from her lips. Harry stands radiant in her adoration. “Oh but let’s not neglect our Dear Miss Swann, whose Mam ruled over fleets of ships- an armada! And dared to claim the Pirate King’s Crown”

Your fingers furl themselves around the hair in your hands. A part of you wants to braid it, hide it in a locket and keep it close to your heart forever. “How long must I remind you Hook, my name is free to say?”

“At least once more Miss Swann”, she says and takes your hand into hers “For I do so love it when you plead”. She bows, slowly, deeply in a way that would make your Mother’s old governess cringe at the impropriety- and kisses the back of your hand.

(Her lips are warm and rough against your skin, the chapness tickles slightly as she lingers. Looking up at you with eyes paler than riverstones and twinkling with mirth. Second stars to the left and right, stolen from the sky and embedded in her sockets.)

Your knife hits the wood with a clang and a thud, a faint part of you redisters the noise, but the whole of your head is swarming with heat and air. The goosebumps on your arms stand still and tall and you can’t say it's from the cold. Your bones feel hollow, your spirit barely tethered, you are a mind outside of your body outside of yourself and you wonder if this is what pixie dust feels like.

(Harry Hook’s lips are still pressed against your hand. Her eyes fixed onto yours. At first her expression is playful- cocky. All wiggling eyebrows and the crinkles of laughter, but as the silence stretches on it shifts. Confusion blooms with the tilt of the head. A wordless question written in the furrowing of the brow. Then, suddenly, her eyes widen and grow wild with realisation- before hardening into something else. Something more akin to victory.)

“Why Miss Swann-” Harry says moving forward, lacing both of your fingers together and closing the space between you, till you can feel the sting of her grin burn across your cheek. Her laughter rings like toll bells in your ear, sealing your fate. “Do you fancy me?”

You should take your hand back, you know you should take your hand back.

You don’t want to take your hand back.

A retort bubbles in the back of your throat, with that thought, its rough and scratching and feels just like the lock of hair curled around your fingers. You don’t want to let go. There is saltwater roaring behind your back as the sea dips the ship in a lover’s embrace. Harry’s hand grips your hand is gripped to your chest. She’s waiting. You can see it in the corner of your vision, expecting eyes that seem so blue, they shine silver in the night air.

So you answer, in the only way you possibly can. “What’s my name?”

“What?”

You run your free hand through her hair, balling a fist near the center of the scalp and pulling hard- taking her face off of yours and forcing your eyes to meet. “What’s my name Hook, I want to hear you say it” you say, it’s not a question anymore, not a plea, but a command.

And Harry Hook will always heed a command.

“Cassandra Swann” she whispers, the words fall clumsily out of her mouth and into your heart. You smile beneath her chin, using the leverage to pull yourself higher. You growl against her flesh “Again”

“Cassandra Swan”

A shrieking laugh escapes your lips, “Again!” you scream “Again! Again! Again!”

Harry loops her arms around you, killing the space between the two of you. “Cassandra” she says, “Cassandra, Cassandra, Cassanra Swann” With every reprise her words get smoother, and soon “Cassandra! Cassandra!” flies effortlessly from her mouth, as if she had always longed to say it, as if it was always meant to be there. Harry lifts your body into the air and spins the two of you around the deck all the while murmuring into your hair “Daughter of Elizabeth, Prince of Pirates, Daughter of William, Heir of The Flyin’ Dutchman”

The tips of your boots graze the floorboards as Harry’s momentum lessens and lessens, slowing to a stop near the center of the deck. Your head is pressed firmly to her chest. Here, in this place of comfort, you can hear the frantic beating of her heart, the rise and fall of her breath, the rush of blood beneath her flesh. You feel the storm that rages inside of her. And still she holds you close.

You linger there for a breath, hands clinched around the fabric of her shirt, while the two of you sway with the breeze. You’ve danced before, danced atop this very deck even, but nothing can compare to the silent watz the two of you share here and now. Just you and your love and the Moon. Harry’s touch is firm and soft and oh so gentle with you. If this were anyone else you would say it was hesitant, but that thought was absurd- Harry Hook was never hesitant, you weren’t sure she even knew the word. If she saw something she wanted, she took it. If she saw something she hated, she destroyed it. Love, rage, sorrow, desire, she bore them all proudly before the world, without shame or modesty. Harry Hook lived a life without restraint.

There is shifting under your fingernails, you are gripping her so, so tightly, as if you’re afraid she is not but a visiting dream, a girl made of moonlight and shadow, a passing specter doomed to fade away come dawn.

A strikingly strong gust of wind sends your hair flying outward and towards the sky. Waves of sun-kissed and flaxen strands twist and knot in the air, creating an arch of golden color above your head. You, with your father’s skin and days spent working out at sea, and Harry, with hair darker than the space between stars and skin so fair it put the moon to shame, the two of you were quite the contradictory pair.

Then the wind abides and Harry laughs as your hair falls in front of your face.

“Oh ha-ha hook,” you say, blowing a gust of breath up to get the threads up and out of your eyes, which only makes her chuckle louder. You do not pout, you don’t, you scowl like the very fierce pirate you are and you won’t hear any word to the contrary. “I mean really what’s so funny about--”

You are interrupted by Harry shoving a finger on top of your mouth “Sssh” she says, looking out and over her shoulder, “Do ye hear that?”

Hear what? You try to ask, however it comes out sounding something like “Hrrwat?” with Harry’s finger still covering your mouth. You strain your ears to listen, and sure enough you hear something on the wind, but the noise was far too muddled to make out anything further than a melody.

Luckily, a melody was all you needed.

“It’s a song” Harry says, her voice barely a whisper.

“It’s a shanty” you correct, and a very familiar one at that. No matter how time changes, or what variant of the lyrics become popular, you would be dead in the grave before you didn’t recognize a seafarer's lullaby, sailing along waves of wind and water and air.

You slowly raise your hand to Harry’s pale cheek, careful to give her time to see the motion and accept it. Her skin is chilled against your touch, as you pull her face away from the Isle and all its troubles. You both can feel the weight of the full moon at your backs as you begin to sing. “I dreamed a dream the other night, lowlands, lowlands away, my John~”

What it is, you could not say, but something inside of Harry relaxes when she looks at you. The crease between her eyes vanishes and a part of the frantic energy tensed into her shoulders, lessens. The heavy gaze of the moon lessens slightly.

You rarely ever see her like this. This calmer, tender side of her, that she hides away from the world. How wonderful it is to witness, to share vulnerability, how beautiful she looks when she joins the chorus, your two voices becoming one. “I dreamed a dream the other night, lowlands, lowlands away~”

Taking a step to the side, you begin to lead Harry and your bodies in a proper waltz. Well, as proper as a Pirate waltz could be, at least. You are so focused on your dancing that you almost miss Harry’s voice singing. “I dreamed my true love came all dressed in white, lowlands, lowlands, away me John, I dreamed my true love came all dressed in white, lowlands, lowlands away”

“She sat by my bed when I was asleep, lowlands, lowlands away my John, she sat by my bed when I was asleep, lowlands, lowlands away”

“That’s wrong,” Harry tells you, very seriously, you can’t help but giggle “I’ve heard this sung a thousand times, with a thousand different tongues and a thousand different ways. If the rhythm is right then what does it matter?”

Harry nods her head, “Aye, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s wrong”

“Well if that’s the case Miss Hook, then why don’t you show me how it’s really done?”

“Gladly Miss Swann” Harry grins, puffing her chest up proudly as she sings, her voice so deep and genuine it brought tears to your eyes. “She sat by me bed and did nothing but weep, lowlands, lowlands away my John, she sat by me bed and did nothing but weep, lowlands, lowlands away”

“Cold water soaked her skin so fair, lowlands, lowlands, away my John, cold water soaked her skin so fair, lowlands, lowlands away”

A warm hand runs itself through your head, racking fingers wander as Harry counters, “An’ the salt-sea weed it was in ‘er hair, lowlands, lowlands away, me John, an’ the salt-sea weed it was in ‘er hair, lowlands, lowlands away”

The wandering comes to stop on top of your ear. Her tumb is nestled under your eye, cradling the side of your face. You feel the heat of the touch, burn past your skin and set your blood a boiling. “She made no sound- nor word she said, lowlands, lowlands, away my John, she made no sound- nor word she said, lowlands lowlands away”

For a second time stood still as two souls shared the same thought. Harry moves to rest her forehead on yours, and before you could even think to give a command, your body rose up to meet her halfway.

“That’s when I knew my love was dead, lowlands, lowlands, away my John, that’s when I knew my love was dead, lowlands, lowlands away” you harmonize with each other, voices barely a whisper drowned out in each other and the beating of your hearts.

“I dreamed a dream the other day, lowlands, lowlands away, my John. I dreamed a dream the other day, lowlands, lowlands away”

Up beside the horizon, where the water meets the sky, the first blaze of sunrise streaks along the border. There is a brief moment, when the light is just right, that the entire ocean ignites in a pale blue splendor. The exact shade of your love’s eyes.

“Then I awoke to morning’s keen, lowlands, lowlands away my John, then I awoke to morning’s keen, lowlands, lowlands away”

Miles away from the ship where you and Harry Hook stand, frozen in time, the fog retreats back into the sea. Windows are unplugged, fire restarted, the air begins to be polluted with the shouting and the everyday noises of life.

Inside a small wooden shack there is a Mother, carefully applying cream onto her daughter’s ear. She does not apologize, not openly, not when she doesn’t regret causing it, but she does gather her daughter close in her arms and opens her mouth to sing her favorite lullaby. A song about a distant and beautiful land, far away and low by the sea.

And of course, beyond the two lovers and the mother and daughter, there is an old man standing by the sea, and singing. “Now I’ll never see my love again, lowlands, lowlands away, my John, now I’ll never see my love again, my lowlands, lowlands away~”

[finleyjayne]

Everyone is Sad Sometimes

Steve Rodgers x Reader

Summary: During a depressive episode the end of the tunnel can seem impossible to reach. Your therapist says that you are not alone in your feelings but you don’t believe them. They don’t live in a compound with superheroes. After a run in with a certain super soldier, You can’t help but wish to bask your sorrows in your secret stash of icecream, what will happen when someone else has the same Idea?

Warnings: Angst, Panic Attacks

A/N: Sorry not sorry, Thank you for the photo Google. Also I’m going to tag @captain-rogers-beard​ because I am new and I want at least one person to read this.(Thank you Mimi)

Depression hits everyone at one time or another. That's what your therapist keeps telling you. It's just hard to see how the literal superheroes around you are dealing with depression. Like sure Tony locks himself into his bubble of work, Natasha goes missing for a week every month, and Bucky... don't even start with Bucky. Even Thor could be seen putting himself into the line of fire more after his brother's death. So maybe Dr. Pronce isn't wholly wrong. 

At least that was what you were starting to believe. Until Steve walked into the small breakroom, you were currently using to meditate. Steve was a God among men, and he had yet to have an "off" day in your presence. Compared to your increasing lack of good days, Steve was perfect. Even now, he was whistling a jaunty tune, his steps bouncing as he set up his sketchpad in front of the windows. 

Sitting in the corner, obscured by a stately, wingback chair as you were, he didn't even notice you. Which was great for people watching. Even better for you to get a nonpartial read on how the imposing, and reserved man before you was really feeling. Keeping quiet, you watched as he smiled to himself. A relaxed, carefree thing., full of contentment. You fought the urge to sigh. 

How could he be so happy about what was going on outside? It was overcast, all the trees were dead, the snow was murky because of all the combat drills that had been done throughout the field since it had last snowed. Even the cardinals and squirrels that found their homes in the nearby trees were absent. Probably hunkering down for before the next storm was supposed to hit.  

Your frown deepened at the thought. The winter storms did nothing to help your increasing hopelessness; in fact, they seemed to do the opposite. Not only did they make the impending sense of doom that you usually could keep at bay absolutely unbearable, but the dramatic pressure changes also made your very human body ache from all of the past abuse you've lived through. 

Before you can realize how it would give you away, you start to rub at a particularly sore scar on the side of your forearm. Even after the Captain was staring surprised at you, you continued to stare at him.

"I hope you realize it's impolite to stare." He says casually, his eyes barely flickering to you before going back to the window.

You startle slightly at being noticed. "I've heard that before. I've also heard that it's impolite to do a great many other things, Captain. Most of which the population of America does every single day." You respond, continuing to stare.  

Steve chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest as he takes the armchair across from your hiding place. "Oh, really? What would this list consist of?"

"Crossing your arms." you deadpan, pulling your knees closer. 

"Touche," he states, leaning back into the chair, relaxing his arms. Going back to his leisure surveillance. His hands twirling a charcoal pencil between their lithe fingers. 

After what was probably too long a silence, words pop out of your mouth. "What are you looking at? There are better views out of the other windows. The snow isn't even clean." 

"Sometimes, the lack of beauty is where true beauty lies." He whispers, his voice convincingly soft. 

"Who are you quoting, my mother?"

"Not quoting anyone. Just trying to remember what a friend. If I was to quote them, I would've said, 'Ugliness is just a failure of seeing.'" His voice wavered a bit as he continued to stare out the window. Turning to you, he cleared his throat. "What are you doing behind the chair instead of in it?" 

You laugh sardonically, "Meditating. I'm a bit of a claustrophile."

He gives you a strange look. "Oh? Are you sure you aren't hiding from something."

"Steve, not that it's any of your business, but I am always hiding from something. It's daily life for me," you say. Not wanting to answer any more questions, you stand lithely make your way to the door. 

He looked startled at your abrupt movement. "You don't have to go. I didn't mean to offend you."

"Look, Steve, I know you are just trying to be helpful. I also know that you can't really stop being yourself, and I don't really want to either. But I really can't handle being in the same room with your positivity right now. You're too happy, and it's not making me feel any better about my lack of happy. So stay, enjoy your sketching, see you at training tomorrow." You turn around before you could see the hurt playing over his face.

Later that night, you still felt awful at your inability to be content with any of the blessings you have been given since becoming one of the Avengers. Even when in sleep, the unending hopelessness caused your sinuses to burn until you woke yourself up with your tears. Finally, giving up around two in the morning, you make your way to the secondary kitchen in search of your hidden stash of comfort icecream. 

To your surprise, the light in the kitchen is on when you round the corner. Trying to act like you aren't dying on the inside, you circle the island cupboards to see the weirdest sight of your life.

Captain America, sitting on the floor, eating a bowl of Kellog Flakes, talking seriously into the phone. "I don't know what to do. I ran into her today. She blatantly told me tha..." he looks up and freezes midword. You could faintly hear the other person on the line calling for him, but couldn't care less. Staring straight ahead as you got your icecream and a spoon as quickly as you could manage. Fighting off the new wave of tears.

Gods, what were you going to do? Your depression was going to lose you your spot on the team? Was it really that bad? You went to every training session, you made it a point to listen to all direction, and worked extra hard every mission to prevent this from happening. What would you do if you lost this too?

Your thoughts tore violently through your brain, leaving you unable to pay attention to your surroundings anymore. You were just outside of your door when a calloused hand caught your arm. The forlorn wail you were holding just behind your teeth severed the still night air, pulling the ripcord on the tears fighting to be free. Your distress shredded any sense of coordination you had as you collapsed into Steve's rock-hard chest.

"(Y/N), (Y/N), please, let me explain."

"NO," you sobbed. "Let go of me, If you wanted to get rid of me, all you had to do was ask. I'm a big girl, I can take a little tough love."

That seemed to shock Steve. "What?"

You yanked your arm harshly from Steve's stunned grip. "That's what you were talking to whoever that was about, wasn't it? You finally realized that I am not worth it. That I don't belong and weren't sure how to break the news to me since I'm so depressed. Well lucky you, you don't have to worry about it anymore. I'll have my stuff packed and be out by the end of the week." You turn away as tears waterfall down your face. 

Before you can get a decent grip on the doorknob, Steve's hand finds its place on top of yours. "No. I don't want you to leave." He states confidently. "It's quite the opposite actually. I like you. I was asking Clint how to handle my feelings since you clearly don't feel the same."

That stops you in your struggle for the doorknob. You look up at the imposing man beside you through bleary eyes. "What did you just say?"

"I like you, sweetheart. I was worried about you, and I didn't know what to do. So I called Clint. He seems to know the most about women."

You stood there, shocked for a second. "You like me."

"You make it really hard not to."

"What do you mean?"

"Sweetheart, you are a gorgeous, strong, independent, caring, hardworking woman. I'd be stupid not to have feelings for you."

"But I'm so grumpy, and when I'm not grumpy, I'm sad," you argue, scrunching your eyes together in confusion.

"Everyone gets sad. You are just less adept at hiding your feelings than some of us are. That's okay. I know you don't see it right now, but you haven't always been this way, and even if you stay this way, I know that you are worth every ounce of love and respect that I've given you."

You just stare at him. Trying to find any hint at the lie. He just stood there, staring right back into your eyes and, you couldn't help the tiny flutter of hope that settled deep in your tummy. A slight twitch, like the flick of a cat's tail as it basks in the sun. You missed her, and you knew that if Steve continues to look at you like that, you were going to be feeling more than just the flick of her tail.

"You quoting my therapist now too? Or is it just more of your friends?"

[illshowyourhurricanes]

A Familiar Face (Part Four)

This has been a long time coming-- sorry, y’all! After a not-so-pleasant surprise, our knight in tattered blue jeans becomes even more lovable as he offers our reader a shoulder to lean on. Hope y’all enjoy!

Rating: G. Some sweet angel baby Ryan coming your way!

Word count: 1737

Taglist:  @dylanobrusso @obscurilicious @the-blind-assassin-12 @something-tofightfor@ms-delos @madamrogers @lexxierave @benbarnestongue @yannii04

 If you’d like to be added to or removed from my tag list, just ask!

Your always tidy apartment was in shambles. Hand-in-hand with Ryan, you moved almost robotically throughout your home, dodging pieces of furniture turned sideways, stepping over articles of clothing strewn over the floor. It was almost difficult to breathe, the air thick, almost as if the stranger who had stolen your sense of security had taken some of your oxygen too. You could almost hear hurried footsteps, sense a criminal’s fingerprints on doorknobs and furniture.  He’s left behind an almost suffocating unease, branding a sense of fear just beyond your carelessly open door. 

Ryan’s method of searching was thorough: he checked behind your shower curtain, in the linen closet, beneath your bed. Nothing was found, no clues left behind that pointed to who exactly could have done this, and you shook your head as he asked for any motive you could think of. As time passed, you felt a disconnect, the way you thought it may feel to experience an escape room. The pit in your stomach was present from anticipation. The sound of your own blood rushing through your ears was due to a flood of adrenaline. 

“I’ll need a new chair.” The words left your mouth in a short moment of silence. Your kitchen chairs didn’t come as a set, but were used pieces of furniture in an array of colors, each one picked up at a flea market or yard sale. The one you usually sat in, a shade of blood orange, had been tossed aside carelessly. One of the legs had been broken in two. 

It was only in that moment, when disjointed thoughts jolted through your mind, that you realized Ryan’s hand was curled protectively over yours. His skin was rough, callused from guitar strings and hopping trains. Somehow even after spending hours outside in the unrelenting cold, his hand was warm. 

“Dinner!” Your voice took on an almost alarmed tone and you looked up at Ryan, giving an emphatic nod. “You came for dinner.” There was a mess of torn envelopes scattered over your small kitchen table, ones that had originally been in a neat stack. You reached out to clear your mail off the table. Reluctantly, you gently pulled your hand from his much larger one that had been enveloping yours. He remained quiet, and you craned your neck back, catching his eye. 

There was an apprehensive look apparent in his dark eyes, yet it was accompanied by a certain softness. He didn’t give off a look of pity, but complete understanding… and maybe, just behind that, a shadow of genuine concern. It was easy to get lost there, in the darkness and depth of those eyes, framed by delicate, long lashes. 

“Y/N.” Ryan’s eyes followed you as you stepped just past him to open the refrigerator. A large dish was already layered with lasagna, a generous portion of shredded Italian cheeses visible though cling wrap. You didn’t have much of an appetite, but always kept true to your promises. Ryan had to be famished. 

You turned, holding the dish in two hands, and jutted your hip to the side to bump the refrigerator door shut. “I had garlic bread…” You looked to the counter and then to the floor, two buttered chunks of bread face-down on the tile. “Sit, sit! Relax. It won’t take long to bake, and I’ll finish cleaning off the—“ 

Ryan said your name again, softly this time. His eyes were somber, widened just by a hair, and you found yourself thinking that those eyes had the potential to make him appear innocent, full of wonder, almost childlike at a glance. More than a few seconds’ time spent looking at them, however, and an infinite depth overtook any mistakes made in the name of innocence.

“I ain’t worried about supper.”

He took in the sight of your face. You appeared to be calm, under control, but he knew you were rattled. He noticed the way your hand shook as you turned a doorknob or two; he noticed the way the color drained from your face when you stopped short outside your open door; he noticed the way your eyes filled with tears when you said you needed a new chair. 

“I’m worried ‘bout you, though.”

Your surprise at his sentiment was evident in the way your lips parted and eyebrows lifted. The tense way you were holding your shoulders relaxed, and you set your lasagna to the side. A coaster that had been balancing precariously on the edge of your counter fell to the floor. It occupied your gaze for a few moments before you bent to pick it up. You couldn’t remember the last time anyone had expressed concern for you. 

“I’m fine,” you responded finally, a shadow of a smile offered as an additional affirmation. “I have a few things to pick up here and there, but when everyone else is spring cleaning, I’ll be couch surfing.” 

Ryan thought back to the first time he’d had something stolen. It was as clear in his mind as if it had been yesterday, though it had been almost a decade ago. “I was travelin’ out West and waitin’ for the train that would take me to Albuquerque... I was plannin’ to meet an old friend to talk music and had an hour to kill.” Ryan rubbed a hand over the thick scruff of his cheek and leaned back against the counter top. You sank down onto one of your non-damaged chairs, already completely absorbed in the story of his that he was recounting for you. 

“It was rainin’... one of those summer storms where it comes outta nowhere and the water just don’t quit. Thought I was the by my lonesome at this old rest stop I came across not far from the train station. Middle of the night in a rain storm. I took off my pack long enough to put on some clothes that wouldn’t have me soaked to my bones Couldn’t a been gone more’n five minutes, I had my dry clothes... and a just about empty pack. All was left was a box of rollin’ papers. Even my tobacco was gone. Thief had himself a sense of humor, I reckon.” He punctuated his tale with an easy shrug of his shoulders. “‘S not the same as all this, but the meat ‘n potatoes are close. Makes ya feel rummaged through right alongside your stuff.” 

Your head was spinning, and not due to what was around you. You’d never heard Ryan speak so much or so freely. His accent was stronger than you realized, his voice a deep, yet soft-spoken tenor. Even the tone he spoken in, the rose and lull of his voice were reminiscent of a melody. What struck you the deepest, however, was the knowledge that he’d wanted to share his experience with you. You hadn’t asked any questions. You hadn’t prompted him in any way, yet he opened up to you, even if it was in the form of revisiting a short time of misfortune in his life. He’d abandoned his reserve, and it felt momentous. 

“Did you end up meeting up with your friend?”

Ryan glanced downward at his boots and let out a breath of laughter. He looked back to you with a nod. “Yep. Accumulated some stuff to weigh the pack down along the way. Name’s Georgie. A damn good fiddler… lives close by.” 

If there was anything Ryan Brenner was not, it was the presumptuous type. He never assumed anything from anybody. The life he lived was an unconventional one, and most people frowned upon it. His palms were blistered more often than not from hopping trains to get where he was going. His fingertips were hard with callouses yet weren’t immune to bleeding from long hours of playing. Any money he had was earned by hustling for it, and honestly so. Whether his day was spent huddled under any overhang he could find in order to stay dry, in direct sunlight and drenched with sweat, or with most of his body numb from the harsh, unrelenting cold, he was determined. He was honest. He was a temporary fixture and, most would say, he was a fool. Perhaps it was true. He was a private man but he was a man of compassion and emotion and kindness. You had shown him immense kindness and a sweet company; Ryan felt a strong desire to offer you the same. 

“It’s none ‘a my business, but it may be none too wise to stay here tonight.” The sky was an inky black, any sliver of moonlight obscured by heavy clouds. You hadn’t realized so much time had passed. “You’re more’n welcome to stay at Georgie’s. He’s been puttin’ me up since I came ‘round. We got plenty room.” With a boyish smile, he nodded in the direction on your abandoned lasagna. “You can bring supper in exchange for room and board.”

You hesitated at Ryan’s offer. You’d like to think that the rest of your night would be spent picking up, sweeping, mopping, piecing your home back in order as much as possible, but if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t feel safe. The lock on your door was obviously broken and there was no place in town open at the late hour  to fix it. You looked up at the man standing in front of you, a sort-of stranger that was talented, alarmingly good-looking, gentle and kind. He had made it his responsibility to make sure there was no threat to your safety upon arriving to find a disaster of an apartment. And here he was, still offering his protection and company without any indication that he thought that you might need him, but simply that he was willing to offer you his presence and time. 

“That sounds… wonderful.” You stood from your kitchen chair and raked your hands through your hair. You felt, for the first time since you’d arrived home, like you could breathe.”Thank you, Ryan.”

He shook his head in gentle dismissal. “Happy to help, Y/N. ‘S a pleasure.” 

You felt yourself smiling as you padded down the short hallway and into your bedroom to gather some things. Wherever Ryan Brenner came from, you were eternally grateful that he’d gravitated your way on his latest adventure.

You were also thankful that you’d finally found out he’d had a warm place to stay.

[velvetgons]

seunghun as your boyfriend;

seunghun x reader

warnings; hm maybe some swearing but nothing else :) 

word count; 3.2k 

requested; yes :) the junkyu one is already done and is under my writing// tag! 

so what’s seunghun’s vibe i hear u ask? well it’s: ROMANCE

seunghun is the epitome of movie romance boy babey!!

you’d still meet him a very Normal and Generic setting, though

but it would still be super cute and the kind of experience where you think about it later that night and you gotta think ‘did that actually happen??’

i’m thinking a coffee shop because idk i got those chill vibes from seunghun

it’d be this really small niche coffee shop that plays the lo-fi hip-hop radio 24/7 and you only really go there because a. it’s small so there’s not a lot of people and b. the drinks are just so good?? you don’t know what they’re doing to make everything taste five star restaurant worthy but you don’t care!!

and one day you go there just to be chilled out and continue to work your way through the entire menu to test your theory that god himself is making these drinks

but when you’re just sitting and ~chilling~ you hear the door open

n you honestly don’t usually look up because it’ll just be another hipster teenager walking in, which is very valid and you’ve lowkey started to think that hipster fashion is maybe not so bad

(your friends disagree but i mean, who’s actually seeing hipster fashion up close and personal daily??)

but this time ur just like hm wonder who’s coming in today

and oh my god?? you feel like your brain has just short-circuited

there’s this cute ass boy with the softest looking hair wearing an oversized soft jumper walking into the shop with these pretty eyes that are glancing around to observe the space

and your interest is peaked, so you’re paying full attention to him now like godly drink? not important there is the most beautiful man over there and you are about ready to die with how shocked you are  

and then he just. gets his coffee and you think he’s gonna turn and leave so you’re :((

but as he about reached the door he turns his head a little and he sees you and he’s like :O

tbh he’d probably actually gasp like yeah that’s seunghun and he’s shocked!

and he wants to walk over to your table but he doesn’t know if you want company or if you want to be left alone

so he’s 365 so stressed and rushes out of the coffee shop because omg he can’t make someone ((and himself)) nervous that’s too much to do in one day

and so now you’re left wondering like?? was that a good shocked face and run away? because that’s definitely not usually a good sign

but you go back the next day as usual except this time you’re waiting for something ((spoiler: it’s seunghun. you went there to see the Cute Boy.))

and tbh you don’t think he’s gonna come back because i mean who gasps and runs out of a building for a good reason

but he does!! and he’s being ‘sly’ okay seunghun trying to check to see if you’re there that day and when he sees you sat there like yesterday he’s so excited

he’s been getting prepped all throughout yesterday and mostly through the night because he didn’t sleep properly

but now he’s ready to go ask if he can sit with you and make nice polite pleasant conversation

forgive him he’s only on phase one of his long-term plan to marry the cute person he saw at the coffee shop

so he gets his coffee and he walks over to you and says in the uwu small text “hello! does anybody sit here or is this seat free?”

and i mean first of all it’s completely unnecessary for him to sit with you like there’s so many free seats

but lowkey yeah you’ve been thinking about him too so you’d say yes

even if there is the slight worry that he might be a serial killer you decide to Take The Chance this one time

and omg as soon as you said yes seunghun could swear his heart did a keyboard smash and then stopped beating for a whole minute

but he takes his seat! and then completely freezes

he just doesn’t know what to say at first :(( he’s worried he’ll say something weird or not say enough to impress you so he just sits quietly and drinks his coffee

but then he sees that you’re wearing this cute lil necklace so he’s like “wowie!! that necklace is super cute :))”

and of course you’d say “omg!! thank you so much!!”

and like tbh. he gets so much confidence from them on. he just takes that one small comments and creates a whole conversation from

he asks where you got the necklace, if you shop there often, if you shop overall often, what other things you like to shop for, what other things you like in general

when it gets to a time that either one of you have to leave, seunghun genuinely wouldn’t want to, and if he had plans he’d check to see if he could cancel them without feeling guilty to spend time with you

but if you had to leave or if he couldn’t cancel his plans he’s gonna be a sad boy

you honestly just feel like you’ve been on a date tbh

so you’d honestly forget the inhibition and be like “aw :(( well it’s okay just give me your number so we can do this again!”

and you only realise when he does the same face he did yesterday that oh whoops maybe you didn’t fully realise that you were saying that

he just makes you feel really comfortable so you honestly forget about things that would’ve made you nervous with other people

but once he recovers from the shock he’d just be like “:] yeah okay that sounds fine with me”

and he just wants to talk to you 24/7!! but he refrains from texting you all the time because he doesn’t want you to end up finding him annoying :-)

tbh though he’d respond to your texts pretty quickly all the time either way? if he’d been talking to you all day, then his responses would take like ten seconds while he typed them out. but if you hadn’t been talking to him at all, his responses would probably still only take fifteen minutes max unless he was busy with something

on that note, he’d tell you whenever he was busy with things so you didn’t ever think he was purposefully ignoring you

and he’d take you out to different coffee shops in an attempt to prove or disprove your theory about the niche lil one you go to

and if you had hobbies like visiting museums or shopping? he’d totally come along with you!!

brings you along on little trips he takes too!! if he’s going to buy something from a store he doesn’t usually go to? guess who he’s inviting!!

tries to make you push him around in the cart to see how long you can go until a staff member tells him to get out (your current record is an hour and twenty-one minutes)

tbh everyone around you would probably think you were dating?? like your friends just assume you’ve told him that you like him already and now you’re just dating

and seunghun’s probably told his friends that he was In Love with you the day he met you, because he firmly believes in soulmates even if he friends don’t

after being close friends with you for like six months you’d probably think it was time to give him a big speech about how you like him as more than just a friend

so you sit him down and give him this whole lengthy rehearsed statement like “first of all, seunghun, i really don’t want to ruin this friendship…”

and by the time you’re done rambling about how much you think he’s amazing and perfect in every way he’s like

“well, i’m really touched, seriously, i’m tearing up a little…” and you’re like :(( he’s trying to let me down gently at least, but then he just goes, “but i thought we were already dating???”

and, first of all, you’re kinda just like ok damn that was seriously unnecessary then huh. but second of all, that’s definitely not bad news!!

so you kinda just laugh n say, “we never agreed that !”

and he’d say “well you know i kinda just assumed :( my bad”

and then you become the meme (you know the one where the guy’s like “that ain’t no problem, that ain’t no problem!” that one)

but anyway! now you have a big babey as your boyfriend so you struck out there

and like. nothing changes? you’d have thought that at least something would change but now he just gets to kiss you!! and that’s about it

seunghun is a hand holding enthusiast, first of all

he loves making you really do really obscure odd things with him that if anyone else asked you to do you’d be like ‘no wtf’

but with seunghun it’s like: go find the strangest most ugly painting in an art store and take a picture of you imitating them mood it portrays? sure that sounds fun! even more fun when you actually buy it!

or maybe he wants to make a scarecrow entirely out of pictures of himself? and you’re just like, “sure, yeah, that sounds like a fun activity”

idk if this is just an english thing or if it’s world-wide but you know like pub knowledge quizzes? he’d make you go to things like that on subjects neither of you have no idea about at all

but he’d also do really cute things with you or for you sometimes :(

like, he’ll buy cards with pretty art or cute cartoons on the front and write you lil short paragraphs about a different aspect of you that he loves

or he’ll get a collection of different flower bouquets and put them all together for you

and he’s not scared to admit it either!! if you bring it up in front of other people’s he doesn’t get embarrassed because that’s his mfing baby!!

gives you about a thousand kisses every day but his favourite kind of kiss is when you give him lil pecks or pepper his cheeks with kisses :)) they make him feel all warm n cuddly n safe

all of his kisses are very sweet and soft for the most part though

and tbh he doesn’t really kiss you for any other reason than a. he knows you like being kissed omg and b. it’s such a cute lil way of showing affection

he also adores having the classic late night conversations

okay but: seunghun loves going outside late at night, he doesn’t care really whether it’s cold or warm but summer nights after a long day are his favourites, and lying or sitting on a blanket with you and having you both go off on different tangents about a thousand different things you’ve been thinking of or that you have an opinion on

for example, his fixation with soulmates

you ask him one of the many times you’re sat outside looking at the stars with him why he’s so obsessed with the concept of soulmates

and he’d kinda just shrug at you and be like “i just really do think they’re real. i really, really believe in them. that’s about it.” and he’s got these big cute eyes that are reflecting the stars and you’re two seconds away from giving him a smooch

but he’s not done!! he’d go on to be like, “well i mean. i did think they were real, but now i know they’re real because i’ve met mine.”

you might cry a lil bit at that. that’s understandable.

but he’s smiling so softly and his eyes are so starry and pretty and he’s like “can i give you a kiss :-)”

and you’re just like :(( yeah, yes pls

you’d realise a while into your relationship that he’d gotten a necklace that matched the one he’d complimented when he first met you too

and when you’d ask him why he’d tell you it was because he wanted a reminder of you and meeting you with him always

if you came to watch him practice or expressed an overt interest in his debut or anything to do with his passion he’d be so happy!! he’d love to explain things to you, or show you new choreographies and songs he was working on

i feel like seunghun’s the type to wanna have lil conversations before bed

he already knows how your day’s been because if he hasn’t been keeping in regular contact with you throughout the day, he’s definitely asked you the second he sees you

he just wants to have another run-down over it so he can comment on stuff more in depth if he hadn’t had the chance before

tells you about his day and discusses how he’s felt about things so he can hear your opinion on them too

omg but you two would definitely spill tea together i mean, if there’s drama in your day? guess who’s getting a text w a tea emoji so he knows you have something to tell him about when you see him in person

and if he sees some stuff go down? he’d probably straight up call you in a bathroom to start telling you the story before he had to rush off to make sure he didn’t miss anything

you two just gossip. you both know everything about everyone. that one girl from your class who sits in the second row and always has to borrow a pencil from someone and you think it’s because she likes someone in the class? he knows about that. he has a theory on that.

we all also know seunghun’s kinda loud right?

because if he’s hyping you up, he’s Hyping You Up

you go out shopping with him and some friends? they’re like “wow that’s a cute shirt!!” but seunghun’s like “you are the most beautiful human being on this planet” (bass boosted)

has two different reactions when you compliment him:

either it’s “omg not here i’m gonna blush and that will so embarrassing for the both of us!!!”

or it’s “thank you for saying my shoes are nice i would die for you :-*”

either way, you’re just like :] of course any-time buddy

onto another topic, seunghun has a range of different pet-names for you

in private it’s like “my angel !! my baby !! my princess !! my lil love-bug cuddle-bug uwu machine wife !!”

but in public it’s like your full name. or maybe ‘babe’ if he’s feeling bold.

he just doesn’t want his friends to tease him because he Knows they would never let him live it down if they heard his nicknames for you

also seunghun seems like the type to leave you audio messages instead of just texting you? especially if he was gonna say something cute because now there can’t be any screenshots

(if u two have tea to spill and have to be apart, you best believe you’re sending each other audio of you laughing or commenting or at the very least giving a dramatic rendition of how arguments happened)

but his normal audio messages are usually just him telling you that he loves you a lot :) and he hopes you have a good day :) and reminders to eat and drink regularly :) and if you ever show this to anyone he’ll fight you >:)

just so you know, play-fighting doesn’t exist with seunghun because the concept is dumb to him

so either you’re wwe fighting or you’re not qualified to fight him

saying that, if you try and tickle him, it’s over. just don’t do it. he will not accept that sort of treachery in his home

funny how he says that and then would also spend a couple of hours cuddling you while you’re wrapped up in blanket so you can ‘feel like you would on a cloud’

the duality!

still makes you do dumb stuff after you start dating though that’s not going away

you wanna go for a walk as soon as the sun starts to rise so you can see the sky change colours and look really pretty? how can you say no to that offer!

he’d do that but then get genuinely concerned when you say you’re tired before at the very least after 5pm

he just doesn’t like the idea of you not being healthy and happy

on this topic, i really don’t think seunghun’s the type to argue? about anything?

he just. he just doesn’t get angry very often tbh. maybe he’d get annoyed with you occasionally but if he has an issue with something you’re doing he’ll just tell you bro he’s not pressed about it

and he really expects you to do the same if it’s something that you seriously don’t like because he won’t be offended by it

he’s a firm believe that you’re both best friends!! you can tell each other anything and nothing comes with negatives if it’s something you need to address with one another!!

like, getting jealous? yeah, he does!! but he’s rational and he knows he can trust you so what’s there to get seriously mad about

and if you get jealous? that’s fine, as long as you know too that he’s serious about how you two are supposed to be able to fully trust one another so you don’t need to be worried about anything

he doesn’t get snappy when he’s tired, he just wants to take a nap and maybe get a cuddle while he does :))) as long as you’re fine with that, he’s not bothered

he’d get quite upset if you snapped at him though, and he’d make sure to tell you whenever you calmed down from your mood that you can just tell him if you’re not in a good place or if you’re tired and he’ll give you your space

he always seems like a person who’s so quick to bounce back from things? and i think he’d like to be able to just rant at you sometimes about how he’s really feeling before he has to rationalise it just so he isn’t bottling anything up

gives you genuine heart eyes when you remind him that it’s okay for him to have normal human emotional reactions to things like everybody else does

tbh seunghun would give you heart eyes all the time :///

i feel like this one’s been shorter than others but i just. i just honestly think dating seunghun would be a really nice pleasant experience?

he’s just such a genuinely good person and has so much he wants to do with you

(he’d probably make a lil bucket list hhhhh)

would probably conclude that he’s definitely gonna marry you from the very moment he first started talking to you tbh

like he would constantly remind you, he firmly believes that you two are actual soulmates, so no problem is too big for the both of you to face in his eyes :((

[xockpuppet]

@kiwi-draws also tagged me for some basic info abt me... aight lit

BIRTHDAY: march 14

ZODIAC: pisces

HEIGHT: 5'5" (KIWI WTF UR TALLER THAN ME)

HOBBIES: drawin(ofc), finding new music to jam to, messin with computers(buildin, repair, etc), makin cool html shit, and findin new obscure stuff to obsess over for a month

LAST SONG I LISTENED TO:

butterfly speedcore remix... a bop

LAST MOVIE I WATCHED: MFKZ... honestly a really good fuckin movie, highly recc it, look at the clips for it on yt and it might be for you!!

FAV BOOKS: OOH i have this small series of books i rlly love called The Griffin and Sabine Trilogy... maybe its 4 books at this point?? idk but point is, theyre these books with envelopes and cards you can take out, its like reading two peoples mail to each other... honestly really love the story even if it is kinda vague...

also my mom's old college computer repair textbook lol, its helped me learn a lot even if it kinda dated

DREAM JOB: either repairin computers, or designing websites... i would be happy with either

FAV COLOR: that one fuckin pink that when you tilt your screen it looks kinda orangish?? u know the one

MEANING BEHIND MY USERNAME/URL: substitute at my school couldnt pronounce my irl name even if they had a gun pointed to their head so i started telling ppl to just call me Xock/Sock after they mispronounced it 20 times lol

it kinda stuck and highkey. i really liked how neutral it was so i decided it was gonna be my online name, which then led to me bein like. "wait... xock... Socks...... ... sockpup- XOCKPUPPET" and tha rest is history...

i tag uhhhhh anyone who wants to do this cuz ik this one is a lil more personal so i dont wanna put anyone on the spot... but if u wanna do this just say i tagged you!!