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erosiism · 2 months ago

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𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 | yandere! prince x male! reader | NSFW

pairing: horny! prince x oblivious! male reader

CONTAINS:

blowjob

overstimulation

bathtub sex

dick riding (literally)

nipple play

fingering

sorry i think im turning into a nsfw tumblr page with a sprinkle of gore, fluff and angst lol might contain small tiny discrepancies as i edited it from third person to second person. | taken from my fic on wattpad called possession thank you for 1k followers on tumblr! please comment, reblog, and like if you enjoyed this

The situation you had gotten yourself in was rather dire.

For the longest period of time, you had been unaware of your best friend’s feelings — the crown prince — and just how strong his affections were towards you.

And that included not knowing how horny Isidor — your best friend — was.

And now that both of your feelings were out in the open, that meant that the air was practically suffocating with sexual tension.

You sat across him on the bed, jumbling up your words as you tried to tackle this nefarious topic.

"I—" You faltered. "What I mean to say is, I know you're sexually aroused. You've made that clear..." you trailed off, voice small. "And I know you're being very patient with me."

"Yes, Y/n." Isidor said slowly, "...what are you trying to say?"

Why is he making me say it? you thought with frustration, just—!

You reeled the prince in for a kiss, cupping the prince’s cheek and pouring all the things you couldn't figure out how to say at that moment in that kiss. Then when both your lips were both red and swollen (they already were, from all the initial kisses), you looked at Isidor with a meaningful glance.

Realization flashed through Isidor's eyes. It was followed by a smoldering glint that signaled his lust.

Encouraged by his reaction — you struggled on, "you don't have to wait. You don't have to be patient."

Isidor was painfully hard by then, his cock throbbing and pulsing as blood rushed up to its surface.

"Y/n," Isidor murmured in a strangled voice, "say it. You know, I am curious about how sound-proofed our dorm truly is. Let's test it out, shall we?"

"I—"

You had barely gotten the words out before Isidor was crowding you against the walls, tongue licking a stripe up your neck from your open collar. Oh, you tasted godly — Isidor would carve his hips against your own and engrave his initials to your brain — he would make you say his name in a feverish heat.

Isidor's hands started to slide under our shirt, staring at you with eager eyes. "Say what you want, Y/n — and I shall give."

"I want," you panted, "you to fuck me."

I want you to fuck me.

Following your bold declaration, Isidor's remaining sanity that he prided himself on had dissipated into nothingness. For an extremely long period of time, Isidor had thought he still had remarkable self control, considering that he, up until this point, had not made any significant advances towards you, the man he loved.

But you had now given him explicit permission — had almost begged for it, even.

Isidor angled himself into a tilt, dragging his lips along your sensitive own. You gasped — and Isidor took this as an opportunity to slide his tongue into the gap of your mouth, plunging right into the heart of your mouth.

And oh, he sure took his time to explore. You found yourself grasping for something to support yourself with, as every single time Isidor would move, your limbs would grow weak.

And soon, when the two of you broke apart, there was an obscene, sliver slick of saliva at the edge of your lips. Sensual, sensitive, and alluring.

"You're sensitive," Isidor whispered, "now this is going to be fun..."

And even that last kiss had careened into something else entirely — into a debauched, obscene mess. At that moment, there was no rhythm to the kiss — there was nothing controlled about your movements. Isidor's grip on your waist was bruising and lacked the tenderness that it usually had.

"You're hard," Isidor said, almost seeming proud — "aren't you, Y/n?" He reached down to your hard length and squeezed, causing you to release a soft moan, grinding yourself against Isidor.

"Ah—don't —" you swallowed, "Isidor."

Isidor wanted to ruin you. He wanted to mark the skin that seemed to call him in —to lick the skin that was peppered and powdered with pink. He wanted to stake his claim on your body, to show that you were truly his, and solely his. Only his.

Isidor didn't respond, instead grasping your pants and pulling it down in a deft motion, tossing it to the other side of the room where it lay forgotten. And now you could be seen hard, aching — with your boxers painfully restraining your boner. Isidor licked his lips, the other hand grabbing your shirt and also tossing it away carelessly. Yourbare skin looked like a feast to Isidor: it was unblemished, untouched, and provided as the perfect canvas for Isidor to litter his marks and kisses on.

"Perhaps we should do something about this," Isidor murmured, one finger reaching to jerk your cock, still clothed beneath your boxers, the other slowly peeling off the last layer of fabric like Isidor was uncovering a prize. "Right, Y/n?"

"Don't tell me you're planning on—" you swallowed back a moan, a hand flying to your mouth as you stifled the lewd sounds slipping from your mouth. "I-Isidor—"

How unfair. Isidor was completely clothed still, while you were already naked and bare for him to see. Isidor pressed his cheek to the head of your cock, his eyes gleaming. His hands had started to wrap around your girth, lips curling into a smirk. And here you were initially worrying about giving head — when as it turned out, Isidor was going to be the one giving it to you.

Precum was already leaking from the top of your cock, sluggishly dripping down your whole length. You started to writhe, your train of thought forgotten. Your whole body was riled up, all restless energy and pure jittery nerves. Your hands flew up to weave into dark strands of hair as Isidor started to move, bobbing his head to swallow your cock whole. You felt a sudden jolt of pleasure as all you could feel was the slickness, wetness and pure heat of Isidor's mouth enveloping your body, deep-throating him. A wanton moan left your mouth.

"Shhh," Isidor murmured, "I'll make you feel good, darling. You can make those noises when I truly fuck you later."

Isidor was awfully good at giving head, to the extent you started to suspect he had done it before. And it was not before long when your cock started to twitch as you felt your imminent release. Desperately, you tried to pry Isidor's lips from your length, but the prince stayed stubbornly, his eyes traveling towards to meet yours. Your thighs spread further apart, your ass angling upwards, cock jerking in Isidor's mouth, fervently begging for more.

Smug. Isidor looked smug, like he knew he was responsible for your first release.

You watched with mortification as Isidor's Adam apple bobbed, the white liquid sliding down his throat. But your mind was already driven from pleasure and your eyes were glazed, your vision indescribably heavy. You grew slack as low breaths escaped your lips, your chest rising up and down as you looked at Isidor, cheeks reddening.

Why was the fuck — sorry for the crude language — was the crown prince licking his lips?

"You came so fast," Isidor murmured, "perhaps I should have delayed it so you would have the energy to continue on. Perhaps I should have waited so that you would come with my cock inside you. But no matter — I can think of a lot better ways to make you come again..." Isidor pressed a firm kiss to the base of your neck, straightening his back to be on eye level with you. "Can you continue?"

It was stupid to think how a simple blowjob had rendered you utterly gone.

I'm not going to last, you thought, I really won't. Because from the looks of it, Isidor had plenty of ideas in mind.

"Not fair," your voice was garbled, "I've already come once and you haven't even taken your clothes off yet."

"Would you like to do the honor?" Isidor tilted his head teasingly, reveling in the feel of your bare skin underneath his fingers, "would you, Y/n?"

You nodded your head weakly. Your hands reached out, trembling, to fumble clumsily with the band of the prince's pants and boxers, slowly pulling it down like Isidor had done earlier. Isidor was impatient — he was already deftly and quickly unbuttoning his own shirt, discarding it into the pile that your clothes had formed.

And oh, you could see how the prince had been so truly tortured for the past year, in all the moments you had been oblivious to his advances. The tip of his bulbous cock was so swollen and red that you marveled at it — but a strange feeling settled into the pits of your stomach: how were you supposed to fit it in?

"Well," Isidor said in a low voice, "now that the matter of our clothes has been settled..." Slowly yet roughly, Isidor pushed you down to press flush against the bed, using his hands to pin you down and secure you. Your head was now resting on the pillows placed against the bed frame.

There was a brief stretch of silence.

"What are you doing?" You asked feebly, seeing how Isidor seemed to be so transfixed with you, "aren't you going to do something?"

"Admiring you." Isidor breathed out, "seeing how all this —" Isidor's hands gingerly traveled across the expanse of your chest, before resting upon your nipple and twisting it — "is mine now. Seeing how all that I've lusted for...every inch of you is all mine to touch."

"Isidor," you said, your voice cracking. "You're torturing yourself by waiting."

"And don't I know it." Isidor smiled.

"Isidor," you whined, your voice needy as the prince's fingers grazed your other nipple, "just—"

"Starving for it, are you?" Isidor kissed your bud, swirling his tongue around it. There was a sheen of saliva between your hard nipple and Isidor's mouth as he finished sucking it. Isidor moved towards the crook of your neck temporarily, lightly scraping his skin with teeth, just enough for a small mark to blossom as it followed the fangs of his teeth. You let out an unconscious moan, feeling as slight pain started to settle in.

Isidor looked with satisfaction at the mark that now adorned your neck, resuming his earlier actions — your hands twitched, body arching up as Isidor played idly with your nipple, rolling it leisurely between his fingers before pinching the sensitive and red bud.

A hand stopped you from rolling your hips towards Isidor's hard cock, pressing you further against the bed. Teeth tugged at your earlobe, biting it gently and possessively as light kisses were then bestowed upon your skin. A hopeless and tender groan fell from your lips as Isidor moved down to latch onto your other nipple — the one that had been spared earlier — glancing at you with a starved look.

"You taste so good..." Isidor mumbled, seeming to be lost in whatever pleasure he was experiencing — "ah, I just want to fuck you already."

Isidor was a prince. His language was often flowery and not crude. And yet now obscenities were being spewed from his lips like nothing. It made your chest tingle as you saw the power you held over the prince — as you realized the power the two of you had over each other.

Oh, you could bring Isidor down to his knees.

Your thighs were spread further apart, Isidor slotting himself right in between them as if he belonged there.

"I'll prepare you," Isidor leaned back as he opened the bedside drawer and took out a bottle of lube, making you immediately ask: how do you have lube so readily available? — to which, Isidor answered: for myself. "I'll prepare you, Y/n."

Ah fuck...you’re so cute. You are so, so cute. I just want to put it in already — I just want to fuck you already, Isidor thought in desperation, I just want you. But for the sake of your bottom half in the future...

Isidor coated his fingers and cock liberally with the slick liquid, his touch hot as he capped the bottle, chucking it to the side. The last vestiges of coherent, calm thoughts were slowly starting to vanish from Isidor's mind — so close. He was so close to feeling your walls squeezing along his hard length, just like he had always envisioned in his dirty dreams —

Heat surged through you, positively blazing as Isidor pressed two fingers relentlessly against your hole. The foreign sensation grounded you — sparks of pleasure tingled down your spine as Isidor wiggled his fingers around, pressing down onto your prostate. It held your impending orgasm at bay — albeit briefly — but you welcomed the feelings, moan after moan leaving your lips, the lewd sound mixing with the filthy sounds echoing around the room.

You hoped fervently that the rooms were advertised like they were — soundproof.

But even with two, you felt so full. It burned, yes, especially when Isidor added a third.

"Mgh," you moaned, "Isidor—ah, hngh—"

"I've waited, Y/n," Isidor purred, "I deserve to be a little selfish, don't I?"

Isidor was practically scissoring you open, consistently pressing down to the most sensitive spot in your hole — you writhed on those fingers as they plunged in deeper, milking your prostate with precise strokes. And when those fingers left, you felt empty, your walls clenching around nothing. A last finger trailed lightly over your twitching rim, the touch featherlight and gentle, yet as you were already sensitive from your earlier orgasm, you couldn't help but jolt at his touch.

"You took my fingers so willingly," Isidor cooed, "makes you wonder how you'll take my cock, right?"

"Will you — ah —" you panted, feeling your vision black out for the briefest moment — "Isidor —"

"Are you tired?" One last kiss was pressed onto your lips, chaste, but no less satisfying as the others — "bear with me a little longer."

"Isidor," you whined, giving a petulant moan. You were unsure of what you wanted. No, actually, screw that — you knew exactly what he wanted. You ran your nails along Isidor's back, causing the prince to hiss slightly, "just — just do what you want. Do what you want with me."

"Isn't that inviting?" Isidor's voice held no restraint, as he practically towered over you. "isn't that too inviting, Y/n?"

"Please — mgh,” you were sobbing now, tears streaming down your face. It was not of pain, however — it was due to the pure pleasure and ecstasy thrumming below your skin.

Isidor wiped away at your tear-smeared cheeks, shushing you softly and thumbing at your waist with sweetness and tenderness. "Oh," Isidor panted, "I promise you it won't hurt. I can't promise you that I'll be gentle, but —"

"Fuck me."

Isidor's head snapped up to meet you, real hunger swirling in his eyes. The nips on your skin veered into bites, and soon Isidor started to line his cock to the rim of your sensitive hole. As the tip prodded your entrance, you found Isidor's arms wrapping around your body, pulling you closer. Isidor grunted slightly as he started to press in slowly, as your body rejoiced at the feel of Isidor's girth entering your body, your walls tightening around it.

"Hah," you panted, "I-Isidor—"

The prince paused, allowing you to accommodate his size. Isidor grabbed your thighs, and in a quick motion, threw your legs over his shoulder, forcing you to lift your hips. And Isidor's grip on your hip stayed.

Trembling, you let out a wanton groan when you felt the tip of Isidor's cock twitch as it brushed against the hot, slick ring of muscle, clearly eager to plunge inside. And you were more than ready to accommodate it — to accommodate the warmth; the demand. A filthy sound echoed yet again around the room as Isidor pushed his cock deeper into you. And you couldn't help but keen as you felt yourself being breached, violent shivers wrecking and coursing through you as Isidor slid in with his entire length in a single thrust.

Slowly but surely, Isidor bottomed out, sinking deeper, splitting you open and punching all the air out of you. You were left gasping, breathing in and out rapidly. Isidor was huge, you thought, left shaking at the stretch, with Isidor all the way in. Your vision turned black for a moment, and you feared you would pass out from overstimulation. But that moment passed, and you were still there. Alive.

Your legs were suspended over Isidor's shoulder, your back upright against the bed frame. And Isidor started off with a slow pace, and slowly set up a steady rhythm that left you gutted every time the prince thrusted back in.

Isidor wrapped his arms around you and pulled you until the two of you were impossibly close, his cock rubbing deep against your insides, causing you to gasp against the skin of Isidor's neck. Briefly, Isidor seemed to catch sight of your reflection in a tiny mirror on the bedside table — and the prince smiled as he grabbed your chin and angled you towards it.

You flushed.

"Look how pretty you are, Y/n. Look, Y/n. Look at your pretty little face. Look at your eyes...your nose...your lips. Such a cutie just for me, right?"

You could not answer — it felt like you were getting pried open to the point that your brain couldn't register anything.

The pace had started to increase, and Isidor had clearly become greedier with his thrusts turning more vicious and earth-shattering. Each one sent you pushed against the bed frame, and Isidor burrowed his head into your neck, breathing heavily in your ear.

"Haa — You feel so good," Isidor looked almost relieved that all his pent up sexual frustration over the months — the year — had finally been resolved, "oh, Y/n...you take me so well — aren't you just made for me?"

Compliments and sweet sensibilities continued to roll off Isidor's lips.

"Aren't you just such a pet?" Isidor breathed out shakily, "Aren't you just perfect for me? Fuck —” You rolled his hips amidst a delicious burn. Something blazed in Isidor — he slammed in deeper than the previous thrust, dragging his length over your prostate.

"My stamina — it's terribly bad," you choked out, spots beginning to swarm around your vision. But still your body continued to move against Isidor's.

"And yet you're still doing wonderfully." Isidor murmured, pressing a kiss onto your lips. Your lips were bitten raw and almost bloody, but Isidor's lips were slick and hot, and that sent more pleasure tingling down your spine — "aren't you?"

You seemed to burn. You didn't know just how your body was still holding up — when you would have expected that it would have been gone by now. But you couldn't dwell upon it — soft lips met yours, the movement languorous and easy as Isidor's mouth explored yours.

Isidor's hands moved up to frame your face, shaking a little bit from the emotions coursing through him. He'd wanted this. Had yearned for it for years. And here he was, with his cock in you, watching as pleasure blazed in his beloved's eyes.

Nothing could compare to the feeling of your mouth against his, the way your skin felt underneath his soft caresses, frantic and urgent. Yes — Isidor, though starved, could be gentle, reverent, adoring. The kiss was so soft, tender, and sweet that it made you dizzy.

"Isidor, please — haa, fuck me," you pleaded. You felt the cock inside of you twitch, the sensation almost too much for your tightly wound body. It felt near overwhelming how deep Isidor reached, how thoroughly stretched your ass was around the throbbing erection inside of you.

Isidor's pace was faster now, and his thrusts were going sloppy. You could feel the way Isidor tugged your hair to kiss you wildly and messily unlike the previous soft kisses — and with a low groan of your name, Isidor buried himself to the hilt, spilling himself deep inside of you. Warmth — pure warmth pooled low in your belly, and Isidor's cock pulsed with the last of its release. This was cherished, inviting warmth, and Isidor pressed a firm kiss onto your forehead and shifted his hips back, slipping out. His cock had softened compared to before and yet still —

You felt completely and utterly gone. Boneless. Used.

You could feel Isidor's cum slowly trickling out of your abused hole, but you currently cared very little about sullying yourself or the sheets.

"I'll clean you," Isidor said hoarsely, wrapping you in his arms. "Come here, darling."

Your vision was fading in and out — you were immensely tired, and yet — how horny was Isidor? You would have expected for his appetite to have been whetted after the prince spilled all that in you — after he had relentlessly pounded you — but still, Isidor's stamina had not waned. If anything, the prince was only stopping out of consideration.

You allowed yourself to be carried and to be brought into the bathroom — there were a few wet and sloppy kisses exchanged between the two of you, with Isidor nearly pressing onto you against the table — but whether it was fortunate or unfortunate, Isidor managed to turn on the tap, run the bath, and enter the bath along with you. There were a few peaceful minutes as you collected your thoughts and feelings, your breaths managing to steady.

And it was with mirth you realized that just a while ago, the two of you had bathed here, with you utterly oblivious.

And now you weren’t oblivious to the fact that Isidor — he was still horny. It was concerning how a human could hold so much hunger for someone.

...Should I...?

You cupped the prince's cheek, looking at him meaningfully while using your leg to nudge Isidor's erection. Despite how exhausted you were — though those few minutes had saved your lungs, albeit temporarily — you were selfish enough to want the both of you to feel satisfied. You wanted the first time to be equally desirable for both of you. And besides...you did need to train your stamina, didn't you?

"Are you that insatiable?" You asked, tilting your head. Your voice was now rendered hoarse. You felt like you had just gotten the living lights fucked out of you mercilessly — your back was aching, with the countless of times you had nearly been folded against the bed frame — and your nipples and lips were sore, having been bitten.

A heated sensation went right to Isidor's cock.

"You can still fuck me," you murmured, "here."

In normal circumstances, Isidor would have said no. But here you were. pliant, offering him this decision — how could the prince resist?

"You might regret this decision," Isidor warned, starting to move towards you. One hand held the back of your head, so the proceeding thrust would not cause you to topple right over — while the other hand gripped your already bruised hip. It was a rather interesting position, with you straddled over him, Isidor's cock pressed against your stomach.

You smiled gently. "I won't. So you're really that insatiable, I suppose."

With that final affirmation, Isidor lifted your hips slowly, dragging his length over the puffiness of your hole. It was much too ambitious to think about fucking you again but god, Isidor so wanted to. And he would. Isidor would fuck you again, with your

Your hole was slick and wet already from the earlier rounds, and so slipping it in was easy. In fact, so easy — that Isidor started to marvel at just how made for each other you two were — and his gaze dropped down to the evidence of the penetration — the slight bulge in your lower stomach. Your ass was sitting so sweetly and nicely on his cock, your walls squeezed around it. You gave a little moan as you started to adjust yourself.

Isidor's voice came out so wrecked it was almost inaudible — and he answered your question belatedly. "I'm afraid that yes, I am. I am that insatiable."

You were on his lap — you were —

...Riding him, amidst the waters.

The evidence of your previous pleasures was smeared between the two of your bodies, and Isidor languidly rolled once more into you, thrusting into your prostate once more. And all you could do was sit there prettily and gasp as your cock twitched against your abdomen, leaking more fluid onto yourself.

Your hands tightened around Isidor's neck, pulling him down for another filthy, wet kiss. Endless shivers and tiny spasms wrecked through you as Isidor kept fucking you, with moans and sounds falling all over your kiss-swollen lips. The pleasure in your body started to build once more. Exhaustion riddled your body, and yet your walls continued to clench around Isidor's intrusion, with the prince's fingers digging into your hips, his rhythm faltering for a split second before returning. This time, the thrust was faster and harder. Isidor was practically splitting you open.

Overstimulated, You felt like you were gone.

Your lips met with his in a mix of saliva and tongue, and you shuddered as Isidor grounded himself further, pushing his way inside until he was impossibly deep in you. The water sloshed around the two of you, and for the briefest moment, you wondered what it would have been like for your entire body to be beneath the water.

Whatever obscene sounds you made were muffled by Isidor's hungry mouth on yours, unrelenting and harsh. You were devoured, ravished, treasured — and you loved every bit of it.

Your stomach swooped as Isidor broke the kiss and started rocking into you faster, the thrusts stronger and deeper now as he took pleasure from your obedient body. With your breathing ragged and uneven, you closed your eyes and let the sensations wash over you. You could feel everything — the way Isidor pressed inside of you, the way Isidor fucked you until guttural cries were forcibly spilled from your mouth. You could feel the unrestrained desire, the pace quickening. There was the steady roll of hips against an addicting burn — Isidor thrusted in and out, his cock sliding into your wet hole continuously.

"Fuck," Isidor breathed out, "you're so perfect."

Your hole stretched so impossibly wide, taking in the prince deeply. There were a never ending mix of grunts, groans, and moans from the both of you, coupled with aborted renditions of Isidor's name — you were rendered speechless and helpless.

You could feel the sensation vividly — the warmth spreading through your belly, anchoring you. The searing heat that was diffusing in you, building and building until it threatened to overwhelm you. For what seemed like the thousandth time that day, you felt the imminent sensation of your release.

Isidor thrusted, harder, pressing his cock as deep into you as it could go. You clenched around Isidor, muscles constricting involuntarily and rippling around the cock fucking you open. A low groan sounded below you, as Isidor's hips stuttered for a brief second before he found his rhythm again. Your body was wet with the water but the slipperiness of it only reduced the friction between Isidor’s and your body — Isidor took your lips in his, ravaging them.

"Fuck," Isidor panted, voice strained from the effort of plowing into you. "You're so cute." The prince could not seem to stop the honeyed praises from falling from his lips.

Another thrust ripped a moan from your throat. Isidor was pounding into you, his motions merciless and relentless. You clawed at his back, your walls tightening as he struggled to accommodate Isidor's size.

You pushed your hips back down — Isidor's body responded, and he flexed his hips just in time to meet with your downward grind, and that was the last straw. It was enough for you to release once more, and your back arched as you spilled on the thick length lodged right against your prostate, walls quivering. Isidor had come too, and now the both of you were panting, with you seated firmly on the prince's cock. The spilled seed leaked from your puffy and tender hole.

You could feel yourself really about to black out this time round. It was a miracle that you had made it this far — if not for the small break you had had in the bath, you would have collapsed by now. Strong, muscular hands wrapped around your waist, and Isidor was pressing tender kiss after kiss on the marks littered on your skin. It was like the prince was trying to map everything out again.

Lips rasped against your cheek, and you felt a hand brush your loose hair away from your face. Isidor's voice was low and sweet as he spoke: "Rest well, darling."

And with that, you blacked out, your exhausted body slumping against the cold tiles of the bathroom.

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#eroswrites #male reader #yandere x male reader #male reader insert #soft yandere #x bottom male reader #yandere smut #yandere oc x reader #yandere male x male reader #yandere x you #layout inspired by vei sama

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thebibliosphere · 1 year ago

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Okay, I'll admit it. I'm one of those people who priates books. But only because I've bought so many books that disappointed me! I need to flip through a bit of it before buying.

Sometimes, if the author has kofi or patreon or something, I like to just give them the full price of the book. That way they get it all. But I also know that this isn't the perfect answer because it messes with stats and actual readership and therefore advertising and the platform they are selling on promoting it....

It's complicated. Maybe I should buy the book normally and tip the author what the publishers/printers/distributors take? But that can get really pricey fast. Ugh.

Books are often a luxury when you have no money. I’m very familiar with that. I've saved up for several months sometimes because I wanted a $5.99 ebook and didn't want to steal from the author. That’s just what being poor is. Wanting something doesn't entitle me to it.

That said, most books these days have a reading sample on purchasing sites so you can see if you like the style. Most sites also offer refunds, at least on digital books, before you reach a certain point. (please be sparing with refunds if you can. The refund is taken from the author/publisher, not Amazon. Same with audible. My audible funds are often close to zero or negative because people just return and reuse their monthly credit.)

You can also check and see if the books are available at your library, and if not, request them. Honestly, library sales are so, so, so good for authors. Libraries pay higher lending license rates to authors, and also, depending on the country, every time someone checks out my book via Libby or the local equivalent, I get a little tiny amount of money (we’re talking literal pennies, but it can add up), and it increases the library’s likelihood of re-purchasing the library lending license the following year.

You can alsp sign up to be an ARC (advanced reader copy) reader through places like NetGalley or by checking if the author offers ARCs as well. In a world of algorithms, books live and die by reviews. Some of us are quite happy to give out ARCs for new and upcoming titles.

Failing that and you have absolutely no other option... Yeah. Ko-fi or whatever is an option. Even if I wish they didn't do it because it fucks my sales metrics, I still appreciate when I get a little ding on ko-fi for the exact amount of the book. It's always telling. I even sometimes get little anon messages going “sorry for pirating your book it was really good.”

Like thank you. Please buy the next one properly, lol.

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baby-yongbok · 10 months ago

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Boyfriend!Hwang Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

⇝ Genre: Angst then Smut then angst again. Dirty Drama.

⇝ Summary: We all have that one toxic person that we can’t let go of.

⇝ Warnings: Cheating , Arguing/Yelling, Dry Humping, Crying, Hyunjin is toxic - the manipulative type. (I think that's all, let me know if I missed anything!)

⇝ Word Count: 2.9k

⇝ A/N: I'm sorry in advance. I live for the drama, I'm so so sorry. My depresso has been prompting me to write angst and this is what I came up with today. It might be intense? I don't know honestly. All I know is that writing angst makes me happy lol + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡ I hope that you enjoy! Please don't hate me 💕

✧ Part II ✧ Masterlist ✧

It started with him forgetting coffee dates. The small chunks of time that the two of you carved out of your day to spend with each other quickly turned into bottled Starbucks drinks and ignored texts while you made your way to work. He said that it was because of his schedule and Hyunjin would never lie to you.

Next were your nightly video calls. The two hours that you’d spend talking about your days and making future plans morphed into double and triple texting him until he replies with a lackluster night time send off and a declaration of love that you have no choice but to imagine leaving his lips. You haven’t heard from him in forever but it’s okay, you can fix this.

You’re an artist, a digital artist for a living but a painter as a hobby. This trait is one of the many things that you and Hyunjin bonded over so when you proposed that the two of you do Paint and Sip dates on Friday nights he was all in. Everything was fine for a couple of weeks, you’d pick the picture and you’d both get to painting while you listen to your shared Spotify playlist. You’d talk and laugh while sipping whatever wine he brought with him, everything was finally feeling normal again but there was one thing that kept bothering you.

His phone.

It kept blowing up, vibrating, dinging and lighting up throughout the night. You’ve always understood that Hyunjin is a busy guy and his friends may need to reach him at odd hours of the night but there was something more to what you saw. He would ignore a message or two from Jeongin or even decline Chan’s calls from time to time but whenever his phone lit up with that damned flower icon he’d drop his brush like his life depended on it.

You figured that as long as he’s here with you everything is fine. You never liked to micro manage and you're not the jealous type so snooping around wasn’t something that you were very into, until he canceled on you. Again. This is the third week that he’s said that something has come up and that he’ll be over at your place late. When you read his text you were already staring at his laptop wondering if it was really necessary to snoop through his cloud and read his texts. Surely he had a reasonable explanation for this right? Hyunjin would never lie to you. Right? You wanted to be right so badly and when you opened the computer, put in his password and clicked on the cloud you found out that you couldn’t be more wrong.

“What are you still doing up?” Hyunjin asked as he tiptoed into your bedroom. You were sitting at your desk with your phone in your hand, staring at your screen.

“How was your night?” You ask as you swipe on your phone, your eyes never leave the screen but Hyunjin doesn’t seem to notice.

“It was fine, got a lot done.” He turns towards your closet door but stops when he processes the mess around him. “Are these my clothes?”

“Yeah, you’re going to pack all of that along with whatever else you have around here and you’re going to leave.” He stares at you with pinched brows and then he takes in his scattered belongings again.

“What?”

“You’re going to pack your shit.” You stand from your chair, glaring at him with narrow eyes. “And you’re going to go stay with her.”

You can practically hear him choke on his inhale once your words hit his ear. “Who are you talking about?”

“I can always make time for you just give me the date and the place.” You read from the screenshots illuminating your screen as you stalk towards him. “I hate when you ignore me, you know how much your attention means to me.”

“Stop it.” He turns to face you completely, watching you with worried eyes glazed with guilt.

“It doesn’t matter who I’m seeing, you know that you come first.” You project your voice so that it echoes off of every surface, he doesn’t get to avoid this. “Call me, I need to hear my baby.”

“How did you find those, you -” He sighs as you cut him off, practically yelling the next message.

“You left too many hickies to cover this time, I’ll return the favor on Friday.”

“Enough of that, enough.” His tone tries to match yours but it fails, falling off into a pitiful whisper at the end. “You went through my computer?”

He looks over at you with a cocktail of disbelief and disgust smeared over his features but you’re more than sure that the look on your face has got him beat. “ You’re fucking your ex.”

“It’s not like that, it's -” You cut him off, taking a wide step towards him.

“It’s not like that? You’re begging her for her time. You’re texting her every minute of every day. You’re fucking her and then coming here and fucking me, Hyunjin.”

“I know, okay I get that you’re mad, I’m sorry I just can’t let her go yet. It’s like there’s a piece of me that only she has possession of and no matter how much I try to ignore it I just can’t.” He runs his hands through his hair, his eyes taking in the way that your gaze cuts into him.

“It’s been a year. I’ve been with you for an entire year. When did you have time to start this? How long have you been fucking her?” He shakes his head, turning towards the bedroom door to escape the situation in front of him. You follow hot on his trail, repeating your question. “How long?” You ask over and over until he finally snaps, yelling his answer in the middle of the living room.

“A couple of months, I don’t know five or six? Maybe even seven I don’t fucking know.” You scoff as rage floods through your veins and you pick up the nearest object and chuck it at him with all of the force you can muster. He dodges it easily but he doesn’t have as much luck with the remote that follows the path of the last item. “ Yara, stop it.”

The hiss in his voice turns into a loud gasp once he realizes his mistake. “Excuse me?” He called you by her name. His ex's name.

“Fuck, I- I didn’t mean to call you that, angel, I swear it’s because we’re talking about her. That’s all. You’re not her, you’re so much better I swear. Let’s just - just talk about this okay?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I want you out of my house, now. I’m done, Hyunjin. I’ve been begging for your attention for months and you’re off giving it to someone who’s using you for sex and attention. I did so much, I’ve done everything, but clearly you love fucking so much that you fucked me over. Are you proud of that shit? Are you happy?” He takes a couple of slow steps over to you as you stand there, chest heaving and heart heavy with the sadness that has allowed your burning anger to be the star of the show until now. Maybe if he shows you that he wants you, maybe if he says that you two can fix this you’ll consider believing him.

We all have that one toxic person that we can’t let go of. He’s not at fault for being bound to her so tightly, even if he broke your heart in the process.

“Listen, angel, I love you so much. I want to be with you, I really do, no one else has fought for me and my time like you have. I don’t want to lose that, please let’s just talk about this. I’ll do anything for you, I swear.” Your glare softens, call it wishful thinking or maybe you’re blinded by the desperate burn of love in your chest but you believe him. You believe him just enough to let him splay his long fingers over the curve of your hip and pull you closer to him.

“Why do you need me if you have her?” You stare at the middle of his chest, watching it rise and fall.

“Because you love me in a way that she never could and never will.” He leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple as he brings his other hand to your waist. “She doesn’t see me like you do.”

He kisses over the shell of your ear, making his way down your neck. Your body is pressed against his as his hand kneads at the swell of your ass and he runs his tongue over the sensitive skin of your neck. You exhale heavily, bringing your hands up to rest on his biceps. You want to push him away, you want to get to the bottom of this and talk to him, so why are you pulling him closer? Why are you allowing small moans to leave your lips as he hypnotizes you into forgetting what he’s been doing to you.

“Hyunjin, stop it.” Your voice falters on the last word, giving way to the whimper fighting to escape your throat.

“Push me away.” He whispers into your ear, his soft lips brushing against the shell of it and setting your nerves on fire. “If you mean it then push me away.”

He stops everything, he doesn’t kiss you or squeeze you, you can hear the soft sound of his breathing and feel the gentle beating of his heart as his chest is pressed against your own. You can’t do this, you shouldn’t do this, your brain is screaming at you. You know better than to fall for this, push him away, now. Do it.

“Don’t stop.” Your eyes flutter shut when he squeezes your ass again, pressing your hips into his so that the bulge in his pants pokes your belly button as it twitches in anticipation.

“Say it again.” He plants a whisper of a kiss over your temple. “Say it again, angel, say my name.”

“Don’t stop, Hyunjin, please.” His kisses get sloppier as he gets closer to your lips, he plants a sloppy kiss to the corner of your mouth before catching your lips with his plump ones. You sigh into him, your hands fisting his shirt as your tongue tangles with his. He moans into your mouth, his hands tracing your hips as he takes some steps back, leading you both to the couch.

“Tell me that you forgive me, baby.” He sits once the frame of the couch hits the back of his legs, dragging you down with him so that you're straddling his hips. His bulge pressed firmly into your dripping heat and you can’t help but to grind against him. Before you can settle into a steady rhythm Hyunjin grips your hips, holding you still against him. “Tell me.”

“I forgive you.” You mumble, the words sound just fine when they roll off of your tongue. They taste sweet as you lick your lips, staring into your lover's eyes defeatedly. You’re too deep into the brain fog, too desperate to feel the love that you’ve been chasing for months. You’d say anything just to feel Hyunjin touch you. You’d do anything to keep him here.

“I knew you would.” He smiles up at you, starting to guide your hips against him. You throw your head back, your face contorting into a mask of pleasure. Hyunjin's fingers trace your jawline, sending chills down your spine. You close your eyes, allowing him access to any part of you he desires. “You need me too. Just like I need you, don’t you?”

You nod your head, picking up the rhythm of your hips as he starts to roll into you, matching your pace flawlessly. “I do, oh my god, I missed you.” You babble into the hot air as your hands find purchase on his shoulders. You can feel the night scarf covering your hair slip over the crown of your head and fall to the floor, your unruly hair frames your face and Hyunjin can’t help but to moan at the sight.

“I missed my pretty baby too.” He grunts, eyebrows pinching together as he watches where your clothed cores press into each other. “Oh, fuck, I missed you so much.”

His hands are all over you as you move against him like he’s trying to memorize the pattern of your skin. He’s reintroducing himself with every pulse point that he can reach, lighting every inch of your skin aflame with desire. “Tell me your mine. Tell me you love me, please, please say it.”

“I’m all yours, angel. All fucking yours.” His hips buck up into you as your movements become more sloppy, your climax is dangling right in front of your face. It’s burning in the pit of your stomach, a strangled moan drags from your lips as you get closer to it.

“Again p-please, please, so close ‘s so close Jinnie, again.” Your nails dig into his shoulder, whimpers following your fucked out sentence as your eyes watch Hyunjin. You watch how he bites the tip of his tongue as he gets lost in this bubble of pleasure with you. Your own perfect shield of hot desire.

“I love you.” He moans, throwing his head back against the couch, his grip on your hip tightens. The strength of his grasp is brushing yet delicious. “I’m yours. I’m all -”

The melodic sound of Hyunjin’s phone ringing cut him off before he could finish his sentence. His head snaps up as his eyes widen and he stops moving against you. “Get off.”

You whimper, confused eyes staring down at him through your fucked out fog. “Angel, move.” He pushes you to the side much rougher than he intended and you watch him as he stands quickly, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and swiping the green button immediately.

“Hey.” He clears his throat trying his best to not sound like he was seconds away from coming in his pants. “Yeah I can do that, just give me like twenty minutes, okay?”

You listen, coming out of your haze just enough to process the situation. That ringtone sounded familiar, it’s the one that he always answers… It's her.

“Hyunjin.” You reach forward, grabbing his wrist but he pulls away, glancing back at you for just a second before turning his attention back to the phone call.

“Nothing, that’s no one, I’m on my way.” You scoff, watching as he ends the call and starts to frantically fix his clothes. “I have to go something um - something came up.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” Hyunjin ignores you, making his way over to your bedroom with you following close behind, a mirror image of what happened minutes ago. “You’re going to her?

“She said that she needs me and I don’t -”

“You just told me that you were mine. You just said that, Hyunjin.” You grab his wrist, prompting him to turn to you. He stares down at you with furrowed brows and glassy eyes like he’s in a fog, like he’s been hypnotized to follow a specific instruction.

“And you said that you forgive me.” He reaches up to cup your cheek and your body melts into his touch before you can even fully process it. “I’ll be back tomorrow, angel. I’ll be yours tomorrow.”

His touch is gone just as fast as it came, leaving you with an empty ache in your chest as you watch him grab his bag and jacket. You stay rooted in place, feeling like your heart has been ripped out of your chest. “Hyunjin.”

There’s a tremble in your voice as you say his name but he doesn’t seem to mind, it’s like he didn’t even hear you. “I love you.” He leans in to kiss your temple but misses completely, planting a half hearted peck against your hair as he rushes towards the door. You watch as he leaves, quiet and stunned. There are a million thoughts going through your head but you still feel unable to process what had just happened. The sound of the front door closing is what draws you out of your thoughts.

The silence surrounding you allows room for the reality of the situation to echo around you, bouncing off of the walls and drowning you in this painfully unfamiliar feeling in your chest. You take a sharp inhale as tears start to prick at the back of your eyes. What was supposed to be a stable step towards your bed leaves sinking against its frame. You find yourself grasping one of Hyunjin’s shirts on the floor beneath you, your eyes trail from that garment to the next frantically. He’s everywhere. You can smell him, the soft cotton of the shirt makes you feel like you can feel the beating of his heart beneath it. Tears blur your vision as you sob into the fabric, clutching onto it like it’s all that you have left of him. Maybe it is. You gasp, a choked sob struggling past your lips as the true weight of the moment finally settles on your shoulders.

We all have that one toxic person that we can’t let go of.

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grandline-fics · 11 months ago

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Do you think I can request a seamstress y/n being part of the strawhat crew and how they need to make new outfits for the crew as disguises and when it came to luffys turn, it was kinda difficult for them because they have a huge crush on him and seeing him bare for measurements kills them a little-

Kinda just a sorta oblivious luffy witnessing y/n get flustered a little!

Really curious how you’re going to make it end lol

(Love your writing sm! Thank you for advanced!)

DESCRIPTION: You’re the crew’s seamstress and measuring Luffy leaves you flustered

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Luffy

WORDS: 934

A/N: Sorry this took so long but I hope it was worth it and that you like how it all turned out

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

———————

When it came to your passion of designing and making clothes you were unbelievably focussed. It was to the point that if the crew wanted to distract you from something they’d bring up the topic of a new design they had in mind. Some of the crew were more subtle about this tactic than others, for instance when Sanji needed you away from the kitchen for a few hours so he could work on your surprise birthday banquet, Robin expertly brought up a floral skirt and top combination she wanted to wear but couldn’t find the right colour scheme anywhere.

On that occasion you’d gotten so motivated that by the time you were needed for the banquet you had to be physically dragged out of your workshop. Oppositely there was one time Zoro had stolen your dressmaker’s mannequin to test out which angle would be best to attack someone from for his new technique. When you’d found out and went to rescue your possession Zoro had tried the distraction method but merely said ‘buttons’ which only bewildered you for the briefest of moments before you took back what was yours while it was thankfully still in tact. Yes, there was no way your focus could be shaken when it came to your work…well except when it came to your Captain. Your very oblivious Captain.

You kept telling yourself that it was just a crush, that he didn’t feel that way about you and he was just affectionate and energetic by nature and you were good with that, you really were. The last thing you ever wanted to do was jeopardise the amazing friendship you’d made with Luffy. So you kept your crush to yourself and things continued as normal. The only time things threatened to reveal themselves was at moments like these. The ship was heading into dangerous territory governed by another rival pirate which meant keeping as low a profile as possible and that meant they were depending on you for appropriate disguises.

“Luffy please just stand still.” You lightly begged, watching your Captain excitedly move about your workspace, touching the bolts of different fabrics and flicking through your design book with glee like it was his very first time in the room when in reality you’d lost count how often his presence had been in and out. At your plea he stopped running his fingers through the soft patterned material that had caught his attention and turned to face you with his usual carefree grin. You sighed in relief and slowly reached for your measuring tape while trying to keep your expression as relaxed as possible. This was always the hard part so you just tried to go as quickly as possible. “Shirt off.”

You had no problem seeing any of the other guys shirtless, yeah most of them were impressive but the only one to get you to be a shaking, blushing mess was Luffy. When Luffy’s hands moved to his shirt you dropped your gaze away, mostly out of respect but also because you could already hear your heart slamming against your chest and feel your skin begin to heat. When you heard the fabric of his shirt fall on the ground you looked up, trying to keep your gaze focussed on Luffy’s eyes but you couldn’t help but let it drop for the briefest of moments to peek at his impressive physique. Snapping out of it you instructed quickly. “Arms out.”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or scowl when Luffy grinned and extended his arms out to you as though inviting you in for a hug as opposed to putting his arms outward so you could accurately measure his frame. You knew it wasn’t his intention to fluster you like this, it was just Luffy being Luffy but it made things so much harder to deal with. Resisting the urge to give in to temptation you took hold of Luffy’s wrist and pulled to manoeuvre him correctly. Quickly you stood behind him and began to lift your tape towards him. With every adventure and fight meant Luffy’s body got only more and more defined and it made measuring him a greater struggle.

It was a relief that you managed to make it through most of the process without making too much of an idiot of yourself but by the end of it all you were beet red and trying to look anywhere but the cause. Through it all Luffy was his happy, oblivious self, talking excitedly about the disguise he wanted but when you stepped away he finally took a proper look at you. “Huh? Are you feeling okay?” He asked, leaning in closer and pressing his hand against your head. However that action meant his still bare chest was against you too which only made your condition worse. “You shouldn’t have been working if you’re sick. I’ll go get Chopper, okay?”

“N-no! I’ll be fine!” Your guilt for making him worry managed to pull you back from your inner spiral. “I’m just…too warm! Something cool to drink and I’ll be back to normal.” You reassured only for Luffy to grin and pull you out of your workshop and straight to the kitchen so you could cool down. Finally feeling more yourself and no longer overheating thanks to Luffy sitting back you could focus on the design. “So you never said what colours you wanted for this disguise, Luffy.”

Luffy blinked at you and gave you a look as though you were the oblivious one. “Well as long as it matches you I’ll be happy.”

#one piece #one piece fic #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece imagines #luffy x reader #one piece scenario #one piece fanfiction #monkey d. luffy #luffy #one piece luffy #straw hat luffy #luffy x you #monkey d luffy x you #monkey d luffy x reader

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kneelingshadowsalome · 9 months ago

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Hi!! I'm sososo obsessed with Satyr König oml you're a genius (also I've binge read your whole yandere könig tag it's so perfect). Okay so sorry in advance for my English, but:

I can't stop thinking about a shy (and kinda pervert lmao) nymph reader who sees him, sees how big and strong he is and how well he secretly protects all her sisters (and how irresistible his big, thick cock is) and really falls in love and is wildly attracted to him, BUT she's very shy and the idea of telling him her feelings is too mortifying, so when he's out in the woods she sneaks in his den, tidies the place up, brings him some flowers as gifts (yeah im inverting the usual roles lol), snuggles in his bed of furs (maybe touches herself fantasizing about him-) and König, well, notices the changes in his house and is VERY perplexed, so one day he returns earlier than usual and sees this cute, soft and unaware nymph moaning and whimpering in his den, her face against his furs, all wet and willing and ready to mate while she quietly moans his name, eyes closed and face red- he'd go FERAL

The idea of desperately horny satyr König with a more than willing needy nymph makes my brain melt oml

(And btw, do you think you'll ever write Satyr König again, in general?)

Satyr!König goes absolutely feral, yes.

He noticed the lingering sweet scent at the mouth of his den already, a sugary, floral scent that he knows so very well. He knows it to his core, because his nose wants to follow that scent whenever he catches it.

Only nymphs smell this sweet, like flower meadows and moonlight, like spring water and honeycombs. The distinct scent of a kore is eerie, and only gets stronger when he walks further into his lair, but what’s more is that he recognizes who this particular scent belongs to… He has memorized her in his loneliness, and every time he catches a whiff of her in the air outside, he can’t help but grow hard.

He barely even notices the absence of his usual mess, that someone has washed all his cups and put his wine pots in order. His den has seen a lot of brooming, and there are fresh flowers placed on his oaken table, thoughtful bouquets hanged from the roots of his oak. But before he gets to inspect those odd little things further – he’s used to trampling flowers out in the wild, he never even thought of using them as decoration, but they do look kind of nice, don’t they? – he hears a soft whimper from the back of the den.

From where he sleeps, and isn’t it peculiar how he can now smell something else, now, too… Something irresistibly heady, something that demands action at once, making his cock stir and swell to the point where it’s almost painful. There’s another soft moan, calling to him like an enchanted flute: his whole den has changed from a dark dungeon into a soft, scented temple, echoing with the sounds of a maiden in heat.

He finds her spread over his thick, musky furs, furs that have seen countless lonely nights, and have to be changed every turn of the moon because they’re so grimy. She doesn’t seem to have any trouble with laying down in his filth, the rough furs that smell of seed and satyr sweat, of old musk and maybe a few tears. Satyrs cannot cry, they say, but that’s only because no one ever sees them do so. He’s spilled more than his fill of salt on that makeshift bed, and not all of it was ropes of hot seed…

“P–please…”

She sees him, sees how surprised he is catching her here, in the place all nymphs always try to evade. She sees how hard he is while watching her bare and panting there, all over his furs, lips swollen from lust. Both up and down, her lips are wet and quivering; she’s completely ready to be taken, and only the tiniest sliver of respect prevents him from fucking her senseless right here and right now.

“Please, I beg of you…”

But when she begs for it like that…?

He doesn’t hesitate a moment longer. He simply cannot.

And why waste time on thinking how she got here (or more importantly, why she got here?) Why mull on the hot question of why isn’t the loveliest creature on earth trying to get away from him?

“No need to beg,” he grunts as he lays himself upon her, cock hot and already leaking as it finds her entrance.

The smell of ambrosia envelops him as he glides inside, the whimper from his nymph a song of paradise. She smiles softly at such immediate lust, or is it the sun that comes out of the clouds, somehow reaching under the branches of this oak?

She welcomes him with open arms, a tear falling down her temple and into her hair as he tries to be gentle with her. But it’s not really his size or his lust that makes her cry. Her hands trail up and down his sides, they try to desperately wrap around his wide torso. She looks into his eyes while he starts to rut her, amazed to have been granted such a blessing at all.

“I’m in love with you,” she sighs into the air between them, her eyes glimmering with worship in the dim, earthy dusk of his den.

He messes up with his thrusts, breathing out his shock while hovering over her. She’s so delicate and frail, and so desperate for a nymph who’s supposed to be frolicking in the open fields… She should be climbing in the tall trees and giggling at centaurs from there, she should be admiring the full moon and the stars, she should be playing in the freshwater with her sisters.

He always thought this one feared him the most, slinking into the shadows beneath the trees whenever she saw him. Casting her eyes down as if she didn’t want him to notice her at all, never mocking or teasing him like the others did. That’s why he left her alone: because he didn’t want to break her. She was far too pure for someone like him.

But now she’s here, with flowers and a hot, wet body, trying to grab him so hopelessly in her fragile embrace…

“You can’t say things like that, little one,” he warns, feeling something akin to fear for the first time in his life.

“Why not…? It’s true,” she chimes there beneath him, a few more tears of joy rolling down her cheeks.

His chest is burning, but the only sound that comes out of him is a low growl. A warning and a plea.

“You shouldn’t tease an old faun.”

“And you shouldn’t stop what you only just started...”

He blinks at her answer, at her soft smile.

Then, he shoots down to kiss her neck.

She moans from love when he opens his mouth, careful not to puncture her delicate flesh with his teeth: he only devours his nymph with soft hunger, licking and sucking her soft skin. Her giggles and sighs drive him to the sweetest madness as he starts to make love to her under the earth.

His home has never heard such cries of joy, felt or seen such displays of devotion… He returns her confessions thousandfold, in every way he can. These silly little creatures always fear a satyr’s love is only about lust, and therefore escape such hollow adoration, but he’s not here to just ease the pain in his sacks.

He’s now forever bound to her, whether she knows it or not…

#satyr!könig #nymph!reader #tw: lovemaking #könig x reader #purple prose

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gatorbites-imagines · 10 months ago

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John Constantine x tattoo artist?? Smut or no (you choose!) I think it would be cute if john gets his tats from the reader (also kind of a possessive/marking quality there lol)

John Constantine x Tattoo artist male reader

Headcanons

Sorry there’s been no posts this week, classes have started up again, so as you can imagine I’m exhausted and have a lot less free time. I’ve been using most of my free time to read JJK, ngl.

Imagine being a magical tattoo artist, something like a seal maker. You do large complex and beautiful pieces, but you hide different seals and protection markers inside the patterns. It keeps the real purpose of the tattoo a secret, but is also pretty to look at.

John already has tattoos in the hellblazer comics, but imagine you giving him different ink. Something a lot less obvious and more attractive.

It makes him pass as a hot blonde British guy covered in a lot of fancy ink, instead of some brit with lotsa weird cult looking tattoos.

John becomes one of your most common customers, mainly because a lot of the tattoos you put on him disappear after the seals been used, since its all defense and storage. He might also use it as an excuse to see you more, so he can flirt.

John being John, would get a tattoo right above his crotch, think like a reverse tramp stamp, or a succubus tattoo, just so he can have you sitting between his thighs as he gives his flirting his all.

You definitely end up railing him within an inch of his life in the tattoo chair, tsking and “punishing” him for straining the tattooed area too much, and “messing up your work” when he writhes too much.

In the beginning its just a friends with benefits situation, something like a “happy ending” you might say. John wouldn’t be someone to do relationships for the most part, since most of the ones he’s been in haven’t ended great.

He subconsciously also wouldn’t want to paint a target on your back, since hes always involved with all kinds of stuff. But he cant help but always find himself back with you, getting some new seal inked onto his skin.

And if every visit ends up with him bent over the tattoo chair, or down on his knees to “thank you”, then who will judge him.

John would end up finally acknowledging his feelings when you save him from his big bad of the week, using your complex and intricate tattoos to pull out weapons and spells, and later seal the being that’s after him.

Its hard to deny how he feels after that, and though he wouldn’t put it into words, he would act differently. Like just showing up at your parlor to spend time with you without getting anything done, or sending you little protection charms or trinkets.

At some point you guys just start kissing and acting like a couple, without actually putting a name to it. It’s a dangerous life you both live, and words mean everything, so you never tell anybody you guys are lovers, since that would make the target on you both even bigger.

It doesn’t keep you guys from pretty much living together and acting all domestic, or being completely exclusive to just each other. John turning down all advances made on him confuses people in the beginning, until they just come to accept it.

John ends up with even more tattoos, these a lot more complex than average useable seals. These are the kinds that you have spent your entire life developing, and had only used on yourself because they’re that powerful.

The league are knocked back by how powerful his spells have become, and how much damage he can withstand. Only other magic users with the knowledge know just how amazing his tattoos are. He never tells them where he got them, just because he’s an ass.

You end up helping out more with his business, and he ends up being free advertisement for your parlor. Of course, no one gets tattoos like you or John, you would never give a possible enemy that kind of power, but it helps pad your pockets quite a lot.

John’s enemies end up targeting you as well, but they’re easily dealt with for the most part.

He ends up getting teased be friends and allies that he’s getting soft and domestic, cuz he doesn’t go out to bars like before, and wants to be home in time to watch a movie with you, or just go to sleep together.

He ends up a lot less stressed too, since you rock his world whenever he needs it, and become someone he can let down his defenses and just be vulnerable with.

In the end he probably gets pavloved to get in the mood when you tattoo him, or he hears the noise of the tattoo gun. John always blames you for making him this way, because you always go down on him after giving him new ink, not that he’s complaining.

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theteasetwrites · 1 month ago

Text

Begin Again

Chapter 4: L'élu

❧ Media: The Walking Dead: Daryl Dixon ❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 1 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: violence, blood, death ❧ Word Count: 10k (sorry)

❧ In This Chapter: You and Daryl get to know the inhabitants of the abbey, as well as the truth behind Isabelle's intentions. Just when the two of you decide to leave, trouble from another group leads to limited options, and a possible way out.

❧ A/N: Well it looks like I finished this literally just in time for Season 2 lol. Also sorry this chapter is insanely long. And sorry I took so long to finish it. I don't know if there are many people who are reading this series lol but I sure do appreciate everyone reading it! I'm not sure how Season 2 is going to go with the sneak peeks we've been getting lately, but rest assured that (Y/N) will not be letting Isabelle anywhere near Daryl, that's for sure.

“Across the courtyard is where the sisters live,” said Isabelle, leading Daryl into the corridor with you following close behind, now dressed in a simple linen blouse that was a few sizes too big, tucked neatly into brown wool trousers. With a quick pause, she turned to Daryl as she led the two of you forward. “No men allowed.”

That interested you, because you’d seen a man. Well, a boy.

“What about the little boy I saw?” you asked.

“Laurent grew up here. With us. He was orphaned.” She continued to speak something in French to another nun as the three of you passed through the hall and into a wider room. As the two of you crossed the threshold, a couple of passing nuns carrying baskets of linens hesitated, stepping back a bit as their widened eyes took in your unfamiliar figures.

Before you could manually tug your facial muscles into a small smile, the nuns hurriedly scurried past, clearly not interested in pleasantries. Or perhaps it had been so long since the seemingly secluded cloister had visitors that they’d all but forgotten them. After all, you couldn’t really imagine many people happening to stumble upon the remains of this crumbling castle in the French countryside. You and Daryl, however, were an exception, to be sure.

“They’re afraid of you,” said Isabelle, a breathy laugh lilting her words.

“We’ll be gone soon,” Daryl assured her. It assured you, too.

Advancing into what seemed to be the foyer, your eyes were drawn to your left, where iron bars separated the grand entrance way from what appeared to be a small armory. Daryl followed closely behind as you entered, your eyes darting between neatly organized displays of rudimentary medieval weapons—from maces to spears to halberds. You’d seen well-stocked armories, one of which was in Alexandria. Even by Alexandria’s standards, this one was impressive.

“Medieval churches often had weapons rooms,” Isabelle said. “You needed them back then.”

You split from Daryl, each of you drawn like moths to flames to either side of the small room. You found yourself entranced by a display of war hammers, the silver of their heads dulled by a few layers of dust that must’ve accumulated over years of disuse. One in particular caught your attention—a smaller one, about the length of your arm, with a two-sided head, one side beveled and blunt, the other sharp and curved slightly. It reminded you of your ice axe, the scrappy hiking tool that you’d found in a sporting goods store in Georgia. That was so long ago now, but the thing somehow survived through it all, though in truth you no longer had any idea where it could be, after the mess of everything that went down before you landed here.

“Makes sense.” The gravel of Daryl’s voice with its soft echo stirred you from your thoughts of distant memories, now clouded by seawater and sand.

“We’ve trained ourselves to use them. Just in case.”

“Killer nuns, huh?” you replied, a hint of disbelief in your voice.

“Well, we can defend ourselves if we need to.”

The nun met your gaze with a relaxed smile. In her eyes, that damned calm that you couldn’t get past. She was too inscrutable, too poised. She knew something, you just weren’t sure what.

Behind you, you felt Daryl’s body brush past. Turning around, you saw what had entranced him—a wall of guns on display, each with a small silver plaque identifying the make and model (in French, of course). Even the guns had an antique look to them, with their stocks all made from a rich umber wood. A far cry from the militaristic automatic weapons that Daryl had been used to carrying over a year ago when he was a trooper for the Commonwealth, but he found a subtle artfulness to these machines, as if they were crafted by hand. The collection reminded him of the old guns his father kept laying around the house he’d grown up in rural northeast Georgia. He’d almost shot his own eye out with one when he was three years old, according to Merle, who had a much clearer memory of the event than the younger Dixon brother did. Nevertheless, he couldn’t forget that wood stock. Not any kind of pleasant memory, of course, but a memory nonetheless.

“Père Jean was a collector,” continued Isabelle. “His grandfather fought in the Maquis.”

Daryl’s finger trailed to a suspiciously empty space between the other weapons, where a pair of display hangers were waiting patiently without their rifle.

“You’ve got one missin’,” he said.

Isabelle replied calmly, “That’s the one I used.”

Your gaze flickered towards her, and when you caught a flash of her pale blue eyes already on you like a sniper’s crosshairs, you quickly snapped your attention away. Beside the firearms display was a door left ajar. The room it led into was smaller, with its own collection of antique tomes and trinkets. Your eyes were fixated on the bookshelf behind a mahogany desk, upon which sat a microscope and a small rack of glass vials.

Approaching behind you, Isabelle’s voice continued. “That’s Père Jean’s office.”

You were beginning to wonder where this mysterious Père Jean was. Wherever he was, he certainly had an impressive library, just based on the sheer volume of leather-bound books packed tightly into the shelves. Despite your inability to read the French text, you were more interested in Père Jean’s books than you were in his guns. Daryl had more than once told you that guns were more useful in the outside world because you could use them to defend yourself. Well, he should’ve known better, as someone who had once been an accidental victim of your ability to use a rather large encyclopedia as a blunt force object.

As for Daryl, his practicality overcame the curiosity that befell you, for his eyes were immediately drawn to what appeared to be an old shortwave radio, not too unlike ones you’ve seen Eugene hauling around Alexandria back when he was setting up the radio system there.

“You know how to use that radio?” he asked, pointing towards the contraption.

“It’s been a while since I’ve managed to reach anyone on it.”

“Do you mind if I give it a try?” you asked. You didn’t want to brag, but you knew your way around a radio. Many nights spent trying to get a hold of Daryl through a crackling radio frequency during his particularly long hunts or his brief stint as the leader of the Sanctuary were very educational.

“Sure,” she replied. “Once you get better.”

There was another exchange of looks between you and Daryl, the latter of which was just starting to lose his patience. You could tell. The irritated twitch in his eye said it all.

Silence settled in for just a few moments, until you received the unspoken impression that Isabelle was ready for you to exit the room. You did so, but as soon as you heard the click of a key turning, you turned to catch the nun locking the door shut from the outside. Your eyes followed her hands as she clipped a rusty keychain onto the brown leather belt that cinched her waist.

“The last one was a Spaniard,” she continued. “A few months ago. He spoke a bit of English. I could try reaching him again.”

You kept your mouth shut, lest you say something snarky.

“Your English is good,” remarked Daryl.

“My parents worked for Médecins San Frontiéres. They traveled all over.”

How convenient, you thought.

“Bosnia, Chechnya, Rwanda.” Perhaps it was the jealousy still souring your impression of the woman, but you couldn’t help an internal eye-roll. Of course this woman was beautiful and skilled and tough and intelligent and worldly, too. You hated her. Well, you didn’t, but you hated the idea of her. Too perfect. You knew it was petty. Still, as long as you kept your thoughts to yourself, you were sure you’d be able to warm up to her. Maybe.

“My sister and I finished our schooling in Paris,” she added.

“How’d you end up here?” Daryl asked.

“A bunch of good decisions.”

There was a familiarity to her words, but you couldn’t place it. Unbeknownst to you, you couldn’t place it because they were words Daryl had spoken to Isabelle earlier, only slightly altered.

A bunch of bad decisions, he had said when she asked him the same question he now asked her.

You looked between them, their stares lingering. You did not like it. Not one bit. Not because of jealousy, but because it was clear that whoever this woman was, she was capable of pulling strings—of manipulation.

Well, maybe it was also jealousy. A bit.

The dusty, centuries-old air of the castle gave way to a fresh breeze winding through the covered walkways that surrounded the courtyard you’d seen earlier. Isabelle herded the two of you through the open corridor as the other nuns toiled in the garden. It was impressive, though more primitive than the ones you’d constructed back home.

“Was this garden always here?” you asked. “I mean, before.”

“Yes and no,” Isabelle answered. “The abbey was already being modernized by the time I came. Our hope was to convert the land into an agricultural property that would support us, fund our mission.”

“Looks like it’s working,” you said. “It’s impressive.”

Isabelle turned to smile at you. It seemed more natural this time, less forced than the previous ones. “It’s been enough to keep us going.”

Across the courtyard, you noticed the jerky movement of another nun, tilting her head to signal something to Isabelle, you presumed. She was an older woman with a black hood, as opposed to Isabelle’s white. She must’ve been a full-on mother superior, or whatever you’d call it. You weren’t entirely sure. Her face was serious, though, tinged with what you interpreted to be distrust, or even fear. No doubt it was related to the two weather-worn strangers the nun towed behind her.

“Take a seat,” said Isabelle. “I’ll be right back.”

She left the two of you before a stone table, and just ahead of you, a familiar face approached: the young nun you’d first encountered when you awoke here. Sylvie, you recalled Isabelle calling her. She carried a tray of food with a jug of water, placing it on the table in front of you without so much as a second of eye contact. Perhaps she was wary of you, too. You didn’t blame her too much, considering how much you’d stressed her out upon your rude awakening.

“Thank―uh… merci,” you said quietly, a tad insecure of the way the unfamiliar word sounded on your American tongue. Still, Sylvie seemed to respond to you with a slight lift of her head. She met your eyes with an anxious look in her wide eyes. Unsure of what else to do, you simply smiled. The nun did not smile back, only nodded her head in one quick, near imperceptible motion, and then turned sharply, walking away with quick steps.

Daryl’s shoulder grazed yours as he leaned over the table to inspect the provisions: two crisp red apples, two bowls of stew, two hard boiled eggs nestled in tiny cups, four slices of homemade wheat bread (buttered), and two small glasses for water.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he took a piece of bread into his hands, breaking it apart and putting the other half back with its brethren. That was a habit of his―rationing even when he didn’t really need to.

“How is it?” you asked, watching him nearly finish the bread in two bites.

His lips pursed as he chewed and nodded his head. “Good.”

“Better than mine?”

“Nah.”

You took the piece he’d left and took a small bite, savoring the taste. “Mm… You’re right. Mine is better.”

With the tray of food in your possession, you sat together on the stone slab connecting two columns in the peristyle, facing each other as you leaned against the hard stone structures and savored the simple foods you’d been given. Once in a while, you’d look out into the courtyard, watching the nuns carry out their daily chores. You spied a goat or two, and a dozen or so chickens squawking about. The boy you’d seen earlier, however, was nowhere to be seen.

“I wonder why Isabelle’s so stingy with that radio,” you said. “You think she’s hiding something?”

“Maybe. Or she doesn’t want us to leave.”

“Maybe both.” Taking a bite of your apple, you couldn’t help but wonder just what kind of people you’d run into this time. “Ritual sacrifice,” you said. Daryl lifted his head from the bowl of soup he slurped from.

“What?”

“Maybe they want to sacrifice us for some weird cult thing. Like an offering to God. You ever see The Wicker Man? What if human sacrifices are what keeps this garden so nice for harvest season?”

Daryl couldn’t quite tell if you were serious or not. After all, stranger things had happened to the two of you.

“You’re jokin’, right?”

A smile slowly crept across your tired face. “I guess. Mostly. I just know there’s something up. I need to get to that radio, Daryl.”

“Me too,” he agreed. “Sooner the better.” He leaned in closer now, and you followed suit. His voice lowered to a whisper, he said, “The keys are on her belt. Maybe tonight we can…”

His voice trailed off into nothing as his eyes shifted to your left, focusing on something else. Despite your feeling that something was approaching, you kept your own focus on him. “Daryl?”

He leaned back quickly, putting distance between the two of you once again. Before you were even aware of the boy’s presence, he’d gingerly placed what looked to be a Rubik’s cube onto the stone bench. Like you’d just seen a giant spider, you stood up swiftly to distance yourself from the contraption.

The boy, the same one you’d seen earlier, you presumed, didn’t hesitate to take your seat. He looked at Daryl expectantly.

“Now you try,” said the boy. Laurent, you recalled.

Without the knight’s helmet obscuring his appearance, you took note of the long, slightly unkempt hair that reached his shoulders in dark waves. It reminded you of Daryl’s, put the boy himself seemed much too talkative and abrupt for further comparison between the two.

With a somewhat suspicious gaze, Daryl looked between the puzzle and the boy. It was solved, he noted. He could never figure these things out. Neither could you.

“My record is three minutes and twelve seconds,” Laurent continued proudly. He picked up the cube and held it out towards Daryl for further indication. Daryl took the cube in his own hand, tossed it around for a moment or two, then handed the thing back.

“I’m not really good at shit like that,” he said. Perhaps being away from the children for the last month or so had deprived him of his usual sensibilities which prevented him from cursing in front of them. Daryl didn’t even notice he’d done it, but you did. Still, you were too confused by the precocious child’s sudden appearance to say anything.

“No? Oh. I’m quite good at… shitlikethat.” You cringed slightly at the boy repeating Daryl’s words, albeit sloppily and in a French accent. You just hoped he wouldn’t repeat it in front of the nuns. “Math problems, science, music, geography. Also, I know all the countries and capitals from back in the before time.”

An exhale escaped from your nose. “Wow.” Laurent’s alert face turned towards you, looking up at you with cunning, yet unassuming, brown eyes. “You learned all of that here?”

He smiled. “Père Jean taught me everything.”

“Well, he sounds like a smart man. I’d love to meet him.”

The boy’s face visibly darkened before he turned back to Daryl, who clearly was the object of his fascination. “Pardon my manners, monsieur. I’m Laurent. Pleased to make your acquaintance” Holding his hand out, Daryl took it, and the boy administered a single firm shake.

“How many people do you think live within the boundaries of what was once France?” he asked Daryl. “Starting from sixty-seven million people before the fall, I speculate current French populace is fewer than two-hundred-thousand.”

“I was gonna say way less,” replied Daryl.

“Much less. Do you know how long it would take to repopulate that many people?”

“No.”

Laurent paused, lowering his gaze to the ground. “Six generations. Perhaps seven. Hurts my stomach just thinking about it.”

“Yeah, the math sucks.”

Another pause, while you seemed to be a ghost in this conversation. You knew that the most likely explanation was that Laurent had probably not grown up knowing many other boys or men, so it made sense that he was eager to speak to Daryl. That, and there was always something about Daryl that children gravitated towards. You found it rather cute, even though most of the time he had no idea how to talk to children. There were even times when he was at a loss for words when speaking to Robin.

“Do you have children, monsieur? A wife? Parents?”

Daryl’s eyes lifted towards you, his face questioning. You’d yet to discuss with each other the extent to which you’d inform these people of your lives back home. Isabelle already knew of your relationship to one another, but not about your children, or the others back home. She didn’t know about Alexandria. For now, you made up your mind that no one here needed to know of anything besides the fact that you and Daryl were married.

“I’m his wife,” you said, catching the boy’s attention again. Holding out your hand, you offered a smile. “(Y/N).”

Laurent looked at you again as he shook your hand, much more delicately than he had with Daryl. He seemed more confident with the man, more eager to impress him. With you, he seemed… fragile.

And now, with the boy’s full attention on you, you found yourself held hostage by his stare―dark and paralyzing. When he let go of your hand, his eyes seemed to fill with sadness, like a kind of grief.

“You’re homesick,” he said to you. “I see it in your eyes.”

The smile on your lips melted into a lukewarm puddle on your face. You always knew you tended to wear your emotions on your sleeve, but you’d never met a young child so perceptive.

“You can tell that just from my eyes?”

“I feel things. In my stomach. I feel your sadness.”

Breaking the silence that settled between you, a distant voice called out, “Laurent!” and some words in French you didn’t know.

After turning to see the nun calling to him, he turned back to you. “Time for poetry. Père Jean awaits.”

He began to walk away, his Rubik’s cube in hand, but he turned back once more, placing the puzzle on the bench beside Daryl.

“Now you try,” he said again before finally taking his leave.

Daryl’s movements were jittery with impatience as he wedged the knife in the doorjamb whilst jiggling the handle in different motions. Meanwhile, you stood watch a few yards away, just in case any passing nuns caught the two of you attempting to get into Père Jean’s study, where the radio sat in waiting.

It was still daylight, which you found to be a hindrance, but you couldn’t wait much longer for nightfall. Time was something the two of you didn’t exactly have, not when it came to trying to get back home.

“Clear,” you signed from across the small room that stored the nuns’ weapons.

Daryl nodded in acknowledgement, then turned his focus back to his so far failed attempts to open the door without a key. With a huff, he continued with different techniques, all of which seemed fruitless. His face contorted in frustration, with impatience seeming to cloud his ability to devise a more clever method. The door simply wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard he strained to get the knife to disturb the locking mechanism.

Like goddamn Fort Knox, he thought to himself.

And then, you’re hearing it before your mind or body can react. Daryl is frozen in momentary suspension. You can feel your heart pump faster and your blood quicken. Daryl’s eyes immediately search for you, then his mind races the same way it has a thousand times before as his hand curls tighter around the handle of the knife he purloined. And instinctually, you reach for a weapon that you do not have.

The growl gets louder, but not closer. It’s not moving. It’s stationary, but taunted. Laurent’s voice is meandering under the guttural groans of the unseen creature. His voice isn’t frightened, though. It’s calm. At ease.

You didn’t waste another second.

But before your feet made any forward movement, you felt your right hand now gripping a cylindrical wooden handle. Daryl moved past you once he knew the weapon he’d given you was in your hand―the small warhammer you’d been fixated on earlier.

Following not too far behind Daryl, you rounded the corner out to the courtyard, where you saw Laurent. He was standing in front of an old wooden door with a square barred window. Between the rusty iron bars, a pale, decrepit hand stretched out towards the boy, who seemed all too calm. In Laurent’s hands, a book. It came together now—he was reading to the creature.

Daryl hurried towards the boy, pulling him away by the shoulder. You stood back, tightening your grip on your weapon. The walker seemed contained, but it reached out with both hands now, growling and snarling at Daryl.

“What the hell are you doin’?” asked Daryl.

“This is Pére Jean,” replied Laurent, as if it was obvious. “We are waiting for him to rise again.”

Daryl looked from the walker, to Laurent, to you. You could see in his eyes that his tolerance had just run out. Daryl had been prepared to put up with as much as he needed to if it meant getting the two of you back home, but this?

Well, you and he had seen this kind of thing before, all the way back at the farm. Hershel had been keeping walkers in his barn, most of which had in life been his family or friends, in the hopes that one day there’d be a cure for this disease. He thought they were sick, not dead. Back then, it made a little more sense. It was the beginning, and people were coping with this terrible new world in any way they could.

Still, Daryl had no room for understanding back then, him being one of the first to lead the charge against exterminating the walkers in the barn. He certainly didn’t have it within him to understand it now, twelve years later, when all who were living should’ve known better. Even nuns.

“Laurent.” Isabelle’s voice echoed softly, but urgently, through the courtyard. She came toward the boy as she spoke to him in French. You figured she dismissed him, because soon he was walking away. Now, her eyes turned to you, then Daryl.

There was no unsettling calm there now, no more pretense. In this moment, despite your disgust, you felt that this was the sincerest form of her you had seen yet. There was fear in her eyes. Not of you, not of Daryl, and not of the walker. Something else entirely. For the first time since you’d been here, you felt sympathy for her, though you could not place why.

“Let me explain,” she said, but Daryl was already turning, making his way back into the abbey. You followed closely, but with an odd sense of guilt in the pit of your stomach. You pushed it away. Intuition would have to be put on the back burner. Survival was more important.

“You got a lot of witchy shit goin’ on around here.” Daryl pushed open the doors to the room where he’d awoken. Though you followed him, your feet froze in place. Isabelle caught up to him, her face as white as the cloth shrouding her. “Dead priest in a closet and a creepy kid? No thanks.”

You watched Daryl as he gathered his belongings. You felt an incessant pounding inside your head as thoughts ran wild and emotions flooded you. On one hand, you were more than happy to pack up your things and get out of here, but on the other, you wanted to know more about what was going on here. Perhaps it was that curiosity that often got you into trouble, but you couldn’t help it. Maybe seeing the nun’s facade crumble had made you more receptive to the idea of hearing her out. You weren’t sure why. You’d been more than ready to leave this place since the minute you opened your eyes this morning.

“It’s not what you think,” she said. Her eyes flashed from him to you, as if pleading. There was so much desperation in her, so much that you felt it flooding into you. Whatever she wanted, it was serious.

“Doesn’t matter what I think. We’re outta here.” Daryl yanked the nightshirt he’d awoken in and stuffed it into the backpack he’d found on the boat. Looking at you from across the room, his gaze was firm. Unyielding. “C’mon,” he said. “Get your stuff. We’re goin’. Now.”

Before you could respond, the doors behind you rattled shut. Isabelle stood in front of the closed doors, blocking your only exit. You knew that you could probably push past her smaller frame if you needed to, and Daryl most certainly could, but her desperation seemed strong enough to put up a fight.

“You can’t leave. Not without us. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Isabelle’s eyes were locked onto Daryl as she spoke. You looked between the two of them, confused and getting increasingly irritated with Isabelle’s lack of detailed explanation.

“Waiting for Daryl?” you asked. “What do you mean waiting for him?”

Isabelle’s gaze shifted towards you. “He’s the messenger.” Her eyes were wide and her voice firm with confidence in this statement, as if it meant anything to you or him.

Daryl paused his hurried packing as he looked over to you. He was just as confused, and just as frustrated.

“The messenger?” he repeated.

“To deliver Laurent.”

You let out a huff. “Deliver him? Deliver him where?”

From her pocket she procured a folded piece of parchment. She hastily unfolded the paper as she approached Daryl. “He drew this.” With a low grumble, he took the picture into his hands.

You side-stepped to place yourself next to Daryl, looking over his shoulder to get a glimpse of whatever madness Isabelle was ranting about.

The parchment was faded and cracked, but the colored pencil outlined with graphite was new and crisp. The style was simple and childlike, of course, but clearly discernible. Depicted on the page was the body of a man engulfed in blue waves, with his head poking out and resting upon a yellow beach dotted with seashells. It looked as if he was washing onto the shore. The man sported sinuous hairs that reached his shoulder and a cross hatching of lines along his chin that you assumed represented facial hair.

Had the situation been different, you might’ve found this amusing. After all, the man in the picture was vague looking enough to resemble any man with slightly long hair and a beard. It could’ve been Jesus Christ himself, but Daryl? You would have laughed if you weren’t so conflicted about what to think. Was Isabelle just plain out of her right mind, or was this going to lead to an opportunity to get the two of you home?

Daryl, however, didn’t have as much of a nuanced reaction as you did. “Yeah, he should stick to math.”

“So, you think this guy in Laurent’s picture… is Daryl?”

Isabelle seemed to ignore your line of questioning, as if it was obvious. “Three weeks ago. Before you came.”

Daryl lifted a black wool coat over his shoulders. “He drew a guy on a beach. So what?”

Once again, Isabelle’s eyes were focused on Daryl. Whatever part you had in this, if any at all, was apparently nowhere near as important as his. You might’ve been slightly offended if you weren’t confused.

“I saw you fight the Guerrières,” she replied. “I know you can get him there safely.”

You inserted yourself once again, practically jumping in between Isabelle and Daryl. “Get him where?” you asked, or rather, demanded.

Daryl held up his hand as if to signal her to stop. “I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about,” Daryl said, his voice bordering on exhausted now, as if he was tired of even entertaining this. Daryl turned to you now as he slung one strap of his pack over his shoulder. “(Y/N),” he said, “get your stuff. Seriously.”

Despite your bewilderment laced with a heavy dose of irritation, you couldn’t help but be entranced by the nun’s words. Your curiosity, once again, had gotten the better of you. “Hold on, I want to hear this,” you said, half out of hope that perhaps it could somehow lead you to getting home, and half out of sheer entertainment value.

Daryl huffed as he shook his head, not ready to argue with you, but ready to move out of this stuffy room and get going, with you kicking and screaming if he had to.

“Our leader is a Buddhist monk,” Isabelle continued. “He came through on a pilgrimage some years ago. He recognized something in Laurent, an answer to a prophecy.”

“Prophecy?” you asked, but Isabelle once again did not directly indulge your curiosity. Meanwhile, Daryl pushed past you towards the door, though you and he both knew he wasn’t going anywhere without you.

Isabelle followed Daryl, and you followed swiftly behind. She spoke rapidly, trying to get every last word of context out as if somehow that would persuade him. But you knew Daryl, and you knew that the only way of persuading him to do anything in this situation was if Isabelle offered him some sort of lead regarding your journey home. For your part, you hoped that encouraging her to ramble like her life depended on it would do just that.

“L’Union has a base up north, a community that will raise and nurture him to be who he was born to be.”

“‘Who he was born to be?’” Daryl repeated, opening the doors into the corridor.

“Six months ago, Lama Rinpoche said it was time,” she sputtered as she hurried to match Daryl’s longer strides. “Pére Jean was supposed to escort him, but… Well, you saw.”

“Yeah, I did. You got him locked up, thinkin’ the prayers and poetry are gonna fix him.” Daryl turned the corner, into the foyer, and then the armory.

“Laurent is special,” continued Isabelle. “I think you see that.”

“Do I?”

“His mother died in childbirth,” Isabelle continued. You listened much more intently than Daryl seemed to, but she still spoke directly to him. “He shouldn’t have survived that. It’s a miracle he’s even alive.

You stood cross-armed, leaning against the wall as you watched Daryl pick through the weapons. The first thing he grabbed was a simple wooden crossbow. It wasn’t at all like his, but the likelihood of ever seeing that crossbow again was next to nothing. He picked up bolts, too, and a morningstar. You never could figure out how to use that thing, despite how many times Daryl had attempted to show you.

With the morningstar in his hand, he lifted it up to show it to Isabelle, while his eyes still focused on the rest of the weapons laid out before him. He was like a kid in a candy store, though much grumpier.

“Can I borrow this?” he asked, though he didn’t seem keen on receiving an answer.

“He’s shown abilities,” Isabelle continued, once again. “Perceptions. Compassion beyond any child.”

Daryl turned with his haul to focus his attention on the weapons behind him. Isabelle seemed to grow frustrated now too, but only just the slightest bit. That calm demeanor was hard to penetrate.

“He sees into people,” she said more firmly now. You recalled how Laurent had taken one look at you and known exactly what you were feeling. Granted, the rational explanation was that he had known you and Daryl were far from home from talking to Isabelle prior, so it wouldn’t have been a stretch for him to assume that you were, indeed, homesick.

Of course, you thought Robin was very perceptive and emotionally intelligent, too. Robin was special to you, but all mothers believe their children to be special. It was nothing more than a simple personality trait, as far as you were concerned.

“We used to have a kid like that in grade school,” Daryl remarked. “He used to get his ass kicked a lot.” Daryl unsheathed a dagger as he spoke, then held it up to Isabelle, once again feigning his need for permission. “I’m gonna borrow this too, all right?”

“He needs teaching. Guidance we cannot provide. He’ll be safer there, nurtured… Until he’s ready.”

In one last burst of energized curiosity, you stepped forward to garner Isabelle’s attention. “Ready for what?” you asked, and this time, if Isabelle wasn’t straightforward, you were sure you were about to scream.

Isabelle’s gaze found you, her eyes ice cold and alert. Circles of pale blue encapsulated sharp black pupils that penetrated your own until you felt like you could see inside her mind if you tried hard enough. She seemed crazed, in a way, but also perfectly sane. Maybe it’s because what she was about to say would sound crazy to you, but to her, it was just logic.

“To be the new Messiah.”

Your eyes blinked in quick succession, as if to somehow blink away whatever she had just said to you in complete seriousness. You had only mostly been joking with your theories about these nuns being religious wackos. In this particular instance, you hated being proven right.

“To lead the revival of humanity,” Isabelle added. It did not make you feel any less creeped out.

“Yep,” you said. “We’re out of here.”

The next several moments were a blur, but you soon found yourself watching Daryl yank the keychain from the frantic nun’s belt. He turned towards the door to Pére Jean’s study while she continued to rant about Laurent’s destiny. You couldn’t catch exactly what she was saying as you pushed past her behind Daryl to hurry into the office, your sights set on that radio.

“Don’t you see?” Isabelle continued, nearly out of breath at this point. “This is why you’re here. This is why you washed ashore. This is why I was on the road that day. This is why you were saved.”

Daryl ignored her, rummaging around the room for anything that might’ve been useful on your journey while you fiddled with a few of the buttons and dials. It didn’t seem to respond to your prodding.

“Everything happens for a reason,” she added, paying no mind to you and focusing solely on Daryl.

“Can you fire this thing up?” you asked.

She looked at you in slight confusion, as though she couldn’t fathom your inability to take what she said seriously. You knew she believed it with every fiber in her being, but that didn’t make it true.

“The tube broke a month ago.”

You paused your movements as you processed her words, bile rising up in your esophagus and burning your throat. As for Daryl, he turned with a sharpness that startled even you.

“What?” he asked.

Isabelle’s eyes sank so as not to capture the wrath of Daryl’s stare. “I’ve been trying to get a replacement,” she said, more quietly than before.

Your anger was quickly replaced with hopelessness as you stood up and sighed. Of course the one thing that might be of some immediate help in getting you home was not working.

But Daryl’s anger was potent, more like a searing sting than a raging maelstrom. Still, the storm wasn’t far off. One more inconvenience might tip him over the edge.

Daryl huffed a chuckle of disbelief, then pointed an accusatory finger at the nun. His voice lowered to a growl as he spoke. “You’ve been fuckin’ with us.”

Silence settled uncomfortably between the three of you. Looking between them, you felt the role of mediator begin to overcome you, whether you liked it or not. “Is there… Is there any way we could find a boat, or maybe some kind of settlement that has a boat? Someone who can get us home?”

You didn’t know what to make of Isabelle’s next period of silence. It was clear that she was thinking, but you could not make heads or tails of what. Perhaps she was thinking of a way for the two of you to get home, or perhaps she was concocting some kind of plan that would get the two of you to do whatever it was she wanted. You didn’t think she would let you go that easily, not with how passionately she spoke just moments ago.

“There’s a port up north that may still be active.”

Daryl jumped in before you could even respond. “Show me.” His arm raised towards the large map of France sprawled out on the wall.

“Le Havre,” replied Isabelle, and your eyes darted to where she pointed: a star demarcating a city in the north of France, only a stretch of sea separating it from Britain. The city’s name was written in slanted letters that were bigger than the myriad smaller names surrounding it, but less prominent than the not-too-distant PARIS. It must’ve been a rather major city in its heyday.

“We’ve heard rumors of ships that come and go. But it’s just rumors.”

Turning to look at Daryl, you noticed his focus was fixed on the map. His eyes moved quickly over the lines that stretched across the colored surface like veins. His hand floated up to his chin absentmindedly as his mind processed a dozen or so thoughts. You watched his index finger rub against the skin just under his bottom lip, back and forth. You found yourself holding your breath, waiting for him to speak.

Daryl’s thoughts collided into one, unified by a piece of red thread pinned to the map in a jagged line, surely demarcating some kind of important route. His finger wagged to trace the line in the air as he spoke, “What is this route that’s marked out right here?”

“That’s Pére Jean’s plan to get the boy up north,” replied Isabelle.

You moved closer, your eyes pinpointing various golden pushpins lodged into the thread, each matching up with a town or city noted on the map.

“What do these pins indicate?” you asked.

“They’re stops,” she answered. “Places where we have friends who can help to connect us, radio frequencies.”

A swell of hope rose up in you as you turned to Daryl with wide, bright eyes. Daryl’s attention was caught by your hand squeezing his forearm, further indicating your renewed vigor. “We can take that route up to the port, honey.”

Isabelle seemed to catch onto your enthusiasm. “It’s a treacherous path north,” she said. “Hard to find your way.” The nun turned to you and Daryl with something almost smug in her voice as she spoke. “Harder if you don’t speak French.”

Your heart sank at her discouragement, but Daryl was unmoving. “Get your stuff,” he said to you. This time, you would do so.

In the room you’d awoken in, you scrambled to compile whatever scraps of clothing you’d picked up on the way here, and whatever was left of the clothes you washed up in. Pivoting your head in all sorts of directions, you searched for the large denim vest you’d been wearing. It was nearly brand new when you’d left home weeks ago, its faded Levi’s tag still hanging on by a thread before you yanked it off. Now, it was torn in more than a few places and stained by blood and oil and God only knew what else.

But after a few more frantic turns, you spied it folded neatly on a chair across the room. It wasn’t the vest that mattered, though. It was the contents of its inner pocket.

You hadn’t found yourself the time to check if the photos were still tucked in where they’d been before, but you figured now was as good a time as any.

With a sigh of relief, you removed the Polaroids from the pocket, zipped up and sealed away from the sea water that had engulfed you in the chaos of that night.

Some water had come through, but not enough to mar the image of Robin holding baby Westley in her arms, or Dog and Robin playing in a pile of leaves as Daryl watched in amusement. Every photograph revived another memory as you flipped through them, until the images were clouded by your tears.

That was another reason you’d been dreading checking your pocket―the inevitable sadness that would overcome you if you saw what you’d so foolishly left behind.

It hadn’t been for nothing, of course. You’d never leave home for nothing. It was for Michonne, for Rick. That was the point of all this, and look where it had gotten you. And there was so much to scold yourself for.

For letting Daryl go.

For agreeing to go with him when he asked.

For wanting to be a better wife in the place of being a better mother.

Or at least, that’s what you saw it as now. Why couldn’t you let him go alone? After all, he’d gone out alone more times than you could count ever since the prison. You weren’t a stranger to the concept of Daryl leaving you for sometimes weeks at a time, but this time was different. Daryl had asked you to go. Wanted you to go. You’d joked that it was like a vacation, but it wasn’t. Both of you knew that.

But a part of you was glad you’d gone. If Daryl had gotten into this mess himself, you knew yourself enough to know that you would’ve gone after him anyway, leaving the children in Alexandria no matter what. It was inevitable, you supposed. You hated it. The idea of them alone terrified you, though you hadn’t let yourself dwell on it much until now.

And that’s when your breathing became rapid, your heart pounding while every hair on your body stood on end as you thought of every horrible thing that could possibly happen while you were gone. Each second you stood here was another moment in which the unthinkable could happen to everyone and everything you loved. Hot tears seemed to burn their way down your cheeks, despite how hard you tried to hold them back. A pointless endeavor.

Just as you began to let yourself cry, to let yourself fully feel the weight of what you’d let happen, you heard your name on Daryl’s voice, calling to you from outside. “Let’s go!” he called out.

You swiped your face with your sleeve, and swallowed the unborn tears.

Outside, you lugged your bag over your shoulder to meet up with Daryl, who stood outside near the front gate. Isabelle stood facing him, while the other nuns, perhaps a dozen or so of them, scattered about as if to watch the outsiders leave. Entertainment, you supposed. Or maybe a way to make sure the two of you were really gone.

Laurent was there, too, and you heard him say something to Daryl, but by the time you made it within earshot, he was quiet.

“It ain’t my problem,” Daryl said to Isabelle, and that was all you could catch of their conversation.

The nun’s face looked dejected, hopeless. Though you’d felt mostly annoyed with the woman throughout your stay thus far, even though the reasons weren’t very justified, you couldn’t help but feel sympathy. Perhaps you had no idea what she was going through, nor she you, but at least you could understand her sadness, for whatever it was worth.

“Thank you,” you said, trying to make up for Daryl’s lack of manners. “For helping us.”

Isabelle smiled softly, but there was still a great sadness in her eyes. Daryl made his way towards the heavy wooden door that separated the abbey from the outside world, expecting you to follow.

“And, um… good luck. With everything.”

She only nodded in response, which you took as your signal to leave.

A dirt road made by tire tracks in the ground led the two of you away from the abbey, into the surrounding woods. Maybe less than a mile or so had you walked in near silence, only the sound of gravel underfoot, until you spoke.

“You know, you could’ve at least said thank you.”

Daryl’s brows knit together as he looked at you. “What?”

“Back at the abbey. I don’t like the woman very much but she might’ve saved our lives, especially yours. She let us take weapons, food for the road…”

“Pfft,” he scoffed. “You on a high horse now?”

Smiling, you shook your head. “No, I just… I don’t know. They might be crazy but at least they helped us.”

“Yeah, helped us ‘cause they think I’m The Messenger.” Daryl’s voice rose as he mimicked Isabelle’s words. You snorted and lightly shoved his shoulder with yours.

“Mm, yeah. You notice how everyone there was super interested in you, but not in me?”

One corner of Daryl’s lips curled every so slightly as he looked at you with playful, but tired, eyes. “You jealous again?”

“No,” you laughed. “Well, I mean…”

Your voice trailed off as the sound of distant engines grew louder with each moment that passed. Daryl looked back towards the abbey, but it wasn’t coming from that direction. He turned the other way, and sure enough, it was coming closer—towards the two of you.

There were no words exchanged in this moment, only the feeling of Daryl’s hand grasping your wrist and pulling you to the side of the road, into the wild shrubbery.

Peering through the gently rustling leaves, you watched as a caravan of vehicles zoomed past, heading towards the abbey. You recognized the military-grade jeeps, their insignia painted in white flashing by fast but just enough that you could recognize it from yesterday. It must’ve been the same group that had attacked you, and if it was, then that would undoubtedly spell trouble for the nuns.

Daryl’s eyes were locked onto the caravan until it disappeared into the overgrown woods that shrouded the walls of the abbey. His mind was at war within itself, thoughts of making a break for it with you and leaving the nuns to their fate battling with the moral dilemma that would inevitably haunt him if he did so. And then there was you, of course, who he knew would be against the idea, tempting as it was.

But of course he couldn’t do that. The nuns were well-equipped thanks to the armory, but clearly not experienced in fighting living human beings with automatic weapons. Simple firearms and medieval weapons in the hands of even the most experienced fighter would still be challenged against such a militarized force.

“They’re heading for the abbey,” you said quietly, your voice barely rising above the now distant grumbling of engines. “If we start back now, we can catch up to them before―”

“Nah,” he replied. He looked at you for a moment, watching your face go from confused to annoyed very quickly. “You stay here, I’ll go.”

After over ten years together, you’d think he’d understand that that simply wasn’t how this was going to work, but he had to try.

You tilted your head in questioning. “You’re joking, right?”

He wasn’t.

After some whisper-bickering on the way back to the abbey, the two of you had come to an agreement that you’d wait just outside the front gate, ready to come to Daryl’s aid if he had been gone a suspiciously long time or if you heard something going awry. Daryl had managed to somehow convince you that only one of you going in made more sense than both of you risking your lives for the nuns, but you weren’t exactly happy about it. Any situation which alleviated Daryl’s stress was bound to send yours off the charts.

If you’d had a watch, you might’ve timed him, but alas. All you could do was count the seconds in your head, and keep your eyes and ears open. Leaning against the brick wall, you huffed out an exasperated breath as you squeezed the handle of your hammer with both hands. After a while, you had half a mind to go in there despite nothing particularly alarming happening, until the first gunshot.

Meanwhile, Daryl kept his back pressed against the wall beside the door to the room he’d awakened in. His eyes were focused on the pointed end of the bayonet that slowly inched its way through the doorway, but not very far.

He lifted an axe he’d “borrowed” from the armory and brought it down swiftly upon the bayonet, disarming and momentarily startling the young man who’d held it. Daryl quickly pinned him against the door, then from the corner of his eye, another figure caught his attention.

The man raised a handgun and pointed it in Daryl’s direction, but Daryl was quick enough to use the other man as a human shield, his back absorbing the bullets that were fired. Throwing the lifeless body to the side, Daryl lunged forwards to strike the man across the face and knock the gun loose from his hand. He threw another punch, this time propelling the man backwards until he landed upon a table. Daryl came forward to further incapacitate him, but he was able to kick Daryl back with great force.

Daryl stumbled back several feet, but did not fall. This man was strong, and wouldn’t go easily. That much was evident.

Now with the upper man, the man forced Daryl against the wall, delivering several hits to his stomach before turning him and throwing him hard against the floor. A few particularly frustrated kicks were administered to his abdomen, accompanied by loud grunts to further illustrate the Frenchman’s frustration.

Finally, the man let up, only to turn and retrieve his discarded handgun.

In the courtyard, you rushed past a bloodied scene of several nuns’ bodies, as well as those of most of the men from the caravan, strewn over the stones of the pathway. With your axe held firmly, you called out to Daryl, looking wide-eyed around the once peaceful abbey.

You did not find Daryl, but Isabelle, her flowing white figure turning to look at you as she processed the sound of your voice. You ran towards her, noticing the shock and distress upon her features. Coming closer, you took her wrist into a firm grasp, as if to not let her get away.

“Where’s Daryl? Did you see him?”

She did not speak for a moment, only nodding rapidly as she began to awaken from her shocked stupor.

“Yes… H-he went inside. This way.”

Daryl’s life flashed before his eyes, or so it seemed. Of course, that had happened many times before, but this time, he was sure it was the real thing as the Frenchman stood above him, the barrel of his gun perfectly aimed between Daryl’s widened eyes. In a knee-jerk reaction, he held up his hands as if to block the bullet, but it did not matter…

Rounding the corner and stumbling into the hall, you saw the scene for yourself. Without hesitation, you bolted towards the man, axe held high and all your strength channeled into that swing.

Bringing down the axe, you hit the hand that held the gun, causing the man to grunt in pain. The blade might’ve been too dull to cause any irreversible damage, but it was enough to disarm him and to send him backwards, away from Daryl.

The force of your attack sent even you spinning backwards, but you quickly oriented yourself with the intention of striking the man again, though he’d been quick enough to start making a run for the exit.

Daryl wasted no time in retrieving the gun, coming back up to his feet after the wind had been knocked out of him and into another dimension. Aiming the gun, he shot.

His aim, though, was less than stellar, given the state of his swimming head. The bullet struck the man only in the shoulder, sending him only slightly stumbling as he continued dashing towards the foyer.

As you both followed behind, you were met with a still bewildered Isabelle and a frantic older nun, who practically threw herself in front of Daryl as he tried to aim the gun towards the escapee once more.

“Please. Please. Please, please!” she repeated emphatically, her hands at one point grabbing Daryl with what little strength she had. “Show mercy!”

Daryl, of course, ignored these pleas. As far as he was concerned, these people were not deserving of something that even the most good-hearted of people were so rarely afforded in this world. He continued on to chase after the man, and you were set to follow, but suddenly, you saw the older nun begin to tremble, her legs seeming to fold underneath her.

Isabelle moved quickly to stabilize her, but gravity was beckoning her weak body. You hesitated for a moment, fighting the urge to help the nun as well as the urge to follow Daryl and make sure he didn’t get himself in trouble again. Your heart, however, kept your eyes glued to Isabelle and the older woman as she struggled to keep her steady.

Dropping your axe, you moved to the shaky nun’s other side to hold her weight, taking some burden off Isabelle. Looking around, your eyes fixed onto the nearest perch—the stone steps at the base of the staircase.

“There,” you said, nudging your head towards the stairs. “She needs to sit down.”

The two of you helped the nun to the steps, sitting her down gently between you. She naturally leaned herself against Isabelle, who wrapped her arm around her. You took a moment to look her over, noticing blood pooling in her abdomen. Isabelle moved her hand over the wound, but both of you knew there was nothing that could be done. It was too deep, and too much blood had already been lost. Even now, you could see the color of the older woman’s face, which once might’ve been so full of life, draining to a ghastly pallor.

Still, you had to try.

Taking off your jacket, you were about to press it to the wound, but the nun shook her head and looked at you, her eyes with a familiar dullness that you’d seen before in those near death.

“No,” she said. “It is my time… There is no use.”

Just then, Daryl returned, appearing slightly defeated after the man he’d given chase to had escaped. He came closer, kneeling next to you. The nun reached out a shaky hand towards him. He hesitated for just a moment, then reached his own hand out to meet hers.

“You don’t believe,” she said. “Maybe you never saw a reason to. But one thing I know… reasons are everywhere.”

You watched night fall from your room, the same one you’d awoken in. Daryl had insisted you rest after burying the nuns that had fallen, of which only two remained: Isabelle, of course, and Sylvie. Laurent had been spared, too, much to your relief. But it seemed yours and Daryl’s fates were tied much closer to these new acquaintances than you’d realized. The events of that day had proven as much.

As you watched the flame of a nearby candle dance with languid melancholy, the door to the room creaked open slowly. You turned on your side to face the door to be met with Daryl, his tired face illuminated by a gold flicker. He looked defeated, as he had been, but with a nearly imperceptible glimmer of hope in his eyes. You might not have noticed if you hadn’t seen it before, but you had, and it intrigued you.

“What is it?”

He sat on the edge of the small bed where you laid, his hand resting on your thigh over the threadbare blanket that covered you. He took a deep breath, which spoke of conflicted emotions, followed by his hoarse, tired voice.

“We’re takin’ them to the port.”

You sat up slightly, intrigued by this news. “We are?”

“Yeah… Figured we ain’t got much of a choice.”

You nodded, agreeing that taking Laurent to this “sanctuary” that Isabelle spoke of was probably your best bet for getting home, even if it wasn’t ideal to have to worry about three other people.

“I guess it’s sort of a win-win situation. We help them get to where they want to go, and they help us get to where we want to go.”

“Guess so.”

Silence settled in between you, its presence heavy and filled with words unspoken. You sat up fully, reaching out to touch his shoulders. They were as strong as always, but slumped over slightly. This all weighed so heavily on him, the responsibility. It always does. You knew that he’d never forgive himself, but you could try to reassure him, like you always did.

“None of this is your fault,” you said, knowing that it was what he needed to hear. You leaned closer, pressing yourself against his back and resting your chin upon his shoulder. Your arms wrap around his waist as tightly as they can. This might have been the most intimate you’ve been with him since washing ashore here. It was certainly the closest you’ve felt to him since.

And he felt an immense weight lift off his shoulders, one which he knows will inevitably return, but in this moment, it’s dissipated completely. His body sunk into your embrace, and the tightness in his chest is relieved by a long, deep breath. It’s not just your touch that eased his mind, but your words. Every part of him wanted to object because he knew deep down that it was his fault. It was hard for him to even imagine that it wasn’t. Still, to know that you didn’t blame him, that you still loved him… It made the load he will always carry feel lighter.

“We will get home. I know it.”

You punctuated your statement with a firm kiss to his cheek. His head turned slowly towards yours, his lips meeting yours in a more urgent kiss, one that felt like a promise. Daryl could always say more with his body than with his words, and that’s what he did now—he pulled you closer, now locked in his embrace. His mouth did not separate from yours even for a moment. There was devotion in his kiss, in his hands as they crept up your back and moved up and down in slow, firm caresses. Words couldn’t communicate what he told you with one embrace, but you knew that no matter what fate had in store for you, Daryl would rearrange the stars to change the course of destiny as long as it meant the two of you would make it home. Together.

When your lips separated, you were lost in his eyes, so familiar, like they were windows through which you could see Robin and Wes, waiting patiently in the living room for their parents’ return. If you looked long enough, you were sure you could see yourself and Daryl coming in through the front door to be greeted with open arms.

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

#begin again series #begin again #the walking dead #the walking dead: daryl dixon #daryl dixon #daryl dixon spin-off #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead: daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #norman reedus #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you

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anton-luvr · 1 year ago

Note

hi!! love your works so i wanted to request a fic where y/n and her bf (riize member of your choice) of a few months are together and since it’s only a few months they are all sweet and cute, they didn’t really approach the idea of sex yet.. but he gets his first boner with y/n and at first it’s all awkward and shi but then it gets suggestive but they don’t go all the way yk because it’s their first approach to the topic. hope you understood the request and thank you in advance 😭💖

# CLOSER THAN EVER.

𖦹 bf!anton x fem!reader | fluff & HEAVILY suggestive 𖦹 note ; this is so anton coded no one can tell me otherwise... thank u anon!! its my first writing something like this and honestly,, i feel like this kinda sucks lol but i hope u like it :')

"Does this taste okay?"

Anton looks up from the bowl of ice cream he was holding to see you stretching a spoon of chocolate sauce towards him.

"It tastes kinda weird," you mumble, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "But it's not expired yet."

Anton licks the sauce off the spoon, concentrating on its flavor.

"Okay, that's definitely weird." he agrees, wincing as he's met with a gross combination of sour and sweet. "We are not going to eat that."

Laughing at your boyfriend's reaction, you turn away to toss the bottle into the bin.

"Here, eat some ice cream." Anton suggests, getting a spoonful for you. "It takes the taste right out."

You hum happily around the spoon at the taste of the sweet icy treat, excited to eat more during your movie night later.

"I'm so glad we got vanilla flavor," you sighed. "It's so go-"

And all of a sudden, Anton's lips are on yours, cutting you off.

His warm tongue moves and licks against your cold lips, sending goosebumps all over your body at the sensation.

"Y-You had ice cream on your lips." Anton mumbles when he pulls away, face burning red.

You're blushing too, but you laugh, finding it adorable.

"Maybe just say you wanna kiss me next time, hm?" you tease, wrapping your arms around Anton's neck.

The ice cream is long forgotten when the both of you lock lips again, Anton's arms tight around your waist as he slowly backs you against the kitchen counter.

"You look so pretty today," he sighs, brushing your hair aside and leaning down to kiss your neck.

It blows your mind at how when you first met Anton, he had been a blushing stumbling mess. Always avoiding your eye contact, stuttering endlessly, and always turning crimson red at any form of physical contact.

But now here you were, eyelids fluttering shut in pleasure while his teeth grazes softly against your neck. He doesn't stop even while leading you to the sofa, letting out a soft grunt when you straddle him.

Now, with the both of you heading into the eighth month of your relationship, you've achieved your fair share of milestones.

Starting off with the basics like holding hands and cuddling, you were now at the stage of hot and heavy makeouts, but nothing past that.

And since neither of you had any experience, both of you agreed to take things slow.

"When we're both ready," Anton had said back then to you, lips prettily swollen and panting from your first makeout session.

You wonder where he stands on the matter now, when something snaps you out of your thoughts.

Anton had stopped his actions, his flushed and shy face buried in your chest instead. "W-What's wrong?" you ask, dazed and confused as you run your hands through his hair.

He doesn't say anything, merely shifting around a bit to let you feel it.

You gulp when you do, eyes widening at your boyfriend.

"Is that- Are you...?" you mumbled, flustered.

He burns in embarrassment as he nods, nervously biting his bottom lip. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for it to... do that, you just look so pretty today and you sounded so-"

It's your turn to cut him off for tonight, kissing him strongly on the lips.

"Don't apologize, it happens." you whisper.

"And... I can help you out if you want?" you offer, looking at him warily.

Anton's eyes widen at your question, and he manages to muster a small "Y-Yeah, please.", desperation heavy in his tone.

He's barely gotten the words out of his lips when you kiss him again, hips experimentally moving against his.

The curly haired boy lets out a loud whine at this, head falling back on the sofa, and you've gotten your green light.

Airy whimpers and moans slowly fill your living room as you continue, the pleasurable friction making Anton's head spin while you kiss each other messily and noisily.

Adrenaline courses through you while his hands feel you up, newfound pleasure burning like fire at wherever his fingertips touched.

"F-Feels so good," Anton pants, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

He starts leaving hickeys again, the sharpness of his teeth and warmth of his tongue adding on to the pleasure. "Don't stop, please." he whines.

And so, you don't.

The movie becomes the last thing on your minds as you spend the rest of the night just like that; lips connected, hands exploring each other, repeated confessions of love, and hearts racing - closer than ever.

#riize #riize fics #riize fluff #riize suggestive #riize smut #kpop fics #kpop fluff #riize anton #riize icons #anton riize #kpop suggestive #kpop smut #riize moodboard

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kari-araneaai · 12 days ago

Text

Ooc: Sorryyy it's a little long of a descriptionnn hope you guy have fun doing this!! The party has started!

@spiderman2-99's office is a spacious room that could be incredibly cozy with the right ambiance and decor—but that’s not something The Miguel O’Hara would do. So, of course, others had to intervene.

It was late evening, a handmade banner with "slumber party!!!" was put up, some confetti was here and there. Lyla was hovering at the top, near the banner, she was a little messed with, her communication system just a little lagging, but her program was too advanced to have been properly hacked by these amateurs, so by her grin she was probably going with it of her own volition. The monitors had been hacked to blink with soft, multicolored stars across the ceiling, casting a glow perfect for relaxation— just that there was nothing quite calm happening. It looked overall chaotic, and fun.

@spider-lily929 had been here earlier but left for something. Miguel (the bigger, more fun one, @itsmiguel2099) was here, and @spiderpunkofficial had just walked in, balancing several pizza boxes in a way that defied physics. To the right, @tinidor-theodore and @spider--queer were deep in conversation. Next to them was a pile of pastel-colored pillows with a few plushies on top.

On the massive work table, now cleared of all of Miguel's thingamajigs, a large checkered tablecloth was spread out. It was packed with unlabeled syrups, glasses, mugs, juices, fizzy drinks—even a random gallon of milk. For snacks, there was an enormous bowl of popcorn that was somehow already half-empty, and a platter of chopped fruit that no one seemed interested in. Kari had just set down a bowl of gulab jamun and… spicy chicken nuggets? He looked doubtful, wondering if anyone would actually eat them. Someone had tried to label allergens on the table and gave up; the only labels read, “Apple juice, contains apples,” “Milk, contains gluten lactose,” and “I think this is chocolate syrup.”

Kari lit up when he saw Spiderpunk’s pizza haul. He grabbed a whole box and a drink from the table, stuffing down two slices while scurrying across the room. He accidentally bumped into @green-goblin-59 on the way.

“Oh, sorry! Pizza?” he offered, handing over the box after taking two more slices. He got absorbed in the movie playing on the big screen—something he didn’t recognize, didn't they call it Blade runner?—for a moment before remembering he had something to do. He almost tripped over a large box labeled “HAZARD BOX,” covered with sticky notes like, “Maybe bring Molotov mocktails next time, lol,” and “I am NOT cleaning up a glitter bomb, so whoever brought it has to deal with it if it ever goes off.”

Finally, Kari reached River @hotgaybitch.

“Hey, didn't you or Theodore invite @crybaby-spider?” he mumbled, sipping his concoction of fruit juices through a purple straw.

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osaemu · 9 months ago

Note

I NEED YOU TO LISTEN.

LISTEEEEEEEEEEEEEN.

(JJK MEN SUKUNA GOJO NANAMI CHOSO ANYONE REALLY SPOILING THERE DAUGHTERS AGHGHA)

(i was reading this cute lil drabble about sukuna being forced into doing a tea party with his daughter but I LOST IT UGHGHHGHG)

but any thoughts?

-💥

anon you made me spiral.. i don't know anything about choso so i didn't write anything for him but i had a lot of fun writing the rest :,) :,) sorry in advance for the angst in nanami's part lol.. whoops. gn!reader who's implied to be the kid's parent.

nanami knows a lot of domestic skills, but the one he wants to pass down to his daughter the most is how to cook and bake. nanami's known how to do both ever since he was a young child, and some of his happiest memories with his daughter would be them baking together. and it melts your heart too, watching nanami teach your daughter how to use a whisk and rolling pin on the dough they made together. while the bread bakes in the oven, you and nanami can't help but watch with adoring eyes as your daughter gazes at it with wide, curious eyes. and years later, when she knows how to make bread on her own, every loaf that comes out of the oven makes her think of her dad. (there's nothing she wouldn't give to bake bread with him one more time.)

sukuna as a girl dad would actually be really interesting imo, because i think that he'd really want his daughter to be able to hold her own in life and in battle. he has no problem helping her out whenever she needs it, but he also wants her to be just as scary as him on her own. sukuna knows that he probably won't always be able to be at his daughter's side all the time, so in the case that something happens when he's gone, he wants to know that she can handle herself. that means that from a very young age, his daughter learns basic self-defense straight from the king of curses himself. when you ask sukuna why he's so insistent on it, he replies with something about how the world won't take it easy on her just because she's his daughter, and if anything, they'll be even harsher—he needs to know that she can be strong enough to defend herself from anything that throws itself at her, for his own peace of mind.

gojo would love spoiling his daughter all day and every day. not just in terms of material items (which he would do too, duh), but also with his time. obviously being a jujutsu sorcerer is a very time-consuming occupation, but trust me, gojo would have no problem finding loopholes in his schedule to spend time with his little girl. for example if he's in the middle of fighting a curse and gets a text from you or his daughter asking him to come home, he'd stop messing with the curse and just exorcise it immediately so he can be there as soon as possible. does he ditch jobs a lot to spend more time with his daughter? yes. do the higher-ups get pissed at him for it? also yes. does he care? not at all.

#sabs answers!#💥 anon #i wasn't gonna tag this but i haven't written in a while so...#might as well i guess.#nanami x reader #nanami headcanons #sukuna x reader #sukuna headcanons #gojo x reader #gojo headcanons #osaemu

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miniwheat77 · 1 year ago

Text

Honey. (Captain Price x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, rough sex, unprotected p in v sex, porn without plot, kinda short I just felt like writing Smut lol, (sorry if I missed any.)

Captain Price is a listener.

He’s quiet when he moves around the base, awake early, up late. He hears every little thing on base. Always.

His newest thing that he thought was funny to listen to? Is hearing the men on base make their advances toward you. Just to get rejected. You were new on base and you were a lot younger than the rest. But you were an excellent shot with a sniper. You’d made friends with a couple guys on base. You didn’t know it, but they had a bet on you. Who would ‘hit it’ first. The only thing Captain Price doesn’t think they’d anticipate is that the bet had been going on for months, and you showed no interest. He could tell it drove them crazy and he thought it was funny. You were a sweet girl. He didn’t think you’d fall for any of the dumb things they had planned for you.

One day during chores, Captain Price happened to be checking on you and another one of the girls on base, someone he’d noticed you making friends with. He listened in on your conversation for a few minutes. Pausing and leaning up against the wall by the cracked door. “You know they have a bet going on you right?” He hears the girl laugh. Her name was Maxine but everyone called her Max. “Oh I know. I’m not stupid.” He can hear the smile in your voice. So you were a little sly, cute. “You got your eye on anyone?” Max asks you. “I.. I mean I guess so but I can’t tell you who.” You laugh. “Oh come on. Who is it?” He hears you giggle, you’re blushing. “I’m serious, I can’t tell.”

“So it’s someone important?” She teases. “Is it.. Ghost? Soap?” She asks. “No, no.” You laugh.

“Higher up than that?” She asks. She thinks for a second. “No way! You like our Captain?” She laughs, clapping her hands together. “Oh my god Max, shut up.” You blush. “No fucking way. You slut. He’s so much older than you.” She teases further. “That’s kind’ve the idea. When have men the same age as you ever been satisfying?” You groan. “True. True.”

“Damn. This whole time I thought there was some other reason you kept rejecting everyone else on base, I even seen Kyle giving you googly eyes.” She laughs. “I mean.. Captain Price?” She teases. “Max stop itttt.” He can tell you’re covering your face in embarrassment. “What about you hm?” You ask. This is where Captain Price decides to make himself noticeable. He takes one loud step up onto the metal staircase and you both look to the doorway as he comes into view. “Hello girls.” He smiles. Max has a wide smile on her face and you look like a child who got caught doing something they shouldn’t have been. “Uh.. hi Captain.” You smile. “Working hard I hope.” He smiles, crossing his arms. “About as hard as you can work watching a screen.” You smile. He laughs. “True. Oh yeah, Y/N. Do you mind staying on the next watch too? I assigned Soap to something else.” You nod your head. “Yeah. No problem.” You smile. “Awesome. I think Gaz needed some help in the mess hall when you’re done too.” He looks to Max. She nods. “Thank you for letting me know Captain.”

He makes his way back down the stairs, cock painfully hard from what he’s just heard.

A couple hours later, after he’s talked to Soap about picking up one of your chores, he makes his way up into the watch tower where you had been for a few hours. He closes and locks the door behind himself, it was getting dark. “Captain, what are you doing?” You ask. “Oh, I’m usually on watch with Soap.” He smiles. You’ve got your legs propped up into the other chair. He grasps hold of your ankles, lifting them up, sitting down and propping them back up onto his lap. He sees the way you blush immediately at the action. “Anything exciting happen?” He asks. “Ah. I seen Ghost run from a bee but I figured he’d have my head if I showed anyone else.” Captain Price laughs. “You’re absolutely right sweetheart.” He slowly starts rubbing your ankle. Moving higher and higher on your calf as he talks to you about anything and everything. “So. I heard a couple guys talking about you the other day.”

“Oh dear.” You mumble. “Yeah, since you’ve been on base, all I ever hear them talk about is you. Drives me fucking nuts.” He laughs. “Well.. I’m sorry.” You mumble, a shy smile on your lips. “It’s not your fault, I think they’re just not used to being around women.” He laughs. “Yeah. I hear some of the stuff they say too. Kind’ve makes me uneasy.” You laugh. “They wouldn’t do anything to you. I’d make them disappear and they know it.” He pats your knee with his hand. He hears you gulp. Your stomach swirls a little bit, heat pooling between your legs. He’d be willing to do that? For you? “You’d do that for me?” You smile. He leans back into the chair he’s sitting in, spreading his legs further apart. “Honey, I’d move heaven and earth if something ever happened to you.” He smiles. “Especially on my base, on my watch.” He crosses his arms, looking up at the camera screen. He can see you starting to squirm. Captain Price would do it for any of his soldiers. But right now? He’s focused on you. Watching out of his peripheral vision as you squirm.

“So. If they bug you all of the time, why haven’t you given into their advances?” He asks. “Oh.. I’m just not interested.” You mumble. “A-and the rules of course. No dating and stuff you know?” You mumble. The way he says it, unsettles your stomach a bit. “You say that like I’m some kind of.. slut or something.” You laugh nervously, he finally turns to look at you. “I didn’t mean it like that, honey. I don’t think you’re a slut. Not for them anyways.” He smiles. Looking at you. “What is that supposed to mean?” You try to pull your legs back away from him but he grips you hard. “Just my slut, right?” He smiles. Hand climbing higher on your leg. You look up at him like a deer caught in the headlights. “Heard your little conversation earlier.” He smiles. Your cheeks feel like they light on fire immediately. Crimson creeping up your face and onto your earlobes. He can see it right away. “No need to panic sweetheart.” He pushes his hand up the inner part of your thigh and you freeze up, taking in a sharp breath, “Captain.” You whimper, breathlessly. He’s already got you hot and bothered and he hasn’t even done anything yet. He chuckles, it’s taunting and you want to kick yourself for looking so pathetic in front of him like this. A small moan leaves your lips when he pulls you close, spreading your legs over his thighs. You’re in front of him now. Gripping the bottom of the chair you’re sitting on. He pushes his hand up between your legs, rubbing his finger over the seam of your cargo pants. You’re panting as he does it.

“Such a mess for me huh?” He breathes. Smirk on his lips. Your lips are slightly parted and you desperately want more from him. “Still have another couple hours up here sweetheart. Why don’t you take your pants off and sit in my lap hm?” He smirks. You swallow hard with a nod. Praying this isn’t some kind of sick trick. You stand up, unbuttoning and unzipping your cargo pants nervously as he watches. He unzips his own, sliding his cock through the hole and groaning as he pumps his cock. You swallow hard at the size of him.

You know for sure you’ll wake up from this dream soon. There’s no way in hell this is real. When you step out of your cargo pants, he reaches out. Grasping the back of your thigh and bringing you into him. Into his lap. You’ve still got panties on but he’s pushes them to the side, rubbing his fingers over your soaked entrance. A gasp leaves your lips when he touches you. “Oh g-god.” You whimper as he lines himself up with your entrance. He pushes your shirt up and holds on tight to your hips, guiding you down into his cock. He knows he should’ve prepped you more, but he can’t help it. He needs this. He groans out as you slide down onto him further. When your thighs are flush with his, they’re shivering slightly. “Fuck honey- so fucking tight.” He grits his teeth. He cups your thighs and lifts you up onto him, his strength takes you a little off guard as he uses you to pleasure himself. A whimper leaves your lips and you reach to clutch the back of the chair. “C-Captain.” You moan. He smirks at this.

You grasp the back of the chair with both hands, beginning to ride his cock, lifting yourself off of him and sliding back down. He relaxes himself, tilting his head back with a moan. His hat almost slides off and he catches it, setting it on top of your head and adjusting it more. “There you go sweet girl.” He smiles. “Next you’ll be wearing my shirts and nothing else.” He chuckles, wrapping a hand around you and standing up with you still on his cock. He sets you down on the countertop, shoving the keyboard to the side. He grips your ankles with his hands, beginning to thrust into you. You clutch the countertop hard, knuckles turning white as he fucks into you. He’s strong, he makes you feel small no matter what. He’s your Captain, and you’ll know that forever. He grasps hold of your hip with one hand, using his other to rub quick circles over your clit. He’s watching his cock disappear into you. He moves his hand for a second to spit on the base of his cock, thrusting back into you. You’re watching with wide eyes. “Something wrong?” He asks, clutching his shirt and pulling it back tighter. “N-no. Just thought that was really hot.” You mumble. He laughs. “So sweet.” He mumbles, returning his hand to rub circles into your clit. “Such a good girl, letting me fuck this slutty pussy.” He groans

He can feel you getting tighter around him, your moans getting more frequent. Your eyes are clenched shut and he can see how tight you’re holding on. Maybe he’s being a little too rough but he can’t help it. You feel too good. He moves you closer to him again. “How does it feel to get fucked by a real man? None of those pathetic little boys begging to be inside this pussy.” He smirks. “It feels so good, please don’t stop. P-please.” You whimper. He laughs at your desperation. “They wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like you. So needy. Now cum for me.” He growls. He hits that sweet spongy spot inside of you directly and you fall apart. You’re about to cry out when he smashes his lips against yours, kissing you so hard your teeth knock into each other. His high is coming too, but he’s savoring it. Trying to spend as much time as possible inside you. He grips your shirt tightly, hips hammering into yours and the countertop is digging into your thighs but you wouldn’t stop him. He feels amazing inside of you. “Where do you want it hm?” He smiles. “Inside- please cum inside me Captain!” A deep laugh leaves his lips when you say those magic words. He clutches the collar of your shirt, pulling you into him. He kisses you again when he finally reaches his high. He moans into you, and you gasp into his lips as you feel his warmth filling you. His thrusts halt and he pulls away from you, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his and he reaches up to wipe it away. You lick your lips and that’s when he knows.

You’re the perfect girl.

He smiles, resting his hands on the sides of the countertop. “Sorry if I was rough sweetheart. You’re just.. a fucking temptress.” He tries to readjust his vest, sliding out of you with a groan. He watches his filth seep back out of your weeping hole. Smiling at the work he’s done. He helps you down, smiling at the way you wobble slightly. “Gonna have to wash these now.” He laughs. Seeing the wet stains you’ve left around his zipper. Your cheeks burn once again. He loves how easy it is for him to frustrate you like that.

—

Max noticed your longing stares at him. She knows this is worse than before. You barely eat, don’t sleep too well. You’re snappy and grouchy and just plain mean sometimes. Anytime a guy tries to talk to you, you ignore them. Shrugging them off and avoiding them at all costs. You hate that he hasn’t said much to you after that night up in the watch tower. It drives you crazy that you like him this much. Maybe he was under the impression it was a one time thing. These feelings you have, they’re not lust, you like him. You want more than sex from him. How he didn’t see it frustrates you to no end. He notices the way you’re acting. Like a bratty girl who didn’t get her way and he doesn’t understand why. He’s oblivious to the way you feel.

You push through the crowd gathering in the mess hall and settle down. “Hey Y/N.” You see a guy sitting next to you and you roll your eyes with a groan. Captain Price is watching you with a grin. He can tell you’re about to snap. “You seem off lately, everything okay?” He asks. He’s only trying to be nice so that he can fuck you, he’s got a bet on it. “Why? You wanna bet on that too?” You look at him. His eyes widen. “If you were ever curious why women don’t like you, look a little closer to home.” You growl. “Y/N.” His voice makes you go rigid. “Can I speak with you, please?” He asks. You nod your head, standing up from the table and following him down the hall. He leads you all the way down the hall into his room. “What? What are we doing in here?”

He laughs, crossing his arms. “You, my dear. Are going to put this on.” He passes you one of his shirts. “And take a nap.” He smiles. “What?” You look confused. He laughs. “I was worried for a second you were going to chew the poor kids face off. You’re sleepy and you’re acting like a brat.” He smiles. “No I’m not.” You roll your eyes, you try to shove passed him, but he pushes you back. “What’s this about ah?” He smirks, biting his lip. You hate how flirty he’s being. “You need more already? Is this you getting bratty because I haven’t fucked you?” He glides his hand up the valley between your legs, making you jump with a gasp. You look down, breaths getting harsher. “N-no. No.” You mumble, pushing his hand away from you. “Than what is it? Hm? Cmon baby.” He grasps your shirt, helping you pull it over your head. You let him, because you’re pathetic. He helps you remove your pants too. Sliding his shirt over your head and you pout, he doesn’t miss it. “Oh come on darling. You can talk to me.” He pulls you into him, feeling you bury your face into his chest as he hugs you. You’re relaxing into him and he’s already onto you.

He inhales the scent of your hair and sighs. “Come on. Lay down in my bed. I’ll tuck you in.” He breathes. He pulls his covers back and you crawl into his bed. The scent of it alone is throwing you into a daze. “You’re a brat.” He smirks. You narrow your eyes up at him. “No I’m not.” He laughs. “John.” You mumble. The use of his real name lets him know that this is serious. “I like you.” You look up at him. “I like you too.” He smiles. You sigh. “No.. I like you. A lot. I don’t want this to be.. a one time thing. I want to be with you.” You mumble. He smiles. “It doesn’t have to be, darling. But.. we’re stuck on this base for another few months before I can take you home with me.” He laughs. “You want to do that?” You ask. “Of course I do. But.. this is just the beginning alright?” You nod your head. “What does that mean?” You ask. “It means.. we keep it a secret, while on base of course. And.. when we get done here. We’ll figure it out from there.” You chew at your lip nervously. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?” He asks. You nod your head. He laughs. “Good. Because I want you to be mine. Our little secret for now.” He smiles, kissing you on the forehead.

“Now take a nap my brat.” He smiles.

#call of duty mw2 #soap mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #captain john price #price mw2 #alejandro mw2 #captain price #johnny soap mactavish #mw2 smut #john price #price x reader

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xthescarletbitch · 8 months ago

Note

Do take requests? If you're willing it'd be nice if you could write the ladies of bg3 on the recieving end of a strap on for us tops? It's hard to find content for us Minthara loving tops and I like your writing 😭. We're starving!!

i'm technically not taking requests for bg3 at the moment, but i couldn't resist. thank you so much for your kind words. i hope these are to your liking. <3

bg3 ladies receiving the strap (x reader)

18+, minors do NOT interact

cw: reader!giving strap-on

word count: 1700+

author’s note: i'm experimenting with formats at the moment, and i think this one is becoming a favourite (making it pretty is also a lot of work so i am refraining this time lol). also, i struggled with karlach's. i'm sorry in advance.

lae'zel

lae’zel generally likes to take your strap the same way she gives it: rough. on those occasions, she’ll urge you to pick up the pace and fuck her good, even wrapping her legs around you to pull you in deeper. “say please,” you tease, showing her that you’re the one in control. it’s a risky game to tease a githyanki, but you know that she’ll relent–you’re the one with the strap attached to your hips, after all. you have the option to give her exactly what she wants if she chooses to comply. “chk,” she grunts, going over the options in her head. as if deeming the circumstances worthy of this very rare word, she mutters under her breath: “please.” you slow down, getting a bit theatric with the next words that leave your mouth: “please, what?” you can see her expression go from one of frustration to one of desperation. she needs this. you smirk, knowing that she’ll give in. “please,” she pauses, astonished that she’s actually begging for something. “please fuck me harder.” your smirk grows as you lift one of her legs over your shoulder, picking up the pace and giving her exactly what she begged for. the erotic sounds leaving her mouth only prove that you’re doing an excellent job… that, and the claw marks on your hips. she’ll never speak a word of it to anyone, but lae’zel also enjoys the slower, more passionate episodes of sex. she relishes in the moments of your bodies slowly grinding together, a pool of sweat shared between the two, your heartbeats in sync as the tempo remains consistently moderate. she wants her hands in yours as you stare deeply into her eyes, giving her the kind of strokes that make them roll back. words of affirmation are definitely welcomed here–she likes to hear that she’s taking you so well. lae’zel isn’t satisfied until she has came at least three times from your strap. she wants to be soaked in sweat, covered in marks, and out of breath by the time you’re done. it takes a lot to tire this githyanki out, but she makes it so worth it with her beautiful reactions. when she reaches that final orgasm–when she can’t possibly take it anymore–she’ll grip your shoulders with a passion, pulling you close to her, groaning in your ear as she is taken over that edge. her legs will shake before giving out under you as the mess between her legs gets all over her thighs.

minthara

minthara makes it clear that you should earn the right to fuck her with the strap, turning it into a little game. the little game usually involves you eating her out until she’s wet enough to take you. what she won’t tell you is that the end result will always be the same: she’ll gladly let you take the lead. while she does love topping you on multiple occasions, she also enjoys it the other way around. she can’t help the small smile that comes across her face when you offer to top her. she’ll stand there envisioning the scene in front of her, hoping you take no mercy on her. it should be said that she won’t be silent–and i mean that in terms of the sultry sounds coming from her mouth, as well as the string of commands that she’ll throw at you. it is really hard for her to just sit there and take it, and sometimes it becomes a game of power and control–one you’ll happily play. “faster,” she directs, grabbing hold of your hips and aiding you in doing so. it is at that moment that you move your hands to be on top of hers, quickly grabbing and pinning them above her head. she’ll smirk and try to wiggle free, but you don’t allow her to. you make it clear that you’re the one calling the shots right now, not her. she loves the power struggle and won’t fight you too much. she’ll just note the incident for when she fucks you next. the struggle continues, and she loves every moment of it. sure, being in control is fun and standard for her, but there’s something exciting about letting another person take the reins. her favourite display of power on your part is when you tie her up or use other means to restrain her. she goes crazy for that. cast a spell to have her stay in place as you pound into her pretty pussy and just wait for her to give up completely. “that’s it,” you tell her, admiring the sight below. “you take me so well.” she looks so good under you, a sentiment you remind her of constantly. she’ll smirk and hide her embarrassment by assuring you that she fucks you better–urging competition… and well, you opt to change her opinion on that, giving her more of what she wants. never will you see those cheeks blush, but you know in the other ways her body reacts to you that you’re hitting all the right spots.

shadowheart

shadowheart gets very playful when taking the strap–a display that drives you crazy (in a good way). when you’re fucking her good, her moans will be unapologetically loud. she doesn’t care who might hear; she’s doing it. her face will twist in pleasure as you hit her g-spot, followed by a chant of your name. and she does all of this as erotically as she can, knowing that it’ll only entice you to give her more. there are also moments where she’ll get embarrassed easily, depending on her mood, but she’ll enjoy it all the same. you have to tease her about it, though. a little humiliation here and there never hurt anybody, right? if she’s trying to be inconspicuous about how much pleasure she’s in, she’ll cover her mouth and/or face. she wants you to play along. “no,” you say, grabbing her hands and pinning them to the bed. “i want it all.” her cheeks flush a bright pink as she attempts to wiggle free of your grip, but she can never quite do so. you take the time to pull out of her slowly, looking down to see the strings of wetness connecting her pussy and your strap. she follows your eyes, taking in the sight before her. a small groan escapes her lips, but is quickly interrupted when you slam the strap back inside of her. she throws her head back and moans loudly, giving you just what you wanted. she likes it when you’re a bit rough, after all. be prepared for a game of her testing just how rough you can be with her. she will savour it all. when she feels herself getting close to her climax, shadowheart will grab your face and drag it down to hers, crashing her lips against yours with fervour. she takes your bottom lip between her teeth, applying more pressure the deeper you get. she releases it when she’s really close, her incessant moans escaping into your mouth. with each brush of the strap against her g-spot, she holds onto you tighter. she wants you as close to her as you possibly can when she cums all over your strap. body worship is also a must when she’s being fucked by you. admire her out loud and allow your hands to roam her body. call her a good girl, and tell her that she’s doing a great job. she’ll get much wetter for you anytime words like that come from your mouth. she wants to feel sexy and adored (which is easy when she’s with you).

karlach

karlach will ride you anyday, anywhere. she loves the feeling of how deep you are inside of her as she bounces on your strap, her hands on your abdomen to hold herself up. she also enjoys the extra stimulation of your hand strumming her clit, inching her closer and closer to her orgasm (one of many). she’ll take you in various ways. aside from riding you, karlach really has no preference. she just likes each session to be as passionate as possible. she shows a lot of her love physically, and wants to be shown the same. she wants your hands on her as much as the situation allows. the feeling of your skin against her own just makes her feral. she can never quite consume you as much as she wants to, though. being able to give up control and be vulnerable with another person is big for karlach. luckily, it’s so easy with you. she’ll let you do whatever you want with her, happily taking all that you give her. she takes it like a champ, too. remind her of that. you’ll hear karlach curse a lot during sex. she struggles to find the words to describe how she really feels, so a string of profanities will escape her mouth at any given point. “fuck,”she moans when the strap continuously brushes against her g-spot. “oh my fucking gods.” her head will be thrown back, her hands squeezing whatever is beneath her to keep her grounded in this plane of existence. she’ll beg for more, asking you to go deeper inside her. “please,” she pleads. “i need more.” and more you give her, without any hesitation. you like to admire the way her face contorts every time you bottom out inside of her, resting there for a moment (at her request) before pulling back out and repeating the process. clitoral stimulation is also big for her, as hinted at before. if your hand isn’t on her clit, hers will be. she’ll rub circles as you thrust into her, moaning at the sensation she feels when her fingertips brush against the strap. karlach also likes to watch all that’s going on. she’ll angle herself in a way to see the strap go in and out of her, feeling herself grow wetter at the sight. a moan or two may also escape her mouth. and when she cums, she cums hard. she grips you tightly as her pussy clenches around the strap, wanting you to stay inside her as she goes over that peak. she’ll recover quickly before asking for more.

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coalswriting · 10 months ago

Text

competition gone wrong - lottie matthews

summary – after lottie doesn’t return to the cabin from her competition with natalie, (y/n) looks for her. (approx 2.3k words)

a/n – hello i am probably Not back because uhh. i’m very busy, but i am rewatching yellowjackets with my friend whenever i get the chance :^) i just watched s2e4 so i wanted to write something based on that. did not proofread this so it’s probably a mess too!! sorry in advance. i desperately need to sleep LOL.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

the heat of the distant sunset beat down on your back as you struggled to walk through deep snow. though it was unbelievably cold, you didn’t stop your trek, looking around at your surroundings cautiously.

the others had gone with natalie to uncover a frozen moose that she had found while you? you were looking for lottie. you had a bad feeling since the moment their weird competition was established this morning; you were all sitting, still drowsy from the early hour mixed with the cold room, and nat had gotten into an argument with someone about food, mari perhaps? long story short, lottie was volunteered to challenge nat on who would find food faster. it had almost felt like lottie couldn’t fight for herself – everyone had so much hope in her, and she didn’t want to let that falter.

truth be told, you didn’t believe in hope. it was a dangerous thing; too much of it led to ignorance, and that only took people so far. humanity was greedy. they always pinned their deepest desires on anything but themselves, whether it be an omnipotent force, or even just a seventeen-year-old girl with a strange understanding of the wilderness. either way, you believed in lottie, not because you had ‘hope’, but because you knew that you would climb to the deepest depths of tartarus for her if it meant keeping her safe. and thus, here you were, walking around a deadly silent blanket of snow, weaving through trees, looking for lottie matthews.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

when you first enrolled in wiskayok high school, you were a bit of an outsider. your family had moved from houston. they always told you that it was because your father had received an incredible job opportunity in wiskayok, but you knew it was secretly because you would return home from school, covered in bruises with tearstained cheeks. you were considered a loser in your old school and fell victim to all the bullying. girls constantly pretended to be kind to you, only to spread rumours behind your back, boys would ask you out, and then laugh in your face, and you constantly dealt with rubbish stuffed in your bag, or gum tangled in your hair. school faculty didn’t do much, probably because many of your bullies’ families funded the school. they claimed that the bullying would stop with time.

besides, it wasn’t too much of a loss on your family to move; wiskayok wasn’t anything special. housing prices were dirt cheap, and your parents were respectively an engineer and a hairdresser. they could find work anywhere.

your first day at whs was in the middle of the second semester of 8th grade. your brain managed to block out much of the anxiety, but as you stood in the middle of the cafeteria double doors during lunch, it all began to set in. you felt like a startled, hurt animal, mouth slightly agape, scanning the room for a free seat, anywhere. students peered up at you, studying you, like you were a strange specimen in a lab. suddenly, you felt a harsh shove on your shoulder as a deep masculine voice muttered “out of the way, loser!”

you inhaled sharply, regaining your balance, and shaking yourself off. you felt yourself shrink as some witnesses began to laugh. then, you felt a hand on your shoulder, and you turned around to look at the source. she was the most beautiful girl you had ever seen; she was a bit taller than you and had long flowy chestnut hair with curtain bangs and the deepest brown eyes. you felt like you were getting lost in them. her eyebrows furrowed, as she seemed to repeat herself.

“are you okay?”

“huh?” you spluttered, regaining your consciousness. you felt sick to the stomach, and your hands developed a newfound sweatiness. “yeah, sorry.. i’m okay.”

“those jocks are dickheads,” she dismissed, then she smiled at you, and holy shit. that weird sickness in your stomach became fifty times worse, and you had to forcefully rip your eyes away from her out of a genuine fear that you would die on the spot. “i’m charlotte, but everyone just calls me lottie. are you new here?”

“i’m (y/n),” you finally said, finding the confidence to make eye contact again, heat spreading up your spine. you hoped your cheeks weren’t going red. “i’m new, yeah. i moved from houston.”

“oh, wow!”, her eyes almost seemed to sparkle with admiration, “that’s a huge city! what are you doing down here in little old wiskayok?”

before you could reply, a ginger girl appeared behind lottie, looping an arm around her neck – you would later discover her to be vanessa palmer – “lot, stop torturing the newbie. cmon, i’m starving!”

lottie laughed, swinging the ginger’s arm off her, “okay, okay!”, she giggled, before turning to you. once again, she put her hand on your shoulder. “you want to come and sit with my friends? well, our table is the girls’ soccer team, but i’m sure they won’t mind you joining us. oooh, maybe you could try out! do you like soccer?”

she seemed to talk a lot, you noticed. you weren’t too sure if it was because she was as nervous as you, or if she was just a very chatty person, but you liked it. you liked her. she was nice.

eventually, you did try out for the girls’ soccer team, the yellowjackets. and surprisingly, you somehow got in. with that, you became closer to the team, especially lottie and van.

however, when the plane crashed on the way to nationals, four years later, everything changed. you were still enamoured by lottie, but she was different now – not smiling much and very quiet. van seemed like a stranger to you, and you had seen a side of taissa, natalie, and shauna that you never thought you’d see. they were imposters. and jackie and laura lee? you shuddered as you thought about them, alongside all the others that had passed away during the initial crash. they were once your friends, but you never had given yourself the chance to process their deaths. even as you sat upright in the middle of the night, crying tears of mourning over them, it never felt real. the concept of them dying was artificial in your head, and despite seeing their bodies, you concluded that you would probably never convince yourself that they were really dead.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

the snow had begun to pile on heavily and you could see your breath with every steep step you took. you were growing desperate now, the sun setting at a faster pace than you expected. you guessed that you only had about an hour of sunlight left before you would be plunged into darkness with only the merciful moon to guide you. it was probably wiser for you to turn back and continue your search tomorrow, but you knew you couldn’t stop yourself from looking for her if you tried.

suddenly, turning a corner, you saw a form a few metres from you. your breath caught in your throat, as you shuffled (as fast as possible) towards her – lottie.

“lottie?” you gasped, wiping snow off her face, confirming her suspicions. “lottie, do you hear me?!”

your voice was a little louder now, laboured with thick panic that stung in your throat like bile. her cheeks were rosy, contrasting her pale, greying face. you didn’t want to see her meet the same demise as jackie, so you whipped your thick jacket off, and after a struggle, you managed to get it on her. realistically, this was an incredibly stupid decision, but with adrenaline coursing through your veins, you felt unstoppable. and damn, did adrenaline take you far.

“hang in there, lottie, not yet, please…” you murmured, carrying her with all your might. about fifteen minutes had passed, and your thighs were burning. lottie’s starved form was heavier than you expected, and your energy was running out. you felt yourself collapse into the snow, the cold wetness seeping into your skin. then, you heard the urgent voices of mari and akailah as they called your names.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“don’t beat yourself up over it,” lottie smiled warmly, putting a cup of hot chocolate in front of you. you had fumbled an important game mid-season, and it seemed like mari and taissa were mad at you. playing with the strings of your hoodie, you met her eyes, your stomach doing backflips. in a way to cheer you up, lottie had taken you on a ‘date’ – her words, though you wish they were a reality – to a café, and then a walk through the park.

you leaned back against the worn fabric of the seat, groaning. “is it that obvious that i’m thinking obsessively about it?”

“yes, (y/n),” she laughed, poking you in the forehead. “you always beat yourself up after our games; it’s like you never let yourself be proud.”

you reached to slap at her hand, but she pulled way before you could make contact, “i just always like to know what i could’ve done better. i’m not that great at soccer, i don’t even know how i got on the team!” you groaned, “like you’re all so perfect, and then i’m constantly messing up somehow.”

lottie went quiet for a moment, studying you as if you were an ancient scripture, like everything you presented was important to her. “you are so much more than you think (y/n),” she said, admirably, “you are one of our most adaptable players, and you’re so, so, analytical. you bring so much to this team, and you don’t even know. why do you think i always pass the ball to you in a tight situation?”

before you could answer, she continued, “it’s because you’re so damn dependable!” then lottie laughed, and winked at you, “also, you’ve a super sexy bod, and i always catch myself admiring you in the changing room.”

you choked on your hot chocolate, feeling your heart suddenly beat much faster in your chest. a ghost of a blush lined lottie’s cheeks as she reached over the table to put a hand on yours. “look, (y/n),” she murmured, voice suddenly soft, “i uh…”

you awaited her answer, feeling a sudden tsunami of anxiety wash through your body. you wanted to hide, but you wanted to hear more of what she had to say. lottie’s cheeks grew even more pink, before she tore her eyes away from your (e/c) ones. after a few seconds of silence, she looked up at you again, much more composed than she was only half a minute prior, “want to ditch this joint?”

and that, is how the two of you ended up in some isolated part of the public park, laughing and huffing, out of breath. “fuck your long legs, lot,” you gasped, leaning against a tree. lottie’s laughter boomed through the flora, as she tackled you to the ground. the both of you wrestled a little, but after a few minutes, lottie reigned victorious. she brushed your hair out of your face, staring at you.

“wh-what’s up?”, you whispered, and you swore that she could definitely feel the thumping in your ribcage.

lottie smiled at you, gently. but this time, it wasn’t her normal smile – this smile was full of fondness. “just admiring,” she muttered, and before you could process anything, her lips were on yours.

you never talked about your feelings after that day.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

a loud ringing invaded your head as you slowly regained control of your senses. everything was so bright, and you felt uncomfortably warm, if not too hot. as you tested the movement of your limbs, you felt something wrapped around your stomach. your strength slowly came back, and your eyes fluttered open.

you were in the cabin.

“huh?”, you said to nobody in particular. you almost jumped out of your skin as a husky voice reverberated near your ear.

“thank fuck you’re awake, (y/n).”

you craned your neck slightly, meeting lottie’s captivating brown eyes. you moved to pull away, but felt, what you now figured out was her arm, wrap tighter around you. looking down, you noticed that you were in the tub, and you were naked.

“w-what happened?” you gasped, reaching to cover yourself. lottie half-sighed-half-chuckled as she sunk her nose into your hair.

“i almost died, and you saved me. akailah and mari found us together, and based on the footsteps, you carried me a long way. thank you.”

you went quiet as you recalled what happened; how you had hurried through the snowy landscape, taken your jacket off for lottie, and carried her before losing consciousness. there was no beating the in-love-with-lottie allegations that van had made against you before the day of the plane crash.

“why did you do it?”, lottie continued, “the wilderness wanted me to die, so why?”

you felt your throat stiffen as your brain whirred with various answers. after a moment of silence, you decided to listen to your beating heart and come clean. there wasn’t much reason not to since you would all probably die out here.

“because, lottie matthews, i’m in love with you.”

you began to regret everything when lottie didn’t reply. however, she didn’t disappoint you for long.

“i don’t regret kissing you in the park that one time.”

you broke into a laugh, “is that all you have to say?”, and you felt her squeeze you before planting a kiss on your shoulder.

“i think you know how i feel. you’re the only one who keeps me grounded, and you’re always there for me. i never feel lonely when i’m around you.”

that was enough confirmation for you. sometimes less was more, and you leaned into lottie’s touch in the tub, enjoying the feeling of her skin on yours.

well, until taissa told the both of you to stop hogging the hot water.

#yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets #lottie matthews #lottie matthews x reader

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peterparkouryo · 9 months ago

Text

rebound iv | ✧.*

✧.*

prompt; You had been in a relationship with Peter for months until he broke up with you. It was tough at first, but over time you began to move on and eventually found someone new. However, Peter couldn't handle seeing you with someone else and it was clear he was still harbouring feelings for you.

warnings: one-sided pining, angst (cuz you love it), guilty peter, very bad person peter, arguments, and maybe fluff idk

word count: 8.0k

a/n: ITS HEREEE!!!! tysm for the love on this series and sorry part four took so so so long to publish! THIS IS THE LAST PART DON'T ASK FOR MORE, PLEASE!! i'm so glad to be back, but if i'm honest? this last part is trash and rushed lol.

part one part two part three

"You should consider Ned."

Betty shows a smile, one to only be described as sarcastic before shrugging, digging through more clothes in her closet.

"Yeah, sure, maybe, but I'm more of a committee kinda girl." She offers, pulling out a black plaid skirt, turning to face you.

You accept the skirt from her hold, scanning the fabric curiously before giving her a nod in approval, to which she claps her hands together in excitement to.

"When's prom anyway?" You wonder, putting the black plaid skirt in your bag with the many other donated clothing your friend had gave you.

"Like couple weeks?" The blonde shrugs, closing her closet door before spinning toward you and made her way to the edge of her bed.

Betty had invited you over her house so she could "put you in something" nice for an upcoming date you had with a boy you had been dating for well over a few weeks now.

It was safe to say that asking her for an outfit recommendation wasn't the smartest of ideas, but it's not like you had many other girl friends to ask.

And your blonde friend was definitely the more expert of boys than you were (obviously), despite her having the lesser advance of dating when it came to them.

"What's his name again?" Betty asks, sitting next to you as she sorts through your clothes and folds them neatly.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at her motherly habit.

"Miles." You answer.

"The junior?!" Betty gasp, you can see eyes light up in excitement and can't help but nod and smile widely.

"Yeah." You confirm.

Miles was the better half of you, probably the best version if you were being honest. He wasn't toxic, a sweet boy, and always knew what the right thing to say was at the most inconvenient times. Of course, he was a nerd, or what you'd call a dork (guess you had a type).

It took you a while to come to terms with the fact that the boy had a crush on you, for...well, many reasons, but once the sun came down and reality settled in, you slowly found yourself noticing him more than just a quiet classmate in your physiology class.

Though it took awhile for you to come to terms with those feelings given the fact you had just gotten out of a relationship at the time, but you deserved to be happy, not wanting to dawn too much on your trouble passed.

"He's been asking you out for like, ever." The blonde points out and you laugh as you give her a nod.

"Right, like I felt bad when I kept saying no, and it's only because I was fresh out of a relationship." You explain as Betty nods, reorganizing the closet she messed up on behalf of you.

Miles tried one last time to ask you out on a date, and you finally gave in, though you weren't full healed from your previous relationship, but you figured you weren't the type of person to lead someone on and deserved to be happy with someone who you knew would give what you craved for.

Miles was the perfect example of providing happiness, even if he himself didn't really know that.

When you said yes, you were your nervous self and immediately asked Betty, who was more than thrilled to help.

"And he's so cute." You sigh dreamily.

Betty laughs, closing her closet before turning back around and made her way to you once again.

"You think he's gonna ask you to prom?" She wonders, and you give her a look of confusion.

Honestly, you had little to no thoughts about prom given the fact that who you thought you were originally going to go with wasn't an option anymore. After the past couple of months, you had not given prom a single thought, because by default, there was truly no point in thinking you were going unless your blonde friend forced you against your will to go.

Had you known you'd be dating someone else as the deadline got closer, you'd given it much more thought, but neither you or Miles had voiced your opinion on it, so you automatically assumed he didn't want to go or just didn't have the right courage to ask you.

"I dunno, not something we really talk about." You say with a shrug.

"You should ask him, you're the senior."

You give Betty a look one would describe as if she suggested something completely outrageous.

"No, no that's not a good idea. I think we'll just see how this goes, and if it comes up I'll see how he feels about it." You quickly explain, Betty only shrugs.

"And if he doesn't wanna go I'll take you." She smirks.

"I figured."

You both let out a laugh.

You knew being the ex of a superhero would eventually come back to bite you in the ass.

It wasn't like you could avoid him forever, he was your Queens hero, so yes, you were aware that you did have to hear high praise about him from time to time.

But it being from Miles, the guy you were seeing was weird.

Of course he didn't know of Spider-Man's true identity, but it was eery having to hear your current boyfriend sing praises to your ex boyfriend.

You weren't a mean person either, so you let him.

"And when he beat up those muggers," Miles reenacts most of the accurate actions Spider-Man does. "It was really cool." He smiles from ear to ear at you and all you do is force one back.

"Yeah, well, that's Spider-Man for you." You begin to pick at your food, wanting more than anything to have this conversation come to an end.

Miles being no idiot, notices your lack of interest into the subject of Spider-Man.

"Oh, am I being annoying? I'm sorry." He deflates and you're quick to stop picking at your food to look at him.

"No, no it's not that you're being annoying, I swear. I just...." You trail off.

You were wondering exactly what would happen if you told him you dated Spider-Man. It probably would end up being more questions than jealousy.

And you were in no mood for either.

"I have a friend who works for the Daily Bugle, so you can imagine how much I have to hear about him." You lie and Miles lets out a small chuckle at your sentence.

"Right, I'll make sure to only mention him when completely necessary."

All you really can do is smile at him. Miles was too good to be true, you really had no idea what you could have done to earn such a perfect boy.

Minus the here and there mentions of your ex boyfriend, you'd like to think the date was going well.

You were so nervous as the days went by, getting closer to this well anticipated date and the butterflies never really left when the day became real.

Miles was no surprise a gentleman, bringing your favourite flowers to you and compliments fell from his lips the minute he saw you. He made you feel good.

You two decided on a pasta date only because you expressed how much you loved Italian food and he was more than happy to take you to his favourite Italian spot with its thankfully cheap food.

After the date, he offers to walk you home, and you accept it a bit too eagerly, hoping he wasn't so observant to notice.

You decide to fill the comfortable silence with a question.

"Got any plans for the summer?"

Miles gives you a look as he holds your hand, absentmindedly swinging it back and forth before deciding to answer your question.

"Hm, not really. I just do whatever my parents have in mind." He shrugs.

You nod, giving his hand a small squeeze.

"I mean, we can do stuff?" You suggest awkwardly, your free hand fiddling with the necklace around your neck.

The boy's eyes light up at your suggestion and you can't help but smile at his look of happiness, and he starts nodding before he speaks up.

"I'd love that, totally." He grins and you look ahead of you as you watch your building become more into view.

You both continue your walk, chatting about anything that came in mind and the more you talked, the more you come to realize how much you two have in common.

It was like fate was falling into your hands, and you couldn't be more than happy. It was all too good to be true and you made the mistake of trusting fate in your previous relationship, only to be severely traumatized and heartbroken.

You prayed to any god above Miles was nothing like Peter, if anything, better.

Peter. It had been a long time since you said that name, let alone thought it.

Your train of thoughts are broken when you reach the entrance of your apartment building and you smile at Miles, watching him return it with his gorgeous white teeth.

"I'll see you at school?" Miles slowly drops your hand as you give him a nod.

"Yeah, today was really fun." You tell him honestly and his smile never really goes away.

Before the boy even has a chance to respond, you lean in to give him a kiss on the cheek.

You two never had any sort of intimate moment, even anything as small as this, so you were a blushing mess when you pull away to watch his reaction, noticing his adorable brown eyes dilated and if you pay closer attention, you could almost see the heat rising to his face.

"That good?" He quips and you playfully roll your eyes.

"Bye Miles." You wave as he gives reciprocates it, turning around with a bounce to his step (which you can't help smile at his dorkiness), walking more and more out of view.

You smile to yourself as you make your way to your apartment, and you only wish you knew this'd be your last time at feeling even remotely happy.

You were starting to believe someone was out to get you. Maybe fate wasn't actually falling in your hands and you just had this habit of attracting bad things whenever something good came your way.

This time around, it was not your fault for the bad things happening to you, it was Peter's.

You thought you two had this silent agreement that after you found your closure, you'd never have to talk to each other again, which was going well for the past few months, avoiding each other like the plague or just simply pretending either or did not exist.

For some reason though, the boy couldn't take the hint and it was bringing back old nightmares you didn't want to relive.

Peter had this habit of sticking to you like a bug (no pun intended) and you were worried it had something to do with the still lingering feelings he clearly still had for you, which is something you did not know until you started seeing Miles.

When you said you hadn't thought about Peter in a very long time, you meant it as three days sober without the boy trying to ruin your life. You really had no idea why it was a problem for Peter to be happy for you when you were more than supportive for his now ex relationship with MJ.

Michelle wasn't too keen on telling. you the details of why they broke up after two months of dating, but you had this feeling it had something to do with you, which is so selfish, but Peter being Peter can't help but make the obvious, well, obvious.

Every conversation you have with him ends in an argument, a petty one at most.

So, when he approached your locker, you were prepared for the worst.

"Are you still coming to the decathlon meeting?" Is the first thing he asks you, and it's not like you're expecting an 'hi, how are you?', most of your conversations nowadays are usually straight to the point.

"Why?"

"Because, you never go anymore? Like, what type of question is that..." Peter mumbles the last bit, but you hear it, and you take a deep breath in to not say anything back.

"We'll see, I might hang out with Miles after school." You shrug as you close your locker and you see Peter roll his eyes from the corner of your eye.

"If you're gonna keep ditching, what's the point in being on the team?" Peter questions almost hypocritically.

"You're one to talk." You argue.

"That's different. I have a reason to, you? Not so much." He shrugs and you let out a scoff and turn to walk away, not wanting to be predictable and provoke an oncoming argument.

And as also predicted, Peter follows you like a lost puppy.

"Do you always have to hang out with him after school?" He quizzes, and you stop in your tracks, to give him a questionable look.

"Well yeah, that's what boyfriend and girlfriends do Peter. Once upon a time, we use to do that exact thing." You narrow your eyes at the boy as he looks anywhere but at you.

Again, you're not the smartest person alive, but it was painfully obvious Peter for some reason still harboured feelings for you and you were all sorts of confused as it was him who broke up with you in the first place.

You just wanted him to leave you alone, you've been through so much because of him, but yet, he can't take the hint no matter what you do.

"I know, and I still feel bad about breaking up with you." Peter sighs and you shake your head quickly.

"No, please Peter, stop while you're at it." You warn, watching the boys face visibly deflate at your rejection.

Peter was not stupid (most of the time), so you knew that he knows just how good he was at being a manipulator. His favourite technique was obviously guilt-tripping and being the best at putting the blame on others because he's "been through so much". You learned that the hard way, and now you were glad you could point out the red flags whenever he tried to do exactly that.

"What? I'm not doing anything." He shrugs innocently and you roll your eyes at his faux innocence.

Before you could voice your comeback, the bell rings and you let an all too familiar feeling settle in your stomach.

You decide to keep the silence in between you both, turning around to walk to your class and dare you even try to look back at Peter.

You both knew this was not the end of it, if anything, only the beginning of something worst.

It had been a week since that encountrment with Peter, and of course things have gotten progressively worst for you. All because of him.

Quite frankly, you had no idea why your ex boyfriend was so obsessed with you. Yeah, most exes are and normally it'd be the other way around but when you two were together he never made such an effort as he was trying to make now.

It was painfully annoying and you keep wishing he'd leave you alone, but its almost as clear as day that he will not do that until you rekindle whatever relationship you had to begin with.

Miles is thankfully unaware of Peter's obsession and he has been the best boyfriend (dare you say you've ever had), and unknowingly helping you keep your mind off of things Peter related or not.

"What if we don't go to the movies and just watch one at my place?" Miles suggested, placing a fry in his mouth after he finishes his sentence.

You look up from your shake and tilt your head for a moment to think about his not so subtle suggestion.

"Y'know most movie watchings at home with your significant other leads to a make out session?" You shrug just as Miles eyes widen at your words.

You were kidding of course but you didn't want to tell him that because his reaction was just so adorable.

"Is that a known statistic or...?"

You shrug again and drink your milkshake.

Miles continues to stare at you, digesting your suggestion slowly before nodding his head rather out of habit or he started to consider what you had said.

"I mean, sure why not?" He smiles and you wipe the whipped cream from the corner of your mouth and retort his smile.

It was rare for you and Miles to have any alone time because you both were just so awkward, more awkward than your previous ex boyfriend but you guess it was justifiable considering Miles was a year younger than you and from what you know, barely had knowledge of how girls worked.

You weren't any better, but you at least had some understanding ono how to have a boyfriend and it wasn't anything to be taken seriously because you two were having fun.

On the plus side, you had a plan to ask him to prom (after the whole make out session), and there was this strange feeling that made you have hope because even to a blind person anyone could see how smitten he was with you.

"Are you saying 'sure, why not' to making out with me?"

Miles blinks rapidly before shrugging. "Yeah?"

You nod and play with a fry, the door's bell ringing indicating someone has entered, but you pay no mind to it.

"So are we gonna like...watch the movie first or y'know, make out..first, I mean." Miles clears his throat as you look up, tilting your head.

"Well its not like a thing planned out so, we can just see what happens." You answer unsurely. Honestly, most of half your movie watching with Peter always lead to make outs on some level, but you never really understood how they happen.

But, this thankfully is not about Peter, who broke your heart because he was in love with someone else, Peter who is your Queens superhero, Spider-Man, and Peter, who was walking toward you?

You blink a few times to make sure your head isn't playing tricks on you and once you have time to think, you realize that, yes he is walking toward you, and you have no time to run or hide.

"Do you think we could do that first?" Miles asks with a small smile and you look away from the approaching Peter back to your boyfriend way too quickly for your liking.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" You furrow your eyebrows and show what you hope was an apologetic smile and not a nervous one.

"Hey guys." The tortuous voice you had no option but facing greets and you watch Miles and only Miles as he looks away from you to show a friendly smile towards Peter, who you are surely becoming more loathing towards.

"Oh, hey Peter," Miles spares you a glance as you shake your head.

One thing about Peter is that he's the kind of guy to set his mind on a goal and make it his mission to achieve it, so whatever it was that he had planned that involved you, you knew that all your interactions so far was merely just the beginning, and it scared you.

"Didn't know you two would be here." Peter presses his lips together, something he did when he was either nervous or lying, and you had a feeling it was the latter.

You remain silent, which evidently did not help with the awkwardness, but you weren't going to give into Peter's satisfaction and talk to him when you were here to enjoy your date with Miles and not acknowledge the boy who broke your heart.

You could feel your heartbeat speed up, and not in a good way. It was the kind of anxiety someone experience when something unpropitious lingered, like a bad taste in your mouth.

You wanted to get up, take Miles' hand and drag him and yourself out of the diner, but you didn't want to come off as rude and have your poor boyfriend question the sudden departure from the establishment, but deep down you knew that it was either that or suffer through the presence of Peter Parker.

"You wanna join us?" Miles offers, gesturing towards the table with a friendly smile, you only frown at your plate of fries.

"Oh no thanks, I'm already meeting a friend." Peter declines, shrugging his shoulders with a small smile.

Mentally, you thank god for the boy declining Miles offer, because frankly, things are already awkward enough. You can feel the tension growing more uncomfortable with each passing second, and you're wishing the waitress hurried up with the bill.

Your boyfriend mumbles a small 'oh', and nods his head before glancing at you, probably wondering why you're suddenly so quiet.

Theres another deafening silence that dawdles in the air and you press your lips together to withhold the grimace forming on your face, because you can't stand any sort of undetermined traction.

Peter lets out a nervous laugh and clears his throat. "I should go, nice seeing you Miles." He doesn't spare you a glance (not that you care) and leaves you and your boyfriend alone, finally.

You look up as Miles watch Peter walk to a far booth away from the both of you, shortly after he's done staring down the boy he looks at you with furrowed eyebrows.

"Does he hate you or something? A blind person could point out the tension." He says with a small frown of confusion.

You shrug and play with a fry. You could keep the truth to yourself or just give Miles the honest answer, which could just make things even more awkward. There's a small debate in your head for five more seconds before you sigh.

"I mean, we dated for awhile a couple months ago." You mumble, keeping your gaze on your half empty plate.

"You dated him?" Miles gasps as you nod silently.

"That makes sense,"

You give him a look as he shrugs.

"He seems like he still has some feelings for you if the tension was that awkward." Miles explains as the waitress finally comes to the table with your bill.

You grab the receipt as you replay his words in your brain. The signs couldn't be more clearer, even if you evidently tried to ignore the fact that Peter still had feelings, it was almost pointless to remain oblivious if even your new boyfriend could see how your old one felt.

"Yeah, well its in the past." You shrug as you stand up from the booth. Miles does the same and holds out his hand for you to take and you smile and accept his offer.

As the two of you make your way out of the diner, you feel a pair of eyes on you but you don't have the energy to turn and scan every single face just to find the culprit who's staring you down. Plus it certainly doesn't take a rocket scientist to know exactly who that culprit is.

A comfortable tranquility takes over when you and Miles walk hand in hand, the warmth flowing from his touch is a solace to the chaotic life that is yours and your mind is temporarily at peace when you're with him.

Fall was leisurely making its way into winter as you felt the freezing air ruminate your skin, the comfortable yet small sweater doing almost nothing to shield you from the chilly air.

You're thankful Miles' hand in yours keeps you from completely freezing to death. His fingers were more of a heater than the thin layer you dare called a sweater.

"Why'd you two breakup, if you don't mind me asking?" Miles' voice is soft as he asks a question you'd much rather not ask since the wound of that scar has yet to heal, but you're not going to hold the curiosity of your boyfriend against him.

"Um," You search for the best way to explain the words stuck in your brain. "He kind of just, fell for someone else." You grimace at the memories climbing its way to your mind and you spare no glance at Miles.

There's a sensitive silence that looms in the air and you assume its because Miles takes the time to digest your words.

"Oh,"

"Yeah, but I'm over it so don't feel bad." You reassure and you look over to the boy with a small smile and he unsurely smiles back with a nod.

"Hey, so I was thinking..." He starts and looks down at the pavement the two of you were walking on. You raise an eyebrow, gazing at him as you patiently wait for him to continue with whatever it was he was willing to open up to you.

"I know you're a senior, and I'm a junior but I really think you and I should go to prom." Miles blurts and looks at you just as quickly as you look at him, both of your eyes widen.

"Prom?"

You couldn't help but smile at his suggestion, because you were itching to ask him ever since Betty brought the idea to your head. You just didn't know how to go about asking him, and you did plan to make it all romantic like, since it would've counted as a 'promposal'. Miles most likely asked you because the deadline was just two weeks away, and that gave you no time whatsoever to find a prom dress.

"Yeah, if you wanna go with me, I'd really like that. My mom already bought the tickets so..." He trails off and you raise your eyebrows in surprise.

Now you couldn't say no, not that you had any thoughts to reject his proposal. Never even haven met Miles' parents, or mother, and she was already so eager to see her son and his new girlfriend she had no face but a name to, to go to prom together. Your smile that never really went away extends into a grin.

"I think you stole the words straight from my mouth." You nod as your boyfriend grins from ear to ear and you two stop walking, awhile ago you notice.

Miles pulls you into a hug and you laugh whole-heartedly at his embrace, hugging him back as the comfort embeds through your body.

"Thank you." He mumbles before pulling away slightly to stare at you as if you hung the stars in the sky, which makes you blush and smile with a soft hum.

"You're welcome."

You flinch when your blonde friend tightens the string of the prom dress and you glare at her through the mirror as she mutters a apology.

"This hugs your body so nice, I'll buy it for you." She promises for the 100th time and you roll your eyes and take a step back to observe the dress in your reflection.

If you were as confident as you desired to be, you'd say that this dress had been the one from all the other ninety-nine others your friend had made you tried on.

The dress was your colour, it fit you nicely the way you wanted it to, and you felt beautiful in it. Since dresses weren't really your thing you opted to wear a suit to which your blonde friend gasps in horror as if the option was completely ludicrous and off the table. She told you it was fruitless to wear such a thing to a ball because Miles most definitely would already be wearing a nice tux and it'd be corny to have you in one as well.

You agreed to let her put you in dresses and such like a barbie and you went to your local dress store where she had only made you try on a gazillion outfits until you found the one you were currently wearing, making you absentmindedly check yourself out in the mirror in front of you.

"You look like a twenty-five year old model that Leonardo DiCaprio would go for!" Betty squeals and claps her hands together. You shake your head at her weirdly sweet but yet more disturbing compliment.

"Thanks?" You furrow your eyebrows and turn to look at her.

Betty twirls you around like a princess, observing your fit from head to toe. Almost like an artist critiquing its art.

"I think you'll have Miles speechless." She grins and you smile hopefully. "Really?" Betty nods.

The mirror made you look almost angel like as you stare back at it. You really did feel gorgeous in the gown and you really wanted it to make yourself feel good, and you knew anytime of dress, or even a garbage bag would look good to your boyfriend because he really is that perfect.

"'M gonna go see if I can find any shoes," You hear Betty's voice and you nod as you look at the corset of the dress, tracing your fingers across the fabric slowly.

You continue to check yourself out in the mirror and a person behind you clears her throat and you turn around swiftly, surprised to see Michelle standing there with a shopping bag and an almost glare had you paid close attention to the glare.

Your hand fiddles with the necklace around your neck and she looks you over and your self-consciousness arises with her gaze.

Michelle had not been the nicest person, to anyone really since she broke up with Peter and the quiet girl went MIA from school and the decathlon team. You felt terrible for the poor girl, because there were the obvious reasons and maybe even reasons you didn't know about as of why her and Peter broke up.

"Your dress is gorgeous on you." She hums and you look at her with an unwavering blank stare. The confusion must had been evident on your face because MJ shakes her head with a sigh.

The tension consumed the vibe of both your presence. You speak up in a calm manner.

"Look, I don't know if you hate me or something but I'm really sorry, you deserve so much better MJ." You look at her with an empathetic gaze.

"Michelle." She corrects.

Your nose scrunches up in a small grimace.

"Right, Michelle. Sorry." You nod in understanding.

"I don't blame you for the break up, but we both know." Michelle gives you a look, the only thing you can do is nod once again. Your head gazes at her converses with a defeated sigh, nothing coming to your mind to say to her because yes, you do know.

The tension fades away when the bubbly girl who is your friend, Betty returns with shoes that match your dress with a happy grin and holds them up to you.

"Cute, right?" She shows you her pearly whites and you give her a thumbs up, watching Michelle walk past the two of you and Betty catches the back of the girl's head and looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

You shake your head quickly, not wanting to talk about it.

After the whole short but definite straining conversation with Michelle you try to take your mind off it, changing into your regular clothes and both you and Betty buy the dress you're satisfied with as well as the shoes and you suggest ice cream for lunch and she agrees without hesitation.

"Divina!" Mrs. Morales exclaims and takes another picture. You try to keep your smile prominent for the maybe millionth picture? You lost count.

When you arrived at the Morales household, Miles' mother was the one to answer and she had gave your mother a look of disbelief, small praising spanish words fell from her lips with a smile. You were already feeling hopeful and just to hear the praising words from your boyfriend's mother who you did officially meet for the first time, was rewarding to say the least.

Miles came down from the stairs, looking quite handsome in his tux and the way his jaw dropped when he saw you standing there with your mother, looking around his apartment aimlessly had been an out of body experience for you, because no one had ever looked at you the way he did, not even Peter.

"Mama, por favor!" He groans from next to you and you laugh as your mother does as well.

Mrs. Morales finally stops taking pictures, placing her camera on the counter nearby.

"Sorry, sorry. You two just look so good together." She smiles and turns to your mother, showing her the pictures she had took.

You turn your attention to Miles, who now takes the time to hold up the container of which had your corsage in it up to you, a silent question and you nod as an answer.

The boy slowly and yet so carefully opens the container, taking out the corsage and slipping it around your wrist, taking ahold of your hand after he finishes, looking from your wrist to your eyes that had already been staring at him.

"You look really pretty, beautiful even." Miles whispers, but before you can say anything there's a flash and the both of you tear your gazes away from each other, to the culprit at hand, Mrs. Morales and your mother both have their phones in their hands with ear to ear grins as they capture the memory of your little moment.

The two of you groan in annoyance at the ruined gravity of peace.

The dance was like anything you could had ever imagined, from the sequence sparkling chandelier lights dangling from the ceiling, illuminating the gym with an almost elegance aura, to the blue and white decorations to represent your school colours made you feel like you were at a ball rather than the prom.

"This can't be the same gym as our school's." Miles hand was in yours as the two of you enter the gymnasium, and you giggle at his words, watching many bodies chatter or dance with each other.

He was right, the gym you were used to always had a weird smell and it unquestionably had no qualities to hold students for a senior prom, yet you were proven other wise.

The two of you make your way further into the dance and you see Betty with Ned, which you find ironic since she had sung a tune in your ear that she would much rather be helping set up the prom and keep it well done than ever consider having Ned take her as a date. You tilt your head at the girl with a knowing look, her only retort is rolling her eyes.

The night was bound to be full of surprises, you suspect.

"You look great guys!" Ned smiles and fist pumps Miles, an adorable thing the two of them did whenever they ran into each other, and you hug Betty as well as Ned.

"Thank you."

Your gaze scan the dance once again, your anxiety rises when you catch a familiar set of brown eyes walking towards your group.

Never in a million years would you had ever thought Peter Parker to attend a dance without a date. It was a out of character thing to observe, but it was true since every year from the ninth grade, stopping at last year, you two attended every single dance together, even making a promise that if you were to break up before prom that neither of you would participate in said dance.

Times had changed of course, given you now had a new boyfriend, attending with him instead of Peter, but the brown haired boy had no date and that is what you truly found weird. But you had no room to judge him, ultimately, it was none of your business, nor did you care why he was even here.

The way he looked at you as he made his way towards you made you nervous for a multitude of possibilities. He had never made the effort to give you such attention before, but there was something in his eyes that gave you an unsettling feeling, a feeling that you were growing accustomed to since he broke up with you all those months ago.

The gut feeling as if something bad foretold in the air.

Once Peter had successfully made it over to the four of you, his gaze never actually left yours and you had to subtly hide behind Miles to inaudibly declare your uncomfortable state, though sadly it went unnoticed as your boyfriend converses with Ned.

"Peter, you look very handsome." Betty voices, causing the two boys to stop their chatter and look over to the boy who broke his gaze away from you (finally), clearing his throat, giving your blonde friend a small tight-lipped smile and greeted Ned with their signature handshake.

Miles gives Peter a nod and he reciprocates it. You look down at your heels, that were a pain to walk in, avoiding eye contact with the brown haired boy.

Thanking the gods from above, Miles takes your hand with a smile and you look up at him with your own, ignoring, shutting out, whatever you want to call it, Peter's gaze that you sensed form into a glare.

"Let's go dance." Betty quickly drags Ned away, being little to no help with the eye-twitching obvious tension between you, Miles and Peter.

Why had Peter made it his mission to give you an anxiety inducing, gut wrenching run for your money every time you two interacted? You wish you knew, you really did.

You fiddle with the necklace and Peter takes notice of it and speaks his mind, and you wish he hadn't.

"I like your necklace." He nods and you stop your fidgeting to glare at him, watching the boy smile innocently. This, of course draws the attention of your boyfriend.

"Oh yeah, cool spider necklace." He smiles.

Peter could careless if you were glaring at him, and you felt your anger boil through your entire body, ready to attack him had he have the audacity to say something sly from his mouth once again.

You both knew that Peter was the one to had given you the very necklace you wore around your neck, almost everyday and the reason you didn't take it off was unclear, but you knew deep down it had nothing to do with Peter, or maybe it did but it was not like you still had the feelings for him you once had before.

It was a shame that the boy took pride in the gloating fact you still wore it, but it wasn't for him. More so, for you.

"Miles, do you wanna dance?" You look over to your boyfriend with a smile and he quickly nods like you had just offered him candy, Peter frowns and you glance at him before walking off to the dance floor.

The two of you make your way to the centre of the gym, most students still danced or talked nearby, but you paid no mind to it as you wrap your arms around Miles' neck, he was unsure where to put his hands and you smile at his awkwardness.

With pleasure, you guide his hand to your waist, he understands with ease. His hands on your waist was a comforting experience for both you and him. As if on time, the music switched from a Taylor Swift song you briefly recognized to a slow song, an Elvis Presley one at that.

You can't help but notice the way he was looking at you with a small smile, but his eyes held adoration in them, and it was the same look he always gave you, but his longing stare was more amplified than per usual, it made your heart speed up and you could feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

Your neck begin to itch with anxiety, but it was the good kind and you were so happy that you were able to feel easiness that you had been looking for in the past year.

Miles was the person you were meant to be with, and you felt like nothing could get in the way between you both. No matter how hard Peter tried to slither his way back into your life, the better person will always be Miles.

The solace is beautiful, the two of you holding each other as 'Can't help falling in love with you' (ironic), played in the background, other classmates were dancing as well, but they disappeared from your mind. Everyone but your boyfriend blocked out from your brain, the both of you looked at each other with such protection and warmth that you failed to notice which one of you even leaned closer.

The kiss was short, sure but it was confounding and so very soft. You pulled away with a, looking down as Miles laughed at your behaviour.

"That was nice." He nods and you look back at him with raised eyebrows. "Yeah."

"Thirsty?"

You nod as the slow song comes to an end, pulling away from him, but still close enough to feel his residence.

"I'll be quick." Miles promises and gives your cheek a kiss, turning his back to you and walks toward the punch table, that was more of a buffet if anything, given the unnaturally amount of food and desserts decorating the furniture piece.

You gnaw slightly at the bottom of your lip with a smile, and your fingers trace the spider trinket of the necklace around your neck, a voice interrupts your dreamy thoughts from behind you and you turn around.

"Can we talk? I know I say that a lot for the past three chapters of our conversations, but...please." Peter walks closer to you and you take a step back when he does, your hand falls to your side with a frown.

"Not now, or maybe ever." You scoff, attempting to walk away from him but he gently steps in your way.

This was going to take a turn for the worst, that much you could tell.

"Please!" He gives you puppy dog eyes, and looks at you as if this was the last thing he will ever get the chance to do. You groan before giving in.

"Make it quick."

Peter nods and lets go of your arm, trailing his eyes from your necklace down to your dress, the words spill from his mouth before you could even comprehend them.

"I love you." He breathes, and your heart drops to your stomach.

"Stop."

You try to walk away again, because your head was starting to hurt and you didn't have it in you to deal with Peter's bullshit.

"No, listen to me, just listen." Peter quickly shakes his head and steps in your way once more and you notice his heartbroken stare.

"I get that you hate me, I understand that you want nothing to do with me and you're with Miles, but I love you. It took me way too long to realize that, but I--I do." The brown haired boy runs a hand through his hair in frustration, you keep quiet to let him speak his mind.

You were long gone out of love with Peter Parker, the same boy who broke your heart on your birthday, because he was in love with someone else. He for some reason thinks it'd be a good idea to express his feelings at a school dance that you had gone with, with your boyfriend, that was not him.

The deju vu was eating through your body, you were wondering where the hell Miles was with that punch.

"It's too late to even tell you this, but thats why MJ broke up with me, not because I told her but I mean she's a perspective girl so...y'know." Peter shrugs in defeat as you nod slowly, your head still trying to digest his words.

"Peter, you're so stupid." You finally say and he blinks in utter confusion, but you continue anyway.

"You have no right to tell me you love me, months later and I mean months later. Because its unfair and it's selfish, you put me through hell and back, only to do it again once I find a little ounce of happiness." You ramble in anger, not knowing what else to say as you try to put all your thoughts into one simple breakdown for him.

"I know--"

"No, you don't." You cut him off quickly and held up a finger in his face. "Because if you knew like you claimed, you wouldn't had made it your life's mission to seek out attention from me or whatever the hell it is you're trying to do. I was happy for you and MJ, I grew to accept that, so why can't you do the same for me?"

Peter's face switch from confusion and hurt to a glaring look within seconds, and you almost regret your words.

"You told me you loved me while I was trying to meet ends with MJ, and now you're telling me I can't do the same? To the person who's wearing a birthday gift I gave her, around her boyfriend." He argues and sadly, he does have a point.

You were lost for words for a brief moment and Peter scoffs at your silence.

"That's not fair."

"No, if you throw the ball at me, I'm going to throw it back harder. You claim to not love me anymore but you wouldn't still be wearing that necklace if your feelings changed." Peter takes a step closer to you.

You're paralyzed, not having the energy to fight back as his words sink into your brain. He was so painfully right, you knew deep down no matter how hard you deluded yourself that there was still feelings there, and Peter was your first love, so you can't just completely shut him out of your life, no matter what the boy did or how bad he hurt you.

"I know that...but Peter I'm with someone else. Had you told me this before months ago, maybe things would be different, but you need to stop trying." You're sure these words hurt him more than they hurt you, but you were so sick and tired of the one feeling the rougher end of the stick.

Peter needed a taste of his own medicine anyway.

"Please, stop trying."

He nods his head in a silent bob, the tension simmering down from the screaming steam that loomed around the two of you.

Peter looked like a kicked dog, which kind of made you frown, but you knew better than anything to try and comfort him in the way he hoped you would.

"Okay."

"Okay?" You furrow your eyebrows at the one word after a few uncomfortable seconds of silence.

"Okay, I'll stop. I want you to be happy, and I shouldn't be the reason you're not." Peter slides his hand into yours and you feel the unsettling consolation within his touch, biting your bottom lip as you watch him sigh with a deflated smile.

"Just know that I do love you, even if you don't feel the same way anymore, I know deep down you do."

You didn't think you'd cry on prom night, but the tears had made an unannounced approach, you were just thankful that the mascara you had on was waterproof.

Quickly, you wipe your tears and nod your head with a clear of your throat and take a step back.

"I should go look for Miles." You gesture your thumb behind you to nowhere in particular, Peter's hand slip from yours for the very last time. He tilts his head and looks around the gym.

"Alright."

You had no idea of what to do, so you just stare at Peter for a moment as he stares at you.

This boy was truly the love of your life, you did everything together but sometimes not everyone is meant to be.

When he broke your heart on your birthday, you thought you would never find the kind of connection the two of you had again, and it ate at your heart. Peter had ripped it out, and held it in his hand, maliciously squeezing at it but not intending to, because he was as lost as you were, truly.

The two of you didn't know how to love, and that was evident. He thought he loved someone else, but he was wrong. Karma some might say, but you'd call it a life lesson for him. You on the other hand, didn't have any idea what you were doing. Miles wasn't a rebound from Peter, he was a saviour from him. Though not put so nicely, but Peter was an experience to learn from, to grow from and that's what you did.

From the break up, the who kissed who, and the lingering feelings he had for you, you all but hoped Peter would find someone who wasn't you, someone who loved him for him as he could love them for who they were.

You knew it wouldn't be you, and you were glad. Peter deserves happiness as much as you did.

Even if the two of you wouldn't end up hand in hand.

taglist: @clairebearfr @ietss

#peter parker angst #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you

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