#sometimes i write

[zyrafowe-sny]

From my Ch. 3 draft for who gives a shit about tomorrow? (when it comes, we can worry then):

Ballister was woken up by sunlight — both the beam coming through his window and the golden hair tickling his face.

This week’s word is…

✨ WINDOW ✨

Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Astray far Away Ch4

Adar x reader | SMUT🔞 | Ch.3

Sexy bath times and rowdy kids! An eventful day for our Lord Father and his companion.

AKA the chapter took on a will of its own and accepted a sidequest or two instead of moving on.

Morning came way too quick.

And so did the frantic knocking on your door that had you groaning in frustration. 

“Just come in, I’m decent.” 

It was Grasho, shouldering her way through the door with two bowls of food and a stack of clothes hung over her shoulder. 

“Morning! Got food and simple dresses.” She was quick to place the food on a table and toss the clothes onto the bed where you sat. 

“Food or cloth first?” The question was asked but waiting for an answer was not in the cards as Grasho already reached for the new garments she brought.

“Please, food first. I need a second to wake up before I get up and be active.” You mimicked her energy, making grabby hands at the bowls from where you sat on the mattress. ��I am seriously starving, thanks.” With the bowl in your hands you happily ate in silence, chowing down the broth even faster than Grasho finished hers. 

“Woah. You eat good for a mortal!” With a satisfied noise she put her empty bowl away and was up on her feet. “Now we fit! Got lots to do today.” Grasho rubbed her hands together so she wouldn’t be immediately grabbing at your clothes again. Boundaries. She learned. 

You worked through the pile dhe brought easily, no longer feeling that nagging panic with having to undress in front of her. She paid your bare chest no attention and kindly turned away when you changed your trousers for proper undergarments. 

All the items Grasho brought you fit perfectly and soon enough she almost shoved you out the door with the order to go find Adar. “You go see Lord Father. Still need a bath. And wound checks.”

You barely got a chance to grab Adar’s tunic before you were out the door and on your way to his tent, wishing Grasho a good day as she went back to her workshop.

Finding Adar’s tent was easy enough and luckily you found him as well.

“Adar? Do you have time?” You approached him with care and kept a safe distance so as to not intrude.

“I hear you almost fought last night. Krod defended you after you spoke kindly of the uruk.” He leaned back in his chair and watched you. 

“I’m sorry if I caused any disturbance, I tried my hardest to ignore them but..” The event was still clear in your mind and gnawing at you. With a quiet sniffle you looked at the ground. “The names they called me. The things they implied I did, I snapped. I’m sorry..” You were clutching the black tunic to your chest as you tried your hardest not to cry like a weakling in front of your leader. 

“From what I heard they called you a harlot, yes? Implying you spent time with Glûg’s family for pleasure.” He looked you over once, twice. You wore new garments like he suggested. The tunic he gave you wrapped tightly in your arms.

“You are always allowed to cause a scene. My children see you as an equal. A part of the family.” Adar had gotten up and grabbed his sword and dagger, along with a bag he stuffed with supplies. “You came by to ask about that bath, yes?”

You let Adar lead the way through and out of the town, further towards the mountain and into a tree-littered area. It was all just as gray and ashen as your village, burned trees and all. And, steam? Fog?

Then, it all came into view behind the trees. Adar had taken you to a hot spring. 

“Mortals prefer privacy when bathing. I did not get that wrong, did I?” Near the rocks beside the spring Adar placed down his bag and unpacked the supplies he brought. He gave you time and space to do what you needed, not looking as you undressed and only turning back once you cleared him to do so. 

“You can look, it’s okay.” Your gentle voice had him turn to face the water and sit down at the edge of it, taking off his boots and rolling up the legs of his trousers. 

As his legs lowered into the water Adar let out a groan, the heat of the water relieving some of his aches. 

“You’re welcome to join me fully, if you’d like. I don't mind.” You moved closer to him, raising yourself partially out of the water and fidgeted with the bandages to get them off now that they had soaked for a moment.

“Let me assist you with that.” Adar beckoned you over when you couldn’t find the start of the wrapping. With careful hands he unwrapped it, layer by layer and rinsed the remains of the dried medicine. 

The cuts had all closed up, only a few scabs remaining over risen pink lines that spelled out his name. His touch lingered and your hand found his, taking it off your skin and placing it back on your chest. 

“I invited you in for more than just to let the water soothe your aches.” When he withdrew his hand you let yourself sink further into the water again. 

Adar was clearly affected by your actions. It showed in his restless movements and how he cleared his throat as he adjusted each and every part of his armor. 

With a quick dive you wet your hair and moved over to Adar’s legs, coming back up only an inch away from him with your hands on his knees, pushing them apart. 

“You’ve been taking care of me since I got here. At least let me return the favor.” You eyed the strain in his trousers for a moment before looking up and you could see him contemplating, and then nod.

Excited, you went to work and fumbled to open Adar’s trousers to pull him free, wrapping one hand around his length to pump him a few times before moving forward, wetting the fabric around his legs with your body.

As your tongue laps at the head of his cock Adar sighed and leaned back on his hands, watching as you worked him. Adar’s soft moans and gentle slosh of the water was all you heard with every inch you took him deeper into your mouth. 

His taste was salty on your tongue, leaking with each pull of your lips. It was with great difficulty that you managed to take all of him into your mouth, the tip at the back of your throat causing you to gag. 

Adar was holding back his sounds, trying to keep himself from bucking his hips into you, fingers digging into the layer of ash on the stones beneath him.

He watched as drool and tears ran down your face as you eagerly sucked him off, a hand coming to rest on your cheek. 

“You know there is no need for you to do th– ahh, oh, don’t stop..” Adar’s voice cracked as your hand cupped his balls and your tongue swirled around the head of his cock, your other hand working what didn’t fit comfortably in your mouth.

Adar’s earlier soft sighs turned into full moans, unable to keep his hips still when he spilled his seed down your throat.

Only when he let go of your cheek you separated from him with a cough, having swallowed all that he gave you.

“Go wash up, I’d like to have you returned home before dark.” Adar worked to tuck himself back into his trousers and retrieved a towel for you while you washed yourself, shivering immediately from the cold air as you got out of the water. 

As you stood by him, drying your hair, bare for the world to see, Adar glanced over your body. His gaze lingered and his mind replayed the words you had spoken to him.

Please.." You pulled him in closer with your heels pressed into his back, moaning as his cock hit just right inside you. "Make me a mother." 

Adar’s eyes were on your stomach and he wondered. Had his seed taken root yet, or was he to try again? Would you even still want to, now that your mind wasn’t partially hazed by alcohol? 

The walk home was a quiet one. Partially to Adar’s wandering mind, as well as you keeping yourself busy with sightseeing. The dull light scattered by the damaged trees gave an eerie air to the surrounding woods, but you could not keep your eyes off it. It reminded you of graphite drawings back home. 

Home. 

You had been so focused on the uruk and settling within their community you hadn’t even given a thought to finding if your old home was still intact. It probably wasn’t, if you took into consideration that most of the structure was wood, not even close to being as sturdy as the tavern that still partially stood despite the flaming rocks.

“Say, Adar.” You fell into step with him once more and saw you had his attention. 

“Can we eh.. Can you help me find a place in town? I want to see what’s left of it.” 

With an affirming nod Adar hummed in agreement. 

“Where exactly was the building you seek? There is a chance it was torn down for resources.” Adar thought out loud in hope to lessen your hurt if you found the place to be gone. 

You looked around and were sad to say you had no idea where in the old village you stood now with the addition of so many smaller tent homes around and other structures down and broken. 

The tavern that served as your current residence was used as a starting point, looking into the direction your old home stood and started wandering. 

Through the homes and workshops young uruk played. Two boys with toy swords ran and yelled in passing. Visions of the once green grass and sandy paths appeared before you as you followed your feet towards where you’d find your old home.

Your home, that was now nothing more than a lot filled with salvaged wood and stone, sorted and piled.

It hurt to see your home no longer stood, even if it was never much in the first place. 

Your grief was short lived, as high pitched yelling pulled you from your thoughts and a weight suddenly slammed into your leg. A young child had clamped herself around your lower leg, trembling. Behind you more yelling sounded and you picked up the scared child and let her wrap herself around you, sharp nails digging into your skin.

“Oh crap, it's Adar. Run!” The two boys you saw earlier dropped their toys and ran off in the opposite direction, away from you and Adar who stayed at your side. 

“Are you alright, little one? The boys are gone.” You stroked her coarse hair that sat in a lopsided ponytail tied with a clearly recently found, shiny ribbon.

Big, sad eyes looked up at you, tiny hands still grabbing your top as she nodded. 

“Yes, lady.” She looked away from you when Adar stepped closer again after retrieving the toy swords the boys had dropped, and quickly shied away once more. Her face was hidden in the crook of your neck. “This is Myko,” Adar’s gentle voice spoke beside you, his hand coming up to rest on her back. “She loves spending time with the wargs. Wants to be a warg rider when she’s big enough.” 

At the mention of her interest she peeked up once more, a glimmer in her eyes that had you play into it. 

“Oh, you should show me one day! I would love to learn about the wargs.” You gently put the young girl back on her feet, letting her run off after she excitedly agreed to show you the wargs.

Turning back to Adar you noticed the toy swords in his hands. “It sounded like those two have given other kids trouble before with how fast they ran from you.” There was amusement in your tone, and in Adar’s as well. 

“They are twin boys who have taken it upon themselves to cause havoc wherever they go, yes.” Adar sighed, an air of sadness clear in his eyes. “Their mother has a hard time keeping them in control.” 

“Twins, huh.” You mimicked. “They didn’t look alike, from what I saw.” You stepped back into the town streets aside Adar, thinking back at the two boys. “I have to be honest here, though. I don’t think I’ve ever seen twins before in my lifetime.” 

Now it was Adar who chuckled, a sound that caught you so off guard you nearly missed the hole in the ground and tripped. “You will have to get used to seeing doubles, then. Twins are common among uruk.” He made a sudden turn towards a home and handed the two wooden swords back to a woman walking with a crutch. She missed her left lower leg but moved around with practiced skill. She and Adar exchanged quick words before he moved on once more. 

“You’ll find most twins to be different at first with their differences in skin, but on closer look you will find there to be many similarities. Eyes, ear shape and other features match their counterparts. Next time Lech and Kach decide to grace you with their presence, take the time to have a good look.” the conversation kept up until your paths split on your way to each of your homes. Adar had business to attend as the Lord Father of his people, and you desperately needed rest.

[tidesreach]

Several Sentence Sunday

Post-S7 Buckley-Diazes for my mental health

Buck looks sheepish, fingers picking anxiously at the label on his beer. "Chris, uh. Chris messaged me yesterday." Eddie stills, feels his chest flood with a myriad of emotions. He tries to keep his voice level when he asks, "He did?" Buck nods carefully. "I—I guess they have an aquarium in El Paso? It was just a photo, and—" he cuts off, pulls his phone out of his pocket and passes it to Eddie. "Here." Eddie types in Buck's passcode and finds the message, easy. It's a photo of a truly bizarre looking fish. There's one line of text: not as cool as our aquarium! followed by a bunch of emojis that Eddie can’t even begin to decode. It's mostly how Buck and Christopher communicate in text, indecipherable emojis. Eddie's eyes drift down to Buck's reply: cool looking dude! we can all go to pacific when you're back iyw followed by an equally confusing string of emojis. Christopher has thumbs-upped the message. Eddie reads over them again, then once more, feels his mouth tilt into a smile. When he looks back up, Buck is watching him carefully, concerned. Like he’s afraid Eddie will resent him for the contact. There's an apology forming in the shape of his eyes, the pull of his eyebrows. Eddie silences it before Buck can even voice it. “Don't,” he says softly. “Don't you dare apologise.” He lets his fingers drift, brush over Buck's wrist in a barely-there touch. “Is this why you've been acting weird all day?” Some of the tension in the line of Buck’s body seems to dissipate. “Yeah, I guess,” he answers, quiet. “I just—I didn't want to upset you, but I—I didn't want to not tell you either. He's your son, Eddie. I—”  Buck exhales a sigh, shrinks into himself like he’s trying to make himself smaller. “I wish it was you instead.” Eddie can't stand the guilt in his voice, shaking through the words. He wants to grab Buck by the shoulders, tell him it’s allowed to be you. Wants to make Buck understand that he never has to minimise or apologise for his place in Christopher’s life, for being someone Christopher can talk to when Eddie isn't an option. God, what the fuck did Buck think the will meant if not this?  Eddie takes a breath. He’s starting to think they have wildly different interpretations of what they’ve been doing for the past six years. “He's my son,” he agrees, soft, presses his fingers over Buck’s wrist, a solid touch this time. “But he isn't just mine.”

[ruhlare]

[oldstateofmind]

nobody else can heal it (but you) [part l]

➜ pairing: miguel o’hara x fem!reader ➜ warnings: spoilers from ATSV, a bit of angst cause i’m human, violence, torture, hanahaki disease but make it nightmares instead. english is not my first language. ➜ words: 4.3k ➜ a/n:  I’ve watched this movie 3 times by now because I’m obsessed with Miguel. His character is so interesting and captivating, he’s so grumpy and sad and that just makes me wanna fix him. Ugh, I have a soft spot for anti-heroes. And being voiced by Oscar Isaac is the icing on the cake. This first part sets the tone because I just can’t jump straight to smut, but I promise I’ll compensate next chapter.

chapter l. bad disease

For too long, you've been yearning for Miguel; only to be trapped in an endless nightmare. While awake, you had to live with the fact that he was out of reach – tearing your soul apart. While sleeping, violence and death had his face – tearing your whole being apart. No matter when or where; you were maimed by the same man.

Ao3

l.

It starts with a hiss; then a shadow moving in the corner of your vision.

In the dark, cold envelops your body; chilling to the bone. It’s awfully quiet besides the continuous dripping of water in the distance, the echoes of each drop remind you of a ticking clock; counting the time you’ve left – for what, however, you’re not really sure.

You rub your arms in an attempt to bring a bit of warmth back to your skin, and as always, it’s useless. It seems like a forever winter inside the place you’ve found yourself in for the past 2 weeks. 

What once started as a nightmare that made you wake up in the middle of the night, now plagues your mind every time you close your eyes. There’s no escape from it, no matter how hard you try. You’re more than tired, it’s exhausting not getting more than 3 hours of sleep when your job requires attention and disposition.

Even the pills Lyla gave you last time you were at the HQ didn’t work – actually, they made it even worse. Because then, your body was completely knocked out while your mind was terribly awake, reliving the scene over and over again. You threw them down the drain once you woke up. Never again.

And even though you already know what happens by now, it is still dreadful to wait for the nightmare to unfound. Your senses are hyper-aware of every single tiny sound, every movement in the dark. 

There’s something poetic in the way you can feel him move even with your eyes closed; the way you could recognize the pattern of his breathing in the distance even when fear creeps into your brain. Your spider-sense tingles as his heavy steps are headed toward you, it screams danger. Goosebumps break out across your body, sending a small, cold shiver through your spine. 

Red is the first thing you see. And also the last.

-

“...to Y/N.” Someone is calling you in the distance, but the hazy feeling of the nightmare still lingers within you. It’s hard to focus when your brain still hasn’t turned off properly for weeks, still trapped in whatever curse this is.

“Earth to Y/N, is anyone there?” There’s a snap in front of your eyes, and you suddenly flinch with the unexpected sound. The touch on your shoulder grounds you a bit.

You blink your eyes, rubbing them in an attempt to brush off the dreadful feeling still creeping into the back of your mind. As your eyes adjust to reality, Gwen’s face is filled with concern.

“I’m sorry, guys.” It’s the only thing you manage to say, how could you possibly begin to explain what’s been happening?

“You’ve lost your cue twice now, what’s happening with you today?” The girl presses, still holding onto your shoulder. And for that, you’re grateful. 

Not getting enough sleep has been causing you to lose grip on reality – and that scares you the most. Not being able to tell if the sounds are coming from your head or from somewhere else. Or worse, having to avoid him because it’s unbearable the feeling that eats you from the inside out; the sense of fight or flight kicking in every time you hear his voice. Not tolerating being in his company as shadows follow you around like a ghost, tormenting you into remembering.

And it’s just not fair. 

“Nothing!” You say, adjusting the bass strap on your shoulder. Hesitating on letting you go, Gwen squeezes your arm before retracting her hand. You try to smile, “I’m good. I…I’m good.”

The smile stretched for too long, awkwardly pulling your face into a grin rather than a genuine beam. The avoidance of looking at the member of the band doesn’t really back you up on your lies. You hear Hobie huff in annoyance, while Gwen’s piercing gaze still hasn’t left your face. You feel slightly guilty about keeping your nightmares a secret, but it’s not like they would understand, would they?

After all, Miguel O’Hara was a difficult subject for you to talk about.

“I know that look, I have seen it in the mirror quite a few times,” The girl admits. And you knew it was true.

When Gwen joined the Spider Society just a few months ago, the melancholy gloom that followed her was palpable. The teary eyes whenever someone asked about her life, the avoidance of returning to her world, always crashing at yours or Hobie’s. Her father was a tough subject on which she never really dwelled, too painful to remember.  

However, even if she could relate to the feeling of losing sleep over someone, she wouldn’t understand how it felt to be torn apart by your own brain, to have precious memories distorted in a sick and twisted nightmare that was a culmination of your worst fears. To know it was coming and having no power to stop it. And all the while having the face of the person you cared about the most in the world, in all universes.

No, no one could begin to understand. 

You bit your lips, signing in defeat, “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“That’s rubbish. Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?” Hobie chimes in, crossing his arms over his chest. He raises his eyebrow, seeing through your facade without breaking a sweat.

“You’re not even glowing like you usually do!” Pavitr shouts from the audience, waving his hand toward you. Sometimes he would come by to watch the band practice, but today you had not even seen him coming, which was a terrible sign because Pavitr always made an entrance when he stopped by.

“I thought you would be grateful for that.” You scoff.

“Hey, you can’t blame me! My eyes are sensitive.”

The typical headache starts to pound in your head like a thousand bells ringing directly in your ear. It’s disorientating the way your senses feel out of place – like a fish out of the water. Not even having superpowers was helping you stay afloat. 

You took pride in being a Spider Woman, doing your job as best as you could so that at the end of the day, Miguel would see you. Your talent, your dedication. But lately, you feel yourself falling further down in his list. And it hurts.

“It’s just that–” You sigh, rubbing your eyes again, foolishly trying to make the pain go away. The ache in your head was bad, but the one in your heart could bring you to your knees. “I’m not getting much sleep these last few weeks.”

Gwen snaps her fingers excitedly, “You should try one of those pills they hand over at the–” 

“No!” You shout before you can stop yourself; memories flood your troubled mind. The blood, the screams. Talons ripping flesh, pain consuming your body and soul. But the worst of all; his words. Gwen stops in her tracks, caught off guard by your sudden outburst. The guilty eat you away. 

“I mean, I–I’ve tried it,” You whisper, the lump forming in your throat makes it hard to say a single word, “but they… didn’t work for me.” 

The trembling of your hands caught everyone’s attention. And It’s just too much.

“I’m sorry.” Whispering, you turn around to hide your face. You take the bass strap from your shoulder and place the instrument in its case. “Let’s just wrap this up, I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.”

“Oi, Y/N,” Hobie calls for you, but you’re already grabbing your coat and heading toward the door. “We are here to help you, it’s what a band is about, innit?” 

You look over your shoulder at them, heart aching at the thought of leaving them with no explanation – as a frightened animal, cornered with nowhere to run, all bite and no apologies.

“Right,” You agree but vanish in thin air seconds later.

ll.

Time becomes its own entity when you lose track of it. It’s another late hour, probably somewhere between 3 AM, and the coffee you got from your favorite spot in town is hot against your cold fingers. You dangle your feet at the edge of a building, admiring the view of a sleepy neighbor – no matter the time, New York is always full of light. 

It’s been a few days since you left the rehearsal in a hurry, the band has been trying to get in touch with you but you’ve been avoiding taking their calls and answering their texts – you’ve been avoiding a lot of things lately. 

Like swinging in the middle of the traffic, as an example. Something that came naturally, but now it has become too dangerous. The notion of space and distance have been lost days ago together with the full awareness of your surroundings. You’ve been trying to do your job, but it has become almost impossible to pay attention to your movements when the heaviness of your limbs begs for you to slow down.

There’s also Lyla, who you've lost count of how many times she chimed in while you were working, telling you about a meeting that you had missed out on. Not that it was totally required to be there, but if once you counted the days to be in the same room as Miguel, just so you could see him, now you avoided it like the plague. 

You haven’t heard from him ever since you disappeared – only stopping by the HQ when extremely necessary – so you might not be in that much trouble. However, it definitely did some heavy damage to your heart noticing how O’Hara didn’t really need or wanted to see you in the first place. Not even a call, not even a message.

And that was devastating. 

For too long, you've been yearning for Miguel; only to be trapped in an endless nightmare. While awake, you had to live with the fact that he was out of reach – tearing your soul apart. While sleeping, violence and death had his face – tearing your whole being apart. No matter when or where; you were maimed by the same man.

Blowing out your coffee, you sigh. The lack of sleep has been taking a toll on you. It started off as simply missing the timing from one building to another, and now you can feel the nasty bruise forming on the side of your hip. Actually, your body now looks like it has been painted black and blue with the number of bruises it’s collecting. 

And you still can’t find the answer, nor any clue on how to make them go away. It will kill you eventually, you���re sure of that. It was just a matter of time now. Maybe then you could finally rest.

The bitter taste of the coffee spreads in your tongue and you welcome the caffeine with open arms. You’ve been trying to stay awake for the most part of the day, only hitting the bed when you’re completely and absolutely worn out. It does give you a few more minutes, but as the sun comes down and another moon appears, you can feel yourself slipping away, getting fewer and fewer hours of sleep, and slowly descending to madness as the nightmares start to feel more vivid, clouding your judgment.

Maybe you should ask for help, after all. 

As a result of a very slow mind, it takes you more than it should to sense a new presence on the rooftop with you. Startled, the hair on the back of your neck stands up. You quickly throw away the coffee, lamenting not being able to finish it. 

You pull your mask down; if it was another one of those villains of the week the guy was fucked because you had run out of patience. “Honestly, I’m in a really bad mood today,” You say to whoever is hiding in the shadows, your senses tingling as the figure slowly walks towards you, “No tricks, please. Let’s do this quickly.” 

The movement stops, and you roll your eyes in annoyance. Another guy who thinks that making a scary little entrance will impress you. You’re about to make a joke when the shadow speaks, making your heart stop for a second.

“Y/N.”

The cold creeps in underneath the flesh, freezing your blood and yourself in place. All the hair in your body stands up as your body tenses with trepidation and fear. There it was again, that voice that haunts you night and day. 

No, please. I’m awake, aren't I?”

It was hard to tell, as your surrounding started to blur; the sound of the street and surroundings go silent, as the only focus of your mind is the man in front of you and the way his eyes glow scarlet against the dark of the night. Your heart hammers your chest so furiously you’re afraid it might break free. 

“Y/N.” 

Miguel calls out for you again, his tone nothing more than a whisper. But you have seen this scene before; a hundred times you’ve heard those same words roll out of his tongue as if it disgusted him – as if you didn’t deserve to be mentioned it.

You flinch as he steps forward, memories of talons ripping your skin apart make you fight against the rising panic; the outcome of the nightmare is inevitable, you’ve tried to change it, but the aftermath was always the same; killed by the man you loved the most.

“Stay away from me,” You warned him. It was useless when fate seemed to have your lines already written, with no chance to change the full stop by a coma. “Please, stay away from me.”

Miguel stops, the glowing of his suit hurts your eyes. You can’t see his expression, there’s a dark shadow covering his face, but the red tint gives his demeanor a haunting feeling – another shiver runs down your spine. Your vision starts to blur; the fine line between reality and dreamland crashes together in your mind. Nothing feels real, the foggy state of mind wraps around you, gradually taking over your sanity.

So you flee. Or at least you try. 

Before you could jump from the building, Miguel’s strong hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you directly in his direction. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, and quickly you are able to untangle yourself from his grip, kicking him in the process. 

“Y/N.” You know it’s his voice, but at the same time, it doesn’t feel like it. It’s disconnected from the man you’ve grown to love. Dread gnawed at your insides as the nightmare turns into another torture section. His mouth is moving but you can’t make up the words; every sound gets lost in the loud rush of blood in your ears.

Not that you need it, anyway. You’ve been living the same dialogue over and over again to know like the back of your hand.

“Don’t hurt me again,” You plea, raw panic in your voice. Your mind is erratic, coming up with ideas on how to escape, but your body doesn’t follow the same line of thinking, “Please, I’m so tired.”

But it’s all in vain; the man bolts in your direction like an animal ready to devour its prey. You find yourself half mad with terror – your throat tightens as anxiety eclipsed your thoughts. 

Before Miguel can get to you, you attack. 

It never works as the man is way above your abilities, but you try – anything to be freed from having another slow, painful death. Gathering the last of your strength, you shoot a web that miraculously lands on his foot and it sticks to the ground. Quickly, you jump from one wall to another, landing a kick on his chest. 

It doesn’t do anything more than startle the man, but it gives you enough time to soar across the night sky, landing on another rooftop. The glowing of your watch catches your attention. Usually, you don’t have it with you, nightmares don’t really give you the option to flee. 

But it seems this one does. 

“Y/N!” Miguel roars. In the slip second your eyes had darted toward the gadget, the man had torn apart the single web holding him in place. He huffs, shoulders hunched forward as tension grows between you both. 

Against your better judgment, you shot him a glance. And like magnets, his eyes find yours in mi the sea of lights that only New York could offer.

You press the bottom, eyes fixed on the man coming towards you like a bolt. His talons cut the air in front of your eyes – almost like a kiss – the petrifying realization makes you fall on your back towards the portal. 

Then everything turns black.

lll.

When you open your eyes again, you’re absolutely and awfully exhausted. The weight of your body holds you down against the cold floor, almost as if it didn’t belong to you anymore. You had lost ownership after not taking care of it. Your eyelids are heavy, and for a moment you consider just going back to sleep, finally giving in to the sweet taste of relief. 

But then, the warnings in the back of your mind start to go off, and you remember why you can’t. Grunting, you take off your mask and pick yourself up. There was no rest for you, not until you find out what the hell happened. And if it was all in your mind, of if Miguel was there. 

Because that definitely didn’t feel like a dream. The phantom feeling of his fingers wrapped around your wrist still lingered, and the intensity of his gaze still made you shrink. A chill runs down your spine in trepidation. If he was really there were the nightmares just a premonition of the future?

No. Miguel would never do that. 

Even though he didn’t… like you as you liked him, the man didn’t have a single motive to want you dead. Miguel was many things, but mostly he was righteous. Dedicated to his job in an unhealthy, and obsessive way? Yes. However, he still had kindness hidden underneath his scowl, and even though his heart was mostly painted black by the loss of his old life, it still beat for the new ones the Spider Society protected. Besides, he still had some humor in him; a completely dated and cringe type of humor, but there.

And every time it made an appearance, you would find it adorable. A tiny smile appears on your lips. How could you not treasure every moment with him when it was all so rare? 

“Y/N?” Someone calls for you in the distance. You are still picking yourself up from the floor, the sudden movement makes you dizzy, and nauseous. You’re pretty sure you hit your head. 

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” Margo comes into view, she quickly puts one of your arms around her neck and helps you get up. “You look terrible.”

“You should see the other guy,” You try joking around. And even though the blue avatar softly huffs, her expression of concern is serious. You must look worse than you thought. 

Margo helps you get into a chair, gently holding you until you’re comfortable in your seat. “I’m sorry for barging in, I honestly didn’t know where I was going.”

“Where you running from something?” She jokingly asks. She grabs a tablet, reads something on the screen, and goes back to work.

“Yeah,” You groan, running your hand through your hair, “You could say that.”

The room was as quiet as it always was, the only sound coming from the girl who was softly humming a song. Looking around, you notice there was no one around, only the machines as a company. You wondered if Margo ever feel lonely here; the place was big enough to fit a few dozen Spiders, however, it was always deserted. The truth was that no one actually liked to be around villains after they were captured, and sending them home was a dreadful job. Margo was definitely a viable asset to the team. 

You can feel your senses start to relax, the darkroom was a perfect invitation for a well-deserved rest. But with the sleepiness came the loss of concentration, and the last time you let your guard down, you fled from a very real Miguel. 

Small talk would be, then. “So… who’s next?”

Margo picks up her tablet, tapping a few things before showing you a picture. “She calls herself 'Torment'. But you’re probably familiar with her. After all, you and Hobie caught her a few weeks ago.”

Wait. A few weeks ago? That's exactly the time when the nightmares started to occur.

Suddenly, a flashback hits you like a bullet. A purple and blue cloud, the touch of a finger. The laugh.

“Margo, I need to talk to her,” You demand, getting up from your chair as if you had been electrified. The pieces fall into place and make a clear picture. How could you have let this fly over your head? Of course, the nightmares weren’t something normal! It had to be a product of something, or someone. 

“Y/N, I need to send her ho–”

“It’s urgent,” Holding the girl’s hand in yours, you squeeze them in a silent plea, “Please, Margo. Just give me 5 minutes.”

Margo presses her lips together; you must look desperate because she sighs, defeated. Then nods, “Make it quick.” 

“Thank you.” 

-

The Send Home Machine had come out of its cocoon, and now sat atop a circular base; waiting for the command to start the process of pulling the strings to weave the portal back home. You always thought the whole mechanism was a bit too much, but if it worked, then who were you to complain?

Margo brings Torment in, and she immediately recognizes you. 

“Oh, I knew I would see you again!” The woman’s face lights up like a Christmas tree – that couldn't be a good sign. She claps her hands, bouncing on her feet. “Looking for answers, darling?”

A cold shiver runs down your spine, but it’s not fear that spreads through your veins. It’s anger. “What did you do to me?”

The woman laughs, throwing her head back. You can clearly see she was having too much fun with you. “Now you’re interested in what I’ve to say? You didn’t seem that excited when I first came to you and your little friend.”

Your blood boils. If she wasn’t already locked up and ready to be sent home, you would definitely teach her a lesson or two. Your knuckles go white as the woman stares, the smile on her face is disturbing. How could she find pleasure in tormenting someone like that?

The sound of the engine turning startles you, Margo sends you an apologetic look as the machine descends from its place atop the base. You’re getting out of time.

“What do you want?” You shout, desperate. You can’t imagine going another week, another day haunted like this. “Tell me!”

Torment’s stare is piercing, a shadow crosses her face when the smile fades into a thin line. The silence was agonizing, and with each tread of the web, you felt your sanity slipping away. This was your last chance.

“I’m so fucking tired!” You cry out, hitting the glass so hard it almost cracks. “Do you know how it feels to not get a single hour of sleep because your nightmares are too fucking real? Do you have a single idea of how torturing it is to have him, of all people–” Margo was listening, but you didn’t care. You wanted answers and you would get them. “Why him?”

“Poor little thing. You haven’t figured it out yet?” she hums, furrowing her eyebrows. And you hate the look of pity she has on her face. It was her that did this in the first place! “That must be tough, to keep all of that to yourself.”

No one knew about your feelings for Miguel. Well, you had a slight hunch that maybe Peter B. Parker might have noticed it. But otherwise, you kept all to yourself. Treasuring little moments as precious jewelry.

He was your boss! And besides, he was still too caught up in his late family. He would never open his heart again after the tragedy bestowed upon him. You couldn't blame him; a man forever stuck in the past, reliving each moment when he was happy.

However, sometimes, you would catch him looking. Exchange glances in a crowded room; during meetings. You would spend time with him alone; in a comfortable silence hard to find, or in an easy-going atmosphere that left you smiling like an idiot. 

But that was what they were, fleeting moments. And even though sometimes you dreamed about a future where you could give him all the love he deserved, they were just that; silly dreams. There was no space for you in his life. You had accepted that long ago.

“You see, my abilities are a gift,” Torment simply says, still unphased at your suffering. “They search deep in your soul for what you seek the most. The nightmares are just an incentive to make you finally take the big step.”

“What?” A memory comes to the forefront of your mind; a finger touching your forehead, the slight shock that sent you back a few steps. Miguel’s face appears right after the electric feeling dissipates. “What do you mean?”

“You know very well,” There’s some sort of twisted kindness when her smile appears again, it irks you profoundly, “Take care, darling. You can thank me later.”

The machine finishes threading the web, encapsulating the woman inside a honey-colored web. The last thing you see is her waving at you before disappearing into nothing.

Outraged, you punch the glass again, and again. No, no, no. This can’t be happening! That woman must be lying, there’s no way the cure to this torment is–

“Calm down, Y/N!” Margo holds your wrist before you can land another hit. She’s saying something but you can’t hear it. Anxiety takes over your body as you crouch on the floor, hiding your face in your arms. 

You will have to tell Miguel. 

And that was worse than any other nightmare. 

[zyrafowe-sny]

Thanks to Them is what got me writing fanfic again after over a decade of only writing for school/work, and The Owl House fanfic was what brought me to Tumblr, so I don't think it's an exaggeration to say TTT was life-changing for me. I feel extremely grateful for all the fandom friends I've made here, and it's such a joy to have creative writing back in my life.

So, two years later — thanks, Thanks to Them! I don't know where I would be without you.

[corpium]

*whispers* I'm finally doing it. I'm writing Harrymort.

Breath shaking and still disillusioned, Harry waits with his wand out, ready for an attack. To his right, bookshelves line the wall. To his left, a fireplace burns, faced by a pair of plush armchairs. Before him, Voldemort sits behind the desk backed by the bay windows. Harry wonders if they’re spelled to be shatterproof. Squints and sees a web of magic engrained into them.

“Come now, Harry,” Voldemort purrs, wand aimed lazily in Harry’s direction. “Let me see you. This room is much too small for hide-and-seek.”

He’s right, Harry realizes. Hiding now would only serve to irritate him. So Harry, back to the door, ends the charm. Voldemort watches hungrily as it ripples off him, red eyes taking in his gray forearm and the dried, bloody runes peeking out from under Harry’s torn robe sleeves. His gaze climbs upward to linger on Harry’s ragged, mottled throat, making Harry’s tender skin prickle with awareness. His carotid twinges painfully with his heartbeat.

“Come to kill me again, Harry?” Voldemort murmurs. Only after he says it do his inhuman eyes slide up to meet Harry’s.

“Would it stick this time?” Harry asks, equally quiet.

“No.” Voldemort narrows his eyes at him. “Shall I kill you instead?”

“Do you think it would work?” Harry asks. He knows, deep in his bones, in the connection that still pulses with the life of the yew tree, that it wouldn’t. Doesn’t want to think about what that means for his future. 

Voldemort’s eyes drop to his neck once again. “I suspect it would be a useless endeavor…. You are, it would seem, already dead.”

Satisfaction, fully his own this time, tugs at Harry’s lips. “Only a little,” he says.

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

OR: Harry is the Power He Knows Not, and Voldemort wants.

OR: It's been almost 9 years since I wrote that one steter fic and I am still enamored with the idea of hungry, magical trees and there's a FORBIDDEN FOREST RIGHT THERE HELLOOOO???

---

For once in my fanfiction "career" I'm actually writing the fic in its entirety before I post it. And look, it only took 35k for these two yahoos to have a conversation without attempting to murder each other! Amazing. I'm so proud.

[i-am-trans-gwender]

Sometimes when I'm writing a make sentences like this and I cant tell if I'm genius or stupid:

Julia responded with a grunting noise that meant “Same as always.”

[nothingunrealistic]

24, alana & jared?

24. “Should I call my lawyer?”

Alana tracks him down during lunch in a dusty corner of the library. It was, Jared will admit, a tactical error to hide out here knowing it’s her go-to study spot as well as Connor Project HQ, but his English paper won’t finish itself in the next ninety minutes, and the drama classroom at lunchtime isn’t conducive to doing one’s homework even when one isn’t on the outs with half the drama club, and they took his key to the control booth when he quit tech for the fall play. Really, he had no choice.

“Jared,” Alana says. She looks tired. Sounds like it, too. “You’ve read the emails between Evan and Connor, right?”

Has he ever. “Skimmed ‘em,” Jared says. “Three out of five stars. Great pathos, but too repetitive. ‘Dear Evan Hansen, my parents just don’t understand me.’ ‘Dear Connor Murphy, look at this tree and you’ll feel better.’ Why, is there gonna be a pop quiz?”

Alana frowns. He wonders if she’s offended by his irreverence about the emails and expects him to quote them like Torah verses. Then she pulls out a chair and sits down, slowly, and he thinks there’s a fire drill happening before realizing it’s the alarm bells going off in his head.

“Was there anything in them that didn’t make sense to you?”

Fuck. “Like what?” Jared says, then kicks himself for not just saying no, not really and ending the conversation.

“Like…” Alana digs out her phone. “The emails from June say that’s when Evan broke his arm. He and Connor talk about it a lot. But Evan still had a cast in September.”

“So?”

“Broken arms only take two months to heal on average.”

Damn Evan and his inability to stick to a story. Jared had insisted they nail down a timeline somewhere around the tenth email to avoid exactly this, but he’s had a million chances to go off-script, at the Murphys’ house or Connor Project meetings or fucking Instagram. “So he’s not average. Maybe it was a really gnarly break that took three months to heal because he fell from thirty feet up. Or maybe he has brittle bone disease.”

“Jared, this is serious.”

“Osteogenesis imperfecta is very serious. Jodi Picoult —”

“Evan didn’t have a cast in June,” Alana bursts out. “I remember. We were still in school.”

Shit, fuck, and goddamn it. “Did you even know he was alive then?”

“Of course I did. I saw him all the time. And you were with him a lot.” Oh, this is bad. This is DEFCON 5 bad. Or DEFCON 1, whichever is the worst one. “Don’t you remember?”

“Is this an interrogation? Should I call my lawyer?” He’s depleted his arsenal of deflections and distractions. Only one weapon remains: bald-faced lies. “I don’t remember when he got a cast. I didn’t write those emails. I don’t know why you’re asking me about any of this when he’s still walking around.”

“I just…” Alana, amazingly, deflates, rather than pushing back even harder. “I was thinking about all the people watching us. Putting their faith in us. Trusting us with their money. I wanted to know if anyone else was seeing what I was seeing. And I really don’t want to be wrong.”

He won’t feel bad about this. He will not. “Well —”

“But you’re right.” Alana gets up. “I should have asked Evan. I will, the next chance I get.”

“Did I say that?” Jared asks — rhetorically, it turns out; she’s already walking away, braids swishing.

He hasn’t seen Evan since homecoming, hasn’t said a word to him, hasn’t wanted to, and Evan hasn’t tried to break that silence. Should he break it to warn Evan that Alana’s finding the holes in their story — Evan’s story — and headed his way to pry it open?

Really, does Evan deserve it?

(prompts to write drabbles or longer stories)

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Old dog

Daryl Dixon x reader | SMUT🔞

Daryl is never been watched with such interest before, and it grabs his attention. But he feels like he got his order of actions wrong..

The Kingdom was a strange place.

First there was the King, with his pet tiger.

The King spoke in a strange manner, and his ever so friendly right hand too.

The Queen was a kind woman, she had shown you around and given you a roof over your head after you wandered into her lands.

The Kingdom had guards on horseback, and all its residents referred to their leader as the King.

Like a true old age Kingdom.

It was near summer when you arrived and took some time to get settled, now having your routine all worked out and were a happy new addition to the bakery.

While it meant crazy early mornings, it brought many people a good start of their day. You made your delivery rounds as the first people got up to tend to the gardens before the sun got too hot, passing then with a kind smile and a good morning wish on your way to the school building where you'd make your last delivery of the day.

You continued your daily tasks back at the bakery when a returning resident came by.

Each day he'd come by to pick up the same order, so by now it was standard to have it ready by a certain time.

Like clockwork he showed up, the gorgeous older man with his grey streaked hair that framed his bearded face oh so perfect.

You always wondered about the scar that sat around one of his sea blue eyes, but you never found the courage to ask.

You only knew his first name because the baker mentioned it once.

Daryl.

With rough, scarred hands he accepted the packaged food but remained in his spot.

"M'sorry, ya don't happen ta have sun leftovers, do ya? 'M headin' out fer a couple days 'n could use some extras." A little stunned by the sudden change in routine had you stammer a response neither of you could make out before you disappeared further into the back.

To your luck a fresh batch was just taken out of the oven, so you quickly grabbed a few buns and put them in a tea towel before moving back to the front.

"Here you go, fresh out of the oven." You smiled nervously as you held out the makeshift pouch, almost freezing as the calloused pads of his fingers brushed your skin while taking the bread from you.

With a charming as ever thanks he made his way out the door.

After the third time preparing the order for Daryl, who wasn't in town to come pick it up you were told to go take a day or two off, relax and go try and catch him come back home later during the day.

On your delivery routes and walks around the community you had caught wind of some kind of guard dog. You'd pick it up from time to time but today had been much more frequent.

You wondered what they meant. Maybe you'd ask Carol about it later.

The Kingdom was a nice place.

Each day there would be someone in the community's centre, playing some kind of instruments. Alone or in a group, it varied, but it was always nice to enjoy when you could.

You were enjoying it for so long you barely noticed the sun starting to set and Carol finding you. "Couldn't catch you at the bakery today, was told you were given the day off."

She came to sit beside you, enjoying the music and sharing a small snack she brought with you.

After a short while she got up, turning to you and offering a hand. "Come, we're gonna see something. If I have to believe the baker's words you're gonna love it."

Carol's words confused you, the thought of the baker casually talking about you with her wasn't really a happy one. Yet you followed her every step as she made her way to the front gates of the Kingdom.

"We're heading out? Without weapons or gear?" There was nothing around for you to see, confusion rising even more and edging on annoyance. Why wouldn't she just way where you were going?

You stood and watched as as she bounced on her heels with her arms behind her back. She was being all giddy about something and your mind could not come up with what on earth it could be.

Option after option ran through your mind until the guards spoke and the gates started to open.

Carol passed you a smile and raised her brows as she nudged her head towards the gate before turning back to watch.

You took a step closer to see what she was on about, and within the reach of your first step a figure came into view between the large gate doors.

"Holy shit." You stood frozen, much like those few days ago when Daryl suddenly asked for additions to his bakery order.

Despite the distance between the two of you and the low volume of your words, it looked like he heard you and gave you a smile and a small wave.

The scene before you became crazier by the second, on his shoulders a large deer that he carried without any visible strain but that wasn't all. Tied to his waist with a thick belt he lugged a tarp stacked with different hunted animals.

But something else felt off, beside the show of inhuman strength he seemed to possess.

Out from underneath his hair poked an ear, like it did sometimes before as well, although they seemed.. pointed?

His smile as well. You had seen the stubby pointed canines he had, but there were loads of people who had those slightly longer than average. Why did they look bigger now, accompanied with a similar set on his bottom teeth that surely weren't there before.

Also, was he fuzzier than normal? It was all hard to see in the dim light. It could just have been dirt stuck on his skin from being out in the woods so long. Surely he didn't bother cleaning up out there.

All the while Daryl dragged his game inside and stopped to report to Carol, glancing your way every so often as he could feel the energy radiating off you. He was enjoying the way you stared at him with confusion that slowly morphed into something he almost wanted to categorize as adoration.

It wasn't often Daryl got that look from anyone, so to say he was suddenly more intrigued by the baker woman was an understatement.

"Hey," Daryl's voice pulled you from your thoughts, staring at him without a single word running through your mind. "Wanna help unload all'a this at the butcher?"

A silent nod was all you managed as you followed him, hearing Carol say something but not entirely registering her words.

It was the next day when you saw him outside of his usual routine yet again, before the time of his usual pickup. The early summer sun was up when you made your rounds, and so was Daryl.

Across the street from the butcher’s place was a small area that used to be a children’s playground where you caught him doing pull-ups, flannel hanging open over his torso that you secretly expected to be way more toned, but instead you saw lightly furred soft flesh.

He hadn’t noticed you as you moved past to the butcher’s doorstep where you’d leave her order, quietly mumbling to yourself as you stared at Daryl again. “Lords, I want that man to fold me like a lawn chair..” You were so lost in the view of him pulling up his full weight with just one arm, his legs crossed under him, that you didn’t hear the butcher arrive until she pat you on the shoulder. “I may not be into men, but even I can see the appeal of that old dog bending me over the nearest surface.”

The sudden contact made you squeak and jump away, only to be laughed at as you stumbled over your words before running along on your delivery route.

It was only a couple of seconds after you were out of earshot that Daryl appeared on the butcher's steps, shoulders shaking as he softly laughed at the interaction he heard all too well just a moment ago. "Yer horrible, ya know tha'?" He bumped her shoulder aa he walked past her, into the shop to start working on all the kills he brought back the day before.

The butcher let out a breath through her nose. "And you love me for it, mutt." Behind her she closed the door and flipped off the hunter, sticking out her tongue behind his back. "'Course I love ya, ya crazy knife wieldin' hag."

The rest of the day after running off at the butcher went fairly normal, Daryl picked up his order and you cleaned the place alone with the baker having to leave early for a meeting.

It was only when you closed up shop for the day that it got weird. Daryl stood outside, seemingly waiting with his arms crossed under short sleeves so tight you wondered how they hadn't cut off circulation yet.

Without missing a beat he pushed himself off the wall and stepped beside you. "C'mon. Wanna show ya som'n." His gruff voice could tell you to eat dirt and you'd do it so naturally you followed suit, walking around the community until you reached the homes placed at the far end, right at the forest wall.

You took in the beat up old truck with the hood popped and one wheel missing, and next to it inside the garage with the missing door a bike that looked like it was made over years of collecting parts. Was this his home?

You followed him inside the garage, the door in the back opening and leading into a small kitchen littered with tools and materials. The tea towel you gave him the bread in laid neatly folded on the corner of the messy table, not a single grease or oil covered item near it.

In the moment of distraction Daryl's hand landed on your hip as he scooted past you in the narrow space between the counter and the table, his crotch brushing your ass in the process.

He felt you become rigid at his touch and apologized. "Sorry, doll. Place ain't made fer two."

His hand remained in its place, squeezing as he apoligized making you want to just give in to your haunting daydreams and let him take you right then and there.

"So, what did you wanna show me again?" You were fidgeting, trying to calm your nerves with Daryl so close.

"S' upstairs. Sum ol' items ya can dig through. See if ya wan' sum." With a hand placed on your hip he led you upstairs, steering you around the corner and through one of the doors, ending with your knees pressed against a bed.

Before you had a chance to ask anything one of Daryl's hands came around your front, resting on your lower belly as the other one snuck around your chest. "How 'bout ya be a good girl fer me an' lemme fold ya like a lawn chair." His beard drug across your skin as he came to bite your earlobe. "Tha's what ya want, righ'? Got all hot 'n bothered when the butcher mentioned me bendin 'er over the counter.." with one hand sneaking under your waistband and the other softly squeezing your breast he had you whimpering.

"S'fine, righ'?" His hands stilled at your silence. "Words, doll. Ain' gon do anythin' unless ya give me an okay." His hands moved to cafefully turn you around to look you in the eye, but you quickly buried your face in his chest, hands against him as well and all your body wanted was to squeeze.

Squeeze your fingers into his plump, soft chest. Squeeze your thighs together for some desparately needed friction.

You softly nodded, murmuring something Daryl couldn't make out.

"Need ta hear ya." Daryl softly caressed your shoulder, moving to tilt your head up so you'd look at him.

Your eyes scanned his face, soft and gentle. Eyes glistening a bright blue between the thick, red scarred line that cut right through an eyebrow. Your eyes wandered to his lips, partially hidden by the grey scruff that occupied the lower half of his face as you breathed. "I want this."

With your eyes on his lips you saw his concerned look change into a wicked grin that showed his pointed canines.

In a split second after that you were thrown onto the bed and caged between Daryl's limbs, his face buried in your neck as he nipped and sucked at your skin.

"Go on." He whispered. "Take 'em off. I know ya wan' it." Daryl was on his way to the hem of your shirt already as you slowly worked your hands towards the buttons of of his flannel, undoing them with trembling fingers, focus drifting away with every drag of his teeth across your flesh.

With some assistance your top halves were soon bare. Daryl's hands on your soft chest, tongue all over them as he sucked bruises to the underside.

Your fingers found his hair, pulling at the strands in pleasure as the others traced every scar on Daryl's body. From the small puncture wounds to the large gashes on his back, you caressed each one of them.

Letting out short, panted breaths your body burned wherever Daryl's fingers trailed, the rough pads leaving a path of tingling flesh from your chest down to your side, his tongue following down your body between where his hands had gone.

With the descent of his body his scarred frame moved out of reach, placing both hands in his hair and tugging as his teeth dug into your skin, earning a growl that sounded from deep in his chest.

With newfound interest you pulled again, your nails scratching his scalp in the process as your hips rolled up against his torso.

The low, scratchy moan that left him rumbled against your hip and had him quickly slide his hands down your hips. With no effort you felt your hips rise as two strong hands grabbed your ass and fabric slide off your body. Both your loose trousers and panties were shoved down the rounds of your hips as they lifted off the bed, the fabric pulled off your legs before your knees ended on both sides of your chest and Daryl's teeth were back just below your bellybutton where the meat of your folded torso met in perfect, bite-sized rolls.

You watched him litter your stomach in marks, clamping his jaw onto your thighs to color your skin in where only he could admire them.

"Daryl, please.."

Your voice had him lock eyes with you from where he sat between your legs and watched your pleading gaze with a soft nod before leaning back down and licking a broad stripe over the back of your thigh, moving to delve his tongue right into your centre.

Your moans of his name added fuel to the already raging fire, parting your lips with his tongue and drinking up all of your sweetness. With each stroke against your clit your walls clenched around nothing, muscles tensing but your body laying unmoved under Daryl's strong grip.

You squirm, hands finding his on your thighs as you whine and mewl, signaling you being close to finishing.

"Such pretty sounds, all fer me.." Daryl speaks against your clit before wrapping his lips around it once more and teasing you, making you hold back your own thigh so his fingers could join his mouth, stuffing two down your entrance with ease as he kept licking and sucking in tandem with the curls of his digits.

Your sounds increase in volume with Daryl's ministrations, crying out at your peak, clenching your walls tightly around his fingers as you finished.

"'Ere, lemme stretch those legs fer ya." With gentle hands he laid your legs flat against the bed on either side of him, allowing the blood flow to return while you came down from your high.

You watched him with hazy eyes, on his knees between your legs tugging at the button and zipper of his black jeans. Beneath the oh so inviting trail of dark hair he lowered the layers still on him to reveal his thick, hard cock.

Your view was close to perfection, a gorgeous old man between your spread legs. The lines of his body like rings on a tree, showing signs of age and survival. From the scar at his collarbone, at the edge of the soft dusting of chest hair down to his thick strong legs he was removing his clothes from he was like a piece of art for you to admire as you desired.

And gods, you desired him.

"Ya look like ya wanna eat me alive." He looked down at you, one hand running through his hair while the other slowly stroked his cock.

You licking your lips as you stared at his impressive length was all he needed to ler himself fall forward and catch himself right before he'd make contact with you, calmly catching your lips in a deep kiss. With your tongue against his lips you asked for more and he obliged almost immediately, parting his lips and swiping his tongue against yours, lips moulding together in percect harmony until you desperately needed air.

Your hand lingered on the side of his head, thumb caressing the scar around his eye.

"What's the story on this one?" Daryl couldn't get enough of that look on your face. The one filled with curiosity, not a speck of fear or disgust on you.

"Old girlfrien' decided she didn' like me no more." He averted your gaze as he remembered the fight in the cabin back then, and the serrated edge of the knife catching the skin of his face. He deliberately left out the terms his then lover called him as she chased him out the door with a shotgun. That was a tale for another time.

Right now all he wanted was to ravish the woman underneath him.

The setting sun caught his eyes and for a fraction of a second they seemed to glow, icy blue in a sea of black. When they looked back at you it was gone, a pair of normal blue eyes looking at you.

He shook off the memories and brought his focus back to the now, to you underneath him, the scent of your arousal, and his painfully hard cock.

Daryl adjusted his position, his length rubbing your folds in the process earning a soft moan from you.

"Gonna make more o'them pretty noises fer me, doll?" His hand reached for his member and rubbed the tip between your folds, spreading your wetness around, listening to your soft mutters of "yes" and "please".

Daryl needed no more convincing, nuzzling your noses together before kissing you deeply as he slowly inches himself inside of you. The initial stretch hurt and you couldn't help but groan into the kiss at how big he was. His cock was way girthier than just two fingers, and it had been years since your last time before this.

Daryl's hand moved down your body, slowly rubbing your clit to distract from the stretch. His kisses deepened, your tongue sliding past his teeth, feeling around his fangs with fascination.

A soft whimper sounded from you as he bottomed out, making him halt a moment to let you adjust. "Ya tell me when yer good, 'kay?"

You nodded and answered a soft "uhuh." and a bit later, after a few experimental squeezes you told him you were good.

With his hand still on your hip Daryl carefully pulled back and slid inside at a slow and steady pace, letting you get used to him for a few thrusts until your heels came up to dig in his rear.

"Hmhm, eager are we?" Daryl grinned against your neck, taking the hint and quickening his pace. His hands had your hips in a bruising grasp, his hips snapping against yours earning soft gasps on each impact.

"H.. hah.. ah Daryl fuck--" you were a beautiful piece beneath him, with your head thrown to the side, arm covering your eyes and chest heaving and shaking with each thrust.

"So good, doll. So pretty for me." Daryl was huffing out a laugh, moving his hands off your hips to grab at your lower legs. Deep, short thrusts continued as he moved your legs from around him back to up beside your torso, knees pressed against your shoulders as he fucked into you with your ass up off the matress.

He was so deep all of a sudden it had you see stars, crying out his name aa your orgasm crashed down on you.

You were sweating all over, breaths deep to get enough air and body heavy. With your eyes closed you laid still, getting the air back into your lungs as Daryl teased you by softly rutting into your overly sensitive cunt.

"Don' tell me yer tired already, I haven't even finished yet.." His thrusts changed angles and now brushed your clit, having you mewl out pleas he chose to ignore. "Tha's more like it, music, those sounds o' yers." His thrusts continued, as did your pleas. You didn't even know what you were begging for but the knot in your belly was quickly returning in time with his thrusts getting sloppier, not long after crying out again as you came a few thrusts before je did too.

There were tears rolling down your face, laying limp on the bed. Daryl's hands had let go of your legs again, letting you stretch them for thr short moment before he was fully hard again.

Unexpectedly Daryl flipped you onto your stomach and moving your hips around to his preference.

"Time fer round two?" He wached you nod wit your face in the pillows, moving to slowly press inside you once more and bending down to press soft kisses to your back. Your mind went back to being hazy a few thrusts in with how good his cock felt at this new angle fist gripping at the pillows beneath you that muffled your moans.

His hands were all over your backside, kneading every soft surface he could reach as he continued his steady pace.

Your sounds were like music to his ears, wishing to hear them every night, over and over again until your throat was so soar he had to bring you medicine and nurse you back to health. Your curiosity was already enough to make him want you, never having anyone radiate such a type of energy towards him and it has him hooked. But having you here like this now had him almost addicted, wanting to keep you, claim you but he knew he didn't have the right to do so. He didn't deserve it, for he was sort of still lying to you about large aspects of his life.

But if he could make you feel this good now in this moment, that was all he cared about.

He fucked you from behind until you came once, twice and then moved you onto your side, holding onto one of your legs against his chest as je continued rutting into you, earning two more orgasms from you right before finishing himself for the second time.

As he came down from his high he stared at you, passed out and asleep beneath him. Ever so carefully he moved you so he could lay down as well, pulling you against his chest as he settled to drift off too.

It was morning by the time you woke up, groaning in pain as your legs resisted being moved off the bed. You blinked the sleep from your eyes and shot up off the bed. "Ah, god damn oww.." Your ass hit the matress again, the crunchy layer of dried fluids scratching your thighs.

"Oh for fuck's sake I'm gonna be late!" You stumbled around the place searching for the shower to scrub yourself clean, picking up your shirt off the floor and sniffing it. "Nope, can't wear that. Shit!" You found the bathroom and were vigorously scrubbing your legs and quickly back to digging through all of Daryl's drawers in a panic, trying to find something decent to wear.

"Ya know ya can just ask, right?" You didn't even register what he said and grumbled back at him. "I don't have time, okay? I'm already gonna be late for work and I got nothing to wear because my own clothes stink so I'm gonna have to run home first and be even later."

Face down in a drawer your attention was pulled by a short whistle, and the second you were up and turned towards the noise an entire outfit found your face.

Underwear, socks, simple sweats and a flanel.

"Why do you have a stash of women's clothes?" You were genuinely curious but that didn't stop you from struggling to put on the clothes with your entire body aching. "I don't even know how I'm gonna walk my rounds. Everything hurts.."

You were already dreading today and it had barely even started.

"Need me ta make yer rounds? Got time so I don' mind." Daryl was following you down the stairs now, hands ready to catch you as you stumbled, not wanting you to fall.down the stairs on your wobbly legs.

"No way I'm letting you do my rounds. I don't want the whole community on my neck tomorrow about why I sent you." You were halfway out the door already, walking as fast as possible and waving Daryl off on your not so fast way to work.

You arrived late and got told off for it, but the baker quickly changed his demeanor once he saw you limp. He gave you a quick rundown of what he had planned to do at the bakery and let you stay in as he took over your rounds, which you were very thankful for.

The front door bell rang and Carol appeared, a while after Daryl had dropped by for his usual, and bringing in a bag with your clothes.

"Hey, didn't see you this morning." Carol was as cheery as ever, her hair braided and her smile kind and motherly.

"Yeah," you leaned against the counter, wincing as you moved your weight. "Hurt my leg yesterday, so I'm in here thr whole day now." You tried to shrug it off, not feeling like coming up with a decent enough lie. Not that you needed one anyways.

"Which clearly has nothing to do with you spending the night at Daryl's place?" A knowing smile spread on her face as she looked you up and down, arms crossed over her chest, laughing as she watched your eyes about to pop out of your head in response. "You're wearing my emergency clothes. Looks like we have about the same size."

You felt blessed with today being a quiet day and could clean while you chatted with Carol and closed up shop after, with the baker off again while you ran the bakery.

"There's something wrong with that man." You sighed as you bent down to lock up the garage door, groaning as you came back up. "He's like, what? Almost sixty? And he still held out longer than me. I swear I passed out once before he was done."

Carol was giggling all the way with your bags in her hand. "He's fifty-four, but alright."

"Yeah, okay. That fifty-four year old would have kept going if I hadn't clocked out after lord knows how ma--"

"Five, doll." Daryl's voice suddenly behind you had you jump up and almost fall if it wasn't for his quick response to steady you.

"How the hell are you fine?" Your question was directed at Daryl, but your eyes were on Carol who was having the time of her life seeing you be so confused about her best friend's energy levels.

"There's a lot about Daryl you don't know yet, dear." She winked at her friend, who only grunted in response.

"Oh really? When are you planning on telling me all about yourself? Do I need to cook you a romantic dinner?" Your words came out with way too much excitement, letting out how eager you were to learn about Daryl.

"Ya'll learn eventually. No need ta rush things, righ'?" His voice kept cool, but Carol read his body language like a book and quickly saw he needed help to cross that line. Him scratching the side of his fingers, and obsessively wiping the hair out of his face, eyes looking everywhere but at you. They were all tells, and Carol felt bad for him.

"Why don't you two stay over for dinner? Ezekiel won't make it home in time so I'd be all alone otherwise." Carol quickly set up a plan, making it all seem like coincidence but in her mind she had all the steps figured out already.

"I'd love to stay over, but only if it's not too much effort." Peeking past Daryl you saw her wave your assumption off and assure it was fine.

And thus you three ended up around Carol's nice dinner table in the King's home.

Somehow you expected it to be fancy and pristine, but that would never happen with how selfless the King was.

The food was nice and Carol had gifted you some stronger painkillers she had laying around to ease your body, you all just chatted about your day, and you thought your subtle questions about him were going okay, until Daryl excused himself to go smoke what seemed in a hurry.

"It's okay honey, Daryl has a hard time opening up to people. He needs to find the right moments to talk." Carol gave you a loving shoulder squeeze and pointed you towards the back door where Daryl had just left through.

"He loves the forest, he feels safe there." With a wink she sent you off.

You carefully approached him and settled in the doorframe. "Hey," Your voice was soft as to not startle him. "Wanna go for a walk? Outside the walls."

With a nod he got up and offered you his hand to take, and with a sigh he let a smile come through. "Carol really set us up, didn't she?"

You laughed along with him and decided then you wouldn't push him, and let him talk at his pace.

With your gear gathered the two of you found yourselves walking along the tree line in silence.

"M' sorry." Daryl kept his eyes on the ground where he walked, but with his pinkie he touched yours and hooked them together.

"When Carol brought ya to welcome me back after the huntin' I was confused. But when I felt yer curious stares instead of gettin' negative 'n scared I got.." He fell quiet, his hand pulling away from yours but you quickly grabbed it fully, rubbing your thumb across his knuckles.

But you stayed quiet, and just walked with his hand in yours.

After a long stretch of only hearing the ground crunch under your shoes Daryl stopped.

"S'where I stay when I go out each month." You stood a few feet away from a rock wall, overgrown with green and a small clearing in it. Looking around you there was no way of being seen here from any angle.

You also saw trees with torn off branches and what looked like deep claw marks. "Should'a shown ya 'fore last night."

You looked over at him and made sure he saw you smile. "You really think anything would have changed my mind?" Your hands came up to his face to hold his gaze on you, hoping he'd see the truth in your eyes.

"I know yer not lyin'. Ya haven't lied since we started talkin'." His hand moved to touch the small of your back, the other one gesturing at the overgrown wall. "C'mon."

Daryl had his knife ready as he moved past some hanging vines with your hand in his to keep you close.

The area was void of any dead, except for the picked clean bones covering the ground.

And the seemingly random pile of fabrics and signs of humans staying here.

He let go of your hand and let you wander around, staring at every little thing.

You kneeled down off to the side, getting up to move some vines to let in more light before walking back.

"You stay here?" Your fingers traced the print in the sand, glancing over at Daryl who was slowly stepping closer with calculated steps, like a true huntsman would to not startle an animal.

Quietly he leaned down next to you, and without saying a word moved his hand to the print in the loose sand.

The world went blurry around Daryl's hand as you watched it change. Muscles under the skin warping to reshape as flesh darkened and nails grew, and then fit perfectly into the indentation.

Daryl was hyper aware of everything around him, senses almost overwhelming him as he felt the worms crawl under the earth and heard the birds fly over outside. But even with his senses running on overdrive he couldn't find a single negative feeling coming off you.

You stared at his hand, now more a claw and it felt like everything suddenly made sense.

His strength, the way he heard things from so far off, his way of using terms that didn't make sense and that strange glow in his eyes.

Daryl's mind kept showing you running away, crying as he got closer each time.

Instead, there in the small cave like structure he called home once a month, you reached out your hand and placed it on top of his changed one.

"I don't regret being curious." Your shoulder rested against his, slowly easing into more contact. "And I'm still happy I went home with you, and came here to see this. To see you." Your weight was now entirely resting against his side, and for the first time since he sat down he dared to look at you.

You, who laid comfortably against his side.

"I'm honestly kinda glad you showed me this." You watched Daryl raise his brows at your words. "Suddenly your strange but interesting things make sense. Kinda obvious for someone to be so strong, or have glowy eyes when they're not human."

Your hand gave his a comfortable squeeze. "I hope you'll show me all of this you one day." With a finger pressed to his knuckles you moved your head to kiss his cheek.

"Close yer eyes fer a minute." Daryl moved to stand after he kissed your head, moving behind you.

Noises filled the air. Clothes being undone and landing on the floor.

And then cracking. Tearing and groaning. Coughing and growling, a thud that acompanied a shove against your backside that almost made you turn around, but je asked not to, and you were going to respect his wish.

Once the noises died down and all you heard was deep breathing you opened your eyes again, staring straight forward as you waited. Waited for something to signal it was okay to turn.

That something was a press against your shoulder, a press and a huff of air against your exposed neck.

From the edge of your vision a nose peeked, making you turn and stare right into his scarred eye.

"Wow." It caught you off guard and you stubled backwards just a small bit, staring and laughing at yourself for falling on your ass. "Okay. Big guy. That's ..wow."

You followed his movements as he walked into your view. And you recognised him. All ofrhe features that made Daryl look like himself changed along with him, from the dark, shaggy mane to the scar and beard. Even his tattoos were spots of darker fur, especially clear on the lighter areas.

But, still..

"Wait. So Carol knows about," you wildly gestured at his entire self. "you know, this. She's seen you? And what about the butcher? That comment of hers, she knew."

You gasped in realisation. "You were testing me! You could hear us, you were there on purpose oh my god."

Daryl only sat and listened to your rambling. If anyone had asked him how he envisioned this scene to go, he would have never guessed this to be the way. Not that he was complaining or anything, he liked this.

He liked you, and you liked him too, even in this shape.

With a tap to your hand and his paw covering his eyes he asked you to look away once more, changing back to his human self and getting dressed before coming to press a kiss to your temple. "So, ya sure this's all fine?"

You stood up to join him at eye level. "You're either the most dense man ever, or are still convinced you don't deserve love just because you're different." Your deadpan look spoke more than needed.

"Yeah, alrigh'. Sorry." He shook his head in apology.

"You literally just turned into a goddamn werewolf." You paused. "Wait. That is correct, right? You're a werewolf? I mean, I don't wanna assume and be wrong, or offensive.."

He kept his head low but nodded, telling you were correct in your observations.

You stepped into his space and peppered his face with kisses, grabbing his hands to fake a sense of chaining him to you and it worked. He let himself melt into you and accept your affection.

Your love.

"Let's go home?"

With a nod he stepped back go retrieve your items. "Yeah. Home's good."

The walk home was silent, only sporadic and very random questions with short and simple answers.

Only when he dropped you off at home he spoke full sentences again. "I wan' ya t'move in with me."

You shrugged and nodded. "Yeah, okay. But we gotta clean the place first."

With a nod he agreed and let you go for the day. Only a week later moving the last of your items into his home after strategically cleaning and rearranging his home to accomodate two people.

That night, in bed all cuddled up together after a shower, Daryl pressed his lips against your jaw and uttered three simple words.

"I love ya."

A/N: Okay yeah damn that became way longer than I originally planned. But it wad fun! Hope you enjoyed it~

[tidesreach]

well, so. i guess i am contributing to red hot infidelity summer. i did not plan it this way but the heart (buck's, eddie's and mine) wants what it wants.

Neither of them have fully stepped back, still. Buck is so close, a hand lingering, holding onto Eddie. Soft—absent, maybe, just the ghost of comfort, support—against Eddie’s waist. But it doesn’t— It doesn’t feel absent. It feels deliberate. “Yeah, I’m okay,” Eddie says in response, belatedly. Too belatedly for it to not sound off. But he has to say something. Buck’s eyes shift, just a flicker. Down, to Eddie’s lips and back again. Blink and you’ll miss it. But Eddie doesn’t, because he doesn’t miss a thing about Buck. And it feels stupid to hope—Buck won’t kiss him, Eddie knows. Shouldn’t kiss him, even. Because he has a—Tommy. He has Tommy for that, Eddie reminds himself, again. Again, again, and again. Eddie’s too late. He’s too late. He repeats it to himself in his head, a mantra. Because if he lets himself hope— It’s just a hand. It’s just a hand on his waist. He’s too late. But it’s Buck’s hand, and it feels deliberate. It feels like the decisive moment for one of them to move—for Buck to move, because Eddie couldn’t, doesn’t even want to move, doesn’t even care why he should—flew by without them noticing. If it even existed at all. As if in telepathic response, Buck’s fingers press, squeeze at the skin of Eddie’s waist. “Eddie,” Buck says, breathes. He moves, minute steps, but closer, closer, and his other hand drifts, brushes over Eddie’s fingers. And that—that is deliberate. “You—you know you can tell me anything, right?” Eddie shakes his head, and somehow, without him noticing, Buck is right there. So close that their foreheads bump together as he does. “Not anything,” he manages. “Not this.” His right hand is a traitor. His brain, too. The part that says, What if? What if he isn’t too late? He reaches up before he can think better of it, and Buck makes a noise. A breathless, anticipatory exhale, almost like a whimper, and that’s all it takes. It’s the only confirmation Eddie’s traitor body needs to close the space, to thread his fingers through Buck’s hair and kiss him. He can’t tell him anything, he can’t—not yet. But he can do this. He can show him. God, he wants to show him.

🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

[aobawilliams]

'MHAOP - Garp reincarnated as Izuku' --- know you don't remember writing this one but it is still so hilarious to me

I had genuinely forgotten everything about that AU but I did go back to our DMs about it and kdjlhlglkdhg it's so funny how could I forget that.

For more context: I was looking at my wip folder when I saw that document and was legit like "I have no memory of this place" and when I opened it there was literally just 3 sentences about Garp's last thoughts as he's dying.

About the AU itself the name is self-explanatory really. Izuku receives a hit in the head sometime after the quirkless diagnostic and suddenly remembers being Garp the Fist. He becomes absolutely terrifying. Also since this is mostly crack, Ace was reborn as Touya/Dabi and only remembers after receiving a Fist of Love from Garp.

[eddiemunsxns]

Steve needs to.

Steve needs to latch his mouth on Eddie’s throat after they’re done, not too firm or feather soft, teeth holding on as he exhales through his nose.

Steve needs to feel Eddie’s pulse shift from rabbit quick to syrupy slow while they lie there skin to skin.

Steve needs to use soothing nips to feel the blood dance against his spit soaked lips.

Steve needs to pull Eddie’s still slick hand to the back of his head, threading those talented fingers into Steve’s hair to fix him in place, holding on while he drums a mindless rhythm into his skull.

Steve needs to trace his tongue against the fiery vein underneath his lips until Eddie melts further into him.

Steve needs Eddie to do that thing where he murmurs out Steve’s name so husky and tender into his ruined hairline like a well known prayer.

Steve needs it so so much it sets his own blood ablaze.

Steve needs Eddie to understand why he needs it so bad.

Steve needs him to know before he opens his mouth to release Eddie’s strong, steady heartbeat with one last fragile press of his lips.

Steve needs it, all of it, to remind him of what he almost didn’t have.

What would have been lost forever, if he didn’t make it in time to save Eddie that day.

[fandom-hoarder]

I HAVE. A TITLE.

[oldstateofmind]

nobody else can heal it (but you) [part ll]

➜ pairing: miguel o’hara x fem!reader ➜ warnings: spoilers from ATSV, a bit of angst cause i’m human, confrontation, hanahaki disease but make it nightmares instead, english is not my first language. ➜ words: 4.8k ➜ [part l] ➜ a/n: Okay, I’m so sorry! I know I promised there would be smut next, but then this chapter started to get bigger and bigger so I decided to split it into a 3 part series. I love how this one turned out and wanted you to read it as soon as possible. Please, stay tuned for the next and final chapter! Also, come say hi!

chapter ll. fate at the hand of my mistakes

Caught by the sudden wave of sorrow, you almost miss the moment Miguel’s presence tingles your spider senses. But as with everything regarding the man, you were already too aware of his existence due to the number of nightmares that plagued your dreams. It was inevitable that at some point, you could recognize him by the sound of his steps alone. All of him was embedded in your mind, for better or worse.

Ao3

VI.

The silence was deafening. 

You’ve been passing from side to side for what seems like hours now. Hand running through your hair in a frantic motion, biting your lips and nipping the delicate skin of it. Your mouth feels dry as you finish telling your friends everything that has been happening for the past few weeks.

When the words began dripping from your mouth, you couldn’t stop. To expose your feeling and hand your heart on a plate was unbelievably hard, but once you took a deep breath and began telling them, it felt like a dam had broken on your brain, letting all the submerged feeling float to the surface. 

The mortifying idea of being seen was frightening, but it was all out now. 

You can’t gather the courage to look at them; to take note of each expression. Recognizing your feelings was already a task too complicated to do on your own, having to verbalize them to your friends was even more exhausting. You weren’t drowning anymore, but it was still hard to gasp for air. 

Pavitr cleaned his throat amid the silence. “So… You like Miguel?” 

Unbelievable.

“That’s what you gathered from what I just said?” 

It’s the first time you dare to look at the little group. When you broke down after the confrontation with Torment, Margo had called them in a hurry as you spiraled down, falling from the pedestal so hard that you were afraid of the aftermath when you hit the ground. Thankfully they were there to catch you.

They had gathered on the small couch Margo kept at a forgotten corner of the lab; piling up on top of each other. Gwen was the first to show up, and the one who helped you put your thoughts back together. You breathed in and out, trying to calm down your heart as her hand rubbed your back. You’ve never been so grateful. 

You catch the smirk growing on Hobie’s face before he says, “Well, Miguel is a walking nightmare, there's nothing new here.”

“Hobie!” The group shouts in unison.

“You’re not helping, man,” Pavitr whispers, poking Hobie’s side.

“It’s just my opinion on that wanker–” He says in his defense, throwing his hand in the air. But Gwen stops him with a cushion on his face before he can finish. It's the first time you want to do something else than cry.

“We are glad that you decided to tell us, Y/N,” The girl says, glaring at Hobie who does not look slightly intimidated. “You shouldn’t be suffering alone, it’s your life that we are talking about here.” 

There was a fine line between wanting to laugh at the absurdity of the situation and wanting to cry at the amount of feeling bubbling up inside you. Your heart swells in your chest seeing your friends trying to help you, even when it wasn’t news to anybody that Hobie didn’t like Miguel, or that the rest of the group was a bit wary of the man. But seeing them trying to understand was enough. At least they never asked why – and even if you could put it into words, it felt shallow compared to the intensity of affection you felt toward Miguel

“Thank you, Gwen. I just–” Words now often got caught up in your throat and you hated feeling so vulnerable. You swallow down the tears threatening to fall. If you thought long enough about it, you were doomed. “I don’t know what to do.”

“It seems pretty obvious to me,” Margo chimed in. The girl had the tendency to be straight to the point, never dancing around any subject.

“Margo, I can’t just tell him–” You start, for what seems the eleventh time, the same old speech you have been repeating over and over again. 

“Why?” She presses, her piercing gaze seems to see right through you. “Yes, it’s the only way to make the nightmares disappear, but you’re only in this position because you’ve been harboring these feelings for so long that they became so powerful that even a villain had to intervene. They were hurting you and the nightmares are only the materialization of it.”

You close your eyes as you start to feel the edges burn, turning away so they can’t see your lips quivering in a pitiful attempt to stop the tears from falling. The need to scream at the top of your lungs almost wins you over – you’ve never been so worn out in your life as you are right now. 

Margo was right. But that doesn’t make it any easier to accept the fact that your feelings were starting to eat you alive, chopping every bit of your soul whenever Miguel wasn’t around. Whenever you spent lonely nights looking through your window wishing it was different. Wishing he was there, wishing he would love you. 

How long could you spend your life wishing for something until it damaged you beyond repair?  

“Are you that afraid of the answer?” Her voice is soft as if it saying any lounder would shatter the fragile state you found yourself in. 

“No… I’m afraid of the confirmation,” You confess. As you turn around to look at your friends, a defeated smile adorns your face. “Sometimes it hurts less not knowing, you know?”

“How can you be so sure, Y/N?” Gwen is the one who raises the question, the gentleness in her tone is nauseating. How could she propose that idea when she knew who Miguel was and where he stood? 

Even if there’s a small hope that Miguel might not reject you, you always stop yourself from clinging to it. It would only cause more damage than the acceptance you've been trying to wave as a white flag – you were defeated anyway.

“Love is a beautiful thing, Y/N. You shouldn’t be afraid of it!” Pavitr jumps from his seat, walking towards you with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen. Sometimes he would glow more than you and your suit. How he did it, you weren’t sure. “I was the one to confess my feeling to Gayatri, I was shaking like a leaf! And look at us now, we are so happy!”

Every now and then you wondered how Pavitr could be so… happy. Life seemed so easy when wearing his rose-colored glasses. You wondered if it was part of his personality, being so cheerful and hopeful, or if he did a hell of a job hiding his fears. Nonetheless, you believed in his sincerity, not in his advice; there was no way Miguel would correspond to your feeling. 

You sigh, defeated. If the lack of sleep didn't kill you, the heartbreak would. “I would like my funeral to be just for those in my inner circle; nothing too big. Also, I’m not a big fan of those funeral wreaths–”

“Stop that! It’s your life on the line, don’t play with it.” Gwen interrupts you, she looks upset by your self-deprecation and lack of confidence. But you couldn’t help, It was your coping mechanism expecting the worse in all situations. “I can only imagine how it feels having to confess your feelings when you’re not ready. But there’s no easy way out of this one.” 

Caught out off guard, you weren’t expecting Gwen to hug you. To think she was living in a shell all this time due to all her traumas, but decided to take a step forward to show her true self was heartwarming. It’s warm and inviting, and you helplessly cling to her, appreciating the show of affection. They gather around you, and the warmth of each encouraging smile is uplifting.

Hobie gently bumps your arm, his smirk is enough to make you feel that everything was going to be alright. “Don’t let that tosser be the reason you’re not here to play with us anymore, won’t you?”

V.

Miguel's apartment was on one of the lower levels of the tower. 

It was a rare thing having him back home, he would usually linger at his office for as long as he could, only going back home to sleep and eat – when he did so, he had the terrible tendency to skip those. It was always up to the spiders to bring him something to eat, Jess would be the first to send him home when the bad mood started to show up. Miguel often neglected himself, and you couldn't help but think it was a sort of punishment for what he did. 

It broke your heart, but there was nothing you could do to help him. The guilt he felt was a weight he would carry forever on his back – something to inflict on himself every time he faltered in his mission. Besides, he would never share the pain with anyone else, perhaps it was the only reminder of her daughter, and no one could take that away from him.

As the day turned to night – which made everything more real – you watch the city disappear once the elevator reached below the surface level. The underground city had its beauty as well. Even though the dark was prominent here, the lights and the neon sighs were a sight for sore eyes. 

Everything was splendent, such a contrast with the city on the surface. It wasn’t a mystery why Miguel would rather have his apartment located here, where the sun couldn't reach. Sometimes you wondered if the lack of sunlight was the reason why he was always so… grumpy. However, when you have eyes so sensitive to light like his, it’s inevitable to hide from it.

On the way down, you couldn't distract yourself with anything. You picked your cuticles, and bite the skin of your lips till it was bleeding; your leg never stopped bouncing. Anxiety sky rocked as you watched the numbers change, the sound of each level counting down the seconds until you were at his door. 

As much as you wanted to be brave, it was impossible. Every single outcome that played in your head was worse than the other. Why couldn’t you just imagine something good for once? Your self-sabotaging mind was draining, and when you finally stopped at his door, it felt like you could collapse at any minute.  

Breathing in and out, you press the doorbell. It was now or never. 

“Hi Lyla,” You greet the AI as soon as she appears on the screen, trying to sound as casual as possible. “Could you tell Miguel I’m here to see him?”

“Hey girl, it’s been a minute!” Lyla greets you excitedly; the fact she objectively points out you’ve been away churn your stomach. 

You would stop by to check on him every now and then, sometimes you would even prepare a meal when he was too stubborn to eat – Miguel never went more than a few hours away from the screen of his lab. However, the soft humming in the kitchen, his eyes on you – those were easy days you wish could turn into forever.

“Yeah… You know how it is.”

“Sure…I’m calling him, just a moment!” Lyla was not originally programmed to have feelings and a personality, but she developed into such a proportion that you could feel the irony in her synthetic voice.

The door opens without ceremony, and you step inside feeling your heartbeat reverberating through your body – each step slower than the other, mind aware of each intake of breath. Like the back of your hand, you had memorized his place, walking past the entrance into the living room as if it was yours. How easy it was to cloud your brain in a haze of familiarity that each room brought to you.

“He’s coming in a minute, you can wait here,” Lyla interrupts your thoughts, appearing at the corner of your vision. 

You slowly nod, feeling your hands start to get clammy, “Thanks.”

Before she disappears, you could swear you caught a glimpse of an amusing smile on her face, as if she knew something you didn’t. You shake your head, the lack of sleep has proven how much it can affect your perception, this must be your mind playing another trick, using the fluttering feeling bubbling in your chest as a weapon.

As you look around, waiting for him in the leaving room, you notice how it feels empty, joyless. Often you found yourself looking at these white walls wondering if Miguel didn’t want to at least add a bit of his personality to them. Did he think of himself as a stranger? Or maybe a phantom, doomed to live a life behind the screen with no real joy? 

There’s a pang in your heart as you think about how lonely must it be; to be at the top, surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people who would eventually go home to someone, while he was stuck here, paying all alone for his sins. 

Caught by the sudden wave of sorrow, you almost miss the moment Miguel’s presence tingles your spider senses. But as with everything regarding the man, you were already too aware of his existence due to the number of nightmares that plagued your dreams. It was inevitable that at some point, you could recognize him by the sound of his steps alone. All of him was embedded in your mind, for better or worse.

However, as you turn, you’re caught off guard by the sight of him anyway.

Miguel stands over the threshold, folding his arms over his chest. He must have been working out because the white tank top he’s using hugs his chest in a sinful way. His hair is a little bit more curly than usual, damped at the tips. The sight of him makes your mouth go dry, and you have to swallow down before speaking.

“Hi.” It's the only thing you manage to say as you watch the muscles of his arms contract against his chest. 

You can’t read his expression, and it makes you nervous not being able to predict what he’s thinking. It takes more than a heartbeat for Miguel to answer, still seeming unfazed by your presence. And it’s torturing having him so close, yet so far.

“Hi.” It’s dry, almost cold. The ache in your chest grows larger by the minute.

“H–How are you?” You try to play it cool, hoping the trembling in your voice is not noticeable. He raises an eyebrow as you point at him, “Working on those muscles, I see!”

It’s instantaneous the wave of cringeness that washes over you. The words feel wrong on your tongue, every movement is met with strangeness. The gap left by the nightmares is bigger than you thought, placing you back where you started. And honestly, this felt worse than the day you met him. Because when he looks at you, there’s some sort of sadness behind his eyes; disappointment. Miguel shakes his head slightly, stepping into the living room and heading to the kitchen. 

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” He asks, not even bothering to look at you. 

As you fight with your mouth, trying to find the right words to say – to at least start a conversation – he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, unscrews the cap, and drinks it all in one gulp. And then again, your brain is slow to process any answer when he’s standing in the kitchen like that; the light reflecting his toned body, the sweat running down his nape to underneath the collar of the shirt.

You look away, resolve faltering, “I…I came to check on you, it’s been a while.”

“And whose fault is that?” Your eyes widen in shock at the small outburst; the bottle crushed in his hand. 

He quickly recomposes himself, throwing away the bottle. You were expecting Miguel to be wounded by your disappearance, but not to the point of being rude to you. It was rare to see him so… angry outside of missions. You took pride in being someone who he could always count on; having him looking at you as if you were a complete stranger not only stung, it maimed you. 

“Miguel, I’m sorry–” You start, not knowing how you’re going to end the sentence, but doing anything to revert the situation. It’s clear that he’s upset, but you’re not exactly sure why. You step towards him, but this time, he’s the one who steps back.

“Oh, so now you’re sorry? No puedo con esto,” The muscle in his jaw tightens as he runs a hand through his hair. 

“Miguel,” You call for him, feeling desperate. He won’t look at you, as if the person standing in his living room is unfamiliar. You despise it the feeling crawling underneath your skin, and hates it even more because it’s you are to blame, “I’ve been dealing with a lot lately, and–” 

“Running away from me is one of them, so it seems,” The cut is clean, borderline cruel. Miguel’s stare burns your skin; the bitterness is cold to the touch. And if there was any chance of this working out, they were very slim at the moment. 

“I didn’t…” The guilty that settled in your heart the moment you started avoiding him comes back in full force and hits you in a wave of emotions that makes you nauseous. But you can’t find your voice, can’t find the courage to say anything more than, “I don’t know what you talking about.”

Coward. You were such a coward.

The look of disappointment on his face is heartbreaking, and you regret everything you ever said from the moment you step into this place. You were supposed to tell him how much he meant to you, how come you’ve done the opposite? 

Miguel looks down, shaking his head as he murmurs something in Spanish under his breath. You don’t know what it means, but by the looks of it, it’s definitely not something good. 

“I don’t know what I’ve done to you, Y/N,” Miguel sounds defeated. He rests his hands on his hips as he sighs, “I’ve been cracking my head trying to understand where it all went wrong. When did our relationship become…this” 

You could hear the sound of your heart shattering, the heavyweight finally crushing the muscle you kept in your chest. Suddenly, the need to touch him is overwhelming – the need to spill everything out in one sentence clogs your throat. But like in your nightmares, you find yourself frozen in place. 

Miguel doesn’t seem to notice your internal turmoil, wrapped in his own demons. “But you wound’t even spare me a moment to just… talk to you. You stopped answering my messages. Avoiding me like I’m some kind of decease.”

As Miguel continues to spill out everything that has been haunting his mind, all you can do is watch the man fall from grace. It’s agonizing to see him like this, so helpless. And all because of you. 

No. It wasn’t completely your fault. And he needed to understand that. 

The nightmares were a ghost that crept into your life and took over your action. It clouded your brain, made you seethings that weren't there, and miss those that actually were. The messages were just an example. As you tried to make a point to your friends, you found out that not only he had sent messages, Miguel had called you. Multiple times. 

How did you even miss those? And how can you begin to explain the motive behind it? You curse the woman who put the spell on you. You curse everything that happened that made Miguel think you didn’t care anymore, because you so painfully did. 

“I–I never meant to upset you, Miguel,” Your voice it’s almost above a whisper. Tiredness eats your bones; the headache from unshed tears pounds your head, “I was just in a really tough spot and I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

Miguel looks at you in disbelief. “Y/N, I was so worried when you started missing the meetings. The next thing I know,Lyla is the one telling me about the accidents you've been having during work because you stopped talking to me. Do you how dangerous those injuries can be?” Miguel doesn’t look at you. Instead, he rubs the bridge of his nose – and you knew that movement very well by now – it was an attempt to contain his rising anxiety. 

The intensity of his words leaves you breathless, and even though the remorse is sickening, your heart skips a beat when the intonation changes – when his voice goes softer when talking about how concerned he was. The spark of hope swiftly ignites brighter in your chest.

But then, Miguel stops, dropping his hand and looking directly at you. “Then, when I came looking after you, what did I get?” Miguel’s voice is filled with hurt and resentment, it’s impossible to stare back when he looks betrayed. “You ranfrom me, Y/N!” 

His voice is like a knife to your heart, cutting so deep you didn’t know you could bleed only from words alone. Flashbacks from that night play in your mind on a loop; from the other side, it seemed so real and spine-chilling. But now, the images turn into something else, as if a fog had lifted from your eyes; the touch of his fingers on your wrist and theneed in his voice when he called your name.

Fuck. How much worse could this get? 

Miguel turns away, not giving you a choice to answer his pleading. He must be so tired of your excuses and half-spoken words – you were tired of them too. There’s another pang in your chest, devouring you with the certainty that you were not the only one suffering all these weeks.

Miguel sighs, breathing in deeply, “I care about you, so much I–” He taps his knuckle against his lips, cutting whatever he was going to say in half. His eyes finally lift to your face, crestfallen in an unusual sadness. “But what am I supposed to do when you look at me like I’m a monster?”

Your body moved before you could think about anything else. In a second you were standing in the living room, heart beating in a furious rhythm as you listened to his voice break at the end of the question. And then in the other, you had reduced the distance in just a few steps, stepping into his personal space with no warning; breaking the wall you both had built around each other. 

You immediately search for his hand, holding it tight. It’s you who is begging for him to stay this time around, and thankfully, he does.

“You are not.” You say, steadfast in your conviction. It takes you a bit of confidence to look up, to stare deep into his beautiful crimson eyes. But once you do, it’s impossible to drift your stare anywhere else. Miguel has always been handsome, but up close, he was breathtaking. “You are not a monster, Miguel.”

The way his eyebrows scrunch is adorable, mouth opening in surprise at your advance, but no words come out of it. He’s only staring at you, and you could swear his eyes gleam with your reflection against it. His body is unbelievably warm from this close, and you can’t help but notice each tiny drop of sweat gliding down his neck – each wrinkle around his eyes, his strong bone structure, the tiny curls of hair on his forehead. 

Oh, You could stare at him forever. 

“I’m sorry,” Still holding his hand and with a new resolve settling in your bones, you bring his knuckles to your lips, kissing them softly. They are rough against it, but you welcome how real they feel against your skin. “I’m so sorry.”

You notice how his breath fluctuates at the simple touch. Your stomach turns at the thought, but it’s not anxiety that settles deep in your gut, is anticipation.

“Porfavor, bella,” Miguel’s voice is breathy as if you had knocked the air out of his lungs. And maybe you did. “Explainto me because I’m tired of trying to understand your pretty little mind.”

You blush at the compliment, caught off guard by his choice of words. Glancing at him, you study his face, but can’t find any sign of mockery. Instead, there’s only fondness at the crease of his eyes, the gentle smile settling at the corner of his lips – which are the solemn reason why you almost lost your train of thought.

“Do you see these dark circles?” 

Miguel's smile widens. He brings his hand to your face, tracing the soft spot underneath your eyes with such gentleness you could cry. Warmth spreads over your body, and you don’t let go of his other hand, needing something to ground you as his touch completely destroys your defenses. “Kind hard to miss.”

You scuff, still basking yourself in his touch, the sun in on his hands. “A few weeks ago, Hobie and I went on a mission to stop a villain named Torment,” The words roll out of your tongue with ease now, having his attention like this was addicting, and you would do anything to compensate everything you put him through. “You know, usually villains don’t have superpowers that go beyond the physical type of injury.”

It’s easy to keep the memories at bay when the warmth of his skin lightens your dark and disturbed mind. However, they are still there, feeding on your fears and doubts and waiting for the perfect moment to get you. “But this one did.”

“What do you mean?” Miguel's tone is concerned, he tries to cup your face but you step away as a shadow crosses his eyes. 

Suddenly, everything feels wrong. 

You take a deep breath, it was a matter of time until reality crushed down your state of mind. It was too good to be true; to be wrapped around his aura without feeling threatened. You drop his hand, turning slightly so you won’t look at him – because you know what you will find there. It was the only way to keep going before the nightmares crept into your mind and twisted the moment. He deserved to know, and you deserved to finally be at peace.

When you speak again, your voice is shaky, “She planted nightmares in my head, twisting memories and images of something…. someone dear to me.” At the corner of your vision, you notice how Miguel tries to touch you again but stops halfway through when he sees your vacant stare; light starts to dim on your face.

You are starting to run out of time. In a moment, those shadows would be biting at your heels. And then it would be too late for both of you. 

Shaking your head, you gather enough strength to keep going, “It slowly deteriorated my mind, I think at some point I was seeing things because of how much I was sleep deprived. I don’t think I’ve got more than 2 hours of sleep these last few days.”

“Why didn’t you tell me right away?” Miguel asks, desperation at the edge of his tone, “I could’ve helped, we could have found a way to stop–”

“I couldn't." It’s weak, it doesn’t explain a thing. If anything, it only serves to irritate Miguel even more. 

“Why?” He pleads, trying to make sense of the nonsense you’ve been mumbling about, “I thought we had a deal, Y/N. You were always there for me when I needed you, why couldn’t I do the same for you? Por qué?”

You turn towards him and your throat burns. And it’s no help when the desperation in your voice overwhelms your senses. “Because they were about you!”

Miguel goes quiet, eyes widening as his mouth stays slightly open. You rapidly cover your face with your hands, letting a shaky breath escape your lips. The only sound you can hear is the beating of your heart, and it’s so painfully loud. “Torment told me that her powers search for what you desire the most and twist them into something beyond recognition in your mind until it bleeds to the real world. My theory is that; you either fight against that fear, doing exactly what you are most afraid of to make them stop, or you succumb to them.”

When it was clear Miguel wasn't going to say anything, still baffled at the amount of information you had thrown at him, you hysterically let a laugh escape. “How funny, right? The things we love the most are the ones that haunt us forever.”

You were tired of running away. You wanted Miguel to know, and you wanted him to correspond so badly. You wanted to give your to love him and wanted to have his love back. 

“So, there you have it, Miguel,” You look at him, finally speaking the truth that had been locked in the deepest of your soul with such ease it scares you. “I love you.”

[zyrafowe-sny]

August 28th WIP Wednesday Game Answered Asks: Whumptober

Failed at actually sharing lines for far too long despite making progress. Oops.

@post-and-out

He saw the laser.

His sword answered.

It wasn't a conscious decision.

Threat identified -> corrective measure.

It was automatic, drilled into him for as long as he could remember.

@kalira I was barely a participant this year — only finished one fic — but oh well!

That's what was supposed to happen.

Except, what *had* happened was identifying *Ballister* as a threat. And there was no universe where Ballister of all people could be a threat. Mr. More-Noble-Than-Actual-Nobility.

@sourb0i

No universe in which Ballister would have attacked the queen. Except, he did. When the whole Kingdom was watching, either from coveted seats inside the Glorodome or on millions of screens at home and at watch parties.

@wizisbored

He gaped in horror at Ballister's arm falling, at his own arm that did it, at the crown, still rattling after the queen fell. After the *queen* fell.

And then the monitors above them fell as the laser in Ballister's arm shot up, and then Ballister was below.

Gone.

@aparticularbandit Absolutely failed at getting ahead, but oh well!

Ambrosius stared at the jagged hole, unsure if he should pursue and lead a search party or if he should stay around for debriefing. He should probably wait until a superior commander arrived, right? Or would that simply be the Director. She was right there.